#deans also here but he’s not tagged properly

[turtle-trash]

Animal sirena design. Did you know hippos and whales are closely related, cause yea

I think Hank and Dean (and probably Jared) would record videos of sirena crushing things with her mouth because I think in a world with sentient animals people in collage would make videos like that with hippo people for fun

I love making the majority of the vbros cast ungulates. Unorthodox animal designs be upon you!!!!

[underground-secret]

The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

Home

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

[velvethopewrites]

The sob story with this is that I wrote this yesterday and it got deleted before I could save it. I wanted to die cry, basically. Somehow I managed to re-create most of it, after working on it all damn day. (I basically ended up writing over 6,000+ words in one day. Yowza) I still feel as though the first version was better, but…no one knows that but me, I suppose. (And my partner, who got to read it right before the horrors happened). Regardless, I am proud of this and proud of myself for not giving up when it really would have been easy to. So huzzah to the fickle hand of fate and all that stuff.

For Suptober 2023 prompt “starlight”

I tag @fellshish and @canonblastedships and @clarkenting for being super cool reblog buddies, lol (which is just a thing I made up) This is the longest destiel fic I’ve written yet and it will be my first official AO3 destiel! (As soon as I remember how to do that, oy)

Edited: Now with Spiffy AO3 Link! Here!

The Starlight

There were three types of people that visited the Starlight Lounge — drunks, people desperate to score, and the employees that made their bread and butter trying to tame the other two.

Dean Winchester, unfortunately, was a member of that third group. Oh, sure, Dean had been known to put away a fair bunch of liquor in his day, and sure, Dean had definitely been known to do the Bedroom Rodeo whenever the opportunity presented itself. Hell, back when he’d first started at the Starlight he’d often been three types at once. Work, drink, get laid. Sometimes, not even in that order.

But that was past Dean. Current and newly mature Dean (hah) just wanted to work, go home, eat and fall into his bed. Working at the Starlight wasn’t that bad – it had fairly decent pay and it was often interesting. And like everyone else, Dean had bills to pay and he gave more than his fair share to Sammy. Not that Sam really needed it anymore; he was busy working as a law clerk downtown, putting himself through school. But still, Dean wanted to help as much as he could and besides it was his brotherly duty. Heh. Duty.

Tonight, due to the cold and rainy weather, the bar was fairly empty and business had been slow. There was only one of his regulars, a writer by the name of Chuck crying into his notebooks at the back of the bar. To be honest, Dean had never seen Chuck write a damn thing but the man sure could put scotch away like a pro.  There was also a young couple making out in one of the booths near the restrooms. He’d been keeping an eye on them most of the night, actually, making sure no one lost any clothing. The Starlight didn’t need a public indecency charge on the books. At least, not so soon since the last one, at any rate. 

Dean yawned and finished cleaning up the bar, hoping Chuck and the couple on their way to Soft-Porn Town would soon be leaving. Maybe Dean could even push them on their way a bit early, so he could get home at a decent time, for once.  As he walked over towards Chuck to perhaps lightly suggest the writer hit the road, the double doors of the bar blew open – bringing in the rain, the cold rush of the wind and a new customer in a beige trench coat with seriously fucked up hair. Great.

Dean sighed and turned back around as the new guy slumped onto the first stool at the bar. His dark brown, messed up hair looked even worse up close, and he had a scowl on his face as he glared down at the bar in front of him.

“Whiskey. Neat,” Messy-Hair said, voice low and very rumbly.

Dean pulled down a clean glass and poured some of their nicer whiskey into it. Dude looks like he could afford it, at any rate. He had a nice suit on under the coat, now that Dean could properly see it and his watch was one of those big clunky things that could probably tell the time on Jupiter or some shit like that. The man’s hand reaches for the glass before Dean has barely pushed it forward. He throws back the drink in record time and hits the bar with it so that it makes a loud thunk.

“Another one.”

Dean shrugged as the man kept glaring down at the bar as though it contained all the answers to life and everything else; Dean knew for a fact that it didn’t. It didn’t even have a ‘42’ scratched into it or anything. (RIP Douglas Adams)

This time the man just wraps his hand around the glass, his fingers clutching at it and woah, Dean thinks, dude’s got some huge fucking hands. They’re big and they’re strong looking. The fingers are nice and long and graceful and oh, oh, oh. Maybe it’s a kink, or maybe it’s a preference, but Dean loves hands. Manly looking mitts like Messy-Hair here and even smaller, more delicate hands like on most women, with pretty nail colors. But Dean’s not choosy.

He sees motion out of the corner of his eye and notices Chuck signaling that he’d like to pay up. Glancing at Messy-Hair he figures he has a few minutes before having to pour him another so he sets the bottle down and heads over to the other side.

“All right there, Chuck?”

“Yeah, yeah, thank you, Dean.”

The older man is flipping through his wallet and counting out his cash slowly. Dean wipes the bar and puts Chuck’s last glass into the bucket for later cleaning.

“Write anything tonight?” Dean always asks this question. It’s like a little game he and Chuck play because it always has the same answer.

“No,” Chuck says looking up at him. He places his finger to his temple solemnly, almost like he’s holding a gun. “But I did a lot of work up here.”

He always gives Dean this look as though Dean should know exactly what he’s talking about. But, of course, Dean never does. He likes to read but he sure as hell would never attempt to write. Personally, he thinks Chuck is sort of crazy, but hey, to each their own, right?

Chuck pushes his notebooks into his old canvas bag on the bar. It’s bulging with everything he carries with him and looks fit to burst. Dean supposes that writer’s block is heavy business.

Chucks nods goodnight as he slips his bag over his shoulders, buckling a bit under the weight. Dean watches as he wobbles away and he’s not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the bag. He’d normally be worried (hey, no bar can stay in business if all its clientele got themselves killed), but he knows Chuck lives nearby. He’ll be all right and probably in his same spot tomorrow evening. He puts Chuck’s money into the till and realizes he tipped Dean more than usual. He really did have had a good night, then.

He notices the couple trying to break the world record for smooches in a single night are getting up and putting on their jackets. Maybe Dean can get out early; he’s got the DVR set for Dr Sexy already, but he wouldn’t say no to catching it live for once.

Glancing over he sees Messy-Hair is now resting his head on the bar, but he lifts it as the doors bang shut behind Chuck, the cold burst of wind making his hair looking even more disheveled. Dean heads back over to see if he needs a refill and is suddenly struck dumb by the other man finally looking at him. Holy Mother of Blue, those are some eyes. The dude is handsome. Like old-time movie handsome. Strong jaw, with a smattering of scruff, pink soft lips and eyes that look like they can see into your soul, no, scratch that, not see, but pierce. Dean swallows roughly and picks up the whiskey bottle. 

“Hey, uh, it’s getting late. One more for the road?” Dean assumes the dude doesn’t know the Starlight is technically open until midnight. Assumes, hah. More like prays.

Blue-Eyes stares at him and frowns. “I thought this establishment closed at midnight.”

“Er, yeah. I suppose it does.”

“Then I’ll take another,” Blue-Eyes pauses and holds out his glass. “And keep them coming for the next forty-five minutes, barkeep.”

Dean blinks at the old-fashioned word and pours another round. They stare at each other until he hears a giggle and a clearing of a throat. He looks over to see the couple and wonders how long they’ve been waiting. Judging from the churlish look on the guy’s face and the barely contained laughter emanating from the girl, it’s been awhile. He settles their tab and takes their money (lousy tip, of course) as the two saunter past Blue-Eyes and escape out into the night. Well, at least Dean can see it’s stopped raining.

Making up his mind, he follows them from behind the bar and locks the door after them. He flips off the sign, too. He may be stuck here with Blue-Eyes, but he’ll be damned if he’ll let someone else come meandering in to make him get home even later.

He comes back to stand in front of his customer and makes a decision. Pulling down another glass, he pours some of the whiskey into it and sighs as the warmth of it hits his system. What do they always say about good whiskey? It should warm the cockles of the heart, or something like that. Not that Dean actually knows what a cockle is, but hey, it went down smooth.

He realizes Blue-Eyes is watching him and Dean decides to bite the bullet. He’s tired, bored and probably on his way to cranky town if Blue-Eyes keeps his word about the next forty-five minutes.

“So, what brings you out on a cold and rainy night like tonight, Mr, uh…what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you what I’ve been calling you in my head.”

The other man squints and tilts his head at Dean like a tiny, confused bird. And no, Dean doesn’t find that adorable at all. Nope.

“What have you been calling me in your head?”

Dean purses his lips. Sometimes he’s really an idiot. He gives Blue-Eyes a shaky laugh.

“I said I wasn’t gonna keeping doing that.”

They stare at each other again, neither one budging until Blue-Eyes releases a breath and blinks, shoulders slumping a bit more. By the end of the night Dean expects this guy to be melted into the floor.

“Cas.”

Dean frowns. “Your name is Mr Cas?”

“No, just Cas.” Blue-Eyes, no, scratch that, Cas then holds out his hand so Dean can shake it like they’re fellow professionals meeting at a party or something. As he grips the other man’s hand in his own he realizes Cas’s hand is warm, dry, and, yep, strong. The dude is seriously ticking all of Dean’s boxes without even trying. It’s a bit unnerving, really.

“Is that short for something?” Dean asks, wondering what type of name that is.

Cas just looks at him over the rim of his glass. “Perhaps.”

Neither of them say anything else for a long moment and Dean shakes his head. “People ever tell you you talk too much?”

“Yes. All the time,” Cas says with a smirk.

Dean laughs. “Well, whatever. It’s officially nice to meet you, Cas. I’m Dean. Humble and professional barkeep at your service.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Cas’s voice is deep but there’s a warmth to it that makes Dean happy.  They chit-chat for a bit, just like Dean would do with any newbie to the bar. He pours them both another round and then tries his question again.

“So, you seemed a bit upset earlier. What brought you through my doors, Cas?”

Cas sighs and glances away. He taps his fingers lightly on the polished wood of the bar. He stares at Dean as though assessing him and then looks as though he’s made up his mind.

“My…er, the person I’ve been dating, dumped me tonight. We went to an expensive restaurant and ordered far too pricey food for the serving size and drank outrageously fancy wine. Then they ordered an expensive bottle of cognac, drank it all and then told me I wasn’t worth it.”

Dean winces. “Ouch. How long were you together?”

“Six months.”

“Well, it’s not too long for a relationship, but it’s long enough to hurt.”

Cas nods, looking sullen again.

“What special occasion was it?”

Cas stares at him. “How could you possibly know that?”

“Fancy restaurant, the way you’re dressed, the cognac. Nobody orders that unless there’s been a birth or an anniversary or both.”

“It was my birthday,” Cas says, looking down again.

“Fuck,” Dean blurts out without thinking. “And they dumped you? Seriously bad juju, man.”

Cas nods and takes another drink of his whiskey, looking miserable. Dean tops off both of their glasses and hums.

“What was his name?”

Cas whips his head up, suddenly looking confused and more than a little worried. “I never said it was a he.”

“It was your distinct lack of pronouns, dude. Always the dead giveaway. Trust me, as a guy who plays for both sides, I know. Pronouns are key. Hey, relax, Cas, this is a safe space.” Dean points to the small pride flag he keeps above the bar and watches as Cas visibly relaxes.

The silence that falls between them is comfortable now. Welcoming, even. Cas clears his throat and rests his hand on his chin, peering at Dean.

“So…you’re bi, I assume or, pan, perhaps?”

“Got it in one. Just another bisexual loser ruining the world one lay at a time.”

Dean winks to show he’s only kidding. He’s proud to be bi, but it doesn’t mean he can’t make a joke at his own expense. Of course, if Sam or his friend Charlie were here they’d both tell him what they thought of that.

“His name was Bartholomew.”

Dean snorts. “It fits him. Douche-y name for a douche-canoe.”

Cas barks out a laugh and it completely changes his face into something truly beautiful. Dean suddenly feels the need to always make Cas laugh like that. He can’t imagine anyone not wanting to – his laugh is infectious. And the light it puts in his eyes is irresistible.

Cas looks serious again as he swirls the rest of the whiskey in his glass. “To be honest, Bart was just the last in a long line of failed…connections. I’m doubting my own self-worth at this point. Everyone ends up leaving or they get fed up with me. I’m too introverted…too socially awkward to deal with, I suppose.”

“I don’t know, you seem to be doing okay right now.”

“I’ve been drinking,” Cas says, deadpan. “And also I’m paying you.”

Dean chuckles. “Not really, I decided to stop charging you as soon as I poured my first one.”

“Your hospitality know no bounds. Truly.”

Dean laughs. Cas’s dry delivery and poker-faced expressions really are the limit. He feels that familiar warmth he always gets when he meets someone new. A someone new that excites him. But he pushes the feeling aside because he knows on some level that trying to get into Cas’s pants is so not what the other man needs right now. Dean shivers as he realizes how damn mature that sounds. Next he’ll be looking into 401ks and cemetery plots.

“Well, consider them birthday drinks. Of course, this stuff doesn’t cost a small fortune or anything, but I figured you’d already paid out enough tonight.”

Cas smirks and shakes his head at Dean. “Thank you, Dean. It’s actually very kind of you to…take pity on me.”

He says it jokingly but Dean gets the sense that he means it. He reaches forward and touches Cas’s hand.

“Hey, no pity here. You are ridiculously attractive and if I didn’t have a conscience, I’d definitely be throwing out my best lines here to help you relieve some tension, if you know what I mean. And you are not awkward to me, but even if you were, it wouldn’t be enough to stop me from asking for your number or seeing if you wanted to meet up sometime. I barely know you but you seem like a decent guy, Cas. And I think all of those people that don’t get you can just fuck right off. You need to keep trying, man. Don’t give up just because a few losers couldn’t see what they had.”

Cas blinks at Dean, blue eyes getting huge. “You think I’m ridiculously attractive?”

Dean thinks back. Did he say that? Yeah, he said that. Figures that would be the only thing to register with the dude.

“What sort of line would you use on me? I mean, if you were going to, that is.” Cas shyly glances away and then back, a curious look on his face.

“Oh, uh, probably something like, well you know what they say — the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Dean waggles his eyebrows and smirks, faking a leer.

“I’m not sure that would work with me,” Cas says, mirth clear in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. You’d make me work for it, I know. But seriously, you need to regroup, clear out the douche-canoes from your life and find a new guy, man.”

Cas smiles at him in fondness, and nope, Dean is not going to do it. He will not break his rule about dating people just out of relationships. Not even for big huge blue eyes that make him feel sappy like a love song. Cas, however, clearly has other plans.

“This may be forward but, um, Dean would you allow me take you out for dinner? As a date, in case you were wondering how I meant it.”

“Oh, wow, Cas, um, I mean…”

Cas’s face takes an interesting journey in two seconds – from hopeful joy to miserable and wretched. Dean feels his heart break a little bit for him in that moment and mentally kicks his own ass for being a tool.

“Oh, I see. I…I’m sorry, Dean. Thank you for hospitality.” Cas fumbles with his wallet and places far too much money next to his glass. “I won’t keep you anymore. Go home and enjoy whatever is left of your night.”

Dean watches dumbly as Cas sits up straighter and then turns in his seat, his broad shoulders unyielding, suddenly. Dean knows he just can’t let it end like this.

“No, wait, Cas!”

Dean practically flings himself around the bar to reach Cas before he can unlock the door and leave without a backwards glance. He rests his hand on Cas’s shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s only because I have a rule about dating people that just got out of a relationship. It has nothing to do with you, I promise you. You need to focus on you, dude. Figure out what you’re looking for. If this one was just the last in a long line of guys who don’t understand you, try and see what people you’re going for. I mean, I’m no expert, and God knows I’ve had my fair share of jumping before looking moments, but I think you just need some Cas time right now, you know? If we ever start something I do not want to be rebound guy and you deserve something better than a one night stand.”

Cas stares at him, blue eyes half in shadow.  Dean holds his breath, hoping he didn’t just lose something. All he can hear is the clock ticking behind him and the pounding of his own heart in his ears.

“That was quite the speech,” Cas finally says. “You sound like you know from experience.”

“Cas, man. You have no idea.”

“I have some, like I said, a long line of rejections. Still…”  Cas’s eyes search his face and then nods to himself. “Maybe you’re right. I do tend to do things without thinking in this area of life despite being very practical usually. And you’re also right on anther point, Dean. You do not deserve to be “rebound guy”.”

Dean can’t help his grin as Cas makes the quotes motion with his fingers. They stare at each other for a bit longer before he unlocks the door. Cas steps out as the cold air filters in between them, causing them bother to shiver. Dean pauses, and then holds out his hand. “Let me have your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yeah, you have one, right? Or have you moved on to something flashier like sky writing?”

Cas snorts and shakes his head. He fumbles in his pockets and then pulls out a slim, black smartphone. He unlocks it and hands it over. Of course, it’d be that kind of phone that can help you bake bread or turn off all the lights in the world with just a click or something. He finally finds what he’s looking for and puts his contact information in.

“There. There’s my number. Text me to let me know you get home, okay? And as for the rest, we’ll take it one day at a time, Cas. Let’s be friends, first.”

Cas smiles shyly as he looks down at his phone and nods. “Friends, first. I like that. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, buddy. Be safe.”

Cas slips out and away, leaving a coldness in his wake as he takes his body heat with him. Dean watches him go, the black of the night almost swallowing him up. Cas pauses to pull his coat tighter, the glow of the streetlight lighting up his profile. To Dean he looks pure—angelic, almost, like a painting or a sculpture. With one last look at Dean, he eventually fades away, disappearing back into the world. Soon all Dean can see is his own breath in the air and the twinkling starlight from the surprisingly clear sky above. He locks up again and finishes his routine for the night. After he’s put the money in the safe and headed out back to his car, he feels happy inside. Like something good just occurred — like some new path has been cleared for him to travel. His drive home is quick and easy, there’s hardly any traffic mostly due to the earlier rain. It’s just as he’s pulling into his driveway that he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. It’s from an unknown number and his heart beats faster as he reads the message.

From unknown: I arrived home safely, Dean. Thank you, again. Would you like to get coffee tomorrow, or, perhaps I should say, later today? Oh, this is Cas, by the way. In case you didn’t know. :)

Dean saves the number and then returns to the message to reply, a grin creeping onto his face before he even realizes it.

Dean: Of course, dude. Coffee sounds great. Around 1pm?

Cas: Perfect. Do you know the Blue Java Café on Marion and Elm? It’s across from the park and one of my favorite places.

Dean: Sounds good. Can’t wait to talk to you sober, ya lush… (lol j/k hah) 

Cas sends him a sticking-tongue-out emoji as a response and Dean chuckles as he locks up his car. He has a nice, happy feeling in his heart as he thinks of Cas. Like maybe this is something special. Or maybe it’s just that it could be and has the potential to be. He knows he told Cas friends first, but Dean’s willing to see where it…where they, can go.

[hoboal87]

Don't Speak, Part 22

Pairings: dark!Sam x Reader, dark!Dean x Claire

Characters: dark!Sam, dark!Dean, pregnant!Reader, Claire, Ellen, Bobby, Adam

Warnings: dark!Winchesters, Trauma Bonding/Stockholm Syndrome, Non-graphic descriptions of Non-Con/Rape, Violence, Manipulation, Guilt, Threats, Pregnancy

WC: 3400+

beta’d by the wonderful, lovely, @writethelifeyouwant

This is a dark!fic that includes potentially triggering content and is intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for your own media consumption, so please, read the warnings and if you feel that you may be triggered and/or offended please move along. If you have any questions about the warnings/tags please feel free to DM me.

Don’t Speak Masterlist

My Full Masterlist

Part 21

The sight of Adam nearly causes you to faint. You have hoped, prayed, that somehow he managed to escape–that he wouldn’t also fall victim to the brothers–and your heart pounds in your chest as you take in the sight of him. Old and new cuts and bruises cover every visible inch of his body, his eyes are sunken in, his skin taut, and he looks as if hasn’t slept or eaten in weeks. A ratty shirt that had once fit him properly is now held together by mere threads and covered in dried blood stains. But the worst part is the metal collar locked around his neck, connecting to his wrists and ankles. Adam’s gaze fixes on you for a moment, the ghost of a smile on his lips fading quickly when Sam tugs sharply on the shackles.

You want to run to him, apologize for ever bringing him into your complicated relationship with the Winchesters. You should’ve disobeyed John, especially now that you know that it wasn’t Adam who fathered your baby after all, and you were already pregnant when the family left in January. If you’d only waited a few weeks longer to fulfill John’s instructions, you could’ve saved yourself and Adam from all the pain that you caused by following those orders. You stop yourself from moving, especially when you realize that Sam’s eyes are narrowed in on you, as if he’s waiting to see what you’re going to do now that Adam is here. 

