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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part twelve Word count: ±2750 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part twelve summary: The only way to find out the truth about Laura, is to start digging even deeper. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif credit: @demondetoxmanual.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

��Dead as a dodo,” the oldest of the Winchester brothers states over the phone, as he exits Arkansas Methodist Medical Center, Zoë by his side. Before they drove to the hospital, the hunters dropped Sam off at the Shire residence, so that he could make sure the family wouldn’t get targeted. Laura has proven to be relentless, and they didn’t want to risk the family getting killed as well.

“Laura attacked him while other people were around?” Sam, who is on the line with his brother, is clearly surprised. “She didn’t. She waited until he went to the supply storage, alone,” Dean tells. “Same deal; beat up, broken neck.” Sam cuts to the chase. “We have to figure this out fast. The only other people who may know something about Laura’s location is what’s left of the Shire family.” “You got eyes?” Dean checks, knowing Sam is staking out the residence on Lake Front Lane. “Yeah. So far so good.” “Make sure he keeps them in sight at all costs. Use an excuse and get into the house if he has to,” Zoë suggests, only catching half of the conversation.

Dean glances aside at the woman next to him. She has changed into a clean shirt, one that doesn’t have her own blood on it. Back at the Hampton Inn, she taped her right side, relieving some of the pressure from her aching ribs. After a quick touch up of her hair and make-up, one could barely tell she just got attacked by an angry spirit. Her walk is slightly stiff, but the bruising she suffered is sufficiently masked, her brown curls falling over the gash on her hairline, which she closed with butterfly stitches.

With a groan she lowers herself in the front seat of the Impala, muttering ‘fuck’ under her breath when fractures send a sharp pain through her body. Dean notices when he gets into the car as well, but doesn’t comment on it. Instead he puts his phone on speaker, now that the Impala provides them the safety to talk freely. “Zo says that when you lose sight of them, you better get inside. Tell them you’re insurance or somethin’.”

“Will do. Did you guys manage to get Laura’s medical records?” “We did. Let’s see what we have here.” The older Winchester pulls a folder from the inside of his leather coat. He opens it, about to leaf through the documents, when Zoë snatches it from his hands. “Hey!” “Like you could make sense of what’s in here,” she scolds.

She wets her finger and flips the page. A huff escapes her throat as she reads the file, shaking her head, disapproving. “1999, age four; skull fracture of the parietal, supposedly fell off her bike. 2001, age six; fracture of the left ulna. 2003, age eight, multiple fractures, right radius, she needed surgery for that. Same year, broken carpal bones, right wrist, this time it was the trampoline's fault. It goes on.” “Fucking bastard…” Dean scoffs. “And no one picked up on this?” Sam wonders. “Perks of the dad being Chief of surgery.” Zoë holds an X-ray against the light. “Good news for us is that we should be able to determine now if it’s Laura in that grave or not. Especially her right arm, which was screwed back together.”

“Only one way to find out. Looks like your gonna pay Linwood Cemetery another visit,” Dean says, turning the key in the ignition. The V8 engine comes to life with a roar, a song by The Kinks called ‘You Really Got Me’ playing on the local radio station.

“You know you and Zo have to stick together, right?” Sam brings to mind. “Say what?” Dean replies, puzzled, before he pulls away from the curb. “He’s right.” Zoë backs up the younger Winchester’s statement, glancing at the driver next to her. “Laura kills everyone who stops her, but only if they are alone. We already know she’s after me, and now you shot her through the head, so I’m guessing you moved up her murder list.” “Well that’s a comforting thought.” Dean breathes out, once realization sets in. “What about you, Sam?” “I don’t think she’ll come after me. I never actually had contact with her, unlike you guys,” Sam explains. “So basically, I’m stuck with her?” Dean nods his head at the young woman next to him, even though his brother can’t see it. “Hey, still in the car,” Zoë snarls, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She then continues to correct herself, in her usual brazenness. “Excuse my French. I’m still in the ‘67 Chevrolet Impala.”

Dean’s jaw clenches as he fights the urge to pull the gun from the glove compartment and shoot her. He’s getting pretty tired of her smartass comments. “He has a point, though,” Sam intervenes. “Whatever happens, you two have to stick together, or it will be the end of you. The second one of you ends up alone…” Sam leaves the rest of the words unsaid, because no one needs to hear them to understand. If Dean and Zoë get separated, they will die, and especially the huntress is not particularly happy about that matter.

“Great. My lucky day,” Zoë mutters sarcastically, after which she looks away and watches the houses rush by. “Do I have to remind you that I just saved your ass?” Dean recalls. The huntress huffs, of course he has to bring that up. “I didn't need your--” “Oh, come on! Don't start that bullshit with me,” the oldest Winchester counters, letting out a laugh. No way in hell she’s going to win this argument. “What were you planning to do exactly after Laura pinned you to the wall and was a second from snapping your neck, huh?”

“Could you two stop bitching at each other for one fucking second?!” Dean looks at the phone on the dashboard. For a moment there, he forgot Sam was still a part of this conversation. The younger Winchester clearly has had enough of their bickering and fighting, because it’s not often that the respectable sibling curses. The outburst helps, because both shut up instantly.

“Thank you,” Sam sighs and continues on his theory. “Dean, you dig up that body, I’ll keep an eye on the Shires.” The Impala comes to a stop before a traffic light, crossing cars not allowing Dean to run the stop sign. “What about Miss Congeniality over here?” “She can’t dig. She broke her ribs.” Sam states, matter of factly.

Zoë, who still had her arms crossed in front of her, now turns herself to watch the hunter’s reaction. The amusement that bubbles inside of her makes it impossible to suppress the wide smirk on her lips when she notices Dean translating the true meaning of Sam’s message. For once in her life, she is not going to disagree with Sam, because this is playing itself out beautifully. “So, I’m gonna have to dig up a coffin while she stands there being pretty?!” he almost exclaims. “Ah-uh.” “I have no issues with that, whatsoever.” Zoë agrees, adding fuel to the fire. “Of course you don’t, you--” Dean shuts himself up, biting his tongue before he says something he might regret. He’s only at an arm's length away from her, plus he’s driving his precious car. The huntress might be hurt, but she can still do some serious damage. “Alright, Sammy. You stay put, and be careful, okay?” he presses. “Who knows what that mini poltergeist has up her sleeve.” “I’ll be safe,” his younger brother promises. “You guys too, alright? See you in a bit.”

The sun is about to sink behind the horizon and golden hour is upon them. The heavens are colored in a dark shade of blue, gradually turning lighter in the west, where apricot and merigold fire up the sky. It’s getting chilly, autumn bringing down the temperatures at dusk. Nocturnal animals come to life, a barn owl hooting in the distance. The cemetery’s gates closed an hour ago, offering the hunters the peace and quiet needed to stay undetected.

This time it’s not the huntress who is shuffling dirt. In fact, she’s casually sitting on the tombstone next to Laura’s, her legs crossed like the lady that she is, watching Dean do all the hard work. While filing her nails, Zoë cannot help but admire the scenery, and it’s not the pretty sunset. The Winchester in her company is working his way into the ground, scooping dirt over his shoulder with steady amounts. He shed his jacket and his grey shirt is clinging to his clammy torso, perspiration shimmering on his exposed skin. Muscles roll beneath the fabric of the thin tee and his biceps flex with every motion, a glimpse of a tattoo peeking from under the right sleeve. The huntress might want to bite his head off most of the time, but even she has to admit; Dean’s is easy on the eyes.

“Like what you see?” Dean grins mischievously, having noticed her appreciating looks. Zoë isn’t at all thrown off balance by his remark, however. “Really? You objectify women all the fucking time, and you’re calling me out?” “Touché,” he chuckles, not slowing down for a second. “Just sayin’, the last time someone looked at me like that, I got laid.” Zoë scoffs, finding his assumption entertaining. “Keep on dreaming, Casanova. I’m more likely to die before ending up between the sheets with you.”

“Well…” Dean swings more ground out of the hole, groaning at the increasing ache in his left shoulder. His eyes are still mischievous, and so is the smirk on his lips. “Let’s get that mini poltergeist off your tail, and we’ll talk again.” Zoë rolls her eyes. This arrogant prick doesn’t know when to stop, does he? “Like I said; keep on dreaming. Now what the hell is taking you so long?” she judges. “It’s only six feet and the ground is already loose.” “Oh, I’m sorry. Maybe if you hadn't put a bullet in my shoulder two days ago, I’d dig a little faster!” Dean snaps, glaring at the person who has been giving him orders all day. “Don’t be such a baby. It didn’t even hit the joint,” Zoë scoffs, blowing the dusty residue from her fingertips. “Now would you hurry it up? I have places to be.”

Gritting his teeth, the hunter dumps another load of soil on the grass besides the grave. I swear to God, one of these days a spirit will be the last of her worries. “Maybe if you had paid attention when you fucking lit the kid in the first place, you could’ve left town hours ago.” “Maybe if your brother hadn’t distracted me, I would have. But you asshats tend to ruin other people's cases,” Zoë counters, rapidly. “Hey, we are just trying to help! Do I have to remind you who’s doing the actual dirty work here?” Dean pauses his actions. “Why don’t you get off your throne of thorns, princess. I’m nearly there.”

Zoë cocks back her head back; did he just call her ‘princess’? Her eyes shoot flames at the intolerable guy, her mouth opening to send back a remark, when the metal shovel collides with the wooden casket. The hollow sound catches Zoë’s attention and she gets up. “Fucking finally.”

Dean hoists himself out of the hole, making room to lift up the lid and exposing the remains. He was going to offer the huntress a hand to get into the grave, but he can’t be bothered now; she can figure out how to lower herself if she’s being such a bitch. She doesn’t ask either, and sits down on the edge, sliding down with a grunt. The older Winchester watches her descent, the light of her flashlight shimmering on his features as she turns it on and places it on the corner of the coffin.

“How are we supposed to tell if this is Laura or not? You already burned her bones to crisp,” Dean wonders, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “Because they aren’t burned to crisp. A salt and burn doesn’t actually destroy them like an oven would when cremated,” the huntress explains wisely, pulling on a pair of latex gloves from her pocket and putting them on as she crouches down.

“So what’s the crime scene telling you, Horatio?” Dean wonders, shining his flashlight down on the skeleton. Zoë doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she clears the burned clothing and half deteriorated skin and muscle tissue from the right arm of the girl in the coffin. She rubs her thumb over the radius bone, swiping away the ash and grime. There are no signs of a healed break, nor has the arm ever been screwed and bolted back together. “This isn’t Laura,” she knows. “Well, shit,” Dean responds, staggered. “If this ain’t her, then where the hell is she?” “Good question.” Zoë rises again, going over the clues they have gathered so far. “Let’s head to the Shire house, get back to Sam. We gotta figure this out, fast.”

The two hunters pack up, Dean hauling the dirt back into the grave while Zoë gathers his jacket and the torches. It takes him less longer than digging the hole in the first place, even though he has to bite through the pain. Not wanting to let Zoë know and give him a reason to scold him again, he keeps his mouth shut.

Thirty minutes later, the driver of the Chevrolet settles down on the front seat, closing the door behind him. “Where to?” Zoë has already pulled her laptop out, studying the map of Paragould on the screen. “Highway 412 up west, right on Reynolds Road, and then take left on Reynolds Park Road.” Dean guides the Chevrolet back onto the street, focused on traffic while the passenger takes in the moving world outside the window. The sinking sun sends an orange glow through the Impala, reflecting on the polished hood of the classic car. They are losing light, they are losing time.

When the driver glances aside briefly, he detects the pondering frown knitted between Zoë’s eyebrows. “Do you happen to see any bright ideas in that thousand mile stare?” he wonders. “We can’t split up, so we have to find Laura’s body and figure out how she relocates with the information we already have,” she says, thinking out loud. Dean brainstorms. “Maybe the way she relocates is a clue on itself.”

Zoë lets the air fall from her lips while thinking about that, trying to make sense of it all. “She can jump houses, but stays in a certain area. The principal’s home, the hospital, the Dawlson’s house, they are not far from each other, but what connects them?” “When you saw her, she was wet through, right? That has to mean something,” the older Winchester brother contemplates. “Yeah, but doesn’t make any sense. We know she didn’t drown,” she ponders, glancing aside at the driver as he turns on Reynolds Park Road. “What if it has something to do with the cover up of her cause of death and not with her death itself?” Dean brings to mind.

Suddenly, it clicks. Her eyes grow wide as she straightens herself, her eyes now locked on what’s in front of her. The Reynolds Park Lake comes into view, the last of the evening light reflecting on the surface. It seems peaceful and quiet at this hour, but it becomes very clear to her that these waters hold a dark secret. “The lake…” she huffs. “The park lake has a water purification system. It provides water to the town.” Dean follows her gaze. It only takes a second before the penny drops. “So that’s how she travels.”

It all makes sense now. Why Sam’s vision showed the sprinklers when he saw Taylor Dawlson get attacked. Why the faucets in Zoë’s hotel room opened right before she manifested. She’s not six feet in the ground, she’s six feet under water. “Little Laura took a swim,” Zoë realizes.

Stunned that they actually managed to crack the case, she glances aside at the green-eyed hunter, who shares a knowing look with her, a small smirk playing on his lips. They finally know what happened, before and after the girl’s death. All they have to do now is find the remains so they can put the spirit to rest, and who knows, maybe Zoë will make that deadline after all.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter thirteen here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural OFC #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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abusybuzzingbee · 5 years ago

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Hook Man | Supernatural Season 1 Episode 7 Rewrite | Dean x Fem!Reader

A/N:::: Thank you all for being so patient while I sorted this chapter out. Enjoy! :)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Major Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Canon level violence, language, Dean and the reader being assholes to each other TW: mentions of suicide, self-deprecating thoughts

Word Count: 6,030

Summary: In a small town haunted by the spirit of an evil preacher, Sam gets caught up in a crush he feels he should not have. Meanwhile, the reader and Dean continue their bullshit.

Series Masterlist

Season 1 Masterlist

Click here for the series playlist!

‘Well, you can tell by the way I use my walk

I’m a woman’s man, no time to talk’

“Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees played through your headphones that led from your ears to your back pocket where your iPod was stowed away.

‘Music loud and women warm, I’ve been kicked around

Since I was born’

You had woken up that morning with a strong desire to get your nails done. The polish job you had done on yourself weeks ago looked horrible, and it was time for a change.

‘And now it's alright, it's okay

And you may look the other way’

You had gotten some acrylics put on in a bright shade of red. Your music choice and the way you carried yourself back to the coffee shop you had left the Winchesters at expressed the confidence you were feeling.

‘We can try to understand

The New York Times' effect on man’

Dean refused to let you drive the Impala to the nail salon you went to, but you did not mind walking; it burned calories.

‘Whether you're a brother or whether you're a mother

You're stayin' alive, stayin' alive’

You straightened your sunglasses on the bridge of your nose and took another proud look at your nails. Most girls were able to get their nails done whenever the hell they wanted, and would not be as elated as you were once they had gotten them done. However, you did not always have time between jobs to take care of yourself.

‘Feel the city breakin' and everybody shakin'

And we're stayin' alive, stayin' alive’

As you walked up to the café you had last seen the boys at, you spotted the older brother at a table outside of the coffee shop.

‘Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive, stayin' alive

Ah, ha, ha, ha, stayin' alive’

You took your earbuds out and shoved them into your back pocket with your iPod.

“Nice of you to join us, princess,” Dean remarked while you sat at the round table across from him.

“Ew, don’t call me that,” you grimaced. “That’s your name for your hook-ups.”

He looked up at you over his laptop. “And what would be wrong with being one of my hook-ups?”

“I don’t know, everything?” you snorted, scratching the side of your nose with the end of your nail.

The older brother apparently caught sight of your nails and shook his head. He turned his attention back to typing on the computer in front of him. “I don’t know how you can function with those.”

“And I don’t know how you can function with your head up your ass, but here we are,” you snapped back. Taking a deep breath, you regained your composure. “What’d you guys do while I was gone?” you asked Sam.

“I called the FBI, had ‘em check their missing persons data bank. No John Doe’s fitting my dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.”

“And you got nothing?”

“Nope.”

“I’m sorry,” you told the brunet.

“Eh, it’s alright,” he tried to shrug off. You saw right through it, and it seemed as if he knew you did. “But, uh, Dean thinks he found a case. Some guy got mauled by the Invisible Man according to the sole witness.”

“Well, what are we waitin’ for?” you smirked. “Let’s go.”

***

“Sam, you got purple shit on your hands,” you told the younger brother as you got into the Impala.

The boys had come to pick you up from the motel they had dropped you off at about an hour earlier.

To your surprise, Dean chuckled at your comment.

“Dean made me paint our new roommate purple,” Sam grimaced.

“Oh,” you nodded, “must be a game today.”

“A big one, apparently.”

“So, where are we headin’?” you asked.

“To church,” Dean responded.

***

The muffled voice of the preacher carried through the ornate wooden doors of the church Lori Sorenson went to. Sam told her that she was the witness and her father preached at said church.

Dean led the way through the large doors and held it open for his brother. You tried your best to shut the door quietly, which you did successfully. The congregation hardly noticed you had come in. The three of you sat in the back of the church.

The voice of the preacher finally registered in your ears as you stared forward blankly. “The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings. So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.”

Sam lowered his head just like the rest of the congregation, but you kept yours looking straight ahead. You were not a believer in any sense of the word.

The younger Winchester nudged you with his elbow, motioning for you to bow your head. You did so reluctantly.

***

“Y’know, that was the first time I’ve ever gone to church,” you told Sam as you walked out of the mass.

“Really?”

“Yeah, no, and I definitely don’t regret never having been before after that.” You paused. “That felt like a cult gathering,” you went on.

“Stop talking,” Sam nudged you when he noticed some of the people exiting the church around you giving you strange looks.

You laughed, quieting down as you walked toward a young woman who you assumed to be Lori.

“Are you Lori?” Sam asked the brunette.

“Yeah,” she smiled, turning to face you.

“My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean, and our friend, (Y/N).”

“Hi,” you smiled while Dean waved.

“We just transferred here to the university,” the younger brother continued.

“I saw you inside,” Lori replied.

“We don’t wanna bother you. We just heard about what happened and--”

Dean cut his brother off. “We wanted to say how sorry we were.”

“I kind of know what you’re going through. I-I saw someone..get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.”

You cast your eyes up to Sam’s face, which was still toward Lori.

Lori nodded slightly, her smile faltering.

The reverend walked up to your group.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean, and (Y/N). They’re new students.”

Dean shook Reverend Sorenson’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.”

“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.”

It was incredibly hard for you to resist the urge to snort out a laugh.

The older brother chuckled. “Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually--” he began to lead the reverend away from you, Sam, and Lori, “--And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.”

Catching on to what Dean was doing, you told Sam you would see him later. Sam looked down at you questioningly while you gave him a knowing smirk.

The tune of “Rocketman” by Elton John left your lips as you whistled, leaning against the car in wait for the brothers.

Dean was the first to walk up to you. He stuck his hands in his pockets before settling back in the spot on the Impala next to you.

An awkward silence fell between you both after you stopped whistling. A few minutes passed before Dean spoke up.

“Y’know, I’m surprised,” he started.

“About what?”

“You actually kept your mouth shut for more than two seconds.”

“Bite me, Winchester,” you grumbled.

***

Dean lead you and his brother through the rows of books in the town’s public library. Sam was hot on his heels to converse with his brother as they walked.

“So you believe her?” Dean asked.

“I do,” the younger brother responded.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.”

“No, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.”

“Wait, the body suspended?” you jumped in, stopping in the middle of the aisle the older brother had led you to. The two Winchesters followed suit and faced you.

“That sounds like the Hook Man legend.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam nodded.

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever.”

“You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man,” Dean said.

“Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began.”

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?”

“Maybe Mr. Hook Man’s a spirit,” you suggested.

Dean shook his head, doubting you once again, but headed off to ask the librarian for the town’s death records anyway.

***

A little while later, you and the boys were sat at a table in the center of the library watching the librarian set large boxes on your table.

“Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851.”

