#generally the expectation in my head is that the dean will bust down my door and personally drag me to the quad

[morddread]

Writing professional emails tears groans of profound mortal terror from my throat like nothing else on this planet

[fromparishwithlove]

Nothing But Handprints

[2,663 words, Destiel, mostly canon compliant]

A/N: Hey, hi, it’s midnight and I spent three days writing something and I actually finished it. It’s not that long, maybe 3,000 words but it’s something and I’m kinda proud of that. Ever since Supernatural ended I’ve found myself writing more and more. I’m actually working on a full fic and right now, it’s the most words I’ve ever written for one story, even though it just a shitty first draft. But before I publish that, I wanted to share something smaller, ease my way in so to speak. So this is a lot of Dean Winchester angst and a sort of continuous ‘Oh Shit’ moment in which he processes lots of memories and realises the impact Castiel had on his life, many of which are connected by the significance of the handprint. Ahhh the beloved handprint! Tbh I was kind of inspired by Jensen’s enthusiasm for bringing it back in 15x18 so you can thank him if you like this story. I think I’m going to eventually add this to Ao3 and it may get a sequel but for now, I hope you like it. Or at least don’t hate it.

Cas was gone.

Dean felt the loss as surely as if one of his lungs had been ripped out. Maybe it had. Maybe that’s why it was so fucking hard to breathe. And still he kept dragging in air, each breath a razor blade - Inhale. Exhale - forcing himself to endure the exquisite pain of survival.

Survival, he knew, was its own brand of suffering; barbed with regrets and heavy with the keen sting of memories.

Behind his eyelids bullets ripped through a dusty trenchcoat. A familiar voice admonished him; he was almost out of minutes. The cool press of fingertips brushed against his forehead. The silver streak of an angel blade caught the light. A fist collided with his jaw with a sickening crunch. A huff of involuntary laughter escaped from reluctant lips. Stubble scraped his cheek as he pulled the angel into a hug. Shades of blue crowded his vision - the garish blue of a crappy general store tabard, the endless blue of the morning sky as he wrestled his way out of his own grave, the untamed blue of angel grace, humming with raw energy. And best of all, the solemn blue of that unflinching gaze. There was a discarded cowboy hat on the backseat of the Impala. A game of Sorry pushed across a table and into his hands. A shitty four door saloon the colour of middle-aged misery.

And the brand of salvation burning on his skin - the Righteous Man, touched by an angel. The same handprint that now stained his jacket bloody.

As hard as he tried, all he could do was remember as shuddering breaths turned to wracking sobs.

*

Whatever this thing was, it had marked him. Searing it’s own handprint into the flesh of his shoulder, staking its claim.

Dean couldn’t help but feel... violated.

He looked like a walking advertisement for one of those crappy tourist spots: take nothing but photos, leave nothing but footprints but in his case it read: take nothing but liberties, leave nothing but handprints

He ran a tentative finger over the raised flesh and hissed at the contact. It felt raw, like a burn; still stinging and angry.

He glared at it, hoping the sheer force of his loathing would somehow dissolve it. But it remained, stubborn and resolute.

It looked human. That was the worst thing. To think there was something out there - something monstrous - masquerading in the body of an innocent person... And with enough power to pull him from the pit.

That thought alone was enough to chill the blood in his veins.

And what did that mean for him? He bore its signature on his skin after all. Did that mark him as it’s property?

He belonged to no man. And no monster.

He would rather spend a lifetime in Hell.

*

Getting up off the floor had been the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. Turning his back on the last place he’d seen Cas near impossible.

What if, by some miracle, he came back? He deserved to know Dean had waited. After all, Cas was the only one he’d ever really had any faith in.

But Dean had given up on miracles long ago.

He let his phone ring out again and again; the sound too harsh in the grief-stricken silence. What if he never answered? What if he let Sam believe he was dead? Cas too. Because in reality, he felt as good as.

*

When she saw the mark on his shoulder, her eyes widened a fraction, her mouth parting in what Dean recognised as wonder.

Dean Winchester is saved.

The words came back to him as she aligned her palm with the echo of Castiel’s, caressing the raised skin with a gentle touch.

Something about the contact made him feel nauseous. Even though they were pressed together, not a breath between their bodies, he felt as though she had dug her nails into an open wound. A shudder of revulsion ran down his spine. He suppressed the urge to shake her off, instead drawing her attention away with a searing kiss.

The feeling of unease was harder to dislodge.

The mark itself no longer bothered him; it had faded somewhat and by the time Pamela used it to make contact with Castiel it hadn’t so much as tingled. This sudden display of hostility triggered by Anna’s touch unnerved him.

Maybe it was because she was an angel. Maybe it could sense her power, reacting with whatever traces of energy Castiel had left behind.

Or maybe it was something subconscious in Dean; something he didn’t want to acknowledge - couldn’t acknowledge - for fear of what that might mean.

But he couldn’t outrun the truth.

He noticed how Castiel turned away when Anna leaned in to kiss him goodbye. Thought he saw a flicker of jealousy contort his features. But only for a split second.

And once again that involuntary feeling of distaste rose up inside him, rearing it’s head, demanding to be heard.

And this time he listened.

And this time he recognised the ceaseless lament of his guilt.

*

Every cell in his body screamed in protest as he staggered out of the bunker. Every step a monumental effort. It was as though The Empty had created a vacuum when it had taken Castiel, and now it threatened to drag him into the same darkness.

He was exhausted; more than once he had to fight the urge to lay down and never get back up. But he knew he couldn’t.

He had to get to Sam, had to confront Chuck and demand he bring Cas back. He pinned all his hopes on it. Because if Chuck - Lord God Almighty himself - couldn’t bust Cas out of The Empty, what hope did he have of doing it himself?

So he dragged himself behind the wheel of the Impala and tried to ignore how normal it felt to sit there, as if he were just heading out on another case. As if the whole world hadn’t shattered apart and been clumsily glued back together in a matter of heartbeats.

He refused to look over at the passenger seat, refused to acknowledge the empty space beside him. Castiel had occupied that space just a few hours ago.

Could that be right? Had it only been a few hours since they’d made the journey to Lebanon, their silence weighted with shared worry yet still companionable? How had he lost so much in so little time?

*

Castiel arrived in the nick of time.

Zachariah had been gearing up to do some serious damage. He might not have been able to kill Dean on account of his status as Michael’s Vessel but he could still make him suffer. And Dean knew he had riled him. But nothing, not even the threat of what was to come would induce him to say yes. Zachariah had simply given him an advantage, a roadmap of what not to do to. He wouldn’t end up a cold, callous, merciless soldier like his future self. He wouldn’t. He refused to believe there would ever come a day when he would willingly sacrifice his friends and family - his fellow comrades - no matter what Heaven or Hell put in front of him. He would rather die than live to see himself become so despicable.

“That’s pretty nice timing Cas.”

“We had an appointment.”

His answer was so matter of fact, so practical, that Dean couldn’t help the smile that broke over his face. It implied that Dean could’ve been minutes away from death or simply completing the crossword and Castiel still would’ve come for him at that exact moment. But there was something coy about the set of his features, something like amusement twitching at the corner of his mouth.

Dean was under no illusion that, somehow, Cas had sensed he was in danger and, despite his apparent ignorance, had slipped in and taken Dean while Zachariah’s back was turned. It was crafty, calculated, almost petty in its brilliance.

And now Castiel stood looking at him, ready to talk, to plan their next move, without even a hint of expectation in his gaze.

He didn’t boast or demand gratitude. He didn’t want Dean’s thanks; he just wanted to be included.

The realisation hit Dean all at once, Castiel’s own words coming back to him as he considered how the balance between them had shifted.

You don’t think you deserve to be saved.

But Cas had saved him. Had been trying to save him for a while now but Dean had just been too blind to see it. When he had freed him from Hell he had been following orders but now, he had simply taken it upon himself to remove Dean from trouble’s path.

Against all odds and the interests of Heaven, an angel had his back.

Dean took a step forward and, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, he said, “Don’t ever change.”

What he meant to say was: Don’t ever change back. Don’t ever serve the interests of others when you know in you’re heart they’re wrong. Don’t ever become unreachable, unknowable. Don’t ever stop being the angel on my shoulder because without you, I’d die.

There was so much he had meant to say but the words died on his lips. He hoped that Cas understood just from the look in his eyes, the force in his tone, the significance of that hand on his shoulder.

Dean knew that he didn’t always tolerate human contact but Castiel didn’t shrug him off. He allowed Dean to grip his arm, the fabric of the trenchcoat screwed up under his fingers. For a minute Dean held on and when he finally drew away, he half expected to see the shape of his palm imprinted there, just as Castiel’s handprint adorned his own shoulder.

*

He drove on autopilot, trusting his body to react accordingly; his mind was otherwise consumed by bittersweet memories that made his throat ache and his eyes sting.

He replayed every journey they’d ever made together, nothing but open road before them and unsaid words between them.

You changed me Dean.

His tears ran hot, spilling down his cheeks and splashing into his lap.

Dean had immediately recognised the truth in Cas’ words, but they still reverberated through him like the tremors of a distant earthquake. Letting himself consider the possibility that he, an insignificant stain on the Earth’s crust, had changed Castiel, a centuries old celestial warrior, was incomprehensible.

It was like... staring into the sun.

The more he told himself not to, the more he became blinded by its glare. Dean wanted to squint whenever he looked at it, shield his eyes from its radiant sincerity.

Because he had known it this whole time. Known and never admitted it to himself.

He had witnessed firsthand Castiel’s transformation from a finely tuned, emotionless instrument to a discordant orchestra of empathy and feeling and not once had he suggested it was his own influence that had inspired such a change.

Because how could he have inspired such honesty and compassion, gentle humour and tenderness? He was stubborn and defensive, worn down by years of trauma and still so full of anger.

But he was wrong.

Of course he was wrong.

I cared about the whole world because of you.

It felt too big to accept so readily and yet... Dean remembered the first time he’d made Cas laugh, the first time he’d heard doubt creep into his voice, the first time his cheeks had flushed with embarrassment, his eyes had filled with sorrow, his shoulders had sagged with relief. He remembered it all and he remembered his own despair, his exhaustion, his cocky bravado. He had begged and reasoned and joked with reckless abandon. He had unwittingly smothered Cas with his humanity and instead of suffocating, Castiel had simply taken a deep breath, filling his lungs with every human emotion they’d ever dared to beat out of him.

*

His body felt beaten, his mind battered and broken.

Sam didn’t even have to ask as he forced himself out of the car to meet his younger brother’s eyes.

Understanding glimmered there. He might not know the details but Sam recognised the same heartsick anguish that gripped his own soul. The same bone-deep weariness that had settled over him ever since discovering Eileen was gone.

They had lost everything. Everyone.

Details would come later; coaxing out the truth one shot of whiskey at a time. Although, looking at the state of his brother, Sam wondered whether it wouldn’t take several bottles.

*

Dean took another pull on his beer.

He couldn’t understand why he’d done it. Maybe he hadn’t meant to. But sure enough it was gone. Every day the past slipped further and further away, fading as quickly as dreams but still he couldn’t help but reach for those memories.

There was barely anything left to remind him. Sam was... Well, Dean found it hard to think about Sam. And Cas... Dean hadn’t seen or heard from him in almost a year. He was starting to think Cas had removed the mark on purpose; some deluded attempt at helping Dean forget. Perhaps he thought it was a mercy.

But Dean didn’t want to forget. Not if it meant forgetting what it felt like to belong.

Once again he found himself in front of the mirror, beer on the counter, sleeve rolled up, his own hand pressed to the place where Castiel’s had once been.

He could hear Lisa moving around downstairs, glasses clinking, Ben’s laughter loud and jubilant out in the yard. He shouldn’t be here. Not again. Not today. He should be down there manning the barbecue, joking and celebrating with his family.

But he couldn’t seem to tear himself away. There was nothing to see and yet he kept on searching.

Mary had always said that angels were watching over him but his angel had abandoned him, leaving no trace behind.

Dean’s grip tightened, nails digging into his flesh. He relished the pain but it was not enough.

*

“You’ve got to bring him back.”

He’d ground out the words with deliberate force, still reluctant to admit Cas was gone, to admit that he alone couldn’t save him.

But Chuck had merely shrugged off their surrender. Apparently he was happy to simply watch them flounder. With no one left to fight for and no monsters left to fight, the brothers would be effectively made redundant. Just Sam and Dean and an eternity of suffering stretching out before them. How could that be the end?

In Dean’s opinion it was shitty, lazy writing. Surely Chuck would grow tired of their struggle soon enough and then what?

Stripping him of his power, his divinity, his immortality had been deeply satisfying. Dean relished the moment he turned his back on him, refusing to expend the effort it would take to kill him. That was, after all, not who he was. Not anymore.

For the first time in his life, he was going to carve his own path - without destiny or prophecy or some omniscient douchebag shoving him around on the chess board.

The thought terrified him. Did he even know how to live a life when his every movement wasn’t being dictated by someone else?

He supposed his first move would be the obvious one. But it was the only one he really wanted to make. With Jack taking on the role of God, his task of liberating Cas from The Empty seemed fractionally less intimidating. They would find a way.

Dean swore to himself that no matter how long it took, no matter the lengths he would have to go to, he would see Castiel again. And when he did, he intended to drag him out of the darkness and cover his soul with his handprints.

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 6

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level), swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 1775

Author’s Note: All my thanks @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for making this story way better than it started. Thank you to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. Also, hang on to something. This chapter is short, but it packs a bit of a punch.

I’m working on a follow-up to my Dean story Dear Mr. Fantasy that I hope to post sometime in the next few weeks. Check it out, if you haven’t, and let me know if you’re interested. 

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 6

“I think we can officially call this morning a bust,” Kimber declares, collapsing into her office chair. Dean sighs, rubbing his forehead with one hand, the other propped on his hip. He doesn’t disagree.

“We checked the grad student office where I found Allen,” she says, checking off her mental list as she goes. “You checked out the stairwell where Helen fell. We found zilch in Dr. Lawrence’s office, and nothing here, as well. What’s next?”

“I’ll check in with Sam,” Dean decides, pulling out his cell. “Then maybe some lunch, and if Sam’s done, we’ll meet him at your place so we can start there. Sound good?”

She nods as Dean hits a button on his phone, raising it to his ear and turning away. Kimber’s eyes follow him as he paces the front of her small office, waiting for his brother to pick up. She stretches in her chair, feeling drowsy after the morning’s exertion, and she realizes she’s going to have to get up if she doesn’t want to fall asleep at her desk.

She moves towards the door, mouthing, “Bathroom,” to Dean, who nods as he listens intently to Sam. The brisk air in the corridor is bracing after the still warmth of her little office, and she takes a deep breath before turning towards the restrooms. The hallway is as close as the department gets to being crowded, with several classes letting out simultaneously. 

She pushes through the throngs of chattering students, smiling at a few of her own, intent on getting to the bathroom before it fills up, when she feels a light tap on her shoulder. Kimber turns, but before she has time to register anyone’s face, she feels something thrust into her outstretched palm.

…

Orange and red leaves flutter around her, joining the dense carpet of their brethren beneath her feet. Footsteps crunch before her, and she can see Dean just up ahead, her backpack slung over his shoulder. Dean never carries a backpack of his own, so they must have just finished a study session. He glances back, eyes alight with mischief, grin firmly in place.

“You comin’?” he asks. He doesn’t wait for an answer, just continues his casual saunter down the path as autumn rains down around them. “Wanna show you somethin’.”

She hurries to catch up, waving a stray leaf out of her face. The ground feels strange underfoot, too firm, her footfalls too loud for such a thick layer of leaves, but she’s too focused on Dean to pay much attention. Someone calls out behind them, but she’s determined to not be left behind a second time.

No matter how fast she runs, though, he stays a few paces ahead with his steady, cartoonishly slow pace, and she grits her teeth in frustration. 

Molasses would be an improvement.

“You’re gonna love this, sweetheart. C’mon, it’s just up ahead.” 

Their pursuer calls her name, closer this time, but Dean is right there, and if she can run just a little faster, she can catch him. She swats several leaves from the air, her mouth twisted in a frustrated frown, reaching out to Dean. 

“Kimber! Stop!”

A voice echoes from behind her, but then Dean turns, holding his hand out, and she stretches her fingers, her feet leaden as she drags her body forward. He smiles encouragingly, curling his finger to beckon her closer, his other arm spread wide to reveal his surprise. 

The trail ends abruptly at a sidewalk that leads to a house very similar to her parents’ old place (“They moved years ago,” she thinks), a house that was definitely not there before Dean pointed it out. The front door stands open wide, welcoming, as a sleek, black muscle car pulls up to the curb out front. Her eyes track the car’s approach, and she registers the name “Winchester” on the mailbox. 

Breathing suddenly becomes very difficult.

As she watches, a couple slides out of the front of the Impala. Kimber’s eyes widen in shock as she recognizes herself and Dean, though not older as they are now. Younger, maybe just a few years out of high school. 

But that’s not right, she thinks, her eyes flicking to seventeen-year-old Dean standing before her, urging her closer still. We’re not...we’re in high school, we aren’t grown...

The Dean before her holds his hand out silently, waiting as she struggles towards him. So close! she thinks. The voice behind her, so familiar, calls her name again, but her mind is foggy, distracted by young Dean and the phantom scene before her.

The couple embraces next to the car, blissfully unaware of their audience as Dean sweeps Kimber off her feet and carries her up the walkway. As they disappear into the house’s interior, she can hear her other self squealing happily as the door swings shut.

“I...can’t…”

Dean smiles at her, that sweet, just-a-touch shy smile that won her over so many years ago.

“It’s my dream, Kimber. We could still have it, if you want?” His eyes, so earnest, beg her to take just one more step. “Take my hand. It’s not too late for us. I’m right here.”

“Kimber, stop! Listen to me!”

She almost turns, the voice behind her is so desperate and beseeching, but Dean shakes his head. His smile widens, and he opens both arms to her, offering himself fully. 

“It’s our last chance. Come to me, Kimber. This can be ours, sweetheart. You and me, just the two of us. Just take that last step. You can do this.”

She wants to, so very badly. Her mind pulls towards Dean, smiling and hopeful, and she wants with almost every part of herself to take that step, take his hand, and live happily ever after.

But deep in her heart, she knows none of this is true. The Dean before her left, no matter how unwillingly, and she hasn’t heard from him until yesterday. Neither of them are seventeen any more, and this dream was never possible for either of them, no matter how much they wanted it.

“No...no...you’re not…”

He frowns, his expression suddenly cold, alien, and absolutely furious. His features harden, and he turns to her completely, squaring himself and giving her his entire focus. 

“Come here, Kimber. Take the damn step. Now.”

“No!” She doesn’t know where this reserve of strength is coming from, but she welcomes it. The fog begins to lift from her mind a little, and she manages half a step backwards.

Dean’s lip curls in a snarl, and she wrenches herself away, fighting to move in any direction but forwards. She throws herself back, expecting to fall, hoping the leaves will cushion her, planning to roll away.

Instead, she finds herself supported by strong arms that flood her senses with immediate relief. Something is jerked from her hand, and the autumn scene complete with the monstrous teenage Dean vanishes. The wind whips Kimbers hair in front of her face, and she looks down to see…

Nothing.

Arms pull her back from the edge of the building, and she chokes on a scream. Her self-defense training kicks in, and she throws her head back, trying to catch her assailant’s nose. 

“Kimber, it’s me! I’ve got you, don’t fight!”

It takes a second for Dean’s voice to register, and by the time she realizes she’s safe, she’s already planted her elbow square in his gut. He releases her with a pained wheeze, doubling over, holding up a placating hand towards her. She realizes in a detached sort of way that she is breathing way too shallow and fast, but she can’t seem to stop.

“Breathe,” he wheezes at her, trying to straighten up. Something about the ridiculous sight of Dean telling her to breathe when he can barely pull in his own breath cuts through her panic for a moment, and she almost laughs. Her head whirls, colors starting to blur together. 

From the view and the drop-off, she guesses they’re on the roof, though she’s never been up here before. She looks to Dean as her vision tunnels and a rushing noise fills her ears.

“Dean...Dean, you were...what did I…you said it was…”

Dean struggles upright and takes her face between his hands, forcing her to focus on him. “Breathe, honey. You’ve gotta breathe right now. Can you do that for me? Breathe with me. Slow, deep.”

She struggles to imitate him, and her lungs finally unlock enough to let in a reasonable amount of air. 

“Kimber, I’ve gotta burn this thing. I don’t know if it can affect you from a distance. Just...here. Sit down right here. Keep breathing.” She drops where she’s told, lowering her head between her knees as she focuses on counting her breaths. 

She can just make out Dean on the edge of her vision, crouching down. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket, flicks it, and lowers the flame to something on the ground before him. The object lights up with a whoosh of flame, and Kimber gasps as a searing bolt of pain flashes through her entire body before vanishing, leaving her feeling weak and shaking but finally, finally, back in control of herself.

Dean rises, stalks back over to her and drops to one knee, his fist pressing hard into the gravelled surface. He glares at the ground, his jaw clenching in a way that she’s glad is not directed at her. His nostrils flare, and his face flinches as he reaches some decision.

“I should never have let you go on your own. I’m not letting you out of my sight again until we gank this son of a bitch.”

She shrinks under the burning intensity of his words, and he closes his eyes for a second, wrestling with control of his anger. He holds a hand out to her, and she almost recoils, remnants of the vision burned in the back of her mind.

But this isn’t some sinister phantom leading Kimber to her death. She knows exactly who this is, and she trusts him implicitly.

Dean’s entire body relaxes when her palm touches his, and he drops his forehead to their joined hands. When he finally looks up at her, his eyes are green flame.

“I almost lost you. You were so close, Kimber, you were on the edge. I...”

He trails off, searching her face for a heavy moment. Without warning, he slides forward, releasing her hand to pull her face to his, kissing her with a fierceness that steals her breath and leaves her glad she’s already on the ground.

…

Chapter 7

[dramioneasks]

HP FESTS: Strictly Dramione (Part 6)

Strictly Dramione Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Fest 2020:

Busted Valentine by Anonymous - G, one-shot - Draco and Hermione find themselves stuck together on Valentine’s Day.

The Secret Admirer by Anonymous - M, one-shot - When the Ministry mandates mail boxes be put on the outside of everyone’s offices for a Valentine’s Day valentine exchange, single and proud Hermione Granger cannot contain her hatred of the idea. But when a surprise greets her on the most love-filled day of the year, she can’t help but be transported back to her Hogwart’s days and a certain secret admirer. Voldemort died/no horcruxes AU. Rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindor was just house pride based.

Item Number Seventeen: Complete by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Ticking off another item from their list, Hermione has a surprise in store for her husband on Valentines Day.

It Was Always You, Falling For Me by Anonymous - E, WIP  - It was nothing.It was a game.Yes, a silly little game, played by silly people who, in spite of their differences, often came together to drown their grief in excessive amounts of firewhiskey and spiked butterbeer.The first time Hermione Granger kissed Draco Malfoy she hadn’t known it was him.She couldn’t reiterate enough: It was a game, nothing more; one she hadn’t particularly wanted to take part in (but she was buzzed and glad to prove a point).

A Proper Field Agent by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione and Draco go undercover as a married couple on a Valentine's/honeymoon retreat to a Beauty Expo in Las Vegas to take down Marcus Flint and his Squib trafficking ring.

It Could Be Good by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Sent in search of a lost city, Hermione and Draco fall under the spell of elemental magic in ways neither expected but both welcomed.

The Proposal by Anonymous - G, one-shot - Hermione and Draco discuss their options after they've been matched by the Ministry in a marriage law.

In Your Dreams by Anonymous - T, one-shot - When Draco agreed to test a new product for Fred and George before Valentine's Day, he had no idea what he was getting himself into. But it just might change his life.

An Unexpected Evening by Anonymous - G, 5 chapters - Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger have worked together for the past year to bring Death Eater's to justice. Neither of them knew they'd have a date for Valentine's Day, but plans change, and opportunities are created.

Implicit Intentions by Anonymous - M, one-shot - When words can't properly express the way they feel, Hermione and Draco rely on body language to guide them through an unspoken relationship. Unfortunately, sometimes communication is key.

The Last First Kiss by Anonymous - E, one-shot - “You’ve been avoiding me.”She stepped out of his presence and hummed. “You know why.”“Granger— ”“Oh look,” she crossed her arms and tilted her head in the direction of the common room door where Harry and his girlfriend Daphne had just entered alongside Daphne’s little sister, Draco’s betrothed. One Astoria Greengrass, who’d been kept home to finish her last year of schooling so that she could finish the lessons that would prepare her for a life as a pureblooded society wife. Draco’s pureblooded society wife.“Here's the reason why.”

Thank Luna Later by Anonymous - G, one-shot - Luna has an existential crisis and decides that the way to solve it is by getting Draco and Hermione together. Part of the 2020 Strictly Dramione Valentine's Fest.

Make It Real by Anonymous  - T, one-shot - They were just pretending. And then they got stuck together. What now?

Love With Me by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Draco and Hermione make amends during 8th year. Feelings develop, but who will be the first to admit it?

Worshiping at the Alter of You by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy is certain of only one thing: that his wife is a goddess and its his job to worship at her feet.

Her Secret Admirer by Anonymous - T, one-shot - Valentine's Day is coming up and Hermione has discovered she has a secret admirer. What will they gift her next! Written for the Strictly Dramione Valentine's Day Fic Exchange, 2020.

Getting Ready by Anonymous - T, one-shot - If Draco Malfoy is her boyfriend, why is Hermione Granger going to the Valentine’s Gala alone?

Crash Into Me by Anonymous - E, one-shot - Hermione runs into a familiar-looking blonde on a particularly bad day. At her wit's end, she throws herself into his arms and kisses him soundly. Surely he can pretend to be her boyfriend for a minute right? What's the worst that could happen?

Picking Daisies by Anonymous - not rated, one-shot - Draco is obsessed with Hermione, but she won't even look his way. But that doesn't matter, because Malfoys always get what they want... One way or another.

A Valentine's Day Ghost Story by Anonymous - not rated, one-shot - The torch was passed to the new generation. Can those lost in history be found?

This Day by Anonymous - T, one-shot - She pursed her lips, “ha bloody ha, I too have no date. But misery loves company, so we can get drunk together.”“Granger, I think you may be drunk already.”She waved him off as she drank more, “Potato, potahto. As long as I’m drunk, I hate this day.”

Half Crazy by Anonymous - G, one-shot - When the Ministry hosts a Valentine's Day exchange, Hermione has strong feelings about participating. Draco, unsure of the reception, also has feelings of a completely different variety.

Stuck in the Middle by Anonymous - M, one-shot - Harry Potter plays matchmaker for Valentine's Day and chaos ensues.

