#blackwater creeks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

doctorbitchcrxft · 1 year ago

Text

Wendigo | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, Dean's a dick but so is the reader

Word Count: 8817

A/N: Happy Saturday! Enjoy the next chapter!! Taglist/Requests are open!!

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

You were curled up against the backseat of the Impala writing in your journal and humming along to Dean’s Foreigner cassette tape when Sam jerked awake in the front seat. You jerked up as well, concerned.

Dean shot his brother a worried look. “You okay?”

Sam blinked and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, I'm fine.”

��Bull. Nightmare?” you asked.

The younger brother just cleared his throat in response.

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asked.

You and Sam gave him an incredulous look.

“Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that,” he laughed.

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” He rolled his eyes and returned them to the road.

“Look, man, you’re worried about me,” Sam sighed. “I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

His brother just hummed in response.

“I’ll take you up on that driving offer, though,” you chimed in.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“And I told you I wasn’t listening.”

“Dick.”

Dean just scoffed in response.

Sam’s unfolding of a map brought the conversation back on track. “All right, where are we?”

“Just outside of Grand Junction,” you answered. You leaned over his shoulder and pointed at the spot labeled “Grand Junction” and drew a trail with your finger over to a spot labeled with the coordinates Dean had found in John’s journal.

Sam hesitated before speaking again. “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

Dean shook his head. “Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—”

“We gotta find Dad first,” Sam finished.

“Dad disappearing and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence.”

“Wait, showing up again?” you asked. Even after poking around at Stanford, this was the first you’d heard of a previous encounter with the creature.

“I thought Sam would’ve told you,” Dean said.

“Told me what?”

Sam turned to face you. “You remember what I said about my mom dying? She died the same way Jess did.”

You nodded in solemn understanding.

The car went quiet again; the silence only broken by the older brother. “Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.”

Sam scanned the map again. “It's weird, man. These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.”

“What about it?” you asked, putting your chin on Sam’s shoulder to look at the map.

“There's nothing there. It's just woods.” He put down the map, looking past your head at Dean. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?”

Dean just shrugged in response.

The three of you found yourselves in a ranger’s station in Lost Creek National Forest just outside of Blackwater Ridge. You and Sam scanned a three-dimensional map of the forest atop a large table in the center of the room.

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” The brunet tapped his finger against the ridge’s label on the map. “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.”

However, his brother’s attention could not be pulled away from a picture on the wall. “Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.”

You walked over to him, and he was right. The thing was massive. The man standing behind its corpse looked like a dwarf in comparison.

“There’s about a dozen or so grizzlies in the area,” you added.

You and the boys were startled by a ranger’s voice coming from behind you. “You three aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?”

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper,” Sam assured him, laughing awkwardly.

Dean grinned and raised a fist. “Recycle, man.”

‘I could hit him. Jackass.’

The ranger obviously did not believe him. “Bull.”

Your eyes flicked to Dean, who was unmoving.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” the ranger continued.

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger— Wilkinson.” Dean faltered only to read the ranger’s name tag.

“Well I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?”

You shook your head.

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will.” Dean paused only for a moment. “Well, that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

“That is putting it mildly.”

You laughed. ‘I’m sure we’d get along great.’

“Actually,” Dean stopped the ranger from leaving the room. “You know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.”

The ranger eyed Dean curiously, but still got him a copy of the permit.

Dean laughed smugly as the three of you left the station, waving the paper around.

“What are you, five?” you asked him.

“Listen, sweetheart, I consider this a major success.” You quirked a brow at him, mildly annoyed he called you that stupid name again. “This eliminates a lot of the groundwork we normally have to do.”

“Fair point,” you shrugged.

Sam broke the somewhat comfortable silence. “Are you cruising for a hookup or something?”

Considering the thought you’d just had, you were taken slightly aback. “What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam was more talking pointedly at Dean and not you. You came to a stop on your respective sides of the Impala.

You couldn’t quite see Dean over the top of the car. “I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?”

You could practically feel the look Dean was giving Sam.

“What?” the brunet scoffed.

“Since when are you all shoot-first-ask-questions-later, anyway?”

“Since now.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, biting the inside of your lip. “Really?’ you muttered, getting down into the car.

***

Sam walked a little further up the walkway to the Collins house than you and Dean did.

“Forty-five minutes in that copy room for this?” you inspected Dean’s small, fake park ranger ID.

“Can’t rush art, sweetheart.”

“Now you’re just working it into every sentence because you know it aggravates me.”

"Yup,” Dean chuckled.

You smirked lopsidedly and Dean knocked on Haley Collins’s front door. A quite beautiful, dark-haired girl opened it moments later.

“You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, and (Y/N), we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley hesitated. “Lemme see some ID.”

Dean held up the ID you’d previously been inspecting to the screen door. The girl looked between the ID and Dean.

“Come on in.”

“Thanks.”

The door swung open, allowing Haley to catch a glimpse of the Impala. “That yours?”

“Yeah.”

“Nice car.” She began leading the three of you into the home.

Dean looked back at Sam, mouthing something excitedly to him that you couldn’t quite make out. You rolled your eyes. You decided then and there you would push your attraction to him to the side for the rest of the time you were working with the brothers. To you, he was just an asshole playboy.

Sam’s voice broke you out of your thoughts. “So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?”

You took in the sight of the table set for dinner and a young boy who looked to be about thirteen already picking at his plate of food.

Haley entered the room with a bowl and placed it onto the table. “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception,” you suggested.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.”

‘Well, there goes that theory.’

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean threw in.

The teenage boy clanked his fork against his plate, sharply stating, “He wouldn't do that.”

You eyed the boy, getting a read on him.

“Our parents are gone,” Haley said. “It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.”

You nodded in understanding. As much as you were trying to dislike her, it wasn’t working all that well.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asked.

Haley pulled out her laptop to show Sam the folder of pictures and videos her brother had sent her. “That's Tommy.” You could hear the sadness in her voice.

She clicked through to the most recent video.

A scruffy, presumably twenty-five year old man appeared onscreen. “Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

Something flickered past outside the young man’s tent. Your brows furrowed.

“Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing,” Dean assured her.

“Then maybe I'll see you there,” she answered. “Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel.”

Your eyes flicked over to Dean, growing angry at what you assumed to be an attempt at seducing the girl.

‘She’s mourning the potential loss of her brother, and you’re gonna try and charm her? Asshole.’

The younger Winchester once again broke you out of your thoughts. “Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?”

“Sure.” Haley clicked away on her laptop again.

***

You and the boys wound up at a bar. The table was covered in newspapers, John’s journal, and beer bottles; some full and some half empty.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.”

You gestured to John’s journal, which Sam slid over to you. You began flipping through it.

“Any before that?” Dean asked.

Sam pulled out a newspaper to show his brother. “Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.”

You leaned across the table, squinting at the headline. You felt Dean’s eyes flick to your breasts that had subsequently been pushed up in your wife beater as you leaned over.

You glared at him. “Stay focused, Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes, apparently unable to find his way to a witty response. You turned your attention back to the headline that read, “ GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS! UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA.”

Sam pulled out his laptop. “Before that, 1959 and 1936. Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork.”

“You have WiFi in here?” you questioned.

“Don’t need it. Just wanted to look at Haley’s video.” He pulled it up from a folder on his screen.

“Oh, shit. I almost forgot. Can I see that?” You hopped off your stool to get between the two brothers. “Watch this.” You clicked through the three frames of the video containing the shadow you’d seen flash across the screen. “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

Dean reached across you to hit Sam’s shoulder. “Told you something weird was going on.”

Sam rolled his eyes, closing his laptop. “Yeah. I got one more thing.” He put a newspaper article between you and Dean. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

You skimmed the article briefly. “Is there a name?”

The only survivor of the attack in the article Sam showed you and Dean was a child at the time. He now lived a life of what appeared to be solitude. He drove a beat up truck that was parked haphazardly in his driveway and lived several miles out of the city. You took in the poor old man’s messy house as he led your trio into his living room.

“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—”

Sam interrupted him. “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw lit a cigarette, took a deep puff, and nodded.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean’s tone was slightly pointed. “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

The old man continued to take drags of his cigarette. He seemed almost scared to entertain any other explanation aside from a grizzly bear attack.

Dean continued to pressure him. “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

Mr. Shaw shook his head. “I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” He sat down in his recliner. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

Sam sat down opposite the old man. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?”

“Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like... no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?”

He nodded.

“Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it.”

You tried to keep your face from conveying your intrigue and tinge of fear.

“Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” You could see Mr. Shaw becoming lost in his mind.

“It killed them?” Sam continued.

“Dragged them off into the night.” The old man shook his head as if to shake away the memories. “Why it left me alive... been asking myself that ever since.” He took a brief pause before reaching to the collar of his wife beater. “Did leave me this, though.” He pulled it down to reveal three long, deep claw mark scars. Through morbid curiosity, you were tempted to run your fingers over the jagged edges of the scarring. You couldn’t imagine how painful and angry the marks must have been when the poor man first got them.

“There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

“Thank you for your time, Mr. Shaw. We’re sorry about your parents,” you told him, turning away. “Have a good night, sir.”

Mr. Shaw seemed too caught up in his own head to respond with more than a wave, letting a cloud of smoke slither out of his mouth.

*** Later that night, you and the boys had just booked a room in yet another crappy motel.

‘One of these days I’ll treat myself to a stay in a halfway decent hotel.’

Before the three of you would be turning in for the night, you were headed to Dean’s car to pack your bags for the early morning you were about to have.

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors.” Dean broke your train of thought. “If they want inside, they just go through the walls.”

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal,” Sam said.

“Corporeal? Look at you, smartass,” you laughed.

“Shut up. So what do you think?”

“The claws, the speed that it moves…” Dean trailed off. “Could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.”

“True,” you started. “But how are you gonna know what to bring to kill it with if we have no idea what it is?”

“Just trust me on this one,” Dean replied. “There’s not much a gun won’t be able to take care of.” He let the door to the motel almost completely swing shut behind him; nearly hitting you in the face.

You caught it just in time. “Right, right. Just like you ‘took care’ of Constance by shooting her.”

“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?” Dean raised a brow at you, just barely turning over his shoulder to give you his response. He started busying himself in the weapons box in the back of his car.

“I mean, just barely. Nearly caught me in the crossfire.”

Dean rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically. “And what a shame that would’ve been.”

“Hey!” You shoved his shoulder with yours.

He glared at you in response.

Sam, who had been quiet the last few minutes, spoke up. “We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.”

His brother was rummaging through the weapons box; haphazardly throwing guns into his duffel bag. “Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?”

You found a shotgun that was slightly smaller than the rest, giving it a once over before moving to put it in a duffel bag of your own. Before you could fully get it settled in the bag, Dean took it from you.

You went to protest, but Sam cut you off by saying, “Yeah,” as if it was obvious.

Dean turned his attention away from you and your shotgun long enough for you to steal it back.

“Her brother's missing, Sam,” he tried to reason. “She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.”

Dean seemed to notice you had taken the gun back and glared at you. He picked up his own duffel, and you closed the weapons cavity.

“Finding Dad’s not enough?” Sam countered while you closed the trunk. “Now we gotta babysit too?”

You and Dean gave Sam a look.

“What?” he snapped.

You shook your head.

“Nothing,” Dean replied. He threw the duffel bag at him and walked off.

***

You yawned and pulled yourself into a tighter ball on the backseat of Dean’s Impala. You hadn’t gotten much sleep last night for a reason you couldn’t quite place.

“Don’t get too comfortable, sweetheart, we’re here,” Dean told you.

“Fuck.” You grabbed yours and Dean’s duffel bags off the seat next to you and got out of the car to feel loose gravel grating against your boots.

A man who looked to be in his late fifties was up ahead of you next to a Jeep with Haley and the teenager you recognized as Haley’s younger brother. You approached the other three from behind Sam and Dean.

“You guys got room for three more?” the older brother asked.

Haley crossed her arms. “Wait, you want to come with us?”

“Who are these guys?” The older man pointed at your group.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.”

Sam headed past everyone, and you followed.

You assumed the middle-aged man was the guide Haley had talked about hiring the previous day. He was very skeptical of the three of you. “You're rangers?”

Dean’s confidence never wavered. “That's right.”

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley was apparently skeptical, too.

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.”

‘That’s what he calls me.’ You couldn’t quite understand the pang that went through your chest when he used that nickname for her. You pushed the thought aside once again, reminding yourself that you weren’t special in Dean’s eyes. To you, he was becoming more of a playboy asshole with each passing moment. You hoped your attraction to his beautiful green eyes and sharp jawline would soon turn to disdain.

Speaking of which, he appeared next to you as the guide spoke once more. “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

You turned around, trying to explain Dean’s attitude away. “He knows that. He just has a funny way of showing it.” You hoped Dean didn’t miss the bite in your tone. And from the way you could feel his glare burning a hole through your skull, you were sure it wasn’t lost on him.

The guide shook his head, brushing past you and the brothers. He headed into the forest, and you followed a few paces behind. You would never admit it, but the woods had always unsettled you just a bit. You tightened your grip on your bag and pushed forward.

Dean had apparently learned the guide’s name from Haley while you were lost in your own anxiety. “Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” He quickened his step to pass you and get up next to Roy.

“Yeah, more than a little.” The response came gruff and disinterested.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

You could feel where this was going. ‘Don’t fucking provoke him, Winchester.’

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.” The disinterest was ever present in Roy’s tone as he continued to scan the treeline in front of him.

Dean passed him up, doing that obnoxiously confident backwards walk again. “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

Suddenly, Roy grabbed Dean’s jacket roughly. You nearly flinched.

“Whatcha doing, Roy?” Dean’s tone had hardened.

Roy grabbed a stick, and peering around Dean you could see the jaws of a bear trap close around it inches from Dean’s boot.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.”

‘Damn.’

Roy dropped the stick and took the lead once more.

Dean turned around to the rest of the group. “It's a bear trap.”

You scoffed.

You could hear Haley’s quickened step crunching leaves as she passed you to catch up to Dean. “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.” She grabbed his arm, spinning him to face her. “So who the hell are you?”

The teenage boy passed his sister and Dean. You and Sam hesitated behind Haley, shooting Dean a quizzical look. Dean jerked his head for the two of you to go on. You followed Sam forward, but hung back close enough that you could hear Dean and Haley’s conversation.

“Sam and I are brothers, and we're looking for our father. (Y/N) is—” you were interested in this explanation, “—a friend of ours.”

‘Oh, so we’re friends now.’

“He might be here, we don't know. I just figured that you and me, we're in the same boat.”

“Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?”

“I'm telling you now. 'sides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman. ...ever. So, we okay?”

‘Wonder how many times he’s used that line.’ You caught that same squeeze happening in your chest happening again. You desperately wished to get ahold of yourself and snap out of it. ‘He’s just pretty to look at. He’s a complete douche. Get it together, girl.’

You had missed Haley’s response to Dean’s “heartfelt” admission, but heard “And what do you mean I didn't pack provisions?” You heard the rustling of a plastic bag behind you, and remembered the bag of peanut M&Ms he had bought at a gas station before coming here. You heard Dean start walking again, and you hurried ahead to catch up with Sam and not look like you were snooping.

Dean had apparently noticed you were hanging back and chuckled to himself. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

He walked up beside you. “Jealous?”

“What?” you turned to him, feigning disgust. “Fuck no.”

“So… you were just snooping because…?”

You wanted to smack the smug grin off his face. His amusement at your aggravation riled you up even more. “I was just curious what she thought of us. And to be frank, I don’t exactly trust your ability to explain things away. That’s all.”

“Uh-huh.” You knew he didn’t believe you. “That’s all.”

You petulantly stole the bag of peanut M&Ms from him.

“Hey! (Y/N)!”

You marched on.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge,” Roy announced after what felt like hours of walking. Your anxiety around getting lost in the forest was only deepening. That was what it all boiled down to. You had a fear of not being in control, and the idea of a place where every “landmark” looked the same, wildlife ruled the terrain, and being alone in it was pretty much a death sentence, scared you pretty severely. Not to mention, the time you almost bled to death in the middle of the woods had another hunter not found you.

You had no means of identifying where you’d come back from. All the trees seemed the same to you. You had no idea how you were going to get back to the car at the end of the day; if you were even going to make it out of here by the end of the day. You had been walking for so long that you were sure you’d be sleeping out here tonight. The thought of that frightened you even more.

What truly unsettled you was that the sounds you had been hearing up until you made it to Blackwater Ridge— crickets, leaves rustling, birds chirping— all of it had been silenced.

“I'm gonna go take a look around,” Roy announced.

The younger Winchester stopped him. “You shouldn't go off by yourself.”

Roy’s snark almost rivaled Dean’s. “That's sweet. Don't worry about me.” He waved his gun around and pushed between the two brothers to head deeper into the forest.

Dean turned to the rest of your group. “Alright, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

‘Great. More fucking woods.’ You marched forward, trying to put on a brave face.

Sam’s eyes softened when he caught sight of you. “You okay?”

Apparently, your “brave face” wasn’t as brave as you thought. “Yeah, why?”

“You look… kinda nervous.”

“Yeah, I am. I’m, uh, kinda scared of the forest, honestly.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Dean’s mocking tone interrupted your vulnerable moment. “You’re scared of a little woods?” He jutted out his bottom lip, feigning a pout.

“Fuck off, Winchester. I’m fine.”

“Whoa, touchy. Relax.” Dean held his hands up in surrender. “Was just poking fun, that’s all.”

“Okay, well, it wasn’t funny. So, fuck off.” You rushed ahead, still white-knuckling the duffel bag on your shoulder.

Before Dean could catch up to you or respond, Roy called out from quite a bit ahead. “Haley! Over here!”

Haley took off in the direction of Roy’s voice, closely followed by you. Haley froze at the sight in front of her. “Oh, my God.”

In the clearing Roy had found, bloodied, torn open tents surrounded mutilated camping supplies and backpacks. Deep gashes in the tent material and the surrounding trees were jagged and stained with blood around the edges. The sight wasn’t making your queasiness any better.

“Looks like a grizzly.”

‘No, it doesn’t, Roy,’ you thought.

Haley’s backpack hit the ground next to you, and she tore through the campsite; screaming her brother’s name.

