#and I just cry thinking about it every time😭😭

[tricoloreddango]

I'm really nasty 😞 can I request more Mydei smut, maybe detailing how vocal he is and how he talks the reader through it. 😭 God forgive me.

You and I think alike, anon. Hopefully this fulfills your request. I was writing this on a train ride, but thankfully my space around was empty 😅

Cw: fem reader, marriage, Mydei bends you in half, sex on his throne, oral fem receiving, praise, size kink, possessiveness, semi public, Mydei talks you through it and can’t shut up. Not suitable for minors!

There was an odd, wild idea about Mydei today, even more than usual, when he was suddenly putting you down on his throne, just moments after you were calmly resting on his lap, your tunic lifted up by your clearly eager husband. Whether it was something that frustrated him today that had Mydei coming to you, something about you filling his head too much today, you couldn’t really complain, even if you felt swallowed by him.

You thought that you were about to be snapped in half, with how much Mydei was forcing your thighs close to your head, folding you in half. Kneeling in front of you seated like this on his crystal throne, he was eating everything between your thighs, growling rather aggressively at your taste. “You’re always so wet for me… I bet you can’t stop thinking about me doing this to you, huh?” he said against your sweet pussy, slurping with his tongue, and latching onto your clit with his lips.

“You can’t keep quiet at all, even when I told you to. It’s as if you want us to get caught,” he said roughly. He’d never let anyone see you like this, maybe slaughter someone who did, when this holy sight was reserved just for him; nor did he want entire place to know, but you were too brain-dead on the pleasure he was giving you, to even think of the consequences of letting others hear. You, instead, were busy with moaning for him and pulling on his orange hair, unable to stay still. It was just his hands on your thighs keeping you from squirming away, supported by his strong arms.

“Mydei, please!” And he couldn’t even try to shut you up, if it meant denying himself of hearing your wanton voice. He groaned with his tongue inside of you, feeling his dick throb at your needy whines. “You taste so good, love… you’re making me crazy like this. So, so weak,” his voice was muffled against your skin, the vibrations making you even more sensitive.

No matter how much you trashed, he brought you to your first pleasure, lapping at every juice you gave him. “Damn it…” he cursed when he looked up at your expression, seeing it twisted and so ruined by him, with tears and daze in your eyes, your lips parted and crying out of him. You were so beautiful like this, and he couldn’t stop obsessing about making you like this everyday. Maybe he should, seeing what a desperate of a wife he made… if you didn’t make him even worse.

He was quickly standing up, letting your legs rest down for a moment, not even bothering to take his pants off and choosing to yank them down. Thankfully, his armor part was abandoned earlier, when he returned.

You felt heat in your abdomen grow, knowing he was going to give you something even much better, to fill you up and shut up your whines for more, or rather, make you do so even harder. He’d take care of you, as always, cause while your husband could be merciless with his enemies, with you, his wife, he felt dutiful and giving. “Please, Mydei, I need you so badly…” you said eagerly. “Fill me up.”

“You really can’t wait… No, you never can…” he mused, his low voice, not any better at hiding his desperation. “Don’t worry, I can never really deny you, no matter how much how I like hearing your begs…” he said roughly. Mydei was well aware, that his mind have been always catching up to the memories of your moans and begs from your nights, just when he’s trying to focus on something else. “My wife won’t walk around starving.”

Mydei was kneeling in front of his throne again, this time lowering your body by your legs to lay your back on the bottom of the seat, and having your head rest against the back, your neck and spine curved to accommodate the position. Your legs dangling down the throne, Mydei threw over his shoulders. You were trembling with anticipation, whimpering impatiently, when he grabbed his cock to spread his wetness with his tip stirring against your wet hole’s entrance.

“Hush, you insatiable woman…” he teased, only to grunt hard when he finally pushing himself inside of you. You were so eager for him, that stretching you even with his thick girth was easy today—you just couldn’t stop enjoying seeing your husband so eager, unable to stop himself from pouncing on you. Mydei had to grab onto your thighs again, feeling suffocated by your heart and tightness. “There we go, so full of your husband… so beautiful for me,” he groaned, and was not wasting any time to start roughly thrusting into you, not leaving any space inside of your walls empty. Mydei was even more motivated, when you were falling into moaning for him quickly, and way too loudly for your surroundings again. No one would dare to walk in without knocking, but hearing…

“So good…” you whined out. “I can’t… you’ll break me,” you cried out, your eyes rolling back.

Something twisted shone in his orange eyes at your words, making him thrust even faster and deeper. “No, I won’t break you… but I’ll make sure it’s just me on your pretty mind,” Mydei exclaimed with a sense of ownership, liking the idea of your mind being dumbed with thoughts of your husband, and no other man. Devoted just the same way he was devoting himself to you. “I really wished a way you could see yourself like this, how beautiful you are… maybe next time, I’ll take you in front of the mirror,” he said, awfully content at the idea. Your pussy was too, when you suddenly squeezed on him, and Mydei latched onto your calves roughly to pull you even closer to his hips. “Yeah? You’d want that?”

The throne was shaking at this point.

With your legs still over his shoulders, Mydei forced them around his hips for even better angle, and leaned forward to kiss you hungrily, along to rub your clit, to help you reach your peak. He tasted your tongue, smacked your lips and devoured them with his, humming when you moaned right against his mouth, making his digit circle faster and his hips to be meaner. Each harsh thrust, was making your pussy gather a pressure, that was growing and soon would snap and release in another wave of intense pleasure.

Mydei withdrew from your lips, looking below at where his fat cock was pushing himself inside of you, disappearing, and leaving no space unstreched, forcing your lips to part for him. “What’s wrong, my love? Too big for you? No… I know you love me splitting you like this,” Mydei admitted the truth for you, one you knew to the core. Nothing would ever make you feel fulfilled like he does, ever again. Taking him wasn’t easy, but Mydei always made sure to make you ready for him, with the end result always so worth the long wait. “Yes… love it so much… so big,” you blabbered, and you were making him so proud like this—thinking only about your Mydei, your husband, just like he wanted it to be.

“Do you feel how deep inside I am?” he asked in appreciation, before placing his other hand on your tummy to press. You trashed under his palm, feeling him even more right there, protesting as you felt so overwhelmed yet so good. “I’m sure you do. You take me so well, I cannot stop spoiling you like this…” he praised, before falling back into sequence of groans and grunts, when as in result of his previous actions, your legs brought him closer around his hips, forcing him even deeper into you.

Just the way he had to busy his face into your neck next, you knew he was getting close too, ready to fill you up with his load, making you even more swollen of him. Mydei just couldn’t control himself with you, that he had to rest himself here, almost embarrassed of letting you see him so much differently than an everyday warrior. You let him, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders, as he pounded into you and vocalized against your ear, digging your nails into his skin and leaving him even more crazy on you. His balls slapped against you, adding to the animality of the scene.

“Mydei, I’m so close, please, fill me up…” you said desperately, scratching him slightly and making his hips momentarily falter, before mad again. “I will, my pretty. You’ll take it all, won’t you? You’ll come for your dear husband, and let him fill you up like he should,” he inquired, looking up at your face again. You nodded furiously, making him smile in pride, before he sped up for the last time and spent up himself inside of your walls, making you feel even fuller and warmer. He gripped onto your sides furiously, spilling curses and rough grumbles, feeling as if you were trying to kill him, when your pussy was twitching madly from your orgasm. The high pitched strangled moan you let out, was echoing across the empty room.

Mydei kept his hips pressed tightly against yours, having you filled entirely, as he wasn’t ready to let anything spill yet. He rested over your body, its heaviness crashing you comforting, letting you both catch your breaths. He wouldn’t think a battle is more breathtaking than doing this with you.

Soon, with much more gentleness than before, Mydei was lifting you up into his arms, leaning towards your face to press a kiss against your forehead, before he was carrying you to let you both take a nice bath.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Jumping right back in to part 3!

Accurate depiction of me knowing what's about to happen to the readers dad. 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻

And:

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off. “What? What is it?!” you yell. He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth. “Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?” You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

I won't get my hopes up. I will be just as devastated now as when I find out that he is gone for good. 😭

Also I love that you said her mother refused to "entertain anything else" because Dean's job description is literally "anything else" lol. And it really is a wonderful thing (not wonderful like good but you know what I mean) that Dean and the reader can further connect on. Her knowing what Dean really did for a living and him being brave enough to risk his life on the possibility of "a chance."

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

It's too late for that kind of talk sexy mountain man. You're stuck with her and she is not going to let you go that easy.

Am I trying to hide my emotions over Dean going into the wilderness alone to face a wendigo with humor? Yes, yes I am.

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

It's a whole vibe 🍞

Side note: I did have to look up what nesting was in the A/B/O universe, but that is so cute. 😭

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket. Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

Oh goodness, yes it was a bad idea and I am so happy that Dean showed up when he did, because my anxiety for this reader was THROUGH THE ROOF. I mean yes, go get your man, but gurl please it's snowing and you've got a broken ankle. At least catch a bear or something to pull you on a sleigh lol. 🤣

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him.  Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

See this is why I don't get my hopes up because OH MY SWEET GOODNESS I'M CRYING 😭 But at least Dean is there now to wipe away her tears. AND my tears will soon be dried with the fires of their passion so... LOL 😂

He finally drags you to him in a kiss.  It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

See I feel better already 🥰

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

This is such a wonderful comparison to what it's like being around him for the reader. It holds the warmth and the feeling of home whenever you read it. I love it.

And also you know how much I love the continuing idea of Dean thinking that he's not enough and that the reader would never like him. I know that I always point it out when I read something of yours, but it really always fits him and you write it so well my friend 💚

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

I also love this bit, because Dean reduces himself to physical wealth here rather than seeing all the wonderful qualities of himself that we all love being something that he can give the reader. It really makes their connection all the more loving and real, because the reader isn't asking for Dean to give her things or to be rich, she's just asking FOR Dean. And I think it will be a beautiful and wonderful thing when he realizes that.

This chapter was so wonderful Alex! I loved every heart wrenching bit and I can't wait to read the next one my wonderful friend! ❤️

Against the Wind - Part 3

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: Merry Christmas! I'm dropping this chapter a day early for you guys. Now, here's the full story, and what Dean is going to do about it…

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates @jacklesversebingo

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.8K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Angst, mentions of blood, hint of spice.~

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: Nothing Left to Burn

“We should start heading back,” you say, looking up at the mid-afternoon sky. It was starting to dip toward the top of the trees in the distance. “It’s going to take a couple of hours to get back before nightfall.”

