#and everyone should know and respect that man | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

daddymaster21 · 2 days ago

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Okay technically I already read this chapter, but I was experiencing The Dread and didn’t have enough energy to write a review. So. Here we go!

1. Girl TF?? Why are we so nonchalant about a woman screaming 😭

2. Right okay I forgot girlie has spidey senses

3. Cas is an autistic icon and I love him

4. Crowley my beloved!!! They’re both so sassy, they’ll either constantly want to stab each other or be two wine moms gossiping about literally everyone

5. And so the game of “they’ll finally realize I don’t deserve them and leave” continues

6. I say this literally every time you mention him but,,,, JOHN WINCHESTER WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU

7. This shook me when I first read it. FUCK YOU MEAN THAT WAS PART OF THE PLAN???

8. See. She gets it. The yearning doesn’t mean anything if you never do anything about it.

9. Unfortunately I too am familiar with the darkness part of the grieving process

10. Ah yes. The age old “if I’m not helping I’m a burden” core belief

11. “What do you know about Gucci” he’s the funniest man alive, I fear

12. SEE. THE STABBING. WHAT DID I SAY????

13. DO IT. TELL HIM.

14. Unfortunately he does, in fact, know witches

15. THE APPLE BABEY

16. Girl you know I love you but how did that take you this long

17. God forbid women know things smh my head

18. All of your ideas are good ideas! Unfortunately, all of your ideas are also terrible ideas

19. Cas doing the bitch sigh when he doesn’t even have to breathe KILLED me

20. The bit about the hands is just. So cool.

21. The bit about Bobby finding the condom was HILARIOUS, but the way I now need a oneshot where Cas finds it instead and princess has to explain sex. The Creatures having that discussion would SEND ME.

22. “He would be receptive” literally the most oblivious man in existence is more aware of y’all’s feelings than you are. Please just have ANY conversation.

23. NOOOOO IVE READ THIS CHAPTER SO I KNOW WHAT’S COMING. I STG WHEN I FIRST READ THIS I ALMOST CRACKED MY TEETH.

24. The grin is so real. Gotta use those facial expressions to your advantage.

25. Not her just. Being God for a minute there (she’s the baddest bitch alive and I’m in love with her)

26. Ah yes. The nightmares that are definitely just nightmares and absolutely nothing else.

27. Can I just say. CAN I JUST SAY. I totally called Adam being the man of god to betray her. I am the smartest man alive

28. She doesn’t even know how much better she’s made their lives ��

29. RAGHHHHHHH KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM

30. Okay. We’re good. (Not really but I can pretend)

31. Love that she immediately tries to kill him and Chuck (derogatory) is just like. “Aww. How cute.”

32. HES SUCH A PATRONIZING DOUCHEMAGGOT AND I FUCKING HATE HIM

33. Okay, maybe it’s just me, but if I was trying calm a woman I “loved” who was actively trying to kill me while also having a panic attack, my first choice for comfort would *not* be “man I should call her the name she barely recognizes and doesn’t identify with.” Just a thought.

34. Literally half of my review is going to be criticizing chuck’s every move.

35. “Is it the binds” he says, watching her actively claw and scratch at her wrists

36. “Not actually capable of holding it within itself” Jesus fucking Christ, Thea. You’re an artist. A poet.

37. Ew a person (entity?) being hospital clean in their soul would be. SO upsetting.

38. Ahem. Please take a quote from our lord and savior, Brennan Lee Mulligan: “Everyone you ever knew who told you that they would keep you safe as long as you behaved were already hurting you.”

39. No but so genuinely, SHUT THE FUCK UP. You do want her to “be good”, you just don’t want her to call it that, because you’re uncomfortable recognizing that you’re hurting her just like everyone else (found family not included)

40. Oh god ew the thought of him calling me sexy— 🤢

41. THAT’S RIGHT, BABEY. GET HIS ASS.

42. Once again. If he said that to me, I think I’d puke.

43. Babe. Honey. Beloved. I cannot emphasize how little you respect her, and the fact that you don’t see it makes it even worse

44. Okay kids, let’s all say it together: IF👏YOU👏THINK👏YOU👏OWN👏THEM, YOU👏DON’T👏RESPECT👏THEM

45. I- I know this man is fictional, but boy howdy my rage is real

46. Yes, because it’s her fault that she’s badly traumatized and had to find coping mechanisms to stay sane.

47. I. I can’t. I literally can’t even put into more words how much I hate him.

48. HEY. HEY WHAT ABOUT ASKING HER. WHAT ABOUT INSTEAD OF WATCHING MOVIES AND ALL THIS OTHER BULLSHIT, YOU ACTUALLY ASKED HER WHAT SHE WANTS. WHAT ABOUT THAT.

49. I truly wish there was a camera here, because it is tragic that you can’t see the withering stare I’m giving my carpet every thirty seconds

50. Sam smelling god and Dean IMMEDIATELY getting flavor blasted by her Fruit.

51. I cannot even imagine the whiplash of that conversation happening and then immediately having to put the mask back on for the boys. My actual worst nightmare

52. THE FOREPLAY COMMENT LMFAOOOO

53. Also. Bossy is to Dean what Brat is to Ben

54. Bobby is constantly fighting between permanently exasperated and YOU SAID WHAT TO HER????

55. YOU’RE JUST NOW GETTING THAT THERE MIGHT BE A CHANCE??????

56. Girl if Dean did that to me, Chuck could be in the room and I’d STILL jump him

57. Jesus fucking Christ, it TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH (it’s okay I also cannot recognize flirting. It’s the autism, I fear.)

58. Look, I’m bad at romance, but even I’m not this oblivious.

59. GIRLIE. YOU’RE IN LOVE WITH HIM. WHAT DO YOU MEAN, “THAT IT WAS SOMETHING”

60. Trust Bobby, babe. You know.

61. Found family, save me. Save me, found family

62. “And can walk” DAMN YOU REALLY DID BOBBY LIKE THAT

63. Dean wouldn’t get any cake if I was there, cause the texture of cake is. So grainy

64. This is one of the only ways in which princess and I differ. I fuck at math, I can’t lie

65. Please, just one hug from this man. It’s all I need

66. Babe he’s so yours he fantasizes about being your weapon.

67. WOOF. BARK WOOF, SHIRTLESS DEAN. (I’m not a furry, and even if I was, I WOULDNT BE A DOG. WHY DO I DO THIS.)

68. “I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe” I’m in love with him

69. Him literally just sitting there internally googling “how to tell my wife I love her without telling her I love her”

70. THEY TALKED!!! LIKE PEOPLE!!!! AND NOW I GET TO READ ABOUT MORE KISSING!!!!!!!!

71. A pretty man having me would fix me, I fear

72. Please note that I didn’t miss the fact that Bobby said he knew because it was where he belonged, and the last line of her POV was her saying this is where she belongs. You can’t hide from me, Thea.

73. Ah yes, my old friend “I’m good at flirting but only when I don’t actually care”

74. RAHHHHH THE YEARNING.

75. “She liked to test him, though” I am. So Normal about their relationship.

76. She’s sooooo us-coded, I fear

77. She’s perfect, and also the stupidest woman alive

78. Hey man, I’m down for that plan. Chuck dead and y’all married? Count me tf in.

79. Haha. Yes. Who he’s going to lose, because definitely it’ll be only one of them.

80. Okay. I’m about 1000% sure I’m gonna be alone on this one, but Mark Pellegrino looked hot asf in the makeup where the vessel was falling apart.

81. Hey look! It’s my other old friend, “I got so good at masking that now I could be a professional actor!”

82. This is. Not going to go well.

83. Once again, when I read that Dean called Chuck to find all this out, I nearly set my phone on fire. I hate him SO FUCKING MUCH

84. YEAH WELL YOU’RE ABOUT TO CALL THE FUCKER, WHY NOT ASK FOR HIS INTERFERENCE

85. I will say, her surprising chuck by planning to throw both of them in there made me smile. Cause as much distress for him as possible.

86. I LOVE that Sam is like “goddamnit. This is another fuckass plan, isn’t it.” Instead of actually believing she betrayed them. A loyal king

87. Someday these fuckers have gotta learn that hitting on her is the wrong move

88. Haha. This is fine.

89. Poor crow :(((

90. All my homies love rambling to powerful entities so their girlfriend can get the jump on them

91. I know Luci sucks, but he’s also a sassy king and I love that for him

92. Dean is the perfect man and I need him carnally

93. Seriously, they don’t understand ANYTHING about what she wants. It’s kind of impressive, in the worst way possible

94. This part makes my heart hurt

95. Not me realizing he finally finds out what the fruit is right as he loses her. Man, this is gonna go so poorly for… everyone, actually.

96. WHOO! BE FREE, CROW!

97. I am. Wrecked. What have you done to me.

Final thoughts: boy howdy, this was a doozy. Almost reached a hundred thoughts! Adam is in danger, and any monster who encounters Dean in the next however-long-they’re-gone should be terrified.

Chapter 27 - When You Go

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I call this format of chapter “The Ol’ Razzle Dazzle”

Chapter Title from The World is Ugly by My Chemical Romance

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a birthday, and there’s no other way. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 26 - Chapter 28

Read on A03!

You don’t look up from your book, when you hear the woman scream. She goes silent a second later, and the Silver is still settled in your body, so everything is safe.

Not fine.

But safe.

In this moment, even as an eerie silence hangs in the air and a cold feeling sits in your bones, you’re safe.

“Dean told you to stop doing that.” You hum, and Cas sighs, dropping in the chair across from yours.

“I do not have control over people’s reactions to my appearance-“

“That’s not what he meant, Cas.” You give him a flat look over the top of your book. “You landed in front of her.”

He shrugs. “I erased the memory from her mind. At worst, she will have a headache.”

“You’re going to get yourself shot-“

“And it will be ineffective. And Dean has already had this conversation with me-“

“It obviously didn’t work.” You drawl, and Cas lets out a long, dramatic sigh.

“Would you like to yell at me about flying, or actually talk about the plan?”

You hum, crossing your legs under your body. “I think I can do both-“

“I think that Sam and Dean will only be occupied with the grocery store’s post-Holiday sale for about ten more minutes.” Cas gives you a pointed look, and you sigh.

“Fine.” You drop your book on the table, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair. “I’ve got nothing. The Sioux Falls public library doesn’t specialize in the occult, and Crowley doesn’t want to play, so-“

Cas frowns. “Crowley?”

“Yeah. But he’s being a dipshit-“

“When did you speak to Crowley?”

“Yesterday.” You hold Cas’ gaze, but you expression must not be as casual as you want it to be, because his eyes narrow. “I didn’t make a deal, Cas, it’s fine-“

“Why did you speak to Crowley.” He doesn’t let up, and you sigh, running your thumb over your palm.

You know it had been stupid. And reckless. And if Sam hadn’t burst into your room, shouting that Adam was also missing, you’d probably owe Crowley two favors.

But you’d been desperate. So fucking desperate, and a little broken, and right on the edge of snapping in half. Dean had vanished. He’d kissed you but then just left. And you’d been sure he was doing something heroic and fucking stupid, but the longer he’d been gone the more it had started to make your heart twist, and the louder the world had gotten.

Ringing in your ears and sneering that of course he’d leave. He’d realized what fighting at your side meant, that you weren’t worth the extra trouble or effort when the world was ending, and he left. He’d been right the first time, he’d always been right, but John had been right too.

John would’ve shot you in your sleep, though. And Dean had tucked you in before bolting out in the dead of night.

It had been a long, horrible day of replaying every single moment that might have made him leave. Your recklessness with Raphael, or the fact that you hadn’t been reckless, but just lied to him and left him out of the plan. Cas wouldn’t have told him that, but he could’ve found out himself.

But he would’ve fought with you. Confronted you, or at least told Bobby and Sam.

So it could’ve been the Bride of God thing. He’d finally gotten that you were a parasite or sickness, and that the day God came for you the world would be grateful. That you might have been made for heaven, but all you did was make things worse. Make Dean lose sleep and worry and pour care into someone who’d just leave in the end.

You didn’t want to leave.

You’d tried to tell him in the dark, when everything had smelled like cinnamon and his Gold had been wrapped around you like a shield. That you never wanted to leave. That the Silver kept brimming a little too close to the surface, and you didn’t want to go outside in case God came for you, because you didn’t want to leave.

You couldn’t go anywhere you wouldn’t be allowed to hold Dean. Didn’t care for Michael’s promises of paradise when it would mean losing Dean. And you’d thought he’d understood. That you were sick and barely better than a monster, and there wasn’t a cure or way to put you down because you’d been made like that, but you’d keep using all your teeth and poison to fight for him.

That you’d fight God when he tried to take you, if that’s what it came to.

And all of Heaven had just seemed fucking lonely.

The Sky had only ever seemed cold and angry and untouchable. Only ever watched and waited and abandoned you.

Dean had fought with you. For you. Let you falter because he’d keep you behind him, his hand in yours. The Spiderweb sang whenever he grinned at you, even when it was a smug, shit-eating grin and you’d wanted to punch it off his face.

You’d thought he’d understand that. How this wasn’t a choice you were making. It wasn’t survival. It just was.

You loved Dean. You’d only ever wanted to be close to him.

He’d kissed you, and it had remade little parts of you that had started to rot—something that had been festering in the cavity of your chest, about how maybe you weren’t human enough for him to touch—but then he’d left.

Bobby had tried to talk to you. Sam had tried to talk to you. They’d even called Cas, and he’d knocked on your door, as if he couldn’t just fly into your room.

And you might have gone a little insane.

First with worry—he wouldn’t just leave, something was fucking wrong—then anger, then just darkness. A heavy pain that had swallowed you whole, and reminded you that God was waiting. Right outside your window. And if Dean had gone—if he was done with you but just was too good to shoot you in the skull and be done with it—you deserved it.

He wouldn’t have done that to you. The Spiderweb, still singing and colorful in your body, had kept demanding that he wouldn’t do that to you. Just fucking kiss you like he dreamt about it half as much as you did, then vanish forever.

You’ve never been good at ignoring the Spiderweb.

But you’ve been good at just sitting in the pain either. The way it makes the Silver riot, and how it spread to the very tips of your fingers, telling you to sprint for the hills or after Dean to fucking strangle him, then kiss him until you both maybe sank into the dirt, and God couldn’t see you anymore.

You were supposed to be done running.

But you couldn’t just sit in your room, drenched in all of Dean’s Gold and still tasting him on your lips, and staring at the blue on your fingertips.

So you’d, kind of, sort of, summoned Crowley.

“You know.” He’d glanced around your room, lingered on Dean’s shirt hanging out of the hamper—he’d left his shirt, he’d need to come back, and you’d needed to get a goddamn grip—and looked back to you with a grin. “I don’t normally do house calls.”

“I’m glad to be an exception.” You’d muttered, sorting through your notes, and he’d scoffed.

“I’d hardly call it my choice, what with you summoning and trapping me-“

“What do you know about angel vessels.”

Crowley had blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“Angel vessels.” You’d snapped, fingers lingering on a Dean’s name, scrawled in Enochian in the margins of a notebook. “What do you know.”

“What do you know about Gucci?”

You’d frowned at him. “It’s Italian. What-“

“I’m not an angel, love, no more than you’re a Gucci wearing socialite. And I don’t understand how this question warrants a kidnapping-“

“I’m going to let you go, you fucking baby.” You’d rolled your eyes. “And you don’t have to be something to know about it.”

“Angels are secretive asshats, they aren’t exactly spilling state secrets to me-“

“I don’t believe you.” You’d snapped, and Crowley had given you an exasperated look.

“Do you not have other demon friends to bother with insanity-“

“No. And I thought you wanted to be partners.” You’d grabbed your knife, spinning it in your hands, and you could’ve sworn Crowley paled. “You want Lucifer gone, I need a weakness.”

“I’m sorry.” Crowley had sneered. “Are you planning to give the devil an allergic reaction to defeat him? Are you insane?”

You’d shrugged. “Nobody’s sure. I need something, Crowley. Anything you have.”

He’d just looked at you for a long moment, dark eyes seeming to split right into your skull, then hummed, “Dean’s not here to reel your little plans in, is he. Mommy’s going a little bananas without Daddy to kiss it better.”

It would’ve been so fucking easy to stab him. Or let the Silver burst out and crush him to nothing. But part of this had to be keeping the Silver in control, and stabbing Crowley meant you wouldn’t get information, so you’d bitten your lip until you tasted blood and shoved it down.

“I’m working on something.” You’d hissed through your teeth, and Crowley had hummed.

“Oh, I’ve heard about the sudden injuries of Raphael.” Crowley had sighed. “He went on a rampage because of that. Killed a lot of my best demons.”

“Sorry.”

“Yes.” Crowley had drawled, his voice bored. “You sound it.”

You’d shrugged, watching him carefully. You’d had to know. “So it worked. It hurt him.”

Crowley’s jaw had twitched, but he’d given you a tight nod. “It quite seemed that way. Whatever you did seemed to cause him�� strife. And an apology would be appreciated, love-“

“No.”

It had—sort of—worked. Your trial run had worked. You’d pulled Raphael out of his vessel like Zachariah, and maybe you hadn’t held him properly, but you just hadn’t been ready. You’d be ready for Michael and Lucifer, you just needed that weakness to hold both of them. And in the moment, that relief had been enough to distract you from the pain of Dean. Gone and maybe not coming back. Maybe done, or maybe just dead, but you’d know if he was dead, so he’d just left-

He wouldn’t leave.

He hadn’t left.

He’d crawled back to you with Death’s rings and apologies and another, sweet, world-ending kiss, and you’d wanted to scream it at him. That you love him. That you’re always going to want him with you, because you’re safer together and when he’s gone, there’s nobody to stop you from making really, really stupid choices.