Dean blew some dust off of the top of one of the boxes and coughed, making you snicker.

“Thanks,” he said.

She nodded, replying, “Okay,” and then walked away.

“So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?”

“Welcome to higher education,” Sam remarked.

You opened up one of the four boxes, grimacing as you looked down at the large number of files inside.

***

Hours later, your head was hurting from the amount of reading you had done. Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes and yawned before Sam piped up from the shelf he was leaning over behind you.

“Hey, check this out. 1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.’”

While Sam talked, you were busying yourself looking over another page in the file. When the brunet finished speaking, you went on, “Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.”

“Look where all this happened.”

“Nine Mile Road,” Dean read.

“Same place where the frat boy was killed.”

The older Winchester was impressed. “Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.”

You put the document you were holding back into the file and helped the boys clean up your table. After that, the three of you left the library with Jacob Karn’s documents in hand.

When you opened the doors, you were surprised at the fact that the sun had almost completely set.

“Jesus, we were in there a while.”

***

By the time you got to Nine Mile Road, the sun was gone. The black night enveloped you and the Winchesters, save for the few patches of road illuminated by the streetlights.

Dean popped open the trunk while you slammed the car door behind you. He handed his brother a hunting rifle.

“Here you go.”

“Uh, it’s a spirit, dude, not a deer,” you reminded Dean.

"Yeah, I got that, smartass. It’s rock salt.”

“Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent,” Sam added, taking the rifle from Dean.

“Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” The older brother took some rope out of the weapons box before shutting the trunk.

The three of you began walking toward the trees lining one side of the road.

“That’s pretty good. You and Dad think of this?” Sam inquired.

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius,” Dean replied.

You heard a rustling noise coming from the trees and shrubbery behind you and stopped walking.

The younger Winchester pointed his gun toward the sound, and you jumped behind him. He cocked the gun simultaneously.

“Put the gun down now! Now!” he yelled, aiming his own pistol at you. “Put your hands behind your head.”

“W-w-wait, okay, okay!” Dean stuttered out while you immediately shrank to the ground, laying your weapon down.

“Now get down on your knees. Come on, do it! On your knees!”

Deciding it best to follow his instructions, you remained on the ground.

“Now get down on your bellies. Come on, do it!”

Once again, you followed the man’s instructions.

“He had the gun!” Dean protested.

“Shut up, jackass!” you ordered harshly.

***

The next morning, you walked out of the sheriff’s office confidently with the boys hot on your heels.

“I saved your asses,” you said proudly. “Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Somebody give me an academy award.”

“But how?” Sam questioned.

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that Dean was hazing you.”

“What’d you say you were doing there?”

“I told him I was Dean’s girlfriend.”

Dean about choked on his own spit. “You what?”

Sam ignored him and kept asking questions. “What about the shotgun?”

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.”

“And he believed you?”

“Well, you look like a dumbass pledge,” you smirked.

Sam punched your arm playfully, making you laugh.

A few moments later, your attention returned to the sheriff’s station when multiple police officers sprinted out of the building and sped off in their cruisers.

You looked up at Sam, who mirrored your concerned expression.

***

Poor Lori sat wrapped in a disposable blanket on the back of a parked ambulance, and you watched her as Dean drove the Impala past her.

You could see Reverend Sorenson talking to the sheriff about something, but they soon disappeared from view when the older brother turned down another street.

Once he parked the car, you and Sam walked with him around the back of Lori’s sorority house.

“Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road,” Sam pointed out.

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else,” Dean suggested. You pulled him by his shirt collar back against the wall of the sorority house when you noticed two sorority girls coming out of the side entrance of the house.

“What the hell was that for?” Dean questioned.

You nodded your head around the corner behind which you were hiding.

Dean’s aggravated glare immediately softened when he saw the two pretty girls.

“Dude, sorority girls!” he whispered to Sam. “Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?”

“You are such a pig.” You shook your head as you scaled the side of the house, managing to get up onto a ledge attached to a balcony.

Sam climbed up after you, grabbing the hand you offered to help him up onto the ledge.

You got up from your knees to follow Sam.

“Uh, a little help?” Dean called quietly from down below.

You looked over the edge. “Hm, no.”

“(Y/N), c’mon,” he begged.

“What’s the magic word?” you smirked.

His mouth dropped into a frown, but the older Winchester begrudgingly said, “Please?”

You were still smiling. “See, that wasn’t so hard.” You got to your knees, leaning over the end of the ledge. Dean grabbed the hand you extended, and you helped to pull him up.

Dean followed you over the railing of the balcony, but he was the first to head to the window Sam had gone into.

“I’m waiting, Winchester,” you told him, finding toying with the boy fun.

“For what?”

With your hands on your hips and putting most of your weight to your right leg, you cocked your head to the side.

He finally caught on. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You rushed in front of him to go into the window first, turning around to stick your tongue out at him.

Not a moment after you found your footing, Dean took it from you once again. He caused both of you to stumble as he fell through the window behind you.

“Oh, sorry!” he told you.

“Be quiet,” you muttered, choosing not to let your annoyance overcome you.

“You be quiet!”

“You be quiet!” you bit back childishly.

For some reason, the architect who designed the sorority house thought it was smart to put a window inside of a walk-in closet. You stood up once again between two rows of clothing hanging from the walls. The younger brother looked through the small crack between the doorframe and closet door, waiting for someone to leave the room before the three of you headed into it. Once he spotted that whoever the people in the room were had left, he pushed the door open. When it made a small creaking sound, all three of you pressed your backs to the shelves in the closet. After you were sure the cops had gone, you walked into the bedroom.

Your jaw clenched and your body tensed when you looked at the macabre scene before you. The first thing to catch your eyes was the bed, blocked off by caution tape and covered in blood. Next were the words scratched messily into the wall. Words that you assumed had been written by the Hook Man with his hook after killing the sorority girl since the words were dripping with blood.

“Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?”

A symbol of a cross with four ‘x’s around the outside of it was beneath the words.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’” Sam repeated the phrase embedded into the cream-colored wall. “That’s right out of the legend.”

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right,” Dean added, tapping the end of his nose as he said his next sentence. “It’s definitely a spirit.” He walked over to the window.

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before.”

“Hey, wait,” you cut in. “Does that look familiar to you?” You pointed to the cross beneath the letters.

“No, why?” the older brother asked, coming back from the window.

“I think it was on the hook in the drawing. There was a, uh, a chain attached to the end of the hook Jacob used I think with a pendant hanging from it.” With that, you headed off to the window in Lori’s closet. The boys followed you back to the Impala.

“Keys, please,” you ordered.

Dean followed your instructions, tossing the car keys to you so you could open it.

After grabbing the Jacob Karns file from the backseat, you handed it to Sam. The brunet walked around the front of the car to sit on the hood while he looked through the papers.

“Y’know, I’m surprised,” you told Dean.

“About what?”

“You actually didn’t fight me on something for once. And you let me touch the keys to your car, all in the same day.”

“Bite me, (Y/L/N).”

You snickered to yourself, following Dean to sit next to Sam on the hood of the car.

“It’s the same symbol,” Sam confirmed. “Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.”

“All right, let’s find the dude’s grave, salt and burn the bones, and put him down,” Dean responded.

Sam flipped to another page in the file and began to read. “’ After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery in an unmarked grave.’”

“Well, shit,” you mumbled.

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why.”

“I’ll take a wild guess about why--” Dean began, walking around the car to the driver’s seat, “--I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.”

***

You were somewhere you never thought you would ever be-- a college party. Sam and Dean’s new fraternity brothers invited them to it. A tall, handsome guy was chatting you up. He told you his name at some point, but you had since forgotten it.

“Whaddaya say we get out of here?” he asked you.

“Hm,” you pretended to be in thought, “I don’t think you’ve earned that yet.”

“No?” he smiled.

“Uh-uh,” you replied playfully.

He leaned his face down to yours slightly, his arms working their way around your waist. “What can I do to fix that?”

Your arms found your way around his neck. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

He leaned his face further down to connect his lips with yours. You closed your eyes as you kissed him back, making sure to keep your drink level in your hand.

The two of you made out for a few more minutes before you were called away from him by Sam.

“Sorry,” you told the boy, excusing yourself.

You and Dean walked up to Sam simultaneously.

“Hey,” Sam greeted the both of you.

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me,” Dean started. “This college thing is awesome!”

A pretty girl passed Dean by, and he winked and smiled at her.

“This wasn’t really my experience,” Sam grimaced.

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?” you teased.

The younger brother nodded.

“What a geek,” Dean jested. “Alright, you do your homework?”

“Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” Sam unraveled a piece of paper.

You took another sip of your drink while Dean read from the page.

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder. 1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage.”

“There’s a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out—get this—with a sharp instrument.”

“What’s the connection to Lori?” Deam inquired.

“A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?” You waited for Dean to catch on.

When he suddenly understood, you went on. “Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter.”

“Reverend Sorensen. You think he’s summoning the spirit?”

“Maybe,” Sam answered for you. “Or, you know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?”

“Yeah, the spirit latches onto the reverend’s repressed emotions, feeds off them, yeah, okay.”

“Without the reverend ever even knowing it,” you added.

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight,” Dean told Sam suggestively.

“What about you two?”

You caught Dean staring at a beautiful blonde smiling at him from her position by the pool table.

“I’m gonna go see if I can find that unmarked grave,” he said reluctantly. “C’mon, (Y/N),” Dean commanded as he walked away shaking his head in disappointment.

***

Deep inside of Old North Cemetry, you and Dean walked around with flashlights in hand looking for Jacob Karns’ grave.

“(Y/N)!” Dean called from several graves over.

You jogged up to him. He was shining his flashlight on the grave in front of him. The same symbol that was on the hook and scrawled into the wall of the sorority house was engraved on the headstone.

“Nice job,” you nodded.

‘Wow, you actually weren’t a bitch for once.”

“Fuck off.”

***

Dean had taken off his jacket and button-down a while ago, just as you had abandoned your hoodie on the grass above where you were now digging. The two of you stood back to back in the hole you dug, continuing to drive your shovels deeper. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your dirt-covered hand.

“That’s it.”

“That’s what?” you asked.

“Next time, I get to watch the cute girl’s house.”

“Oh, come on, dickhead, let’s just get this over with.”

Finally, your shovel hit the wooden box the priest was encased in. You broke through it.

Dean looked over your shoulder at Jacob Karns’ remains. “Hello, preacher.” He threw his shovel up to the top of the hole.

“Gross.” You scrunched up your nose as you did the same with your shovel.

Dean clambered out of the hole, disappearing from your vision as he walked away.

You almost climbed out of the ground when your foot slipped and caused you to fall back down.

Dean peered over the grassy ledge at your slumped over form. “Need help, princess?”

“I got it,” you grumbled, feeling as though he was mocking you. You tried to climb out of the hole once more but failed.

“Sure you don’t need any help?”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, asshole?”

“Yeah, maybe a little bit,” he smirked.

“Dick.” You reached your arm up to him.

“Bitch.” He grabbed your hand and pulled you up next to him.

“Thanks,” you muttered.

“Mm-hmm.” Dean had his back facing you as he pulled a few items out of his duffel bag. He turned to throw you a box of salt before grabbing a bottle of lighter fluid. You poured the salt over the body while he poured the fluid.

“Goodbye, preacher.” Dean lit a match and dropped it onto Jacob Karns, completely engulfing the pine box in flames.

“I’ll never get used to that smell,” you told Dean as you began packing up the bag.

“Of what, a sizzling decomposed body?”

“Yeah,” you grimaced.

A few moments of silence passed between the two of you while you worked to clean up your mess.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

You paused. “Nevermind.”

“No, what’s up?”

Once again, you hesitated.

“(Y/N).”

You could not bear to look at Dean. “Am I a burden to you?”

“No,” he answered.

“Dean, be honest with me.”

“What do you want me to say, (Y/N)? You want me to tell you I hate your guts and wish you were dead?”

You got up and turned to look at him. “Well, do you?”

“No!” He lolled his head to the side before bringing it back to the center. “Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because if you didn’t really think that way, then why else would the shifter say that to me?”

“You’re still on the shifter, huh?”

“How could I not be?” You bit back. “Picture this. You and your best friend’s brother fight all the fuckin’ time. It’s all fun and games until Toledo, Ohio, where he thinks you’d have the chops to murder somebody. Murder someone close to you. Then he tells you that he’ll be glad you’re gone when you finally find his dad. Oh, not to mention he tells you you’d drive your family insane enough that they’d kill themselves. So when a shapeshifter walkin’ around with his face, it’s really not that hard to believe him when he tells you your best friend’s brother thinks you’re a burden.”

Dean was completely silent. “(Y/N)--”

“Save it, Dean.”

***

You had not said one word to Dean since you left the cemetery. Even now as you walked down the hallway of the hospital Sam told you he was at, you would not speak to him.

There were police officers stationed a little way before the entrance to a hospital room that Sam and the sheriff were standing in.

Dean tried to push past the two cops, but they put their hands on his chest to stop him.

“No, it’s alright, I’m with him. He’s my brother,” he told the cops before waving and calling to Sam. “Hey! Brother!”

“Let them through,” the sheriff told the two officers.

“Thanks,” you said to the policemen while you walked past them.

"You ok?” Dean asked Sam once the three of you had met halfway.

“Yeah.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Hook Man.”

“You saw him?”

“Damn right. Why didn’t you torch the bones?”

“What are you talking about, we did. You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?”

“It sure as hell looked like him. And that’s not all. I don’t think the spirit is latching on to the reverend.”

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself.”

Realization washed over you.

“Lori,” you cut in.

“Yep,” Sam affirmed. “Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.”

“So what?” Dean questioned.

“So she’s upset about it. She’s upset about the immorality of it. She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.”

“Ok, so she’s conflicted. And the spirit of Preacher Karns is latching on to repress the emotions and maybe he’s doing the punishing for her, huh?”

“Right. Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.”

“Remind me not to piss this girl off,” the older brother tried to joke. “But I burned those bones, I buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?”

“You must have missed something.”

“No. I burned everything in that coffin.”

“Did you get the hook?”

“Crap,” you started. “I don’t remember seeing the hook.”

“I don’t get it, why do we need the hook?” Dean asked.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him,” his younger brother replied.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.”

“So if we find the hook...”

“We stop the Hook Man,” the two boys said simultaneously.

***

Aside from a few comments you made to Sam, you remained abnormally quiet throughout the rest of the day. You had gone to the library, where Sam discovered the hook had been sent back to St. Barnabas Church-- the church where Lori’s father preached. You and the Winchesters figured that the hook was the reason the priests that preached at St. Barnabas had been cursed for the past two-hundred years. The hook had been reforged into something else, however, hence why the three of you were heading back to the church to try and find it.

Dean slammed the car door behind him, immediately barking orders at you and Sam.

“Alright, we can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire.”

“I agree. So, Lori’s still at the hospital. We’ll have to break in,” Sam added.

“Alright, take your pick.”

“I’ll take the house.”

You followed Sam wordlessly.

“Hey,” Dean called after you and his brother. “Stay out of her underwear drawer.”

You scoffed, continuing your walk up to the Sorenson house.

As you and Sam rooted through the living room together, Sam finally decided to comment on your strange behavior.

“What’s goin’ on with you, (Y/N)?”

“Hm?” You were hardly paying him any mind, continuing to go through the items in one of the side tables.

��(Y/N),” Sam said again, but softer this time, “What happened?”

You sighed, turning around to face him. “You remember how I told you the shapeshifter said I was a burden to Dean?”

He nodded.

“Well... I asked Dean if he really thought of me that way.”

“And?”

“He said ‘no,’ but of course he’d say ‘no.’“

“Wait, so you asked him to give you an honest answer, but you wouldn’t accept ‘no’?”

“Well, now that you say it it sounds fuckin’ stupid, but--”

“’But’ nothing,” Sam cut you off. “You’re pissed at him because he told you you weren’t a burden?”

You were silent.

“(Y/N)... you don’t think you’re a burden, do you?”

You remained quiet once again, turning back to the drawer. You forced the lump that had formed in your throat down and went back to work.

“So, how’d it go with Lori?”

“(Y/N), don’t change the subject.”

“Sam--” you warned.

He sighed. “I kissed her.”

You spun back around. “Why don’t you sound happier about that?”

“Because I pushed her away.”

“Oh,” you said quietly. You were not quite sure what else to say to that.

“It just didn’t feel right.”

“I get it,” you told him. “It probably won’t for a while. But you’ll get through it. And I’m always here if you need help.”

“Thanks,” the young man answered. “I’ll always be here for you, too.”

You nodded sharply, turning back around to continue your work.

***

“We got everything that even looked silver,” Sam told Dean as the two of you descended the stairs into the church basement.

The older brother was throwing everything he had found into the furnace.

“Better safe than sorry.”

You dumped the bag of silver things you were carrying into the fire, but your head jerked away from the flames when you heard footsteps on the floor above you.

“Move, move,” Dean demanded quietly, taking his gun out of his back pocket.

You took your gun out of the back of your jeans before you headed up the stairs behind Sam.

All three of you were surprised to see Lori sitting in a pew alone and sobbing her eyes out.

You lowered your gun and went back down the stairs. Dean trailed behind you.

Aside from the crackling flames, the room was silent while you and Dean worked. Only a few minutes later, however, you heard pounding footsteps heading down a set of stairs separate from the one you and Dean had come down. Not a moment later came Sam’s muffled howl of pain.

You sprinted up the stairs and held your gun out in front of you. Dean took the lead and dashed down the set of stairs he thought Sam and Lori had gone down.

“Sam, drop!” Dean yelled before you got into the room.

When you rounded the corner, you saw Sam crouched down on the floor with a horrified Lori huddled in the back right corner of the room. Dean shot the Hook Man, causing him to disappear.

“I thought we got all the silver,” you expressed.

“So did I,” Dean affirmed.

“Then why is he still here?” Sam asked.

“Well, maybe we missed something!”

You looked over at Lori. “That cross on your neck.” You pointed to the small silver cross necklace she wore.

“What?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“My father gave it to me.”

“Where’d your dad get it?”

“He said it was a church heirloom, he gave it to me when I started school.”

"IIs it silver?!”

“Yes!”

Sam ripped the chain off of her neck.

Not a moment later, a horrible scratching sound came from down the hallway you and Dean entered from.

You rushed out of the room down the hallway to where the scratching was coming from. Using your gun, you shot at where you thought the Hook Man was. Of course, he decided to make himself invisible at that moment which made your targeting only that much more difficult.

“Sam, Lori, get outta here!” you yelled.

Sam hesitated for a moment before grabbing Lori’s hand and taking her down the hallway in the opposite direction of where the Hook Man was.

Within the next second, the scratching sound stopped, and all signs of the Hook Man were gone.

You wheeled around when Lori shrieked. The Hook Man was towering over them with his hook raised in the air. Before you could move to aim your pistol, the spirit began melting from his hook down through the rest of his body.

Dean returned a few moments later having destroyed Lori’s necklace. He glanced over Sam and Lori’s huddled together bodies, giving them a knowing look.

***

The sun had risen by the time you were almost through with your interrogation.

“Yeah, we all saw him. We fought him off and he ran,” you explained to the police officer writing your statement down on a notepad.

“That’s all?” he asked.

“Yep,” you replied, popping the ‘p.’

“Looks like your buddies are headin’ out.” The officer gestured to Sam getting in the Impala where Dean already sat with the end of his pen. “You best get goin’, too.”

You nodded with a tight-lipped smile in response. While you got into the car, you noticed Sam looking in the passenger’s side rearview mirror at Lori.

We could stay,” Dean suggested to the brunet.

The younger brother shook his head.

You turned around in your seat to see a sad-looking Lori as Dean pulled the car away from the scene. With a shake of your head, you turned back around, crossed your arms over your chest, and slumped down in your chair.

So caught up in your own world, you did not see the strange glances Dean kept throwing you in the rearview mirror.

Feedback is always appreciated and tags are open!

Series Rewrite Babes:

@rach5ive @ppeachygemss

Dean Girls:

@akshi8278

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adrunkgiraffe · 4 years ago

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I have been through this journey before, so I get to be actually frustrated about it.