As You Wish by Anonymous - M, one-shot - "A Ministry-mandated Valentine’s disco/networking/fancy-dress event? It’s pathetic! And besides, Valentine’s Day is the worst holiday of the year.” A chorus of groans and ‘oh come now’s’ came from around the table of Hermione’s DMLE co-workers.“No, it’s true!” she said, “It does nothing but put enormous pressure on people to make grand romantic gestures, buy gifts and flowers and stupid cards, while making others feel terrible because they haven’t anyone to buy them for. And if you’re in a relationship, it’s inevitable that at least one partner feels obligated to go out - to some packed to the gills restaurant with run-off-their-feet waitstaff and a pedestrian three course, prix fixe menu marked up 50% because it includes a glass of shitty South African sparkling wine and a straggly red rose at one of the place settings! And I won’t even get into the sexism that underpins it all. The whole thing infuriates me.”“You not get any cards this year, Granger?” Draco Malfoy’s drawl sounded from behind her as he approached the table with a fresh round of drinks.“Fuck off, Malfoy,” she said reflexively. 

Six Hours to Midnight by Anonymous - E, one-shot - With little else planned for the most romantic day of the year, Hermione Granger is begrudgingly dragged to the Greengrass Valentine Masquerade. But as she assumes her new persona, she can't help but run into Draco Malfoy again and again...and again.

Thunderstruck by Anonymous - T, one-shot - "Even a tiny bit of deceit is dishonourable when it's used for selfish or cowardly reasons." Jeanne Birdsall Draco Malfoy is deceiving himself, lying to his son, and existing in a bubble of misery and loneliness. He yearns for love, for companionship, for something to make him feel anything but the sadness that consumes him. When his truly Slytherin friends turn to Hermione Granger, will she pick up their subtle clues and offer to help him? A story of new beginnings, second chances, falling in love, and air guitars.

Together is a Wonderful Place to be by Anonymous - T, one-shot - When an old flame returns to town, can Hermione put their troubles in the past and start over?

Howlers and Pearls by Anonymous - M, one-shot - They are just friends. Until some bad dates and insightful friends make them reconsider

Strictly Dramione - Valentine’s Day Fest 2021:

Platonic Roommates Will Never Be A Thing by StrawberryBrownies - E, one-shot - A typical day of drunken brunch and drunken Quidditch with friends turns into more than Hermione could have hoped for.

My Favourite Book by LaBelladoneX - M, 4 chapters - What do two Slytherins, a Gryffindor, a Time-Turner, and a vat of Polyjuice have in common? No? Well, let’s just say they have the power to make Blaise Zabini a very, very satisfied wizard, Dean Thomas a wealthy one, and Draco Malfoy even more in love with Hermione Granger than ever before. This story also reveals the identity of Draco’s favourite book. Any ideas what it might be? Let me give you some clues, okay? It’s not to be found in the libraries of Malfoy Manor, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, or Sunnydale High School. You also won’t find it at the Bodleian Library at Oxford or The Yale University Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library. Nor can it be located in the home improvements or large print sections of your local libraries. But you might just find it sitting behind a desk on Level One of the British Ministry of Magic, pining away, and wishing Seamus Finnigan would just drop dead. Written for Strictly Dramione’s Valentine’s Fest 2021

Hands Up by SlytherinHermione - E, one-shot - It's Valentine's Day and Professor Hermione Granger still doesn't have a gift for her boyfriend.In her mid-thirties and a single mom, the thought of having a boyfriend makes her giddy... The fact that said boyfriend is Professor Draco Malfoy, well that causes a whole different slew of reactions.She wants to spend the rest of her life with him, but she's still keeping certain aspects of herself secret. Maybe showing him her deepest desires might be the perfect gift...

Will You Be My Valentine? by Snowflake_Dazzle - T, one-shot - The Valentine's Day Dance is coming up and there is one person Hermione wants to go with. But Draco hates being back at Hogwarts and doesn't want to do anything more than just survive.

We Can't Be Friends by psiphifan - E, one-shot - Draco Malfoy has been a widower for two years and his mother is pushing him towards suitable second wives. Hermione Granger has been divorced for over a year, but as Minister for Magic, she has little time for dalliances outside of work. What happens when they both happen to venture into the muggle world on Valentine's Day weekend in 2021?

Divinyl Intervention by Elliac77 - E, one-shot - Hermione and Ginny embark on a mission to find Hermione a man. When the perfect man is found, it seems he needs a little convincing. Will their ‘staged intervention’ succeed?Written for the Strictly Dramione Valentine's Fest 2021Prompts : “I am way too sober for this” / “Can you two get a room please?”

Exeunt, Pursued by Bear by Maira - M, one-shot - “If I see one more bloody pink bear, I’ll bloody well decapitate it.”Wherein Draco Malfoy visits multiple bars, encounters fruity cocktails, and falls into Hermione Granger's lap. On Valentine's Day. Because, of course.Written for the Strictly Dramione Valentines Fest 2021.

Unexpected Champagne by rowbee - G, one-shot - Hermione wants to spread the love this Valentine’s and a too-helpful Draco might’ve made it more exciting for unsuspecting people.

5 Million Galleons by Sexidebater - G, one-shot - Submission for the "STRICTLY DRAMIONE - VALENTINE’S FEST 2021" Prompt chosen: "I am way too sober for this."Pansy has roped Hermione into a charity auction where a Valentines Date with Hermione is the prize to the highest bidder. What does Hermione's V-Day look like when Draco drops 5 million galleons for her hand in date? Absolute fluff that will leave you wanting more!

Haste by Lostinthenightrain  - M, one-shot - no summary

Linger by Lostinthenightrain - M, one-shot - It's too early to get up.

This fest is ongoing.

[kickingitwithkirk]

Happy Coincidence Chance Discovery

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Piper, Jared Padalecki x Piper,

Characters: Dean Winchester /Jensen Ackles, mentions of Chad Michael Murray 

Word Count:4367

Warnings: cursing, kissing, nudity, implied sex/genital fondling/teasing 

 *Jared and Jensen are single.

A/N: for @idreamofplaid​  Thanks for the Memories Challenge #plaid and the memories  HAPPY BIRTHDAY JARED🎉

Prompt: Season 11, episode 4, Baby

A/N: Baby is my favorite episode but every time I’ve watched it I kept wondering; Sam’s hook up with Piper the waitress? So this is my fill in that blank with a Jared twist.

Divider: created by @writeyourmindaway​

*No beta all mistakes are mine

Dean drives into the parking lot of a roadhouse just after dusk and Sam looks at the marquee shaking his head in disbelief.

“Are you serious? Dean, it's late, I’m exhausted and..and.. and starving.  And this place. I mean, even Swayze wouldn't come to this roadhouse.” Sam groused.

“First of all, never use Swayze’s name in vain, okay. Ever.” Dean chastises his brother for such a sacrilege, “Second, you don't remember this place? You don't remember Heather, the hunter we worked the wendigo case a couple years ago?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam partially smiles, remembering that night of fun.

 “Yeah, exactly” Dean taking the same trip down memory lane.

“What, she’s here tonight?” Sam asks, perking up a bit.

 “I texted her, she's working a rugaru case in Texas.” Dean says.

“Actually, she never texted me back. That's not the point, the point is that we have a ton of driving left to do just to go to a town where it's not probably a case.” Dean points ahead, “But in there, good times.”

 “Uh...” Sam hedges looking at the building.

 “But time heals all wounds, especially good times. What do ya say?” Dean looks at his brother hopeful.

 “I say... knock yourself out.” Sam answers with his usual reply and Dean looks away, “I'm gonna find a diner and dig into the lore like Cas did, see if anythings ever happened where we’re headed.”

“Ah man, you really got to learn to have fun.” Dean’s reply was full of disappointment in his little brother.

“Seriously. It’s pathetic.” 

They both climb out of the Impala. Sam grabs his bag from the backseat and starts walking back towards town as Dean heads into the roadhouse. 

***

Sam had walked over a mile looking for somewhere to eat. Being Saturday night he thought there’d be more open but that’s small town living, the streets roll up at noon on the weekends. 

He was about to give up and hike back to that mom & pop gas station he passed for a microwave burrito, preferably bean to get back at Dean, when he happened upon a small, local place, Mak’s Diner. 

Hitching his bag up, he pushed open the door expecting the usual greasy spoon Dean's unerring sense navigates towards and stops just inside the front door.

It was an older establishment, obviously one of those passed down from generation to generation places but to his surprise it was well maintained, despite the C on the marquee being burnt out.

“Evening, have a seat anywhere and I’ll be right with you.” A woman’s voice called out from the kitchen. Sam walked past the counter smiling at only other occupants, an elderly couple having coffee and dessert, heading towards the back where family seating was located. 

As he passed the next to last booth he noticed a closed laptop, several open books with notes scrawled around their margins, highlighted paragraphs and a few notebooks scattered on its tabletop.

He dropped the bag on the seat and shed his jacket before sliding into the booth, fishing out his laptop and the legal pad that he had started making more notes on earlier.

“Hey there, what can I get you?” 

Picking up the menu laying by his elbow Sam glances through it, “Coffee and the Cobb salad, thanks.” He orders closing the menu and looking up to hand it to the waitress. She is differently not what he would have expected to find in a backwater burg like this one. 

Her makeup is understated, nails painted a neutral color and her copper hued hair is pulled back in an elegant chiffon, not a high ponytail or hastily bobby pinned up-do, held in place with a real silver clip, the type that’s handed down as an heirloom.

“Just the Cobb salad?” She asked looking under the tabletop, taking in Sam’s long legs somewhat stretched out under it, boots bumping against the other side of the circular booth. Her blue/grey eyes slowly travel up appraising his body till they meet his.

“Big boys like you need more than a few leafy greens for stamina.” 

Sam felt himself blushing like he was seventeen again. Waitresses blatantly flirt with Dean and vice versa all the time so he’s taken aback by this woman's more than blatant appraisal of his physique.

“I, um, yeah, ju..just the salad.” Sam stammers out.

“Okay, be back with that coffee.” Her smiles genuinely, not that faked for the customers sake one he’s used to.

Sam appraises her retreating figure like she did him. She’s not wearing the nurses white or black rubber soled shoes that’s usual waitress gear he’s seen but a brand of tennis shoes he knows are out of the typical income of career restaurant staff. 

The fifties style, yellow uniforms color is completely unflattering, not fitting her right, way too tight around her bust and hips and far shorter than it should be, her mile long legs on display.

Sam shifts in his seat and tries to discreetly palm down his spontaneous erection but not so little Sam is putting up a fight, making it known it's been way too long since he’s gotten wet and he wants to enjoy her junoesque attributes. 

***

While he is waiting for a page to load Sam hears the elderly couple preparing to leave. He watches as the husband helps his wife into her jacket and gently takes her hand, resting it in the crook of his arm as they slowly make their way to the exit, feeling the pang of loneliness that’s his constant companion.

“Mr. Reynolds’s, hang on a sec,” the waitress calls from the kitchen emerging with a white cake box tied shut, “Auntie wanted me to make sure you got this before leaving. She’s sorry she missed your anniversary party.”

“You tell her we missed her, needs to hurry up and get well.” Mrs. Reynolds remarked as her husband took the box with his free hand. She glanced back towards Sam, “Sweetie, you gonna be okay here with the likes of him?” 

Sam kept his expression neutral, waiting to see how this plays out. He knew people found him intimidating because of his size and being a stranger in a small town, he definitely stands out but not many were that blatant about it.

“He ordered a Cobb salad, I think I can handle him,” she jested winking at him.

The couple bid her goodnight and she went back into the kitchen, Sam realizing they were now all alone. Sighing, he starts reading the info again trying to figure out what exactly their hunting is. Or not.

He was so focused on his research like usual he didn’t acknowledge the waitress standing there with his order.

“Kmm hmm,” Sam’s head snapped up, “must be something really good if you don’t notice the likes of me.” She chided him setting down a coffee decanter and cup.

“Sorry, guess I was kinda caught up.” Sam moves the laptop and notepad over as she sets down his salad and two types of dressing. “Figured you might not be a ranch type of guy so I grabbed the vinaigrette too.” 

“Thanks, I prefer vinaigrette, don’t usually get offered it.” 

“I’m pretty good at reading people which is why I also brought you this,” she set down another plate with a lettuce wrapped, curiously colored and, by the smell, not meat burger with all the fixings, a generous helping of baked sweet potato fries and a green colored milkshake.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know but it cooks night off and I’m trying some new recipes. Seeing as you're the only other one here, you've been conscripted as my guinea pig.” She slid into the other side of his booth where an identical plate rested, “I wasn’t kidding about you needing more than just a salad. Besides, I hate eating alone, you wouldn’t believe how often it happens. Fuck, where’s my manners, I’m Piper.” She stuck her hand out across the table.

He takes her preferred hand amazed how it fits perfectly in his, “Sam.” 

“So Sam, figure out what you're hunting yet?” She asked nonchalantly as she picked up her burger, “Cause, not being judgey, but that’s some really random shit you got there.” She takes a bite, watches as his expression bounces between startled and incredulous.

“How…”

“Saw your Tarsus 99 when you took off your jacket. I had one as a kid, then daddy got killed on a hunt and I got sent here to live with Auntie, she doesn’t cotton to hunting.” 

Piper picked up a fry pointing it at him, “But what I really wanna know, where the hell did you get that demon blade, ‘cause I’ve never seen one like it before.” 

Sam hesitates, “That’s a long story.” 

“Don’t close till one and I’ve got nowhere to be after.”

Sam decides to deflect instead of answering. “So what is it you do, because you're definitely not a waitress.” 

“Officially, I’m an antique appraiser. Unofficially, I’m helping a wayward hunter who graced my door with something he can’t figure out.”

***

Sam and Piper, after closing the diner, stayed another three hours hashing out the research for his case were now taking their time walking back towards the roadhouse. 

“I’ve been wanting to ask, what’s with that name tag?” Sam noticed early it read Maggie.

“Came with this god awful uniform. Auntie insists that we all adhere to how her daddy ran the place. So when I came back to temporarily help out after her surgery, Maggie decided she was not gonna take orders from someone younger, quit and I got stuck with this. I told Auntie it wouldn’t fit, even with letting out the hem. Maggie was like five-four and I’m over five-ten! 

Ugh! I keep popping these stupid top buttons and can’t freaking bend over without showing everyone my C U Next Tuesday.” 

Sam smiled that nervous smile he got when unsure how to respond to an answer he wasn’t expecting.

“I normally wear this to cover it,” moving her pocketed hands in the light weight, knee length sweater she had put on when they left the diner, “but I have to confess,” Piper turned around, walking backwards, “I took it off when I saw you come in, thought what the hell, been long time since a really cute guy has walk through my door so...” She bit her lip, turning back around as they continued down the lane in companionable silence.

Sam mused over her confession admitting to himself he was interested in her too. He enjoyed sharing different theories and bouncing ideas of what they might be hunting back and forth with her, surprising him with her unique take on things.

Piper might not have been the type he consciously steered towards since Jess but she was comfortable to be around, didn’t feel his usual awkwardness he normally had around most women. 

They arrived at the roadhouse a few minutes later and Sam led her towards the Impala.

“Damn, you brother is a fucking artist, how many times has he rebuilt her?” Piper asked walking around the car, running her hand over the Impalas pristine exterior. 

“To many.” Sam replies, putting his bag on the front seat. “Can I have a look?” He turns to see Piper standing by the trunk. “Um, sure.” Strolling over he unlocks it and lifts the interior wheel well exposing the car's hidden armory.

“Is that a grenade launcher?”

“Yeah, Dean found it at the bunker.” Sam laughed remembering how excited Dean had been when he discovered it. 

Piper shook her head shutting the trunk and hopped up on it, “What’cha wanna do now, go in,” gesturing at the bar, “or hang out here for a while longer?”

“I think I’m good hanging o...”

Piper grabbed his jacket dragging him between her spread legs and kissed him.

It took Sam all of five seconds to process what was happening before his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her to the edge of the trunk, her short skirt riding even higher as she wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer.

Sam jerked back as headlights flashing over them, a patrol car drove into the parking lot. He lifted Piper off the trunk and led her to the car's back door dragging  the green cooler out of their way.

Piper climbed in as he hauled it to the trunk and grabs the army blanket Dean keeps then gets in depositing it and his jacket over the front seat.

“Where were we before being rudely interrupted?” Piper asked, sliding onto Sam’s lap and leaning in to resume kissing him. 

Sam tangled his long fingers into her now loose hair pulling to halt her, “What about that patrolman?”

“Won’t be back till closing, around six A.M.”

“That means Dean won’t either,” he says closing the space between them, heatedly attacking her lips.

***

Piper ran her hand over his bare chest, “How long is your refractory period?”

Sam shifted to look down at her, “umm, around twenty minutes.”

“Hmmm, I’m gonna have to see what I can do to shorten that ‘cause we are so doing that more than once again.”

“And how are you gonna do that?” 

Piper stared at him slowly trailing her hand down his torso. Sam’s breath hitched as she lightly teased her fingers across his lower stomach, running through his treasure trail and over to his hip.

Shifting further down his body she continued running her fingers over the top of his left thigh feeling the hard muscles flexing under the skin. She placed both of her hands in between his legs shifting his left one off the seat and bending his right leg back placing his foot flat on the bench seat. 

Piper kneels in the space between Sam’s spread legs continuously moving her fingers in random patterns over the insides of both tights, touching him everywhere below his waist.

Sam closed his eyes groaning loudly, dropping his head back against the window as her fingers played over his balls feeling her other hand travel behind them teasing over his...

“You fell asleep in the fucking car!”

His eyes snapped open startled. Blinking rapidly he sees Dean leaning through the open car window looking at him. 

“Dean what...where’s Piper?”

“What’s a Piper?” He growled out, “Dude, we wrapped twenty minutes ago and I’ve been looking for you, got worried cause you weren’t answering your fucking phone Jay!”

He took a good look at Dean. His foggy brain finally realizing its mistake, taking in the headset hanging around his neck and the ball cap he likes wearing when directing. “Jen, sorry, guess I’m still in Sam headspace, got disoriented for a sec.”

Jensen laughed, “You find one grey hair and suddenly you're getting memory loss and needing naps? I’ll have to remember to have you in bed by nine, old man.” 

“Your fucking hilarious Jack.” Jared shoots back sliding across the seat getting out, “Man, I had the weirdest dream.”

“From the happy noises you were making that was far from weird. And speaking of happy,” Jensen's eyebrows went up as he pointedly looked down.

Jared glances down thinking he’s drooled all over himself only to see the prominent bulge in his jeans.

“Bob’s called a meeting in five but I think we’re gonna be late.” 

***

“I’m telling you it was so real! She was tall with coppery blond hair, tasted like chocolate peppermint and has this tattoo above her...” Jared paused grinning, keeping that specific location to himself, “I’ve never in my life had such a vivid dream like that.”

“Dude, you like petite brunettes.” 

“I know..so why would I make her a redhead?”

“Hell if I know, it’s your giant melon. Maybe all that sugar ribbon you eat is finally getting its revenge.” Jensen snarks as they enter the meeting room.

They were greeted by Bob’s gruff voice, “About time you two showed up. Alright, now that everyone is finally here, we need to get everyone up to speed. We’re having to make changes to the filming schedule.” He pauses looking at him notes, “Jared, don’t need you to come tomorrow for those new promo shots with, what was that new character again?” 

“Y/N Y/L/N, Sam’s new love interest.”

“Right, anyways, writers scraped that idea. As some of you heard, several of our exterior locations got flooded with that last storm and it’s taking time to find new locations so instead of doing blocking we're gonna do a quick read through of the new episode.”

Jared opened his copy of the new script to episode 4: Baby.

Reading the opening scene he experiences deja vu, quickly scanning the first two pages: bunkers garage: Dean washing the Impala, Sam having a possible case in Oregon. Next scene: interior shot Impala, Sam gets a protein shake out of cooler, Dean wants to know about the beer. Next scene: pulling in roadhouse parking lot, Dean trying to get Sam to join him, goes to eat instead, shot from Impala view watching Dean walking. Next scene: daybreak continuing from the view of the car...

“Fuck me.” Jared whispers, catching Jensen's attention. “What’s wrong?”

“This is how my dream started.”

Jensen pulls a yeah right face.

Jared shifted in his chair leaning closer to Jensen, looking directly into his green eyes, “I’ll prove it. Next scene: Dean gets in the car at daybreak and a naked waitress pops up in the backseat with a voice-over from Sam. Dean gets out peeping in the driver's side back window at her getting dressed. Cut to next scene: Sam climbs into front seat buttoning his flannel as he apologizes for having sex in Dean’s car. Dean, happy his brother finally got laid drives off quoting Bob Sager lyrics, playing Night Moves and Sam changing a lyric. 

Jared continued to lay out the entire episode from memory as Jensen flips through the script following.

“Bullshit Jared, someone snuck you a copy of this script, you're totally fucking with me.” 

“Jensen, not this time.”

***

Jared walked back to his trailer aggravated that Jensen won’t believe he didn’t get an advance peek of the script. He can’t shake this unsettling feeling that he was forgetting something important.

He was two steps into his trailer when his phone vibrated. Chad left a voicemail instead of texting, weird.

“Jay man, you gotta do me solid. A friend of mine got the part of Y/N on your show and I don’t know what the fucks happening up there but she flipped the fuck out on me! Need you to check on her, she’s outside one of the guest trailers. And have her call me back after she’s calmed the fuck down!”

Jared snorted, another woman pissed off at Chad, shocker. “The fuck you getting me into this time Murray.” Jared mutters to himself as he heads over to the guest stars trailers and hears a somewhat familiar voice outside of one.

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? I get here and now they're telling me they’ve dropped the story line.”

There was a pause in conversation as Jared walked closer to hear more clearly over the lot's noises and was shocked when he saw her sitting on one of the trailer's steps.

“But I signed a contract...what? I don’t remember seeing that in there. So they can just arbitrarily drop the part with no notification, that’s bullshit! I’ve never had a clause like that in one before. I gave up my job and apartment for this!” She gets up and paces around not noticing him. 

“They're giving me the bit part of the waitress in this episode, have a five am call for hair, getting a blonde rinse so I look more like a Dean type girl. I don’t know what the fuck is with these writers, it’s like they don’t get Sam, should’ve left him like Kripke originally created him.” She paused, “paying me what? At scale! That’ll just cover my petrol for the drive back to L.A. Wait, what about my six month lease? Could you check on it.” 

“Oh, giving me two nights at the Hilton. How magnanimous of them,” she sarcastically replies, “can I still get that part on Arrow...cast someone else.” She abruptly ends the call and sits back down on the step slumping over her knees.  

“So, how much of that fucked up conversation did you overhear?” She asked not looking at him.

“Um, almost all of it.” Jared confesses, “I wasn’t intentionally eavesdropping but I got a voicemail from Chad,” she looked up staring in disbelief at Jared, “he’s worried and wanted me to check on you.” 

“Fanfuckingtastic, can this day get any better? I’ve completely humiliated myself in front of Jared Fucking Padalecki!” 

Jared can just make out her blushing in the still dimming light. “I wouldn’t say completely, I mean, you could drop your pants and yell Pudding.”

She blinked at him before doubling over in laughter, “Alright, point taken. Still, it’s a crock of shit you don’t need to be bothered with.”

“Chad’s kinda made it my problem. Look, I don't know all the details but maybe I can help, I can call casting..”

“Oh hell no! Thanks but no thanks. Bunch of assbutts on social media were already speculating about how someone like me got the part in the first place. Last thing I need is more ammo for the haters, they’ll tweet something like I had a three way with you and Ackles because I was desperate to get the part back.” 

Jared cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair embarrassed to feel turned on by the imagery she conjured up in his mind. 

 “Mmm, that’d be my wet dream come true, but not the point, they’ll just come up with some random shit.”

Jared understood being all too familiar with the anti whatever’s having been the target himself.

“Okay, how about we go to my trailer,” she gave him a skeptical look, “where you can have some privacy to call Chad back. I’ll get de-Sam’d and we can talk some more or grab a bite if you're hungry.”

“You don’t know me from Adam, what if I’m some psychotic serial stocker nut job?” 

“If your friends with Chad, you absofuckingloutley are Ms. what's your name.” Jared sarcastically remarks given her a mischievous grin.

“Touché, and it's Piper,” Jared froze at her name, “and you’ve been friends with Murry longer than me so I know you’re straight up batshit crazy.” She smarts back standing up, “lead on, oh gallant knight.”

***

Jared walked out of the bath toweling his wet hair sees Piper lounging on his couch still on the phone with Chad.

As he crossed over to the kitchen's fridge he couldn’t help but notice her low rise jeans had ridden lower, revealing the top half of the tattoo just above her..

“Dude, should’a told me Padalecki has a tattoo kink,” Jared tripped over his feet before catching himself embarrassed at getting caught, “Yeah, that was your boy.” She winked at him, “No way in hell I’m ever showing it to you perv.” Jared loudly laughs at that. “Hey, when I get back I’m PA’ing for you till I get another gig. Don’t you dare argue, you got me into this so it’s that or I’m on your couch for a month,” Piper rolled her eyes at Chad’s response, “Yeah, yeah, talk to you later.”

“Is that how you met Chad, working as a PA?” Jared inquired coming over to sit down next to Piper handing her a beer. 

“Yeah, paid the bills while doing auditions, was starting to pick up a few bit parts around LA.” Piper starts nervously fiddling with the bottles label, “I heard about the casting call for a new Sam girl and Murry talked me into trying out for it, so I figured unless I kiss Crowley I don’t have a shot in hell and holy fuck, I got it.” 

She stopped talking but kept playing with the label. 

“Hey, whatever it is you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” Jared says gently touching her shoulder in a reassuring manner.

She took a long pull of her beer before continuing. “My Auntie died and I inherited everything, including her debts. I negotiated a smaller settlement but it wiped out all my savings.” She paused draining the rest of her bottle. “I figured it was serendipity..”

Jared is half listening, feeling that uneasy sensation again at that last word.

“...gonna be Sam Winchester’s...”

“If we’re meant to meet again,”

“.. weren’t killing her off after three episodes but then they decided to drop that story line...”

“we will.”

“...I should be going. Thanks for the beer and letting bending your ear, I’m gonna get out of your hair.” Piper gets up heading for the door.

Jared finally remembers.

“I believe in serendipity..maybe you can too.”

He quickly jumped up moving between her and the door blurting out, “I know you said you didn’t want my help but you can’t go, not yet.”

“Okay, why not? ‘Cause any other time I’d be up for some wham bam thank you ma’am but so not in the mood right now.”

Taking a deep breath he goes for it, “So, get this, after we finished filming today, I fell asleep in the Impala and had this dream…” 

***

Jared sat on the couch nervously chewing on his thumb watching as Piper paces back and forth mulling over his story.

She abruptly stopped and sat down on the table in front of him. “So here's the deal, I will believe everything you've told me,” Jared opens his mouth to say something but Piper reached out laying her fingers on his lips, “if you can answer one question.” 

Jared took her hand remembering how it felt so right in his, “Okay.”

“Since you’ve seen it in your dream, what does my tattoo mean?”

“In Japanese, it means happy coincidence,” Jared confidently says sitting back as Piper climbs onto his lap, “but that's the first line, the second one is chance discovery.”

Jared pulls her in, brushing his lips against hers, running his tongue across them so she’ll part them , allowing him access. He can taste the beer they’ve been drinking but there’s that sumptuous flavor of her underneath he finds intoxicating..chocolate peppermint..thinking to himself..

Serendipity.

