#dean is the survivor here

[youchangedmedestiel]

Here me out! Destiel AU where Cas is a lighthouse keeper in the middle of the ocean and Dean is a sailor.

There's a big storm that night. Cas is used to it, that's what he likes in his job. It makes him appreciate more the daily calm. He keeps taking care of the fire, even though the wind and water relentlessly slap the beacon.

On nights like that, there's no rest. But once the small, steady waves are back, he can't sleep. He knows he saw a boat last night before the storm began. He spotted some wreckage earlier.

He goes investigate outside, in case he finds something. He walks down the long stairs, to take a look on the lower plateform, nearer the sea.

There's a man. A body more probably. No one can survive a storm like that. The swell of the waves must have brought him up here. If he was alive before, the strength of the water against the wall of the beacon must have killed him on the spot.

Cas approaches the body. He looks old, his skin wrinkled by time spent in the water. He touches his shoulder. He's cold and soaked. He checks his breathing to be sure, two fingers pressing against the man's throat.

There's a pulse. He's alive. How? Adrenaline kicking in helps Cas get him inside and upstairs. He gets ride of what's left of his damped clothes before laying him down on his bed. He covers him with everything he has to warm up the survivor. He gives him water by wetting his lips carefully. He checks him to see if he's got any injuries. One at the head apparently. Maybe he'll never wake up, but he has to try. So, he cleans the wound.

He realizes that he is not that old after all. Probably around the same age as him. Maybe he'll wake up.

[wantdead]

" can't say i'm surprised. " he remarked, eyeing the newly - turned demon. " i'm only shocked you didn't crawl outta hell sooner. " / @bitchboyblonde

[marvelsswansong]

show and tell

summary: a white rose at the train station. his hand in yours at the zoo. his mother's golden mirror. does he love you or is he simply trying to gain the public's favour and secure the Plith prize? you're unsure. and so is he, until he very much isn't.

tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, slow burn (ish), fluff, angst, technically a happy ending but quite dark, purely based off the movie but I take some creative detours, CW for violence, mentions of starvation, toxic/manipulative behaviors and a semi-dark!snow (please read at your own discretion, take care of yourself above all else :))

☆ word count: 5.6K+ words ☆

⚠️ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞.⚠️

Coriolanus hates waiting. 

The stillness, the eerie silence of an early morning at the Capitol train station. It eats away at his core.

His mouth tastes like copper, his throat's starting to itch from the dryness and there's a brief moment of fear as he ponders if he's making a huge mistake. A sharp whistle ringing through the station signals the train's arrival, and as his eyes adjust to the billowing grey smoke and a sea of white (the peace keepers), the flower in his left hand suddenly feels heavy. As if the weight of the situation is starting to bear on his shoulders.

He wasn't supposed to be here. If all had gone to plan, he would've already been the recipient of the Plinth Prize and taken the first car back home to buy his grandma'am some chocolates and Tigris a new dress. No more worrying. No more surviving on dwindled fortunes. No more pretending to fit in with high society. 

Then, of course, the rules had to change. Viewership was down and it was of both Dean Highbottom's and Dr Gaul's opinion that what was missing was spectacle. Now, whoever the best mentor was in transforming their tribute into prime entertainment would win the prize. 

"Your role is to turn these tributes into spectacles. Not survivors." 

The silence that hung after this announcement in the Academy was heavy, but Coriolanus knew better than to show his true emotions on his face. After all, if there was one thing that he knew how to do as the star student of the Academy: it was to plan. And when he saw your... unruly introduction to the public, sneaking a snake down a woman's dress before cussing out the audience, it dawned on him that it would be a tall order to endear you to the public.

But not impossible.

The sounds of the tributes being roughly unloaded off the platform snaps him back into reality, his eyes easily landing on your figure as you jump off the train, your upper arms supported by the tribute (Jessup, Coriolanus recalls his name being) standing next to you. Pushing through the soldiers, the blonde nearly breaks into a small sprint to catch up to you as you turn your head upon hearing the sound of hurried footsteps.

"Welcome to the Capitol." the strange man in front of you says, before holding out a pristine white rose. It's a peculiar looking flower, you think, a kind of flower you've never seen before (at least, certainly not back in your home district). It looks almost artificial, you think, with how perfectly white and untouched its petals are.

The blonde assesses your cautious glance - the sunlight hitting the under color of your irises perfectly in a glistening twilight - and a fleeting thought passes by, that the tv camera didn't do your natural beauty justice. He has to suppress a smirk when you finally respond, narrowing your eyes at him with your arms crossing above your chest.

"You seem like you shouldn't be here."

He chuckles at that.

"I'm not supposed to be. And yet here I am." A pause. "But I'm your mentor. Coriolanus Snow."

That's a first, you think. Mentors for tributes. 

"And what does my mentor do except bring me roses?" you question, flicking the buds with your fingers. Coriolanus just smiles. 

"I do my best to take care of you." 

Your supposed mentor says it so sincerely, you think, and he's obviously charming with his devilishly handsome looks and low whisper. But there's something that stops you from holding out your hand and taking the rose from his fingers. You suppose he isn't lying - after all, what would be the point of it - but there's something in his eyes that you can't quite explain. 

Something that makes your stomach flutter in both excitement and dread.

"Move." the soldier behind you then barks, shoving you and Jessup forward. You decide to give your mentor one last grin and a quiet "see you later", thinking that's going to be the last you see of him for a while.

The last thing you expect is for him to jump into the back of the vehicle alongside the other tributes, drawing the eyre of a few who pin him against the moving vehicle and start taunting him with violence. 

"You look rather out of place." the tall boy pinning Coriolanus drawls.

"I'm not, I can assure you. I'm here for (Y/n). I'm her mentor." 

That puts the unwanted attention on you, as the other tributes begin to circle around you with sinister expressions twisting on their lips.

"Mentor, huh? How come little miss music gets one but not the rest of us?" a brunette girl drawls, eyeing you up and down.

The boy pinning Coriolanus down applies stronger pressure to his neck, and you rise in an attempt to intervene, but he meets your gaze discreetly and motions for you to remain seated. 

"You all have a mentor, they're just... not here." he croaks. 

"Right, and we're all supposed to believe you?" another girl, this one from district 4 you believe, taunts. "What's to say we shouldn't just kill you now?" 

The blonde shoots you a nervous look and that's when you feel pity. Just like you, he's in a foreign environment and pretending to be brave. You suppose also that he's your only ticket out, your only chance of potential success at surviving in the games.

So you intervene.

"You could kill him. But then the moment this truck stops you'll all be gathered round and killed by the peace keepers. He's clearly Capitol. And if they're willing to hang District people simply for stealing, can't imagine what killing a member of the Capitol would mean for punishment." 

That scares them off and Coriolanus sits down next to you, breathing heavily in an effort to catch his breath, before quietly thanking you.

"You really wanna thank me?" you quirk, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Start by thinking about how I can actually win." 

The truck then suddenly comes to a halt, and the next thing you know the truck is being tipped over and the doors fly open. Coriolanus grasps your arm in lightning speed, pulling you close towards him so that he'd hit the harsh ground first, absorbing most of the impact.

When you shakily stand up on your feet, you realize you're enclosed in a large metal cage akin to that of an animal enclosure. There's even an over enthusiastic TV presenter in the background, who now seems to have noticed your mentor and begins to call out to him.

"Where are we?" you breathe out, already shivering from the autumn cold.

The blonde barely shifts, only dusting off his suit in a calm manner.

"(Y/n) (L/n) from District 12, welcome to the Capitol Zoo. Would you like to meet my neighbors?" he jokes, eyes slyly shifting to the right to refer to the small audience that has now gathered around the TV presenter. 

You hesitate, but then he takes your right hand in his before leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"You want to win, right? Good. I'd like to win as well. And the first thing you'll need to do? Perform for the cameras." Coriolanus accentuates the end of his sentence by sliding the rose behind your ear, a gesture which draws an excited reaction from the crowd.

Is your mentor doing it for the cameras or for something else? You're unsure. But given your desperation to win, and the fact that he clearly knows more about the games than you do, you decide to play along.

Warm hands twisting in the cold, Coriolanus drags your enjoined hands towards the TV camera as he does what he does best. Lie, smile, and charm the audience. Even when the attention turns to you, as Lucky Flickerman (that's his name, you learn) directs questions towards you, the blonde never lets go of your hand in his.

Before he leaves, as news of his rule-breaking spreads amongst the members of the public, you grab him out of desperation one last time.

"Please get us some food, we've been starving since the Reaping."

The blonde nods, but you can't help but feel anxious: not knowing if his previous gestures of kindness were just for show. 

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

"Who's that for?"

Coriolanus had meant to sneak the sandwiches and cookies into his spare napkin discreetly, but of course Clemensia had to be two steps behind him, interrogating his every move. 

"Just not very hungry, that's all." he nearly grits through his teeth, forcing a fake smile.

The dark haired girl chuckles at that, shaking her head sideways.

"You don't have to lie to me, Snow. Especially me."

"... It's for (Y/n)." he quietly admits. She hums at that, picking at her own food from across the table.

"That's awfully nice of you. What, already going soft for some girl you met yesterday?" she teases, and it immediately elicits an angry refusal out of him.

"It's not like that." Coriolanus snaps, his sudden harshness making his classmate flinch in surprise. "I just... can't have her dying before the games even begin because she's not as well fed as the others." 

Clemensia scoffs, flicking the rest of her orange peel into the trash.

"Honestly, Snow, I don't know why you bother. She's clearly not going to survive. I mean, have you seen the tributes from districts 1 and 3?"

Ignoring her comments, he wordlessly slips away from the table and hails a ride down to the zoo. News of his intentions travels fast and whilst he doesn't mind Sejanus' company, it takes intense effort to force himself to look away from Arachne when she tags along and decides to taunt a caged tribute with a glass bottle. 

"You came back." you mutter, staring at the neatly wrapped napkin in disbelief. Coriolanus dislikes how surprised you sound, then hates himself more for caring about what you think. 

Why do you care what she thinks? he scolds himself. She's just a tribute you're mentoring.

"Of course I did. Can't have my tribute dying before the games even begin, now can I?" he teases, feigning nonchalant. 

The presence of academy mentors seems to have attracted a crowd, with a few photographers even pointing their lenses towards you and Coriolanus as his hand slips through the metal gates to meet yours to hand off the food. When your fingers touch his, a part of you wonders if he would've ever came back if there was no PR involved.

Too grateful and too hungry to care, you just say thank you, before breaking off a piece for Jessup and offering half a sandwich to your mentor.

"Oh no, I'm not hungry." he says out of instinct, surprised by your offering. You raise your eyebrows in response, pursing your lips.

"You sure about that? Because I could hear your stomach growl from a mile away." you retort. 

"Right. Uh, thank you." 

Biting into the soft bread, you chew, savoring every bite. A silence settles between the two of you as you both eat, right before you ask him a quiet question.

"... Did you get into a lot of trouble for what you did for me yesterday?" your eyes shine with worry, you nervously looking up at him for an answer. He finds himself again surprised by how much you seem to care. 

Yes, he wants to say. I nearly got myself disqualified as a mentor and it would've been the end of my family's future in the Capitol. But he swallows his thoughts down, alongside the dry taste of the tuna sandwich.

"Not much. Actually, I was able to convince the gamemaster, Dr Gaul, to implement a few changes to the games."

"Really, like what?"

"To let the public send you donations. That way, I could send you supplies you needed into the arena - food, water, medicine. It'd mean having to do the extra job of playing to the public and getting them to root for your survival, but with a voice like yours, the songbird of Panem -"

Your smile drops at that, your gaze turning stern at his suggestion.

"I only sing when I please for an audience I choose." your eyebrows furrow, your usually sweet expression melting into something more sour. It's oddly cute, he thinks. 

"I know, but I'm really going to need you to try. It's for your own survival. Our survival." he emphasizes, staring right into your eyes. You can't suppress your sad smile at that, crumbling the empty napkin in your hands.

"Are you sure it's not just for your survival?"

Your question haunts Coriolanus that night, alongside the sounds of broken glass and pained gasps as Arachne lies bleeding on the ground, having been stabbed in the neck by one of the tributes. When he quickly runs to his classmate, he doesn't get to see your expression, as you're ripped away by Jessup pulling you into safety in an instant and peace keepers swarm the scene in an effort to remain calm.

When he's back home and the crimson blood coating his hands have dried from where he was holding his dying classmate's wounds, he wonders if there's any truth to your answer.

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

Everything changes at the arena tour.

You've not had much sleep. You're confused, you're angry, but most of all you've been haunted by your conflicting feelings towards your mentor and the name he'd called you - songbird. A silly little songbird, you think spitefully. 

To sing and charm the very same public who had doomed her to a violent game of death. 

It was absurd, really, that he'd even ask that. It made your stomach churn and your head ache at the thought of cheapening your craft for something so juvenile.

And yet, when you spot the familiar red suit and white blonde hair in the mass of other mentors at the arena, you can't help but feel warmth in your chest and stomach. A part of you even feels lucky, given that the other mentors seem to waste their time insulting their tributes or being too afraid to talk to them. Whilst Coriolanus, on the other hand, seems to be full of ideas to ensure your survival.

"The game master liked my suggestions. So the donations system is going to be implemented, with a broadcast beforehand for the tributes to get a chance to endear themselves to the public for donations." He's speaking so fast that you almost think he enjoys explaining the games to you. "Now what this means is that assuming you get enough donations, when the bell goes off, you don't go for the weapons. You don't fight. You just run as fast as you can, hide and stay alive for as long as you can." 

"How can you even be sure I'll get enough donations for you to be able to send supplies?" you mutter, looking around at the other tributes. "A lot of these folks are a lot taller and stronger than I am. They've got a much better chance at surviving than I do."  

Coriolanus surprises you by taking both of your hands in his, squeezing your palms tight in his cold palms.

"I know, but we have something none of the others have."

You scrunch your face in confusion.

"What's that?"

"A story. A strong connection between you and me, a Capitol mentor and a District 12 tribute. Not to mention, your incredible singing and songwriting. Match that with my knack for public relations and we'll have enough donations to send you any supplies necessary for your victory in the games."

You realize then that Coriolanus is unlike anyone else you've ever met. So confident, so sure, so perceptive of other people and their secret desires and pitfalls. His unwavering commitment to his beliefs is admirable, if not almost foolish, but you keep that part to yourself.

"How're you so sure I'll even survive the first few minutes?" you push back, still unconvinced, though you don't pull away from his hold. "And, again, I don't just sing for anyone."

The blonde opens his mouth to respond, but he's interrupted when a sudden cascade of dust and fire crumbles down from the ceiling of the arena. The sound of a bomb exploding reverberates as you're both thrown off of your feet by the impact. Your head is still ringing from the chaos when Jessup pulls at your sleeves, commanding you to walk away from the wreckage. 

Rising onto shaky legs, you even spot another tribute running from the guards towards a blown out hole on the side of the building. And when your eyes meet with Coriolanus' frantic ones, his lower half trapped underneath rubble, you both recognize that you now have an unbridled chance to escape - 

But you don't.

To the blonde's complete shock, you instead shove your friend off, screaming as you lift the heavy cement column with all your strength in an effort to pry the debris off of his body. With the help of a few peace keepers, it works, but Coriolanus falls into unconsciousness quickly as he succumbs to the excruciating pain of crushed ribs and bruised limbs.

The last thing he sees before he fades into darkness is your teary eyes, a sight he so badly wants to fix by wiping away your tears with his fingers... 

When he eventually wakes, it's in a dark hospital next to his grandma'am and sister. There's a roar on the television screen as you're brought onto the broadcast, shy smile and a glittering guitar in hand. It hits him that you're actually going to sing. 

"I didn't have a chance to... uh... write a new song. But I'd like to dedicate this performance to someone very special who's recently been hurt." you say into the mike, your eyes clearly brimming with nerves and doubt. 

As you sing, there's a tight sensation in Coriolanus' chest once the lyrics settle into his mind - a small voice whispers in his mind that it's jealousy, for you singing about a boy back in your home town who broke your heart - but it's overwhelmed by the feelings of gratitude and awe that you'd ended up doing what he asked you to do. All that, after selflessly saving his life.

"A...are you okay, Coryo?" is all Tigris asks, brushing his hair back and gently guiding him back down onto bed upon seeing his expression twist into one of discomfort.

"She could've run." 

"What?"

"At the arena. The blast blew open a large opening on the side of the stadium. I saw one of the tributes actually make it out that way." he lets out a shaky breath, hating you for what you've done to him to make him feel this way. "Damn it, Tigris. She could've run. She could've-"

A single tear drops from his left eye and onto his injured palm, his weak voice giving away his true emotions.

"She could've saved herself from even having to participate in the games. But she stayed. She fucking stayed behind to lift the debris off of me."

"She saved your life." his sister finishes for him, the atmosphere turning somber as she wraps her arms around his shoulder. "I'm just so glad that you're both safe." 

As you retreat from the screen, the donation numbers only piling up higher as Lucky Flickerman closes out the broadcast, a hot fire lights up in Coriolanus' stomach. 

He has to save you.

No matter what it takes.

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

"You know he's just using you, right?"

After the broadcast, once it's revealed that you were given the largest amount of donations out of all the other tributes, Coral from District 4 corners you backstage. 

"Pardon?" you fake ignorance, a small smile playing on your lips, which only seems to aggravate the girl further. 

"Your pretty boy mentor. He's only been faking all sweet for you to get the public to send you donations. In fact, I bet he didn't even bother to try and pull himself out of the wreckage so that he could get more public sympathy.

You snap at that, all fake modesty melting away in an instant.

"You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about, Coral. Coriolanus isn't like that." you spit, but all she does is look down at you with a nasty smirk on her lips.

"Oh really? And how would you know, little songbird? Think he'd care about someone from district 12? And why do you think he wants you to win so badly? Because he's a good person?" she mocks, her face now a mere inches away from yours. "No. I reckon it's more for the prize money." 

You can't sleep that night at the zoo, tossing and turning in the dark. Your mind can't seem to rest, torn between the adrenaline and dread for the games tomorrow, alongside the constant worry over Coriolanus' wellbeing and doubts over his genuinity and trustworthiness.

Coral's just trying to get in my head. you repeat to yourself, over and over again. You're on the edge of sleep, exhausted and upset by your conflicting emotions, when you hear a familiar voice coming from the darkness. 

It sounds like Coriolanus. 

You sit up straight, and it's true: he's here, and he's whispering your name repeatedly, beckoning you towards the front of the cage and away from your sleeping competitors. Suddenly, the overwhelming exhaustion and fatigue disappears, and you find yourself gravitating towards the only person you've been thinking about for the past 24 hours.

"Coryo, you're... you're alright." you sigh out, almost overwhelmed with relief. You don't even realize you're crying until his hands reach up and brush away your tears, his warm hand a stark contrast to the freezing cold of the night.

"I am. All thanks to you, songbird." he breathes out, his fingers tracing the ripples of your cheeks. His head feels dizzy and his hands tremble as he searches his pockets for his mother's golden compact mirror. 

"Don't call me that." you weakly laugh, as he does too. "What's this?" you ask, staring at the object he’s folded gently into your hands. 

"It's for you to use in the arena. Now listen to what I say very carefully. Don't breathe this in, don't spill it on yourself, and only use it when you really need to." he slowly explains, as if he's terrified that you're going to harm yourself by merely carrying it in your pockets. 

"Is... is this allowed? For you to sneak in and give me this?" you whisper, looking around your surroundings, but it's pitch black. 

The blonde purses his lips, using every muscle in his body to keep his expression neutral.

No, it's certainly not allowed. I am risking my life, as well as my family's future, by doing this.

"That's not important. What is important is that the blast from the arena has created a hole leading out to a bunch of service tunnels. I tested it out myself, it leads towards the outside, far away from the peace keepers." 

"Wait, I don't understa-"

Desperation grabs a hold of him, and it's a foreign feeling - the crushing despair of wanting to protect someone that he can't, the burning urge to want to put someone else ahead of him for once.

"What I need you to do tomorrow, (Y/n), is to run. The moment the alarm rings, don't even think of running towards the weapons or fighting the others. Don't even hide anymore. Just… just run towards the tunnels, by yourself, and get out."

"But what about Jessup-" you hiccup. Your head's spinning, confused and horrified by your mentor's change of plans and the prospect of leaving behind your friend to die in the arena. 

"Forget about him." Coriolanus snaps. Suddenly, his eyes are cold and his voice is firm, commanding you as if you have no choice in the matter. "In there, he's as dangerous as the other tributes. You can't trust anyone, not even your supposed friends, okay? The games, they-" he chokes on his own words, and there's something again in Coriolanus' eyes that you can't quite decipher. "They bring out the worst in people. Promise me you'll run."

It makes your stomach twist in anxiety.

"I-"

"Please." 

As he begs, his face crumbles, his voice so desperate and feeble that you can't find it in yourself to say no. 

"I... I'll try." you relent, and he lets out a sigh of relief at your agreement. 

"Good. Perfect." He takes your head in his hands and softly kisses your temple. "I won't let you die in there, okay? Just like you took care of me after the explosion. I'm going to take care of you."

"I'm your mentor. I do my best to take care of you." 

Coriolanus' words from the train station echo in your head as you nod, pocketing the mirror deep inside your dress to hide it away from plain sight.

"Will I... will I be able to see you, after the games?" 