IUnder a read more because im not subjecting y’all to this. Also: I should caveat I haven’t watched the episode cause I’m waiting till its on Netflix but I have watched way too many other episodes of Supernatural so I have a right to say these things.

TL;DR: I mean you all knew Cas’ confession was fucking bullshit and that SPN is...hm. But I’d like to actually express my genuine frustration, for a moment? I’m going to say things you already know, but I have too much knowledge of this show and too much stupid meta in my brain about a series I haven’t genuinely enjoyed for at least 5 years which makes this not just blandly bad but disgustingly insulting to me not even as a gay just as like. A writer?

Or, even shorter: Cas’ confession is just a Charlie Bradbury Speedrun

So. As some of you may know if, for some reason, you followed me back in 2013 (and till...okay fine 2015), I used to be, uh. Really into SPN. Really, I was into Destiel. Like, as in, I slogged through seasons 1-3 to get to Cas and am also really vulnerable to the Sunk Cost Fallacy and projecting onto characters. (I was in 8th grade in 2013, okay? Get off my back)

Also, because I monopolised use of the TV, I kind of...also got my parents into it? In a “this is silly but fun” kind of way.

Over time, critiques of the show from viewers, learning what queerbaiting is at all, fatigue with how long it was going, and also fatigue from how characters I enjoyed, like Rufus, or Crowley, or Ellen, or Jo, or Kevin, or Charlie, or Cas a few times, kept getting killed off. As time went on, it didn’t escape my notice that, aside from Cas, all of these characters fit one or more of the following criteria:

They were a woman

They were a person of color

Were Queer or Queer-coded in some way (listen Crowley was bad rep but at least Mark Sheppard actually kissed a man on screen)

I also just...generally got tired of the way the show treats women and sidelines people of color.

The final straw really came with Charlie’s death. It got us all excited, because she hadn’t been back in a bit! And it was interesting to see how reuniting with her dark side from Oz had changed her! (yeah remember the fucking Wizard of Oz storyline? The writers sure don’t!) And maybe she’d get developed! Because at this point, Charlie and the fairly good writing of her character was a major upside for the series! Charlie was cool, fun, gay, and morally complex in a way...none of the female characters had been before her, in large part because by definition, her relationship with the boys would always be platonic.

And then. Offscreen. She is violently murdered. For no damn good reason. Like, literally, her being brought back in this episode after fucking off to europe after having returned from fucking off to Oz seems to have filled two purposes in total.

The codex is solved (but Sam doesn’t know till next episode)

Charlie is dead, which means Dean can be angry, specifically at Sam, and kill more people because he’s the big bad this season.

That’s it. Two things. Twooooo whole reasons to do this episode. Whoopee.

But you didn’t come here for this, you came here for me to rip this reveal to shreds. Don’t worry, I’ll get there. What I want in your minds is that Supernatural already had a really good anddynamic queer character. And then they killed her off to make Dean angry. No, it doesn’t matter that they brought her back in season 13 or whatever. They made that decision.

After the rage this incited, I started realizing general flaws in the writing (I had probably already noticed them but now I was angry enough to complain.) Every conflict is born of Sam and Dean not communicating/taking on burdens and Dean being angry at Cas for reasons that ranged from good to ridiculous, but in a way that always went way too fucking long, (which...yes, does make the “you do it for love” gifs fucking hilarious). It didn’t help that seasons 11 and 12 were next, which meant Demon Dean and GOD’S FUCKING SISTER, plus the decision to resurrect Mary, which, while I do like her later scenes, as a season 12 finale it...well I’ll be honest it kinda sucked. It undercut the majority of the Winchester’s’ arcs and their slow and painful journey out of their father’s toxic vengeance quest and knowing Mary as a person when it’s too late to know her was one of the last semi-compelling grounders of the narrative.

By this point it was a hate-watch for my parents and I.

So then, I’m at college, and I’m not watching anymore cause I don’t have the motivation or access to Hulu to continue, and SPN is bad. I watch the Scooby Doo crossover when it comes out and my friend and I make fun of it, and we also continue making jokes about Dean and Cas and queerbaiting because we’re queer, but I don’t keep up. My Dad does though, so when I return, I watch some with the fam and lads. It’s even more tiring without context.

So flash forward to Quarantine, my sister, the only one with taste, has left, and we have run out of netflix to watch. So we return to the well, and seasons 13-14 are. I’m gonna say it. Bad. Really fucking bad. The cycle of bad communication continues, season 14 has like seven antagonists and the way it’s structured makes it so I literally cannot remember the timeline of a season I watched 3 months ago. Oh also, they have a queer coded cannibal snake monster for...well I guess Jack’s snake bud was cool but like. Huh wow it’s almost like these writers don’t handle queers well.

Our one saving grace is Cas, but he’s barely in any episodes, though I did note that his deal with the empty, being happy completely for one moment killing him, that struck me as “this has potential and I know they’re gonna half-ass it somehow.” Also Jack and Mary, but then oh...plot….The most compelling it gets is literally the finale.

But then, 3 days later, the first half of season 15 comes out on Netflix and it’s...actually kind of acceptable. The new character they give Jack’s actor is fun to watch him play until they make him evil. Exploring just how toxic Chuck can be gave the series direction again. The alternate future was genuinely scarring, and Eileen’s return was genuinely moving. Most of all, though, Cas got the opportunity to tell Dean no, that Dean was being unfair to him, had always been unfair to him, and he was sick of it. I had no illusions, I knew Destiel was never gonna happen, and Cas was gonna die, but giving him that bit of agency, letting Cas grow and be self-sufficient, and be angry with Dean not for existential reasons but interpersonal ones, was such a good sign for me, and Dean grew too! Dean fucking apologized for being horrible and Jensen Ackles had a...yknow what, ill give it to him, he had a good acting moment.

But the thing. About. The “I love you.”

Let’s take it in parts.

What was good: I’m gonna admit it, lads, “Wanting what I can’t have” - AS A LINE - is good, and, structurally, there is something to the Empty Deal that could have been an interesting aspect of Cas’ arc when it comes to self actualization and being on even footing with Dean. The problem is, this is Supernatural, and that arc only comes up when I bring it up because character study, even in bad media, is fun for me.

What was bad:

I mean. Like. All of it? All of it.

Okay. Fine. I’ll be specific.

Cas dies immediately when - possibly because- he is revealed as having feelings for Dean. They kill him as they queer him, that’s a Bury Your Gays Speedrun right there.

Like the least they could have done is have him mention it to someone in another scene or something to establish some romantic feelings on the part of canon a full episode beforehand. That would have been the literal bare minimum.

When Cas starts praising Dean, for some reason both the writing and Misha’s acting take a bit of a downswing (from...where it already was). Cas, whose most powerful moment this season was acknowledging that Dean’s anger at him is cruel and unfair, flatly praises him for doing everything out of love and it reads with a misunderstanding of both Dean as a character and Cas’ understanding of Dean. Dean is angry! VERY ANGRY! And it’s a problem he needs to work on and rarely does.

Talking out of my ass, a better speech would have been about how Dean is angry because of his love for Sam, family, and the people around him, how, for better or for worse, he can’t help but be angry on behalf of others, and that his journey of moving that tendency towards the better is what made Cas care so much. Guys this alteration to the metaphor took 2 minutes to write tops I am an Art History student and these are TV WRITERS WITH YEARS OF EXPERIENCE CAN YOU TELL THEYRE NOT TRYING YET?

A better speech would, of course, have come out of a better series. My point: this part was half-assed. Poorly written. Wow it’s almost like the series is also poorly written.

Also, Misha is the better actor of the three(***OF THE THREE), but his choices in that scene are jarringly out of character which. Makes the bad writing worse. It doesn’t help that they cut to the same fucking shot of Dean 3 times. The chemistry in that scene makes it feel so fucking hackneyed. Because it is.

This combines lead me to the point: (wait there was a point to this?)

As someone who does not have the luxury of watching this capsized ship fall into boiling seas from a distance, it is less insulting to me that they did this so last minute and then sent Cas to the Void than it is how they did it. They had ingredients for something that could have been compelling enough to me as a former fan of the show to think that they had put effort into it, that they had decided months, perhaps even years ago to do this, and had crafted a storyline around it. That this was an intentional decision they cared about. It wasn’t. It was barely even pandering, because it’s almost insultingly blatant.

SPN kinda proved to me that it didn’t care about queers when Charlie was killed off. It proved it to me again when Cas, not only died in confessing his love for Dean but did it in the weakest result of what could have been a surprisingly strong story.

#destiel #i don't fucking care im tagging it #bury your gays #queerbaiting #homophobia #also: i should say there are a lot of moments where i refer to aspects of the writing as good #this either means i was 14 when I watched it #or #it's something that i find compelling #that #IN ANOTHER SHOW #OR IN A HYPOTHETICAL WHERE THE WRITING ISNT LADEN WITH HOMOPHOBIA #could be fun to explore #like there are these structural motifs #and themes #which could have made the show good #could have made that confession...passable #but they didn't even write it well by supernatural standards #is my point #My other point is i get to actually be mad about this because I actually watched and put emotional energy towards this show #i shouldnt have but i did #so now I get to write about it #and if you reply we been knew to this post #youre correct #but also #wow do you maybe think I was already aware of that?

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years ago

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A Little Piece Of Heaven (part one)

[Tour!verse]

TW: Surprisingly not many...I guess mockery of religion, specifically Christianity and anything in that branch. Very minor mentions of self harm (like one time- if you blink you’ll miss it). But mainly this fic is just psychological.

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Lord of The Flies

Let’s get something clear really quickly: Joan Meutas was not religious. Did she used to be? Unfortunately, yes, but after seeing the world for what it really was, after getting an axe to her vagina from her beloved husband, she has realized that there was no merciful God who would save lost souls. It was all a hoax by crazy old folk from wherever Jerusalem was to herd people into one belief, thinking that it may make them more humane and friendly. But religion has done more harm than good- Christianity damns all non CIS heterosexuals to hell, Jews got murdered by the thousands, that one branch literally won’t eat anything besides fucking grain or some shit, Catholics are just rude as all hell, those fasting things literally cause people to STARVE TO DEATH, and for what? To appease some higher being? Do they truly think they will be saved? If God was so merciful and wonderful and kindhearted, why would he make things like murder and cancer and rape and torture?

Joan even once heard that the Bible stated that when a woman was on her period she had to leave her village and wasn’t allowed to come back UNLESS she had a turtle dove. She’s never read the Good Book before, so she doesn’t know if that was true or not, but it doesn’t sound unlikely given all the stupid rules she’s heard about.

So, no, Joan was not religious.

It’s strange, she thinks, how offended people get when she says it or simply hints at it. Their eyes will practically bug out of their skull and they probably pray for her “lost soul”, maybe even do that weird cross gesture on their chest when they think she isn’t looking. They look at her as if she was actually a demon spy loosed from hell and not just someone who has enough common sense to realize that an “all powerful father” was complete and utter bullshit.

That’s the thing- it’s like the word “atheist” was purposely made to seem like the most evil string of letters to ever be created. You know the words- those synonyms that just sound much worse than the actual root phrase (molest, slaughter, moist). Atheist just has this dark shade to it. Or so religious people say.

But enough of that! There’s a reason why such a taboo subject is being brought up.

Joan was going to contact Death.

As they say, desperate times calls for desperate measures. And desperate Joan was.

You see, her queen- Jane Seymour- used to be quite the woman. Sharp, beautiful, powerful, but also warm behind the closed court doors. Joan was very lucky to see this side of her as her youngest lady in waiting, often getting called gentle pet names and sometimes pats on her head if she was particularly lucky that day. As a touch-starved orphan servant, this was like a pot of gold to Joan- love and affection is something she’s craved long before reincarnation in the modern world. And, speaking of the resurrection, Joan thought she would get even more of Jane’s “Mum Treatment” since they had more time on their hands, but she was very, very wrong.

Jane...Jane was different. She changed. No longer was she the motherly, caring, strong woman from the past, but instead coming back as some reduced version of herself- slightly younger (24, 25, maybe even 23), more awkward and timid, and much less maternal. The way she now looked at Joan wasn’t with compassion, rather...plain curiosity, sometimes even aversion. Her memory of her young lady in waiting has waned- it was as if she didn’t remember that Joan had been at her side the whole time when she was bedridden after giving birth to Edward! Like she couldn’t conjure up the remembrance of a teenager literally watching her rot away and slowly die for days!

To say the least, Joan was not happy. Add in trauma, insomnia, hate on social media, constant stress and pressure from her profession, and a severe lack of friends and you can probably see why Joan was going to such extreme measures.

Now, she knew about the stories. She’s read The Monkey’s Paw. She knows about the consequences of one’s actions. Joan wasn’t going into this completely stupid- have some faith, will you?

Gambling with Death was a risk. A huge risk that could very well end with her soul being ripped out of her mouth or her flesh being worn by a supernatural being that then goes on to commit atrocities under her identity. And not only was it a massive risk to take, it was also very, very stupid.

If I have to spell it out for you, listen closely: Death knows things. A lot of things. They don’t call him the “Lord of The Flies” for nothing. Which is why he loves to play games for those desperate enough to contact him because he knows he is much smarter than whatever pathetic, miserable piece of useless garbage comes clawing at a mirror, begging him to reveal himself. And unless you have every secret of the universe, you’re probably going to get ass-blasted back to Tuesday.

Oh, what am I saying? You won’t get a second chance.

You’ll be long gone by then.

And whatever state the cops find your body in the next morning depends on whatever mood the beast was in.

However, in Joan’s case here, she is desperate and stupid enough to take the risk. In her eyes, she doesn’t have much to live for. She’s a slave to SIX- day and night she’s working endlessly over musical paperwork and the same songs over and over and OVER again. It doesn’t help that she isn’t the closest to the rest of the cast and is often left alone when everyone else goes out and has fun. The scars on her wrists are evident of how many nights she’s been alone.

Without Jane, she has nothing to live for. She needed her.

And that’s exactly why she was sitting on the floor in front of a mirror propped against the wall in the dark theater surrounded by candles and a semicircle of salt.

Joan has done a lot of studying up to this point. She knows she has everything correctly, now she just has to get Death to appear...and hope he doesn’t immediately pull her small intestines out from her throat for bothering him.

Joan stares into the mirror as hard as she can, closes her eyes, then counted to ten. Her eyelids lingered shut for longer than she would like to admit after she hit the number one, but she eventually pried them open.

It was not her reflection staring back at her.

To be honest, Joan wasn’t exactly sure of what she was expecting to see. Some parts of her believed nothing would happen, other parts convinced itself that a grim reaper-like figure or a horned, goat-legged demon would be kneeling on the other side of the glass wielding a scythe or pitchfork. However, a suit-wearing young man was not really something that crossed her mind in her theories.

If Joan wasn’t a lesbian, she might have found him attractive, but he definitely was at a straight woman’s perspective. Perfect smile, the most amazing cheekbone structure, unflawed olive skin, neatly combed brown-blonde hair, a broad chest, phenomenal shape- if it weren’t for his yellow eyes with slit pupils, he might have been the perfect lady’s man (although, knowing straight women, they probably wouldn’t care for his demon eyes- after all, you don’t need to see someone’s peepers to suck cock!).

Joan sat completely bewildered, all of her confidence draining and being replaced with dread that drenches her like a thick, dark oil spill. She can feel her hands, which are lying in her lap, starting to tremble and clenching her fingers doesn’t help at all. The ability to form a coherent sentence slips from her mind, so Death speaks first.

“Hello, Joan Meutas.”

This guy is the real deal. He pronounced her last name correctly!

Joan opens and closes her mouth like a fish out of water and Death is thoroughly amused by her sardine impression. He watches her through the glass, waiting patiently for her to learn how to enunciate again.

“H-h-hello-”

“Yes, yes, h-h-hello to you to,” Death laughed. He wasn’t directly trying to be cruel, but Joan’s self esteem was far enough into the ground to hear his jibe as a mockery of her understanding of the English language. “If I let you speak the whole time we are going to get nowhere! Pull yourself together, kid. You should see the look on your face! You look like you just got caught making out with the family goat!”

Joan’s expression remained one of fright.

“What? Didn’t you own a goat back in- god, what year were you born? 1517 or 1525? Historians paint it as both! But I thought a family farm animal was the big rave back then! I apologize- I need to catch up on the modern slang. Say, would you be considered a ‘boomer’? Because I have been DYING to use that phrase on someone who contacts me. Could you imagine it?” He warps his voice into one of a pruny old woman, “‘I wish for great fortune!’ ‘Okay Boomer.’” Death bursts into fits of maniacal laughter that sounded as if a thousand lost souls were chortling together at once.

Joan is still silent, but during Death’s monologue she was able to wire her brain back to functionality. She sits up a little bit straighter and Death notices, so he containers himself instantly, also fixing his posture.

“Ready to talk now?” He asked.

“Yes.” Joan answered.

“Wonderful,” There’s a glint in his piercing yellow eyes, “What is it that you desire of me?”

Joan gathers up all her courage, sits up a little taller, and says, “I desire to challenge you to a game of question-and-answer.”

The glint flares into a blaze of confidence. If Joan stares hard enough, she swore she could almost see the fires of Hell burning in his eyes.

“How fun,” The words ooze out from Death’s pale lips, soaked in liquid menace. “Shall I go over the rules?”

Joan nodded. She knew them, she knew she did, but it would be good to hear them one last time.

“Very well,” Death said. He cleared his throat and began speaking as if he were reading off of a manual, “Death’s Gambit: A two-player game between the Lord of The Flies himself and a human. After being conjured- just gonna skip over that process, you’ve clearly got it down, kid- and initiating the game, both parties will have sixty-six minutes and six seconds to answer as many questions correctly as possible. Anything can be asked- trivia, personal inquiries, riddles, even dares, as long as the salt circle is not exited. The catch of the whole thing is this: The Prince of Darkness is obligated to tell the truth only if the human answers correctly to his question or does a requested dare or the human manages to stump him. However, if he answers correctly or the human answers incorrectly to HIS question, he may lie about whichever question he wants. The score will not be revealed until the very end once the time is over. If the human wins, the Keeper of Souls MUST grant any one wish they have. If He-Who-Lies wins, the human will be the victim to whatever losing punishment he comes up with. Remaining rules include: The salt circle cannot be left- you may find yourself no longer in your dimension-, the game cannot be quit until the time is over, items like watches or phones are not permitted to be used to look up answers or keep track of the time. Good luck and Beelzebub be with you.”

Despite knowing this all already, hearing it out loud, spoken by the beast himself, made it all hit home for Joan. She was really doing this; she was gambling with Death.

She had to be the stupidest fuck to ever grace God’s green earth.

“Are you ready to begin?” Death asked.

Joan took a deep death and answered, “Yes.”

A wicked smile curled on Death’s lips. The candles around Joan blaze.

“The game is on.”

A dark feeling weighed down on Joan after that was spoken. The air around her seemed to shift. Her gut was screaming at her to run away, to hide, to do something other than just sit there, but she couldn’t move. Not from fear, but from sheer will. She couldn’t be stupid. Who knows what lurked outside her thin salt circle....

As he usually did, Death initiates the game and asked his first question.

“What was the name of Catherine Parr’s true love?”

Like that, a cold stone drops deep into the pit of Joan’s stomach. Of all the questions she expected him to start off with, Tudor history was not one of them. It startles her, takes her by surprise, and she realizes very quickly that that’s exactly why Death asked it. He’s trying to disorientate her right off the bat and weaken her before she has the chance to get some points in.

She could not let that happen.

It’s just that- she didn’t know Tudor history outside of knowledge on her queen and whatever is said in the show. The others certainly did talk about their past lives, but Joan- she-

It stung, to say the least, when she realized that Death knew about her nonexistence friendships with the queens. And that he was targeting that.

“Thomas Seymour.” Joan finally said.

She was pretty sure that was the right answer...but not completely positive. And, because of that, her worried mind began to scream doubts inside of her brain.

Was that a trick question? He’s supposed to be the embodiment of pure evil- wouldn’t he think Henry is Parr’s true love? Was Henry the right answer?

