#and your brother is like ‘this is what you get for trying to kill my fish’

[breadwithpoprocks-fandom]

replies;

@ruixrose : Can’t decide if Jason is disturbed by this or is just like ‘big deal we all have problems’.

@gods-graveyard (replying to prev): He would say "Big deal" but is internally screaming

@thevoidstaredback (replying to prev) : Outwardly: "Big deal. What did you do to my Wonder Woman mug!" *pissed off big brother noises* Inwardly: "What the fuck? What the fuck!?" *concerned big brother noises*

----------------------------

@lilykep : Tim just confessing other equally true but increasingly bizarre things. "I once saved the universe by playing baseball with my friends"

@losingmybrain : Jason: *distressed bird noises*

@lilsilhouetteo : I feel like he would pause for a moment like that wasn’t what I was expecting but uh sure

comments;

@justapersonwithaname :

Tim: and his sister try to rape me

Jason: *Pulling out a gun* excuse me WHAT!?

Tim: don't worry, Cass saved me

----------------------------

@juju092118 :

Jason: uhh okay bed time for you timmers we can talk in the morning when you aren’t swaying…. Just a quick question though. Do you still have Your spleen in your body where it is Supposed to be??

Tim: Ra’s. Pickled. Spleen. Stop spinning!

----------------------------

@addictedapple :

Tim: And then I did so much mass murder when I blew up all the League bases.

Tim: I’m going to be sent to 70s Disco Hell.

Jason, mouthing: ‘70s Disco Hell’??

Tim: Santa died.

Tim: Next time I have to play baseball to save the world, can you be on my team?

Jason: Let’s get you to bed…

@yjcorefourenjoyer :

🪩✨💃DISCO HELL!🕺✨🪩

@f4nd0m-fun (replying to prev) : ... we need a clone of Dick in Disco Hell enjoying himself, or maybe Dick himself, it's his Saturday relaxation 😂

@conundrumrespeculis (replying to prev prev) :

And then they all got possessed by demons

#it was also a crossover with supergirl#I still don't know what was up with supergirl in that arc

----------------------------

@canthandlethishit : tim would’ve start rattling confessions so fast jason gotta shorthand note it 😭

@jackie-q : Jason: *calls emergency family meeting*

@sexyt-a-r-d-i-s11 : Jason: *plotting murder, murder on Ra's al Ghul*

@blackfoxsposts :

Jason: and?

Tim: I helped kill Santa

@bibliophilicbi :

Jason: I don’t give a shit (he does). Why did you break my wonder woman mug??

Tim, in tears: WONDER WOMAN GOT MUGGED???

@knaveofspades :

Jason, completely blindsided: ...what.

Tim, still high as balls: Its in a jar in... Turkey, probably.

@runningoncoffeandspite :

it continues to get worse,

jason: what.

tim: tbh he probably keeps it i a jar and talks to it

jason, now mildy concerned: ????

tim just passes out then and there with a two finger salute: 🤷‍♂️

@lialeeederian : Honestly bro there's so much he could tell you before wonder woman mug break even RANKS

@willow-scorp :

Jason: NO! MY MUG TIM. WHY. DID. YOU. BREAK. MY. MUG.

Tim: WHY ARE YOU MUGGING ME??

Jason: ....ya know what forget it. Just give me forty bucks.

Tim, High as a kite but is still a younger sibling: *hands Jason monopoly money*

tags;

@brucewaynehater101 : #omfg i forgot “pickled” meant turning into pickles#I thought the word was a fucked up combination of the words “plucked” “picked up” and “tickled”#i was very appropriately horrified of ra's tickling tim's spleen in front of him as an “intimidation technique”#everyone stared at the rotting corpse as his dry boney hands squirmed on top of jarred spleen#this is why tim has LoA peeps deflecting to him#anyways it was the image of ra's sticking his hand in spleen jars that reminded me of pickles and what the word “pickled” meant

@derp-a-la-sheep (replying to prev) : The image of a disgusted and disappointed Tim sighing at the sight of Ra’s tickling his spleen is so strong. Tim is not impressed and walks right back out with a trail of assassins after him begging for him to take them with him.

#assassins have dignity#no assassin worth their salt wants to work for a man who tickles spleens to be intimidating

@brucewaynehater101 (responding to prev) : #ra's was a little disappointed to find out the organ wasn't ticklish :(

----------------------------

@sentariana : #jason suddenly on the war path ready to REMOVE ra's al ghul from this existence#tim turning to dick hoping he'll calm him down but dick becomes equally incensed when the sitch is explained to him#damian is giving jason ideas#they're all ready to go even as tim tells them it's fine and to let it go when bruce comes in#bruce finds out and without a word takes the batplane and is gone for a few days then comes back and says ra's is no longer a problem

----------------------------

@fioregocce : #spleenless!tim#literally destined to eventually become a genocidal dictator

@4seijoh : #none of them should be surprised anymore

@oncillabrigade : #actual tears reading this#justice for timmy drake's stolen spleen

@tardisoftheshire : #high off gotham harbor fumes?!?!?!!#best thing i’ve ever seen about gotham’s shitty chemicals hahahahahahha

@egrettacaerulea : #got you blindsided huh jay lmao

@explosivetrash : #jason: like recently?#tim: nah it was before I was engaged#*jason pulls up a chair*#he has no mug for this tea

@toomanybs : #they come back from every patrol near the docks high as heck#just loopy little bois#jason leaves to go to the docks himself after that revelation#comes back and offers to rescue tim's pickled spleen#calls up talia like “yo your ladyship what would your daddio do with jarred organs”#“...[address]. Never say any of that near me or my son ever again.”#“gotcha. thanks a million.” [click]

@robomancing-reblogs : #Least bizarre thing he could admit tbh.

@raeuberprinzessin : #tim drake is casually traumatizing his family by confessing the wildest stuff#jason “i died that one time and got better” todd suddenly feels very normal by comparison

@babetriz : #'AH HA I KNEW- wait hang on what the fuck'

@darkmodepls : #Jason has no idea he's being serious#He thinks Tim is hallucinating

@rjnonymous : #then Tim collapses right in the middle of the cave#Jason freaks out

@msfcatlover : #Jason: ‘’…See this is why I don’t hang out with you people.’’

Jason, to himself: If I can catch Tim off guard when he comes back from patrol he'll confess about breaking my favourite Wonder Woman's mug

Jason, as Tim wanders in: Got anything to confess??

Tim, very very high off Gotham Harbor fumes: Ra's pickled my spleen.

[ovadzs]

strangers in the night

part one

ᝰ.ᐟsummary: When your mother goes missing, it's up to you to find her. Your brother, Sherlock Holmes? Pfft, nothing in comparison to you. But when you end up getting intertwined with the threatened life of Viscount Piastri, things go wayward.

ᝰ.ᐟwho??: Viscount!oscar x holmes!reader

ᝰ.ᐟtrope: Enola holmes au, strangers to... case partners?

ᝰ.ᐟcw: violence, attempted murder, misogyny, etc. NOT PROOF READ!!

ᝰ.ᐟword count: nearly 7k (in this part)

ᝰ.ᐟauthor notes: hi guys! hope you like this!! sorry for the lack of content in a while, had some stuff going on (like my college induction day, kill me. was awful, now dreading next year! also prom next week, yay??? nay??? yes this is like a poor adaption of the film, but i hope it’s worth the read. also, part 2 will have oscar in it consistently, plus an ending which is a bit different to the original!! if you guys like it, i could also do a part 3/4 based off the second film!! lmk 🥳 also, i have very specific songs i listen when writing each fic, would you guys like me to mention them in these intro bits? for example, this one is ‘strangers in the night,’ by frank sinatra!

It's a painfully usual morning. The sun shines just-so through your window, waking you up from an evidently restless evening. Your duvet, and scruffy stuffed bear, flung carelessly on the floor. Paper, strewn about the room, spilling from drawers and shelves. Ink blotches, everywhere. Dents and scrapes, from where you’d tripped searching for a certain book, or where your pins and red string had been pushed ever slightly too hard against the walls. Everything is familiar, and boring, and you had begun to almost hate the routine of it all. You are grateful, of course, that you weren’t stuffed in some awful, prim, boarding school, waiting to be married off. You’d always rather be here instead. But you couldn't help but curse how you were still trapped between these extensive four walls, knowing you would never prance around like your brother, Sherlock. Heck, you’d even take a life like Mycroft’s, even though you knew you were destined to be a much grander detective.

You groan, checking the clock to your right, trying to make sense of the blurry numbers. It ticks on, impatiently, and the sound is surprisingly loud. Or maybe, the rest of the house is surprisingly quiet.

You bolt. Up immediately, disregarding your unruly bed hair and forgetting to apologise to Colonel Teddy (the aforementioned bear) that curses you from the carpet. Traversing corridor after corridor, your mothers name hanging from your worried lips.

“Eudoria? Mother?” you call, ignoring how sleep still choked in your throat. 

The silence is suffocating now, disgusting and evil. Your mother is brilliant, eccentric, and beautiful, and anything but quiet. And in darker days, when the sun refused to rise until much later, she was what woke you up instead.

She trained you not to panic. To think, always think. To feel, only when it was the last option. And even then, only to trust your gut. Most other emotions got in the way of solving a good crime, at least. You’d never had the need to apply emotions anywhere else.

However, she had also trained you when to run, and when to fight. And now, as the absence of her clashing and tinkering was more unsettling than any horror you’d read in your brother's  case files, you decide that violence is indeed the answer. How dare any assailant come in here, snatch away your mother, and leave?

No, you hoped they were still here, so you could show them who on earth they were messing with. Just because Sherlock carried your name like a medal, did not mean he was the only one who had earned to do that. Holmes belonged to you too, and you were here to prove it. 

Fists raised slightly, you creep into your mothers study, underwhelmed by the emptiness of it. Just a simple note, addressed to you. 

‘Hello, dear.

I do Love flowers, don't you?

I believe your brother dOes too. Maybe you should ask him to joiN you in the garden.

Be careful, though. Men Do not always understand the true ambitions of wOmen. I like flowers because I like them, Not because society has told me to.’

It’s cryptic, and you would usually grin at a puzzle, but this felt serious. Secretive, and concerning. She truly was gone, and here she was, inviting you to figure it out. 

Because she believed in you? Because asking Sherlock would be too obvious? 

‘Maybe you should ask him to join you.’

Your body kicks in before your brain does, which is a rare occurrence. The phone is in your hand, his famous number replaying in your head as you wind up each digit, cursing your trembling hands. She’d be disappointed, seeing you let anxiousness creep into each breath.

“Mother?” comes Sherlock’s gruff voice, and you wince.

“She’s gone. You need to get here, as soon as possible. Please.” you request, your voice remaining surprisingly steady. 

You hang up, before any tears fall. You know he’d never take you seriously in this investigation, if you were crying.

Unsure of what to do next, you do the only thing you never, ever, do. You sit, and wait.

***

Sherlock arrives that same evening, followed by your other brother, Mycroft. Although Sherlock is the more famous detective, Mycroft is by no means any less effective. 

He is more realistic, though. And he is adamant on sending you off to boarding school, in hopes to train you into being a woman fit for a husband.

“Absolutely not. I know Mother the best, that's disreputable. I’m also just as brilliant as you two, I think you’ll find. I demand to be part of this.” you declare, arms folded arrogantly, and the two men look between each other.

“Now, I appreciate the sentiment. And I’m sure you are very bright, but I think this would be best to do alone. Mother did suggest you bring me into it.” Sherlock replies, sternly, avoiding any eye contact with his brother on the left.

“Exactly. But she clearly wanted us to work together, surely. She said, ‘join you.’” you plead, but he looks away from you.

“She’s kept you in here for far too long. As unfortunate as it is, I do not quite think you will ever become a detective, and I do not think that to die trying is a good way to go out. I’ve heard wondrous things about Mrs Harrison’s finishing school, and I find it most fitting that you attend. I will organise it, at once, yes? Please, do not be irritable about it.” decides Mycroft, letting the finality of his words hang in the air.

“This is why we all know she was talking about Sherlock and not you in her infuriating note.” you mumble under your breath, and you’re glad that he looks hurt, for a small moment.

It’s quiet, and awkward, until Sherlock speaks again.

“So, we’ve established she left of her own accord, surely. No sign of struggle, at all. And she obviously doesn’t want us to panic, and tell anyone, or she wouldn’t have left a note. I’ll take care of this, as I know you’re busy with the vote and bills at the moment, Mycroft. If you trust me to solve this. And you, well you can enjoy proper schooling, yes? You’ve never been, if I remember correctly. You used to dance around in improper trousers and cling to pinecones.” he claps, standing up cheerfully like it's any other case. 

“Neither of you have visited in such a long time. You don’t know me, do you, brothers?” you ask sneakily, hoping to make them feel guilt for shunning you once, and instantly shunning you again.

“You are right, and that is regretful. I will make an effort to check in on you, at school, of course. I’m sure we can have arrangements made to pick you up tomorrow, as we depart on the train.” replies Mycroft, shutting you down quickly. 

But you are resourceful, and you already have etchings of a beautiful (if not slightly crazy) plan.

“Oh, at least let me wave you off from the platform. I haven’t seen a train in such a long time!” you sulk, and Sherlock smiles lazily.

“Surely, that’s acceptable to you, brother? I enjoyed hearing the churning sound of a train too, when I was her age.” he comments, and Mycroft nods slowly.

“I suppose that’s alright. I can drop you off personally afterwards, then. I would recommend you begin to pack.” he mutters, waving you away, and you stare angrily at him as you begrudgingly trail to your bedroom.

***

It’s surprisingly busy at the train station platform, which is delightful. Bodies and sounds fill the air, giving you very little room to swing your suspiciously light suitcase. Train horns whistle as they roar past, and you focus very keenly on the timetable plastered in front of you.

Sherlock’s train is on the left hand side, and would arrive just as one to your right  departs. That’s your plan, just as Mycroft is wishing him farewell. You’d jump straight onto the other, and straight towards London, as that was always the best place to start an investigation. Also, coincidentally, you had noticed something your brothers had not, for they did not know Eudoria as you did- she had capitalised a few letters which spelt out London.

To the untrained eye? Messy handwriting. To yours, a beautiful hidden message. A sure sign that she wanted you to find her, to work out what had happened.

It plays out perfectly. The doors of your target are closing, just as Sherlock’s is opening. He pulls Mycroft into a respectable embrace, and you take it- the chance.

You barrel for the back of the train, feeling that familiar stretch in your legs that makes you grin. Your boots, laced with mismatched ribbons, kick up dirt and gravel. They create a trail of unrest and change and feed you with grip and determination. You’re quick, just quick enough to know you could make the jump.

So you leap, without blinking. And for a moment, you fly.

You hear Mycroft yelling, and Sherlock hollering, but you don’t care. Arms outstretched, you land somewhat ungracefully against the thin rim of the back of the locomotive, gripping ridiculously tight to the thin bars. It’s chugging away, slowly, and you hoist yourself up to the roof, marvelling in the freedom of it all.

You make an effort to try not to feel any fear about how suddenly alone you are. You’ve never been alone before, not like this. Even though, when you were younger, your mother had actually nicknamed you ‘Enola’ (‘Alone’, backwards. Eudoria liked to mock your need for solitude.)

You crouch on the edge of the roof, grateful for how long it takes these trains to reach any sort of respectable speed, so you’re safe to clamber in through a window. Gleefully, you spot a completely empty cabin, with the window completely open.

Perfect.

You gently climb in, adjusting your ruffled skirt as you sit down, and you scan the luggage in the rack above you. There’s only one, and it's large. Looks heavy, and important, and you almost want to open it. There’s still a small gap, so you decide to throw your own tiny suitcase up next to it.

As you shimmy on your tiptoes, trying to reach the iron rack, the train jolts. Aggressively. So much so that you tumble backwards into the seat on the opposite side, and you watch as that singular suitcase crashes to the floor directly in front of you, it’s contents spilling out.

Its contents being… limbs?

A stream of disgruntled sounds comes from the open bag, mumbles of ‘ows’ and ‘ughs’.

You recoil, trying to remain unphased, as an awkward mop of chestnut hair pokes out of the top, followed by darker eyes that stare directly into yours.

“Hello.” says the suitcase, which is now evidently a young man, grimacing at you.

“Please, get out of this carriage.” you say quickly, angry at how quickly confusion is settling on your face.

“I can’t. I’m in hiding.” he replies equally as fast, as he leverages himself out of his hiding-spot and into the seat opposite you.

“Was a bit of a to-do, truly. Bribed a porter into hiding me here, and everything.” he continues, conversationally, and you just stare at him.

“Very daring.” he finishes, waiting for a response expectantly.

“Get out of this carriage, immediately.” you demand.

He doesn't move, at all. Just studies you carefully.

“You’re a funny looking lady.” he says pointedly, clearly struggling to figure out how your eccentric skirt pairs with duty boots and a paper-boy cap.

“And you think you look normal?” you sneer, eyeing him with absolute scrutiny.

He could be very handsome, you decide. His eyes are inviting, and his moles complement his face nicely. But his ridiculous hair and obnoxious clothes reek of privilege and insincerity and truly make him look very daft, especially because you assume he’s the same age as you. Much too young to look so decorated.

“Who are you?” he asks carefully.

“What are you?” you retort immediately, and his face morphs into a look of contempt, but he also looks slightly entertained.

“I’m Viscount Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether.” he introduces himself gleefully, extending a palm.

You don’t take it. 

“You’re a nincompoop.” you say decidedly, and he looks very… cross. He quickly retracts his hand and stares at you angrily, but you still don’t move.

“I’ll have you know, I have just undertaken a particularly daring escape, from a man in a brown bowler hat.”

You think back to before you leapt on the back, and you recall this man, in the bowler hat, entering the very train.

“You’re not very good at escaping then, clearly. He’s got on, I saw him. And when he inevitably finds you, because of your weak attempt at hiding, I shall be endangered because he thinks I am helping you. Therefore, I ask you again to leave this carriage.” Your voice is laced with determination, and confidence, and you’re stumped by his lack of response.

You stare at each other for a while, and you wonder how much money he must’ve given that porter, as he is clearly an absolute idiot, and definitely was outsmarted by the train crew.

“You remind me of my uncle. Bossy. Left him at the station. All of them, my family, my grandmother, everyone. Which is fine. Good, even. I am free now. You see?” he explains, easily throwing the now empty suitcase back up next to yours, before sitting down next to you, ignoring as you shift as far away from him as possible.

“That’s brilliant to hear. So, you can leave now, yes?” you repeat, and he looks at you, swallowing the severity of your voice.

“The man in a brown bowler hat, is here, you say? Okay. It’ll be fine.” he reassures, and he stands and peeks out of the door, before stepping out.

“It’ll be fine.” he repeats, as he smiles at you, to say goodbye.

And then he’s gone, and you breathe deeply in relief.

37 peaceful seconds pass, until he's back.

“He’s coming!”

“Of course?” you mumble, not opening your eyes.

“No, he’s checking every carriage.” he shrieks, and you shrug.

“Wonderful.”

A moment passes, of unsettling silence.

“You have to help me.” he pleads. “He didn’t see me.”

“Of course he did. Therefore, I will be off, and I bid you a good day, Viscount Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether.” you mutter, as you grab your case and step out into the hallway, giving him a not-so-friendly stare.

You walk forwards, trying to shake the image of his terrified eyes out front your mind, and suddenly someone bumps aggressively into your shoulder- his bowler hat practically scowling at you.

You freeze momentarily, but he pays you no attention. Instead, he heads straight into the carriage you just left, calling out cheerfully, “There you are, sir.”

And that aligns with your idea that that Piastri fellow was merely a rebellious teen, and you exhale.

That’s until you hear a shatter, and a shout. A shout of pain, and terror, and panic, and you hesitate.

‘Don’t be thrown off course by other people, especially men!” you hear your mother laugh in your mind, and your heart aches for her.

But your heart also squeezes uncomfortably tight when he screams again, and you swivel around immediately, marching aggressively back to the carriage.

You peer through the window and gasp before you can stop yourself: the man is gripping him by the neck as he hangs out the door, his arms flailing awkwardly as the wind blasts through him, his eyes watering in fear and pain. You scan the room and spy the bowler-hat man’s cane lying unattended on the seat, and you propel yourself into the room, pick it up, and whack him surprisingly forcefully with his own cane. His body crumples onto the floor immediately, as the Viscount still shouts, dangling out the door.

You carefully step over the body on the floor and extend an arm to him, pulling him back inside with a momentous effort. He steadies himself and flashes you a smile.

“We need to go, now.” you say firmly, and he nods, following you out of the carriage and down, back towards the end of the train.

You search every carriage, desperate for an empty one, to no avail, until you reach  the same door you’d been hanging onto earlier.

“What are we going to do?” he asks quietly, desperately, willing you to say something ingenious. You don't reply, instead you poke your head out of the door, scanning the countryside. You catch sight of a bridge you’re about to cross, and you nod. You shimmy out, gripping onto the edge.

“Alright, follow me, okay. Careful.” you say slowly, watching yourself place each small step, until you’re hanging from one bar, one foot dangling over the fast moving ground below.

He follows you, his breath quickening, wincing. He manages to close the door behind him as he lines up beside you.

“What are you-” he begins to ask, but you can barely make it out over the roaring of the train along the tracks.

“Do you trust me?” you bellow, waiting impatient for an answer as the bridge draws closer.

“No??” he shouts back, and you almost smile, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“If we time it correctly, we can leave him stranded.” you call, annoyed by the confusion on his face.

“Time what correctly?” he replies hurriedly, and you sigh.

“Listen Piastri, we have two choices.” you shout, exasperated.

“And which one involves me, um, not dying?” he responds urgently.

The door flings open and the man in the bowler hat emerges, reaching straight for the Viscount.