“Yep, it’s about that time.” Your dad groans as he starts to haul himself back to his feet, where you two had been taking a rest against a tree. “Jesus, I need a new pair of knees. Help your old man, would ya?”

You smirk as you help the middle-aged alpha to his feet. His joints pop and his back cracks as he stretches his arms high.

“Damn, Dad. You’re creakier than the trees,” you quip.

He tosses you a wry look. “Just you wait. In a few years, after wrangling a couple of pups, you’re gonna feel my pain.”

“A few years?” you laugh. “Did I miss the part where I actually met a decent guy, let alone one worth mating?”

“Oh, you’ll find him,” your dad nods, slinging his rifle back over his shoulder. “Or he’ll find you, like your mother did with me.”

You follow his lead with your own rifle, falling into step with him through the forest clearing. It’s a beautiful day in late November. Already you can see the edge of frost on the shrubs and half-barren trees. The ground is littered with dead leaves painted in browns, oranges, and dappled with reds.

“You met her in college. It’s not like you guys defied fate,” you say.

“Yeah, but if she hadn’t walked into my psychology class by mistake, and stolen my latte at the campus café, maybe you wouldn’t be here,” he teases. 

You huff and roll your eyes. Yes, your parents are a walking cliché. And by far, your dad’s the bigger sap.

“I’m telling you. Sometimes, the universe does us a solid,” he says, reinforcing his point with a literal pointed finger your way. You push it away from your face in exasperation.

“You might wanna watch where you’re going,” you say, “before you roll your ankle on another pebble.”

“You kidding me?” he exclaims. “That thing was the size of my fist! You’re lucky I didn’t break an ankle. Make you carry me all the way back to the car.”

You snort. “Right. Think I’ll just leave you for the bears…”

You trail off when a sound reaches you and your father. The sound of leaves crunching in the underbrush, quick and light. Your father’s shoulders straighten with alertness, the alpha’s head cocking toward the sound.

“Maybe I spoke too soon about the bears,” you whisper. He shakes his head.

“Nah, too light. It’s probably an elk.” He tosses you a smile. “We’ll have one hell of a haul to bring home, plus a good story to tell your mom.”

Your mother, the vegan veterinarian?

“Yeah, because she loves elk meat.”

“Would you quit being a smartass for two minutes? You go a little west. I’ll see where it’s at,” he says.

He quietly wracks his rifle and steps away from the clearing, farther into the woods. You do what he says, veering west. You don’t see the elk, and soon enough, you don’t see your dad either. You do hear a whistling on the wind, and the cold of it cuts right through your coat.

Unease prickles down your spine, though you don’t know why.

“Dad?” you whisper-yell, trying not to spook whatever animal might be out there.

A gunshot rings out, along with your dad’s voice in a shout. Your eyes widen in alarm, and you call his name, taking off in a run to find him.

You end up rising over a hill you hadn’t crossed before, but you see your dad below; you recognize his bright blue puffer jacket that Mom got him for his birthday. You call his name, and he looks up at you with fear in his eyes.

Not for himself, but for you.

“Go, get out of here!” he shouts and waves you off.

“What? What is it?!” you yell.

He shakes his head, like he’s unable to answer your question. “Run! Run and don’t stop!”

He moves further into the denser trees until you can no longer make him out. With a frustrated huff, you sprint down the hill and try to follow his tracks with your gun at the ready. On the wind, in the distance, you still hear his voice.

Until it cuts off abruptly, along with the terrible cracking of bone.

You gasp and halt in your steps. What the fuck was that?

Tears fill your eyes and blur your vision. Despite what you heard, you realize just how very alone you are in the clearing. Fear and adrenaline make your breath tremulous and shallow, but you can’t just give up. You search for a while longer, making yourself hoarse calling out to your father.

No matter what direction you take, you never find him.

“I ran back to town to get the rangers,” you say, brushing a couple of stray tears from your cheeks. You sniff, licking your lips and swallowing a hard lump of emotion in your throat.

Dean continues to listen intently with his brows furrowed.

“It was too late,” you sigh. “He disappeared. They explained it away, thought a grizzly bear got him, but I know it wasn’t a damn bear.” 

You shake your head as the tears come harder and faster, all over again. Dean’s jaw clenches in sympathy.

“No one believed me about what I heard, not even my mom,” you confess. Your mother had been too distraught to entertain “anything else.” No matter how strongly you’d felt about your suspicions, you understood that she just wanted to put your father’s death behind her after his funeral. Part of you had stopped believing yourself. 

A stronger part of you hadn’t been able to let it go, however. So you had to come back here and try to find any trace of your father. 

When you finally run out of words, you see the proverbial gears turning in Dean’s eyes. 

“What’re you thinking?” you hazard to ask. You can’t help but reach out and grab at his wrist. “Do you…do you believe me?”

Dean’s gaze softens a fraction. He lays his larger hand over yours.

“Yeah, I do,” he says. “I’m willing to bet on what took him too.”

He squeezes your hand before he lets you go and gets up from his seat. He soon returns with his father’s journal in hand. He reclaims his spot across from you, sitting close to your thigh on the end of the chaise. His gaze falls away from your face to the journal in hand, and he flips it open to a page he knows from memory. You suck in a subtle breath to steel yourself when he turns it toward you—to the very page that had given you nightmares the first night you read it. 

Wendigo. 

“Nasty son of a bitch,” he says. “It hibernates for decades at a time, but when it surfaces, it knows how to get through long winters like this. It takes a handful of people at a time, feeding on its victims slow.”

You feel sick at that, but still, his words elicit a sliver of hope.

“So there’s a chance he could still be alive,” you say, in a brighter voice. Dean gives you a measured look, dragging a hand over his mouth.

“Look, I’m gonna be straight with you,” he says. “It’s been months, right?”

You nod, though you realize what he’s saying. Don’t get your hopes up.

“But there’s a chance,” you insist, with tears in your eyes. Dean holds your gaze for a moment, and he nods. He squeezes your knee this time, then shuts the journal with one hand as he moves to stand.

You follow him on your crutches over to the kitchen. He pulls out a drawer and retrieves a folded-up map. Tossing the journal on the kitchen counter, he opens up the map and lays it out flat next to the sink. It’s a map of the mountain, and the entire forest surrounding the mountain of Big Sky. Dean’s eyes flick up to yours.

“Where did it happen?”

Dean has packed up his supplies and put on his winter gear. You watch him from the living room sofa, trying to hide your unease. You know he’s doing this for you, but there’s part of you that doesn’t want to see him leave, for his own sake, and selfishly for yours.

“Try not to go outside again unless you absolutely friggin’ have to,” he warns. “And if you do, don’t go too far. Make sure you take a weapon, preferably a gun and a knife.”

“Dean, I know,” you reply. You get up and hover by the couch while he finishes lacing his snowshoes and hooks his backpack on. You’re unable to hide your concern.

“You shouldn’t be going out there alone,” you say. 

Dean tosses you a grin. It has the shade of how he was with you before the “journal” incident—self-assured, a hint teasing.

“Don’t worry. This isn’t exactly my first solo mission,” he says, though his devil-may-care attitude soon subsides into something more serious. “If I’m not back inside a week, you need to ration out the supplies here as best you can. That new meat in the fridge should last you a while.”

By new meat, you have to assume he means the bear.

“When you’re healed up, you can make your way down the mountain and back to town with that map I left for you. Kitchen counter,” he says.

Your frown worsens. You step closer to him with the pretense of closing and locking the front door for him after he leaves.

“Dean,” you say, stopping him at the door. He turns to look at you over his shoulder. You hesitate, fidgeting slightly, but you gain your courage.

“If you don’t come back, I’m going to find you,” you warn him.

Dean frowns. He turns to you fully and tilts his head as if to say, come again?

“No, you’re not, Omega. You understand me?”

His terseness doesn’t scare you anymore. You glare up at him, quite literally standing your ground.

“You didn’t leave me out there when you didn’t even know me. You think I’d do that to you?” you counter.

At that, Dean has to pause, tilting his head slightly. He almost smiles at your stubbornness, and just like that, his annoyance dissipates. It softens him, making him reach for your arm in an assuring squeeze.

“I appreciate the thought, but trust me. I’d rather you look out for you,” he says.

Right now, you don’t really give a shit about what he’d rather, but you don’t say so. It’s written across your face anyway. Dean’s mouth tugs at a smile.

“All right, I’m out,” he says. “Save me some of Yogi in there.”

You huff, but you shut the door behind him after he steps out onto the porch, down the steps, and beyond. You move to the living room window and watch him get farther and farther away from the cabin. 

Despite the crackling fireplace, you begin to feel cold inside. 

After the first three days, you’ve managed to clean the entire cabin, top to bottom. With the “new meat,” you make a large batch of soup to last you throughout the week. You freeze a couple of servings for Dean.

For when he gets back. 

You try to fill up your time in other ways, like attempting, and failing, and trying again more successfully to make bread from scratch. You haven’t binge-watched every season of The Great British Bake-Off for nothing.

Then you organize all of the alpha’s books by author. You wash all the laundry you can find and fold everything neatly on his bed, and you put away the couple of sweaters you’ve borrowed from him into your own dresser. 

On Day Four, you create a nest of pillows and blankets in the middle of the living room floor. In your anxiety, it’s a reflex you can’t help. Your initial instinct was to nest in his room, but you thought that was too invasive of his privacy, so the living room was your next best option. At least his scent is still somewhat imbued into his favorite chair, and around his records. (You do steal another shirt of his to sleep with though.)

On Day 8, your worry becomes a living thing. You pace the living room and the kitchen on your crutches, probably wearing down the wooden ends of them while you debate what to do. Despite what Dean told you to do if he didn’t get back, you know you’re not just going to leave him out there. But the reality is, you have a problem of mobility.

With a frustrated huff, you decide to try setting your problem foot down normally. Your ankle hurts, a sharp pain shooting up your calf and nearly sending you to the floor.

“Fuck!” you gasp, both in shock and aggravation.