You immediately feel stupid for even asking that. Everyone knows winning the games merely allows your return to your home district. And on all logical accounts, it wouldn't make any sense for the man to give up his life in the Capitol to follow you back to 12.

But he smiles at your innocent question, only nodding whilst squeezing your hands in the dark. To your feeble heart and mind, it feels like a genuine promise.

"Of course, my songbird. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." you whisper.

"I never do." 

And for the first time, you think you actually believe him wholeheartedly.

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

You can't believe it. 

You've won.

You were so sure you were going to die once the snakes had been released, eyes closing shut once the venomous snakes began to crawl up your skin, but as you continued to sing... The reptiles simply slithered by your side, remaining docile and non-threatening. And based on the snakes' sudden change of behavior and Highbottom's scowl when he announced you as the victor of the 10th Hunger Games - "consider yourself lucky, little girl, as it seems your mentor was willing to break more than a few rules for you" - your stomach churns at the realization that Coriolanus kept his promise.

He did whatever it took to get you out. 

Even cheating. 

You've only heard whispers of the punishments for cheating at the Capitol. But based on the frequent hangings of rebels in your home district, you can't imagine that the punishment would be very kind.

Weeks have passed since your victory, since the last time you've even seen Coriolanus, but it does nothing to erase him from your mind. You still see his faint silhouette in the mornings, when your eyes have barely adjusted to the morning light and there's a pile of clothes sitting on the chair beside your bed. You think you hear his voice amongst the sea of strangers’ conversations, calling out for his 'songbird'. And you swear you see his face in every crowd at the bar.

Unbeknownst to you, Coriolanus is having the same struggles on the opposite end of the country. Luckily, bearing the last name Snow meant his punishment for cheating was to be lighter than the usual hanging: mandatory military service. District 8. But he's sure to bring his last few bills to bribe the immigration officer for a transfer to 12. 

All to come find you. 

He suffers through the first week of training - grueling hours, hanging ceremonies, endless ramblings from Sejanus about making a change for the better. He pretends not to notice Sejanus establishing connections within the rebel community, until he can’t ignore it anymore. After all, Coriolanus simply can't afford his friend’s idealism and recklessness to get him killed too, and potentially you, when you're thought to be linked to the movement by mere virtue of association.

Especially not you, Coriolanus thinks.

After the games, of having to watch you bleed, sob and fight for hours on end as he stood helplessly, only able to watch: even the passing thought of your death elicits a violent reaction in him. He'll do anything for you. 

Even if that means turning in his only friend to prove his loyalty to the Capitol.

It's an unremarkable Wednesday night for you when you're singing a song at the bar, black guitar in hand and the smell of booze thick in the air, when your eyes come across a familiar face. 

It takes you a few seconds, of course. You almost think it’s a hallucination, if it wasn’t for the sea of other soldiers surrounding him, validating his presence. His fluffy white locks are gone, replaced with a clean buzz cut. He's lost a bit of weight, his shoulders more broad and rough from military training, and the lack of expensive bright fabrics draped around his figure is jarring at first. But it suits him, you think. 

The song can't finish any faster before you're slinging your guitar to the back and rushing up to Coriolanus, immediately throwing your arms around him. He stiffens in your embrace before relaxing, his arms finding your waist and squeezing you tightly. And you can't help but savor every essence of his being: he smells of sweat and coal (unlike his Capitol uniform which always smelled of florals and clean linen) and you can feel the cool metal of his dog tags press against your collarbone at this angle.

"You came back for me." you breathe out, still not believing that he's in front of you. Your ex mentor just smiles, tapping your cheeks with his hands.

"Said I'd never break a promise, now didn't I?" 

As the next performer goes up on stage, recapturing the attention of the audience, you pull him away towards the back room, far away from the bustling crowds and twinkling lights.

"I've thought of you every day, my songbird." Coriolanus whispers against your skin once you two are away from the crowds, his head falling forwards into the nape of your neck.

Your cheeks warm at his comment, your fingers coming up to play with the dog tags around his neck, before a light chuckle escapes your lips.

"What's so funny? Did you not miss me?" the blonde teases, and you shake your head sideways in denial.

"Of course I missed you. I missed you more than you could imagine."

"Then what's the chuckle for?"

You let out a short sigh, not knowing if it’d be wise to bring it up. But all he does is encouraging you, looking deep into your eyes and nodding, urging you to say what’s on your mind. You relent, shoulders sagging. 

"It's just... when I won the games, Highbottom congratulated me. But not for winning the games. But for surviving you." you awkwardly chuckle in hopes of diffusing the seriousness of your question. "Is it true, Coryo?"

"What are you getting at?" is his response, coy and low. You can't tell if he's amused, annoyed or disturbed. 

Or all three at once.

"There's rumors, you know. I heard that you... you had to kill a tribute." you whisper, as if what you’re saying is the biggest secret in the world. "Is it true?"

Coriolanus pauses at that, the smirk on his face dropping for a fraction of a second before he's cupping your face and lifting your gaze to meet his eyes. His stare is so strong, so unwavering, almost to the point of unnerving you. But it's matched with such warmth and softness in his touch as he strokes your hair.

"You have to understand, darling… It was just like the snakes. If I hadn't rigged the game by getting the snakes used to your smell so they wouldn't attack you, you would've died. And if I hadn't killed the tribute charging at me when I had to sneak into the arena to rescue Sejanus-" he sighs, slow and long. He looks as if he’s thinking hard. "I had to, my songbird. I had to do it to protect you. To take care of you." he emphasizes.

You're not sure what kind of an answer you wanted, but you're unable to respond immediately, as it slowly dawns on you that this man both cheated and killed another person for you. 

His response to your silence is a swift kiss, calloused hands dropping to your waist to pull you in close, the gesture desperate and messy. Breathing heavily when he parts from you, he kisses you once more, this time a short peck which is more rough and demanding.

"I would do anything for you, (Y/n) (L/n). Anything for you."

Coriolanus chooses to keep quiet about the fact that technically, he could've just injured the tribute charging towards him instead. Or that it felt freeing to have ended the tribute’s life. Or that just a few hours ago, he tipped off the Capitol about Sejanus' rebellion. All in an effort to secure your unbridled safety. So that he doesn’t ever have to let go of you again.

"Now, where are your manners, my songbird? Aren't you going to thank me?" he whispers against your lips, smoothing out your hair.

"T-thank you, Coryo." you manage to stutter.

He smiles at that, kissing the top of your head as he sways you from side to side.

"Of course, love. Don't worry. We’re going to be just fine. In fact, everything will be fine from now on."

As you peak out from under his embrace, you're not so sure if you can believe him anymore.

a/n: leave it to a new hunger games movie and Tom Blyth playing young!Snow to make me return from my 1.5 year long writing hiatus.

I'm quite nervous about this one as it's my first time writing for a semi-dark character and also because it's been so long since I posted my writing on here... But I hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment, like, reblog, etc if you liked it. If this one is received well I might go ahead and post the other Snow fics currently sitting in my drafts!!!

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Roadkill | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of smut

Word Count: 4772

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“Alright,” Dean began, cruising down a darkened road. “Tell me about Highway 41.”

You leaned your head on your arms between the shoulders of the two boys on the back of the front seat as Sam began to talk.

“Twelve accidents over fifteen years,” the brunet explained. “Five of them fatal; all of them happening on the same night.”

“So, what are we looking at— Interstate dead zone? Phantom hitchhiker? What?” Dean questioned.

Sam shook his head, continuing to flip through his notes. “Not quite. Year after year, witnesses said the same thing made them crash. A woman appearing in the middle of the road, being chased by a man covered in blood.”

“Two spooks?” you asked.

“Sounds like it,” Sam responded.

“Any idea who this chick is?” 

“I think I might,” the brunet said, handing you a clipping from an old newspaper he’d printed off online. “Molly McNamara. Killed in a car crash fifteen years ago tomorrow night. She took another guy out with her; Jonah Greely. Farmer who was out in the road, and Molly couldn’t slow down in enough time to stop.”

“So, what? She haunts the road now with Greely chasin’ after her?” you questioned.

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

“I say we go talk to the husband. Only survivor of the crash.”

And that was just where you went. You discovered she hadn’t been buried; she’d been cremated.

“So, what’s keeping her here?” Sam wondered aloud as you left the survivor’s house.

“I don’t know,” you replied. 

*** The next night, you, Dean, and Sam headed down Highway 41.

“Please don’t run into the bitch and kill us all with your stupid driving,” you implored Dean, who shot you a look in the rearview mirror.

“I’m a great driver, what are you—” He cut himself off as something in the road caught his attention. “Holy—!”

You braced yourself on the back of the front seat as Dean slammed to a stop in front of a young blonde woman with scrapes and bruises littering her body. “You have to help me!” she yelled, crying.

“Dean, I don't think she knows she's dead,” Sam realized.

Molly started banging on the window of Sam’s door. “Open up! Please!”

Sam obliged, holding his hand up to try and create some distance between the two of them as he opened the car. “Okay, okay! All right, all right. Just calm down. Tell us what happened.”

You hung back with Dean while he parked the car as Sam walked ahead with Molly. 

“What is he gonna tell her?” Dean asked quietly.

“Knowing Sam? Probably the truth,” you replied.

“She's gonna take off running in the other direction,” Dean sighed.

“Yeah, I know.”

“I— I swerved,” Molly was telling Sam, sitting against a tree stump, “ A-And we crashed. And when I came to, the car was wrecked and my husband was missing. I went looking for him, but that's when the man from the road, he- he started chasing me.”

“Did he look like he lost a fight with a lawn mower?” Dean questioned.

Molly looked up at Dean, shocked. “How did you know that?”

“Lucky guess,” he shrugged.

You played dumb, keeping what Dean had said earlier in mind. “Hey, what's your name?”

“Molly. Molly Mcnamara,” she said.

Sam looked over at you knowingly. “I think maybe you should come with us. We'll take you back into town.”

“I can't.” The blonde suddenly panicked. “I have to find David. He might have gone back to the car.”

“We should get you somewhere safe first. Then the three of us will come back. We'll look for your husband,” Sam tried.

“No. I'm not leaving here without him. Would you just take me back to my car, please?” she begged.

Sam hesitated a moment. “Of course,” he said finally. “Come on.”

The four of you clambered into the Impala, and Molly directed Dean toward the crash site. You were incredibly uneasy with a spirit just casually sitting next to you in the backseat, and every instinct was screaming at you to pump her full of rocksalt. However, you knew better and fought your gut feeling.

“Stop,” Molly told Dean. She was jumping out of the car before he’d fully come to a stop. “It’s right over there.”

She led you to where she thought the car would be, but there was nothing there. 

“I don't understand. I'm sure this is where it was. W-We hit that tree right there. This— This doesn't make any sense,” she rushed out, running a hand through her hair. She started to head further into the woods.

Not willing to let her out of your sight, you followed. “Molly, wait!”

She turned around. “I know it sounds crazy, but I crashed into that tree. I don't know who could've taken it. It was totaled. Please. You have to believe me.”

“I do believe you,” you said. “But that’s why you gotta get outta here.”

“What about David?” she protested. “Something must have happened. I have to get to the cops.”

Dean came up behind you. “Cops! That's a great idea. We'll take you down to the station ourselves. So just come with us. It's the best way we can help you and your husband.”

“Okay,” she replied.

You shot Dean a look and headed back to the car.

As the four of you drove, Molly spoke up. “We're supposed to be in Lake Tahoe.”

“You and David?” Sam asked.

“It's our five-year anniversary,” she nodded.

“A hell of an anniversary,” Dean muttered, almost making you laugh. However, you were too focused on keeping a hand on your gun in case she made one wrong move.

“Right before, we were having the dumbest fight,” she sighed. “It was the only time we ever really argued; when we were stuck in the car.”

Sam laughed. “Yeah. I know how that goes.”

Dean scowled at him, making you smile.

“You know the last thing I said to him? I called him a jerk. Oh, god. What if that's the last thing I said to him?” she cried.

The younger Winchester turned to face her. “Molly, we're gonna figure out what happened to your husband. I promise.”

Suddenly, the radio started flickering. Its whirring and crackling soon turned to the opening notes of “House of the Rising Sun” by the Animals.

“Sam, you didn’t—?” you started.

He shook his head.

Dean sighed. “I was afraid you'd say that.”

“This song…” Molly trailed off.

“What?” you questioned.

“It was playing when we crashed,” she breathed out.

The radio crackled again, and settled on another disturbing station. A voice began to fill the car coming over the radio. “She's mine,” the voice taunted. “She's mine. She's mine.”

“What is that?” Molly asked.

Jonah Greeley suddenly appeared in the middle of the road.

Dean began flooring it straight at him. “Hold on.”

“What are you doing?” she shrieked as Dean drove into Greeley, who disappeared in a puff of smoke.

“What the... What the hell just happened?” Molly breathed.

“Don't worry, Molly. Everything's gonna be alright,” Sam coaxed.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” you quipped as the Impala began to shudder. It coasted to a stop on the side of the road.

Dean tried to start it again, but the ignition sputtered. “I don't think he's gonna let her leave.”

You got out of the car, hand still on your gun. 

Dean put a hand on the small of your back, cooly saying, “Relax” into your ear. A shudder went through your spine at the contact, but you did your best to release the tension you were holding in your body.

“That’s my girl,” he said, more to himself than you. 

Your heart swelled with pride just as Molly started to panic on the other side of the car. “This can't be happening.”

“Well, trust me. It's happening,” Dean remarked. He moved to the back of the car and started pulling weapons out of the trunk.

Molly came around and noticed the arsenal, immediately backing away. “Okay. Thanks for helping, but I think I got it covered from here.”

“Wait. Molly, Molly, wait a minute,” Sam begged, chasing after her.

“Just leave me alone.”

“No, no, no. Please. You have to listen to me,” he told her.

“Just stay away!” Molly started walking faster.

“It wasn't a coincidence that we found you, alright?” Sam told her.

“Oh, here we go,” you told Dean.

“What are you talking about?” the blonde asked defensively.

“We weren't just cruising for chicks when we ran into you, sister,” Dean snarked. “We were already out here. Hunting.”

“Hunting for what?” Molly questioned.

“Ghosts.”

“Don’t sugarcoat it for her,” you deadpanned.

“You're nuts,” she laughed in disbelief.

“Really? About as nuts as a vanishing guy with his guts spilling out. You know what you saw,” Dean pressed.

“We think his name is Jonah Greeley. He was a local farmer that died fifteen years ago on this highway,” Sam explained despite Molly begging him to stop. “One night a year, on the anniversary of his death, he haunts this road. That's why we're here, Molly. To try and stop him.”

It seemed like this was starting to make sense to her. “Now, I suppose this... ghost… made my car disappear, too.”

“Crazier things have happened, huh?” Dean replied.

“You know what? I'm all filled up on crazy. I'm gonna get the cops myself.” She started away.

“Not to be harsh, but you’re not gonna get far,” you called after her.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she scoffed, turning back.

“Means that plan A was trying to get you out of here. Obviously that didn't go over too well with, uh, Farmer Roadkill,” Dean informed.

“Molly, we're telling the truth,” said Sam. “Greeley's not gonna let you leave this highway.”

“You're s— you're serious about this, aren't you?”

Dean nodded. “Deadly.”

‘No pun intended there, I’m sure,’ you thought.

“Every year, Greeley finds someone to punish for what happened to him. Tonight, that person is you,” Sam told Molly.

“Why me? I didn't do anything,” she cried.

“Doesn't matter. Some spirits only see what they want,” Sam shrugged.

“So you're saying this ... Greeley, he took my husband? Oh, god,” she wailed.

Sam caught her gaze again. “Molly, look, we're gonna help, all right? But first, you gotta help us.”

“Help you?” she questioned. “How?”

*** Molly led you over to a deteriorating hunting cabin where she saw Greeley. You walked in behind Dean, only slightly unsettled by the numerous blood-stained tools scattered around the room. Hunting ghosts, chopping them up— sure, no problem; Animals? They were off-limits in your mind. 

“Huh. Seemed like a real sweet guy,” Dean commented upon taking in the bloodstained metal table.

“No markers or headstones outside,” Sam told you and Dean.

“You're looking for Greeley's grave?” Molly asked.

Sam nodded.

“Why?”

“So we can dig up the corpse and salt and burn it,” Dean responded nonchalantly.

“Oh. Sure, naturally,” the blonde scoffed.

“It's a way to get rid of a spirit,” Sam told her.

“And that'll save David?” Molly asked.

“Well, this is what'll help both of you, provided there's a corpse to be found,” Sam replied. You could tell the truth was burning on his tongue.

“So how do we find it?” Molly continued.

“I'm not sure. After Greeley died, his wife claimed the body. And that was the last anyone saw of her. So good guess she brought him back here. But they had a thousand acres. He could be buried anywhere on 'em,” Sam said.

“So this is really what you guys do? You're like Ghostbusters?”

“Minus the jumpsuits,” you remarked.

Briskly, Dean started, “This is a fascinating conversation and all, but this highway is only haunted once a year, and we got till sun-up to wrap this thing up. What do you say we move it along, okay? Great.”

You followed Dean outside to search for Greely’s corpse or his house.

“Can’t say I’m enjoying babysitting Casper,” you whispered to Dean.

“Me neither,” he chuckled.

“Any thoughts on what’s got her stuck?” you asked.

“Probably the fact that she doesn’t know she’s dead,” he shrugged.

“But… why would that matter?” you questioned.

“I guess you can’t move on if you don’t even know you have to,” he said.

“Makes sense,” you considered. 

“David? David? David!” you suddenly heard Molly screaming behind you. She then yelped in shock, and you immediately raised your shotgun loaded with rocksalt and shot above Molly’s head at Greeley, who was holding her above the ground. He disappeared upon the round’s impact and dropped Molly.

“Nice,” Dean told you.

“Thanks,” you grinned.

“Hey! Are you alright?” Sam asked Molly.

“What has that son of a bitch done with my husband?” Molly shrieked.

“Just take it easy, alright? You're gonna see David again. You will,” Sam told her.

You noticed uneven cobblestone starting under your feet. “Hey!” you called to them.

Dean jerked his head in your direction. “Follow the creepy brick road.”

You followed closely behind Dean, blocking out Sam having to recap how ghost hunting works to Molly.

“You know, just once I'd like to round the corner and see a nice house,” Dean commented as you turned toward a slowly decaying house. It was similarly built to the smaller hunting cabin you’d first stumbled upon. You stumbled around the house, searching for any sign of Greeley or his body.

Molly and Sam stuck together at the back of the pack, and Dean stayed outside to look around. You headed up the stairs to look around. Upon doing so, you found a slew of papers strewn about. You searched through a few of them, only finding receipts, scrapbook pages, and to-do lists; nothing about a potential burial site. 

Sam and Molly soon made their way into the room and you tuned out their conversation about vengeful spirits as you poked around a wall that seemed strange to you. 

Dean appeared at the doorway. “Sammy's always getting a little J. Love Hewitt when it comes to things like this. Me, I don't like 'em. And I sure as hell ain't making apologies for 'em. There's nothing downstairs. You find anything?”

“Uh, just about every piece of mail or receipt they ever had. Looked through a couple, but nothing about a grave so far,” Sam explained.

“There’s somethin’ back here, though,” you said, referencing the wall. You tossed your flashlight to Sam. You dug the balls of your feet into the floor against the adjoining wall and shoved the cabinet in your way over a bit. You revealed a small hidden door, and you dusted your hands off on your jeans as you crouched to it. “It’s locked from the inside,” you announced.

“Move over,” Dean told you. When he saw you were clear, he threw a back kick at the door. You were surprised to see the door still upright. So was Dean, to your amusement. He gave it yet another kick, and it finally fell inward.

You crawled through the opening with Dean hot on your heels. “It smells like old lady in here,” he grimaced. 

You stood, shocked to see a woman hanging by her neck from the ceiling. “Jesus, that explains why,” you cringed, covering your nose with the back of your sweater sleeve. 

“Well, now we know why nobody ever saw her again,” Dean commented.

“She didn't want to live without him,” Molly cooed sadly.

Sam found a chair the woman had assumedly knocked from under her feet when she passed away. “Dean, give me a hand.”

“Really?” Dean scoffed.

“What are you gonna do?” Molly questioned.

Sam gave his brother a scolding look. “We can't leave her like this.”

“Why not?”

“She deserves to be put to rest, Dean.”

You gave Dean a look as well, and he reluctantly agreed. He moved toward the woman’s body as Sam cut her down, cursing under his breath when it dropped into his arms; either at the smell or the fact that he was holding a corpse.

You helped the boys dig a grave for the woman, and Dean gently laid her in it.

“So... So, if you manage to put Greeley to rest, too... What happens to them?” Molly asked. 

Dean chuckled. “Lady, that answer is way beyond our pay grade.”

“You hunt these things, but you don't know what happens to them?” she pushed.

“Well, they never come back. That's all that matters.”

“Agreed,” you chimed in, but you knew the answer wasn’t satisfying her. “Look, once we get ‘em to let go of whatever’s keeping ‘em here, they just… go. Honestly, I hope some place better, but I don’t know. No one does.”

“What happens when you burn their bones?” she continued.

“Well,” Sam began, “my dad used to say that was like death for ghosts, you know? But… the truth is, we still don't know. Not for sure.” He looked over at Dean. “Guess that's why we all hold on to life so hard. Even the dead. We're all just scared of the unknown.”

“The only thing I'm scared of is losing David. I have to see him again.” Molly paused for a long while. “I have to.” ***

You stood next to the two brothers after you left Molly in a room next door to the one you were in the house. Sam said he needed to talk to you both. 