You tell Cas that. Not the part about losing your mind just because Dean was gone for a day—he likely already knows—but that Raphael had been injured in the forest.

And that Crowley had looked at you, sighed, and said, “I’d like to bet on your success, for whatever little scheme you’re cooking up, but I can’t.”

Now, in the library, after a heavy, hanging silence, Cas frowns. “He can’t know what our plan is-“

“He doesn’t.” You mutter. “But he told me he knows witches, and they’re always looking to pull little tricks. That it won’t fly here, in the big leagues. Then I asked him for any books about souls he had, and Sam knocked on the door.”

Cas sighs. “Unsurprising, but still… Not ideal. We are not empty handed, though.”

You blink. “We aren’t?”

“No.” He reaches into his trench coat and pulls out an apple.

An iridescent, glowing apple, so incredibly out of place on the chipped wood and florescent lights of the library.

“Cas-”

“Our primary issue is that you might have enough practice or power to take hold one Archangel. Two is even less likely.” He nods to the apple. “This will help.”

“I- How?”

“I went back to the garden.”

“Cas,” you keep your words slow. “You can’t get into Heaven, they’ve locked you out-“

“Joshua let me in.” Cas frowns at you. “I wasn’t reckless. I didn’t stay long, and Michael and Raphael tend not to bother looking there.”

“Well, why did you go back-“

“For the apple.” He’s looking at you as if you’re the crazy one, for not wanting him to be smited, and you let out a heavy breath through your nose.

“Cas. I don’t understand how an apple is worth such a massive fucking risk-“

“It is not an apple.” Cas says your name, his tone slightly exasperated. “It is an apple from the Tree. And while we don’t understand how you being a Magdalene is connected to you being the Bride, that doesn’t change that you are one.”

You blink at him. “And?”

“Lilith was the tender of the Tree, before her exile.”

“The- Oh, fuck.” It hits you, and you gape at Cas for a long, silent moment. “You mean the tree. The Eden tree.”

Cas nods. “Yes. That tree. Its apples are holy, and consuming one will, theoretically, offer you a stronger connection to Heaven.”

“And me being a Magdalene matters because-“

“You are descended from Lilith.” He shrugs. “From what I understand, the apples run in your blood. It is not a sin for you to consume them.”

“Oh.” You swallow, glancing down to the apple on the table. “What?”

Cas sighs. “I do not know the whole story. It is not the exact one told in the Bible, and I was always told Michael preferred not to speak of it. But Lilith was the first wife of Adam. And eating the apple only became a sin after her banishment.”

“But- I-“

“It will make you stronger.” Cas mutters. “That is what’s important.”

You take a long, slow breath. He’s right. Now isn’t the time to dwell on another confusing angel story. “You want me to take steroids, so we can win.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

“It’s like a drug that- Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Cas gives you a tight nod, and you stare at the apple. It’s not crumbling away, like the ones that grow when you lose control. And Cas is right. You do need a boost.

But even if it works, you still need more.

“Okay. But,” You lean forward, and Cas frowns at you. “I have an idea.”

“You said you had nothing.”

“Yeah.” You shrug. “About vessels. But Raphael was already on guard against me. He didn’t seem to trust that I actually was the Bride.”

“He had become disillusioned with God altogether.” Cas mutters, still frowning at you. “That is not surprising, but I don’t understand-“

“I need to get their guards down.”

Cas falls silent again. Staring at you for a long, stretched out moment before shaking his head, words low and firm. “No.”

“It’s a good idea-“

“It is not a good idea. There is no evidence it would be effective, and Dean will be furious. He will rampage-“

“Rampage-“

“Yes. Rampage. He

“Then we tell Dean.”

He hisses your name. “That will not go well-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But we don’t have any other options.”

Cas lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. “There are too many ways it could go wrong. One misstep or slip up-“

“I don’t misstep.” You raise your chin, making your voice as commanding as you can manage when there’s a cold, wired fear running over your skin.

It is a bad idea. One of your worst.

There’s no other way, if you want to keep Sam out of the cage. If you want your family to walk out of this intact, with little lost, and nothing broken.

Dean gets to have Sam, so that when you’re gone, he won’t be alone. Sam won’t have to sacrifice himself for something that’s not his fault.

You pull Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel and toss them in the pit, you’ll be using the Silver properly. Salvation, not damnation. And you can’t die—you think, because you haven’t yet and something tells you God won’t let you out that easy—so you’re in the best position to play offense.

But a lifetime of fighting the Silver and self-inflicted torture on your body is, once again, catching up with you. You won’t be strong enough to just grab two archangels without the Silver exploding, and damaging a lot more than you can afford. You just need an extra boost, and an easier way in.

So it’s a bad idea. You’re pretty sure Cas is only helping you because he thinks if he doesn’t, you’ll just do it behind his back.

And this is pushing the bounds of bad idea into horrible, godawful, borderline insane idea, but nobody’s offering anything better.

And Cas is right.

You’ll just do it anyway, and he won't be able to stop you.

You can see it on his face, as he stares at you. The slight twisting of his features as he tries to find a comeback, fails to, and concludes that this is happening. And he’s either with you, or not.

“Sam can’t know.” He mutters. “We will need to make that clear to Dean. If he tells Sam-“

“Lucifer will know to.” You finish, rubbing your wrists. “I won’t tell him until he promises not to say anything. To Bobby, either. He’ll try to stop me.”

Cas gives you a flat look. “He’d be right.”

You ignore him. “It’s going to have to be Lucifer.”

“Michael may be safer-“

“No,” you shake your head, frowning at the table. “I think I ruined any chance of using Michael with the Raphael thing. It has to be Lucifer.”

Cas lets out a long sigh—he’s been picking up a lot of you, Sam, and Dean’s habits lately, namely the Sam Bitch-Sigh, and you know he’s doing it on purpose because the drama queen doesn’t have to breathe—and nods slowly. “That is… a fair point. And Michael will likely make no attempts to engage you, even at Lucifer’s side. But if you side against Lucifer, he will be… unforgiving.”

Fuck, that’s a good point too. “Okay. I- I think I can use Adam. Say that I went over to Lucifer because Michael didn’t have anything I wanted.”

Cas’ jaw twitches. “Dean.”

You give a small nod—you really don’t want to talk about it—and Cas tilts his head at you.

You know Cas knows. Maybe not that you love Dean, but that it’s more than just friendship. He can see your soul, same as you can see all his hands folded into the two in his lap. He’s seen the way you’re embedded in Dean. Been with you when you’d confronted Famine, and he’d taunted you about how your hunger for Dean would make him so powerful he’d devour suns.

He’d sat with you yesterday, when the sun had started to set and Dean still hadn’t returned. Gently tried herding you to bed, before telling you he didn’t know how to drive, but would eat ice cream with you in the kitchen if it was needed.

And you’ve told him about the deals, while Sam and Dean were on a hunt last week. If the plan was going to work properly, he needed to know as much as possible.

Not how you dreamt of Dean. Not how you’d always crashed into his gravity, and never been able—or really cared to—pull away. Not the full extent of your plan, or how God was watching you.

But the deals were relevant to the plan. To being the Bride of God, and both Michael and Lucifer being so desperate to have you on their team.

So Cas knows.

And that’s why his words are so careful.

“Is Dean aware that he is the center of the deal?” He says, and you shake your head.

“No. And I- Cas, you can’t tell him-“

“I have no plan to. But if I would not count on him never knowing. When we tell him-“

“He knows they offered me deals. That I’d never really agree to either of them. But-“ You squeeze your hand on your wrist, the sting of raw skin makes the Silver turn in your body. “Cas, he can’t know. Please.”

Cas frowns at you. “Why. He would be receptive-“

“I can’t do that to him.” You whisper, bile rising in your throat. “It’s- We’ll tell him about the plan tomorrow, and I’ll switch sides when Sam lets Lucifer in.”

“There is still the chance Sam will overpower him.” Cas mutters, and you swallow.

“Then I’ll just pull him out there.”

Cas says your name, but cuts himself off with a frown.

“Cas-“

“Dean is praying to me.” He mutters. “Their credit card got frozen.”

You still feel sick, but the Spiderweb is glowing and casting light around your body. He does that all the time, the adorable, perfect dumbass. Prays to Cas for small things, and you can see the annoyance on Cas’ face, but you know it’s fake. The same way that when you’re trying to read and Dean starts asking you questions, you roll your eyes but indulge him anyway, because it’s Dean.

“I have told him to stop using me for this-“

“It’s his birthday, Cas.” You give him a small smile. “Yell at him tomorrow.”

He glares at you. “We are not finished with this conversation-“

“Yeah, we are.” You pick up your book with a shrug. “I’m fake siding with Lucifer to get close to him, and pull him out of his vessel. If Sam gets the up, I pull him there. If he can’t, I get to pull him and Michael. That’s it. Easy.”

Cas stares at you for a moment longer, and you give him a wide, bored grin. It’s the one you learned from Dean, that says I have never done anything wrong in my life, and it’s unbelievable you’d even believe that I am capable of that. And somehow, Cas buys it. He sighs, and gives you a tight nod.

“You should test the apple.” He mutters. “I picked two.”

Your chew on your lips, but hum an agreement. “Do I, just-“

“Eat it. Then try to do something.”

“Something?”

Cas nods, and you take the apple with a careful touch. It doesn’t melt or vanish. You can even taste it, and definitely fruit, but not quite apple.

You swallow, and you’re about to ask Cas how long you should wait when it hits you.

It is a steroid.

The Silver is vast and bright and in perfect harmony with almost everything. No pain, just like when you’d been in Heaven. Just you, and you’re all knowledge of the books, the peaceful dreams of the librarian Cas knocked out, and the love of the knife in your jacket, ready to bloody itself however you want it to.

“It worked.” You mumble, and Cas sits a little taller.

“Good. Dean is still-“

“Wait.” You lean across the table, and you can’t just let this ebb away and go to waste.

You press your hand over Cas’ brow, and he tenses, but doesn’t pull away. All the Silver flows easily, right into your palm, and dips right into that electric blue Cas is made of. Feeds like lightning striking an ocean, making it crackle and rises and grow brighter and brighter and brighter until you pull away, and Cas blinks at you slowly.

You’re not embedded in him. And he seems to have absorbed all the Silver you offered him, but you don’t feel smaller.

If anything, you feel bigger. Brighter. More.

“I feel…” Cas trails off, giving you a look of disbelief. “What did you do.”

“Your Grace is back.” You pull your knees back up to your chest, grabbing your book from the table. “Don’t tell Sam and Dean.”

Cas blinks at you, and you sigh.

“They’ll ask questions. Now go get them before Dean tries to rob the store and they get arrested again.”

Cas still doesn’t move. “Thank you,” he mutters your name, and you give him a weak smile.

“Of course. You’re my friend, Cas.”

He nods, looking at you with an odd, unreadable expression, then vanishes into the air.

You turn your attention back down to the book, but you’re not really reading.

You hadn’t thought of the chance that Sam does overpower Lucifer. Not because Sam isn’t strong, but because you’ve seen Lucifer. All his teeth and Red and anger. Since Sam thought of the let Lucifer in idea, you’ve been having nightmares about bloodied teeth sinking into Sam’s neck, and Dean’s broken expression, and an empty seat at the dinner table.

There’s already one, still stained blue, deep into the wood. Now coated in a light orange, where Adam had sat for almost a month.

Sam had been confused, as to why Adam would just up and take in Michael. But Cas had thrown you a look, and you’d know.

Men of God never could resist a Magdalene.

You’d done this. If you weren’t here, Sam and Dean probably would’ve grabbed Adam from Zachariah, and they’d be down one archangel to worry about.

A lot of things would be better, if you weren’t here. Weren’t their problem. They wouldn’t be worrying about the Bride of God situation, spending too much time and thought on something that’s only your curse, only your sickness. And you’re not going to leave them, you’d promised you wouldn’t run, but anything you have to do so they both get to rest, you will.

It doesn’t matter what happens to you. If God takes you right when it’s done. If you, someone, get one second longer to make up for all the ruin and wreckage you’ve brought into their lives. Something to, maybe, prove that John hadn’t been right. Even though you know he was. If someone had managed to properly muzzle or cage you, Dean wouldn’t be losing sleep. Sam wouldn’t be stretching himself thin to try and help you research any Bride of God legends you can find.

Legends that don’t make this better. Legends that only tell you what you’ve known.

You’re destined to marry God. It’s written in old Babylonian ruins, painted and faded on cave walls, and carved into ancient, rusted Phoenician weapons. All in Enochian, all found by Sam on scholarly websites, all right under your nose your whole fucking life.

All reminding you what you’d been told so long ago.

The Sky was watching. It’s going to swallow you whole.

And you can feel him, before you see him. And your gaze darts to the window, but he’s not in the sky. You can feel his eyes on you, and it’s all suddenly off kilter, like the whole world has been caught in a lense flare. Something strong is wrapping around your wrists, sending a rush of blinding panic up your spine and throat, the Silver has started to stir in your body. It’s stronger than before. Leaking out, until you can feel the wrath of the air around you, the tension of the earth as it welcomes it’s father home, and the hope of every space in between. To grab your attention, begging to be more than just nothing at all.

You’re still you. Maybe it’s just the lasting effects of the apple, but the Silver seems to be running up and up and up without making you too big. But the Spiderweb is sinking. Trying to sink deeper and deeper into the Silver. Trying to hide as the pain hits you.

So much fucking pain, because the Sky isn’t watching.

You turn, away from the window, and he’s sitting at your table, right where Cas had been only a second ago.

God. Small and bearded and smiling at you, like he’s your fucking friend.

You don’t think. The Silver seems to be in pain from ripping into itself—desperate to properly explode and attack him, but not quite powerful enough to break from that tie around your wrists—but you don’t need it.

It’s barely a split second before you have your knife in your hand, and you’re vaulting across the table to drive it into God’s heart.

His eyes widen just slightly, the odd, colorless white light flashing, and suddenly you’re back in your chair. And when you try and throw the knife, right for his heart, the light just flashes again, and it returns to your head. You let out a strangled sound, the grip of the white on your wrists starting to flood the Silver, pushing it higher and higher with panic, and you’re going to explode. When you try and aim a kick at his balls under the table, your feet meet nothing. A choked sob escapes your throat—not now, he can’t be coming for you now—and try to leap back over the table with only your nails, aimed right for his eyes.

“Hey!” God grabs your wrists, and the Silver rushes up. “Stop, I’m not here to take you-“

You don’t believe him. The Silver is scratching under your skin, and you can’t go, not when Sam and Dean need you, and it’s Dean birthday and he deserves one good fucking birthday-

God snaps your name—Enochian, almost echoing off the walls of the library like you’re in a canyon—and it doesn’t calm you down. You’re still a little feral, and the white strength around your wrists feels like it’s strangling your throat-

“I- I can’t-“ You try to move away from him—it’s all you can do now—and claw at your wrists, trying to get it off, it has to come off-

“Can you please stop freaking out?” He says, his tone almost pleading. “I told you, I’m not going to grab you right now. I just want to talk, and- Wait-“

The light flares again, and you’re back in your seat. You’re still everything, and the line between what’s you and what’s not is blurring, and you can’t fucking breathe, there’s a dull pain on your wrists as you try to scratch the white-hot power off, and you might be drawing blood, but you can’t breathe-

“Is it the binds?” God says, and you can hear a frown in his voice, but you can’t really see anything but color and all the gaps between the stars. “If it’s the binds, I can take them off.”

You blink and make another weak sound, and God clears his throat.

“I can only promise so many times not to hurt you, at some point you’re going to have take a deep breath. And I’m actually risking a lot to be here. Sam and Dean could show up any moment, if the credit card thing doesn’t work.” He laughs to himself. “I mean, I could just freeze them, but, y’know. Whole free will show. So if you could please calm down-“

You are calming down. You’d heard Dean, and the Spiderweb had hummed, and a lot of panic had softened. Sam and Dean could come back. He wasn’t going to take you, or hurt them, at least for now.

And you’re still right on the edge of snapping, but you’re drawing blood on your wrists, and the Silver is dragging back down.

It’s fine.

God wants to talk.

You can fucking talk.

It takes a shaking breath and a sharp pang as you draw blood in your inner cheek, but you pull yourself together and meet God’s gaze.

His eyes are blue. A cold, almost bottomless blue that’s filled with life, but the same way the Sun is filled with life. Burning and capable of giving it.

Not actually capable of holding it within itself.

All you can think it’s that Dean’s eyes have life in them. All that green and luminescent color, buried deep but flashing under the surface whenever you really look at him. And Dean always wraps around you, but it’s like a second layer of skin. Golden. A promise of protection. God is just white and demanding. Bright and blinding, like it should hurt to look at him. Clean in a way that reminds you of the floor and walls of your family’s home.

Perfect.

Too perfect.

Like you couldn’t crash into it and destroy yourself without being punished. Like nothing would wrap around you and keep you safe, and no soothing, deep words would hum in your ear, telling you that you’re alright, and he’s got you.

God’s voice is sort of high, too. And Dean’s nose is crooked, while God’s is straight, but the crookedness has always suited him. You’ve always wanted to run your finger down the line of it the same way he does to you. Just to feel him.

But you’re wrapping your arms around your stomach, as God sits across the table from you.

You don’t want him to touch you at all.

“Take them off.” You whisper. “I’ll be good.”

God frowns at you. “You don’t have to be good, they’re just a protection. See?” He snaps his fingers, and you swallow a gasp of relief as the binds on your wrists release. “As long as you don’t try to kill me again, I won’t use them. I mean,” he laughs to himself, and the sound skitters over your bones. “It was sexy, and it’ll be a great story one day, but I’d like, y’know. Actually get to tell it.”

You swallow, trying to force your voice to remain even. “What do you want.”