You know this isn’t just a sprain. At best it could be a fracture, since no bone is protruding under the skin. It still means you shouldn’t go after him either. 

But you’ll have to try. 

After you manage to clamber back onto your feet using the crutches, you put together some supplies, including the extra med kit in case he’s hurt. (Or in case something happens to you while you’re out there.) This is a bad idea, you think, even as you heave on your jacket.

Then, you hear the sound of a lock turning, before the front door shoves open. 

A yelp of surprise escapes you, though you soon realize that it’s Dean, looking worn down and ragged, but alive. 

“Home, sweet home,” he says wryly, but he looks relieved to see you too.

You help him sink down onto the chaise, where he stretches out with a groan. He tips his head back on the cushion. His jacket is torn in a few places. Blood has dried on his cheek, his neck, and near his hairline, and you worry about where else he might be hurt. 

You quickly go to the kitchen and pour a bowl of warm water and grab a hand towel. You bring it all back to Dean, where you set your supplies on the floor and sit down beside him on the cushion.

“Are you okay?” You try to calm down your racing heart (and the nauseous feeling in your stomach) as you help him work open his jacket, followed by his shirt. Discreetly, your eyes take in the expanse of his tanned skin and pebbling nipples exposed to the cool air, even with the fire roaring nearby.

“Yeah, just peachy,” he says. 

You smile a little. You take the towel, dampen it, and begin to clear the blood from his cheek, his neck, and the upper part of his torso—even his scuffed hands. Then you squeegee out the blood in the bowl and continue your task. Dean subtly watches you, his gaze a bit softer than usual.

He eventually looks you over with a frown as he takes in the way you’re dressed, and then the backpack by the door. 

“What, about to go for a little afternoon stroll?” His sarcasm turns to annoyance. “Didn’t I tell you to stay put until you can actually walk?”

Your mouth flattens into a line, but any anger you might’ve felt is waylaid by your relief. It brings tears to your eyes. 

“I thought something happened to you,” you say.

Dean hesitates. Your hand has stilled on his chest. He softens a little more, grasping your hand in his larger one. 

“I’m fine,” he says. “The job’s done.”

Your eyes widen. “You found the…thing? The wendigo?”

His mouth pulls at a cocky grin, tempered only by his tiredness, and the way he’s looking at you. “Sure did. Tried to take a chunk outta my ass, but a little aerosol deodorant and a lighter’s all you need to barbecue that ugly son of a bitch.”

You smile in amusement, but all too soon, it fades.

“Did you find my dad?” you ask.

Dean’s expression sobers as well.

“Yeah, I think so.” His face gentles. “Was he wearing a blue puffer jacket?”

Your lips tremble. As that horrible realization dawns, you break down into tears. You already know from his tone that your father was dead when he found him. 

Dean guides you down to him by your shoulder and wraps his arms around you. You bury your face into his neck, and your body shakes with quiet sobs.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs into your hair. “Believe me, I am.”

He holds you close, warm and secure. He allows you to stay there as long as you need, where you feel safe, even if this world has become a colder, darker place. 

After a few minutes longer, your intense sobs begin to subside. You don’t mean to, but you turn your nose into Dean’s neck, scenting him on reflex. It calms you down, but it has the unintended effect of arousing him. The alpha rumbles in pleasure. 

You blink in surprise and lean back enough to see his face. Dean’s lips press together as he looks down on you; he seems embarrassed, but you also see the heat reflected in his gaze, so intense in those forest greens. Your face begins to warm in a blush.

He brushes your cheek with his thumb, collecting your tears there. You glance down at his plush lips again, your own parting with a breath. His hand moves to cup your cheek, framing the side of your face. Please…

He finally drags you to him in a kiss. 

It’s heady and passionate, and also comforting. Your fingers wind into his hair, your nails scraping along his scalp. He growls as his arm tightens around your waist. You shiver in delight.

You press a hand to the center of his chest, giving you leverage to rise up and slide your thigh over his legs. There you sink into his lap. Your breasts pillow against his chest when you lay on top of him, your elbows digging into the cushion on either side of his head. His hands move down your body, feeling down your sides, squeezing your hips, and then your ass. You hum into his mouth and roll your hips into his. Already you feel him hardening through his jeans.  

But somehow he breaks away from your kiss, even though your hands are still in his hair. 

“Sorry…we can’t do this,” he says, with difficulty.

He sits upright and nearly makes you fall over in the process. He grabs your arm before you tip over, but he keeps himself at arm’s length from you after you’re forced to slide off his lap, sitting on the end of the chaise instead. Your eyes glisten with hurt and confusion. 

“Why?” is all you can ask.

He doesn’t want to answer. 

“Dean?” you ask, inching towards him. He raises a hand to keep you at bay.

“Just…it’s not a good idea, okay?” he says, with the clenching of his jaw.

That cuts into you even more. Your heart pulses with pain.

“Do you know what your scent is to me?” you ask, in a voice slightly trembling. You glance at the fireplace that has dimmed to embers. “It’s better than that fire at full blaze. Every time I went camping with my dad, that’s what I loved the most. Sitting by that fire, talking, laughing, and for the millionth time, telling the story of when I gave my sister micro bangs in her sleep when I was ten.”

You wipe a stray tear from your eye, but you respect the distance he’s put between you two.

“The second I met you, I knew what this was,” you say. “I think you know it too.”

Dean shakes his head. His face betrays his wariness, his desire, and his obstinance. 

“Look…even if that’s true, you don’t want this with me,” he says. His handsome face becomes marred by a frown, his brows knitting together. “I don’t even own this place. Besides my car, I ain’t got much of anything to give.”

You shake your head in dismay. “I know that’s not true.”

“I’m not bullshitting,” he says. “Listen…I’ve never had much. And what I did have, I found a way to lose. I’ve let my people down. Just about everyone I’ve ever…”

You can’t help but reach out a hand for him, your heart hurting, but he leans away, pressing himself back against the seat. It cuts even deeper into you; now though, you wonder if it’s because he feels the same gut feeling you do when he’s this close—close enough to touch, but almost afraid of the burn.

“They’ve been hurt, almost always because of me.” His voice shakes imperceptibly, with a wry, humorless turn of his lips. “So take it from me, sweetheart. You’ll wanna steer clear.”  

“Dean,” you say. You expel a breath, digesting his words, while thinking of what you want to say.

“I’ve never not felt safe with you,” you confess. “Even when I screwed up and drove you crazy, I’m sure, I knew you’d never hurt me. The same way I know…”

You reach out a tentative hand to lay in the center of his chest, over his heart. Your thumb brushes the edge of his strange tattoo, over the dark ink in his skin. 

“You’re my mate. My one, true mate in this world,” you say, meeting his eyes. “And I want to know you.”

You see inner conflict in the depths of Dean’s eyes, dark green and troubled. You take a chance and lean in, brushing your cheek against his, nuzzling, laying a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“Omega,” he warns, but the grit in his voice has little heat.

Or at least, it’s heat of a different kind, as his strong hands once again find your waist. They hold you still, but also hold you to him. Your gentle affection is making him ache, deep in the shadowy cavern of his chest. He’d never admit it, but loneliness had set in there, burrowed deep with a stronghold on his heart. Without knowing, you’ve been carving it out with those gentle hands. 

You now slide your hands up his chest and over his shoulders, warm palms on his skin. 

“Alpha, I want to know you,” you insist. Quiet, but steady, your voice is a mere brush of words near his ear, against his cheek. “Please.” 

Dean’s brows furrow as he briefly shuts his eyes tight. With your whispered plea, the brittle chain of his restraint finally snaps free. 

He cradles the back of your head and guides you back into a feverish kiss.

AN: Sorry to cut it off there lol, but the big (steamy) finale is coming up next week! Perhaps a little earlier than Friday. 😘

Next Time:

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return.

▶️ Keep reading: Part 4 (Finale!)

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[butterfluffy]

I loved your ushijima hcs! Could I request one for bokuto pls 😊

·ू♡°.· {  - as your bf !  }

content ! ౨ৎ — (HQ!!) | what would it be like having bokuto koutarou as your boyfriend? | hcs

pairing/s ! ౨ৎ — bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

tags/warnings ! ౨ৎ — none. pure fluff! well, slight angst if u squint? grammatical errors and typos might be present. lowercase intended!

a/n ! ౨ৎ — oooowwhhhhh, bokutooooo.... 🤤🤤🤤 | requests are open!

BOKUTO KOUTAROU as your boyfriend!

ohmygod. bokuto...... he's such a lovable dork who is, undeniably, in love with you so, so much..

he himself, along with his teammates and practically almost everyone around him, had no idea how he managed to have you as his very own lover.

^ if i may add, i hc him as inexperienced with dating and stuff. sure, he does have a lotta fans, but... volleyball...... so. he's really got no clue how. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

HE KNOWS HOW TO ROMANCE, THOUGH!! well, kinda?? he learned from the shows he watched, so, he might be a liiiittleeee cheesyyy...

had once tried to impress you by doing the kabedon thing, but he flushed red all the way down to his neck once he realized the very small distance between you two and how you’re staring right at his eyes. he swooned more than you did.

^ swoons at every single thing you do, and even more so when you shower him with affection. pls.

as a boyfriend, i feel like bokuto is an openly clingy lover who absolutely cannot last a single day, minute, even, without you by his side. 😮‍💨😮‍💨

also very attentive of your needs. would give you the world if you asked. also has no problem with spending his time, money, and energy with you. in fact, he loves it.

and of course, bokuto is a very loud and lively yapper. he would not shut his mouth for once, yapping to you about volleyball and anything and everything. also yaps to others about you. very proud boyfie. his friends wish to rip their ears off to not hear any more of his yadayadayada. 🥲

please,,, he's just so happy that you're his. way happy that you're all his, and no one else's. 💗💗💗

“y/n? baby, where are you? don't leave me alone! w-we just watched a horror movie, c'mon! cuddle with me in bed, please?”

VERY possessive. like a jealous not-very-little puppy who is seen staring down anyone who dares try to steal you from him.