Sam moved to quiet her down. She kept screaming. A much harsher “Shh!” passed Sam’s lips, finally getting the girl to settle down.

“Why?” she questioned defensively.

“Something might still be out there,” he answered.

Dean called his brother’s name from the other end of the campsite. You followed Sam over to the sound of Dean’s voice.

You crouched down next to Sam. Dean snapped a stick and pointed to a set of drag marks on the ground. “The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird. I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog.”

The three of you stood and returned to the campsite to find Haley crying on the ground over her brother’s broken and bloodied phone.

“Hey, he could still be alive,” Dean told her. She shot him a confused and slightly angry look.

Out of nowhere, a scratchy male voice started gutturally calling, “Help! Help!”

Roy was quick to run to the shouter’s aid. However, you weren’t so sure it was a real person screaming like that.

“Help! Somebody!” came again.

The brothers started off to follow Roy.

“Wait, guys!” you called, not wanting to be left alone despite your hesitation.

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” Sam called.

You dropped your duffel in your rush to follow Sam’s voice. When you found where the group had gathered, you could see the brothers searching the treeline. You licked your teeth, upset that your intuition was right. Your group had found no one.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley said, confused.

“Everybody get back to camp,” you ordered.

You followed the path you were pretty sure would get you back to the mangled campsite. Thankfully, your sense of direction was right, but all of your supplies had been taken by the time you returned.

“Our packs!” Haley exclaimed.

Roy grumbled, “So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.”

“What the hell is going on?” Haley was catching on.

“It’s smart. It’s trying to isolate us so we can’t call for help. It knows we won’t last long without supplies,” you stated.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” The guide’s voice was hard and angry.

“I need to speak with you two. In private.” You pulled the brothers aside by their jackets. Dean shrugged your hand off him.

“Can I see your dad’s journal?” you asked. Yours had been taken along with your duffel bag.

“No, why?” Dean asked petulantly.

“Please, dude, c’mon.” You were not in the mood.

“Give it to her, Dean,” Sam chimed in.

Dean rolled his eyes and handed it over.

You flipped through until you found a page marked by a First Nations-style drawing of a tall figure with long claws labeled “Wendigo.” You looked up at the boys expectantly.

“Oh, come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west,” Dean responded.

“Think about it, Dean, the claws, the way it can mimic a human voice,” you tried to reason.

“Great.” He took his pistol out of his belt. “Well, then this is useless.”

“I told you guns don’t work on everything,” you quipped.

“Shut up.”

Sam took the journal from you and handed it back to his brother. “We gotta get these people to safety.” He led you and Dean back to the group. “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

Haley seemed pissed. “What?”

“Kid, don't worry.” Roy’s tone was almost patronizing. “Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.”

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now,” Sam countered.

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy was now getting in Sam’s face.

“C’mon, Roy, chill out,” you told him, pressing a hand to Sam’s chest to keep him from stepping to Roy.

Sam let you keep your hand there, but still bit back at Roy. “We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.”

“You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.” The guide was so close you could smell the chewing tobacco on his breath.

Sam still refused to back down. “Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.”

Roy laughed mockingly. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—”

Dean pushed you out the way and shoved his brother back. “Relax!”

Haley got between you, the boys, and Roy. “Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.”

You considered for a moment the implications of what may happen if you allowed them to stay.

Dean broke the silence. “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?” Haley asked.

“I’m not gonna sugarcoat this,” you began. “We don’t really have the time for the ‘monsters under the bed are real’ talk. This thing is a Wendigo. I’m gonna start carving some symbols into the ground. No one crosses the circle once I’ve drawn it. Got it?”

Haley nodded at you. “What can I do?”

“Build a fire with— sorry, I never caught his name,” you gestured to the teenager next to her.

“Ben,” Haley told you.

“Ben. You two start gathering enough wood and tinder to keep a fire going. Don’t go too far, though, please.”

She and Ben nodded at you before setting off.

“Thank you,” you called after the Collins siblings. “Sam, Dean, help me with the Anasazi symbols.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean said. You were surprised at his compliance.

After a while of scuttling across the forest floor drawing a circle of Anasazi symbols around the campsite, the sun had set. Haley and Ben had long since returned and were tending the fire. As you finished the last symbol, you brushed the dirt off your hands on your jeans.

Haley looked up at you from her place by the fire. “One more time, that's—”

“Anasazi symbols. It's for protection,” Dean explained. “The wendigo can't cross over them.”

Roy laughed, feeling the need to assert the fact he thought this was bullshit.

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy,” Dean told him, clearly fatigued of the man’s attitude.

Roy turned his attention back to the treeline with his gun over his shoulder. You followed Dean over to where Sam sat away from the group at the edge of the campsite.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asked his brother.

“Dean—” the younger one began to protest. You sat down next to him.

“No, you're not fine.” Of course, he already knew what Sam was going to say. “You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

You laughed. “Yeah, I’ve got enough of that attitude with just him, Sam.”

Dean nudged the tip of your boot with his harshly. You returned his glare petulantly.

“Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?” Sam’s mind was clearly going a mile a minute.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek.”

You decided to just sit back and listen for a moment before throwing your two cents in.

“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road. Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?” Sam threw his hands up in frustration.

“This is why.” Dean held out his dad’s journal to his brother. “This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.”

Sam shook his head. “That makes no sense. Why doesn't he just—call us? Why doesn't he—tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it.”

Sam’s eyes began to well with tears. “Dean, no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”

“Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them, I promise. Listen to me.” Sam looked up at Dean. “You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.”

Sam looked away again, still fighting the tears congealing in his water line. “How do you two do it? How does Dad do it?”

You let Dean take that question. “Well for one, them.” He gestured to Haley and Ben. “I mean, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.”

You paused, looking down at the dirt and twigs below you before speaking. “It’s kind of the same for me. I don’t have a family anymore.” You felt Dean’s gaze on you, but kept the burning in your cheeks at bay. “This is really all I’ve ever known. I know I couldn’t go back to a normal life after all this. So, I do what I can to help everyone else’s lives feel a little more normal. Not everybody needs to know what’s really out there. It kinda brings me peace knowing I’m helping somebody else live their life relatively worry-free.”

Dean continued. “I'll tell you what else helps.”

You looked back up at him.

“Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.”

You smiled at Dean genuinely for the first time.

A twig snapped, breaking you and the boys out of the little bonding moment you’d just had. The same, slightly unhuman grainy voice screamed out again from somewhere in the trees. “Help me! Please!”

Dean stands with his gun. You thought about pointing out the fact that it was useless, but decided to keep it to yourself.

“Help!” the strained sound came again.

Sam shined his flashlight through the tree line.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put,” Dean told the group.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy quipped.

“Shut up, would you?” You snapped, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Help! Help me!” The voice seemed to become more distant before a low growl emanated from just outside the circle.

Roy pointed his gun at the sound. “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

“Oh, now you believe us,” you quipped.

“(Y/N),” Dean warned, still facing the outside of the circle.

Something rushed past where Haley and Ben were standing. She let out a scream.

“It's here,” the younger Winchester stated.

The guide shot at the rustling bushes, and then again. “I hit it!” He took off before you could protest.

“Roy, no!” you immediately ran after him.

You could hear Dean behind you addressing the Collinses, but barely registered it while trying to follow Roy.

“Roy! Come back!” you called.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” the man called back.

Just as you reached him, something grabbed onto Roy’s shoulders and began pulling him up into the tree above.

“Roy!” you grabbed his ankles, doing your best to pull him back down to the ground.

Roy was screaming above you, and the Wendigo’s strength was too much for you. Roy’s screaming was cut off sharply by a snapping sound. In that moment, you knew he was gone. You let Roy’s legs go and dropped back down to the ground.

The Winchester brothers appeared at that second, rushing to your side.

“You okay?” Sam asked, helping you up. “Where’s Roy?”

You shook your head. “He’s gone.”

You and the boys headed back to camp to find Haley and Ben huddled together. Haley was caught off-guard by your return, and nearly took you out with her makeshift torch-weapon. “Shit!” she yelped. “You scared the crap out of me!”

“Sorry,” you laughed. “Easy, tiger.”

She threw her torch back into the fire. “Where’s Roy?”

Your smile faded. “I tried to help him. I’m sorry.”

She nodded somberly. A saddened, heavy air fell over your camp as the remaining five of you tried to go to sleep before your undoubtedly busy day tomorrow.

Haley and Ben settled down near the fire with tatters of backpacks and tent material as pillows and blankets respectively. You and Dean forced Sam to lay down and rest because it was evident via the bags under his eyes that he’d had none over the last several days.

“I’ll take first watch,” you told Dean, settling your back against the stump of a tree near where Sam had started falling asleep.

“Not a chance, sweetheart.”

“First of all, stop calling me that,” you snapped. “Second, it wasn’t a suggestion. I’m taking first watch. Go to sleep.”

“Why are you so insistent on this?” Dean furrowed his eyebrows at you.

“Why don’t you trust me?” you countered.

“I don’t know, maybe because you’re the last person to have seen my dad before he ‘mysteriously disappeared’?”

“You’re not seriously suggesting—” you scoffed, and Dean cut you off again.

“Maybe because I don’t even know you. Maybe because you so readily agreed to just hitch a ride with Sam and I the day Jessica died. Maybe those are some good reasons not to trust you.”

“Dean, I had nothing to do with your dad’s disappearance. And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m on my own. Sorry that I was just excited to finally have someone willing to take me along with them. And I don’t give a shit about you, honestly. I do give a shit about Sam, though, and I’m not gonna leave while he’s in this headspace. And I wanna help you find your dad.”

“Why do you care so much?” he hissed in retaliation.

“Because I don’t have any family. I want to help reunite yours. Like you said earlier, it helps you feel a little better and sleep a little easier at night.” Your voice had softened considerably, and you turned your attention from Dean to your hands folded in your lap.

“Fine, but after we find my dad, you’re gone,” he responded after a moment.

“Fine.” You turned away from him, hugging your knees to your chest. “I’m still taking first watch.”

“Whatever, (Y/N).” You could hear Dean moving around behind you.

“Goodnight,” you said.

All you got was a huff in response.

At some point that night, Sam was actually the one to take over your watch. He’d woken up from a nightmare, and you knew he wouldn’t be getting back to sleep any time soon. You did your best to get some sleep despite your heightened sense of awareness from your unsettling surroundings and the anger you still felt at Dean after your argument.

When you did awaken, Sam was sitting against the tree next to you, Dean was talking to Haley about the origin of Wendigos, and Haley was grilling Dean about how he knows about monsters.

“Kind of runs in the family,” was all Dean answered her question with.

You felt Sam push off the tree behind you. You still hadn’t rolled over from your sleeping position.

“So we've got half a chance in the daylight,” Sam announced to the group. “And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

“Well, hell, you know I'm in,” you heard Dean respond.

“'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours',” Sam explained.

You began stretching while Dean continued educating Haley and Ben. “They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.”

“How's a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asked.

“Well, it's always the same,” the older Winchester continued while you started to make your way over to them, brushing leaves out of your hair with your fingers. “During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.”

“Like the Donner Party.” That was the first you’d ever heard Ben speak.

“Cultures all over the world believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities. Speed, strength, immortality,” Sam continued.

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry,” Dean finished.

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley waited for the answer with baited breath.

“You're not gonna like it.”

“Tell me.” Haley steeled herself.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It—” Dean seemed to be searching for the right words, “—uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.”

“And then how do we stop it?”

You spoke up for the first time, holding an empty beer bottle, a white cloth, and a can of lighter fluid you’d found from near the camp. “Guns are useless, so, Molotov cocktail, baby.”

You could swear Dean cracked a smile at you, but you refused to acknowledge it.

The sun had risen much higher since your crew had first started walking. You had passed multiple trees with bloodied claw marks on them. It was starting to unsettle you, quite honestly. You’d just passed the seventh or eighth claw-marked tree when you decided to bring Sam’s attention to your thought process.

“You know, I was thinking, those claw marks are so clear and distinct. Not at all as jagged as they were on Mr. Shaw’s scar or the tree where the thing snatched Roy. They were almost too easy to follow.”

Almost as if on cue, a low growl rumbled from above and trees rustled. Haley looked up before jerking herself out of the way. And good thing she had, because Roy’s corpse soon landed where she’d stood.

Dean inspected Roy’s corpse while Sam helped Haley up. “His neck's broke.”

The growling continued.

Upon hearing the sound, Dean started to bark out, “Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!”

You immediately split. You were always quite a fast runner and light on your feet. You and Haley took the lead of the group and could hear the boys’ thundering footsteps behind you.

Before you knew it, the growling had landed right in front of you. You and Haley were brought to a skidding halt before the creature. Haley yelped as the creature grabbed your legs and began dragging the two of you. You took the bag of peanut M&Ms you’d stolen from Dean out of your jacket’s inner pocket. You let the bag’s contents out slowly as sticks and rocks scraped up your dragging body. The last thing you felt was a sharp pain on the back of your head before you vision blacked out completely.

The next time you came to, the first thing you felt were your aching wrists and hands on either side of your face. You could faintly hear Dean calling your name, and your vision began to get less hazy as Dean’s voice became more clear.

When Dean’s annoyingly beautiful, worried face finally came into focus, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Aren’t you a little short for a stormtrooper.”

You could hear Sam laughing behind Dean and Dean sighed. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounded relieved.

Sam reached above you to cut your wrists down. “You okay?”

Despite your aching joints, you said, “Yeah.”

Sam helped you over to one of the cave’s walls. “You sure you're alright?”

“Yeah. Yep,” you groaned. “Where is he?”

“He's gone for now.”

“Oh, thank god,” you breathed, making Sam laugh a little. “Oh, sweet.” You noticed the stolen duffel bags next to you and started rummaging through yours. Haley let out a shriek, causing you to jerk your head in her direction. She’d found her brother, and thankfully, he was alive.

“Cut him down!” Haley ordered. Sam got to work.

You found a flare gun in Dean’s duffel bag, saying, “Check it out.” to the rest of your group.

“Flare guns. Those'll work,” Sam responded, grinning.

You laughed, throwing one of the guns at Dean who caught it easily. He twirled it around his finger, smirking at you.

“Enough fooling around, let’s go,” Haley urged. She shouldered her brother, and with Ben’s help, started moving down the mine shaft.

You and Sam held up the rear of the group while Dean took the lead. Amidst the clunky shuffling of Tommy’s weakened body down the shaft, you could hear the same deep, low growling you’d heard in the forest.

“Looks like someone's home for supper,” quipped Dean, scanning the corridor ahead of him.

“We'll never outrun it,” Haley said.

Dean looked back at you and Sam. “You thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam responded.

“I don’t,” you chimed in.

“You’ll catch on,” Dean shot back. “All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and (Y/N). They’re gonna get you out of here.”

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asked the older Winchester.

He winked at her, shooting her that same smile he’d shot you one of the first times you’d met him. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. He started yelling moments later, walking away from you. “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

‘I bet he does.’ You surprised yourself. ‘What? What the fuck? He’s an asshole.’

Sam’s voice brought you out of your head. “All right, come on! Hurry!”

Your group rushed down the tunnel. You stayed in the rear, and Sam headed up to the front. He began leading your group down to where you could faintly see a bit of daylight peeking through.

And then, the growling again.

“Fuck,” you muttered. “Get him outta here!” you instructed the Collinses.

“(Y/N), no,” Haley told you.

“Go!” you urged her.

She finally nodded and started pulling her brothers down the tunnel with her. You aimed your flare gun at the direction where the growling was coming from.

“C’mon, motherfucker,” you grumbled, scanning the tunnel.

“(Y/N)!” Sam called from behind you.

You wheeled around to come face to face with the Wendigo. In your startle, you missed your shot with the flare gun. Your only other option was to take off after the three Collins siblings, closely followed by Sam.

“Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry,” Sam ordered the group. “Get behind me.” Given Sam’s size, he was able to hide all three Collinses behind him. You knew your pistol was no use, but you still aimed it at the creature anyway.

The Wendigo approached, taking its time in getting to you.

“Hey!” you suddenly heard Dean from behind the Wendigo. It wheeled around, only for Dean to shoot it in the stomach.

Flames curled up the Wendigo’s horribly disfigured body in twisted tendrils. The creature let out a howl before collapsing to the ground in a pile of burning embers.

Dean was revealed behind where the Wendigo previously stood. “Not bad, huh?”

Despite yourself, you grinned.

A quite chipper, clearly freshman EMT had patched you up upon your return to civilization. You had an uncomfortable laceration on your neck, a few scrapes above your eyebrow, and your wrists burned from where you had been tied up. You’d survive, it would just take you a few days to recover from.

You watched from a short distance as Haley approached Dean, both of whom had been patched up. You scowled as Dean smirked lasciviously at Haley and couldn’t help the bile rising in your throat when Haley leaned in to kiss Dean’s cheek. She said one final thing to Dean before walking toward the ambulance carrying Tommy with Ben.

“Thanks, (Y/N)!” she called to you.

You waved at her with a lopsided smile. She returned your grin before hopping into the back of the ambulance.

Sam motioned for you to come back over to Dean’s car.

“Man, I hate camping,” said Dean as you approached.

“Me too,” you shivered.

“Still scared of the woods?” he asked you, his tone slightly patronizing.

You ignored his tone and answered earnestly. “Definitely. Probably more so, now.” You crossed your arms over your body and hugged yourself.

A moment of silence passed before Dean addressed his brother. “Sam, you know we're gonna find Dad, right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded. “But in the meantime? I'm driving.”

Dean lolled his head to the side dramatically before tossing the keys to Sam. Recalling your fight with Dean at the campsite, you hesitated to get in the car when the brothers did.

“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Sam asked out of the driver’s side window. “Let’s go.”

You nodded, conceding, and hopped into the backseat. You threw your legs up on the leather beside you and stared out the window. Out of the corner of your eye, you could swear Dean was staring at you.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #supernatural #dean winchester #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

486 notes · View notes

sheriffaxolotl · 3 months ago

Text

Rough Hands and Gentle Strokes (Chapter 1) Arthur Morgan x Reader

Summary:

In the rugged wilderness outside of Blackwater, a hardened outlaw crosses paths with a woman who challenges everything he’s ever known. A kind-hearted and resilient art teacher, she bears the weight of the world’s judgment, especially regarding a woman’s place in it. As their lives intertwine, he struggles with feelings he can’t make sense of, questioning his very purpose. In a world of harsh realities, can he dare to let someone in? And will she allow herself to soften enough to find love where she least expects it? Together, they come to heal, challenge each other, and discover what it truly means to fight for something worth living for.