“I told you, to talk-“

“Everyone always just wants to talk.” You’re almost spitting the words, your eyes narrowing on God’s. “What do you want from me?”

God raises his brows, the air hanging with the venom of your tone for a lone, horrible second, then his face splits into a grin.

“You know, it’s been a really long time since anyone has spoken to me like that, knowing who I am.” His grin grows, all white teeth, and the Silver seems to plummet into your gut. “And you’re a lot prettier when you’re awake. This is going to be really, really good.”

You blink at him, your voice dropping slightly. “Awake?”

“Oh, not like that.” He shakes his head, his tone still so casual. “You know I don’t watch you when you don’t want me to. I respect you. I’ve been watching those, ah- The Hallmark movies? And they’re horrible, but humans are very good at making sloppy romances. I’m trying to study them, to see how human relationships work. I know you were raised with them, and maybe I should’ve had you raised in Heaven, but I like the symmetry of it. I give humans their life and loves, they give me mine.”

His.

He thinks you’re his.

“And I know you’re not totally on board yet,” God adds, giving you a small smile. “But you will be. I don’t want this to be one of those stories where there’s no chemistry, and you can tell the characters are only together because the writer wants them to be. You have complete and total free will, promise! We’ll have hard times, but we’ll get through them. It’s called a third-act recovery-“

“I know how stories work.” You cut him off with soft words, and he won’t stop smiling at you.

“Of course you do. I’ve been saving all the stuff you like for when you join me, by the way. So we can have some easier stuff to talk about before, well- The everything. And that,” he sits up a little taller, like he’s please with himself. “Is a great transition.”

“Wha-“

“I know what you’re planning.” God says your Enochian name, giving you an almost disappointed look. “Not because I’m in your head. Again, total free will, but because sweet little Castiel is very worried about you. And he’s stopped praying to me lately, but I can still hear him. Especially when he’s in my garden, talking to my gardener.”

You take a deep breath, and it’s getting really hard to keep your voice properly steady. “So you don’t want me to go through with it.”

God shakes his head. “No. Not really. I just want to tell you that if it goes wrong, I’m not helping you. I sort of can’t, as long as you’re fighting me.”

“Fighting you-“

“The self-harm and starvation? Repressing yourself until your soul literally splits in half? Then shoving down all the pain you feel about Jo’s death so aggressively you can’t even control yourself? Not exactly the healthiest approach.”

You scowl. “If you’re here to tell me to go to love myself or some shit-“

“Oh, no.” He laughs again. “I’m talking about how you don’t want to be a part of this. Heaven, Hell, all the power you were born into. And you have to decides you want it yourself, or it really won’t mean anything. Again, I want you to want it. Does that make sense?”

“What if I don’t want it?” You’re speaking before you can stop yourself. “What if I like just being human?”

God just waves you off. “Sure you do now. But once you’re mine, nothing will hurt anymore. You’ll never have to worry about losing me, either. And I’m willing to wait forever, for you to come around, but you have to learn this lesson yourself.”

You can still breathe. You’re still yourself. But your fingers are curling around you knife, your hand under the table, and God seems to lost in his own monologue to notice. Maybe if you’re fast enough. Maybe if you let it all rip out, and-

“I’ve heard women don’t like you to do things for them.” He sighs, giving you an almost sad look. “But I do love you. And I want to help you. So I’m giving you a chance to back out, hit eject now. But it’s only a one-time offer. For both of us. It’ll be easier like this.”

“Like-“ You take a deep breath, his words banging around in your skull.

I do love you.

It’s in a horrible, twisted harmony with Dean’s voice. Baby. You know I love you, baby.

It’s sort of hard to think.

“Like what.” You manage to push out, and God shrugs.

“You and me. Together.”

No. One of your hands flies to your throat on an old instinct as the Silver rushes and roars, and no. “You- you said you weren’t going to take me-“

“Oh, I’m not.” He’s looking at you like he can’t even understand why you’d possibly react like this. “I’m offering you the change to run away with me. Tonight. If you got through with this, your little plan, you’ll be changing too much. Everything will be…” He sighs, and shakes his head. “A lot harder.”

“I-“

“Wait,” he holds his hand up, and your protests die in your throat. “Let me finish. You come with me, I’ll wipe everyone. Make things the way they should’ve been. But once we get past this, there’s no going back. I think.” He grins at you again, and it’s starting to make you want to claw out your eyes. “I’ve never done this before. It’s kind of exciting. But I just don’t want you to get upset when you break your favorite toys.”

You swallow, your words barely audible over the pounding of the Silver in your ears. “I- Don’t have toys.”

“Right, sorry. You’re not there yet. I meant Sam and Dean.”

Sam and Dean.

You’re not going to break them. You’re doing this to help them, to save them, to make up for all the times you’ve made things worse-

“Speaking of Sam and Dean, I think they’re coming now.” God gives you one last smile, and he’s right. You can smell cinnamon. “I hope you make the right choice, but I’ll support you no matter what. You know I’m listening. Just call me, before midnight, and I’ll be there.”

You’re not going to call him. It’s not even a choice, it just is. You won’t fucking leave Dean. And if you are running, it’s not into the arms of fucking God. You’d rather drown yourself, or fall to the deepest pits of hell, because at least then you’d be all yours. And you want to spit and sneer that at him, but the white flares one last time, and then he’s gone.

Barely a split second later, Sam and Dean round the corner.

“Do you smell something?” Sam frowns around the room as Dean walks to your side with a wide grin. “It’s sort of like, um, batteries?”

“Batteries don’t smell like anything, Sammy.” Dean stops at your chair, passing you a chocolate bar with a small frown.

“Yeah, they do, they smell like iron. And burning things.”

“Sammy, that’s-“ Dean sniffs the air, his frown deepening. “Huh.”

“Right?” Sam looks around the library, like he’s expecting something to jump out from behind the shelves. “It’s batteries-“

“It’s not batteries, bitch.” Dean glances down at you, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Princess, you eat any, uh- Fruit?”

You just stare at him. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know that you love him, that God had just tried to ask you to run away with him, that you’re planning something insane, that you’re going to make everything worse-“

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean frowns down at you, big, careful hands frame your face, and your hands fly up to cling to his wrists. “Can you, uh- I need you to say something-“

“I’m okay.” You whisper, and his frown deepens, his fingers trailing slightly over your brow.

“You know you can tell me anything.” His voice is lowered, and Sam’s seems to be busying himself with staring at books. “I’m here, I’ve got you-“

“I know you do.” You give him a small smile, and the worry in his gaze doesn’t waver for a second. “Did you get all the stuff?”

Dean stares at you, and for a second you think he’s going to push it, but Sam clears his throat first. “Yeah, we got it. Do you need us to do anything else-“

You shake your head, trying to ignore the intensity of Dean’s gaze. “No, once we’re back home I’ll take care of it.”

“I can help.” Dean grunts, and you give him a flat look.

“It’s your birthday, De. You’re not doing shit.”

“What if I want to help-“

“No.” You hold his glare, and his lips slowly curl into a teasing grin.

“Bossy.”

“I’m gonna stab you-“

“Ah. Not until my birthday’s over.”

“Then sleep with one eye open, Winchester-“

“Hey, guys?” Sam cuts in, frowning between you and Dean. “Can you guys do, uh- That later? And not in front of me?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “We’re just freakin’ talking-“

“It’s not just talking, Dean, it’s foreplay.” Sam scoffs. “Actually, it’s worse than foreplay, because at least that would actually in sex instead of,” he makes a loose gesture between you and Dean. “This.”

You can feel the flush on your cheeks, and it doesn’t help that Dean isn’t pushing you away at the suggestion. He might be holding you closer. Moving his body in front of yours, blocking you from Sam—wide eyed and panicked, obviously realizing what he just said—as if he’s worried about your fucking modesty or something.

“Sam.” Dean’s voice is almost a growl, and you can picture his set jaw and narrowed gaze. “Shut your face, or get shot.”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbles, and Dean grunts.

“You’re lucky I don’t tell Bobby you said that.”

You lean around Dean to see Sam shaking his head frantically. “Dean, c’mon, don’t- He’ll kill me-“

“I know.” Dean twists his arms slightly, palm spread, and you take his hand without thought.

He glances down, and you give him a small smile.

It doesn’t matter if you’re imagining the softening of his gaze. He’s here. Even knowing everything about you, having to deal with all your freak outs, Dean’s still holding your hand and grinning at you. Letting you smile back, and squeezing his hand once, just to make sure he’s feeling something like it.

The light, dizzy feeling that comes with his proximity. The warmth in your core when he helps you to your feet and keeps your hands tangled together. Not the inescapable, magnetic pull that’s always told you to stay near him, with him, next to him.

Not love, either. That might be too much to ask for.

But just something like it. Something that might give you a chance—even if God returns and takes back all his letting you come to him bullshit in the morning—for you to kiss him just one more time.

Because you’d kissed.

Two more times.

And Sam’s teasing isn’t anything new, but that had a sharper edge than usual. Like he knows—really knows something you don’t quite fully believe yourself—that there might be a chance.

It’s all you can think about, watching Dean shuffle around the kitchen as you and Bobby cook.

There could be a chance.

“Dean,” Bobby grunts, not looking up from his carrots. “Get outta the kitchen.”

“It’s my birthday, Bobby, I can be wherever the hell I want-“

“Not in here.”

“C’mon, Bobby-“ Dean’s words cut off, and you glance up again to see him starting at the cutting broad. “Carrots?!”

You can hear Bobby’s sigh from across the room. “They’re good for ya, Dean-“

“I don’t want shit that’s good for me-“

“Dean.” You interrupt him with a firm look, and his mouth snaps shut. “I’m making you cake and pie. You’re going to eat your carrots.”

He stands up straight, a smirk covering his face, and before you know what’s happening you’re pinned against the counter, and Dean is incredibly close to your face.

It must be the lighting, or your stupid soul vision, but he’s glowing. There’s his usual Gold, the light off his slight tan—it’s January, how the hell does he have a tan—and all the little bits of blond in his hair that you want to touch. You just want to touch him, to check that he’s real, to kiss his smug expression and hear him groan your name again, like maybe he’s just as desperate to have you as you are for him. You want to maybe drown in him. Have his Gold painted all over you, and breathe so easily because his eyes are full of life. They’re the prettiest shade of green in the world, and they’re dancing with amusement at your slack expression, and you never want him to stop looking at you like that.

Like he’s happy, and it’s only because you’re there.

“What kinda pie you makin’ me, Princess?”

You swallow, your voice a little breathy. “Cherry.”

His grin widens. “That’s my favorite-“

“I- I know, De-“

“And I get pie and cake.”

“Only if you eat your carrots.” You whisper, and he shrugs.

“Fine. But you gotta eat everything I eat.”

You frown. “Dean-“

“Nope. I eat something, you eat the same.”

“I’m going to eat-“

“Yeah, you are. Everything I eat.”

“Dean-“

He drawls your name back with a wide, boyish grin, and you haven’t seen that expression on him in so long. Maybe since before Hell, and if after, not this wide. This relaxed. Making the Spiderweb feel like almost a supernova, with so many colors and so much color and heat. One of Dean’s hands is holding your hips, and it’s sparking so much heat-

“Dean.” Bobby grunts. “Out.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Dean pushes back like nothing happened at all, speaking to you like you weren’t seconds from jumping him right in front of Bobby. “If you guys need anything-“

“We’ll make Sam do it. Out.”

Dean rolls his eyes, whispering in your ear and making a small shiver run up your spine. “He’s grumpy.”

You don’t get a chance to respond—you’re not sure you remember how to speak—before Dean’s kissing your cheek, and then he’s gone.

And you get—as you sway slightly and reach up to touch your cheek, right where Dean’s lips had sloppily and easily pressed against it—why Sam has upped his teasing game.

Something’s flipped in Dean, since the kisses.

He hasn’t blatantly flirted with you like this since you met him. As if there aren’t a million obstacles in your way and the world isn’t ending as you speak. As if this night isn’t a single island in the ocean, and you don’t have a long way to go before any of you see land again.

But Dean’s flirting with you.

You think.

He’s kissed the top of your head before. And he’s held your hand before. He calls you princess all the time, as if it’s a second name. He also whispers in your ear all the time, because he’s your best friend and that’s what friends do-

Jo would say she’s his friend too. That he doesn’t do that with her. And she and Sam are friends, but Sam’s never pinned her to a counter. Sam’s never held her hand, either-

Oh.

Fuck.

Bobby clears his throat and you blink down at him. “You alright, kiddo?”

“Yeah?” That shouldn’t sound like a question. “Yeah. I, um- Yeah.”

Bobby gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ve been askin’ you to grab the salt for a damn minute, and you’ve just been standin’ there. Try again.”

“I-“ You swallow, setting down the bowl of your batter carefully. It would be really nice, not to have this conversation with Bobby right now. Maybe ever.

You’d gotten an awkward show of how to put a condom on a banana, when you were sixteen. And there had been a period, before the pain and White and Darkness had started, where Bobby had tried to send you elementary and middle school, under a fake name. There had been a few kids who’d made you feel fuzzy, and you’d told Bobby all about them, and he’d grumbled something about kids and their crushes. But then there had been Dean, no one else, and all of Bobby’s awkward attempts to tell you that he’s okay with it, and just wants you to be happy.

But you hadn’t counted those as real. They’d been just like Sam and Jo’s teasing, because there might have been a ring of truth to it, but everything else was too complicated.

But there’s a chance.

Bobby grunts your name and you shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach.

“Bobby?” You speak slowly, not wanting to meet his gaze. “When you met your wife, how did you know?”

He frowns at you. “Know?”

“That it was-“ You take a deep breath. “That it was something.”

There’s a long pause, and Bobby sighs your name. “I ain’t sure what to tell you. I wish I could say somethin’ like fireworks, but it just was. Nothin’ big, nothin’ special. She was pretty, and I was a little drunk, so I took the jump and asked ‘er out. Then we built from there.”

You frown at the floor. It had been something special with Dean. It hadn’t been fireworks, but just fucking gravity. A pull, then a strange, dizzying feeling close to euphoria, making your whole-body light up. Then a feeling of needing to know him. But maybe you’d just been young, and you’d seen the most beautiful man alive, and lost your fucking mind-

“John used to tell me ‘bout when he knew for Mary.” Bobby says, and your gaze shoots up to find him watching you carefully. “He said he just looked at her one day and got those fireworks. And they mighta been ordained for heaven or whatever shit Cas said, but fireworks don’t last. I’d gotten fireworks with plenty of ladies, before Karen. But with her, it always… more. Felt like lookin’ at the stars. When I decided to marry ‘er, it wasn’t cause of some movie like, time slowin’ musical bullshit moment. It was ‘cause I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.”

You swallow a lump in your throat, blinking sudden tears out of your eyes. “Bobby, I- I don’t know-“

“You know.” Bobby shrugs, giving you a gentle smile, and you shake your head.

“But- It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, sinking down to the floor. “It is the fireworks. And it’s where I’m supposed to be, but it can’t be ordained by Heaven and- It just- It feels-“ You wipe your tears with your palm, and Bobby passes you a cloth. He’s wheeled over to your side, and you haven’t felt this much smaller than him in a while. Like really just a kid. And his hand rests on your shoulder as you take deep breaths, trying to find an end to your sentence.

“It doesn’t have to be anythin’ big.” Bobby mutters, low enough that you almost don’t hear it. “All you gotta do is throw that boy a bone, and he’ll eat out of your hand.”

You shake your head, sniffing slightly. “That’s a little dramatic-“

“Uh huh. When was the last time he said no to you?”

Fuck. “Bobby-“

“It’s his birthday,” Bobby sighs your name, and you look up to see him frowning at the air. “Like I said, don’t gotta marry ‘im right now. Whatever you can manage, long as you’re both happy.”

Long as you’re both happy.

Dean deserves being happy with anyone but you.

But you’ve always wanted it to be you. For there to be another life where you’re still doing this—maybe not crying on the floor until you’re ready to get up, but making Dean a birthday dinner—and there are not monsters in the shadows or wars on the horizon. For you always to be the one at Dean’s side.

Just like now, getting to smile at him as he drops into his seat and bumps your knees together. And you’re not going break it or infect it. Not going to be the reason it breaks, because it’s your whole life, and nothing about that is complicated.

Maybe—in that life—you have to pay a mortgage and student loans, and maybe sometimes you fight with Dean about stupid things, but nobody dies. There’s not a sense of one night, and one night only, as you, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Bobby eat and laugh and joke.

There’s no threat of God, wrapped around your neck like a noose set to yank you up without warning, so when Sam brings out the pie and cake—he has the biggest hands, and can walk—you kiss Dean before he blows out his candles.

You don’t kiss him.

Not here, or now. But you sing him happy birthday, and watch his eyes widen on yours as his lips part, and you want to kiss him here. With the soft light of the candles flickering over his face, and that same peaceful look washed over his features, mixing with one of almost awe.

You love him. And if it can only ever be like this—the painful, long, complicated way—you’ll be okay with that. It would be almost impossible not love him, which is why you’ve never been able to fault that faceless woman in your head. The one who someday comes along and takes Dean away from you.

But you’re the one who’s going to be taken away.

And right now, you’re the one he’s looking at. The one he’s giving fireworks, and keeping his thigh pressed against, and the one who belongs at his side.

So even if you only get one of these moments every ten years, you’ll keep loving Dean like it’s written into the fabric of your soul. It’s impossibly easy.

And Bobby’s right. It’s the only thing you’ve ever really known.

The rest of the night is just about Dean. Eating the cake and pie—Dean hadn’t lied, he’s refusing to take bites unless you take them first, and you’re either going to punch him in the gut or climb on his lap at the table and see what happens—then playing poker. You lose, horribly, and very fast, but Dean lets you hang over his shoulder and explains all his hands to you before he plays them.