“Check her,” Dean orders, gesturing towards Claire, baby Amelia still in his arms. Adam doesn’t move, his eyes flickering to Sam, as if he’s asking him for permission to follow Dean’s instruction. What has Sam done to him? “Now, Milligan.” 

Sam nods, loosening his grip before producing a key, he unlocks the chains and Adam shuffles towards Claire. Dean hands the baby over to you, stepping back to Sam, who offers a hand to shake his brother’s in congratulations.

You rock the baby in your arms as Adam inspects Claire, taking in her tiny features. Though you knew it wouldn’t matter who fathered Amelia, you can’t help but think of the relief that Claire will have knowing that her husband is Amelia’s father. She’s the spitting image of Dean, plump lips and a button nose and large almond shaped eyes, irises already tinged with green. As the brothers share hushed words between them, you walk back towards Claire, shushing Amelia as she begins to stir. Adam offers a sweet smile to Claire telling her that she did well before giving strict instructions to stay on bedrest for the next week. He then turns to you, reaching out to take the baby from your arms. Your skin prickles under his touch and you lock eyes, and again you fight the urge to tell him how sorry you are. 

He gives Amelia a quick once over, the newborn wailing in his arms, and he gently shushes her before handing her back to Claire. 

“Your wife and daughter are both perfectly healthy,” Adam says meekly as he approaches Dean and Sam. 

There’s a snide smile on Sam’s face as Dean takes in Adam’s words. At first you don’t understand what Sam is finding funny; recently he’d been just as obsessed with heirs as John was. John had mentioned more times than you can remember about the brothers’ needing heirs. Legitimate male heirs. Mr. Finch’s words from months echo in your ears as though it was just repeated in the quiet room. 

Tell me you want me to put a son in you. 

“I guess that means the Manor is mine,” Sam snickers, a poor attempt at a joke that Dean clearly doesn’t find funny, and the elder brother puts his fist through the wall behind him. You back away from the brothers as a remark from Dean sets Sam seething, and he tackles Dean to the ground. Grunting and the sounds of fists hitting flesh fill the room as the brothers tumble across the floor. 

With the Winchesters occupied, you seize the opportunity–albeit a foolish one–and grab Adam’s hand. You guide him towards the passageway that you and Dean entered from earlier in the night, stopping briefly at the bed to place a kiss on Claire’s forehead and promise you’ll get her out, too. You instruct her to call for Bobby or Ellen before disappearing into the passageway. With the door closed behind you, you make for your and Sam’s room hoping that, once you get there, you and Adam can escape.

You quickly realize that it may not have been the best idea to use the secret passage, though. From your and Sam’s room, it seemed to be a straight shot, but what you failed to notice before is that there are multiple connections, and you don’t know which one leads where.

“Which one, Y/N?” Adam pants behind you.

“I don’t– I’m not sure,” you sob, cradling your stomach. This isn’t a good idea, you could end up quite literally anywhere in the Manor. “Maybe we should go back, if they don’t know we’re gone–” 

“I think it’s too late for that, Kitten,” Adam grabs your hand. “And I– I can’t go back. Think, sweetheart.” 

Each hall looks nearly identical to the other. If you’d paid closer attention before, you wouldn’t now be stuck in a labyrinth behind the walls of Winchester Manor. You fall against the wall, cursing yourself for thinking that you could get yourself and Adam out of here.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” you mumble. “This is all my fault. I shouldn’t’ve– If I’d told them the truth, Dean would’ve never–”

Adam sits down beside you, wrapping his arm around you gingerly and pulling you close to him. “It’s okay, Y/N.” 

You let out a deep breath. The longer you sit here, the greater the chance that Sam or Dean would realize that you’re trying to escape and figure out how you were doing it. If Claire was able to alert Bobby to the fighting brothers, there was a good chance they wouldn’t be able to get to her just yet. 

As your eyes adjust to the barely lit corridor, you see something on the adjacent wall– an SW and DW etched into it, and you decide that hall must be the one they used to sneak into the other’s room. You struggle to stand and Adam catches on quickly, rising himself before offering you a hand to help you up. You guide him towards the walkway, excitement filling you as you reach the door to Sam’s room, knowing that you and Adam are close to freedom.

“Y’know, every time I think we’ve broken you, you somehow manage to get just enough of your fight back to do something so fucking stupid, Y/N.” A voice makes you turn and you see a pistol pointing at you and Adam. Your heart stops. Sam’s sporting what looks to be the beginning of a black eye and has a slight limp as he takes a few steps towards the two of you. “I thought we were past all this, Princess.”

“It was me,” Adam steps in front of you, “I made her do it.”

“Is this true, Y/N?” Sam asks, eyeing you sternly while fixing the pistol solely on Adam. You’re torn, afraid that Sam might kill Adam if you go along with the lie, but even more afraid of what Sam will do to you both if you tell the truth. 

Adam turns his head slightly so that you can meet his eyes, and he gives an almost imperceptible nod, encouraging you to play along.

“Yes,” you mumble, and as soon as the word leaves your mouth, Sam closes the distance between him and Adam and hits him too many times to count with the butt of the pistol until the doctor’s body falls to the floor with a thunk. Angry red marks cover Adam’s face and a stream of blood flows from his mouth and nose. Sam uses his shirt to wipe down the pistol, staining it red, before stomping on Adam’s hand and then his stomach. He turns away, smirking as he disappears out of the room.

Adam’s face is swelling within seconds, and you drop to your knees, hoping and praying that Sam hasn’t killed him. You place your hand under his nose, breathing out a sigh of relief when you feel a faint breath against your fingers. 

“He attacked Y/N, Bobby, I had to stop him,” Sam’s voice carries from the hall. 

When you look up, you see Sam and Bobby entering the room from the main doorway. You can’t remember the last time you’d seen him or Ellen. 

“We need to get him back downstairs,” Sam urges, sounding rattled. 

“Are you sure that’s what happened here, Sam? ‘Cause from where I’m standing, it looks like you beat the tar out of him for no reason,” Bobby retorts.

“He’s been obsessed with Y/N for months. He’s the one who attacked her and Claire last year! If Dean hadn’t found them…” You’re not sure why Sam’s ability for lying comes as a shock to you. “Y/N, sweetheart, he can’t hurt you,” Sam reaches out for you, and helps you up, wrapping his arm possessively around your shoulders. 

“Why do you think I’ve been keeping her close? I couldn’t risk something else happening to her. He’s delusional, Bobby. You want to know what he told Dean?” Sam doesn’t wait for a response, plowing on in his tirade. “He said that he was our brother– that he deserved everything we had. That if we didn’t allow him to continue caring for Y/N and Claire, that he would make sure everyone in town knew about Joanna. I love Joanna like a sister; we couldn’t let her reputation be tarnished because dad wouldn’t allow Dean to marry her. You know no matter how much he discouraged it, they were sweethearts. Dean only sent her away because he thought it was what dad wanted, but dad included her in his will, Bobby. He knew that it was Dean’s child. And she and Henry should be here with us. Tell Ellen to bring her here.”

Sam is speaking so quickly and erratically that you can barely keep up. You haven’t seen Joanna since John’s funeral, and all you were told when you asked about her absence previously was that she was ill. You’d caught her and Dean in compromising positions more than once. Is that why she’s been gone? To have her baby in secret so that no one would know that she was unmarried and pregnant? To save herself and Ellen the embarrassment of having an illegitimate child? You watch as Bobby takes in everything Sam has said. 

“I might not be an educated man, Sam, but I ain’t stupid.” Bobby narrows his eyes. “I’ve known you your whole life–I practically raised you–and you think I don’t know when you’re lyin’? Your daddy paid Adam to watch over the girls and help ensure safe deliveries. And you’ve been keeping him locked up for months. You think Ellen and me can’t see the bruises, that we don’t hear the screams? You think that little of us, boy? You think that you can use us to keep covering up your and Dean’s messes?”

“I think,” –Sam steps forward, the facade of a man scared for the life of his wife and child dropped now, his voice lowering dangerously– “if you don’t do as you’re told…” He leans forward and you can no longer make out his words. Bobby’s face drains of color, his eyes wide, and his whole body goes stiff as Sam pulls away. “Have I made myself clear, Robert?” Bobby nods his head. You’d never seen Sam interact this way with Bobby, and whatever he said clearly has Bobby afraid for his life. 

“But you are right about one thing; Y/N and Claire, they’ll need someone to look after them while Dean and I take our next case. Take him to the servants quarters and tend to his injuries. Once he’s healed, he is only allowed to see Y/N under your or Ellen’s supervision. Is that understood? And I wasn’t just carrying on about Joanna. Dean and I will expect her and Henry moved in by the time we return. Now, get him out of here and send someone to clean up this mess.”

Bobby only nods, moving towards Adam and picking him up off the floor. A pained groan leaves Adam, and for a brief moment his eyelids flutter. Sam locks the door behind them as Bobby exits, and you’re not sure what to expect from him next. He stalks towards you, tearing off his shirt. You make a decision that you’re sure you’ll regret, and try to grab the pistol, but Sam beats you to it.

“I know it wasn’t Adam’s idea to escape,” he growls, grabbing your arm roughly. “But the fact that you let him take the fall for it–that was surprising. How do you keep managing to surprise me, Y/N?” Sam’s hand snakes up your back before grabbing your loose hair and yanking your head back. “And going for this?” he waves the pistol in front of your face, “was even more unexpected. Maybe I need to teach you another lesson,” he grunts with a pull of your hair, causing you to whimper.

“Please, Sam, I promise I’ll be good.” 

Sam moves you both towards the bed, and when the backs of your knees hit the mattress, you fall backward. He lifts your nightdress over your belly and exposes your breasts, the gun tracing your silhouette, and for a moment you’re afraid he might try to fuck you with it, but instead he sets it down after a moment, just out of your reach, and pins your hands above your head. He enters you roughly, giving you no time to adjust, and sets a fast and brutal pace. Your focus falls to the window as you wait for him to finish.

August

Claire is given a clean bill of health by Dorothy a few days later, and with that the brothers are gone. A weight is lifted off your shoulders, and you feel like you can finally breathe for the first time in months. Under Sam’s orders, Joanna is back in the Manor within a week and is assigned to be the children’s wetnurse and nanny. You, Claire and Joanna are all moved into the rooms closest to the nursery which now houses both Amelia and Henry.  A third bassinet sits empty waiting for your baby to fill it. 

Several new servants were brought in by Dean before they’d left nearly a month prior and according to him they were there to protect you, Claire, Joanna, and the children. You aren’t sure who Dean thinks you need protecting from, especially when he and Sam were the only people in the Manor who had ever hurt you, but you have to admit knowing that Dean is concerned about the well-being of all of you is heartening. 

Benny, the guard assigned to you, is nice enough, and for the most part gives you a wide berth. He’s larger than Dean but not as tall as Sam, and you can see why Dean had hired him. He accompanies you on your daily walks through the grounds and escorts you everywhere else in the Manor. Though you insist that it isn’t necessary, he maintains that he was given explicit instructions to stay by your side. 

For the weeks following you fall into a routine; morning walks with Benny, afternoons spent with Claire as she heals and the babies, and evenings exploring the Manor, you’d been there for so long, but hadn’t truly been out of the East Wing. Each week, Bobby receives a letter from Dean and the time frame of their absence is extended another week. Once one case is finished, the brothers would start working another one, and a part of you wonders if they ever truly plan to return back to Kansas. 

True to Sam’s word, the one and only time you’ve seen Adam since the brothers’ departure is under Bobby’s watchful eye. There was so much you wanted to say to him: apologize for getting him involved, not only once, but twice. If you hadn’t made a stupid and feeble attempt at an escape, and hadn’t let him take the blame, you’d both be better off. He hardly says anything to you, speaking mostly in two or three word sentences, before declaring you to be in good health. You attempt to follow Bobby and Adam when they exit, but to your dismay, Benny stops you, instead taking you in the opposite direction. 

There’s a knowing look on Ellen’s face when she enters your room the next day, ordering Benny to help himself to lunch, while you and she tend to “wifely” things. Once Benny has disappeared, she asks you to follow her, guiding you to a secret door that you’ve never noticed before, and you curse yourself for not realizing sooner that the Manor had to be filled with multiple passageways, linking more than just bedrooms. 

Ellen briefly tells you how to recognize which passage leads where and how you can use the secret corridors to go between the different wings of the house, pointing to one in particular that, according to her, might be of interest to you, and another hall that, if you were so inclined, would lead you outdoors. You don’t miss the implication of the information that she’s given you, but you know you can’t leave. Sam and Dean still need you. After your last night together–before they’d gone away–you were woken up to loving touches and sweet words from your husband that reminded you why you’d ever fallen for him in the first place. Beneath the brutality and the bouts of mania, there is a kind and sweet Sam that you cherish. If you could give Sam and Dean the son they both so desperately want, maybe things could change.

You know you need to cast Adam out of your thoughts. You can’t be a loyal wife to Sam and Dean if you also have feelings for Adam– you need closure. You could tell him how the passages work, and maybe he could escape. With the brothers extending their trip so much, he could be far away by the time they return. It was the least you could do for him. 

You consider for days when might would be best to try to find Adam and help him escape. You’re sure Ellen was giving you a clue as to where he was being kept, but you won’t dare ask her for more clarification. According to Dean’s most recent letter, the brothers aren’t expected to return for at least another week. The sooner you helped Adam leave, the more time he could have getting out of Kansas City, the state, or even the country if he so desired. You doubt the brothers thought him important enough to chase all over the world; he’d fulfilled his deal with John, there was no reason for him to stay to just deliver your baby. 

As the week comes to a close, you know you have to make a decision, and soon. After dinner is served that night, you and Claire spend the rest of the evening in the nursery, chatting and playing with the babies, before Ellen orders you both out so that she and Joanna can put them to bed, leaving one oil lamp burning as a nightlight for the children, as one of the new guards takes his place outside the nursery door.

Benny escorts you the short distance to your room, offering you a “goodnight, cher” as you close the door behind you. You’re confident that Benny won’t disturb you for the rest of the night, so you make the decision that tonight is the night to free Adam. You grab your own oil lamp from the beside, quickly filling it with the reserve kept in your room to ensure you had enough light to see Adam outside. 

You creep through the hidden door in your room and make your way down the hall Ellen had said would be “of interest”, hoping that you didn’t misunderstand her tone, and you wouldn’t be walking into something much worse than finding Adam. You’re not sure how long you follow the grimey and dim corridor, you hoped that you could maybe get an idea of where exactly you were in the Manor, but with multiple ones branching off you realize you could be anywhere.

Part 23

Feedback is fuel! Please tell me what you think!

[sfb123]

Hands Down

Chapter 2: "Waves"

Catch up here!

Pairing: Liam x Riley

All characters belong to Pixelberry

Summary: Can Liam and Riley still find their way to each other despite Riley turning down Maxwell's invitation to Cordonia?

Rating: G

Word Count: 3,304

Song Inspiration: Waves - Dean Lewis

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this out, life hit me hard the last month (both good and bad), but here it is. I promise I'll be better about regular releases.

A/N 2: Thank you to @ao719 for the song suggestion, and helping me work through some of the made up in my head issues.

A/N 3: This was not properly beta'd, so please excuse the many errors.

Tags are below the cut/in the comments. If you'd like to be added or removed, please let me know!

“His Highness, Crown Prince Liam Rys.” 

All conversations halted, and heads turned to the doors at the front of the room as Liam entered the ballroom. It was the final night of the social season, and he was only hours away from becoming the King of Cordonia. 

This also meant he was only hours away from having to announce which suitor would become his queen. 

He surveyed the room, observing each of the women, hoping for some sign as to who the right choice would be. He had spent the last few months with them at various events, spending one on one time with each woman, trying to make a connection or find a spark of something. He would always end up comparing them to her, and they would always come up short. 

But she wasn’t here. She rejected the invitation. 

Throughout the social season, his mind would drift to thoughts of Riley Brooks, memories of their night together. But that’s all they were, and all they would ever be. He had barely slept since the season began, spending his nights going over his options, trying to figure out who would be the best choice to rule by his side. 

Kiara Thorton, a polyglot with a natural sense of diplomacy. She would certainly be an asset in building relationships and alliances. But would she have the compassion and candor needed to win over the citizens? 

Penelope Ebrim, compassionate to a fault. However, her naivete would prove challenging during the more complex aspects of the job.

Hana Lee, a newcomer to Cordonian court. In the brief interactions Liam had with her, he found her to be kind yet incredibly timid and insecure. It was a toss up which one of them was least enthused to be a part of all of this. She was obviously there on her parent’s order alone.

Olivia Nevrakis, one of Liam’s oldest and dearest friends. She certainly cared for him, and he for her. But not the way a husband should care for his wife. Besides, she was a Nevrakis, a family with a checkered past in the Cordonian history books. She would be a controversial choice, questioned by many. 

And finally, Madeleine Amaranth, the top contender in the press and with the council, including Liam’s parents. She had been his brother’s chosen suitor, jilted when he made the decision to abdicate. It was an unofficial betrothal agreement when they were children, so she had spent her whole life in training to sit on the throne. Everyone was sure that she would be Liam’s choice. Everyone, except for Liam. 

While he did agree that Madeleine would be an excellent queen, there was something missing. He didn’t feel he could be the best king possible with her by his side. He needed a wife that would see him, and support him as a man, not just a king. He wanted to be able to retire for the evening and spend time as a family. He didn’t see that with Madeleine, her strength was also her weakness. He needed to be able to just be Liam sometimes, with Madeleine, he would always be the king. 

“Little brother!” Liam was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of his brother’s voice. 

“Leo? What are you doing here?” 

“I couldn’t miss your big night!” He clapped his brother on the shoulder. “So, have you made your choice?”

Liam sighed at the question. His choice would have been for Leo to live up to his birthright, allowing him to remain the spare and hold on to a small semblance of freedom. “You will see in due time.” He responded, not wanting to admit that he still hadn’t decided. 

“Oh, come on. Not even a hint?”

“How was the cruise?” Liam asked, diverting the attention away from himself. 

“Ugh,” Leo groaned. “It didn’t go quite as planned.”

“So that woman, the one Madeleine found in your bed?” 

“Yeah, she’s in someone else’s bed now.” He said nonchalantly. 

Liam’s jaw ticked, as his fists clenched at his side. The woman who had captivated Leo so much that he had abdicated the throne, and put all of this on Liam’s shoulders, was with someone else. Leo gave everything up for nothing. 

“Your Highnesses,” a voice interrupted before Liam could respond. The brothers turned to find a photographer holding up a camera to them. “Can I get a quick picture?” 

“Of course, my good man!” Leo threw his arm around Liam, pulling him to his side. Liam put on his most stoic smile, hiding all of the emotions that were flowing through him in that moment. 

Once the picture was taken, the photographer thanked the pair before bowing and stepping away. 

“I don’t regret a second of it,” Leo continued once they were alone. “Everyone comes into your life for a reason, she helped me to see that this wasn’t the life I was meant for.” He signaled to the opulence of the room around them. “I needed to step away and find my own path. I’m not there yet, but I’m figuring it out.”

Liam nodded, noticing the parallels in their situations. In that moment, it all clicked, and he knew exactly what his decision would be. “If you’ll excuse me Leo, I need to meet with father before the announcement.”  

“Of course, knock ‘em dead, bro!” 

As Liam walked across the ballroom, looking for his father, his mind began to race. Maybe Riley wasn’t the love of his life, maybe that night was just meant to be a sign. Perhaps he could have it all, be the best king he could be without sacrificing his happiness. 

“Excuse me,” Liam said, interrupting Constantine, who was deep in conversation with Madeleine's father. No doubt making plans for the impending engagement tour. “Father, if I may have a word with you, privately?” 

“You’re going to be making your announcement shortly, we can speak afterwards.” He replied dismissively. 

“Please, it’s urgent.” Liam insisted. 

Constantine excused himself from his conversation and followed Liam into his study, closing the door behind him. As soon as they were away from the eyes of the court Liam’s demeanor changed, he seemed anxious, pacing back and forth across the floor. Constantine attributed it to the changes he would be going through in the next hour, and was grateful that he was able to conceal those emotions when he was in front of others. 

“Godfrey and I were just discussing the engagement tour. We are going to begin in Fydelia, since it is the home of your future betrothed.” Constantine broke the silence in the room.

“I’m not choosing Madeleine.” Liam stated flatly. 