“This one!” you yell, as you yank his hand and fling yourself off the train, down the hill. You watch the bowler man falter, cursing as he remains stuck above the bridge, and you cheer as you tumble violently through thick grass and unfortunately placed thistles.

You eventually stop rolling, grinning to yourself, as you swivel upright and stare at the boy above you, making the same variations of sounds he made earlier after falling off the suitcase rack.

“Well, you sure do make rather a lot of noise, don’t you?” you comment snarkily, and he looks at you, irritated.

“You just threw me-huff-off a train.” he replies, and you scowl.

“No, I just saved your life.” you correct, but he doesn’t thank you, instead he complains about losing a button on his no-longer pristine grey two piece. You almost hope one of his buttons pops directly into his stupid, smug, brown eyes.

You get up immediately, and do not offer him a hand. You march onwards, and you hear him groan loudly as he treks after you, evidently struggling to keep up.

“You’ve ruined my plan, you know, truly. Such an inconvenience.” you mutter.

“Your plan? Who are you? I feel I deserve to know.” he demands, and you turn dramatically to face him.

“Well, I am undercover, so as soon as I tell you, forget it.”

You say your first name quickly, like it is of no importance. Irrelevant. And in some ways, it is. You’re sure Viscount Piastri here understands that, considering he introduced himself without his own first name. But your last name?

You take your time with that one, watching him boggle slightly.

“Holmes, as in, Sherlock? You’re actually a Holmes?” he asks excitedly, and you nod. “And you’re undercover, because you’re working with him?”

You don’t reply immediately. “Something like that.”

You continue walking, waiting for him to speak, but he doesn’t.

“So?” you demand, and he stares at you blankly.

“So, what?”

“Thank you? You’re supposed to thank me.” you reply angrily.

“For what?” he questions, and you almost hit him in the face, but you refrain and walk on.

***

The sun begins to set uncomfortably soon.

“We should begin to think about sleeping.” you say wisely, but he disagrees.

“No, we should begin to think about food, I say.”

“We have nothing to eat.” you hiss back, but he chuckles.

“Sure we do, look.” he begins, gesturing to the various plants in the field you’re walking through. He names them all, in Latin and English, and quickly explains their various functions and flavours. You try to act unimpressed.

He mumbles about a feast, and fire, and you dutifully gather wood. By the time darkness has settled in, you’re both happily eating an array of mushrooms and foliage, and it’s surprisingly satisfying.

“You know, you ought to disguise yourself a tad more. You’re rather recognisable with that alarming mop of hair.” you say clearly, and he shrugs.

“I don’t care for it, really. Go on, cut it off with that knife you’re wielding slightly scarily.” he jokes, but you do exactly as he says.

You hoist yourself up behind him, carefully cutting through layers of his thick hair, as he asks you questions you usually wouldn’t answer.

“So, why did you run away?” he murmurs inquisitively.

“Didn’t want to go to ‘Miss Harrison’s’ finishing school. What about you?” you reply casually, and he exhales shakily.

“Please, don’t find me pathetic. But I was collecting mushrooms, and a branch from the tree above me collapsed. I should’ve died, truly. Crushed to death, but I wasn’t. Would’ve been inconvenient. You see, I have ideas-”

“As so many of us do” you quip, and he smiles.

“Yes, well, I was meant to join the house of Lords. Make my ideas mean something. But my family wanted me to go a ‘mans way.’ Join the army, stay in my place. No need for politics, no need for my ideas. They would benefit others, I think, not my own estate. And I just thought, what if I hate it? What if they send me away, and I wish instead that tree did crush me? So I ran.” he admits gently, and you stare at him carefully.

“I do not find that, nor you, particularly pathetic.” you say calmly, and he grins.

“So, what about finishing school is so terrible? Why suddenly send you there now?”

You choose to stop sharing there.

“We must move early in the morning, as soon as the sun is visible. Bowler man will be on our tail by now, certainly.”

He nods, then pauses. “Where are you heading?”

“London.” you say firmly, and his grin spreads even wider across his flushed face.

“Well, so am I! Isn’t that brilliant? Why don’t we make it there together?” he suggests, and you want to say no, but your body betrays you as you smile slightly.

“Fine. But once we make it there, we split up.” you confirm, and he agrees quickly.

***

You manage to hitch a ride on the back of a cart loaded with sheep, all the way to the outskirts of the city. As soon as it slows, you hop off, and you raise your cap to him.

“So, we’re parting here, then.” he complains lamely, and you nod.

“You’ll be fine. Goodbye, Piastri.”

“It’s Oscar. My first name, I mean.” he mutters, before wishing you farewell. You don’t like the familiarity, him using your first name so casually, and giving you his. 

“Let’s stick with surnames, I think. Most appropriate.”

“Fair enough, Holmes. You’ve proven you can outsmart Sherlock anyway, so I trust you will succeed in whatever you are investigating. Good luck.” he says sincerely, and you wave him goodbye as you walk off, ignoring the pang of something in your stomach.

“He’ll be fine.” you repeat, to reassure yourself. “Now, I’m back on track.”

***

Although you’d lived a sheltered life, you did not let your lack of understanding of the outside world stop you from getting things done. You did not linger too long on thoughts about that blasted Viscount ‘Oscar’ Piastri, the Marquess of Clarenwether. No, instead, you marched straight into the first boutique you could find, and demanded masses of velvety fabrics and corsets you were unsure of how to tighten.

When you emerged back out, you looked respectable. Ladylike. Completely and totally pretentious. Someone who would fit perfectly on Piastri’s arm, not that you were imagining it. Not that he was still lodged firmly in your slightly frazzled mind.

The seamstress had also been kind enough to point you out to some lodgings nearby, and you settled into your room. It was dank, and dark, and offputting. Musty, and rickety. But cheap and very close to your next target: a woman named Edith which your mother had often corresponded with.

You had a knack for remembering addresses, but you never thought memorising hers would come in handy.

You enter the seemingly innocent bakery, surprised by waitresses and the smell of fresh pastries. Why would your mother be so secretive about letters to a baker?

“Good afternoon, I’m looking for an Edith?” you ask slowly, to a woman behind a counter, and she raises an eyebrow at you.

“Upstairs.” is her brief response, and you study the thudding sound coming from above, before walking up the stairs.

It’s rows and rows of women on thin mats, throwing each other and fighting, and you feel somewhat at home. It reminds you of the training you did with your mother, the endless hours of Jujitsu, all the times she’d thrown you against a tree unapologetically.

“You tryna’ enroll?” asks a woman to your right, and you shake your head.

“No, I’m already trained. I’m looking for Eudoria Holmes.” you admit, staring at the lady intently. “Are you Edith?”

She laughs. “What, you don’t remember me? I was your first teacher. You look just like her, y’know?” she murmurs, and you beam. High praise.

“I need you to tell me where I can find Ellie Houseman.” you ask casually, and Edith freezes.

“Where did you hear that?” she hisses, pulling you into her small office.

Your mother had always valued her own privacy. Closed doors, closed for good reason. Weaponised, utilised, to shut you out. Rare, but unrelenting.

You, on the other hand? You valued knowledge, and curiosity. A door closed was simply a door to be opened, and so that’s what you would do. Peer through tiny cracks, or place glasses against walls to listen in. And Ellie Houseman had cropped up so often, she became more constant than your own brothers. And you knew your investigation would be useless without her.

That’s when the first blow comes. A hit you hadn’t anticipated. Her hand slices aggressively into your neck, and you wince, before slamming yours straight back into her side. She grunts, before charging into you, her curly hair flying out of place. It’s quick, whack after whack in quick succession. You’re simultaneously attacking and defending, cursing your stupid corset and too prim skirt. 

“You need to leave this alone.” she shouts into your ear, yanking you towards her, but you push her backwards.

“She is my mother! I can’t just leave her, she’s left me clues. She wants me to find her, I’m sure of it.” you reply back quickly, shrieking as one well placed kick sends you crashing to the floor.

“Have you considered the opposite? Maybe she’s leaving you a fake trail to follow, so you stay out of her way.” Edith hisses, and you recoil, your hand shrinking away from her foot.

“Miss Holmes, I’m not convinced you are ready for this.” she admits, stepping over your aching body towards the door.

“No one is. But I don’t care.” you fire back, getting up with a sharp inhale. She commends your resilience, you can tell.

“Your mother knew you were listening, I bet.” she says simply, slowly, as if she’s given you valuable information, and you just let out an exasperated sigh.

She leaves you to think it over, and that you do, propping yourself up against her desk. That's when you see a map, with a few locations dotted and circled. And one in particular catches your eye.

Limehouse Lane. A place of no significance. But if it was significant to your mother, you know what she would’ve done. She would’ve rearranged it, rearranged it to something understandable but casual, something you’d only know if you knew. Something that could be said easily in conversations, without raising suspicion. A name would be good. A name, like

Ellie Houseman. 

***

Limehouse Lane is dingy and uninviting. Litter lies amongst the cobbled floors, and unknown things squelch below your feet, but you refuse to be deterred. Determination has always been a strong suit of yours.

You make it to the end of the street, coming face to face with a warehouse, doors slightly ajar. You slip in silently and begin to explore.

Boxes and crates are piled in neat rows, and stacks of leaflets and newspapers are strewn across them. Cautiously, you lift open a crate and you gasp slightly. Explosives. A huge selection of explosives.

Every crate, very full. Very illegal. The posters and leaflets? Invitations to rallies. Feminist rallies.

Suddenly all Eudoria’s teachings make so much sense. How she’d instructed you to never conform to a society designed for men. And you quickly realise that Edith was right. She had not wanted you to realise what kind of an activist she was- for she was truly a radical.

And as much as you admired it, you realise that Edith was right once again. You might not be ready for this. Admittedly, you were still so young, with such little understanding of the nature of the world. So, suddenly, being in an abandoned warehouse full of illegal weapons which you knew your mother intended to wield was not nearly as exciting as you thought it ought to be. Instead, you have the sudden urge to run.

An urge you did not get usually.

As you make your way back outside, something catches your eye. A shrine of sorts, across the lane, under a lame shed-like structure.

The innocent eyes of Viscount ‘Oscar’ Piastri, plastered all over numerous sheets of paper, staring at you. Maps and lists, crossed angrily. Places, scribbled and circled. Like he was of some importance, to someone dwelling around Limehouse Lane. And you wonder if maybe, he has some role in this you weren’t aware of. If maybe, somehow, he is connected to your mother.

And that’s when the excitement kicks in. You put it down to the idea of new evidence, and the distance between you and the bombs. It has nothing to do with the idea of seeing the Viscount again, absolutely not.

You scan the newspaper clippings again, smiling slowly as you read one of the headlines. A flower market in Coventry. ‘Dazzling, exotic, never before seen. European’, etc, read the slogan. 

You were no botanist, but if you were, that’s where you’d go, for sure. And you were certain that you’d find him there.

You go to take a step forward, when a hand grabs you around the throat. It’s gruff, and tight. Choking, you kick your assailant aggressively in the leg, hearing an ‘oof’ sound, and you’re somewhat unsurprised when you turn and see a familiar man in a familiar bowler hat. Great.

You throw a punch at his jaw, and you grin as you hear a satisfying crack, but he doesn’t even stumble. Instead, he aims straight for your face and you stagger back clumsily to avoid the impact. Then his cane whacks your thigh, so hard, and you shriek in pain, tripping over. He dives straight at you, and you both clatter into a low window, shattering the glass. You wrinkle your nose as you smell smoke, and scurry upwards, trying your best to limp away, but he’s right behind you.

You turn the corner to see nothing other than a large bucket of water and a scuffed wall, and you curse. You turn to face him, trying to keep an air of confidence as he runs towards you. He grabs your head, smashing you into the wall, and you grit your teeth as you feel your nose beginning to bleed, but you don’t pause. You headbutt him aggressively, and he reels just long enough for you to kick him over.

Then you slam your foot into his chest, hearing him heave. But he grabs you down with him, thrusting a short knife straight into your stomach.

He gets up, staring at you expectantly, but you simply get up too, shuddering. You rip the knife from your stomach incredulously, wondering if adrenaline was why you couldn’t feel any pain.

“How the hell-” begins your assailant, and you scowl at him, pulling open the rip in your dress. Your corset, turns out, had saved you. Genius.

You throw yourself at him, scraping the knife down his arm, but he barely even yelps. Instead, he forces your head into the bucket, laughing as you writhe in the water.

He pulls you up as you scream. “Where is the Marquess?” he asks, low and evil. You feign innocence.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” you reply, indignant, and he pushes you back into the water again as you shout, pushing your arms against the side of the barrel.

He pulls you up again. “Do I need to ask again?”

You shake your head, quickly. “Okay, yes, I know him. But I promise, I don’t know where he is. We went our separate ways.” you plead, and he pauses, like he’s considering what you’ve said.

“Well, that’s a terrible shame, but you’ve seen my face now.” he replies gravely, and you wince.

“Your face is very forgettable, truly.” You attempt, but it’s too late. You’re back underwater, and life is slipping from you as you feel your energy depleting.

You stop writhing. You slow entirely, conserving the little strength you have left. He stops pressing your head down, and comes closer to you, examining if you’ve truly given up.

He hesitates for a moment too long, and you slam into him, with all the force you can muster. He curses, and you sprint back to where the fire had started. You don’t hesitate, throwing a flaming plank of wood into the warehouse.

You most certainly do not hesitate to see if he’s made it out as you watch the entire thing end up alight, a blaze spreading across each old wooden wall. You do not turn around as you begin to hear bangs and pops. Instead, you limp onwards to Coventry.

Onwards to Piastri. Because if that bowler-hat man had almost killed you, he would have no trouble murdering that pompous boy without you around. And as you take each step, you decide with a heavy heart that your mother would be more than fine without you, and that maybe she viewed you as a hindrance. So now, you could accept this new mission.

***

You visit the market the next day. He is sporting a new look, you make a note of. Less ridiculous, less rich. You almost hadn’t noticed him, but you recognise your own handiwork as you watch his uneven hair.

“I’d quite like a blue flower, preferably. Are blue roses a thing? I don’t really care for flowers.” you ask him loudly, admiring him sift diligently through a row of different plants.

“Well, no real ones-” he begins formally, turning around to face you.

His face lights up, and you smile at him bashfully.

“Holmes! It’s you. I’ve missed you.” he says immediately, too immediately, and you hesitate.

“Yes, that’s nice of you, Piastri. ‘Suppose I’ve grown fonder of you too, in your absence. But that’s not why I’m here.” you say seriously, but he just smiles at you, dazed.

“You’re in grave danger. Truly, grave. That bowler-hat man is coming, and he’s relentless. So, I’ve decided to devote my brilliance to your case, so you stay alive.” you explain, and he looks at you, like he’s considering something.

Then he embraces you, his large arms wrapping around you easily, and you try not to melt. You hadn’t realised how isolated you were, living alone. Hiding from your brothers, searching for your mother. Well and truly alone.

You wonder if maybe he felt the same. If maybe it was instinctual, to try and get some comfort. Some contact. Maybe he needs this just as much as you do.

So you allow yourself to relax, ever so slightly. For his benefit, you assure yourself. 

“Should I be scared?” he asks quietly, mumbling into your unruly hair.

“Terrified.” you admit, and you hear him sigh. You pull away quickly, readjusting your dress and grabbing him by the arm.

“I’ve been collecting any clippings and things I can find, to get a headstart. Follow me.” you announce, guiding him through small streets until you reach your lodging.

Unfortunately, you don’t see the tenant eyeing you entering the building. You don’t see her grip on an unflattering ‘wanted’ poster of you. Maybe if you had, you would have run away.

The Viscount eyes your room, a small smirk etched on his lips. “Cheapest place you could find?”

You huff. “The lady assured me a fair price.”

“The lady lied to you.”

You roll your eyes at him, gesturing to the documents sprawled out in front of you. He watches you carefully, but suddenly the door slams open.

A strange looking man, with a ridiculously large moustache and a squiffy uniform.

You recognise him, as an inspector that had worked with your brothers before.

“Detective Lestrade!” you say cheerfully, grinning the confusion on his face.

“You know this guy?” mutters Piastri, into your ear.

“Think he’s going to try and detain me now.” you reply, grabbing the teapot to your right and hurling it aggressively at Lestrade’s face, watching him fumble backwards.

Yanking the Marquess’ arm, you drag him up the rickety stairs, laughing.

“Well, if wasn’t going to try and detain you before, he definitely is now!” he comments, and you flash him a lazy smile.

“Mycroft’s put him up to it, I’m sure. Help me pull this chest, please.” you grunt, lamely attempting to push the chest against the door, as a weak barricade.

Lestrade is there immediately, ignoring the bruise rapidly developing on his large nose. He rams himself into the door, seething at you through the small gap.

“Miss Holmes, and whoever it is you’re with, please come out immediately. Or I’ll have to smash this door down.” he shouts, but you just stare at him, undecided on what to do.

With each moment you think, you feel the chest shift below you, and realise you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Piastri, are you listening? We can’t hold him off forever.” you announce, watching the door grow more open with each thump from Lestrade’s arm.

The boy nods. “So, what’s your plan?” he asks quickly, humming as he keeps pushing the door, to no avail.

“I’ll hold it, so you can run. And you will run. Run as far as you can.” you say, your tone deadly serious. Your voice doesn’t even waver, even though your hands are shaking.

He stares at you incredulously.

“I’m not leaving you. Absolutely not.”

You sigh at him, exasperated. “Listen, you have to. What happens now, for me, is simple. Finishing school. But if you, if you get caught? You’re dead.” you explain.

“I’m not leaving you-”

“I demand it!” you shriek, feeling your hands slip.

“I can’t do it, you wouldn’t do it to me, would you?” he asks, but you don’t reply. Instead, two words leave your panicked lips.

“Oscar, please.”

He doesn’t move, not straight away, but he gives himself a second to look at you. To truly look at you. And he looks at you like you’ve just said something holy. Something secret, maybe something beautiful.

Actually, he looks at you like you are beautiful, even though you know that right now, you most certainly are not.

“Please.” you repeat, and then he runs, straight for the door behind you, to the fire escape.

You give him one last weak smile, and then he’s gone, and you stop fighting it.

You let Lestrade pile in, and silently curse the evil woman that follows him, pestering about a reward.

But your thoughts follow the Viscount, hating the fact you already miss him. Already want to know that he’s safe, even though you practically can still hear his heavy footsteps.

You hate the fact that you want to ask him why he was looking at you like that, what it meant.

You hate him, and the fact he’s ruined your investigation, and now you’re going to be locked up forever in that stupid finishing school, where your mother will remain unfound and you’ll have to hear of Piastri’s demise through a weekly paper.

end of part one ⌕

[fashionteahouse]

Hi!! I was wondering if it’d be possible for you to write more on Seth? Like that lahtoe little sister type stuff. Just then constantly trying to not get caught and him being so sweet. 🥲. I think about him daily and I’ve read your Paul fics like 7 times in the last week😭

sure sure 😭 hope you enjoy :)

blood on my hands - seth clearwater x reader

"When we get in here, be polite. Got it?"

You nod at your older brother's order.

He opened the door to the familiar home and the chatters starts to die down as all eyes went to the door. You and Paul stepped into the cozy home.

"Ah, Y/N's back from the city." Sam says to you. People let out ah’s. You smile a bit.

“Still ugly.” Quil teased.

You move forward but Paul halts you. As you both go to the table, Paul hits Quil upside his head as he walked past that earned him chuckles from Embry and Jacob. You gave Quil a shit eating grin.

“Gotta deal with double the trouble, now.” Embry laughed and pointed at Quil.

"It's nice to see you!" A dark haired woman exclaimed as she moved towards you. Your face becomes hot as you shyly smile. Paul nudged you. You flash him a quick glare.

"N-nice to see you too." you say in nervousness.

You had spent a summer month in the city, visiting your mother. She was upset that Paul didn't come this time. You couldn't tell her the secret. You wasn't even supposed to know the secret of shapeshifters. It happened when your father was chastising Paul for coming in so late. Paul got angry and stormed back out. You watched from the kitchen window while your father muttered about getting a beer, to see a horse sized silver wolf replace your brother.

When he came back home, you told him what you saw. At first, he tried to gaslight you. But, the seriousness in your spirt showed he couldn't fool you this time.

"Say a word, I'll kill you." he just says.

"Whatever." you say before heading back into your room.

Ever since then, you've been involved with the pack. A group of other shifters. You were still shy and nervous around them. You didn't know them like you knew your brother.

With you and Paul's dad away at work that night, slaving as always, Paul didn't feel like cooking dinner. He suggested going over Emily’s house for dinner instead.

An empty chair was next to a boy that looked to be around your age. You haven't seen him before. You peak at him while Paul was too busy rambling with Sam.

A nudge snapped you out of your trance as Paul held a plate to give to you.

Slowly pulling the chair out, you sit next to the new boy. The thing you noticed was how good he smelled. A burst of butterflies erupted in your belly.

He turned his head to you as Paul fell into conversation with his best friend, Jared.

"You're Paul's sister?" The new boy asked.

"Yeah."

"I have a sister too. She's having dinner at home."

"Oh...Is she older or younger?"

"Older. But, soon I'll be taller." he says. You smile a bit. He was easy to talk to. The conversation flowed like a steady stream.

Seth.

Easy to memorize and it sounded nice falling from your lips. Every time he said your name back, you felt like you won the lottery at life.

Soon, you two were making each other quietly laugh.

Paul noticed, but he knew he wouldn't let anything further than platonic emotions happen.

When you two got home, you were brushing your teeth. You stared at the mirror, softly smiling with paste in your mouth as you were happy to have made an effort to make a friend.

Your brother's figure walking towards you, made you frown. You bend down a bit to spit out the paste.

He leans against the doorframe as he studied you.

"So, looks like you got a crush."

"Shut up." you mutter.

"Im just telling you right now, it's not going to happen. Period."

"Nothing's happening. He's just a friend. Now move." you tell him and push past him, closing your bedroom door behind you.