“How are you this bad at poker, Princess.” He grins at you as Sam takes another million years to decide what he’s doing. “I know you don’t hustle, but that was- Real bad.”

“I’m bad at math,” you mumble, and Dean gives you an amused look.

“You make spreadsheets for fun.”

“That’s not the same,” Sam frowns up from his cards. “That’s data organization. I do it.”

“And you’re good at math, Sammy-“

“That’s correlation, not causation-“

“I don’t know what the fuck that means-“

Dean cuts himself off as you whisper in his ear. “Correlation is two data points that move together, but it’s just a coincidence. Causation is when two data points are the same because one is caused by the other.”

“Ah.” Dean nods slowly, and twists to give you a grin. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You beam at him, Sam makes a gagging sound, and Bobby whacks him for taking a million years to make his move.

After the poker game ends—Cas winning by a mile, shocking Dean and Bobby but pretty unsurprising considering neither of them, at any point, knew what Cas was going to do next—there’s a quick exchange of presents, and you try not to look too lovingly at Dean while he opens them. It can’t be written on your face. You still have rules, and you still can’t tell him or indulge or make it about you either—this won’t be about you, if you open the door a crack and Dean is the one who breaks it down—and you can’t show it on your face.

But it’s hard, when he gives Cas a tight, sudden hug for the rare car parts he’d found during his God-travels, or Bobby gets the same treatment when he shows Dean the upgraded TV in the living room. Or when he grins at Sam for the joke toy gun, then crushes him in another hug for the rare jerky and Batarang shaped knives he found online.

He looks so happy. And he’s retreating to your room, as the night comes to an end. Because he’s not yours, but fuck, he’s something close to it. And that’s more than you’ve ever dared to hope for.

You never want to let it go.

“These are cool,” you hum, focusing on the Batarang spinning in your hand and trying really hard not to think about shirtless Dean, washing his face in the bathroom. “Do you know where Sam found them?”

“You know Princess, you can just have them.” Dean laughs, and you look up to find him walking over to where you’re cross legged on the bed, still not wearing a shirt.

You want to touch him. All the slopes and panes of his chest, every scar, the lines of his tattoo and then the muscles of his back, and he’s so Golden and if you pressed your face into his stomach, it would be soft and safe.

“They’re a gift,” you manage to whisper, blinking up at him. “I can’t take them, De-“

“You don’t have to,” he shrugs, dropping on the edge of the mattress. “But whenever you wanna use them, they’re there.” He pauses. “Is it rude if I tell you I really wanna see what you got me?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s not. And maybe I didn’t get you anything-“

“Don’t try to lie, sweetheart. I’ll know.” He leans forward, and you can feel the heat from his body. “And you have to show me. It’s my birthday.”

You give him a flat look. “For thirty more minutes.”

“And I’m gonna milk that half hour like you can’t believe. C’mon, please?” he gives you a dramatic, pleading expression, and you can’t stop your giggle. “You’re not supposed to laugh-“

“Sorry.” You grin at him, and he just rolls his eyes. “You want your presents?”

He blinks at you. “Presents?”

You nod, and reach over to the drawer of your bedside table. “You’re not allowed to say anything until I give you all of it. Okay?”

Dean doesn’t respond, and when you look over your shoulder, he’s right there. Inches away and grinning at you, not saying a single word.

You roll your eyes, his grin grows, and you shove him slightly so you can sit back up.

“I got you an iPod.” You say, holding out each item as you speak. “You need to get into the 21st century, Deano. But, I also got you a bulk pack of blank mixtapes because I know you won’t. And, um-“ You reach under the bed, not allowing your gaze to linger on his face for too long. “I also got you a cowboy hat, and I’ll watch one whole Clint Eastwood movie with you, and I promise not to say anything when it’s stupid.” You give him a small smile, carefully placing the cowboy hat on his brow, and tipping it up when it falls slightly forward. “Happy Birthday, Dean.”

I love you.

It’s all you can think, as he stares at you. Not saying a single word, but not kicking you out either, and you can’t really read his expression. Can’t figure out what he’s thinking, if you’re about to lose him, if he’s going to grab you into one of those hugs, if maybe, you get to crash into him and feel it more than any possible pain-

Dean reaches up slowly, tucks a little hair behind your ear with a feather-light touch, and you blink at him.

“Do you like them?” You ask, trying not to let your voice waver, and he nods.

“They’re awesome,” he mutters your name, and his eyes look slightly glassed over. His hand is still lingering on your face. “You’re awesome, Princess. These are- Really fucking awesome.”

You give him a nervous smile. “Did I break you?”

“No.”

“Then-“

He sets the cowboy hat off to the side and leans forward, but doesn’t kiss you. Dean’s brow just falls to yours as he cradles your face in his hands, and you’re really not sure what’s happening.

“De.” You whisper, carefully dragging one of his hands into yours. “Are you okay?”

He nods, but his grip on you only tightens.

“Dean-“

“I don’t wanna fight.” He mutters, and you frown.

“We’re not going to fight-“

“Yeah, we are. I’m gonna tell you, and you’re gonna get pissed-“

“No, I’m not-“

“Princess-“

“I’m not your Dad.” You say softly, and he lets out a shaking breath. “I know we fight but I- I’d never get mad at you for not liking something, or feeling something, or-“

“Being selfish?”

“You’re not selfish, Dean.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, I am.”

“Dean-“

“I asked Death.” He mutters, breath ghosting over your lips, and you still in his touch. “Asked him if you had a way out, from that God bullshit. And Hell, if he’d told me all I had to do was trade you for someone else or do a fuckin’ volcano sacrifice- Son of a bitch, I would’ve done it. Wouldn’t have hesitated, either. Even if it ruined some poor assholes life, losing his girl so I could keep mine.”

His.

“De-“

“But he said no.” Dean’s voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it, and when he pulls you a little forward, you don’t fight him. “That you are the Bride of God, and there’s nothin’ I can do about it. Fucking- I don’t know how the hell you did it.”

You frown. “Did with?”

“Didn’t fucking kill someone.” He rasps. “When you knew you were gonna lose me. Hell, I’m not even losing you and I- Shit-“

Dean leans back, scanning over your face with an intensity you can feel lighting up the Spiderweb, and you just hold his gaze.

“I need you, baby.” He mutters, and your fingers curl on his hands. “You’re my best friend, and I need you. And I don’t care if it makes me selfish, if God needs a wife he can take anyone else, but he can’t take you.”

Baby.

I need you, baby.

Again, you don’t think about it. You’ve never had to think about it with Dean. He moves, so you move.

And when you crash up into him, your lips slamming against each other like you’re trying to fuse together, you know it’s not going to go there. Not tonight. Dean can pull you fully into his lap and you can wrap your arms around his neck, but that’s as close as you’ll get. The bare skin of your thigh brushing his naked abdomen, as you try to climb up his chest. His hand tangling in your hair.

You can’t do more. Not when you can’t feel God watching, but some pain lingers on your wrists, and the deep, frozen fear that he’ll just take you.

That you’ll tell Dean the thing you’re never allowed to say—instead of just moaning his name down his throat or squeezing his hand three times—and God will rip you away. Or worse, that Dean will try to fuck you, and you’ll vanish from his hands.

But this can be enough. It’s Dean.

So it’s always enough.

A high whine leaves your throat as he angles his mouth over yours, deepening the kiss until it’s all just Gold and a high feeling brimming under your skin and rising in your chest. Dean’s hands are rough but careful as they start to roam under your shirt, lighting small trails of fire on your skin, and he groans your name when your nails sink into his shoulders.

The sound sends an ache of warmth between your thighs, and you start to grind down, trying to chase some friction as your breath hitches and your mouth falls wide open for Dean to take, you just want him to take you and touch you, because there’s no pain when his tongue is tangled in yours and his erection is pressed right over your core-

Dean grabs your hips, kissing the tip of your nose and rubbing his hands soothingly, and slows your pace.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, finger trailing up your spine and making you shake in his arms. “I’ve got you.”

He’s got you.

You melt into him with a happy sigh, and Dean’s got you.

You let him take the lead—you’d let him lead you anywhere, and apparently you can’t be trusted to control yourself when you can feel every flex of his muscles—and he turns the kiss slow. Not pushing, not demanding, just rolling you carefully onto your back, squeezing the skin of your hips and grinning at your soft sigh.

It’s more than the fireworks. It’s enough heat to maybe rewire a universe. But it’s also so gentle, the way he’s touching you and kissing you like he’s just as afraid as you are, that you’re going to vanish.

But most of all, when Dean presses a final, sweet kiss on your swollen lips and rolls onto his side, keeping you pressed to his chest, it’s comfortable. Easy. The Spiderweb singing in time with the drum of his heart, and his hands pressed into your skin in a possessive way that might leave a brand.

You hope it does. Or that the Earth grows around you both, and nothing ever tries to take you away from him.

Because this, here, in Dean’s arms with the taste of him on your tongue, and your legs tangled together, is right where you belong.

——————

Dean’s caught. Suspended. Trapped like a damn animal, unable to even gnaw its own leg off.

The two people that he loves the most are trying to kill him. They’re both genius, unmovable, determined idiots that he’d lay down his life for in a heartbeat, even though they both keep being insane.

Sam had cornered him last night, while She and Bobby had been in the library. Sat across from Dean at the table with a firm expression, dead quiet until Dean had raised his brows.

You got something you wanna tell me, Sammy?”

Sam had sighed—as if he hadn’t been the one who cornered Dean—and spoken with a heavy tone that set a stone in Dean’s gut. “We need to move soon. On Lucifer.”

Dean’s jaw had clenched. “Yeah, man, I know-“

“And we’re doing my plan.”

The fucking plan. The stupid fucking plan that was going to make him lose Sammy forever, that Death had made him promise to go through with. “Sam-“

“There’s no other way-“

“We’ll do it.”

Sam had blinked at him. “We will?”

Dean had nodded, staring at his beer bottle on the table. “Yeah. No other way, right?”

“Right.” Sam had stared at him for a long moment, before clearing his throat. “So, um- I wanted to talk to you about after. When I’m…” he’d swallowed, and Dean’s fists had clenched.

That wasn’t the Sam that hunted at his side and was addicted to demon blood and had all the same nightmares, but just strangled them in silence and kept moving.

Across the table from him was Sammy. The little kid who had been afraid of the dark and cried when he saw clowns. The one who had gotten lost in a grocery store when they were kids and hugged Dean first when they found him. And Dean goddamn knew that Sam didn’t want to do this either. Just like he knew that the kid was a stubborn bitch, and nothing Dean could say would make them turn back now.

“When I’m not here,” Sam muttered, and Dean might have been about to break the bottle. “What you do after.”

Dean had frowned. “The hell you mean what I do-“

“I know you, Dean.” Sam had sighed. “You’re going to want to try and bring me back, but if I come back, Lucifer comes back with me. And I- I don’t want you to have the stupid hunter death. You deserve better than that.”

That had pulled a dry, humorless laugh out of Dean’s throat. “No, I-“

“It’s not up to you.” Sam had cut him off, his eyes flicking in the direction of the kitchen, and something to the right of Dean’s heart had stuttered. “You know it’s there, Dean. I know you’re never going to be to- Y’know. With anyone else. And I- I’d feel better if I knew you guys would have each other-“

“We do have each other.”

“That’s not what I mean, dude.” Sam had given him a tightlipped smile. “I know she’s got her own thing with, uh- God-“

“I don’t give a fuck about that.” Dean had grunted. “She might not be ready, Sam. And I’m not gonna-“

“Tell a girl that you have a crush on her?” Sam had raised his brows. “That kind of sounds like me, Dean, not you.”

Dean’s eyes had narrowed, and Sam had just held his gaze casually, his tone bored.

“You could take another ten years to settle down. But I want you to stay with her, Dean. Try to stop hunting, don’t try to bring me back, and-“ Sam had sighed. “I don’t know, man. Have a life.”

“And you just-“ Dean had scowled, shaking his head. “Want us to leave you in there? The hell we’re just gonna freakin’ abandon you-“

“You’re not abandoning me, Dean.” Sam had given him a sad smile. “You’re saving the world, then resting. If not for me, for her.”

For Her.

Sam hadn’t needed to say what he meant.

That, if there was anyone to be worried about, it was Her.

Dean wanted it. God, he fucking wanted it. He’d never seen anything clearer than those fantasies in his head, where he woke up next to Her and got to kiss her good morning, and they showered together. Then he made her breakfast and she made him lunch and they ordered take out for dinner. He’d flip Her over on the couch and kiss down Her body, and She’d give him that blinding smile in the dark. Maybe he’d have a picture of Her in his wallet, and the assholes at his normal, tax-paying job would tease him about saying my girl all the time, but then they’d meet Her, and understand.

If they to be in Her orbit, they’d never shut up about it either. Not when all the world moved for Her, but She only moved to Dean.

And he cared about the Bride of God thing. He’d been lying through his teeth to Sammy, because he knew he was going to lose Her. He’d always known, but now it wasn’t just a cold fear in his ribs, making his breathing sort of shallow. It was just the truth. Sort of gospel, because it had been told by God. And when Her time came, if She didn’t want to go, he’d still fight to keep Her. And he’d end up dead—it was God—but at least he would’ve died in Her name.

The promise to Sam was the easiest one he’d even make. It was going to be real damn easy to stay with Her, when this was done. To maybe crack when he thought of Sammy, but then just hold Her until the pain eased a little. If he only got to have Her for a week, a month, a year, a decade, he wanted to have Her. To love Her well enough that when God came, She’d spend the rest of time knowing that Dean had loved Her. And he’d loved Her right, and She’d never wanted for anything as long as She’d been in his arms.

He hadn’t fucked Her, on his birthday. He wanted to do it right. Not in a storm of confusing pain his chest, warmth in his gut, and a high in his head from how She’d been on his lap and kissing him like She was starved. Gentle. Romantic. Like in a telenovela or drama show, where someone did a big, sweeping gesture, and the other person realized that they were deeply in love, and then they fucked on rose petals.

In the moment, with Her fast asleep in his arms and a tiny little bruise Dean had put on Her neck, it had felt like the right call.

But he should’ve known better. Sammy was right, Dean wasn’t the one to be worried about. It would fucking suck, and he might never sleep well again, but this was Sam’s last wish. And Dean had always wanted to grow roots with Her, and put up a white fence that She’d carve with Enochian, and hug Her from behind while they made apple pies for a dumb bake sale.

She was the one who never stopped running. Who was going to want to do something insane to try and get Sammy back.

Hell, She already was trying to do something insane.

They’d been hunting demon blood for Sammy, and She’d tipped Her head back on the Impala’s bench as they drove back to Bobby’s. Looked at Dean under fluttering lashes and with pouted lips, and his eyes had narrowed. That was Her expression when She wanted something.

“Deano.” She’d said softly, and his grip had tightened on the wheel. “Can you pull over, please?”

“No.”

“Dean-“

“Whatever you want, ask me while I’m driving.”

She’d sighed. “I don’t want you to crash.”

Son of a fucking bitch, things could never just be simple and easy. Something in the universe had to be out to fucking get him, because he’d pulled the car off to the side of the road, and She’d given him a sweet, full-lipped smile, and he’d known this wasn’t going to end with anything good.

“Remember how I completely and totally forgave you for going to see Death behind my back?”

Dean had given Her a flat look. “Princess-“

“This is like that. You’re gonna be mad at me, and I- I’m sorry, but-“ She’d taken a shuddering breath, and given him a nervous look. “We can kiss again, if that helps?”

It wasn’t fair how She was so damn adorable. How that would help, but She couldn’t know that Dean would probably let her get away with anything if She rewarded him with the right touches. If he had to carry Her out of playing in oncoming traffic, but got to make Her scream his name and arch off the bed, he’d never be capable of being really mad at Her.

She liked to test him, though. Liked to see just how much She could bring out of him—the answer was all of it, Dean was never more than when he was with Her—and, just like Sammy, goddamn kill him.

He’d muttered Her name, slinging his arm around the back of the bench and tipping Her face up to hold his gaze, and She’d let out a long, soft breath.

“Please don’t be mad.” She’d mumbled, and before Dean could respond, She was rambling. “This isn’t just my idea, it’s Cas’ too. I mean, it was my idea, but he helped. He found the apples, and he- He backed me up-“

“Princess-“

“Remember how I was able to pull Zachariah out of his vessel?” She’d said nervously, and Dean froze. “And, um, I almost did it with Raphael too? I- I think I can just toss Lucifer and Michael in the cage.”

Dean had stared at Her for a long moment, unable to fully form a thought, his own voice sounding a million miles away. “You think.”

“Yeah.” She’d whispered, Her eyes shining on his. “But, um- You’re not going to like how.”

That was damn right. Dean fucking hated how. And he’d fought with Her about it. Told Her it was insane, to fake-join Lucifer, to take magic steroids, to try and grab archangels-

“Dean.” She’d grabbed both his hands, pushing up on Her knee under her body, and it didn’t seem like a fair fight. She looked heavenly in the morning mist and light, and She smelled like fruit and sugar and god-

“No. It’s goddamn bonkers, Princess.”

She gave him a small smile. “Bonkers?”

“No.” He’d pointed an accusing finger at Her, and her smile had grown. “You can’t try and joke me out of this one, sweetheart, there’s no way in hell you’re doing this.”

“Please.” She’d scooted closer, and he’d just stared at Her, a little enchanted like an idiot. Dad had been right. She was dangerous, and She might make Dean an idiot.

But he could never hate Her, either. It wasn’t Her fault Dean liked falling under her spell, or dreamt about Her drowning him in all Her fruit and sugar and light.