[lovemesomerafael]

It’s Complicated                           Chapter 2:  The Rest Of The Story

Source:  @fortheloveofbarba

Read Chapter 1

The man in the box was a good candidate.  He’d been arrested trying to fence items stolen from not one, but two of the victims.  Not only that, but he was angry and uncooperative, and his interaction with Lieutenant Benson and Sergeant Dodds thus far in the interrogation was certainly nasty enough to be consistent with the guy Dr. Rojas had said they were looking for.  However, he wouldn’t give them DNA, and he had alibis for the times of the rapes.  Fin and Rollins were out at that moment checking them out.

Barba and Rojas stood on opposite sides of the one-way glass in Benson’s office, as far apart as they could, as they watched the interrogation, hoping for a break.  Over the three weeks they’d been working together, things had not improved between them.

“Y’all trippin’,” sneered the skinny, tweaked-out kid. “You wastin’ your time.  I told you where I was when them rapes went down. Just check it out.”

“We’re doing that,” Dodds said.  “In the meantime, maybe you can tell us where you got the stuff you were trying to sell.  Because it’s pretty suspicious that it belongs to two of the women who were raped.”

“I done told you that.  Some dude gave it to me.”

Dodds sighed and moved closer to the suspect, whom Dodds dwarfed.  “Describe the dude,” he said, slowly and distinctly.

“I don’t feel like it.”  

Barba was scowling thoughtfully.  “This kid knows a lot about this case that he’s not saying,” he muttered to himself.

Frankie cut her eyes to him.  She’d just been thinking the same thing.  “But he’s not our guy.”

“No. And we’re asking the wrong questions.”  

“Have you noticed his weird affect?  I can’t pin it down, but there’s something…” 

As she looked at Barba while he stared thoughtfully into the interrogation room, Frankie noticed for the first time how well-cut his hair was.  She knew an expensive haircut when she saw one.   She wondered whether that was what Amanda had been talking about when she’d called him hot. He did have a nice profile, she supposed.  To be fair, he wasn’t ugly by any stretch.  And since Amanda had mentioned his green eyes, she had noticed those, too. But hot?  Barba?  Not with that personality.  

Suddenly, it struck her what the witness’s behavior reminded her of.  “You ever see a little kid try to keep a secret?  How they’re just busting with it, dying to tell?”

Barba looked over at her, nodding.  “Yes.”  He looked back through the glass, still nodding.  “Yes.”

As he watched the suspect, he had to admit that was a good description of his behavior.  After just that brief look at Dr. Rojas, he also had to admit that she was wearing a very nice suit today, which fit her extremely well.  He’d noticed that all her accessories, from the necklace that - though subtle - probably cost as much as his suit, to the chic shoes that elongated and accentuated her legs without drawing attention to themselves, showed excellent taste.  Barba usually liked well-dressed women, but on her, the effect was ruined.  Rather than appreciating her outfit, Barba found that it left a sour taste in his mouth.  He knew that he would probably have admired her if he hadn’t known who Francisca Rojas was. But he did.  He knew that she was one of them. She might be Latina, but she wasn’t one of his people.

Rafael Barba was insightful enough, at least, to recognize that he had a particular chip on his shoulder when it came to Dr. Rojas and the rest of her privileged class, to whom everything came entirely too easily. People who expected that, and believed it to be no more than their due, and who had very little regard for people like him and his family, who had to earn their achievements.  Any display of unearned wealth disturbed him on a deep level wherever he saw it, and he was looking at it right now.  Her father might be self-made, but she was not.

He had met far too many of her type in his life. His parents had sacrificed to send him to Catholic school so that he would get the best possible education, which meant all his friends from Jerome Avenue were together at public school while he was incarcerated with all the posh kids from the surrounding area.  With the fierce cruelty of children to anyone who stands out, his classmates had made sure he understood his inferiority, mocking everything about him that set him apart, even the fact that he was smarter than any of them.  It didn’t get better in college, it was just more well-concealed.  And at Harvard…  Well, Rafael had actually preferred Catholic school.   At Harvard, the culture of overt prejudice against “scholarship kids” was not only blatant but encouraged, and highlighted by an irremediable difference of wealth and social class that no amount of achievement could touch.  It was there that Rafael’s dislike of the trappings of wealth and social distinction was honed to a razor-sharp hatred.

Getting nothing further from the suspect, Benson and Dodds eventually had to end the questioning and arrest the suspect for nothing more than receiving stolen goods.  None of them thought he was the rapist, and none of them thought he was going to give them anything that might lead them to the rapist.  When Fin and Rollins returned, having confirmed his alibis for the times of the rapes, no one was surprised.

As the suspect was being led out of the box to be booked, Olivia signaled.  “Rafa, Dr. Rojas, can we talk in my office?”

Hearing that, the suspect involuntarily flinched and turned to look at Frankie, lighting up with interest.  Trouble was written plainly in his sudden wide smile as he gave her an insolent once-over.  “You’re Frankie Rojas?  I know someone who is looking for you.”

“Oh?”  She asked, too surprised to hide her reaction.

“Yeah.  Alan sends his best,” the skinny punk laughed as he was led from the squad room.  

Frankie blanched and appeared to falter as she put a hand out to steady herself on the nearest desk.  Barba and Olivia shared a look.  What was that?  

They headed into Olivia’s office and took positions around the small room, Olivia behind her desk, and Barba and Rojas on opposite sides of the couch.  Mike Dodds started to close the door but was stopped by a tall, very good-looking man with dark hair whom no one had noticed enter the squad room.

“Hey, Porter,” Dodds said, holding the door open looking expectantly over at Lieutenant Benson.

She smiled regretfully.  “Ten minutes, Dean.  I’m sorry, we just need to have a short debrief.”

Frankie surprised everyone by standing up from the couch and saying, “No, I think he should come in.  And I think he should stay.”

All eyes turned to her as she looked at Olivia’s live-in boyfriend, FBI Agent Dean Porter, who had come to take Olivia to lunch. Normally, that would have been cause for a fair amount of suggestive joking, since the relationship was fairly new and rumored to be very physical, but not today.

“He’s here,” Frankie said to Porter, the fear in her voice unmistakable.  “Porter, Alan is here.”

“Fuck,” Porter said, and closed the door.

Olivia briefly scanned the faces in the room, paying extra attention to Rojas and Porter.  She looked from one to the other, saying, “Is someone going to explain what’s going on?”

Porter held out a hand to Frankie, inviting her to speak.  He and Dodds remained standing while she collapsed back into her seat.  She took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully before beginning.

“Everything you know about me is true.  Porter and I did meet at Quantico and we did… work together. When you hear ‘we worked together’, that sounds like we were partners or on the same team or something, and we let that impression stand.  We were both working Major Crimes, but that’s not… that’s not how we knew each other. We knew each other because I was a victim in one of his cases.”  She sighed again.  “There was a man – is a man named Alan Canady.  Long story short, he wants to kill me.”

After dropping that grenade, Frankie simply waited for questions.  None came. She looked around for help, but everyone in the room was too skilled an interrogator to think of interrupting.  

So she continued.  “We met in San Antonio, when I first started with the Bureau.  He and I dated for about six months.  It’s the textbook story we’ve all heard a million times.  At first, he seemed entirely normal.  But then, over time, he got progressively more possessive.  It happened so slowly I didn’t realize it at first.  Have I missed any of the clichés yet?”

Olivia muttered, “Stop it, Doc.  We’re familiar with the pattern, yes.  But we don’t judge our victims here.  Just tell us what happened.”

Frankie smiled thinly in gratitude.  It was one thing to be the one who got to say those things.  It was another to believe them when they were said to you.

“One day, something happened.  It was so small, just one of those little, stupid things that happen every day.  I had to work late, and then my car wouldn’t start.  By then, Alan had all these rules. I was supposed to call him any time I wasn’t going to be where I’d said I would, but we didn’t even have a date that night, and we didn’t live together or anything… And then when my car wouldn’t start, one of my coworkers was right there, and he gave me a ride home.  I didn’t even think about it until we got to my house, and Alan was there.  He was seething.  He accused me of… well, this isn’t a very original story.  You know the rest.  It was the first time he hit me.  And then it escalated, like it always does, until I ended up in the hospital.  So I broke up with him.  He went nuts, stalked me for a while, and was such a general pain in my ass that I decided to take a position in Virginia to get away from him. I thought that was the end of it, until he showed up there.”

“He followed you to Virginia?”  Barba asked.

Frankie was having a hard enough time working around the shame of having to reveal this to her new colleagues.  She simply couldn’t respond to Barba, of all people.  She could only imagine what he would be like to work with now.

“He followed her and torched her house,” Porter answered for her.  “With her asleep inside.”

“Shit,” Dodds hissed.

“I don’t think he was trying to kill me at that point.  It was easy enough to get out once I woke up.  He was just trying to scare me into taking him back.”  Frankie pointedly did not look at anyone but Porter, who knew the whole story.  “Anyway, that’s when I met Porter.  Alan was always one step ahead of us.  It doesn’t look like he moved to Virginia, which is part of why he was so hard to trace. He just visited enough to make my life miserable and keep me scared.  But he escalated.  That’s when Porter started to recommend that I leave town.  In retrospect, I should have, but I fought it for a long time.  I was so pissed!  I didn’t want to have to start over in a new city, again.”

“So what happened?”  Dodds asked.  

“Porter came to New York to be with Olivia and the Bureau assigned a new Special Agent to the case.  When she came on, she took one look and said I had to get out of Virginia. Alan was trying to kill me for real, and he was going to succeed one of these times.  She said that Porter and I were like those frogs in the pot of water. You know that saying?  You turn up the heat gradually enough and they’ll just get used to it until they’re boiled alive, not realizing how hot it is?  She said it was too hot for me to stay at Quantico, and she went over my head to get me reassigned.  She called Porter, who knew about this job because of Olivia, and here I am.  You can read the file if you want.  You probably should.  Because now Alan’s here.  Already.”

The room digested the new information.

“How do you know?”  Porter asked.  “How do you know he’s here?”  

“We were questioning a suspect just now,” Dodds answered.  “When he heard Liv call her ‘Dr. Rojas’, he recognized her name.  He called her by her first name and he told her ‘Alan sends his best.’”  

Porter looked concerned.  “What was the suspect’s crime?”  

“We’re charging him with receiving stolen goods, but we were questioning him because the stolen goods belonged to two victims of the rapist we’re calling Pattern 20,” Rafael answered.  He was watching Dr. Rojas carefully.  From the complex look on her face, she wasn’t thinking anything good.

“Is he good for the rapes?”  Porter asked.

“We don’t think so,” Rafael responded.  He thought Rojas was suddenly very quiet for someone who enjoyed sharing her opinions as freely as she did.    

“How’s this tweaker kid know who Frankie is? How’s he make the connection between her and Alan Canady?”  Porter mused, looking at Olivia but not particularly asking the question of her. Frankie looked at her, too, hoping she’d have an idea, because that was the question bothering Frankie, too.

“That’s what we’re going to ask him,” Olivia answered. “Let’s get lunch while he’s being booked.”

The group filed out of the office, with Dodds holding the door.  Due to her position in the room, Frankie was the last one to reach the door.  

“Doc, a word?”  Dodds asked.

“Sure,” she said, hanging back while he re-closed the door.

“I’m sure the Lieu won’t mind if we borrow her office,” Dodds said, indicating the couch.  They both sat.  

“What’s on your mind?”  She asked.

“That’s my question to you, actually.  Guy tries to kill you multiple times, runs you out of two cities and chases you to a third…  I’m guessing you have some thoughts about that.”

“You trying to shrink the shrink?”  Frankie’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

Mike simply replied, “Yes.”

Frankie stood, hugging her arms to her waist and looking out the window into the squad room.  “I appreciate it, Sergeant.  I do. And you’re right.  I question what it was about me that this prick thought he could treat me the way he did.  I feel like a damn imbecile, choosing him to date when I’m supposed to be an expert on this kind of stuff.  But most of all, now I’m fucking scared again.  And that pisses me off.”

She turned around to look at him again.  “That about what you expected to hear?”

He shrugged.  “Just about.  You’re the psychiatrist, and you have more experience in this field than I do, but all that sounds pretty damn normal to me.”

“It is.  But that doesn’t make me hate it any less.”  

Dodds nodded but didn’t say anything, just giving her an opportunity to talk if she needed to.

“I appreciate the shoulder, Sergeant.  But I’d appreciate an arrest more.”

“Understood.  And one other thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve said ‘fucking’ in front of me now.  That means you get to call me Mike.”

Frankie insisted upon being in the room when they questioned the tweaker kid again.  When Barba refused to allow it, she initially tried to talk him around, but he refused even to consider it.  The harder she pushed, the angrier he became, until the argument became so heated, Olivia insisted they go into one of the other interrogation rooms to work it out. She then had to stop Carisi and Rollins from using the speaker to eavesdrop.  Even without the speaker, it was easy enough to hear Barba and Rojas shouting at one another in Spanish.  Olivia knew just enough to recognize that some of the words they were using were not polite.

“This is my life, Barba!  I am going to be there.”

“’This is my life?’  Really?  Isn’t that what teenagers say when their parents won’t let them drop out of school to become beat poets?”

“Don’t you fucking patronize me!  I have as much right to be in that room as you do, and you cannot keep me out.”

“In fact, you don’t, and I can.  And I am.”

“This man has tried to kill me multiple times. He’s here to try again.  I’m not playing games here.”

“Neither am I, Doctor.  I’m doing my job.  I’m making sure that your little tantrum doesn’t destroy three separate criminal cases. One of which, I might add, is yours.”

“My little tantrum…?”  

“I realize you aren’t all that familiar with the word ‘no’, but I also realize you have a law degree and, although you’ve never practiced law, you should at least recognize the concept that having the victim do the interrogation is a bit of a conflict of interest.”

Frankie was too angry to form a coherent sentence. “You egotistical son of a…  strutting around like a tin-pot dictator in your little fiefdom…”

“Calling names is not particularly refined discourse, Doctor.  But if we were calling names, I’d call you a fresa[1] and suggest you go have your nails done and let the rest of us get to work.”

”A… A…  you did not just call me a fresa to my face.”

“Nothing wrong with your grasp of the obvious.  I’m going to…”  He started moving toward the door, but she stepped in front of him, stopping with their faces very close together as they shouted.

“I am a fully-qualified Forensic Psychiatrist with all the credentials.  I’m perfectly qualified to take part in questioning this suspect.  I happen to be very good at interrogations, which you would know if you ever took your eyes off the mirror.  I also know this case.  That is why I should be in that room!  Anything else you might think is utter bullshit.”

“Really.  I can’t help but notice you’re quite unhappy about being one of the lowly victims we work so hard to protect.  It’s lovely to play the lady bountiful in your pristine Elie Saab, but it must be terrible for you to have to rub elbows with the great unwashed…”

“Stop talking.” She growled.  

“With pleasure.  Get out of my way.  I have an interrogation to attend.”

For a very, very long moment, they stood there, glaring at one another, their breath heaving in their anger.  Rafael was furious and completely frustrated by her irrational, petulant refusal to see reason.  He was also painfully hard.  Before he lost control of his urge to bend her over the table in the middle of the room, he stepped around Frankie to the door and left without another word.  Frankie knew she wanted to throw him to the ground at that moment.  What she didn’t know was which she wanted to do first, fuck him or punch his lights out.

 [1] Literally means “strawberry”, but is Mexican and Latin American slang meaning stuck up, fake, snob, one who thinks they’re better than everyone else because they were born rich, and are well-educated.

[seenashwrite]

Some Dean

Word Count: 4K Category: One-shot, On-The-Hunt, Humor, Creature Feature, Behind-the-scenes Canon-Compliant, Teamwork, Friendship… and, to hell with it: Fluff Rating: Teen & Up Character(s): Dean, Sam, Cas Warnings: None Anti-Warning: There’s no images or links to anything creeptastic below the cut, those of you with squicks/phobias need not worry, I’m not that big of an a-hole Author’s Note(s): *This is a re-post minus tags & links in an effort to get it to show in searches*; if you’ve no knowledge of the children’s story “Charlotte’s Web”, this may not be for you; more post-story Overall Summary: Sometimes good things come in small, albeit eight-legged, packages.

Dean had always liked spiders.

Well, “like” may’ve been overstating; Dean had always held an appreciation for spiders. They weren’t nasty like rats or sneaky like snakes, with spiders you knew where you stood: in his experience, anything supernatural aside, you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone. Plus, they were badass - spiders packed a lot of intimidation into a small package, could be killing machines when they wanted to be, and mostly he appreciated that they were efficient and effective when it came to dealing with the annoying bugs that occasionally popped up. He did live in a basement, after all; the world’s tiniest were not deterred by any amount of warding or weaponry.

So when he’d notice small, barely-there wisps of webs in far corners or between the bottom of a bookshelf and the wall, stretching from the carved wood to the sticky bricks, he’d leave the homemade traps be for a week or two if they were empty, and sure enough, they’d have captured some crawlers next time he made a run-through with the vacuum. It was an amicable relationship - Dean never saw the spiders, just their handiwork, and the webs seldom popped up in the same space twice. Plus, they seemed to know the kitchen was a no-fly… spider… zone, so all was well.

And then came Charlotte.

Charlotte - as Dean had eventually started calling the garden spider, much to Sam’s dismay - did not have any regard for the out-of-sight, you-don’t-get-the-boot arrangement, nor did she have any regard for giving Dean his space. The day they met, he’d sauntered into the garage, popped the Impala’s trunk, tossed in a bag and a shotgun, yelled at Sam to hurry up, then went to reach for the driver’s side handle, caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and froze. And he wasn’t the only one.

The web was thick at the edges and delicate in the middle, stretching from the side mirror to the handle, upon which Charlotte perched, her crafting put on hold. She wasn’t terribly small, but not remotely large; she would’ve easily fit on the pad of his thumb. And she was clearly of the brave - or stupid, perhaps - sort, because she didn’t immediately scurry off. She took in the sight of the giant creature before her - technically, there was eight of him, what with her four pairs of eyes and all - and she opted to see what would happen.

What happened was that Dean turned, grabbed a shop rag, and began cursing under his breath as he whipped the web into nothingness; by the time he stopped, Charlotte had skittered to places unknown.

Dean tossed the rag away, gave the handle a good eyeballing before he grabbed it, opening the door and saying in a low voice through grit teeth, “Not. The. Car.”

“What not the car?” asked Sam, bounding up the garage steps.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

This nothing continued for six weeks.

Charlotte was a determined artist, it seemed, not to mention a fast one. She spun webs of all sizes and shapes, covering the license plate in quilt-panel squares, weaving long, ropy trails around and between the wipers, and at one point obscured the back window in a lacy pattern that Castiel noted looked like a fine guipure. She liked to travel, too, as more than once the brothers would exit a given roadside motel room to find Charlotte had been busy during the night, Sam’s personal favorite being when she’d decorated a hubcap in a complex Fibonacci design, though he’d never have let on to Dean.

On the initial occasions following such a discovery, if Dean happened to spot her, he would scold her with a sharp “NO!”, walk in her direction briskly, and she’d retreat, slipping into the trunk or under the hood, but it wasn’t long before she’d stay put, even edge closer, cutting the distance between them, eventually so bold as to crawl onto the roof of the Impala, watching as he dismantled her webs.

“Really?” he asked one morning after the latest wipe-down, bending slightly so they were eye-to-eyes.

She calmly extended one leg to the side, held it out til he got the hint, turning his head, following what he’d presumed was a point, and sure enough, he’d missed some cottony puffs that were still stuck on a tail light.

Looking back at her, he said - begrudgingly -  "Thanks.“

Dean had dealt with stranger things.

"One day I’m expecting to come out and see ‘terrific’ in a web,” Sam commented during a return trip from the latest hunt.

“What?” Dean asked.

“You know - the kid’s book. Charlotte’s Web. You read it to me when we were little. About the farm, and saving Wilbur the would-be bacon?”

“Charlotte’s anti-bacon?”

“No, I don’t think— it was— it— she was just pro-pig.”

It was after this conversation that Dean took to calling their frequent tag-a-long Charlotte. To be specific, it was after he’d brought a BLT with him into the garage while working on the car, and she’d happily investigated a bit of bacon that had escaped his plate. A point to the pro-bacon column, he thought.

Dean informed her that he was fine with her hanging around, he was even fine with her fancy webwork, but she needed to cool it when it came to the car, explaining with lots of gesturing to make sure the message got across, just in case. He’d looked it up. Spiders did not have ears.

He’d also looked up things on spider life spans, and arachnid health in general. Sam found him in the library one evening doing just that, frowning at his laptop screen as he scanned. Castiel was nearby, returning some books to their places on the shelves.

“What is he doing?” Sam asked in a hushed voice, and Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke, diverting their attention.

“Did Charlotte look pale to you earlier?”

Now Sam frowned. “Dean… what?”

“I mean, she’s light brown, but she looked a little yellow earlier,” Dean explained, scrolling further down a page, but then closing the window with a huff and turning in his seat to face Sam. “Can’t find anything.” A pause; a thought. “Hey, I should put out a devil’s trap drawing for her, maybe a new pattern’ll perk her up.”

Sam was, in a word, startled. “Do you think of her as a pet?”

“Why do you care?”

“Oh, I dunno - because a spider is stalking us, and you’ve named it, and you talk to it, and—-”

“What, you got a thing about spiders to go with your thing about clowns, even though your imaginary friend was a clown?” Another pause. “Come to think of it, that explains a lot.”

“Sully’s not a clown, and no, I do not have arachnophobia, what I do have is a worry that - if it is a female - it may lay a bunch of eggs, then we’ll have an infestation. Is that what you want? Bunch of spider babies in your Baby?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “She’s not gonna do that.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Did she pinky swear?”

“Would you like me to have a look at her?” asked Castiel, and the concern in his voice was less for Charlotte and more for Dean, and less in the sympathetic way and more in the tiptoeing around someone who’s slipped into psychosis way.

Sam crossed his arms. “Taking it outside hasn’t worked, neither has trying to leave it wherever we’ve been hunting - this is getting ridiculous, will you just kill it, already?!”

Dean stood, walked over to him, defiant. “We not been doing enough killing for you lately?”

“It’s just a spider, Dean!”

“I know that! Maybe I just don’t wanna be scraping moist spider guts off my boot.”

“Does this spider communicate with you?” Castiel asked, the concern still floating under his words.

He was ignored.

“It’s not your pet, it’s a tiny insect - you don’t even know if it could be poisonous!” Sam exclaimed.

“Not an insect, genius, and Charlotte would never bite us—-”

“What is wrong with you?!”

“Have either of you considered the possibility that this is no ordinary spider?” Castiel suggested.

“Gee, thanks, Cas - no, hadn’t noticed that this is weird,” Dean shot back with a look.

“So you get that this is weird?” Sam checked.

“Our life is weird, what’s some more? And at least this is fun weird, is that so bad?” Dean replied, and the touch of melancholy in his voice caused both Sam and Castiel to stay quiet for a few moments.

The silence was broken by the ring of Dean’s phone - a case awaited them.

And, of course, Charlotte.

Dean looked up from the map as Sam came back into their motel room, six pack in one hand, phone in the other, kicking the door shut as he spoke.

“Jane called. She says a container ship from the UK was bringing in illegal cargo, for some rich people who wanted exotic animals for canned hunts—”

“Douche move.”

“—and apparently when they went to unload, the crates were all busted up. The hold was covered with what was left of the bodies of the animals. All except for one. Three guesses.”

“Big bad bacon?”

“Yup. And she thinks we’re looking at… ah….” Sam trailed off and chuckled.

“Yeah?”

“A cryptid. It’s called The Beast of Dean, a.k.a. the Moose Pig.”

“Why do I think that somewhere, somehow, whatever’s left of Crowley just got a chub.”

They were in a rural area of Virginia, not too far from Portsmouth, and had been for a week, tracking what sounded like a rabid boar, but there was enough of a bump-in-the-night bend to the word on the street that they’d been confident it fell in their wheelhouse. Now that they had confirmation, after a night of research and weapon prep, they were ready to knock out the most recent mission and get back home. The Dean-Moose was large, and it was anything but subtle. The hunt should be an easy one, wouldn’t take long, nothing to it.

Well. One thing. One sort-of big thing. Even though it was also a small thing. Sam’s pro-pig storybook spider and their companion, they’d come to find, had more in common than just a name.

.

STOP

.

There, stretched across the Impala’s grill the next morning, was an undeniable message, and given Dean’s jaw-dropped state, it prompted Sam to speak on his behalf.

“Um, Charlotte? Listen, I don’t know if you… you seem nice, and… really smart, but… look, this thing isn’t like that pig in the book.”

“Because she’s read the book,” Dean said sarcastically, breaking out of his stupor and stomping over to the car, sharp eyes looking for the sassy spider; no joy. “Hey, guess what?” he said loudly. “I’m gonna drive so fast that by the time I do stop, your web’s gonna get shredded, how do you like that? I told you my car was OFF LIMITS!”

With one last glare at the web, Dean got into the car, and Sam followed suit. They put on the radio and chatted about anything but spiders and pigs for the better part of an hour as they bumped along the winding back roads. And after parking at the edge of the woods where the most recent sighting of the beastly hog had occurred, they opened the trunk to find another message, one that unfurled neatly, springing open as the lid of the weapons compartment lifted.

.

REALLY! STOP, STUPID.

.

Punctuation, and all.

“You know…” Dean began, but trailed off with a shake of his head, snatching up the shotgun and pocketing a handful of the shells with the special filling he and Sam had cooked up the night prior.

Sam removed the freshly-etched-with-symbols machete. Dean slammed the trunk shut. Charlotte did not emerge.

As they walked deeper and deeper into the woods, Sam spoke in a quiet voice.

“When we get back, I’m calling Cas. This is out of control, Dean. The spider’s obviously somebody - or something - dicking around with us. Maybe that’s been the plan, keeping us from killing this thing.”

Dean didn’t look at him, rather kept scanning their surroundings as he responded. “Maybe. She… it… came around before that ship got here. But, yeah. Maybe something’s up.”

Sam reflexively sighed in relief, and at that moment Dean stopped, extended his arm to stop Sam’s progress, as well.

“Shhh. Listen.”

The growl was only audible for a moment before the foliage began to stir.

The hunt, it turned out, did not last long. The defeated brothers wearily tossed their dented weapons into the backseat and practically fell into the front. Dean immediately turned off the radio - the chanting of Duran Duran’s “Wild Boys” had come screaming through the speakers.

“It does kinda sound like they’re saying 'wild boars’,” Sam noted.

“Shut up.”

After they’d returned to the motel and showered, cleaned up their scratches and cuts, swapped torn clothing for intact, Sam went back to researching, while Dean went out to the Impala, damp washcloths in hand, and opened the trunk. It was barely even six o'clock, and there was still enough sunlight that he could see every trace of the webbing was gone. But he wanted to check that his little - former - friend hadn’t done anything else.

She had.

Sitting in the driver’s set, Dean’s eye was drawn to the thin, nearly opaque message across the radio, anchored by the knobs and an ejected tape.

.

BAD JOB

.

Dean swiped it away without a word, uttering a small groan and clutching his bruised ribs as he climbed out. He took a few steps, but then pivoted. He opened the door again and leaned in, voice tense as he spoke.

“Tell you what, how’s about I bring you some toothpicks and you join in tomorrow, help us out, get in a few stabs? Be useful, show us how it’s done?”