“I think we should tell her about her husband,” Sam sighed.

“Oh, hell no,” you told him. 

“(Y/N), it's cruel, letting her pine for him like this. I don't like keeping her in the dark.”

“It's for her own good.” Dean got up from the chair behind you. “Man, I know you feel guilty, all right? But let's just stick to the plan. Let's get her out of here. Then we'll tell her.”

Molly suddenly appeared at the door. “Tell me what? What aren't you telling me? It's about David. You know what happened to him.”

“Molly—” Sam began.

Dean cut him off. “Sam, don't.”

“Don't what? Don't tell me because I'll mess up your hunt? You don't care about me or my husband,” the blonde angrily said.

“That's not true.”

“Really? Then whatever it is, tell me, please.”

The younger brother swallowed, hesitating. Before he could say anything, a radio distantly went static. Then, it played “House of the Rising Sun.”

“Oh, great,” you grumbled.

“Stay with Molly,” Dean told Sam. He jerked his head at you to get you to follow him toward the sound. You followed the sound toward the living room, getting louder with each step. Dean stooped next to the radio and picked up a frayed, broken power cord. You heard another noise and headed to the door. It frosted over, revealing the words “She’s mine.”

You heard a scream and ran back to the room you left Sam and Molly in.

“He's got Molly!” Sam pointed out the broken window.

You jumped through it, running through the woods. You ran for a few minutes before you cursed under your breath, chest heaving. You returned to the house and started flipping through a scrapbook.

“This guy is persistent,” Dean said, coming up beside you.

“We gotta find Molly,” Sam huffed.

“We gotta find Greeley's bones,” Dean added. “And, uh, no pressure or anything, but we got less than two hours before sunrise.”

You noticed something in a picture of the hunting cabin with the Greeleys standing in front of it. “Hey.”

“What do you got?” Dean questioned.

“ 'February 6, 1992’,” you read aloud.

“That was, like, two weeks before the accident, wasn't it?” Sam chimed in.

“Yeah, but… something seems off. I swear there’s a tree right where they’re standing.” You tapped the picture.

“I should've thought of it,” Sam scolded himself.

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison.

“It's an old country custom,” Sam explained. “Planting a tree as a grave marker.”

Dean chuckled. “You're like a walking encyclopedia of weirdness.”

“Yeah. I know,” Sam deadpanned somewhat bitterly.

You broke off in a sprint toward the hunting cabin with a shovel in hand. You immediately began digging around the tree. You suddenly heard a scream as the brothers came up beside you. 

“Go get Molly,” you instructed Dean, who nodded and headed inside.

Sam began helping you dig around the tree. You dug in silence feverishly until Sam said, “Hey, I got something over here.”

“Hurry up, guys!” you heard Dean distantly yell.

You looked into the spot where Sam was digging to discover a set of bones carefully laid in an open grave. You ducked down to the duffel bag beside Sam and handed him a container of salt as you searched around for the kerosene. Quickly, you stood back up and emptied the kerosene on top of the body as Sam finished salting the bones. Sam lit a match he’d grabbed and dropped it on top of the bones which immediately ignited into a roaring fire.  

Dean came out of the house with Molly, and you noticed a deep gash on Dean’s cheek. You ran to him as Molly continued ahead to Sam. You gingerly touched the wound, and he hissed in pain.

“When this is over, I need to patch that up,” you told him.

“I’m fine, (Y/N),” he insisted.

“Stop being so hardheaded. I need to fix it up before it gets infected,” you argued.

Dean grumbled, “Fine,” and followed Molly and Sam to the Impala. He patted the hood of his car lovingly. “Oh, baby, it's been a long night,” he cooed, dropping his bag in the backseat and climbing into the driver’s seat.

You rolled your eyes at him, and got down into the seat behind him.

You saw Sam arguing with Molly outside of the car, but couldn’t quite make out what they were saying. You then saw her smile in relief before eagerly climbing into the car next to you.

Wordlessly, Sam and Dean exchanged a look. You figured Sam told her he’d take her to David. Dean then drove a route you’d taken before to the man’s house. You pulled up to the lovely suburban home, light emanating from it into the dark night.

“He's in that house, right there,” Sam told Molly.

Her shoulders dropped and formerly cheery expression changed. “I don't understand.”

“You will.”

You got out of the car and stood next to Dean. 

Molly’s breath quickened. “That's— not— It can't be.”

You watched the woman carefully, and for the first time, felt bad for a vengeful spirit. You watched as David stood dressed in a bathrobe holding a steaming cup of liquid, sipping it before a woman came up to him and pecked him on the lips.

“What's happening?” Molly questioned. “Who is that?”

“David’s wife,” you answered. 

She turned back to the house, confused, before turning back to you and the Winchesters.

“I'm sorry, Molly,” Sam began softly. “Fifteen years ago, you and your husband hit Jonah Greeley with your car. David survived.”

“What are you saying?” The blonde’s voice wavered.

“We're saying there isn't just one spirit haunting Highway 41,” Dean added. “There are two. Jonah Greeley and you.”

“For the past fifteen years, one night a year you've been appearing on that highway,” explained the younger brother.

“No, that's not possible. It was our anniversary… February 22nd—”

“1992,” you cut her off.

“Yes,” she responded, looking at you like you were stupid.

“It’s 2007,” you finished.

“Oh, god,” she cried. “And Greeley?” 

“Each year he punishes somebody for his death... ah, chasing them. Torturing them. And each year, that somebody is you,” the brunet explained.

“But I don't remember any of it.”

“Because you couldn't see the truth, Molly. Some spirits only see what they want,” Sam told her.

“So that's why he won't let me off the highway. Because... I killed him. I killed us both.” Molly shakily moved over to the front steps of the house. You followed her over as she inquired, “Why didn't you tell me when you first saw me? Why wait until now?”

“You wouldn't have believed us,” Dean replied.

She looked up t0 Dean, stating accusingly, “And you needed me for bait.”

“Well, we needed you,” Sam chimed in.

“David,” she breathed out.

The younger brother sighed. “Molly, we brought you here so you could move on.”

“I have to tell him—” 

You cut her off. “Tell him what? That you love him? That you’re sorry? I’m sure he knows that. You go in there, you’re gonna scar him for life. He’s already grieved you. Let him move on.”

“David's already said his goodbyes, Molly,” Sam continued. “Now it's your turn. This is your unfinished business.”

“What am I supposed to do?” she sobbed.

“Just... let go. Of David. Of everything. You do that, we think you'll move on,” he explained.

“But you don't know where.”

“No, but that’s okay,” you said. “You don’t belong here.”

“Haven't you suffered long enough? It's time. It's time to go,” Sam finished for you.

She nodded sadly, then slowly stepped away from you and the brothers. She moved down the road toward the rising sun, and allowed herself to become absorbed by the light dawning. 

“I guess she wasn't so bad... for a ghost,” Dean remarked. He turned to his younger brother. “You think she's really going to a better place?”

“I hope so,” he shrugged.

“I guess we'll never know. Not until we take the plunge ourselves, huh?” Dean quipped.

“Doesn't really matter, Dean. Hope's kind of the whole point.”

“Alright, Haley Joel.” He smacked Sam on the shoulder. “Let's hit the road.”

You and the brothers decided you needed to get some sleep a few towns over before searching for another case. These periods of down time between hunts were always bizarre; driving with no particular destination would always feel foreign to you no matter how many times you had done it.

***

You forced Dean to come to your motel room to let you patch up the few wounds he’d sustained from fighting Jonah Greeley’s ghost. 

“I really don’t think this is necessary,” he grumbled.

“I think it is. So, tough,” you said firmly. 

Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but he thankfully said nothing. You set to work bandaging his cheek, standing between his spread legs as he sat on the bathroom counter. “How’s your shoulder?”

“What?” he asked.

“The gunshot wound, maybe?” you remarked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” you giggled, half-mocking him. 

“It’s fine. Barely even feel it,” he shrugged.

“Then I guess it won’t be a problem if I give it a once-over,” you challenged.

Dean cut his eyes back at you, but decided against arguing. He shrugged off his leather jacket, then his canvas jacket, then pulled his undershirt over his head. No matter how many times you’d seen Dean shirtless, the sight would always make your breath catch in your throat. He seemed to note your reaction, smirking at you wantonly.

You rolled your eyes, fighting an amused smile as you unwrapped the wound on his shoulder. It was getting better, but you were still concerned about the wound becoming infected. The bullet had lodged in him several inches deep, and it was certainly going to take more than a month to fully heal. Gingerly, you touched the skin around the wound, and Dean hissed and grabbed your wrist.

You looked up at him apologetically, but still mockingly said, “ ‘Barely even feel it’ my ass.”

He rolled his eyes at you and released your wrist. When you had it completely wrapped up, your fingers lingered over the edge of the dressings. Dean grabbed your wrist gently once more, bringing it to his lips and kissing the inside near your pulse point. Your breath hitched as he did so, and he stared at you intently. You shrank under his gaze, heat spreading through your cheeks, and his self-satisfied smirk returned to his face.

“There you go again,” you joked quietly. “Always cheapening the moment.”

He smiled, using his free hand to wrap around your waist and bring you closer to him. He took the wrist he’d been holding and wound it around his neck and leaned forward to kiss you. You responded eagerly, pushing him back down onto the bed. You grinned against his lips, getting lost in the feeling of his body against yours. However, the two of you didn’t have sex that night. It was just enough to be with each other. The idea of that was foreign to the both of you— especially Dean— but you were grateful all the same.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Search and Rescue

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: Sam and Dean’s 6 year old little sister gets kidnapped by demons

“Hey N/N, we’re back!”

Dean’s words echoed through the empty motel room, and no answer came.

“Y/N? Honey, where are you?” Sam asked, doing a quick scan of the room. “She’s not here.”

“What?” Dean demanded, dropping his duffel bag and double-checking the small room.

“Dean, over here.” Sam’s eye had caught sight of something strange by the window.

Dean stepped up beside him and gritted his teeth.

“Sulfur.”

“What now?” Sam asked. “We’ve been gone for hours, who knows how long she’s been missing?” The boys almost never left you alone in a motel, but they’d just left for the morning to interview some survivors of what looked like a haunting.

“Now we find those demons and bring her back,” Dean growled, snatching up the demon knife and his bag before heading out to Baby.

“So no plan? Great,” Sam huffed, but followed his brother regardless.

…

Meanwhile, you were in the next state over from your brothers, having been grabbed from your bed and thrown into the back of a van. You were currently chained up in a dark room, and you couldn’t make out more than a few feet in front of you. Your shackles were connected by a short chain to the ground, so you couldn’t take more than one step before they stopped you. You sat on the floor, your wrists raw from your attempts to free them. You gave up pretty quickly, it hurt too much and you were just too scared of what the demons would do if they saw you trying to escape.

One of them had already hit you, and you still didn’t know what they wanted. All you knew was that you had never been this far away from Sam and Dean, and you didn’t know what to do.

…

Two weeks. It took two weeks before the boys finally caught a break, and they were able to track demon activity that was mere hours from where you’d been taken.

Dean had never driven Baby so fast in his life.

Neither brother was willing to bring up the biggest likelihood; that you were already dead. After all, if the demons had kept you alive this long, why hadn’t they tried to contact the brothers for an exchange or something?

But this logical path was not one either boy was willing to go down, not yet or ever.

…

“I spot six, but there could be more inside,” Sam reported as he watched the warehouse for demon activity.

“Alright, let’s go,” Dean said, opening his door.

“Hold on, Dean we need a plan,” Sam insisted.

“I have a plan,” Dean replied before stepping out of the car and slamming his door shut.

“Get her back.”

…

You were used to hearing screams from where you sat in your little prison. The only difference this time was, that these weren’t your own.

You found the strength to lift your head wearily when the door to your prison scraped open, but you turned away instantly when the light from the other side nearly blinded you.

Involuntary whimpers escaped your lips when you heard the scratch of footsteps against the stone floor, getting inevitably closer. You cried out hands grabbed the sides of your face, and you struggled to get away.

“Hey, hey, Y/N it’s me!”

You froze, instantly recognizing the voice. Also, you noticed that the hands on you weren’t rough; he was cradling your face.

You blinked your eyes open, squinting against the light to see your big brother Sam.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. All you could do was cry in relief as Sam picked the lock on your chains. The moment you were free, Sam had you in his arms, rubbing your back and whispering soothing reassurances in your ear.

“Y/N.” You looked up to see Dean standing in the doorway, relief lightening his features before he stiffened again. “C’mon, Sam we’ve got to get her out of here, there might be more.” Dean crouched a bit to look at you. “Baby, can you walk? We gotta go.”

You shook your head with a whimper, clinging onto Sam for all you were worth.

“It’s ok, I’ve got her,” Sam reached a hand to his belt to grab the demon knife. “You take this, lead us out of here.”

The three of you reached the Impala with minimal disruption, and you clung to Sam the whole way.

Sam didn’t bother trying to put you in the back seat, he just got into the passenger’s seat and sat you on his lap.

Dean started the car without a word, glancing anxiously around for any more demons as he sped off.

“Is she ok?” Dean demanded once he was sure you weren’t being followed.

“Give her a minute,” Sam said quietly, still trying to sooth you as you trembled in his arms.

“Sam, I need to know if she’s hurt,” Dean said as he white-knuckled the steering wheel, glancing at you every few seconds.

“Sweetheart,” Sam spoke softly as he pulled you back slightly so he could look at you. “Did they hurt you?”

You squirmed in his arms, trying to get closer to him. You nodded, and he relented, letting you squeeze closer to him.

“Where?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

You didn’t respond.

“Honey, you can talk to me,” Sam said.

“I didn’t,” you mumbled.

“What?” Sam asked.

“I didn’t talk,” you said, and you started to shake even more in Sam’s arms. His heart broke at the sound of your cries as you struggled to speak. “They-they tried to make me-make me talk, but I didn’t.”

Sam’s haunted eyes met Dean’s. Their six-year-old little sister was tortured by demons for information, and she didn’t give in to protect them. Guilt didn’t even begin to describe what the brothers were feeling.

“What did they do?” Dean was struggling to get control of himself.

“They had a big knife,” you whimpered. You didn’t say anything more, and the brothers didn’t try to make you.

Sam carried you inside when you got to the motel, and Dean instructed Sam to find you some food while he checked your wounds. The last thing Sam wanted to do was leave your side again, but one look at your malnourished frame convinced him.

Dean peeled your sweat-soaked, torn, bloody clothes from your skin. He wet a washcloth with warm water and started to clean the blood off of you with a gentle touch, paying close attention to when you flinched or whimpered.

As soon as you were relatively clean, Dean grabbed disinfectant from the first aid kid and went to work on the many cuts scattered across your body. He was struggling to contain his rage with every new cut he found, but he knew that he had to to keep from scaring you even further.

You didn’t say a word while Dean worked, you just watched him with wide eyes, as if you still couldn’t believe he was there.

“Baby I’m so sorry,” Dean said finally. “We never should’ve left you alone.”

You seemed to mull his words over for a moment before disregarding them. You hadn’t even thought for a moment to blame your big brothers for the scary demons hurting you.

“De, did I miss Sammy’s birthday?” You asked instead, and Dean looked taken aback.

“Uh…no kiddo, it’s in a couple of days.”

“Can we get him a pie?” You asked hopefully.

Dean just nodded, unsure of how to deal with the change in conversation. The motel room once again fell silent as Dean carefully stitched up a couple of your worse cuts. He hated himself the whole time, especially when he saw how hard you tried—in vain—to keep from crying.

“All done,” he finally breathed, and he couldn’t tell who was more relieved; you or him. He helped you get changed into some clean clothes before letting you get settled in his lap. He held you close, just as unwilling as you were to let go.

He hadn’t even noticed that he’d started humming until he saw that you had stopped crying, soothed by the sound.

“I’m never gonna let anyone hurt you again,” Dean promised.

“I know,” you said with so much confidence that it reassured Dean almost as much as you.

“Hey guys,” Sam greeted quietly as he returned to the motel room. “How we doing?”

“I’m sleepy,” you mumbled.

“Do you think you can eat some of this before you sleep?” Sam asked, pulling out a takeout container of soup.

You nodded and let Sam carry you to the table before taking the spoon he offered.

“We should try to get her strength back up,” Sam said to Dean as the two watched you.

“With that?” Dean scoffed. “Get her some meat.”

“I wanted to start off with something light, since we don’t know when the last time she ate was,” Sam argued. That shut Dean up, as he imagined you locked in that tiny little room, starving.

“Can I go to sleep now?” You asked, and Sam stepped up and was surprised to see that you’d eaten nearly half of the soup.

“You bet, honey. You did good,” he praised, lifting you into his arms and carrying you to his bed.

You were asleep within minutes, and Dean settled himself on the very edge his own bed so that he could still be close to you and Sam.

“She asked if she missed your birthday,” Dean said quietly as he watched your stomach move up and down with your breaths. “She wants to get a pie.”

Sam smiled at you, brushing your hair out of your face.

“She always did love birthdays.”

“We can never slip up like that again,” Dean’s tone was suddenly serious. “She deserves so much better.”

“I know,” Sam kept his eyes on you, unable to look at his brother. Both boys were blaming themselves.

“Hey,” Dean sat up when he saw you start to twitch. “Is she—“

“No,” you whimpered, and your body started to squirm. “No, don’t!”

“Sweetheart, hey,” Sam reached his hand up and shook your shoulder. “Kid wake up.”

“No!” You cried, awakening with a start that almost had you falling off the bed. Sam held you in his arms to keep you steady.

“Easy, it’s ok honey. N/N I’m right here, I’m here.”

“Sammy?” You whimpered as you relaxed against his hold.

“Yeah, it’s me. Shh, it’s ok,” he soothed, rubbing your back as you began to cry.

“Here.” Dean reached for you, and Sam reluctantly gave you up to your oldest brother. “Hey, you’re ok baby, it’s Dean. How about you go back to sleep, ok? Me and Sammy are gonna chase away the bad dreams for you, how does that sound?”

You nodded, sniffling.

“Yeah, good.” Dean cradled your head in his hand, holding you close. “If you have another nightmare, I’m gonna be right here for you.”

“Ok,” you sniffled, relaxing once again. It only took a few short minutes before you were asleep in Dean’s arms, and the brothers relaxed at the peaceful cadence of your breaths.

“She’s ok,” Dean breathed, and Sam didn’t know who he was trying to reassure. Sam just nodded.

“She will be.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[tteotlma]

Brewing Emotions

- tension and unspoken feelings finally come to a head.

Sam Winchester/Reader 2.1kw

a/n: i wrote this after finishing spn over the summer. can u tell i love tension.

tw: mild violence mention, mild sexual content (kissing), emotional distress

The drive back from Wheeling, Illinois to the Bunker was an excruciatingly silent drive. It seemed as though everyone was steeping in their misery, and it was gonna be hard to shake off.

A family of Djinn’s were plaguing the city with missing persons for the past three weeks, and by the time the three of you showed up – there was more bloodshed than expected. Turns out the Djinn were running this operation for way longer and tens of lives were lost.

The three of you tried to save the remaining five survivors but because they were so weak, not all of them could be saved. Much to Sam and Dean’s dismay, only two walked away.

Of course, you were devastated as well but having been a solo hunter far longer than teaming up with the boys – you learned the hard way that losses were inevitable.

You were also less emotionally constipated than the other two, so you knew the better way to feel better was to surround yourself with things that bring you joy. But tweedle dee and tweedle dum here like to sit and stew in silence.

You were able to get them to talk here and there for the first few hours but your efforts ultimately fell short and silence took over. Exhaustion took over and you just let the silence be. During the car ride, you stared at the back of Sam��s head trying to stop yourself from reaching out and touching him in some way. Especially running your hands through his hair. You didn’t know if it was because of your feelings for the man, or because the act of petting lowered stress levels but whenever you found yourself feeling troubled you always found your hands in the man's hair, and vice versa.

Sure the science article was about animals but – potato, potato.

Instead you just crossed your arms and tucked your hands into your armpits, closing your eyes to try and get some shut eye.

The first person to say something was Dean, when the car pulled up to the Bunker.

“I’m gonna wash up.” He huffed, as his leather jacket squeaked against the leather seat while shimmying out of the car.

Perfect, you and Sam could prepare a meal while Dean washes up. You were about to reach out to Sam when he sprung out of the car.

“Hey Sam-” you rushed, following his steps in unloading the car. “Why don’t we-”

“Actually, I’m feeling a little grimy so I’m just gonna wash up too.” He mumbled, lugging the duffel bag over his shoulder, and walking away.

“Oh, okay.” you whispered, trying not to sound dejected. You entered the bunker and everyone made a B-line for their bedrooms.

Throwing your backpack onto the ground, you started undressing wanting nothing more than to just step under hot water and let it burn the tension away from your shoulders.

—

By the time you were done, you were already feeling much better. Your pajamas felt softer and cleaner than the stale outfit you had been wearing for the past two days. Your hair no longer felt stringy and greasy, and your skin felt exfoliated. Now to top it all off with a nice warm cup of tea.

You startled, seeing Sam standing in the kitchen.

“I thought I wasn’t gonna see you until tomorrow.” You said, giving him a soft smile as you walked up to him.

“Uh, well we hadn’t eaten anything since that rest stop about seven hours back.” He returned the same smile, before beginning to chop vegetables. You nodded, placing a swift hand on his shoulder blade as you passed him, to let him know you were walking behind.