“Your turn.” Death said, not reacting to Joan’s answer, which scares her even more.

“What’s- why did you choose to show up in that body?”

“Oooh, you’re starting with a personal inquiry!” Death said, laughing, “How fun! And I hope you’re not flattering yourself, Joan- I don’t look like this to make your pussy wet. Trust me, I could look way more attractive, but I know you.” Those three words slither into Joan’s ears and made her shudder. “Isn’t the whole point of being a lesbian to not be attracted to men?” Death laughed again, “But I look like this because I want to. I can take whatever shape I want! Remember that one time I was a snake? That was weird. Although, peeping at a naked chick was pretty damn fun. As a lesbian, you could probably appreciate the sight.”

For just a moment, the image of Death disappears, the mirror hazes to white, and Eve appears. Not the paintings you always see- THE Eve, bare breasts and vagina and all, and if Joan weren’t also asexual, her own genitals may have been burning with desperate pleasure.

“She was a sight.” Death said, returning to view. He chuckles, then immediately goes to his next question, “What was the exact height of Mount Everest in the year 1666?”

Joan’s heart just about stopped.

How in the holy hell was she supposed to know that? Then again, that was probably the point of asking such a thing.

“Three...hundred feet?” It came out as a question, but it’s taken as an answer and Death doesn’t react except for a slight twitch of his nose. “What...is the hardest piece to learn on the piano?”

“Liszt.” Death answered smoothly. “What animal can see the most amount of colors?”

“A...dolphin.” Joan physically cringed at her answer. “Who wrote Liszt?”

Is this what she was going to be doing the whole time? Asking the King of Hell fucking piano trivia?

“La Campanella.” Death once again answered perfectly. “What is the full chemical name for the antidepressant and anti-anxiety medication, Zoloft?”

Wasn’t that the medicine Joan was supposed to take for her anxiety?

“I- I don’t know.”

Death just hummed and awaited his next question. He didn’t laugh at her like she expected him to, which slightly lightened the blow of her stupidity.

“What’s my favorite song in SIX?”

“None of them. Why did you stop taking your Zoloft pills?”

The answer followed by such a question felt like Joan was just punched in the stomach with a spiked gauntlet. She swore she was winded by some unseen force (probably shock). Her breath hitched in her throat and she seemed like a little kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I-” She hunched her shoulders around her neck. Death is giving her a curious look, which was at least better than worry or concern. “They- they weren’t helping me...so I didn’t think there was a point taking them if they weren’t going to fix me.”

Death hummed once more, this time louder and more enthusiastic. He clearly liked her answer.

“Interesting,” He mused, then quiets himself for the next question.

“What’s standing behind me?”

Ever since the game began, Joan picked up on the presence of something staring at the back of her head. She could feel their eyes burning into her skull, sometimes even breathing on the back of her neck.

Death smiled. “See for yourself.”

Joan saw nothing in the reflection, just darkness beyond the candles and Death, and she was not about to go and look away. She was scared about what would happen if she turned her gaze away from the mirror for even a second.

When Death realized Joan wasn’t going to fall for his tricks that easily, he quirked an impressed eyebrow and moved on.

“Will you greet the worker who just came in?”

Joan glanced fearfully to the corner of the room. A figure is hunched there. The glow from the candles just barely licks at their claws.

“What was their name? Terrance?” Death said, “Doesn’t he work in lightning?”

“That’s not Terrance,” Joan murmured.

Death took it as an answer, it seems. He leans in close to the glass and when he whispers, his hushed tone is right at the back of Joan’s ear.

“You don’t want to know what he really is.”

Joan can feel a panic attack rising in her chest. Death is trying to scare her, stray her from answering coherently or correctly and get her to waste time by freaking out. She had to steer the game back into calmness.

Or, rather, however calm a Devil game could get.

“What do I have in my pocket right now?”

Death seems a little bothered that the cryptic theme was interrupted, but he gets over it.

“One black pen that’s almost out of ink, a granola bar you promised yourself you would eat, and a rosary you stole from Aragon.” He said, “Oh and, by the way, that isn’t going to protect you from me. So return it as soon as possible or Aragon is gonna be PISSED!” He laughed, imagining the storm the golden queen would cause if she caught Joan with such a precious belonging.

Joan swallowed thickly. She didn’t want to check her pockets. She didn’t want to know that he was right.

“What is the color of the sky?”

It seemed like an easy enough question, but Joan, believe it or not, knew better than to fall for such a simple trick. She wracked her brain for a moment, then answered, “Black.”

Death doesn’t react aside from licking over his dried lips. His tongue is too pointy. Joan moves on.

“Does Jane care about me?”

Honestly, the question kind of surprised her. It bubbled up from her throat from out of nowhere- yes, she had been wanting to ask it so badly, but she didn’t actually expect it to come out.

“Yes.” Says Death.

For a moment, joy bursts through Joan, but the metaphorical, celebratory confetti is sucked up by the vacuum of doubt.

Is he lying? Is he giving me false hope? Or is he telling the truth?

“What’s your blood type?” Death asked.

“A...AB.”

Like Joan fucking knew that.

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Blue.” Death smiled, “Because the blue sky would always remind you of opportunities for a better life.”

A shiver runs down Joan’s spine. She didn’t like how he knew that.

“What’s something that you can’t eat for lunch or dinner?”

He’s asking a riddle. Joan bit the inside of her cheek, thinking.

It couldn’t be a food. That was too easy.

Think, Joan, think!

“...Breakfast.”

Death chuckles. Joan doesn’t know what to think of that.

Twenty minutes pass by in a blur. Cold sweat soaks Joan’s brow, dripping down her face, but she’s too scared to move from her stiff position. Her back muscles hurt from sitting like a statue for so long- how the hell does Death look so relaxed? Then again, he doesn’t really have much to worry about.

He doesn’t have to worry about the possibility of being mutilated or dragged to Hell or that that figure in the corner has been getting closer and closer as the minutes passed by.

“Do you think every human deserves to live?”

The question came out of nowhere, really. Death had been asking mostly trivia up until that point. He tittered at Joan’s stunned expression, then raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well?”

“No.”

Joan didn’t hesitate because she knew it was the truth. Not everyone deserved to live. Rapists, pedophiles, serial killers, racists, homophobes, terrorists, abusers- they didn’t deserve life. People like them deserved to die.

And anyone who doesn’t believe that is a fucking idiot.

“Do YOU think every human deserves to live?”

Death scoffed. “Of course not.” He peered at Joan, really analyzing her for the first time. His yellow slit eyes raked over the girl, making her feel uncomfortable and violated. “You know, you and I think a lot alike. Not many humans give ‘no’ as their answer. They think optimism will make them seem like a good person. It’s pathetic.”

Joan just nodded silently.

“Now...where were we? Oh, yes.” Death leaned in, “Which queen suffered the most?”

Joan furrowed her eyebrows. The whole point of the show was to not compare, especially traumas, but...

“Katherine Howard.”

Come on- clearly K Howard had it the worst. The girl was violated by four different men before she was an adult! None of the other five stories combined could possibly rank to the fifth queen’s suffering.

“Honestly, I think the same!” Death said, “I mean- what is UP with the whole ‘one of a kind, no category’ gimmick? How stupid! Last time I checked, being a victim of sexual abuse doesn’t make you ‘one of a kind.’ Why would you even think of it that way?“

Joan nodded slowly.

“I agree,” She said, “Um- here’s my next question: Is this question false?”

Death raised his eyebrows and cooed in obvious interest.

“True.” He said, smirking. “My turn. Do you resent the queens?”

Joan actually recoils. Death laughed.

“I-”

Did she? Did she resent the queens? Surely she didn’t... She couldn’t! The queens were perfect! How could anyone ever hate them?

“No.”

Death almost looks disappointed.

“What’s worse than death?”

“You’re living it.”

Cold sweat drips down Joan’s face. It stings her eyes and is salty on her tongue. She hears noises all around her, but doesn’t dare to look. She already knows “Terrance” is on his knees beside the salt circle and his leaning his face in right next to hers. She can smell the rot on him.

“Have you ever wanted to hurt the queens?”

Death’s questions are definitely ramping up in darkness. Was the time close to ending? Is that why he’s getting deeper?

Joan shut her eyes tightly for a moment, but opened them quickly when the fear of losing sight of Death nagged at the back of her mind. Before her, on the other side of the mirror, the being is waiting patiently, eagerly for her answer.

“Sometimes,” Joan breathed, “Yes.”

Death smiles a wicked smile.

“How interesting,” He purred, then gestured for Joan to ask her question.

“Does God exist?”

“Unfortunately.” Death groaned, then laughed. He inspected Joan again. “How would you hurt the queens?”

Joan felt her stomach ache. She didn’t like that question. She didn’t want to think about actually hurting the queens, even if she’s considered it one or two times before.

“I- I haven’t really given it any thought.” She answered, then quickly sputtered out her next question before Death could comment, “Does the Bible speak the truth?”

“Of course not.” Death said. “My next question is this: If I were to give you a task, would you do it?”

“Depends,” Joan said, “What would the task be?”

Death held up both arms in a shrugging motion. “I don’t know! Pick up my dry cleaning? It depends! Don’t put me on the spot like that!” He then laughed that horrible laugh again. Once he contains himself, he says, “Time is ticking. The game is almost over. I want to switch things up before we end. I have a dare for you.”

Joan nods.

“Stab yourself in the hand.”

That flush of icy cold dread floods through Joan’s system again. Every part of her being screamed at her to refuse, there will be other offers or questions she could make up for, but she knew that was just false hope. Like Death said: time was almost up. She couldn’t risk refusing and docking more points (if she isn’t in the negatives already, that is).

“Fine.” She forced out through her teeth.

She reached for the pen in her pocket, but Death held up a hand.

“Don’t use that inky thing,” He said. “It won’t get the job done. Please- allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and a large carving knife appears out of thin air and clatters to the floor in front of Joan. She stares at it for a moment, then picked it up, setting her left hand down in its place. She took a deep breath, screwed her eyes shut, and plunged the blade down.

Joan couldn’t choke back the scream that burst from her lips. She cried at the pain, sobbing in horror when she looked down to see the knife practically pinning her hand to the floor. Dark red blood pools around her fingers, gushing and spurting like spigot from the wound when she pulls the blade free. She cradled her wounded hand close to her chest, weeping weakly.

“Very good,” Death cooed, clapping.

Joan raised her eyes slowly and Death smirked at how lit up they were, almost like hot coals.

“I have a dare for you.” Joan growled, her voice low and dangerous.

“I accept.”

“Change your eye color to blue.”

For a moment, Joan swore she saw the slightly twitch on Death’s features. She watched him close his eyes, sit their silently for a moment, then open them again.

They were still yellow and slit.

“I cannot.” He said. However, he wasn’t angry or irritated at being stumped, rather amused. “Next...what is the flying speed of a swallow?”

Joan ripped off of a strip of her shirt and wrapped it around her bloody hand, hoping it would be a good enough substitute for real bandages for now.

“African or European?”

Death grinned. And that grin only grew wider as the candles around Joan went out until only the one behind her remained lit.

"̸̡̢̢̣͓͚͖̪̼̪͑͊̈́͋̀́̾͗͘ͅT̷̼̺͈̮̜͔̙͂̋̉͋͛̈̿̀̕͜͠͝i̸̢̹̙̼̠͓͚̖̗͔̮̔̌͂̓̐̊̈́̔̃̕m̸̡̱̤̱͙͎̦̱͙̪̻̓̅͌̉̀̈́̐̄͒̌̕͘͝e̸̟̳͒'̸̗͎̞̙̋̎̓́́͑̉͐͑̈́s̷̰̬̙͖̲̩͚̥͈̝̩̻̻̮̭͂̀̐̓̑̓͌̓̀́̐̐ ̷̡̳͍̗͉̝͔̃̑͛̀͊͌͆̌̒̃̔͘̚͠ͅû̵̞̠̣͉̻̖̅̓̄̏͝p̷̛͖͎̮̖͇̬̮͉̥̲͈̟͊̃́̃̏̇̇͛͗̅̕͘,̷̢̧̧̹͈̗̝͙̪͉̖̆̈́ͅ ̸̲̩̥̇͂̓͌̀̋͗̀͛̚J̵̼̣̋ö̴̡͕̺̪̠͓̹͔̂͝ą̶̡̜̭̤͖̭̫̝̘̆̂̾̐͊̾̒̂̏n̶̛̛̬̦̥̠̮̐̓̃̋̍̒̂͐̂̽ͅ.̴̪̰̩̀͊̑̐́̂͗̍̐̈́̚"̴͍͆͛́̈́̈́̍͆̀͗͘͝͝

It was almost impossible to breathe. Joan can barely hold herself together- the tears are flowing freely and she can’t get them to stop. She would say a prayer for her damned soul if it weren’t for the whole atheist thing, and she worried that Death would get angry at her for it, even if it was said in her mind, which he couldn’t possible read (or, at least, she hoped he couldn’t).

Still, she bowed at the waist and thanked Death for the game.

“Let’s tally up the score, shall we?”

Joan first saw blood start to spread across Death’s midsection, then a sharp sting struck her in the stomach. She hissed in pain and lifted her shirt slightly, as did Death, and they both saw tally marks upon their flesh.

Death had twenty-three.

And Joan watched in shock as a twenty-fourth tally carved down through her skin right before her eyes.

“Congratulations, Joan Meutas,” Death says, “You’ve won. What is it that you wish for?”

#six the musical #six the musical tour #six uk tour #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six fanfiction #six fanfic #six fic #six ff #tour jane seymour #jane seymour #tour joan on the keys #joan on the keys #tw: religion

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lastflcwers · 5 years ago

Text

we love a boy in all black everything anyway hi it’s amanda again and i’m on my bullshit

『NICK ROBINSON ❙ CISMALE』 ⟿ looks like CASTOR DECODY is here for HIS JUNIOR year as a HISTORY student. HE is 23 years old & known to be WELL-TRAVELED, FERVENT, FLEETING & MELANCHOLIC . They’re living in MORIS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ amanda. 22. mst. she/her

trigger warning: drug use, death, cancer

NAME: castor “cas” simon decody AGE: 23 BIRTH DATE: august 17th, 1996 ZODIAC: leo sun, scorpio moon SEXUAL ORIENTATION: heterosexual SOCIAL CLASS: upper HOMETOWN: seattle, washington EDUCATION LEVEL: junior studying history FACE CLAIM: nick robinson ADDICTION(S): has been to rehab for xanax dependency DRUG USE: smokes weed mostly but will participate in most drugs otherwise ALCOHOL USE: yes POSITIVE TRAITS: fervent, well-traveled, loquacious, dreamy NEGATIVE TRAITS: fleeting, melancholic, vulgar, unrealistic LIKES: greek mythology, radiohead, napping, writing DISLIKES: talking on the phone, sunbathing, due dates, the beach

my boy castor here is an old muse of mine, dating back like at least three years ??? so i’ve got quite a bit about him but we’ll see how good i am at relaying it

cas is the reluctant only child of a right-leaning politician (father) and a paralegal (mother, deceased). he was raised mostly in beverly hills, but has spent some years living in seattle and toronto as well.

once he graduated high school, he spent six months abroad in europe, mainly staying in greece and italy. it was there that he sort of “discovered” his 18 year old self, and still feels like he left a piece of himself there. he also got really into partying, and did a lot of things he never would’ve done otherwise.

when he came home from the trip, he found out that his mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer while he’d been away. his family did not call to tell him, so he began resenting himself (and his dad) for so selfishly traveling when the best person in his life was undergoing treatment.

at age 19, when his mother passed, cas delve deep into a depression that he’d always sort of had but never let overwhelm him. he began using xanax on the regular, finding it much easier to just become belligerent or nap all day than to face the sadness he was dealing with.

between the ages of 19 and 23 he has gone to rehab a total of three times.

as for his personality

cas is a writer by nature, always romanticizing the shit out of everything. he thinks everything has deeper meaning than it necessarily does, particularly his interactions with women.

has an obsession with stargazing. go fucking figure. knows a lot about constellations and space. kind of pretentious when it comes to his interests but doesn’t actually act like he’s better than people. loves reading so so much. especially mythology. i imagine that he grew up with this fanciful library in his childhood home. something like this.

is VERY keen on anything supernatural which is likely why he chose radcliffe in the first place.

actually very funny??? very self-deprecating humor but god damn does it win people over

tends to be fairly agreeable but will share his knowledge when he doesn’t understand a point of view

drives a nice ass bmw but doesn’t give a fuck about it. he takes little to no care of anything he owns, tbh. isn’t innately messy but just careless

and lastly we have wanted connections

- ex girlfriend(s) honestly castor would be such a sweet sweet boyfriend but they broke up for some reason or another. could be cheating involved on either end or maybe both?

- europe flings ??? idk if anyone has muses that have spent time in europe or are from there but i love the idea of him having this fleeting ass romance with some girl and like running around in barcelona or some shit

- to build off of that further... cas did experiment with his sexuality a bit while in europe. so that connection is open to men to, even though he’s mostly decided he’s into femme-identifying people. internalized homophobia who?

- give me some girl he’s lowkey obsessed with but they are not that close ?? like he writes cute prosy shit about her but they do not hang out other than maybe class or something

- roomies pls. lives in moris, though i imagine he may have at one point stayed in perkins to his own dismay. so maybe ex roomies too?

- hookups? i don’t think castor is like CRAZILY fucking everybody but he’s not about to say no to some hot ass girl

- somebody he lets read his writing... he has to be SO close to this person but also not??? like he wouldn’t want them to know too much about him personally but has to trust them

- friends and pals. fellow night owls. people he can bullshit with. nobody too dull-witted. i know i said he isn’t pretentious but that was a lie

#radintro #almost posted this twice heh

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fics-not-tragedies · 6 years ago

Text

Dead as dead can be: Itchy bones

prologue - one - two - three - four - five - six - seven

It’s a teaser/prologue for the upcoming John Constantine chaptered series called “Dead as dead can be”. This scene appeared in my mind after I re-watched Constantine for like the twentieth time and so it is. I have a thing for dark women in fiction where the plot line is based around supernatural element. So yes, let’s begin the adventure ;)

SUMMARY: A very old friend found a twisted way of asking John for a favor. Words: 983; Warnings: smoking;

Readers tag list:

@spookier-than-u; @sparrowsparrow; @magdazwolska; @mikaneonox; @derangedcupcake; @geostarr; @catsmieow; @wickedlangdon; @bodhi-black; @bugalouie; @onebatch--twobatch; @fandom-lover-4; @drunkonyellow; @semtempoirmaoo; @spadesandaces; @harrisongslimited;

“How was death, Jonathan?” Her sultry voice echoed in his ears, “Or should I ask: how was hell?” She was always so overconfident, he could assume it was the cause of her premature death. John decided that this time it all was worthy at least some effort and turned around to face her; he removed the unlit cigarette from between his chapped lips right before the sight of her made him drop it to the ground.

Crimson lace of the gown that was hugging her body, underlining every curve of her figure definitely didn’t fit in the usual-Friday-night-outfit scheme. It was something more than that and she was much more than an usual human being.

The woman smiled, showing him two rows of perfectly white teeth, along with the set of her long fangs. She flicked her tongue across her lips, painted in matte crimson, and smiled even wider, the corners of her mouth curling, forming an evil smirk on her gorgeous face.

Making few steps towards him, her stilettos clicked on the crooked concrete tiles, but there wasn’t any flinch nor any stumble, she kept slowly sauntering closer to him like she was walking a catwalk.

John placed the cigarette back in between his lips, his hand moved to the pocket of his jacket in a search for his golden lighter, but even before he could reach it, digging it out to the surface, she already lit the cig with a silver one she held in her slim fingers.

After snapping the lid close, she touched his chin with her long nail, that was neatly covered in scarlet varnish and slid it down onto his neck, “I heard you quit, Jonathan, many years ago”, her fingers squeezed his throat. He hissed at her, his action triggering her giggle.

Her other hand wandered to his lips, snatching the lighted smoke from them and putting it to her own. After two quick drags she inhaled the smoke and gave it back to him, “Thanks” John growled through his gritted teeth when she placed the cancer stick between his lips.