Dean fell asleep wondering if he’d completely lost his mind.

.

THIS IS DUMB .

Sam ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes - he’d been out the door first, so the newest message, covering the entirety of the hood, immediately made him brace himself for what was coming next.

But, surprisingly, Dean kept his temper in check; he merely set down his bag, returned to the room for a towel, and briskly wiped down the hood.

“Ready?” he asked Sam, forcing a smile that was likely more unsettling than intended.

Sam kept quiet, answering with a thumbs-up.

Their Everything’s Fine! charade was short-lived.

As with the prior morning, Charlotte had chosen to reinforce her message, wrapping the steering wheel so thickly it was barely visible, and her stance on their mission came through loud and clear.

.

THIS IS ACTUALLY DUMB .

Sam thought the choice of having the final “dumb” in bold italic for emphasis was a nice touch. And he noted the copious amount of webbing wound around the gear shift with raised eyebrows. And he gulped when he spotted more strands of said webbing emerging from the ignition. He cut his eyes over to Dean and, upon seeing his expression, took a step back.

This time, Charlotte did not hide. She’d positioned herself on the dashboard, right near the puffed-up wheel, standing with what could be described as quite the petulant posture. And much like the day the spider and the hunter had met, Dean froze.

Charlotte held her ground.

Dean’s nostrils flared.

Charlotte crossed her front legs as if they were arms.

Dean’s jaw clenched.

Charlotte tapped a back leg, as if to say Well get on with it.

Dean was still unmoved, and so Sam said, “You know, when you freeze like that, it’s really not as intimidating as you might—-”

“CHARLOTTE!” Dean bellowed.

She turned and sashayed to the glove box, crawling inside without the first indication she felt in any danger whatsoever.

Thankfully, the motel was just shy of a mile from from a modest gas station-diner combo. Sam talked Dean into a breakfast - with extra bacon, a thumb of the nose to both the beast and its defender. After they easily convinced the owner to loan them his truck, explaining their car’s fuel gauge was apparently broken, buying a can of gas for show, they promised they’d have it returned to him by morning.

As they drove back to grab their gear, Dean asked, “You hear from Cas?”

Sam nodded. “Reception’s crap, though - I can only hear parts of his voicemail. He found something about Charlotte, at least, I think. But he didn’t sound upset, like she was dangerous.”

“Let’s just roast the pig and get the hell outta here.”

“I’m sorry she’s not… you know, fun-weird anymore,” Sam said.

Dean lowered his foot, gunning the engine. “Yeah, well. Story of my life,” he muttered.

The truck was returned way before morning, this encounter with their newest foe having gone as well as the first. Then they found that Charlotte had removed all the web from the Impala, though the door to the motel room held some snark:

.

NICE HEAD

.

Dean barely glanced at it - possibly a little hard to do with the near swollen-shut, a breath away from blackened eye - and didn’t even bother to clean it off. There was no message from Charlotte the next morning. Dean did bother to wonder if she was gone.

The sound of the tree cracking sent both of them diving behind a small knoll, gasping for breath, cringing as it crashed down just where they’d been not seconds earlier.

“I’m empty,” Dean said, returning his gun to his waistband. “You?”

“About ten minutes ago,” Sam answered.

The beast’s growls now turned into a piercing scream, a most furious howl, angry it couldn’t find them. They heard it turning up earth with its tusks, sending rocks flying, then ramming its head into yet another tree, the trunk buckling under the strain. Dean had managed to send a bullet into its snout, likely preventing it from sniffing them out, if the occasional gurgling snorts were any indication. Sam had earned himself a minor goring to his calf, but otherwise they were intact.

“Think you can run?” Dean asked, gesturing to the bandanna-wrapped wound.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so. That the plan? Just make a run for it?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“On three?”

“One… two…. three!”

They dodged trees, though the beast didn’t bother, taking out the smaller ones along the way, picking up speed with every moment that passed, while the brothers were losing speed at the same time.

Dean noticed a large branch in their path up ahead and started to veer off from Sam, pointing to it and yelling, “Keep going! I’ll try to knock Porky out!”

“No!” Sam yelled back, grimacing each time his leg made contact with the ground. “It’ll kill—- HUUUURMMPPHH!”

Sam went down, Dean not far behind, something tripping both of them, causing them to fall with such force that whatever air they had left in their lungs got knocked out. Disoriented, they raised their heads only to immediately duck them, covering up with their arms, as the beast was still plowing ahead. Its hooves hit the ground in between them, tossing dirt everywhere, its speed too far gone for it to stop on a dime. They expected to soon hear it reversing course, so Sam opened his eyes, trying to spot a place to hide, Dean doing the same, trying to spot the branch.

Instead, the sound of the most meek squeal one could imagine reached their ears, prompting Dean and Sam to turn their gazes directly ahead.

They were at the bottom of a small incline, and they watched as the boar’s head rolled their way, their heads slowly turning as they observed it leisurely passing by. It came to a sudden stop against something near their feet. They shared a look, moving in sync onto their knees.

“Uh, Dean?” Sam said.

Dean looked up from inspecting the severed head to find Sam with his hand extended, pushing under something that Dean couldn’t make out, but a shift in position and a tilt of his head allowed him to see the bright moonlight glint off the surprisingly thick, iridescent rope running across Sam’s fingers.

Another look, another in sync movement as they stood, then tentatively walked forward til they reached the body. This time, Dean spotted it right away when he crouched, the finely-wound strands that were stretched between two trees, at just the perfect height to relieve a squatty hog monster of its head. He flicked it with a finger, as one would a string on a guitar, and it was just as taut.

“She clotheslined it,” Sam said, awestruck. “She tripped us so we wouldn’t… That could’ve clipped us at the knees. She… she…”

Dean looked up at Sam, and a slow smile spread across his face. "She’s awesome!”

Sam shifted his weight off of his bad leg, and grinned. “Think she’s any good with stitches?”

How Charlotte managed to spin their salvation in such little time, they’d never know, and they also had no idea how she beat them back to the car, but the evidence was there, across the driver’s side window. .

SOME PIG .

They laughed, Dean saying, “You ain’t lying.”

But before he could say anything else, Charlotte crawled out from under the handle. She scurried up her web, and as they watched, she whipped the “P” into a “D”; the “I” went “E” in a few short passes; the “G” was partially dismantled, then spun into an “A”; and in mere seconds, there appeared an “N”. .

SOME DEAN .

After a quick hop from its tip, a slide to the outside of one of the long connecting end pieces, and a drop of a new line of silk, their eyes followed her as she leapt, letting the momentum swing her clean up onto the roof. And then - Sam would swear to it, many times over the coming years - she curtsied.

“Thanks,” Dean said softly. “You, too.” With that, he opened the back door, gestured for her to climb inside.

Which, she did.

“Yes… yes… that’s very kind of you.”

Dean, Sam, and Castiel were standing outside the bunker, the former waiting patiently - and occasionally impatiently - as the latter had a conversation with Charlotte.

Castiel looked to them. “She says she likes my tie. The material meets her standards.”

Dean’s expression was completely flat, causing Sam to snicker.

“There any reason you didn’t tell us you could’ve been talking to her this whole time?” Dean demanded.

Castiel shrugged. “You didn’t ask.”

It turned out that Castiel’s message had been to inform them that Charlotte was indeed a most special spider, more so than what they’d already divined. She was an emissary, an information-gatherer, a spy of sorts, though not a nefarious one. And because she herself was quite the accomplished hunter, she chose to spend time with other hunters whenever her journeys brought her to them.

And now, it was time for Charlotte to start her next journey.

Castiel was nodding his head as Charlotte, who was on his collar, near his ear, told him one last thing. “She’d like you to know that Sam was correct - she does need to prepare to lay her eggs, though she would not have done so in the car,” Castiel related.

Dean shot Sam a smug look.

“And she says she’ll name them Dean.”

Dean blinked. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

“How many we talking?”

A pause as Charlotte answered, and Castiel replied, “Anywhere from fifty to sixty.”

“That’s… a lot,” Dean said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Not really,” Sam commented.

Another look from Dean - actually, he cycled through several.

“Fine. So maybe I did some research, too,” Sam admitted.

“It’s time for her to go,” Castiel announced. “She says she’s enjoyed your company immensely. And she apologizes for the web you’ve yet to find. It seems she was in a cranky mood that evening.”

“That’s okay. Tell her it’s okay,” Dean said, walking closer. “Tell her that, um… it’s been great knowing her. Don’t be a stranger. All that.”

Castiel smiled. “She knows.” He raised his hand to his shoulder, and Charlotte climbed onto it. “I’m going to give her a boost,” he explained, and then to Charlotte he said, “Please do give Mr. Anansi the Winchester brothers’ warmest regards.”

They watched as Charlotte prepped a silk balloon, and after a gentle wave of Castiel’s hand, off she flew.  

“It would be… cheesy of me to comment it is angelic, their flight, wouldn’t it?” Castiel asked.

“Yes,” Dean and Sam answered in unison.

They began to walk back inside.

“What was that at the end? About Anansi?” asked Sam.

“Networking,” Castiel replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about us ever having to tangle with him,” Dean said. “I mean, not with Charlotte on our side. She’ll talk us up. She’s a talker.”

“Plus, there’ll be all the Deans,” Sam added.

“Yup. Exactly. We are cool with the spider kingdom,” said Dean, and with great confidence.

Dean was incorrect on this point, as he and Sam would later learn, during a case involving a young lady by the name of Muffet.

But that’s another story.

Want more stories? My Master Post is linked in my profile, and it tells you about getting on the Tag List, too! If for whatever reason it gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to send an Ask and I’ll link you.

Re-blogs and feedback are fuel for a writer’s soul - please do let me know if you enjoyed. 😘

Author’s Note #2 - The Jane mentioned is a character from my story Supernatural: Revelation, which you can find linked on the master post -or- just go straight to AO3, same author name SeeNashWrite 😁

Author’s Note #3 -  This also included a prompt which had languished in drafts - albeit with the note “Anansi” from the get-go, thankyouverymuch! - which was from the cringeworthy submissions:

You can find all the #Nash300 Follower Celebration Master List of Madness stories (wherein I asked followers to send me prompts consisting of three words to make me cringe) via the Master Post.

Author’s Note #4: The beast of Dean mentioned is actually a thing, give it a google! And so is Anansi, check that out, too. If you don’t get the Muffet reference, well, I can’t help you with that. 😉

[themoonandotherslikeit]

The Hand That Reaches for God- Chapter 6

***Sometimes staying away is the easiest move. Keeping a safe distance, especially for Emerson and Dean Winchester. So, when the Maklen twins come home again, they don’t anticipate the feelings that Emerson will get having to see him again. When tragedy strikes, the Winchester brothers and the Maklen twins are forced to face, not only their feelings, but each other. In a story about pain, family, abandonment, and desire, the couples have to decide if survival, without love, is enough.***

Warnings: Angst, violence, death, mutual pinning, age difference, language, abuse, eventual smut.

Chapter Six

“I do not need someone to complete me. But if you wanted to, we could walk next to each other into whatever is coming next.” –Meghan Lynn

-1 Week After-

Emerson sat in the shower. Her knees were pressed to her chest as she let the warm water run over her. Her hair was matted to her head and her forehead rested on her knees. They’d been in the Winchester’s basement for a week, with no sign of life anywhere. No one had come knocking. The phones were all dead. No radio signal. They were on a backup generator at the house. Emerson slept every night on the couch, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally caught up to her.

When it did, all she had was nightmares.

Pheli would reach up from her pallet on the floor and grip her sister’s hand. They slept close together like the always had, but this time Sam’s large body curled around protectively around Pheli as she slept. Most of the time she woke up bright and shiny as ever, which was probably the only reason Emerson hadn’t had a complete breakdown yet. How could she when her sister was singing show tunes?

Emerson turned her face into the stream of water, letting it wash over her. It rained every day since the explosion. Red and hot like the first time. Sometimes she would lie on the couch and listen to the rain, and pretend it was a summer night. She pretended it was the time before.

She reached forward and turned off the water. The immediate chill from the house covered her damp skin, causing her hair to stand on end. She let herself rise on shaky legs, and towel off. She twisted her blonde hair up in the towel and stepped into Dean’s robe, closing it around herself. She took a deep breath of the scent. It smelled like this body wash. It was so much harder to ignore him when they were living under the same roof, but she was trying. Especially now that their immediate sense of danger was muted.

She wiped away the fog on the mirror, and was assaulted with her own reflection. A set of dark, tired eyes. She leaned forward and let the heat of her breath steam up the mirror again. It was just another place to hide. It was just another mask.

She went out into the living room to get her clothes. She pulled out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. “Is that mine?” Dean asked, leaning against the wall. He gestured to the AC/DC shirt that was curled in her fingers that was indeed his.

“Guess so.” She said, tossing it up to him. “This place is a pig sty. No wonder some of our stuff is getting mixed.”  

“Keep it.” He tossed it back to her gently.

She caught it in one hand and unconsciously pulled it to her chest. “Fine, but only because I don’t hardly have any clothes here.”

“Mhm.”

“Where’s Phel and Sam?”

“Probably getting busy.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

“Gross.”

“Eh, carpe diem and all that.” He eyed her robe suggestively.

“Turn around, Winchester. You don’t get a free show.” She spun her finger and he complied. She untied the robe, lowering it to the floor. She watched his back tense as the sound of fabric landing hit his ears. If he turned toward her he would see everything, and it was a little paralyzing. She stepped into her shorts and slid his t-shirt over her bare skin, cutting the tension between them. “You’re good.” She whispered.

Dean turned back around cautiously, almost as if he expected to find her still standing there before him completely naked. He swallowed hard as he saw her. She removed the towel from her hair and ran her fingers through it.

“Dean.” She murmured, her eyes never leaving his.

“Yeah?”

“How long is this generator going to last?” The thought had been plaguing her mind every second since she woke up in his bed conscious again. How long did they have? The storms still raged outside, she could hear the angry booms of thunder and the insistent pattering of rain against the roof.

“I don’t know.” He admitted.

“What about your parents? What about our mom?” She knew she couldn’t ask Pheli’s opinion. She couldn’t take away her positive attitude, and if Sam and Dean were talking about it, they weren’t doing it in front of the girls.

“I don’t have the answers, Em. I’m sorry.” He said weakly. His chest ached. He wanted the answers. He was supposed to have them. He was the fucking soldier, after all. If he didn’t have them then who did? He sold a chunk of his life to a government that was going to let them boil alive under a blood red rain. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to break something, but instead he just let his blunt nails dig into his palm as he curled his fingers in on themselves. He tightened his fist as much as he could.

Emerson stepped toward him, and took his fist in her fingers. So much for avoiding him. “Don’t be sorry.” She whispered. “Hey, look at me.”

His eyes flickered up to hers.

“You don’t have to have all the answers.”

“Of course I do.”

-6 Years Before-

“Alright, the game is Bullshit.” Dean said, shuffling the cards. His cigarette hung out of his lips.

“I bet you’re great at that.” Emerson said smoothly.

They were laying in the backyard in the grass. Pheli’s head was on Sam’s lap, her toes in the grass.

“How do you play?” Pheli turned to look at Dean. Sam was placing dandelions in a braid on Ophelia’s hair.

Dean passed out cards to each of them. “So the game works like this.” He plucked two cards from his hand. “We go in order. Aces are low. I’ll say, I’ve got two ace’s.” He said, waving the two cards. He sat them face down with a bright smile.

“And then?” Phel asked, suspiciously.

“Bullshit.” Em said smoothly, her lips pursed.

“Well fuck me sideways.” Dean smirked, flipping over the cards. “You got it.” He had a queen and a king that he’d placed down. He took the cards back into his hand.

“So we just call you on your shit?” Ophelia asked with a grin.

“That’s the game.” He laughed.

“Been waiting my whole life for this.” Sam added with a laugh. “Let’s do it.”

Not all afternoons were like that, unfortunately.

“One three.”

“She’s got an honest face.” Sam smiled brightly, kissing Pheli.

Dean lit his cigarette and pulled the smoke in to his lunges. Emerson caught herself watching him. They were always looking at each other when the other was looking away.

“Two fours.”

“Bullshit, Sammy.” Dean let out a smoky laugh.

“Fuck you.”

Deans lip was busted and he had a cut right above his eye that was healing. They didn’t talk about it, but Emerson knew. She’d seen John through her window. He slammed Dean against his car. She didn’t know why he did it, but it didn’t matter. No one knew. No one but her, and it wasn’t her place to know. It wasn’t her place to say anything.

“Em, it’s your turn.” Pheli touched her sisters leg gently, trying to pull her out of her daze.

“Uh, sorry.” Her eyes met Deans, then flickered back to the cards in her hands. They looked blurry. “I’ve gotta go.” She stood up suddenly, dropping her cards in the grass.

“Where are you going?”

“Don’t worry about it, Phel. I just… I forgot I have something I have to do.” She jogged back into the house, letting the back door shut behind her.

Not every day was like that. Not every day was calm and full of laughter. Her mom dropped a bottle of wine the night before. She said it was an accident, but Emerson wasn’t blind. Her hand just stopped working. She lost her grip and the entire bottle of merlot crashed to the ground. It was a sea of red covering the kitchen floor. Green tinted glass sat in the pools of red.

“Shit!” Jana exclaimed.

“Mom!”

“Emerson, honey, stay back. I dropped the wine.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” She waived her hand.

She knew better. Her mother wasn’t fine, and she probably never would be again. It was the beginning of the end. “Let me help you clean this up.” She offered.

“No, I can do it myself.”

“I know you can… I just thought…”

“No, Emerson” She snapped her fingers weakly, pointing to the stairs. “Go make sure your sister is doing her homework. I’m fine here.”

Everything was falling apart, and Emerson didn’t think she could handle it anymore. She’d been so wrapped up in herself that she didn’t hear the door behind her open. “Em.” Dean said, his hand resting on her shoulder.

She flinched away from him. “God, why are you always sneaking up on me?”

“Sorry.” He moved his hand. “You just seemed upset.”

“I’m not.”

“Right.” He said, wiping a tear off her cheek with his thumb. “You can tell me.”

“I don’t want to.” She said, eyeing his healing lip. It’s you. On top of everything else, I’m worried about you.

“Okay.” He looked around before grabbing her hand. “C’mere.”

“Where are we going?” She asked as he pulled her out the front door and across her lawn.

“My place.”

“What?” She could feel her cheeks heating up. “Dean I…”

“It’s okay. It’ll help.”

She swallowed hard. She could feel her heartbeat behind her eyes as he unlocked his front door and pulled her inside. They walked down the stairs and into his bedroom. This is Dean Winchester’s bedroom! She wanted to look around, to take it all in, but she couldn’t because she was too fucking nervous.

He moved his hand from hers and held her face in his hands, brushing away any wetness that was left. “Stay right here.” He murmured.

She nodded. It was all she could do. Her mouth was so dry, she was afraid it would crumble if she tried to produce any string of words. He turned away from her and started digging in his drawers. She watched him. The way his back curved as he bent over, the way his jeans hugged his legs just enough. Her face was so hot, she worried she’d start sweating.

“This helps me.” He explained. “When the world is too fucking much.” He turned around, holding a glass figurine. It was an angel, pretty, and delicate.

“Are we going to… pray?” Her nerves were quickly replaced by confusion.

“No.” He laughed and placed the figurine in her palm. “Break it.” He said quietly, their hands still touching. “It’s therapeutic.”

“You want me to break this.”

“That’s what I said.”

“How?”

He shrugged. “Dealers choice.”

Emerson held it in her hand, letting it catch the light of his bedroom before she curled her fingers around it. Destruction doesn’t solve anything. Pain breeds more pain. But yet, she really wanted to break something. She wanted to break John for hurting Dean. She wanted to rip apart the doctors that diagnosed her mother. Even though it wouldn’t change anything. She’d still be sick. She’d still be dying. The angel in her hand stared up at her, and it looked so pious she couldn’t help but pull it back and throw it against the wall as hard as she could.

She let out a yell as it crashed against the wall, exploding into a dozen pieces. There was something deeply satisfying about watching the pieces crash to the floor. It was different than the bottle of merlot. It was purposeful. Her body wasn’t failing her, it was helping. She grinned wildly, her heart pounding in her chest.

“Another one.” He said, opening his palm to reveal another angel.

She took it eagerly and threw it a bit harder. It bounced off the wall and hit the book shelf before exploding. The colorless glass sprayed out into the carpet, and even though it’d be a bitch to clean up, Dean offered her another, and another until she was weak at the knees.

He wrapped an arm around her, and lowered her to a seated position next to him on his bed. “I’ve got you.” He said, quietly.

She looked at her trembling hands. Hands that destroy. She curled her fingers in on themselves and looked up at Dean. “Thank you.” She whispered. “I’m not mad anymore.” She was just sad. She was heartbroken.

“You’re welcome.”

She reached up her finger and ran it over the cut on Dean’s lip. “Why didn’t you hit him back?”

Dean winced, but he didn’t back away from her. Maybe he suspected she knew the whole time. “Would you believe me if I said violence wasn’t the answer?”

Her eyes flickered to the glass shards covering his room, and the small dents on his wall from repeated throws. “Not even a little bit.”

He rubbed circles on her arm, looking off somewhere else. “ I guess I don’t want to lower myself to his level. I want to be better than him.”

“You are.” Emerson promised him. “You’ve always been better than him.”

“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”

“No. I wouldn’t do that.”

“Not even Pheli? Sam doesn’t…”

“No.” She cut him off. “It wasn’t my secret to tell.” She stood up, moving out from under his arm, and she leaned down and pressed her lips to the cut above his eye. “If he’s ever coming after you, you can stay with me. If something happens to you I don’t think I could forgive myself.”

Dean stared at her, his mouth open slightly, before pressing his lips together in a line. He nodded. The realization that Emerson Maklen could care about him was dizzying. “Bullshit.” He whispered with a slight smile.

“What?”

“I said, bullshit. You could forgive yourself, because it wouldn’t be your fault. It’d be his. Don’t let other people’s mistakes sit on your shoulders. The only thing we can be responsible for is our own actions.”

“How about you practice what you preach, Winchester?”

He reached up and touched her cheek. “I’m trying.” He promised. “I’m really trying.”

-1 Week After-

Emerson ran her fingers along the dents in the wall of Dean’s bedroom where she’d thrown the figurines.

“What were you so upset about that day?”

She turned to look at him. “Mom’s MS was finally showing symptoms, and then I saw where John hit you and I just...”

“How’d you know, anyway?”

“I saw him. Outside of my window one night. It was horrible, Dean.”

“It was.” He said, between gritted teeth. “He was a marine, so he knew how to dish out a beating.” He laughed dryly.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” He said swiftly. “Plus. For all I know he’s already dead.”

“Do you believe that?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

“Hey dorks!” Pheli asked, popping her head into Dean’s bedroom. “I’m not interrupting, am I?”

“Nope.” They both said at once, causing her eyebrow to quirk up.

“Uh huh. Sam and I were about to start an exciting game of Bullshit.” She grinned widely, waving the cards. “You in?”

“I don’t know.” Emerson groaned.

“Would it help if I said we were playing... strip bullshit? With alcohol?” She held out her other hand exposing her bottle of tequila.

“Fuck it. I’m in.” Dean grinned, swiping the tequila.

“You’re serious?” Emerson asked her sister.

She shrugged. “We are stuck in this basement for god knows how long, and I’m sure you’re as bored as I am. We need to wind down, and I figured what better than a little drinking game.”

“That involves nudity?”

“Only if you’re bad at lying.” Pheli said innocently.

“Yeah.” Emerson rolled her eyes. “I’m so sure.”

The four of them made it into the living room and got in a seated position. Pheli dealt out the cards. “Okay, so the rules are the same. The only kicker is that if you call Bullshit and you’re wrong then you can either take the cards, take a shot, or lose an item of clothing. If you’ve put more than one card you get more than one punishment. So if I put out three cards I can either, take three shots, take two and an item of clothing... you get the point. Oh, and if you call bullshit and you’re wrong, then you have to take whatever punishment the wrongly accused gives you.”

“And who wins?” Emerson asked, suddenly wishing she was wearing more than her pajama shorts and Dean’s t-shirt.

“The winner happens when they completely run out of cards. Like Uno. If you’re naked, then you just have to do shots or take cards.”

“Maklen I’ve called you a genius before, but now I think you’re an evil genius.” Dean grinned, but he wasn’t looking at Pheli at all. His eyes were on Emerson, and this time she wasn’t looking away.

“Alright let’s get started.” Sam laughed. “Phel you’re first.”

Turned out that Pheli was really bad at Bullshit. After five rounds she was sitting in her bra and panties, and she was starting to slur.

Dean was only wearing his jeans, his bare chest exposed. His dog tags rested on his chest. He looked at her under hooded eyes. He’d taken two shots, but still seemed pretty comfortable. Relaxed.

Sam matched his brother pretty well, his skinny chest exposed. Pheli drew little hearts on his chest with her fingers.

“Okay.” Pheli said sitting up. She held up four cards. “Four queenssss.” The S on the Queens hissed a little too long.

“Bullshit.” Em said, looking at her sister over her cards.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you!” She pointed at Emerson. “Read em and weep, sister!” She flipped over her cards to reveal all four queens.

Emerson swallowed hard. She’d managed to avoid any real consequences up until that point. She’d gotten lucky and gotten all good cards. “Be nice, Phel.”

“Get naked, sister.” She giggled. “I own you!”

Pheli never could hold her alcohol. She got sloppy over a few wine coolers, and even then she was a little vindictive. She never quite knew the line, and Emerson was feeling it.

“I only have two pieces of clothes, Phel.” She met her sisters eyes, feeling heat crawl up her neck.

“So I guess you’ll be taking two shots as well!”

“Are you kidding me?” Emerson hissed.

“She doesn’t have to...” Dean began before Pheli waved him off.

“Yes she does! That’s the rules.”

Emerson took the bottle of tequila and took two big swigs, closing her eyes. She hoped it would give her some liquid courage, because she could feel how red and blotchy her skin was under her t-shirt.

She sat down the bottle and Pheli scooped it up, taking a few drinks herself as she eagerly watched her sister’s embarrassment grow.

Dean peeled his eyes off of Emerson, to try to give her some privacy as she pulled off Deans t-shirt from her torso. She sucked in her breath as the cool basement air hit her bare breasts. She sighed and shook her head, as she pulled off her shorts. She sat her pile of clothes in front of her. “Okay. Dean it’s your turn..”

His tongue darted out of his bottom lip, and Emerson could tell he was doing everything in his power not to look at her. To respect her space. Her heart flipped.

“I’ve got uh... two kings.”

“Bullshit!” Pheli sang.

“Nope, sorry.” He said awkwardly.

“Uh oh! Guess you’re seeing both twins no nos!” Pheli giggled as she tried to fiddle with her bra.

“Nope.” Sam said, shaking his head. “No fucking way.” He stood up and threw Pheli over his shoulder. “We are going to bed. Night guys.”

“Sam you’re no fun!” Pheli complained.

Dean handed Emerson the blanket from the couch, his eyes flickering to her for just a second as she wrapped the blanket around herself. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t always wondered what she’d look like naked. He’d seen her in a bathing suit but nothing could compare to how beautiful she was. Her face was pink from embarrassment, and her nipples alert from the cold. Her blonde hair spilled over her pale shoulder, and he wanted to kiss her.