Paul dropped you off at Emily's as he was going to patrol. Seth was coming in from patrol. He was shaking leaves from his hair. Paul shoots you a warning look and you rolled your eyes as he shuts the door behind him.

Your heart jumped at the sight of him.

He smiled at you and you felt like jumping around. You just settled for a lax smile.

"Me and Emily is about to start cookies. You want to help?" you ask him. His face lights up.

"Yeah!" he says excitedly and Emily let you two take over. She leaned against the counter with a cup of tea as she watched the relationship between you two grow as you both laughed and talked.

You found yourself walking to Emily's without Paul having to tell you. While Emily was taking a nap, Seth suggested walking to his house. You agree.

You two walked and laughed and talked. It was nice. The summer sun was beaming down on you both but you felt like the sun was walking right next to you.

Your sun.

You heard a jingle.

Seth tapped your arm.

“Race you!” He took off running.

Smiling, you follow him as you took off right behind him. You both ran to the ice cream truck with you panting.

You tapped your pockets, “Crap. Forgot my wallet.”

“It’s alright.” He tells you and orders you both a cold treat.

You both continued to walk to his house as you both ate.

Sitting in his room, you both played on his video game station.

“Do you like shifting?” You ask as you both shoot with guns on the television.

His fingers fiddle with the controls.

“Yeah! I get to run fast, I’m super strong, and I get to protect people.”

“I don’t know what I would do if I was a shifter.”

“Why, because you’re a girl? My sister doesn’t like it too much.”

“No. I would run hot all the time. Paul is like a walking fire pit.”

“Sorry.” He apologized.

“But, you don’t feel like that….You’re nice to be around. You’re cozy.”

You mentally palm yourself for admitting that out loud.

Cozy?

Ugh.

He smiled which made your heart jump.

“Thanks. You’re nice to be around too.”

After he walked you home, he hugged you tight. You plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Thanks for the popsicle. See ya tomorrow.”

“Yeah..See ya.” He waved but he touched his cheek in awe after you entered the home.

You jumped at Paul’s figure when you entered. His arms was crossed.

“You were out with Seth?”

“Yeah.” You shrug as you try to head upstairs.

He stopped you from moving further.

“No more, Y/N. You need to focus on your future. Not focus on boys.”

You scoff, “Sure.”

He stopped you again.

“I mean it.” He pierced his eyes at you.

You scowl before storming off.

Knocking on Seth’s door the next day, he slowly opened the door.

“Hey. What’s wrong?” You ask as he wouldn’t move to the side to let you in.

“Hey, Y/N. Im pretty busy right now…”

“So…We can’t hang out?” You ask in confusion.

“No.”

“Seth, I’ve known you for a week and I know that you’re lying. What’s really wrong?”

“Look, Y/N. I hate this just as much as you do but….Paul warned me to stay away from you. I’m not trying to get blood on my hands.”

You roll your eyes. Of course.

“Seth. I won’t let anything happen. I promise.”

He didn’t look convinced so you offer a new offer.

“He won’t even know. I’ll even leave early.” You tell him.

He looked around.

“Leah’s not home. She’s on patrol with him.” He tells you.

“Great! I’ll just leave before she gets here so she doesn’t rat us out.”

He lets you in. He hugs you. You melt into his hug.

“But, what will you say when he asks you where you are?”

“I have friends. I’ll ask them to cover for me.”

He takes your hand.

“We have to get to level fifteen this time.” He says as you both climb his stairs.

Giggling, you agree. You both flop on his bed and he turns on the shooting game.

Sneaking to see him, it felt like a thrill. You did make sure to leave before Leah would come.

One day, as you both walked to the cliffs together, he claimed it was the best view. You both stood at the top and looked at the water. He held your hand. It felt like a hug on your hand.

“Y/N…”

“Yeah?” You look at him to see him slightly nervous.

“I know we’ve only known each other for a couple of weeks but…I want to be more than friends.”

“Cool. We can be best friends.”

“No. I mean like…more than that. Boyfriend and Girlfriend.”

“Oh…”

“It’s totally okay if you don’t want to, I just needed to let that out before I burst.” He says with a sheepish smile and scratched the back of his neck.

You lean and kiss the nervous smile from his lips. He kissed you back. At that moment, you both wanted fireworks to sound off because that’s what it felt like.

He walked you near your block, hand in hand.

You pressed the phone to your ear.

Paul came into your room as you were giggling on the phone and you scowl at him.

“Privacy!” You exclaim to him.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Nunya.”

He rolled his eyes.

“I know you were at the cliffs. And I know that Seth was at the cliffs too.” He tapped his nose.

“Well, I didn’t see Seth.” You smoothly lie.

He narrowed his eyes, “Oh yeah? Who were you with and how did you even find the cliffs?”

You tell him you were with a friend.

“Wasn’t I with you?” You ask into the phone.

You press speaker.

“Yeah. We went to cliffs. It was just us.” Your friend smoothly covered for you.

You give him a “see I told you” look.

He clenched his jaw.

“Now, get out.” You shoo him off.

You helped Emily make muffins before everyone came back in from patrol.

You take two ginormous ones that looked the best, that you kept to the side, for Seth.

Jared reached over your head and stole one off of the plate.

“Give me one.” Paul says as he looked at your hands as you walked past.

“No.” You replied with your nose in the air.

He watched as you entered the living room.

You smile at Seth who was sitting in the loveseat and hand them both to him. You press a finger to your lips. He smiled.

Sitting on the arm of the loveseat, Paul entered and pulled you to sit on the couch. You roll your eyes.

It was getting late, you fluff your pillow in bed before lying back down. You reach for your headphones before you heard a muffled tap.

You pull back your curtains to reveal a shirtless Seth. The sight never got old. Shirts never looked right on his skin. You eagerly open the window.

You rush to lock your door.

Lounging on your bed, he cuddled with you.

“It’s my turn to patrol. Might as well patrol around here.”

You smile at his claim. You gift him a kiss.

Lately, kisses have been closed mouthed. You wanted to feel how a French kiss would feel. He did too.

That night, you both studied each other’s mouths. You let out a soft giggle, it was so easy to be happy around him.

A knock hit your door.

“Y/N, why is the door locked? I’m going to tell dad.”

You rush out of bed, climbing over Seth as he holds his breath.

“Tell him. I don’t care. I’m getting dressed.” You shout back through the door.

Seth made sure to be gone by the morning, but it was the best sleep you’ve ever had.

Paul kept staring at you as you both munched on cereal the next morning.

“What?” You hiss at him.

“You think you’re so slick. Don’t worry, I’m gonna get to the bottom of it.”

You flick him off. As he goes to put his bowl in the sink, he used his hand to mess up a part of your hair as you groan loudly while you swat him off.

“Stupid!” You groaned out as he chortled out of the room.

Your father came in from work that afternoon, Paul was off of patrol and you weren’t chancing sneaking off to see Seth.

You both texted back and forth. Paul constantly asked who you were texting. You told him to mind his business.

Your father hung up his phone before turning his attention to his children.

“Alright. We’re going over the Clearwaters for dinner tonight. Harry caught some big fish and Sue made enough for us to come.”

You jumped with glee internally.

You and Seth hugged when you came over. Paul separated you two after the hug was timed for two seconds.

“He’s so annoying.” You whisper to Seth as you both snuck off to the back porch. The sounds of loud talking and laughter was leaking out the house.

“He’s being protective but I wouldn’t hurt you, Y/N.”

“I know.” You say as you hold his hand. You look at the backdoor, the windows, before looking around the backyard. The coast was clear.

You lean and give him a quick kiss.

He smiled and gave you a quick kiss before he abruptly pulled away.

Soon, you find out why once the back door swung open.

Paul strolled out with Leah. They sat on the chairs on the back porch.

You grind your teeth as you know that he did it on purpose so that you and Seth couldn’t be alone.

Leaving was your least favorite part. You hugged him tightly. Luckily, Paul’s attention was too focused on shutting up Leah’s teasing towards him.

“Yeah, just come over. He’s out on a date with some chick.” You tell Seth over the phone one night.

“You’re home alone? By yourself?” He asked, he didn’t like the sound of you by yourself.

“Yeah. Dad’s pulling a double again.”

“I’ll be right over.”

He climbed through your window.

You both greeted each other with the brightest smiles.

Pulling his arm, you guide him to your bed.

“Are you sure he won’t like come early or anything?”

“No. Once he’s on a date, he usually calls me to unlock the door for him.” You roll your eyes at the thought.

He relaxed.

“So, we can kiss with no interruptions?”

“Of course.” You tell him with a smile.

You both eagerly lean into each other and grace each other’s lips. His lips were so warm and he felt that your lips were so soft.

You both got even more comfortable. You both got more bold.

Taking his hand that rested against your cheek, you stick it under your shirt. You both relax into a kiss again.

Paul kept eyeing the time. He made sure to do it discreetly, but he was losing patience. The girl was sweet, but he just didn’t feel a connection.

As he reached the home, he glanced up at the lit up window that belonged to your room.

The house was too quiet. Paul narrowed his eyes as he was being as quiet as possible, entering. Usually when you’re home alone, you’re blasting music in your room or downstairs hogging the television. You were doing neither.

Climbing the stairs, he moved closer. He turned the knob.

“I fucking knew it.” He calls.

Seth was halfway out of the window, your shirt ruffled and your face was looking like a deer stuck in headlights.

Paul moved forward to him.

Seth scrambled and stumbled, falling out of the window.

“Seth!” You call out, sticking your head out of the window to check on him. You breathe out a sigh of relief when you saw him stand on two legs, smiling.

“I’m good.” He called up to you with a thumbs up. He turned and ran. As you watch him run, you ignored Paul rambling on about how he can’t trust you alone. About how you don’t need to be worried about dating some boy. You just didn’t care. Seth wasn’t just some boy, he was special.

[yan-randomfandom]

With Everything and Nothing, Humans are...

a/n; The Front Man has no set identity. 2nd POV. basically a front man & gn!reader but don't let the cringe get to you — based on the proposition scene

I wrote this with Let Down by Radiohead on loop, pure devastation from season 3 of Squid Game, mixed w the existential crisis/philosophy of being a human

— 🎭

The knife rests on the table, its black and gold sculpture coaxing your gaze.

"That is my proposition," the Front Man speaks under their mask. A voice so synthetic, filtered, and practiced, like they were never human in the first place. "They will kill you in the game tomorrow. I am giving you the chance to live."

... Live?

Your eyes stray away from the knife. Opting to look at the Front Man's mask instead, those empty black eyes, desperately trying to find something— anything—

A breathless sigh escapes you. "...Why?"

It would be a lie if you said you didn't once consider the proposal.

You know who you are. The floor underneath you, although still, feels like it'll collapse any second now. It is so, so heavy. Such weight shouldn't be able to be supported by anything. Nothing but the empty feeling of heaviness. Nothing but the weight of your own humanity.

Nothing. Everything.

You feel everything and nothing at the same time.

For a moment, you think, how would your mother decide? Your father? Your sister, your brother? Daughter? Son? Your closest friend? Would they remember you, as you did, in this very moment?

Nothing but everything is stepping down on your shoulders. Carefully sinking you down, down, down—

Until your bones, the very skeleton of your functionality, crush into the ground. Like nothing. But everything, at the same time.

You want to live.

... That's an impossible thought. After all, there were so many times you wish you didn't.

"A choice," The front man's voice cuts through your thoughts. "You will live if you kill them. They will not hesitate to kill you."

You subtly shake your head, lowering your gaze. "Why me?"

They don't answer. Of course they won't.

You know what you voted for after each game. Everyone gave their lives for this. Many willingly, you realize, they had nothing left to lose. Has the world failed them that badly? So unkind, so ruthless—so unfair?

But, of course, it could've been the opposite. Have they been cruel to the world—full of hate, fear, or simply for entertainment?

You grab the knife. The Front Man watches closely, unmoving.

Unsheathing it, you eye the pretty glint of light, which followed the angles of your movement.

Your gaze lifts. The man is unarmed.

...

In one swift action, your breathing escalates, pressing the knife under the monster's mask, and against their neck.

You can do it. You could. They are right there, yet still, they don't move.

"You can do it," they sigh. The sound seems tired—as if their games tired them out, too. "You can kill me right now."

You can't breathe. Your hand shakes under yourself. The monster wraps its gloved fingers around your wrist, slow and unrushed, and firmly holds you. A mockery of comfort.

"But it won't change anything," it continues. "I will be replaced, and the games will move forward."

Something drips below your chin. With its other hand, it gently wipes your skin.

Then the hand moves away. It goes to the mask. Grabbing by the edges—

You saw the mouth. The nose.

Before it goes further, you hastily pull the mask back down. You drop the knife. You step away from their body. Their hand stays gripped around your wrist.

Words are stuck in your throat.

That monster... Front Man... person. You've held them before. You listened to their stories. Their likes and dislikes, their fears and victories. With a strained gasp, you tug your hand back. The knife is long forgotten.

You turn around.

You walk towards the elevator.

...

"Why?"

You don't want to turn around. The voice isn't layered with fakes and filters anymore.

It's more human. How terrifying. Not even a stranger, but a lost friend.

... Despite yourself, you turn around.

A bare human face.

Their eyes stare at you with so much familiarity. Desperate, curious, panicked—emotions that a living being shouldn't even have after having killed hundreds.

"You will die if you leave," they exclaim, their eyes frantically widening. "Why won't you even take the knife? Why does humanity have your faith?"

You can't answer. Empty of words, empty of emotions.

"Why haven't you killed me? I am not human anymore."

Your heart slowly falls.

"Why do you persist?"

Your soul quivers.

"Why would you accept your fate? They will kill you. They want you dead."

Your knees give out on you.

The human takes a grip of the knife. The human kneels in front of you. The human grabs your hand and settles the knife on your palm.

"Kill them," they plead, they beg. "They are just like me. You considered killing me."

You tighten your fingers around the handle.

But the hand that held the weapon only falls, and the naked hand rises.

Your hand rests on their chest.

The human's heart is beating. It beats rapidly, desperately, as if it's trying to drown itself. You avoid the human's eyes. You're only listening to their heart.

"We're not humans," they croak. "Humans are..."

GI-HUN 😭😭😭😭😭 gif is me live tweaking out on s3 (thanks gif creator)

[godmadeaterribleerror]

HAPPY LATE THURSDAY!!!!!

1. yearning olympics, here we come

2. john winchester cannot stop ruining his childrens lives and he's DEAD!!!!!

3. because it is🩷😔

4. and he doesn't even KNOW YET!!!!!!!

5. dean when she's mad at him🥰😍🥹🫠🩷

6. bro's cooked

7. LMAOOOOOOOO

8. i love a sleeping trope what can i say it's about the intimacy

9. Adam's had a long 24 hours he might be in love with a hot older lady (by like, 8-ish years, but still) and she's in a very confusing relationship with his older hald-brother. also he died and she resurrected him.

10. John when woman spark joy😡

11. one shot where they're just helping cas not get fucked by her wards

12. heheheheh you'll see

13. let Dean be LOVED!!!!!!!!!🩷

14. they really are. 4 years apart in age, but twins

15. i know 😔

16. fr all God has done is be creepy🙄

17. hehehehehehehehehehe ✨secrets✨

18. and that's so real of you you're right

19. Cas being a Creature let him live

20. we can share the meal🩷

21. he's not afraid of Dean but he IS afraid of Dean's wrath for waking her up. Dean being pissed about the fate of the world?? nothing. Dean being pissed about HER???????? run.

22. Sam, Princess, and Cas need at history yapping session

23. Cas chose the right side in this war (she could put him in a jar if they weren't besties)

24. fr let them go🤨😬 about god's creepy plan

25. he's just a boy.

26. hehehehehheehhe✨secrets✨

27. he's not about to let his DAUGHTER marry GOD the asshole didn't even ASK HIM FIRST smh

28. ...... the nda

29. he's the most down bad man in the history of down bad men

30. :( free him

31. she's a girlboss

32. give them a chill second

33. she will!!!!! (maybe. nda)

34. THE NDAAAAAAAAA

35. even his own brother's hate him what a loser

36. he really be getting a boner all the time. he loves that crazy woman

37. Cas cannot stop being ominous love that for him

38. LMAOOO she's on one all the time

39. fr she's literally just a girl

40. you get it. try and hurt dean? she'll kill you about it

41. GET HIM!!!!!!!!!

42. She DOES have big dick energy. dean i get u

43. it is😭

44. he won't😔

45. nooooooo (you're so real for that)

46. again. A QUEEN

47. bro got killed like a bug. loser

48. because to him, it is i fear

49. but he's AFRAID

50. ...... don't worry about it right now!!! don't borrow grief from the future

51. Dean really cannont catch a break the people he loves won't calm the hell down

52. there's actually a really specific reason he knows when she's lying, and nobody's caught it yet (or at least told me they caught it) :)

53. HE LOVES THAT CRAZY WOMAN!!!!!!

54. John winchester would be so pissed (good)

55. SHE DID!!!!!!!

56. lmaoooooooo you're right

57. Bobby my king

58. DAD OF THE CENTURY

59. TELL YOUR MOM HI!!!!!!

60. he really is. help him.

61. to be fair she still does feel crazy she's just not afraid he'll leave anymore

62. sure!!!!!! let's go with that!!!!

63. everyone loses their minds when they kiss we're gonna have to throw a party when they fuck

64. .... have you been to chicago.

65. Fr he doesn't give a fuck about anyone but Her??? swaggy bff.

66. FREE HIM!!!!!!!!!!!!

67. they cannot stop sacraficing themselves for each other when they just need THERAPY

68. don't judge her you'd do the same

69. 🩷🩷

70. End note: both??? why not both.

71. that is very real of you but remember! don't worry about it!!!!!!!

72 THANK YOU!!!! one day they'll even FUCK (and it's both closer and further than you think)

Chapter 26 - Worth the Fight

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Dean about to take gold in the Yearning Olympics.

Chapter Title from Nettles by Ethel Cain

Word Count: 19.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean picks you and Adam up, and everyone makes some choices. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Read on A03!

There are a lot of different types of fear, and Dean Winchester has felt most of them.

There’s the white-hot, fury-made fear he feels during hunts. That one is useful. It’s a fuel. He can brace his body and fly through the fight with ease, swinging and shooting and marching right to the other side. Just like Dad taught him. 

But then there’s the rotting fear, and that one is just annoying. It sort of festers in his throat, and then he can’t damn breathe out of nowhere, the fear having taken months to root with no clear way of how to get it out.

Sammy’s moping in the corner about unleashing the apocalypse, can’t figure out the right words to tell the kid it’s not his fault, and it’s electric under his skin that something horrible is going to happen. Bobby’s trapped in the wheelchair, and Dean isn’t a doctor, but one day that’s going to end in an empty chair and another funeral pier.

But this is the worst fear. The frenzied, wired one, that means something’s gone wrong—why the hell does something always have to go wrong—and Dean won’t be able to feel okay until it’s better.

That one can be about Sammy and the demon blood. About being forced to his knees while Anna sliced Jo’s neck open.

But it’s mostly about Her. 

In pain in his arms. Calling him and saying She’ll be in Michigan, but then Dean got to Michigan and all that was left was the Firebird. Then hunters get the jump on his and Sam, because this fear doesn’t make him useful, or delay until he can’t ignore it anymore. It’s demanding, and painful, and every single time they’d walked into a memory of Her in Heaven, Dean had wanted to grab Her and never let go. Even when he damn well knew it wasn’t Her—the memories didn’t smell like fruit, and he should’ve gotten that it was Her in the blanket fort in the first second, because She’d smelled like fruit there—Dean had felt all the air tighten in his lungs.

Then he’d lost Her.

He’d grabbed the real Her—not dead, just walking through heaven like it was nothing, because she was a freaking angel—and then watched Her vanish with Zachariah. 

The rest of the night had been a blur. A lot of Sam and Cas trying to calm him down, things breaking, and graphic threats that he wouldn’t actually inflict on them, but likely on himself. He’d roared at the sky, begging it to split open and Dean catch Her. He’d somehow lost Her again, and there was no damn point in being Her shadow or guard or friend or anything if Dean just kept fucking dropping Her, when She needed to be held like it was the world and all the stars in his hands- 

“Dean.” Bobby had frowned at him from the doorway of their room. 

Her room. Her room, that She trusted Dean to share. That had all his clothing, because they’d all stopped pretending Dean would ever be able to sleep without Her. The sheets still smelled like Her. Dean was holding one of Her notebooks, all the words in Enochian, like he could somehow read it and find a way to bring her back. 

“Don’t say anything,” Dean had muttered, closing the book. “I don’t want to hear it, Bobby, I freakin’ know-“

“She called, ya idjit.”

His head had shot up. “She-“

“Sent a text first.” Bobby had grunted. “Called ‘er, we figure she got dropped somewhere in Northern California. She’s tryin’ to find somewhere to lay low ‘till you get her, but she’s stuck luggin’ that Adam kid with her. I were you, I’d get her fast.”

The fear had been clouding his brain. She’d gotten out, with Adam, but that didn’t mean she was safe. They didn’t know what the hell the angels had done to Her, if they’d hurt Her, if She’d needed Dean and he hadn’t been there. And California was far, and- 

“She fucking hates California.” Dean had said, the only thought able to get itself out of his mouth, and Bobby had only shrugged.

“Then you’d better drive fast.” He’d paused. “Don’t get arrested. I ain’t got the time to bail you out.”

Dean had nodded, and sprinted out of the room. No need to wake Sam up for this, not when they were still a pissed at each other. All of Sam’s Heaven’s had been fucking bullshit—times he’d left Dean, shit he’d pulled off that had spurred memories of Dad spitting in Dean’s face and bruises on his jaw—and Dean had thrown a few chairs after Sam told him he couldn’t just go back to Heaven and get Her. 

They fell the fuck apart, without Her. And Dean needed Her back now. The fear had turned almost numb and electric, and slowly ebbed out the closer he got to the address Bobby had given him.