“back off. get yourself your own sweetheart. don't try to steal mine.”

makes sure that EVERYONE knows that by openly showing you off in matches by making you wear his jersey, going straight to your arms after a match and kissing you in front of the camera, etc.

in the middle of an interview. “that was a fantastic play, mr. bokuto. so, for who did you win this match?” “for who? of course, for my lovely darling! baby, c'mere, lemme show you off to the world!”

yep. he shows you off every single given chance. hell, all his socials are also filled with you. this annoys most sports journalist and some of his fans as he should be posting about his volleyball career and not you, lmao.

regarding PDA, bokuto is not shy. not even a little. oh, you want to hold hands? okay! don't be so embarrassed, he's already holding your hand! the stares? what about it? now they know you're his, that's what he's thinking!

“darling, i want a kiss. on my lips.” “kou, w-we're outside..” “what 'bout it? gimme a kiss, please... or i'll kiss you, right here, right now.” he kisses you before you could even protest. very smug about it too.

HOWEVER, BOKUTO IS VERY INCONSISTENT WITH ENDEARMENTS. why? not because of a bad reason or anything. it's just because he thinks that-

“oh my gosh, all of them suits my honey-baby-sweetheart-love! i dunno what to call them anymore! wait, how about all of them? yeah, i'll do that!”

in arguments, on the other hand... bokuto 10/10 would cry if he ever makes you upset or if you upset him. he's always the first one bursting into tears in every fight. such an emotional mess… 😭

sulks for some time, before acting like a kicked puppy following you around, silent as ever as he's begging for attention and apologizing every single second (if he's at fault. and if it's you... well, expect him to not talk until you apologize.)

says his “i love you”s all the time, especially after a fight and gets all clingy.

“i love you, baby. i love you so much i'm willing to give you the whoooleee world. i love you... 'm sorry. kiss?”

© butterfluffy 2025

⠀⠀꒰🌷꒱₊ likes, comments, and/or reblogs are highly appreciated! i love reading comments and reblog tags/notes, hehe. (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

[wormg0rl]

"Screw freedom of speech, I wanna move to China!"

When it first began trending for Americans to switch to rednote, I downloaded the app and made a few videos describing my experience and the concerns I had.

I thought it was a poor replacement of tiktok, especially if "freedom of speech" was the goal due to how heavily censored it was.

I began to wonder- huh, what happens if this does become the "new" app for people. What happens if people do end up replacing tiktok with this app? How will the censorship affect us?

And of course, they tore me apart for even daring to try to have that conversation, saying "you don't understand!! We're protesting!! We're doing something BIG"

Which sure, I understand the whole "Wanna give an F U to meta" thing, but the people who downloaded it for what they think is an "anti government" aspect is honestly so ironic it's making me CACKLE, because babes you just switched to consuming a different countries propaganda.

And I was told to "shut up, the vibes are great" even though to me the vibes seem like everyone's on a valium..

When you see a country trying to promote itself as everyone being oddly "happy", you should get stepford wives vibes, not "I wanna live there vibes"

I almost peed myself laughing last night because the SAME people who are crying out, "gotta look out for the propaganda on tiktok now!!" are the SAME PEOPLE WHO ARE SAYING:

"they're just so happy over there in China 😀 I don't know WHAT it could be, they don't have even ONE BAD THING TO SAY ABOUT THEIR GOVERNMENT"

*face palm* Are you fucking for real?

My brother.. they are not ALLOWED to say anything bad 😭 it's not some mystic secret that America doesn't have.

"there's no homelessness over there" yeah cus you'll get arrested. And also? Yes there is. Which tiktok told you that they didnt? Because you were misinformed.

We want MORE freedoms, not less. Saying you'd sacrifice your freedom of speech even as a JOKE just diminishes EVERYTHING WE HAVE BEEN FIGHTING FOR.

And then it happened, I started seeing comments such as these:

"screw freedom of speech, i wanna move to China!"

Which sure, I know they're probably kidding, but a lot of people aren't.

I understand being broken down by our system, and I understand wanting to feel comfort and security, but in times like these we cannot even joke about being willing to sacrifice our personal freedoms.

Not when freedom of speech is already so at risk.

So this tiktok ban situation has truly changed how I view so many of you and society as a whole.

"Freedom of speech!!" was your rally cry for the last week, but now you'll jump down someone's throat and throw them to the dogs if they even try to have a conversation with you about the censorship on there and the affects it will have.

We don't exist in a vacuum. Downloading the app for an F U to meta but continuing to consume the content will have an affect. Why? Because everything affects everything. I thought we already knew that. You cannot do an action without there being a response that comes from it.

I wasn't even trying to say it was all negative affects- I'm sure there are positive side affects to this as well, but I specifically wanted to start a conversation about how censorship can have serious affects on society, trends, music, fashion, information exchange, etc and EVERY TIME i was shot down, insulted, or told "i like the censorship"

So much for "freedom of speech" huh, lol

I have begun to ask the question: "Will this app make us more complacent than we already are?" And I think I have my answer. I have seen countless people say "I like the fact it's moderated, I can just watch my knitting videos!"

They actually got their panties in a twist over me simply trying to bring up the fact it compresses your videos and affects video quality, all because they have associated rednote with being anti govt, protesting, etc.

"IF TIKTOK GETS BOUGHT BY META WE WONT BE ABLE TO TALK ABOUT WHAT WE WANT"

But when I say "If rednote becomes the new standard app I'm concerned about how the censorship will affect our information trends and flow" I get called a fed (because apparently anyone who doesn't like rednote is a fed now.. lol ironic, right?)

It was interesting to watch just how happily you all gave up, and I think the people who want to take our rights away will find it even more interesting that I do!

Everyone we've been fighting against? Oh honey they're gonna loveeee the fact that SO MANY of you are willing to sacrifice personal freedoms for what you think is "comfort"

So yes, I'm judging you.

[kie-kois]

I just finished watching the show and now MoonCovey has me in a chokehold. So I was watching edits and noticed that every time they hug, Minho looks like he’s cherishing the moment so much, which got me thinking: Given his relationship with his father’s side of the family and the long distance nature of his relationship with his mother, do we think he got many hugs growing up? Because I think there’s something so special about Kitty giving Minho those smaller/more casual gestures of affection that he’s been missing

oh stop u’re gonna make me cry thinking of it MY POOR MINHO 😭😭😭😭 yea it’s definitely likely that minho wasn’t shown much affection easily when he was younger depending on how long minho spent away from his mom which i think it’s safe to assume it was quite a lot of time… kitty is naturally an affectionate person and shows her gratitude thru physical affection as shown w almost every time she hugs minho so i’m very glad minho has a constant like that in his life now 😿🩷 thank u kitty for being there for him

[alana-alana-alana]

@mayasaura thank you for this!! I had not thought about it this way!! Made me think so much.

Cuz I always read it as Jod owed the apology 100%, he was totally in the wrong. I mean...he murdered her. And ate her. And killed her bodyplanet and turned her into BARBIE.

But you're right too! She did randomly make him a god. Which is undeniably a weird thing to do to a random man with no consent or instructions. Just because she loved him(?). Which makes some of the last few lines we hear about love from Nona especially interesting... That she doesn't know if what she feels is love but she's pretty sure... which Alecto then immediately embodies because kisses = tounge + teeth so blood makes sense 🤦🏻‍♂️ and then Alecto stabs Job pretty hard...

So yeah...is forgiveness on the table? Is forgiveness the only option in the face of their kind of codepent love? Are they the only people truly capable of forgiving each other? And most importantly - is this why Nona wanted Hot Sauce's forgiveness? Because that scene makes me cry every time and this interpretation made me 😭😭😭😭😭

And of course... the Griddlehark foil of it all!

I'm sooo curious if John's philosophy of forgiveness extends to Alecto. I want to know if Alecto has ever apologized to him for what she did, changing him without explanation and without his consent. He makes excuses for her to Harrow (it's not your fault)(you were so scared) so I'm sure he would have brushed it off if she did. But I want to know if she ever tried.

What would John do if he were offered a sincere apology? Would he even recognize one if he saw it?

[artsfavoritehorn]

Drinking wine rn and just thinking about art the clown like I love him sm you don't understand 😩😩😩

*insert the clip of Murr from Impractical Jokers singing "blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol* iykyk😆🥲

[h0estar]

some of my favorite moments of yato & yukine during my reread. i read the scanlations occasionally bc it gives me sm nostalgia. anw, the two of them are so cute... they're just like family :(

yato referring to yukine as his "boy" or "kid" always gets me man. i take a shot every time he says it 🥹

[bisexualfagdyke]

Adventure time fans when you enjoyed the Fionna and Cake finale and don't want their miserable unnecessary nitpicky opinions on a silly happy cartoon ruining ur joy and love for the show:

[spacedlexi]

the way the ericson group were at the outbreak just a bunch of troubled kids who made various mistakes or committed crimes and were judged by a system that punished and abandoned them instead of giving them the support and love they needed, are then nearly a decade later put into a situation where now they must judge a troubled child for the mistakes and crimes hes committed against them. and 5 to 3 vote them out 😭

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[zepskies]

Hahaa this one was DEFINITELY meant to both tug and your heart strings and take you on a rocky ride, so I honestly love to hear that. 😘💜

honestly for a moment this scared me because of the chapter title/warnings 😭 phew! lol

loll gotchaaa!

i swear my brain short circuited for a moment, i was like where did i miss this ??? …and then i read the next few lines 🤣 that early morning spice was so good 🙂‍↕️❤️‍🔥 and the pregnancy added a nice layer of tenderness 🥹♥️ loveeeeeee protective dean <333

LOL yeah we did a bit of time jump there. 😏

Ooh I'm so glad you liked that part~~ I just love that slow early morning spice, both to write and to read. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥 And yes now that she's pregnant, it's both softening Dean up even more from those hardened soldier layers, but also heaping another layer of responsibility and worry on his shoulders lol. 😅

no wayyyyyy😭 this is so cute loll, the mato x baby fandom is thriving :p

ahahaha ALL the parallels in this fic!! 😝🐴

sammyyyyyy!!!!!!!!🤍🤍🥹 i had a feeling it would be him, i’m so happy he showed :’)

Hahaaa it's about damn time he showed up, right? 😆

😭😭🥺 plsssssss this was so sweet 💗

They're developing that married couple telepathy.~ 🤣

cryinggggg 🥺 i love their brotherly bond. in this story especially it reminds me so much of “Brother Bear”, if you’ve seen that movie 😅

Omg I LOVE Brother Bear!! So sad/bittersweet but so good, and underrated as a Disney movie. Honestly I cry every time. 😭 That's a lot like Sam and Dean's brotherly bond in this case for sure. ❤️‍🩹

that being said, those moments of anger/frustration from sam (completely understandable) were written so well, they added so much depth to their reunion 🫶🏽 it was so bittersweet, which is exactly what their situation is :( i hope they can meet again someday 🤍

Aw thank you!! 🥹 yes I thought Sam being frustrated, even angry at Dean's responses would make sense, not only for the situation, but for Sam's personality. It's really bittersweet, but as for if we see Sam again in this series...