He cleared his throat, and a small smile spread on your lips.

“I’m making tea,” You started, “would you like some?” Opening the drawer in front of you, an array of colored boxes splayed out before you.

“Sure, I’ll just take a cup of whatever you’re having.”

You took the small red box out the drawer, placed it on the counter and opened the cabinet above you to get your mugs. You grabbed your favorite, and when you went to grab Sam’s you realized it wasn’t in the usual spot next to yours. Pushing around the mugs, all that could be heard was the ceramic clinking together.

“You need help there?” A small scoff escaped his mouth.

“Your mug isn’t here.” Ceramic still clinking, standing on your tippy toes to try and get a better look.

“That’s okay just grab any other one.” He said, throwing the chopped vegetables in a large bowl.

“But you like that mug,” He turned to look at you. “I swear I put it here when I did the dishes.”

“Maybe someone used it.” He obviously wasn’t convincing you that another cup could be used so he put down the knife with a chuckle and walked towards you.

You could feel his presence loom over you as he stood behind you – barely able to feel his warmth on your back. You tried not to move a muscle.

“Yeah look it’s right here,” He said, reaching into the only shelf you couldn’t reach, and behind a large bowl he pulled out a dark blue mug. He looks down at you as you turn to grab the mug.

“Well, that’s not where I put it.” you mumble, taking the mug from his hands.

Inspecting the mug, to make sure it’s clean you notice Sam falls silent. You look up at him and catch him looking at you – quite intently.

Heat rushes up the back of your neck, and you give him a little smile hoping to god this tension building up isn’t just your imagination.

“Are you okay?” You ask under your breath. Sam blinks and shakes his head clearing his throat.

“Uh, yeah, yes I am.” He spits out, and he steps away. The cool air swooping in and taking place where he previously stood. He goes back to chopping vegetables in silence. His kurt answer leaves you thrown off, so rather than respond you choose to join in the silence and fall into a sort of rhythm beside Sam as he preps the salad he’s been working on as you work on the tea you offered.

As Sam shakes the bowl to mix the dressing, you could feel his warmth and you wanted nothing more than to step closer, under the impression that maybe his warmth could take away these remaining forlorn feelings.

"How'd you like your tea?" you ask, steeping the leaves.

"Like I said, whatever you're having." He puts down the bowl and turns to look at you. You shift your eyes towards him, then away when you feel his gaze boring into you.

As you grab the honey and a spoon, you turn to get some oatmilk from the fridge. Suddenly, you realize Sam is no longer behind you but beside you, his chest at eye level. You startle and look up.

"You okay?" His eyes never leave your face.

"Yeah," is all he says, his gaze unwavering.

Shifting uncomfortably, you begin to look anywhere but at him. An unbearable longing aches within you to touch him—to feel the rough texture of his shirt beneath your trembling fingers, to inhale the faint scent of his cologne mingling with his skin's warmth. You yearn to be enveloped in his embrace, to feel his strong arms wrap around you, pulling you close until his steady heartbeat thrums against your chest. Every fiber of your being screams for that connection, that solace, that undeniable closeness.

Your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you look down, the weight of his gaze becoming too intense.

"What is it?" Your voice barely rises above a whisper, afraid to break whatever spell he might be under.

He remains silent. Instead, he steps closer, fingers trailing lightly along the hem of your shirt. He moves even nearer until his chest is mere inches from your face. His hand circles around to your lower back, slowly pulling you in. The movement is so gradual you're barely sure you're moving at all. It's not until you feel Sam begin to lean in, his arm wrapping fully around your waist, that you realize he's been wanting to touch you just as badly as you've been wanting to touch him.

Your breath catches in your throat as Sam's arm tightens around you. Your already small world narrows even more to just the two of you—the warmth of his body, the sound of his breathing, the faint thrum of his heartbeat. You finally allow yourself to raise your hands, letting them rest tentatively on his chest. You slowly look up at him.

"I-I'm sorry, for brushing you off earlier," he says, a glint of remorse in his eyes.

Your hands move to hold his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheeks. "It's okay," you whisper, maintaining the intimate atmosphere between you. "You don't have to apologize."

You watch as Sam presses further into your hands, his eyes closing. A breath of relief leaves his lips, the tension in his shoulders visibly easing. The vulnerability in this moment strikes you, making your heart swell with affection.

Studying his face, your hands glide into his hair, gently pulling him close. As if by instinct, Sam buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply. His hands, initially at the middle of your back, slide down to your hips. He tries to bring you closer, but you're already pressed against him. Instead, your hips align more firmly with his as he holds you there.

The sound of your shaky breaths mingles with the scent of his cologne. The warmth of his body envelops you, and the gentle tickle of his breath against your neck sends shivers down your spine. Time seems to slow, each sensation heightened in this intimate embrace. It all feels like a dream—a long-awaited, exquisitely real dream.

Sam's fingers flex slightly at your hips, as if reassuring himself that you're truly there. You respond by carding your fingers through his hair, relishing the softness beneath your touch. The world outside fades away, leaving only this moment, this connection that you've both longed for.

Sam pulls away to look at you, his eyes searching your face. You lightly tug at the hair entwined in your fingers, a silent gesture of affection. Without a word, Sam begins to lean in. His lips brush against yours, feather-light and questioning. Your stillness is all the encouragement he needs.

Years of unspoken feelings finally come crashing down as Sam captures your lips in a proper kiss. He pulls you impossibly closer, one hand cradling the back of your head as if afraid you might slip away. His lips part slightly, and you seize the moment to nip gently at his bottom lip. Sam responds by deepening the kiss, and you meet him willingly, your mouths moving in perfect harmony.

A soft noise escapes him, echoed by your contented sigh. The kiss grows more passionate, your shared breaths becoming ragged. Sam's hands, which haven't left your body, slide down until his fingers find the bare skin at your hips. He kneads the flesh there, his touch both tender and desperate.

The intensity builds with each passing second. Sam's kisses grow more insistent, more passionate, mirroring the longing you both have harbored for so long. The forgotten tea steeps on the counter, the abandoned salad wilts - neither of you notices or cares. There's only this moment, this long-awaited connection, consuming you both entirely.

"Hey, did you guys make any—" Dean's words cut off abruptly as he entered the kitchen. "Well, alright Sammy!"

You and Sam spring apart, both flushed and breathing heavily. Dean stands in the doorway, his eyes wide with surprise before a knowing smirk spreads across his face.

"About damn time," he chuckles, shaking his head. "Don't let me interrupt. I'll just grab a beer and go."

As Dean rummages in the fridge, you and Sam exchange sheepish glances, a mix of embarrassment and barely contained laughter in your eyes. The spell of the moment is broken, but the warmth of it lingers.

Dean grabs his beer and heads out, but not before throwing a wink over his shoulder. "You might want to take this somewhere more private next time. And Y/n? Your tea's probably over-steeped by now." He chuckles.

As Dean's footsteps fade down the hall, you and Sam look at each other trying not to laugh, the tension dissipating. Sam reaches out, taking your hand in his.

"So," he says, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "about that tea..."

You squeeze his hand, your heart light despite the interruption. "I think we might need to start over," you reply, unable to keep the grin off your face.

As you move to prepare fresh tea, Sam's arm wraps around your waist, unwilling to let you go just yet. You lean into him, savoring the closeness. The night may not have gone as planned, but it's ended better than you could have imagined.

—————

pls leave comments/feedback! i luv hearing ur thoughts!

[chmpgneprblem]

SNOWFALL OF HEARTS ; CORIOLANUS SNOW

pairing: coriolanus snow x tribute!oc part: one summary: coriolanus is torn between his harsh pursuit of victory and the growing warmth in his heart for erykah, his tribute from district 9 warnings: swearing, ooc coriolanus a/n: really excited for you guys to read this! also this will become a series! word count: 0.8k join taglist!!

Whispers echoed across Heavensbee Hall as Dean Highbottom broke the news to them all. “The Plinth Prize will no longer be determined by who has the best grades.” He paused. “But by who is the best mentor in the Hunger Games.” 

As the shock settled in, Coriolanus thought to himself, I’m done. His hopes of winning that prize money were gone.

Students started to make comments as Highbottom continued to talk. “Obviously the best mentor will be the one who’s tribute wins the games.” Festus cut him off with a worried chuckle. “Your role is to turn these children into spectacles, Mr. Creed. Not survivors” Highbottom responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, victory in the games is only one of our considerations.” 

As he finished talking, the sound of horns played, signifying that the reaping was starting. “Let the reaping ceremony begin!” Dean Highbottom shouted with a smile as he sat down between Coriolanus and Sejanus.

He started to list off the tributes and the corresponding mentors for them. As he went down the list, Coriolanus prayed to himself that he got somebody good. His thoughts were cut off as he heard his name.

“District 9. Boy, Gaius Breen. Girl, Coriolanus Snow.”

Erykah Thorpe stood at the front of the rows at the yearly reaping. It’s fine, she thought to herself, It’s my last year of this. It was the last year for her, however it was her sister’s first. She’s only in there once.. There’s nothing to worry about. 

“Magnolia Thorpe!” The mayor called her sister’s name as he held the small strip of paper in his hand. Throwing it to the ground moments after reading it.

No, no, this isn’t real. She thought to herself but she was snapped back into reality as she saw her sister walking past her.

“No! Take me! Take me instead!” She yelled at the mayor practically begging for him to allow her. “Are you saying you volunteer?” He asks with a confused yet delighted look on his face. “Yes.. I volunteer as tribute.” Her voice cracked as she held back tears, lifting her chin higher and moving a strand of hair out of her face.

He whispered to one of the peacekeepers, she assumed to ask if that was allowed. “Well come on up here!” He exclaimed with a smile, waving his arm forward.

She walked onto the stage, making sure to not look at her sister despite her thrashing in the peacekeeper’s arms. “Erykah please don’t go!” Her sister screamed while getting pulled away. Erykah still didn’t look at her.

“What a cold hearted bitch” Coriolanus heard from behind him as the rest of the students whispered about her. “What the hell is she doing”, “She’s choosing to be in there?” He tried to ignore them as he kept watching her.

“Well what’s your name girl?” The mayor asked her, smiling widely as he talked. “Erykah Thorpe” She said, staring directly into the camera as she spoke. “Well I would bet that was your sister you just volunteered for!” He continued to speak with that annoying, overjoyed smile. She didn’t respond this time, just kept looking into the camera with her jaw clenched. 

Despite the situation she was in, Coriolanus couldn’t help but admire her beauty as she looked at the camera. She had long dark brown curly hair, slightly bushy eyebrows that accentuated her hooded eyes which were the same color as her hair, light freckles all across her face and plump pink lips that were slightly pouting at the moment.

Now that he was looking closer at her, he noticed what she was wearing. An off white dress that came down a little past her knees, nothing much different than the rest of the crowd. That was until he noticed the faded rainbow of roses and vines embroidered into the chest of her dress.

Her looks and outfit were much different than the angry expression she had on her face, which was now directed at someone in the front of the crowd.

The camera angle was changed to a wide shot. She and Panlo, the male tribute of district nine, were about to be escorted off the stage. Before they were pulled off, she dipped herself into a deep exaggerated bow and mouthed the words “Fuck you” to that same person in the front row, who Coriolanus could now identify as the mayor’s son.

That was the final straw for the peacekeepers. Who were pulling her out of the bow, as she repeated herself to the boy in a yell. Panlo and another peacekeeper followed shortly behind her as they went back to where the train would soon take them to the Capitol.

Coriolanus didn’t know how to feel about his tribute. He thought about her as they went through the rest of the tributes. Clemensia snapped him out of his thoughts. “You’ve got an interesting one, Coryo.” She whispered to him with a smirk.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

The despicable effort by corporate oligarchs—many of who helped elect Donald Trump—to convince the rest of us to submit to Donald Trump is now in full gear. On Saturday, we saw the jaw-dropping announcement by ABC News—owned by Disney-- that the corporation had agreed to pay Trump $15 million in a bogus defamation lawsuit Trump would have NEVER won. ABC also agreed to publicly apologize and pay Trump’s lawyers $1 million in legal fees. The lawsuit arises from ABC News anchor George Stephanopoulos’s exchange with GOP Rep. Nancy Mace in March when Stephanopoulos pressed Mace on how--as a survivor of sexual assault--she could support Trump given his history of sexual assault. One specific exchange cited by Trump’s lawyers was when Stephanopoulos challenged Mace to explain how she could endorse Trump after “judges and two separate juries have found him liable for rape and for defaming the victim of that rape” in the E. Jean Carrol civil case.

Trump’s defamation lawsuit alleged that Stephanopoulos knew Trump was never find liable of “rape”—only sexual assault—and, thus, had defamed him. But two things here. First, federal judge Lewis Kaplan--who presided over E. Jean Carroll defamation/sexual assault case—in his written opinion stated the jury had in fact determined Trump had “raped” Carroll. Judge Kaplan addressed this when considering Trump’s claim the damage award against him was too high because the jury didn’t find Trump had committed “rape” as narrowly defined by NY penal law. But the judge wrote that based on the evidence, Trump had raped Carroll in the way “many people commonly understand the word ‘rape.’” The Judge added, “Indeed, as the evidence at trial recounted below makes clear, the jury found that Mr. Trump in fact did exactly that.” I make that point as a lawyer who handled defamation cases to note that truth is a valid defense in every defamation case. Judge Kaplan’s opinion is the key to ABC News winning this case.

In addition, ABC News has another very strong defense. In a defamation case involving a public figure like Trump, the plaintiff has an added burden of showing not only that a statement is false but that the comment was made with “actual malice.” That means even if Stephanopoulos was wrong in saying Trump was found liable of “rape,” Trump would need to show Stephanopoulos knew that statement was false when he said that or “consciously chose to recklessly disregard the high probability that” the comment was false. But Stephanopoulos clearly could rely in good faith on Judge Kaplan’s written opinion that the jury had in fact found Trump raped Carroll when making his statement.

This is why Trump would’ve lost this case--as legal experts that focus on defamation told the NY Times. For example, RonNell Andersen Jones, a professor of law at the University of Utah, explained: “Major news organizations have often been very leery of settlements in defamation suits brought by public officials and public figures, both because they fear the dangerous pattern of doing so and because they have the full weight of the First Amendment on their side.” All of that is important to understand that ABC News also knew it would have ultimately prevail in the case--but they settled out of fear. They were bending a knee to Trump because during the campaign, Trump had threatened to take ABC’s broadcast license away after the presidential debate because the moderators fact checked his lies. Trump pointedly declared on Fox News: "They ought to take away their license for the way they did that."

With Trump now a month from being sworn in and his pick to head the Federal Communications Commission being Brendan Carr, an author of the far-right Project 2025, ABC News and other media outlets are fearful of how the Trump regime will target them. As MSNBC’s Ja'han Jones wrote, Carr is the type of “media attack dog” that will enable the GOP to follow the playbook of their beloved Hungarian strongman Viktor Orbán and use the agency to silence critics of Trump. ABC News should have never bent a knee to Trump with this unheard of surrender this early in a case they would’ve won. But they were not alone in capitulating to Trump this week.

[...] However, there is also a fear factor at play here as well.

ABC News made a very stupid decision to bend the knee to autocrat-elect Donald Trump by settling, and that’s because ABC would likely have won their case. They are doing this out of fear of Trump handing out reprisals to outlets even slightly critical of him.

Brian Tyler Cohen: Mainstream Media Opts to Obey

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Ziehen

Chapter Thirty One

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader, Dean/Bela

Other characters: Zachariah, Crowley, Dick, Bobby, Sam and Benny

Word Count: 2053, with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, talk of extra-curricular activities coming up, a thirst trap because Jensen has been unfair lately, Benny being a teddy bear, and Bela trying to make amends

Series Masterlist

“And between record store day and Phantom Traveler’s release, Q2 is looking to break records for us,” Zachariah droned on.

“Well, it’s the least they could do,” Dick added glibly.

You couldn’t roll your eyes, you were on camera, but you wanted to. Crowley didn’t reply, but Zachariah chuckled and took a beat to agree before going on down the line of his report. Bobby huffed, but kept a lid on it, which told you how much he knew Dick was right.

“Things are shaping up well with pre-orders and the appearances Bobby and company have lined up between Vegas and New Orleans with the album release.  should outshine their previous album sales by a wide margin,” Crowley tacks on, almost bored with the success.

You set that up, not Bobby, but you kept your mouth shut, nodding.

“Y’all can thank Y/N for that, you know,” Bobby said gruffly.

“Of course,” Dick agreed offhandedly, eyes darting down to other parts of his screen.

Thank God for Bobby. You simply smiled and kept listening.

“Sounds great, people! Let’s check back the week of the release to ensure we’re still on track. We’ve got a lot of numbers to move to get in the black here, but I see good things happening,” Dick smarmed and instantly sent a meeting invite for the following month. 

“Thank you!” you replied dutifully and closed the window for the chat. After accepting the invite and adding it to your personal calendar, you exhaled long and hard. You checked your phone, Bela had called again and left another two text messages. You ignored her. She could wait.

You called Bobby for a mix of mutual griping and to debrief about where that put you all going forward. 

Without even a greeting, Bobby started, “I swear they get dumber every quarter.”

“Tell me about it. Thanks for having my back in there, though, I was starting to see red by the end.”

“You and me both, darlin’.” Bobby huffed. “The amount of stuff you get done is amazing. Even without all the run-around from the last tour, you are doing more than anybody I’ve seen in your position. We appreciate ya, even if the suits can’t see past their nose jobs.”

You beamed.

“Thanks. So, what’s on the agenda for the week? I know Dean and Sam took Gibson and Pamela to the zoo.”

“Yeap. Got the Midway Museum tomorrow if you have time, got tickets for anybody who wants to go. Might be good time for pictures if you need some candids for the socials.”

You knew this was his way of telling you to come, he even gave you justification for doing it on so called work hours.

“Maybe. I might just steal some from the band. Too much to get done before the show on Thursday.”

“Well, you’re welcome to join us if you get caught up or not.”

“Thanks.” It felt like all you could say to him today. It was a small word with a lot of connotations, but you were grateful. You owed Bobby so much. Though he never gave anything he didn’t want to give or for any form of repayment. He was too good for this industry. They all were.

“I’ll keep you posted. I have calls with the next couple of venue coordinators today and then some event security stuff tomorrow morning with Benny for some non-venue signings and stuff.”

“You still want to do the battered women's shelter thing?”

“The domestic violence survivors fundraiser in Vegas? Absolutely.”

Bobby hummed.

“I know what you’re thinking, Bobby. And that’s exactly why we’re doing it.”

“Do you think it looks like pandering?”

“I think it looks like community service. And if I didn’t think Dean could handle it, I wouldn’t have signed him up for it.”

“Even after that little disappearing act on Saturday?”

“Dean is a domestic abuse survivor, Bobby. Part of what he’s gone through is accepting that.”

“Yeah, but Cas—.”

“Cas is still family. And he didn’t press charges. And you know Dean—- penance is something he needs to do for himself, too.”

Bobby sighed. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.”

“Trust me, this is still my good side.”

Bobby actually chuckled at that. “I bet! Okay, I should get going, promised the missus we’d hit the shops before dinner.”

“Have a good one.”

“Alrighty, bye then.”

You smiled at your desk as Bobby hung up. He was happy and Annie was good for him. It didn’t matter their pasts, they made it work, and made each other better along the way.

Which seemed utterly remarkable and unattainable for somebody like you.

But if anybody deserved it, it was them.

You put down your phone and pulled up Twitter, it was time to dig through the chaos and do what you did best: highlight the good, the band's synergy and the new momentum and bury the bad. 

Which seemed to include you this time around, unfortunately.

After Twitter, you tackled Insta, Reddit and even FB, though most people cross posted the same images and anecdotes, some people only used one of the bunch. And some only used them on pain of death, namely Dean. Meanwhile, Bela had posted a couple of great shots from the afterparties, which you liked as the band and as yourself. 

You were crabby, not petty.

And busy, damnit.

The next morning, Sam smirked at you when he caught your eye in the hotel’s gym. He was already sweating from running outside, but must have come back to stretch or work something more intensely. What you weren’t expecting was Dean to be hot on his heels, equally as sweaty, equally as mischievous.

“Trouble! How’s business?” 

You rolled your eyes and took out an earbud, not sure you really heard them.

“What’s up?”

“We’re gonna lift— you want in?” Sam was teasing you now.

You pedaled stiffly and shook your head. “Fuck no, I’m good here, got another ten mile circuit after this breather.”

“Suit yourself,” Dean taunted and grinned before he crossed his legs and touched his toes. What the hell? Luckily there was only one other guest using the elliptical, so they weren’t being complete nuisances, yet.

They weren’t even directly in your line of sight, otherwise it could have gotten awkward, and distracting.

Still, you felt them keep glancing at you, making faces, and even cheering for you when you shifted up with your ass out of the seat to get the best angle for the various hills. You flipped them off, but kept your eyes forward and your earbuds in place.

Thirty minutes later, you groaned and stepped off the stationary bike. Dean and Sam had been talking more than doing curls with the free weights, obviously being dorks about each other’s efforts.

Boys.

“Good workout?” Dean asked as you sanitized your equipment. Sweat clung to your oversized tank top, all down your back, and between your legs. Thank god you wore your black workout leggings today.

“Yeah? You?” You smirked as Dean made a show of extending his movements slowly and pointedly. Yes, Dean, your arms should be illegal, you thought.