Constantine’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Well, there will certainly be some damage control needed, but it’s not the end of the world. Don’t tell me you’ve chosen the Nevrakis girl. I know you two are close, but she was only invited to participate out of obligation. She cannot sit on the throne.” 

“No, I’m not choosing Olivia.” Liam took a deep breath, preparing himself. “I will not be choosing one of the suitors.”

“But son, you need to be engaged to ascend the throne. You know I’m in poor health, I need to step down before…”

“That’s why I wanted to speak with you,” Liam interrupted. “I would like for you to make a change to the law. One final decree as reigning king.” He noticed his father’s trepidation, and continued speaking. “I just don’t think I can be the king Cordonia needs, or deserves, if I am married to one of those women. You know how important it is for a king to have the right queen by his side.”

“I do, that’s why I’ve been encouraging you to choose the countess. She has been preparing for this role since she was a child.” 

“So have I, I went through all of the same lessons that Leo did. I can be a great king on my own, until I find a queen that will be good for this country, and for me.” Liam pleaded with his father. 

Constantine studied Liam’s expression, he was steadfast and unwavering. “And if I refuse?”

“Then when I go up on stage tonight and I will announce my abdication. I believe the line of succession would then fall to the Nevrakis girl,” he mimicked Constantine’s earlier tone. “And you’ve made it quite clear how you feel about that.” 

The reigning king’s eyes went wide at Liam’s ultimatum. “You would throw thousands of years of tradition away over this?” 

“Over my happiness? Absolutely.” Liam’s expression softened in a final attempt to get his father to understand. “Cordonia deserves me at my best, and I cannot do that with one of these suitors, so I would rather step down than give them anything less.” 

“You are certainly a fierce negotiator.” Constantine observed. 

“I’ve learned from the best.” Liam replied, he smirked at his father, hoping to lighten the mood slightly. He was unsuccessful. 

“And where do you imagine you’re going to find this woman?” Constantine asked. “I will not have you plastering your personal information all over these dating websites I’ve been hearing about.” 

“No sir, I wouldn’t,” Liam assured. “I much prefer making a face to face connection.” 

Constantine stood in pensive silence, thinking about Liam’s proposition, but also studying his son. He was looking for even the slightest break in his expression, but there was none. Liam knew he was being tested and failing was not an option. 

“If I do this for you, you will make the announcement and deal with any of the fallout on your own.” He warned. 

Liam nodded in understanding. “Of course.” 

“Son, this conversation has shown me that you will be exactly the ruler this country needs.” Constantine placed a hand on his shoulder. “With or without a wife.” 

“Thank you, father.” Liam’s tone remained even, afraid his father might change his mind if he showed too much enthusiasm. Inwardly, he was screaming. 

“I will need about an hour to make the arrangements. You are to return to the ball, and keep this information to yourself. No one is to know until you step onstage and make the announcement.” 

“Yes sir,” Liam extended a hand, which his father shook briefly before pulling him into a hug.

“I’m proud of you, son.” Constantine said, patting him on the back before pulling away. “Now get out there and keep everyone occupied.”

Liam nodded with a smile, and returned to the ball feeling lighter than he had in months. 

As soon as he set foot in the ballroom, he was approached by Penelope, who asked him to dance. He obliged, and led her to the center of the floor. Penelope hadn’t stopped speaking once during their dance, but Liam didn’t hear a word she said. All he could think about was his announcement, and what this meant for him. He was one step closer to living his dream, and falling in love. 

Once the dance was over, Liam parted ways with Penelope and made his rounds through the room, his eyes intermittently flickering toward the door. As the time passed, his nerves grew, worried that his father may renege on their agreement. 

Liam was in the middle of a conversation with the Beaumonts when the music stopped, and a throat clearing over the speakers pulled his attention. He looked up to see his father standing on stage. 

Once the crowd quieted down, Constantine began to address them. “The moment we’ve been waiting for all season has finally arrived. It has been my great honor to serve Cordonia these last few decades.” His expression sombered as he continued. “We’ve had turmoil, but Cordonia has pulled together even during our toughest times. I couldn’t be more proud to have been Cordonia’s king.”

The crowd applauded as Constantine searched the faces for his son. When his eyes locked on Liam, he nodded. Liam took the signal and made his way to the stage. When he took his spot at his father’s side, Constantine continued. 

“I only now pass the crown to Prince Liam because I know he’ll carry on exactly as I have. I couldn’t ask for a better successor.” 

“Father…” Liam’s expression softened, touched by his words. 

“It’s true. I love your brother, but you are the king Cordonia needs.” He turned to smile at his youngest son before continuing. “You have more than proven that to me. Especially tonight. Today, I pass the royal signet ring to you. Cordonia is yours, my son.” 

As the crowd cheered, Constantine took a step back, standing beside Regina, as Liam took his place in front of the microphone. “Thank you all for being here tonight. This is an incredible honor and a responsibility that I don’t take lightly. I only hope that I can serve Cordonia with the distinction that my father did.” He turned to his father and step-mother, bowing to them before pulling them each into an embrace. 

“And now, the time has come, your prince will choose his bride.” Regina announced. 

“Actually,” Liam returned to the microphone. “In the interest of hitting the ground running, I spoke with my father earlier tonight, and he has put through one final decree as king.” Liam looked to his father, who nodded in approval. “I truly appreciate all of the ladies that participated in the season. Your grace and poise throughout the weeks has not gone unnoticed. Your unwavering support for this country is an inspiration. However, I will not be choosing a bride tonight.” 

The crowd immediately broke into gasps and murmurs as they took in Liam’s announcement. He looked out over the confused faces, taking in each of the suitors' reactions. Shock appeared to be the general consensus, until his eyes landed on Madeleine. Her expression remained impassive, but he could see the fire in her eyes before she abruptly turned and exited the ballroom. Liam did feel bad for her, this was her second time thinking she would become queen, and the second time the opportunity had been taken from her. 

Liam heard a throat clear behind him and he turned, locking eyes with Constantine. He didn’t have to say a word, Liam understood. He lifted a hand to silence the crowd. “If you will allow me to explain,” he said, once the noise had died down. “As I said, each of the suitors showed immeasurable grace and dedication to their country, all of which are crucial qualities for a queen. However, there was one very important qualification that I could not find. I was unable to connect with them in the way that a man should connect with his wife.” 

He paused for a moment, allowing a few whispers of confusion to ripple through the room. “I want to give this country my absolute best. To do that, I believe that I need to forge my own path, and find the right partner for me, and for this country.” 

Questions were shouted out rapid fire from the crowd, Liam once again raised a hand and waited for the room to quiet down. “I understand that there will be many questions and concerns, I will do my best to answer and address them all in due time. However, right now, we do need to proceed with this evening’s agenda. I appreciate your support, and look forward to continuing to guide Cordonia into greatness.”  

Liam ignored the lingering comments that were scattered throughout the crowd, and the evening went on as planned. He took his oath and was officially crowned the king of Cordonia. Despite the upset earlier in the evening, the tone for the rest of the event was full of cheer and hope. There were, understandably, lingering doubts about Liam’s decision, but the court had enough faith in him to be able to celebrate this moment for what it was, a new beginning for Cordonia. 

At the end of the night, once the guests had retired to their rooms, Liam sat on his throne, taking in the gravity of what had just happened.

“You know you don’t have to sleep on that thing, right?” The gruff voice of his best friend pulled him from his thoughts. 

“I know,” Liam responded. “I suppose I’m just letting things sink in.” 

“That’s fair,” he shrugged. “So what now?”

“Well, there will be a few interviews and photo ops with the press. I will need to be formally introduced to our allies and neighboring countries.” He paused for a moment. “I suppose we will need to rebrand what was supposed to be the engagement tour. I will work out the details in the morning.” 

“Yeah, let’s talk about that for a second,” Drake smirked. “What happened?”

Liam let out a humorless laugh. “Leo, of all things.” Drake looked at him curiously. “I was speaking with him earlier, and he was telling me about that woman from the cruise. It didn’t work out.” 

“Shocking.” Drake deadpanned. 

“Right? Well, he said something that resonated with me.” Liam explained Leo’s theory, and how it inspired him to stand up to his father, and forge his own path.

“That’s great Li, I’m really proud of you for standing up for yourself.” Drake congratulated his friend. “So when are you going to New York?” 

Liam’s gaze snapped up, meeting Drake’s. “What do you mean? Why would I go to New York?” 

“For the waitress.” Drake said with an arched brow. He knew Liam better than that. “That’s what all of this was about, wasn’t it?”

“Not quite,” Liam sighed. “Riley was my sign, not my soulmate. She made it clear that my feelings are not returned.” 

“What are you talking about? I’m pretty sure it was obvious to everyone but you that she was into you.” 

“Then why didn’t she accept Maxwell’s offer to join the social season?” 

“Seriously?” Drake slapped his palm against his forehead. “Listen, take a step back and look at it from her point of view. She has this whole life, a job, a family, friends, and you expected her to give all of that up and join this mess because of a couple of hours? Nobody in their right mind would do something like that.” 

Liam let out a deep breath, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter, the moment has passed. I’m sure she’s moved on.” 

“Li, you literally changed history for this woman. You mean to tell me that you’re not even going to try?” 

“I changed history for myself.” Liam corrected him.  

“Fine, you changed history for yourself, but it was because of her.” Drake rolled his eyes. “You’ve got a couple of weeks before the tour starts, right?” Liam nodded. “Okay, so take care of all the press and that stuff now, once that’s died down, fly out to New York and find her. If she’s going to reject you, at least have her reject you to your face so you know for sure.” 

A silence took over the room as Liam considered Drake’s words. 

“At least think about it.” Drake finally spoke up.

Liam locked eyes with his friend. “Thank you, Drake” 

Drake nodded and took his leave, not wanting to push any further. It was a decision Liam would need to make on his own. 

As Liam walked to his room, the king’s quarters, he found himself more conflicted than ever. He thought that his announcement would leave him feeling lighter, more at ease with his new role as king. However after his talk with Drake, he had so much more to think about. Should he return to New York? Was it possible that he could still have a chance with Riley? 

He needed to start focusing on his duties as king, but once again, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. 

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[heavenssexiestangel]

Intertwined Souls Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Main SPN Masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Ship: Gadreel/Dean

Written for: This was meant to be done ages ago for @spnkinkevents 's Dom/Sub Weekend (Kink Negotiation)

Word count: 3275

Tags and Warnings: Trans Male Dean Winchester, Sub!Dea, Dom!Gadreel, Domestic Fluff, Mention of Kink Negotiation

Summary: During a scene, Gadreel experiences Dom Space for the first time, and that leads to one of the best moments he’s ever experienced with Dean.

Beta: None

Notes: This was supposed to be the last chapter of this story, but Gadreel and Dean decided otherwise, so I'll have to write a fourth xD I really wanted to finish this story this year, but it ain't happening. I have too many wips I need to work on XD

The prompt for this chapter was "Kink Negotiation" This chapter is NOT betaed, any and all mistakes are my own.

Excerpt:

Dean looked at the list he had written down, tapping the pen against the table. He had been sitting there for over four hours or so, trying to give sense to his thoughts and muster the courage to actually give his ideas a form. A couple of days earlier, he had mentioned to Gadreel that they should try some new things during scenes, and Gadreel had agreed – as long as Dean put down a list of the things he wanted to try and the level of comfort he had with it. Of course, Gadreel could say no to any of it for whatever reason, and Dean wouldn’t complain about it. It took two to tango, and they both had to enjoy it. That was fundamental for both of them. Gadreel, though, also wished for Dean to ask properly and vocally about what he wanted, and that was why he found himself sitting in the kitchen with crumpled pieces of paper all over the floor. The list was a minefield of notes, crossed-out options, and question marks.

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[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Suptober 6 Oct.: Parody

"I'm Dean, by the way."

"Castiel." He shook Dean's hand just right, an apology still written all over his handsome face. "Again, I'm very sorry for the tree's…attack." He let go of Dean's hand. "I suppose I couldn't offer you an extremely deep discount on a lightly used pine?"

deancas, Hallmark movie au...sorta, nsfw-ish

Dean didn't remember Lawrence being cold as balls this early in December. He shifted back and forth on his feet quickly and rubbed his hands together, trying to stave off hypothermia. Even the scent of the just-cut trees was arctic, but also an invigorating, spicy green.

The smell tapped his noggin like he was a chilled keg of beer. He remembered the orange-tipped electric candles in the living room window and the fresh fir tree in the corner strung with multicolored lights and silver tinsel the consistency of Easter basket grass. His new ornament that year was a teddy bear wearing a Santa hat. The one he'd helped pick out for Sam – who wasn't even born yet, still just a lump in Mom's tummy – was a lamb holding a candy cane.

A gold angel sat at the apex of the tree, wings delicate gossamer, catching all the colors of the lights. He'd been transfixed, when Mom first turned on the tree for the season.

Dean stomped his frozen feet twice to make himself stop thinking about it.

"May I help you find the perfect tree, good sir?" a thin, dapper man with a decidedly non-Kansasian accent asked him. "We have the best selection in town year after year here at Heavenly Pines." His tag said his name was Balthazar.

Well, takes all kinds.

"No, I'm just looking, thanks." Dean tried to side-step him and didn't get far.

"For anything in particular?" Balthazar asked, far too politely.

Dean sighed. "To be honest–"

"Oh, indeed, please do."

"Do you sell any smaller trees?" He glanced around at the nearby stands of Douglas firs and Norway spruces, all at least six or seven or more feet tall.

Balthazar's enthusiasm flagged. Smaller tree, smaller price tag. "Let me find my brother to help you. We do have a selection for those customers with, shall we say, specialist needs." He waved a hand while doing a spin. "Ah," he said, pointing toward the greenhouse, "he's just over there. Blue vest, can't miss him."

Upon approach, Dean took a moment to admire the view he was walking towards. Where Balthazar might have been described as spindly, the brother would qualify as sturdy. Very sturdy. Dean paused. Was he checking out strangers' shapely…forms at Christmas tree stands now? Was this happening?

What harm, he told himself. Who cares. Just 'cause this wasn't a woman? If ol Balthy back there'd had a sister, Dean'd have looked at her too. He had eyes that worked, didn't he?

Okay. No worries.

The brother turned as he spoke with another customer briefly, and Dean found himself stalled again to admire the man's lovely profile, so much so that he was caught unaware when a large white pine tree suddenly fell on him as if asked by God personally to tackle Dean to the ground.

"Oh my goodness," someone said. Dean had a terrible feeling that deep, surprised voice was that of the brother. Sure enough, when Dean rolled out from underneath the tree's soft if plentiful limbs, it was the brother offering him a hand up. A big, strong hand. "Are you hurt?"

The brother's eyes were so startlingly blue, and so filled with worry, it took Dean a moment to speak at all. "No, it's fine, I'm fine." He brushed a plethora of pine needles and a bit of aisle mulch off of himself. "Despite the ambush."

"Gabriel, what the hell?" the brother called across the stand. "These trees in section B aren't properly secured at all."

"Yeah, yeah, on it," someone, presumably Gabriel, said from somewhere unseen.

"We are so sorry, sir. Are you sure the tree didn't cause any damage?" the brother asked Dean.

Dean got the impression this guy would've been patting Dean down to check for injuries if that was the sort of thing that strangers were allowed to do when their wares had tried to mug a guy. "Truly, I'm not even bruised."

The man reached out a hand towards Dean's face and then pulled back. "You have a small scratch on your cheekbone."

Dean touched it with his fingertips gingerly. Didn't feel too bloody. "I'll try to recover from this trauma the best I can." He smiled, wanting the man to smile back. Decided to stick out his hand. "I'm Dean, by the way."

"Castiel." He shook Dean's hand just right, an apology still written all over his handsome face. "Again, I'm very sorry for the tree's…attack." He let go of Dean's hand. "I suppose I couldn't offer you an extremely deep discount on a lightly used pine?"

"You could," Dean said, lighting up at the humor in Castiel's voice. "But I'm actually shopping for a tabletop tree. Bal said I should see you about smaller trees?"

Castiel tipped his head as if puzzled. "Bal? Oh, my other brother. Yes, we have a selection of those in the greenhouse. This way."

Dean followed, feeling downright cheerful. Cool your jets, Romeo, he told himself, which did not work. Under the greenhouse's twinkling lights Castiel looked better and better. Dean wanted to put his arms around his waist and line up his whole body against the strength of him. It was perhaps not the most helpful or even well-timed desire he'd ever had, but he'd almost died, for pity's sake.

All right, probably not. He was still going to take advantage of ogling Castiel's gorgeous hands and forearms as he hoisted a potted tree up onto a table at the door. "This is a dwarf Alberta spruce," Castiel said. "After the holidays, if you want to plant it outdoors, it'll eventually grow to be ten to thirteen feet tall. Emphasis on eventually; it'll take years."

Dean touched a small limb. The tree was a healthy shade of green and, importantly, wouldn't take up too much space this year in his tiny rental. "It's perfect."

"Then it's yours," Castiel said. "Least I can do."

"No, no," Dean said, "you don't have to–"

"Dean." Castiel's voice denied an argument, and jesus if that didn't make every nerve ending in Dean's dick jump to attention. "Enjoy your tree."

"Thanks, Cas." Dean was finding it difficult to look away, and finding it invigorating that Cas seemed to be having the same trouble. A long, long moment later, Dean said, "You guys been selling here a while, huh?"

"Third generation." Cas tipped his head again. "You're not from here?"

"I was. I mean, I am. I guess." Dean wrung his cold hands that were going numb. "Just moved back after about thirty years elsewhere. Town's not as different as I expected it to be. Lots colder."

Cas smiled a bit more shyly. "This is the hardest cold snap in December we've had in several years. They're saying it will be a much snowier winter than usual."

Dean nodded. "I gotta step up my game, wardrobe wise." Stop gazing, stop gazing. "Working with family fun?"

"No," Cas sighed. "But it's better now that our father is… Out of the picture." He looked down like he realized that wasn't an admission for small talk and shook his head. "You don't work with your family, I take it?"

"I did, for several years. My dad, um." Dean swallowed. "He passed couple years ago." Not long enough ago Dean didn't still feel guilty as shit for being relieved about it. "Been making my way here ever since, I guess. My brother's thinking of moving back too, if he can figure out the logistics with his law firm." Why are you telling him any of this, dummy? But Cas's eyes were kind as he listened. "Well, hey. You got other customers to attend to. Thanks very much for the tree."

"Of course, Dean." Cas made a gesture like he was going to say something else, but didn't.

Before regret – or common sense – could set in, Dean said, "You like pecan pie?"

Cas blinked. "Yes?"

Three hours and thirty-four minutes after that conversation, Dean opened his back door. Cas stood on the stoop holding out a red velvet bow.

Dean grinned as he took it from him. "It'll bring out my eyes."

Cas smiled crookedly. "It would, but it is for the tree. I forgot to tie it on before you left." At Dean's questioning expression, he said, "It's our signature thing at Heavenly."

"Ah. Come on in." Dean put the bow on the kitchen table. "Offer you a drink?"

"Whatever you're having," Cas said, coming over to stand beside him by the counter.

Dean handed him a beer from the fridge. Cas's fingers slid over his as he took the can from Dean and put it on the counter.

"There's homemade pie?" Cas asked quietly, looking up through his dark lashes as he and Dean leaned into each other.

Even bluer up close, Dean thought, ducking his head to kiss Cas, a soft, experimental touch of mouth to mouth. He had a question to answer but was almost positive the next kisses, more urgent as he pressed Cas against the counter, spoke for him.

It was minutes before they untangled for a proper breath, and Cas said, sounding wonderfully hopeful, "You have protection on hand?"

"Whole new box," Dean whispered, diving back for another kiss.

He hadn't actually made any decisions about taking things slow with a guy he'd known for four hours, and therefore didn't have to berate himself for telling the truth. Ten minutes later, in his bedroom, on his knees, Dean felt a number of delicious emotions, including plain old awe. He did manage to mutter, "There's a tree trunk joke in here somewhere," before swallowing down Cas's astonishing cock.

Cas's soft gasp of pleasure was the sweetest sound Dean had heard in forever. Cas curled his hand in Dean's hair and yanked–

"Dean," Cas said, "it's just me."

Dean opened his eyes at about the same time Cas caught his hand mid-slap, Cas's face looming over him with a half-amused expression. Dean felt the bunker mattress under his back and that heavy blurriness that came from being startled out of REM sleep.

Cas lowered his eyebrows as Dean noticeably woke up. "Sorry. Good dream?"

Dean rubbed his eye with his knuckle. "Hmm."

Cas gently pulled his hands down to kiss him before curling up on the bed next to him.