Additional Tags: Romance, Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Pre-Blackwater Massacre (Red Dead Redemption), Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Sexism

Chapter 1: The Touch That Lingers

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The sun hung high over the quiet town of Willoughby Creek, its golden rays dancing over the bustling main street. Children’s laughter floated through the air, mingling with the rhythmic creak of wagon wheels and the hum of distant conversation. Arthur Morgan tugged his hat lower over his eyes, squinting against the glare as he guided his horse, Boadicea, toward the general store. He wasn’t planning to linger—just pick up supplies and get moving. The less time spent around people, the better.

Compared to Blackwater, Willoughby Creek felt like a world apart. Where Blackwater thrummed with the energy of a growing town, a hub of commerce and the occasional confrontation, Willoughby Creek was still finding its rhythm—quiet, more laid-back, with a slower pace of life. The folks here went about their business in a way that reminded Arthur of the earlier days of civilization, before progress changed everything. A lot more open space, fewer buildings, and none of the modern hustle and bustle. In some ways, it suited him. But that didn’t mean he felt like sticking around long.

The creaking of an old wooden sign as it swayed in the wind drew his attention for a moment, but he quickly shook it off, focusing on the task at hand. He wasn’t here to get lost in thoughts of how things used to be—he had a job to do.

But as he passed the edge of the small park by the church, something made him pause. A group of children sat cross-legged on the grass, their faces alight with concentration as they hunched over wooden easels. In the middle of it all was a woman, her voice soft but carrying a melodic quality that drew his attention. She moved among the children, her skirts brushing the ground as she knelt to examine their work, offering encouragement or gentle advice.

Arthur’s brow furrowed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard laughter like that—pure, unrestrained, and joyful. It was contagious, and before he knew it, he’d stopped entirely, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Mister, you here to join the class?” piped up a small voice.

Arthur’s eyes darted down to a freckled boy staring up at him, a mischievous grin on his face. Arthur shook his head, glancing around as if to make sure no one else had heard.

“Nah, kid. Just passin’ through,” he said gruffly, shifting his weight. “Don’t reckon I’d be much good at somethin’ like this.”

The boy wasn’t deterred. “Aw, c’mon! It ain’t hard. You just gotta try. Here, I can show ya!”

Arthur took a half-step back, his hands coming up in a warding gesture. “Listen, I—”

“Mister!” the boy interrupted, his tone insistent as he grabbed Arthur’s sleeve and gave it a tug. “It’s real easy! Miss Harper says anyone can draw if they give it a shot.”

“Miss Harper?” Arthur repeated, glancing toward the woman now, who was crouched by another child and hadn’t yet noticed the commotion. He was about to gently extricate himself when the boy cupped his hands around his mouth and called out loudly.

“Miss Harper! This man says he can’t draw!”

Arthur groaned inwardly as several heads turned in his direction, including hers. The woman straightened, brushing her hands on her skirt as she approached, her expression curious. Her eyes—clear as a mountain stream—locked onto his, and for a moment, he felt rooted to the spot.

“Oh, now, don’t be shy,” she said with a smile that held both warmth and mischief. “We’ve always got room for one more.”

Arthur shifted awkwardly, one hand scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t think I’d be much good with all that,” he muttered, his voice gruff.

“Nonsense,” she replied, gesturing to an empty spot on the grass. “Art’s not about being good. It’s about trying. Besides, I’m sure the kids would love to have you join us.”

“Yeah, mister! Draw somethin’!” the freckled boy chimed in, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve again.

Arthur sighed, glancing between the boy and the woman, whose expectant gaze didn’t waver. He opened his mouth to protest once more, but the boy’s grin widened as he thrust a piece of paper and a bit of charcoal into Arthur’s hands.

“Here! Just try it!” the boy said.

With a resigned shake of his head, Arthur relented, muttering under his breath as he lowered himself onto the grass. The woman’s smile softened, and she crouched beside him, her presence unexpectedly calming.

“Here,” she said, demonstrating a quick, simple outline of a horse. “Just start with basic shapes. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Arthur’s first attempt was, in his opinion, a disaster. The horse he drew looked more like a lopsided mule, and the weight of so many curious eyes made his hands feel clumsier than usual. He wasn’t used to drawing where anyone could see—his journal was a private refuge, where lines flowed easier without the pressure of an audience. Here, under watchful gazes, it felt like every flaw was magnified. He half-expected the kids to burst out laughing. But when he glanced up, he found the woman studying his sketch with a soft smile.

“It’s got character,” she said. “And look at how strong those lines are. You’ve got a steady hand.”

“You don’t have to lie,” Arthur replied, his voice tinged with self-deprecating humor.

She laughed, a sound that made something in his chest loosen. “I’m not. Art’s about expression, not perfection. And you’ve got plenty of expression here.”

By the end of the lesson, Arthur’s initial awkwardness had faded, replaced by a reluctant sort of enjoyment. The children’s chatter and the woman’s easygoing demeanor had a way of disarming him, and he found himself lingering longer than he’d intended. As the children began to pack up their supplies, she turned to him with a curious tilt of her head.

“Thank you for joining us,” she said. “I don’t think I caught your name.”

“Arthur, Arthur Morgan,” he replied, adjusting his hat, his voice faltering slightly.

“Well, Arthur, it was a pleasure having you in class. You’ve got an artist’s spirit, whether you realize it or not.”

He snorted softly, brushing a hand over the brim of his hat. “Don’t think anyone’s ever accused me of that before.”

She smiled warmly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. There was a kindness in her face, a softness that felt out of place in a world that seemed to grow harder by the day. “Well, there’s a first time for everything. I’m Miss Harper, by the way. If you’re ever in town again, feel free to stop by. We’re always here on Wednesdays.”

Arthur nodded, tipping his hat politely, but before he turned to leave, his gaze lingered on her for a moment longer. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, he noticed. Her hands, pale and delicate, bore faint smudges of charcoal, a small testament to her craft. Her dress was simple but well-made, the soft blue fabric catching the sunlight in a way that reminded him of clear summer skies. A loose strand of hair had slipped from her bun, framing her face in a way that made her look younger, almost carefree.

She didn’t seem like the sort who belonged to a place like this—Willoughby Creek, with its rough edges and tired faces. She carried herself differently, with a quiet confidence and a grace that made Arthur feel a little self-conscious of his own mud-splattered boots and worn clothes.

“Take care, Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice pulling him from his thoughts.

“You too, Miss Harper,” he replied, his voice rougher than he intended.

As he walked back to his horse, he could feel her eyes on him, and for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down, that thought stirred something unfamiliar in him—something cautious, but not unpleasant.

When he swung into the saddle, he hesitated for a moment, his gaze drifting back toward the park. The sound of children’s laughter carried on the breeze, mingling with the faint rustle of leaves. Miss Harper was crouched beside a young boy now, showing him how to hold a piece of charcoal properly. She laughed at something the boy said, her head tilting back slightly, her expression open and genuine.

Arthur scratched at the back of his neck, feeling an odd warmth creeping over him. It wasn’t like him to pay much attention to anyone, let alone a schoolteacher in a quiet little town he had no real reason to linger in. Yet, as he turned his horse toward the trail, he couldn’t help glancing back once more.

The memory of her smile stuck with him, as did the image of her standing there with the sun framing her like some kind of picture. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt a flicker of something he couldn’t quite name—something warm and unsteady, like the first rays of dawn breaking through the dark.

And as he rode away from Willoughby Creek, he found himself wondering if, perhaps, he might take a little longer to pass through next time.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The ride back to camp was quiet, the sun dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the trail. The gentle clop of his horse’s hooves and the occasional rustle of the trees were the only sounds accompanying him. Arthur kept his eyes on the road ahead, but his mind drifted back to Willoughby Creek, to the park, and to Miss Harper.

It wasn’t often someone stuck with him like that. Most folks he passed through towns barely left an impression. But her, with her calm voice and that unshakable, easy smile, had rooted herself in his mind like an itch he couldn’t quite scratch.

By the time he reached camp, the sun had sunk below the horizon, leaving the sky awash in hues of deep blue and purple. The gang was scattered about, some gathered around the fire, others tucked away in their tents. Arthur exchanged a few nods and muttered greetings but made a beeline for his own tent. He wasn’t in the mood for conversation, not with the thoughts stirring in his head.

Once inside, he lit the small lantern on his makeshift desk and pulled out his journal. The leather-bound book felt familiar in his hands, the pages worn and filled with the fragments of his life—sketches, musings, and bits of poetry he’d never admit to writing. It was his way of making sense of the world, of keeping a piece of himself in a life that seemed to take more than it gave.

He flipped to a fresh page and began writing, his hand moving slowly at first.

“Passed through Willoughby Creek today. Nice enough place. Kids were laughing in the park. Seemed like the kind of town that don’t see much trouble, at least not yet. Met someone too. A teacher. Miss Harper. She said I had an artist’s spirit. Can’t say I know what she meant by that, but she weren’t mocking me, I think. Funny how some folks can see something in you that you don’t see in yourself. Maybe she was just being kind.”

He paused, tapping the pencil against the page. His jaw tightened as he stared at the words. It felt strange to put her down in writing, like it made the memory of her more solid, more real. With a quiet huff, he set the pencil to the side, rubbing the back of his neck.

But instead of closing the journal, his fingers lingered, his mind drifting back to the way she’d looked, standing in the park with the sun on her dress. Without thinking, he reached for the pencil again, the movements of his hand slower, more deliberate this time.

The lines came hesitantly at first—a curve of her face, the loose strand of hair, the faint crinkles around her eyes when she smiled. Arthur wasn’t much for portraits, but there was something about trying to capture her that made him focus in a way he hadn’t in a long time. The memory of her dress, that soft blue, kept coming back to him, and he shaded in the folds, the light catching just so.

When he finally sat back, hours must’ve passed. His fingers ached, and the lantern’s light had dimmed, the flame flickering low. He stared at the page, at the image he’d sketched—a rough rendering of Miss Harper, caught mid-smile, with a faint outline of trees behind her.

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Damn fool,” he muttered to himself.

His gaze drifted to the small table beside his cot, where a worn, silver-framed photograph stood. Mary. The sight of her smile, frozen forever in that picture, made his chest ache in a way he’d grown used to but never truly stopped feeling. His calloused thumb brushed the edge of the frame, tracing the curves of her face. She had looked at him like that once too, full of hope and possibility, before it all fell apart. Before he let it fall apart.

A familiar weight settled on him, that dull ache of knowing how much he’d lost and how much of it had been his own damn fault. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat stubborn and unmoving, and set the photo back down gently. For a moment, he just stared at it, the silence of the night pressing in around him.

Then his eyes shifted back to the open journal on the desk, to the rough sketch of Miss Harper. The lines weren’t perfect, the proportions a little off, but her smile—he’d gotten that right. It was different from Mary’s, lighter somehow, like a breeze instead of a storm. It wasn’t better, he told himself—just different.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath as he studied the drawing. That ache in his chest was still there, but now it felt... tempered, softer, like a wound starting to scab over. For the first time in what felt like forever, the thought of tomorrow didn’t feel quite so heavy.

And just before he drifted off, he thought again of Miss Harper’s laugh, of the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just another shadow passing through. For the first time in a long while, Arthur felt the edges of hope creeping into the corners of his mind. And he didn’t hate it.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

The days passed in the usual rhythm of camp life—chaotic and loud when it needed to be, quiet and tense when it wasn’t. Thursday came and went with a botched supply run outside of Blackwater that ended in an argument over who’d gotten the directions wrong. Friday blurred into a long, cold ride through the mountains with Hosea, chasing down a lead on a gang of highwaymen. By Saturday, Arthur was back at camp, fixing a broken wagon wheel while Dutch rambled about their next big score.

Life didn’t slow down, not for a moment. Yet, in the quiet spaces between the noise, Arthur found his mind wandering back to Willoughby Creek. To her.

It wasn’t deliberate, at least not at first. He’d catch himself thinking about the way her hands moved as she worked, smudged with charcoal but still delicate, or the way the sunlight had lit up her hair, catching on the loose strands.

He’d been cleaning his gun Thursday night when the memory of her voice drifted in, unbidden. “You’ve got an artist’s spirit.” He’d chuckled softly to himself, shaking his head, but the words lingered. What had she seen in him that made her say that? Surely not the man he was now, the man who spent his days riding hard and his nights drowning out the sound of his own thoughts.

On Friday, during a break in the ride with Hosea, Arthur had found himself idly sketching in the dirt with a stick while they rested. The lines he drew made no sense, but his hand kept repeating shapes he didn’t notice until later—curves like the hem of a dress, the outline of a tree, even the faintest hint of a smile. Hosea had teased him about looking distracted, but Arthur just grunted in reply and went back to saddling his horse.

By Saturday afternoon, as he worked on the wagon wheel, he caught himself staring off into the distance. It was a fleeting thing, just a moment of stillness in the midst of camp chaos, but in that quiet, he wasn’t in camp at all. He was back in Willoughby Creek, standing under the shade of those trees, hearing the laughter of children and watching her crouched beside a boy, guiding his hand as he drew.

“Arthur! You listening to me?” Dutch’s voice snapped him back, sharp and impatient.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, shaking himself out of it. “I’m listenin’.”

As the days passed, Arthur tried to push the thought of her from his mind. There was work to be done, things to keep him occupied—patrolling, hunting, keeping an eye on the camp. But in the back of his mind, she lingered, like a quiet hum, always present.

Monday morning found him sharpening his knife by the fire, his thoughts drifting once again to Willoughby Creek. He wondered if the park was still the same, if the children still laughed and ran through the grass. His hand paused mid-motion as he remembered how she’d looked at him, so calm and steady, and how he’d felt like just another drifter passing through. Yet, something about the way she hadn’t turned away when he spoke to her, how she’d seemed interested, had made him feel... noticed.

The sound of a twig snapping nearby brought him back to the present. He glanced up, seeing John and Bill coming back from the river with supplies. Arthur gave them a quick nod, but his mind was elsewhere. His hand returned to the knife, but it wasn’t the blade he was focused on. He found himself absentmindedly carving small, jagged shapes into the wood. Faint outlines of trees and curves that looked a lot like the one he’d seen on her dress.

Tuesday came, and with it, another long ride out to check on the progress of a deal with a neighboring gang. Arthur kept his focus on the job at hand, but as the hours passed, he couldn’t help but feel the distance between himself and the men he rode with. Their conversations felt distant, like noise he couldn’t quite tune into. The laughter, the insults, the stories of past misdeeds—none of it really reached him. He was there, but not fully.

He found himself scanning the landscape, the sparse trees, and distant hills, as if searching for something—or someone—that wasn’t part of the life he had. His mind was somewhere else, half-wishing he were back on that road to Willoughby Creek, wondering if she might be walking down the street, or sitting in the park again, perhaps drawing quietly in the afternoon sun.

By the time Wednesday rolled around, Arthur could feel the weight of it, the pull in his chest. The thought of returning to Willoughby Creek was on his mind constantly, as if his body had already decided. He told himself he was just passing through, that there was no harm in a quick stop—just another day of rest on a long journey.

But deep down, something had shifted. He wasn’t sure if it was the pull of her smile, or the way she’d spoken to him, or the feeling that there might still be something good left in the world for someone like him. But he knew he couldn’t keep pushing it aside.

The morning light on Wednesday was crisp, and the air smelled different—fresher, almost. He saddled his horse with the usual motions, but this time, they felt deliberate. There was a purpose in his steps that hadn’t been there before.

As the camp began to stir with activity, Arthur rode out, his mind already miles ahead, heading toward Willoughby Creek once more.

He didn’t know what he was looking for, exactly, or if he would even find her there. But the thought of seeing her again, of hearing her voice, filled him with a nervous anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

And for the first time in days, his heart beat with something resembling hope. He didn’t know where it would lead, or if he would regret it. But for now, he was content to let that small, foolish hope guide him toward something he couldn’t quite name.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────° The ride was long, the familiar landscape blurring past him, but Arthur felt none of the usual impatience. His mind wasn’t occupied with the weight of the past or the worry of what the future might bring. Instead, it was filled with thoughts of Willoughby Creek, the sound of children’s laughter, and the faint memory of her smile. Each mile felt like an unwritten story, one he wasn’t sure he was ready to live—but it was pulling him in anyway.

As the afternoon wore on, the town’s silhouette finally appeared in the distance. It looked just as he remembered—quiet, unassuming, with the same rows of buildings, the same dusty streets, and the same park tucked at the heart of it. The closer he got, the more he felt a strange flutter in his chest, like a bird trapped in a cage, beating against the bars. He’d come here once before, without much thought or expectation. But now…

Arthur slowed his horse as he rode into the heart of the town, giving the familiar buildings a cursory glance. His heart rate picked up as he approached the park, the place where he had met her. The children were still there, running around in the sun, their laughter filling the air. But he was looking for something else.

He dismounted, the soft thud of his boots hitting the ground drowned out by the noise of the bustling park. Arthur scanned the area, his gaze landing on the familiar figures of mothers, fathers, and townsfolk, but not her.

For a moment, he considered leaving, just turning around and heading back to camp. It wasn’t like he’d promised anything—hell, he hadn’t even told her he was coming back. But something told him he had to stay, even if it was just for a little while longer.

And then, as if by fate, there she was.

Miss Harper was standing near the edge of the park, crouched down beside a child, guiding his hand as he drew. Her soft blue dress fluttered in the wind, and her hair—loose and wild in the breeze—seemed to shimmer like sunlight through the trees. For a moment, Arthur just stood there, watching her, feeling the weight of something both familiar and foreign stir inside him. He hadn’t expected to feel this nervous, to feel his heart race like it did when he was face-to-face with something he wanted but didn’t know how to reach.

She looked up, her eyes catching his almost immediately. A soft gasp escaped her lips, quickly followed by a tentative smile.

“Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice warm and surprised. “I didn’t expect to see you again.”