“I’ll be okay, De.” She’d whispered, Her siren-like voice calling him down, down, down- “Sam will be okay, too, I just need to catch Lucifer off guard-“

“So we throw him a surprise party.” He’d grunted, and She smiled at him. The real, sweet smile that had always sort of melted him, because She didn’t really give it to anyone else.

“Dean.” She’d hummed, squeezing his hand three time. Fine. Everything was fine. “Please. I can’t do it without you.”

Fuck. He’d agreed. He was a weak willed, selfish asshole that wanted Her to love him and never look anywhere else for things she needed. And this could go wrong. This could, so goddamn easily, go a million ways wrong. Dean could think of about fifty off the top of his head.

But he’d always just been a weapon. A blood and dirt-rusted blade for the people he loved to wield. And apparently being that meant sitting awkwardly with Bobby while Sammy downed gallons of demon blood in the panic room, and She kept him company because She’d be the safest.

He and Bobby hadn’t really spoken. They’d played a card game and glanced at the stairs to the basement, waiting for Her to come up and tell them that they were ready to go. The original plan had just been turn themselves over to demons, but She’d rolled Her eyes like that was insane and insisted on using Her tracking spell.

And now, with Sam silent in the passenger’s seat, Her curled up in the back seat—slumped against a fully alert Cas, picking at Her fingers again, making Dean want to pull over and make Her stop, but they didn’t have enough time—and another bone guiding Dean on the dash, they were at the end.

This was it. She’d told him that She had that apple thing in Her jacket, and that She’d be fine. Lucifer wouldn’t hurt Her. And if Sam didn’t get a hold on Lucifer, she wanted to go for Michael, too.

Of course She did.

Because She and Sam were trying to fucking kill him.

Dean hated this. He’d never really hated anything more. He’d been staring at Death’s ring for hours last night, sitting up on the headboard and She’d been curled into his side, and hadn’t been sure it was worth it. The world. He was a selfish fucking asshole, and She might not be able to see it, but Dad had. Dad had known him better than anyone. He’d told Dean that the hard thing was the right thing, and that he just wanted Dean to be strong enough to do the right thing.

This didn’t fucking feel like the right thing. Letting the world fucking burn didn’t feel like the right thing either. The right thing maybe felt like using Death’s ring to kill God, because it was possible. Death had said God would die, and there wasn’t any damn reason it didn’t have to be now. Dean could use it to make God talk his asshole sons down from ending the world, then kill the douchebag anyway, so She never had to go.

Selfish.

This fucking sucked. And Sammy didn’t know about Her plan, and Bobby didn’t know Her plan—goddamnit, Bobby was finally going to shoot him—and Dean knew She was powerful or whatever, but fuck, She couldn’t just do this alone. She’d always told Dean she needed him, for when She fell apart or faltered and he could be Her weapon, carving them to the end.

But they were at the end. And unless this went perfectly, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to go with Her. If something went wrong, he’d still lose one of them.

That was the real fear, he knew. The cold, uncertain dread settled back in the cavity of his chest, splitting that pit more and more open until it was a canyon of just fucking empty dread.

He didn’t know who he was going to lose. And there was a dangerous light of hope deep in the pit—that he’d get to keep them both—but it was just going make this so much fucking worse.

“He’s in there.” Dean muttered, frowning at the abandoned building the Bone was angled towards. “Showtime.”

She and Cas exchanged at look that Dean could see in the rearview mirror, but went entirely unnoticed by Sam.

“Do I just… walk in and tell him?”

“Ideally, yes.” Cas muttered. “And Dean-“

“Got the rings.” He muttered, his hand sliding into his jacket. “And the incantation.”

Cas nodded, and Dean wanted to roar that this a mistake, all of this was a mistake, something was going to go wrong, and they needed to turn back now, but the brake lines had been cut.

They walked into the house, Cas waiting the car—She and Cas exchanged a strange look before they separated, making Dean’s stomach churn—and there was no way out.

Lucifer was waiting for them, arms spread wide and a manic grin on his face. His burnt, rotting, ugly face, the substitute vessel already falling apart. Dean wasn’t sure if the bile in his throat was from the sight of the motherfucker, or just what he knew was about to happen.

“Sammy! And Dean, and,” his grin fell to Her, and shooting his smug face wouldn’t do anything, but Dean really wanted to. “Hi, doll. I heard about your talk with Mikey. He really can’t charm a lady, can he? You finally realize that I’ve got the better deal?”

She didn’t response, just glancing to Sam, and Lucifer sighed.

“Guys, this is a safe space. We can all talk about our feelings, before I climb into Sam and Sam tries to jump us both to hell.”

The room fell dead silent, Lucifer grinning at them with an amused expression, and Dean’s blood curled in his body. He knew. The son of a bitch knew, of course he knew, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue why they’d even fucking bothered because now he was going to lose Sammy-

“Here, I’ll start. Sam,” Lucifer put on a simpering, wounded expression. “While I am hurt that you’d try to do that to me, I forgive you. I would still love to hop in for a ride, though. And if you get the reigns, hey! Fair game! I mean, I will torture you for eternity for putting back there,” he spat the word, and Sam paled. “But right now? Let’s fucking dance, baby.”

No. This wasn’t going to end well, and Dean glanced down to see Her braced and ready, and no-

“Ready, Sammy.” Lucifer spread his arms wide. “What’d you say? Ready to take on the world?”

No-

“Okay.” Sam stood a little taller, but her still just looked like a kid- “Yes.”

Dean lurched forward. This couldn’t happen. Lucifer had the jump on them, so he didn’t give a fuck about cut brake, they had to go-

“Dean.” She grabbed his arm, and shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Lucifer grinned at Her, his body starting to glow, and raised his brows. “C’mon, doll, you’re the last thing we’re missing-“

“No,” Dean’s grip tightened on Her arm, and he didn’t care about the plan. Both of them, he couldn’t lose both of them-

“And you know Mike’s not going to be good to him.” Lucifer hummed, and something strange flashed over her favors. “I am going to win, but on the chance I don’t… Dean was the prettiest girl at the dance, and he turned Michael down. You remember my promise. You already lost the shoe in with Heaven, I don’t think you want Daddy coming back.” He extended a hand, attention entirely on Her, and no- “Join me. You won’t have to be the Bride. Just you, me, Sammy, and, well-“ He grinned at Dean. “You know the rest.”

She swallowed, and Sam’s eyes widened on Her’s.

“Don’t,” he said Her name in a pleading tone, and Dean felt like he was drifting in the Ocean.

He knew the tide had grabbed him. He knew what was going to happen. Sammy had said yes, and he couldn’t take it back. She had a plan, and Dean had the rings, but She wanted to go for Michael too. If he fought it, he’d just be dragged further and further down, but not into Her. Into the pit in his body, already feeling so fucking empty because he fucking knew-

Sam repeated Her name desperately, and She shook Her head.

“You have to promise.” She whispered, Her eyes not moving from Lucifer, and Dean knew it was an act, but She was too damn good at it.

“Promise. Easy.” Lucifer grinned at Her. “You in?”

“Yeah.” She let go of Dean’s arm, and he could still feel the fucking burn from where She had been touching him. “I’m in.”

Sam shouted Her name, and Dean didn’t fucking care about the plan. If this was being selfish, he’d live with it. He was going to fucking fight the tide, and he was going to let it kill him because fucking hell, he couldn’t do this without Her-

The room started to glow a red-gold light, and Dean was thrown back like a hammer had slammed into his chest. Fully out of the room with Her and Sam still inside, and Lucifer growing brighter and brighter as She stood at his side.

Their eyes met, for only a second. She gave Dean a small, sad smile and blinked three times, right before the door slammed shut.

But nothing was fine. None of this was fucking fine. Dean slammed his fist of the door and roared their names, and it wasn’t for the show of it. He didn’t care if Lucifer found out about Her plan, he just wanted Her back, wanted Sammy back, needed Sammy to fucking know that She wasn’t betraying them, She was just insane and brilliant and reckless, so fucking reckless with Herself when She was the most important thing in the world-

The door broke open, and Dean stumbled forward into an empty room. They were gone. Both of them were gone, and he’d just fucking let it happen. The rings felt heavier than a black hole in his pocket, and they were both gone.

He’d get them back. They had a plan, and he was going to get them both back. But he couldn’t really breathe. All the air felt like ash in his lungs.

He wasn’t going to be able to breathe until he got them both back.

Cas was frowning at him when he returned to the car, glancing past Dean’s shoulder to the dead empty house. “Did she-“

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, holding the rings up for Cas to see. “She’s going for the big game.”

“Michael.” Cas muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze. “We will need to find the location of the final fight, and meet her there. The prophet should be able to see it.”

“Chuck?” Dean glanced over, and Cas nodded. “You think he’s going to be able to see how this ends? If we get it?”

“I would not count on it. Without God’s interference…” Cas sighed. “We have no way of knowing what will happen.”

Dean didn’t understand the point of a prophet, if they couldn’t just know that everything was going to be fine. That he’d find them, open the cage, She’d pull Lucifer out of Sammy and Michael out of Adam, and it would be over. They’d have to figure out what the hell to do with Adam, if this worked. The dumbass had voluntarily handed himself over to Michael, like the dipshit hadn’t kidnapped him only weeks ago. And whenever he’d tried to bring it up with Her, she’d just shrugged and mumbled something about angels being convincing.

She’d know. Michael and Lucifer had made Her offers, and She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Dean they’d give Her paradise, but there had to be more. If they thought She wanted paradise, Lucifer would’ve offered her more. Heaven’s whole deal was bringing paradise.

And Lucifer had been a lot less suspicious of Her than Dean liked. As if he’d always known he’d win Her over. It didn’t make Dean feel any better, with how real the whole thing had felt. And he trusted Her, with more than his goddamn life, but son of a bitch She liked to pull the most insane shit without telling him.

He couldn’t think about it. They had work to do, so Dean couldn’t think about it. Just like he couldn’t think about how quiet the entire world was.

Like it was already in mourning.

He didn’t want to think about any of this. He just wanted to go the hell back, to when She’d been right next to him. To when he didn’t have to park the car and walk inside, look Bobby in the eyes, and tell him what happened.

Bobby just stared at him. And maybe Dean should just swallow the end of the shotgun, because whatever Bobby did to him for losing Her, he deserved it-

“She tell you she was plannin’ that?” Bobby grunted, his knuckles white on his wheelchair, and Dean nodded.

“She would have done it behind our backs.” Cas injected, and Dean apprenticed it. He wasn’t sure he could say anything without choking right now. “If we didn’t help her. I got her an aid, to increase her power. And Dean will open the cage, so she can keep the upper hand on Lucifer.”

Bobby looked at Dean for another long, impossible heavy silence, then nodded.

“We best get our asses to work then.” His voice was gruff, but Dean recognized the strain in it. It was the same strain he had over his own ribs. “If she’s doin’ all the work, she needs to two idjits to pull your share.”

Their share was making a fucking phone call.

“So,” Chuck’s voice was a little static through the laptop speakers as he said Her name. “She chose Lucifer?”

Cas sighed. “She pretended to choose Lucifer. She plans to put both Lucifer and Michael in the cage, and this is the easiest way.”

Chuck frowned. “Why both? Lucifer is the one starting the end of the world, right?”

“I don’t think Michael made that good an impression on her.” Bobby’s tone was a little dry, and Chuck’s frown deepened, but Dean pushed on. They didn’t have time for this.

“I’ve got the key to the cage,” he held it up to the camera. “So nothing’s happening until we get to her. And she’s not making a move until she’s got them both in one place, so we need to know when that’s going to happen.”

“Um, probably the final battle?” Chuck glanced at Dean nervously. “It’s at noon, in Lawrence, Kansas. Skull cemetery. And she’s really planning to put them both in-“

“Yep.” Dean shoved the key back into his jacket. “Well, Chuck, if there’s another side, we’ll see you there-“

“Wait!” Chuck sat up on the screen, and Dean’s hand paused on the top of the laptop. “Do you want to know what they’re doing? Her and Sam?”

Dean froze. He wanted nothing more to know that they were okay, but Christ, if they weren’t-

“I thought you weren’t able to see in her head,” Bobby muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I- I can’t. But I can see into Sam’s, so I know she’s there.”

Bobby’s eyes flashed, and he wheeled a little closer. “She alright? Lucifer ain’t- He’s not hurtin’ her-“

“I don’t think he can.” Chuck frowned. “All I saw when I was thinking of Sam is- Um- Well he’s not really thinking clearly. He’s sort of angry, but mostly because she didn’t let him in on whatever she’s planning. And whenever I could see her, it was just kind of in a corner. Lucifer’s talked to her a few times about how when he’s done, he’ll help her burn her veil? But also that, um-“ Chuck brow furrowed. “She can do better than Dean. And she should take a second look at the menu, when they’re done.”

Dean’s grip on the laptop tightened, his words pushed through his teeth. “Alright. Bye, Chuck.”

He slammed the laptop, and turned to see Cas and Bobby frowning at him.

“What?”

They exchanged some strange look, and Cas cleared his throat. “We are… worried about you, Dean. You may not be going into this with the most stable state of mind-“

Dean cut him off with a scoff. “Stable states of mind are for assholes who do yoga and business douchebags. I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Bobby grunted. “I know what you’re thinkin’ right now-“

“No, you don’t-“

“That you feel like your whole fuckin’ life is on the line, and you ain’t able to do jack shit about it?” Bobby’s voice raised, and he held Dean’s glare. “I know that’s exactly what you’re thinkin’ boy, cause I’m thinkin’ it. At least you’re able to go out there and do somethin’ about it. Don’t get blinded and let all the shit they’re puttin’ themselves through go to waste.”

Dean’s hands curled into fists, and he shook his head. “They’re both in danger, Bobby, I’m going to do whatever the hell I gotta to get them out of it-“

“I know ya are, Dean. But I-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “Don’t be stupid about it.”

“I won’t-“

“Yeah, ya will.”

They stared at each other for a second, and Bobby let out a long breath, looking between Dean and Cas with the most open look Dean had ever seen. And it was filled with exhaustion, and desperation, and-

Fear. Right on the surface of Bobby’s face was pure fear, and it was so wrong. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Bobby afraid, but God, it was maybe the worst thing in the world.

“Bring them home.” Bobby grunted. “Both of ‘em. And come back in one piece yourself.”

Dean nodded, and didn’t bother with a goodbye. If he said goodbye, that meant he might not come back. One piece or not.

And it wouldn’t be one piece, if he came back without Her or Sammy. If Dean came back with just Her, a large piece of him would be missing that would take a long, hard time to fill.

If he came back, somehow, without both of them, the pit in his body would split open, and he’d never be whole again.

Cas sat silently the whole drive, and Dean was grateful for it. Cas was there. Maybe his angel mojo was fucked, but at least he wasn’t doing this alone. At least Cas put on the music for him, dealt with the directions, and didn’t try to make him talk about how this was making him feel, because the only answer was dread. It was settling deeper than his bones, the closer they got to the cemetery. He could feel it, heavy like iron and cold like death, sunken over maybe just the fabric of his being.

And the cemetery was dry. Gray and dry, with a dead crow sadly resting over one of the graves. Michael and Lucifer were glaring at each other and walking in circles like the worst high noon showdown in history, and Sammy looked fine, but he didn’t walk like Sammy, and She was sitting behind Lucifer.

Silent.

Her being silent had never been a good thing.

Dean climbed out of the car, trying to keep his expression natural, or his lunch from falling all over the ground. “Hi. Sorry we’re late, guys, but Cas gave me a wrong exit on 81.”

Cas frowned at him, and Dean just shrugged. He couldn’t really hear his own voice, or see anything but a Sammy that actually Sammy, and Her flat-out refusal to look him in the eyes.

“Dean.” Michael frowned at him through Adam’s body, and Dean felt the dread rising to his throat, making him sort of sick. “You are lucky I don’t smite you where you stand, for daring to be here.”

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “He’s here to plead with Sammy and his Princess, Michael, let him get blown up in the mess-“

“I’d rather not get blown up.” Dean raised his hand, both archangels glared at him, and this didn’t really feel fucking real. “If we’re choosing horrible fates for me to meet, I’d veto blowing up. Cas, you wanna take that one for the team?”

Cas stared at him, and—thank goddamn Christ—seemed to pick up the insane plan Dean had backed himself into. “No. I would rather not.”

Dean nodded, gave the archangels an apologetic half-grin, and he was never going to be able to give Her shit about her plans again. This was what happened when he was left without Her and Sammy. His grand plan to save the world was the same one he’d had to coast through high school.

Talk and talk and talk and say nothing at all, until the bell ran out, and class was over.

Only here, the bell was Her doing whatever she needed to grab Michael and Lucifer, and class was her throwing them in the cage.

It wasn’t a good metaphor.

Dean needed Her and Sammy for that, too.

“Lucifer.” Michael grunted, and Dean was pretty sure that glare might be capable of shredding him to ribbons. “Unless you have objections, I am going to blow them both up so we can continue-“

“I have objections. You know I have objections.” Lucifer said Her name, and she glanced up from where she’d been cross-legged in the grass. “Tell Mikey he can’t blow up Dean.”

“She does not command us, Lucifer.” Micheal muttered, even as he eyed her wearily, and Lucifer laughed.

“Uh, yeah, she does. She certainly commands you. Dad spent so much time telling us about how perfect she’d be, how he’d done this all for her, can you imagine how disappointed he’d be in you if you made her cry?”

Michael didn’t visibly react, but Cas tensed at Dean’s side. Maybe it was only visible to other angels. “She chose wrong. I hold no deal to her, Lucifer, when she decided to turn her back on all I offered her-“

“You didn’t offer me anything,” She whispered, and Michael froze. “You told me you’d make me forget everyone. That you’d just hand me over to God.”

“He wants what’s best for you-“

She let out a dry laugh, pushing up to her feet. “Everyone wants what’s best for me. It’s usually ends with me in a basement.”