But it gave way to new fear.

Cold fear. He could sort of feel it in his bones, and he’d been able to feel it since Mom died. He’d felt it every time Dad had gone out for a hunt, and Dean hadn’t been sure he’d return—and whenever he’d fucked up while Dad was on a hunt, and he hadn’t wanted Dad to return—and he’d felt it when he’d been in the demon deal, and She hadn’t known. Felt it every damn month She’d been gone, he’d called Her, and it had twisted in his stomach that this might be the time She didn’t pick up. 

Dread. It was dread. 

And as he pulled up the final dirt street—he’d been driving for over a day without sleep, but he didn’t need sleep, he needed Her—that was the fear that sunk into his body.

The fear that She’d be in pain when he saw Her, and this time, he wouldn’t be able to fix it. 

Dean shut off Baby’s engine, but this would be quick. He just needed to grab Her—and Adam—and get home. And this was the address, but it was a dusty, abandoned looking cabin on the edge of some farmland, so- 

Something tackled him from behind, arms wrapping around his chest and a face pressing into his back. 

Anyone else, and he would’ve shot without thinking. But somehow—maybe the smell, maybe the feel, maybe just a deep instinct that told him don’t shoot the best person you’ve ever loved, dumbass—he knew it was Her. So his arm dropped to keep Her’s around him, and he let out a heavy breath as they swayed on the sidewalk. 

Dean muttered Her name, craning his head back to meet Her gaze, and found her face still buried into his back. Her cheeks were smushed, and Her hair was a mess—but still somehow shiny, even in the dust of California—and when Dean repeated Her name, she just held him tighter. 

“You found me.” She mumbled against his shirt, something soft and choked in Her voice, and Dean twisted fully in Her arms. He needed to hold Her back. To make sure she was real. 

“Course I found you,” he kissed the top of Her head—that was allowed right now, she was crying—and she was going to suffocate him. He didn’t mind. “You-“

“I’m okay.” 

Dean sighed, and took Her face between his hands, tipping it back to meet his gaze. 

Her eyes were almost blinding, and glossy. Tinted red with tears, just as her cheeks were flushed and Her lips were swollen, likely from chewing. And there was that little, worried furrow in Her brow. 

She wasn’t okay. 

Dean ran his thumb down the bridge of Her nose, and tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. He didn’t know how to fix whatever was getting to Her. He had to fucking try.

“What happened?”

She shook Her head, hair sliding over her face that Dean got to brush away with his softest touch. 

“I-�� She took a shaking breath, leaning into his touch. And he really was a piece of shit, because that was going to replay over and over in his head for the rest of his damn life. “I’m-“

Someone called Her name, and Dean tugged Her forward, wrapping an arm back around Her and raising his gun. He got Her, he had Her, she wasn’t anybody’s but Dean was Her’s, and they’d have to kill him to touch Her- 

“What’s-“ Adam’s head poked out from behind the cabin, and his eyes widened, flicking between Dean, and Her in Dean’s arms. “Oh. Dean, you, uh- I thought Sam was coming?”

“Sam was sleeping.” Dean grunted. “And I’ve got the freakin’ car- Shit-“

Dean groaned as She shoved him, right in the gut, and leaned back with a glower. 

He tried to give Her a winning smile, but it was more of a wince. “Ow, Princess-“

“Don’t Princess me, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean’s grin felt a little more real. He was either going insane, or the hours without sleep were finally getting to him. She was so pretty, and the sun was rising, and all the light seemed to only shine for Her. Making Her almost freaking glow. “Put the gun down.”

He hadn’t realized he was still holding it. But he listened, raising his brows as he tucked it away. 

Her scowl didn’t waver. “Where is Sam.”

“I told you, sleeping-“

“So you drive here alone?!”

“Uh,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and glanced to Adam, but the kid was just staring at Her. “Maybe. But you needed help-“

“Not drive all night help, Dean!” She grabbed his face between Her hands, and Dean didn’t even bother to fight it. He was pretty sure she could try to stab him for real this time, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. “When was the last time you slept?”

He wasn’t sure. He knew he hadn’t slept on the drive to Michigan, then he hadn’t slept in Heaven, but he’d been dead. That didn’t count. And She’d been missing for about a day and a half, plus the drive-

He was well over thirty-six hours.  

Telling Her that didn’t seem like the best idea. 

“I dunno,” he mumbled, and Her hands were so soft. “I’m fine, Princess-“

“Dean Winchester.” She hissed, and he might have lost all the blood in his face, rushing to other places in his body. She needed to keep looking at him like that. Forever. Like his health was something that really mattered to Her. 

He drawled Her name back, but he sounded a little drunk. This wasn’t working in his favor. 

“When did you last sleep,” She hissed—now didn’t feel like a good time to kiss Her—and he sighed. 

“Connecticut.”

Her eyes flashed, and before he was sure what was happening, they were moving. She’d grabbed Dean’s hand and was tugging him around the back of the cabin, and he was Her shadow. He didn’t know how to do anything but follow Her, wherever the hell she wanted to take him. 

Adam mumbled Her name as they passed him. “What-“

“We’re sleeping.” She snapped, and Adam frowned. 

“But-“

“Dean can’t sleep in the car.”

That was true. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how the hell she knew that, but it didn’t matter. She was holding his hand. Half shoving him into some sort of makeshift bed before crawling up to his side, like She couldn’t bear to be away from him.

“Uh-“ Adam cleared his throat from somewhere near the door. “I thought we were going somewhere safe-“

“We’re safe here.” She shrugged, and Her hand was in Dean’s hair. He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it. He never wanted Her to stop.

“Oh- okay.” Dean let his eyes flutter open, and Adam was frowning between them.

Dean let out a slow breath, and Adam’s attention settled on him. “We’ll drive in the morning, dude. I’ll call Sammy to get a room ready for you.”

Adam blinked. “For- me?”

“Bobby’s got a lot of rooms.” She hummed. “You can take Dean’s old one. We’ll figure the rest when we get home.”

Adam nodded nervously, and Dean felt a little guilty. He should be doing more, but his thoughts were only circling around old room. His old room. Because now they shared one, and didn’t bother to pretend.

But that wasn’t important. And even if Adam wasn’t Sammy, they were still family. Dean was the big brother. He should be helping Adam. Telling him that he was going to sleep because telling Her no took all the willpower in the world—and with Her hand in his hair and his head on Her thigh, Dean didn’t have any willpower—but then they’d go to Bobby’s, and everything would be fine. 

But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what had happened to them, in those two days. And Adam was looking at him strangely, the same way Dad used to look at him. The way that made Dean feel like he was doing something wrong, when he was doing nothing at all. And Adam wasn’t Dad—he wasn’t going to hurt Her—but Dean didn’t like the way the kid’s eyes kept flicking between Her and Dean. 

Mostly Her. Adam kept looking at Her with an expression Dean knew from the mirror. Like She was the most beautiful thing in the universe—She was—and just a brush of Her skin against his would be a high better than goddamn heroine. 

Dean could understand a crush. Adam was just a kid, and She was magnetic. But She was sitting with Dean. And he was Her shadow. Adam could want Her, Dean wasn’t going to be weird about that. Dad might crawl out of the grave to strangle him if he ever chose a girl over family—even though She was family, and he’d only just met the real Adam—and Dean didn’t have any right to get possessive. She wasn’t Dean’s to possess. Only to protect, and hold, and maybe touch wherever he was allowed.

Another selfish thought. He should be focusing on Her and Adam’s safety and stability. On how there was a hollowness to Her features that told him something was wrong. But She was warm, Dean was exhausted, and this cabin was safe. Dean could recognize Her handwriting if he was blindfolded, even when said writing was in Enochian. Those were Her wards, the ones She’d put up at Bobby’s, and they’d had to toss three kinds of salt over Cas’ shoulder, dump him in holy water of the spring—rose water that Bobby had blessed with an eye roll—and let Her burn a lock of his vessel’s hair for him to be allowed into the yard. They’d be fine. 

Dean could turn his face to rest on Her abdomen and hear Her breath hitch, grinning to himself at the sound. He’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe damn the world and rest here into the apocalypse and after. Her fingers combing through his hair and making him feel like a dog, the smell of fruit all around him, his body relaxing because it was Her. 

And She was humming softly.

That wasn’t the voice of a siren, or an angel. It was whatever starlight sounded like, humming Ramble On just so Dean could sleep. 

He passed out faster than maybe ever in his life. He didn’t dream. And when his eyes blinked open to hazy, golden sunlight, She was watching him. 

She was so beautiful. There seemed to be a halo around Her head, and Her skin was still glowing, and Her eyes were so bright Dean was pretty sure he’d be able to see them guiding him home in the darkest storms.

He loved Her. 

She looked so tired. 

Dean reached a hand up before he could think better of it, and traced his fingers over Her cheeks. She blinked at him, leaning into his touch as Her eyes went glossy again, and something was wrong. He’d been an asshole, he’d known something was wrong, and he’d just fallen asleep like she hadn’t just been an angel prisoner-

“Feel better?” She whispered, and Dean voice was barely a rasp.

“Now I do, yeah.” He sat up slowly, keeping hold on Her careful. Tight enough that he could shift Her into his lap. Lose enough that, if She wanted, She could leave.

But She didn’t. 

She just wrapped Her legs around his torso, and dropped Her head to his chest. His arms flew up, caging Her back to keep Her steady, hands tangling in Her hair because he could.

Dean muttered Her name, and She held him tighter. “What the hell happened, after we got zapped.”

“I- I can’t-“ She curled further into him, and Dean knew that strain in Her voice. She was trying not to cry. “De, I don’t know how to- I don’t know what to do- I- I’m not-“

“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft, swallowing down another baby. It wasn’t the time. “I’ve got you, Princess, you’re safe-“

A sob shook Her body, and Dean just held Her. If that was all he had to do right now, to be worthy of being Her shadow, he’d do it every damn time. Until Her breathing was even, and he could carefully tip Her head back and give her a sad smile. 

“I’m here.” He murmured, and She blinked at him through Her tears. 

He wiped them away with his thumb, then let it drift to the bridge of Her nose once more. Her eyes fluttered shut and She let out the best, airiest sigh he’d ever heard in his damn life. Dean could die here. With Her relaxed in his arms, their bodies tangled together, and nothing real in the world but the feeling of Her against him.

But Adam. The end of the world and Adam. 

Dean kissed Her brow, fought the urge to just kiss Her when She made another soft sound and curled her fingers on his chest, and forced himself to get up. He kept Her in his arms—She didn’t fight it, another bad sign—and walked Her outside to the Impala. After She was safely in the passenger’s seat, he went back for Adam. The kid had been sleeping in the room over, and it wasn’t hard to get him moving. 

He just had to say She was waiting in the car.

They were on the road quick. And it was a day long drive, but that was for assholes who obeyed things like speed limits.

Dean didn’t have time for that. She was being too quiet, Adam kept opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to ask questions but wasn’t sure how, and Dean could feel that cold fear again. Something had happened. Something had to have happened. Ellen was gone, all She had was her knives and a jar with something brown and sludge-like in it, and She kept looking at the skyline with that small wrinkle in her brow. 

It was going to drive him insane. He could beat his own muscle and soft tissue going black and blue over it, how he’d just fallen asleep at Her request, like he wasn’t supposed to be the one taking care of Her-

“Dean.” She mumbled, after they’d stopped for gas somewhere in Wyoming, long Adam knocked out in the backseat. “I called Sam. I think Adam’s a little sick, so they’ll be ready to look at him.”

Dean glanced at Adam in the rearview. “He looks fine-“

“He’s got a bite mark.” She was picking the skin on Her nails again, and gave Dean a sad look when his hand shot out of cover her’s. “I-“

“Don’t do that.” He muttered. “How the hell’d he get a bite mark, a freakin’ snake?”

She shook Her head, her hair falling over Her face and Her voice almost a whisper. “Me. I- I’ve never resurrected someone before. I think I did it wrong or something, because it looks like a ghoul bite, and it’s right here.” She reached up and touch the soft skin under Dean’s collarbone. A little electric shock ran through his body at the contact. He was worse than a damn teenager. 

He took a steadying breath—he was a grown man, he’d just slept in her lap, he could handle her touching him and talking to him all gorgeous and awesome—and shot her a small frown. “You’re the one who brought him back?”

She only nodded, and Dean felt the dread move deeper than his bones. Into something colorful and vital and shimmering, that knew Dean was just another thing in Her orbit, but he still had to keep Her safe.

Dean said Her name, and Her fingers twined with his. As if She was afraid he was going to let go. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart. Please.”

Her grip was death like. And it didn’t loosen, as She turned to press Her face into his arm. Her breaths muffled in Dean’s body, but She was also clinging to him like he was a buoy in a hurricane, so he just squeezed Her hand once.

There was a pause, then three squeezes in return. She didn’t seem fine. But before Dean could push it, she was talking. 

“I- I need to tell you most of it later.” She mumbled. “With everyone else. But, I – I don’t know what to do.”

He sighed. “I know, but-“

“I met Michael.” Her words were quick, and the dread was going to eat him alive. “He- He was yellow. And big. And he- he said that I-“ 

She made another weak noise, and Dean muttered Her name. “Breathe, Princess, I’ve got you-“

“Dean.” She whispered, Her chin propping on his shoulder, and when he shot Her a glance, Her eyes were big and bright on his. “Michael told me something.”

Dean frowned. “Like what? His evil plan?”

“No. Not his.”

“Wha-“

“He said I was the bride of God.” She whispered. “He- He said that’s what I was made for. That it’s why I’m like this.”

Dean couldn’t really hear anything. Couldn’t really see anything, either. It wasn’t a safe way to drive, but he didn’t care about driving right now. 

He cared about Her, half clinging to his side, Her voice far too fucking small and defeated. He cared about why She’d say like this—She was perfect, if anything, everyone else should want to be more like Her—and that Michael would call Her that. 

Bride of God.

“What the fuck does that mean.” He muttered, and his knuckles were white on the wheel. 

“Probably what it sounds like.” She mumbled, blinking up at Dean with a nervous expression. “Dean?”

He grunted—he felt like he was drowning without any water to blame—and glanced back to find Her watching him with an open, nervous expression.

“Are you mad at me?”

Dean stared at Her for a moment. That was insane. None of this was Her fault, it was God and the Angels and Hell and all these stupid fucking games with people’s lives that didn’t make sense, he understood it but he couldn’t let it make sense-

She opened Her mouth, and Dean shook his head. Her shadow. The most important thing was being Her shadow, and keeping Her safe.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” He muttered, kissing the top of Her head and forcing himself to not crash the car when She made another little sound. “We just- Guess we got work to do. We’ll call Cas. See what he knows.”

“Okay.” She dropped Her face back down to Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Course.” I love you. I just want to love you Princess, cryptic douchebag archangels or not. “You’re gonna be alright, Princess. Pinky promise.

He turned his hand in Her’s, hooked their pinkies, let out a slow breath as She hummed into his side.

Bride of God.

She was the Bride of God.

Son of a Bitch, he wished that didn’t make sense. That he could just call Michael a lying asshole and be done with it.

But She was divine. Dean had always known She was divine. Ethereal and blinding, made of something he should never be allowed to touch. Something nobody should be allowed to touch, something that was too good to be stuck in the mud with the rest of them. Not just hunters and people born with no way out but a bloody one. Everyone. Even the fanciest asshole at bars—hitting on Her while Dean had glowered at his beer and shoved down the urge to march over and slam his lips against Her’s—had been beneath Her. Dean had just gotten real damn lucky, being the animal that She grew fond of. 

Or unlucky. 

Because if She was the Bride of God—if that was a real thing, and She was it, and She might as well be because Dean had always worshipped Her all the same—that meant She could never be Dean’s. That the most he would ever get was this. 

Her head on his shoulder as they drove, fast asleep and peaceful. Her hand was still in Dean’s free one—he could drive with one hand, he wasn’t a fucking idiot, and when he kissed Her knuckles she made another soft, sweet sound he wanted to devour—as he listened to the music, and got them home. 

Sam was pacing outside, when they pulled into the yard around midnight. She and Adam had both been knocked out for a few hours, and while She didn’t jolt awake as the engine turned off, Adam did.

“Wha-“ The kid blinked around, rubbing his eyes as Dean adjusted Her in his lap. “Where are we?”

“Bobby’s.” Dean muttered, glancing in the side mirror. Sammy was coming over, he could help Adam while Dean took care of Her. “It’s safe. He’s family, and the place is warded to freakin’ hell.”

Adam paled. “Like- Literally?”

“No.” She made a small noise as Dean wrapped Her arms around his neck, but didn’t try to pull away. He was the most selfish asshole in the world. “Sam’ll help you with that bite, then we’ll all meet up in the morning.”

“How’d you know about-“ Adam paused, then said Her name. “She told you?”

“Yep.” He glanced up as Sam knocked on the window, and nodded his head to the backseat. Sam understood—thank Fucking Christ—and opened the back door.

“Hi, Adam, I’ve got the medkit, and- Dean?”

Dean grunted, and glanced back to see Sam frowning at Her.

“Is she-“

“She fine.” Bride of God. “Need to get her to bed, can you-“

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You want me to-“

“Call Cas. Tell him we’re gonna talk in the morning. Is Bobby-“

“In his office. I’ll tell him you’re home.”

Adam cleared his throat, and they both looked to him with a frown. 

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “That’s just- It’s kinda freaky.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean adjusted Her fully, and he’d be able to carry Her like this. He’d always carry Her. “Lot more shit where that came from.”

He was being an asshole. Dean knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He needed to take care of Her. 

Their room was untouched, from when Dean had left it. Her notebook was still on the floor. Everything was in its place. 

Including Her. Fit perfectly in Dean’s arms.

Bride of God.

Maybe it wasn’t Her place. Maybe She should be sleeping on a freaking cloud, or on vacation in Jupiter, making angel babies. Dean really didn’t want to think about Her making angel babies. It didn’t matter if it was Her destiny, he didn’t want Her to be anywhere that he couldn’t follow. Because even if She was the Bride of God, God wouldn’t hold Her like Dean could. It was an insane, absurd thought—it was fucking God—but it was the only thing that eased the frozen dread in his body. If God was out there, he hadn’t done shit for Her. Dean would do anything. He loved Her, and he loved Her like it was written into his fucking DNA, and when he eased them both down onto the bed, She wrapped herself around Dean’s body. 

Michael might have been lying.

Dean wasn’t that lucky. 

That could be what being Her shadow was. Her lover in the corners, and Her guard dog, and nothing more than just the luckiest son of a bitch alive, there for Her in all the ways God couldn’t be.

God.

Fucking God.

What chance did Dean stand against God-

She made a soft, sleepy sound, and Dean glanced down. She was drooling, right onto his chest. Her nose was nuzzled into his throat, and son of a bitch, of course She was the Bride of God. She was perfect.

But She was still sleeping on Dean. When he so much as shifted, Dean was the one who got a distressed sound and tight grip around his neck. 

Dean was Her’s. He loved Her, and he’d love Her all the way down. 

He shouldn’t have been able to sleep, with all the lingering dread. But She smelled like fruit, and She was warm around him, and- 

This place was creepy.

The ceilings were too high, everything was too clean, and the polished floor had some sort of weird engraving on it. It looked like Enochian, when Dean squinted and tilted his head. But the people around him couldn’t be angels. Angels didn’t wear fancy clothing like that, and while they did have cold, unforgiving features, they didn’t lurk in dark corners. The only angel Dean had ever seen lurk in a corner was Cas, and Cas wasn’t a normal angel. 

Angels didn’t whisper, and all these assholes were whispering. Slowly milling about until they’d formed some big sort of circle, and shooting glances at the center of the room.

Dean felt like he was supposed to go somewhere. Maybe anywhere but here. He was like a freaking match in a needle stack, surrounded by sharp, polished people, while he wore a leather jacket, jeans, and mud-caked boots. 

At least he wasn’t tracking the mud, as he tried to push through the odd crowd. Given how clean these people were, that would probably be a whole thing. 

He should just leave. He was definitely intruding on something that he wasn’t supposed to see, and didn’t really want to anyway. But something was calling him. Pulling him forward like a magnet, tugging on something just to the right of his heart and telling him to fucking go-

He stumbled forward as the crowd suddenly ended, and there She was. 

A smaller version of Her—a little doll-like with her black dress, perfectly styled hair, and blank expression that made Dean’s gut twist—but Her. Dean would know Her anywhere.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the old man standing over Her—he had the same nose She did, and different coloring, but an almost identical posture—and the blade in his hand. 

It looked like an echo of Her blade. A crude replica. And She stared at it as the man took Her hand, and flipped it palm up. 

Dean wanted to call Her name, but his voice was stuck in his throat.

The old man beat him to it. 

“First born daughter of the coven’s last born daughter, you have bled for the first time. Your second blood will be spilt in his name, the great one, Yahweh, the creator, who has promised us greatness in his service. Do you offer yourself to him, in entirely, should you be the Bride?”

He had to do something. Dean was just goddamn standing here, and She looked so young, and her voice was so soft and small and this felt like something someone should get shot about-

“I do.” She bowed Her head, and the whole room started whispering. There were some barely muffled laughs, too. As if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. They were lucky to even be in Her presence, but Dean still needed to do something, why couldn’t he fucking move and do something-

Her name escaped his throat, his voice hoarse, and Her head whipped to his. For a second, She was the version of Her Dean knew, and loved, and would drown in the mud or the ocean or pits of hell for. Then the old man sliced the blade deep into Her hand, and she flickered back into the little girl. 

It was only for a second. As Her hand was twisted so the blood fell to the floor, and the room filled with some creepy chant that nobody seemed to be trying all that hard on. Then She was back to herself, yanking Her hand away from the old man and sprinting over to Dean. She slammed into him with an almost frightening force, but Dean didn’t flinch. His arms wrapped around Her and he lifted her off the ground, their faces inches away, Her eyes blinding on his and Her lips parted with a small flush-

The room shook, and a few people screamed. Dean’s grip tensed around Her, his hand shooting to his jeans for his pistol, but she caught it first.