“I’ll give you some space.” He said, standing up.

“You don’t have to go.” She said quietly, looking at him.

Her blush was starting to recede.

“Yeah I do.” He said quietly, and he went back into his room. He closed the door behind him, leaving her sitting in the living room alone. He pressed his back to the door and tried to calm down. His body and his mind where racing toward a finish line. Emerson Maklen. The woman he couldn’t want. The one he could never have. Major national disaster or not. He was still him and she was still her. No amount of card games would change what he already knew, he would never be with Emerson, and never is a long fucking time.

—————

Chapter Seven

Get caught up!

Tag List: 

@purpleskiesandcherrypies

[hannahindie]

We’re No Heroes - Chapter 2

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, sister!reader, Tony Stark Word Count: 2,169 Warnings: Adult language, crochety Dean, and Tony Stark. I think that’s enough warnings. A/N: So this whole Avengers/Supernatural idea I had got out of hand, and this is the second part to it. There is no timeline for either universe; it’s most definitely an AU. As far as the Avengers go, it’s obviously before Infinity War (for reasons I’m sure you can guess) and I think, generally speaking, we’re just ignoring that Age of Ultron existed. (Unlike a lot of people, I didn’t mind it...but that’s just whole other level of me trying to fit stuff in, and it already hurts my brain. lol) Also, we’re just going to pretend that Civil War either happened and turned out better or it just didn’t happen at all. The Supernatural part is set sometime after they’ve found the bunker. What I’m saying is, I do what I want, and I want all of these people in one spot, and there doesn’t need to be an explanation. Doesn’t have to make sense. Just...let it happen, and bask in it.

Beta’d by @pinknerdpanda, because she’s been my lifesaver as of late. Well, always, but especially here lately. Thank you, twinny. <3 “ I love grumpy old man Dean.”

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added let me know! This fic will, hopefully, be updated every Wednesday until it’s over. Hopefully.

“So, Agent Springfield...Springfield, right?”

“Yep, that’s right.”

“Like Rick Springfield?”

“Yep. My friends call me Dick.”

“May I call you Dick?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, Agent Springfield, what I’d like to know is why you’re in New York. I’ve spoken with the local authorities, and not one of them can tell me why you’d be called in. Not a clue.”

“Hmm. Well, the locals aren’t always included in federal investigations, so there’s your explanation. I don’t report to them.”

“I don’t think you report to anyone. I think you’re impersonating a federal agent, and at the same time, lying to one. You do realize that I’m part of the organization, right?”

“I don’t even remember your name, much less your job description. No offense.”

“Let me refresh your memory, Dean Winchester. My name is Phil Coulson, and I’m the reason you aren’t in a jail cell in a high security lockup. You’ve done some pretty heinous things, so forgive me if I’m less than patient with you. Now tell me, what in the hell happened out there?”

“Why don’t ask you ask your merry band of men in tights? I seem to recall they had a hand in all of it.” He leans forward and Coulson sits back slightly, his eyes wide. “They certainly didn’t seem to be offended by someone like me. Maybe explain why the heroes of the universe would associate with such a heinous individual such as myself? You call me a serial killer? Looks like maybe you should do your job better. I seem to recall a few casualties at the hands of,” Dean rolls his eyes as he air quotes, “‘Earth’s Mightest Heroes’. Now my bro…” he clears his throat and leans back in his chair, “my partner, he’s the true crime expert so he would know better than me...and correct me if I’m wrong...but that sounds a hell of a lot more like a serial killer to me.  And you just let them run around in high tech suits and without superversion…” he whistles and puts his hands behind his head, “Doesn’t sound like a good idea to me, although I guess the government has a lot of those-”

“They aren’t serial killers, and if I were you, I’d be very careful how far you step over the line. I’m not asking them, I’m asking you. What happened out there?”

“You’re not as much of a pushover as I thought you would be, Phil. What’s your last name again? Collins? I bet you can feel it in the air tonight, can’t you?”

Coulson glares at Dean, his knuckles white as he clenches them tightly. “It’s Coulson,” he manages to grind out, “and you’d do best to remember that. Now, tell me.”

“Awwe, I’m just having fun with you. I know your last name is Coulson, Debbie Downer. Anyway, it started about a day after we got to New York…”

“Well, that was a fucking bust, wasn’t it?” Dean grumbles as he takes his jacket off and tosses it in the backseat.

“Did you really expect it to go any differently? Since when do we ever actually get the answers we need?” Sam grabs Dean’s jacket off the seat, straightens it, then lays it gently on the bench seat with his own. “Maybe Y/N’s got something.”

Dean climbs into the car and shuts the door as Sam goes around to the passenger side, “Yea, maybe.” He starts the car, and after checking his mirrors, pulls out into the road and is quickly honked at by a taxi that seemingly appears out of nowhere. He sticks his arm out the window, flashes his middle finger, then continues into traffic. Sam rolls his eyes and sighs, and Dean looks over at him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why don’t you call Y/N, see what she’s found?”

Sam is already scrolling through his phone, and he glances at Dean as he puts his phone up to his ear, “You know, you could go easier on her. She's an adult, and she grew up the same way we did. It's different with her, she can take care of herself.” He frowns when she doesn't answer and hangs up.

“What?”

“No answer. She's probably researching. Let's head back to the hotel and see what she's up to.” He taps out a quick text and hits send, then puts the phone back into his pocket.

“I know she grew up like we did, but that doesn’t mean anything. We just found her, the last thing we need is another Adam situation.” They both fall silent at the thought of the youngest Winchester brother still trapped in the cage. “Anyway, I’m just saying, we gotta watch out for her. Her mom will kill us if something happens.”

“She’s not going to kill us.”

“Sam, she could be Ellen’s twin. She will absolutely kill us.”

“Dean, you’re being ridiculous.” They pull into the valet parking and Dean practically growls when he hands his keys over. “What is wrong with you?” Sam hisses under his breath as he grabs their jackets and his bag from the backseat.

“If she so much as gets a thumbprint on a window…” he glares at the valet as he climbs into the driver's seat, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously as he swallows thickly under Dean’s hateful gaze.

“She’ll be fine. What is with you today?”

“I just don’t see why we have to stay in this fancy ass hotel. We could have stayed outside the city for cheaper, and I could park my own damn car. Maybe gone to a bar where I don’t have to pay to just sit down.”

“You don’t have to...you know what, never mind. It’s only for a couple of days, anyway. We’re scoping it out, then we’ll meet up with Garth and see what we need to do.”

Sam smiles at the woman at the front desk, and she blushes furiously before ducking behind her computer. Dean rolls his eyes as Sam pushes the elevator button.

“What?”

“Nothing, Mr. Universe, nothing at all.” They walk into the elevator and Dean jams his thumb into the thirteenth button. “Thirteenth floor. I feel like that's just asking for it.”

It is Sam’s turn to roll his eyes as they ride the rest of the way to their room in silence, other than the canned Muzak playing through the small speakers above them. The elevator finally slows to a stop and the doors slide open with a ding. “When we get to the room, please just...lay off her, huh? She's not a kid, she's a good hunter.”

They step out and begin walking down the hall. “Why don't you quit telling me what to do? As much as you're repeating it, it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself that she's fine.” He puts a hand on Sam’s arm and stops him outside their door, “She’s our responsibility now. We promised Alice that if she came with us, we’d keep her safe. Just being a Winchester is one strike, and I’m sure Y/N taking our last name is probably a second.”

Sam sighs, “Do you really think Alice would have let her come with us if she didn’t trust us? I mean, you’ve met her, right? She’s not exactly a pushover, and I’m also pretty sure she doesn’t care about the last name thing. Y/N did that before we even knew she existed. Nothing is going to happen to her, okay? Not everyone we care about dies.” Dean raises an eyebrow and Sam sighs again. “Alright, I see your point. She’ll be fine.” Sam unlocks the door and pushes it open, “Y/N, were you able to find anything-” He stops mid-sentence when he sees the that the room is empty and exactly the way they had left it that morning. “Y/N?”

Dean throws the bathroom door open, then walks into the connecting suite to find it also empty. He walks back into the living room, “You were saying?”

“I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Maybe she decided to work at the library instead of coming back here.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and frowns, “She’s not answered my text message.” He taps the screen, then quickly puts the phone to his ear. “Y/N, where are you? Call us back as soon as you can.” He hangs up, then looks at Dean, his brows knitted in concern.

“Okay, clearly no one came here...so somewhere between the police station and here, she went off course. It’s Y/N, so that’s not a surprise. And like you said, when she’s researching, she doesn’t pay attention to anything else. You’re probably right, she’s just at the library. Now, where’s that?”

“Do you realize how many libraries are in this city? She could be anywhere.”

Dean plops down on the couch and runs a hand over his face, “Yea, well, we have to start somewhere.”

“If you have a good idea, let’s hear it-” Sam is interrupted by his phone ringing and he quickly answers it. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me. Get anything?”

“Seriously? Where are you?!”

“Oh, yea, sorry, I got caught up. You’re never gonna believe-” A muffled voice in the background cuts her off, there is a moment of whispering, and then she comes back on the line. “Actually, can you meet me somewhere? It’s uh...it’s kind of hard to explain. But I think I’ve got some help on this little demon problem we’re having...well, not little. It’s not little at all.”

Dean grabs the phone out of Sam’s hand, “Where the hell are you? You were supposed to come back to the hotel room, what happened?”

“Like I said, it’s hard to explain. I need you guys to meet me at this address.” She rattles it off before Dean has a chance to answer and he grabs the notepad from the coffee table and hastily scribbles the information she gives him.

“But you’re okay, right? All in one piece?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine. Thank you for being worried. Now, hurry your asses up and get over here.” The line goes dead and Dean hands the phone back to Sam.

“She gave me an address, let’s go.”

“Where is she?”

“I guess we’re going to find out.”

Dean pulls up to the address Y/N gave him and slows to a stop, his eyes slowly traveling from the entrance to the top of the very tall building.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“What?” Sam asks without looking up from his phone. Dean grabs his face and turns it to the window and he looks up, his jaw dropping at the sight in front of him. “Are you... are you sure this is the address she gave you?”

“Yea, I’m sure.”

They both climb slowly out of the car, their heads turned upward at the sight, and close their doors.

“Mr. Winchester?” Dean looks down and sees a valet standing in front of him, his hand held out and smiling. Dean frowns and the valet laughs, “I’ve been told you’re very protective of...Baby. I promise, sir, she’s in good hands. I wouldn’t have this job if I wasn’t good at it.”

“He’s right you know, I don’t hire riff raff. Happy parks my cars all the time, top notch parking. As a matter of fact, he just parked my car, did it perfectly. Actually, we’ve got a deal, ideal parking in thirty seconds or it’s free.”

Both Winchesters snap their heads in the direction of the voice, their eyes wide. The man belonging to it walks casually down the stairs, sunglasses obscuring the upper part of his face. Dean drops his keys in the outstretched hand and walks around the Impala to join Sam. The man stops in front of them and pulls his sunglasses off, and Sam’s face transforms from disbelief to pure awe.

“What...we…”

“You must be Sam.” He looks him up and down for a moment, “You sure you aren’t part of the super soldier experiment? I mean, you’re huge. What year were you born? And where? I’d like to know what they put in the water there, maybe use it for something here. Science, you know. And you,” his eyes travel to Dean, “you must be Dean. I mean honestly, Y/N said you guys were large, but I think our resident super humans are going to be a little jealous. I’m not, because I’m comfortable with what I was born with, but you know how superheroes can be. Well, genetically enhanced superheroes, anyway.” He holds his hand out, and both Sam and Dean shake it half-heartedly, still confused by what is happening.

“Y/N...is here?”

“Yea, funny story about that. Anyway,” he waves in the general direction of the building, “welcome to Avengers Tower. I’m your host, Tony Stark. Food and beverages will be provided. Now, I think we’ve got some demons to take care of. Shall we?”

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[mangled-dreams]

Gabriel and Winchester reader hanging out and eating sweets, because reader needed to spend some time away from their brothers. Maybe some extra cute shit please.

Here ya go. Took me a while, but I hope this statisfies your need for fluff with Gabriel and reader.

Sweetness.

Groaning loudly you run your hands through your hair. It's greasy and too long for you taste and you need a shower but that would mean going by Sam's room and for one reason or another he's been a big ol' grouchy bear. Dean hasn't been much better.

Ever since your last run in with some moderately worrisome vampires they'd been acting like big pouting babies. It's not like the hunt went badly, but there had been a cock up. You'd slipped in some blood and nearly lost your life.

It wasn't like you'd done it on purpose, but you're pretty sure having your older brothers seeing you in such a life or death situation really struck a nerve. In all honestly you understand it but it's the way of the game. You already know what happened to Adam and don't have a desire to follow in his footsteps.

Unlike your older brothers you didn't have the distinct pleasure of knowing John Winchester. He knocked your mom up one year in the eighties and then skipped town. To be fair your mother knew what he did for a living... well, if you call it living. She too had been a hunter, just not to the same extreme. She taught you how to hunt the monsters that hide in the shadows.

It was when your path crossed with Dean and Sam that you got to know them. It'd been a bit much, especially with how intense they are and how skeptical they were of your parentage, but after a few conversations, some photos and a screaming match later they accepted you as one of them.

Running your hands over your face you groan and gather up your supplies to take a shower. There's still bits of meat and blood in your hair now that you let yourself play with it  Scrunching your nose you piled everything in your arms and head to the shower. Glancing in Sam's room you see him with a headset on and a book in his hand.

He pauses as you pass by calling out to you sitting up on his cot.

"Yeah?" You ask pausing and backtracking a few steps. "What's up?"

Sam looks you over, looks at the toiletries in your hand then to your face again. "How are you doing?" He asks in his baritone voice. It's no match for Deans but it's pretty intimidating to just about 90 percent of the spooking community.

"Fine. I'm heading to take a shower. There's blood and other shit in my hair." You respond fighting the need to touch your hair again. As much as it is gross to have dead creature bits and blood coating your hair it's worse touching it.

"Gross. Yeah, you should shower." Sam says as if giving you his blessing.

With a quick rise and fall of your brows you nod  giving a tight lipped smile and move down the hallway. You hear AC/DC playing in the large family room of the bunker

Dean doesn’t remark when you pass by. Entering the bathroom you start the shower and strip down. You don’t wait for the water to heat up completely and step in head first. You want this gunk out of your hair quickly.

It’s about ten minutes when you turn off the water and grab your towel, trying your hair and face first before lazily drying the rest of you. You’re in no hurry to get out of the bathroom. The tension in the bunker is nearly at choking levels.

“Well, howdy there partner.” Gabriel partially sings with a bad southern accent followed by a quick whistle. “Getting’ all clean for me?”

Rolling your eyes at his remarks you straighten your spine and look at Gabriel. “Funny, now get out before I roast you like the little pig you are."

Gabriel disappears almost instantly and you dress in silence, well relative silence. You can hear Gabriel chuckling from whatever place he disappeared off too. Brushing out your hair you open the door and find Sam and Dean trying to intimidate Gabriel on the opposite side of the hallway.

It's quite hilarious to see your bothers trying to loom--well not try, they are much taller than Gabriel and can loom over him, but to see his smirking chubby face smiling and hazel eyes roll unfazed by Dean or Sam is too comical. Frowning you cross your arms over your chest and sigh to hide your amusement.

"Down boys, he's here for me." You say watching Sam and Dad snap around to look at you with the firm scowls in place. "Let's go Gabe." You add ignoring your brothers and jerk your head down the hallway. Gabriel chuckles, his smugness level at maximum. "Get your ego in check, Gabriel. I just need chill time." You says walking ahead of Gabriel.

"Well, you heard 'em. I must be going. Keep practicing in the mirror. You almost unnerved me." Gabriel says lightly jogging to catch up to you.

"Don't tease my brothers Gabriel; That's my job." You tell him thankful your bothers didn't call after you. For the most part things have been quiet and allowed you to leave in relative peace. You doubt you'll get that peace for too much longer.

"Come on! It's my specialty! The big moose and that pipsqueak squirrel, you can't expect me not to take a few jabs at them." Gabriel whines still follow you to your own room of seclusion. It's the only room in the place with a special hidden hallway leading out of the bunker for emergency evacuations.

You don't know for sure, but you doubt Dean or Sam know about it.

"They're still my brother's Gabe," You tell him flopping onto the lounge chair.

Gabriel rolls his eyes, his mouth remaining shut, instead he tosses a baggie of your favorite chocolates hitting you right in the stomach and sits down across from you. You both lounge lazily, your feet hanging over the arm rest.

"How's heaven doing?" You ask absently, you don't really care but the silence has stretched on far too long. Gabriel shrugs at the question.

"It's like it's always been, full of angels with sticks up their asses." Gabriel responds in the same tone as you.

"Man, I wouldn't have any idea what that's like."

"Yeah, what's up with them? I mean I'm not their favorite angel in the world, Castiel has that title taken." He isn't able to hide the bitterness in his tone. Despite his sour words about your brothers he actually likes them a lot.  He doesn't quite fit in with heaven and he's not really suited for the average human, that's why he likes the Winchesters.

"Hey, if you want, you can be my favorite angel. I like Castiel just fine, but I prefer more mischievous angels." You offer with a slight shrug. You don't want to let on how nervous you really are at making such a bold offer. It may seen nonchalant and as if you're pitying his hurt feelings. You don't really let on your true feelings, call it the Winchester Curse.

Gabriel stares at you munching quietly on a Nestle Crunch Bar. It's actually really touching that you'd say that. He doubts your brothers would be very happy to hear you say that. Looking at the Sugar Daddy half chewed in his hand he twirls it then looks at you.

Curiously you lift your gaze and glance over at Gabriel, eyes locking instantly. "I'll gladly be your angel."

Your whole face bursts into heat and your eyes glance away shyly. The intensity in his eyes makes you feel as if he's accenting a proposal from you. Despite the shyness you can't help your smile.

"No! No! Gabriel you stay away from 'em!" Dean shouts barreling into the room. You jump to your feet ready to right out of reflex before relaxing.

"Really Dean? You have to spoil this?" You groan like a moody teenager.

"What? Spoil?" Dean stutters flabbergasted by your response.

Shrugging your shoulder you motion to Gabriel still relaxing on the couch, "What? You have Castiel, I want Gabriel. He's a scrappy fighter, not to mention he's not bad company. You got Cas, Sam--whether he or anyone else likes it has Lucifer, I think I can handle Gabriel." You add fairly certain Gabriel can't be too hard to handle since you both are a mischievous.

Gabriel jumps up from the couch, no longer able to sit behind you.  "Yeah, give me a change to make them the happiest hunter in all the land." Gabriel laughs changing your jeans and tee shirt to the fairly tale princess dress. Dean's clothing changes to a generic king costume. In the distance Sam shouts and you assume Gabriel changed his clothing as well.

Chuckling as Sam stomps down the hallway you tell Gabriel, "Pink's not really my color. I like dark blue." He nods, his eyes closing for a moment before your dress color changes to a deep ocean blue.

"Change my clothes back now, Gabriel!" Sam shouts dressing a regal dress in similar design to Deans. You have to cover your mouth to keep from just busting out in laughter. Dean has to hide his similar reaction.

Gabriel gives his trademark smirk and takes you hand before the king and queen and kneels before you. "Your highness, will you take this angel to be your guardian?"

Dean and Sam begin to raise their voices in objections and that Gabriel needs to knock this crap off. You just laugh and hand your other hand over his. "I do." You answer silencing your shocked brother. Their shock is nothing in compared to the shock you get when Gabriel's smile changes from his normal trickster smug smile to a genuine smile and he jumps to his feet, his hands holding your face in place an he kisses you.

"Gabriel!!" Dean bellows, red faced and angry.

Smiling against your lips and winks at Dead. "I'll be back for my bride late. See you then, honey." Gabriel promises stepping away from you before Dean can tackle him to the ground. Stepping back Dean grabs at air, falling into the chair Gabriel had been sitting in.

"Gabriel get your feathery ass back here!!" Dean shouts looking at the ceiling as if it would show where Gabriel went of too.

Sam simply covers his face with his hand, shaking his head groaning. "Really, Y/n? He didn't even change our clothes back." Sam keeps shaking his head, turns on his heel, and walks away less than regally in his regal dress.

It'd be more funny if Dean wasn't shouting he'd cut the arch angel's wings off if he comes anywhere near you again. Sitting down you grab another piece of candy and munch on it feeling much happier than you had earlier.

Oh yes. Having Gabriel as your angel is going to be amazing and hilarious. "Hey Dean," You say watching Dean swing around to look at you. You smile at him. "You look good in a crown." You watch as your words catch him off guard. He's so adorable when he's not sure what to say or do in response.

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 4x01: “Lazarus Rising”

*banging pots and pans*

CASTIEL! CASTIEL! CASTIEL!

Bring on the angel!

“You Shook Me All Night Long” by AC/DC

Dean Winchester is saved. -Cas, right about now.

Very curious that they buried Dean...

Damn. Cas caused that.

New title card! With wings flapping. Nice.

Bowlegs! Bowlegs! Bowlegs!

“Misha Collins” !!!

Thursday, September 18, 2008.

Dean in a black t-shirt is A+.

The handprint!! I wish Dean still had it.

Ah yes, the essentials: snacks, water, and skin mags.

Cas’ first attempt to talk to Dean.

Wing. Positive. No smoke.

What the hell was Cas even trying to say to him? He just ended up scaring Dean.

Dean tried to call Sam first. Then calls Bobby.

Dean and Bobby reunion.

Can’t have a hunter’s reunion without a little tussle first.

lmao, the holy water.

Sam’s been “on his own” for the last four months.

“You think Sam made a deal?”

“It’s what I would have done.” Yeah, we know.

I love Dean’s “customer service” voice.

Pontiac, Illinois. Lots of shit going down there.

Ugh, Sam. The freaking music.

Ok ok, allow me to point out a couple little things:

1. That’s Ruby who answers the door. I don’t know where Dean dying (and staying dead) was in her grand scheme but she surely had to be surprised to see Dean alive again. She hides it super well.

2. Homegirl is in her underwear, Sam (I’m pretty sure) looking like he took a shower. What are the odds those two were having sex...again?

I can see the Samulet on Sam.

Awww, hug him tight!

Ruby fucking with Sam, and not in a sexy way.

We’re already busting Sam’s ass for supposedly bringing Dean back.

“You’re some demon’s bitch boy?” ...yeah.

Sam, they should be apologizing to you for suspecting you and coming down on you pretty hard.

Sam’s been hunting Lilith “on his own”. 

“some badass demon” Badass? Yes. Demon? No.

“No demon would pull you out of the kindness of their heart. They got something nasty planned.” Again, not a demon. But the “something nasty planned” is, I would say, correct.

Returning the Samulet. :’)

Why would Sam ask what Hell was like? And did he really expect Dean to answer that honestly?

Baby!

The iPod Jack.

The freaking song...ew. Sam’s taste in music is questionable, at best.

Ok, Sam being honest about being immune to Lilith’s attack.

Lying about Ruby. Strike one.

Lying about not using his powers. Strike two.

“You didn't want me to go down that road, so I didn’t go down that road. It was practically your dying wish.” And yet, you chose to ignore it. Strike three, you’re out, Sammy.

Pamela Barnes !!!

Good lord, she is beautiful.

The two women Sam and Dean could agree on being hot: Bela and Pamela.

“Whoa! Well, he didn’t touch me there.” r u sure about that.

Sam’s first time seeing the handprint.

“Castiel?”

Cas did warn her not to do it....

“Show me your face!” Cas was probably like “You asked for it.���

i can’t even imagine how terrible that would be.

Blind ‘cause of Cas...

“work him over” hehehehehehe

A diner full of demons.

“What makes you so special?”

“I like to think it’s because of my perky nipples.”

Dean staring down this demon and calling her out is amazing.

“turbo charged spirit” no. “Godzilla” hahaha, no. “Big bad demon” noo.

Dean stared down this demon, called her out, AND slapped her twice. We love a fearless king.

Hell, he even paid for his pie.

“I’ve been killing more demons than that lately.” Oh, I bet.

A mirrored roof in what was Sam and Ruby’s hotel room.

Sam must’ve gotten so used to driving the Impala after a while. He just took it without question.

Cas’ second attempt at talking to Dean.

Could no one else in the hotel/nearby area hear this????

They probably had to pay the hotel for damages.

I’m assuming after that, Cas thought “Fuck it, I need a vessel” and went to Jimmy.

Yeah, Dean just chastised Sam for taking the car.

Dean wants to summon “this thing”. Do iiitttt.

Cas stopped by to kill all the demons at the diner.

All but one: Flo.

Souls have smells?

“It’s the end. We’re dead. We’re all dead.” 

Our first look at Sam’s exorcism. What was the very first general audience reaction to this?

Was Sam drinking demon blood by this time too?

Ruby.

“This guy bleeds, the ground quakes. It’s cosmic.”

6 minutes!!

They completely covered that barn in supernatural symbols.

THERE IS NO RIGHT WAY OF “SAYING IT” SAM.

“He is your brother and I’m not gonna come in between you.” what a fucking lie. Should I be keeping track of all the lies Ruby ever told?

You’re killing me, Sam.

4 minutes!!!

OH SHIT THE WIND IS PICKING UP

SPARKS ARE FLYING!!!!

Y E S. WE LOVE AN ICONIC ENTRANCE

“Who are you?”

“I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.”

Pretty sure Dean killed Jimmy there, lol.

Let me tell y’all something: I went into this show knowing it was about two brothers and an angel. In some sense, I knew Cas was “the angel” that sticks around with the boys. It was love at first sight the moment Cas walked through those barn doors.

Bobby is the very first person that gets “sleeped out” by Cas. Nice of Cas to do that, imo.

Dean is SHOOK.

Cas showing off, lmao.

He really did warn Pamela tho.

“Buddy, next time, lower the volume.”

That head tilt!

I sometimes get the impression that Cas wanted/expected a “thank you” from Dean for rescuing him.

:Why would an angel rescue me from Hell?

“Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Not in my experience.”

“What’s the matter? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

“We have work for you.”

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’m dancing my way into the void, good b y e !!

[wonderfulworldofwinchester]

Familiar Face

First installment in the No Place Like You Series.

Jensen x Reader, Y/F/N- your friend’s name, Jared, Kim, Brianna 

Series summary: Your best friend finally convinces you to put on your big girl panties and go to a Supernatural convention while you are in Atlanta. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought you would catch Jensen’s eye. Little does he know, you have your own spotlight. (I’m terrible at summaries; stay with me haha) 

Warnings: Language, awkwardness, idk. 

Word Count: 1752 

A/N: This is my first attempt at a true series, and it’s only my second time writing Jensen, so be gentle haha. Also, remember, THIS IS FICTION, for the purpose of this storyline Jensen is single. There is in no way hate intended towards his family. 

PART2  

 Masterlist       To Do List         Ask Me Anything/Requests  

Y/N’s POV 

I groan in response to the incessant beeping of the stupid alarm clock in our hotel room, lazily fumbling about, trying to find the snooze button. “Hold it! What do you think you’re doing missy?!” Oh Y/F/N, and her bubbly, chipper morning self. 