“It would have been paradise.” Michael hissed. “And you’ll see, when I win and offer you a second chance-“

“I don’t think she wants your second chance, man.” Dean cut in, trying not to think about how She was next to Lucifer. How all she needed now was to get between them. “She doesn’t really do first chances. You’re either in or out, and I don’t think you’re in.”

Michael scowled at him. “You should watch yourself, Dean. A hundred years goes faster than you think, and that is all it will take for Her to forget you.”

“Maybe.” Dean shrugged. “But I don’t think she’ll ever think anything good about you. Cas?”

“Dean.”

He frowned, and turned to find Cas a whole lot closer to him than before. Braced. As if he was ready for something.

“Uh-“ He shook his head, and watched her take a casual step forward in his periphery. “What does paradise look like?”

“A lot of nature.” Cas muttered, and Dean sighed, giving Michael a sympathetic look.

“See, that’s where you’re going wrong. My girl doesn’t like the outdoors. Hates bug spray, says it makes her skin itchy. And you’re gonna have to keep soda fountains around. And, uh-“ Dean said Her name, and their eyes met.

Her’s were a bright as when the door had closed between them. Not empty, but made of more life than he’d ever really been able to understand.

Telling him to be ready. And to keep going.

So he did.

“What’s the name of that makeup store you like?”

A small smile that could’ve been nothing, but Dean would know anywhere, crossed over her lips.

“Walgreens.”

“Right.” He looked back to Michael. “But she doesn’t buy from them, she steals. So you might need to make that, uh- Not a sin anymore. Or you can win,” he nodded to Lucifer. “But you’re gonna have to make sure the fires of hell don’t burn the books. She won’t like that either.”

There was a long second of silence, and she was just in Michael’s reach. One more second. They were so damn close-

Michael said that strange, musical sound Lucifer had made in San Francisco, and turned to her with a glare. “That is what you’re willing to betray the earth for? What you’re willing to side with my brother for, when my father, when I have been ready to give you whatever you want, since the world began?”

She didn’t say anything, but She didn’t move either, and Michael’s eyes narrowed.

“This is all in your name. And our fight,” he gestured between himself and Lucifer, who was mostly just frowning. “Is not yours. Come here. I’ll put you somewhere safe, until you understand.”

She still didn’t move.

But Michael did.

He lunged for Her, and Dean didn’t think. He’d never thought, when he was on a hunt. When She or Sammy were in danger.

He’d only ever moved.

Dean sprinted forward, trying to put himself between Her and Michael’s hand, and he couldn’t hear anything over the blood in his ears. She might have screamed his name, but at least if he died here, that would be the last thing he ever heard. And She’d pull out Sammy, and they’d be fine without him. She and Sammy had already survived when he’d been dead, and when God came for Her maybe she’d drop in on him in hell, because he sure as shit wasn’t going to heaven when Michael was about to kill him.

But he wasn’t dead.

He’d been yanked back by the collar of jacket, but Michael hadn’t grabbed Her. The archangel had been knocked back by Cas, brawling in Dean’s place, somehow holding his own for more than a second, until-

Cas vanished, reappeared at Dean’s side, and Michael burst into flames.

Dean stared at the lingering ash on the ground, then at Cas. “What the hell did you do?”

“I shot him.” Cas muttered, holding up a gun. “I did not know it would have that effect.”

“That’s Bobby’s gun.” She whispered, and Dean’s head whipped up to find her blinking at him. “I enchanted it.”

“Oh.” Dean grinned at Her. “Cool.”

“Castiel.” Lucifer hissed, and the expression on his face was goddamn murderous. It couldn’t be anything good. “You should be dead.”

“I know how not to shoot myself-“

“No.” Lucifer clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Holding a fight with Michael, even cheating should have destroyed you, but-“ His gaze slid to Her. “Someone helped you. Gave you a boost.”

She swallowed, and Cas grabbed Dean’s arm before he could launch forward again.

“You shouldn’t be strong enough to restore an angels grace.” Lucifer hissed. “You ate an apple, didn’t you. You were going to betray me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer held a finger to his lips, his gaze sliding to Cas and Dean. “You did a good job. It’s going to take a lot more effort than before to smite him. But I can still-“

Lucifer snapped his fingers, and Cas vanished. A shout had barely left Dean’s mouth when Lucifer scoffed, and appeared right in front of him, wrapping a hand around Dean’s throat and lifting him off the ground.

“He’s alive.” Lucifer sneered. “Thrown down to the bottom of the Pacific ocean, but alive. And I’d be more worried for yourself Dean.” He tossed Dean all the way back against the Impala, and the pain had barely even gotten a chance to hit him before he was being lifted up again, and slammed back down.

She was screaming again, in the background. But Dean couldn’t get to Her, couldn’t calm her down or save Her from this one. He could only look at Sammy’s face, full of a pure hate that made Dean wish Lucifer would just get it over with, and feeling the snap of his ribs as a kick like wrecking ball slammed into his chest.

"Hear that?” Lucifer sneered in his ear, and Dean’s vision was starting to fill with spots as his head got bashed once more. “She won’t hurt you, or she’ll try not to. But she’ll snap, and kill you, and then neither of you will get anything. I’ll lock her up, just like Mikey would’ve, and maybe Daddy will come and take her. Maybe she’ll just rot forever. Or I can bring her back, make a duplicate of you, and make her watch me kill all those too.” Lucifer laughed, and Dean wasn’t sure what was Her screams or just his own pain anymore. “I’ll kill that old coot you both got, too. And Sammy will live happily,” Lucifer raised him up, glass crashing somewhere in the background, and Dean felt a sting near his back. “Without any of you-“

Lucifer’s words cut off, and Dean blinked. The light was too bright. It was making his vision blur and his head throb, and he could barely see anything but Sammy’s face-

Sammy.

That wasn’t Lucifer, looking back at him in shock and confusion and pain. It was-

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice was weak, and Sam’s grip slacked on him immediately.

“Fuck, Dean-“ Sam’s eyes scanned over him, wide and frantic. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Not-“ Dean coughed, the motion hurting his lungs, and She was still crying. He could hear it. It might be making everything hurt more. “Not you. Wasn’t you, Sammy, but-“

“Dean, I can’t hold him long- The cage-“

“No.” He shook his head, looking over Sam’s shoulder to Her. On Her knees in the grass, curled into Herself, a hand around her own throat.

He couldn’t go to Her now. They didn’t have time. But after, he’d maybe hold Her for the rest of his life and not let go.

Dean whispered Her name, shoving the key into Sam’s hand. “Trust her. You gotta trust her.”

Sam followed Dean’s gaze, nodded—not a question, but Dean didn’t really Sammy’d had one about her since they met—and moved.

He felt like he was floating. Like he was watching something on a TV, instead of it folding out in front of him. Sam stopped in front of Her, offering a hand to stand up, and She glanced at Dean but took it. Then She pulled an apple out of Her jacket—iridescent and glowing—and started to eat it as Sam tossed the key on to the ground. The earth started to shudder and bend, and Dean was still just suspended in nothing, unable to real feel anything but numb pain and that dread. The wind shifted slightly, blowing right against his face as She gave Sam a small smile, and placed a hand on his chest. And Dean-

He could smell the fruit. Stronger than ever in his goddamn life, right on the wind.

The apple. It was the fucking glowing apple, and he could smell it.

He was crashing right back down to earth, right as it all blew apart.

Michael reappeared, a step behind Her. And Dean roared Her name in warning, ignoring the pain it shot through his chest., but Sam was faster. He grabbed Michael, turned them both to Her with a tiny nod, and when She slammed Her hand on Michael’s chest, Dean could see it.

All the dry color of the cemetery, vivid. The dead grass turning green and starting to bloom in all those strange flowers Dean had never seen before. The ground shaking and the crow that had been dead on the grave a moment ago, cawing then taking off.

Her pupils, blindingly silver as Her beautiful face sent in determination. All Her features seeming to glow as She pulled Michael and Lucifer out of their vessel.

Michael moved first, and Dean felt like that thing deeper than his bones was being ripped apart. Michael was all yellow and a flurry of a million wings that were going to make him go deaf, and fitting in Her hand and somehow still bigger than the sun.

Michael was thrashing. Trying to fight Her, as he was pulled all the way out and Adam’s body fell to the ground. But Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Lucifer wasn’t coming out, and She wasn’t throwing Michael into the pit. Every time Dean saw Her turn, Michael twisted and roared, Her eyes squeezed shut, and a goddamn tree shot out of the ground. She couldn’t let him go. She couldn’t let go of Michael, and Lucifer wasn’t coming out.

Time seemed to slow, and Dean wasn’t suspended anymore, but he also couldn’t move. Lucifer had either broken his legs, or he just didn’t fully register what was happening until it was done.

She looked at Sam, said something Dean couldn’t hear over the pounding of Michael’s wings, and Sam took her free hand and said something back. They just looked at each other for a long moment, and then they both looked at Dean.

He tried to call for them. Tried to roar that whatever they were doing, it was insane, and he could do it instead. He could take the bullet, jump on the grenade, be the punching bag or put himself in the line of fire.

He might have gotten his plea out. Maybe not. It didn’t really matter.

Because She and Sammy turned away and, hand in hand, fell into the cage together.

It sealed shut before Dean could even get in a breath for a scream.

And they were both gone. Leaving Dean alone with nothing but himself, and the wind.

End Note: I think this might have counted as psychological torture? Please not call the UN on me, they’ll send me a strongly worded letter.

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

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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emmaslilblog · 3 days ago

Text

Tarantula-Man // Peter Parker

ONE-SHOT

ABOUT: After your long-time crush Peter Parker invites you over for dinner one night, you accidentally discover his biggest secret. [ tomholland!peter x fem!reader. big fluff, quiet bookworm girl x nerdy guy ]

TW: A few allusions to sex. Overwhelming cutness :)

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

A/N: Had to give Tom Holland's Petey a turn! He's just such a softie I can't handle his cuteness. Anyway enjoy :)

DISCLAIMER: The gif is not mine! Also, I might have changed the setup/floor plan of the Parker apartment in order for this idea to work, so please forgive meeee

~~~

You've always had eyes for the nerd in the back of the classroom. Granted, everyone at Midtown School of Science and Technology has more than earned their right to the title of "nerd" - but this one's different from the others.

His name is Peter Parker. He's got the fluffiest brown hair you've ever seen, the softest chocolate eyes, the most perfectly chiseled chin and a smile to melt the hearts of all the world's monsters. Not to mention he's dashing in every way - muscular physique, capable talents, a shy nature and a respect for his fellow students. His best friend is a social outcast, but he's never afraid of getting targeted for it. He's an all-around good guy, and it's safe to say you've never liked anyone more.

But as the resident "quiet girl" of Midtown, no one has ever really looked your way. That's both a good and bad thing. On the bright side, no one ever notices you when you spend hours of your day sneaking peeks at the handsome Peter Parker. On the down side, however... no one ever notices you.

Until today.

It's early autumn. The leaves are falling in golden-tinted shades outside, the trees rustling in the breeze. You can see the sun through the window across the cafeteria, but the windows closest to you are shaded by the trees just outside. You're sitting on a bench, alone, in the corner of the cafeteria, feet kicked up next to you on the empty bench, a book in your hands as you take occasional sips from a carton of crappy chocolate milk. For the time being, your mind has drifted from Parker, settling on the words your eyes scan from the page. Catcher In The Rye, one of your favorite books. An old-timer, and one that's been banned in several places across the world, but the story is just so... thoughtful. And you love to think.

Just when you reach a "good part" in the scene - someone clears their throat.

Your head jerks up. None other than Peter Parker and Ned Leeds are standing on the other side of the table, lunch trays in hand. Peter's face instantly blushes, and you find yourself frozen.

"Hey, uh, Y/n..." Peter says, scrambling for words. "Uh, I, uh... Miss Jenson recommended you to, uh, help me with Calc. She said you have the highest consistent scores in the class."

You gulp down your social terror, and find yourself nodding. "I didn't know I have the highest scores," you tell him, trying to sound confident, "but, uh, yeah. Yeah, I can help you."

Peter beams. You fall for him all over again.

He nods to the table. "Mind if Ned and I join you?"

You smile, a little awkwardly. "I don't usually get visitors, but you guys seem pleasant."

He takes that as the yes you meant it to be. Together, Peter and Ned sit down across from you and set their trays on the table. You swing your legs down from the bench, scooting forward just slightly. You set your book face up on the table, and Peter's eyes dart to its cover. He smirks at you.

"Catcher In The Rye?" he reads. "Wow, I guess you really do have to watch out for the quiet ones."

You giggle softly, pulling the book closer to you. Shrugging, you respond, "Guess so. I dunno, I just like the language. Holden Caulfield's got a lot of useful clapbacks. Which I intend to use, should anyone try to insult me."

As Ned rips his chocolate milk carton open, Peter's eyes twinkle in a sweet smile. "Don't worry, I try to follow the Nice Guy Code. You won't have to go all Holden Caulfield on me, I promise."

You grin. Parker's turning out to be even better in person than you ever could have imagined. You sense there's more behind the "Calc Homework Help" excuse, but you don't want to get your hopes up. Whatever it is - whatever the reason he came to talk to you - you're finally in his presence, and that's more than enough to satisfy you.

For now.

~~~

It's been two weeks. Every day has been like a dream. When the first day was done, you convinced yourself it had been a one-time thing, since Peter had seemed to understand the concepts you were explaining to him and he'd stopped asking questions by the end of lunchtime. But when he returned the second day, Ned at his side, you figured something else was at play.

It took three days before you started - for some reason - seeing him in the halls way more often than usual. He started just passing by, waving to you and grinning each time he saw you. Then, on the fourth day, he ran up behind you (scared you a little bit, but that's okay), and started talking your ear off about The Great Gatsby, a book he figured you'd enjoy based on your taste in literature. You had already read his recommendation at least five times in your life, but you nurtured his excitement anyway. Any chance to be closer to him, to be in his presence, was a chance you would be a idiot to turn down.

On the fifth day, Peter showed up to lunch alone. Ned had gone somewhere else. That was when you allowed yourself to accept that something fishy was going on. You felt like you were a character in one of the books you loved - you could see something was off, but you didn't yet have the knowledge or insight to figure it out. Not fully.

You've hit the two week mark since Peter started seeking you out at Midtown, the first person in perhaps a year or two to do so. At lunch today, Ned finally came back and joined you both, but he kept his nose in his phone practically the whole time. You felt bad for him - tried to include him in conversation - but it was obvious he was there despite not wanting to be. Peter shrugged it all off.

You're at your locker, earbuds pressed deep in your ears and snaking down to the phone in your pocket. You're nodding your head to a beat only you can hear. You have a few minutes in between classes, so you've taken to organizing your (rather cluttered) locker space.

Someone taps on your shoulder.

You jump and spin around to see Peter standing there, face warped in a big grin, and your heart leaps in your chest. You tug one earbud out of your ear. The music stops.

"Don't do that, Parker," you tell him, breathless. "You scared the crap out of me."

He chuckles to himself, leaning sideways against the locker next to yours. You notice that he's standing very close to you. Closer than usual, even when walking down a crowded hallway. Your breath hitches in your throat when you look at him - his eyes are clouded with a depth you can't describe. Something's definitely going on.

"Sorry," he says, a half-assed apology. "I forgot you frighten easily."

A heat rises to your cheeks, and you force a frown. "What ever happened to watching out for the quiet ones?"

Those had been his words, said two weeks ago when he first joined you at lunch. It takes him a few seconds to realize what you're doing, and then he gives you a strange look, and somehow, you know exactly what he's thinking. He's wondering why you remember that so easily... and then he's wondering why you were paying so much attention when he was speaking to you.

Nevertheless, he forces a laugh. "Sorry," he stutters. "I, uh - sorry, that was rude of me. Please don't be mad, Y/n."

He's too pretty. If it's this hard to hold a straight face in front of him, you don't even want to know what holding a grudge against him would be like. You give in, and your lips curl into a smile.

"I'm not," you assure him. "Just... don't make fun of me for being, y'know, a scaredy-cat."

He reaches out, strong fingers grazing your upper arm just barely. Even with such brief contact, his touch sends shivers down your spine. When he pulls his arm back, you feel as though you've lost something. You can't describe it other than the feeling of loss.

"I won't do it again," he says. "I promise."

You force a nod, dragging your mind away from the thought of his fingers on you. What it would be like to feel him even closer to you. He just gave you a taste of the forbidden fruit, and you want more.

You clear your throat. "So, uh... might I ask why you approached me in the middle of the day? We have..." You lean back, squinting at the clock hanging from the ceiling down the hallway. "We have exactly two minutes before the bell rings. Where's your class?"

"Chem," he answers simply, waving your question away. "It's just down the hall. I, uh, I actually wanted to, uh... ask you something."

Your heart leaps.

"Oh?" you breathe, tilting your head to the side, pretending every muscle in your body isn't on edge. "And what's that, I wonder?"

Parker raises a hand to scratch the back of his neck. You recognize the movement from every love confession scene you've ever read. His eyes, big chocolate orbs, dart away from you and around the hallway aimlessly. He smiles at the ground. His cheeks go red.

"I..." he starts, hesitating wildly. "Well, I, uh... I may or may not have mentioned your name to my Aunt May. And she... well, she wants to meet you."

The thought of him bringing you up to someone you don't even know - him talking about you when you're not there, obviously in a positive light since his aunt wants to meet you now - makes your knees go weak. You feel faint. Is this really happening? Is he really doing what you think he's doing?

"I really don't want to put you on edge, you know," Peter continues with a shrug, "so if you're not interested, just... just, uh, say no. I won't be upset. But, um... Aunt May's cooking dinner tonight. For three. If you, uh, want to join." He gives you a crooked smile.