:(((((( man, rip buddy.

Aww thank you for highlighting that line and this moment in the chapter! Weirdly enough, that was a really simple line but it ended up being one of my favorites for this chapter. 💔

awwwwwwwwwww💖😭 sobbing. i’ll always love a good sibling duo. <3

Dean had to set him straight on that one, jerky be damned! lmaoo 😭😭

hmmm…I still don’t trust otaktay. what is he up to 🤔

Hahaa I don't blame you for being suspicious. For now he's just observing, but you'll see more of him in the final chapter...

oh goooooosshhhhhh

loll if you think there's been drama and action so far, just wait for Part 4. 😬

another wonderful chapter lovely!💗 looking forward to the finale 🙂‍↕️🫶🏽

Thank you so much, Julie!! I can't wait to bring you guys the finale next Friday!! 🥳💕

Outlander - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won? 

AN: Back into the saddle, so to speak. 😏 Plus, we have a very special guest joining the cast...

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 8.1K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, blood and character death.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 3: A Warrior’s Death

Mila has never enjoyed being an early riser, but sometimes, it has its benefits. In the rare times that she wakes up before Dean, she’s taken to counting the small nicks and scares that mark his body, from his chest and arms and back, down to his calloused hands. They mark him as a warrior.

Today, she slips her fingers through his brown hair. It’s grown a little more, and it’s easy to spike wildly in all directions. His breathing shifts from the deeper, slower ones of sleep to shallower ones.

“What’re you doing?” he grumbles, despite the way his lips twitch at a smile. His eyes are still closed. 

“It’s morning, and I’m lonely,” Mila teases. She leans in to kiss his chin, then slowly and sensuously across his prickly jawline.

“Can’t you entertain yourself until the sun comes up all the way?” he says, in a voice laden with grit and sleep.

“That is what I’m doing,” is her cheeky reply.

Dean releases a deep breath that’s more like a sigh. Mila continues, smoothing her hand across his shoulder and squeezing warmly as she makes her way down his neck with kisses. She takes to nibbling his skin, then soothing it with her tongue. He makes a throaty sound of pleasure, gripping her hip.

“Wake up, my love,” she whispers.

Dean feels the shape of her smile against his skin. His lips tug upwards too, before he chuckles and finally succumbs to her wily ways. He twists onto his back and takes her with him, guiding her leg to slip over his lap. She squeals in surprise to be moved, but it ends with her smiling down at him as she straddles his hips. His hands travel under her the thin fabric of her shift and squeeze the supple flesh of her thighs.

Her fingertips drag down his chest, teasing his nipples along the way. She begins to tease him in other ways too, subtly rolling her hips, rocking against his hardening length. She wears a heated, playful look he knows all too well. He smirks up at her lazily.

“You’ve been more demanding than usual,” he remarks. His hold on her hips tightens, encouraging her to grind down harder onto him. He groans in pleasure at the feeling of her bare, wet folds against his clothed erection. Still, he can’t help but tease her too. “You already got what you wanted. I got you good and pregnant.”

His knees slide up to press against her ass, angling her more firmly against his cock. She hums in pleasure at the feeling of him, nice and hard and ready to fill her. It doesn’t matter that he’s right.

She’s pregnant, and has been for over a month now, according to Eyota. Even so, Mila still craves her husband. She wants to take advantage of a good morning, one where she doesn’t feel sick to her stomach.

“Yes,” she agrees, “but you think that means your duty is done?”

She takes his hands from her thighs and moves them up her body underneath her shift, until he can palm her breasts. He obliges her, rolling the sensitive buds under his thumbs.

Dean chuckles deeply. “Haven’t you had enough?” 

“I will say when I’ve had enough,” she quips back. 

He smiles, more genuinely this time. “Yes, ma’am.”

He takes back control of his hands. One holds her steady by her waist, while the other drags back down her body, brushing over the thatch of hair covering her mound. His fingers slip between her wet folds, and they find what they’re looking for.

She utters a keening moan when the pads of his fingers probe gently at her entrance, pushing inside for a few pulsing beats. He gathers some wetness there and begins to circle the sensitive bundle of nerves above her entrance. She grinds her hips down as she tries to press into his hand. A shudder of pleasure tingles down her spine and throbs deliciously in her core.  

She grips his arms tight. “Please,” she says, “I’m ready for you.”

“Already?” he smirks. “I’ve barely touched you.”

Instead of answering him, she drags down his pants herself and reaches for his heavy cock. He moans at her touch, demanding, but still careful as she pumps him to full readiness. Then she notches him at her entrance. Dean grabs her hips and slowly guides her over him in one smooth plunge.

Their breathing becomes more labored as they take beat, just to revel in the connection.

During the day, they both lead busy lives. They each do their part for the tribe to make sure there’s food to eat, clothes to wear, and that the tribe stays protected—but the time they spend together here doesn’t need to be rushed. This is their time.

Mila hesitates to move though, her hands flexing on his shoulders. Her thighs squeeze his hips experimentally.

“How should I move?” she asks in a whisper. “I’ve never…ridden you.”

Dean grins. He rubs her thighs encouragingly. “Trust your instincts, baby. Try just rocking on me.”

He helps her by guiding her hips in a smooth, rolling rhythm, in and out. Mila moans as the shallow friction builds a slow momentum inside her.

“See,” he pants, “you’re a natural.”

She smiles, her face warming in a blush. As she craves more, she becomes bolder, letting his cock drag out of her almost to its tip, before she pushes all the way back in. Dean utters a faltering moan, and tries not to let his eyes close in pleasure. He wants to keep watching the way she gets herself off on his cock, the way her full breasts bounce with her movements.

Dean’s hands slide up her back to feel the gentle slope. He leans up to kiss and suck at her tightened nipples, his teeth catching on them. She gasps and arches against him. Her nails scramble for purchase between his shoulder blades.

Dean chuckles into her skin. “So sensitive. Being so fucking good for me, huh baby?”

Mila nods, half out of her mind. He blazes an upward path, kissing and sucking between her breasts, along the line of her collarbone, and then at her neck. He stops there to suck hard at her pulse point, burying his fingers tightly in her hair.

She moans and clings to him as she rocks a harder rhythm on top of him. She chases her release, and tries to help him reach his. But when his fingers slip in between them to massage her clit again, she shudders deeply and gasps. “Dean.” Her inner walls clench tightly on his cock and begin to flutter and pulse around him.

He drives his hips up into her with a few wild, harsher thrusts with his own release. He grunts sharply into her neck as he spills deep inside her.

Mila holds him tightly to her while her heart races. She pants for breath, huffing because her hair has fallen into her eyes. Dean brushes the strands behind her ear as he too catches his breath. He lays back down and takes her with him, gratefully stroking her back.

“Well, good morning,” he says. His voice is like hot gravel. “Fuckin’ hell…”

She giggles breathlessly against his chest. By now she’s learned many of the English curse words. They often sound both harsh and funny to her. Though she knows that right now, it’s a compliment.

They lay together for a while, even after she untangles herself from him and grabs a washcloth to clean them both. She finds herself led back into Dean’s embrace under the warm furs. His large hand spans her lower belly, resting there.

“You want a boy or a girl?” he asks. His deep voice is still a bit coarse with sleep.

Mila considers his question while pillowing her cheek against her folded arms.

“I want to give you a son,” she says.

Dean’s lips twitch into a smile. He hums thoughtfully while he slips his fingers through her hair.

“I guess that means I’ll have to teach him things. Things about the world,” he says. She turns in his arms to face him.

“What would you teach him?” she asks, with a smile of her own. She asks the question not only because she genuinely wants to know, but because she likes the soft glow of optimism and possibilities reflected in Dean’s eyes. In some ways, he’s already different from the hardened soldier she first met. Or maybe she’s just continuing to learn more and more of who he really is—layer by layer.

“Well, how to learn from his mistakes, for one thing,” he says. “How to protect himself, and his family. How to survive, but also how to live.” He thinks about it a bit harder for a second.

“Come to think of it, I’d teach my daughter all that too,” he says. “So I guess I’ve got no preference.”

And we can always try again, he thinks.

“He will be strong, like his father,” Mila says. 

“Or like his mother,” Dean playfully replies. She smiles back, and she leans forward to kiss his lips. She cups his cheek with a gentle, loving hand. Dean squeezes her waist and pulls her tighter against him.

“Are you two going to sleep all day, or are you going to join the rest of the world and start working?” Šóta interrupts, loudly from outside their tipi. “The horses need to be fed, Horsemaster.” 

Dean and Mila break apart from the kiss, and they share a look, hers more annoyed than his. Her cousin has taken what she said to him before about being a leader to heart, if in some unexpected (and annoying) ways. 

She sighs, but unfortunately, Šóta has a point. It prompts them to get up and start getting dressed. 

“What do you got planned today?” Dean asks, while he tries to find a clean shirt. 

“I have some mending to do and laundry to take down. Then I will help my aunts skin the hides and prepare the vegetables for lunch and supper,” she says.  

He pauses, leveling her with a warning look. “Hey, remember to take it easy, all right. Don’t strain yourself.”

She just smiles and touches his cheek. This man is a protector in all senses, and it seems, also a worrier.

Dean takes pride in corralling the horses and making sure they’re fed, brushed, and given water. Just like he suspected would happen, Mato and Baby have been getting along a little too well. She’s now pregnant too.

Ironically enough, it means she’ll give birth to her foal around the time Eyota believes Mila will deliver their child, maybe a month or two after.

Ain’t that just life, he thinks.

There’s another colt that Dean has spent the past week breaking in. He’s wily and precocious, giving Dean a challenge, but that’s what he likes about the guy. 

“You’ve got spirit, kid, I’ll give you that,” Dean says. 