Dean took stock of the rest of his body as he curled into Cas and decided he was probably too sleepy to do anything about the quickly dissipating, murky arousal leftover from the dream. He also decided he was never watching another Hallmark movie again for any reason.

"We should buy a real Christmas tree this year," Dean murmured as he placed a kiss atop Cas's warm head.

Cas tucked his hand under Dean's shirt. "It's October 6th." He sounded confused.

"I know," Dean said. He yawned. "Just putting a pin in it for the holidays this year."

"All right," Cas said. He looked up as Dean started to sit up. "You're not going back to sleep?"

Dean had just remembered the last part of the dream with tremendous clarity. He smiled down at Cas like a shark.

[ezilyamuzed]

There's No Place Like Home-Part 20 (Final Chapter)

Summary: The reader has had a unique gift all her life. While considering it a curse, she discovers the identity of her real father after her mothers passing. Journeying towards her new life, she finds herself thrown within the Winchester’s world. Is it her destiny?

Setting: End of season 13. This takes place at the end of the 13 season.

Warnings: Language. Angst. Sooo much Fluff. Death. Blood.

A/N:Finally reached the last chapter after 4 years. I’m finally ready to say goodbye to it. Things have unraveled more and more, so I hope you’ve been paying attention. I wrote this while watching episode 21 at least 6 times. Reworking it had to happen, but I think I did the original script justice. Let me know what you think!

 Any grammatical mistakes are all my own, because I am human. Remember all comments and feedback are welcomed! If you want a tag in future posts regarding this series or other writings please send an ask! As always thank you for reading! Enjoy! 

Series Masterlist

“I have a proposition for you.”

It has been a little over a week and you were back on campus, sitting in front of Dr. Frankel, your new boss. Things were coming together at the bunker, but some of the younger people from the other world were having difficulty adjusting to the new life. Or rather, the lack of things trying to murder them at any moment. The older ones as well, but Mary had them handled. There was a need for structure. Discipline. Knowledge. You knew just the place. 

“Jack?” He spoke with a smirk. “Bringing him to us?” 

“No,” you spoke firmly. “Another deal.”

“So you’re breaking the last one and now you want a new one? So why should I bargain with you? I see no reason to trust this would be of any use to us.”

“Lucifer is gone, is he not? And because there’s people that need our help,” you replied. “That is what you do here is it not?”

“For our kind,” he grumbled. “Not theirs, especially ones not of this world.”

“You know already, hmm?” He nodded in reply. Guess you couldn’t hide much from the head of Monster U. “They’re kids, college aged, who came back from the other world. They need help in this world. They need to be watched.”

“And you want to bring them here?” His eyes squeezed with disbelief. “Why?”

“Because you want to build a better future for those that are different? Isn’t that correct? Those who people would fear? Wouldn’t a group of kids from another world count? I mean, they do come with their own special skill set and knowledge…”

“And what would I get out of this?” His light shifted. He was intrigued.

“They know how to fight. All of them. They’ve battled worse than you could ever know, and survived. If anything comes to your doors, they’re the ones you want on your side. They've also seen what happens to your kind when you’re not fed properly or kept in line.”

“An alliance?” He replied. “Their safety for the future of ours?” 

“Yes.”

“This also means that you would have to be here more permanently as well to watch that no one goes… astray.”

“I will watch them, teach them to understand the world. I just need a place to keep them close. To keep them safe. The world can be cruel to those who are different. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“And Jack?” 

“He is being watched by the best.”

“The Winchester’s you mean?” He smirked. “That’s not so assuring for our kind.”

“My kind too,” you replied. “They’re teaching him to use his powers for good. To be a good person. He’s adjusting at the moment. Learning who he is. He needs to be around people he trusts. That's the Winchesters.”

“And if they fail?”

“Well, you did just agree to help protect an army under my watch,” you smiled. “I haven’t broken my promise from before. I am handling it. But take this deal and he will see it as an act of truce between us. Wouldn’t you feel more at ease with the son of the devil on your side rather than against? Be a smart man. Take the deal.”

_____

“Hey,” Dean spoke into his phone as he answered its ring.

“We have a deal,” Y/N responded. “I’m on my way back for them all.”

“I still think you're crazy,” he laughed into the receiver. 

“Not certifiable yet,” she laughed back. “Although I have agreed to marry you.”

“Hey now,” he smiled. “That’s the smartest decision you’ve ever made so far.”

“Anyways, I’ll be back in a couple hours. How’s Sam doing with the world lessons?”

“They’re all playing on google, getting lost on pinterest, YouTube,” he listed off.

“So completely normal things huh?” She giggled. “They’re adjusting?”

“Mostly,” he said as he looked over to Jack’s door, sulking alone in his room ever since they returned. “I’ll see you soon.”

Jack, the one person he didn’t know how to help. He couldn’t help. He was plagued by the loss of his father, his true father. He couldn’t bring back Lucifer. There was no way he would ever risk that, not that it was even likely he was still alive with Michael in the other world. Michael. The thought of him brought shivers down his spine. No, they could never go back. He couldn’t allow it.

___

“Hey there Doc,” you heard a familiar voice state as you walked down the stairs.

“Hey Bobby,” you smiled. “How’s it going?”

“Trying to figure out this apple thing they handed me,” he replied with a phone in his hand. “Why couldn’t they just give me an android like a normal person? Idjits.”

You laughed at the word idjits. Yup, it was a Bobby thing alright. This world and others alike. The last week had been insightful overall into the man whose face and spirit matched your fathers. He was warm and kind, but easily agitated and took no shit. Just like you. Although this Bobby had no daughter of his own, that didn’t stop him from treating you just as a father would. Giving you advice and just listening to you talk about your life. It was nice. He even offered to walk you down the aisle if Dean finally got the balls to ask you. His words, not yours. You didn’t tell him yet. No one knew. It had been an agreement between you and Dean while trying to figure out how to help everyone. Waiting a few weeks before giving the news. Giving you time to know the family that you never had. 

“Well give it time,” you chuckled. “You’ll figure it out.”

You walked past Sam who was helping some of the people with operating their phones. He saw you enter and smiled at you as you walked through. Just a normal day home. You continued to walk to Dean’s room where you knew he was probably hiding out in.

“Hey there gorgeous,” you smiled as you entered the room. He smiled back as he continued to load his duffel bag that laid on his bed. You wrapped arms around his abdomen as he loaded his gun.

“What’s happening?”

“Werewolves,” he replied. “A couple miles out. They got a couple that were camping.”

“Need help?” You offered. 

“Sam, Cas, and I are taking Jack to train him. Teach him how to be a hunter. To use his powers for good. Get him out of his room.”

“Is he still having trouble with it all?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I mean I did,” you teased. “I didn’t exactly take the news of being born from monsters lightly.”

“Maybe you could talk to him?” 

“Therapy session for the son of satan?” You teased with a roll of your eyes. Honestly, the thought intrigued, yet scared the hell out of you. 

“No, person to person. Someone who understands. Maybe that will help.”

“I’ll try,” you agreed. “But there is no telling what is going on in that mind of his Dean. He was born of pure evil.”

“He’s half human too,” Dean spoke up. “Just like you. You're a good person Y/N. If anyone can reach him, it’s going to be you.”

You agreed to talk to him. A task you had been avoiding the last week. You didn’t want to talk to him. He scared the shit out of you although he was just a child. An innocent child confused in the world. As you approached his door Gabriel’s words came to your memory. ‘Not everything that looks like a monster is.’

“Jack,” you called through the door after you knocked softly. “Can I come in?”

The door slowly opened. His blue eyes stared at you with puzzlement. This was the first time you had talked to him. Of course he wouldn’t understand.

“Hey,” you smiled. “I thought it was time we talked.”

He nodded as he moved over to let you in. His room was similar to the others, just a little more empty. No real possessions, just him. Lonely. That was the only way to describe it. The way you had felt most of your life. 

“We need to get you a poster or something in here,” you giggled nervously, unsure how to start the conversation without sounding like you were interrogating him.

“Of what?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Musicians. Movies. Do you like movies?”

“Dean has shown me a couple.”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Favorite?” His eyes squeezed together.

“Yeah, which one did you like the most? Feel connected to?”

He took a pregnant pause as he contemplated his answer. You were hopeful that Dean actually showed him some classics and not that smut he hid under his bed.

“Star Wars ,” he replied with a smile. 

“Star Wars? Okay,” you chuckled. “Favorite character?”

“Luke,” he nodded with a smile. 

“Why Luke?”

“Because he fights evil,” he said so innocently. “He protects people. With the force.”

“Sounds just like someone else I know,” you smiled.

“Who?” He asked with a tilt of his head.

“You.”

“How so?”

“We’ll look at you,” you said as you leaned up against his empty desk. “You have Dean as Han Solo. Sam is definitely chewy. Cas could be your Obi Wan, or Yoda. You're also powerful. You have your own force, and you’ve chosen to do good with it, right?”

“You mean not going darkside?” He said with annoyance in his voice. “That’s what Dean has called it.”

“Well, can you blame him?”

“I’m not like my father,” he shot you a hard look. His light shone bright. He was sincere. For the first time, you felt an ease to your worries. 

“And neither was Luke. In fact, Luke defeated him in Jedi, remember?” 

“Yes,” his eyes diverted to the ground. 

“Look, I know it’s difficult not knowing who your parents really are and only hearing from others what they were like,” you spoke softly. “And there’s no way to really fix that. Nothing anyone can say or do.”

“So what do I do?”

“You be good,” you smiled softly. “And strong. Be the type of person that makes your family proud:”

“My family?”

“Us Jack,” you replied. “Sam, Dean, Cas, and everyone else. We are your family. Family isn’t just the people who made you, it’s the ones who are there for you even when time seems the darkest. They love you and want you to be the best version of you.”

“What is the best version of me?”

“Only you can answer that Jack,” you smiled. 

“My father,” he spoke slowly. “He did try to help us. After everything, all the stories, he did try”.

You swallowed the pit that you felt stuck in your throat as he brought him up. You wanted to argue that his intentions were impure, but you couldn’t. That was probably the one and only time the devil’s act of selfishness ever helped anyone.

“He did,” you nodded with a tight lipped smile. 

“So if he could be good, there’s hope for everyone?”

You watched the hope in his eyes for your response. He needed that hope, if only to continue being on your side. The right side.

“Hey, look at me,” you chuckled. “Blood of monsters and all sorts of witchy crap. If there’s hope for me, there’s hope for you.”

________

“Going already?” Dean gruffed as you helped the kids get their stuff together. 

“Soon,” she replied as you handed a bag back to Liza, one of the girls that was a bit older than the others. 

“I should come with you,” he stated.

“You have your wolf hunt to get to,” she responded. “Besides, I’ll be busy with everything else going on. Helping the kids get settled. I’ll probably even help them get some stuff like clothes and that for their room.”

“Look at you being all motherly there,” Dean chuckled. 

“Hey there,” she shot him a look. “Don’t get any ideas there.”

“I’m not,” he shook his head. “But you could use the help.”

“And that’s why Garth is meeting me.”

“Garth?” Dean wrinkled his nose. Why of everyone, would she call him? 

“Yes Garth,” she replied. “I figured he could help with the whole not all monsters want to eat you lesson. Help ease the tension.”

“Makes sense,” he sighed. “I still wish I could go with you.”

“It’s not like this is the last time I am going to see you Dean,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be back in a couple days.”

“That’s too long,” he pulled her close to him with a grin. 

“Dean,” she pushed back gingerly with a smirk. “Two days, tops, and I will be back. You have my word.”

“Well what if I’m not here? Hmm?”

“And where would you be?” She laughed back. “On vacation with Sam?”

“Who the hell knows,” he sighed. “I feel like we’re constantly being pulled apart.”

“Dean,” she looked up to him with those glowing eyes. “Nothing will ever keep me away from you forever. I promise that. Wherever you go, I’ll be waiting for your safe return.”

“How did I ever get so lucky to have deserved you?” He stated as he pushed her hair back. 

“Fate, angels and demons messing with our families. You know the usual romance story,” she giggled. 

“This is the only time I’m ever going to be thankful to them,” he chuckled back. 

“You and me both,” she snickered. Her eyes went back to the group of teens all gathering their items. 

“You still think trusting those things at the university is the smart move?”

“We need them on our side Dean,” she replied. “We need to all work together, create that better life we’ve always wished for.” 

“I still don’t trust them,” he sighed. 

“Trust me,” she assured him. “I got this handled.” 

“You and your crazy plans,” he scoffed.

“Hey,” she smirked. “They always work, don't they?”

“Yes,” he rolled his eyes. “I guess they do.”

“And don’t forget there Mr. Winchester, you’re one of those crazy plans as well.”

She laughed as she began to walk away. Stopping to talk to Maggie who was one of the only teens not packing. 

“Not going?” Dean asked. 

“No, Maggie replied. “I'm not ready to leave yet.”

“Understand,” Y/N smiled. “ Can you do me a favor then?” 

“Yeah, anything,” she replied. 

“Watch out for this guy for me,” Y/N nodded over to Dean. “He gets lost without me.”

“Do not,” he chuckled back. 

“No problem,” Maggie laughed back. “I will.”

Maggie left to talk with the others as everyone made their way outside. Dean was surprised to see a big suv there instead of her normal purple beast.

“Now I know something is wrong,” he stated as he slapped the hood. 

“Couldn’t fit them all in my Baby,” she laughed. “I had to improvise. It still has a V-8 at least.”

“Well that’s something at least,” Dean laughed.

Dean watched as the last teen packed their bag in the back of the big SUV. It was time for her to go. Time to say goodbye.

“I love you,” she said as she hugged him close.

“I love you too Mrs. Winchester,” Dean teased. 

“Mrs. Winchester,” her nose turned. “Yeah, I don’t think I’d ever get used to that one.” 

“Well you’re going to have to one day,” Dean grinned. “Someday soon. I promise.”

____

It had been at least an hour and a half before the first person complained from the back for the bathroom. An hour long of arguing and other teenage banter all while they whined over your repertoire of music. Apparently in apocalypse world they had their own version of Taylor Swift and Kanye West. You just rolled your eyes with a smile as you played “their” type of music to appease them. Everything seemed normal. At least for the moment. 

While waiting for the last person to come back from the bathroom break, your phone began to ring.

“Hello?”

“It’s Mary. Are you and the kids safe?”

“Yeah, just stopped to pee,” you readjusted yourself to look towards the bathrooms. “Halfway there.”

“Did you see Maggie before you left?” Her voice cracked a little.

“Yeah, she waved us off as we pulled away,” you replied with concern. “Why? What happened?”

“Maggie is dead,” her voice broke mid sentence. 

You stepped out of the SUV quickly while holding the phone to your chest. You didn’t want to worry the others without more information. 

“How?” You said once you knew you were out of earshot. 

“She was attacked,” she replied. “But it doesn’t look like a creature. It looks… human.”

“Suspects?” You breathed out.

“None so far, but everyone that was here. I didn’t know if maybe one of them…”

“No, all of them with me were accounted for and she was alive,” you answered rapidly. “We will turn back around. I can help-“

“No,” she interrupted. “Get them to safety. I’ll keep you updated.”

“Are you-“

“I know they’re safe with you,” she replied. “Get them there and settled. It’s not safe here for them.”

“You be safe Mary,” you replied. 

“You too.”

As you hung up the phone everything in you screamed to turn back around. Who there would want to hurt Maggie? She was a sweetheart. There was something or rather someone that threatened your family and you weren’t there. It didn’t sit right with you. 

“Hey Doc! You coming?” You heard Jerry yell from the backseat.

“Coming,” you replied with your best fake smile. Gotta get the the kids to safety. Got to keep going. No matter how much it killed you. 

_______

“Well that was a milk run,” Dean laughed as he slung his bag into Baby’s trunk as they walked out of the werewolves cabin. “Jack, that thing you do with freezing them is helpful, but next time, we’re working on weaponry.”

“I used the force,” Jack smiled. “Just like Y/N told me too.”

“Well even Luke had to learn how to use a lightsaber kid,” Dean smiled. 

“Dean,” Cas spoke up from being in the phone. “We have to get back. Now.” 

“What’s up Cas?”

“Maggie,” he replied. “She’s been found dead.

“Maggie!” Jack exclaimed. “What did this?”

Dean could see the look of red fury shining in Jack’s eyes. He was angry. No telling what he would do. 

“They don’t know. They just said she was attacked,” Cas replied sternly. “Y/N has the others safe on their way to Lawrence. None of them were involved and there’s us. Everyone else…”

“Are suspects,” Sam interjected. “Let’s get going.” 

Dean nodded and they all got into Baby quickly. He had a sick feeling in his stomach. How could this happen? Who or what would hurt his family? Whatever it was, was about to pay severely. If not by him, but the ticking time bomb in his backseat by the name of Jack.

_____

Getting to campus couldn’t happen fast enough. The SUV sure wasn’t your baby, but the V8 in it definitely was able to kick it up in gear. Not too noticeable to the kids though. You still didn’t want to freak them out although you knew you’d have to tell them sooner, rather than later. 

“Garth!” You smiled as you saw him leaning on his old cutlass. 

“Hey Doc,” he smiled back as he walked up to give you an epic werewolf hug. It lingered for a minute, before he pulled away. His face twisted. “Something smells wrong.”

“Yeah, I need your help.”

You quickly explained everything to Garth. He was more than agreeable to watch the group for you. After showing them the house right on the edge of campus that they would be staying in, you handed your credit card off to Garth for supplies along with the keys to the SUV. In return, he handed you the keys to ‘ol Betty, his ‘79 Cutlass. 

You were maybe 5 minutes down the road when the demon Natalie along with a bunch of other monsters stopped you in the middle of the road. It looked like a trap. Felt like a trap. Dammit. You placed it in park as you sat contemplating what to do next. 

“What’s going on?” You shouted as you got slowly out of the car, hiding the gun you had found in the glove box in your waistband behind you. All lights detecting anger. Shit. 

“You broke the deal”, her eyes turned black.

“What are you talking about? I didn’t break our deal.”

“He’s back,” she seethed.

“Who?”

“Lucifer.”

______

Lucifer. Michael. Their worst nightmares were here. Jack was nowhere to be found and it was any moment that Michael would find them. Sam groaned into his hands as he heard the clicking of Dean armoring all the weapons next to him, preparing for the worse. 

“Sam”, his mother spoke softly. “Sam, it will be alright. Jack will be back-“

“What if we’ve failed him? Hmm? What if when Lucifer talks, he actually listens?” Sam could feel the tears form in his eyes while thinking of Jack taking Lucifer’s side. 

“Jack is a strong and bright boy, Sammy. He cares about everyone here. Nothing could or ever will change that.” 

“Jack will be fine,” Dean grunted. “If anything, Lucifer wants to protect him. That whole bullshit father relationship thing he never got with his own. What we need to worry about is Michael.” 

“The bunker is warded. He shouldn’t be able to come in-“

“I’m not worried about him coming in,” Dean interjected with the sound of a bullet loading into the chamber echoed throughout the room. “We have people out there. People we need to worry about.”

“Dean-“

“Y/N is out there and she doesn’t know. She’s not answering her phone. I'm not standing here with my tail between my legs while they’re still out there.”

“Y/N will be fine,” Mary pleaded. “They’re far away from here.”

“Mary, there’s something about Y/N that you should know,” Cas spoke up. “Something that of Michael were to get her, it would mean possibly the end, of all of us.” 

_____

“Lucifer,” you breathed out. How was he here? How did he get back? 

“That’s not the only archangel you let through,” she continued. “Seems we have another problem. Of a different world.”

Michael. Your eyes widened at the thought. Everyone at the bunker would be slaughtered. Dean. Sam. Everyone. 

“You have to let me go! To get back there!” 

“To what? Sacrifice yourself for the Winchesters? You swore your allegiance to us,” she growled. 

“I can stop them. Both of them,” you stated. 

“We don’t want you to stop them,” her eyes stayed black as her smile grew. “We want to use you as a trade.”

The two shifters and three demons at her side started to round you. Cornering you from escaping. 

“I don’t want to fight you,” you warned. 

“Bitch, please,” she laughed. “You may be strong, but we’re stronger. You’re nothing but a pathetic human.”

With the drop of her last word you felt your blood begin to boil with rage. Your mind became a fog as you fought them all off as they jumped to secure you. You had managed to get out the gun and shoot off a couple of rounds, only injuring them to submission. Luckily, Garth always had a devil's trap etched on his bullets. A trick he learned from some old friends. Punches and kicks continued to be thrown until you managed to finally break the last shifter's leg in a swoop, causing it to let out a piercing scream. 