“Good, uh— need help stretching?”

You looked at him a little dumbfounded and then back at Sam, who seemed just as surprised as you were by the offer.

“Nah, I’ve got my bands and stuff in my room. Though, I bet Sam would love to see you try and bullshit your way through a cool down routine,” you tacked on, trying to laugh off the offer. Inside you were imagining Dean’s weight against you, pushing your knees up and out, flexing your hip joints with his thick fingers digging into the meat of you…

“Hey! I was just being nice.”

“Dude,” Sam muttered.

You sighed and gave Dean an apologetic smile. “Maybe another time.”

You pretended not to hear the series of slaps that happened behind your back as you made your way to the elevator and your generic hotel shower.

Benny treated you to lunch after your video calls with the S.A.F.E. House staff and the one with the folks at the radio station who’d be interviewing the band the morning of the first Vegas show. 

“Saw your tweet on Cas’ post,” you added thoughtfully, midway through your shrimp po boys.

“Yeah, well, didn’t want him thinking he done wrong by us.”

You chewed and nodded, silently telling him that you got it, appreciated it even. 

“You hear anything else from the guys about the last show, you know, after Dean disappeared and, um, everything?”

You needed to know if the guards were loyal, but mostly you wanted to know what they had seen.

“Seemed pretty anticlimactic to most of them, from what I hear. Dean came through, sober and clean as a whistle. —Even the venue goons didn’t clock anything weird,” Benny pointed out before taking another bite, his teeth flashing in the afternoon sun.

After a few moments, Benny continued. “But, uh, that label stooge you got following Bela? He’s the one to worry about, really, seems to keep his cards close to the vest.”

Damn, you knew he was right before he even finished the sentence. Tiny would be the one to squeal to Crowley, or worse, Dick, at the end of the day. You wondered if you could buy him off or treat him in other ways while on the road. Bela wasn’t scheduled to be around until the second Vegas show, you had some time to figure out his motives. Or if he even cared at all.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

Benny sniffed and looked around the small patio outside the restaurant. “Bela’s not really Dean’s girl is she? She some kind of clout pusher?”

You swallowed and took a long slurp of your iced tea, washing away the now muted flavor of your lunch. “I honestly don’t know anymore, Benny. They’ve definitely been enjoying each other’s company more than I expected.”

“Perhaps—- but don’t you worry none. She’s not the type you settled down with and he’s got eyes deeper than the cut of her fancy tops.”

You huffed. Benny certainly had a way with words.

“It’s okay, Benny— I’m not in a place to be jealous.”

He just raised his eyebrows at you and took another bite.

“I did this— I set them up. I’d guess you’d call it reaping what I sow or something?”

Benny nodded and shrugged. “Or something.”

“You won’t— you won’t tell anybody, right? His story is safe with you?”

“Doll, I’ve been covering that boy’s ass since before Lisa— I’m true.”

“I know, Benny, sorry—- it’s just so much posturing all the time. I just want to take pictures and show the world how badass they are. I want people to hear the stories behind the songs, because it shows they’re human too. Sometimes I wish—-”

“Wishin’ for rain in the desert aint doin’ anybody a lick of good. You know the score, you just gotta beat them at their own game. Dean’s a good man, he knows what’s real. Don’t think we all don’t know that, too.”

“Thanks.”

“Anytime. Know who your people are, if you trust Bela— then she won’t let Tiny think anything is up. Friends have each other’s back against the world, right?”

“Right,” you agreed, suddenly feeling ridiculously immature for ignoring her for the past few days.

“Eat up, cher. It’s a long tour. You’ll need your strength.”

That was an understatement, but you dug in anyway.

“Y/N, listen— I’ve resorted to leaving you a voicemail. It’s come to that. I’m sorry. I am. I didn’t mean anything disparaging about you the other night— just maybe about how you treat Dean. Not that it's bad, overkill more like, but it’s not like you’re bad or weak for doing it.--- I know how much you loved her, Y/N, I know. Him too, it seems. I just don’t want you wasting so much of your life trying to make up for losing her. It hurts to see you so— subservient. You are so much more than an errand girl. So I’m sorry for my lack of tact. But I’m not sorry I brought it up. Okay? There. Call me back and yell at me properly already, Jesus.”

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28

@winharry

@lastactiontricia

@rockhoochie

@brightlilith

@coldhearted93

@djs8891

@beautiful-places-blog

@n-o-p-e-never

@spxideyver

Chapter 32: Tronco

[diabolimeservavit666]

Ketch was just as much her victim as they were. She saw his years-locked-up pain, saw that he was dying for any form of comfort, and she used to to control him. She also managed to victim blame him to the point that he believed her. As for Mick, she played it like some sweet ol' badass mom so he wouldn't suspect what she was doing to HIS BEST FRIEND. Now, Toni? Sure, she tortured Sam (Sam who also has his own forms of manipulation and victim blaming, so does Dean), oh, and Dean, but, at least, she unlike Mary, put her son over everything else. She obeyed the Code because she knew what Dr. Hess would have done to her and she couldn't abandon her son. My point is, sure, Mary might have been a victim to Dr. Hess and her grand scheme but she was sure as all Hell not working for them or with them. That bitch was on her own agenda.

I find it the funniest thing how I'm heartless sometimes.

I'm watching S12 E21 and I know we were supposed to feel pity for Mary, but all I thought was that, maybe, now that she was the one suffering on the BMOL's hand, MAYBE, she would think twice the next time she decided to work (and sleep) with people that tortured her youngest son.

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 3

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: None really. Angst. Dean being a bit of an asshole. A brief, near sexual encounter. Smidge of fluff.

Word Count: 3,654

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: So, here I am with chapter 3. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for all the very kind comments that this series has received so far. You're all fabulous.

Series Master List || Tag Lists

The dividers below were created by @saradika

The next morning Dean was sitting at the table in his tent, listening to the camp waking up around him, when his tent flap opened and Cas strolled in. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Jesus, we gotta put up a piece of wood on the tent poles or something so people can knock.” He said in a surly and growly, early morning voice. When Cas didn’t respond, he challenged him with an even surlier tone. “What? Why are you here?”

Cas walked further into the tent. “I saw you gave Y/N back her daughter.” Dean raised his hand and then dropped it, conceding the point. “And,” Cas continued, raising his hand in the air and waving it slightly, “no more manacles.”

Dean spread his arms wide. “These are all things I already know, Cas; why are you telling me this?”

Cas shrugged slightly. “So, can I assume this means you no longer think she’s going to turn into a monster at any minute?”

Dean blew out a puff of air. “It means, she’s been here a week, and hasn’t turned yet. And since that isn’t really something that happens to people who get bit, I think I can be reasonably certain she won’t turn, randomly, out of the blue one day. And I gave her back her kid so she can look after her, and I can get Risa back as a soldier instead of a nanny.”

Cas wore a very enthusiastic expression as he moved closer. “Come on, even you have to admit that this is exciting.”

Dean arched a brow. “Exciting?”

Cas’ voice became awestruck. “Dean, this is the most hopeful sign we’ve had in…years!”

“Aw, don’t come at me with that hopeful bullshit!” Dean’s scowl and fierce countenance was immediate and slightly intimidating, even to the angel. 

“Hope is nothing but a fucking lie, okay? We know it. We HOPED we could stop Lilith breaking seals and we didn’t, we HOPED we could stop the apocalypse, but we failed at that too. We HOPED we could save everyone, and well, we’re doing a pretty piss poor job of that, aren’t we? Every single time we go out on a raid, I hope we come back with the same number of people we left with, but it doesn’t happen very often, does it? We hoped -” 

Dean cut himself short and swallowed hard, lowering his voice. “We hoped that Sam would be strong enough to say no, but…he wasn’t. I hoped I could save him. And-” He cut himself off again and rubbed a hand hard across his face. 

“So just don’t come at me with ‘hopeful’.” Dean said, sneering the word.

He tapped his fingers against his chest. “Cause I gotta live in the reality of this situation. And look, if you wanna hide away from that reality, you wanna get blitzed and bombed every day, and pretend like you’re some kind of sexual guru, fuck around with dozens of girls, I don’t really give a shit. Okay? Do it. But I,” he banged his chest with his whole fist this time, “I have to live in the reality of our lives.”

Dean stood up and stepped closer to Cas, swinging his arm out sideways. “And the reality is I have no fucking clue why that woman hasn’t turned.” He shrugged dismissively. “Maybe the person who bit her wasn’t fully turned themselves, or maybe they didn’t fully break the skin so it didn’t take completely. Who knows. All I know is that she’s probably not gonna turn and so now we’ve got one more mouth to feed. Two, actually.” He said holding up two fingers. “And two more people draining our resources.”

He stepped back and turned away, giving Cas his profile. “That’s the reality. So you wanna join me in it, great. If not,” He turned his head to look at him, lifting his hand towards the entrance, “there’s the door. Or, you know, the tent flap.”

He dropped down onto the chair he’d vacated and rubbed a hand across his lips. He looked up when Cas spoke softly. 

“I don’t wanna live in this reality, Dean. I just can’t anymore. So I choose hope, I choose to be hopeful that maybe she marks a change, maybe things can be different. I’m telling you, this reality isn’t the only option.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s my only option. I learned a long time ago, and you should’ve too - hope is dangerous. Reality can’t hurt you like hope can.”

Cas’ expression was discouraged and disappointed as he nodded, looking away from Dean. He said nothing more as he turned and walked away.

***

A little while after Cas left, Dean moved out to his campfire and cooked and ate his ration of eggs and potatoes. As he drank his coffee, he was actively trying to push the argument with Cas out of his head. He had a camp to lead, he didn't need this crap clouding his judgment.

It was ridiculous to think the woman represented some kind of new hope for mankind. He rolled his eyes at the very notion.

Still, he found himself calling out to Johnston as the soldier walked by. The man stopped abruptly and turned fearful eyes on Dean. It drove Dean a little crazy that after more than two years of Johnston serving the camp, of protecting it and helping to run the day-to-day work and activities there, he still seemed petrified of Dean. 

I can't possibly be that scary, Dean thought with a deep scowl. Not like I've had him flogged for looking at me wrong or something.

Dean rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the fear radiating from the other man.

“You settled Y/N and her daughter?” He asked.

Johnston's blue eyes were slightly bulging and his prominent Adam's apple moved up and down as he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Dean waited a minute for him to elaborate before prodding him gruffly. “And?”

The other man seemed at a loss and Dean snapped his fingers impatiently. “And where did you put them?”

Understanding finally lit in Johnston's eyes and he began nodding. “Oh, yes sir. I put them in the southwest corner. Fourth row, the tent on the end.” He seemed proud to get that much out. But then he raised a finger. “Oh, the tent is red.”

Dean nodded and waved at him. “As you were.” 

Johnston saluted (even though Dean had told him a million times not to) and hurried on. Dean sighed deeply and without thinking about it too much, he headed in the direction of the red tent. 

When he got there he shouted out a hello, feeling slightly foolish and vowing then and there to make it a project to put some kind of wood near tents’ openings so people could knock.

The flap opened and Y/N's face lit up with a beaming smile when she saw him. “Hi!” 

Not knowing what to do with her enthusiasm, he just nodded. There was a slightly awkward moment and then Emma, her big blue eyes staring up at Dean, poked her head out from behind her mom, keeping her arms tightly wrapped around her hips and leaning her head into her side.

Y/N lifted her arm a little so Emma could shuffle out from behind her a bit more. She combed down Emma's slightly flyaway curls with her fingers and then settled her hand on the little girl's thin shoulders.

She gestured to Dean. “Say hi to Mr. Winchester.”

The little one just pressed closer and looked away from Dean to bury her face in her mother's side.

Y/N gave him a slightly chagrined look. “She isn't usually this shy.” She said by way of apology. 

But Dean simply shook his head. Unlike Johnston, he understood all too well why this blue-eyed moppet was scared of him. She'd watched him nearly end her mother's life - not something she was ever likely to forget.

Dean hated that that realization came with a trace of guilt. Feeling very annoyed with himself, he straightened up and nodded curtly.

“Good.” He said succinctly, responding to nothing. “I just wanted to make sure you were settled properly.”

He turned in an abrupt about face and started walking away. 

“Dean, wait!” Y/N called out to him. He turned back to see her wave Emma back into the tent and head towards him. When she reached him she wore her bright smile again, and he frowned deeper as a result.

“I wanted to ask you about something.”

Dean said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She seemed to be a little nervous, fiddling with her hair. She finally clasped her hands in front of her and continued. 

“So, I was talking to Eric?” She said as though it was a question. Dean did give her a puzzled look.

“Eric?” He asked.

Y/N had opened her mouth to continue talking, but then closed it and gave her head a shake, pointing to the side at nothing in particular. 

“Eric Johnston? The…soldier that brought us to this tent and helped us set it up.”

Dean nodded in recognition. Yes, he remembered now, that was his first name. He never used it. “Right.” He waved her on. 

“And I was asking about school for Emma, but he said there isn't one.”

Dean shook his head. “No, the parents, guardians, they look after that themselves.”

Y/N nodded. “Yes, but I was thinking…well, I was a third grade teacher in the…before.” She thumbed behind her as though their former, normal lives were just right behind them, around the corner, instead of existing eons ago.

She shrugged. “So, I was thinking that maybe I could start a kind of school for the kids here. Eric figured there were about 35 or 40 of them. So I thought we could hold lessons somewhere outside most days, but if the weather's bad, maybe we could use the main cabin.”

Dean was scowling harder now, so she rushed on. “It would only be for a few hours a day. Wouldn't be anything spectacular, but it could help them with reading and math, and just some basics. Keep the kids' minds occupied and give their parents a couple of hours on their own.”

She shrugged. “It's nothing much, but it might help people feel a little more hopeful about the future.” She finished with another bright smile.

Dean felt his ire rise with that word again - hopeful. This woman was going to upset everything, tip the precarious balance of the camp on its head. 

He shook his head angrily. “We don't do shit like that. This isn't a fucking gated community, okay? These are survivors who get by together. That's it.”

Y/N's eyes were so earnest it almost hurt to look at her. “But, don't you see, it could be a community. Not gated, but open. We could do more for each other than just survive.”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, if you're unhappy with being here, we can happily help you on your way.”

Y/N raised her hands. “No, of course not, that's not what-”

Dean cut her off with a cold, hard voice. “And you can't teach kids like this.” He waved a hand towards the red rings encircling her irises. “You'd scare the shit outta them. Take one look at you and freak out, thinking you're gonna turn into a monster any minute.”

That pulled Y/N up short and Dean could see by her slight flinch that his words had hit home. She was quiet a minute and her smile was dimmed as she nodded.

“Right. That's…no, you're right.” She gave an imitation of a chuckle. “There aren't many mirrors around, so I…sometimes I forget about…” she gestured to her eyes.

She shook her head. “I was just trying to find a way to be helpful, you know.” She shrugged. “But yeah…” She trailed off and Dean felt a sick gnawing sensation in his stomach as she gave a final dull smile. 

“Okay, well thanks.” She said as she turned away. Though what she could have possibly been thanking him for, he had no idea.

He thought about Cas’ disappointed expression, and Y/N's bent smile and he gritted his teeth. This morning was not going well for him.

The day didn’t get much better from there. He spent most of it planning their next raid for canned goods. They were running low, and it was September already. Over the next couple of months they’d have to make sure they had whatever they needed for the winter. Once the snow hit, the winter roads were sometimes impassable for weeks at a time. 

They were having to go further and further out from the camp to find supplies. The area was becoming picked clean. There were four or five other, smaller, groups of survivors within about a hundred square miles of their camp. For the most part they all rubbed along together alright, pretty much just leaving a big buffer of space between the camps, and leaving each other alone.

However, Dean was starting to worry about what would happen now that resources and supplies around them were starting to run out. In this last year, they’d started having to drive hours and hours away from camp to find un-ransacked grocery stores and restaurants in the abandoned cities. They could manage it because of their size, but some of the smaller groups had very few working vehicles, making it harder for them to travel. Dean worried what would happen when they got desperate. 

He wanted to be ready for winter.

So, he tried to spend the day planning the best route to hit as many cities as they could without hitting too many known Croat hives, or cleaned out cities. But he kept getting interrupted by his soldiers. The concerns of the camp were unending, and sometimes felt completely overwhelming. 

The morning kept being interrupted by issues and grievances his soldiers brought him from some of the camp inhabitants. He tried to put out as many fires as he could, while continuing to plan the raid.

Then he ended up spending far too much of the afternoon talking about drainage and irrigation with the young guy who used to be an engineering student, and an old farmer who’d spent his whole life in the fields. The two very different men were teaming up to try and see about making bigger winter crop plots this year. They’d grown some winter vegetables last fall and winter, and even that small amount of fresh food had made a big difference in the health of the campers. So this year they were hoping for more. 

Finally the men went off to plan some more and Dean folded up his maps. He hadn’t made much headway into the raid route, but the light was getting low; he’d have to come back to it. He fried up some spam and a few of the cooked, frozen potatoes they’d put up in the spring and sat beside his fire for a while before tossing water on it and going inside his tent. He lit a lantern and started to try and look at the maps again, but he was interrupted by Risa.

Dean lifted his chin towards her by way of greeting. She came forward and dropped a small piece of machinery on his table. “Here’s the piston for that Ford we towed back last week.” She said, referring to the truck they’d found abandoned on the side of the road with no owners in sight. “Should work.”

Dean nodded. “Great.”

Risa lingered a moment and then walked closer to him. “How are you?”

Dean shrugged. “Fine.”

She moved forward to stand between his legs and then reached out to run her hands over his cheeks and down his neck. She bent over and pressed a brief kiss to his lips.

“I miss you.” She said, her voice softer and more intimate than it ever was when they were soldier and commander. “You haven’t been to see me in weeks.”

“Sorry.” Dean said gruffly and then let her kiss him again, kissing her back for a moment before pulling away. 

Not willing to give up, Risa straddled his outstretched thighs and reached for his zipper. “It’s okay, I bet I can find ways to entice you back.” She said, dark brown eyes flashing with heat.

But Dean grabbed her hands and pulled them away. He kissed her briefly to try and ease the sting of his rejection. “Sorry, not tonight.” He nodded towards the maps on his table. “I’ve got shit I gotta finish.”

Risa bit into her lip, looking down at their hands entwined in his lap, and then nodding before she stood up. She lifted her mouth in a smile. “Yeah, sure. ‘Kay.” She nodded again and pointed to the piston as she left. “Let me know if that works.”

Dean sighed as his tent flap fell back into place. And that was the third person he’d disappointed today. Without his permission Y/N’s face floated into his mind. Despite what he’d said to her, he couldn’t deny how beautiful that face actually was. The red pigment in her eyes made no difference to that beauty.

He couldn’t erase the image of her crestfallen expression when he told her she’d scare the kids. That was complete bullshit and he knew it. Five seconds in her shiny presence and the kids would be eating out of her hand.

He growled slightly as he could feel himself caving. But would it really be so bad to let her teach the kids somewhere? They’d have to stay out of the way, and she’d have to keep them all quiet when they were together in a mob. But it might actually free their parents up for more of the endless tasks it took to maintain the camp.

If he let her do it, he’d have to make sure she knew he was only saying yes so that they could have the kids out of the way for a while. This wasn’t some hopeful mission for the future. It was just a practical solution for improving the camp.

He nodded. Yeah, I'll tell her tomorrow. 

But even as he though it, he got up and walked out of his tent, moving towards the southwest corner of the camp. Within a couple minutes he was standing in front of the red tent and again found himself clearing his throat and embarrassingly calling out a hello, like he was the Avon lady.

Y/N poked her head out of the tent and smiled. But she lowered her eyes a little and wouldn’t look directly at him. He wanted to punch himself.

“Hi.” She said softly, and then stepped out of the tent into the cool, late evening breeze. She waved towards the tent. “Emma’s sleeping.”

He nodded. She rubbed her arms and he frowned. “Didn’t they give you a jacket?” Then he noticed she was still wearing the grubby clothes she’d been wearing when she came. “And clean clothes?”

Y/N nodded and even in the dusky twilight Dean could see her blush. “Yes, but I realized…I’m all dirty.” She shrugged. “Nothing but basin baths for weeks. I’d like to get cleaner before I put on the clean clothes. One of your soldiers said there was a place where people went to bathe nearby. But he didn’t have time to take me.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, there’s a river about four miles south of camp. It does the trick. I’ll take you tomorrow.” 

He scowled; he didn’t know where that offer had come from. He could have had one of his soldiers, or any other camper really, take her out to the river. But he didn’t rescind the offer and Y/N nodded happily.

“That would be wonderful.” She said rapturously. 

Dean nodded curtly again. “Yeah. And uh…you can do the school.” Y/N looked directly at him now and her face was surprised, but clearly thrilled. 

“Really?” 

He nodded and scowled. “Yeah, the kids'll get over it." He said with a nod to her red eyes. "But just make sure you all stay out of the way of the work in the camp. And let the parents know we’ll have some work for them during the hours their kids are gone. We can use the extra hands.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m sure they’ll be happy to help out where they can.”

Impulsively it seemed, she threw her arms around him, squeezing his arms tight to his sides as she hugged him. Shock coursed through him and he didn’t know how to move. Thankfully it was a brief hug and she was soon pulling away.

“Thank you so much, Dean. I’m so excited. I think it’s going to make a real difference. Just wait.”

As she bid him goodnight and bounced back into her tent, he shook his head, frowning deeply. 