Inside your chest, your heart melts. You're speechless. This is actually happening. He just invited you to dinner. And you can think of only one thing to say in response.

"What time?"

~~~

You must have spent close to three hours preparing for dinner with Peter and his Aunt May. Your shower took over an hour (you frantically made sure to shave every hair exposed on your legs, not wanting to take any chances on Peter's toleration level), and then you spent half an hour scrolling through Pinterest for eyeliner design inspiration. In the end, you settle with your usual school makeup, plus a slightly darker shade of lip gloss and a smattering of rosy eyeshadow. From your meager closet you elect a black skirt ending just above your knees, a gray buttoned blouse, and a black cardigan. While lacing your white Converse, you hyperventilate for a terrifying fifteen minutes. Then you say goodbye to your parents and leave your apartment on foot.

Peter's apartment complex isn't far from your own - just a few blocks. In an endless city like New York, that's a simple distance. You brought a little bag of homemade chocolates for the Parkers to share, and you spend the entire walk switching the strings of the bag between sweaty hands.

When you arrive in the lobby of the apartment complex, no one is there to welcome you, and it alarms you a little bit. Your heart beats louder and more aggressive in your chest, throat tightening as you try to swallow away your anxiety. You sent Peter a text when you left your apartment, and another five minutes out from his, but he hasn't responded. Hell, he hasn't even read your messages. You begin to wonder if this is a good idea, if he suddenly went back on his offer. You can't blame him - you aren't the most interesting or the most beautiful girl at Midtown. You aren't the cream of the crop. You're just... you. And if things aren't going like he said they would, then maybe it's time to accept the Midtown boys as a mere passing moment in the era of your life.

Just when you've convinced yourself it's time to turn around and go home, you hear a ping! from your back pocket. You whip your phone out at dastardly speed.

Peter :))) : sixth floor incase i forgot to mention :P

You smile to yourself. Instead of quieting, your heart skips a beat and then continues faster. You head over to the elevator. It takes a millennium for the thing to descend to the ground floor after you push the button, and even more time to begin its agonizingly slow ascent to the sixth floor.

Ding!

You exhale deeply. Sweaty fingers straighten your skirt at its edge. Then you urge your feet forward onto the carpet, looking for the number of the Parker apartment.

Before you feel properly prepared, you stop in front of a maroon door. The door. You stand frozen for a long moment, double-checking the number against the one Peter texted you earlier. You're definitely in the right place - now it's just a matter of screwing up all your courage. After taking the deepest breath of your life, you reach up to knock on the wood.

It swings open before you can touch it.

Standing in front of you is a gorgeous woman looking to be in her mid-thirties, maybe slightly younger. She's wearing a black and white striped long-sleeve, with dark navy jeans that hug her waist as if she's eighteen. A pair of circular glasses sit on her nose, a headful of dark brown hair flowing down and over her shoulders. If not for those instantly recognizable chocolate brown eyes, you would have believed you'd knocked on the wrong door.

When Aunt May sees you standing there, her face erupts in an enormous smile. She leans against the doorway, one hand resting loosely on the doorknob.

"Y/n!" she greets happily. "Pete didn't tell me when exactly you'd be coming. I was just going to get the mail from downstairs."

You giggle. "You call him Pete?"

Aunt May smirks, an expression far too mischievous for a woman reaching her middle age. "Just one of his many nicknames," she answers. Before you can react, she grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a crushing embrace. "He told me you were adorable, but I have to say, you still surpass my expectation."

Wrapped in a strange hug by a woman you've never met before, you can't help but smile. Your heart flutters in your chest - Peter told his aunt you were adorable. Who knows what else he's said.

Aunt May pulls away, regards you kindly. Then she ushers you into the apartment. "I'll be right back," she assures you. "Pete's in his room doing God knows what. Go terrorize him for me."

She winks at you, then disappears into the hallway, letting the door fall shut behind her. You can hear keys jingling as she walks to the elevator.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Your eyes flicker around the apartment, bag of chocolates gripped tightly in both hands. The Parker living space is a good size, strewn with modern furnishings and knick-knacks and decorations akin to the personalities of Peter and his lively aunt. On the far wall, you spy a pinned-up painting of a cow in a pasture, the artistic level of a kindergartener. You giggle to yourself at the sight, gaze moving over object after object, then falling on a stream of light emanating from a slightly opened door at the end of a short hallway. You can hear the rustling and creaking of someone moving around - it's got to be Peter.

You gulp down your rising nerves. "Peter?" you call out. You step forward, then stop and listen. The movement has ceased entirely. "Peter, it's Y/n. Aunt May let me in."

A moment of silence. Then a strange scraping sound - like boots on a wooden dresser. You don't know why he hasn't answered yet.

After setting the bag of chocolates on the island, you defy your growing apprehension and direct your slow steps toward Peter's room. Wild thoughts of an intruder swirl around your mind, but you push them away. That can't be possible - Aunt May was here not two minutes ago.

You're in front of his bedroom door now. The movement has stopped again, replaced by a silence only broken by the thumping of your rapid heartbeat. This is the setting of something horrific - or would be, if you were a character in a novel. But you're not. You're retrieving Peter Parker from his bedroom. For a dinner with him and his aunt. That he invited you to. Nothing out of the ordinary is going on.

"Peter," you say, your voice shaky, "I'm coming in."

He doesn't answer. You give him several long moments, but all is silent. It's like he's disappeared into thin air.

Biting your lip, you push his bedroom door open all the way. The white wood creaks, and you step forward. Just a typical teenage boy's bedroom, moderately messy with a few open Lego sets and clothing items and a blue hoodie at the edge of his bed and a Playstation controller on the floor near a dresser. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Until your eyes drift to the ceiling.

Peter is glued to the ceiling as if by magic. He's wearing some sort of red and blue costume. He's staring at you, unblinking, as your eyes widen in terror.

You stumble backward and open your mouth to scream, but Peter jumps down to the floor in a soft thump and presses a soft gloved hand to your mouth. He's frantic, but you are horrified - what the hell is happening? Your mouth is covered, and you can't scream anymore, but you can't get the image of Peter clinging to the ceiling out of your mind. Peter shushes you quietly, his free hand reaching out to close the door behind you. It clicks shut.

"Please," Peter urges you, "please don't scream. I - I didn't mean to - I didn't know you'd be up here this fast. Please, Y/n, I -"

You rip Peter's hand away from your mouth and stumble on your feet, your back meeting the closed door. Your eyes are rimmed with tears, lungs struggling to pull in air, but you're able to hiss one thing at him: "What the fuck?"

Peter sighs deeply, fingers pulling at his hair in frustration. If you were less terrified, you would marvel at how flawlessly the red and blue suit hugs his form. The pattern looks like a spider at the center of his chest, legs stretching up and down across his figure.

"I really hoped you wouldn't - Y/n, I really -" he stutters, tripping over his words. "I didn't mean to - shit."

You take a moment to focus on your breathing. He's obviously angry. You obviously just walked in on something very private and possibly very dangerous. But he's still the same Peter Parker. He's still the same sweet nerdy guy who invited you to dinner with his aunt. He's still the guy who approached you at lunch and made conversation when no one else would. He's still Peter, and you have no right to hold your shock against him when you are the one who invaded his privacy in the first place.

A tear rolls down your cheek. "Did I just screw us up?" you ask, voice astonishingly quiet.

Peter looks up at you, chocolate brown orbs meeting yours, and he exhales with a faux smile. He shakes his head. "No, Y/n, I just... well, I've just had a lot going on lately, and I... this is something even my Aunt May doesn't know anything about. You're, like, the second person to find out about this. Maybe the third, I don't know."

Once you convince yourself that he isn't going to hurt you, you leave the door. Your steps carry you forward, toward Peter, and he takes a step back, perhaps fearful you're going to slap him or punch him. But you don't. Even if you wanted to, you couldn't.

"I didn't mean to walk in on a secret," you tell him softly. Against your racing heart, you raise a hand, gently touching his... suit-thing with the back of your index finger. It's smooth, soft, almost silky, but strong beneath your skin. It must be a new kind of technology. "What is this... for? This... suit... thing?"

Peter opens his mouth to answer, but pauses breathless when you press your palm to his shoulder, running your skin across his strange outfit. "I, uh..." he stammers, watching you inspect him with eyes of that strange depth from before. "It's a crazy story. I don't know if you'll believe me."

You recall the vision of Peter clinging impossibly to the ceiling, and you shrug lightly. "Tell me anyway," you say. "I just saw you glued to the ceiling. Anything would seem plausible at this point."

Peter bites his lip. He leans closer to you, almost imperceptibly, and lowers his voice. "I was bitten by a radioactive spider, and it... well, it gave me some powers I'm still trying to figure out. I was, uh, messing with some of it when you got here."

You nod, doing your best to process the impossible. "And this suit..." you ask, tapping on the material beneath your fingers, "it'll help you... what, control these powers? Harness them?"

"Something like that," Peter says. He shakes his head, chuckling softly. "I can't believe you're still here, after seeing... you know, that."

You smile to yourself. "You looked more bothered by my intrusion than I felt. Would've been a shitty move to run."

The whole thing is ridiculous. You feel like you're in a dream. But at the same time, you feel more lucid than ever before. What you saw was real, and what Peter's telling you is even more real. You feel it in your gut. You just have to gather your courage and believe him. It's easy enough to believe your written stories, right? Why not believe the one Peter just told you out loud?

All of a sudden, you realize how close you're standing to him. With him leaning forward just slightly, and you merely a foot or two from him, you can practically feel the heat of his body on yours. The last time you were this close to a boy - let alone a boy you were actually interested in - was in seventh grade. The ensuing kiss was sloppy, awkward, and something you vowed to forget as soon as it was over. Now, standing a breath away from Peter Parker, you feel almost euphoric. Overcome with a sensation you can't describe. The suit makes him look hot - and you can't tear your eyes away from him.

He clears his throat, and you look up to his face. His cheeks are a little blushed. "I feel underdressed," he confesses.

You furrow your brows. "I didn't really dress up at all," you tell him. Your voice is just barely unsteady, trembling in a mix of adrenaline, leftover fear, butterflies...

Peter takes the gloves off his hands, dropping them to the floor beside him. His fingers raise to your shoulder, skin fluttering across the soft fabric of your black cardigan. You nearly melt under his touch. He's as gentle as a feather against you. "Maybe not," he says after a long pause, his breathing hitched slightly. "But you still... you still look gorgeous."

You freeze. Your heart pounds inside your chest, demanding to be let free. You feel dizzy all of a sudden.

"Makes me feel a little, um... a little inadequate," he continues with a soft chuckle.

Your voice crackles when you speak, lips parting in a soft haze of rapidly growing adoration and need. "Peter..."

Your hand drifts to his bare neck, and he shivers against your touch. His hand is tracing a sketch of your figure - where he started at your shoulder, he's now moving to your neck, your arm, down to your waist, grazing a spot that leaves you with little breath in your lungs. His other hand approaches from the other side, fingers ghosting your jawline. You can't breathe. He's looking everywhere but your gaze. His chocolate brown orbs are skimming every visible part of you, memorizing your figure like he's at a museum beholding a Monet creation. His movements are restless, determined.

Then -

"Can I kiss you?"

Peter's eyes glisten with a longing you can't quite describe. He wants it just as much as you do. He needs it.

"I know it's a weird moment," he says in rambling words, "after the - y'know, the - the ceiling thing, and, uh -"

Your fingers curl in his hair, pulling him to you. You shut your eyes just as his lips connect with yours.

His kiss starts slowly, softly, tentatively. You search for his determination, his hunger. He tastes fresh, like peppermint - the thought produces a blazing fire in your core. He had thought ahead. He'd wanted to kiss you even before you arrived, had even prepared with breath mints.

You open your lips, and that seems to be his cue - he meets your effort with shocking ferocity, diving back into you like he's starved of affection. His fingers dig into your waist, drawing your hips to his, and your arms snake around his neck, your nails dragging across the sensitive skin of his scalp. A noise escapes his throat at the contact - a mix between a groan, a whimper, and a moan - and his arms lock around your waist, holding you steadfast against him. Before you know it, you're stumbling backward, and your back hits the door. One of his hands travels down to your ass, and in permission, you kiss him with more hunger. More fire. His response is a light squeeze to your butt. The mint is all-encompassing now. His body is taut against yours like a lifeline. He's not going anywhere.

His lips leave yours, but you barely notice. Down he drifts, down to your jaw and slowly to your neck, peppering kisses as he goes. His arms are strong around you, and even as your knees buckle and your body melts against him, he holds you steady and safe and constant. When he nips at a spot just below your ear, you bite your lip so hard you taste blood, shutting your eyes and letting out a soft whimper. Peter holds you closer, tighter. You can't believe how good this boy feels against you.

"Come on out, lovebirds!" a voice calls from the kitchen. Aunt May. You both freeze. "Dinner's ready!"

When Peter straightens and meets your gaze, you know exactly what he's thinking. Since when did she get back?

He swallows, making sure you're steady on your feet before he pulls away. "Two minutes, May!" he yells through the closed door. Your jaw clenches. The euphoria is gone too soon.

"On the clock!"

Peter rolls his eyes. You straighten against the door, fidgeting with your skirt, your shirt, your hair, making sure everything is in place before you appear once again to May. Peter backs away, glancing at you before he turns around. You take the cue, spinning around to face the door. Your cheeks still blushed, you listen to the hum of fabric removal from his form. You wish you could turn around, view his perfect muscles without the shield of clothing, but that would be extremely rude and yet another invasion of privacy.

The question pokes at your mind for several long moments before you voice it. "Can we have a round two later?" you ask him. Peter stops moving, and you giggle softly. "When you're not stuck in that weird tarantula suit, obviously."

"Tarantula?" he repeats, giving a soft snort. "Ew, no. It's supposed to be a spider suit."

You hug yourself and shrug. "I think it looks like a tarantula... but spider it is. For a spider man." You laugh to yourself at the thought. You still don't quite believe the story, but it's alright. No harm was done. Peter's still Peter.

A pair of strong arms snake around your waist from behind, and your heart leaps in your chest. You tilt around to look at him over your shoulder, and on his chiseled face is a cheeky grin. A boyish grin. You melt at the sight of the boy you like love. The boy who just kissed you so hard you nearly forgot the fright you'd experienced minutes earlier.

"So..." you say softly, grabbing his hands and wrapping them tighter around yourself, "how about that round two?"

Peter snickers and kisses your hair. "After dinner," he tells you. "And then, maybe... maybe I'll take you out to get ice cream somewhere." He glances down at you, sees a smirk crawling across your face, and raises a brow. "Why the mischievous grin?"

You restrain a giggle. "I thought of an R-rated joke," you reply.

Peter's arms tighten around you. The kind of pressure that makes you feel immensely safe, but reminds you just how strong he is. He could throw you over his shoulder, no problem, if he wanted to.

"Do tell," he murmurs into your hair. Your heart skips a beat at the soft rumble of his voice.

You hesitate. "I was thinking of a dessert... but not ice cream."

His mouth curls into a sly smile. "Hm," he remarks. "I like the sound of that."

He leans forward, lips grazing your exposed neck. He presses a kiss at its base, hands holding you steady at your hips, and you close your eyes, drifting into the safety of his chest (now clothed in a regular shirt). Something tingles deep in your stomach, and you focus on the heated sensations as his fingers drift forward, drawing shapes on your hips, down to your thighs beneath your skirt...

Aunt May's voice cuts through the quiet and the tension. "I'll eat this whole meal myself!"

You regain feeling in your extremities, and you pull away from Peter, only for him to let out a little disappointed groan. You grab his hand and pull him toward the door.

"Come on, Tarantula-man," you tease. "I'm hungry."

Peter eyes you through narrowed lids, but only love shines through in those chocolate orbs. "You're never going to switch to Spider-man, are you?" he whines.

You smirk. "You wish."

The boy you've loved for years looks back at you, and this time, he grins from ear to ear. He's just as happy as you.

~~~

Masterlist

#peter parker #tom holland spiderman #spiderman #aunt may #marvel #marvel mcu #tom holland #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman homecoming #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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ak319 · 22 hours ago

Text

J.M x fem!reader ─ 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥, 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐁𝐢𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐦

ಇ. one-shot

Syno: The new ranch hand has caught your eye but that ain't escaping from your daddy's eyes. Based on this ask Warnings/MDNI: includes attempted kidnapping and fighting, lots of daddy daughter fluff, reader is underage (15 years old) gets injured, and a bit dramatic nd' spoiled ( idk how that's a warning tho lmao-but i wud be too if he was my dad) +++ wrote this ovulating--my daddy issues peaking bruh-wtf (I need to be cuddled badly)🤧😭 John's pic by Miranda. ✰ 3.8K ┆ ⤿ ❀ m.list

"Aye!? What're you slackin' around here for boy!?"

Eli nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice.

John Marston.

Also your daddy.

Shit.

"What? A man can't stand around pretending to sweep under his girl's window anymore?"- is what Eli would've said, if not for the 6-foot-tall, grumpy-as-hell employer staring him down like he could suck the soul right outta him with just his eyes.

"I-I was just cleaning the-"

"The what? Grass?!" John barks. "Go clean the stables. That's what I asked for."

"Yes, s-sir!"

And off the boy went, damn near sprinting. But John wasn't stupid. He glanced up just in time to catch the curtain swish shut at the last second.

This damn girl of his-

❀˖°

"But I didn't-! You're always angry at me, Daddy!" There you go, weeping again.

No, John. No. Don't let those tears fool you.

"Look---I know what you might be thinkin' at this age of yours, but that doesn't mean it's right! So take those thoughts outta your head! The only things you should be focused on right now are your schoolwork, ranch chores, or whatever your mama tells you!"