For a moment, Arthur couldn’t find his words. He’d imagined this moment a hundred times over the past week, but now that it was here, he felt strangely tongue-tied. He cleared his throat, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other.

“Didn’t mean to surprise ya,” he said gruffly, scratching the back of his neck. “Figured I’d pass through.”

She smiled again, and it was like a weight had been lifted off his chest. “Well, I’m glad you did.” She gestured to the empty space beside her. “I’m just showing this young man how to make a proper tree. You’re welcome to join us.”

Arthur glanced at the child she was speaking to, a boy no older than eight or nine, holding a piece of chalk in his small hand. He looked up at Arthur with wide eyes before quickly looking back to Miss Harper.

“I’m no artist,” Arthur muttered, his gaze flicking back to Miss Harper, who raised an eyebrow playfully.

“Not yet,” she said, her voice light, teasing. “Come on. I already know you have a steady hand.”

Arthur hesitated, but the offer was genuine, and the warmth in her eyes made him take a step forward. He crouched down beside them, his large hands seeming out of place beside the small child, but he did as she asked, picking up a piece of chalk and tracing the outline of a tree on the pavement. It was simple, nothing special—but it was enough.

For a long while, they worked in silence. The child drew beside them, occasionally looking up at Arthur’s rough attempt at a tree and giggling. Miss Harper’s soft voice would occasionally offer guidance, and Arthur found himself listening to her without realizing it. Her words, like everything else about her, seemed to settle into him, easy and natural, like the feeling of home he hadn’t known he’d been missing.

The peace between them stretched on, the quiet hum of the afternoon blending with the sound of chalk on stone. Arthur’s mind was surprisingly clear, filled only with the image of the tree he’d drawn—a simple, crooked line, but something about it felt... right. He caught himself smiling, despite his usual grimness. It was easy here, in this moment, with her, surrounded by children and the laughter that filled the air.

But just as he thought he might finally relax, a voice cut through the air, sharp and unwelcome.

“That’s enough, Miss Harper.”

Arthur’s hand froze mid-stroke, the chalk slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground. He glanced up, his brow furrowing as a man in a long coat and flat cap approached them, his gaze fixed firmly on Miss Harper. The man was stocky, his chest puffed out like he carried the weight of the world, and his tone was anything but friendly.

Miss Harper looked up, her smile faltering just slightly. “Excuse me, sir?”

The man jabbed a finger toward the group of children, his face contorting in a mix of disdain and authority. “It’s improper, you know,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “For a woman like you to be out here, teaching them... especially teaching these girls. It’s one thing for them to learn how to read a bit of writing, but this—this nonsense, drawing and such—is no place for a lady.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened at the man’s words, something dark flickering in his chest. He could feel his muscles tensing, ready to rise and say something, but Miss Harper was already speaking, her voice calm but firm.

“I’m not teaching them nonsense,” she replied, standing up straight, her gaze unwavering. “I’m teaching them to create, to express themselves. There’s nothing improper about that.”

The man’s face twisted with outrage. “It’s unnatural,” he spat. “A woman’s place is in the home, not out here, teaching this kind of thing to young girls. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Miss Harper.”

Arthur’s hand clenched into a fist at his side, his eyes narrowing on the man. He knew the type—men who thought they had the world figured out, who believed they knew their place and everyone else’s. This wasn’t a man who saw women as anything more than tools for family and housework. It burned in Arthur’s gut, seeing her challenged like this, in front of the children who looked up to her.

But Miss Harper didn’t back down. Her voice was steady, though there was an edge to it. “You’ll have to excuse me, sir, but I don’t believe I asked for your opinion. I’m teaching them what they deserve to know. You’d do well to mind your business.” She glanced over at the children, her expression softening. “Now, go on, all of you. Let’s finish this tree.”

Arthur could feel the tension crackling in the air, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. But he admired her, how she stood her ground, her face resolute and calm even as the man’s anger bubbled up.

“Now you listen here—” the man started, stepping closer, his voice rising.

Arthur stood up slowly, the ground beneath him seeming to settle into place with each movement. He had no particular desire to get involved in this kind of fight, but something in him bristled, instinctively wanting to defend her.

“Is there a problem here, sir?” Arthur asked, his voice low, but unmistakably firm.

The man turned to face him, sizing him up, his eyes narrowing at the sight of Arthur’s broad shoulders and the unmistakable presence he carried. There was a moment’s pause, the man seemingly calculating whether or not to escalate things.

“I’m merely stating a fact, friend,” the man said, taking a step back, his bravado faltering slightly as he looked up at Arthur. “A woman has no business doing such things.” He shot a venomous glance at Miss Harper. “It’s a shame. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, teaching these girls such ideas.”

Arthur took a step forward, his hand hovering near his hip where his gun rested, just a reminder of who was standing here with him. “You’re mistaken,” Arthur said quietly, a cold edge to his voice. “Now you best be moving along, rather than standin' around, talkin’ down to women like you seem to enjoy doin’.”

The man’s eyes flickered to Arthur’s hand as it rested near his hip, a subtle but unmistakable warning. His bravado faltered for a moment, the cocky expression twisting into one of irritation as he took a half-step back. He seemed to reconsider his position, no longer willing to push things too far with a man who clearly wasn’t one to back down.

“Fine,” the man muttered, his voice dripping with venom. “I’ll go, but mark my words, Miss Harper—this isn’t over. A woman has no business teachin’ those girls how to think for themselves. I’ll see to it that someone puts a stop to it.” He shot a final look of contempt at her, eyes narrowing, then turned sharply on his heel and walked away, his heavy footsteps leaving a trail of tension in the air.

Arthur watched him go, his jaw clenched tight, but he didn’t say anything more. The man wasn’t worth the trouble, and Miss Harper didn’t need any more of his nonsense. She stood silently for a moment, the weight of the encounter pressing down on her, but she didn’t let it break her. Arthur could see that, see how she straightened her shoulders and took a breath, as if shaking off the shadow the man had tried to cast.

“Don’t worry about him,” Arthur said, his voice softer now, though the edge of anger was still present, a remnant of the tension in his chest. “He’s just talk.”

She glanced over at him, her eyes meeting his with a small, appreciative smile. “Aren't they all?,” she said quietly, though there was a subtle tightness in her tone. “Doesn’t make it any easier, though.”

Arthur nodded, his hand shifting away from his hip and resting at his side. He didn’t know what else to say. The kind of world they lived in—where women had to constantly fight for respect, just for being who they were—was one he didn’t fully understand, not like she did. But he could see it now, the quiet toll it took on her, the way she had to pick herself up every time someone tried to put her down.

She sighed, looking back at the children who were still drawing, their laughter slowly returning to the air. “Thank you for stepping in,” she added, her voice softer now. “You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the moment pressing in. “I don’t take kindly to men talkin’ to women like that,” he said, his tone steady but firm. “You don’t deserve that.”

She smiled, a small but genuine curve of her lips that eased some of the tension between them. “Well, I appreciate it all the same. But you’re right—he’s not worth dwelling on. I’ve dealt with far worse.”

Arthur watched her closely, his gaze lingering on the way she carried herself, her shoulders squared, her face steady even after the man had left. There was a quiet strength in her, but it wasn’t the kind that he imagined she wanted to wear all the time. But what if she didn’t have to? What if she didn’t have to face it all alone, shoulder to shoulder with the weight of every fight?

The thought lingered in his mind as he shifted on his feet, watching her interact with the children, a soft smile lingering on her lips. There was something about the way she carried herself, like she was always poised, ready to meet any challenge head-on. But in the quiet moments, when the world wasn’t pushing in on her, she seemed so different. He wanted to see more of that side—the one that wasn’t always hardened by the world’s cruelty. The one that wasn’t always on guard.

Before he could dwell on it for too long, he felt her hand on his arm, a soft touch, delicate but warm. Her fingers rested there for a brief moment, and it was like the weight of everything else faded away. She looked up at him with a kind smile, her eyes reflecting gratitude, something soft and sincere in her gaze.

“Thank you again, Mister Morgan,” she said quietly, her voice gentle. “I truly appreciate it. You didn’t have to step in, but I’m glad you did.”

The simplicity of the gesture—the warmth in her touch—struck him more than he expected. For a moment, he felt his heart skip, something unexpected stirring in his chest. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, especially not this close. His breath caught, and for a split second, he forgot how to breathe properly. His chest tightened, the way it did when he was caught off guard, like the world had tilted slightly on its axis and he hadn’t quite found his balance again.

He blinked, caught off guard by the sudden rush of warmth flooding his cheeks. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but the words tangled in his throat, slipping away before he could form them properly. His usual gruffness, his tough exterior, suddenly felt inadequate. It wasn’t like he was a man who stumbled for words, but in front of her, with the gentleness of her touch and the softness of her gaze, he found himself out of his depth.

He shifted on his feet, his hand moving slightly as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it. His fingers twitched at his sides, the calluses from years of hard work suddenly feeling like they didn’t quite belong. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, trying to find his footing again, but the warmth of her touch lingered, a constant presence that made him feel oddly exposed, yet strangely... safe.

“Ah… uh… yeah. Nothin’ to thank me for,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, a little quieter too, like he was unsure of how to match the softness she was giving him. “I just... I don’t like seein’ people talk to ya like that.”

His words came out a little jumbled, as if his mind wasn’t quite catching up with his mouth. He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the awkwardness that had crept into his chest. But it didn’t help. He still felt that strange flutter in his stomach, like he’d forgotten how to be around someone who didn’t look at him with suspicion, or fear, or just plain indifference.

She smiled again, a soft, understanding smile that only seemed to make him feel even more flustered. Arthur’s gaze dropped briefly, looking anywhere but directly at her face, though he could still feel the weight of her attention on him.

“Mister Morgan,” she said, her voice light and reassuring, “you’re a good man. I appreciate it more than you know.” Her hand lingered just a moment longer, a light touch on his arm before she gently pulled it back, though the warmth of it stayed, as if it had seeped into his very bones.

“Just don’t make a habit of it,” Arthur mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck again, his mind still racing as he tried to regain some sense of normalcy. “Steppin’ in for folks. Ain’t my place, and I... I ain’t no hero.”

She chuckled softly, and the sound was like music to his ears. He risked a glance up at her, seeing the twinkle in her eye, the gentle amusement that softened her features even more.

“I think you’re more of a hero than you give yourself credit for,” she teased, her voice light and playful, but with that same quiet sincerity. “Least, today, you can be my hero.”

Arthur’s heart thumped in his chest, and he suddenly realized he couldn’t quite remember how to stand properly. His hands shifted at his sides, his boots scuffing the ground beneath him, and he gave her a sheepish look—something close to a nervous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. His mind wandered just briefly, noticing how her presence felt calming in ways he hadn’t expected. She had a soft scent to her, like wildflowers mixed with the faintest trace of lavender, and it lingered in the air around him as she stood so close. He wasn’t sure how he’d never noticed it before, but now it was almost impossible not to.

He blinked, his thoughts scattering a bit. It wasn’t just that though. There was something about the way she moved, the gentle fluidity in her motions, like the world around her didn’t need to be rushed. The way her hair framed her face, soft curls catching the light in a way that made him want to reach out and touch it—though he didn’t, of course.

"Maybe..." he said, his voice a little lower than usual, unsure of the weight of her words but feeling a strange warmth spread across his chest all the same. "Maybe just a little bit."

He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, but the smile that tugged at his lips remained, a little hesitant, a little shy, as though he was still trying to figure out what exactly it meant to be someone’s hero. The quiet joy in her gaze, the way her words hung between them, was enough to leave him feeling like he was standing on shaky ground—but for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t a feeling he minded.

Arthur stood there, still a little off balance from the strange warmth she’d ignited in him with just a few words and a simple touch. He had always been good at keeping his distance, but right now, with her standing so close, it felt like the world had suddenly gotten a little softer. Her presence was something he didn’t know how to handle, but he was starting to like the feeling of it.

When the moment stretched on, and the air seemed to hum with something unsaid, he cleared his throat, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the quiet fluttering in his chest. He looked over toward the path leading back to town, where the shadows were beginning to stretch long, the light fading as the sun dipped lower. The thought of her walking alone, that man possibly still lingering somewhere in the back of her mind, didn’t sit well with him.

"You know..." Arthur started, scratching the back of his neck, unsure of how exactly to word it. "I’d be happy to walk you home, Miss Harper. Don’t think I want that man bothering you again." He glanced at her, offering a quick but genuine smile. "I reckon you’ve got enough to deal with without folks like him getting in your way."

The suggestion felt strange coming from him—like he was trying to do something good, even if it didn’t come naturally. But it was the right thing to do. Besides, he found himself wanting to keep her safe, to make sure she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone, not when he could help.

He shifted on his boots, suddenly aware of how clumsy his words had sounded, and he added, “If you don’t mind the company, of course.”

Miss Harper regarded him for a moment, her gaze soft but searching, as if weighing his offer. Arthur shifted on his feet, suddenly self-conscious of the silence stretching between them. He didn’t know what he expected—maybe her to turn him down politely or give him a teasing remark, but when she finally spoke, her voice was warm, thoughtful.

"I’d like that," she said, her eyes meeting his with a quiet sincerity that made his chest feel a little lighter. "I appreciate the offer. I really do."

Arthur felt a small, relieved smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He nodded, more to himself than anything, before turning slightly toward the path that led out of the park. His steps were a little slower than usual, like he was reluctant to rush this, but at the same time, he felt a strange sense of rightness in walking beside her, not as a guard or a protector, but just... as two people sharing a quiet walk home.

They fell into step beside each other, a comfortable silence wrapping around them. The distant chatter of the children, still lingering in the park, faded as they walked away from the lively scene, the evening air growing cooler with each passing minute.

Arthur couldn’t help but glance over at her now and then, though he tried to keep his attention on the road ahead. He found himself noticing little things—the way the setting sun caught her hair, making it shimmer like gold in the last light of the day, or how the faint scent of lavender seemed to follow her with every step. It was subtle, but it was there, and for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, it made him feel like he was walking through some kind of dream.

As they neared the edge of town, where the dusty road met the outskirts, Arthur found himself thinking about how easy this felt. Like it wasn’t just a simple offer to walk her home—it was something more, something that felt right, like he was supposed to be here with her.

"So," he started, breaking the silence as he turned his gaze to the darkening horizon, trying to keep his thoughts focused on the conversation instead of how his heart seemed to be beating a little faster. "What’s it like... teaching these kids? I mean, I can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing, especially in a place like this."

He glanced over at her again, his expression curious. It wasn’t just the teaching that intrigued him—it was the way she’d handled everything, the way she’d stayed so composed even when people tried to tear her down. He wanted to know more, to understand more about her, about what made her the way she was.

Her eyes flicked toward him, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she considered his question. “It’s not always easy,” she said after a pause, her voice carrying a quiet strength that seemed to come naturally to her. “But it’s worth it. These kids, they deserve a chance to learn, to grow up knowing there’s more out there than just what’s around them.” She smiled slightly, a soft, wistful look in her eyes. “I just wish... I wish more people saw that. Saw the potential in them, in me.”

Arthur’s heart tightened at her words, and he glanced down at the dirt road beneath them. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be, always having to prove yourself to the world, to constantly be pushing against the current. He wondered what it would feel like to just be able to exist without that weight pressing down.

“You don’t have to prove a damn thing to me,” Arthur said quietly, his voice low but firm, though there was something almost tender in his tone. “Not for me, or anyone else.”

She looked at him, her expression softening, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Then, she gave him that small, quiet smile again, the one that made something flutter in his chest.

"Thank you," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “That means more than you know.”

They continued walking in comfortable silence, the night growing darker around them as the stars began to twinkle overhead. Arthur couldn’t help but feel like this was a moment he’d remember, one that was almost too peaceful, too perfect, to be real. But in that moment, he didn’t want to think about anything else—just the quiet rhythm of their steps and the warmth of her company.

As they approached the small house at the end of the road, the comforting quiet of the evening wrapped around them. The flickering light from the window illuminated the soft, rustic simplicity of the building, a humble cottage nestled against the edge of the town. Arthur slowed his steps as they neared, not wanting the walk to end. Something about it felt different—like it had meant more than just getting her safely home. The idea of saying goodbye had an unexpected weight to it.

When they reached the front gate, Arthur glanced over at her, his voice quiet but tinged with curiosity. “Well, here we are,” he said, hesitating before adding, “You got someone inside waitin’ for you?”

The question hung between them, light yet weighted, and he found himself almost bracing for her answer. He wasn’t sure why it mattered to him, but it did. His eyes flicked to the house, then back to her, wondering if he’d be handing her off to a husband or another man, someone who might look at her the way he wanted to.

Her eyes softened as she met his gaze, and there was a faint amusement in her smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes in the same way it usually did. “No,” she replied, her voice steady but not without a touch of something else, something private. “No husband.”

A small, unexpected relief flooded through him at her words. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been holding his breath until it was released. He hadn’t thought about it before, but in that moment, a part of him was grateful that there was no man waiting for her, no one to claim her, to take her away from the quiet moments they’d shared.

“Well, I—” Arthur cleared his throat, feeling a bit awkward. “I didn’t mean to... I mean, I just didn’t want to be handin’ you over to anyone. Figured if there was a man, he’d be worried, you know?”

Miss Harper’s smile softened, and she gave a little shake of her head. “I understand. But no, no one’s waiting for me.” She paused, as if considering something before her eyes met his again, this time with a hint of something more vulnerable, more sincere. “I appreciate you walking me home. I know I can handle myself, but... it’s nice to have someone watch my back, even for just a little while.”

Arthur shifted on his feet, a little caught off guard by the sincerity in her words. He opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come right away. Instead, he just nodded, his heart feeling uncharacteristically light in his chest.

“Well, you take care of yourself, Miss Harper,” he said, his voice gruff but soft, the way he always spoke when the moment felt important. “You don’t have to worry about anyone botherin’ you while I’m around.”

She gave him a small nod, her smile more knowing now, as if she saw something in him that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to acknowledge. But it was there, and it made something twist pleasantly in his gut.

“Thank you, Mister Morgan,” she said quietly, her tone full of unspoken meaning. “I’ll be alright. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, standing there in front of her small, quiet house. He wasn’t sure what to do next—whether he should say something else, or just leave it at that.