He has a rawhide lead tied around the horse’s neck while he runs around the corral. He’s waiting until the horse tires himself out, so Dean can really begin training him, getting him used to a bridle, teaching him verbal cues, and all the rest. 

Back at Fort Laramie, there were those like Colonel Sanderson, who believed that breaking a horse meant you had to break his independence, his spirit. Dean’s father had always taught him that a bond between him and an animal, a bond based on trust, will serve him better with a loyal horse rather than just an obedient one. He’s glad that the Lakota here share his views on horse rearing. 

At about mid-morning, Chatan comes over to inspect Dean’s progress. His ankle has healed, mostly, but he’s allowed Dean to take over the harder work when it comes to breaking the horses. Chatan is still teaching him their ways in training them, making bridles and simple saddles, and all the other ways they care for their horses here. He inspects Dean’s work with the colt and nods. 

“You’re doing well,” he says. 

That’s a big improvement from all the times he’s given Dean some form of correction or instruction. Dean is about to reply, when Šóta and Takoda come over the hill on horseback. Šóta calls for both Chatan and Dean—especially Dean. 

“You should see this,” Šóta says. 

“Are the other men coming?” Dean says, keeping his voice low as Baby plods along beside Šóta.

“No,” Šóta replies. “We must keep the group small.” 

Dean namely meant Otaktay, who still tries his best to ignore him.

Takoda has warmed up to him more though. He doesn’t call him Outlander anymore, let alone wašíču. He’s also the tribe’s best fisherman, and when they eat lunch together, he’s started to save Dean the second-biggest fish after Šóta.

Takoda even showed him how to fletch his own arrows. And when Dean broke his whet stone while sharpening his knife, Takoda gave him his own whet stone.

“I make new one,” he said, in broken English, even with a smile. “This one old anyway.”

At first, Dean used to wonder why some people in the tribe seemed to have better English, like Mila, Tahatan, and Šóta, but others didn’t. After he thought about it more, he supposed he wouldn’t want to learn his enemy’s language. He asked Šóta about it once.

“It’s the opposite for me,” Šóta told him. “I want to know what my enemy says behind my back. Then, I will be ready when he strikes.”

He now leads them away from the forest and across the grasslands. In an hour, they reach a desert valley, where Dean already hears the construction. A new stretch of railroad is being laid out, courtesy of the U.S. government. Dean even spots Benny, Jack, and Colonel Sanderson himself supervising the construction. 

Shit, Dean thinks.

They stealthily crept back into the forest and returned to the village. They bring the news of what they saw to Chief Tahatan in his tipi. His wives are there, along with Chatan, Weaya, Mila, Eyota and her husband Hanska. The last two are the medicine man and woman of this tribe, but Hanska is also their wiseman. He advises the Chief.

“We should move the village again, farther north along the river,” Hanska suggests. 

“And what? They will keep pushing us back until there is nothing left—until we fall of the edge of the earth!” Šóta shouts. He’s getting more and more angry as the conversation becomes a deliberation on what to do next. 

“It’s the Northern Pacific Railroad,” Dean says. He doesn’t know if it’s place to speak, but he feels that he has to. “They mean to keep building until they reach the coast in the Northwest.” 

“See? They will rape more and more of the land to do it,” Šóta says. “Our land. We cannot let this stand.”

Dean gives him a wary look. “This is bigger than the tribe. If you try to hit them, they’re just gonna hit back harder. And they’re going to bring the full weight of the U.S. Army on top of you.”

“So what do you suggest we do, Dean Winchester?” Tahatan says. “Sit and do nothing while they continue to carve into our home, where we have lived and died for generations?”

“I think…you should look at the faces around you,” Dean says. “Ask yourself how many of them you’re willing to lose.”

That evening in the privacy of their tent, Dean tries his best to soothe Mila’s worry, but his own trepidation and sense of urgency wins out as he paces back and forth. 

“Just moving up the river won’t be enough,” he says. “We could go southwest into Montana, towards the Yellowstone River.”

Mila shakes her head warily. She sits by the fire and watches him cross the room again. He makes her anxious, and so she grabs onto his hand and leads him to sit beside her.

“The Crow people live along Yellowstone,” she says. “The Lakota have fought them for generations.” 

“About what?”

“Land,” she admits. “Our tribes are proud and do not like to share hunting territory. The Crow are bitter enemies. They will not accept us there.”

That is putting it mildly. She shudders to think what the Crow would do to them if they crossed paths in their own land. 

Dean nods. “Okay, well, what about if we go further north?”

She ponders the idea. Even though she doesn’t like the idea of leaving the river, where her people have settled for decades, she believes what he says is true. Her people wouldn’t win in a head-on fight against the U.S. Army.  

“East of Big Cheyenne, there is a bigger territory of land. Other Sioux tribes live there,” she says. “The path is long from here to there, but it could be the answer.”

“Okay, that’s good,” Dean nods. “…I just don’t know how Tahatan and the rest of ‘em are gonna take the idea coming from me. To them, I probably sound like a coward.”

Mila shakes her head and grasps his arm. “You are no coward, Dean. I will help you talk to my father. When he understands, then we will speak to my uncle.”

“And Šóta?” Dean says wryly. 

“Šóta is young and wants to prove himself to my uncle. He is brave and strong, but doesn’t consider what we could lose,” Mila says, holding a hand over the small swell of her stomach. Dean covers her hand with his. 

“Whatever comes next, I’m not letting anything happen to you. You understand?” he says.

Her face, and the tension in her shoulders, relax. She doesn’t quite manage to smile, but she rests her head against his shoulder. 

“Yes,” she nods. 

Days become a week, and the men of the tribe begin to notice Cavalry patrols edging closer to the village. Too close. 

Dean tries to convince Šóta to let them pass by in ignorance. Attacking them would not only heighten the risk of the military discovering Dean’s alive, but it would just put the entire tribe in more unnecessary danger. 

It’s getting harder and harder each day to persuade Šóta to stay his hand, so it becomes even more important to convince the Chief to mobilize the tribe.

While Dean and Mila manage to get Chatan to see the wisdom in the idea of moving the village north of the railroad, Tahatan isn’t so easily convinced that they should leave the river where their tribe has tilled the land, fed their families, built their traditions and their way of life. It’s understandable, but it leaves Dean with a worry in his gut that only grows with every new day.

Mornings are no longer peaceful for him, and while he knows Mila’s beginning to notice, it’s something he can’t help.

They dress for the day in silence after breakfast. He straps his gun to his right thigh and his knife on the other—a new precaution he’s started taking. 

“Don’t go past the corral by yourself,” he warns Mila, when he sees her piling up a bundle of clothes for washing. She glances up at him with raised brows. 

“I’m only going to the river,” she says.

“Take someone with you,” Dean says, shaking his head. “Like your mom, or a couple of your aunts. Hell, take Šóta with you. Or at least Takoda.”

She gives him a look that says she’s trying to be patient. “I will see if others have washing to do.”

Dean stops her with a hand on her arm. 

“Or you could wait ‘til I get back,” he says. “I don’t mind going with you.”

“Dean,” she replies, her brows furrowing. “I may be with child, but I don’t need a caretaker. I’ll be fine.”

Again he stops her from moving past him. “Hey. Just listen to me, damn it!”

She gives him a sharp, surprised look. He stops himself short and realizes he’s losing his temper. He takes a breath, his face tight with frustration. 

Mila frowns at him, trying to keep her own temper from rising to the surface. She knows he only wants to protect her, but nothing has even happened. Cavalry patrols haven’t gotten more than a couple of miles close to the village as the railroad construction continues. She’s begun to wonder if it’s necessary to move north after all. 

Dean sighs, raising his hands in apology. He gently grasps her arms and looks down at her, meeting her gaze. 

“Sorry,” he says. “Just…humor me, okay?”

Her brows furrow. “Humor? You want me to laugh at you?”

At that, he actually breaks into a chuckle. It eases some of his tension, but doesn’t completely expel his worry.

“What I mean is, I know how I’m being right now. I just want you to be safe,” he says, staring into her eyes. “Actually, I need it.”

Mila softens with a sigh. She reaches up and caresses his cheek, and she nods in agreement. She reaches up for his kiss, and he holds her tighter, more securely. 

Okay, he thinks. 

Dean leaves her to see to his responsibilities, caring for the horses, while Mila goes her own way to resume her daily chores. But when she asks her mother, Misae, and even Eyota if they want to go with her to the river, they say they’re too busy with other tasks to wash clothes. Her mother does give her an extra bundle to do for her though. 

So even though it makes her uneasy to go against Dean’s wishes, she carries the bundles by herself to the river. Honestly, she prefers to do this alone sometimes, so she can be alone with her thoughts. Dean’s being overcautious. 

Sure, it takes extra effort for her to get down on her knees at the riverbank, considering her protesting back, but she manages to do it. Because in her tribe, one does what they need to in order to live and eat.

She settles into her work after a few minutes, and bit by bit, she feels settled enough to relax. She even hums a little tune to herself. It’s part of a lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was little, and now Mila sings it for her child, even before she gets to meet him…

Or her, she thinks, smiling to herself.

Her smile drops with a sharp inhale of breath. 

She hears hoof falls on the earth. A horse treads nearby. 

Slowly, she lowers the wet clothing back into the basin. She sees two reflections growing on the water: a horse and a man. The man gets down from his horse first. 

“Hey there, miss—”

Mila swiftly turns and unsheathes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle. 

Dean finally takes the colt out for his first ride out in the open. He’s a little twitchy, but he responds well to Dean’s commands, enough that he chances leading the horse farther out of the village. 

Maybe he’ll join Šóta and the rest of the men. They’re likely planting in the fields today, some of the women too, if they’re done at the river. Dean thinks of Mila then, and he hopes she’s finished her work there. He wonders if she got her mother to go with her, or maybe a couple of her friends. They’re new mothers, just a few years older than her. 

I’ll just check on them, make sure everything’s on the up and up, Dean thinks. He guides the horse towards the river. He’s relaxed and focused on how the colt is behaving, until he hears a man’s voice on the wind. Dean looks up sharply and sees his wife there alone, crouched down on the riverbank. 

A man stands just a few feet away and towers over her. 

Dean’s gun is in his hand before he realizes it. With a small but purposeful kick, he urges the colt to a full gallop. 