Fuck, he thought, everything is too different already.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @akshi8278 @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @deangirl96

Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

[hells-plaid-angel]

Dean Winchester: Reading Recommendations

Because I headcannon Dean as a reader, here is a list of books that I think he would like. Some are directly referenced in the show, others are odes to America and a life on the road complete with horror, satire or complicated family issues. And, of course, some books manage to meet at the twist of the mobius strip where toxic masculinity and homoeroticism collide.

Books of Blood - Clive Barker 

Imajica - Clive Barker 

The Complete Poems - Hart Crane 

Hard Rain Falling - Don Carpenter 

Our Share of Night - Mariana Enriquez 

Catch-22 - Joseph Heller 

Iliad - Homer 

Jesus’ Son - Denis Johnson 

East of Eden - John Steinbeck

My Heart Is a Chainsaw - Stephen Graham Jones 

On the Road - Jack Kerouac 

Christine - Stephen King 

The Road - Cormac McCarthy

The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter - Carson McCullers

Survivor - Chuck Palahniuk 

The Moviegoer - Walker Percy

The Devil All the Time - Donald Ray Pollock

A Season in Hell - Arthur Rimbaud

Crush - Richard Siken

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas - Hunter S. Thompson

Cat’s Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut 

Slaughterhouse Five - Kurt Vonnegut

Time is a Mother - Ocean Vuong

Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman 

Butcher’s Crossing - John Williams 

[r3medialch8os]

so since u guys liked that i did this with remedial chaos theory i will now also be doing this for epidemiology.

the most incredible thing about this episode is that it is in fact Not merely an homage like most concept episodes are; it actually happens. a zombie epidemic For Real takes place at greendale. it's not a gimmick or a game or a way to frame the plot. the actual conflict is derived from the fact that people are zombies and the study group need to outrun them/turn them back. how often can you say that a sitcom incorporates a storyline like this and sincerely pulls it off? never.

the emotional tension in this episode is framed around troy/abed/jeff and the dichotomy of being a nerd vs. being cool, which respectively get attributed the qualities of caring about the people around you who have turned into zombies or wanting to run and escape from the zombies without trying to help. abed and jeff's costumes are both pointed out in the beginning receiving clear denotations of 'lame' and 'too cool to care' and therefore their positions in the conflict are cemented. the episode has a push-pull with troy being the moving factor, having to decide what he thinks is most important. he gets swayed in the beginning by two girls rejecting him over his costume and jeff mentioning how expensive his suit is. he changes from his ripley costume into a 'sexy dracula'. abed spends the whole episode trying to get troy back to his side, even saying "what defines a nerd? committing to an awesome halloween costume with your best friend?" troy is eventually 'turned back' into his nerdy self (perhaps a zombie metaphor itself, keeping in tone with the theme of the episode) because jeff cares more about his suit getting dirty than surviving the herd of zombies.

a crucial part of the episode is that it is soundtracked by abba music playing from the dean's playlist. now, who would i be if i didn't investigate significant music choices connected to scenes? first up and probably the most important one: s.o.s. is used in the background of a scene where abed confronts troy about changing costumes. troy insults him and walks away. the lyrics are: 'you seemed so far away, though you were standing near. you made me feel alive, but something died, i fear. i really tried to make it up, i wish I understood. what happened to our love? it used to be so good.' next; gimme gimme gimme plays right before the scene where chang and shirley hook up. another insane choice is at the end when troy is fighting the zombies. the whole sequence has mamma mia playing in the background Faintly. then when troy eventually gets to abed and has to fight him, the music comes in much louder with the lyrics: 'here i go again, my, my, how can i resist you?', which i think fits perfectly. the ending song fernando has the lyrics 'there was something in the air that night', both referencing the thermostat changing the zombies back and the fact that it was just an incredibly weird fucking night.

troy is dressed as ellen ripley and also kind of acts as the ripley of this episode. his journey in this as being the sole survivor and the one to eventually save greendale adheres to a common science fiction model where a life-threatening force is faced against the protagonists and they fall off in degrees, resulting in one person being left to mend everything. here specifically, it seems to mirror ripley's journey in alien (1979) as it starts with a crew that eventually gets cut down leaving only her. i thought that was really cool.

more alien tidbits, but the jumping cat scene is also inspired by it. jones the cat is an imporant figure in the first alien movie. in various scenes, members of the crew will go looking for him, then get ambushed by the titular alien and subsequently killed. it is a minor homage to the movie through yet another subtle reference. the bit is also parodying jumpscares in horror movies in general, and how they are used to cheaply amplify the tension. anyways, it's quite the multilayered joke because it also really works out of context as a bizarre comedic moment.

troy and abed's scene in the basement pays homage to princess leia and han solo's scene in the empire strikes back. the conversation in the film takes place just before han is frozen alive in carbonite by darth vader. not knowing if he’ll survive, he kisses leia, only to be torn away from her by stormtroopers. she says 'i love you,' and as he descends into chamber, han replies, 'i know.' an undeniably romantic moment, maybe one of the most memorable ones ever, is applied to troy and abed who have held reign over the emotional core of the plot for the entire episode. it's pretty special that such an iconic moment is given to them, i feel like the creators of the show wouldn't just do this sparingly. it also perfectly resolves their conflict as troy makes such a vulnerable statement and abed assuring him that he already knew, validating their bond once again.

more on troy and abed, it is pretty amazing realizing the emotional implications tied to how dire the situation was. everyone in this episode was under the direct threat of Not Surviving, and still abed sacrificed himself for troy. he knew this was for real. he couldn't be sure if they were going to make it. but i think he had enough faith in troy to aid in his escape. it's very touching. further, it's incredible that troy is willing to fight all the zombies (all his friends) but when it comes time to punch abed, he refuses to do it. he's struck by the force of their friendship, mumbling 'we're friends' defeated before eventually succumbing to his bite.

troy saving the school by controlling the temperature; nicely setting up his further plot with the ac repair school.

him being the one to escape and abed saying 'be the first black man to make it to the end' subverts the common horror trope of 'black dude dies first'. a playful way of keeping up with the horror movie theme of the episode.

also ironically this episode, which features the song mamma mia by abba, sets up a plotline in season two about shirley not knowing who the father of her new baby is, which is functionally the plot of the movie mamma mia!, a musical based on abba's music. probably a coincidence but a pretty funny one.

at the end when the army arrives, they ask the dean about witnesses. when he says he is the only witness, one of the guards reaches into his jacket, suggesting that he's pulling a gun intended to kill the dean and get rid of the witness. when they notice everyone in the school is still alive, they abandon this plan and go for 'scenario b'. kind of dark but i laugh every time that scene happens.

anyways that's all i could pull from my brain crevices for now. this episode is a genuine masterpiece, it will never ever get old and will remain to be one of the most unique sitcom episodes ever created.

[corinthianism]

DON'T THEY KNOW? (IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD) || BENEDICT BRIDGERTON (1)

pairing: benedict bridgerton/fem!reader additional tags: zombie apocalypse au, graphic depictions of gore/violence, fluff, angst, biology stuff i just made up so it's probs super inaccurate lol, slow burn, friends to lovers summary: ravaged by a relentless virus, the world as you knew it falls into ruin. survivors are hardened by the blood on their hands and the horrors in their minds. amidst the end of everything, benedict proves that there is still hope, and perhaps something more, for the two of you. word count: 6.4k

author's note: welcome to the first part of my new zombie au series with our boy benedict! for those who don't know, this is based entirely on the fic "i'll be seeing you" by @eleanor-bradstreet! thanks again to them for letting me vomit up this fic based on their incredible one <333 anyway, this chapter is mostly exposition, so most of the benedict/you romance will really start in the succeeding parts. hopefully, you find this chapter interesting enough to stick around! (+for readers of my dean winchester series, don't worry! chapter 3 will come out soon!)

masterlist | series masterlist | ao3 | next chapter

CHAPTER ONE: HERE, IN THE END

The world had been so loud before.

The droning noise of traffic. Of the intermingling of a thousand phone calls, nestled in between cheeks and shoulders. Of people talking at each other, screaming over each other, fighting to get the final say in even the tiniest little thing. Everything blurred together into one great ocean of sound. You could drown in it, especially in the big cities.

You were right in the middle of it all: a drifter. It took a while but eventually, that ocean of sound became your home. You struggled to recall what it was like before that. That too, was blurry now along with everything else from Before. All you had now were fading fragments of a dream to be someone. Anyone.

That was how you met him, just before the beginning of the end. You still weren’t convinced that Benedict Bridgerton wasn’t some kind of romance novel character come to life; a talented artist from a long line of English nobility, and the first friend you ever made in New York. It was like something out of a crappy Hallmark movie. He laughed at your reaction upon learning that his brother was an actual viscount and that Benedict himself technically should be referred to as “the Honourable Benedict Bridgerton”, but despite all the grandeur that came with his heritage, Benedict was still… Benedict. In time, he became just Ben. He’d paint while you ranted about your borderline dangerous work hours or how your parents were bugging you to settle down. In turn, he shared with you his frustrations as an artist trying to make it in the world, without his family name, and how at the same time he missed his mother’s cooking. Conversations with him were always lovely, like breathing in the air in the middle of a field of flowers after a decade of being locked inside a dark, stuffy room. He was just like you. Just trying to be someone.

But those conversations all seemed so far away now. If you had known then what would become of your life, of those dreams to be someone, maybe you would’ve just let yourself drown in that ocean of sound. 

It only took two weeks for the world to fall into ruin. Only fourteen days for everything to go up in flames. 

The virus was ruthless. The most efficient killer the likes of which no one had ever seen. A terrifying force of nature seemingly tailored for the extinction of humanity. You were right in the middle of it all. You saw it with your own eyes, a cluster of people beginning to form in Times Square. With New York being New York, you thought nothing of it. You walked away none the wiser.

Until you heard someone scream, a gut-wrenching, visceral scream, followed by a sound you would never forget. A sound you’d have to hear over and over again for the better part of the next ten years, though you didn’t know it yet at the time: teeth ripping flesh from bone and the primal snarls accompanying it that couldn’t have been anything except inhuman. Monstrous, even. It sent ripples into the great big ocean you called home, altering it so permanently just seconds before you even realized what was happening. 

Sound, quickly followed by sight. 

The people huddled on the outer edges of the crowd ran off in terror, revealing the gruesome remains of what used to be a person. Even that was something you barely registered at first, eyes too focused on the bloody mouths feasting on it and white, foggy eyes. One of those things stopped its chewing, head snapping up suddenly. It sniffed the air for a while, as if sensing your fear even from twenty feet away. Those white eyes were looking at you now. Staring you down. Seconds later, the corpse being eaten started writhing back to life, or a perverted version of it. Its jaw was skewed, perpetually stuck wide open as drool and blood ran down its chin. You weren’t someone then. If your body hadn’t gone into autopilot, legs taking you as far away as they could, you would’ve been one of them. That was the very first day of what would be the longest two weeks of your life. You remembered it well.

There was no time to think or breathe. Even when your chest hurt from overexerting yourself and your lungs screamed for a break, you ran. You ran as fast as you could, crashing into people, some of which were still unaware of the horrors spreading just a block away from them. In the corner of your eyes, you knew that there were others like you, scrambling to go home, to go anywhere but here. Cars stopped in the middle of the road, curiosity killing the cat as drivers left their vehicles to see what was going on, only to be met with the same sight you were: death. In only a few minutes, nearly a third of the people on the streets were running, too. 

A little girl cried in her father’s arms, a teddy bear left behind and forgotten on the cement road as they also tried to get away. The realization dawning on the faces of onlookers that they should be doing the same. 

You reached your apartment building, not really knowing what you would do next, just that you needed to get away. The hallways were empty. A part of you hoped Ben was far, far away from here. A more selfish part of you hoped otherwise.

Supplies. You needed supplies. Food, clothes, water. Emergency kit, tools, weapons. Weapons. You had no fucking idea what to do with any of this! Just yesterday, you held a steady, if not miserable, office job. Today, you had to survive against whatever-the-hell those things were and perhaps even other people. The weight of that sudden realization twisted your guts in a sickening way, enough to make you almost throw up.

Peeking through your blinds, there were already three or four ambulances rushing to the direction of Times Square.Those things were not here yet and still, you naively hoped that help would come and dispatch of them before it got out of control. 

You barely noticed the sweat that began to trickle down your forehead and back, hairs raising out of instinct. Your whole body was going into overdrive, hyper-aware of the fact that you were in danger. 

The rapid knocking on your door nearly frightened you to death, until you heard Ben’s desperate calls of your name. Out of breath and scared… much like you. You wondered if he had seen it, too. When you confirmed through the peephole that it was, in fact, him, you dragged him inside your apartment. Your hands were on his face as soon as he was inside, needing to know that he was here, he was with you, he was alive. It seemed he had the same need, icy blue eyes taking you in with such an intensity you’d only ever seen when he was painting. It was easy to feel small under his gaze.

“Are you alright?” he breathed heavily, larger hands covering your own. 

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat, “Did you- did you see-”

“I saw them,” he said, his composure faltering for a split second. “I saw them.”

You could hear more sirens outside, one after another, disrupting the ocean you had grown so familiar with. Louder and louder. 

“We need to leave, get out of New York,” he ran a hand through his hair, eyes moving wildly as he tried to come up with a plan. It was the Bridgerton in him: the bravery of his father, the gentleness of his mother. It didn’t need to be said out loud that the moment he saw those things, all he could think of was you. Getting to you and getting you safe. His only true friend in this city. It took all of fifteen minutes before you were out the door, nearly overwhelmed by the swarm of people all running away from Times Square. Ben held your hand tightly, and you did your best not to look behind you.

The sun was beginning to set, wrapping the city in a bright orange light. It felt ominous somehow, so unlike every other time you’d seen it. Like this was some form of judgment. As if at any moment, you’d hear the seven trumpets telling you that this was the end. You learned later on that you weren’t the only one that thought that. Bile threatened to rise in your throat when the shadows of night grew with each passing second. It felt like it was going to swallow you alive.

The road was packed full of people, crying and yelling and praying for salvation. Ants begging to get away from the magnifying glass only to be burned anyway.

The screams grew louder and against your better judgment, you looked back. You were too far away to see everything clearly, and because Ben was constantly pulling you forward, but you could make out the smaller swarm of walking corpses slowly coming into view. The poor souls who weren’t able to keep up with the main crowd were dragged away to be bitten, spreading the godforsaken disease. More and more bodies littered the streets, staining the concrete with the blood of dozens. Then, not even a minute later, they would rise with jaws gnashing and wide white eyes, their humanity lost forever.

Your legs felt so heavy, as did the rest of you. If it weren’t for Ben’s ferocious determination to get out of the city and to keep the both of you safe, you wouldn’t have survived that first day at all. Helicopters flew above and across the city, the whooshing of its blades mingling with the screams. The ocean of sound was threatening to drown you. You didn’t look up anymore. It would’ve shattered you if you had, because you knew there weren’t nearly enough choppers to save everyone in the city. It was impossible. Your heart broke for all the people, all the someones, who were dead long before they could even fight for the chance to live.

The sky was dark now.

By some miracle, you reached the army’s barricade. Soldiers ushered people to safety, including you and Ben. You squeezed his hand, causing him to look at you for a moment. A temporary reprieve from that day’s horrors. His fair skin was shiny with sweat, his hair sticking to his forehead like black tendrils. It was like everything slowed down, but maybe it was all just in your head. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. The moment was cut short when you heard an explosion from behind you. Your head snapped to the direction of the noise, so did Ben’s, and the “small swarm” of the undead from before had multiplied to thrice its size in the short few minutes you spent running away. 

Gunfire rang in your ears once the monsters got a little too close for the army’s liking, but the crowds of the living and the undead had already begun to mix by that point. Bullets meant to pierce rotting flesh ended up killing people who were very much alive and uninfected. You could only watch, from behind the barricade of soldiers, the people in the perpetually moving crowd who would stop once they realized their loved ones were no longer beside them. You could only watch when the body of a child (belonging to the same little girl you saw earlier that day, you realized grimly) was forcefully torn from the arms of her father when a soldier spotted the bite mark on her leg, bleeding and angry. Her plump, tear-stained cheeks that were once symbols of her youth and innocence were ruined by a sickly green that rose to the surface, emphasizing violet veins that always looked like it was crawling, spreading just underneath the skin. Then, she was one of them. Writhing, bones cracking. There was no recognition in her cloudy eyes when her father begged for his baby girl to come back to him. 

Ben held you tighter, his hand cradling your head as the other soldiers evacuated as many people as they could.

“We need to go,” he pleaded, still firmly holding on to you as you were both pushed around by the crowd. “Please, love, just look at me.”

So you did. Those eyes, brilliant and blue and full of worry, were the only things that pulled you back down to Earth. Tears were shed and prayers were whispered on the chopper that whisked you away from New York. A couple hundred feet into the air, you could see the city crumble. You remembered briefly wondering how many bodies were left behind or how many turned into one of those things.  

Everything changed in those first fourteen days of the Outbreak. Eighty percent of the world’s population had been wiped out, unprepared to face a force so vicious. That was how effective the virus was, which was later dubbed the “Gaia Virus”. Mother Nature’s wrath.

The survivors in the States were brought to “safe zones” all over the country, areas barren and isolated enough that the Infected, which mostly stayed in the previously overpopulated cities and towns, were unlikely to get to them. The first few months after the Outbreak were spent being transferred to different safe zones, never staying for more than a week at a time.  

At first, the safe zones were supposed to be a temporary refuge for survivors. The government, or what was left of it, promised to reclaim the cities within a year and make them habitable again. Then a year passed, and they said it would take them another year. So another year passed and they said the same thing. Over and over until… radio silence. No one brought it up again. The few who did were not treated kindly by the rest of the survivors. 

Most people caught onto the memo fairly quickly, with soldiers and generals making up the new leadership hierarchy of the safe zones in place of politicians and peacemakers: you keep your head down, you do as you’re told, and you’ll get food and water and blankets.

The people brave (or stupid) enough to make a scene were never heard from again by the next week.

So there you were, moving across the country, going from state to state and living off of food rations and hope. Both were two resources that were steadily depleting. Benedict was there with you through it all, your steadfast companion. Conversations about surrealism and horrible bosses turned into questions about whether or not your friends and families were safe, if they had made it to the safe zones. That was the first time you saw him cry, not able to withstand the possibility that his beloved mother and siblings were gone, perhaps now part of the Infected. Even if they survived, he knew there was a slim chance he would ever see them again. He cursed himself sometimes, him and his foolish need to be someone. If he had stayed in Kent, if he just settled down like his brothers, perhaps he would still be with them today. But his mother was the kindest woman he had ever known and he knew deep down that she forgave him long before he realized what he’d done. He knew they all did.

Grief was your (and Ben’s) constant state of being. It weighed you down on most days, making your feet dig deeper into the dirt when you walked. On some days, it was all-consuming. It was the only reason most survivors rarely caused any trouble. As horrible as humans could be to each other, this shared grief that echoed through the hearts of everyone was translated into little acts of kindness that, at the best of times, were life-saving. To be given a drop of water by a woman dying of thirst. To be offered a piece of bread by a man whose stomach rumbled louder than his voice. More often than not, it was always the eldest survivors that did this. Perhaps it was because they knew that they had already lived long, fulfilling lives. Perhaps it was because they knew Death was already at their door, so they might as well help someone else live.

Of course, there would always be people looking out for themselves, you and Ben had expected that from the get go, but it still surprised you how much compassion a person could still have at the end of the world. It didn’t happen too often though, but the times that it did were memories you held close to your heart.

The days went by, often cruel and unforgiving to those who couldn’t adjust to the new reality, but Ben still found ways to make you smile. 

“It’s the artist in me,” he said to you one night, three years after the Outbreak, when you had asked him how he could bear to still be so… him. There was a secluded spot you two often escaped to whenever there was a need for it, a small cliff at the edge of the safe zone. You were both slightly tipsy from whiskey you traded some radio parts for. “The whole world’s gone to shit and I can’t help but still find it somewhat beautiful. It’s like a movie, isn’t it? Two friends at the end of the world— and besides, what else are we supposed to do? Wallow in self-pity? I think you and I do enough of that.”

The sun was beginning to set, something you had grown to dislike since that first day. You decided to lie down for a moment, uncaring if bits of soil got in your hair. You closed your eyes, trying to just be. You didn’t always get the opportunity to do that anymore.

“Look,” he nudged your side after a while, his accent slurring a little as he pointed at something. You raised a brow at him, now-open eyes following what his finger was pointing at. The sky. It was pitch black, but a splash of stars covered the heavens like a mural. You had never seen that many stars before, certainly not in the cities you’d lived in your whole life. Ben sighed and your attention was back on him. “You couldn’t see them as clearly back home, but I used to stargaze often with my siblings.”

“That sounds lovely,” you whispered.

“It was.”

The two of you were silent for a while, just sitting on that patch of dirt, overlooking the vast lands that spread as far as the eye can see. That was how isolated these safe zones were. The gentle night breeze tickled your skin. 

“I haven’t really looked at the sky properly since the Outbreak,” you confessed, slumping in your seat. “I think it makes me feel small. And sad. Look at us. Our tiny little planet, how fucked up everything is. Look at us. And there’s a whole universe out there that’s completely indifferent to everything that goes on down here.”

“It’s humbling,” he hummed in understanding. “To be a speck in a great big universe yet feeling a whole universe worth of emotion.”

“That’s good,” you chuckled. “Very poetic.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed slightly, “I try.”