Exhaling the smoke she breathed it directly into his face and he coughed few times, the harsh smoke making his eyes water. When she removed her hand from his throat he could finally catch a proper breath and fully enjoy the cig. She took a step back, but kept staring at him, the evil grin not leaving her face.

“What do you want?” He growled at her again, the tough sound that left his mouth made the lines on her forehead more visible. She slid her hand down her neck and onto the deep cleavage of her dress, “Perhaps you should stop flirting and start talking.”

The laugh that filled her whole body and bubbled on her lips, bouncing of every wall, echoing on every street, woke up the whole city, “You never were a fan of relationships” in a second she was back to absolute-and-utter-calm pinched with a small amount of revengeful spite, “rumor had it, that it all changed with Angela” he finished his cigarette and dropped it to the pavement, stepping onto it with his boot.

“Nothing changed with anyone.”

“Yet you still keep an eye on her” she started to circle him like he was her prey and she waited for the perfect moment to devour him.

After another lap he finally failed to remain calm and grabbed her wrist, stopping her from moving, “Can you tell me what the fuck do you want from me?” He tightened the grip he had on her wrist, the lace cuff of her dress tickling his skin.

With furrowed brows she took one step closer, their bodies almost pressed into each other.

“Don’t touch the flame if you don’t want to get burned” she was back to her bullshit with the sultry tone of her voice, batting eyelashes at him, the evil grin still glued to her lips.

“Cut the poetical bullshit. I’m not helping you in any way, kiss my ass sweetheart” John let go of her hand and slapped it back when she wanted to touch his.

“Jonathan, I’d love to kiss your bubbly butt, but it’s not a time nor a place for it. Besides, I wouldn’t stalk you here if it wasn’t something serious” he rolled his eyes at her and dig out another cigarette from the pack he kept in the inside pocket of his coat. She snatched it from his hand even before he had the chance to place it between his lips and crushed it in her hand letting the tobacco debris fly from it freely.

His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down in his throat as he tried his best not to say few things out loud. With hands clenched into fists he stood with his face directly in front of hers, “You know how my bones are itchy for you” she started with her voluptuous tone, trying to hypnotize him and his mind began to pirouette, his tensed muscles become relaxed, when his fists became un-clenched she slid a small envelope into his hand, “maybe in another life I could finally be with you” he turned to a piece of clay she could form freely with both of her hands now, “and have you, in all of the ways I always wanted to, because yes I do, I want you.”

After few blinks he finally retrieved his mental skills, “Get to the point” he spoke softly, but her figure disappeared from his vision long ago, before he was able to say anything. A loud “fuck” escaped from his lips and few by-passers turned around to see who was cursing on the street.

The only proof of her existence was the matte ivory envelope he held firmly in his hand, an unlit cigarette in other and an imprint of her red lipstick on his cheek.

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normal-thoughts-official · 6 years ago

Note

I love your Magnus responses! Some have brought me to tears :') hopwfully you haven't answered this yet. I always see fics/ metas on how Alec came to terms about his sexuality, but never on Magnus (or just a selecative few). In your opinion how did he come to terms with his bisexuality? - luxxmagnus

okay first of all I LOVE UR BLOG im so glad u like my shit omg fajsfoamsa and second of all BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT HOW MAGNUS CAME TO TERMS WITH HIS SEXUALI-

okay SO. your relationship with sexuality is deeply influenced by your early years, as is, well, most aspects of your personality lol. so i think it’s fascinating to think about magnus’ relationship with his gender identity and sexuality considering he was born in early-1600s indonesia, aka right when the colonization started. meaning, a lot of their customs and views on gender and sexuality couldn’t have possibly been erased yet, but they were being very violently and aggressively repressed. and then he finished his growing-up years with asmodeus, a demon, who can’t really give much of a fuck about gender identity and sexuality. so this means a very complicated relationship is bound to develop, and i love it.

unfortunately, magnus’ exact ethnic background isn’t specified in SH (nor tsc, i believe) which makes the whole discussion a lot harder because there are hundreds of native peoples in indonesia. however, they were very much in contact with each other both before and after the dutch invasion and subsequent colonisation, so what i’m gonna do here is talk a little bit about the views on the subject magnus was definitely aware of, and go from there

i know this specifically asked about his bisexuality so i will refrain from shitting my trans magnus headcanon all over the place but i will say that the Bugis people recognised five genders, including one for AFAB people who identified as neither male nor female, and one that embodied both female and male identities

anyway, queerphobia is, in fact, a very recent and very european thing, and most indonesian people, like most asian people and most non-modern-western peoples, were actually A-okay with what we view today as homosexuality. there were even many rituals centered around men-on-men and women-on-women practices. they were also pretty open with sexuality as a whole; there’s even a mountain with a shrine where people have sex with strangers as part of their religious worship.

but, as we know, the european colonizers were very intent on killing off and erasing all records of their dominated cultures, particularly the aspects that directly challenged the european model of gender, sexuality and relationships, to the point where we, ppl born in previously colonised countries, don’t even know about our culture’s views on gender and sexuality. in indonesia, the dutch criminalised homosexuality and we can’t forget that magnus’ stepfather was dutch, and that magnus was born after the colonisation.

so here’s the context: since it was very early in the colonisation days, there is no way that magnus didn’t know about the very rich and diverse gender and sexuality practices in his own country. there’s just no way. it takes decades to completely erase that shit. and we can’t forget that all indonesian peoples resisted colonisation, a lot. we don’t know the exact nature of magnus’ mother’s relationship with his stepfather, but it is very likely that he either enslaved or forced her to be in a relationship with him, because - well, because that’s colonisation, folks. it’s what these guys do. this is also supported by the way his stepfather treated magnus, because i mean, what the fuck. it was extremely rare that native colonised ppls would willingly be with their coloniser, particularly considering how the dutch were just, like, casually deporting and starving indonesian native ppls and ppl in java had been at war with the portuguese would-be settlers (would-be because they lost amazingly lmao get rekt) since the beginning of the 1500s. so im gonna go out on a limb here and say that magnus’ “stepfather” was, in fact, an abusive piece of shit coloniser who probably mistreated magnus’ mother and was probably a huge reason why she killed herself - i mean, your people are dying, and you’re bound to this guy who abuses and rapes you and keeps telling you everything about you and the way you live and was raised is demonic, that’s just bound to mess with you. actually, the religious aspect of colonisation that taught ppl that their cultures and religious were demonic and immoral and that they either had to repent for that and submit to the colonisers or be killed slash go to hell, hmmm…… well, is probably related to the fact that the idea that magnus was demon-related was repulsive enough to her that she killed herself? and that’s if we go with the interpretation that magnus was the main reason, which isn’t really reliable because 1- magnus clearly thinks he needs to Save Everyone and is bound to think that if anyone gets hurt it’s his fault; 2- canonically, it was magnus’ stepfather who told magnus that the reason she killed herself was magnus’ heritage. i mean i find it hard to believe personally that magnus’ mom didn’t know she was fucking a demon or at least a supernatural entity of some sort, and the whole angel-demon division is a christianity thing anyway, so what the fuck does this mean to magnus’ mom, really? especially considering that, unlike magnus, she probably was alive before the settlers arrived, so it’s even harder to believe that she would just uncritically believe everything about good and evil she was being taught by the guys that were, you know, committing mass genocide. i personally think that if magnus’ eyes were related to her killing herself at all (which makes less and less sense the more i think about it. i mean, what, was he born glamoured? surely she knew about this before he was like 11 or something) it would be because, in a way, this proved that everything she was being told about herself was true. she was demonic, her culture was demonic, and they deserved the absolutely horrific and traumatic things that were happening to them, and her son’s eyes proved it. so it’s not really about magnus as it is about, like, the entire continent of Europe’s bullshit. and anyway, again, everything she was going through was extremely traumatic - i think magnus’ eyes would be almost an afterthought, if considered at all.

anyway, sorry, went on a huge tangent here, i have no self control whatsoever. what i’m trying to say is that magnus grew up in an environment where expressions of different gender and sexuality were very repressed, but he was born in the heart of the very resistance. he was a native man (or, well, boy) and he knew for a fact that most people lived outside of the constricting western gender and sexuality binary, and he lived in a time where the europeans hadn’t really managed to dominate and erase their culture - of course, they never truly did, but the differences were way more latent. so magnus’ views on the whole thing were probably among the lines of “the asshole white people think the way we live is bad and are trying to kill us and that’s why they’re assholes and we’re trying to kick them out, but currently me and my mom are on their hands so i’m gonna have to behave like they expect me to”. so, lots of abuse, a very complicated relationship, but i do believe that magnus wouldn’t have internalised the european bullshit because, well, he was seeing the counterpoint and the resistance and he certainly knew which side was “his”. also in his flashbacks he’s wearing traditional indonesian clothing so there’s that - proof that he wasn’t completely assimilated to european views and culture.

and then he killed the stepfather (good riddance, rot in hell) and went to live his final teenage years with asmodeus. i mean, more like was found by asmodeus and forced to be with him by both the circumstances and asmodeus himself, but you get what i’m saying.

here’s the thing: asmodeus is definitely an asshole and an abuser, but i can’t bring myself to believe he gave a good fuck about modern-western gender roles and sexuality. he is older than them. by a lot. and he doesn’t even care about the earth realm that much, his whole thing is that he wants to rule edom, so i’m not even sure if he knows about them beyond the, like, very very basics. maybe not even that. so during the rest of magnus’ formative years, and probably the time he figured out what exactly his sexuality was anyway, he was in a pretty open environment when it came to that.

so with that we’ve reached the first conclusion of this huge-ass essay that you probably didn’t sign up for: up until he went to England, Magnus was probably pretty comfortable when it came to his sexuality. like, shit, he was fucked up about everything else, but this one thing i can’t see him internalising a lot of.

i’m gonna fast forward the asmodeus years because i don’t have a lot to say beyond that and also i have no fucking clue what the fuck was going on during that time????????? like it ended when magnus banished him to edom, so i can only assume they were on the earth realm the whole time, but what exactly were they doing???? no clue. i am gonna say, tho, that i think one of the reasons why magnus managed to break out of asmodeus’ shitty “be evil” conditioning is precisely because he had been on the other side before?? like obviously magnus must have been an extremely compassionate kid (which again makes absolute sense in the context of him being part of an oppressed people that were trying their hardest to fight together. you learn a few things about community-building and taking care of others in that context, lemme tell you) since he was out there blaming himself for his mom’s death and also for killing his literal piece of shit stepfather who also tried to kill him as well, but i think it’s just that much harder to help your dad commit mass murder when you’ve been on the receiving end of it. obviously he was probably around asmodeus for a while (i’m thinking until he was like, 18? you know, enough to be an adult), especially considering how he needed the help to learn how to master his magic and also he had nowhere else to go, and also asmodeus was all over the place with “they will always think you’re an abomination, i’m the only one who understands you” and he had eyes like him and all. but still. he knew that he didn’t want that, he knew that he liked earth and didn’t like edom at all and he knew that in order to be himself he’d need to get rid of asmodeus. so he did.

anyway, after the First Great Yeeting Of Asmodeus (second yeeting was when he sent him to limbo so he would never be able to come back. ugh we stan) Magnus went to England. I’m guessing that somehow he met other warlocks during his time with asmodeus (which actually makes sense, i mean, asmodeus must have been wanting ppl to join forces with so he could defeat lilith? or something like that idk they never said anything about what they were doing with their time magnus’ backstory’s got more holes than a swiss cheese) and there seems to be a pretty tight warlock community, so maybe he went to wherever it is that the warlocks meet to gossip and shit? trying to find somewhere else where he belonged. and there he met Ragnor, who helped him break out of his shell and find who he was beyond the constant abuse and the deeply ingrained idea that he was Born To Be Evil.

so for a while, magnus was learning who he was, and again the Warlock Community should be pretty open with gender and sexuality considering most of them are also older than western binary bullshit and also come from different, non-european backgrounds. it was probably at this point that he started going around, having relationships, looking for someone who loves him and somewhere to belong in, you know. haha im fine and soon he figured out that he wanted to find out more about the world. magnus is a curious and creative guy, he’s going around inventing portals and shit, he wants to see the world. so magnus goes to the mundane world. it makes sense, considering in most of his pics he seems to be in mundane settings, and there were no accords at that time. also i mean even post-accords magnus is still going around owning clubs where mundanes can get in so i think he’s quite fond of mundanes.

and that’s when shit comes crashing down, because “sodomy” was punishable by death in England until the 1960s and like boy these guys were not into the whole free sexuality thing. at all. i tend to think magnus would go looking for sex and stuff in downworlder and warlock spaces, where there was a lot more freedom and nobody gave a shit, but he was going around meeting people, and he’s vulnerable and he wants to be loved and he’s definitely been in relationships with mundanes. he knows he needs to hide it, but it doesn’t mean he’s uncomfortable with it. so he might get the occasional insult and he knows he needs to be careful, but this is one aspect of himself he’s actually okay with

but like, he’s spent centuries doing that, eventually shit would go down. and it does. i firmly believe that one of his lovers got caught and got the death penalty. magnus managed to escape but couldn’t save him, and i mean, that’s at least the third time he’s blaming himself for someone’s death. immortality is tiring, and he doesn’t feel like he belongs anywhere. there’s the shadow world, but even there he’s being looked down on because the shadowhunters are racist assholes. he’s got his friends, sure, but he’s never really felt worthy of any love, or like he belonged anywhere, and he’s been through so much abuse and being used and everything he touches seems to go to shit and he’s tired. and he’s killed someone he loved. again. so he goes to the bridge. and camille finds him, and stops him.

now, i don’t know if that’s how they’ve met of if it’s happened before, something like, seeing each other in parties and in downworlder spaces or something. but either way, he’s at a really low point, and that’s the first meaningful interaction they have - camille saves his life. he feels like she cares.

she’s not the only one who cares, obviously. so does ragnor, so does cat, so does dot and lots of other of his friends. but at this point, he’s feeling so empty it’s hard to believe that they care, and camille is all too quick to figure out his exact weaknesses - she’s there to listen to him when he wants to kill himself, i can only imagine the infodump that went on that night. he gives her all she needs to know - his fear of abandonment, his desire to be loved, his belief that he will never be accepted no matter what, his fear that he really is evil inside after all despite everything proving that he isn’t - to use against him perfectly. camille is smart. she’s also manipulative. and she also seems like a ticket into a somewhat normal world - she’s a woman, she’s immortal, she’s acting all sweet around him and telling him that she understands, that this is why she doesn’t mingle with mundanes, that it’s better if they’re just amongst themselves, that people like them can’t trust too much and need to stick together. slowly, she plants into him the idea that he’s gullible, has a weak judgement, and is just weak in general for going around thinking he could ever have a thing with mortals or could ever find a space to belong. she uses that to drive him away from his friends and make sure he does as she says. also, magnus owes her, doesn’t he? she saved his life. how can he fight her, when she saved his life? how can he say no to her? how can he disagree? he’s gullible, he’s weak, and she’s the only one who has enough patience for him. everyone else leaves. she’s all he has.

in conclusion: his sexuality is a huge factor in camille’s abuse, it’s what makes him vulnerable to her and gives her every tool she needs to manipulate him. it’s not direct, she’s not about to make fun or dismiss his bisexuality because she knows this is not something he’s internalised, but she can weaponize the trauma that queerphobia brings to his life, and so she does.

she wrecks him. like really really wrecks him, everything he’s built for himself, his identity, whatever he had of his confidence. like he was still trying to build all of that, but he was getting there, and she gets him back to ground 0 just like that. i think he only broke up with her because she started doing her more Clearly Immoral shit and magnus can’t do that. say what you want, but magnus’ actual nature has always been to care and to give all that he can for others. and camille is just evil mcbad. and her abuse goes a long way, but i don’t think anything could actually break magnus enough to be okay with hurting others. especially considering how most of his trauma seems to revolve around the fact that he believes he is constantly hurting others, and it seems to me - considering how he’s going all around the place helping everyone and sacrificing himself without a second thought - that helping others is even a way to cope somewhat, he doesn’t focus on himself, he does his job and helps others and doesn’t think about himself and so he copes, he can do what he’s good at and also believe he’s somehow “repenting” for “killing” his mother and stepfather (it was SELF FUCKING DEFENSE he didn’t murder him, but he does seem to believe he did). so that’s probably when they break up, when he realises that camille is just. keen on hurting others and she’s bored with him and his morals anyway. i know that in book canon apparently the reason they broke up was that she cheated on him, but again i don’t consider book canon and show canon to be the same canon, specially considering how magnus is a wildly different character in those. so i don’t think that would somehow be the last straw for him. camille probably was cheating on him left and right but he probably just believed that it was his fault, or just kept forgiving her anyway because he had nowhere to go and it should be enough that she loves him and saved him, right?

he doesn’t really get around to realising that camille is a straight-up abuser and awful person (as shown by the fact that he seems to still internalise the whole “camille saved my life” bullshit when she was really just manipulating him and using his vulnerability against him) but he does realise that he can’t keep looking for a partner as a solution to his issues. he also doesn’t really want to be in a relationship after her, not when he’s broken in more pieces than he was when he left asmodeus, and that was a lot of pieces as well. so he sleeps around and all, crafts this whole playboy persona of his, and locks his heart away. dedicates himself to the downworlder children he keeps adopting and trying to help, reconnects with ragnor and the other warlocks - who kind of knew what was going on and never blamed him for it or for growing distant with them because they’re amazing and probably have seen this happen many times before.

he also carefully avoids mundane men. he’s not risking getting anyone else hurt.

but then there’s the 60s and 70s, and he’s in bloody new york, and the queer community is shaping itself, and goddamn, after all the hurt and pain he’s seen due to sexuality, he’s not gonna ignore this. also, his Adopting Instincts are way too strong anyway, he can’t really see people struggling and not do anything. so he supports queer spaces, probably made pandemonium one, too - a particularly safe queer space, since she could use his wards to keep police out of his business and ensure everyone’s safety. he definitely was there at stonewall and subsequent protests and parades, keeping people safe, weakening gas bombs and the like with magic, making sure they managed to escape jail.

magnus’ relationship with the mundane queer community is kind of weird, then - he’s not an actual part of it, not really, and he’s particularly scared of getting attached then, so he guards his heart with even more determination than everywhere else. but he still wants to help, so he brings in his money, tries to keep them safe, participates in some community activities and volunteers, and occasionally talks to some kids who were just kicked out of home or something, who are dealing with self-loathing and fear, and even though he hasn’t gone through the whole “my sexuality is unnatural” thing or particularly hated that aspect of himself, he does know what it’s like to be cast away and seen as a monster, and to see himself as uncapable of being loved. so he listens and he talks about his experiences and tries to help as much as he can, and for the most part, he’s successful and he feels kind of accomplished in that sense. he might never have hated himself for his sexuality, but this is the first time he is fully able to bring it into his mundane life. and it also helps him deal with and talk about his other issues, even if he can’t be 100% frank about being an immortal being who does magic and shit, he can connect to these people in a lot of ways, and he also has his own scars brought in by homophobia even if they weren’t internalised in the same way. also, there are names popping up for what people are, homosexuality is being decriminalised all over the world (even in england, he’s heard), things are starting to look up.

as the 80s come up, he knows that a lot of things are changing - that white gay guys are getting more and more space, that the word “bisexual” is being popularised, but also that the reason for that is that a lot of gays and lesbians are trying to get bi ppl out of some spaces, that there’s a division going on between people who want to be seen as palatable and are willing to step over others to get it, and people who refuse to blend into an oppressive society, or just can’t, because they’re trans, they’re people of color, they’re sex workers and homeless and they can never be really assimilated when, even if they’re not getting the death penalty, they’re still getting killed and framed as criminals for existing.

magnus is a person of color as well, he’s bisexual (meaning one of the groups that were being cast away and despised by the white, “clean” gay movement) and he’s been there since the beginning, where these exact people that are being driven away were the only ones building the queer movement, so i think it’s pretty obvious who he “sided” with. not much changed in that aspect, then, since the spaces of queer resistance he was used to were the ones created by the “outcasts”. it was disappointing to see a movement that seemed so amazing at first get slowly gentrified and push the most vulnerable people away again, but at this point, he was used to seeing the divide, to drawing the short end, and at least he could continue as he was and try and help people, right? so life was good as a whole.

then the AIDS crisis happened, and shit that was SO rough. people were dying left and right, they had nowhere to go and there was so little he could do. of course he tried his best - pandemonium, like many other similar clubs, was definitely raising money to help the victims, and he was definitely volunteering to help them, along with catarina (who’s better at healing than he is, anyway), but even healing magic isn’t as simple as “begone, disease” and this was a completely new thing, anyway. there was little they could do beyond try and lessen the pain and symptoms and spend countless nights awake doing research and trying to figure out what exactly was causing this and what they could do to help and try to cure it. it’s endlessly frustrating and he gets to see a lot of people he knew, and talked to, and helped, die slowly while he was unable to do much, and shit is that a theme on his life. he also blames himself for not being able to work out a cure - what good is fucking magic if he can’t do this? - even if he and cat do figure out ways to help, at least. but they’re just two people and creating spells isn’t easy and it’s not like their patients have a lot of time, and also he needs to sleep, as cat and dot keep reminding him. the mundanes beat him to it, and for a while he can breathe again. but then there has been so much loss and death the community is in shambles and they’ve been set back one hell of a lot, and magnus is so tired. his friends help him, reassure him that it’s not his fault, and he’s okay, because he’s stronger now, he’s been getting better during all these years and a part of him is used to it - it never hurts less, but it does get easier to push through.

and then, well, there’s the whole war against valentine thing, and then the accords, so i think for a while magnus was kind of not very involved with the mundane world, and also this is already WAY to long to get into the 2000s and shit, but i will finish by saying that maybe after a few years magnus might get somewhat involved with the community again, because i just. really like the idea of magnus joining some kind of group of bisexual men and learning that SO MANY of them have gone through abusive experiences with straight girls that are scarily similar to his experience with camille, considering, you know, all the other layers involved and the fact that it happened centuries ago. and it kind of works as group therapy, and magnus finally realises that what he went through with camille was abuse, and that he’s not alone, and that queerphobia made him vulnerable, and that the fact that he is part of so many minorities can mean that, rather than not belonging anywhere, he belongs in many places and many different spaces, and he’s helped so many people in so many different ways. and then he finds out that there are other warlocks who are working as therapists and in there he can talk about his immortality issues and, well, other issues and he starts healing faster than before - he’s been healing ever since the breakup with camille, of course, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to open up to alec. like, of course, alec and him are soulmates and shit, but if he wasn’t in a better place he wouldn’t have allowed himself to fall for him like he did. and. yeah. magnus doing therapy and getting better and finding groups where he feels like he belongs, and realising camille was an abuser, please.