The man seems to be approaching her, taking meaningful steps forward. Mila says something sharply to him as she brandishes her knife and prepares to use it. He stops short.

“Hey!” Dean shouts.

He aims for the dead center of the man’s chest. His hair is long enough to brush his shoulders and obscure his face, but the closer Dean gets, a certain twinge runs up his spine and triggers his senses.

When the man looks up and raises his hands in shocked surrender, it’s like a physical blow to Dean’s chest. The man staring back at him is broad-shouldered, slightly taller than him in his dark brown duster coat, Stetson hat, and boots. He’s scruffier than usual, but unmistakable; he too stares at Dean like he can’t believe his own eyes.

“Dean,” he says, a hint breathless. His gaze drifts from Dean’s face to his pointed gun. He chuckles. “You gonna shoot me?”

Slowly, Dean lowers his weapon. He quickly moves to Mila first and slips an arm around her waist to help her stand with him. He makes sure she’s all right by the silent conversation that passes between them, through their eyes.  

Then, he looks over at his brother and smiles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His gaze roams over the younger man’s face, sporting what he’d call half a beard. “What the hell’s that ferret on your face?” 

Sam laughs. It ends with a too-bright smile that’s a little teary. Dean’s throat begins to close up on him a bit as well, but feeling Mila stir at his side, grasping his arm with a questioning look on her face, he gives her a reassuring look. 

“Sweetheart, this is my brother. Sam,” he says. 

Her eyes widen, but as she looks between the men, her face dawns with understanding. She smiles and releases him, only to guide him towards his brother with a gentle push. 

Dean needs no further encouragement. His grin widens as he goes to meet Sam, who’s already coming straight for him. They meet in a warm, solid embrace, even if they’re both still on shaky ground on the inside. Sam’s grip is just as strong and desperate as Dean’s is reassuring, cupping the back of his neck. 

“They told me you were dead, you bastard,” Sam says. His laughing words have a suspect shake in them.

“Yeah, my fault,” Dean says. He chuckles too, as if that can make this easier. “Why’d you come all the way out here?”

Sam pulls back after a moment. “Because I didn’t believe them.” 

Dean’s smile falls. How the hell is he going to explain this? To Sam, to the Chief and the rest of the tribe…

He notices Sam looking past him, and finally Dean remembers himself. He keeps a hand on Sam’s shoulder and beckons Mila over to them. She’s hesitant, but she trusts him. She goes to him and leans into his side while he wraps his arm around her waist. 

“Sammy, this is Mila…my wife,” he says. 

Sam brows raise high, his mouth nearly falling open. Dean recognizes the question in his eyes.

You married…an Indian?

Dean just raises his brows.

To his credit, Sam gets ahold of himself and internalizes most of his reaction.

“Ah, right. Nice to meet you…ma’am,” he says, chuckling awkwardly as he extends the offer of his hand. She just looks at his hand curiously.

Sam clears his throat and takes his hand back.

“So, when did—uh, how…”

Dean smiles slightly. He can’t remember the last time he saw his brother this tongue tied; maybe since the time Jessica Moore kissed his cheek when he was nine after he gave her his last juice box.

“Come on,” Dean says, tightening a hand on his shoulder. “I’ve got a lot to tell you before we get back.”

“Get back? Where are we going?” Sam asks. 

Dean doesn’t answer him just yet, but he wishes he had brought Mato. He doesn’t trust putting Mila up on the colt, who’s still being broken in, but he doesn’t think she’d feel comfortable riding with Sam. So they walk back together to the village while leading their horses. Dean tells Sam the story of how he and Mila met—the good, the bad, and skimming over most of the ugly. Though he does admit to killing Dick Roman. And Dean admits that he made a choice to help her based on gut instinct alone.

“I knew what I was supposed to do, but…” Dean trails, glancing over at Mila. She’s been holding onto his arm as they make their way up a grassy hill, and now, their eyes meet. “I guess I’m just not the man they wanted me to be.”

She smiles a little at that, squeezing his hand. 

Sam watches them together. He’s unable to stop the wonder from crossing his face, along with his smile. But his smile fades.

“You let us believe you were dead, Dean,” he says. Anger creeps into his voice, earning Dean’s sigh.

“It’s not like I could mail you a letter, Sam. It was…easier this way.”

“Easier?” Sam scoffs. “You think it was easy for me? Easy for Mom?”

Dean looks away. This chips open every part of his grief.

“We had a funeral for you,” Sam says. “Not that we had anything to bury.”

“Okay, I get it,” Dean says, rubbing at his eyes. “Maybe easier was the wrong word…safer is. For you, for me, for my wife, and for her people.” 

Sam glances at Mila, who stares back at him with reservation in her eyes. She understands his anger, but she’s grateful to Dean. She knew what he’d done to protect her all this time. However, faced with part of the family he let go for her sake, she now feels guilty. So she doesn’t speak as she walks beside Dean.

Sam also stays quiet for a while. The gentle plodding of the horses and their boots on the grassy earth are the only sounds for a while, along with the wind in the distant trees of the forest. 

“So, her tribe just…accepted you?” Sam asks. 

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “Well, it hasn’t been that easy.”

“He has worked hard to earn the Chief’s respect, and the respect of everyone in our tribe,” Mila says. It’s the first thing she’s contributed to the conversation, but she feels that this is something that must be said. 

Once again, she and Dean share a meaningful glance. He’s going to need all of that respect and goodwill if he’s going to bring Sam to meet the Chief.

Dean is actually glad Šóta is gone on a hunt with most of the other men. Tahatan, Chatan, and Hanska are enough of an audience when he brings Sam to the Chief’s tipi. He and Mila explain why his younger brother came to find him, and Sam fills in the rest of the blanks from his point of view.

Apparently, he and their mother, Mary, received a letter from the U.S. Cavalry that Dean had been killed in the line of duty, but when Sam reached out to military personnel through his law connections, no one could tell him specifically how Dean had died. 

So Sam took a train out of Lawrence, Kansas and headed to Wyoming. He travelled the rest of the way on horseback to Fort Laramie. There he requested to speak to Colonel Sanderson, but the only one who would talk to him was Captain Benny Lafitte. 

“Captain now, huh?” Dean remarks. He smiles to himself. “Good for him.”

“He’s the one who told me that you had fallen into the canyon…in pursuit,” Sam says, tactfully when he glances at Mila. “But I looked all over that canyon. I never found your body, or your horse. So I just kept looking.”

Dean sighs. He can’t fault Sam for not leaving it alone, because he knew if he’d been in Sam’s shoes, he would’ve been searching all over the state for his little brother too, even if it was just a body to bring back to his mother. 

“What if they followed him here?” Chatan speaks up. It reminds Dean that it’s not just him and his brother here. In fact, his father-in-law and the Chief are wearing similar grim looks while they seize up the younger Winchester. To see if he’s a threat to their tribe.  

Dean meets his brother with a firmer look. “What did you tell them, Sam?”  

“What do you mean?” Sam asks. “They lied to me.” 

“Yeah, but what did you say to Benny? To Sanderson. To anyone. Did you tell them you didn’t believe I was dead?” Dean asks. 

“No, I didn’t even talk to Sanderson. He couldn’t be bothered with me,” Sam says. “All I told Captain Lafitte was that I was going to find your body.”

Dean breathes out in relief, but the feeling is short lived. Šóta and Otaktay bring in a wounded Takoda into the tent. He’s bleeding and groaning in pain, clutching at his chest with a hand covered in scarlet. Blood drips to the ground where they lay him before Hanska. Tahatan calls for Eyota, the healer. Mila and Dean go to help Takoda. 

“What happened?” Tahatan demands to know. 

Šóta can’t look his father in the eye at first. He opens his mouth to reply, but Takoda groans in agony. Mila pillows his head in her lap and brushes her half-cousin’s hair from his face. She feels someone’s gaze on her, and she finds that it’s Otaktay. He hasn’t spoken to her since his fight with Dean several weeks ago, and she’s certainly not gone out of her way to speak to him. But there’s no time for awkwardness right now. Takoda writhes in pain while Hanska examines his wound. 

Dean recognizes what it is right away. Takoda has been shot twice—once in the shoulder, and once all too close to his heart. Dean looks up at Šóta with furrowed brows.

“These are bullets, not arrows. Where did it happen?” he asks.   

“I warned you not to engage the White Men!” Tahatan reproaches angrily. “Now look at what has happened!” 

Šóta looks like he wants to bow his head, but he holds stubbornly to his convictions. 

“They’re starting to build closer to the village. We were just watching them at first, but we were spotted,” he says.

“You got too close!” Chatan growls. 

Eyota arrives with more supplies to help stem the bleeding. Dean is no doctor, but he knows a gunshot wound better than the others do, even Eyota and Hanska. The problem is, they don’t have the tools to get at the second bullet in his chest, and he’s bleeding out fast. 

“I gotta dig it out,” Dean tells Šóta in English. He translates to the others. Dean looks down at Takoda and tries to reassure him. “This is gonna hurt like hell, brother. Just hold on.”

Takoda nods. He literally holds onto Dean’s shoulder and pleads without speaking. Help me.

His jaw clenching tight, Dean tries his best to find the bullet with the thinnest utensil Eyota has for him. Takoda attempts to keep still. His writhing is too much though. Even Sam comes to help hold him down. He’s a lawyer, not a doctor, but he knows what Dean is doing is the man’s only chance. 

It just takes too long. Dean eventually does find the fat piece of the bullet and pulls it out, but the fight has drained from Takoda along with his life blood. His sweaty chest stills in its movements. His grip on Dean’s shoulder and Šóta’s knee become lax, and then limp. 

His dark eyes stare up at the ceiling of the tipi, now unseeing as the light drains out of them. 

Takoda. His name meant Friend to Everyone. And so he was.

After Hanska and Eyota clean his body, they dress him in his best clothes and wrap him in robes. Then they bring his body to the highest point near the village, at the top of the grassy hill. Under the night stars, it’s the closest they can bring him to the heavens, where the Lakota believe his soul will ascend to the spirit world. They won’t bury him in the ground, but instead will give him an “air burial” for a warrior’s death. 

When a member of the tribe dies, usually the night is spent telling stories, laughing at old jokes, and food passed around. But this isn’t a night for joke-telling. The whole tribe is gathered in mourning at the foot of the hill. 