Another bout of silence.

“Thank you, by the way.” 

“Whatever for, love?” he raised a brow in curiosity, his tone soft. It always was.

“For being here,” you took a deep breath. “For sticking around.”

His smile shone brighter when he heard this, his hand finding its way around yours. “You’d be mad to think I’d ever leave you here. If anything, you’re stuck with me. I’m just—” he cleared his throat. “I’m just sorry that… that it has to be like this. Drifting, never staying too long in one place to be able to call it a home. You deserve more. You deserve better.”

“You say that like it’s your fault,” your hand squeezed his in hopes of bringing him some comfort. “I’m not gonna lie and say we’re doing alright because we honestly look like shit”—that earned you a hearty chuckle from him—”but we’re doing better than most. And that’s because we’ve had each other all this time. That’s one of the things I was thanking you for. None of this on you, Ben. You deserve more, too. You hear me?”

He straightened his back and flashed you a soft smile, “I hear you.”

The two of you looked back up at the sky, admiring the twinkling of millions of stars. You were somewhere in Arizona, according to the other survivors. Soldiers kept the exact location under lock and key to dissuade survivors from sharing it with others who were still out in the open world. There just wasn’t enough room. But you had a feeling that it had more to do with the risk of attracting Infected. Limited armada and manpower meant the military was just unable to handle that kind of scenario.

You learned more about the Infected over time, having worked odd jobs for the military for more food, water, or supplies. Even something as simple as filtration duty on Tuesdays earned you tidbits of information.

From what you could piece together in the past couple of years, the Gaia Virus most likely came from melting glaciers and ice caps, triggered by global warming. It polluted bodies of water across the world, eventually making its way into reservoirs undetected. It was the perfect way to spread. Nobody can last more than three days without water, so the virus made sure no one would last at all. Once fully turned, Infected were nearly perfect killers. Soldiers sometimes told stories of their encounters with them. They were completely blind, though that much was obvious from the milkiness of their eyes. Infected also didn’t react to any physical damage done to them. Whether or not they felt it was a different story. With possibly two of their senses out of the picture, the rest were heightened. They could hear and smell better than people. If prey were close enough, all those things had to do was follow the scent trail. The fact that these monsters could perceive things humans could barely register was a terrifying thought.

Bodies of Infected retrieved from the destroyed cities were studied, Ben himself had seen this on one such odd job. The virus kills its host before taking over the body, this much was known. However, the brain was shown to endure, preventing the more advanced stages of decomposition. It raised questions about whether or not hosts really died, or if a tiny part of them still lived on even as they transformed into flesh-eating beasts. You’ve heard whispers that it was more like the brain sent constant streams of adrenaline even after death, keeping the body going long after it was supposed to fall apart and rot. True or not, it was the only explanation you had.

You’d seen your fair share of people who’ve fallen victim to a bite; doomed to have their life snuffed out as soon as that was discovered, whether that was by execution or dying to the virus. 

The time it took to die after being bitten was different for everyone. Some died within minutes, others within hours. The longest one you’d seen was a soldier brought back to the Detroit safe zone after a patrol gone wrong. A stray Infected had sensed him and attacked him during the night, leaving a massive bite on his shoulder. He fought so fiercely against the symptoms of the fever, hovering between life and death for nearly an entire day before finally succumbing to the virus. You couldn’t forget how pale he was when he was wheeled into the makeshift camp on a gurney, watching the life be drained out of him in real time. He was shot in the head by his comrades as soon as he turned. The event shook everyone. The disappearances began shortly after that.

The people who spoke up against the military drew the ire of everyone: the military didn’t tolerate people who questioned their authority and everyone else just wanted to mind their own business. When these undesirables began to disappear, everyone chalked it up to them just being hard-headed. The popular theory was they got sick of the military’s iron grip and decided to leave the safe zone, and then probably died. Nobody took it too seriously. Nobody could have done anything about it anyway. Everyone was just focused on staying alive. 

Cooper was another survivor in the Arizona safe zone. You and Ben had been there for a month, and he was the first and only person to welcome you with open arms. He was a lanky man, and had blond hair and kind, brown eyes. Only a few years younger than you. He was the jovial type, often inviting you and Ben to tag along with him on whatever job he found earlier that day. His Boston accent was unmistakable, often getting stronger when offered liquor. 

He was also in strong opposition to the militant lifestyle in the safe zones, though he knew better than to broadcast his distaste. Cooper joined you and Ben on the night the two of you were stargazing, eyes wide in terror. You had never seen him like that before. He was always one to stay optimistic, which was a wonder considering the state of the world. Cooper looked like he ran to get to you, his damp tattered shirt sticking to his body.

He grabbed you by your shoulders, fingertips digging into your skin deep enough to make you wince all while a jumble of words were frantically spewing out of his mouth. Ben immediately got up, nearly growling at Cooper for hurting you, “Get your hands off them.”

It seemed as though Ben’s warning briefly snapped Cooper back to reality, because the man did pull away but his hands still trembled violently.

“What’s wrong?” you furrowed your brows in worry, unused to seeing Cooper in such a state.

“You need to get out of here,” it felt like there was something darker lingering behind his words. He looked at Ben. “You need to go.”

“Hold on, hold on,” Ben cut him off, his protectiveness from before calming down when he finally noticed the genuine panic and fear in Cooper’s eyes. “Tell us what’s happening.”

The poor man looked like he was ready to explode right then and there. He was practically soaked in his own sweat, both from the exhaustion of running to get to you and Ben, and the shock of the news he brought, it seemed.

“They were taking them,” he choked back tears, his feet stuck to the ground. His nostrils were flaring from how hard he was breathing.

“Who, Coop? Who’s taking who?” this time it was your hands on his shoulders, though your touch was gentle, trying to keep him grounded. 

“The soldiers,” he whispered, his voice grim. “We- we thought they were executing them for questioning the army but I saw them! I saw them. In the big tent. They’re trying… they’re trying to make a vaccine.”

The severity of his tone reminded you all too much of Ben at your doorstep on that very first day of the Outbreak.

Ben’s surprise was palpable, “What?”

“A vaccine,” Cooper stressed, each breath he drew was ragged (you could hear it from how close he was standing to you), “but it’s not working. I saw the bodies. Whatever they’re doing, it’s torture— you should’ve seen them. They infected them on purpose.”

Your blood went cold, like liquid nitrogen shocking your system. That’s what the army had been doing all this time?  It made perfect sense, but the new information flooded your brain with images of those people who went missing, strapped to a table, and being injected with the virus. If they were trying to make a vaccine, they—the test subjects—would have to have been kept alive for as long as possible, conscious of the parasite invading their body. It made your stomach churn, forcing you to step back and look away. Ben was similarly devastated, jaw clenched as he stared at Cooper. He zeroed in on a different piece of information.

There were Infected in the safe zone.

“That’s… they can’t just keep taking people,” he gritted his teeth. Cooper stayed silent. Ben spoke again, firmer and more desperate this time, “...can they?”

“Nobody’s gonna come looking for you even if they did,” Cooper said, defeated. Still breathing hard. “We’re too far away. And if the rest of the safe zones aren’t already in the same situation then they aren’t gonna waste gas to go all the way here. The soldiers here can just make up something and no one would know.”

An “oh, God” left your lips, your hands shaking, mirroring Cooper’s. From where you stood, you could see the main camp and the largest tent, the main military tent, in the middle of it. You’ve walked past it, stared at it a hundred times, and never knew what was going on inside. You found yourself asking if there was a time when you stared at that tent, and just on the other side was someone just like you being experimented on with the deadliest virus known to mankind.Your eyes stung with tears when your treacherous mind thought of Ben in that position, bruised by different needles and tubes protruding from him.

“Please, you need to go,” Cooper pleaded with the two of you desperately, his head hanging low.

“Shit,” Ben cursed under his breath, rubbing his eyes with one hand in frustration. “All of our supplies are back in the main camp.” 

“You can’t go back!”

“We’ll die out there if we don’t get those supplies,” you pointed out to the blond. “We wouldn’t last a week.”

Ben had already begun to walk back to camp, masking his anxieties to the best of his abilities if what Cooper was saying was true. You weren’t that far behind, ears ringing with Cooper’s pleas not to go back. He didn’t chase after you anymore, falling silent once he realized there was nothing he could do to change your mind. It was only a short trek from the cliff back to the main camp. The outer perimeter of the safe zone was always being patrolled by soldiers which meant, without any weapons, you would’ve been dead if you tried to escape right away. A checkpoint came into view along with the two guards, Paul and Walter, holding rifles on either side of the path. You were familiar with each other from how often you passed through this checkpoint to get to the cliff.

“Paul, Walter,” Ben smiled coolly at the guards once you were finally standing in front of them. “Late shift? I thought you’d have switched with Reese by now.”

“Higher-ups needed more men in other places, so here we are,” Paul sighed, before turning his attention to you. “You guys back at the cliff again?”

“Yeah,” you mimicked Ben, feigning a smile of your own. You still weren’t completely sure if Cooper had been telling the truth, but interacting with Paul felt different now that you knew what could’ve been happening behind closed doors. “Camp can be a little too much sometimes, y’know? No offense. Just… needed to get away for a while.”

Paul nodded in understanding. 

“Okay, you know the routine,” Walter shrugged, handing you and Ben a bloodchecker each. It was a small vial full of a blue solution, connected to a thin, replaceable tube ending with a needle. The solution would turn clear if mixed with Gaia-infected blood, and a dark muddy brown if the blood was clean. You pierced your arm with the needle, watching your blood travel through the tube and drip down into the solution, turning it brown as you had expected. Glancing over at Ben’s bloodchecker, you found that his was the same. Thankfully.

You were about to pass through the checkpoint when Walter pulled Ben aside, muttering something you couldn’t quite make out, but you saw Ben’s reaction. To anyone else, it would have seemed like he didn’t react at all. Most people only would’ve noticed his polite smile and hushed ‘thank you” to the guard before returning to your side, but you saw through it: the slightest twitch of his hand and the way his lips tightened at what Walter told him. It was so clear to you that he was bothered by it, whatever it was. 

“What was that?” you asked him, trying to keep up with his fast-paced stride.

He only spared you a single glance, only a single moment of softness, but now you were inside the central safe zone. Soldiers were standing guard in every direction. There seemed to be more of them than usual. Ben continued forward to the direction of your tent which was a bit farther from everyone else’s. He kept his voice low, “Not here.”

Your shared tent with Ben was bare. The apocalypse didn’t exactly grant you a life of luxury, but that tent was yours. It stayed the same after every new safe zone you were transferred to. Next to the two worn down single mattresses were your backpacks, one of the only things you still had from before the Outbreak besides each other. While you double-checked your supplies, making sure nothing was missing while you were gone, Ben slid one of the mattresses to the side, which was sitting on top of an old rug. He pulled that aside too, his hands digging into the soil, digging and digging until finally, you could see the lid of a crate you had buried.

The crate was filled with jugs of water. Clean, pure, uninfected water. The result of three years of patiently collecting rainwater and saving up whatever the army gave you, carefully filtering each drop throughout the night when you knew no one else would be bothering you. This water was precious. It was gold. And it was a pain to move from safe zone to safe zone. You and Ben had had to resort to bribing and lying for the past three years to make sure it was safe. 

Once you were done checking over the supplies, you knelt by Ben’s side. “So… are you gonna tell me what Walter said to you or are you gonna keep being mysterious?” you tried to keep your tone light.

“They were looking for Cooper,” his gaze didn’t leave the jugs of water. His hands, once always covered in paint, were now caked in dirt. “Said we should report him if we did.”

“What?” you questioned. “That doesn’t make any sense, everyone has to go in and out of that checkpoint to get to the cliff. There’s no way Paul and Walter didn’t see him.”

“So how could he have seen all of those supposed experiments in the main tent?” he turned to face you, his expression severe. “That tent is the most heavily guarded thing in this camp. If what he said is true, then there was no way he could’ve left and not be spotted and then somehow manage to get to us without going through the checkpoint.” 

The two of you sat in silence for a while, racking your brains for any sort of information that could help you get closer to solving this mystery. It was entirely plausible that Cooper had been lying about the experimentations and the vaccines but despite having only known him for a short while, you knew he wasn’t the type to do something like that. He wouldn’t lie about something like that. Hell, he was the kind of person that worked overtime during the apocalypse. He was an honest man.

Then you remembered something.

“It’s Tuesday today.”

Ben looked at you, puzzled, “Yes, it is… What’s going through your head, love?”

“Filtration duty,” you answered. “They filter out the water in the main tent…”

“...then dump the waste outside of camp,” Ben finished for you, eyes widening. “You think Cooper was in the main tent on purpose?”

“I mean, that’s the only explanation, right? Nothing else has left camp since last week and nobody checks a truck carrying waste. Maybe Cooper was on one of those trucks,” you said before looking back at Ben. “I… I thought I was just seeing things. Did you notice how he was earlier?”

“Out of breath from running…?” Ben frowned, not quite following your train of thought as easily as he usually did.

“He wasn’t just out of breath. He was smelling me.” 

You could practically hear the cogs turning in his head as he put the pieces together. He couldn’t quite believe the conclusion he arrived at, that much you could tell, but the disbelief washed away when no other possible explanation presented itself to him.

“How?” his voice was shaky, a quiet sort of devastation clouding his features. Cooper was likely already infected earlier, though you couldn’t tell which stage of infection he was at. The signs pointed to a peculiar middleground between the fever that occurred right before death, and the grotesque reanimation once the virus had complete control over the body.

“Maybe he was telling the truth. Part of it, at least.”

You both looked back at the jugs of water, taking out a few of the smaller containers before hurriedly placing the lid back on the crate. With the crate concealed by the soil and rug, you and Ben made quick work of gathering your things, hiding the small jugs of water underneath clothes, foods, and whatever else were in your bags. 

You always made sure to have a plan in case you ever needed to leave a safe zone. The water you collected was too valuable; you had to be able to move it whenever and wherever you needed, but with all the soldiers standing guard outside, you knew this would be impossible even with all of your planning. You just had to bring what you could.

Without uttering a word, you and Ben both knew this was the last night you were ever going to spend in this place. 

-

series taglist: comment down below if you'd like to be added!

[waywardxwords]

Hallelujah

Summary: While cleaning up after dinner one night, you hear the most beautiful sound coming from the oldest Winchester's room. You can't stop yourself from moving towards the sound. Dean doesn't enjoy singing in front of people, but he might just make you the exception. Word Count: ~1.2k Warnings: Fluff - lots of fluff

A/N: I saw this video the other day and I just couldn't help myself. Jensen starts around 3:23 mark.

While it wasn’t the first time you heard Dean Winchester’s voice echo off of the walls of the bunker, it was the first time you heard him sing this folk rock classic. The verse traveled to your ears, just barely peeking through the sound of the running water from the sink faucet as you washed the dishes from dinner. 

“Well, maybe there’s a God above,” he started softly at first. So softly, your hand reached up and turned off the water. You stilled your body so your ears could focus on the sound. “As for me, all I’ve learned from love is how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya.”

Dean would never sing in front of you, besides the random jam out sessions in the Impala on the way to a hunt. But those were mostly songs from the likes of AC/DC, or Zeppelin…and there was that one Survivor song he loved. Never like this; never with such emotion. 

“But it’s not a crime that you’re here tonight, it’s not somebody who’s seen the light,” his voice began to travel as his words became clearer. There was no way he knew you could hear him; he wouldn’t have continued if he knew. While Dean was, well, Dean–he had less confidence about himself than he would lead others to believe, but you saw through that. 

“No, it’s a cold and broken Hallelujah,” he belted. “Hallelujah, Hallelujah.” The sound of his voice sent a shiver through your body to your core. You couldn’t help your feet as they moved towards the sound of his voice. You grabbed at the dish towel that hung on the rack of the oven and dried your hands on your way. You didn’t have to go very far, Dean’s door to his bedroom was open as he gently sang the remainder of the chorus. 

As you stood in his doorway, you saw him through blurry eyes. You hadn’t realized before that moment that you had tears in your eyes, but the conviction of his voice—full of pain, but also peace—was overwhelming. 

“Shit,” he breathed as he saw you. He moved to put the gun down that he was cleaning before you startled him. His brows knitted together in concern when he saw your face. “Hey, you okay? What happened?” In two long strides, he was in front of you. His hands gripped just above your elbows. Through the tears pooled in your eyes, you watched his green gaze study you. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you quickly moved your hands to swipe away any droplets that threatened to fall. “Your voice…”

You watched the reddish pink hue start under his stubble on his neck and climb up to his cheeks. “Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone could hear me…” he removed his hands from your arms and you noticed the room suddenly felt cooler without his touch. He brought a hand up to pull at the back of his neck, clearly a little embarrassed. 

“No, Dean,” you reached for his arm before he could turn back from you; your fingers delicately on his forearm. “Your voice is beautiful.” The words fell in a whisper from your lips. His eyes watched you, and that’s when you noticed all of the feelings Dean could sing, but couldn’t say. “Would you…would you sing for me again?” 

“Oh, darlin’,” he chuckled and ducked his head to glance at his boots. “I don’t think I can do that…I don’t sing if I have an audience.” His eyes found yours again. You nodded once, not willing to push it if he wasn’t comfortable. 

“Well, just know,” you started softly. “You have such an incredible voice. It was…comforting.” It took you a moment to find the right word. 

“Thanks,” he chuckled gently again. You turned from your place in his doorway and headed back to the kitchen, hopeful that it wouldn’t be the last time you heard his beautiful voice. 

The darkness was overwhelming. Even in your sleep, you knew you were dreaming but as hard as you tried, you couldn’t wake yourself up. It felt as though the walls were closing in on you as you fell into the darkness. A whimper fell from your lips involuntarily as you tumbled down, down, down…into an abyss of nothingness. You didn’t know what you were running from, but your heart thudded quickly against your rib cage—so quickly that you thought it might break out. 

You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you felt a gentle touch on your bare arm just below the sleeve of your short sleeve cotton t-shirt. And then you heard a low hum—so low you thought you imagined it. 

“Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord,” the words sounded far away at first, but as you came to you realized they were just beside you. “But you don’t really care for music, do ya?” With your eyes still closed, you felt peace fall over you as the voice calmed you. “It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor falls, the major lifts. The baffled king composing Hallelujah.” 

As the chorus began, you blinked your eyes. As you squinted against the darkness of the room, you saw Dean’s green gaze staring back at you. “Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah…” his whispered singing trailed off as he reached his hand up to brush a dampened strand of hair off of your forehead. 

When he looked back so his eyes found yours once more, a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Dean?” You asked as you blinked the sleep away and focused in on the way his eyes examined your features. It was then that you realized he had positioned his body just next to yours, his face only a few inches away. 

“Yeah, it’s me, sweetheart,” he said gently. “You had a bad dream.”

A pause of silence fell between you before you realized something. “I thought you said you don’t sing for an audience?” You eyed him conspicuously, which elicited a breathy chuckle from him. 

“Yeah, well, you were thrashin’ and weren’t waking up when I tried talking, so…” his voice trailed again. 

Your eyes darted between his once more. In the glow from the light of the hallway you noticed the way lines crinkled at the corners, and how tiny freckles you had never noticed before dotted around his nose and his cheekbones. It was almost as if you were truly seeing him for the first time.

“Thank you,” was all you knew to breathe. Your eyes fell closed and a gentle hum rumbled from your throat as you felt the pads of Dean’s fingers swipe at your hairline once more. 

Just as you opened them, he made eye contact with you once more–as if asking if this was alright. Your head managed the smallest nod before your eyes closed once more and felt Dean’s lips on yours, soft but purposeful. As he pulled away, all you could manage to say was, “Hallelujah…”, causing the green-eyed man to snort in laughter.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Adoption Agency

Dean Winchester & Ben, Dean Winchester & Cassie Jr (OC), Dean Winchester & Charlie, Dean Winchester & Krissy, Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: Dean is forced to take care of a kid he hasn’t seen for a while—and one he didn’t know he had

A/N: finally another fic! This one’s pretty long. I have the reader and an oc in this one, this is the first (and possibly only, we’ll see) fic I’ve done with this headcannon character I’ve mentioned before; Cassie Jr. She’s the daughter of Cassie, Dean’s old girlfriend who was in (I think??) the first season. I’m usually not a fan of OCs, but Cassie Jr is kind of my exception. Hope you guys like it! (Btw if you guys want to see more of my Ben/Cassie Jr headcannons, let me know and I might hunt down my old stuff and put it in a Masterlist)

“Ben?” Dean lowered his machete faster than he ever had when he turned the corner and saw not a vampire, but a boy he considered his son. “Ben, what are you doing here?”

“Dean?” Blood drained from Ben’s face when he laid eyes on the only father figure he’d ever trusted. “I didn’t think you’d—I mean—“

“Ben look out!” Dean’s weapon was back up in an instant when he spotted a figure rounding the corner, but Ben jumped in the way.

“Dean, no! That—she’s not a vamp!”

Dean lowered his machete again, but he kept a firm grip on it as he glanced from Ben to the girl behind him.

“Ben, what is this?” Dean asked. “Why do you even remember me? Cas told me that he—“

“He did,” Ben interrupted. “But…but things have changed.”

“Dean?” Dean turned to look at the girl as she spoke. Something about her tugged at his mind, as if he knew her. “You can’t be Dean.” Her eyes turned to Ben. “Why is he—“

“We can talk about this later,” Ben interrupted. “But we’ve gotta finish looking before that vamp comes back.”