#ask #cosmicnovia #luxxmagnus #sh #shadowhunters #meta #magnus bane #magnus bane meta #history tag #queer history #sh meta #overflowing trashcan

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: In Bad Waters - part nine Word count: ±3300 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part nine summary: After splitting up, each hunter has their own part to play in order to solve the case. But when Sam has a vision, things go south real quick. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Bored out of her skull, Zoë flips the page of her newspaper for the third time, pretending to read it. She found a good spot on the terrace of a Pizza Hut restaurant. Traffic drives by on Highway 412 constantly, but from her table she has a clear view of a house on Magnolia Drive. Taylor Dawlson, Laura’s former teacher, lives in the suburban home.

It’s 14:30 and Zoë has been guarding the Dawlson residence for over an hour now, but nothing has happened so far. She hasn’t had a call from the boys yet either, so she presumes everything is quiet at the Shire place, and Dean is probably talking to doctor Hughes.

Taylor Dawlson is home, busy maintaining the household while keeping her daughter entertained. The husband, whose name is Jeff, is working the lawn at the moment, a sprinkler system watering the pink magnolias by the white wooden fence. On the table in front of her, next to the slice of pepperoni pizza, Zoë installed her Macbook, which shows some information about the Dawlson family, just so that she knows who she’s dealing with. Taylor is a teacher at the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School, Jeff is into sportswear and merchandise. They’ve been married for seven years and have a three year old daughter named Lesley. No criminal records on the parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a happy family, living in a normal neighborhood, right next to a church. One thing doesn’t show up on her screen, though, and it’s something the huntress knows for a fact; the mother happened to be in one of her flashbacks.

She lets out a bored sigh and takes another bite of her pizza, but then feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. Quickly, she takes out her Nokia and checks the screen; it’s Sam. “What’s up?” She yawns. “Your stake out is that exciting, huh?” Sam responds sarcastically.

Sam is comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet Impala, which he parked across the street of the Shire residence, located on Reynolds Park Road. He has the window rolled down and rests his elbow on the door as he holds his phone to his ear. The streets are almost empty in this neighborhood just outside the downtown area of Paragould. A beautiful house by the lake seems like a fairytale to live in, and yet this place was the setting for violence and abuse for many years.

“It’s like watching a documentary on snails,” she comments, after which she bites off a piece of pizza. Sam can hear her chewing food and furrows his brow. “Are you eating again?” “Dude, you sound like my dietician,” Zoë responds with her mouth full. Sam chuckles and realizes how stern he must have sounded. “Burgers again?” “No, I like a bit of variation in my cuisine,” she claims, putting up a snooty voice. “I’m having Italian right now.” “Let me guess: pizza?” Zoë laughs. “Pizza Hut to be precise.”

“How do you do it?” Sam wonders, still chuckling. “Do what?” “Eat so much, without… well, you know--” he starts carefully, instantly regretting it. He’s on thin ice. Zoë can’t help but grin, deciding to mess with him. “- getting big? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Someone who had a long term relationship should know this; clothes, weight and age are the forbidden subjects.” Quickly, Sam sets things straight. “I’m sorry, I just think it’s extraordinary.” “What? The weirdness of women or the fact that I eat so much?” she jokes.

Sam chuckles, now that he can detect the trace of mockery in her voice. “Seriously, though. How can you consume so much food and still look - you know - like you do?” “Because I kick ass,” she answers, sassy. Her response might have come out rapidly, for a brief moment there, Zoë analyzed that sentence. Was Sam’s remark a compliment or a flirt? She’s not sure what to think of it, but presumes the flirtation wasn’t intentional, considering he’s clearly still struggling to deal with his ex-girlfriend’s death. And come on, she has given him a pretty hard time; she’s been anything but charming.

Zoë changes the subject before an awkward silence follows. “How’s it going over there?” Sam glances through his windshield at the two individuals up at the house. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Shire seems to mourn by cleaning up the entire house and her son is sitting by the lake, just staring out over the water,” Sam describes. “The guy was an asshole, but he was still their family,” she realizes, after which a beep sounds in her ear; she has a different call coming in. “Gonna put you on hold for a sec, Sam,” she notifies the hunter, and pushes the green button on her phone. “Sullivan.”

“Doc ain’t talking.” Dean walks down the stairs of the Arkansas Methodist Medical Center. He unbuttons his blazer and loosens his tie. Zoë narrows her eyes, even though the recipient on the other end of the line can’t see it. “What do you mean, he isn’t talking?” “He got all nervous when I started asking questions. There’s no way I can get a word out of his mouth. But he does know something, alright,” Dean explains.

“Did you try everything?” she checks, questioning Dean’s interrogation skills. “Well, I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t tell him the truth either,” he admits. Zoë realizes it’s a good thing he didn’t reveal his true identity. If Dean starts talking about killer ghosts and the guy freaks out, they might have a serious problem, considering that they are identified as FBI. A call to their chief at the Bureau will ultimately result in a blown cover, which will not make solving any future case any easier.

“You have the death report, right?” she threatens with a tone. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Of course I have the death report,” Dean ensures cockily, as he takes out the report from his inside pocket. “Stole it from his file case. Piece of cake.” Zoë doesn’t bother to compliment him for his deed. “Anything interesting in there?” “Not really,” Dean presses his phone between his ear and shoulder and leafs through the pages, which contain a lot of medical talk that he doesn’t understand one bit. “It says that Laura Shire was brought in by her father around 11 PM, yada yada. Cause of death…” Dean pauses as he reads the line again and halts. “Didn’t you say that both dear daddy and Van Dyke broke their neck?” he recalls, looking up from the file. “Yeah.” “Laura broke hers too. Robert Shire claimed she fell down the stairs.” Zoë scoffs. “Well that’s complete utter bullshit.”

“One other thing,” he points out as he continues his way down the street. “Shire wasn’t just a colleague, he was his boss. Guess who the second signature on Laura’s death report belongs to.” “Shire himself?” she assumes, stunned. “The one and only.” “But he’s a family member of the victim, he should have been excluded from the examination!” Zoë exclaims in disbelief. “That’s why he got Hughes to do the autopsy. All they needed was his signature as Chief of Staff.” The huntress gets the point now and rolls her eyes skyward. “Which makes the report valid.” “So, what now?” Dean questions, his current mission having been completed. “Hughes played a part in this cover up, so he might be her next candidate,” Zoë ponders, glancing at the Dawlson residence, where it’s still quiet. “There is no way you can keep an eye on him in that hospital, is there?” “We don’t need to. Laura only attacks when her victim is alone, right?” Dean mentions.

Zoë thinks about that for a second, her mind going over the first two murders. She didn’t notice it before, but he’s right. There were people in the house when Shire and Van Dyke were killed, but never in the same room. “Now that you mention it. As long as the doc stays amongst people, he’ll be safe. When does he get off?” “Already checked that; not until 6 PM,” Dean informs. “Good, so we don’t have to worry about him until six,” she concludes, trying to think of a plan. “Everything nice and quiet over there?” Dean wonders. “I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure if Laura would target her anyhow.” Dean walks into the parking lot of the Kentucky Fried Chicken only blocks away from the hospital. “And Sam?” “Do I look like a fucking mailman to you? Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she returns annoyed.

He enters the KFC and takes a look at the menu, even though he always goes for the classic. When Dean ignores her remark, the silence however ignites a reaction from the huntress nonetheless. “You two had a fight or somethin’?” “Sort of,” he admits with a mutter. “Ah, brotherly love. What did you fight about?” Zoë asks nosy. “That’s none of your business,” Dean returns defensive, stunned by her boldness. “Damn, you’re not curious at all, are you?” “I’m not curious. I just want to know everything.” She shrugs, her correction sassy. “C’mon, spill it.”

Dean sighs somewhat agitated. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, but he figures that once she knows, she might stop poking him. He keeps it as short as possible, though. “It was about Dad. Sam and I have different ideas on how to find him.”

Surprisingly, there’s no smart counter that follows up his words. Instead, Zoë swallows back a mean remark and decides not to respond for their own good. They are finally having a conversation without yelling at each other, and although the fighting doesn’t bother her since she has no interest in becoming friends with the older Winchester, she’d rather keep it civil. Like it or not, she can use their help, so now would not be the best time to counter the hunter.

Dean breaks the deadly silence. “Still there?” Zoë clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted.” “Want some chicken?” he jokes, as if he could teleport it to her place. She laughs, guessing where he is. “Where are you? KFC?” “Ahuh,” he confirms, and turns to the guy behind the counter. “One bucket of chicken wings, please.” “Is that all?” Zoë comments. “You’re right,” he agrees, looking back at the restaurant worker. “Could you add a Crispy Colonel Sandwich and a coke?”

He pays for his second lunch of the day and tells the employee to keep the change. “Did you eat?” Dean asks Zoë, as he walks out to the terrace and settles down in the sun. She smiles at her phone. Apparently they have found common grounds. “Yeah, pizza,” she mentions. “Which reminds me, I still have Sam on hold. If you wanna crash some place, feel free to break into my motel room.” “Alrighty, you didn’t boobytrap it, did ya?” he checks first. “Unless you’re a demon or a ghost you’re free to waltz in,” Zoë replies, referring to the demon trapping pentagram under the doormat and the salt lines in the windowsills. “Room number?” “Seventeen. Don’t break anything.”

With those words, she disconnected her call with Dean and returns to Sam. “I’m back,” she lets him know. But there’s not a sound on the other line. He didn’t hang up on her, she can still hear static. “Sam? You there?” Then she hears Sam’s voice, but it’s not comforting. A painful moan sounds from the other side of the line. “Sam, answer me! What’s going on?” Zoë calls out, sensing something is wrong. Sam groans. “I’m here.”

He has the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, eyes shut firmly. He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but a stabbing pain in his head almost knocks him out cold. The images that flashed before his eyes a moment ago remain on display, but he cannot place any of them. Visions in his sleep are one thing, but he has never experienced them during the day before. “What’s happening?” He hears Zoë’s voice and presses his Blackberry against his ear. “I - I think I just had a vision.” Zoë’s eyes grow large. It has started. “What did you see?” Sam looks up, stunned. By the sound of her words, she experienced this too. “You had one of those while awake?” “That’s not important right now. What did you see?” she repeats firmly. Sam thinks back, trying to recover the recollections behind closed eyes. “I saw a house, white woodwork,” he remembers. “A woman inside is terrified, screaming, and I heard a child’s voice, saying ‘You didn’t stop it’.”

Zoë’s eyes drift from her laptop screen to the house across the street; the Dawlson home has white woodwork. Her eyes widen as she realizes what might be going on. “It’s Laura. What else did you see, Sam?!” she pressures while getting up so abruptly, that her chair tumbles over. “A guy mowing the lawn, sprinklers... and a church, right next to the house,” he recalls, concentrating on possible clues.

Zoë’s runs down the terrace, leaving her Macbook behind on the table. As fast as she can she crosses the street and is barely missed by a car, but she doesn’t have eyes for it. Her eyes are fixated on the front door and she knows; Laura is here. “Get to Magnolia Drive, now!” she orders Sam, putting away her phone right after. Adrenaline rushes through her body as she grabs the doorknob, but the door seems to be jammed. She pulls as hard as she can, but there’s no movement whatsoever.

“Hey! What do you think you are doing?” Jeff Dawlson exclaims at the intruder. He left his lawnmower on the grass and now approaches her with large steps. “Your wife’s in danger! We need to get inside the house,” she tells the man straight forward. The facial expression of the tall man changes from mad to worried, his gaze shifting to his home. “Who are you?” “Jeff, I don’t have time to explain! We need to get in the house!” Zoë cries out, losing her cool.

She puts her shoulder into it and tries to lift the door from his hinges, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she looks around for another way in. Jeff hastens to the back door, but returns soon after, panicking. “I can’t get the back door to open! My daughter is in there too!” The huntress curses, ramming into the door again. Laura is doing this, she’s shutting them out so that she can work over her victim without being interrupted. It’s amazing how fast this little ten year old developed into the monster she is now. This isn’t a ghost problem anymore, this is a poltergeist. Without hesitation, Zoë draws her gun from behind her waistband and aims for the kitchen window. She pulls the trigger, but instead of breaking the glass, the shell flings back as if it just hit bullet proof glass.

“Taylor!” Jeff calls his wife's name, desperately. But they don’t hear a sound, not even a horrific scream and Zoë wonders if that is a good sign. Not willing to give up, she creates some distance between her and the door and drives her shoulder into the wood again and again, until she feels sore to the bone. “Goddamnit! Let us in!” she yells, furiously.

In the meantime, Jeff got his hands on a shovel and starts hitting the windows, but none of them break. While he keeps calling out for his wife and daughter, Zoë hears the roar of a V8 engine coming around the corner. With screeching tires Sam stops the car and jumps out, rushing for the trunk. Without pausing her efforts to get in, Zoë calls out. “You better have a bright idea, Sam!” With two loaded shotguns in his hands he runs up the lawn, but stops in his tracks when he glances at the window. “Zoë?”

She looks over her shoulder and sees the staggered expression on his face, triggering her to back up glances at the second story. In front of the window stands a young girl, but the sight is anything but endearing. This time she isn’t the sad little innocent kid, she looks terrifying. Here eyes seem to have sunken deep into their sockets, blood and bruises cover her pale body. Her head is tilted to the right in an unnatural way, twisted at the base. The image distorts, then she disappears.

The next moment, they hear the sound of shattering glass. The hunters’ attention is drawn to the kitchen window; Jeff managed to break it. Hastily Zoë rushes for the door, knowing it’s unlocked now and enters the house. Sam is right behind her and hands her the shotgun in the hallway, just in case. She looks at the gun for a moment. “This isn’t gonna help.” “Loaded with rock salt,” Sam elaborates. Her eyes dart to the rifle again, this time appreciating the weapon. She heard of many ways to fight ghosts, but this is a new technique. It must be a Winchester invention, seems like those lumberjacks aren’t that stupid afterall. “You get their daughter,” she orders. They split up and when Sam glances into the living room, he sees Jeff's and Taylor’s little girl. She doesn’t seem to realize what is going on, apparently she didn’t hear a thing. The child is playing with her dolls, as her mother told her to.

While Sam picks up Lesley and takes her outside, Zoë rushes to the second floor. Quickly she climbs the stairs, her shotgun ready to fire. Alert, she scans the corridor; all clear. Knowing Laura might still be inside, she takes a deep breath and busts the door to what she assumes to be one of the bedrooms. What the huntress sees inside makes her stomach turn, even though she has seen her fair share of blood and violence.

What she feared the most has happened. Laura made her teacher die an even more horrible death than her own. Taylor has collapsed against the wall, her eyes stare at the ground, as if she was unpleasantly surprised by her attacker. But she doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch; she’s dead. Her arms and neck seem to be broken, a bad head injury that cracked her skull giving Zoë a glimpse of her brain. Blood prints of her head and hands are smeared over the pink wall paper of her daughter’s room. Crimson stains the carpet, the teddy bears on Lesley’s bed, the covers, even the ceiling. “Damnit, Laura,” Zoë says, breathlessly.

Footsteps echo from the staircase behind her. She looks back and sees Jeff, running onto the corridor. “You don’t wanna see this,” she warns, trying to keep him from the doorway. But as she would have done, he steps inside anyway. As soon as his eye catches the sight of his wife in the state that she is, he freezes. Unable to say anything, unable to move like a deer in headlights, he looks down at her dead body as tears well up in his eyes. Zoë watches him, but she can’t get a word out of her mouth. After she swallows apprehensively, she averts her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene.

“Taylor…” Jeff whispers as tears run down his face. The cry that follows gives Zoë chills. “Taylor!” In a blink of an eye this family’s life has changed forever. The woman Jeff loves dearly, the mother of his child, just got ripped away from them, murdered, and there is nothing he can do to reverse that. Zoë knows the feeling, she knows it way too well. He falls down on his knees in her blood, but he doesn’t hit the floor. He hits rock bottom.

Read chapter ten here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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foreverwayward · 6 years ago

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“Wayward Hearts Season 3 Chapter 5: Red Sky at Morning

Summary: After the Devil’s Gate had been opened that fateful night in the graveyard, the hunters are forced to face a new war. Countless demons now run rampant, hungry for blood and power. It’ll take everything the three have to survive when darkness once again knocks on their door. But, with only a year before Dean’s deal comes due, Sam and Riley will stop at nothing to save him; to save their family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8512

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

Maple Springs was left in the rearview mirror as the three drove into the dark highway that night. Dean’s foot seemed heavier on the gas as Baby roared down the road.

With Riley in the back seat and Sam in the front, there was a cloud that sat over them all in the silence of the ride. There was no music coming from the stereo and Dean had stayed quiet long enough.

“So, I've been waiting since Maple Springs. One of you got something to tell me?”

Sam played dumb and answered almost in a question. “It's not your birthday…”

“No.”

“...happy Purim?” The younger brother laughed. “Dude, I don't know. I have no idea what you're talking about--”

Cutting Sam off mid-sentence, Dean went firm. “There's a bullet missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened?”

His eyes went to the mirror to look at Riley and she didn’t acknowledge his glance.

“I know it wasn't me. So, unless one of you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans...”

“Dean…”

“You went after her, didn’t you? The Crossroads Demon. After I told you not to.”

Riley sighed before joining the conversation with her eyes shut, “it wasn’t just him, Dean.”