“It’s fine.” She mumbled, squeezing his hand three times and pressing Her face to the crook of his neck. “I- I’m glad you’re here, De. I hate this one.”

“Course I’m here, Princess.” He muttered, even though he didn’t like this one either, and he didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. “Always here.”

She let out a soft laugh, and just held him a little tighter. But Dean’s eyes were trapped on the sight before him. 

Her blood, no longer just a single stain of red in the Enochian carvings.

It was a river, running through the sigil, fucking glowing silver. Like someone had sliced a little bit of starlight, and dumped it over the fucking floor. It looked molten and dangerous and alluring, and the whole fucking chamber smelled like fruit to the point that Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t just her hair near his nose. 

Dean said Her name carefully, and She shook Her head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She mumbled into his skin. “I- I don’t want it to be real.”

And he didn’t have to ask what. He knew. That cut had been exactly where Her scar was, and She’d always told him that her family was full of cultic assholes. That they’d thought She was destined to marry-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been right. Dean didn’t really want to talk about it either. He just wanted to hold Her a little tighter and bury his face in Her hair, as chaos broke out around him. People were shouting and screaming like this hadn’t been the whole purpose of the stupid thing, the Silver was only growing brighter and brighter, and Dean just kept holding Her. 

He’d hold her like this when the real world ended too. 

He’d hold Her until she was ripped from his arms, and he was left in the mud. 

His eyes blinked open to harsh light through the windows, and they’d shifted in their sleep. Dean was still holding Her, but she wasn’t straddling him anymore. Her face wasn’t his neck either, but pressed right against Dean’s as he lay on his stomach. Pinning Her to the mattress. Their legs tangled together and Her knee pressed dangerously close to-

Fuck.

Dean tried to shift away, but he was too slow. She mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like his name, held him tighter, and Dean groaned. Right in Her ear. 

Another mistake. 

She made the softest, most musical and intoxicating sound Dean had ever heard, and he definitely had to move now, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on his, and-

“Dean?” She mumbled, yawning right into his face, and Dean never wanted to move again. 

“Hey, Princess.” He sounded like a fucking idiot. “You, uh-“ His boner. He was so hard it hurt, and She was right there and so pretty with glazed eyes and sleep swollen lips. And he was all kinds of fucked up for having a nightmare then getting a hard-on for his best friend, but that’s what was happening. “Breakfast?”

She hummed and nodded, but made no effort to move. 

That was fine. Dean could move for both of them. He pushed up off of Her slowly, angling his hips carefully to keep them out of Her attention, and let just a little bit of his will falter. He ducked down at the last second, pressed a kiss to Her brow, and grinned to himself as She made a soft, sweet sound. Son of a bitch, he loved Her.

But he was still a piece of shit. He still brushed hair from Her face and ran his thumb down her nose, before shuffling to the bathroom, turning on the sink, and fisting his cock in his hand. Letting his thoughts wander to Her beautiful, heavenly features and soft skin and body tangled with his. The feeling on Her breath on his neck and the flutter of Her eyes in the low light of parking lots. The sound of Her voice saying his name in a tiny gasp and the phantom taste of Her from months ago, they haven’t kissed in over half a freaking year but Dean was still being haunted by Her touch and taste, and he could see Her sprawled out below him in bed, or maybe straddling his waist again and kissing his jaw-

He clenched his jaw as he came, choking on the groan of Her name and squeezing his eyes tight enough for it to hurt. He didn’t deserve Her. He still stopped at the edge of their bed after he cleaned himself up—their bed, he was standing at their bed—and stared at Her for a long moment like some stalker.

Breakfast.

He needed to make sure She ate, because that cabin hadn’t looked like a restaurant, and something told him she’d probably told Adam she was eating whatever rations they’d had, while giving them all to him. And the kid didn’t know how to tell when She was lying. So it was Dean’s job to make sure She ate. 

He opened the door, and almost had a damn heart attack.

“Jesus fucking-“ He took a steady breath, running a hand over his face. “Son of a bitch, Cas, what are you doing-“

Cas frowned at him, as if the answer should be obvious. “Watching over you, Dean. Well,” Cas nodded past his shoulder, when Dean could hear Her shifting in the sheets. “Both of you.”

“Dean?” Her voice was still filled with sleep, Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, and Cas paled slightly. “What’s-“

“Nothing, Princess.” He grunted. “Go back to sleep-“

“Cas?” Goddamnit. “What are you-“

“I told Dean already,” Cas said, his words slow. “I was watching over you both.”

Dean sensed Her behind him before he felt Her. And he could be normal about this. About Her standing right next to him, Her chin propped on his bicep, his arm braced on the door. He could be normal.

“But you were standing outside?” Dean glanced down to see the prettiest frown on Her face, and Cas shrugged. 

“This seemed to be a private moment, I didn’t wish to interrupt it.” He glanced back to Dean. “You should change. We have been waiting for you to awaken.”

Dean sighed. He couldn’t punch Cas, even if he’d woken Her up. “Don’t say awaken, dude, you sound a million.”

“He is a million, Deano.”

Dean gave Her an exasperated look, and Cas frowned.

“I am actually over a billion-“

“Really?!” Her eyes went wide, and Dean sighed. 

“Princess,” he muttered, letting his hand glide down to Her lower back. Her attention turned to him, Her eyes fluttering slightly, and two boners in one morning was too many. “They’re waitin’ for us to awaken. Go change.”

She glanced back to Cas. “But I wanna ask him about dinosaurs-“

Dean gave Her a flat look, and She sighed.

“Fine. But,” She shot him a glare. “Just because Cas said we need to change. You’re not my boss, Winchester.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I got that, sweetheart-“

“Shut up.”

“Bossy.” He called after Her, watching Her stomp into the bathroom, and turned back to Cas with a sigh. “C’mon. Gotta make her majesty eggs.”

Cas nodded, following Dean down the stairs, and everyone was waiting for them. Seated around the table, frowning at Dean and Cas as they entered the kitchen. 

Bobby cleared his throat. “Dean, where-“

“Getting dressed.” He muttered, walking over to the stove. “She’ll be down soon. You guys already gone over all the shit?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed. “We know that the Angels were going to use Adam as bait for us, that we all got brought back when Zachariah showed up, and Adam says that they were in some sort of magic room for a while.”

“I don’t know how long.” Adam jumped in. “It felt like it was a while? They took me, the brown-haired lady-“

“Ellen,” Sam muttered with a grimace, and Adam nodded. 

“Yeah, her. And,” Adam said Her name, shooting Dean a strange look. “She said she had a plan to break us out. But I blacked out, and when I woke up she was fighting the bald guy-“

“Zachariah.”

“And she made him vanish, then sort of,” Adam placed his hand on his brow. “And I woke up on the side of the road with her next to me.”

Dean frowned. “Ellen-“

“Didn’t make it.”

Their attention all shot to the door, and She looked so small. Her arms wrapped around Her stomach and her words nervous, as if she was worried someone was going to try and kick her. None of them would. Ever. Even Adam seemed to understand that after a day, scrambling to his feet and pulling out the chair next to his. She shuffled over with a small smile of thanks—and a bigger smile to Dean, but he wasn’t going to let that go to his head—and dropped down with a long sigh. 

“I- Um- I got Adam.” She whispered, Her eyes fixed on her hands. “But Zachariah came back. And he grabbed Ellen. I don’t think angels can kill souls, but he- he was going to do something. I couldn’t stop it, and she said it was okay, but- I-“ She swallowed, and Dean abandoned the eggs. There were more eggs in the universe anyway. There was only one Her. 

He muttered Her name, standing right behind her chair, and Her head tipped back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to-“

“Yeah, I do.”  

She fucking didn’t. But he wasn’t going to win this conversation. So Dean just offered his hand. 

She took it. In front of everyone. Squeezed it three times—She was fine—and took a shaking breath. 

“I don’t know what happened to her. But I got Zachariah-“ She sat up suddenly, and Dean grunted as Her grip tightened. “Fuck- My jar, where the fuck is my jar-“

“I’ve got it.” Sam cut in quickly, pulling it out of his bag on the floor. “What-“

Cas cut Sam off with Her name, his eyes comically wide. “Is that…”

“Yeah.” She sighed, pulling the jar forward. “Say hi, Zachariah.”

There was a long silence, filled with only the sound of the frying pan sizzling and brown sludge slushing around.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Kiddo, you’re tellin’ me that you got an angel in a fuckin’ jar?”

“Yeah.” 

“But-“ Sam shook his head. “I mean, how-“

“Don’t know.” She sighed, setting Zachariah down on the table. “I just… did. Then I ripped open a hole in the room, and walked out.”

“The room?” Cas frowned. “The green room?”

“I don’t think so. This one was in heaven and- Reinforced. With iron. It seemed like it was part of old Heaven.”

Sam raised his hand. “What’s old Heaven-“

“Heaven before God left.” Cas said, still watching Her. “Most of it is off limits to everyone, but archangels have access to certain areas. Did you-“

“Yeah. Micheal.”

Silence again, this time broken by Sam.

“You met Michael? Did he, like, want something?”

“Yeah. Um, a lot. He wanted a lot, and said a bunch of stuff and-“ She took a shaking, long breath, and broke into a frantic ramble. “He wanted my alliance. For me to tell Dean to say yes, just like Lucifer wanted me to convince Sam to say yes, and I know I should have told you guys that when it happened but a lot was going on and I- I don’t know. But Michael said he wanted me at his side when God returned, because I- He-“ 

Dean muttered Her name, and she shook Her head. 

“I’m the Bride of God.” She whispered. “He said it was my destiny. That I should want to speed this along, because the sooner Lucifer is dead the sooner God will return.” She wrinkled Her nose. “For- For me.”

Dean was getting really sick of the silences. They let him feel his heartbeat in his fucking throat. And he didn’t even give a shit that She’d lied about Lucifer, because he’d known She’d lied. He just wanted that last part to be a lie, for him to have a single fucking chance of keeping her.

“The Bride of God.” Cas’ expression was strange, but Dean understood it. And the last bit of his hope sank into his gut like a stone. “That is supposed to be a myth.”

Sam frowned. “Angels have myths?”

“More like bedtime stories.” Cas sighed. “But I have to admit, it does make sense. You fall into every part of the legend, Heaven bent to your will, and you were able to enter the throne room. There is… no other explication. The only part I don’t understand is how you are also the Magdalene-“

“One angel- Joshua, he said it was a cruel joke.” She said quietly. “But Michael said it was on purpose.”

Bobby grunted. “Don’t think it matters. You wanna marry God, kiddo?”

Her nails were digging into Dean’s skin. “No.”

“Then you ain’t gonna. Any other archangels tellin’ you important shit?”

She nodded, and they all just fucking kept talking. About Gabriel, and how he’d explained a way for them to put Lucifer back in the cage, with the Horseman’s rings. And it was important, and Dean felt a little damn sick when She said they’d need to find a way to get Lucifer into the cage—there weren’t a lot of options, and Sammy’s expression meant he was thinking something smart and stupid—but they needed to go back. To stop talking about the last two rings, and start talking about how She was the Bride of fucking God. Destinies weren’t easy to avoid when it was just two archangels trying to ride Sam and Dean’s ass, there was no way God was just going to take Her no thanks and walk away. 

And if She didn’t want to marry the asshole, Dean try his goddamn best to stop it. But it was fucking God. If the guy was still alive, he was going to be impossible to just sock in the jaw and kick to the curb. They needed a plan, to keep Her here. Talking to Bobby about the Horsemen—She said she’d tracked Pestilence to upstate New York as She twisted the skin of Her finger, and Dean knew She was lying, but he was already sort of having trouble doing anything except holding Her hand like she was going to vanish a flash of light—and explaining to Sam how She’d made a spell to track Eileen, but just had to alter it for Death. 

She needed to stay next to Dean. 

She needed to stay Her own. 

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled that night, the day having passed in a slow inch of planning and trying to make sense of the whole, horrible situation. 

Dean spat out his mouthwash, and frowned at Her, sitting cross-legged on their mattress. “‘Bout what?”

“Not telling you about Lucifer.” She frowned at Her hands, rubbing Her wrists. “And making things more complicated.”

Dean let out a long, slow breath. He wasn’t thrilled about the Lucifer shit, but there were other things to worry about. The end of the world. Getting all the rings. How there was an archangel in a box downstairs, because none of them had really wanted Zachariah hearing their conversations.

Her. 

She was curling into Herself, and Dean was worried about Her.

He crossed the room to stand over Her, taking Her face between his hands and saying Her name as soft as he could. The way he’d say a prayer, if that was something he did. The way he’d always said it. The way that told him, yet again, that She was never his.

But She was leaning into Dean’s touch. 

And he didn’t want to let Her go. 

“Hey.” He murmured, and She looked at him under her lashes like some sort of perfectly designed sin. “I’m not pissed at you.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

He didn’t know. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember how to be, when Michael had offered Her paradise and she’d still chosen to be here.

“I lied.” She whispered, Her eyes wide and glossy on his. “And I- I’m not human, I’m just like them-“ She grabbed Dean’s wrists, Her words growing frantic. “Dean, I’m just like them-“

“Breathe.” He made his voice firm, commanding, and it wasn’t good for his health how She obeyed in half a second. “You’re not just like them, sweetheart-“

“Michael said I was designed to mirror god-“

“And I’m designed to be Michael’s favorite outfit.” Dean gave Her a pointed look. “You want me to be a meatsuit, Princess?”

“No.” 

“Then that’s it.”

That was it. 

Looking at Her, still clinging to his wrists and staring up at him like he was maybe the only planet in an infinite universe, Dean got what Bobby had meant. 

It was just Her. She didn’t want to be the freaking Bride or whatever, She wouldn’t be. If Dean didn’t get to have Her just because he wanted Her, God didn’t either. Dean had put in close to a decade of fights and conversations and trust and teamwork into just getting Her to kiss him once. She was here because She wanted to, so Dean would fight until his guts were lining the walls of heaven to keep Her here. 

He’d been right. He’d never been worthy of all Her light and life and smile, of the contact high he got just from being where she might smile at him.

But God wasn’t worthy of that either. And until She looked up at the sky and decided She’d rather be in the stars, Dean would care for Her in the warmth of the mud. 

“Can we-” She took a long, slow breath, and Dean’s thumb paused on Her nose. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that. “Go for a drive?”

Goddamnit. He was going to get another boner. “In… the car?”

She gave him a flat look. “No, De, on a horse.”

“You got a secret horse, Princess?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you about it-“

“Thought you trusted me,” Dean gave Her a wide grin, even as he faked a wounded tone. “Safer together, sweetheart-“

“That in no way applies here.” 

“Maybe. But you’re gonna feel real stupid when I die in a horse related emergency.”

“That means it’s an emergency with horses, Dean. Another one would not help.”

Dean laughed—She was back to being his girl, even if She wasn’t Dean’s anything—and helped Her to her feet. “C’mon, we can get a huge tub of ice cream and stick Zachariah in it.”

She sighed, but Dean could see the twitch of Her lips. She felt better. No longer shrinking into Herself, Her fingers laced through Dean’s as he pulled her outside with low whispers and Her pretty giggles carrying on the wind. They ended up at the convince store—armed, because they weren’t idiots—to get snacks, and sat in Baby’s front seat as the night crept on, and Her head landed on Dean’s shoulder.

He cleared his throat when he was about halfway through his bag of jerky, and She turned to him with that pretty, fluttering gaze. He almost forgot how to talk.

“I, uh-“ Dean coughed, and this was important. He had to ask, or it was going to drive him insane for the rest of his life. “What was Heaven like, before you jailbreaked?”

She stared at him for a beat before answering. “Different.”

He raised his brows, and She let out a slow sigh. 

“I- I don’t want to talk about it.” She mumbled. “Please.”

Dean didn’t want to not talk about it. He needed to know if he’d been in Her heaven. If he’d haunted the edge of all Her greatest hits, the same was She’d lined his. Because half of Dean’s heaven had been the better times with Sammy, and his rose-painted memories of his mother, but the other half had been Her. Meeting Her. Hunting with Her, hugging Her, two out of their three kisses—the second one a harsh, bright loop, because She’d kissed him—and a lot of moments like this. Sitting in his car, talking like things weren’t complicated. In a way that, to anyone just passing by the window, would look like two normal people in love. 

And that was exactly why Dean wouldn’t push it. He loved Her. It had been a long enough day as it was, and he didn’t want to end it in a fight.

“Alright.” He held out a gummy worm for Her, and tried not to jump on Her when she ate it out of his hand. “Who made the better case? Lucifer or Michael?”

She gave him an odd look, and Her voice fell to something soft. “Neither.”

“C’mon, sweetheart-“

“I’m serious.” She said, reaching into Dean’s lap for another gummy worm. She was trying to kill him. “They both sort of offered me the same thing. And even if I trusted one of them more than the other, and I fucking don’t, I’m not picking a side.”

Dean hummed. “What’d they offer you?”

She paused, scanning over Dean’s features so carefully, and he really hope She wouldn’t lie. Not because of the lie, but because if She didn’t want him to know what they'd offered Her, it was probably something he’d have to worry about-

“Paradise.” She whispered, and Dean swallowed. That was the truth. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” He sounded like an idiot. She didn’t seem to mind. 

“Promise me you won’t say yes to Michael.”

Dean blinked. “Wha-“

“Please.” She held up Her pinky. “Promise.”

Dean had considered it a few times. When there looked to be no way out. But then Michael had kidnapped his girl and made Her cry. And Dean had made Her cry a lot, but at least he’d been sick with guilt after. Michael probably thought he’d been right to lock Her up. And Dean would never hurt Her on purpose. So he wasn’t going to say yes to anyone who hurt Her. Ever. 

It seemed to mean a lot to Her that he promised, though. And it was an easy promise to make. 

“Okay.” He hooked his pinky through Her’s. “Pinky promise, Princess. Michael’s too tall to get on this ride.”

She let out a soft, breathy giggle, but didn’t let go. “For anything, right? You’ll never let him in?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

She let out a slow breath, and nodded. It calmed Her down. Dean was helping Her, and right now, that was the most he could do. 

They had work to do—planning and hunting and trying to stop the end of the world—but Dean most just had to help Her.

“I am not saying that.”

Dean glanced at Cas in the blue light of the TV, and found him glaring at a box in his lap. “Cas.”

Cas’ eyes shot up. “Dean.”

“What are you doing.”

“Talking to Zachariah.” Cas sighed, glaring back down at the box. “He was of a higher rank than I was. I was hoping he’d be able to tell me what Michael knows about the Bride of God, but he is being… uncooperative. And vulgar.”

She hummed, tilting Her head against Dean’s chest. She’d been lying there for an hour. He’d been very chill about it. “You can talk to him, in his jar?”

“Angel radio.” Cas muttered. “A one-to-one line.”

“Walkie talkie.” Dean offered, and Cas frowned.

“I do not know what that means.”

“It’s like a one-to-one radio,” Sam called from the table, not looking up from his book. “Dean’s actually right with this one.”

“The fuck you mean this one-“ 

Dean’s snap was cut off with an oof, and She’d shoved him back down onto the couch, giving him a firm glare before turning back to Cas. Dean was mostly just gaping up at Her like a dumbass. He wanted Her to shove him again, then maybe climb onto his lap and kiss him stupid, until he rolled them over and fucked Her into the couch-

“Do you think it’s important for us to worry about that?” Her voice was catious, and Dean let his hand trail up to Her waist. Just to rub small circles, and keep Her steady. “I mean, it’s not like I am God-“

“Yet.” Cas shrugged, and She tensed. “If both Michael and Lucifer want you on their teams, there may be other reasons than Sam and Dean. And if you are the Bride of God, maybe there is some sort of connection. My search has been useless-“

“Cas.” Sam cut in, his words soft. “I don’t think we should use her as just- A way to find God. This isn’t like Dean’s amulet, we need her-“

“And it’s not like God seems all that interested in what’s goin’ on anyway.” Dean grumbled. “He’s fuckin’ God, Cas, he wants us, he can make a house call.”

“No.” Her eyes were locked on to Cas’, and Dean frowned. That was a weird stare. “I- I’m with Cas. It can’t hurt to check.”

Dean sighed, “Fine.” And got a glare from Sam.

“Really, man? You’re just going to switch sides-“

“We lost, Sammy. Deal with it.” Dean looked back to Cas. “We bought ice cream, last week. We can shove him in there until he starts talking.”

Cas shook his head, and it was the only thing that saved Dean from getting hit. “That will not be effective. I do not believe he actually knows anything.”

She frowned. “Then wha- Oh.” Her eyes widened, and Dean sighed. She was going to say something stupid. “I have an idea.”

Dean needed to get better at saying no to Her ideas. They were always designed to try and fucking kill him. A good idea would be something safe and controlled, where the chances of it going wrong were slim and if it did go wrong, Dean could shoot their way out and carry Her to safety. 

This was not that. 

This was insane. 

Raphael. She wanted to use one of Her easy bake magic spells to summon Raphael and interrogate him like it was a freaking job interview. And there were about a million ways that could blow up in their faces, but Dean used all his willpower to say no to Her hunting Pestilence with Cas and Sam. And that had taken a whole argument in the kitchen, that he’d only won because Bobby cut in, called them both dramatic, and told Her that while her magic shit was still haywire, she shouldn’t be playin’ with jumper cables.

And this wasn’t much better. But at least She didn’t have nightmares about Raphael. 

So, small victories.

“It don’t like this,” Dean muttered, frowning at Her on the floor. She was knelt on the grass in the middle of the woods, drawing a sigil in the dirt. “I wanna go back to my ice cream idea-“

“If this doesn’t work, we can do the ice cream idea.” She stood up, wiping Her hands on her jeans. “Did you bring the mushrooms?”