You had been worn down from the fight that you collapsed next to the car. Your rib cage slowly healing itself from at least two broken bones. As you tried to catch your breath your heard someone approaching you from behind. Dr. Frankel along with two men were standing there with a look of disgust. 

“Clean this mess up,” he ordered. 

You watched as the men killed those who had attacked you. You sat there in utter confusion as to why they would hurt their own.

“Ms. Y/L/N, I do apologize,” he spoke up while offering his hand to you to lift you up. You were cautious, but his light showed sincerity.

“What-?” You stumbled out. 

 “A few rogue members seemed to act out of fear,” he interjected. “I told you we take care of our own.”

“I need to get back.”

“To the Winchesters,” he answered. “Yes, we will clean this up. You have more important things to take care of.”

“Lucifer,” you breathed out. 

“And Michael. Either one around brings unfortune for all of us. If there’s anyone that can stop them; it would be you and your friends.” 

“We will,” you stood up a little straighter, feeling your ribs slowly mend back to normal. 

“Good. We’re counting on you. For the sake of all human and monster kind.”

_____

Coming face to face with Michael again was what Dean had once feared more than anything. Now? As he felt a part of his soul rip from him the moment that Sam disappeared with Lucifer and Jack, he stood there saying the word he promised he never would. Yes. 

Allowing Michael to possess him was the only way to get Sam back. The only way to save Jack. The only way to stop Lucifer once and for all. 

“Dean! No!” Cas yelled.

“Tell Y/N I love her,” was the only words that Dean was able to say before the flash of light consumed him: Michael and Dean were one.

A nightmare come true.

________

You sped the whole way back as fast as the car would go. The closer you got, the more you felt a growing sickness inside of you. As you entered the bunker you discovered the main door was destroyed, blasted by something or rather someone. 

“Dean!” You yelled out.

“Y/N,” Cas rushed to the stairs, meeting you at the bottom. “Deans gone.”

“Where-“ you turned your head in a frantic. Gone? What happened here? Where was he? Where was anyone? 

“He said yes to Michael Y/N,” Cas grabbed at you face to steady your eyes on him.

“He did what?” You choked out. 

Cas explained what had happened as you felt your legs begin to give out from under you. You fell back into a chair as Cas continued to tell you Dean's last words. 

“I have to find him Cas,” you cried. 

“You have a connection to the Winchesters,” he said out loud. “Perhaps, if you concentrate you can locate them.” 

“I-I’ve never done that.”

“You have to try,” he urged. 

You closed your eyes tightly, feeling sick from the thought that you would lose them. ‘Concentrate,’ Cas continued to urge as you tried to push through the feeling. You breathed deep as you focused on the thought of Dean. His green eyes sparkling as he laughed. The way his lips moved when he said he loved you. The way his hands felt on your skin. The smell of his skin against your nose. Just then you saw a flash of light before you, running rapid down the road, along a pathway to an old church tucked away in the woods that time forgot. You saw Dean, Sam, Jack, and Lucifer. 

“I know where they are.”

_______

There was a weight that lifted as Sam watched Lucifer’s lifeless body lay. A breath of relief followed by a smile in satisfaction arose. They did it. They killed the devil: he would never be able to hurt anyone ever again. He would never plague Sam’s dreams ever again.

“Is he…”

“He-he’s dead,” Sam let out. 

“Holy crap,” Dean breathed out.

“You did it.”

“No, no we did it,” Dean smiled. “We did it.”

Sam turned his head to the sound of the doors opening. Entering in was Y/N with Cas. Their eyes wide at the fallen angel on the ground. Sam was just about to speak when he saw Dean rumble down in pain, grunting.

“Dean? Dean!”

“We had a deal!” Dean yelled as he continued to groan.

Then silence. Y/N went to move but Cas, put his arm in front of her to stop her. She looked back at him annoyed before they all watched in horror as Dean got up slowly and calmly. Something was wrong. This wasn’t Dean anymore. 

“Michael,” Sam whispered. 

“Thanks for the suit.”

_______

Seeing Dean surrounded by the blinding white light was surreal. His own colors barley shinning through. It was him, but not. The colors were mixing as you watched him keel over in pain. Until it was white. Pure white. 

“Michael,” you breathed out a moment before you heard Sam say it as well. 

“Thanks for the suit.”

With a flap of a wing, he was gone. Michael was gone. Dean was gone. That moment, your heart broke into two as you collapsed to the ground, Cas trying to stand you up. 

“Y/N,” he pleaded. “We have to go.”

“He’s gone Cas,” you cried. “He’s really gone.”

“We will get him back.”

“What do we do with the body?” Jack asked as he looked down at his fathers corpse, the outline of his torn wings singed into the ground. 

“We burn it,” Sam stated. 

You looked over to Lucifer. His body still, yet…

“He… he’s alive!” You yelled out.

“What-“ 

You scrambled to your feet as you rushed over to Lucifer’s body. The person that was inside was still alive, his light faint. 

“He’s still alive in here!“

“Lucifer?” Sam rushed to your side.

“No, not him-“ you picked up his head as you watched as his eyes began to flutter. “The human!”

“Nick,” Cas said out loud. “How?”

“Get him in the car! He needs help!”

Sam didn’t move from his spot as you held the wound on Nick’s chest to stop the bleeding. Cas rushed to your side to help with healing him with his grace.

“He’s badly wounded,” Cas continued. “We need to get him out of here. Back to the bunker.” 

“No!” Sam yelled out.

“It’s not Lucifer Sam!” You cried out. “Help him!”

You watched as Sam clenched his jaw before he helped with picking up Nick and moving him out along with Castiel. You were left to pick up the archangel blade, it’s golden edges soaked in the blood of the devil. They did it. They really killed the devil. A chapter closed, but as you let out a heavy sigh you knew a worse chapter had opened. 

“I warned you about them,” the familiar voice making you spin in your spot to turn to it.

“Billie,” you breathed out. “Why are you-“

“Archangels are collected just the same as everything else, to go to a place that is empty of nothing but time.”

“So Lucifer-“

“He’s been taken care of and out somewhere that can not harm another being in this world,” she answered your unspoken question.

“And Dean?”

“What about Dean?” She smirked. 

“Wh-what’s going to happen? With Michael?”

“I can not predict how things will get to their end, I just know the ending,”her smirk continued. 

“And his ending?”

“His, entirely depends on yours.”

“My-my ending?” You sighed out deeply. “How I die , you mean?” 

“Exactly,” she continued. “All one has is choices, or at least that is what the fates say. But you my dear, have only one possible ending, unless-“

“Unless what ?”

“Unless I show you right now, at this moment and you make your choice.”

You felt your heart pump harder than ever as you swallowed hard. This was it. This was your choice to make. 

“Yes”.

_____

“Sam,” Cas grunted. “We have to get him medical attention.” 

“We should just leave him here. He made his choice,” Sam snarled. “We have to find Dean.”

“We will find him, Sam. But Dean would have wanted to save Nick. Deal with Lucifer or not. He is just a man who can be saved. Now help me save him.” 

Sam grumbled as he assisted Castiel with putting Nick into the backseat of the car. He couldn’t stand his face. It was not the face of a man, but a monster from his nightmares. As Y/N walked out of the church, he felt even heavier with dread. Dean was gone. He was trapped now with the one monster they all knew she would never win against. They were doomed. 

____

“Oh Dean, I do wish you’d stop fighting in there,” Michael grinned at himself in the mirror. “Let me see what you see.”

Within his reflection, Dean appeared; angry, trying to fight out. Michael just grinned as he watched Dean’s face turn trying to break out. 

“Now be civil,” Michael continued. “And I’ll let you play.”

“We had a deal you son of a bitch!”

“No one ever put a time stamp on it Dean-o,” he raised his brow with a chuckle. “I am going to enjoy this world. But first, who was that girl?”

“You stay away from her you-“

“Ah, so she’s important to you?” He pursed his lips. “Why?”

“I’m not telling you a goddamn thing!”

“Oh you will,” he grinned again. “Remember Dean, I am you now. Sooner or later. I will know all that you know.”

_____

A month had passed and there was still no word. Nothing. With every day that passed, you knew what was to come. The eventual day when you would be face to face with the man you loved again, only not him. The creature you now feared more than anything. 

You stayed busy with the kids at the university. Each day, showing them something new and directing them into the way of this world. That was of course while you also kept busy with your classes and prepped for the fall semester. That was during daylight hours. Almost every night you would venture out more and more with Sam to try to find something, anything that could bring Dean back to you. Billie had to be wrong. She just had to. 

“So if I leave Lawrence by noon-“

“Y/N,” Sam interjected causing you to turn to him. “When was the last time you slept?”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” you smiled at him. He was not buying it as being a joke. 

“Look, I need you. Dean needs you. We all do, but please. Please Y/N, go home and sleep. You’re running on fumes.” 

“More like espresso, but I get your point,” you sighed out. “What about you, huh?”

“What about me?”

“You haven’t shaved in weeks, you’re starting to look like Chewbacca there,” you teased.

“I-I just haven’t felt like it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” you leaned into him as you both stood next to your car. “I miss him too. It’s just not the same.”

“Who’d thought that this is where we would end up? With everything that happened. How did we even get here?”

“Well, Fate is a bitch,” you chuckled. “Trust me, I know.”

“We won. We actually won for once only to lose yet again. It never ends”

“It goes with the territory I guess,” you shrugged. “No one ever said we were guaranteed rainbows where wishes come true.” 

“Yeah well, I’m getting sick and tired of losing,” he let out a deep breath. “My only hope is that Dean comes back Dean.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Lucifer,” Sam cleared his throat, the thought of him still bothering him after his demise. “When he was in me, I felt nothing but pain and anger. It took a long time for Dean to get me back.”

You stood silent. You didn’t even know what to say. The thought never occurred to you that Dean wouldn’t be your Dean if he ever got out of this. The sadness trickled down your cheek to the thought. 

“I just hope I’m strong enough,” Sam continued.

“Hey you are,” you nudged him. “You’re one of the strongest people I know and you won’t be alone.”

“No, I have you too.”

You took a deep breath and smiled at him. “There’s a whole big family out there looking for him. Your mom, Cas, Charlie. Everyone will get through this. One day, one step at a time.”

“But first, sleep,” he stated as he pushed himself up from the car. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. That sleep thing,” you smiled. 

You turned to your car and through the open window, pulled out a big sealed manila envelope to hand to Sam.

“What’s this?”

“Give it to your mom when you see her,” you smiled. “She knows what to do with it.”

“You know, Dean told me before that he wanted to marry you,” Sam shyly stated as he played with the envelope. “I don’t know if he had gotten the chance to-“

“He asked,” you replied.

“And?”

“I said yes.”

“Good,” Sam smiled. “Because I can’t imagine you not being around. You’re my sister now and I love you.”

“I love you too, Sam,” you smiled. He held out his arms for you to go into his big bear hug. It was warm and reassuring. Just what you needed as the tears started to push again once more. Your little big brother Sam. He was more than you could ever ask for. 

______

“What do you want?”

“I don't know. Chanel, Dior, Louis Vuitton,” sister Jo responded with sass. This Michael, he was different. Scarier if that was possible. What was he going to do?

“You think this is a joke?”

“I don’t know what this is. You asked, I answered. We done?” She wanted to get the hell away from him and any of his plans. 

“No. I asked, and you lied,” there was venom in his voice.

“I didn't,” her voice quaked.”

“I know about you, Jo. Because he knew about you. You're the rebel, the angel who doesn't like playing by Heaven's rules or whatever. You pretend to care about these things -- pretty things. But that's all it is -- pretending.

These trinkets, they don't make you happy. They just pass the time. They're not what you really want.”

“And if you're so smart, what do I really want?” 

“Love. To belong, to have a place -- a home, a family. It's very very human of you. And so, so disappointing. I can sense how many angels are in this world. There aren't many left. I thought... maybe I could help. But if they're all these sad, lost, fallen things -- things like you -- maybe they're not worth saving, either.”

“Yeah well the last Michael was a lot of talk too,” she quipped back.

“I am not like my other self,” he smiled. “I can see now why he failed. Angels, hiding away from humans. They were created to serve us.”

“To serve us?” She mocked him. “What book have you been reading?”

“I’m the only archangel in this world,” he breathed out. “I see it is up to me to fix the balance. No one can stop me.”

Jo felt a cold shiver run down her back as his eyes seemed to gleam at her, his eyes turning blue with power. He was going to kill her.

“And I won’t be needing defiant angels like you.”

“Wait!” She cried out. “Wait a minute. I can help!”

“How could you possibly-“

“There is someone who could defeat you. A girl.”

“A girl? Not likely.”

“Yeah well, likely. There’s stories of her and her powers. She was created to be the bride of Michael’s true vessel. Your vessel. Her powers, I’ve only heard stories, but she’s strong. She could defeat you.” 

“You lie.”

“Ask Dean yourself,” she replied. “If he’s still in there.” 

“Would her name happen to be Y/N?” He grinned. 

“Yes. I think so.”

Michael smirked as he shook his head with a slight chuckle. 

“Oh Dean, what a secret you have been keeping.”

______

You tapped on the dinette table as you stared at your computer screen. Reading essays on your Saturday at 6 am was not what you wanted to do, but at least there was good coffee as you sat back in the worn vinyl seat of the coffee shop. 

There were a few patrons already up and starting their day, but overall it was pretty quiet. Quiet. How you missed it. You watched as the waitress moved from one table to another, busily taking orders when all of the sudden she stopped mid step. Frozen, she was frozen. You look around you too see everything else, including the clock was all stuck in time. All but you. 

“Hello Michael,” you stated out loud as you turned your head back to the seat in front of you. A lump in your throat rose as you couldn’t see Dean’s light beyond his. Was he still in there? 

“Hello Y/N. Nice to finally meet you,” he smiled. “Dean’s told me all about you.” 

“Hopefully not everything,” you snarked back with a fake smile.

“Enough,” he continued to smirk. Those lips. Those damn lips. Dean’s lips that now made your blood boil as they moved. 

“What can I do for you?”

“It’s more of what I can do for you,” he replied. “I can say, my world has nothing like you so when I learned about you and your…abilities I was intrigued.”

“Flattered, I’m sure,” you rolled your eyes. 

“You see this world, it's all wrong. The balance is wrong. I am here to right that wrong,” he moved forward a bit in his seat like he was trying to sell you on his doomsday plan. He really believed the shit that came out his mouth. “I want to make more you.”

“Excuse me?”

“You. The perfect being. The rightful to inherit this earth with you by my side to rule them of course,” he continued. 

“Why would I ever agree to that?”

“Because I know what you want.”

“And what’s that?”

“To be like everyone else. To be accepted for what you are,” he replied. “But you are so much better than they are. You should be loved and worshiped by all.”

“I am loved,” you quipped back. “I’m good.”

“By Dean, yes,” he shook his head. “He surely does love you. But don’t you want more?”

“No,” you shook your head with a furrowed brow. He didn’t get it. He didn’t know what love was. “I just want him.”

“You are foolish,” he sat back with a look of confusion. “Say yes to me and I will give him back to you.”

“Let me speak to him first. I need to know he’s okay.”

“You don’t trust me?” 

“You’ve already broken one deal,” you snapped back. “I’m not taking chances.” 

“Very well,” he nodded. 

You watched as the light shifted within Dean’s body to show that Dean now had the reigns. He blinked rapidly like he just awoke from a dream.

“Doc! Get out of here!,” he cried as he shook the table with both of his hands hitting the top.”It’s not safe-“

“Shhh. Dean. It’s okay. I promise. Everything is going to be okay,” a tear started to fall from your eyes as you moved what was hiding in your lap to your hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

As soon as you finished your words you placed the object, your knife, into his hand and grabbed it with your own hands to stab yourself directly into the chest, just right of the heart in the aorta. Fatal almost instantly to any one or thing. 

“No!” You heard him yell as his light shifted back to Michael. As your vision grew fuzzy and your breath slower you heard the muffled sounds of him yelling. “Why won’t you heal!”

With your last breath you vanish from the coffee shop. No trace to be found as everything came back to life. Michael was on the ground furious looking for you or any of your blood. He let out a howl before disappearing again once more. 

_______

One month ago…

“If I do this,” your nervousness was making its presence in your voice. “I need to know that no one will be able to bring me back or use my blood. No one. Not heaven or hell.”

“I will take care of that,” Billie replied. “Your soul is strong and it will stay in the middle, with me. For all time as long as I am death.”

“And what do you get out of all of this?”

“Balance,” she stated. “The correct balance.”

You let out a deep sigh as you shook your head. 

“Your balance you mean?“

“You were never meant to be Y/N. I am sorry, but your presence makes things…complicated. I don’t like complicated.”

“And Dean?”

“Dean will be fine,” she smiled. You didn’t trust it. She was too…at ease about the whole situation. “Your sacrifice will ensure it.” 

“Then yes,” you let out a deep breath.”I’ll do it.” 

“You’re ready then?”

“No,” you shook your head. “I do it on my terms. “I have unfinished business to take care of first.”

“You have a month and it will be all too late for you to stop it. To stop him.”

“A lot can happen in a month,” you chuckled. “I’ll be ready. This is happening my way.”

“Very well,” she shook her head. “I’ll be seeing you soon Y/N.”

______

Sam woke up from what seemed like a two day sleep to noises clamoring outside in the halls. He groaned into his pillow, wishing for the days of old where the bunker was quiet. At least at 7 am. He got up reluctantly and made his way out to the hall. People stoped talking as he drew near. They just stared at him, almost in pity. What happened?

“Mom?” Sam asked out loud as he saw her hunched over with tears down her face. 

“Sam,” she breathed out while getting up to embrace him. He was confused as to why she was crying and the whole room now stood silently still watching them.

“Mom,” he pushed back. “What happened?”

“Y/N,” she managed to breathe out. “Michael got her. He… killed her.”

She fell apart again into his arms as she spoke those words he had dreaded. Michael had not only taken his brother, but his new found sister as well. 

Sam felt his own tears roll down his eyes as he remembered just last night their time together. Just hanging out and talking. She was so reassuring that everything would be fine. But how could it now? 

“Mom,” he pulled back from her embrace. “Y/N gave me something last night. She said you would know what to do with it.” 

It only took but a moment for him to get to his room to retrieve it, his mother following him in toe. Handing her the envelope, his hand trembled. Whatever was in there was the last piece that she would ever give them.

Mary opened it slowly to reveal 5 white envelopes, all sealed with names across each. 

“Mary, Sam, Jack, Bobby,” Mary read them outloud. “And Dean.”

“What?” Sam reached over as Mary handed him his. His heart sank to see his name across the paper. He opened it slowly to reveal a letter specifically to him.

“Dearest Sam,

I know that this is the cowardly way to tell you,couldn’t let you talk me out of it. Lord knows I wish there was any other choice. I’m sorry that I can’t be there for you and everyone else. I’ve seen what would happen if I stay. I couldn’t let that happen so I made the ultimate choice. Please let Dean know that it wasn’t his fault. He will need you when this is done. 

Sam, please remember that you are strong and everyone appreciates all that you do for them. Remember to stay kind and loving. Smile more and take care of yourself.

I don’t know when I will see you again, if ever. I’m not anywhere to be found, yet everywhere. Just know I love all of you and I thank you for treating me like family while helping me find my real home. 

Take care,

Doc”

Hey, there's an epilogue....

~leave the love ❤️ ~

Tag lists ( This is so old, if you didn't want to be tagged , I apologize.

Everything: @waywardbabybaby @snffbeebeeebee @curly-haired-disaster-haired-disaster @waywardnerd67rd67 @dean-winchesters-baconrs-bacon @jaylarksonson @ladywinchester1967967 @wildefireldefire @i-hear-crazy-calling-my-name @akshi8278shi8278

No place: @imabeautifulpopcornerson18n18 @19agbrownbrown @sonotalice @drakelover78er78 @aloneanddesperate-blognddesperate-blogdesperate-blog @pisces-cutie

Just the writing: @hobby27

[istorkyou]

A Thousand Battles (A Modern!Ivar AU)

A modern!Ivar x F OC (Julietta Lothbrok)

Warnings - NSFW, MINORS DNI. Language. Slight violence.

Synopsis - Julietta wakes up with no memory of her life or her husband, Ivar. Will it ever return? Does she want it to?

Word Count - 4333

This is for @blackseapearl 400 follower trope challenge. I asked for Amnesia :)

Shout Outs - A massive shout out to @blackseapearl and @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie for beta reading, ironing out all the mistakes and the motivation to keep going with it. Special hugs to @blackseapearl for talking through the ending with me and giving me some much needed inspiration and the wonderful moodboard.