“Five more minutes...” I mumbled into the pillow, begging her for some mercy. 

She apparently takes that as a sign to jump on my bed and start bouncing up and down, repeatedly chanting, “Today’s the day! Today’s the day!” 

“Get off of me!” 

“Nu-uh, not until you get up! Come on, come on, up up! We have a big day ahead!” 

All that ecapes my mouth is a grumble, followed by some explatives, and finally, “Don’t remind me...” 

“Seriously Y/N? I mean you’ve only loved this show since day one. You should be excited, it’s gonna be so much fun! Cons are awesome, you meet soooooo many cool people. Not to mention the cast is there” she says nudging me with her elbow, and wiggling her brows in that goofy way she does. 

She and I have been best friends since god only knows when. We’ve been through everything together, and she’s always been the one to push me out of my shell. At this point she could get me to do anything with her goofy go get em attitude. “Fine....” I throw my hands up in surrender, as I sit up. 

Her ecstatic squeal’s loud enough to wake everyone in the hotel, I’m sure of it. She bounds around the room, gathering up what she says is the perfect con outfit for me. I had begged her before we came to let me dress down. I want to be low key in this whole thing- no attention brought to me what so ever; completely under the radar. “Here, wear this” she says handing me a simple black t-shirt. Oh thank god, she did hear me! I thought. 

My mini celebration stops abruptly when I flip the shirt over. There’s a giant picture of Dean leaning against the Impala with he words ‘Forget the Prince Charming with his horse, I want Dean with his Impala!’ scrawled across the front. “I am not wearing this.” I say, getting up from the bed, and heading towards the bathroom to get in the shower. 

Her response is to put her hands on her hips, lean forward, and pout “Y/N, you love Dean!” 

“And I can love him without the shirt to prove it.” 

“Please, I’m wearing my Sam shirt... come on don’t leave me hanging. We gotta be the complete Winchester set.” 

Ugh, “Fine. I’ll wear it, but I am wearing a flannel over it!” 

Within a couple short hours we are walking into the lobby with people buzzing about, all giddy and laughing with each other. I have to admit it’s kinda cool. I mean all these people coming together simply because of a common interest in a show. 

Y/F/N was right, everyone is so nice. I still try to keep my head down though. This was still entirely too new. Before I know it, she’s dragging me all over the damn hotel doing all kinds of things she says we have to, because ‘she’s got a checklist’. 

The day goes by pretty quickly, and I’ll never tell her, but I’m glad she convinced me to come. I’ve had more fun in the last few hours than I have in a long time. But, right now however, I’m a weird mix of excited, nervous, and at a loss for words. The time has come. The J2 panel was about to begin. 

“Y/N, would you get your ass in here already!” Y/F/N’s voice snaps me out of my trance. She has already gone through the door, and I’m left standing here  just on the other side like an idiot. “For god’s sake, it’s not like they’re gonna jump off the stage and kill you!” She says grabbing my hand and pulling me down the aisle to our seats. 

Only about 5 minutes into the panel, she slapping her hand down onto my bouncing leg, “God why are you so nervous? You’re sitting in a chair listening to people talk, calm down.” 

‘Sorry, I can’t help it” 

Jensen’s POV 

Here I am on stage in front of fans with Jared, suppose to be paying attention, but I can only think about this girl I Caught a glimpse of earlier. Literally, I only saw her for a fraction of a second, but she’s been on my mind all day. Her smile just lit up the room. “Dude!” Jared’s voice and slap on the shoulder, brought me back into reality. “Did you even hear the question?” 

I look up, pulling a face, “I’m not gonna lie, no, I did not.” The room busts out laughing at what they think might be me just being goofy or something, allowing me to get away with it this time. Jared however, picks up on it a little more. He’s caught me spacing out all day. 

After the girl asked her question again, and I gave her my answer, my eyes start to scan the crowd as they normally would, until they fall on the same smile from earlier. There she is, sitting beside her friend. God that smile. 

While I am managing to stay more focused for the rest of the panel, my eyes always find their way back to her. She laughs at the stupid joke I just attempted to make, and I swear my heart about busts open. I tell myself that this is ridiculous, I never even met her. I shouldn’t feel this way. 

She’s whispering with her friend, and they both start giggling. I think to myself, I could get lost in that giggle forever. She’s just so freaking cute. I silently keep hoping she will look up when I am looking at her, but she never does. Her eyes refuse to look in my direction. They are always glue somewhere in the general direction of the stage, but they never meet mine. 

Not long after, the panel is ending, and Jared and I are walking off the stage. His questions start the moment we are out of sight. “You saw her didn’t you?” 

I try to brush him off, and keep walking. “What are you talking about?” 

“oh don’t give me that crap. I’ve known you long enough to know that a girl has caught your eye. All day you’ve been spacey, and I’ve never seen you that off in a panel.” 

I stop and turn to face him. “Ok. Alright. Fine. I did see a girl earlier that may have sparked an interest. Yes, she was in there, but don’t go getting all-” I start to gesture wildly with my hands, know exactly what I mean, probably not many other people do, “on me.”

“Why?” 

“It’s one girl in a sea of people, I’ve never met her, and she wouldn’t even look at me in there.” I know good and well those are piss poor excuses, but it’s all I got right now. Luckily he backs off, clearly not in the mood to argue with me any more at the moment. 

We start walking across the hotel. There were of course fans lining the way. We acknowledge them as we walk by, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her. She is just standing there with her friend, not screaming like most of the people in the room. I turn my head to look at her, and for the first time, my eyes catch hers. I offer a smile, and her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink as her head dropped down and then to her friend. I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. So damn cute. 

Y/N’s POV

I throw my arm out, unintentionally hitting Y/F/N in the stomach producing an umph sound from her lips. “I looked right at him!!!” I say, my eyes as wide as they could be, and my face all up in hers. 

“What? Who?” She says, trying to recover from the blow. 

“What do you mean who? JENSEN FREAKING ACKLES!” 

She laughs, throwing her arms around my neck, “Ah, I’m so proud of you!” She jokes. We giggle and goof off all the way back to our room. She wants every little detail of that milisecond of an interaction, if you could even call it that. “He smiled? See, I told you they were nice!” 

I plop down on my bed, “Even serial killers smile sometimes.” 

She is in the bathroom, no doubt reapplying make up. “Wait, so you think Jensen Ackles is a serial killer?” She laughs, knowing good and well that’s not what I meant. 

“Oh shut up, you know what I mean. Just because a person smiles, doesn’t mean they are what you say they are.” 

She rolls her eyes as she comes out of the bathroom. Yep, new make up in place. “Whatever, come on, get up, get ready, we gotta go.” 

“Ugh, I know.” 

Jensen’s POV 

Everybody’s heading out to dinner, and boy are they a riot tonight. Well, honestly when are they not, though? Jared is still giving me crap about this girl. Why would I ever expect anything less from him.  About half way into this dig, Kim and Brianna happen to overhear him. “Oh, did I just hear what I think I did?” Brianna chirps. “Does someone have a little crush?” She grins. Now Kim's looking at me in expectancy too. Great. 

Jared tells them all about my behavior that day, meanwhile, I try to slip back behind the crowd, not wanting to be apart of the conversation anymore. The building we’re walking along side has many posters displaying upcoming events and shows. I Take in the sights as I pass by, but none of them catch my interest. Except this one. The last poster on the wall stops me in my tracks. 

Everybody else keeps walking, but I just stand there staring like a moron. 

Eventually, Jared realizes I’m no longer right beside him, and turns to see me standing here. “You good?” He asks, and all I can do is point to the picture. Jared tells the rest of them to go ahead, and he, Kim, and Brianna walk back to where I was. “What? What’s up?” 

“It’s her” 

If you would like to be added to any of my tag lists, just ask :)  i love y’all so, so much! 

The Anything and Everything: @tillielynn16 @fandomaskedstuff @naruko88558855 @hillface89 @saltysamgirls @unusualcorn @trilloku-blog @perpetualabsurdity 

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[hornsbeforehalos]

Whiskey, Sweetheart: Part 4

Pairing: Norman Reedus x OFC, Past JDM x OFC Warnings: RPF, Smut, Language, Breif Violence, Jealousy, Angst, Older man/Younger Woman.

Series Masterlist

Summary: After Jeffrey’s neglect pushed her away and into the arms of his best friend, Norman and Ky have to figure out if their new relationship can withstand not only the aftermath of the unspeakable crime they commited to keep her safe, but the backlash that comes from being co-workers with a very betrayed Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

A/n: This is the Sequel to Anytime, Sweetheart and The Conquests of Norman Reedus. You’ll probably be a bit confused if you haven’t read Conquests yet, though, or at least the Finale, but you could probably figure it out on your own if you don’t want to. But I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to, lol.

*Lyrics used are from Painted on My Heart by The Cult, Wicked Games by The Weeknd, and Wicked Game by Chris Issak, covered by H.I.M*

Tags: (please let me know if you want to be added or removed)

@elinyaes   @jml509  @jesbakescookies @daddy-kink-confirmed@aquivercactus   @xagateophobiax@sorenmarie87@missghoul18@jdmfanfiction @jeffreydeanneganstrash@through-thesilver-lining@beffyblueeyes @docharleythegeekqueen@make-things-beautiful2@srj1990  @dragongirl420  @reedusteinrambles @youandyourstupidrope@addiction-survivor25 @fireheartart @redm81foreveror-never@zombeeemomeee @blacklightguidesnic@jackybehappy@jodiereedus22 @journeyrose

“Seriously, sister? When were you gonna tell me?” Jensen huffed, busting in to Misha’s trailer with his phone in his hand.

“Tell you what?” I asked, genuinely confused as I cocked my eyebrow in his direction. 

“Well, I don’t know, the fact that you used my credit card for a trip from fucking here to New York we week before Christmas that you hadn’t even mentioned?!”

My eyes widened and I gulped, looking back down to the computer screen in front of me, “Okay, uh, so, yeah, I accidentally used your credit card for the plane tickets, it was already saved under my log in stuff but if you look at your bank statement, brother, I already transferred the money back in your account, not that you needed it, by the way.”

“Oh so we’re just going to avoid the important stuff huh?”

“I generally do attempt to do that, yes.” I deadpanned back, my fingers moving along the keys as I finished the last minute details of the Gishwhes trip.

Misha came through right as Jensen opened his mouth to say something else, and his attention quickly diverted to the other man as he pointed a finger at him, “You know about this?”

“Know about what?” Misha replied with raised eyebrows

“Her little trip to New York?”

“She told me she she was going somewhere for Christmas, I assumed it was home though.” Misha stated, turning his attention to me, “Why are you going to New York?”

“Um…”I mumbled, looking anywhere but their faces.

“You’re going to spend Christmas with Norman. Really. We’re doing this bullshit again?”

“What bullshit, Jense? What are you talking about?”

“You’re running off to spend time with some guy who’s twice your age and gonna do nothing but break your fucking heart.”

“Woah now, what the fuck?” I exclaimed as I removed the laptop from my thighs and sat it beside me on the couch so I could stand up. I couldn’t help the angry tears that made their way to the surface of my eyelids, “Number one, Norman’s not just ‘some guy’ and I can’t believe you really just said that. Number two, why are we coming back around with this damn age thing? And number three, you can’t break someone’s heart when they don’t have one.”

Misha’s eyes bore into mine as he stepped infront of Jensen to grip my gently by the upper arms, “Ky, don’t say that.”

“No, fuck this.”I growled, pulling out of his grasp, “Norman’s the only one I have left that was still there that night. You don’t get to say shit about what I’m doing, Jensen, and neither do you, Mish. You both have gotten your ‘I told you so’ moments out of the fucking way. I get enough shit from everyone around me that I’m for damn sure not gonna hear it from my fucking family too.”

Jensen sighed, his hands on his hips as he hung his head. He brought a hand to his face to scrub at his scruff and rub the back of his neck, “Look, Ky, I’m-”

“I know you’re sorry, Jensen. I get it. Everyone’s fucking sorry.” I huffed as I shook my head, one hand moving to rake through my bangs and the other to my hip, the tears still stinging my eyes, “I’m going to do what makes me happy, god damnit.”

“As you should, Ky.” Misha confirmed, moving his arms around my shoulders and pulling me into a hug.

My phone vibrated from it’s place on the small table, and I picked it up to find it was an unknown number.

“Give me a sec, guys,” I mumbled as I moved to step outside, sitting on the steps as I accepted the call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, is this Kylin?” A familiar voice replied on the other end of the line.

“Who’s asking?”

“This is Jeanie.” The sound of Anthony’s mother’s voice answered.

“Jeanie?!” I gasped, eyes widening as anxiety rippled through my body. 

“Yes. Is that you Ky?”

“Yes ‘mam, um, how have you been?” I replied politely, hoping the shakiness in my voice didn’t sound through the receiver. 

“Well, I’ve been alright, but….Look, I know you and Anthony haven’t been together in a very long time, but he told me he was gonna be working with you a couple months ago in Nevada…” she started, her voice trailing off as it cracked, “I haven’t talked to him since before he left…he won’t answer my calls or anything.”

I gulped audibly, my head shaking as tears welled up in my eyes again. I hated Anthony with a passion, but Jeanie had always been there for me, on my side, with anything that had ever occurred between her son and I while we were together. She was where I ran to after countless times of him hitting me and me being too ashamed to go to my own blood. She never attempted to give excuses for him, and on more than one occasion had smacked him across the face for me. She was always ashamed that he was the way he was, and had even told me that she knew he would get himself in trouble one day.

“Um, no, I didn’t see him,” I lied, shaking my head to clear my thoughts.

“I know he was terrible to you, Kylin, and I’m still sorry for that, you know.” She said sweetly, her voice low.

“I know, mama. Um, if I hear anything through anyone, I’ll be sure to let you know, okay?”

“Okay, baby. You’ve been good, right? I see you’ve gotten yourself some attention,” She giggled, her mood lightening at the chance to talk to me after so long. 

I choked a laugh back, “Yes, ‘mam, uh…ha. Yeah.”

“Take care of yourself, dear. Give me a call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Jeanie.”

“Bye Ky.”

The call ended and I stared at my phone for a minute, nervousness swelling back up as I thought of what the phone call could mean or lead to. Surely no one would expect me to be the one to have done anything to him, but him telling people that he would be around me made me feel a bit uneasy. I knew if my name came up during an investigation, things could get messy.

Last thing I fucking need right now.

The feeling of seeing Norman for the first time in weeks when he picked me up from the airport was indescribable. He picked me up and spun me around, dipping in from under his hat to press a kiss to my lips shyly as the cameras surrounding us clicked away.

“Norman! What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Norman! I love you!”

“Norman!”

“Okay, guys, we gotta go.” Norman laughed after signing a few autographs and taking some selfies as I stood back and watched. Luckily, for once, no one paid me any attention or said anything, and Norman was able to take me by the hand and we made our way out of the airport without a fuss. 

“That was a first,” I chuckled as we crawled into the warm cabin of the Uber car.

“Must be the Christmas spirit,” Norman joked as he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me close into his leather jacket. 

“Must be,” I smiled, looking up at him to watch him pull off his sunglasses and peer down at me with a smirk. 

“Missed you,” He said, squeezing me a little bit and kissing my forehead.

“Missed you too.” I replied, nuzzling my face into his chest and inhaling his cologne with a sigh.

“You ready to meet Ming?” He asked as he kissed the top of my head. My eyes shot open as nervousness took over again at the thought of meeting his kid.

“Daaaaah….I guess?” I answered, anxiety in my voice as I pulled away to make eye contact.

Norman let an amused grin split his face as he shook his head at me, tucking me back into his side reassuringly, “You’ll be fine, promise. He’s cool.”

I turned back to face forward with a gulp, nodding my head at him, as we pulled up to his apartment, “Whatever you say.”

Norman helped me out of the cab and grabbed my bags, insisting he carry them all all the way up to the penthouse. Once he finally lugged them all to the door he unlocked it and pushed it open to start heaving things inside

“Jesus Christ, woman, what did you bring?”

“Um…” I smiled innocently and shrugged.

“Sup, Dad?” Suddenly sounded from behind Norman, a tall blonde young man leaning against the entry way of the kitchen, large mixing bowl of what appeared to be cereal cradled in his arm. 

Norman spun around, his arms flinging with the motion as he embraced his son, “Sup, Buddy!?”

Mingus wrapped an arm around his father and gave him a pat on the back with a chuckle, his eyes reaching over Norman’s shoulder to latch on to me, “You’re Kylin, right?”

Norman unattached himself from Mingus to move back to me, his arm wrapping around my shoulder as he introduced us, “Kylin, this is is Ming.”

“Hi there,” I smiled shyly, raising a hand to give a small wave, ““s nice to meet you.”

Mingus nodded his head around a mouthfull of Froot loops, turning back towards the hallway, “You too. Anyway, I’ll be in my room.”

“We’re going to dinner tonight!” Norman called out after him.

“Got plans!” Was heard before the sound of a door closing.

“Jesus Christ,” Norman mumbled, shaking his head as he returned his attention to me, “I swear to God, kid turns eighteen and suddenly he’s busy all the time.”

“Isn’t that what happens to everybody?” I giggled back, cocking my head to the side adoringly. 

Norman rolled his eyes at me as we made our way into the living room, him plopping down on his couch and kicking his shoes off as he relaxed into the cushions. I joined him as I curled up against the side of the sofa, resting my head on the arm and closing my eyes.

“Wanna smoke?” He asked after a moment as he raised himself up to open up the panels of the coffee table.

“Smoke what?” I asked, opening my eyes to see him digging around. 

“This cock, duh. What do you think I mean?” He chuckled, pulling out a grinder and pipe.

“Crack with Satan? Fuck if I know, I’m exhausted.”

“Mingus! Where’d you put my weed, man!?” He shouted out, still digging through the randomness inside the table. There was an inaudible reply back from the hallway, Norman shaking his head before yelling out, “THE FUCK DID YOU JUST SAY?”

The sound of a door opening was made, followed by Mingus appearing from the hallway, “I said I fuckin’ smoked it, dude. Here,” He replied, annoyed as he tossed his father a bag of greenery that smelled like Heaven.

“Just because you’re eighteen now doesn’t mean you can steal all my bud, man.” 

“You’ve been gone for like.. months, dad. Shit was getting stale, didn’t want it to go to waste, ya know?”

Norman rolled his eyes at his child before beginning the task of grinding it up, “You wanna smoke?”

“Nah, you two go ahead. I got to meet this chick here in a minute and she gets all…whateverish when I’m stoned around her.”

“Ooooo…what’s her name?” He teased, loading the pipe and passing it to me with a lighter. 

Mingus rolled his eyes and shook his head, embarrassed smirk filling his face, “Her name’s Amara, she’s so fuckin’ hot, dad.”

Norman chuckled as his son swooned, the look on Mingus’ face puling a giggle out of me as well as I exhaled the thick toke I’d taken and passed the pipe to Norm as he spoke, “Well, be sure to use protection, son.”

“Dad, gross. Even though I should be saying the same to you,” Mingus teased back, wiggling his eyebrows and shooting finger guns in my direction.

“Jesus,” I giggled, covering my face as it peaked with redness. 

“Byeee, Ming.” Norman replied, chucking a pillow at his kid before taking a hit from the pipe as Mingus headed towards the door.

Norman had fallen asleep shortly after we finished the bowl, stretched out across his couch with his mouth open, snoring. I, on the other hand, was perfectly awake and bored, so instead of waking him up for entertainment, I decided to make my own. I dug through my bags and found a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and changed quickly in Norman’s room before I dipped into my favorite room in his apartment: the studio. I wiped the pole down with alcohol and linked my phone to the speakers, letting the music app randomly choose something as I began stretching. I smirked at my phone’s decision of song, and wondered if it was trying to tell me something as I began to glide in a circle, my hand lifting myself up from where it was placed on the smooth metal.

I thought …you’d be out of my mind And i’d finally found a way to Learn to live without you I thought …it was just a matter of time Till I had a hundred reasons Not to think about you ,

I let myself climb to the top, ducking my head to avoid the the ceiling as I unpinned the pole from it’s static position and lean back to let it begin to spin on its own. Closing my eyes, I let my self rotate for a minute as the lyrics washed over me.

But it’s just not so and after all this time I still can’t let go

I’ve still got your face Painted on my heart Carved upon my soul Etched upon my memory …baby

And I’ve got your kiss Still Burning on my lips The touch of your fingertips Is left so deep inside of me …baby

By the time I knew what I was doing, I had flipped myself upside down and let my reflexes take over, my body moving and rotating with the quick movements of the metal with ease. I let my mind drift, completely oblivious to the tears that poured down my face and dripped to the floor below me

I’ve tried Everything that I can To get my heart to forget you But it just can’t seem to

I guess it’s just no use In every part of me is still a part of you

In my dazed and emotional state, I ignored the sound of the door opening, Norman entering from being woke from his nap.  He let himself slip into the room silently, his beloved camera clutched to him as he sunk down in the place where he watched me so many months ago. He went lift it to capture the shot of the way I was holding my body, but once he saw the tears running freely down my cheeks, he stopped and dropped the camera back to his lap and just watched me as the chorus took over again and I continue to flip and twirl, my body literally controlling itself. 

Something in your eyes keeps haunting Me I’m trying to forget you But I know there ain’t no way to Chase you from my mind

I’ve still got your face Painted on my heart Carved upon my soul Etched upon my memory …baby

And I’ve got your kiss Still Burning on my lips The touch of your fingertips Is left so deep inside of me …baby

I opened my eyes to find my back against the pole, my ankles wrapped around the cool metal as I hung upside down, and a pair of beautiful blue irises staring at me intently. I lifted myself back upright, avoiding his gaze, as I finished off the rest of the song gentle before I brought myself back to the floor and allowed myself to wipe my eyes of the memories that plagued me. Norman remained stoically silent, just watching me as the chords dye out and the next song began

‘Wicked Games’ by The Weeknd plays through the speakers, and I smirk at him. He gives me a small grin back as I glide around the floor to the tempo, lifting myself back up as the pole spins me around as I make my way towards the ceiling.

Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame Bring the drugs, baby, I could bring my pain I got my heart right here I got my scars right here

Norman raised his camera back up as he watched me dip and dive as the song continued, holding myself out with just my arms as the metal rotated beautifully. I reattached myself back to the pole for a moment before I bring my feet back to the floor once again. I let my hips roll back and forth before I lifted myself back up, flipping upside down as the momentum caused my body spin itself around a few times. I see through the rotations that Norman placed the camera back down on the floor, but he’s still watching me as he stands up and sheds himself of his shirt. I flipped back upwards and leaned back again with my ankles as he approached me, a glint in his eye that I don’t think I ever remember seeing before. 

Listen, ma, I’ll give you all I got Get me off of this, I need confidence in myself Listen, ma, I’ll give you all of me Give me all of it, I need all of it to myself

He let his hands run up the sides of my ribcage as I hung there, my face level to his and he lets a smirk cross his face at the goosebumps that erect themselves from his touch. His fingers slipped from my skin as he walked around me in a circle while I pulled myself upright again before flipping and extending myself back out, and in the same movement I found myself staring back into his eyes and realizing he’s holding onto the pole himself, in the same position I’m in. ‘Jesus fucking Christ, this man.’

Let me see you dance I love to watch you dance Take you down another level Get you dancing with the Devil 

Somehow, we moved in sync with one another, our bodies entwined but never in the way, our eyes never leaving one another’s. I never expected this from Norman, and I can see the glint of pride in his irises at my surprise as we moved together. His hand slipped out to brush my cheek as my back is pressed against the pole, one ankle holding me in place while my other one is wrapped around his torso as he moves downwards, his stomach to mine as we slid down towards the floor. 

His lips captured mine the second we’re on solid ground, a hand wound through my hair as his tongue invades my mouth. All the emotional turmoil the last half hour had put me through was washed away at the feeling of his weight pressed against me; the feeling of his mouth on my skin as it danced down my stomach and his fingertips peeling away my clothes the only thing that I needed in the entire world.

“Norman,” I panted, my fingers digging on his hair to pull his mouth back to mine for another searing kiss that I didn’t want to ever end. He broke away from me to gather my wrists in one hand to hold above my head, his feiry lips attached to my cheek and jaw before he slithered his toungue across my neck to my collar bone to dig his teeth in, smirking when he accomplished making me moan, “Fuck!”

“Mmmm,” He replied back as he attached his mouth onto a hardening nipple. He grazed his teeth along that as well, enticing yet another pathetic moan from me.

His free hand drifted between my legs as he spread my thighs with his knees so he could settle his legs between them, the muscles in his arms bulging as he held steady onto my hands and held himself above me. My eyes rolled back as the tips of his fingers brushed against my folds, and my lips quivered as his lips moved to the nipple he’d been neglecting, a low growl-like moan escaping his lips as he pushed a single digit inside me at the same time that the pad of this thumb found my clit.

“Fucking Christ, Norman,” I whined at the sensation, my lip quivering and muscles tense under his ministrations. He rolled his tongue across the sensitive bud of my nipple before his teeth tugged on it as he pulled his head back up to mine. His eyes bore into mine with something unspoken, and after a moment he released my hands to wrap around his neck as one of his own held him up from  beside my face while the other aided him as he pushed himself easily into me, short strokes at first before deeper and deeper until he was fully seated inside me. 

“God damn,” He grunted, grinding his hips against mine at the same time as mine rose to meet his movement. He rolled us over away from the pole to where I was straddling him, his arms wrapping around my back to hold me close to his chest, “I-Fuck, this feels so good.” 

My heart shuddered at the sound of the misplaced first syllable, and I could’t help not missing the way he quickly rolled us again after only a dozen thrusts. His face stayed firmly planted in my hair against my neck, this tongue doing wonders as he seemed to avoid eye contact as he continued to plunge deeper and deeper over and over again, grunts and mewls spurring the both of us on. 

“Fuck, Norman!” I keened loudly, the feeling of his fingertips returning to my clit edging me closer and closer to the peak I so desperately desired. 

“Yeah, that’s it, ain’t it, girl?” He rapsed back, his pistoling slightly faster and the pressure of his fingers increasing.

“Yes! Y-y-yes!” I wailed, my head thrown back as he attached his teeth to my throat with a harsh bite that was sure to leave a bruise. It was just what I needed, through, because the spark snapped inside me and ignited, my lungs emptying with a guttural sound as my whole body trembled and clamped around him, my arms tightening around his neck as his lips found mine again to muffle his own groans of ecstasy. 

“Take it, girl,” He grunted as he rolled us over one last time, his hands finding my hips to help me bounce on top of him, “Fuck yeah, ride it.” 

“Nor-or-orrmannnn!” I continued, my head throan back as my fingers tried to find purchase on his chest. He brougt one of his hands up from my waist and  gripped one of my wrist slightly, sliding it towards his throat and squeezing my fingers around it. 

My eyebrows shot up in surprise as a smile quirked my mouth, “Oh yeah?”

A new sparkle danced in his eyes as his pupils darkened further, a smirk of his own playing on his lips as his hand not holding my wrist separated from me quickly to come cracking back down on my ass. My eyes instantly rolled back again as another primal noise echoed through the room, drowning out the faint sounds of Ville Valo’s voice rasping in the background. 

“Yeah,” He replied lowly, before landing another smack to my ass, my fingers instantly moving to shut off more oxygen from him as he continued to buck into me. 