Dean nodded, fumbling in his pockets with a small frown. “I want it down that I think there are other options,” he muttered, passing her the weird, moldy looking fungus he’d been tasked with carrying. “Jumping right in archangel wrestling is insane, Princess-“

“I’m not wrestling him, I’m trapping him.” She ground the mushroom in Her hand. “And I know you hate this, De, but I’d- I don’t want to do it alone-“

Her words ended in a squeak as Dean rolled his eyes, and tugged Her to his side. 

“You’re not doing anything alone,” he wanted to say baby. Her eyes were so bright on his, and She’d chosen to be here.

He couldn’t get away with it.

So he just said Her name, and held her gaze.

“Safe together.” He grunted, and Her throat bobbed. “All the way down.”

She nodded slowly, the tension in Her shoulder loosening. “All the way down. Are you-“

“Light it up.”

Her hand locked into Dean’s, and She looked up to the sky as she said a word that had to be Enochian. Then another word, then–right as She called the last one—the sky split open and she tossed a match onto the forest ground. 

A wildfire didn’t start. Lighting was striking the ground before him, but Dean wasn’t dying. Their hands felt fused together for a split second—skin melting into skin—but then it was over. The blinding light cleared, and there was Raphael. Frowning around the forest, then scowling as his attention landed on Her. 

“Oh.” He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Of course it’s you. And the most frustrating creature on the planet. And Dean Winchester, I thought I promised to make you wish you were never born?”

Dean shrugged, tugging Her a little behind him. “You can try, buddy, but-“

“You’ve got me in holy fire.” Raphael drawled, giving him a flat look. “I am aware. And reinforced holy fire, too. You are smart to keep such insubordinate company.” His eyes landed back on Her. “Smart to bring the whore.”

 “Listen here, you son of a bitch-“

“You want me to find God again?” Raphael cut Dean off with a bored tone. “Or maybe try to reason with Michael, when I have made it very clear I have no interest in doing so? Maybe you’re coming to your senses, and Michael’s blind faith in her,” he jerked his head to Her, and Dean was getting pretty fucking sick of how Raphael looked at Her like she was meat. “Isn’t misplaced?”

“We just want to talk,” She said, Her voice in a strange sort of song with the holy fire. “I- I have-“ She pulled Zachariah out of their bag, and Raphael’s eyes narrowed. 

“You expect me to care about Zachariah? You brought him as leverage? The most irritating angel I have ever met, including your little pet rebel?”

Dean scowled. “Cas isn’t our pet, dipshit-“

“Ah.” Raphael cut him off with a smirk. “Not your pet. I mean. Maybe your pet. But I was talking about her.” He looked back to Her, and her breathing sounded too shallow. “The Bride. The little girl, running around with angels in her pockets and gallivanting with humans, when she could bring paradise all on her own. Michael doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows.”

“Knows?” She whispered, and Raphael’s grin grew. 

“What you could be, if you weren’t you. He can see it. I can see it. But he will not accept that our father is dead-“

“He isn’t.”

Dean froze at Her soft words, and Raphael frowned. 

“What.”

“God,” She said, taking a slow step forward. “He isn’t dead.”

Raphael flinches slightly, but scoffed all the same. “You don’t know what you speak of, girl. You are still in infancy, and I have seen false prophets before-“

“But I’m not a false prophet.” She whispered, and Raphael froze. She was releasing Dean’s hand, passing him Zachariah, and walking forward. “You know that.”

“Do not tell me what I know-“

“But you do know.” She tilted Her head, and Dean could swear all the colors on the forest were getting saturated. That Her skin was starting to glow from more than the fire. “Just like you know that if you do touch Cas or Dean, I’ll hurt you.”

That was fear on Raphael’s face. Real damn fear. And Dean understood it. 

She’d stepped over the holy fire, and it had done nothing but dance along Her skin. Dean had a feeling if She turned back to look at him, Her pupils would be a brilliant silver. 

“Nobody would ever hurt again,” Raphael said, taking a step back as She walked forward, the Blade spinning in Her hands. “That father of yours would walk, Castiel’s grace would be returned, that girl, on your fingers, we’d bring her back as well, and- I know what Michael promised you-“

“I don’t care what Michael promised me.” She hissed, and Raphael seemed backed right to the edge of the circle. “And I think I can give Castiel his grace back myself. Just as I can resurrect, and heal. I don’t think I need you.”

Raphael’s eyes darted back to Dean, then narrowed. “You don’t understand what you can do. And we have a backup, while you will not get the liberty of a second choice-“

“I don’t need one.” She shrugged, stopped barely a foot front Raphael, all the wind seeming to swirl around Her. “Tell Michael that I’m out. And if he tries to touch my d- family, we’ll find out exactly what does make God come back.”

Raphael opened mouth, and Her hand pressed over it. 

Then there was a second where Dean couldn’t see anything but Her. Like a lighthouse in a storm, telling him to follow Her and dodge the swirling chaos of the lightning and thunder. It hadn’t been raining a minute ago. 

But when his vision cleared, it was pouring. The water pressing the holy fire into smoke, Raphael had vanished and She was passed out in the mud. 

Dean skid to his knees at Her side, pulling her limp body fully into his lap. She was infuriating, and if Her cheeks weren’t flushed, and if Dean couldn’t feel the heat of a fever, radiating from Her skin, he’d shout at Her for trying to give him a heart attack. He’d known this was a bad idea, and now he had to carry Her back to the car, through a whole ass forest-

The forest.

It was blooming. 

Leaves larger than Dean had ever seen, and flowers with petals that he could swear were sucking up light like a void, then spitting it back out into the air. The grass seemed to be singing, and there were oddly twisted branches spreading over their heads as Dean carried Her, as if they were trying to shield them from the storm. Strange, iridescent apples hung over their heads, and whenever Dean glanced over to the side, he could swear he saw a flash of fur or feathers, just out of sight. 

Not attacking. 

Guarding. 

Guarding Her. All the way to the edge of the tree line, when Dean stepped on concrete, and the rain seemed to triple in force. Dean half ran to the Impala, tucking Her into the seat first and pressing a kiss to Her brow before standing back upright. She was going to drive him insane. 

He never really wanted Her any other way. 

And he stared at Zachariah, in his stupid little jar, as he waited for the rain to lighten up. Baby could make it through the storm, but Dean didn’t want to risk the roads. Not when She was in this state, and seemed alright with just the heat of the car one, and Her body curled into Dean’s. He’d changed Her into the dry clothing he kept on the trunk, but kept his eyes off the goods. 

This—Her in his arms, his hand tangled at the base of Her wet hair, and Her breath on Dean’s arm—could be enough. Dean loved Her, even when She pulled crazy shit like this, so it was enough. 

He wasn’t going to say yes to Michael. And if that hadn’t made it clear enough to the feathered douchebags, he hoped this would.

Dean grabbed the angel blade Cas had given him a few months ago, kissed the top of Her head and stepped out into the storm. The sky lit up, and another clap of thunder rolled over through the air. If they wanted Dean, they could hit him. 

But they didn’t. 

So Dean slammed the jar down on the ground and drove the angel blade right into Zachariah’s ugly mug. He looked like a tiny, strange beast, reduced so small and pathetic it didn’t even make his eyes hurt to look at. And it flickered like a candle as the rain pelted down—cold and hard, like small bullets against his skull—but Dean didn’t move. Not until the light went out, and Dean got to slam his boot down, until Zachariah was nothing more than a shit-colored stain on the pavement. 

The whole experiment had failed. But he’d still killed Zachariah. And when Dean finally got to drive Her home, he got to have Her cling to his chest. Got to carry Her inside, and bring Her right to bed. Their bed. 

At least Sammy and Cas had some better luck. 

“It’s just Death, now.” Sam said, frowning at the three rings on the table. “I think we have a little time, though. He seemed surprised to see us.”

“Their plan wasn’t completed.” Cas muttered. “He and Lucifer have been working on infecting humans with the Croatoan virus-“

Dean cut in with a frown. “Like when Zachariah sent me to the future?”

“Zachariah sent you to the future?” She gaped at Dean—wrapped in a fuzzy blanket he’d forced around her shoulders—and he sighed.

“Sorry, Princess, thought I told you-“

“No, you didn’t-“

“Dean got sent to 2014.” Cas said, and Dean was going to have to get him a gift for taking that bullet. “Croatoan had wiped out much of humanity, by causing them to kill each other, and Lucifer had won. Without Pestilence on the front lines that outcome may be delayed, but demons are not idiots. They will be able to finish what Pestilence started.”

“Great.” Dean ran a hand over his face, and the rings were fucking taunting him on the table. Unable to open the door with only three, unable to just grab Lucifer when the door did open. “So we got a game plan to stop the murder plague?”

Cas shrugged. “Imprison Lucifer.”

“By what, asking him nicely?” 

“I- I have an idea.” Sam cleared his throat, and when Dean looked to him, he seemed almost guilty. Dean didn’t trust it. “I can’t think of anything better, and it’s- it feels fair.”

“Fair?” She was frowning, and Sam gave her an almost apologetic smile.

“I’ll let Lucifer in. Then jump into the cage before he can take over my body.”

There was a high ringing in Dean’s ears again. He needed to have a serious conversation with the people he loved about trying to kill him with stupid fucking ideas. “No.”

“Dean, I don’t like it either-“

“I don’t just not like it, Sammy.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “It’s fucking insane. Batshit. What if Lucifer gets the jump on you first? What if you can’t hit eject, and now you’re stuck in the cage-“

“He will be stuck in the cage.” Cas muttered, glancing to Her. “There is no external eject button.”

The color drained slightly from Her face. “What happens if Michael and Lucifer don’t get their vessels. Are they weaker?”

“Yes.” Cas sighed. “But we already know Michael has a backup plan. And I doubt Lucifer will want to fight in his current vessel, but he doesn’t need to. If he waits Michael out, he wins.”

“So we won’t wait him out, he’ll take me and then we can trap him-“

“Sam.” Dean snapped. “We’re not fucking doing that, so stop suggesting it-“

“But-“ Sam looked to Her, and said Her name in pleading tone. “Please, it’s the only way-“

She shook He head. “I- I don’t know. It’s a big risk to take, if we don’t know it will work-“

“It will work-“

“But Dean’s right.” She’d drawn Her knees up to her chest, rubbing at her wrists as she spoke. She was distressed. “What if it doesn’t work, Sam. Then you’re stuck with Lucifer and no way out, and Dean- The future you saw-“

“Lucifer had Sam.” He muttered. “Zachariah sent me there to show me what would happen if I didn’t say yes.”

“Where is Zachariah-“

“I smashed him.” Dean grunted, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “Don’t try to change what we’re talking about, Sammy, you’re not letting Lucifer ride you like a prize pony, and that’s it.”

“But-“

“No but. I said no to Michael, you say no to Lucifer, that’s how this fucking works-“

“They’re just going to try and take Adam-“

“Then we’ll keep him here. And if you don’t stop talking crazy-“

“I could do it, Dean.” Sam stared at the floor, his voice quieter than Dean had heard it in a long time. “I know you don’t want me going to hell, but you did the same for me-“

“That’s-“

“And I started this.” Sam looked up to Her. “I want to finish it. Please.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting to Dean’s, then Cas’. And they lingered on Cas. Like they were having a silent conversation Dean didn’t get to be a part of, and he wasn’t sure what the hell they were up to, but he didn’t like it. 

“There has to be another way, Sam.” She whispered, and Sam’s face fell. “I don’t think you should do it.”

Sam sighed, and looked back to the rings. “Just- can you think about it? Until we get the Death ring?”

She took a stuttering breath, and nodded. “Fine. I, um- I’m having trouble with the tracking spell, but I’ll get it soon. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Dean didn’t think there was shit to talk about. He wasn’t going to let Sammy just jump into Hell, when there had to be another way. She could kill Lucifer. Death could kill Lucifer. Fuck, Cas could kill Lucifer if She gave him another dose of steroids, like Heaven. They’d figure out another way. 

They just had to find Death first. 

She’d been staying up all night again. They’d watch TV on the couch, Cas frowning at it like it was something to study, Sam pouring over a book at the table, and Her at Dean’s side on the couch, scribbling down notes so fast Dean wasn’t sure how Her hands weren’t getting tired. Bobby would grumble that he was going to bed, Adam would drift in and out of the room like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to be, and She’d just keep writing. Dean would have to pull Her to her feet, when it hit one in the morning and she wasn’t showing any sign of stopping. Then She’d just sit on the bed, Dean’s head pressed near Her thigh as he tried to sleep, and wouldn’t lie down until Dean pried the pencil from Her hands and tugged the covers over Her body. 

He was worried about Her. She was acting like this started and ended with Her, when she was refusing to choose a side. She and Cas kept fucking whispering, and She’d been looking at a lot of books on angels, and Dean knew Her.

Knew when She was planning something fucking stupid. 

“You’re not gonna use your, y’know.” Dean leaned down to whisper in Her ear, after almost a week of no progress on finding Death. “Thingy.”

She blinked up at him in the dark, and She was always so fucking beautiful. “My thingy?”

“Yeah. Your zap,” He poked Her side, and tried not to grin at Her high squeak. “The magic.”

She whacked his chest, before settling right back into his side and shaking Her head, twisting the skin of Her finger. “No. I’m not.”

Lie. 

That was a fucking lie. And Dean didn’t know how to call Her on it, but he needed to figure it out. How to tell Her that, whatever She was up to, it was probably as insane as Sam’s plan. Maybe more insane. And She couldn’t just pull something without at least warning Dean, because Sam was still pushing the let Lucifer in plan, and if he lost either one of them, Dean was going to go insane. 

But they weren’t making any progress. Cas said they had time, but it couldn’t be that much. They’d gone over Sam and Cas’ fight with Pestilence—he’d tried to make them sick, had whined about humans, and Cas had cut his finger off, nothing special—about a million times in the hope it would give them ideas about Death, or a bigger picture of Lucifer’s plan, but it hadn’t. And they were stuck right where they’d started. Holed up in Bobby’s cabin with only a few small cases, trying to figure out how to stop the end of the freaking world and keeping Adam away from Michael.

“Can you shoot an archangel?” Adam asked, and Dean shook his head, reloading his shotgun.

“Not in a way that’s gonna do anything.” He muttered. “But you can piss them off, if you want.”

Adam nodded, glancing down to his own gun. “So there are no protections?”

“Not for you and me, other than telling the douchebags to take a hike.” 

“How come they’re not, like- Burning down the house, then? If they’re that desperate for us.”

Dean grunted Her name, and something to the right of his heart whined. She was in the freaking library with Cas. She was fine. “Told you, she’s warded the whole property. Nothing’s getting in that she doesn’t open the door for.”

“Oh.” Dean glanced over, and Adam was blushing. “She’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.” He jerked his head to the lined-up beer bottles. “Shoot.”

He didn’t want to talk about how cool She was with Adam. Not when the poor kid had been making heart eyes at Her all week, and Dean had been trying to figure out if now was a bad time to try kissing Her again, every single waking moment. It probably was. Any time right before the end of the world was, She was still processing the Bride of God thing, and Raphael hadn’t been helpful in telling them about her destiny at all. All they knew was that She didn’t seem to have a 100% approval rating with archangels, she could be more, and God was alive. 

Dean hadn’t loved how certainly She’d said that. He needed to figure out how to ask Her about that, too. As well as what the hell She was planning, and how to talk her out of it without caving, and—if She got the choice, and God returned—She wouldn’t just want to not marry God, but maybe stay with Dean-

“How did you guys meet her?” Adam cut through Dean’s thoughts, and none of the bottles had been shot. 

“Case we worked in 2000. Then we just kept running into each other, and now we’re here.”

Adam frowned. “But isn’t she Bobby’s daughter-“

“Adopted.” Dean muttered. “It’s complicated. The bottles-“

“And she’s, uh- Just your friend-“

“Adam.” Dean snapped. “Shoot the fuckin’ bottles.”

Adam swallowed, and obeyed. He was an alright shot, but getting better by the day. He had asked if She could teach him how to shoot, instead of Dean, but She’d just shaken Her head and mumbled that she didn’t use a gun.

And Adam had a crush. Which was fine. It was a weird, intense crush that didn’t seem to let Adam notice how She was always next to Dean, but it was just a crush. Dean couldn’t be pissed about a crush. Not on Her. She was beautiful and smart and funny, and sweet in strange, small ways that he’d never really understand. Even when She was up until three in the morning—writing and reading in bed, swatting Dean’s hand away whenever he tried to get Her to sleep—She kept quiet so he could rest. And when Dean would roll around with a grunt, Her fingers would tangle into his hair, and he’d feel like a dog again. She kept getting all his favorite foods when She and Sam did their grocery runs. She always sat with him while he worked on Baby and the Firebird.

“You never named him, y’know-“

“I did, actually.” She was sat on the hood of Baby, parked across from the Firebird as Dean ran his maintenance. “I just haven’t told you yet.”

Dean raised his brows. “You gonna tell me, sweetheart?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“Pretty shit surprise-“

“That’s what you think.”

Dean snorted. “That is what I think. And you gotta tell me, Princess, it’s not fair to just tease like that.”

“I think I’ll tell you whenever I want.” She shrugged, leaning forward with a bright, pretty smile. “But you’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will.” She glanced to Dean’s grease-stained hands. “Do you want gloves, De? It’s cold-“

He shook his head. “I’m fine. But if you gotta go inside-“

“I’m good here.” She said it like it was the plain, simple truth. She was good here. With Dean. 

So he wouldn’t let Her down. And She was awesome, all the time, so Dean would claw himself apart to be worthy of that. He couldn’t be God, but he could buy Her all the root beers in the world, and make Her breakfast, and sit with Her while she did Her research. Soothing Her when she had nightmare. Pretending that the walls weren’t closing in on all of them, as they got closer to finding Death, and didn’t have a plan to get Lucifer in the cage. 

“I can’t get it.” She glared at all Her notes on the kitchen table, shaking Her head. “Dean, I- I can’t get it-“

“Hey.” He grabbed Her hand, and She looked to him with big, glossy eyes. “You’ll get it. You need to go for a drive?”

She nodded weakly. “Or- Maybe a walk-“

“I could go for a walk.” Adam jumped in, his eyes shooting up from the lore book in his lap. She and Sam had been helping him catch up on everything, and he was taking well to it, but son of a bitch, Dean didn’t want Her to go on a walk with him. Not because of insane reason like jealousy, but the kid didn’t know how to take care of Her. How to defend Her if angels started raining down from the sky. If She started having a freak out, She’d need Dean-

“Okay.” She gave Adam a small smile, squeezing Dean’s hand three times as She stood up. “Let’s go.”

Dean gave Adam a small nod as they passed him, and he had to be fine with it. He had no real reason not to be. She’d be fine, Adam would be fine, and it wasn’t like they were storming a vamp nest. She was just being kind, and letting Adam go for a walk with Her. Probably just around the yard. Dean wouldn’t lose more family by letting that happen. 

And Sam kept pushing the Lucifer idea, in the car and the morning and every damn second of peace Dean tried to get. Bobby had put them on ingredient gathering for Her spell—Sam and Dean found them, Cas ran the errand—and Sam wouldn’t stop bringing it up. All while Adam was still trying hit on Her, and Dean had to herd Her away for the ingredient work.

She was already doing everything. She didn’t need to do more. Dean couldn’t take Her hurting herself while Sammy was trying to fucking die. She—by some miracle—gave it up. And Cas was able to sweep up all Her ingredients in a night, so the moment She got it, they’d be set. Then a whole new issue would arise, but that was a problem for after. 

She and Cas had been whispering. A lot. Sam and Dean left for two days, doing demon hunt a town over, and when they came back Adam was reading a book in the living room, Bobby was cleaning his guns, and She and Cas were talking in low voices in the kitchen. Sam shot Dean a worried look, and Dean sighed. He didn’t know what the hell to do about that. They were probably just talking about the Death spell. 

Probably. 

Son of a bitch, Dean hoped they were just talking about the Death spell.

Maybe Cas was helping with it, and they’d get this over with sooner, and She’d start sleeping properly again. Dean could see the bags getting heavier under Her eyes. She’d been eating less again, and all Her sleep had been nightmares he had to hold Her through—or, over the past nights, talk Her down from over the phone—and it was splitting him in half. She was going outside less, as well. Just a few walks with Adam, because the kid kept asking Her, and midnight drives with Dean. Every other moment had been research, teaching Adam about the lore, and whispering with Cas. 

Dean said Her name, and She looked up at him with a wide, blinding smile. She looked exhausted. “Hey, Princess.”

“Hi,” Her smile didn’t waver as She glanced to Sam. “You guys-“

“One piece.” Dean dropped in the chair at Her side, and he might have gotten away with carrying Her out of the room for research, but carrying Her to bed with it was barely dusk was going to get him stabbed. “You eat yet, sweetheart?”

“She had yogurt.” Cas said, and Dean frowned.

“You make her eat the yogurt, dude?”

“Don’t answer that.” She gave Cas a firm look, and his mouth snapped shut, but Dean understood what that meant.

“Goddamnit,” he said Her name with glare, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad.”

Sam snorted, and Dean shot him a glare. 

“Shut your face, Sammy-“

“I didn’t say anything, dude.” Sam raised his hands, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I was just going to ask what they did while we were gone-“

“Death spell.” Cas said, and Dean narrowed his eyes. Cas had said that too damn fast. And Dean opened his mouth to push it, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Good,” Bobby grunted, wheeling into the kitchen. “You four travel like gazelle, you know that?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“I find one of ya idjits, the other three ain’t gonna be far behind.” Bobby stopped at the head of the table, giving Her a firm look as he said Her name. “No knives at the dinner table.”

She frowned. “But-“

“No but. We’re eatin’ dinner now, together.”