“Looking?” Dean asked, choosing for now to ignore the nagging question of why this girl seemed to know who he was. “Looking for what?”

“We took this job because a friend of ours had an uncle go missing in this area. We tracked the vampire kills nearby, and we’re thinking that maybe the vampire is keeping some of its victims alive as blood bags—that’s why only about half the missing people turned up dead.”

“Yeah, or they’re just good at hiding their tracks,” Dean argued. “The priority here has to be killing the monster.”

“That can be your priority,” the girl spoke up. “But we’re gonna find those victims.”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” Dean scoffed. He was surprised when the question stopped her short, and she looked to Ben for support.

“Later,” Ben insisted. “We can do this later. Look—“ he turned to Dean. “We’re going to check upstairs for any survivors. You can do what you want.”

“You’re not going up there alone,” Dean argued.

“Like I said; do what you want.” Ben turned, grabbing the girl by the arm and encouraging her along. Dean rolled his eyes and followed right behind them.

…

Dean wasn’t surprised at the first body they found at the top of the stairs—but the kids were.

“Just because one is dead doesn’t mean they all are,” the girl said. Dean grit his teeth at the sound of the shakiness in her voice; she was in for a rude awakening, he could feel it.

“Let’s keep looking.” Ben put his hand on the girl’s arm, and Dean wondered what the connection was between them.

“Watch out!” The girl spoke a split second before you rounded the corner and swung the machete. You froze mid-strike, yanking your arm back at the last second to avoid hitting Ben in the neck.

“Ben?!” You were slack-jawed before your eyes landed on your big brother. “Dean, what is going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” Dean huffed. “Right now we—“

“Oh no.” Dean’s senses heightened at the sound of Ben’s voice.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, sidestepping his little sister to see what Ben was seeing. “Oh.” Dean couldn’t say he was surprised, but the sight of three more bodies in the entryway of the next room caused his heart to sink.

“They-they can’t…” the girl was gripping Ben’s arm, her voice quavering. “They can’t all be dead.”

Dean didn’t see why not, but he didn’t speak.

“I take it you’re looking for someone specific,” you spoke up.

“Yeah.” Ben’s voice was shaky too, but nowhere near as panicked as his friend’s. “We’re trying to help a friend find her uncle.”

“Then let’s keep looking.” Dean resisted the urge to glare at you for this statement—he wished you wouldn’t give these kids false hope, but he supposed you probably had plenty of false hope yourself; it was just a part of being a young hunter. You hadn’t seen everything that Dean had.

Dean trailed behind while Ben, his friend, and you forged ahead to look for any survivors. As he stared at the three kids, he couldn’t help the nagging feeling at the back of his mind…

The one that said that this was just the beginning—the one that said he’d be seeing a lot more of these kids, two of whom he considered his own.

…

Dean knew even before he entered the room that it was bad. He heard an intake of breath from Ben’s friend, he heard Ben’s quiet groan, and your “oh no.”

He rushed into the room just behind the three kids, cringing at the sight of half a dozen bodies strewn haphazardly around, all drained of blood.

“Cassie…” Dean whipped his head around to stare at Ben as he finally said the girl’s name. Ben was pulling Cassie into a hug as her eyes landed on a dead man near the center of the floor.

“Cassie,” Dean muttered under his breath, too awestruck to speak. That was why he recognized this kid—she was near identical to a woman Dean hadn’t seen for years.

“I take it that wasn’t a friend’s uncle,” you said quietly from beside Ben and Cassie.

“He was the only family I had,” Cassie whimpered. That sentence caught Dean’s attention.

“The only…” No. No way. He had to be thinking about this wrong, this couldn’t be Cassie’s daughter, because that would mean…

“Dean, look out!” At the sound of your warning, Dean didn’t hesitate. Without turning around, Dean ducked out of the way, stepping away from the doorway and lifting his machete simultaneously. It was good that he didn’t question you—not that he ever had—because the vamp missed him by mere inches.

You came forward swinging, but it was no use as the bigger and faster vampire dodged your attempted blow and grabbed onto your arm, twisting until the machete clattered to the ground.

“Dean!” You cried out as the vampire bared its fangs at you, but before he could spring into action Ben was there, ripping the vampire away from you and opening up Cassie for a shot; she took off the head in a single swing. “Thanks,” you breathed to the teens. “You guys are some decent hunters.”

“Which begs the question; why?” Dean demanded as he stepped closer to the three of you. “Ben, what is going on?”

“What, are you surprised that you actually have to take responsibility for your kids?” Cassie’s outburst surprised both you and Dean, but Ben just sighed exhaustedly.

“Cassie, you know that—“

“Yeah, you recognize that name? Cassie?” Cassie was ignoring Ben, keeping her eyes on Dean. “That old girlfriend you forgot about—my mother. After you left, she had me. And then she died—because she knew you.” Cassie was out the door before Dean could even begin to process her words. Ben was starting after her, but Dean grabbed onto his arm.

“Is…is she saying…she’s mine?” Dean didn’t look like he was breathing anymore.

“She is. And so am I.” Ben pulled his arm from Dean’s grasp and rushed after Cassie.

“Dean?” You grabbed onto your big brother’s arm, hoping to stabilize him.

“What’s going on up here?” The two of you turned at the sound of Sam’s voice. “There was a vamp downstairs, I took care of it…but it looks like I missed all the real action. I just saw Ben on the staircase.”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “Maybe we should bring those two to the bunker and have a talk with them.”

“Yeah.” Your words seemed to snap Dean out of his daze. “Yeah, I’ll go find them.”

“Let me,” you insisted. “I’m not so sure they like you right now.”

…

You found Ben and Cassie right outside the house—it looked like Ben was trying to convince her to go back inside.

“You guys should come with us,” you spoke up without waiting to hear what they were talking about. “We’ve got a bunker not far from here, it’s a good place to regroup.”

“With Dean?” Cassie scoffed. “I don’t think—“

“Cassie, hear him out,” Ben interrupted. “I told you, I don’t think it’s a bad idea to at least get to know him before you hate him.”

“It’s not like you’ve been searching him out to talk to him,” Cassie argued.

“Look, guys,” you butted into the argument. “I don’t know what you’ve got against my brother, but—“

“My mom is dead.” Ben’s word knocked the wind out of you, and you completely forgot what you were going to say. You’d stayed with Dean, Ben, and Lisa while Sam was in hell. You hadn’t formed a bond anywhere near as strong as Dean had with them, but Lisa was the closest thing you’d ever had to a mother, given that yours left you at John’s motel doorstep when you were a baby. When you and Dean got wiped from Ben and Lisa’s memories, it was one of the hardest things you’d ever done to walk away.

“L-Lisa’s…” you swallowed. “How?”

“Demons,” Ben deadpanned. “Of course, she didn’t know they were demons. She didn’t understand any of it, because she couldn’t remember.”

“Why do you remember?” The three of you turned at the sound of Dean’s voice—he’d come up behind you. You glared at him; he was supposed to let you handle this. But you softened when you saw the tenseness in his jaw and fists, and the pain in his eyes. He had heard Ben say Lisa was dead.

“Not long after you left us, I got into a car accident,” Ben explained. “Had a concussion. Whatever happened knocked those memories loose in my brain, and I started to remember everything that friend of yours made me forget. I didn’t tell mom—I knew she wouldn’t understand. But it didn’t matter, anyway, because she died not long after. You abandoning us didn’t protect us.”

“I wasn’t abandoning you,” Dean forced out through the lump in his throat. “I was trying to protect you.”

Ben’s expression didn’t change from a cold indifference.

“It didn’t work.”

…

Despite Cassie’s anger and Ben’s hesitance, the teens decided to follow you to the bunker. To your surprise, yet another teen was waiting for you when you got there.

“Hey guys,” Claire greeted before her eyes landed on the extra passengers. “Who are your friends?”

“Who’s she, another kid?” Cassie scoffed, and Ben shot her a look.

“Another kid?” Claire looked from the teens to Dean. “The heck are they talking about?”

“Claire, this is Ben and Cassie—they’re my kids.”

“Only biologically,” Cassie clarified.

“Cassie and Ben,” Dean continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “This is Claire—she’s a friend. What’s going on, Claire?”

“It’s Jody.” Claire must have decided her reason for being here was more important than Dean’s family drama. “She went on a hunt a few days ago, and now she’s not answering her phone.”

Dean was instantly stiff and alert.

“Tell us everything.”

“I will,” Claire promised. “But first—I recruited some help.”

…

“Charlie.” Dean grinned widely as he pulled the redhead in for a hug. “It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” Charlie said as she pulled away. “By the way, you have quite a good number of crazy kids in your corner.” Charlie eyed the troop of teens in the war room, including you, Ben, Claire, Cassie, and Krissy—who had come with Claire.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d be celibate by now just out of basic human decency,” Cassie scoffed, and Ben elbowed her.

“Hey, these aren’t mine,” Dean argued.

“That you know of,” Cassie muttered.

“Alright, that’s it,” Dean snapped. “Look, I know you’ve been through some crap, ok? But this chip on your shoulder attitude is getting old, especially considering I wasn’t even told of your existence until a few hours ago. That was your mom’s choice, not mine.”

“Oh yeah?” Cassie challenged. “And was it her choice to get killed by demons?”

“No.” Dean’s voice was solemn now. “No, it wasn’t. And I’m sorry, I’m…I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s tone surprised Cassie, and she went silent.

“I didn’t know she was in danger,” Dean said. “And I didn’t know about you. If I did, I would’ve—“

“What?” Ben cut in. “Would’ve made them forget?”

“Ben, you know why I did that,” Dean argued. “Your mom almost got killed—I didn’t want you to be in danger anymore.”

“Well it didn’t help,” Ben said. “They didn’t care if we remembered that we knew you, they only cared that you knew us.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Dean confessed. “I put you in danger by being there, I put you in danger by staying away. I can’t bring your moms back—all I can say is I’m sorry.”

A tack hitting the floor would’ve sounded like a bomb going off in the war room as the two teens eyed their father.

“Prove it,” Cassie spoke up.

“Name what you want, I’ll do it,” Dean promised.

“This Jody chick. I wanna help you look for her.”

Dean was surprised.

“What? Why?”

Cassie looked from you, to Sam, then finally to Dean.

“Families hunt together, right? You wanna prove you’re sorry? Then let us be a family. If I think I can trust you, then maybe…maybe we can move on.”

“The last thing I want to do right now is put you in more danger,” Dean huffed.

“Tough,” Cassie argued. “Because that’s my only offer.”

Dean eyed Cassie, then Ben. The silence in his indecision reached awkward quickly.

“They saved my butt from a vamp back there,” you broke in. “They’ve got my vote.”

“Maybe a new start is a good idea,” Sam piped up.

“Didn’t realize this was a group discussion,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Alright,” he decided. “Let’s go. But you’d better not get yourselves killed.”

…

“You’ve been pretty quiet, old man.”

Dean let out a huff as he glanced back at Krissy—just his luck she’d ended up in the Impala when they were separating into cars.

“Yeah, finding out about a kid you didn’t know you had will do that.”

“Well, she can join the club,” Krissy said with a shrug.

“Club?” Dean questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh just the half a dozen kids on this hunt that you’ve adopted,” Krissy said. Dean scoffed.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I don’t know Dean,” Sam piped up from his shotgun seat. “We seemed to have picked up a decent amount of wayward teens over the years.”

“Great, just what I need.” Dena rolled his eyes.

“C’mon—“ Dean had forgotten you were in the car until you reached up and patted his shoulder. “You know you love us.”

…

“So I hit a dead end trying to track her phone, but with her laptop I’ve managed to track her web usage over the past few days.” Charlie’s fingers were moving a mile a minute on her laptop keyboard as she spoke. She had a Winchester brother over each shoulder, watching her every move as she shuffled through page after page of Jody’s online research.

“Try the most recent search,” Sam offered. “Maybe she looked up a location.”

“Do we even know what she was hunting?” You questioned Claire.

“Werewolf, definitely.” Claire and Sam exchanged a glance—she was nervous. Her last encounter with werewolves hadn’t gone so well.

“Ok, she did look up a location,” Charlie cut in. “Looks like a passport office, except…it’s really sketchy.” Charlie spun around in her chair, and it gave you a view over her shoulder of a website.

“That’s a perfect cover,” Krissy said. “I mean, anyone going to a place that bad is probably looking to disappear—so no one notices when they do.”

“Sketchy is right,” you scoffed as you looked over Charlie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t be surprised if Jody’s computer has half a dozen viruses now.”

“It did. I took care of them.” Charlie smirked. “She can thank me when we find her.”

…

“Dean?” You caught your big brother before he went outside.

“Yeah, what’s up?” He asked, glancing out towards the Impala before reluctantly looking back at you.

“Were—um—“ your voice caught, so you swallowed and tried again. “Werewolves…they don’t really keep hostages. What if Jody is—“

“Hey, no,” Dean snapped, but he softened when your lip started to quiver. “Ok, commere.” Dean pulled you into his arms. “We can’t do that, kid. We can’t lose hope.”

“I don’t want to lose her, too,” you whimpered. Dean’s arms tightened around you.

“We’re not losing anyone, ok? Jody’s gonna be just fine—we’re gonna bring her home. I promise.”

…

“I want to go in.”

“What?” Dean eyed Cassie suspiciously as he parked at the cracked pavement outside the passport office. “Why?”

“Why do you think I came here? Duh, I want to help.” Dean huffed at Cassie’s sarcasm, but he didn’t argue. “You can take me in—pretend you’re my dad getting me a passport.” Dean didn’t miss Cassie’s smirk at the implication. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Fine,” Dean relented. “Sam, if we’re not out in half an hour—“

“I know what to do,” Sam assured him.

“Then let’s go.”

…

Dean had been in the office all of 2 minutes before he began to get nervous.

“I’ve gotta use the restroom,” Cassie had announced almost as soon as a man had come forward to help them.

“First door on the left,” the man told her; and she scampered off down a dark hallway.

Great, he thought to himself. I’m in werewolf territory with Nancy Drew.

Still, he let her go off to check the back while he kept the counter man distracted. He didn’t really have another choice.

…

“Do you think Jody’s ok?”

Claire’s question hit Sam hard—mostly because he’d been wondering that all day. Before he could speak, though, Krissy piped in.

“Look, I know I don’t know your friend—but from what you guys have been telling me, she seems awesome. I’m sure she knows what she’s doing.”

The tiny twitch of a smile on Claire’s face as she relaxed made Sam feel much better.

“They’ve been in there a while,” Ben interrupted. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the front door since Cassie disappeared behind it. Sam understood the feeling—the fear for your sibling, the helplessness when they went into danger without you. He didn’t know how Ben and Cassie got to be so close, but he couldn’t deny the obvious; they’d do anything for each other.

“Do you think we should go in after them?” Your eyes met Sam’s—you were waiting for his say-so.

“Dean said half an hour,” Krissy argued. “We should give them a chance to get some information.

“I’m not waiting any longer,” Ben insisted.

“Ben—“ Sam tried to reason with him, but Ben was already halfway out of the Impala.

You and Claire followed without a word.

“Hey!” Sam called to the two of you, but you ignored him.

“Ok.” Krissy shrugged, stepping out of the car.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Sam grumbled as he followed the teens. “These kids are gonna be the death of me.”

…

Dean was in the middle of pretending to fill out paperwork, and he was getting impatient. Cassie still hadn’t returned, and there had been no sounds of struggle either. He didn’t feel like he could go after her yet though—not with the desk worker hanging around; it would look too suspicious.

The moment the desk worker disappeared in the back, Dean dropped his pen and stepped into the hallway that Cassie had gone down.

“Cassie?” Dean hissed. “Cassie!”

A thud broke the silence from behind a door down the hall. Dean rushed towards it, his hand instinctively reaching behind him to pull out his gun. The door was locked, but it came open with a swift kick.

Dean held his gun out in front of him as he entered the room.

“Cassie!” Dean lowered his gun as he rushed towards his daughter, who was tied and gagged on the floor.

“She came outta nowhere,” Cassie gasped after Dean yanked her gag down.

“She?” Dean asked.

“Yeah. This isn’t a one-werewolf job, I guess.” Cassie shrugged.

“When is it ever?” Dean huffed as he started to untie Cassie.

“Dean look out!” Cassie’s warning came a split second too late as Dean felt a flash of pain as something hit the back of his head; then nothing.

…

“They’re not here,” you mumbled to Sam as the two of you trailed a step behind Ben into the passport office.

“They’re fine, we’re going to find them,” Sam promised.

“How can I help you?” A woman with an unnerving smile greeted as she stepped out from a dark hallway.

“That’s enough of that,” Ben huffed, reaching into his belt and pulling his gun on the woman. “The man and the teenage girl. Where are they?”

“Ben!” Sam glared at the teen. “Subtle much?”

“Subtle was Dean’s plan, and now he and Cassie are missing,” Ben argued. “It’s time for my plan.”

“Fine,” Sam grumbled, reaching for his own gun and directing his attention to the woman. “Answer his question.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” She insisted, doing a horrible job of looking aghast.

“Sam!” You we’re halfway down a dark hallway by the time you called out for your big brother. He looked to see what you were gesturing at—a door at the end of the corridor. “Hinge is broken—it looks like it got kicked in.”

“Dean,” Sam muttered under his breath. “Krissy, Claire, go with Y/N. Ben and I are gonna have a little chat with this one.” Sam instructed. He glanced at Ben to make sure he still had his gun up before putting his own away and pulling out a silver knife instead. “First things first—let’s see what you are.”

…

You slipped into the room with the broken door, Krissy trailing right behind you. You had your gun—the one full of silver bullets—up and ready.

“Dean!” You breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of your big brother, even though he was tied up and gagged. He started shaking his head the moment he saw you, which put you on instant alert. Despite this and Dean’s obvious protests, you stepped forward and pulled Dean’s gag down, keeping your gun ready.

“Two of them,” Dean gasped. “There’s two, and I don’t know where either of them are.”

“Krissy, wait.” You held your hand out to stop Krissy from untying Cassie. “One of us should be ready to fight.” She nodded, stepping away from Cassie and keeping her gun pointed at the door while you untied Dean and Claire freed Cassie.

“Where…where’s Jody?” Claire asked once they were both free.

“I don’t know,” Dean admitted. “I haven’t seen anyone except the werewolves. Hey,” Dean put a firm grip on her shoulder when he saw her countenance drop. “We don’t know anything yet. There’s gotta be more rooms in this place. Let’s keep looking.” Dean turned his attention to you. Where’s—“

Dean’s question was interrupted by the sound of gunshots.

…

Only about a minute earlier, Sam was questioning the female werewolf about Jody when a man came charging into the main room from a side hallway.

“Ben watch out!” Sam fired two shots at the advancing male werewolf. One missed, and the other buried itself in the man’s shoulder. It didn’t stop him, and Sam wasn’t able to fire off another shot at him because just then the woman pounced on him.

“Hey!” Dean’s voice—followed by the sound of his gun going off—came just in time, and Sam felt the werewolf on top of him collapse completely, three shots to her back finding their mark in her heart. It was only after Sam shoved the creature off of him that he realized it wasn’t Dean who saved him—Dean’s gun was pointed at the now dead male werewolf that had gone after Ben—it was Cassie who had saved Sam.

Sam watched as Cassie and Dean shared a look—a look that Sam didn’t have to be a mind reader to understand; they had earned each other’s trust in the deepest way. They had both saved the most important person in the other’s life—their brothers.

“Jody.” Your voice snapped the lot of them out of their moment.

“Right.” Dean holstered his gun and turned toward the dark hallway he’d just come from. “Come on, there’s gotta be more rooms down here. Let’s find Jody.”

…

“Hey.” Cassie’s voice got Dean’s attention, and he tilted his head towards her. “I guess you’re not so bad…you know, for an old guy.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“I swear, you teens and your jokes,” he grumbled under his breath. “You’re not so bad yourself,” he admitted. “You know, for a kid.”

Cassie’s lips twitched in a smirk.

“Hey, thanks,” Dean said. “For saving my brother.”

This time, Cassie’s smile was big and genuine.

“Right back at you.”

…

There were three doors at the back of the hallway. The first was a storage closet barely big enough to fit the ancient vacuum inside. The second, a bathroom. The third…

“Hey guys.” Jody’s grin matched that of everyone looking at her. “It took you long enough.”

…

Charlie, Krissy, Claire, and Jody all returned to their various homes after a quick reunion and goodbye.

“So what’s next for you two?” Dean’s eyes landed on his two children as they lingered in the bunkered war room.

“We have guest rooms,” you piped in, but at Dean’s glare you retreated to your room to give them some privacy, an action followed by Sam a moment later.

“She’s not wrong,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I don’t know where you guys are staying but, if you wanted to it wouldn’t be—“

“You’re babbling, old man,” Cassie interrupted her father with a cheeky grin.

“Ok, ok.” Dean held up his hands in surrender. “I’m no good at this, so I’ll get to the point—you guys have a place here if you want it; I know I wasn’t there for you for various reasons, but I’m here now. I don’t like that you guys are hunting, I think it’s too dangerous, but it’s not up to me. All I can do is let you know that you always have me to back you up.”

Ben and Cassie were quiet while Dean gave his speech, and when he was done they shared a long, near telepathic look.

“Hanging around a while couldn’t hurt,” Ben said finally.”

“Yeah, might even be fun,” Cassie admitted. “I hope you like teenagers, old man.”

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