This fic kicked (and is still kicking!) my ass, I’ve never had such a hard time with motivation as I have writing this long-ass bitch so I hope you enjoy it :)

It’s also LOOOOOOOONNNGGGGGGGG….. and I’m only the tiniest bit sorry about that!

Tag List - Let me know if you want on or off :)@smears-and-spots @punkrocknpearls​​ @youbloodymadgenius​​ @momowhoo​​ @zuxiezendler​​ @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog​ @ivar-s-my-brat-tamer​ @pieces-by-me​ @heavenly1927​​ @berryonasummerevening @synnersaint​​ @out-of-the-box-and-into-alchemy​ @petite-hime​​ @serasvictoria​​ @mimiiinspace​​ @itsmysticalmystery​​ @lonewolf471​​ @mylifeisactuallyamess​​ @draculasbride-blog​​ @love-all-things-writing​​ @southernbe​​ @redhead7799​​ @kaybee87​​ @ivarlover​​ @ivarhoegh​​ @idgafiamallthefandoms​​ @darkphoenix5037​​ @profoundtyrantharmony​​ @snarling-through-our-smiles​​ @crazyunsexycool​​ @xceafh​​ @bragisrunes​​@noway4u @batmandallyboy​​ @complicatedbutrare @readsalot73​​​​ @meandmycherrytree

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

CHAPTER 9

The rigmarole of getting through the security of the Gala sets Ivar off, especially when Julietta sets off the metal detector arch and is taken aside to be searched.

“No one touches her,” Ivar warns the security guards menacingly as he steps in front of her, pushing her behind him protectively. “Keep your fucking hands off my wife. She has surgical pins in her arms and that is setting them off.

“Sir, we cannot allow entry unless she is properly searched and we are satisfied there are no weapons about her person. Please do not obstruct us.”

“Get a hand held metal detector and wave it over her. The only part of her that will make it beep is her upper right arm which is held together by pins because of a car accident.”

She raises onto her tiptoes and places her lips by his ears and whispers, “Let them do it, I’m not bothered and it’s protocol. I’m no different to anyone else. Okay?” He turns his face towards her, deciding what to do, and when she gives him an encouraging nod he turns back to the security team

“Touch her inappropriately and you die.”

The guard nods tersely and sweeps his hands over her body. He then gets the handheld metal detector and what happens is exactly what Ivar described, beeping over the scar tissue set off by the pins under the skin.

“Ok, ma’am. You may go in. Thank you for your compliance.”

Ivar's arm encircles her waist as he guides her into the great hall, but not before making a note of the guard's name tag

In the banquet hall they find the rest of the family and Ivar hands her a glass of champagne. “To us,” he holds his out and she toasts with him.

“To us.” She takes a sip and looks around the party. There are clear factions, groups clustered together, eyes sweeping the other, surveying the attendees, marking up the enemies in the room.

Ragnar approaches her. “Things will be less tense once the alcohol flows later. I know the atmosphere is crackling right now, Julietta but don’t worry. Is this helping your memory? Do you recognise anyone?”

“Have I been here before? How would I recognise anyone if I haven’t?” she questions and catches the tiniest squint of Ragnar's eyes.

An hour later and Ragnar was right, the atmosphere has changed, still charged but less segregation of the groups, meaning business is being spoken about, deals being made. She is surveying the room when she feels Ivar close behind her, his breath in her hair, his hand grips her waist. “Hello beautiful. Dance?”

“You want to dance here?” she asks with an amused voice.

“I want to dance with you anywhere. Come on, baby.” He grabs her hand and leads her to the dance floor, into the crowd of other couples dancing closely.He pulls her against him, his right to him wrapped around her waist. He sighs happily and she relaxes into him.

“You look so sexy in that dress I can’t wait to get you home later.” He places a small kiss on her exposed shoulder

“Oh yeah? What are you going to do to me later, Ivar?” she asks, letting a hand touch his chest and slowly move it down to stop on his stomach. “Describe it to me.” She enjoys the way his cheeks colour a little. “I know what I want you to do to me.” Her voice is low and sultry.

He moves his face to her ear and whispers, “I am going to make you cum more times than I ever have before. I won’t stop until you can’t take it anymore and you are begging me to stop. How does that sound?” He slides his cheek across hers and kisses her

“That sounds very good,” she replies breathlessly, “let’s go home now!” He throws his head back, laughing at her enthusiasm.

“As soon as we can, love.”

When the song finishes they head back to the family, and soon Ivar is approached by Ubbe, who whispers in his ear. His eyes flit to her and he nods once, taking the few steps that closes the gap between them.

“Baby, I have to go and speak with someone. I’m sorry, I’m needed.” He can see the apprehension in her eyes so he cups her face.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me tonight,” she says petulantly, but she’s covering her feelings of dread at being left alone. She hasn’t seen the stranger from the alley yet but she assumes he is here somewhere and it makes her grip her husband's hand harder.

“I’m sorry, I will be as quick as I can. Stay here with my father, okay? You will be safe with him.”

“Ivar, you said you wouldn’t leave me. You promised.” She repeats.

He kisses her hand. “I won’t be long.” And he leaves. Julietta watches him walk away with a nervous feeling building within her. She’s never been exposed to his business before and strangely, for the first time she’s considering how dangerous it must be for him. Her heartbeat picks up and she wants to run to him to stop him putting himself in harm's way

Her thoughts are interrupted by a quick tap on her shoulder and turns round expecting to see Ragnar's eyes but instead of the crystal blue ones she is looking into the chocolate brown eyes of a man. A tall man with a scar through his right eyebrow and stubble covering his tanned skin.

It’s Lev.

She works her hardest to control her facial expression, her breathing, and fights the urge to run

“Can I help you?” she asks, a tremble in her voice. What is he going to say to her? She glances to the left and sees Ragnar eyeballing the pair of them, clearly gauging her reaction to the stranger.

Lev looks pissed at her, eyebrows drawn together in a deep scowl. “I would like to dance with you.”

She lets out a relieved, high pitched giggle. He doesn’t seem to be there to expose her. She shakes her head and her hand flies to the necklace Ivar gave her earlier.

“I can’t dance with you. I'm a married woman,” she tells him indignantly, looking him up and down.

He raises his eyebrows at her. “Your husband is an insecure man? Doesn’t trust his wife?” His head tips slightly and he smiles menacingly.

His sick little game bursts the calm bubble she is trying to exist in. She looks at him up and down, the man who claims to love her, to know her, but for whom she feels nothing but contempt.

“He’s not insecure at all and he has absolutely no reason to distrust me. It’s inappropriate for me to dance with a stranger,” she snaps at him. Julietta feels hand run up her arm and she closes her eyes, assuming Ivar has returned and for a split second she feels calm again before realising it is Ragnar.

“I do not think my son would mind at all if you had an innocent dance with….”

“Raphael,” Lev replies in a thick Spanish accent.

“With Raphael. Don’t look so worried Julietta, go and have fun.” Ragnar gives her a little nudge towards Lev

“No,” she replies indignantly. “I don’t want to dance, Ragnar. I will not disrespect Ivar and I think you don’t know your son that well if you think he wouldn’t have a problem with this. I will wait here for my husband.”

Ragnar lets out a patronising chuckle and cocks his head to Lev as if apologising for her insolence.

“Nonsense child, off you go. You don’t want to appear rude to a guest of the Gala, do you?” Ragnar flashes his eyes at her. “I must insist.”

Lev doesn’t wait for her answer, he grabs her hand roughly and guides her to the other side of the dance floor, as far away from the Lothbroks as they can get and pulls her to him so her body is flush with his.

“Hello, Etta. I knew you would come tonight. Your curious little mind couldn't stay away, could it?” His eyes are wandering over her face and neck as if he is about to devour her. “My Gods, I want you so badly. I’ve missed your tight little pussy, your dirty little mouth, fuck, I’m getting hard just looking at you.”

She tries to step away from him, repulsed by his words, by the way he is looking at her, at the realisation that he seems to know her so intimately and yet is a total stranger to her. His fingers dig into her waist as she tries to shift away from him

“Where do you think you are going? Did you find the things in your apartment?” he asks in Russian.

“I didn’t look,” she answers stiffly, hoping he doesn’t know her well enough to know she’s lying.

He is staring at her intently. “Always so adept at lying, you know I didn’t have to teach you that? It came naturally to you. You still have no memory?” She shakes her head, turning her head to look at the family but he grabs her jaw and brings her face to his.

She has her hands over his instantly, before she registers it herself and she is digging her nails into a pressure point on his hand which makes his hand drop quickly and he laughs, stretching out his hand.

“I did teach you that though. Don’t look at them. You keep your eyes on me. Do you know how I feel having to watch you dance with that cripple? Watching you let him touch you, kiss you and whisper God knows what into your ear? How dare you do that in front of me, acting as if you actually love him. You have clearly forgotten what I told you about falling in love with him. And stop speaking to me in English. I taught you Russian, you will speak to me in the mother tongue.”

He spins her around on the dance floor and she catches eyes with Ragnar who is watching them closely. She addresses him in English. “I don’t know what you and I were to each other, before my accident, but you need to understand something. Whatever it was is finished, the affair, whatever it was, is done now. I love Ivar, I don’t know who I was before the accident but this me, the one you keep bothering, wants no part of you. Do you understand me?”

He spins her around again so his back is to Ragnar and then his face toughens, turns nasty. “You were mine! Before all this, you were mine. We were in love for years…and I still love you. My Gods, the things we used to do together! You may be married to that cripple but you are mine Etta. My warrior, my fighter, my love. You will remember it’s an assignment and when you do you will run back to me.” He pulls her tight to him again and he moves his head like he is about to kiss her so she shakes his arms off her.

“Assignment? What are you talking about? I don’t believe anything you say,” she hisses in Russian, surprising herself.

“Julietta!” Ivar’s voice shouts behind her far enough away she knows he didn’t hear her speaking Russian. “What is going on here?” He pulls her behind him and faces Lev, who is somehow managing to keep his face neutral despite the hatred she knows he feels towards Ivar

“I wanted to dance with the most beautiful woman in the room, nothing more, nothing less.” Lev has switched back to his fake Spanish accent.

Ivar looks him up and down with disgust. “You make a habit of putting your hands all over married women? You are lucky this evening is a safe haven or I would have put a bullet between your eyes before you even knew I was here. Do you know who I am?”

Lev smirks and replies simply, “yes. You are Ivar Lothbrok.”

“Then you must have a death wish asking my wife to dance with you. We will catch up soon, you and I, in a setting that is much less favourable to you and your disrespect.” Ivar turns to Julietta, sneering and grabbing her hand harshly. He doesn’t say a word, he just walks her briskly back to the family.

“We are leaving,” Ivar announces

Ragnar is still looking at Lev, who, in turn, is watching Ivar and Julietta.

Ivar tries to contain his rage but he doesn’t succeed. He grabs her upper arm and pulls her into him so he can talk quietly to her. “Why the fuck did you dance with him? You’ve humiliated me in front of everyone.”

Before she gets a chance to reply Ragnar interrupts. “Ivar, I gave the okay. That man seems quite besotted with your beautiful wife, didn’t he Julietta? Who is he my dear?” Ragnar questions her with a look of menace and distrust on his face.

Something inside her kicks into gear, she addresses her father in law with an annoyed and covering tone. “Oh you think I know who he is? Very funny Ragnar, I know no one on this fucking Earth apart from your family!” She points her finger at him accusingly. “Don’t put this on me, I told you Ivar wouldn’t like it, didn’t I?” She looks Ragnar up and down in contempt and a rage fills her whole body in a way she’s never felt before.

In her head she watches herself throw her arm around Ragnar's neck and snap it, hear his last breath, see his life force leave. Her conscious mind feels sick at the images playing out.

Ragnar just watches her, as if he can see her thoughts, feel them. A satisfied smile creeps over his face.

Ivar looks between them. “Let’s go. I’m done with this night.” Ivar grips her arm and they leave the Gala, not noticing Lev's gaze following them.

In the car on the way home they are both silent but the tension is so thick it could be cut with a knife. The silence gives her a chance to process what Lev told her. They were in love, before she met Ivar. He referred to Ivar as an ‘assignment’ again

Her ability to speak Russian, an assignment? Surely it can’t mean what she thinks it means… she needs to look at the stuff she found in her apartment. She could be a….

“So. You think it’s appropriate to humiliate me in company? In front of our allies and rivals? To dance with another man?” Ivar’s voice trembles with rage, his knuckles white with the force he is gripping his crutch, but his face is still turned towards the window. “I’m a joke to you?”

“Ivar, please. You know you aren’t a joke, I love you…”

His gaze turns to her. “You fucking love me but you allow another man get close to you?” His eyes travel up and down her with an unmistakable look of disgust.

It flares her anger again. “Your fucking father made me, I said no twice and your father practically pushed me into him! Gods, get a handle on your temper when you are talking to me. I don’t appreciate your tone.”

“I don’t appreciate my wife getting pawed by another man in front of half the city like a common fucking whore.”

Whore.

Whore.

The word bounces around her brain like a ball on a squash court.

Whore. The rage the word ignites in her gut causes her to slap him hard across the face. “Fuck you, Ivar. You are bunch of fucking wolves. All of you! Business was so important that you broke your promise to not leave me alone at the Gala knowing who could have been there! Your father offered me up like a lamb to the slaughter for Gods knows what purpose but I’m fucking sure it was a business one. If you have an issue with me dancing with another man tonight you take it up with your father. He forced me to do it. I told him no but apparently that word isn’t in his vocabulary!” 

Ivar rubs his cheek, clearly in shock at her actions, but she barrels on, undeterred.

“Don’t you ever dare to call me a whore again. You may have a reputation but do not for one second think I’m scared of you or will allow you to speak to me like I’m dirt. Like I’m less of a human than you. Fucking whore??

She stares at him, waiting for his reply but it doesn’t come. He just continues to hold his face and stare at her dumbfounded, so she rips her chin high and spends the rest of the ride home watching the city get smaller, biting back tears she sure as shit will not allow to fall now. In front of him.

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

Ivar doesn’t get out at their house, he doesn’t say a word, she just watches the car drive towards the main house so she assumes he is staying there for the night.

Entering their house and runs to her closet, heart beating so hard from the adrenaline that she thinks it might tear through her skin. Julietta finally takes out the notebook and the phone from the hiding place. Unsurprisingly the phone is dead and she doesn’t want to risk plugging it in to charge out in case Ivar comes back tonight.

She looks first at the notebook she found hidden under her mattress. Pages and pages of nonsense, written not in English or Russian as she expected, but what seems like a code, she only recognised the dates in the corners of the pages, starting from 2012, the year she met Ivar. She scouts every page for the key but doesn’t find one. She throws it down in frustration and picks up the notebook that Lev knew about. Inside it is full of Russian writing, at least she can read that. It’s pages of dates, times, locations, names of people and companies. Each page is dated and they start from before she moved onto the estate, before the accident. She flips through all the pages and around a year in the page dates are getting longer apart, not days now, weeks sometimes months and when they are entries the information on them are less detailed. No more names, fewer locations. After their wedding date there are only two more entries.

She keeps flicking through hoping to find help to decipher the other notebook but nothing.

Her breathing has calmed now, her heartbeat raised but less so. She takes the notebook with the Russian writing and tucks it into her dress, she stashes the other notebook back in its hiding spot along with the phone.

Her feet carry her outside and she turns on the fire pit as her brain tries to offer up any alternative reasonable conclusion than the one she has already come to.

She was leaking information to Lev and whoever the fuck he works for. Who she worked for. Her heart breaks at the realisation: she was selling Ivar and his family out.

Why would she do that? To what end?

She turns the notebook over in her hands and almost throws it into the fire but at the last minute decides against it. If she has to tell Ragnar about herself she will show him what she divulged

She is going to die because of this, the family will kill her. She puts her head in her hands and sobs.

She knows she needs to pull herself together, hide the evidence until she can figure out what she needs to do. How she can handle this new information about herself. She knows she can’t barrel into this, she needs to be smart.

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

Ivar waits in his father's office. Drinking more of the expensive whisky in the crystal decanter than he should, certainly more than he should if he wants to feel half decent in the morning.

He hears Ragnar and Aslaug come home an hour later and he hauls himself to the office door and waits for his father to see him.

“Ah Ivar, I thought you would be here.” He turns to Aslaug. “I will be with you after I have spoken to our son.”

“Ivar, just hear your father out,” Aslaug pleads but Ivar doesn’t reply, he turns back into the office and drops into the chair opposite his father's desk. When Ragnar shuts the door Ivar explodes.

“You made her dance with him! Did you enjoy my humiliation, father? Revel in my shame? In front of the whole fucking city? I fucking hate you!” Ivar continues to scream at his father until his throat grows hoarse whilst Ragnar sits calmly and takes it all. When Ivar screams himself silent Ragnar holds up his hands.

“Son. There was a reason. That man didn’t take his eyes off your wife all night. He barely contained his anger watching you dance with her. I saw the rage in him when you were kissing her, he started to head towards you but he managed to hold himself back. I asked around to find out who he is, no one knew who he worked for but he had a valid ticket. He knows her, Ivar. Or he used to. I needed to see if she knew him.”

“Of course she doesn’t, she doesn’t know anyone here but us and a handful of people from the gym.”

“I couldn’t read her. I couldn’t tell if she was so uncomfortable dancing with him because he was a stranger or because there is a history. He grabbed her jaw, Ivar. He turned her face away from us when they were talking, that’s not an act one stranger does to another.”

“What fucking history? What are you implying?”

“I don’t know but I know the look of jealousy on a man’s face caused by a woman. He watched her for an hour from the corner. I thought at one point he was going to follow you when you went to talk business but I watched him change his mind. He used your absence as an opportunity to get to her. That’s why I allowed it.

Ivar thinks hard for a few seconds. “Was she looking at him?”“She glanced his way but I couldn’t decipher if it was because of the intensity he was watching her or if she recognised him. Talk to her. You know her the best. Ask her if she knows him, Ivar. I’m either wrong or she’s a very talented liar. I hope it’s the former.”

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

When Ivar gets home he hears the television coming from their bedroom. He walks quietly down the hall and into the bedroom, stopping at the door to the walk in closet. When she spots him he sees her take in a massive breath and when she exhales it seems like all the fight, the resentment at his words and actions goes with it. He can see she’s been crying, her eyes are rimmed red and her eyelids are puffy. As her face breaks and more tears flow she holds her hands out to him and he doesn’t wait even a fraction of a second to go to her, pulling her into his arms.

“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you by dancing with that man, I didn’t want to, I promise. I’m sorry I slapped you.”

“I’m sorry I called you that name, I won’t ever call you anything like that ever again. I’m sorry I was so mad at you, I was so jealous when I saw him near you. He was looking at you like he was going to kiss you and I just lost it. I’m sorry.”

Julietta reaches behind him and pulls his necklace off the side and shows it to him. “You took it off. You said it was safe at the Gala and you only take this off when it’s dangerous.” He doesn’t reply, just shrugs. “Here, let me put it back on for you.

Her hands snake behind his neck and she looks up into his eyes, which are boring into hers, making her hands wobble as she tries to do up the clasp.

Ivar reaches up as if to stroke her cheek but he actually grabs her face hard and moves close to her, running his nose along hers. “Who is he, Liet?” he says in a sweet voice that doesn’t match his face at all. His face is as dark as the midnight sky.

As her breath catches in her chest things move in slow motion. She feels the necklace slip from her trembling hands, sees the necklace fall from his neck and her eyes follow it as it bounces on the floor.

The familiarity of this situation makes something crack.

Then the floodgates in her brain open.

Memories drowning her, filling her completely, no space left for oxygen even. Snapshot of her life before the accident zooming at her like she is standing in the middle of a motorway, memories hurtling towards her dangerously.

Her parents. Their deaths. Letters. Meeting her real father. Realising what kind of man he is. Meeting Lev. Love with Lev. Training. Her new life. Violence. Meeting Ivar. The circumstances. The wedding. Seeing Lev in secret. Her accident. Seeing who was behind the wheel of the car that hit her.

“Liet! Julietta!” Ivar is shaking her violently, his voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, the blood rushing through her ears is the only thing she can hear properly. Suddenly her vision goes sharp, before the edges get dark, her vision decreasing, slowly being taken over by the blackness until her vision is no more than a pin prick.

Then nothing.