Cas cleared his throat. “I don’t need to eat-“

“Then you can shove it down your throat and play pretend like it matters. I’m a cripple, Cas, let me have one dinner where none of us are tryin’ to run away.”

They all exchanged quick looks—Dean liked the idea, liked the thought of getting to sit with Her for a family dinner, even if it was forced, and everyone seeing his hand in Her’s or his arms around Her chair or something—and didn’t fight it. They didn’t know how many more times they’d get a chance to sit there, with the end of the world. With Cas still on the angel blacklist, Sam gunning to jump in the cage, and Her whole Bride of God thing. 

None of them had been talking about that. 

They didn’t know how. And God wasn’t going to just swoop down and take Her, so it couldn’t be the focus right now. 

Dean really hoped God wouldn’t swoop down and take Her. 

But it was a thought stuck to the back of his brain, now. All the time. He could defend Her from demons and monsters, and he’d bleed to keep Her from God, but if they guy just appeared and grabbed Her, Dean didn’t know what kind of line he’d be able to hold. Same as if Sammy decided to say yes to Lucifer, without any heads up, Dean wouldn’t be able top stop it. Then he’d lose both of them. And he couldn’t fully enjoy the mock family dinner, because all he could think about was how he didn’t know how this ended. 

It felt like they were building up to a high, horrible drop. Like the rollercoaster he’d taken Sammy on when they were kids, hovering right at the edge of a fall they couldn’t even see with no way out but down. Sam was right. Dean didn’t have a better idea to get Lucifer in the cage. And even if that worked, and they stopped the whole apocalypse train from leaving the station, he’d have lost Sam. His one job was keeping Sam safe. Keeping his family together, and fucking safe.

They were all safe and together now. Adam was still a little stiff—as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here—but he was still making conversation, telling stories about high school and asking them all—mostly Her—nervous questions about their own lives. Cas was answering all Her questions about history, and Sam and Bobby had started to jump in with their own. She and Sammy were nerding out about some science museum that Dean had taken Sammy to as a kid, and she’d visited when She was sixteen and hunting alone. Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled about her illegally driving, and she just hummed who taught me how to drive, old man. 

Dean wanted to enjoy it. To not feel like he was holding something that was about to break. But there was a sort feeling in his gut, and that deep, cold fear creeping back over his bones. 

And he couldn’t sleep that night. All the was running through his head was a bunch of goddamn what ifs.

What if he let Sam jump, and lost him. What if, after he lost Sam, God swooped down and tore Her from Dean’s arm. What if the world ended, and God took Her anyway. What if God was always going to take Her. And this wasn’t like the vessel deal, where they could say no.

What if, one day, Dean woke up and She was just fucking gone.

So he couldn’t sleep. She’d passed out, but Dean had never felt more wired. He just watched Her, slumped against his body and molded so perfectly against him, and tried to reason how God could ever hold Her better than this. She fit too damn well with Dean. It didn’t matter how God had made Her, Dean got Her. Even when he didn’t understand Her, Dean got Her. He was Her shadow. He loved Her. If he could, he would have made the world for Her too, but he wouldn’t have made it like God. He would’ve made it without pain.

And he wished he could take all Her pain. Instead of just running and hiding like a fucking pussy, making Her deal with it herself.

But he couldn’t.

So when She started to mumble, and the little wrinkle formed on Her brow, Dean cradled Her in his arms. He wasn’t God.

He’d never leave Her to hurt alone. 

She tried to claw out of his arms. Pushed at his chest as a small, distressed noise left Her throat, and the world started go a little brighter without a single light on in the room. But Dean just held Her. Not tighter—he didn’t want to hurt Her, or make Her more frantic—but firmly. And when Her eyes shot open with a choked scream, silver seeming to fade quick from Her pupils as She writhed and scratched at his chest, Dean didn’t move. He just caught Her hand and squeezed it three times, because nothing was okay, but She was safe. They’d spent the time after dinner tracking omen after omen, and the end of the world drew closer with every breath, but right now, She going to be okay.

“I’ve got you, Princess.” He moved Her carefully into his lap, and She melted quick.

Broken sobs shook Her body as she wrapped around Dean, and he tried not think about how this was going to work into his own nightmares.

Something would claw Her out of his hold, She’d vanish up into the sky, and the only proof Dean would have that She ever existed at was an empty room, and pile of notebooks he couldn’t read. He’d have to tell Bobby. Tell Sammy, if he was still with them. Then either keep sleeping in Her room, or find a new one and move on, but he’d never be able to move on. He loved her, and She didn’t want to leave him, but what if God showed Her paradise and she did chose to leave him-

“Dean?” She whispered, Her words muffled in his shirt. “Am I- Did I hurt-“

“I’m fine,” he murmured. She wasn’t allowed to think She could hurt him. Ever. “You’re okay. Just a nightmare.”

She hummed, Her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah.”

“Oh- Okay.” There was a beat of silence, then- “I don’t want to go.”

Dean frowned down at Her. “Go where?”

“Back.” Her gaze titled up to meet his, and Her eyes were so soft and bright and sad. Glossed with tears and wide in the dark, and Dean sort of felt like he was drowning. “To Heaven. I- I don’t want to be one of them, Dean, I don’t want to go-“

“Hey.” He cupped Her face, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re not going anywhere, Princess-“

“But what if he comes.” 

She’d been thinking about it too. And it didn’t make Dean feel better. It only made the cold dread drop right into that dark pit, splitting it wider and wider open. It would slice him in two, if She left. If the dread kept growing, and then he lost Her. 

“He’s going to come, De.” She whispered, planting Her hands on his chest as she sat up. “He- He watches me. I’ve always felt him watching me- And I don’t wanna go-“

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dean wrapped himself a little tighter around Her. “He, uh- He watching right now?”

She shook Her head. “The windows are closed.”

The windows. And the curtains in every motel, for years. And She didn’t like going outside, and son of a bitch-

“He’s in the sky.” She dropped Her face down to Dean’s neck, and his hand shot up to tangle in Her hair. “He- He doesn’t come inside, and I don’t know why, but- He’s angry with me. I can feel it, and- He wants me to leave but I don’t want to-“

“Princess-“

“I don’t want to leave you, Dean.” She mumbled, and he froze. “I- I never want to leave you, but he- He keeps- I don’t want to leave-“

“So you’re not gonna. We’ll keep you safe-“

“It’s not up to you.” Her voice was so soft, and the dread grew. “He’s just waiting. And watching. But it’s- I don’t think I get to choose, and when he- When- I don’t want to go, De.” She held him a little tighter. “I don’t wanna go.”

Dean felt like his heart was trying to strain out of his chest. He was goddamn useless. He was supposed to protect Her, to make sure nothing hurt Her, but she said it wasn’t up to him. Or Her. 

He should’ve pushed Raphael for more answers. For what the Hell this meant, and how it all lined up. If it was something Dean could kill, or She just needed to be defended. If it was like a demon deal She didn’t choose to make, or a trade they could barter for. Dean could go in Her place, if God was just looking for a human. They could get God a freakin’ dog, if this was about companionship. Or one of those sex dolls, if that was about that-

He felt sort of sick.

Just thinking about Her with anyone had always made something to the left of his heart sour and foul. Thinking of God doing that, when She was crying in his arms-

Not now. She needed Dean here, holding Her. He’d deal with that later. 

Her breathing had steadied, but She wasn’t falling back asleep. She was just tracing patterns on Dean’s forearm in the dark, and he just watched Her in his arms. When She wanted to talk, she would, and he-

“Dean.” She angled Her face to his, Her eyes wide, and he frowned. “I think I’ve got it.”

 “Got-“

“Death.”

Dean blinked, and he wasn’t fast enough to pull Her back to bed, when She crawled out of his arms. This was something that could wait for morning, when they could make a game plan, and She hadn’t just been sobbing ten minutes ago.

“Princess-“

“It’ll take a few hours to finish.” She was cross-legged on the floor, all the ingredients spread out around Her as she worked. “Can you-“ She swallowed. “Please sit with me?”

Dean sighed, and nodded. It was the least he could do, because he couldn’t do much. And he fucking hated it. The itch over his skin of just sitting there as She mixed everything together and started talking in Enochian, before grabbing Her blade and passing it to Dean. She held Her palm open to him, a silent request on Her face, and the dread was starting to fester.

He muttered Her name, and She shook Her head.

“I raised him.” She whispered. “It will work. And the cut needs to go right over the scar, but I don’t think I can get the angle. Please.”

Dean swallowed down some bile, and gave a short nod. He had to. She’d asked him to. 

He still had never felt like such a horrid fucking lowlife as when he sliced Her hand open, and She made a small sound of pain.

“I’m-“

“It’s okay.” She drew Her hand back, and let the blood fall over the fancy bone of an extinct animal Cas had found. “It’ll take a few hours, then it should be like- sort of a compass. Can you-“

Dean nodded, and ran to grab the stitch kit. She didn’t fight it, when he helped Her to sit on the edge of the mattress, and dabbed the rubbing alcohol on Her hand. “Not deep enough for stitches.” He muttered, and She hummed. 

He glanced up, and found Her watching him. Shiny hair falling over Her face and blinding eyes, something gentle in Her face that was rare to see. The was the same position he’d kissed Her in, this first time. 

He wanted to kiss Her now. To show Her, best he could, that he didn’t want to leave Her either.

And he didn’t know how to say it right.

He’d fuck it up.

He’d make it sound like he had a claim to Her instead of God, or She owed him to stay after everything they’d been through. Like Paradise wasn’t something She was worthy of, when he didn’t know anyone who deserved it more. He’d been barely better than a demon in hell, and She’d been made for fucking Heaven, but She was still here with him.

But Dean was good at doing things.

And She was so close, and She smelled so good, and Her breath was hitched and lips parted and-

Fuck it. 

He tugged Her carefully down, winding his fingers between Her’s and starting soft. Just a light press of their lips together, telling Her that he was here. Even when it hurt, Dean was here. 

She let out the sweetest little gasp, Her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck, then kissed him back. 

She was kissing him back.

Her lips were soft and already a little swollen from chewing and crying, but goddamnit, they fit perfectly against Dean’s. And the kiss was a slow and unhurried, letting Dean taste every bit of salt and fruit on Her lips and his hands to wander. Skimming right under Her shirt and savoring Her small shiver. How She angled Her head back to try and carefully push his tongue between Her lips. 

She opened for him in a second, then moaned. Right down his fucking throat, with Her fingers tugging at his hair when he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled Her into his lap, without ever breaking the kiss. Dean was getting dizzy from the high of Her skin—soft and warm and so goddamn responsive, it was going to drive him insane—and body pressed right to his, and She’d started to squirm, and-

They broke apart with ragged breaths, their brows pressed together, and She let out a high, breathy giggle.

“Good?” He rasped, because he had to check, and She nodded.

“Good, De. I…“ Her lips ghosted over his as She trailed off, her eyes fluttering in that way that make his cock twitch.

She squeezed his hand three times, and Dean dragged Her wounded hand up to kiss Her knuckles, and neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Now wasn’t the time to have the Conversation, either. 

So She curled into his side, Dean kissed the top of Her head. He watched the bone on the floor as the night crept on, and drool began to fall from Her lips. He shifted Her to lay down on the bed, moving the hair from Her face, and let out a long, slow sigh. 

He was never going to be worthy of Her. Born in the mud, likely going to die in the mud, too. Dean was selfish. He knew he was selfish. The angels and demons had spent years warning them to stop letting Her fight, the Horsemen had said this wasn’t Her fight, but he’d dragged Her into it because he’d never wanted to lose Her. And now he was going to lose Her no matter what. She was going to do all the work to save their asses, and Sammy was going to try and take a bullet he didn’t deserve, and Dean was going to do jack fucking shit. 

Dad had been right. He was just a weapon, and he wasn’t even an effective one. All that skill and talent to hurt the people he hated and protect the ones he loved, and She was in pain, and he was on the edge of losing Sam. He was nothing. 

But he still loved Her. And She might be designed for people to love and want Her, but Dean loved Her best. He knew Her. He’d do anything for Her. 

Including, when the bone started to glow, one end turning black and spinning on the ground to angle East, something that was going to get him yelled at. But he was sick of just sitting here. Of making Her do everything, when this wasn’t Her fight. And it was like Pestilence. Dean knew She had nightmares about Death. He was just keeping Her from having more.

And She was going to kill him. Bobby was going to kill. Hell, Cas was going to kill him. 

But he was doing it anyway.

He had to.

The bone stayed on Baby’s dash for the entirety of the drive. Dean’s phone started lighting up in Iowa, but he didn’t look at the messages. Sammy might trace the call with all his nerd shit, and send Cas to come grab him. And if it was Her, She’d yell at him for doing the exact thing he always got pissed at Her for doing. But it was different. Dean had a solid plan of get the ring, even if he had to make another deal, and She had other ways to help. Dean was keeping them all out of the line of fire. It was Death, they didn’t know what the hell he was capable of, and every time She’d faced off with a horseman She’d come out sobbing and clinging to Dean in the dark.

The calls died down when he got to Illinois, the sun long over his head. He’d apologize. He’d come back with the ring, and let Bobby and Sam shout at him, let Cas glare and say low words of disappointment, and let Her shove him and scream until she decided She was done. But Dean was keeping Her from more pain.

He’d rather have Her furious with him than not have Her at all. 

And the bone kept spinning, guiding him to Death, and Dean kept coming up with ways they be pissed, and ways he’d apologize. He’d be fine. His whole life had been jumping in front of bullets, then letting blows land on him for daring to protect the people he loved.

If the bullet was Death, he’d see if it stuck this time. And if it didn’t, he’d go back and pray they still wanted him around.

The bone wasn’t turning anymore. It was spinning around and around as Dean circled a block in Chicago, and it was angled towards a Church.

Dean knew this church.

He’d been dreaming about it lately.

A lot.

And the rain was coming down right so hard he was soaked the second he stepped out of the car, but it didn’t matter.

The second he stepped through the doors, he was dry as a bone. 

This had been a horrible idea. One of his worst. He should have brought Her—She’d raised Death, for Christ’s sake—or at least a bigger gun. His steps were echoing of the walls, his seeming to be the only living soul in the whole building.

But not the only person. 

Because sat in the very front row, the was a man. Thin, pale, weedy black hair. And Dean froze in the aisle, but it didn’t matter anyway.  

“Dean Winchester.” The man’s voice was cool. Measured. Dean didn’t think he was made of anything but the dread anymore. “You’re early. I appreciate that.”

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat. Chicago was such a stupid place to die. “You haven’t killed me.”

“I admire your bravery.” Death shrugged. “You are less than a bit of dust, floating in the air, but you are a very brave and stupid piece of dust. And I would call you inconsequential, but for a piece of dust, you are quite important. By association, of course.”

“Because I’m Michael vessel?”

Death let out a dry laugh. “No. That is like calling the shoelaces of a toddler important. He will get other shoelaces. If fact, he may have already.”

Dean swallowed, and took a slow step forward. He really was a dumb piece of dust. “Then what?”

“Hm. I’d prefer you sit first, before we talk.”

“But-“

Death turned, and his face was sunken. Bored. Almost skeletal, his eyes locked onto Dean’s. “Sit.”

Dean nodded, and half scrambled down the rest of the aisle, before dropping on the pew at Death’s side. It was really fucking weird. Death turned back to the dais with a small nod and sigh, and Dean just waited. This didn’t feel like an icebreaker situation. 

“I supposed you’re here about the ring.”

“Uh,” Dean felt sort of light-headed. Maybe Death was just getting him slowly. “Yes.”

“I am willing to give it to you.”

He blinked. “What?”

Death sighed. “I will give you my ring. That is one of the reasons you are not dead. You are a piece of dust that can swirl up quite the hurricane, if I direct you on the right wind.”

“Can we, uh- Drop the dust thing-“

“No.” Death turned to him with another, painfully blank expression. “Lucifer has me in a bind, I would like the ropes cut free. By putting him back in the cage, you will be doing me a favor, and I will let you continue to breathe until your time comes to a bloody, natural end.”

“Putting him back?”

“Letting Sam go on with his little plan. Not doing anything selfish to stop it.”

Dean opened his mouth, and Death shook his head. 

“People will die, if he does not. It is that simple.”

“But-“

“There is no but. I give you the ring, Sam goes in the pit. If you find another way, you may explore it, but not at the cost of the war lost. Understood?”

Dean nodded, glancing down the ring on Death’s finger. “There are other ways, though? That might work.”

“Not for you, Dean.” Death sighed. “As I explained, you are less than dust.”

“You said I was important.” Dean pushed back, because he could never shut the fuck up. “By association.”

Death gave him another bored look, and said Her name. Dean’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t sworn that outside, thunder clapped. 

“I don’t-“

“You are of quite some significance to her.” Death said carefully. “More than I think you can understand. Killing you would be… a poor decision.”

“You- you know about her-“

“Of course I know about her. I was there when God decided he wanted her. She will likely be there when I reap him.”

“Reap God?”

“One day, yes.”

Dean felt sick, as he whispered Her name. “Does she- One day-“

Death tilted his head. “I am not sure. But you have yet to answer my question. Will you take the ring, and do whatever it takes.”

“You said there was another way-“

“Not for you. Just as there will never be another way for you to keep your princess. Not with a gun, or a bargain. She is the Bride of God, among other things. It is not something she will be. Not something that can be replaced, or worked around.” Death gave him an almost pitying look. “I like her, Dean. If I am being honest, I would happily spend eternity with her. And I do not think he deserves her, but I did warn him. Now, the ring?”

Dean felt like he was drifting. He took the ring with a weak smile and nod, and he made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he didn’t feel it. Death vanished, leaving Dean alone in the church, but he didn’t move for a long, weighted moment. 

No other ways. There were no other ways. 

Not to save Sammy. 

Not to keep Her. 

He checked his phone, before he started the drive back. It was a lot of missed calls from everyone, and a bunch of messages he didn’t bother to read. They’d tell him all that to his face when he got back. The only important one—not worrying about him or telling him to get back now—was at the top anyway.

Sam

Adam’s missing. Get back now.

New shoelaces. Backup plan.

Fuck. 

He drifted through the drive back, too. He brought the bone back—pissing Her off more by losing her magic bone didn’t seem like a good idea—and kept the ring in his pocket, trying not to think about any of it. He didn’t want to lose Sam. He’d promised Death he’d let the plan go forward, and that didn’t seem like a good promise to break. There was no way for Dean to keep Her, even if he didn’t see anything bright through the storm if it wasn’t Her. 

And the rain had cleared, but the sun had set. The clock on the dash read 1am, when he pulled into Bobby’s yard. And all the lights were off in the house, except for one. 

The lamp in the library. 

She just looked up at him. Nothing on Her face that he could read, not a single shout or scream. Only a heavy, exhausted expression and bright eyes tracking Dean’s movements around the room, as he shed his jacket and crossed the room. She wasn’t saying a single fucking word.

It was worse than shouting or hitting.

It was made of the dread. 

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly, dropping to his knees before Her. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Her right now. “I trust you, Princess, and I woulda brought you with me, but Pestilence and Famine, those sons of bitches fucked you up, and-“ He didn’t know what he was saying. It was going to be the wrong thing. He couldn’t stop. “It fucking kills me, when you’re like that and I can’t do shit about it. But I got it. I got the ring. And I know you’re pissed, and you can kick my ass and I’ll sleep on the couch, but- I’m sorry.”

There was a long, horrid moment of silence, and he’d lost Her. She wouldn’t be in pain, but this had been the thing, the one that was always going to happen, and She’d leave, and Dean was never going to get to hold Her again-

“I thought you left.” She whispered, and Dean’s gaze shot up. “You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Son of a bitch. Dean could see it now. The red of Her eyes, the rattiness of Her hair and shine on Her cheeks, combined with the raw skin on Her wrists. 

She’d been crying.

Dean was never supposed to make Her cry.

“I didn’t leave-“

“You said we’d go together.” She cut him off with an almost pleading tone. “And I- I had a freakout last night, and I told you God’s watching me, and we-“ Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We kissed and I- I thought-“

Dean grabbed Her hands, rising up a little higher on his knees. “Look at me.”

She shook Her head, and they done this dance before. A lot.

Dean would keep doing it, as long as he got to keep touching Her. To brush the hair from Her face, take Her face between his hands, and angle Her gaze onto his. He’d do it forever.

“I’d never leave you, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his words low and firm. “I don’t give a shit that God’s watching you. I’m with you. All the way down.”

“Oh- okay.” She took a shaking breath. “I’d never make you sleep on the couch, De.”

He sighed. “You don’t gotta-“

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbled, Her gaze still locked onto his. “Needed you.”

Fuck.

Dean could be needed. He could nod, and carry Her to bed, mumbling a lot more apologies, because he was a piece of shit, but he was Her piece of shit. And once he was in bed, he changed fast and crawled into bed, because this wasn’t going to be his to keep, but he had it now. Her in his arms. Her face in his neck. 

And there had to be another way. Death said there wasn’t, but there always was. Maybe not for Dean, but for someone else, doing him a favor. There had to be another fucking way, because if the smell of fruit haunted him like this for the rest of his life, just out of his reach and crying for him to come save it from the tree, he’d drive himself mad. 

“I’m mad at you.” She grumbled against Dean’s shoulder, and he sighed.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She paused, Her arms wrapped around his torso, and he would fight for this. 

He loved Her. 

And if Dean was good at anything, it was breaking things for people he loved.

“De?”

He grunted, and She propped her chin on his shoulder. 

“Happy birthday.”

He let out a long breath, and took another stupid risk. It was his birthday, and the world was going to end, and She was looking at him so pretty in the dark, and-

Son of a bitch, he just wanted to be selfish. That was the only real reason. 

And it was worth it. Because he sat up carefully, until he was propped over Her on an elbow, and leaned down. Slotted his lips gently over Her’s and taking it lazy and slow, kissing Her just to kiss Her. To taste Her and know She was here and, for now, Dean’s. 