The world was on fire No one could save me but you It’s strange what desire Will make foolish people do No I never dreamed that I’d love somebody like you And I never dreamed That I’d lose somebody like you

“Fuck,” I grunted, my hips stuttering as another orgasm quickly washed over me unexpectedly, my still quivering walls constricting his swelling cock as much as my hand at his windpipe was.

“Just like that,” He choked out, his own eyes rolling back as his fingers dig into my ass, leaving little crescent shapes from his nails, “Fuck, Ky, gonna come,”

My hand released his breath mercifully as I tugged myself off of him and down between his legs. Both of his hands immediately dug themselves in my hair as he pushed my head towards his throbbing dick, slipping it past my lips and completely down my throat until I gagged on his fluids as he finished. 

“Fuck, yes, choke on it,” He growled as I moaned around him, swallowing to collapse my throat against him as I fought off my reflexes until he was complete. He let his fingers pull me off of him by my hair and I fell onto his stomach, my breathing labored as my heart rate slowed. 

“Fucking hell, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me.” He gasped, throwing a hand over his face as he calmed himself. 

“Not if you’re the death of me first, Reedus.” I chuckled between breaths as I rolled off of him and onto the cool wooden floor for a moment before gathering my self and trudging to the bathroom for a shower. 

“Is it almost dinner time yet?” I called out before shutting the door to let the steam take over me.

I sighed against the hot water, my muscles relaxing as I let the comfort I needed take over me. Norman always knew exactly what I needed somehow, and I appreciated the fact that he knew to take my mind off of the emotions I’d been experiencing, smirking to myself at his methods, and even more grateful that although I knew it was coming, and probably coming soon, he didn’t immediately jump me with questions about why I was crying. My smirk creeped into a smile at the thought of the two of us being that much in sync.

“So, um, Are you okay?” Norman asked quietly from across the table, wiping his mouth off with the napkin as he looked at me with a hint of concern as he changed the subject from our discussion of Arctic Penguins versus African Penguins. 

I tilted my head at him in faux confusion, “Um, why wouldn’t I be?”

I could tell he was shaking his leg slightly as his shoulders bounced and he looked back down at his plate for a moment before returning his eyes to me, “Earlier…you seemed…”

I sighed, knowing I owed him some form of explanation, “I’m okay. I’m sorry you had to see that-”

“Don’t apologize,” He cut me off, reaching a hand across the table to take mine, still holding my gaze, “I understand that you still have healing to do with that. I would think it weird if you didn’t.”

I let a small smile cross my lips as I nodded, my free hand moving from it’s place in my lap to grasp his hand that was holding my other one. He gave me his own shy smirk and rubbed his thumb over my knuckles before the waitress interrupted us to ask if we wanted anything else. 

“Two shots of crown, please.” I replied with a smirk, my eyes never leaving Norman’s, who returned my look with one of his own as he confirmed and asked for the check afterwards.

“Whiskey, huh, Sweetheart?” he rasped, quirking his eyebrow.

“Mhm,” I replied, coy smile taking over my face, “Whiskey, Sweetheart.”

[theinvisibletree]

The Performance

The day her grandmother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, Judith lost her journal. It was a black notebook with a soft cover and ivory-colored pages. After Judith searched in every place – her grandmother’s house, the drawers next to the hospital bed, the practice room at her college, and the cashier counter from the restaurant where she worked part time – she eventually accepted the fact that the notebook is nowhere to be found. When she told that to her grandmother, she saw a smile on her grandmother’s face: “Don’t worry, Jude. I will get you another one.”

It all started two months ago when Judith received a call from grandmother. She hung up the phone and arrived home overnight. “Jude,” said her grandmother on the phone, “I can’t get off from the bed.” They went to the hospital. It hurts Judith to watch her grandmother being surrounded by different medical appliances. She was told that at this stage surgery is not an option, and chemotherapy will be needed. The night after Judith took her grandmother home, she figured out what she needs to do. The next day she did not return to college. Instead, she applied for a full-time job at the grocery store nearby. She was told that she can start as soon as possible. In the afternoon she sat with her grandmother, posting pictures of the family piano online, selling it for five thousand dollars. In the evening she sent emails to all the instructors who taught her this semester. It was not before long that she received a message from Professor Lebedinsky, scheduling an in-person meeting in his dean’s office. Judith went in the second day. Before she sat down, she received this straightforward question from him:

“Give me one reason that you want to drop out of college.”

“I cannot afford studying music anymore.” She replied. Professor Lebedinsky then asked, if this is about paying for her tuition, and there will be an on-campus audition for piano department next week, a full scholarship.

“It is not about scholarship, Professor.” Judith said. “I don’t see another way around this. I need the money from my tuition for some urgent use.”

“Which is more important than your degree?”

“Yes.”

Professor Lebedinsky stopped asking more questions. Judith remained seated and looked away, waiting for him to approve. On the office table next to the laptop there was a miniature bust of Schubert. The miniature was nicely sculpted that Judith could see the wrinkles flowing on the cravat. Soon she would be working at the grocery store, stocking inventories and checking out customer purchases, and no one would be talking about Schubert anymore.

“Alright.” He spoke finally, “Talk to the counselor. The procedure usually takes about a month.” While exiting the office, Judith saw him taking off his glasses, looking tired.

The whole process was easier than what Judith had imagined. Very soon she will have her tuition refunded to her to cover the cost of chemotherapy for now. But she can’t take any rest. Once she starts working full time she will not be able to take care of her grandmother during the day. She needs to consider the expenses of a nursing home. Working at the restaurant on weekends would help, but she needs more. Judith realized she needs to keep this one job that she was about to turn down.

It was the first on-campus recital Judith performed as a sophomore. Normally students would apply in their junior years, but Professor Lebedinsky was sure that Judith is ready. Before the recital starts, Judith saw an old man sitting in the first row of the audience, arriving much earlier than faculties. “That is Mr. Henderson. He has sponsored a few scholarships.” A senior student told her. Judith had heard of him. In fact, all her classmates are overawed by Mr. Henderson due to his austere disposition. There was this hearsay about him that when he used to teach at the Juilliard, he would interrupt the performance of any students in the middle of their exam and leave the room, should they have not practiced well. Therefore, it was quite out of Judith’s expectation when she saw Mr. Henderson slowly walking towards her after the recital, asking her if she would like to play for him some time in his house. “Don’t go, Jude. You don’t want to be sad on a Friday evening.” Her dormmate said half-jokingly, but Judith went regardless. It’s a part-time job well paid. Plus, she got to play the grand Steinway, a truly beautiful instrument. Judith went, and she kept going. Now she has been playing for Mr. Henderson for an entire year. But today she was afraid to play for him. She has not been practicing at all these days. It would be better if she turned down his generous offer, instead of the other way around. Yet she wanted to give it a try, to see if she could keep the job. While still struggling, Judith found herself on the subway heading to Mr. Henderson’s place.

The commute is about 30 mins. Judith sat down at the window seat. She failed to stay alert but fell asleep. She had a dream about meeting her mother: She was seven, in her grandmother’s house, holding in her arm a hedgehog plush. There was a beautiful lady dressed in red standing in the hallway, talking to her grandmother. In the realm of Judith’s dream the lady was wearing a white draped cloth covering her face, like the female lover in René Magritte’s painting. The lady finished talking, turned to Judith for a second, then opened the front door and left the house. Judith discovered that her grandmother was crying. “Go back to your room, Jude.” She smiled at Judith, “Under your bed there is something for you. I hope you like it.” Judith unwrapped the gift. It was a small black notebook. On the first page it says: “Happy Birthday Jude. With Love, Grandma.” Then Judith woke up. She checked her surroundings and realized that she had missed her station – She was supposed to get off 20 minutes ago. She grabbed her score book and quickly rushed off at the next stop. By the time she reached Mr. Henderson’s house, she was late for an hour.

“You were not on time. Not even close.” Said Mr. Henderson sternly, “I hope you are aware of that.”

“I am very sorry.” Judith followed Mr. Henderson into the house, biting her lips a little.

In the middle of the living room lies the grand piano. Judith put up her score book on the music shelf and adjusted her stool. She is playing Beethoven tonight. The first note she played she sensed something different. She is losing her dexterity with the keyboard. The touch of her fingers felt sloppy no matter how much she tried, and she forgot how she used to apply her fingerings. The way she used the extension petal sounded muddy, and she started hitting the wrong note, one after another. The piano became a wuthering monster tonight, and the sonata she is playing turned into an unwinding labyrinth from which she couldn’t escape. In the end Judith stopped playing, without finishing the third movement. Sitting in a complete silence, she wished she had never come here tonight.

Mr. Henderson sat still. Behind his glasses Judith saw his expression, so austere that she couldn’t take it but look away. The silence lasted for 30 seconds, or maybe longer. Judith couldn’t tell. Eventually Mr. Henderson spoke:

“Tell me, what happened exactly?”  

“I…… I have not been practicing lately. I am very sorry, Mr. Henderson.”

“That is not what I meant,” He leaned forward, putting the weight of his hands on his legs, fixing his eyes on Judith. Judith felt cold as if she was walking barefoot in the snow. “I mean, what happened to you?”

Judith could not move. She did not know how to reply without embarrassing herself. What was she thinking, really, coming here tonight? This is not a job that she qualifies anymore. She opened her mouth but couldn’t say a word. Mr. Henderson continued:

“The performance. We both know that it was not the best you can do tonight, and I want to know why. I use to like your performances. All of them. You were very talented, and hardworking. But tonight I saw a talented student losing it, and I could not pretend that I didn’t see it. I want to know what happened to you, and why you are giving up.”

Judith felt frozen as if she was thrown into a river in early January. She sat in silence, while Mr. Henderson staring at her with a strict look. She heard her own voice from a distance:

“I…… I don’t want to play music anymore.”

Suddenly she started talking nonstop.

“I am sorry, Mr. Henderson. I should have talked to you. I can’t play for you anymore. I can’t afford studying music. I need to start making a living right now. I must. I am not good enough for a concert for now. I must figure out something else. I sold my grandmother’s piano, I am going to be working at a grocery store, and I am going to drop out of college. The tuition refund will cover for some medical bills, otherwise I cannot afford chemotherapy for my grandmother. My grandmother,” Judith took a deep breath, “She is not doing well. She is dying, I can feel it. She raised me up and she is all I’ve got.” Judith found herself impossible to go on. Tears fell on her hands. She covered her face and cried silently.

Mr. Henderson listened quietly without saying a word. When Judith stopped talking, he stood up from his chair. “Stay here.” He told Judith. Then he turned around and walked to his study. When he returned he brought a soft towel, a black pen, and a file folder. He gave the towel to Judith and asked her:

“How much do you need for chemotherapy?”

“Ten grand.”

Mr. Henderson took out the checkbook from his folder. After he finished writing, he gave Judith the check:

“Here is twenty grand.”

Judith couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“I don’t know what to say, Mr. Henderson. That is too much.” She paused, “Thank you. But I can’t take it. I don’t see a way that I can pay you back.”

Mr. Henderson gazed at Judith with a serious look.

“I want you to take it, young lady.” He continued, “And reconsider your decision. I have sponsored a lot of talented students, and I will do the same for you now. I hope you will decide to finish your school. And I hope you will buy the piano back.” He paused, looking at Judith’s score book, “And remember, no matter what,” He sounds firm, “Never stop playing.”

With Mr. Henderson’s support, Judith continued her school. Ten months later, she arrived at Professor Lebedinsky’s office, discussing details about her first concert, and asking him if she could reserve two seats. When she was about to leave, Professor Lebedinsky called her. “Almost forgot. I think this is yours.” He took out a notebook from his top drawer. Judith recognized it immediately. The black journal she lost is returning to her. She opened it and saw the familiar signature: “With Love, Grandma.” On her way to the subway station she stopped shortly at the graveyard. She put down a dozen of white roses on her grandmother’s tombstone, together with one of the tickets she just reserved from Professor Lebedinsky. The other seat is saved for Mr. Henderson. She wanted to deliver the ticket to him by herself. The sun shines upon the grass. The winter has passed, and spring is here.

1.24.2021 – 1.27.2021

[alienwerewolff]

Second Generation

A Supernatural FanFiction Sam Winchester x OC)

Rated M: Mature adult content, smut, violence, alcohol, drugs, ect.

Genre: Adventure/Romance

Full Summery: Elliott and her brother Max are have been hunting all their lives, but shortly after Elliott’s twenty second birthday they discover that she has a freaky ability. Max scared for his only family seeks help, finding it in the Winchesters. Unfortunately, her ability has some very similar traits to the demon Azazel’s ‘special children’, but that can’t be right. Azazel is dead. Dean killed the yellow eyed bastard himself, right? (Set in season 4)

*New Chapter Summery* Chapter 14: A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes When Elliott makes a wish in a wishing well the impossible happens. 

Ao3

Wattpad

FFN

Chapter 14: A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Sam and Elliott were in their motel room looking over the case Dean had stumbled upon. Something to do with women and showers so of course Dean had rushed out to interview said women. The radio was on a local oldies station turned down low so they both could focus on their work.

*Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say, it’s alright-*

Elliott visibly winced, she hadn’t expected that particular Beatles song on a local radio station. She tried to ignore the tune as it played softly through the speakers. Sam didn’t miss it. He may have been a little overbearing the last few days but it only made him more aware of her ability to hide her grief.

*Little darling it’s been a long cold lonely winter, little darling it seems like years since it’s been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun-*

“Ellie? You okay?” Sam’s concern not at all hidden. Unable to ignore it she quickly reached up turning the soft melody off in a flash.

“I’m fine.” She lied looking back to the report in front of her. Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“No, you’re not. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong Sam.” She huffed still eyeing the papers in front of her.

“It’s just me Ellie. You can talk to me.” Sam continued to pushed. Elliott sighed letting her head hang down, but relaxed when she felt his warm hand rub soothing circles on her lower back.

“Max.” She breathed quietly. “He uh, he- that song was kinda a family song. Used to sing me it to sleep when I was a baby.” Unable to speak above a whisper not wanting to crack. She had been doing so good, worked a case earlier and didn’t crack once. Now a stupid song on the radio was breaking her. “Like I said, it’s nothing-”

“I’m sorry I pushed.” He sighed and tucked a stand of coppery blonde behind her ear.

“I’ll be fine Sam. Just can’t listen to it right now. I really hope this case isn’t a bust. I could really use the distraction.” Right on time they heard Dean heard on the other side of the door. He was chuckling as he made his way through the door shutting it behind him and fixed the salt line.

“You’ll never guess what kind of wack jobs live here.” Dean snickered.

“What?” Elliott smiled glad for the change in topic. She was honestly doing much better but still tried to avoid anything that had to do with her deceased brother.

“So, the shower room lady was either attention crazy or just plain crazy. Then I run into a bigfoot fanatic on my way back.” He huffed. “At least this towns good for a laugh.”

“Wait bigfoot?” Sam snorted.

“There’s LSD in the water or something man.” Dean joked causing Elliott to chuckle. “Alright so downside there’s most likely no case. Upside that means it’s time to break for diner.”

“It was worth a try, I guess. No pervy ghosts haunting the women’s bathrooms.” Elliott sighed, with a sour face.

“Your turn Sweetheart. Where we eating tonight?” Dean questioned beyond ready to eat.

“Chinese?” She asked hopeful smile on her lips. Chinese was always Max’s favorite. They used to celebrate a successful hunt with Chinese takeout. Dean was all too quick to agree not caring too much where or what they ate. He just wanted to eat.

 It was a typical Chinese restaurant. The three of them sat at a small table by a cheesy fountain. Elliott wondered if Sam had purposefully sat on the end of the bench seat to box her in. Dean sat across from them all stretched out taking up as much of his seat as possible.

Once they ordered Dean smiled down at the small hunter. “Chinese? We haven’t gotten Chinese in a while. Good pick Ell.”

Elliott briefly met his eyes only to look away and stare intently at the cheap table top. She shrugged picking at a crack on the table. “It was Max’s favorite. When I first started hunting, we were too young to go to a bar, so Max would bring me to the closest Chinese restaurant after a good hunt. It kinda became a tradition.”

Dean nodded with a sad smile. “I miss him too kid. We can try and keep up the tradition if you want?”

Unshed tears pricked at her eyes and she couldn’t verbally respond without shedding them just sniffed giving him a nod. Sam rested his arm along her shoulder silently giving her comfort. Landing a quick kiss to her temple just before their food arrived. She ate her sweet and sour chicken in silence listening to the brother’s bicker.

When the check came back with their change Elliott snatched a quarter. “Let me out.” Sam raised a brow at her but moved when she started to push at his shoulder lightly. Then saw her eyes on the fountain and laughed getting up so she could get by him.

“Oh, come on! Don’t waste my change on that.” Dean complained.

“Let her be Dean. It’s just a quarter.” Sam defended still smiling.

Elliott ignored the men’s squabbling and closed her eyes. She let out a humorless huff tossing the coin. It landed un in the water with a dull ‘plop’. Turning back to the table to watch the men continued their banter. The bell chimed announcing a customer coming in the door. Not even sparing a glance that way she took a step to her table when an impossible voice called her name.

“Ellie?”

It was like she had forgotten how to breath. The voice froze her to the spot for a moment but when she could move her head snapped in his direction. It was him! It was impossible but it was him. His messy brown curly hair that stuck up in random spots. His dark mischievous green eyes confused, wary of his surroundings. Not even half a second later Elliott was screaming with joy and flung herself at her big brother.

Her arms constricting his torso holding on for dear life. It took a moment to reciprocate in his confusion but she felt his arms hug her back. Elliott in her excitement hadn’t even heard the Winchesters calling out her name shouting for her to stop. She was now bawling her eyes out both happy and sad tears. Not caring that she was in public or who might witness her vulnerability.

“Ellie? Wh-what’s going on? Are you okay?” Max stammered completely confused and worried. He had never seen his baby sister act like this, not even when she was a child. Elliott was crying too hard to give him a straight answer.

Suddenly Max was shoving Elliott behind him. “Who the Hell are you?” Max barked at Sam and Dean when they approached too quickly and tried to pull his little sister away from him.

“Why don’t we take this back to the motel? Away from the public.” Dean growled out evenly.  

Neither Winchester believed this was actual Max. He didn’t even remember them for fucks sake. Max’s dark green eyes shifted around the restaurant now noting all of the gawking civilians. Then looked back to his crying sister in his arms. Sighing reluctantly and nodding his agreement. He kept his arms around his sniffling sister protectively as they left the restaurant. Sam and Dean followed watching with unease. They were terrified for the small hunter, that was in what just couldn’t be her brother’s arms.

 A silver blade cut a small slice of Max’s forearm as he sat annoyed on the edge of a motel bed. His sniffling sister sat next to him, her giant puffy eyes like saucers staring at him in disbelief. As Sam and Dean finished the last of the tests, he rubbed his aching temples.

“See not a monster. I’m guessing you two are hunters? What the Hell is going on? What’s wrong with Ellie?” Max fired off questions without giving them time to respond.

“You don’t remember them?” Elliott’s soft voice spoke out for the first time since the restaurant. Max looked back at her brow raised cautiously.

“Should I?”

“What’s the last thing you remember Max?” Sam questioned slowly sitting on Elliott’s other side. Letting his hand rest on her knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“I don’t know you. Why should I tell you anything?” Max snapped eyes narrowing on the man’s hand on his sister’s leg.

“Max, buddy we’re your friends’ man,” Dean tried to assure, cautiously uncrossing his arms to appear less threatening. Elliott stepped in seeing Max was about to protest.

“Max, their telling the truth. That’s Dean Winchester. Amazing hunter and a really close friend. He’s like family Max.” Elliott gestured to Dean sitting across from them on the edge of the other bed. Then turned to smile at her giant. “And this is Sam Winchester his brother, also an amazing hunter and my- uh- my boyfriend?” Elliott questioned unsure what she should even call Sam. They hadn’t really put a label on it and the word boyfriend did feel right on her tongue. He was more than just a boyfriend she thought but was unsure how to word it properly.

Max cocked his head to the side eyes ping ponged back and forth between the two. Elliott could feel her brother’s apprehension and bit her lip waiting for Max to respond.

“Boyfriend? But you don’t date. Not since that asshole in-”

“Max.” Elliot stopped him trying to shake her head discreetly.

“What asshole?” Sam turned to her with a frown.

“Nothing Sam.” She sighed. “Nothing happened if you recall Max. Because I can handle myself.”

Max suddenly let out a groan and rubbed his temples again.

“Max?” Elliott fretted. “Max, are you okay?”

“Yeah you don’t look so good.” Dean asked feeling on edge. Dean thought it sounded, acted, and freaking looked like Max. Maybe a little paler and sick looking Max but that didn’t explain anything. Still not sure if he believed his dead friend was alive again, it would be too good to be true.

“Uhh, just a bad headache.” Max deflected. “Ellie, I don’t understand. If you’re so close to them why don’t I know or remember them?”

“You- uh you-” Elliott stuttered. Sam gave a comforting squeeze to her shoulder before jumping in to save her.

“Max, you’ve been dead for over a month now.” The young Winchester explained gently as he could. Max laughed in disbelief before catching their serious faces. Then shot up out of his seat like he’d been electrocuted. Eyes flitting around the room examining each face for any hint of humor but found none.

“No way,” He shook his head completely stunned.

“Max,” Sam cautioned. “Why don’t you sit down, you need to relax.”

He let out another groan and held his head, refusing to take a seat. “What? How did this happen? I died, like died, died?” His brows lifted slightly and he turned to meet Elliott’s puffy eyes. “That’s why you were crying at the restaurant. But I- I don’t remember- How’d I die?”

“Ugh. That’s gnarly.” Max grimaced when the trio had finished filling in the blanks for him. “Kinda glad I don’t remember that.”

“Lucky you.” Elliott mumbled under her breath but caught Sam’s ear. That earned her his concerned puppy eyes.

“I still don’t get it. If I died why am I here?” Max questioned slowly.

Dean’s head whipped around to Elliott with an accusing glare and growled. “Oh, sweetheart you’re in for a major ass kicking if you went back and made that deal.”

“You what?!?” Max shouted turning on his sister as well. Sam’s eyes went wide as his panicked, mind racing to think of a time she could have snuck off to make a deal.

“No!” Elliott shouted back over him shaking her head violently. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to remember? I’ve already tried that. I am the only person on the planet they won’t deal with.” Sam and Dean visibly relaxed, but not Max.

“Elliott!! You tried to sell your soul?!?” Max barked beyond furious. Letting out a sting of curses he pointed a finger at his sister and growled. “You are not that stupid! I didn’t raise you to be that stupid!”

“It doesn’t matter Max! It didn’t even work! They wouldn’t make a deal with me. I still have my soul. Besides I think we have bigger issues right now.” Elliott huffed glaring right back at her brother.

“Bigger than your soul?!” Max nearly shouted exasperated, looking at her like she had grown a second head.

“Max. Not that I’m complaining but if Ellie didn’t sell her soul, how are you even alive right now?” Sam spoke up giving Elliott a break from her brothers reprimanding. Max gave her a look that obviously meant they were not done with this conversation. Then turned to the Winchesters.

“Yeah, one minute were paying the bill and the next Elliott’s screaming and your standing there alive and in one piece.” Dean unconsciously stared at Max’s chest where he had been ripped into.

“Hmm…” All eyes turned to Elliott humming out loud.

“You think of something?”

“Uh, maybe? It’s ridiculous though…” She bit her lower lip and fidgeted with the hairband around her wrist. All three men looked at her expectantly. “Maybe, uh- maybe it could have been the wishing well?” There were a couple moments of silence, as they all processed her words.

“Wishing well?” Max parroted in disbelief. Sam and Dean glanced at one another having one of their ‘telepathic’ conversations then turned to Elliott with softened eyes.

“You wished for Max.” Sam stated rather than questioned.

“Wait, wait, wait. No, are you trying to tell me I am only alive right now because of a wishing well?” Max scoffed skeptically.

“Only one way to find out.” Dean shrugged on his jacket gesturing for the door. Max blinked a few times before walking out the door Dean now was holding open for them.

“It doesn’t matter how Max is alive.” Elliott defended. “He’s back. That’s all that matters. Everything is going to be okay now.” Sam and Dean shared an uneasy look before Dean followed Max out giving Sam and Elliott a moment.  

“Ellie? Baby… this kind of magic, it always comes at a price-” Sam started but she wasn’t having it.

“Stop.” She stated coldly. “Don’t. You got your brother back. Why can’t I have mine?” She left following the older hunters out to the Impala without giving Sam a chance to respond.

Elliott couldn’t help her toothy grin as she looked into the parking lot. She watched her brother fanboy all over Baby again. Just like he did the first time, asking almost the exact same questions. Not even Dean could hide his smile as he talked about Baby with his very missed friend. Dean even made Sam scrunch into the back seat with Elliott to let Max ride shotgun.

 Knowing that they had made too big of a commotion earlier to go back into the restaurant they waited for closing hour. When the owner finally left for the night locking up and driving away, they made their move. Sam quickly picked the lock and all four shuffled in. Gathering around the fountain and eyed it carefully.

“Give me a quarter.” Dean held his hand out expectantly. Receiving and eye roll from his brother before he dug through his pockets and placed a quarter in his hand. Dean wet his lips subconsciously then closed his eyes mouth moving silently as he wished and let the quarter plop into the water. They waited a few silent moments where nothing happened.

“What’d you wish for?” Max whispered at Dean.

Dean huffed. “Not supposed to tell.”

A loud knock made all four hunters turn to the glass door their hands hovering at their concealed weapons. A bigger man in a ball cap and jacket that labeled ‘Schlotzsky's Subs’ stood at the door impatiently. Dean’s jaw went slack in surprise and he made his way to the door.

“You the one who ordered the footlong Italian with jalapenos?” The man asked when Dean had opened the door. The other three hunters hadn’t moved from the fountain and were just staring dumbstruck at them.

Dean turned back to the hunters, sandwich in hand. The delivery man was already in his car and driving off. The older Winchester gave another shrug opening the wrappings and inspecting the sandwich. He took a large bite chewing loudly.

“A sandwich? You wished for a sandwich?” Sam bawked.

“Dude, I think she’s right. The wishing well does work. I was pretty specific.” Dean concluded around a mouthful.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” Max mumbled causing everyone to turn to his pale stunned face. “I- I- I’m only alive because of a wishing well…”

“Max, calm down,” Sam tried to sooth his panicked friend.

“No. No, this is insane.” Max’s heaved, and eyes glazed over unfocused. His breath sped up becoming shallow.

“Max.” Elliott grabbed her brothers face to force him to look at her then gave his head a small wack when he still stared off panting quickly. “Snap out of it.” She demanded.

Max blinked and glared at his sister as his breathing became deeper. He rubbed the back of his head where she had wacked him, annoyed that she was able to snap him out a panic attack with a hit to his head.

 Back at the cheap motel the four of them debated. Unsure if this wishing well was something to be messed with. Sam was particularly quiet as he typed away at the small table. Dean stood near him leaning against the wall his arms crossed as he thought out loud.

“What are we supposed to do? Stop peoples wishes from coming true? Kinda sounds like a douche thing to do.” Dean shrugged.