As they neared the small wooden porch, Arthur’s boots scuffed softly against the gravel path, and the quiet hum of the evening seemed to press in around them. They were standing at the base of the steps now, and without thinking, Arthur found himself stepping forward, his hand reaching out toward her.

"Here, let me help you," he said, his voice a little rough as his fingers hovered near her elbow.

She glanced at him in surprise, then down at his outstretched hand, her brows furrowing slightly, but there was a softness in her eyes that made something in him tighten. He hadn’t even realized what he was doing—he just knew he wanted to offer her something, some small gesture to make sure she got inside safe and sound.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how ridiculous it might seem, but her smile, warm and gentle, eased the awkwardness in him.

“That’s kind of you,” she said quietly, her voice soft, like she wasn’t sure what to make of the simple act of him offering his hand. But without hesitation, she placed her hand in his, the warmth of her fingers sending a strange spark through him.

He helped her up the steps, not saying a word, but somehow it felt like the simplest, most natural thing in the world. He was conscious of the way her hand fit in his, the way her presence seemed to fill the quiet space between them, the sound of her soft breath just beneath the night sky.

When they reached the top, she paused, turning to face him with a small, appreciative smile. “Thank you,” she said, her eyes meeting his, and there was something in them, something unspoken that made Arthur’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t understand.

“Don’t mention it,” Arthur muttered, his heart beating a little faster than it should, his hand lingering just a moment longer than necessary before he pulled it back. “Just don’t go doin’ any more of that stuff, alright?”

She chuckled softly, a warm, genuine sound that made his heart skip a beat. “I won’t. But I’m glad you’re here. I truly am.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak for a moment, the words caught in his throat. He wasn’t used to moments like these, to soft touches and quiet smiles that lingered in the air.

"Well, you take care, Miss Harper," he finally managed to say, his voice a little rougher than usual, and as she stepped back into the doorway, he turned away, his mind buzzing with all the things he hadn’t said. As the door closed behind her, he hesitated, standing there for just a moment longer, before turning and heading back down the path.

Arthur walked a few paces away from the porch, his boots making steady crunching sounds against the gravel. He kept his gaze forward, not daring to look back. But the feeling in his chest, the strange warmth in his blood, refused to let him go. His heart thumped against his ribs like a wild thing, and the heat of her hand, where it had briefly touched his, still lingered on his fingers, as if it had somehow settled deep into his bones.

He finally came to a stop, his boots shifting slightly as he rubbed a hand over his face, the same hand that had touched hers. A low, frustrated groan escaped him, more from the feeling than the words he couldn’t quite manage to say out loud.

"Goddamn it," he muttered, shaking his head as he dropped his hand back to his side. His breath was a little unsteady, like he couldn’t quite catch it. He could still smell her—something sweet, something soft and natural, mixing with the crisp evening air. And for some godforsaken reason, it made his blood feel hot, too hot for the night.

His fingers twitched, like they were still waiting for her touch to return, and the thought of it made him grit his teeth. "What the hell’s wrong with me?" he grumbled to the night, kicking a small stone in frustration. His mind raced, chasing around the moments of the evening, the way her smile had made his chest tighten, the way her touch had felt like the most natural thing in the world and somehow, still, the most terrifying.

He stood there for a long minute, breathing deeply, his thoughts tangled with the heat in his blood, trying to make sense of it.

Finally, he gave a low, frustrated sigh and turned away from the house, his steps more purposeful now, though the unease in his chest lingered like a shadow.

One thing was for sure—he was far from done thinking about her.

°─────────────────°•❀•°─────────────────°

I haven’t edited this yet, but I’ve been craving to write something sweet and different from Bleed, Survive, Remember. I wrote until I was happy and giggling about it, and I’m excited to see where it goes. I’ll make sure to edit it later!

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #arthur morgan

79 notes · View notes

fictionaire · 9 months ago

Text

Dad

Arthur finds out some news when he returns from a hunting trip.

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

You sat by the water at the new camp in Clemens Point. The gang had found the spot a few days ago and decided it was better than dewberry creek and more secluded. Setup had finally completed this afternoon so everyone was taking a much needed break.

Jack was a few feet away from you, barefoot in the sand trying to find some rocks for Abigail.

"Look aunt (y/n)" He said and held up a small, pinkish-red rock with white spots.

"She's gonna love that one, Jack"

He walked over to the pile of about twenty rocks that he had been collecting for over an hour. Almost every one he had would be "perfect for mama"

You took a sip of the coffee mug that had been sitting at your side, staring over the water as the sun began to set.

"Jack!" Abigail shouted, "Time for supper"

Jack's eyes lit up and he stuffed all the rocks he had collected in his overall pocket, running over to his mama and grabbing her hand.

"Thanks for keepin' an eye on him, (y/n)"

"Anytime" You hollered back.

For a while you sat in silence, watching the sun slowly make its way down under the horizon. You turned around when you heard footsteps making their way towards you, seeing Arthur approaching.

"How was the hunt?" You asked.

He had gone with Javier and Charles to catch game since the camp was running low.

"Caught a couple deer and some rabbits." He said, sitting down on the log next to you. "Should last us a few days."

You looked off towards the water, thinking about your life before you stumbled into the gang. During the shootout in Blackwater you almost died, taking a bullet to your thigh but you managed to pull through.

Shortly after that Arthur had proposed and Reverend Swanson married the two of you at Horseshoe Overlook.

You looked down at the sapphire ring on your finger that he had gotten from a jewelry store in Valentine.

"Do you ever think about kids?" Arthur asked you, popping the cap off a beer bottle he grabbed.

"Yeah, sometimes." You replied. moving from the log to the ground and leaning against it, taking off your hat and setting it beside you. "Why, do you?"

"I find myself thinking about it more and more these days as I watch Jack grow up each day." He says as he shifts the position he is sitting "I think about Isaac sometimes and how much I missed in the short time he was alive. I wish I could have been there to stop the robbers. Neither of them deserved what happened to them."

You looked up at him as his gaze stood over the horizon, the night creeping in by the second. You placed a hand on his knee.

"There wasn't anything you could have done."

"Maybe, maybe not." He took a swig of the beer, sighing after he swallowed.

"Well, maybe you will get another chance." You said, turning your head towards him and resting a hand on your abdomen.

He looked down at your hand placement and then up into your eyes. "Are you.. Are you pregnant?"

You grin up at him, "I think so. I asked Abigail what it felt like when she was first pregnant with Jack and I feel the same way she did."

Arthur stood up, throwing his beer to the side and pulled you up with him, hugging you tightly.

Tears flowed from your eyes freely, and you couldn't stop them as much as you tried.

"Well, let's keep it quiet for a while, darlin'" You said, pulling back from his strong embrace.

"Alright. Damn, I love you (y/n)."

"I love you too."

#rdr2 #rdr2 arthur #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x y/n #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #javier escuella #abigail roberts #jack marston

114 notes · View notes

redquackredemption · 3 months ago

Note

Hello cat! I have a request!! This is silly omg.. but could you write something with Hosea Matthews comforting reader? (So im thinking a kinda angsty but then comfort and fluff?? Reader is male teen, and Hosea is like "oh no poor kid, father figure mode on" (I hope this aint cringe, but ive been having a rough week and Hosea is nr 1 comfort caracter)

My main idea for how the story goes is pretty much, at campfire, Hosea realized kid is gone, oh no, looks for kid, finds them hidden somewhere very upset, talks, " its going to be okay"

(its 1899 what is a panic attack?? also overstimulation never heard of that)

something like that!! but you have the reins on this one!

[Anyways thank you, hope you have a great day!!] ‼️‼️

A/N: This one was really awesome to write actually TT it was super sweet and i hope u enjoy it <3

Hosea Comforts You (m!reader)

•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

Spare thyme, a sprinkle of salt—Hosea lays down the fillet of bluegill, a satisfying sizzle and smell of fish wafting from where it cooks. He promised you a good dinner for your birthday, and he's gonna give it to you.

He flips the fish, squeezes some lemon. More sizzling, and a side of canned green beans, sweetened with sugar, are laid down on a clean dish. There's a fine dinner for a fine lad. Now's to find him—

Hosea stands, calling your name. By your tent, crickets. Certainly not by the campfires. You're not even at your usual spot under one of the shady trees overlooking camp. It's too late to have gone out of camp, especially for that kid. "Abigail," he calls, strolling over with the fish in hand. "You seen the boy?"

She glances up from her sewing, clear-sky gaze zeroing in on him and the plate in his hands. "That for him? Sure, he was out by the horses last I saw."

"Thank you, Miss Roberts."

That's that. If you're by the horses, chances are you're grooming Lucky. Maybe feeding him another one of those apples you can't help but sneak into your pockets every time you tag along to Valentine. That's how they found you, after all. Huddled under the gallows, clutching a bag close while the shopkeeper in Blackwater searched high and low for a street rat and his prize of a measly two apples. Dutch ended up paying for those while Hosea talked you down and searched for Lucky with you.

Those were good days. Still are good days, despite it all. Hosea calls your name again once he reaches the outskirts of the camp. Nothing—save for the babbling of a creek nearby, and a gasping whimper. "Hh....ah....ghh—"

Hosea pauses. He knows what a nervous fit sounds like from miles away. And there you are, huddled behind a tree, palms digging into your eyes as you exchange quick breaths with the frigid night air. "Hey, kid," Hosea calls. "You—"

You shake your head. At what, you don't know. At everything, perhaps. Trying to patch yourself together by clutching at your own hair, one hand reaching for your chest—God, why can't you breathe?

"Breathe, son," Hosea murmurs beside you, as if it's the easiest thing in the world to do. "Look, do it with me. Son?"

He demonstrates. In, out, and in, and then out again—and as much as you try to force your body to obey, it panics like a feral animal, scrambling and scratching for the air it doesn't realize it already has.

And then it fades. You're alive again, only just.

"Hos—Hosea," You whimper, tears hitching your voice. God, a goddamn kid again, helpless and sniveling, so easy to burn like the trash you are. Those words, those fateful words press against your lips, the ultimate treason. "I'm—I'm s-scared."

Hosea, maybe he remembers what that's like. "That's it," he croons. "You're doing just fine, son. Gotta let it pass." The flat of his palm presses to your back, and you shudder, the tears sinking into the roots beneath your feet. 'Round Hosea, you reckon anything could be made alright.

"Good lad," He murmurs once your face has dried, your breathing evened. "Ain't nothing gonna hurt you. None of us are fixin' to kick you out, now, we picked you up and brought you 'long for a reason. You're a good kid. We're gonna make it out of here, go west...West of this mess. We'll be alright."

You cling to him like a babe to his mother, no shame befalling you. Nor should there be. Hosea's hand pats the back of your head, a warm embrace to remind you that you will forever fall back into someone's welcome arms. Then, the smell of food pervades your senses. "Good. Now, how ‘bout we get you somethin’ warm in that belly of yours?" Hosea nudges the plate toward you. "Made you a fine dinner. Can’t let it go cold, now. Happy birthday, son." The fish is crisp, the green beans lightly sweet, and a perfect contrast to the salt of fish. It's a good birthday meal, in addition to that bound journal Arthur got you, and the crown of flowers Jack made you. This will pass, as everything does, you realize. Things will be okay.

•◌•◌•★•◌•◌•

Request Archive

#red dead redemption two #red dead redemption 2 #hosea matthews #hosea rdr2 #rdr2 #red dead redemption

17 notes · View notes

loverslantern · 2 years ago

Text

The Hunter and The Witch: Dean Winchester x fem! reader

description: The boys and Y/N are still looking for John Winchester, now following after the coordinate clue he left.

warnings: cannon violence, blood, death, missing persons, usage and mention of guns, cursing (i think)

tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld

word count: 6,856

Wendigo

(Masterlist/ Next Chapter)

November 10, 2005

Sam jerks awake from the passenger seat of the Impala, Dean driving while a song from the Foreigner’s plays from the radio.

“You okay?” Dean asks voice clear with concern

Sam glances at him and then away, “Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Another nightmare?” Dean asks him, but Sam doesn't answer, only clearing his throat

“You wanna drive for a while?” Dean asks instead.

I look up from my book, with a questioning look.

Sam laughs practically reading my mind, “Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.”

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” Dean brushes off.

“Awwww, Dean, you softie” I say smiling widely with a laugh.

He catches my eyes in the rear view mirror giving me a gruff “No”, but the glint in my eye doesn't go away nor does the smile on my face.

He can deny it all he wants but I know he’s a softie, it’s one of the many many things I love about him…that made me fall for him

Sam laughs, piggy backing off of my teasing, “Look, man, you're worried about me. I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.”

“Mm-hm” Dean hums, and I have to agree with him here. There’s no way Sam’s okay, his girlfriend just died in front of him in the same way his mom was killed, I don’t think anyone would be okay after that.

Sam rolls his eyes, grabbing a map from the glove department, “All right, where are we?”

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” Dean responds.

Sam folds the map, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.”

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—“ Dean reasons getting cut off by Sam

“We gotta find Dad first.”

“Dad disappearing—and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence. Dad will have answers. He'll know what to do.” Dean remarked.

“It's weird, man.These coordinates he left us. This Blackwater Ridge.” Sam points out.

“Hm? What about it?” I ask

“There's nothing there. It's just woods. Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?” Sam answers.

“Lots of things could be and or happen in the woods.” I explain just as we drive past a National Forest sign reading "Welcome to LOST CREEK COLORADO National Forest".

The Impala is parked next to a sign that says "RANGER STATION Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest". Meanwhile we’re inside, Dean looking at the decorations while I look at the trinkets around.

Sam’s being the helpful one here looking at a 3D map of the forest, “It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.” He informs.

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.” Dean calls out looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear.

“And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It's no nature hike, that's for sure.” Sam adds on looking at the photo.

“This will certainly be interesting then” I murmur, picking up a little wooden bear from a shelf holding it up for the boys to see.

“You guys aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” A Ranger says from behind the boys, both of them whipping around startled.

I put the little bear down quickly, locking my hands behind my back with a tight smile on my face.

“Oh, no, sir, we're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam covers laughing a little.

Dean grins raising a fist, “Recycle, man.”

I have to bite on the inside of my cheek to not laugh, so as to not break our cover.

“Bull” the Ranger calls, and suddenly I don’t feel like laughing.

“You're friends with that Haley girl, right?” he adds

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…Wilkinson.” Dean goes along with it.

Dean shakes his head as the Ranger goes on,

“You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will. Well that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?” Dean replied.

“That is putting it mildly.”

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.” Dean adds, clever guy.

We leave the station, Dean holding the paper he asked for laughing

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks him.

“Ew, please don’t answer that.” I groan, trying to ignore the pang that rings through my heart at the mere suggestion.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks, looking between me and Sam.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” Sam explains, rounding the car to the passenger side.

“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean reasons.

There’s a pause where no one says anything nor do we move to get into the car.

“What?” Sam asks

“Since when are you all shoot first, ask questions later, anyway?” Dean asks back in return.

“Since now.” He answers, opening the car door and entering.

“Really?” Dean looks from me to the car.

I took a step forward giving Dean’s upper arm a reassuring squeeze. It was meant to be helpful at best but squeezing his arm made me feel the hard muscle underneath his jacket and my head went blank for just one second, my hand lingering.

My face flushed as I gave him a quick smile, entering the car myself.

So much for being inconspicuous.

Dean didn’t move from outside the car for a moment longer, staring where I was standing previously, before throwing open the driver’s side door.

We stand outside the Collins house, the door opening by who I assume to be Haley Collins.

“You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam, and that’s Y/N, we're, ah, we're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.” Dean introduces.

Haley hesitates, “Lemme see some ID.”

Clever girl, I have to admit.

Dean pulls out a fake ID holding it up against the screen. Haley looks at it, then at Dean, who smiles.

She takes the lie, opening the door for us, “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” Dean says simply.

“That yours?” Haley asks Dean, referring to the Impala out front.

“Yeah” He answers.

“Nice car” Shs compliments.

Their brief conversation ends as she leads us into the kitchen, some younger guy sitting at the table on a laptop.

In the corner of my eye I see Dean mouthing something to Sam who rolls his eyes back, but I couldn’t tell what it was about

“So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Sam starts off.

Haley places a bowl on the table answering, “He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.”

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” Sam offers but that theory gets shut down quickly by Haley as she responds, “He's got a satellite phone, too.”

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean reasons.

The boy on the laptop answered this time, “He wouldn't do that.”

“Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Haley explains.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks her as she places food down on the table.

“Yeah.” She answers pulling the pictures up quickly,

“That's Tommy” she points.

She clicks two more times showing another picture and then a video, she presses play.

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.”

“We will find your brother.” I tell her with a reassuring smile as I continue, “We’ll be heading to Blackwater Ridge in the morning.”

“Then maybe I'll see you there. Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.” Haley claims voice and face full of determination.

“I think I know how you feel,” Dean pipes in.

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks, cutting into the slightly heartfelt moment.

“Sure.”

The bar where we sat was a little loud, the sound of pool ringing in the background.

Sam sits across from Dean and I, me sitting on the inside of the booth; a habit we’d picked up when we were younger.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” Sam informs us opening John's journal

“Anything before that?” I ask him, leaning forward a bit more.

Sam pulls out newspaper articles sliding them between me and Dean.

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Sam speaks as we read the article titled

‘The Lost Creek Gazette.’

GRIZZLY BEAR ATTACKS!

UP TO EIGHT HIKERS VANISH IN LOST CREEK AREA

HIKERS DISAPPEARANCE BAFFLE AUTHORITIES'

Families continue search and rescue efforts in spite of disappointing [...]

“And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” Sam adds, his laptop now pulled out.

“I know bears can be dangerous and all but do people really believe a bear is responsible for eight plus, people’s disappearance. There’s no way a bear would be so pattern like.” I say baffled.

“Yeah well people believe what they want to when nothing else makes sense” Sam answers opening his laptop, continuing with his information

“Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork. Okay. Watch this. Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” He turns his computer towards Dean and I, going through three frames at a time. A shadow crosses the screen.

I squint at the shadow as Dean says, “Do it again.”

He adds, “That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.”

“Might as well be the reverse flash” I joke

Sam breathes a short laugh, understanding my reference, as he closes his laptop.