Dean practically rolled his eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me? You both could have gotten yourself killed!”

“But we didn’t!”

“And you shot her.”

“Hell ya I did,” Sam replied. “She was a smartass!”

After taking a beat, Dean asked the one question that flooded his mind. “So, what? Does that--does that mean I'm out of my deal?”

“Don't you think I might have mentioned that little fact, Dean? No. Someone else holds the contract. She wouldn’t say who.”

“Well, we should find out who. Of course, our best lead would be the Crossroads Demon. Oh, wait a minute…”

Riley softly shook her head as Dean peered back at her again. “That’s not funny, Dean.”

“No, it's not!” he barked back. “It was a stupid fucking risk and you shouldn't have done it.”

Finally meeting his stern look, Riley stared back incredulously. “We shouldn’t have done it? Are you kidding me?”

“She’s right, Dean. This is bullshit,” Sam agreed. “You’re my brother; Riley loves you. And no matter what you do, we’re gonna try and save you. And we’re sure as hell not gonna apologize for it, alright?”

Silence fell over the Impala once again. Riley leaned back with her arms folded and Sam sighed heavily in exasperation. Dean’s stare continued down the road with nothing left to say to either of them.

“Sam,” Riley called to him with her abilities. “Please don’t tell him.” She saw her brother's large shoulders tense at her voice. Sam was still angry with Riley over her trying to make a deal for Dean’s soul. “Sam…?”

“I wouldn’t do that…” Sam thought. “It would kill him.”

------

Impersonating officers of the law to interview a witness, Riley and the Winchesters stood in the home of the witness to their newest case. Her finely decorated house sat right at the edge of the bay.

The witness’ name was Gertrude Case, an elegant and well-groomed woman in her early 70’s. She held a picture of her beloved, now deceased niece.

“But I don't understand. I already went over all this with the other detectives.”

“Right, yes. But, see...” Dean began their cover story. “We're with the Sheriff's Department, not the police department--different departments.”

Sam went straight to business. “So, Mrs. Case…”

“Please,” the woman cooed as she looked intently at Sam. “Ms. Case.”

“Okay. Um, Ms. Case, uh--you were the one who found your niece, correct?”

“I came home, she was in the shower. The coroner said she drowned. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?”

Riley jumped in, trying to ignore the intense sexual thoughts and emotions that dripped from Mrs. Case. She cleared her throat. “Was Sheila acting strangely in any way in the days before she died? Did she seem scared or possibly say anything out of character…?”

“Wait a minute,” Gertrude paused. “You're working with Alex, aren't you?”

“Alex?” Riley asked before nodding her head in a lie. “Oh, sure. Yeah, Alex has been a huge help.”

“Why didn't you say so? Alex has been such a comfort. But, I’m sorry, I thought the case was solved.”

Sam leaned onto his right foot to shift his weight before replying, “Uh...well, no. No, not yet.”

“I see.”

“So, anyway, we were talking about your niece.”

“Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat.”

“A boat?” Dean asked.

“Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a...ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship.” Every word she said seemed to be only directed at Sam. Gertrude’s eyes sat on him with hunger.

Thrown off by her intense regard, Sam answered awkwardly, “well, um...could be.”

“Well, you let me know if there's anything else I can do for you.” Coming closer to Sam, she slowly ran a finger along Sam’s hand.

He looked beyond uncomfortable while Dean and Riley tried not to laugh.

“Anything at all.”

------

The three moseyed along the dock, the gentle sound of lapping water touching the shore. The ocean port was crowded with pristine, rather large boats owned by the obviously wealthy.

“What a crazy old broad,” Dean joked.

“Why?” Sam asked. “Because she believes in ghosts?”

Dean laughed. “Look at you, sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound.”

“Bite me.”

Nibbling her lip as a laugh tried to force its way out, Riley couldn’t help the urge to tease her brother. “She might bite you first, Sam.” He glared at her and she chuckled to herself. “So, do we know an Alex? Another hunter maybe?”

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job.”

“And it looks like we’re dealing with some kind of ghost ship.”

“Yeah. It's not the first one sighted around here, either. Every 37 years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing, three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every 37 years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings.”

Dean glanced down at the wood at his feet before looking back up. “So, whatever's happening is just getting started. What's the lore?”

“Well,” Riley interjected. “Apparitions of shipwrecks are sighted all over the world. The Griffin, the S.S. Violet, the Flying Dutchman--and all of them? Death omens.”

“So, what happens? You see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?”

“Looks like.”

“What's the next step?”

“Sam I.D.’s the boat.”

The younger brother scoffed through a laugh. “Oh, sure. I’m gonna do that.”

“Yup,” she smiled. “‘Cause you just love me so much.”

“Uh-huh,” Sam teased. “Sure. I mean, there’s only over a hundred and fifty three-mast clipper ships that have wrecked of the coast.”

“Wow,” Dean added. “Well, shit.”

“Mhm.”

They quickly went up the concrete steps that took them to the main street level. The air was salty with the breeze that blew through with seagulls crying close by.

As they reached the road, the three approached an empty parking space. Dean looked around confused.

“This is where we parked the car, right?”

“I thought so,” Sam answered as he watched Dean walk into the spot.

Dean’s body language changed as he grew more and more tense. “Where's my car?”

“Did you feed the meter?”

With his voice starting to rise in panic, Dean’s anxiety grew. “Yes, I fed the meter. Sam, where's my car? Somebody stole my car?!” he shouted.

Riley could feel his legitimate worry and fear that he had possibly lost Baby. She saw him double over and ran to him. “Hey, Dean, you gotta calm down.”

“I am calmed down! Somebody stole my ca--” the Winchester began to hyperventilate and bent over, clutching his knees to calm himself.

At his gasping, Riley and Sam both tried to talk him down. “Take it easy, Dean. It’ll be alright.”

A deep voice with a British accent spoke out from ahead. They all stood up only to see Richard sauntering in their direction. He took off his sunglasses to look at the three hunters. “The '67 Impala? Was that yours?”

“Richard,” Riley sighed in exasperation.

“I'm sorry. I had that car towed.”

“You what?!” Dean barked at him.

“Well, it was in a tow-away zone.”

“No, it fucking wasn't, you douchebag!”

Richard leaned in with a pleased grin. “It was when I finished with it.”

“Why?” Riley asked in a frustrated, but drained tone. Her hands found her hips as she glared at him. “Just--why are you here?”

“A little yachting,” he replied flippantly.

“You're Alex,” Sam scoffed. “You're working with that old lady.”

“Gert's a dear old friend. A bit grabby, but a sweet lady nonetheless.”

“Yeah, right. What's your angle?”

“There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats.”

Dean’s face scrunched in disgust. “Yeah, I’m sure you perform all kinds of helpful services. Ugh. And you’re conning them--none of it’s real.”

“The comfort I provide them is very real.”

“How do you sleep at night?” Sam asked.

“On silk sheets, rolling naked in money.” Richard’s eyes landed on Riley with a strong sexual tension in them. Dean noticed and immediately grit his teeth. “Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from Dean, but you?”

“You fucking shot me!”

“I barely grazed you,” Lewis mocked. “Good, god, Sam. About time you toughened up, don’t you think?”

It took all of Sam’s strength not to clock Richard across his face. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared with rage.

Riley had so much disdain for Lewis that his mere presence was enough to irritate her. She was sickened by the way he eyed her like a piece of meat. “So, I’m assuming that you know what’s going on around here. The whole ‘ghost-ship’ story is real.”

“I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way.”

“It isn't,” Dean added with a scowl on his face.

“She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment and she's demanding some real answers. Look...just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. And I'd get to that car if I were you...before they find the arsenal in the trunk.” With a cocky smile, Richard put his sunglasses back on before winking at Riley. “See you around, Munroe.” He turned to leave and straightened his well-tailored coat as he walked off.

“Can I shoot him?” Dean seethed.

“Not in public,” Sam and Riley answered in unison.

------

The next day, Riley and the Winchesters had gone to another house of yet another mysterious drowning. The entire property had become a crime scene. Police officers had taped off the home and their radios could be heard throughout.

Ahead, Riley spotted Richard talking to the victim’s brother. She tossed her head back and groaned. “I’ll ask again...why?” she whined.

The brother of the victim was still shaken and obviously reeling from the earlier events.

Richard was interviewing him, posed as a reporter. He was using a fake American accent and really playing into his role. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mr. Warren. Now, if you could just tell me one more time about the ship your brother saw.”

Riley, Sam, and Dean pulled out their badges to flash them before shoving them back away. They all looked irritated and Dean stared Lewis down. “I think this man's been through quite enough. You should go.”

Still holding his recording device, Richard told them coolly, “I just have a few more questions.”

“No, you don't,” Sam told him firmly.

Richard shot the brothers daggers with his eyes before feigning respect for Mr. Warren. “Thank you for your time.” As he walked past Riley, his hand brushed up against hers purposefully and he shot her a playful look.

“Sorry you had to deal with that,” the older Winchester told the grieving brother. “They're like roaches.” Dean raised his voice so that Richard could hear him.

He turned back to glare at the hunter and Dean shot him a harsh leer before Lewis scoffed and left.

“Did he touch you?” he asked Riley quietly.

“I’m fine, Dean,” she replied. “Don’t let him get to you.”

“Pfft. He’s not getting to me. I just--wanna kill him is all.”

Sam had already pulled Mr. Warren to the side to talk as Riley and Dean joined them. “So, it’s Peter, right? Peter Warren? We heard you say your brother saw a ship.”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Did he tell you what it looked like?” Dean asked.

“It was, uh--like the old Yankee clippers. A smuggling vessel. The rakish topsail, a barkentine rigging--angel figurehead on the bow.”

Riley looked at the man curiously. “Wow. That’s pretty specific detail for a ship you didn’t even see.”

“My brother and I were night diving. I saw the ship, too.”

The three shared a knowing look of worry before Sam turned to notice Richard. He was talking to officers and pointing to Riley and the brothers’ direction.

Sam nudged Dean and he quickly wrapped things up.

“Alright. Well, we'll be in touch. Thank you for your time.”

------

Later that afternoon, the family of three loaded their shotguns at the trunk of the Impala in the nearby woods. It didn’t take long before they were joined once again by an unwelcome voice that approached them from behind.

“I see you got your car back.”

Dean had to briefly shut his eyes to contain his frustration before replying, “you really want to come near me when I got a loaded gun in my hands?”

“Now, now. Mind your blood pressure, Dean. Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat.”

As Riley snapped the gun back into place she stared Richard down. “The brother? He saw the ship.”

Dean closed the trunk as they all turned to face Lewis.

“Yeah? And?”

“...and he’s gonna die. So, now we gotta save him.”

Richard found slight humor in the comment and smirked with a soft chuckle. “Oh, Riley. How sweet. Always ready to run into the fray. Though I’ll admit, one of the many reasons I’ve always found you so interesting,” he added with a sly look.

Sam butt into the conversation with a scoff, “dude, back the hell off. And what? You think this whole thing is funny?

“He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time and you know it.”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, see, we have souls, so…” Sam said plainly as they all went to get in the car. “...we're gonna try.”

“Yeah, well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley looked at each other, exasperated before Dean marched over to the smug visitor. “Hey, Dick, how'd you get like this, huh? What, did daddy not give you enough hugs or something?”

Lewis fought not to let his face show how offended he was. “I don't know. Your daddy give you enough?”

The two men shared an obvious moment of desire to fight.

Riley could feel the tensions rising and a part of her hoped Dean would hit Richard.

“Don't you dare look down your nose at me,” Richard told him. “You're not better than I am.”

“We help people.”

With a scoff, Richard went on. “Come on. You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're a stone's throw from being a serial killer. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job and I do it. So, you tell me--which is healthier?”

“Richard,” Sam interrupted. “Why don't you just leave? We've got work to do.”

“Yeah. You're 0 for 2. Bang-up job so far.”

As he left, the others sighed as Riley ran a hand through her hair. “I’m starting to think shooting him in public isn’t such a bad idea.”

------

When night had fallen, Riley and the boys sat in front of the Mr. Warren’s large house. Back in their day to day clothes, they had decided to stake-out the place in hopes of catching whatever was going to come after the man.

Riley had her feet up as she lounged in the back seat finishing her candy bar. As Sam went over his findings on the Warren brothers, Dean’s eyes sat on Peter in the window.

“I don’t get it. I mean, both brothers are Duke University grads--no criminal record. I mean, a few speeding tickets. They inherited their father's real estate fortune six years ago.”

“How much?” Dean asked.

“$112 million.”

Riley whistled in response. “Real estate, huh? I’m in the wrong business obviously.”

“Yeah. I mean, nice, clean, aboveboard. So, why did they see the ship? Why Sheila, too? What do they all have in common?”

“Maybe nothing,” Dean added.

“No. There's always something.”

Peter had spotted them through his window and came out of the house toward them. Stopping at the security gate, he shouted, “hey, you!”

“Think we’ve been made, boys.” Riley was the first to get out of the car as the Winchesters followed.

“What are you guys doing?! You watching me?”

As they neared the panicked man, Sam tried to reason with him. “Sir, calm down. Please.”

“You guys aren't cops! Not dressed like that. Not--not in that shitty car.”

Dean was taken back and chuckled. “Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty.”

Hoping she could appeal to Peter, Riley gently put her hands up as a soft surrender. “We are cops, sir. We’re just undercover. We think you might be in danger, Mr. Warren.”

“From who?!”

“We can talk about this. Let’s all just calm down.”

“Look, you guys just stay away from me!” Peter demanded as he ran to his own car to get in.

At the gate, Dean yelled, “hey, dumbass! We’re trying to help you!”

Peter’s Mercedes approached the opposite side of the entryway and the car shuddered before coughing and dying.

“That can't be good,” Dean stated.

“No. Get the salt gun,” Sam told his brother as he and Riley hopped the short fence. Together, went into a full sprint across the property.

Inside Peter’s car, a spirit dressed in the clothes of an old seaman sat in his backseat. He wore a navy coat, his long hair soaking wet and dripping into his eyes with his right hand missing.

Mr. Warren peered back to look, but the spirit was gone. As he turned, the spirit was sitting in the passenger seat. The ghost glared at Peter and reached out to touch his cheek.

The man immediately began to convulse, choking on cold, salty water that spilled out of his mouth as he fought for air. He scrambled for the door, which locked itself and Peter finally slumped over the steering wheel.

Sam got to the car as the Winchester shouted into the driver’s window, “Peter!”

When Riley reached the passenger side, she gasped at the spirit staring her down. There was so much rage exploding from the ghost that she shuddered at the feeling.

Across the way, Dean hollered as he rushed in their direction, “guys! Get down!”

The two ducked down as Dean fired his shotgun into the window. It shattered at the salt round’s impact as the spirit disappeared.

Riley quickly stood and reached through the broken glass to unlock the car door. Sam yanked the driver-side door open and pulled Peter back against his seat; water still pouring from his mouth with his eyes wide open. The hunter checked for a pulse, but after a few seconds, his shoulder slumped and he sighed in defeat. Sam shook his head at the others and Riley groaned putting her hands in her hair.

As the thunder in the distance rumbled, Dean kicked the car door in frustration.

Against their best efforts, they were too late.

------

Lights from around them flickered through the windows of Baby as Dean drove her down the local highway. The radio was going with an announcer discussing the weather.

“With what started out as a mild breezy night, a severe weather front is headed in from the Northwest. Expect heavy lightning and thunder, with sudden rainfall--”

Dean shut off the radio with his eyes never leaving the road. “Do either of you wanna say it or should I?”

“What?” Sam asked.

“You can't save everybody”

Riley scoffed under her breath. “Right. So, does saying that make you feel better?”

“No, not really.”

“This isn’t even about us not being able to save Peter, is it?”

With a heavy sigh, Dean replied, “you gotta understa--”

Immediately cutting his brother off, Sam’s face fell flat with both sadness and defeat. “It’s just lately, I feel like I can't save anybody.”

The car fell silent with Sam, Dean, and Riley lost in their own thoughts.

Reaching out to her brother, Riley solemnly spoke through her abilities. “Me too, Sam.”

------

An abandoned and worn Victorian style home sat on the corner of a quiet street. The windows had been boarded up; the yard was a mess and wildly overgrown. It was the perfect place for the hunters to stay while they worked the case.

As Sam sat at a table reading about shipwrecks, Riley gently strummed her guitar as she tuned it. Dean was mindlessly playing a game on his phone off to the side of the room. The only time he seemed to look up was to sneak a glance at the woman in front of him with a soft smile.

When there was a knock at the door, Dean got up to check it out. A small, rusted and squeaky door opened as a peephole. Dean opened it and rolled his eyes seeing Richard staring back at him. The Winchester closed the tiny door before sharing a long look with Riley and Sam.

Reluctantly, he opened the door and Richard waltzed in wearing a high-end suit, carrying a leather portfolio.

“Dear...god,” he muttered as he looked around the house. “Are you actually squatting? ...charming.” Lewis walked further inside to join the others. “So. how'd things go last night with Peter?” When no one responded, he asked, “that well, huh?”

Dean’s jaw slightly clenched and Richard turned in his direction. “If you say 'I told you so', I swear to God I'll start fuckin’ swinging.”

“Look, I think the four of us should have a heart-to-heart.”

“That's assuming that you have a heart,” Dean snarked.

“Dean, please...I'm sorry about what I said before, okay? I come bearing gifts. I've ID'd the ship.” Richard unzipped his portfolio to pull out his findings as Dean sat next to Riley. “It's the Espírito Santo, a merchant sailing vessel--quite a colorful history. In 1859, a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was 37.”

Sam immediately added, “which would explain the 37-year cycle.”

“Aren't you a sharp tack? There's a photo of him somewhere…” Lewis took a beat as he flipped through the paperwork. “Here...”

As the three studied at the photo, they quickly shared a knowing look. Riley pointed at one of the men in the picture before saying, “isn’t that the guy from last night?”

“You saw him?”

“That’s definitely him. I looked him right in the eyes. But...he was missing a hand.”

“His right hand?” Riley nodded at Richard’s question and he went on. “The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory.”

“A hand of glory?” Dean smirked. “I think I got one of those recently.” The older brother chuckled with a quick glance towards Riley. She met his gaze with a firm look and he cleared his throat realizing he had overstepped.

“Dean,” Sam started with exasperation. “The right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object. It's very powerful.”

“And it qualifies as actual remains.” Riley picked up the photo to look at the man closer. “But how is he choosing his victims? It doesn’t make sense.”

Richard leaned onto the table and stared into her eyes. “I'll tell you why. Who cares? Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing.”

“Why are you even helping us, Richard? Why tell us all of this?”

“Because I know exactly where the hand is--the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history. But I need help.”

“What kind of help?” Sam asked giving Lewis a skeptical look.

Richard said nothing, only to turn to Riley with a smirk.

------

That evening, the house was filled with lit candles as the electricity hadn’t worked for years.

Dean and Richard waited in the living room with no one else around. Richard was in a tux with Dean was in nice slacks with a white button-up shirt, and a bowtie with a matching vest.

Dean tugged at the tie at his neck. “I don’t get it. Why the fuck do I have to go undercover as a waiter? Why can’t you or Sam do it?”

“Because I need Sam to keep Gertrude busy, I’m on the list with a plus one, and you…” Richard paused and sized him up. “Well, you’ll fit right in with the help.”

Feigning a sarcastic and annoyed laugh, Dean mocked him. “Douchebag…” he muttered under his breath.

Just then, movement on the stairs caught both of their attention. Dean and Richard’s eyes shot up to the staircase to see Riley coming down. She was in a black evening gown that had straps that nearly hung off her shoulders. It had a plunging neckline and a slit up her right leg. Riley’s hair was curled in large, loose rings as it fell over her shoulders. She was even wearing a diamond necklace that Richard had loaned her to play the part.

Dean felt his jaw fall slightly agape as she reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to him. She was stunning. He could have stared at her all night with the candles flickering on her face. Dean had never seen her dressed up like that and nearly went weak in the knees.