Chapter 10

[angelsdean]

i have been studying for my dean studies degree (rewatching spn + going down all the dean winchester meta tags like im a crazy 1800s scientist and the tags are holes marked Centre Of The Earth: This Way) and i just want to say you are absolutely correct in how you perceive dean. also i wanted to ask if you have any thoughts on deans character change post-kripke era bc i have so many thoughts but they dont arrange themselves in coherent sentence forms. im like an idea blender constantly on the highest setting and every so often they throw too much material into me and i explode chunks of thoughts in ways that do not lend themselves to interpretation under our earth standards of logic. and it looks like you have a lot of really good dean thoughts™️. anyway have a nice day

hi thanks so much for being here! i feel like i'll have much more to say about post-kripke era dean once i get there in my rewatch (which i have not been doing lately, need to get back to that!!) but i think a lot of the changes we see in dean's character post-kripke era is a combination of the fact that dean really was becoming thee central character (i know i know that's such a deangirl thing of me to say but!) of the two brothers, like post-swan song felt like sam's arc as the "main character" ended, and for seasons after most of the central plots revolved around dean (purgatory, demon dean, mark of cain, the darkness). another thing that i think contributed to the changes post-kripke era is just that there were a lot of new writers coming in. also following kripke era was gamble era and sera gamble is a known samgirl lol (and not a huge cas fan) so i feel like that also impacted some of how dean was characterized during her era. but yea i think, in general, throughout the show, we see lots writers bring their own spin on all the characters and sometimes that leads to new characterization (both good and bad) and sometimes we have to grapple with some wildly ooc or inconsistent characterization because writers will just...not do their homework lol.

these are all mostly outside explanations for dean's character changes, but once i'm farther along in my rewatch i'll def start talking abt more in-world explanations. for me a lot of it goes back to just unresolved post-hell trauma. (and continuous trauma piled on top of all that). like dean IS different when he comes back from hell. early seasons (and pre-series) dean ISN'T all that angry. he's always had to be the mediator. but then he starts getting angrier (starting with john telling him he may have to kill sam). and then he comes back from hell and he's got a lot more anger boiling under the surface. and i think hell is a HUGE thing for him that the narrative never properly addresses or lets him deal with and heal from in any significant way. and i feel like having to bury that trauma so he can deal with the next big bad or apocalypse definitely has some effect of him.

anyways, i'm rambling now but thanks for the message, sorry it took me a few days to get to it!

[effingunicorns]

14, 23, 24 for the choose violence ask?

I know very little about fma but I promise to take all your fandom opinions on it as gospel.

you are exceptionally kind (◡‿◡ ) this post is now front-loaded as hell.

14. that one thing you see in fics all the time

god, how to pick? obviously there's the whole bottom Ed thing--I don't usually care about top/bottom discourse in m/m ships unless someone's trying to say Dean Winchester's not a bottom, but there are literally only 51 Roy/Ed fics on AO3 where Ed tops out of more than 4,000 total fics in the ship tag, or out of a little under 2,000 if you restrict it to mature, explicit, and unrated fic. That's 1-2.5%!!! and I wrote two of them!!! why does no one believe in variety here!!!

but it gets better, because there's also several things that scream "I don't know how to deal with the passage of time in canon". basically, due to a huge personal fuck-up, Ed starts canon with two prosthetic limbs and the ability to transmute things into new shapes with a clap of his hands, as opposed to studying and making advance preparations like anyone else. he's also incredibly short for his age. he slowly and measurably gets taller as canon goes--which is weird enough for a manga/anime even before you factor in that his being sensitive about his height is key to a running gag--and at the very end there's a sequence of events where his prosthetic arm gets destroyed, his brother sacrifices himself to get Ed's original arm back, and then Ed sacrifices his ability to do alchemy at all to bring his brother back, having finally learned the lesson that people are more important than power. then everyone lives happily ever after and Ed grows to a perfectly normal height for his age--arguably even tall.

so naturally every post-canon fic is Edward Elric Keeps His Automail or Edward Elric Keeps His Alchemy, or both at once, or both at once and not even tagged for, or not in a way that can be properly wrangled. Ed still being short is such a given that the only tag regarding his height is if he actually gets tall like canon says he does! and there's a frankly weird amount of self-loathing over things he never had a problem with in canon, or things he pretty clearly came to terms with--it's exactly like that post from the other day about characters who are funny or mean to conceal their real feelings getting mischaracterized because fandom is too focused on the chewy bits.

and all of this isn't even getting into the fics where he stays in the military, but there are other questions to get into!

23. ship you’ve unwillingly come around to

I wouldn't add it to my wheelhouse or anything, but I've learned to see where the Elricest shippers are coming from. Ed and Al basically raise themselves for most of their childhood. Most of their few age-appropriate friends are some combination of fellow genius, royalty, and assassin, and the rest of their friends are mostly adults who treat them as fellow adults. their respective concepts of normal are off on another planet somewhere, and so it doesn't seem like as huge a leap as I used to think for them to say fuck it and add another taboo to the list. sure, they screwed up hard on the last one, but at least this one isn't likely to cost them body parts, right???

24. topic that brings up the most rancid discourse

so far I've actively made an effort to not go searching things out. partially this is because stirring the pot in such an ancient fandom feels mean, and partially this is because I've got other wank to look at when I'm hungry, but legitimately I think most of the really bad stuff is buried in 15- to 20-year-old LJ comments, abandoned message boards, and the like. there's evidence of fancops in these lands, to be sure, but when the two actual most popular m/m ships in the fandom are 14-year age gap starring a teenager and brother/brother incest, and the most viable alternatives to either are all m/f, they don't really have room to shit all over everything.

(I kind of want to invite folks to send me evidence to the contrary so I can preemptively block, but I pretty much never get trouble here, so it wouldn't really make a difference 🤷🏻‍♀️)

the choose violence ask game! (or in app mode if my theme is too much)

[ladylilithprime]

Through The Wind And The Chill

Series: Fluff Is My Jamstiel

Fandom: Supernatural: 

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Witch Sam Winchester, Hunter Novak Brothers, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Blood Loss, Do Not Drive While Sleep-Deprived

Summary: The Novak brothers heard quite a bit about Sam's impressive handmade cloak long before they had the opportunity to see it in use. Cas regrets that he wasn't in shape to properly appreciate it at the time.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 9: Breezy

Read on AO3

HARDLY ANYONE EVEN blinked anymore at seeing a six-foot-five man in a black hooded cloak walking around. Most of the people who would look askance at him were tourists, and they weren't so far from San Francisco that a man in a cloak really stood out too terribly much. Locals were quite familiar with the sight of him, particularly when accompanied by either a very well-groomed and well-behaved golden retriever or by a cheerful blonde woman in flowy earth-toned skirts and dresses, going into and leaving The Long Brew which most of the locals knew as the tea and herb shop with a few extra trinkets offered. Those same locals also knew that the shop was run by a self-professed practicing witch named Sam Wesson, though not too many people would connect the tall, cloaked man with that description unless they had previously met him or one of his close friends.

Among his close friends, the Cloak was spoken of with a reverence that seemed disproportionate to apply to an item of clothing.

"It's so warm," was repeated the most frequently, and often in conjunction with, "Getting hugged by Sam is already amazing, but when he's wearing the Cloak? So awesome!"

"It's like the ultimate comfort accessory," Max Moore said in admiration. "Big enough to fit five people at a football game, wind-proof and warm, and it has pockets to hold snacks!"

"It took us ages to put it together," his wife, Jessica, groaned in remembrance. "The outer layer was super discounted, but the inner layer was so expensive we had to buy it a couple yards at a time over several months, nevermind the time it took to sew it! We sized it to Sam since he was the tallest of us, but if I ever get around to getting the fabric together to make my own you can bet I'm paying him to embroider those rune wards of his on it!"

"Can you believe it was inspired by some dude he met at an SCA event?" Andy Gallagher gushed, not quite bouncing from the excitement and completely ignoring his audience's lack of familiarity with what "SCA" even was. "And he made it himself! I mean, you've seen Sam! The dude wears thrifted jeans and flannel when he's not wearing one of his sweaters, but he puts that on and he could go play court wizard to the Queen of Moondoor if he wanted!"

"It's the most witchy thing he owns," Dean Smith sighed with a minor head-shake. "Probably also the one thing he's spent the most time on making, too, him and Jess and Brady. Almost thought he wasn't gonna wear it again after Brady died. Dunno why you haven't seen him wear it yet, it's not like you two don't already know he's a witch or give him shit for it."

"It's honestly a coincidence," Sam assured the Novak brothers when Jimmy finally broke down and asked about the cloak. "I don't wear it all the time, obviously, and most of the time it's like a hooded jacket or raincoat. There just hasn't been a need to pull it out any of the times you've been out here before."

The solution to that, concluded John Castiel and James Constantine Novak, was to make sure that they stayed for longer periods of time and returned more frequently. It wasn't until after they were both subjected to a paintball match that they rather unexpectedly lost and the subsequent revelation that Sam Wesson and Dean Smith were, in fact, the missing and presumed dead sons of the late and infamously unlamented John Winchester, that they actually saw the Cloak in use at all.

The last hunt they had been on had been longer than usual, with the evidence trail they needed to follow colder than the grave of the ghost they had thought needed to be laid to rest. They had already been on their way back to Palo Alto and had only stopped in Laguna, Arizona, because it was on their way and should have been what amounted to a milk run. Instead, they ended up going up against a couple of ghouls who were a lot more trouble than a ghost and had left Jimmy and Cas both in pretty rough shape with Cas's arm needing stitches and Jimmy's ribs probably broken underneath the extensive bruising.

It had taken them twelve hours trading off driving and downing a probably unhealthy mix of Red Bull and 5 Hour Energy shots to get from Laguna up to Palo Alto, pushing the limits of their lingering adrenaline to get their tired and rattled selves somewhere they regarded as "safe" before they could relax. Unfortunately, they had forgotten a little thing called a calendar and had arrived outside Sam's house only to discover that it was not only dark but locked, the witch and his familiar off to work. Exhausted and aching and thoroughly unable to contemplate getting back in the car until they had actually slept but unable to sleep until they had fulfilled the requirement of "safety" that had been built up in their minds, the twins had sort of collapsed down against each other sitting on the front steps. There they sat, huddled and shivering in the alcove barely shielded from the wind, and fell into a kind of fugue state until they were roused by a warm tongue licking over their faces amid the soft whines of a worried golden retriever.

"Cas? Jimmy?!"

"Hello, Sam, Bones," Cas mumbled, reaching up with cold-numbed fingers to pet the dog in what he hoped was reassuring but probably fell short of the mark.

"Sorry for not calling ahead," Jimmy mumbled next to him, shifting like he was going to try and sit up more. Cas whined embarrassingly at the loss of heat, but it forced his eyes open to look up and see Bones peering up into his face with concern that was almost more human than canine, and behind her--

Oh, sweet Mother of God, was all that could make its way through his befuddled brain at the sight of Sam striding across the lawn with a massive black cloak billowing around him, practically swooping down on the two of them is if carried by black wings--

--huge, massive wings that spread wide to encompass time and space--

--and then the hood was pushed back and Sam was crouched in front of them both, reaching up to touch their foreheads and cheeks with gentle hands as his eyes tracked over every visible scrape and cut and bruise and bandage. What all he saw clearly did not make him happy as the worried frown on his face deepened, the sight causing a tightening in Cas's chest. The sun went dark... I miss the sun....

"The sun?" Sam asked, his frown changing to more confusion than worry, which was a little better but still didn't solve the problem of the sun being gone.

"He's been having moments like this for hours," Jimmy sighed, leaning back in against Cas and propping him up. Cas hummed and leaned against the solid warmth of his twin as he went on, "I can't tell if it's the blood loss or the concussion or the sleep deprivation, though."

"Sleep deprivation," Sam said with an absent-minded certainty as he put two fingers under Cas's chin and tilted his head up to look in his eyes, distracting Cas with the pretty sunbursts of shifting color. "His pupils are the same size and if this was from blood loss you'd have already taken him to the hospital for a transfusion. Why didn't you two use your key to go inside instead of waiting on the front steps?"

"You weren't home to let us in," Cas answered, though he thought the question might have been directed at Jimmy. "Can't come in without permission... S'a rule...."

"I'm going to assume this is more of the sleep deprivation talking and address this again later," Sam said dryly, "but when I gave you two the key to my house and told you to keep it, it was with every expectation that you both would use it to let yourselves in and make yourselves at home even if I'm not right here to greet you. Especially if you're showing up needing medical attention!"

Later, Cas would be able to parse his disjointed recollections to understand that Sam leaned forward and enveloped him in his cloak before picking him up to carry him inside. He would even manage to be mortified at Jimmy's description of the sound of rapture he made amid babbling about suns and moons and the vacuum of deep space. All he knew in the moment was that he was swallowed up in darkness and warmth and the smell of Sam - sweat and musk overlayed with lavender and sage and cloves - and then he was floating, leaving the earth and floating away, but it was okay because he could still feel Sam and Jimmy near him, each tethering him in their own way, banishing the chill in his bones with tender touches and words that held promises of safety and home.

[astermacguffin]

I posted 23,395 times in 2022

80 posts created (0%)

23,315 posts reblogged (100%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@autisticandroids

@thatll-do

@castielsclitoris

@sosaysdean

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I tagged 5,141 of my posts in 2022

#prev - 454 posts

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Longest Tag: 140 characters

#intactics voice ​consider 3 sides. now consider what ‘3’ means in the absence of any sides a 3 totally divorced from quantity. consider that

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Wait am I just misremembering things or did Lily Sunder and Cas really barely interact in the ep where they resurrect Jack? Because it's like. Here's a man who helped in the murder of your daughter and now he's begging you to help bring back his son. LIKE. HELLO. That's super fucking compelling. I think it should have been Cas who made the "you know how it feels to lose a child; please don't make us lose him too" plea instead of Dean. I think the impact of that scene would be better (and also more convincing given. You know. Dean wanting to kill Jack for a good chunk of their intial relations lol).

The scene could go many ways. You can have an angry Lily, who rubs it in hard, the irony of their situation. How unfair it is that Cas has the chance to do what Lily failed to accomplish for decades.

You can have a more sympathetic Lily, who looks at the face of this worn and weary angel and sees someone completely different from the merciless soldier she met a long time ago.

You can have different combinations of these and more. I wish there were more fics exploring the dynamic between Lily and Cas. (If you have fic recs, PLEASE send them here.)

78 notes - Posted January 30, 2022

#4

One of the most annoying responses I see when discussing S9 Dean's toxic moments is "oh that's just the Mark which means dean is absolved of all moral responsibility for his actions" which is. Huh?????? That's such a boring and stupid response and it's kinda on par with the way some folks excuse everything that late-seasons Dean does by saying "oh that's just Chuck manipulating him, which means he totally can't be blamed for the things he did" which is also soooooooo.

Like. Okay. On the one hand I kinda get the impulse to go straight to a Doylist explanation and blame the writers for writing Dean in such egregious ways (because it's TRUE) but like. Personally I tend to find that boring after a while. This is my weaker argument.

My stronger argument is that by refusing to grapple with the events of canon by transferring the blame to some other external force (blaming the Mark/Chuck for the Watsonian, blaming the writers for the Doylist), the characters aren't really given justice

What I mean by this is that it leaves the characters in an awkward stalemate.

On Dean's part: "If there's a force external to me that I can blame (e.g. the Mark, Chuck) then I don't really need to grapple with the things I've done." This is harmful not just to himself but to the people around him, particularly his loved ones who are typically the ones affected by his actions.

This type of thinking actually hinders the characters' ability to properly deal with the events and possibly make amends. They have no mechanism for moving on other than sucking it up and brushing things under the rug.

Take, for example, Cas' internality in the face of all of these things that Dean did. It's natural for Cas to feel negative emotions in response to All Of That (e.g. anger, sadness, resentment, fear, etc). However, if it's true that Dean really isn't to blame for all of That, then Cas' emotions have nowhere to go. "Dean has tried to murder my son multiple times and I have plenty of Feelings about this but actually it's not his fault because he's been manipulated by God so now I just have to suck up all these emotions." LIKE. That is totally NOT healthy for your psyche, angel or not.

The characters end up not being capable of grappling with the consequences of things because agency and moral responsibility keeps being shifted into these external forces.

91 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

#3

I know that post-canon baby jack fics are usually written for fluff but EYE personally think they should be used for evil more often. I want a non-god, toddler jack who doesn't remember much of the very traumatic first three years of his life but still has some glaring triggers. Like. For example, toddler jack is EXTREMELY claustrophobic. Every time they enter a small and enclosed space, he immediately cries and starts clinging on dean and going "I'M SORRY I'M SORRY PLEASE DON'T LOCK ME UP" and both sam and dean feel their guts turning, knowing that they did that to jack. The only small and enclosed space that jack tolerates is the impala. Anyways. Society if more post-canon fics grappled with what sam and dean did to jack before giving us a "happily ever after".

91 notes - Posted January 28, 2022

#2

Hey folks welcome to another evil and fucked up fic concept from yours truly:

S13. Okay. Dean is still fucked up with grief, and the combination of fear, anger, and resentment he feels towards Jack is certainly not a good mix. Still, he prefers these latter emotions because at least they're actionable emotions. You can run away or fight that which you fear or resent, but what do you do to the rotting void of grief?

All these negative emotions eventually spiral into some form of paranoia, a constant stream of "What if he turns evil? What if he takes even more from me?" Over and over in his head.

Now. What if. While they're searching the bunker for resources to help them deal with Jack, Dean accidentally stumbles upon something in their storage: a metal crown and a set of spikes. A contraption that Crowley left behind—Naomi's tools.

In fear of Jack turning evil, Dean picks up Naomi's lobotomy contraptions so he can program Jack to "not be evil."

When Dean straps down Jack into the chair, he gives the kid his very first smile. "Don't worry, kid. I'll make sure you'll never lose your path."

When Cas is finally resurrected again, everything's fine and cool and happy. And then Jack goes "Oh yeah I have weekly tuning sessions with Dean." And Cas asks. What "tuning sessions." And he watches in horror as Jack puts on the crown that Naomi uses for the lobotomies.

Cas confronts Dean about this. They fight. Cas was about to leave with Jack. Dean panics; he orders Jack to hold Cas down and prevent him from escaping.

With Jack's help, Dean tearfully straps Cas down to the chair and puts the crown on him. "I'm sorry, Cas. But I can't lose you again."

Everything is fine and cool and normal. If Sam notices some odd behavior here and there, he tries not to think too hard about it. Besides, this is the first time that they had been this happy and peaceful for a length of time, why ruin it?

Eventually, however, Sam can't ignore things any longer. His suspicions eventually lead him into finding out what Dean's been doing this entire time.

Sam confronts Dean about it. They fight. When Sam was about to take Jack and Cas away from there, Dean utters a trigger word and makes Sam fall under his control.

It turns out that this isn't the first time that Sam found out what's happening, and that Dean has been repeatedly rewriting his memories this entire time.

At first, Dean just asked Jack to erase Sam's memories. This plan doesn't work long term because Sam either just rediscovers what happens or regains his memories. Dean then ordered Jack to gradually and discreetly feed Sam some grace and transform him into as close as an angel as possible so that the Naomi's tools would work on him as well.

This bit is from jay @casnation , thanks for this: Sam repeatedly wakes up and tries to get Cas and Jack out of there but they’re programmed to take him to Dean if he does this. Like, he could totally escape if he didn’t try to save them every time.

There will be a point where the brainwashing gets so severe that they basically lose their personalities in a way that even Dean cannot ignore anymore. And so he "reprograms their personalities back" based on Dean's perceptions of them.

Crucially there will also be a point where Dean realizes just how bad he's fucked up (ideally in conjunction with the realization that he's living with three husks with zero personality), but he's trapped himself into a corner. Because he KNOWS that the moment he undoes the programming, they would all run the fuck away from that bunker and leave him alone. And he would rather reprogram them ad infinitum rather than face the consequences of what he did.

Another incredible quote from jay: "Pygmalion carving himself not just a lover but a family."

More stuff below the cut (specifically how Mary reacts to All of This when she returns from the Apocalypse World):

Dean does NOT have the guts to lobotomize his own mother. He can stomach doing it to Sam and Cas because he's already pretty good at ignoring their autonomy. Which means that Dean has to employ more subtle methods of hiding things from Mary.

He can order Cas to reaasure Mary that "everything is fine." He can also order Jack to distract Mary by bonding with her.

Here's another bit courtesy of jay: "Mary notices something is up with Sam first and Dean just says “How would you know? I’ve know him his whole life, he’s fine, you’ve only been back a year!"