She let him. She fisted his shirt and pulled him deeper, until he was half on top of Her and he could hear only his heartbeat, and all those amazing sounds he was somehow allowed to pull from Her.

He didn’t pull away this time. Not fully. Dean kept his lips hovering over Her’s and folded his hand into Her’s, giving Her his best, widest, most come fucking love me, please, because I’ll love you until I don’t have a soul anymore, grin.

“Thanks, Princess.” He murmured, and he’d stay here forever. 

With Her. 

In the dark, as the end of the world drew closer, but the whole universe was in his arms, and he never wanted to let it go.

End Note: What a beautiful, rare win for their communication skills. Two whole kisses. They're going to be so normal about this.

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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[chronicallyonlin3]

( ˶°ㅁ°)The Winchesters as yandere big brothers...

(Yandere!Winchester Brothers x Little Sibling!Reader)

((I used to watch this show with my mom all the time so it has a special place in my heart, especially the boys(and Bobby)))

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who hates letting you on hunts, but somehow you always get roped into it.

It's never on purpose to. You just somehow find your way into their mess. From flirting with vampires to befriending shapeshifter. You always get caught up in their hunting, the Winchester curse or something like that.

"Fucking hell! Y/N! Why are you here?!" Dean yelled. Him and Sam were just about to storm a vampire nest when they found you, their little sibling, hanging around it. They were sure they'd left you at the motel in the nearby town. But knowing you, you snuck out without their permission, and somehow ended up here. So of course, Dean had Sam take you back to the Impala and ACTUALLY make sure you stayed.

The ride back was not a fun one.(ᵕ—ᴗ—)

.

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who use you as a mediator when they argue over stuff.

They usually fight over dumb stuff. Not figuring out what type of monster they're fighting, helping out other hunters, honestly just trying keep each other (and you) alive.

"Sam, you know you can't just jump into a whole group of them! And definitely not by freaking yourself!"

"I could handle it, I mean it's done right?"

They'd keep this going until they both go to sleep or out somewhere, the former definitely resulting in some tension. But they can never stay mad for long if there precious baby sibling is there to get them to make up.

.

Yandere!Winchester Brothers who would never let anything happen to you, whether that be you getting injured, or dying.

I mean do you see the way they treat the other dying? Yeah, they would never let you go, like ever. You could be possessed, dead, infected, anything, they would never let you go. They already resurrected each other more than enough times so why would it be any different for you? Family is all they have and they'll be damned if they lose another.

.

Yandere!Sam who stays up late with you. studying different monsters and creatures.

Since they don't let you go on the actuals hunts they, mostly Sam, thought it would be best for you to be on research duty. It lets them do less work, and you still get to be prepared if something ever comes for you.

Sam would see you desperately trying to stay away with a mountain of books around. He's tell you to get to bed, but being stubborn you say no. So, he stays with you, and goes through all the books and weird online forums with you. And when you eventually fall asleep, book in hand and head on his shoulder, he falls asleep with you.

.

Yandere!Dean who would sabotage any chance of you being in a relationship.

It's not like he never wants you to find love or anything. He just thinks relationships are stupid in your line of work, and no, he doesn't see how hypocritical that is. You, his little sibling, younger then him, younger then damn Sammy. Why would you ever need a partner when you have your older brother(s) there for you? Besides, they'd probably get themselves killed or put you in danger with not knowing about all the monster and such out there, better to just never date at all!ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ)

And with him being protective to the max, he would be so nosy if you did actually get with someone. Asking you about them 24/7, how they're treating you, if he needs to 'set them straight'. Which is just him beating the shit out of them.

.

[danmeidiaries]

Squid Game Season 3: That Ending

Or, what I think they were going for and how I would have improved it.

After having ruminated on the ending for a while, and my writer’s brain stewing for a minute, I think I get what they were going for by that ending but I think the messaging could have been done better.

What I think they were going for:

Squid Game is an obvious metaphor for the way a capitalist system exploits people and puts them against one another. What I think the writers were going for, was that both systems will destroy everyone involved with no real winners.

A capitalist system will first harm women and minorities but it will inevitably come back to consume its most ardent supporters.

The Male-Alliance at the end were all detestable characters we didn’t know or care about which was by design. The worst kinds of people will rise to the top in this kind of system. However, these same people who chanted for “one more game” were all murdered because they were so confident they could win a game that was rigged against them from the beginning. There are no real winners.

Gihun and Junho’s storylines frustrate me a bit, but both were trying to save people who fundamentally didn’t want to be saved (the players and Inho respectively).

I think Gihun’s storyline wasn’t necessarily that fighting against a rigged system is hopeless; I think it was more about how trying to save everyone will destroy you. No-Eul fought against the system to save 246 and she succeeded. So fighting back and winning is possible.

Junho’s storyline I think was about how people with better resources and knowledge will always be able to puppet you despite how much freedom you think your choices have. Both Inho and Captain Park played the role that systems always have of undermining any revolutionary movements from within to keep the system in place.

However:

We kind of already got these messages and done better in the other two seasons.

Season 1 already told us that a system will destroy everybody involved leaving no real winners. To paraphrase ‘The Hunger Games’:

“There are no winners, only survivors.”

Gihun got a bittersweet ending and didn’t really win. Sang-Woo who embraced the murderous system and killed women and minorities to get further ahead was destroyed by the system in the end.

In season 2, we got the message about how capitalist systems will infiltrate revolutionary movements to destroy them from within with Inho as Player 001. And we knew the Captain Park reveal too.

So Season 3 does come off a bit as being bleak for bleaknesses sake.

The Main Message (which we were told in season 2) is that:

‘The Games won’t end until the world changes.’

And I think we still could have that message but I think with a few changes it could come off better.

What I would have Changed:

Now, to be clear, I don’t necessarily think a sad or bleak ending is bad. I think a wholly happy ending where the games were destroyed isn’t the right one for this series.

But, I would have had it so that there were a few survivors at the end of this Squid Game. Some characters we like, some unknowns, some characters we despise. Gihun can still die in the final game because he was trying to save people who refused to be saved.

[Although it’s a bleak message “trying to save everyone will destroy you” isn’t a bad or inaccurate message. Picking and choosing your battles irl is very important because you’ll exhaust yourself fighting on every front.]

Junho makes it to the island in the middle of the final game (with some changes on who the players are- definitely more left standing before the final game starts) forcing the island to end the game early. He can also have a confrontation with his brother because he deserved that at least even if it’s an inconclusive one.

The survivors flee the island which blows up and the coast guard finds remnants of what happened but not enough to prove anything. Plus, I’m 99% sure the higher ups in law enforcement are in on the games so we could even have a scene where that’s confirmed.

In the end, Gihun and Junho’s actions would make a difference but a very small one. They were able to save people in the end but not in the heroic way they hoped and Gihun was destroyed in the process.

The surviving characters go back to their lives (some grateful some ungrateful) but eventually get cards posted with the split final amount. The Games continue.

We can still have Inho in America at the end showing that the games prey on vulnerable people all over the world. (While I think actually making an American Squid Game is a bad idea I think it’s good to show the games are everywhere)

So we get the messages that;

Trying to save everyone will destroy you.

BUT fighting back does mean a small amount of success and isn’t a futile pursuit.

Sometimes people you don’t know or despise will survive as a result of your actions but getting out of the system is more important.

But the Games still won’t end until the world changes.

That’s a pretty bittersweet ending still in keeping with the series’ bleak tone. Although I think No-Eul’s storyline did do a good job of showing success in fighting back, the messaging was confused by how completely bleak Gihun’s storyline did ended.

Lemme know what you think.

[onionbug-critical]

i don't really care about the recent short being "tasteless" because there was literally an incest joke that flew over peoples heads in looloo land, not to mention blitz threatening to rape mox and his wife in the first episode, but for me, its just that after s2, after the very last episode made it a point of "blitz should have empathy for this person who relates to his situation!" he.. suddenly doesnt relate to this target who relates his situation of being a dad? and for what? a punchline i honestly saw coming anyway? if i can tell what the joke is going to be, then it takes away from how funny a joke is. thats something this show consistently didnt understand in s2 when viv took the helm with writing most of the episodes, because a huge majority of them were just, "PENIS. SEX. FUNNY. LAUGH NOW", but at least brandon did. the last roughly 10 years of his life have been dedicated to writing offensive jokes that actually have a punchline, even if it is meanspirited. i honestly just care that the show isnt funny anymore. that it invested so damn hard in being emotional, in having stakes, in suddenly making you care about any of the human clients AT ALL when the entire premise of the show is about KILLING HUMANS FOR MONEY, just to force a hamfisted way to make you go "wow! stolas isnt that bad actually! he should get a chance to create a new family!" even though for one, stella was never canonically homophobic like the client was, just bigoted towards imps, which i lowkey liked as a subversion from the sinners who's homophobia made sense, until.. crimson opened his stupid moxxie sounding moxxie looking mouth, god the designs in these shows are so fucking lazy sometimes, and two, blitzs whole thing was making a found family that felt like a real one by truthseekers? but now moxxie and millie are just out of the equation of this fantasy because he doesnt want to fuck them anymore? ok. (reminds me of live action remakes where the whole found family is fucked up when that was the whole point of the original films lowkey) only to immediately contradict this if you think about how blitz is ALSO a father who adopted his kid and cares deeply for her like mr. wriggler does for more then two seconds? like. at least be consistent. if they hadnt spent a whole season trying to be bojack horseman, i wouldnt care that theyre trying to be family guy now. because i LIKED when this show was family guy in s1! at least characters could actually acknowledge the shitty things they had done (like stolas and blitz, and the bad things they did ON SCREEN,) without sweeping it under the rug with a "actually they were traumatized and they didnt mean to and they were FORCED to so that makes it all okay! forgive them NOW." (viv voice) yes we are so like bojack, the show that ended on a character with a season dedicated to them refusing to speak to the main character. and we totally wont have barbie reunite with her brother when she realizes blitz just. "accidentally" killed his mom and burned down her home with a goddamn birthday cake. what do you mean were losing views so bad that we have to sell out to amazon and lose kesha bee after 2 episodes? how could this have happened?

LMFAOOO exactly. The issue with the show is its trying to be like every other adult animation (Family Guy, South Park, etc) while trying to be BoJack Horseman, Morel Orel or even Steven Universe. It's OBVIOUS that the show lacks any consequences for the characters actions.

(No, Stolass getting demoted isn't a punishment, in fact, I feel they shoehorned him in and tried to make it all about "OOOOH. I DIDN'T WAAANT THISSSS!" to show some sebelence of consequence for the shit he pulled, like my dude, DON'T PRETEND YOU DIDN'T WANT THIS. You fetishized bro.)

In fact, the excuses of it's Hell doesn't really make sense as you can tell that Hell is supposedly a place where you're supposed to live with your sins, instead it's like red heaven, except more genocides by the year.

Now, this isn't the first time they had done shit like this, let me showcase you all the newgrounds BS they pulled.

In the (Hazbin) pilot they had Jeffery Dahmer, a serial killer sex offender, who killed and eaten boys and men, be depicted as a tumblroo sexyman, despite the fact this MAN LITERCHALLRTY KILLED PEOPLE! HOLY FUCK.

References Jack The Ripper (In passing for Season 2 of Hazbin.)

Unfunny rape jokes that is offensive (As a SA Survivor.)

Offensive stereotypes of LGBTQ+ characters.

Offensive Racial Stereotypes

Questionable character designs.

Brief anti-semtisim

racism undertones especially since one character is supposedly jewish while the other is a black man being owned by said Jewish Person.

Misogyny

Slurs being thrown around (despite the fact I find it less offensive and just edgy and annoying, it feels like the whole [blank] was written by VivziePop, do not sling the R Slur to try and be edgy that's so stupid ironic coming from me, but Viv really needs to get better humor, the second time was a poor attempt at mocking those who were hurt by it, only I caught the joke, others... not so much, if you're gonna say slurs at least have it in a context of a good fucking joke.)

Musical numbers that don't fit the tone or characters, it cuts in like a YouTube ad in the middle of a good YouTube Video.

Problematic behaviors in and out of the show

Screentime wasted to characters who clearly were supposed to be one note characters, aka no one gaf about characters. The only time the no one gaf characters were wanted, it was Moxxie and Blitz's Mother and Striker, the last they butchered to hell and back.

Ship sinking

Sabotage

Pointless filler (I take back filler being good, because the shorts are just shit they didn't want in the main show so they just put the filler.)

Some of these are just the tip of the ice berg, there's some stuff in her Playlist that can describe what humor she had, but most of it was just stolen or ripped, for FECKS SAKE SHE HAD TFS (TeamFourStar) in her playlist.

I feel the general consensus is, if she stopped worrying about others, nad leaned into her edgy/problematic side, we wouldn't have a problem. But she tries to mix it with "Steven Universe" morals and "Learning With Pibby" levels of shit that its not working. Her humor hasn't evolved from the 2010s (despite mine being from the era.), it's not nessecarily a bad thing but she needs to grow her humor and mesh it with current humor instead of...

Well.

Complaining about politics on her account, this is one of the worst Shorts besides the one that was offensive to Mexicians, these Shorts are so unforgettable that Idrc to name them, the only one I vaguely remember is Operation Wee-A-Boo-Boo. And that's because of Emberlynn Pinkle.

Show's not gonna get any better from here.

Still it's funny the stans admitted they defended the show, but drew the line at cruelty to orphans.

Help me why with every episode and short the show gets more and more cringe as shit, and the writing falls off.

[amyluvshamzah]

FAM(ILY)

summary: you bother your step brother hamzah until he has enough (this request (i luv u))

contains: stepbro!hamzah, smut (just oral f-receiving)

if you dont like stepbro stuff then pls dont read ily either way

youre in your room when hamzah, your step brother, brings his friends over. theyre are being too loud when youre just trying to study for your finals.

──── ୨୧ ────

you throw open your door, stomping down the hall and stopping at hamzahs door. you knock hard against the wood.

"yeah!" hamzah yells. you push open the door.

the three boys look at you in your shorts and tank top.

"can you be quiet? im trying to study!" you huff and cross your arms over your chest.

"no please?" he teases. his boy-friends laugh.

"please?" you lean against the door frame. he shrugs, "maybe... can you go?"

"im gonna kill you." you mutter, leaving his door open as you walk to your bedroom again.

"shut the door-!" he yells. you ignore him, satisfied that you made him mad.

you turn on your music, turning the volume all the way up as you lay on your stomach with a book laid out in front of you.

theres no way youre going to study but you werent going to be able to anyway- not with his loud ass friends.

"hey!" hamzahs voice gets louder as he opens your door. hes alone, stepping into your room as he finds your speaker. he turns it off.

you frown, "so you can be loud but i cant?"

he rolls his eyes, "youre such a crybaby."

"im not! i just wanted to study."

"yeah cause youre a loser with no friends. now leave us alone." he takes the speaker and goes back to his own room.

"im gonna call my mom!" you shout.

its your mom. and his dad. married. so fun...!

you and hamzah are the same age but he somehow managed to graduate a year early. so he gets to spend all day everyday playing video games and fucking around.

"whatever!" he shouts back.

eventually his friends leave. you hear him walking down the hall to your room.

"no- hamzah! dont come in." you say, still mad about earlier.

he always acts like that when his friends are over.

"im giving you your speaker back." he pushes open your door and sees you laying down on your back, looking at him upside down.

"why do you do that when your friends are over. youre a dick." you mutter, sitting up and crossing your arms.

"do what?" he asks. you sigh, turning to look at him. "you act all big and bad. like a dick when your friends are over." you reiterate.

"i dont mean to. im sorry." he stops in the middle of your room, eyes roaming over your bare legs.

"sure you are." you climb off of your bed, standing right in front of him. "i am." he whispers.

you suddenly feel how close you are to him. your chest is an inch away from his. his breath hitches as you close the gap. you wrap your arms behind his neck as he instinctively grabs your hips.

"what- what are you doing...?" his voice is quiet. you shrug, "i dunno. it just feels right." his eyes flick to your lips, unsure of what to do.

you breathe heavily, looking into his darkened eyes.

"how do you do this to me?" his voice drops an octave, eyes searching your face. you smile softly, "do what?"

"everytime i look at you my heart stops. especially when youre mad its just- so hot." he confesses.

you giggle a bit, leaning in. "so thats why you act like a dick."

he shrugs, "i guess so."

he leans in the rest of the distance, kissing you softly. its such an odd feeling. but you like it.

his lips are soft and tender as he slips his tongue along your bottom lip. you part your lips as his tongue moves in.

he pulls your body against his so tight, you can feel his hard cock against your stomach.

"hamzah." you breathe, his lips moving down your neck. he pulls off your top, tossing it across the room.

his hands grope your breasts as he kisses down your body. he pushes your shorts down, along with your panties.

you gasp as his hands spread your legs, putting his head between them. he kisses your slit, slipping his tongue between your folds. he pulls your legs over his shoulders, standing up and walking to a wall.

youre sitting on his shoulders as he eats you out. he groans into you as you tug at his hair. "oh... fuck." you whisper, feeling your orgasm already.

the way his tongue flicks your clit and sucks at it has you melting in his grip.

you unravel above him, leaning back against the wall.

he finishes you off, slowly letting you down as he sets you on your bed.

his body covers yours as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead.

you smile at him, pulling him back for seconds. he hums against your lips.

"will you leave me alone now?" he teases you with a wink.

──── ୨୧ ────

SORRYYYY ik i was gone for like two days i was working all the time and trying to get through life but thank you for this request i didnt know how to end it butttt

I LOVE YOUUU - amyluvshamzah

TAGLIST: @hamzahshoe @hamzahslvt @unicornbabydoll @xoxo-yamil3t

[crystalpallette]

so I finished side order recently

[jasontoddsno1simp]

If you all are gonna write posts where you condescendingly use other Bats as mouthpieces to own Jason about his beliefs, the least you can do is actually get his motivations correct.

The Joker being alive isn't the only reason why Jason feels unloved post resurrection. If you took a cursory look at the comics instead of being a self righteous loser, you'd know that

[xxplastic-cubexx]

his fuckass loafers im losing it

[moeblob]

Half of the quad...

Delm (left) is Death and Brody (right) is War. Since they can (along with Pestilence and Famine) inflict whatever status on a person, Delm is terrified of accidentally killing someone pre-apocalypse. And so he's basically a pacifist that can never say the right thing and gets beaten up and refuses to fight back. Brody tries to be his bodyguard of sorts but Delm is slippery and just vanishes and shows up freshly injured with a smile cause "well, I mean I can't /die/, dude. what's the problem?"

[raddestrose]

The second prince is legit beefing with a fish and is LOSING real badly

[arathejedi394]

i cracked this morning and read the first like 200 words of my og novel that i wrote when i was 13/self-published at 14

and like

why did hank green post it on his instagram with praise?? like i think of it and i cringe. today i re-read the first 200 words and i wanted to stop existing?? why did my mom give him a copy of it i did not ask her to do that??? i just went to one of his concerts in 2014 and my mom just gave the book to somebody and for some reason that somebody gave it to hank green and then suddenly im in the crowd 15yo new best friend bc nerdfighteria and hank green is like "oh somebody gave one of the guys this book just before the show and i took a look at it and i kinda like it it's pretty good" and up he holds none other than my og novel he goes "a 14yo wrote this and it's pretty good this affirms my faith in humanity or something like a very young not-adult did this whole novel and it's not bad that's cool" idk what he said it was 10 years ago. and there's me in the crowd freaking the fuck out i say to my new bff who i had just met at the beginning of the concert bc we were standing next to each other like "BRO THAT'S MY BOOK" new bff is like "BRO THAT'S YOUR BOOK???" and starts jumping up and down for attention like "YO THAT'S THIS GUY'S BOOK" hank green hears points at me and goes "HEY HE'S RIGHT THERE YOUR BOOK'S PRETTY COOL KID" AND THEN!!! HE FUCKING PUT IT ON HIS INSTA??? AND PRAISED IT??? THE STICKY NOTE MY MOM LEFT ON IT WITH LIKE 10 WORDS OF SYNOPSIS STILL ON THE COVER??? ALL OF HIS INSTA FOLLOWER'S SAW MY MOM'S HANDWRITING??? AND MY WHOLE ASS INITIALS + LAST NAME??? A COMPLIMENTARY REVIEW BY HANK GREEN HIMSELF??? WHY?? WHY WAS MY 15 MINUTES OF FAME THAT CRINGE ASS Y/A NOVEL???

nobody go looking back at hank green's 2015 insta. do not confirm this is true. let this be a totally unverifiable claim of some rando fandom blogger.

listen. i was 13 when i wrote that book. i was so full of brand new baby teen angst. i do not understand why hank green did not open the book flip through a couple pages go "oof this kid needs a therapist and a writing coach" and never mention it again. i do not understand why he mentioned it on stage, i don't know why he put it on his instagram, it was so bad. ohmygod. i wish i could forget it ever happened

eXCEPT I CAN'T

bc iT wAs SuPpOsEd TO BE A TRIOLOGY. aNd I ONLY WROTE ONE. AND MY PARENTS ARE STILL ASKING ME WHEN BOOK TWO IS COMING.

IT'S BEEN TEN YEARS.

[4esthetic-dissonance]

I'm working on a fic and was like 'how in the hell do you make LINGUANG JUN the least bit redeemable?'. I mean, /Linguang jun/ who tossed a developmentally four year old Mobei Jun to a pack of humans? The kid could have died. And then I saw a translation of the extras. It describes lgj as mbj's 'young uncle', says that he 'wasn't that much older than him (mbj)'. And I just- its a hell of a lot different, a Scar type tossing his nephew to the proverbial wolves than it is for a maybe dumb, maybe petty, maybe developmentally five or six year old to shove their annoying technically-nephew-who-in-age-and-context-is-more-like-a-brother-than-lgj's-actual-brother into a situation that the text implies was more frightening than actually /dangerous/. And that- well I can work with that.