Dean looks between the both of us, “Nerds.”

I laugh nudging Dean with my body, “Oh you know you love us” I tease.

“Yeah yeah” he answers playfully, shoving me lightly.

Dean then hits Sam causing him to look up,“Anyway I told you something weird was going on.”

“Yeah, but I got one more thing” Sam adds, bringing back the serious energy. “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

“Is there a name?”

Mr.Shaw, the only survivor of these attacks, leads us inside his house with a cigarette in his mouth as he talks to us “Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—“

Sam interrupts, “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?”

Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods.

“The other people that went missing that year, those bear attacks too?” Dean adds, a pause hits the room before he continues, “What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?”

Another pause, he adds, “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.”

“I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr.Shaw sits down, “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

“Mr. Shaw trust me when I say that we’ve seen things, crazy things, there’s nothing you could tell us that we wouldn’t believe” I speak honestly.

He doesn’t answer for a beat, grumbling underneath his breath before finally responding, “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” Sam asks.

He nods.

Sam asks another question, “Got inside your tent?”

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door. It unlocked it. Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.” Mr.Shaw clarifies.

“It killed them?” Sam questions.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr.Shaw shakes his head adding, “Why it left me alive...been asking myself that ever since.”

Another pause rings through the room before he lifts a hand to his collar, “Did leave me this, though.”

He opens his collar revealing three long scars, claw marks.

“There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

LATER

We walk the length of the motel corridor, discussing our new found information.

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls.” Dean says.

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.” Sam offers

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Dean mocks,

“Seriously, that's some big word use” I add on laughing.

“Shut up. So what do you think?” Sam ignores our teasing, well Deans teasing. I wasn't really joking, this time.

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog. Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's corporeal. Which means we can kill it.” Dean answers using Sam’s big word.

We exited the motel entering its parking lot, heading to the Impala.

Dean opens the truck and then the weapons box, propping it up with a shotgun, as he always does, before putting guns into a duffel bag.

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” Sam reasons leaning in.

“Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” Dean answers, and I have to agree.

“Yeah.” Sam replies.

“Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” Dean lists out.

“I gotta agree with Dean, there’s no way we’d be able to convince Haley anyways so there’s no point in trying.” I pipe in.

Dean picks up the duffel, throwing me a smile. Most likely because I agreed with him this time.

“And finding Dad's not enough? No we gotta babysit too?” Sam argues slamming the weapons box shut, then the trunk.

Dean stares at Sam.

“What?” Sam asks.

“Nothing.” He answers, throwing the duffel bag at Sam turning to walk away.

Sam stares at me and I shrug not knowing what that was about with Dean either.

The next day

The Impala pulls up. Haley, Ben (her other brother), and some other guy in shorts stare at us as we get out of the car.

I handed Sam the duffle bag that was riding with me in the back seat. Securing my brown messenger bag across my chest, carrying some more witchy belongings that might be of aid including my spell book.

“You guys got room for three more? Dean calls out.

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley questions.

“Who are these guys?” Mystery man in shorts asks.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” Haley comments, eyeing us up.

Sam heads past us all, clearly not wanting to be here any longer then we have to.

“You're rangers?” Shorts man asks.

“That's right.” Dean confirms.

And I can already tell that we’re going to be bumping heads with this shorts wearing guy.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley picks out.

Dean looks down at himself causing me to look down at myself feeling a little conscious now that Haley pointed our outfits out. But hey I’m prepared for the cold wearing a long sleeve shirt, a black sweatshirt, my fleece corduroy jacket that I always wear, and…jeans (to me this seems very logical).

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean replies simply heading past Haley.

“Wait, I'm sorry, why would we wear shorts? It’s already cold out and as it gets darker that’s only going to worsen plus wearing shorts leaves you more vulnerable to whatever is out there.” I point behind,me towards the woods, adding, “And I’m just gonna assume here that you short wearing man are supposed to be this, uh, hunter? Haley mentioned yesterday.”

I hear Dean huff a laugh a couple steps in front of us.

Short wearing man didn’t take too kindly to my questioning, “What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt. And it’s Roy.”

Sam turns back as Dean calls out behind him, “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.”

Dean passes Sam, and I begin walking after them.

The group hikes through the forest, Roy leading us followed by Dean, Haley, Ben, me, and then Sam holding up the rear.

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean says, making conversation.

“Yeah, more than a little.” Roy answers, sounding quite proud.

“Uh-huh. What kind of furry critters do you hunt?” Dean keeps the convo going.

“Mostly buck, sometimes bear.”

Poor bears.

Dean passes Roy taking the lead, “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

I laugh maybe a little too hard, I bite my bottom lip remembering the serious circumstance in which we’re here.

Roy grabs Dean, “Whatcha doing, Roy?” he asks.

Roy grabs a stick poking something behind Dean.

A loud snap rings through the quiet forest, a bear trap, Dean was one step away from walking into a bear trap.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.” Roy drops the stick, retaking the lead.

Roy drops the stick and retakes the lead as we continue hiking.

“It’s a bear trap.” Dean points out.

I catch up to him, giving him a hit on the arm looking at him with a face full of worry. Has he been in more dangerous situations than a bear trap? Yes. But I can’t help but worry, even over the stupid things.

His face softens and he gives me a smile.

Haley caught up to us immediately calling out, “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying a duffel bag. You're not rangers.”

She grabs Dean's arm, “So who the hell are you?”

Ben passes us by, Sam and I look at Dean. He gives us a look that tells us to go, that he has it covered and we do.

LATER

Roy’s leading the way still, this time the following order is Sam, Ben, me, Haley and Dean.

“This is it. Blackwater Ridge.” Roy announces

Sam passed him as he asked, “What coordinates are we at?”

Roy pulls out a GPS, answering, “Thirty-five and minus one-eleven.”

Dean goes up to Sam, catching my wrist as he goes by pulling me after him.

“You hear that?” Dean asks. We listen. Its dead quiet.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.” Sam confirms.

“I'm gonna go take a look around.” Roy announces

“You really shouldn’t go off by yourself” I warn.

“That’s sweet. Don’t worry about me” He waves his gun pushing past us to retake the lead.

Stubborn shorts man.

Dean turns back to Ben and Haley as they catch up, “All right, everybody stays together. Let's go.”

Sam, Dean, Ben, Haley and I are looking around near a particularly large rock before we hear Roy yelling for Haley.

She runs over to his voice, the rest of us following closely.

“Oh my God.” The tents are torn open and bloody, all the supplies being scattered.

“Looks like a grizzly.” Roy announces.

We all sort of break off, not far from each other, looking around for any clues or anything of the sort.

Haley begins yelling for Tommy, practically throwing her backpack down as she goes through the campsite. Sam moves to catch up to her, I don’t hear the conversation as I focus on the tracks I found. But whatever he said got her to stop yelling

I crouch to see the tracks better, getting Dean's attention as he crouches next to me before calling out for Sam. He comes over, joining our crouching party.

“The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here” I point, “the tracks just vanish.”

“I’ll tell you what, that’s no skinwalker or black dog” Dean adds standing up, heading back to the campsite, Sam and I following.

Haley’s picked up a cell phone that I assume is Tommy’s from the blood on it. She’s hunched over on the ground crying.

Dean crouches next to her, “Hey, he could still be alive.” he says reassuringly.

“Help! Help” a sudden voice yells out. Almost in sync, our heads snap towards the direction of the voice.

Roy leads the way everyone running after him

“Help! Somebody!” the voice yells out again.

But when we reached where it was coming from there was no one around.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn’t it?” Haley asks and I nod.

“Everybody back to camp” Sam orders, we obey as we run back.

All of the supplies are missing, and suddenly I'm grateful for carrying my bag with me even if it only slightly got in the way of my running.

“Our packs!” Haley yells, pointing out the obvious.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.” Roy mutters.

“What the hell is going on?” Haley commands.

“It's smart. It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.” Sam informs.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” Roy corrects.

Sam goes over to Dean and I as Roy goes on this ‘nutjob’ theory, “I need to speak with you, both. In private.”

We follow him a little bit away from the group, “Let me see Dad's journal.”

Dean hands it over, Sam opens it and flips through until he finds a particular page.

“All right, check that out.” Sam turns the book so we can see it better pointing to a First Nations–style drawing of a figure, more specifically a Wendigo.

“Oh come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west.” Dean rationalizes.

“It does make sense though. I mean the claws and especially the way it can mimic a human voice” I explained. Getting eager head nods from Sam, “Exactly” he adds.

“Great. Then this is useless” Dean sighs,taking out his pistol. Being the only way to kill a Wendigo is silver through the heart or fire.

Sam gives back the journal heading past us back to camp before stopping, “We gotta get these people to safety.”

Back at the campsite, Sam addresses the group, “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

“What? Haley asks.

“Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.” Roy buds in and all I can think about is how stubborn this man is.

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now.” Sam ordered.

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roy lists out.

“Relax” Dean cuts in.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.” Sam says.

Roy steps up to Sam getting in his face, “You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.”

It’s then I decide I'm not going to get in the middle of this argument, seeing as this will definitely turn into a ‘who’s more macho’ sort of deal.

“Yeah? It's a damn near perfect hunter. It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.” Sam challenges.

Roy laughs, “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—“ Dean cuts Sam off, pushing him.

“Chill out.” Dean orders.

“Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.” Haley informs, and as much as it’s a stupid stubborn choice it is her brother.

There's a long pause before Dean speaks up, “It's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night. We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.”

“How?”

It’s pitch dark out now, our only source of light being the campfire that was built.

Deans drawing a Anasazi symbol, for protection, around the campsite as the rest of us are kind of just sitting around the fire.

“One more time, that’s—“ Haley asks poking at the fire

“An anasazi symbol, it’s for our protection. The wendigo can’t cross over them” I explain for at least the fifth time.

Roy laughs, holding a gun over his shoulder.

I give him a sharp gaze as Dean says, “Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy.”

Dean finishes the symbol sitting next to Sam and I, Sam being in the middle.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” Dean asks him

“Dean—“

But Dean cuts him off, “No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?”

Feeling as this is going to turn personal quickly, more of a family/brotherly moment that wouldn’t include me, I get up giving them a nod and a look that lets them know I'm giving them privacy. I move to sit near Haley, instead.

A few minutes have gone before suddenly someone screams and it isn’t anyone in our group, “Help me! Please!”

It’s almost most definitely the wendigo.

I see Dean stand, readying his gun as another “Help!” rings through the normally quiet woods.

Sam pulled out a flashlight, throwing one to me before flashing it around in an attempt to see if the wendigo is close by, I follow suit doing the same.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put.” Dean commands.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy mocks.

“Jesus Christ Roy, yes!” I exclaimed, Roy getting on my nerves.

“Help! Help me” The wendigo yells, mimicking a human voice, growling following.

Roy points his gun at the sound, “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

Haley turns, talking to her younger brother, “It's okay. You'll be alright, I promise.”

Something rushes past, Haley shrieks.

“It’s here.” Sam announces.

Roy shoots the rustling, twice.

“I hit it” he yells running off to see what exactly he hit.

“Roy! No!” I yell after him

Dean turns to Haley and Ben, commanding them, “Don’t move.”

Haley grabs a stick lighting it on fire as a weapon. Dean gives me and Sam a nod, queuing us to run after Roy.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” Roy announces.

Sam and I use our flashlights, looking to see where Roy went. But we wind up with nothing.

It’s day now, hours since Roy went missing.

Now we sit trying to explain the whole supernatural stuff we encounter.

Sam’s sitting against a tree stump holding his dads journal whilst me, Dean, Haley, and Ben are among the tents

“I don't...I mean, these types of things, they aren't supposed to be real.” Haley states.

“I wish I could tell you different.” Dean replies, half shrugging.

“You can say that again” I mumble.

“How do we know it's not out there watching us?” Haley asks

“We don't. But we're safe for now.” Dean answers.

“How do you know about this stuff?” She asks

There’s a pause where you can see the gears turning in Dean's head as he considers an answer, “Kind of runs in the family.”

“Literally” I mermer underneath my breath, we hadn’t told them I was a Witch, which was probably for the better considering we’re being hunted by a Wendigo and they had just learned that the things in the dark are real.

Sam comes over, “Hey. So we've got half a chance in the daylight. And I for one want to kill this evil son of a bitch.”

Haley stands nodding

“Well, hell, you know I'm in.” Dean answers, “Same here” I add.

Sam opens the journal to the wendigo page, turning the book around for Haley and Ben to see.

“'Wendigo' is a Cree Indian word. It means 'evil that devours'.” Sam informs.

“They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man. Sometimes an Indian, or other times a frontiersman or a miner or hunter.” Dean adds to the information.

“How's a man turn into one of those things?” Haley asks.

“Well, it's always the same. During some harsh winter a guy finds himself starving, cut off from supplies or help. Becomes a cannibal to survive, eating other members of his tribe or camp.” Dean answers.

“Like the Donner Party.” Ben offers.

“Nice reference” I compliment before joining in on the info train, “And, uh, cultures all over the world actually believe that eating human flesh gives a person certain abilities like speed, strength, immortality…” I trail off

“If you eat enough of it, over years, you become this less than human thing. You're always hungry.” Dean adds on.

“So if that's true, how can Tommy still be alive?” Haley points out.

“You're not gonna like it.” Dean answers simply, glancing from Sam to me then back to Haley.

“Tell me.” She orders.

“More than anything, a wendigo knows how to last long winters without food. It hibernates for years at a time, but when it's awake it keeps its victims alive. It, uh, it stores them, so it can feed whenever it wants. If your brother's alive, it's keeping him somewhere dark, hidden, and safe. We gotta track it back there.” Dean finishes.

“And then how do we stop it?” Haley asks

“Well, guns are useless, so are knives. Basically we gotta torch the sucker.” He holds up a can of lighter fluid, a beer bottle, and a white cloth aka the makings of a molotov cocktail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean leads the group, molotov cocktail in hand, as we follow the trail of claw marks on trees and blood.

It’s a while later when Sam starts leading the group.

“Dean. Y/N”

We catch up quickly, “mhm?” I hum in question

“You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.” Sam talks, pointing out the bloody broken tree branches.

“Ah fric-“ My commentary gets cut off by growling, we whip around the trees rustling.

Haley’s standing under a tree looking up, blood dripping on her. When suddenly she leaps out of the way a corpse falling to the ground with a thud.

Roy’s corpse.

“His neck's broken.” Dean announces, examining the body as Sam helps Haley up.

More growling surrounds us.

“Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!” Dean yells and without a second thought we take off. The sounds of our boots hitting the soft dirt.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam retreating backwards, I stop running, turning to see if he’s okay.

Bens on the ground, getting hauled up by Sam. I head closer towards them in case the wendigo decides to show up knowing I can at the very least hold it off.

“Come on, I gotcha, I gotcha.” Sam reassures Ben, as we start running again.

A scream, noticeably Haley’s racks the forest.

“Haley” Ben asks skidding to a stop.

Sam and I stop running, noticing that Dean and Haley are nowhere to be seen.

Sam bends down picking up Deans molotov cocktail, the bottles broken.