"You're never this restrictive with Jack!" you snapped.

From the dining table, your brother threw an annoyed glance over his shoulder. "Can't even enjoy my coffee in peace here.. Pa's right! It is different!" Jack was more bothered by the noise than anything.

"Jack don't go sneakin' off makin' eyes at some half-brained ranch hand. That's the difference."

You jerked away from Abigail's shoulder and wiped your tears as aggressively as you could.

You whipped around. "Admit it! He gets to stay out late, ride into town, talk to girls!"

John snapped. "He ain't fifteen and moonin' over some slick-haired rat with no respect."

"He has respect!"

"For who? Satan?"

You gasped like he slapped you. "I hate it here! I should run away and live with the goats. They listen to me!"

Abigail, who had been silently folding laundry sitting beside you, sighed heavily. "Oh Lord..."

You flopped dramatically against her, burying your face in her shoulder. "Mamaaa~ This husband of yours is ruining my life! I was finally happy for once! For once!"

John pointed a finger. "Quit your whining! Abigail make her understand! That boy ain't makin' you happy. He's makin' you stupid."

Abigail shot him a look. "John."

"What? She needs to hear it! You are making a fool of yourself and even us! Like in front of other ranch hands?---NEVER! You should be grateful they are decent folks, or otherwise, they would be telling the whole town about how their boss daughter is acting up-"

You sat up, wiped your tears with the grace of a Shakespearean widow, and glared. "FINE! If y'all are so worried about gossip, I'll just tell everyone that you- I don't know-- made someone pregnant!"

Jack choked on his coffee. "WHAT THE-"

Abigail gasped too, her jaw dropping. "(Y/N)! Have you gone insane! Don't you dare! That's your father you're talking about! Go to your room, now! Enough is enough!"

John looked livid. "Girl. You say that in public and I will build you your own barn to sleep in."

"You see?!" you shouted, arms flailing. "I can't even joke without getting exiled!"

Jack wiped his mouth and grumbled, "You made her spoiled. Both of you."

You didn't hear a damn word. You were already halfway to the stairs, stomping up with the fury of a wronged heroine in a dime-store novel. As you slammed the door to your room, John stared after you in silence. The house was finally quiet. "She gets that fire from you," Abigail mumbled, shaking her head.

"She gets the drama from you," John muttered back instantly regretting it.

"Excuse me?! Care to repeat that?"

Jack raised his mug tired as fuck by everything. "Next time y'all fight, can I go stay with Uncle Charles in Canada?."

❀˖°

You peeked out your window like a spy, squinting down at the yard to make sure the coast was clear. Finally. And then you saw him approaching, being cautious with every step. You smiled and waved at him, to which he responded with a flying kiss. That was your cue to commence what you were there for.

Throwing the letter.

Your father was nowhere in sight. Probably fixing something or yelling at Jack again. You took out the note and made sure it was sealed and whispered under your breath, as in a full prayer.

"Please don't land in the chicken coop."

And with that, you flung it out your window like Juliet sending Romeo a lifeline.

It fluttered through the air, graceful as anything, as Eli danced below to catch it perfectly, and he was about to--until it landed.......

directly at the boots of your father.

How--did he even spawn there?!

John looked up slowly, locking eyes with you through the open window. You tried to duck, but it was too late. You were caught red handed.

Nothing more than dead meat now. A. Dead. Girl. Walking.

He bent down, picked up the note, all the while as Eli struggled to breathe and find an excuse in the chilling silence. The note was unfolded it if he already knew what kind of nonsense lived inside.

His eyes scanned the paper and his jaw clenched. You watched in horror as his mouth moved, reading your words aloud in that low, dangerous voice of his. " I'll sneak out tonight… wait behind the stables when the moon's high'" You shrank back from the window with a squeak.

"Girl," he growled, "you better not be watchin' me read this, because if you are, you best believe you ain't steppin' foot outside this house 'til YOU ARE FIFTY! YOU HEAR ME!? NO, IN FACT, MAKE IT SIXTY!" As a matter of fact, everyone at the ranch did hear him. You slammed your window shut. Below, John crumpled the letter in one fist, muttering something under his breath something that probably wasn't fit for polite ears. Then he turned to...

Eli.

This son of a bitc-

Well, guess who is getting fired. "You were already outta line, boy," he said, voice low and lethal. "But this? Now you're outta chances." John tossed the letter at his chest like a lit match.

Eli tried to speak, stammered something about not meaning any harm, but the look on John's face could've made a grown outlaw drop his gun and run.

"You ever even look toward her again, or I see you 'round here, I'll bury you under the damn stables myself. Get lost! This instant!" By nightfall, the ranch was quiet. Eli was gone. And you?

Grounded, indefinitely. But you couldn't give up that easily-

You didn't even bother walking calmly down the stairs. No.

You stormed.

Each step thundered beneath your feet like you were summoning an earthquake, your fists clenched, eyes ablaze, and your hair wild from pacing in your room like a caged animal.

"YOU FIRED HIM?!"

John didn't even flinch. He was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee like nothing had happened, like he hadn't just ripped the one shred of romance from your hopelessly oppressed teenage life.

"Sure did."

"You had no right! That letter wasn't even that bad!"

"You were sneakin' out to meet a boy I already told you not to go near. Don't test me, girl."

You marched up to him, arms flailing."I hate this place! I hate you! You're just a big--grumpy--man-child with control issues-"

Abigail quietly exited the room, being a smart woman. John stood up slowly. "You're done, missy."

"I'm not done! I'm going to the sheriff-"

"You don't even know the sheriff's address."

"I'll find it!"

John didn't answer. Instead, he reached out, grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing, and hoisted you over his shoulder with one arm.

"DADDY NO--NO, PUT ME DOWN!"

"You wanna act like a child, I'll treat you like one."

"I am not five years old! This is illegal! I KNOW MY RIGHTS!"

"You don't even know your lefts."

"MAAAA, TELL HIM THIS IS KIDNAPPING!"

From somewhere down the hallway, Abigail's voice echoed faintly. "You got yourself into this mess, sweetie. I'm sittin' this one out." You beat your fists weakly against John's back.

"This is inhumane! This is tyrannical!"

"This is parenting."

He pushed open your bedroom door with a kick, walked in, and set you down firmly on the bed. You scrambled up, ready to bolt, but the click of the lock on the outside of the door froze you in place.

"NO. DADDY?!"

"Yes."

"You locked me in?! Like an animal?!"

"Like a daughter with no damn sense."

You stood at the door, absolutely scandalized.

"I'm telling Aunt Sadie!."

"She'll say I shoulda done it sooner."

You screamed into your pillow as he walked away, muttering something about "damn boys" and "damn letters" and "damn daughters with too much imagination." And even though you were fuming…

A tiny, very annoying part of you knew you’d pushed it a little too far this time. But you'd never admit it. Not out loud.

❀˖°

The plan was simple. Or so you thought. It was something that Eli had told you in case if things take a turn like this. He told you an address, where you would be able to meet him. You were sure...he meant that just to meet one last time right? What's the harm?

You'd been pacing for hours after the door locked behind you, and when the clock hit eleven, you slipped out of your window like a ghost in a silk nightgown. The sack you carried was small but heavy, a velvet pouch of Mama's old earrings she'd saved for you, a few gold chains, and the emerald brooch you always said you'd wear on your wedding day.

It was romantic, okay?

You ran down the slope of the hill, breathing like you were in a storybook, like you were leaving your old life behind and walking into love. Except what waited for you was not love. Eli was there and you ran to him. He hugged you tightly. But something didn't feel right. You looked back and saw.... two other men marching up.

One was tall, built like a brick wall with a busted lip and a scar down his chin. The other had the twitchy eyes of a snake and kept tapping the handle of a knife on his belt. "E-Eli...who are the-y? I t-thought--" His grip loosened and he immediately snatched your bag, the one with jewels.

You froze and backed away. "Eli…?" your voice cracked. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

"Told you she'd come," he said, tossing a glance toward his friends. "Girl's soft as butter."

"What is this? Who are they!? And give that back!"

"They're just my friends.... here to make sure you ain't hidin' anything. This ain't personal."

Before you could run, the twitchy one grabbed you by the arm and held you.

"Let me go!" you screamed, clawing and kicking.

"Shut up," the tall one growled, and backhanded you so hard you hit the ground. Dirt scraped your cheek. You gasped, dazed, mouth filled with dust and fear.

"You little rich girls are always the same. Think you're smarter than your daddy. Ain't nothin' in your pretty little head but noise. Eli, what do you think? How much can we get from selling her, hm?"

They loomed over you. Eli didn't move an inch to defend you. "Oh, definitely lots of gold. And y'know what would be more priceless? Her absolute piece of shit daddy's reaction. That arrogant asshole needs to learn some manners."

"Don't you dare slander him! You all are not even worth the dirt on his shoes-" Eli kicked your stomach making you roll away and curl into a ball. You couldn't even cry. Your body was locked in shock, your voice gone hoarse.

And then-

BOOM.

One of the men dropped like a sack of meat, his skull splitting open from the force of the shotgun blast, making everyone freeze. A shadow moved from the trees.

John..

Rifle in hand, jaw locked, eyes dark and full of murder.

"Eli," he said slowly, "You piece of shit." The tall one lunged, and another shot rang out.

Then silence.

Eli tried to run.

John tackled the 17 year old so hard his body hit the ground with a crunch. He didn't speak. Just hit. Over and over. Fists like iron. Years of rage, fear, and fatherhood pouring into every blow.

"YOU-" crack. "TOUCHED-" thud. "MY-" crack. "GIRL." And another one....which signaled he...he ended it.

Killed--your dad just killed three people--

God, you feel like...passing out-

You lay trembling in the dirt, watching through swollen eyes as Eli lay motionless.

Piece of shit nonetheless. John finally stood, panting, face grim and bloody. He turned to you.

His voice broke when he said your name. You didn't answer- just sat there, shaking, covered in bruises, staring at him like he was the last solid thing left in the world. He rushed to you and dropped to his knees, pulling you into his arms.

"You're alright," he whispered, clutching you so tightly it almost hurt. "You're alright now. I got you, my sweet girl." You broke then. Sobs spilled from your chest as you buried your face in his coat, gripping him like a child. "I'm s-sorry," you cried. "I'm sorry, D-daddy…"

"It's alright. Shush. I know, baby. I know." He didn't let go for a long, long time. And when he finally carried you home, he didn’t say I told you so. He just carried you. Because nothing else mattered.

❀˖°

You woke up slowly, like surfacing from underwater. Your whole body ached. Your cheek throbbed but was a bit cold due to earlier ice treatment by John. And your eyes felt like they'd cried out a year's worth of tears.

It was still dark out- just the early blue light of dawn creeping through your bedroom curtains.

But you weren't alone.

John was sitting beside you in the old creaky chair. Arms crossed. Hat tipped forward like he was asleep, except the second you shifted, his head snapped up.

"'Bout time," he muttered.

"...Did you stay here all night?"

"Of course. What'd made you think I will leave you in this condition princess?"

That made your dam break. Your voice wobbled despite you trying it not to. After a minute of calming down, you looked up. "Do I still get g-rounded?" John huffed. "You're alive. That's all I care about."

"…So, like, am I a little un-grounded?" He turned and gave you that look. The one with the raised brow and the subtle "you tryna test me again?" energy.

"Oka-y. No. Not asking......Love you. I'm so grateful....nd'....so grounded."

"Damn right."

You looked at him for a long second. He looked older than usual. Tired and paler. Like he'd aged years in one night. All because of you and your stupid ass. You felt even worse if that was possible. You scooted to the side, lifting the blanket wordlessly. "Please..." you whispered.

John paused , his heart clenching at your vulnerable state and he immediately kicked off his boots and slid in beside you, grumbling under his breath to keep the mood lighter, though inside he was as broken as you at the moment.

"I should be a bit pissed at you---but--damn it. You were always a clingy thing," he muttered, wrapping one arm around you. "Even when you were a baby. Couldn't get a minute's peace without your little hands grabbin' at my shirt like a damn spider monkey."

"Still am," you murmured, already pressing your cheek to his chest with a shaky sigh.

He held you tighter, hand rubbing gently up and down your back, mumbling something about you being a manipulative doll of his and also how you are now safe, like you should be.

You didn't speak for a while. Then- "Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm real sorry. I was stupid."

"Yeah, you were, princess. But it's okay. We all do stupid things, that's how we learn. That's the main thing. Learnin'."

He's right. Always is. You hummed softly, but then decided to prod by feigning a pout against his shirt. "Wow.....Kind of rude though. That was your chance to say 'no, baby, you're not stupid, you're just young-"

"You ran off to a backstabbing thief who nearly sold you out for pocket change."

You huffed with a smirk. "Okay, fine, but I still deserve a.....liiiiittle dramatic sympathy. Also...weren't you a criminal yourself, doesn't that make me following a family traditi-"

"Don't you dare complete that sentence."

"I am just kidding, relax." You chuckled. Then suddenly remembered what...had transpired. "Are they--they still there-- I mean what if--he-"

Is still alive and will take revenge or tells the lawmen-

"Nothing for you to be worried about. Jack knows how to clean up proper."

He then looked down at you, kissed the top of your head, and muttered, "You're the biggest damn headache I've ever loved." You smiled, eyes closing in peace. "Love you too, my oldie daddy."

"Watch it. This oldie saved your ass."

You glanced up at him, voice small. "You… really killed him, Daddy?"

John didn't answer right away. His eyes drifted to your bookshelf, then over to the dollhouse tucked in the corner, the one he'd built with his own hands when you took your first wobbly steps across the porch. Back when your biggest worry was a scraped knee or a missing ribbon.

God, he'd give anything to go back to that time. Before boys. Before fear. Before he had to remember what kind of man he used to be just to keep you safe. He pulled you closer, arms tightening like they were trying to hold onto every last bit of the little girl who used to fit in the crook of his elbow.

Finally, he spoke. "He laid hands on you. And I'll be damned if he had tried it again...perhaps with someone else's daughter....I jus'....I just lost it.." He turned to you then, his voice low. "But I do know one thing....If I had to do it again, I'd do it twice."

Your lip trembled, and for a second, you didn't know whether to cry or feel safe.

"Sometimes I forget what you used to be...." you whispered.

"And sometimes," John muttered, "I remember exactly why I had to be that man."

"....He deserved that. All of em'. Especially---after what he said bout you." Your menacing voice made him let out a rough chuckle . On one hand, he was ashamed to have you witness that hidden dark side of him, but his heart couldn't stop itself from swelling with pride, too. You defending him was enough to make him feel like a hero, like he had succeeded in life. Has achieved everything. "Damn right, doll. They got what they asked for. But more so for what they did to you. Don't forget that. Nobody gets to even disrespect you on my watch, let alone touch you."

Abigail would kill him if she found out the truth behind what had happened tonight. he had told her a half-baked story anyway and made you promise to not tell her about the killing stuff, which you agreed to. You and your daddy might butt heads a lot, especially with how overprotective he is, but when it comes to forming an alliance against your mother, everyone knows, the two of you are locked tighter than a bank vault.

The room had settled into quiet again. You were half-asleep, tucked against your father's chest like you were five years old again, not fifteen with a broken heart and a bruised ego. His breathing made you feel like the toddler you were once again when you slept like a starfish on his chest, lulled into dreams by the slow, rising rhythm beneath your ear.

His hand hadn't stopped tracing up and down your back, steady, grounding, his rough palm a silent reminder that no matter how mad he got, he'd always come for you.

Then the door creaked open and you blinked.

Abigail stood in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing her nightgown and a robe, eyes scanning the room, first your swollen cheek, then the protective way John held you like you were still in danger. Her own eyes were clearly swollen from crying in worry.

She exhaled softly. "Y'all made up then?" she asked.

"She's still grounded," John grunted, eyes closed.

"As she should be." Abigail walked in and sat on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing gently over your hair. "You scared us half to death, baby."

"I know," you whispered. "I was stupid."

"You were hopeful," she said gently. "That ain't the same. Just means your heart's still soft." Then her gaze sharpened just a little, the classic look that made every member in this household pee their pants. "But don't ever sneak out on us, you hear?"

You nodded so fast you nearly headbutted your dad. "Never ever. I promise."

"What about when you said you hated me?" John added, smirking slightly.

"I was in crisis," you snapped. "And possibly concussed, daddy. I'm sorry."

Abigail chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I guess it takes a near-death experience for you two to have a cuddle again, huh?"

"Don't call it a cuddle," John muttered, tightening his arm around you protectively like a petulant child holding their toy.

"You're cuddling, John. Accept it."

You giggled weakly, the sound muffled in his shirt. "It's called healing."

"Well, the princess here loves it. Who am I to say no?" He pressed another sweet kiss on your head, pulling the covers closer.

Abigail gave him that look. "You yelled at her all week and locked her in a room, and now you're spooning her like a bear with a baby cub. Make it make sense. Jack's right, you spoil her the most."

" So? Who else will? Tell the rascal to mind his own business..."

Abigail stood up, smiling at the grown ass man's pout. Her heart bursting at the sight. Her man loving her children with all his heart...that's all she wants. "'Course', you. No body's stopping you, alright? Relax." She leaned and pressed a kiss to both of your cheeks. "You rest now. I'll bring some tea for you both and a wet cloth for that cheek."

"And breakfast in bed, please," you added hopefully with best doe eyes you could pull, she rolled her eyes with a fond huff, while John was already planning how he'd feed you himself the moment it arrived.

"Of course, sweetheart."

She gave John one last glance, a soft, knowing look that said thank you for bringing her home without needing words, and then stepped out, closing the door gently behind her.

You shifted under the covers, letting yourself relax again into your father's strong arms. Your heart still felt like it'd been shattered and stomped on.

But for the first time in days, you felt safe.

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