Tahatan sings a somber song for his second son, and his voice rises high over his second wife’s wails. She kneels beside her son and cuts her long hair jagged with a knife while she weeps. Mila grieves more quietly, but she tells Sam and Dean that hair cutting is part of the custom, and even cutting at their own bodies if their grief is that great.    

Eventually, the tribe disperses for the night. Tahatan leads his wife away, but Šóta and Otaktay stay with his body. They will sit in a vigil with him all night.

Meanwhile, Mila and Dean take Sam to their tent. She finds bedding and furs for Sam to sleep on, and Dean helps her lay it all out. 

“Thank you,” Sam says to her sincerely.

She offers him a small smile, then she prepares to sleep herself. Dean stops her by taking her hand. He leads her into a comforting embrace. She lets out a shaky breath as her fingers curl into his clothing.

“I’m sorry…I couldn’t save him,” Dean confesses quietly. 

Mila shakes her head. “It was not your fault.”

In her mind, she can’t help but put that blame on Šóta. It hurts to have that anger in her heart, but it’s there, no matter how hard she tries to let go of it. She clings harder to Dean, pressing her face into his chest while her body shakes with silent sobs. He caresses her hair, kisses the top of her head, and then her cheek. 

After a little while, she pulls away from him and rests a grateful hand over his heart, before she goes to bed. Dean helps her settle down on the ground and pulls the fur blanket over her form. He squeezes her shoulder one more time before he joins Sam on the other side of the room.

All the while, his younger brother has been watching him, admiring the way he’s always been a protector, but also a man who takes care of the people around him. Sam remembers it well, when they were kids. 

Dean gives him some bison jerky to snack on, and for a few minutes they eat in silence while a small fire burns in the coals piled in front of them.

“You’re all in danger here, Dean,” Sam says, breaking the silence. “It’s only a matter of time before the Army finds this place.”

Dean nods slowly. “I’ve been trying to convince the Chief to move the tribe up north. Other Sioux tribes have been able to settle there, but more and more, they’re being forced out of their land.”

Sam considers that with a slow nod. A grim realization dawns in his eyes.

“It’s not fair,” he eventually agrees. He falls into his thoughts for a moment, trying to decide how to say what he wants to. “You should come home, Dean. Come back with me.”

Dean sighs. He knew this was coming. It might as well be now. He glances over at Mila, who finally seems like she’s sleeping peacefully. He rests an elbow above his knee and looks back at his brother.

“You’re asking me to leave my wife?” he asks. “She’s pregnant, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes widen. That news probably shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but he’s a little hurt that Dean would think he’d suggest leaving her. 

“No, Dean, of course not,” he says. His frown fades, turning into a smile. “Congratulations.”

Dean lightens, his lips curving slightly into a smile as well. He nods in thanks.

Sam sighs. “Look…ask her to come with you. With us. You can live out with Mom on the farm and raise your kids there.”

“You forget that I’m supposed to be dead? Hell, for God’s sake, you already had my funeral to prove it.” Dean rubs tiredly at his face. “Lawrence is a small town, and Mom has, what, fifteen, twenty people working that farm? Word’s gonna get out, one way or another. If the Army hears it, I’ll be court martialed for desertion, not to mention all the rest of it.”

Sam opens his mouth to argue back with that earnest, determined look in his eyes. Dean expects nothing less. It’s what makes his brother a good lawyer, but Dean raises up a hand against whatever he’s going to say. Again, he glances back at Mila.

“Sam…this is what she knows. These are her people, her family,” he says. After a hesitant pause, he adds, “They’ve become my family too.”

Sam’s jaw clenches. He glances down at the ground between his feet, before he’s able to meet Dean’s eyes again. There’s hurt and anger in his own.

“And me?” he asks. “What, I’m not your family anymore?”

He doesn’t know just how deeply that hurts Dean. He shakes his head, drops his jerky into the dirt. He reaches out and grasps Sam’s shoulder.

“Sammy,” Dean says. For a moment, he can’t speak. His throat constricts, and no matter how tight he presses his lips together, he can’t stop the slight tremble in them. “You don’t know how hard it’s been…to convince myself that I wasn’t ever gonna see you again. But I’m happy. I’m so fucking happy that you found me.”

Dean tries and fails to blink past the way his eyes burn with tears. Sam’s eyes are getting just as red and shiny. He lays a heavy hand on Dean’s knee, and they sit like that for a while in silence, until the embers on the coals dim from red to black.

Šóta hasn’t slept. It’s evident in his red-rimmed eyes and unkempt, dirty clothes, but he’s still adamant about hitting back against the railroad construction.

“Father, they stand at our doorstep!” he argues to the Chief. “They take our horses, run off our wild game with their machines, cut down the forest, and now they build iron tracks through our lands. You went to war against the Crow for less!” 

Tahatan seems heavy in his thoughts as he listens. The words of his eldest son, and from his first wife, have weight—not just with him, but with the entire tribe as they sit together in the place where they typically have group feasts. Otaktay stands behind Šóta in support. 

Dean is reluctant to single himself out, but after sharing a look with Mila, he stands.

“Chief, what happened yesterday was more than just a tragedy or a crime. It’s a warning,” he says. “We need to leave, before the Army finds this village.”

“You suggest we run like cowards,” Otaktay says. His tone is icy and angry. 

Dean shakes his head. “I’m not doubting your courage or your skill. I’m not doubting any warrior here. But this ain’t a fair fight.”

He shifts his gaze, addressing Tahatan directly. 

“We’re out-manned and out-gunned, literally. Arrows and knives against bullets—pistols and rifles,” Dean says. “They’ll tear through this village until there’s no one and nothing left. We have to go north. It’s the only way we’ll survive.”

Chatan sides with Dean, and Mila stands with him too. 

Tahatan thinks hard. After a long, silent moment, he stands from his chair of whicker and wood.

“We will pack the caravans today and move out tonight,” he says. 

Then he commands Šóta and Dean to start preparing the horses. Šóta shoots Dean a hard, angry look, but Mila steps in and pushes at her cousin’s arm. 

“Don’t look at him,” she warns tersely in their language. “This is the cost of what you have done.”

Šóta is affronted by her words, but he doesn’t answer her. He just turns away with a sharp pivot on his heel. Otaktay glances back at Mila and Dean impassively, but he follows after Šóta, his friend and his leader.

Dean understands what she said; he’s spent enough time here that he’s able to follow every word. He gives her a look that’s mostly resigned, but he holds her to his side in comfort. He knows this isn’t easy for her either.  

“I will start packing,” she says.  

Dean nods. “I’ll come help you in a bit.”

He watches her leave his side to make her way back to their tent. Sam approaches him, and together they walk to the horse pen, where his horse is grazing with the others under the great sycamore tree that shields them. 

“We’re leaving tonight,” Dean says. “You should head home.”

“What if something happens to you on the road?” Sam says. 

Dean smiles ruefully. “I could say the same thing to you…but it looks like you don’t need me to protect you anymore.”

“Yeah well, doesn’t mean I won’t always need my brother.”

They share a smile, followed by a strong embrace. Dean thumps his back.

“Take care of yourself, Sammy,” he says, a coarse whisper.

Sam chuckles weakly. “You’ve got a harder road than I do.”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s gonna have to face Mom.”

Dean says it as something of a joke, but all it does is sober both of them. Sam pulls away reluctantly.

“I’m not going to get to meet my niece or nephew,” he says. 

“I’m sorry about that too,” Dean says, meeting his brother’s glassy eyes. “I’m sorry about a lot of things.”

Sam jaw clenches, and he shakes his head. “Don’t do that.”

Another beat passes between them. He clears his throat.

“I’ll tell Mom…”

“Take care of her,” Dean says. 

Sam nods his agreement. Dean finally releases his brother’s shoulder, and there below the sycamore tree, the brothers part ways. Sam straps up his provisions and climbs up on his horse. Dean opens the pen for him, long enough for Sam to ride through.

He stops at the foot of the hill and looks over his shoulder at Dean, who gives him one more lax salute. Sam smiles, nodding back at him. Then he keeps riding.

Dean watches him cross the grassy plain until it becomes too hard to look straight into the afternoon sun. Distantly he hears Šóta’s voice behind him, giving out orders to other men. Dean looks away from the sun.

He has work to do.

He locks up the rest of his grief to begin with the horses, not knowing that Otaktay watches him. 

Dean doesn’t want to load up Baby with too much cargo. She’s still early in her pregnancy, and he could even ride her if he wanted to, but he can’t help but want to protect her more. It’s going to take days to move the tribe across the state, maybe longer. So instead, she can help pull one of the caravans with the colt and a couple of the other horses.

He saddles up Mato to ride. Hopefully he actually cooperates with Dean this time. 

Mato begins to stamp nervously though, like he senses something coming. Dean perks up and notices the way the horse’s ears flick back and forth. Baby makes an anxious sound as well. Dean turns his head in the direction of the village with furrowed brows. 

Šóta draws near to find his horse, who’s just as unsettled as the rest of them.

“The horses are spooked,” he says.

“Something’s wrong,” Dean nods in agreement. His gut tells him so, while a spark of unease licks up his spine.

And then he hears it. A warning blow of a buffalo horn on the air, followed by screaming, shouting, and gunfire in the village down below. His eyes widen. 

Mila.

AN: 😬 Sorry about the cliffhanger, but we're almost to the end! What did you think of Sam's big entrance into the story? 😉

Coming up, the grand finale...

Next Time:

Gritting his teeth, Dean brings Mato to a short stop in front of the Chief. Dean aims his gun at the Colonel. By now, the man is clutching his bleeding shoulder and staring at his former captain in disbelief. Benny is maybe a little less shocked to see Dean, but there’s conflict in his eyes—happiness mixed with turmoil.

The other officer is Jack Kline. He recognizes Dean too, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You…” Sanderson trails. He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Dean Winchester.”

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

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[spaghett-onaplate]

depression is really weird actually wdym i spent 2.5 years of my life in bed

[ratatatastic]

CONGRATS TO EKKY I HAVE NEVER BEEN INVITED TO SASHA'S HOUSE IN NTH YEARS BIT FOR GETTING A NEW ADDITION TO THE COMPILATION IN THE 2425 SEASON

[pickled-flowers]

Saw some of the grossest parenting today in the bus