“Dean!”

~~~~~~~~~~~

“If it keeps its victims alive, why would it kill Roy?” Ben asks, walking in front of us.

“Roys shooting probably pissed it off” I answer wrapping my arms around myself, hoping the worry in my voice isn’t apparent.

Ben leans down picking something up, turning towards us holding up a peanut m&m. He moves over revealing a trail of them, “They went this way.”

I smile, Ben hands over the m&m to Sam who laughs.

“It's better than breadcrumbs.”

He tosses the piece of chocolate away.

We follow the trial carefully, coming up to a mine entrance marked with a sign that reads

‘WARNING! DANGER! DO NOT ENTER EXTREMELY TOXIC MATERIAL.’

We all look at each other shrugging before entering.

Sam leads the way, flashlight shining ahead.

There’s a sudden growl, he quickly turns the light off pulling Ben and me against the wall.

A tall white figure with long fingers stalks towards us, Sam having to cover Ben's mouth before he screams.

The Wendigo takes a different tunnel, only just missing us.

We keep going, the floors creaking below our feet.

A particular step made the floor creak a little too much, but before I can even take another step forward the floor collapses underneath us.

I groan quietly at the hard landing, trying to contain my coughing from the dust and destroyed wood. I looked down, noticing that the hard landing was a pile of bones.

I get up swiftly feeling grossed out, Ben must have just noticed the bones as he leaps backwards. Sam helps him up as he reassuringly says, “Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's okay.”

We look up, finding Dean and Haley hanging by their wrists from the ceiling. My eyes widen and I feel my heart physically drop. I’ve been hunting before, even with Dean a couple of times. But I've never seen him hurt, not like this, not during a hunt, not being tied up.

Sam runs to Dean, Ben to Haley.

“Y/N! Cover us?” Sam orders and I move, breaking out of my freezing. I have my back towards the others, my hands lit up with pure white energy, ready for the wendigo. I knew it wouldn’t kill it, but at least I could keep it back.

“Haley, wake up!” Ben yells and I’m tempted to turn around but I know I shouldn’t.

“Dean!” Sam yells.

“Hey, you okay?” I hear Sam ask from behind me.

I hear Dean suck in a breath behind me, “Yeah.” He grumbles.

“Haley, Haley, wake up, wake up!” Ben yells again.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam cut down Dean and then Haley, moving them to an empty patch of floor. As they move I follow, still covering them.

Dean makes a pained noise. I clench my fists, the white energy still surging around them.

“Dean, you okay?” I ask, still not turning around.

He groans in pain, “Yeah. Yep. Where is he?”

“He’s gone for now” I answer simply.

Haley runs past me to a figure hanging in the corner, she starts crying, it’s then that I know it’s Tommy.

She touches his face gently, his head jerks up and she jumps back with a shriek. She turns towards me, eyeing me and the boys behind me, I don’t make eye contact.

Not because I don’t want to help but because I don’t want her to see my eyes, knowing my irises would be purple. Stupid thing to worry about when literal energy was coming from my hands, she’d see that before my eyes. But, still, I was scared for the moment she asks what the hell was going on with me. When her or her brothers do. It’s a rooted fear that no matter how much time goes by I can’t seem to shake.

Sam heads over and cuts Tommy free.

“We’re gonna get you home” She tells him.

A hand touches my shoulder and I tense, flinching slightly, even though it felt familiar.

“Relax” Dean whispers near my ear sending a shiver down my spine.

“You don’t have to be so stiff trying to protect us, cause look what I found” He holds up two flare guns pointing to a pile in the corner full of stolen supplies.

“Flare guns. Those’ll work” Sam says grinning.

Dean laughs and twirls the guns in his hands, and I can’t help the smile that makes its way onto my face.

We head down the tunnel Dean and Sam in the lead with their flare guns as I keep to the rear of the group.

“Looks like someone's home for supper.” Dean comments at the growling we heard.

“We’ll never outrun it” Haley points out.

Dean looks back at us, “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Sam answers and I nod.

“All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam and Y/N. They’re gonna get you out of here.” Dean plans.

“What are you gonna do?” Haley asks Dean.

He winks, walking and yelling, “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, I taste good.”

Sam waits until Dean is a safe distance away, “All right, come on! Hurry!”

The Collinses follow him down the tunnel, as I continue to hold down the rear.

We hurry down the tunnel before we hear more growling.

Sam points the gun in the direction, then lowers it turning to the Collinses.

“Get him outta here” He orders

“Sam, no”

“Go! Y/N get them outta here, Go!” he orders

I turned to the family making sure I no longer was using my powers as I pushed them out of there.

A moment later I hear Sam running after us, catching up, “Come on, hurry, hurry, hurry” he says, and I let him get in front of me as we reach the end of the tunnel.

I half turn to see the wendigo right behind us. I pivot the rest of the way around, quickly letting my hands light back up with energy during the half second that I moved.

I move my hands in front of me throwing a large energy blast right at the tall white creature, sending it a few feet back knocking it into a tree (the one that got in the way of it getting thrown further).

“Get behind me.” Sam tells the Collinses, hiding them behind himself as I stay in front of him.

The Wendigo approaches again and I throw it back again, a little harder this time.

I keep my hand in front of me, still lit with white energy as I bring my other hand down, flicking it swiftly, conjuring a flare gun into my hand.

I let the wendigo stalk a little closer before I raise my hand with the gun, I aim, pulling the trigger.

Just as Dean comes up a foot behind the wendigo, pulling his trigger.

The flare I shot goes off first, Deans following a second later. The wendigo goes up in flames.

“Teamwork” Dean says grinning at me.

I huff a laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

An ambulance loads up Tommy, two police officers interview Ben as Sam stands behind him.

“So…what was that whole thing back there with you” Haley asks me hands in her pockets, her and Dean both already patched up.

“I, oh, um…I’m a witch” I answer, feeling as if I'm shrinking inside myself. Telling people has never been a part I enjoy much.

“You're in the journal?” She asks

“I mean not me specifically but witches, yes. Most witches aren’t good, quite the opposite really…” I tail off looking down, feeling uncomfortable.

“Thank you.” She says leaning her head down to catch my eyes before adding, “I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

I just smile at her, glad to have helped but also glad to have moved away from the awkward conversation.

But when I look over to Dean, he’s smirking lasciviously.

“Whelp that’s my que to leave.” I announce, not wanting to know her answer. I turn around, heading to the Impala, a certain stabbing feeling echoes in my heart and I know it must be jealousy.

Which is stupid because 1. it’s not like me and Dean are even together, and 2. Dean does not like me in any sort of romantic way.

“Must you cheapen the moment” I hear Haley comment as I walk away, leaning on the hood of the Impala.

A minute or so later Sam joins me, and then Dean.

“Man, I hate camping.” Dean remarked

“Me too.”

“Amen.”

“You know we're gonna find Dad, right?” Dean asks, and I know the question is for Sam.

“Yeah, I know. But in the meantime? I'm driving.” Sam says all proudly.

Dean tosses him the keys smiling widely

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #dean winchester x reader #supernatural x reader #slow burn #wendigo #forest #fanfiction #fanfic #the hunter and the witch

220 notes · View notes

mepuppy · 8 months ago

Text

Let It Ride - Supernatural rewrite

I do not own the characters, nor the storylines. I'm simply adding a twist to the episodes. Please feel free to help me out with constructive criticism on the story or the writing. Sorry for the mistakes, not proofread and english is not my first language. Here's the secon episode, I hope you like it.

1x01

Word Count: 6,6k

1x02 - Wendigo

Sam jerks awake from a nightmare. He is riding shotgun next to Dean on the Impala, with the Harley tailing them. Hot-Blooded by the Foreigner is playing on the radio. Sam blinks and rubs his eyes and Dean looks over, concerned.

“You okay?” he asks his younger brother, frowning. Sam glances over and away.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” he answers looking out the window. Dean nods and checks the rearview mirror to make sure the Harley is still there.

“Another nightmare?” He looks at his brother again. Sam clears his throat. “You wanna drive for a while?”

Sam laughs. “Dean, your whole life you never once asked me that.”

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind.” he says looking back to the road.

“Look, man, you're worried about me.” Sam says looking at his brother, “I get it, and thank you, but I'm perfectly okay.” he says grabbing a map and dean agrees skeptical. “All right, where are we?”

“We are just outside of Grand Junction.” he answers, looking back at the Harley again.

Sam folds down the map of Colorado that has a large red X labeled 35-111. “You know what?” he looks at Dean “Maybe we shouldn't have left Stanford so soon.” he says still thinking about Jess.

Dean signals and stops on the side of the road. Y/n catches up and stops by his open window. “Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you wanna find the thing that killed Jessica—”

“We gotta find Dad first.” Sam agrees without looking up.

“Dad disappearing and this thing showing up again after twenty years, it's no coincidence.” Dean says looking between Sam and y/n.

“Yeah. John will have answers. He'll know what to do.” Y/n dropped more her head to look at Sam.

“It's weird, guys.” he says, finally looking at his older ‘siblings’. “These coordinates he left us.” he pauses for a couple of seconds “This Blackwater Ridge.”

“What about it?” Dean looks back at him.

“There's nothing there. It's just woods.” Sam says putting down the map. “Why is he sending us to the middle of nowhere?”

The Impala and the Harley are parked next to a sign that says "RANGER STATION Lost Creek Trail, Lost Creek National Forest".

“So Blackwater Ridge is pretty remote.” Y/n says looking at a 3D map of the national forest, paying particular attention to the ridge labeled "BLACKWATER RIDGE". Dean looks at the decorations.

“It's cut off by these canyons here, rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place.” Sam points around talking to y/n.

“Dude, check out the size of this freaking bear.” Dean exclaims, astonished looking at a framed photo of a man standing behind a much larger bear on the wall. Sam looks over and comes to stand next to Dean.

“And a dozen or more grizzlies in the area. It's no nature hike, that's for sure.” He finishes off looking over his shoulder to y/n.

A forest ranger, walks up behind them; when he speaks, the trio whip around, startled. “You kids aren't planning on going out near Blackwater Ridge by any chance?” the ranger says suspiciously.

“Oh, no, sir.” Y/n says smiling.

“We're environmental study majors from UC Boulder, just working on a paper.” Sam laughs a little creating a cover story. Dean grins and raises a fist.

“Recycle, man.” he says and the other two look at him frowning.

“Bull.” the ranger retorts, turning around. Sam's eyes flick to y/n, while she and Dean don't move. “You're friends with that Haley girl, right?”

Dean considers. “Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger Wilkinson.” he says after checking the ranger’s name tag.

“Well, I will tell you exactly what we told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn't be back from Blackwater until the twenty-fourth, so it's not exactly a missing persons now, is it?” he asks looking at Dean again with one eyebrow raised. Dean shakes his head. “You tell that girl to quit worrying, I'm sure her brother's just fine.”

“We will.” he thinks about it and continues “Well that Haley girl's quite a pistol, huh?”

“That is putting it mildly.” the older man goes behind his desk and rests his mug on it.

“Actually you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother's return date.” The ranger eyes Dean, who simply raises his eyebrows smiling charmingly.

Dean, y/n and Sam leave the ranger station. Dean is holding a piece of paper and laughing.

“What, are you cruising for a hookup or something?” Sam asks.

“What do you mean?” Dean asks stopping and turning to hs brother.

“The coordinates point to Blackwater Ridge, so what are we waiting for? Let's just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?” both Dean and y/n look back at him confused.

Dean and Sam stop on opposite sides of the Impala.

“I don't know, maybe we should know what we're walking into before we actually walk into it?” Dean is on the driver’s side of the Impala, next to y/n, who is holding her Harley’s clutch, while Sam looks at them from the passenger’s side of Baby.

“What?” He looks at both, annoyed.

“Since when are you all shoot first ask questions later, anyway?” y/n asks tilting her head.

“Since now.” Sam turns away; opening the car door.

“Really?” Dean asking opening his side too and looking inside to Sam, who just shrugs. “Let´s go to this Hayley’s house.” He tells y/n and gets in the car.

They all stand at the door to a house. The door opens to reveal Haley Collins. “You must be Haley Collins. I'm Dean, this is Sam and y/n, we're… ah…” he looks at the two and back at the girl “We're rangers with the Park Service. Ranger Wilkinson sent us over. He wanted us to ask a few questions about your brother Tommy.”

Haley hesitates. “Lemme see some ID.” Dean pulls out a fake ID with the name 'Samuel Cole' and holds it up against the screen of the door. She looks at it, then at Dean, who smiles, then opens the door “Come on in.”

“Thanks.” y/n says smiling and entering the house. followed by the two men. Haley catches sight of the Impala.

“That yours?” she points at the car.

Dean looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Yeah.” Sam and y/n are looking back at the Impala.

“Nice car.” She smiles back and turns to lead the trio into the kitchen. Y/n rolls her eyes at Dean’s face, looking back at the girl. Dean turns his head to mouth something to Sam, who also rolls his eyes. “This is my other brother Ben.” She says as they get to the kitchen and a boy is sitting at the table on a laptop.

“So if Tommy's not due back for a while, how do you know something's wrong?” Sam asks sitting down on a chair while Haley does too on the head of the table.

“He checks in every day by cell. He emails, photos, stupid little videos—we haven't heard anything in over three days now.” The girl says and looks over at y/n who’s sitting on her other side.

“Well, maybe he can't get cell reception.” she says looking back at the girl.

“He's got a satellite phone, too.” she answers shaking her head.

“Could it be he's just having fun and forgot to check in?” Dean asks knitting his brows and sitting by y/s side.

“He wouldn't do that.” Ben chimes in. Dean eyes the boy and he looks away.

“Our parents are gone. It's just my two brothers and me. We all keep pretty close tabs on each other.” Haley explains looking at Dean.

“Can I see the pictures he sent you?” Sam asks and Haley agrees, getting up to grab a laptop. She pulls up pictures and turns the computer to the trio.

“That's Tommy.” She clicks twice and another picture comes up, then the still frame opens the latest video.

“Hey Haley, day six, we're still out near Blackwater Ridge. We're fine, keeping safe, so don't worry, okay? Talk to you tomorrow.” Tom says in the video and it ends.

“Excuse me.” Sam says pulling the computer and playing the video again.

“Well, we'll find your brother. We're heading out to Blackwater Ridge first thing.” y/n says turning to the girl and smiling reassuringly.

“Then maybe I'll see you there.” she looks back at the girl “Look, I can't sit around here anymore. So I hired a guy. I'm heading out in the morning, and I'm gonna find Tommy myself.”

“I think I know how you feel.” Dean tells her, looking between Haley and Ben.

“Hey, do you mind forwarding these to me?” Sam asks still looking at the computer screen and Haley agrees.

In a bar, the trio is sitting down at a table. Sam has John’s journal and y/n has some newspaper articles.

“So, Blackwater Ridge doesn't get a lot of traffic. Local campers, mostly. But still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found.” she says, looking between the two men. Sam opens John's journal.

“Any before that?” Dean asks looking at her. She hands the newspaper articles to show him.

“Yeah, in 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack.” Dean reads over the headline “And again in 1959 and again before that in 1936.” While she explains what she found Sam pulls up and opens his laptop, which already has a window open to Tom's video. “Every twenty-three years, just like clockwork.”

“Here. Watch this.” he turns the computer screen to the side of the table y/n and Dean are sitting “Here's a clincher. I downloaded that guy Tommy's video to the laptop. Check this out.” Sam goes through three frames of the video one at a time. A shadow crosses the screen behind Tom.

“Do it again.” y/n asks looking intently at the screen. Sam repeats the frames.

“That's three frames. That's a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.” Dean hits Sam, making him and y/n look up..

“Told you something weird was going on.” Dean says without taking his eyes of the screen.

“Yeah.” The younger man answers, closing the laptop

“I got one more thing.” y/n says grabbing one article from the bottle of the pile and hands Sam “In 'fifty-nine one camper survived this supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid. Barely crawled out of the woods alive.”

Dean looks over at The Lost Creek Gazette.

“Is there a name?” the two ask in unison looking at the girl. who nods and gets up. “C’mon, I found his address already.” Outside the bar she heads to shotgun of the Impala.

“And…? What’s his name?” Sam asks following her, with Dean behind him.

“Robert Shaw.” she says opening the door “I’ll go with you, I’ll just need to come back and grab Dixie afterwards.” she refers to the Harley. The two men take their respective seats, with Dean driving and Sam on the backseat.

This was the arrangement they always had growing up, since Sam is 2 years younger than her, she would normally be shotgun whenever it was just the three of them. And Dean being 2 years older than she was, normally, the designated driver, unless he had found a chick, then the two youngest had to figure out a way to go back to the motel by themselves. In the beginning Dean’s rendezvous bothered her a lot, because she always had a crush on him. With time she learned to ignore it, but whenever she thought about it, her stomach still turned.

Arriving at the old man’s building, they headed to the door and knocked. Using the ranger cover again, Mr. Shaw let them in.

“Look, ranger, I don't know why you're asking me about this. It's public record. I was a kid. My parents got mauled by a—” he stated walking inside the apartment with a cigarette on the corner of his mouth.

Sam interrupts the man “Grizzly? That's what attacked them?” Mr. Shaw takes a puff of his cigarette, takes it out, and nods.

“The other people that went missing that year, those were bear attacks too?” y/n asked looking at the man frowning. They all paused.

“What about all the people that went missing this year? Same thing?” Dean added. Another pause. “If we knew what we were dealing with, we might be able to stop it.” he continued.

“I seriously doubt that. Anyways, I don't see what difference it would make.” Mr. Shaw sits down on a recliner. “You wouldn't believe me. Nobody ever did.”

Sam sits down across from the old men. “Mr. Shaw, what did you see?”

He pauses again. “Nothing. It moved too fast to see. It hid too well. I heard it, though. A roar. Like...no man or animal I ever heard.”

“It came at night?” y/n asked looking between Sam and Mr. Shaw, the latter nods.

“It got inside your tent?” Sam asks, trying to understand further.

“It got inside our cabin. I was sleeping in front of the fireplace when it came in. It didn't smash a window or break the door.” he looked from Sam to y/n “It unlocked it.” he looked back to Sam “Do you know of a bear that could do something like that? I didn't even wake up till I heard my parents screaming.”

“It killed them?” y/n asked with a calm voice.

“Dragged them off into the night.” Mr Shaw shakes his head. “Why it left me alive… been asking myself that ever since.” He pauses. And then his hands go to his collar. “Did leave me this, though.” The older man opens his collar to reveal three long scars. Claw marks. “There's something evil in those woods. It was some sort of a demon.”

The trio walk the length of a corridor with rooms on either side.

“Spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. If they want inside, they just go through the walls.” Dean says looking ahead.

“So it's probably something else, something corporeal.” Sam looks at him.

“Corporeal? Excuse me, professor.” Y/n asks, a tone of laugh in her voice.

“Shut up. So what do you guys think?” he says smiling.

“The claws, the speed that it moves...could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” Dean answers also smiling.

“Whatever we're talking about, we're talking about a creature, and it's ‘corporeal’. Which means we can kill it.” Y/n looks at the two brothers.