Another jay bit: "no thoughts just mary looking up and realizing the bunker is a clockwork recreation of her fantasy of married life with john with cas as her role. and she has no idea what to do"

I have no idea how to end this. We can go with the more horrific route where Mary never discovers what's truly going on and so they're all just trapped there, Pygmalion and the family he carved.

The other option is that Mary finds out. This has two potential outcomes: (1) Mary convinces Dean to undo the programming. They all run the fuck out of there and leave Dean alone to face what he did. Or, (2) In a desperate attempt to keep his family together, Dean orders Jack and Cas to hold Mary down and make her forget what she discovered. The story ends with Dean, tears in his eyes, putting metal spikes in his mother's skull.

(Also. I want y'all to know that there are more fucked up parts to this but those shall remain in the dark corners of our discord chats lol)

124 notes - Posted March 8, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Hypothetical destiel pairings that are sooooooo important to me:

- stanford era dean and s15 divorce arc cas

Imagine Cas seeing a version of the love of his life that doesn't carry the amount of baggage he currently has. A version of his love that has not yet pointed a gun to his son.

- s4 cas and s13 widower arc dean

Imagine Dean seeing this version of Cas. He's so young! And he still haven't died a single death for you just yet. You look at this angel and think: you haven't fallen in all the ways that matter just yet.

- endverse cas and s15 divorce arc dean

Imagine Dean experiencing a whiplash when endverse Cas confronts him and says "in the worst ways, you're a lot similar to my Dean. Sometimes I think you're even worse."

- faith dean and emmanuel cas

You're dying. You're dying and your dad won't even answer the phone but here comes this man, this faith healer who looks you in the eye and says "you're not a machine, Dean." Who looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who you can barely see.

- post-rapture cas and mark of cain dean

"I serve Heaven, I don't serve Man. And I certainly don't serve you." Imagine a post-lobotomy Cas seeing his charge at his very lowest and seeing what he's told confirmed by his very eyes. That the Righteous Man is not who he thinks he is.

- s3 dean and post-swan song cas

You're going to hell. You're going to hell and you can't stop it but here comes this angel who has fallen for you, who rebelled against heaven for you. And you can't stop thinking whether or not you were born with this rot, with the curse to poison everything you touch. But the angel says "I would fall again a million times if it means I get to protect you from perdition."

125 notes - Posted January 27, 2022

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[hintsofhoney]

That’s It, I’m Getting My Belt

Paring(s): Dom!Dean Winchester x F!Bratty!Reader

Summary: Dean's not gonna let your bratty behavior slide this time.

Square(s) Filled: edging for @spnmixedbingo​

Tags: 18+, sir kink, punishment, corporal punishment, spanking (with a belt), edging, use of a vibrator, aftercare

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: This is a part two to Always a Flirt! Requested by my lovely @treat-winchesterswith-kindness, beta’d by her and my darling @deangirl93, inspired by this GIF I made. Love you both to the moon! Hope you guys enjoy!

You can also read me on Ao3!

↤ PART ONE

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Y/N – drop it. Now,” Dean warned, his voice stern as he gave you a look that let you know he was serious. 

You stomped your feet on the floor in a child-like tantrum as you pushed your bottom lip out into a pout. “But –”

“Did I not just tell you to drop it? You wanna keep throwing a fit, go ahead. See what happens. I’m not letting it slide this time.”

You folded your arms over your chest with a loud ‘hmph’. “Whatever. You’re –” you stopped yourself, debating on whether or not you should finish your sentence.

“No, go on. I’m what?” he urged.

You rolled your eyes, deciding that you wanted to tell him off just this one time – even if it meant that you wouldn’t be able to sit properly for a few days afterwards. “You’re so fucking frustrating sometimes, okay!? Like, fuck! Why can’t you just – ugh!” you exclaimed, feeling much better but instantly regretting it when you saw Dean’s stunned face. 

“That’s it, I’m getting my belt,” he said, turning around, beginning to make his way out of the library. 

“No! No, wait, I’m sorry,” you exclaimed, running up and grabbing his forearm to keep him from leaving. Within seconds he had you pinned up against the nearest wall, your arms being held above your head with his left hand while he gripped underneath your jaw with his right. 

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it, sweetheart. I think it’s been way too long since I’ve punished you properly. You seem to think that I’ll tolerate your little tantrums now ‘cause I let the last one slide. That stops right now,” he said, his voice low and stern. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna let you go, and then you’re gonna go bend over that table right there and wait for me to get back. Do you understand me?” 

You avoided his eyes as you replied in a mumble. “Yes.”

“Look at me when you’re talkin’ to me. Or do I have to punish you for that, too?”

You quickly snapped your eyes up, meeting his. “Yes, sir,” you said clearly.

“That’s what I thought,” he replied, letting go of your wrists and jaw. “Now, go. I’ll be right back.”

Your stomach started twisting into knots as you made your way to the library table – one you’ve been bent over many times before, although not for the same reason you were about to be. You took a deep breath as you placed your palms and forearms flat on the wooden surface, the wetness in between your legs continuing to grow no matter how much you willed it to stop. A small part of you had always liked punishments – especially ones that involved you bending over tables. Ones where Dean was rough and merciless; where you had bruises on your ass for weeks and couldn’t sit properly for days. It made you feel like you were his – like he had marked you. Like no one else, including yourself, could touch you without his permission. Because you belonged to him. And you liked it that way. 

Goosebumps prickled your skin as you heard footsteps behind you, the anticipation of what was to come making you antsy. You flinched as Dean set something down on the table in your peripheral – a quick glance to the side telling you that it was a vibrator. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion; usually his punishments didn’t involve any of that kind of pleasure. You gulped as you felt him behind you, one of his hands coming to give your denim-clad ass a sharp smack before gripping it tightly and leaning over you. You could feel his breath fanning over your ear, sending shivers down your spine that went straight to your core. 

“Here’s how this is gonna go, darlin’,” he husked, and you could hear the jingle of his belt buckle in his other hand, “You’re gonna take these shorts off, and whatever’s underneath ‘em, and then you’re gonna bend back over this table just like you are now. Except,” he paused, placing the vibrator in front of your face, “you’re gonna put this on that pretty pussy of yours and turn it on. Got it?” 

“Yes, sir,” you nodded, unsure of where this punishment was headed, but you weren’t going to complain about getting to touch yourself. Lord knows you needed to whenever he got this way. He took a step back and you followed his instructions, popping the button on your jean shorts and unzipping them before letting them pool at your ankles. You paused before hooking your fingers under your panties, making sure he saw that you were wearing the plaid ones that you had bought not too long ago – ones that matched the bra that reminded you of him. You heard him huff, assuming that there was a smug look plastered on his face, before you pushed them down your legs as well. You grabbed the vibrator from the table, placing your left palm and forearm flat on the surface while you held the toy in your right and brought it to your throbbing core. Your breath hitched as you turned it on, hoping that Dean would show you some mercy tonight and let you cum, but not expecting him to. 

“Good girl,” he praised, coming to hover over you again. “Now, do not cum. And when you feel like you’re about to, you pull it off, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you replied with a small nod, wondering what the catch was. Why was he holding his belt in his hand if he wasn’t going to use it?

“And everytime you pull it off –”

SMACK. You flinched as the leather strap came in contact with your bare ass, understanding what he had in mind now. 

“And you’re gonna keep goin’ ‘til you’ve gotten at least twenty, ‘cause I don’t particularly appreciate the way you’ve been acting like a spoiled little brat,” he whispered in your ear, causing another shiver to run down your spine. “Oh, and don’t cheat either, Y/N. I can tell when you’re about to cum.”

“And if I do? Cum?” you asked, barely audible.

He chuckled darkly. “You’ll be wishing you didn’t, sweetheart.” 

You dropped your head and closed your eyes, focusing on nothing but the vibrations on your core, trying to ignore Dean’s presence beside you. You could picture him standing there, his arms folded over his chest, his belt clutched in one hand, his biceps straining against his red button down. The thought of him watching you do this only made the heat in your abdomen rise faster, and before you knew it, you were pulling the toy off of your core.

A sharp smack came down on your ass immediately after, causing you to lunge forward a little as the sting radiated throughout your body.

“Count ‘em,” he ordered, before another smack caught you off guard, causing you to hiss in pain.

“Two!” you squeaked. 

“You want me to stop, you better put that right back on your pussy,” he said, delivering a third hit.

“Three!” you yelped, deciding that you’ve had enough for the time being and placing the vibrator back on your clit. You sighed in relief, knowing that you’d have a few moments to recover from the stinging hits before they started again. He wasn’t holding back tonight – nearly full force with the belt on your bare ass was definitely going to leave some bruises, and you were already looking forward to the aftercare portion of this punishment. 

It wasn’t long before you could feel the dam inside you about to break again, and you reluctantly pulled the vibrator away as you knew that if you came tonight it would probably be months before you came again. The hits came down on your ass as soon as the vibrations left your core, three more in succession this time.

“Four, five, six!” you practically screamed, wanting to place the toy back on your core but knowing that you were still too sensitive to do so. 

SMACK! SMACK!

“Seven, eight!” you hissed, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the searing pain radiating from your ass. And he wanted you to take twelve more!? It was moments like these where you swore that you’d never be a brat again. Not that you ever upheld those promises to yourself – riling him up was just too tempting. 

SMACK!

“Nine!” you yelped, lunging forward. Just make it to ten, Y/N. The tenth hit came down hard, your fingertips gripping onto the table as you cried out in pain. “T-ten,” you stuttered, quickly putting the vibrator back on your pussy. 

You brought yourself to the edge of a release twice more before you were finally screaming out “twenty!” with tears rolling down your cheeks. You turned off the vibrator and collapsed onto the table, your chest heaving as soft sniffles left you. Dean placed his belt on the table and quickly came to your side, promptly standing you up and cupping your face in his hands. 

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his angry eyes now turned kind and concerned, as he wiped the tears from your cheeks with his thumbs.

“Y-yeah,” you sobbed, leaning into his chest. He grabbed you by your hand, walking around to the side of the table and pulling out a chair, taking a seat. 

“C’mere, darlin’,” he said softly, pulling you into his lap, making sure that you weren’t sitting on the sore parts of your ass. “You did so well, baby,” he praised, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. He kissed your temple gently, wiping some more tears away with his thumb. “What do you need, sweetheart? Talk to me.”

The initial pain was wearing off now, a dull sting remaining. You took a deep breath before replying, the occasional sob still escaping you as you tried to calm yourself down. “Can we… t-take a bath?” you asked.

Dean smiled as he nodded, leaning in to kiss your nose. “Of course. Tell you what,” he began, taking your hand in his, “how ‘bout we go down to the kitchen, and we’ll get some sugar in you, and then we can take a bath and I’ll rub some lotion on you, okay?”

You smiled at his proposition, your last quiet sob leaving you. “Okay,” you nodded in agreement, “but can you carry me?”

He chuckled, kissing you on your forehead. “Sweetheart, I’d be impressed if you could still walk.”

[graymatters]

okok, part 2 of trying to clean up my MFL on AO3. Fun fact: since I started actively trying to reduce my MFL, it's gone from 19 to 20 pages. Too much goodness from Cluefest, what can I say?

There are definitely some sensitive subjects covered in a couple of these fics, so as always, mind the tags! Again, randomly selected fics, short list, long rambling, Drarry unless otherwise specified, let's gooooo.

Check out List #1 here.

1. Euphoria by @thehoneybeet | M, 35k💘 I cannot say enough good things about this fic. So much emotional complexity packed into 35k, a wonderfully cool and competent Unspeakable!Draco (are we seeing a theme here?), and the yearning in this fic....jfc

"If Harry hadn’t already been completely gone on Draco by then, he’d have fallen in love with him all over again.

Thinking about it now was like splitting open an old wound—one that healed crooked and raw and wrong.

He had no idea how to go about patching it up though, so settled for picking at it, wondering whether Draco’s memory of that day differed substantially from his own. The silver wisps of the memory swirled slowly in the jar, offering nothing up for Harry. It was as incomprehensible as the man on the other side of the room."

This had such a unique take on fake dating, getting back together, a case fic, magical theory, ALL THE GOODNESS. And the writing was phenomenal, sucked me right in, I read this entire fic in an afternoon.

2. Precious Memories by ravenclawsquill | E, 18k 👓 This was a revisit from last year's extensive research on fics depicting pensieve memories for my own wireless fic, but this was the first time I'd gotten to just sit down and enjoy rather than looking at it technically. And this one had such unique takes on the memories -- how Draco sees himself versus how Harry sees him are clearly distinguished when they both view the same memory. It's fascinating!

“And besides, your memories are completely inaccurate! You haven’t captured me properly at all – I look like a fucking monster in both of them!”

...

“No, you don’t,” Harry sighed. “You look like a terrified kid.”

And again, this pensieve-repairing, glasses-wearing, dare-I-say-competent-again Draco is perfection, and I adored Harry's friendship with Ginny and Dean.

3. Moonfever by @krethes | E, 3k, Remus/Sirius 🐺 I don't typically read Wolfstar, but when I do, I pick through @krethes' Chronicles of Wolfstar, all of which are phenomenal, even the ones I haven't read yet, I'm sure of it. This fic was gritty and raw and tense and dark and had me sucked right in. I adored this glance into who these two are and how perhaps... skewed? their sense of danger is when everything around them is falling apart.

4. The Critiquer by dysonrules | E, 24k 📸My bookmark just says 'absolutely hysterical.' It's rare for me to literally laugh out loud while reading, but this one got me several times over between the *ehem* explicit gifs, the artwork breaking up POVs, the absolutely ridiculous premise of Draco finding employment by critiquing the quality of not only peoples' cocks that are submitted via mail, but the quality of their photography skills, and Harry's Gryffindor-determination to obtain the Critiquer's validation. Side characters were also a blast with this one -- just so much fun. Don't ask me how I hadn't read this one sooner, I've no idea how it's evaded me, but it was a treat to sit down and laugh for an evening.

[writethelifeyouwant]

It's All Greek to Me

Summary: A small cult of prostitutes sacrificing their clients to the goddess Aphrodite pops up in Kansas City, and Sam and Dean put a stop to them with the help of a professor from the University of Kansas, who tags along with the brothers to translate the cult’s rituals. On their drive back to Lawrence, Y/N reveals what she’d like as payment for her help in stopping the renegade cult.

Pairing: Sam x Reader x Dean (no wincest) Rating: 18+ Tags: Professor!Reader, Multi-Lingual!Reader, slightly Dom!Sam, Bros Being Bros, Talented Tongues, Blow Job, Road Head, Impala Sex, Orgasm Control, Implied Threesome Word Count: 1,195 Bingo Squares: @samwinchesterbingo - Free Space | @spnkinkbingo - Road Head | @spndeanbingo - Road Head | @anyfandomkinkbingo - Orgasm Control | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Orgasm Denial

Created for: Jen was the January winner of my monthly drawing and she submitted this request! If you’d like to be entered, every month, to win a free fic – subscribe to my website here.

“I still don’t get how you suspected what that cult was up to so quickly,” Sam questioned again as he, Dean and Y/N all bundled into the Impala for the return journey: back to Lawrence and the University of Kansas for Y/N, then on to Lebanon and the bunker for the Winchester brothers.

“I mean, you said you had to be there in person to translate the rituals properly and write the counter incantations out for us, but it was like you already knew what we needed to do before they even finished.”

Sam had been suspicious ever since the professor had insisted on coming with them in person, apparently so she could make sure the intricacies of her counter curses against the cult were carried out accurately. But he also suspected that she’d wanted to see the rituals in person for another reason, which she wasn’t being candid about. He hoped she wasn’t planning on writing a book about this or anything. They didn’t need to advertise that sacrificial cults to ancient Greek deities actually worked, even in academic circles.

“Give it a rest, Sammy,” Dean scoffed. He’d shot down Sam’s worries about Y/N every time Sam had tried to have a quiet word with him. Dean was never one to suspect the pretty faces. “Just be glad we locked up Aphrodite nice’n’tight and didn’t have to kill any prostitutes to do it,” he wiggled his eyebrows at Sam through the rearview mirror, a stupid grin on his face.

“I don’t think you actually want to sleep with any of ‘em, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes. “They were literally sacrificing their johns no two hours ago.”

“Yeah, but they were doing it to get the low down on pleasing your man from the Love Goddess herself,” Dean reasoned, his eyes getting a far away look in their green irises. “Bet they learned some neat tricks before we cramped their style,” he smirked at his brother again and Sam huffed under his breath in frustration, settling into the back seat of the Impala as they sped down the highway towards Lawrence.

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered to himself, and Y/N giggled in the front seat.

“What?” Dean asked, side-eyeing her while he drove.

“I just don’t know how you guys ever pull off being FBI partners or whatever other ruses you use,” Y/N laughed lightly, glancing back at Sam over her shoulder with a playful smile. “You’re so clearly brothers, it’s nuts.”

“Hey, we can be good actors when we’ve gotta be,” Dean protested with an offended snort under his breath. “It’s just harder when there’s a pretty lady around to distract us.” He pulled his eyes off the road and winked at Y/N, sending her into a renewed fit of giggles, and Sam rolled his eyes again behind the pair of them.

God, Dean was incorrigible.

“Is there anything else hard because of the distracting, pretty lady?” Y/N asked with wide, innocent eyes, fluttering her lashes in Dean’s direction, and the Impala swerved to the right, skating over the rumble strips on the side of the road and sending the car shaking beneath them. She looked in the rearview mirror and shot Sam a wink, which sent him sitting bolt upright in his seat.

She’s just as bad as Dean, he thought, caught off guard. Was she really coming on to both of them?

The car swerved again – violently.

“Woah! Whatcha doin’ there sweetheart?” Dean asked, looking at Y/N in nervous surprise. Sam saw the professor’s shoulder moving at an odd angle and he understood what must have just happened – she was groping Dean in the front seat, hand kneading over his crotch methodically while he tried valiantly to keep driving straight. Sam gulped awkwardly, suddenly feeling very hot under the collar of his plaid shirt.

“Well…” she mused, still touching Dean unashamedly while turning around to look Sam up and down over the back of her bench seat, “I did say I’d think of a way you could thank me for helping you guys solve your little prostitute problem,” Y/N smiled toothily, and Sam felt himself blushing under her lecherous examination. “I want you. Both of you,” she clarified, gaze swivelling between the brothers.

“A-at the same time?” Dean stuttered, moaning under his breath when she squeezed him a little harder. God, he must be uncomfortable in those jeans by now, Sam thought absently. His own body was starting to get a little excited by the conversation, and Y/N hadn’t even laid a hand on him yet.

“I can handle it if you boys can,” Y/N shrugged.

A challenge.

“Plus, if you needed a little more convincing…” She got up onto her knees on the bench seat, and Sam couldn’t see what her hands were doing, but he figured it was a safe bet that she was undoing Dean’s pants and pulling his cock out for him. He could see his brother white knuckling the steering wheel, trying very hard not to crash his precious car.

“My knack for languages has given me a… talented tongue, shall we say?” Y/N looked back at Sam, a wicked glint in her eyes. “One I’m pretty sure you share, Sam. I’d love to test my theory.”

Without thinking too hard about it, Sam scooted forwards in his seat and pulled Y/N into a kiss, keenly demonstrating just how talented a tongue he possessed. Their moans combined and filled the small space of the car’s interior, echoing softly against the fabric coated metal frame.

“Shit.” Sam heard Dean swear and pulled back from the kiss, smirking at his brother through the rearview mirror.

“She wasn’t wrong about that tongue, Dean,” he breathed heavily, chest heaving a little in excitement. “I think you should show him, darlin’.” Sam brushed a lock of hair over her shoulder, carefully putting his hand on the back of her neck and pushing her face down towards his brother’s lap, where she eagerly swallowed down the erection that Sam made a conscious effort to avoid looking at directly.

Dean groaned heavily, head lolling back on his shoulders briefly before he remembered that he needed to be keeping his eyes on the road. Sam heard Y/N’s muffled giggle at his reaction, but she kept her head down, absorbed in her task.

“Bet you can’t last until we get back to Lawrence,” Sam teased Dean, seeing the beads of sweat starting to gather at the base of his hairline. His brother glanced at the clock, then out the window to see a sign that said – University of Kansas: 30 miles.

“If I can, what do I win?” Dean asked, voice very clearly strained. “I get to fuck her first?”

“Dude, c’mon, we’re fucking her at the same time. You heard what she asked for,” Sam laughed. “But if you don’t cum before we get there, I’ll let you cum in her pussy before I do.”

“Fuck…” Dean sighed shakily. “Yeah, I can hold out for that.”

“Good man,” Sam clapped Dean on the shoulder. “Now please just get us there without crashing.”

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