The smile that grew on his face was so genuine, he practically beamed. “Wow…” Dean nearly whispered. “You look…”

Before he could finish, Richard jumped in with a grin. “Incredible. Riley, I’ll be the most envied man in the room tonight.”

It was obvious that Dean was uncomfortable with Lewis being with Riley that night. But, it wasn’t her he didn’t trust, it was him.

Riley half-smiled at him only to walk towards Dean. Her heels clicked on the floor and he gulped hard as she got closer. The hunter was in awe of her and it was obvious.

“You look so good…” Riley flirted as she fixed his bowtie with a smile.

“You…” Dean stammered. “Sweetheart, there aren’t words.”

A mischievous look grew on her face as she looked up at Dean. “Think you can show me then, later tonight?”

“God, yes…” he nearly growled as his hand went to her waist. Dean kissed her gently as Richard rolled his eyes. When Dean peered up after their kiss, he looked smug and pleased with himself knowing how jealous Richard was. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road.”

------

Outside the museum, the three got out of Richard’s elegant, two-door sports car. He straightened his jacket as he buttoned it up and a parking attendant helped Riley out of the car.

Dean was in the small backseat and struggled to push one of the chairs forward to get out. He grunted shoving it over it over as the leather squeaked.

Richard leaned in to push a lever that brought the seat up and smiled trying to hide his humor over the hunter’s embarrassment.

“You know, Dean,” Richard said as he went to Riley’s side. “I believe the staff goes in through the back.”

Riley could see the anger in Dean’s face and she spoke to him telepathically. “It’ll be okay. Remember, he’s not the one I’m going home with.” Her tone was teasing and Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“Shall we?” Lewis asked as he put out his arm for Riley to take it.

Dean felt himself boil just watching the man he hated touch her as the two walked in the front door. With a groan of frustration, he walked around to the back.

Once inside, Richard gave the doorman their invitation. Everyone was in formal black-tie attire as cultivated music played through the air through the murmurs of conversation.

With Riley’s hand on his arm, Richard placed his on top of hers. She tried to hide her desire to pull away and took a deep breath as they walked inside. Guests had congregated at the bar and throughout the museum as they socialized and admired the displays.

Sam hurried to Richard and Riley from across the room, leaving Gertrude waiting. He looked uncomfortable and jumpy in his black tux. “Exactly how long do you expect me to entertain my date?”

“As long as it takes,” Richard grinned.

Riley could feel how frustrated Sam was and leaned into him. “There’s security everywhere, Sam. Without Gert and Richard’s invitations, this party is un-crashable.”

Holding a silver tray of hors d’oeuvres, Dean reluctantly joined them, his face flat. “This is fucking ridiculous. They got me serving crab cakes.”

Richard reached out to take one. “Don’t mind if I do.” He ate the appetizer and softly moaned. “Delicious. Thank you.” Reaching behind them to the bar, Lewis grabbed two flutes of champagne before handing one to Riley. “Excuse us…” Richard teased as he took Riley’s arm once again and walked them off.

She turned around to mouth, “I’m sorry,” before they disappeared into the crowd.

Dean was practically seething. “I seriously hate that fucking guy.”

“Yeah, join the club.” Sam groaned as Gertrude showed up next to him with their own glasses of champagne. Her eyes sat on Sam with hunger and desire as he took the drink.

Sam didn’t hesitate before downing the entire glass. He turned to Dean one more time to utter, “let’s get the hand and get the fuck outta here, alright?”

“Pfft. You read my mind.”

With a tight smile, Sam went off with Ms. Case as Dean placed his platter onto the counter. As he went to leave, Dean quickly rushed back to grab three crab cakes from the tray and scurried away while shoving one in his mouth.

------

In a less crowded room, Riley and Richard looked around. There were men in uniforms standing at every door and in front of the staircase. They both spoke in undertones to each other as they tried to blend in.

“Private security?” Richard asked her.

“No...I don’t think so. Check out how they’re standing--definitely professionals. Maybe state troopers on a night job.”

“Posted to every door, too.”

Riley casually glanced around. “Pretty sure they’re not just gonna let us upstairs.”

“Well, I have a thought.”

“I’m all ears.”

“...faint,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Faint.”

The hunter groaned frailly and fell into Richard’s arms toward the floor. Holding her, Richard knelt down next to her. “Darling? Darling, are you alright?” He looked around and called to over to a man that passed them. “Waiter! My wife, she has a terrible peanut allergy. Please tell me you weren’t serving anything with peanuts.”

“No, sir.”

A guard approached as Richard scooped Riley up into his arms. “What seems to be the trouble?”

“My wife, she’s not well. Possibly one too many glasses of champagne. Is there somewhere I can lie her down until she is back on her feet?”

The suited guard looked up the staircase. “Follow me.”

Still holding Riley close to his chest with ease, he thanked the gentleman. “Come on, darling. Let’s get you somewhere quiet.”

Riley could feel Richard’s hand squeeze at her just a bit and she had to fight not to reach up and smack him across the face.

He carried her up the stairs as they were led into a private room. Gently, he placed her down on a red leather couch.

“Thank you so much,” he told the guard at the door as he slipped him some money. As Richard shut the door behind him, Riley sat up.

“Getting a little grabby there, Richard.”

He chuckled under his breath. “As I recall, you weren’t opposed to me being ‘grabby’.”

“Yeah,” Riley scoffed as she fixed her hair. “Three years ago. Let it go.”

“As if you’re so easy to forget, Ms. Munroe.” Richard’s eyes locked onto her with desire and she could hear some of his lewd thoughts. She couldn’t let him know she could read his mind and instead just rolled her eyes as she stood. “Room 235. It’s in a locked glass case wired for alarm, I’m sure that won’t be a problem for you.” Lewis pushed the hair away from her face with his hand lingering.

“Cool. Thanks,” she added with a condescending pat to his chest as she turned to leave the room.

Gently closing the door behind her, Riley began to make her way to the room. She jumped when Dean quickly turned the corner in front of her. “Ugh. You scared me.”

“Yeah, well I’m sure you’re date is a lot scarier.”

Riley giggled to herself before grabbing Dean by the coat he had stolen and kissed him. Breaking away, she kept hold of her grasp and drug him along.

A playful look grew on Dean’s face, enjoying her show of control.

Down the hall, Riley pointed to the door marked 235. Dean checked the handle to find it unlocked and they crept inside.

In the room were several glass cases with high-tech security on each one. The hand of glory sat to the right in its case and the couple went in its direction. It took several minutes as Dean worked to bypass the security, but when he finally did, the case was easy to remove.

“Very James Bond of you, Dean,” Riley flirted.

Dean stood with a smug look and a hooked eyebrow as he took the hand before tucking it into the jacket pocket. Turning to her he bit his lip as he looked her over. “The name’s Winchester,” he said dramatically as if quoting the famous spy.

She laughed in return and kissed him. “Let’s go.”

The two hurried back to the room they had left Richard in and closed the door behind them. “Ah, Dean. So glad you could join us.” He gave the hunter a judgmental look before asking, “And the hand?”

Pulling out a shriveled, almost mummified, human hand out of his pocket, Dean showed Richard their prize.

Lewis approached with his hand open. “May I?”

“Nope,” Dean told him sternly as he pulled it away from him. He pulled a handkerchief from the jacket’s front pocket and wrapped it.

Riley glanced up at Dean. “Wanna put it in my purse? Might be easier to hide.”

He scratched his nose, using their signal for her to read his mind. “And give Dick over here another chance to grope at you so he can get it? I don’t think so.”

She softly shook her head at his ridiculous thought, but dropped the subject.

------

Back downstairs, Gertrude and Sam swayed to a song played by the quartet. She leaned into the Winchester’s chest. Clutching an empty champagne flute, Ms. Case’s other gripped Sam’s tightly. Her eyes were shut as she brushed herself up against the hunter; the liquor that began to hit her only making her bolder.

“Man, this is one long song,” Sam uttered,

Breathing him in deeply, Gertrude cooed, “I hope it never ends.” She paused to gaze up at Sam who looked deeply pained. “How's the investigation going?”

“These things take time.”

“People are talking about the Warren brothers’ deaths. Strange. Do you think it’s connected to Shelia's?”

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. “Yeah, we think so.”

“I think they had it coming.” Gertrude went back to her comfortable spot on the hunter’s warm chest. “You know--in a Biblical sort of way.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know about their father?” When Sam shook his head in response, she said, “Come here, I'll whisper it to you.” Taking the sides of his head, Gertrude seductively pulled him close to speak in his ear. Sam tried to contain his groan in discomfort. “People say that the old man didn't die of natural causes.”

Sam grimaced. “Then how?”

Caressing him, she continued to whisper and blow in his ear. “Rumor is the boys did it. Nothing was ever proved, but, uh--people still whisper.”

“Okay, okay, okay.” He winced as he pulled himself away. “Um, uh--so did--did Sheila have any connection to them?”

“Well, none that I know of.”

“Did Sheila have any kind of tragedy in her life?”

Gertrude thought to herself. “Yes. As a matter of fact, there was a...car accident when she was a teenager. Her car flipped over. She was okay but her cousin Brian was killed. Why, is that important?”

“Uh…”

Dean, Richard, and Riley approached and Richard just grinned. “Having a nice time, Gert?” he asked.

“He's delightful!” Gertrude chuckled somewhat drunkenly. She spoke low to Lewis in almost a whisper. “He wants me!”

With a look of surprise, Dean turned to Sam who appeared completely abashed. Riley could feel the embarrassment Sam was drowning in and how badly he wanted to get out of there.

“Gert,” Richard started as he took her hand onto his arm. “I think it’s time we get you home. You might need a cold shower.”

“Great idea,” Sam practically groaned in disgust.

Looking over his shoulder, Richard playfully winked at Riley. “See you at the cemetery.”

After watching the two leave, Dean turned to his brother. “You stink like sex.”

Riley nearly chortled at the comment and tightened her lips together to avoid bursting into laughter.

------

Once outside the museum, the three walked through the parking lot. Riley, Sam, and Dean got into the Impala as they all sighed with relief that the night was over.

Sam pulled at his bowtie, nearly ripping it off with anxiety in the backseat. “You got it, right? Tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing.”

“I got it...Mrs. Who?”

“Dean, would it kill you to open a book?” the young Winchester snarked. “Never mind. Just let me see it.” Pulling something out of his pocket, Dean began to unwrap something from a cloth. His face changed with a sense of panic as he unraveled it faster. “What?”

Dean held up a small ship in a bottle that Richard had replaced the hand with as his anger grew. “I'm gonna kill him.”

“I’m down,” Riley shrugged.

------

Back in more comfortable attire, the hunters sat in the candle-lit house once again. Dean examined the ship more closely by the light of a small flickering flame.

“You know what? I'm not gonna kill him. I think slow torture's the way to go.”

“Dean,” Riley said sweetly. “I keep telling you not to let him get under your skin. You gotta relax.”

“Relax! Oh, yeah, yeah, I'll relax. I can't believe the son of a bitch got another one over on us!”

Sam looked up at his brother. “Actually...he got one over on you--not us.”

Pausing with frustration, Dean shouted, “thank you, Sam. Very helpful.”

There was a rapid knock at the door before a deep voice called to them. “Hello? Could you open up?” They all went together to open the door to see Richard looking back at them. “Just let me explain.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley were pissed...and it showed.

A short while later, Richard was sitting at the table with Dean leaning down to glare at him. Sam sat backward in his chair while Riley leaned against the mantle with her arms crossed.

“I sold it,” Richard admitted. “I had a buyer lined up as soon as I knew it existed.”

Furious, Dean walked behind him. He made a shooting motion with his fingers, imagining a bullet going into the guy’s head.

“So, the whole reason for us going to the charity ball was...?” Sam asked.

“I needed a cover. You were convenient.”

Riley exhaled in exasperation. “You sold it. Go buy it back.”

“It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you have plans?”

Lewis ran a hand over his face taking a long pause to answer to her snarky question. “I saw the ship.”

“You what?” Dean questioned with a soft and surprised tone as he began to pace. “Wow, you know, I--I knew you were an immoral thieving con artist piece of shit, but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower--”

“What are you talking about?”

“We figured out the spirit’s motive,” Sam added as he showed Richard an old photograph. “This is the captain of our ship--the one who hung our ghost boy.”

“So?”

Taking a few steps forward, Riley leaned onto the table. “They were brothers. It was all very Cain and Abel. Now, because of how he died, he’s got a very specific target--people who have killed someone in their own family.” Richard looked stunned as she went on. “Sheila? She killed her cousin in a car accident. The Warren brothers? They murdered their father for his inheritance. And now you apparently.”

“Oh, my God,” he said under his breath.

“So, who was it, Dick? Hmm?” Dean hovered behind Lewis hoping to intimidate him. “Who'd you kill? Was it mommy? Your little sis--?”

Softly, he replied, “it's none of your business.”

“No? Right. Well, have a nice life--you know, whatever’s left of it.” Dean slapped him on the back before grabbing his jacket and going for the door. “Guys, let’s go.”

“You can't just leave me here.”

“Watch us.”

Reluctantly, Richard admitted, “I need your help.”

“Our help?” the older brother scoffed. “You call us serial killers, get handsy with my girlfriend…”

“Okay, that was a bit harsh and rude, I admit it...but it doesn't warrant a death sentence.”

Sam stood with his arms crossed as he told him softly, “that's not why you’re gonna die. What'd you do, Richard?”

“You wouldn't understand. No one did.” Richard cleared his throat and slicked back his hair. “Never mind. I'll just do what I've always done, I'll deal with it myself.”

As he turned to leave, Riley spoke out. “You know...you just sold the only thing that could save your life, Richard.”

“I'm aware.”

“Well…” Sam sighed. “Maybe not the only thing.”

------

Richard had gone along with the hunters to a local graveyard. Sam was setting up a ritual circle: five candles, a pentagram, and a bowl into which he poured a jar of red liquid. Another jar was on the opposite side of the circle with what appeared to be herbs in it.

Huddling into his coat from the cold, Richard shuddered slightly. “Do you really think this is going to work?”

Dean was leaning on a tombstone with his shotgun rested on his shoulder. “Almost definitely not.”

Thunder suddenly crashed and the wind whistled before rain began to pour over them. Sam and Dean zipped up their jackets and braced for the storm. Tugging the hood of her sweater out from under her leather jacket, Riley pulled it over her head.

“Well…” she practically shouted over the rain. “Hope those aren’t your good shoes, Richard!” Riley turned to the young Winchester. “Sammy! Time to read, bro!”

“Aziel, Castiel, Lamisniel, Rabam. Ehrley, et balam, ego vos conuro, per deum verum, per deum vivum cuivos,” Sam had to yell over the storm that drenched them. “Cuiaves eos supermontes et per eum, qui adam, et avum formovit. Et per eum...” As he went on, the wind grew fierce and the rain felt as though the skies had completely opened.

“Riley!” Dean called. “Stay close.”

Before she could get to him, Riley could see the phantom approaching Dean. “Behind you!”

Grabbing Dean, the ghost threw him through the air. He hit a headstone with a painful thud before his gun went off.

Sam looked up and continued to read in Latin as the spirit reached out to Richard and placed a hand on his face. Lewis immediately began to cough up water as the phantom watched him fall to his knees.

Riley quickly spun to see Dean across the way as he staggered up. Knowing he was okay, she threw herself next to Richard and held him to support him as he continued to heave water.

“Read faster, Sammy!” Dean bellowed as he stumbled over to Riley and Lewis.

Richard continued to cough when the rain suddenly died down. His coughing went on but seemed to have calmed down.

There was a creaking sound nearby and the ghost turned toward the source of the noise only to see his brother standing before him.

“You...hanged me!”

“I'm sorry,” the spirit pleaded to his brother.

“Your own brother!”

“I'm so sorry!”

The ghost charged with rage into his brother’s spirit. When they collided, the two dissolved into screams and a splash of water that seemed to almost explode.

Richard gasped for air, no longer coughing up water, as Riley and Dean helped him to stand.

The spirits were both gone with their unfinished business finally at rest.

------

The next day, the family packed, getting ready to leave the home they had been staying in. A sound came from outside before the door opened and Richard walked in, dressed in a dress shirt, tie, slacks, and shining shoes.

“You know, you really should lock your doors. Anyone could just barge in.”

“Anyone just did,” Sam replied as he continued to put his things into their rightful place. “Did you come to say goodbye or thank you?”

“I've come to settle affairs. Giving the spirit what he really wanted, his own brother--very clever, Sam. So here.” Richard pulled out three packets of money and tossed one to each of them. “That’s fifteen thousand--should cover it. I don't like being in anyone’s debt.”

“So, ponying up fifteen grand is easier for you than a simple thank you?” Dean asked. Lewis smiled faintly and the hunter shook his head with a scoff. “You're so fucking damaged.”

Richard’s smile broadened. “Takes one to know one.” His eyes landed on Riley, only a little less suggestive than usual. “I’ll see you around, kid.”

“Hopefully not too soon,” she teased with a playful smile.

With a slight nod, Lewis turned and left, closing the door behind him.

Sam flipped through his money and then looked back up to his partners. “He’s got style. You gotta give him that.”

With his own cash in hand, Dean dismissed the thought. “Whatever. He’s still a douche.”

“Guys,” Riley started as the three huddled together. “Should we even take this? I mean who the hell knows where this money’s been?”

“No, but I know where it's going…” Dean said with a smile before planting a peck on Riley’s lips and going to get his things. “A-HA HA!”

------

That night, the Impala drove on, still covered in drops of rain. Riley sat in the front seat as she went over a map and Sam leaned forward to look over her shoulder.

“Seriously? Atlantic City?” Sam asked in disbelief.

“Hell yeah! Play some roulette--always bet on black.” Dean paused and his tone changed. “Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um...I want you both to know I understand why you did it. I understand why you went after the crossroads demon.” Still unwilling to make eye contact, the others sighed feeling the air of the car change. “You know, situation was reversed, I guess I'd have done the same thing for either of you. I mean I'm not blind, I see what you guys are going through with this whole deal--me going away and all that. But, you're gonna be okay--both of you.”

“You think so…” Sam said tonelessly.

“Yeah, you'll keep hunting, y'know--you live your lives. You’re stronger than me. You both are and you know it. You'll get over it. But, I want you to know I'm sorry--I’m sorry for...putting you through all this, I am.”

Tears ached at Riley’s eyes. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“What?”

“We’re just supposed to ‘get over it’-- ‘move on’?” When Dean didn’t respond, Riley went on even though the lump in her throat that was actually causing her pain. “You really expect me to move on? That I can just be without you?”

“Sweetheart, when this is all over...I want you to move on. Build a life with someone if that’s what you want, or hunt with Sam...or both. I just want you to be happy.”

“Happy?!” she almost yelled. “You want me to have a life with someone that isn’t you? How could you even say that?”

“Because you have to, Rye! You gotta let me go.”

Sam couldn’t take it any longer and barked at his brother. “You know what, Dean? Go fuck yourself. We don’t want an apology from you! And by the way, we can take care of ourselves--we’re adults.”

“Oh, well, excuse me.”

The younger brother’s voice continued to rise as Riley rushed to wipe the tears from her face. “You have to give a damn, Dean. You have to fight! I want you to give a shit that you’re dying! Stop trying to plan our futures for us and help us fucking save you!” Dean said nothing in return to Sam, but smirked annoyingly. “So, that's it? Nothing else to say for you?”

Dean stared off down the road, his mind leaving the conversation. He was quiet before changing the subject with a smile. “I think maybe I'll play craps.”

Outraged at his response, Sam leered at his brother. He shook his head and sighed in exasperation. Riley turned to Dean and tears streamed down her face without a sound as Dean’s smile faded.

As they drove on, Riley reached out telepathically for the man she loved, desperate to get in his head. She couldn’t find a single thought in the older brother and realized he had shut her out. Wondering if she could break the wall, Riley fought with all her might to get through to him.

“Dean...please…” she felt herself practically scream in her own head begging for him to feel her. When there was nothing, Riley sulked into her seat and stared out the window.

Dean wasn’t even gone yet, but Sam and Riley knew, he was already saying his goodbyes.

------

S3 Chapter 6: Fresh Blood

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