On the next morning, Dean opens the trunk of the Impala, then the weapons box, and props it open with a shotgun. He puts some guns in a duffel bag, while y/n brings her own duffel over her shoulder. Sam leans in.

“We cannot let that Haley girl go out there.” he says looking at Dean then y/n.

“Oh yeah? What are we gonna tell her? That she can't go into the woods because of a big scary monster?” dean retorts knitting his brows when looking at Sam.

“Yeah.”

“Her brother's missing, Sam. She's not gonna just sit this out. Now we go with her, we protect her, and we keep our eyes peeled for our fuzzy predator friend.” Y/n tells him with a hand under his elbow. Dean picks up his duffel.

“Finding Dad's not enough?” Sam slams the weapons box shut, then the trunk. “Now we gotta babysit too?” Dean stares at Sam. “What?”

“Nothing.” he says and throws the duffel bag at Sam walking off. Sam looks over at y/n, who just shakes her head and follows Dean.

AT the forest, the Impala pulls up. Dean, Sam and Y/n get down and find Haley, Ben and a man checking a shotgun, all with full backpacks.

“I'll tell you again, I don't think Ben should come.” The man tells Haley and shakes his head.

“Roy—” the girl looks at him.

“Look, you're paying me good money to keep everybody safe. I think Ben's safest at home.” Sam opens the back door of the Impala and pulls out two duffel bags, making Roy and Haley look in their direction.

“You guys got room for two more?” Dean asks as Y/n grab one of the duffel Sam is handing her.

“Wait, you want to come with us?” Haley asks, looking at Dean.

“Who are these guys?” Roy asks, getting closer to her.

“Apparently this is all the park service could muster up for the search and rescue.” Haley rolls her eyes and Sam heads past everyone. Y/n and Dean look at eachother.

“You're rangers?” Roy asks eyeing the two that are left.

“That's right.” Dean grins at them.

“And you're hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” Haley points at their feets and pants. Dean and y/n look down at themselves.

“Well, sweetheart, I don't do shorts.” Dean winks and y/n rolls her eyes as they head past Haley.

“What, you think this is funny? It's dangerous back country out there. Her brother might be hurt.”

Sam and Y/n look back. “Believe me, I know how dangerous it can be. We just wanna help them find their brother, that's all.” Dean says passing Sam and Y/n..

The group hikes through the forest, Roy in the lead, then Dean, Haley, Ben, y/n and Sam bringing up the rear.

“Roy, you said you did a little hunting.” Dean looks up at the man in front of him “What kind of furry critters do you hunt?”

“Yeah, more than a little. Mostly buck, sometimes bear.” Roy walks slower.

As Dean passes Roy, he asks “Tell me, uh, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?” Roy grabs Dean. Y/n looks on.

“Whatcha doing, Roy?” Dean asks more quietly staring at Roy. He grabs a stick and pokes the bear trap Dean had almost stepped in. Haley looks annoyed.

“You should watch where you're stepping. Ranger.” he drops the stick and retakes the lead.

“It's a bear trap.” Dean looks back at the rest of the group. Y/n rolls her eyes at Dean.

They hike on. Haley catches up to Dean. “You didn't pack any provisions. You guys are carrying duffel bags. You're not rangers.” Haley grabs Dean's arm, making y/n look up at them. “So who the hell are you?”

Ben passes Haley, Dean and y/n. Sam looks at Dean, who indicates with his expression that Sam and y/n can keep going; they obey, but y/n walks slower.

“Sam and I are brothers, Y/n is our best friend since forever. And we're looking for our father. He might be here, we don't know. I just figured that you and me,” he looks her more intently “we're in the same boat.” Sam passes them.

“Why didn't you just tell me that from the start?” Haley asks confused.

“I'm telling you now. 'sides, it's probably the most honest I've ever been with a woman. ...ever.” he says. Y/n passes them agreeing. “So we okay?” He continues ignoring the girl. Haley pauses, but then agrees.”And what do you mean I didn't pack provisions?” Dean pulls out a big bag of peanut M&Ms and sticks his hand in the bag as he hikes on, tapping y/n on the shoulder and passing the bag to her afterwards. Haley waits a moment, then follows.

After a while hiking Roy, still leading stops. “This is it. Blackwater Ridge.”

Sam heads past Roy. “What coordinates are we at?” he asks and Roy pulls a GPS out reading it.

“Thirty-five and minus one-eleven.”

Y/n comes up to Sam. “You hear that?” she asks the younger man.

“Yeah. Not even crickets.” he answers as Dean reaches them.

“I'm gonna go take a look around.” the guide says rearranging his backpack.

“You shouldn't go off by yourself.” Y/n warns him, looking at the man.

“That's sweet, honey. Don't worry about me.” he waves his gun and pushes between Dean and Sam to retake the lead. They turn back to the others as Ben and Haley catch up.

“All right, everybody stays together. Let's go.” Y/n sighs and tells the rest annoyed at Roy.

“Haley! Over here!” Haley runs towards Roy's voice, followed closely by the others. They come to a halt.

“Oh my God.” she says, alarmed. The tents are torn open and bloody and all the supplies are scattered.

“Looks like a grizzly.” Roy says holding a torn out part of a tent. The rest looks around.

“Tommy?” Haley takes off her backpack and goes through the campsite. “Tommy!” Sam moves to catch up with Haley, shushing her. “Why?”

“Something might still be out there.” he says looking around the woods.

“Sam! Y/n!” they head over to Dean, and crouch next to him. “The bodies were dragged from the campsite. But here, the tracks just vanish. That's weird.” They stand up.

“I'll tell you what, that's no skinwalker or black dog.” y/n tells the two men looking between them. Back at the campsite Haley is crying over Tom’s cellphone.

“Hey, he could still be alive.” Dean tells her when he’s close enough. She gives him a look.

“Help! Help!” a man’s voice yells from the woods. Roy leads the way as everyone drops their gear and runs to the aid of the shouter. “Help! Somebody!” They find no one.

“It seemed like it was coming from around here, didn't it?” Haley says agitated. They listen.

“Everybody back to camp.” Sam says turning and already heading back. At the campsite, all the supplies are missing.

“Our packs!” Haley says, looking around.

“So much for my GPS and my satellite phone.” Roy complains. “What the hell is going on?” Haley asks fearful looking between Roy and Dean.

“It's smart. It wants to cut us off so we can't call for help.” Y/n says and looks at Sam.

“You mean someone, some nutjob out there just stole all our gear.” Roy looks at her and throws his arms up.

Sam goes to Y/n and Dean.

“I need to speak with you two. In private.” They head a little ways away from the group. “Good. Let me see Dad's journal.” Dean hands it over. Sam opens it and flips through until he finds a particular page while the other two look at him. “All right, check that out.” He points to a First Nations–style drawing of a figure.

“Oh come on, wendigos are in the Minnesota woods or, or northern Michigan. I've never even heard of one this far west.” Dean tells Sam looking back at his brother.

“Yeah, but think about it, Dean. The claws, the way it can mimic a human voice. It actually makes sense.” Y/n exclaims still looking at the page.

“Great.” Dean takes out his pistol. “Well then this is useless.” Sam hands the journal back to Dean.

Sam started going back to the group, but stops and turns “We gotta get these people to safety.” Dean and y/n look at each other and sigh. Back at the campsite, Sam addresses the group. “All right, listen up, it's time to go. Things have gotten...more complicated.”

“What?” Haley asks.

“Kid, don't worry. Whatever's out there, I think I can handle it.” Roy tries to be the alpha again and Sam cut him off.

“It's not me I'm worried about. If you shoot this thing, you're just gonna make it mad. We have to leave. Now.” He looks back to Haley and Ben.

“One, you're talking nonsense. Two, you're in no position to give anybody orders.” Roys takes a step towards Sam.

“Relax.” “Hey!” Y/n and Dean say at the same time stepping closer to Sam and Roy.

“We never should have let you come out here in the first place, all right? I'm trying to protect you.” Sam looks back to Roy who steps right into Sam's space.

“You protect me? I was hunting these woods when your mommy was still kissing you good night.” He looks up, since Sam is taller than him, with a snare on his face.

“Well, this thing it's a damn near perfect hunter.” Y/n says as she and Dean go closer to them and put themselves between the two.

“It's smarter than you, and it's gonna hunt you down and eat you alive unless we get your stupid sorry ass out of here.” Sam tries to get closer to Roy but y/n has a hand on his chest and he doesn’t press it.

Roy laughs. “You know you're crazy, right?”

“Yeah? You ever hunt a wen—” Y/n pushes Sam and Dean comes with her looking at Sam.

“Chill out.” Dean yells in Sam’s face at the same time Haley calls Roy out.

“Stop. Stop it. Everybody just stop. Look. Tommy might still be alive. And I'm not leaving here without him.” She comes closer to Roy.

“Look, it's getting late. This thing is a good hunter in the day, but an unbelievable hunter at night.” Y/n started.

“We'll never beat it, not in the dark. We need to settle in and protect ourselves.” Dean continues and look back at the girl he grew up with.

“How?” Haley asks.

It was already night and the group has built a campfire, and Dean and Y/n draw something in the dirt around the campsite while Haley pokes at the fire.

“One more time, that's…” Haley asks looking at the two.

“Anasazi symbols. It's for protection. The wendigo can't cross over them.” Dean explains again to the girl. Roy laughs, gun over his shoulder.

“Nobody likes a skeptic, Roy.” y/n tells the guide as she heads over to sit next to Sam, who is at the edge of the campsite.

“You wanna tell me what's going on in that freaky head of yours?” she asks, trying to look in his eyes.

“Y/N, I…” He starts but Dean cuts him off getting to them and sitting by y/n side, using her knee as support.

“No, you're not fine. You're like a powder keg, man, it's not like you. I'm supposed to be the belligerent one, remember?” Dean says, scolding him.

“He has a point.” Y/n smiles and points Dean with her head. A pause.

“Dad's not here. I mean, that much we know for sure, right? He would have left us a message, a sign, right?” Sam looks at Dean and waits for an answer.

“Yeah, you're probably right. Tell you the truth, I don't think Dad's ever been to Lost Creek.” Dean looks down, then back to Sam.

“Then let's get these people back to town and let's hit the road. Go find Dad. I mean, why are we still even here?”

“This is why.” Dean takes his hand off y/n knee and holds up John's journal. “This book. This is Dad's single most valuable possession—everything he knows about every evil thing is in here. And he's passed it on to us. I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things.”

“The family business.” Y/n finishes Dean’s sentence. He smiles at her and she smiles back.

Sam shakes his head. “That makes no sense. Why doesn't he just… call us? Why doesn't he… tell us what he wants, tell us where he is?”

“I dunno. But the way I see it, Dad's giving us a job to do, and I intend to do it.” He looks back at his brother

“Dean...no. I gotta find Dad. I gotta find Jessica's killer. It's the only thing I can think about.”

“Okay, all right, Sam, we'll find them, I promise.” Dean tells him

“Listen to me, Sammy. You've gotta prepare yourself. I mean, this search could take a while, and all that anger, you can't keep it burning over the long haul. It's gonna kill you. You gotta have patience, man.” Y/n tells him and grabs his hand, making him look at her.

Sam looks down, then up again. “How do you do it? How does Dad do it?”

Y/n looks over at Haley and Ben. “Well for one, them.” Sam follows her gaze.

“Besides, I figure our family's so screwed to hell, maybe we can help some others. Makes things a little bit more bearable.” Dean continues also looking at the siblings by the fire. He pauses and looks at Y/n. “Also, I'll tell you what else helps.” Her eyes meet his.

Sam looks back at Dean.

“Killing as many evil sons of bitches as we possibly can.” The three smile. A twig snaps.

They all hear a voice, probably the WENDIGO “Help me! Please!” Dean stands and readies his gun. “Help!” Sam shines a flashlight about.

“He's trying to draw us out. Just stay cool, stay put.” y/n tells everyone and goes closer to the campfire and the siblings.

“Inside the magic circle?” Roy retorts, laughing without humor.

“Help! Help me!” And then a growl starts.

Roy points his gun at the sound. “Okay, that's no grizzly.”

“It's okay. You'll be all right, I promise.” Haley tells Ben in particular. Another sound sounds closer and she shrieks.

“It's here.” Sam says.

Roy shoots at the rustling, then again. “I hit it!” Roy says and goes to see what he hit.

“Roy, no! Roy!” Dean yells and turns back to Haley and Ben. “Don't move.” Dean, Y/n and Sam run after Roy.

“It's over here! It's in the tree!” they hear the guide up front, but the wendigo reaches down from the tree and snaps Roy's neck.

“Roy!” Sam shines the flashlight around, then they head back to camp.

The next day, after a night taking turns to keep watch, Sam and Y/n are sitting against a hollow tree stump, Sam is holding John's journal and playing with a lanyard attached to it and she has her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. Dean, Haley and Ben are among the tents.

“Can I ask you something?” Sam starts without taking his eyes off the journal.

“Mm-hm” the girl murmurs not moving.

“Why weren’t you with Dad? Before he disappeared?” he tries to look at her without making her move.

“Well…” she starts and pauses for a couple of seconds “I was supposed to be with Dean, on his hunt. But headed to Bobby’s for a while. She sighs and pauses again.

“Why?” he insists.

“Ah, you know…” she looks at him, still laying on his shoulder. When she realizes he isn’t dropping it, she stands up and sighs again. “I don’t know. The two of us went to a lot of hunts by ourselves this last year. And, sometimes, when is just the two of us…” she looks ahead and finds Dean talking to Haley “it gets a little weird, the tension, and stuff. It wasn’t always, it was actually spreaded…” She looks back to Sam “But still, I needed some time away from him.”

“You still have a crush on him.” Sam half states-half questions, because of course Sam knew. He was her confident when the subject was Dean. And he never told Dean, the same way he never told her all the things Dean always said about her to him. Even though sometimes he just wanted to put both of them in a locked room and just let them leave after they talked about their feelings.

She doesn't answer him, just gives him a sad smile and gets up, holding a hand to him. He takes it and they head towards the group. They decide to go explore. Dean leads the way through the woods, Molotov cocktail in hand. Y/n follows then, Haley and Ben, then Sam. They pass trees with claw marks and blood.

“Dean.” y/n calls the older man to the side.

Dean catches up. “What is it?”

They look around at the trees. There are bloody claw marks and broken branches everywhere. “You know, I was thinking, those claw prints, so clear and distinct. They were almost too easy to follow.”

They all hear a growl. Sam whips around. Trees rustle. Blood drips on y/n’s shirt. Dean notices and looks up, then pushes her out of the way; Roy’s corpse lands where they’d stood seconds before. Sam examines Roy as Dean gets up and helps y/n

“You okay? You got it?” he asks as she takes his hand to get up. She nods and mouths a ‘thank you’ as Sam speaks.

“His neck's broken.” More growling.

“Okay, run, run, run, run, go, go, go!” Dean says as he starts running still holding Y/n’s hand so she follows. Everybody takes off.

Ben falls and Sam hurries back to help him up, dividing the group three and two.

“Come on, I gotcha, I gotcha.” Sam tells Ben as he helps him up. Dean, Haley and Y/n stop short; the wendigo is in front of them. Haley screams.

“Haley?” Ben yells back.

Dean drops the molotov. And they hear Sam’s yell “Dean! Y/n!”

The wendigo has an unconscious Haley on one shoulder and is pulling Dean and Y/n by the ankles on each hand. She looks at Dean and mouths ‘M&M’s’. He looks at her confused. They know it won’t do any good to fight the Wendigo the way they are now. So their best shot is giving Sam a chance to find them. She held out her hand to Dean and he carefully took the bag of candy from his pocket and handed it to her.

She grabs and opens it without making too much noise. Then starts to drop one M&M every couple of steps. When the wendigo raised them from the floor Dean’s head hit a rock and he passed out. She was worried about him, but kept doing her task of leaving Sam’s trail. After they got to its lair, the thing dropped Dean and y/n, leaving her unconscious as well.

Sam and Ben look up after falling through the floor; Dean, y/n and Haley are hanging by their wrists from the ceiling. Sam runs to Dean.

“Dean! Dean!” Sam grabs and shakes dean while Ben is calling Haley. “Dean!” Dean opens his eyes. Hey, you okay?” Dean winces.

“Where’s, Y/n?” Dean asks looking around and spotting her, but when Sam cuts him down he almost falls to the floor.

“I’m going to her now. Calm down. Sit here!” Sam helps him to an empty patch on the floor and goes to y/n who’s still unconscious. Ben passes him with Haley, after releasing her. “Y/n! Wake up! Hey, how are you?”

She opens her eyes slowly and a pained look crosses her face. “I’m amazing.” she says faintly. “Dean?” she asks weakly.

“Right here.” he answer her from his spot, already standing up and going to her and Sam to help out, groaning. Meanwhile, Haley spots Tom, still hanging and starts crying.

“Tommy…” Haley touches Tom's cheek. His head jerks up. Haley jumps back and shrieks. She turns to Sam. “Cut him down!” Sam heads to them and cuts him down. “We're gonna get you home.”

The stolen supplies are piled in the corner. Dean picks up flare guns. “Check it out.”

“Flare guns. Those'll work.” Y/n grins and Sam smiles. Dean laughs and twirls the guns. They head down a tunnel, Dean and Sam in the lead with the flare guns and with y/n between them, and Haley and Ben supporting Tom, who is limping. They hear a growl.

“Looks like someone's home for supper.” Dean looks back at the siblings behind them.

“We'll never outrun it.” Haley looks at the hunters frightened.

Dean looks back at Sam and y/n. “You thinking what I'm thinking?” she nods and Sam answers.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“All right, listen to me. Stay with Sam. He's gonna get you out of here.” y/n says.

“What are you gonna do?” Hayley looks between Dean and y/n.

Dean frowns and looks at her. “no, you’re going with them.”

“I’m not leaving you behind alone! Don’t even try it.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head looking at the floor. He looks back at Haley and winks, starting to walk back hand in hand to the girl he spent most of his life with.

“Chow time, you freaky bastard!” She yells, smiling back at Dean.

“Yeah, that's right, bring it on, baby, We taste good.” He looks ahead and yells too.

Sam waits until Dean and y/n are a safe distance away and looks back at the three siblings. “All right, come on! Hurry!” The Collinses follow Sam down the tunnel. They hear a growling sound. Sam points the gun at it, then lowers the gun and turns to the Collinses. “Get him outta here.”

“Sam, no.” Haley starts.

“Go! Go! Go!” Sam tells them and turns back to the mine.

“Come on, Haley!” Ben starts pulling his sister to the entrance of the mine. Sam holds the flare gun ready to shoot, looking down the tunnel.

“Come on. Come on.” Sam yells and the growling intensifies. Sam turns and: the wendigo is right in his face. Sam shoots and misses, then runs after the Collinses. “Get behind me.” Sam is large enough to hide all three Collinses. The wendigo approaches, taking its time.

“Hey!” they hear Dean’s voice. The wendigo turns. Y/n shoots it in the stomach. The flare goes off and the wendigo goes up in flames. “Not bad, huh?” Dean asks and y/n grins at Sam.

An ambulance loads up Tom. Two police officers interview Ben while Sam stands behind him. A paramedic cleans the last cut in y/n’s cheek. When she sees Ben and Sam leaving the officers side and head to Dean and Haley, who have been patched up already.

Y/n sees Dean smirking lasciviously at Haley, she says something and he nods laughing. The paramedic tells the girl she’s all done and she thanks him. Not wanting to head in Dean’s direction, but everyone’s there already. Another paramedic calls Haley and she followed him, not before leaving a kiss on Dean's cheek. Y/n’s stomach turns, but she looks down.

“Man, I hate camping.” Dean says as soon as y/n reaches the Impala and sits down next to him.

“Me too.” “Yeah.” Sam and her answer him.

“Sam,” she looks past Dean at him, “you know we're gonna find John, right?”

“Yeah, I know. But in the meantime?” He turns his eyes to Dean “I'm driving.”

Dean looks down at his keyes, as he considers it. He throws them in the air and Sam grabs it. Y/n runs to shotgun and gets in the car, when Dean realizes, he looks at her incredulously.

“You snooze, you lose, Winchester.” she winks at him when Sam enters the driver’s seat. Looking at the sky Dean heads to the backseat. Sam turns the keyes and ‘Fly By Night’ by Rush begins to play while they drive off.

Taglist:

@stillhere197 @lmhf1

#Let it Ride #Supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #imagine #season 1 #fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural imagine #dean imagine #1x02 #Wendigo

26 notes · View notes