“Not to mention hypocritical considering.” Elliott agreed from her seat across from Sam. She rubbed her forehead and looked to her brother on the edge of the bed.

“When has something like this ever come without a price tag?” Max interjected, giving them a worried glance.

“Usually a deadly one.” Sam added somberly.

“Stop. No, no, no. No. We don’t know that. Dean’s sandwich wish didn’t go bad. Why do we even have to look into this?” Elliott almost begged desperate. “Why can’t we just be happy with Max being back, and move on to a new town? We can find a hunt with an actual bad guy, we could-”

A loud gurgle grumbled from Dean’s stomach, stopping everyone. A moment passed before it happened again. This time Dean grimaced and held a hand to his stomach. Then his other hand flew to his mouth and he ran into their motel bathroom, slamming the door shut as he went. The closed bathroom door did nothing to quiet Dean’s retching. His loud puking caused both Sam and Max to wince. Connecting the dots, knowing what this meant Elliott’s breath hitched insides shattering.

“You okay in there, Dean?” Sam knocked on the door before more sounds of vomiting echoed out to their ears. When the noises slowed down Dean finally answered.

“The wish turned bad Sammy. The wish turn very bad.” Dean groaned weakly through the door.

Elliott turned to her brother with wide wet eyes, that could give Sam’s puppy dog eyes a run for its money. Max gave her a sad smile, understanding as well. Failing to suppress a whimper she snatched her cigarettes off the motel table refusing to meet either of their eyes and quickly dashed out of the motel room.

Sam sighed out and ran a hand down his face. His heart breaking for both Max and Elliott. She had just started to open up and smile again, if this thing with Max went bad like Dean’s sandwich, he didn’t know how she would handle it. Then there was Max. Fuck, Sam couldn’t imagine what was going through his head. How he could possible process any of this. Sam stood up to follow her out but Max got up as well and blocked his way.

“I got this Sam.” Max sighed.

“Max, wait. This can’t be easy on you. How are you feeling? Are you okay? Felling weird at all?”

“Are you asking me if I’m craving human flesh or something?” Max sassed causing Sam to look away in shame.

“Uh, I’m sorry. That was rude- I- I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, you’re right to ask, I would have done the same. I’m not craving flesh. But honestly? I don’t, I don’t feel right. It’s like my body knows I’m not supposed to be here? My head has been pounding like a fucking jackhammer and my muscles are all week and achy. Like a migraine and a bad flu without the stomach stuff. Something isn’t right.” Max gave him a small shrug rubbing at his temple absentmindedly. “Maybe the taste for flesh comes later?” He joked. Sam didn’t find it funny though and just met his eyes with sad ones. The sounds of Dean’s vomiting echoed from the bathroom.

“I truly am sorry Max. Maybe we can find some way…” Sam left the sentence open trying to come up with a solution to keep his friend alive and well. The young Winchester got up and went to his bag on the floor near the bed, then went to their cooler and pulled out a beer. Handing Max a bottle of ibuprofen and a beer Sam sat back down.

“Sam, that’s nice of you to say and all but I’d rather you didn’t bull shit me. There is no way to keep me here without consequences and we both know it. Hell, Elliott knows it. That’s why she’s being stubborn and ignoring the problem to have a smoke. Like I said, I can feel something coming. I know I’m not here for good. No use denying it.” Max sighed sloshing a couple ibuprofen down with the beer.

“You want us to work this case, even though that means you’re at risk of dying?”

“Aren’t you listening to me?” Max narrowed his eyes tying not to get frustrated. “I am a risk right now. I may not be going all undead zombie on you but something is wrong. What’s dead should stay dead.” Max was looking down at his beer, completely missing Sam’s wince at his choice of words.

“But Ellie…”

“Ellie’s strong. She’ll pull through.” Max softly smiled, Pride filling his dark green eyes as they gazed toward the motel door. “She’s always been stronger than me.” Sam sighed wanting to tell him how broken she had been without him this last month.

“Max, she-”

“She’ll have you.” Max interrupted again. “I may not remember you but I’m not blind. I see how she is around you. Just promise me something?”

“Anything.” Sam promised quickly.

“If things go south like they seem to always do? If I’m no longer me, or something happens? You protect her. She is my sister and my responsibility but I need to know she will be okay without me if things go south.”

“Of course. You don’t need to ask.” Sam vowed not having to even think on it.

“We both will.” Dean promised weakly from the now open bathroom door. His pale face was covered in a sheen of sweat but his promise was strong.

Feeling assured Max thanked them before leaving to find his sister. It didn’t take him long to find her. The puffs of smoke from her cigarette giving her location away. Sitting on the cold concrete of the parking lot back leaning up against the sleek black classic car Elliott exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Hey Bug.” Max whispered taking a seat on the pavement next to her. Her shoulders stiffened at hearing the nickname only her big brother ever called her. She didn’t think she’d ever hear it again. Yet here he was, alive and addressing her with the silly nickname unconsciously.  

“I don’t care if the wishes go bad. I won’t let you go bad.”

“Ellie, it’s a little too late for that. I can already feel it. I feel off. My head, my body? Somethings not right.” Max explained slowly, then smirked and elbowed her softly in the side. “You going to share or what?” He gestured to her cigarette.

Elliott gave a wet chuckle and dug through her leather jacket’s inner pocket. She held out the pack and he took one from the carton. He couldn’t help the way his smile widened when he looked at the Bugs Bunny lighter. He remembered when the lighter belonged to their dad. Well his dad, but Elliott didn’t need to know that he thought. With the cigarette between his lips he cupped the air around the end with one hand to keep the wind away as he lit up. There were a few moments of silence the cool November wind rustling the fall leaves.

“Please don’t leave me again.” Elliott squeaked hating how weak voice sounded. Max pulled her in a one armed hug placing a quick kiss on the crown of her head. He held her tight resting his cheek there. She could feel a wet drop land on her scalp, making her own eyes silently spill over.

“I am always with you Ellie. If you think the afterlife could stop me from being your big brother, you’re crazier than I thought.” Max playfully shoved his shoulder into hers after releasing his tight hold. He huffed and gave her a knowing smirk, no trace of the tears she had known escaped his eyes. She let out a wet laugh, harshly wiping a few tears away with her casted hand.

“How’d you manage that one klutz?” Max nodded at her casted left arm wanting to lighten his sister’s mood, but watched as the opposite happened. Bringing the cig to her lips she took a drag, eyes locked on her cast. Exhaling slowly a cloud of smoke trailed out before she found her voice.

“It was the werewolf that…” Elliott let the sentence drop not wanting to think about that night. “Honestly I could have taken it off this week but Sam somehow convinced me to wait an extra week.” She complained.

“Goodman.” Max smiled. His sister groaned and rolled her eyes but he could see her try to hide a smile. “What’s with the stupid flowers? Lose a bet or something?” He snickered running a finger over one of the girly looking flowers drawn onto the off white cast. The comment had sent a strange mix of emotions along Elliott’s face. Her eyes were bright yet sad and although the corner of her lips curled up he also saw her lower lip wobble.

“Payback actually.” She whispered with a sniffle.

“Okay… I feel like I keep saying the wrong things here. What did I say?”

“I missed you so much Max.” Elliott breathed giving her big brother a sad smile.

“I’m right here Ellie Bug.” He whispered back softly. “I’m right here.”

They talked for hours. About everything and nothing. Elliott didn’t know if Max being back was going to last and although she would fight tooth and nail against anything that threatened to take him away again, she soaked up every second she could with him. They sat there, smoking cigarettes till four in the morning. Only going inside when Sam popped his head out to check on them worried something might have happened.

There was a bit of awkwardness when they finally returned to the motel room. Max didn’t like that his little sister was planning on sleeping in the same bed with the giant Winchester he didn’t even remember. Dean had already passed out in the bathroom, not wanting to stray too far from the toilet. Because although Dean had stopped blowing chunks, he still wasn’t feeling great. Sam had dug through the tiny motel closet and found a pillow and a blanket, for his brother. That left only the two beds.

Sam could obviously feel the tension in the room. He knew it Max would prefer Elliott not share a bed with the tall hunter but he was afraid she would have one of her nightmares without him there. She had gotten much better in the last week but her nightmares were still was a common occurrence. After five minutes of whispered assurance that nothing was going to happen, they all settled down for the night. Sam and Elliott in one bed and Max in the other. Elliott, emotionally exhausted from the day passed out quickly, her giant wrapped around her from behind. She only was roused from her sleep once. Stirring at to cold her giant was no longer warming her back but when she heard his voice, she relaxed back into semi unconsciousness. The hushed rough voices of the Winchesters lulling her to sleep. In her sleepy state she wasn’t even able to make out words just voices. She thought she heard the words ‘nightmares’ and ‘Hell’ but she was asleep before she could process.

The next morning Elliott woke with a sharp inhale, clutching her head. Groaning out loud her brain felt like it was being stabbed. She hardly noticed how achy her muscles were with the jackhammering inside her head.

“Ellie? What’s wrong?” Sam asked the bed dipping as he sat on the edge. His fingers wrapped around her wrists moving them away from her face.

“I’m okay.” She spoke sleep still heavy in her voice. “Headache.”

“Headache? Baby this looks like more than a headache,” Sam’s eyes narrowed taking in her squinty eyes and scrunched forehead. He rubbed his thumb in small circles on her inner wrist. “If it was another nightmare, Ellie you can talk to me,”

“Nah, not that I can remember.” Elliott shrugged smoothing out her features to appear relaxed and gave him a small smile. “Probably just getting sick. Feeling a little low on energy. Nothing to worry about giant.”

Sam looked her over before getting up and grabbing the bottle of ibuprofen from where he had left it when he gave some to Max last night. Then went to the cooler to pull out a beer. “Sorry beer is all we got until Max and Dean get back from grabbing breakfast.”

Elliot tried to smile and downed four pills with the cold beer. “Alright, I’m going to get ready. A shower should help.”

After her shower she changed quickly before leaving the bathroom feeling no better than before. Now she almost felt dizzy as well. Great, Elliott thought. She hardly ever got sick, but it happens to everyone. Her best way to get over being sick was to just stop being sick. She stumbled on her way to the closest bed almost biffing it but catching herself on the wall.

“Elliott?” Sam was at her side the moment she caught herself on the wall, helping her to the bed.

“I’m fine, Jolly Green. Just tripped, klutzy me.” She lied with a chuckle.

He of course had to see right through it. Luckily for Elliott though Sam didn’t get a chance to call her out as Dean and Max entered the motel room. Their laughs and loud bantering made Elliott wince but she pushed it aside as best she could.

“Someone’s feeling better.” Elliott grinned up at the oldest Winchester. “Maybe the wishes don’t stay bad after all.” She pressed hopefully.

“Besides being exhausted I do feel better.” Dean admitted setting the grease stained paper bag down on the table. “-and I’m not the only one.” Dean’s smile widened as he turned to pat Max on the back.

“Weirdly, yeah. No more headaches! Or the flu like muscle aches.” Max huffed nonchalantly but Elliott could hear the hopefulness in his voice. Sam’s brows furrowed a moment his eyes darted from the blonde to her brother.

“Wait no headaches? It’s just gone?” Sam questioned slowly.

“Yeah. Woke up feeling more alive and energetic. Maybe this whole ‘wishes go bad’ thing won’t be as bad as we thought?” Max shrugged before sitting down at the table and digging into the paper bag to pull out a breakfast sandwich wrapped in tinfoil.

Elliott felt Sam’s eyes on her and turned quickly. Sam looked worried, more so than only a few moments ago. Max had a migraine and body aches yesterday, but now Elliott had a migraine and body aches. She could see in Sam’s eyes that he too saw the similarities. Right as he was about to voice this her hand griped his denim covered thigh in an almost painful grip.

“It’s probably just a coincidence Sam. Let it go.” Elliott breathed so quietly only her giant could hear. His jaw ticked as he gave her a pointed look, brow arching obviously disagreeing. “I promise I’ll let you know if it gets worse.” She vowed under her breath large hazel green eyes pleading. Sam exhaled slowly through his nose but said nothing, not happy at all.

“Hey, love birds. Stop your flirting and get ready, we have work to do.” Dean smirked at the two whispering.

Elliott huffed pretending to be annoyed with Dean but really her head hurt too much to really be bothered by the hunters taunting. She slowly got up fighting off a small dizzy spell she yawned while stretching to cover it up. Quickly finishing up her minor makeup and brushing her hair out not wanting to give Sam a chance to change his mind and blab. It was just a headache. She saw it as two different possibilities, one she had caught whatever bug Max had or two it was a mere coincidence.

A plan was formed by the time she was done. Max and Dean were going to close down the Chinese restaurant to stop any more well wishers. On their way they were going to drop Sam and Elliott off at the library. Where the couple would look for any possible wishes that had already came true. Elliott wanted to go with her brother after grieving his death for a month she wanted to spend as much time as she could with him, but apparently so did Dean. It was understandable they all had missed him, but she was a little disappointed to be stuck with research duty.

 “How you feeling?” Sam spoke up after at least twenty minutes of web searching. The dinosaur like computers making their task much more difficult than necessary.

“Much better.” Elliott lied her smile giving it away. Sam groaned annoyed at her stubborn behavior and ran hand through his shaggy brown hair.

“Don’t lie to me Ellie.”

“It’s just a headache Sam, don’t worry about it. Have you found anything?” She ignored his glare at the change of subject. Then once again she was saved by Dean, as Sam’s phone went off.

“Hey, got the place shut down for now,” Dean’s gruff voice informed them over the phone. Elliott listened in. The deserted library was quiet enough Sam didn’t even need to put it on speakerphone for her to hear. “Max and I drained the wishing well.” Elliott tensed not wanting them to mess with the well until they understood it. She didn’t want to chance Max getting hurt or worse.

“Looks like we found the source of all the wishing.” Max’s voice cut in. “An old coin. I’m sending Ellie a picture now. It’s stuck to the bottom of the well.”

“Like really stuck.” Dean added.

“I got it.” Elliott held her phone for Sam to see the picture of the coin. “Looks pretty old,”

“You geeks get on that. We’ll be back to pick you up soon.” Dean ordered. They could hear Max snickering in the background before they hung up.

“Let me see that?” Sam asked holding his hand out. She stood up from her seat and walked slowly over to hand her phone over. He eyed her suspiciously but held his tongue at the hunter’s slow movements. Soon his fingers were typing away on the ancient library computer.

Dean and Max were back in no time. Of course, by then Elliott had fallen asleep in her research pile at the library table. Sam hadn’t the heart to wake her when he knew she wasn’t feeling well. Max on the other hand looked great. He hadn’t thought Max even looked bad before but now his skin had a healthy glow, and his eyes were bright and lively.

“Someone has been having too much fun.” Max chuckled. “Snoozing on the job Ellie?” He ran a hand through her copper blonde hair and froze. Eyebrows furrowed he put the back of his hand to her forehead waking her up.

“Nughm-” Elliott grumbled sleepily and pushed his cold hand away. Her eyes peaked open and she wrinkled her forehead confused.  “What are you doing?”

“You’re burning up Ellie. Are you sick?” Max brought the back of his hand up to her forehead again looking over her pale face and squinty eyes.

“No, I think it’s worse.” Sam sighed before she could stop him, now very worried.

“Sam,” Elliott protested now fully awake. She wouldn’t admit to herself that her head was much worse and she felt dizzy just sitting there.

“No, Elliott. This is not just a headache and you know it. Something is happening and it’s not good.” Sam corrected. Max’s worry was written all over his face as the back of his hand moved along her cheek and forehead checking the temperature again.

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean barked stepping up to the group eyes darting from his brother to a pale looking Elliott.

“I think Elliott has Max’s migraine from yesterday.” Sam hypothesized. “The better Max is looking the worse Elliott seems to be getting.”

“Were you trying to keep this from us?” Dean raised his tone a little too loud for the quiet library. Elliott exhaled slowly not denying it and batted her brother’s hand away from her forehead again.

“Dammnit Ellie! This has something to do with your wish going bad!” Max shouted gathering the old librarian’s stern eyes.

“I think we should take this back to the motel.” Dean mumbled eyes flicking to the grumpy old librarian.

All four of them gave the librarian an apologetic smile as they left. Sam helping escort Elliott an arm slung around her waist. With her balance off she had to lean on him a bit more than she cared to admit. They piled into the Impala Sam and Dean in their regular seats while Max and Elliott took the back.

“So what? Is the wish making her sick? What the hell is going on?” Dean questioned anger directed at both Sam and Elliott but his eyes stayed on the road.

“We can’t know for sure, but I think I’ve got a theory now.” Sam sighed his hazel eyes full of worry. “We can see that the better Max is getting the worse Ellie is, right? Like the wish is possibly transfer her life for his? Like her powers do.” Everyone but Elliott was stunned into silence.

“What? That’s insane! You have no proof. Just because I have his headache and stuff doesn’t mean-”

“How do we stop this?” Max demanded over his sister’s denial.

“Max, no-”

“Shut up Ellie!” Max snapped turning his panicked eyes to Sam for answers.

“We need to get the person who made the first wish in the well to take the coin back. According to my research it will reverse all the wishes.”

“No!” Elliott shouted. A bout of dizziness hit her and she threw her hand into her hands to try and center her perception. Elliott felt her brother’s hand on her shoulder to gather her attention.

“I’m not letting you die because of me Ellie. This is my decision, not yours and not theirs.” Max gestured to the Winchesters in the front seats. “I’m not even supposed to be here Bug.” He reasoned but she was shaking her head as a couple tears fell from her pleading eyes.

“How do we find this person to take out the coin?” Max turned away from his sister to ask the now quiet Winchesters.

“We need to find the first wish.” Dean swallowed the lump in his throat. His sad eyes now glued to the road not wanting to look into the rearview mirror to see Elliott in anguish or Max’s stony expression seemingly accepting his own fate.

“Well I searched for local news, anything too good to be true or strange, I found a couple options. There was a bigfoot sighting a few days ago which is more probable but the earliest possibility is a recent engagement after the couple was only together a week.” Sam concluded warily.

“No!!” She shouted again. “I said no damnit!”

“I’m so sorry Ellie.” Max apologized with a sad but determined voice.

“This isn’t up to you Sweetheart.” Dean added. His gruff tone a little deeper than normal to help cover up his sorrow. Then began to pull over to the side of the road, needing a game plan so he could drive in the right direction.

“I can’t lose you again. You can’t just- just- Max what about you? Your life? You can’t just give up,” Elliott’s voice broke as she continued to ramble. “…not for me.” Max wrapped his arm around her hugging her to his side for a few silent minutes.

“That’s what big brothers are for.” He whispered in her ear. Then Max looked up at Sam and Dean releasing a shaky breath trying to silently communicate with his eyes and gave them a strong nod.

She could see that Max had something shinny in his hands but before she knew what was happening, he lunged at her. In her weakened state she wasn’t even able to fight back and within a blink of an eye her good wrist that wasn’t in a cast was handcuffed to the door handle. Max leaned back expecting his sister to lash out at him but she froze in shock. Elliott’s eyes were as round as saucers and she pulled at the cuff.

“Max!” Elliott squeaked in shock and horror.

“I know you Ellie. You won’t let me do what I need to. This is the only way to keep you from stopping me.” Max explained apologetically.

“No, no, no, no. Max no! Don’t do this! No.” She sputtered and yanked at the cuff. “Sam, Dean, please! -please don’t let him do this.” Elliott croaked out making Sam cringe and turn away.

“Max, you do know what this means…” The older Winchester turned to him avoiding Elliott’s pleading eyes.

“I know.” Max gave him a sad smile. Dean gave him a nod promising to save Elliott even at the great cost of losing his friend and her brother. Then started the Impala back up and drove towards the engaged couples place with the directions Sam was giving him. Elliott shrieked furiously yanking at the cuff wildly.

“Hey, hey!” Dean shouted. “Someone calm her down before she brakes Baby!”

“Dean!” Sam glared at his brother’s choice of words as Max moved quick to help. He grabbed her shoulders again too easily pinning her back against the seat. Her attempts to push him off far too weak to have any effect.

“Hey. Look at me.” Max demanded slowing her struggles. “This could be our last chance to say goodbye. Do you really want to ruin that by acting like a brat?”

That stopped her completely. Her head hung bowed in shame as she tried to sniff back tears that just couldn’t stop from falling. “I’m sorry.” She breathed in the silent car. The cuff rattled and halted her attempt to wipe away the tears on her cheek. Sighing when she couldn’t use her cuffed right hand. Then used her free hand covered in the girly flowered cast. Clumsily wiping her wet cheeks.

“Ellie. How lucky are we to get a second chance to say goodbye, hmm?” Max spoke softly pushing her coppery blonde hair out of her face to look her in the eye. “I know this is hard for you Ellie Bug, but you are so strong. If anyone can get through this it’s you.”

“I can’t.” Elliott whispered. “I can’t, I need my brother. I need you.”

“No, you don’t. Not anymore. Ellie you’ve still got family here. That clown in the front seat?” Max nodded to Dean as he drove. “He might joke around but you said it yourself, he’s family.” Elliott sniffled her wet eyes dared to meet Dean’s in the rearview mirror before looking back to Max. “And even though it’s weird you have Sam. I’ve never seen you click like this with anyone before. I don’t know if I really understand it but I can see it. There is something different about you with him. You have family, besides there is no way you can truly get rid of me I’ll always be with you Bug.” Both Sam and Dean stayed quiet letting them have their goodbye.

“Max but it’s my fault you- If I wasn’t so slow, I could have-” Elliott choked.

“No, no, no. That’s the job Ellie. We both know it. No one gets out of the life. If I hear you are blaming yourself for me? You’re going to be in for a major ass kicking in the afterlife.” Max threatened making Elliott let out a wet chuckle.

The car slowed down to a residential house and she felt her heart speed up. Max looked up at Sam and Dean before giving Elliott a sad smile. “We’ll be right back.”

Elliott sat there handcuffed to the door handle trying to process. This was it and she knew it. Now that she wasn’t fighting back her adrenaline began to fade. She could feel a cloud roll over her mind, fogging her brain and her muscles ached feeling weaker than before. She hated it but Sam was right, she was getting worse. When the men returned, they were leading a scrawny shorter man with thick glasses to the car. Max sat in the middle of the back seat pulling the man in next to him. Dean slammed his door shut and started the Impala and took off towards the restaurant.

“Is she okay?” The scrawny guy eyed Elliott sitting on the other side of Max. She shivered at the cool air but didn’t seem to be able to stop the cold seeping into her warm skin.

“Ellie?” Max fretted grabbing her shoulders again to steer her attention to him, Elliott felt her eyes start to droop her head rolled a little with Max’s movement.

“Mm finn.” She slurred blinking slowly trying to fight the clouding dizziness.  

“Shit.” Sam’s curse had her inhale sharply as she tried even harder to clear the fog. “Dean hurry!” The Impala speed up making her head lull back.

“Ellie, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to make this right.” Max soothed but his terrified tone was not hidden well, and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to make this right.

“What’s wrong with her?” Then man on the other side of Max pitched.

“Her wish is going bad, asshat.” Dean barked at the pathetic man. “If you don’t pull that coin out and reverse all this, she’s going to die!”

The man’s eyes widened so much it looked like they would pop out of his thick glasses. Elliott in her delirious state started to laugh at the cartoon like man.

“Ellie?! You okay back there?” Sam’s concern was turning to panic as he watched the delirious hunter continue to laugh from the front seat. Her laughter subsided when she got a look out the window as the Impala slowed.

“Whoa… Ssss thha real?” Elliott slurred as they pulled up to the Chinese restaurant. Everyone turned to see what she was mumbling about. A kid had just flipped an SUV over with his bare hands.

“Yeah that’s real sweetheart.” Dean mumbled back baffled at the scene before them. He then jumped out of the Impala turning back to Sam. “I’ll handle super kid. You two get Wes to the well.” He ordered but turned to Max with a meaningful yet stern gaze. “See you on the other side Max.” Then gave Elliott one last look ordering them to hurry, but it was Elliott’s whimper spurred Max and Sam on. Max turned to his little sister stirring her from her foggy brain.

“This is it Bug.” He kissed her on the top of her too head that was too warm for comfort. “You be safe. Don’t want to see you up there for a long time. You hear me?”

“Max...” She slurred but her wet cheeks let him know she understood what was happening. Before she was ready Max was out of the car with Sam and the other man.

From her view Elliott could watched them bicker through the back window. The scrawny man seemed to like he wasn’t cooperating. Then she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Sam started seizing while lightning sizzled around him. He was being struck by lightning! The next thing she saw Sam had collapsed to the pavement his shoes a few feet away from him smoking. Elliott started to shriek hysterically pulling on the locked door handle. Frantically trying to get to him. She was expecting to lose her brother she couldn’t lose her giant too. No this couldn’t be happening, this wasn’t the plan she panicked franticly.

Max had a moment of stunned horror before he was able to shout back to his sister. She couldn’t understand him and continued her weak struggles that were draining what little energy she had left. Max shoved the smaller man into the restaurant. Elliott’s movement slowed as exhaustion pulled her down. Her head lulled back as her arms went numb at her sides weak from exertion. A whine escaped her throat when she could no longer move her limbs, now weighed down like led. She could feel her breath become shallow and her vision was blurring at the edges. Her eyes began drooping, and it was becoming difficult to keep them open.

It was instant. She knew exactly when it happened, when the coin was pulled from the well reversing all of the wishes. Her fever was gone, no longer shaking and her head was completely clear of pain and fog. The only thing that stayed was the exhaustion. She laid back breathing evenly. Sam was suddenly ripping open the backdoor to get to her. The moment she saw him a sob of relief left her throat too tired to hold it back.

He crawled in the back seat hands cupping the sides of her face. “Ellie, baby, are you okay?” She nodded pulling him in close and hugged him as tightly as she could.

“I thought you were dead.” Elliott sputtered breath shaky. “I thought you were-”

“I’m right here. I’m okay.” He reassured her. “How’s your head? Your fever seems to be gone.” He removed the back of his hand from her head.

“No headache. Honestly.” She sniffed. “Just really tired.”

Sam nodded shoulders sagging in relief. Then undid her cuff to hold her better. “Just relax, I got you Ellie.” Weakly she moved to rest her head on his chest. The thumping of his heartbeat in her ear and the feel of his warm hand stroking her hair eased her worry.

“Is it over? Is she okay?” Dean panted through the open door. Sam just gave him a sad nod. Knowing that the price was Max was now gone. As much as he would miss Max again, he was selfishly happy that Elliott was alive right now. “How you feeling Princess?”

“I just want to sleep.” Elliott mumbled quietly, not wanting to think about what It meant that she was feeling better.

“That’s alright baby, got to sleep I got you.” Sam soothed again as Dean stared up the Impala driving off.

Just like the night before Sam’s absence was what woke her. With the Impala’s windows cracked Elliott could hear the Winchester’s conversation as they stood only a few feet from the car. She automatically felt guilty. This whole time she had been worried about losing her brother while Dean had been struggling with his memories of Hell. When the men got back in, she pretended she was woken up by the doors creaking. She didn’t think Dean would want her to know what she heard so she didn’t say anything.

Sam apologized for waking her before surprisingly sliding back into the backseat with her rather than take shotgun. He stretched out a long leg against the back of the seats and pulled her onto him, murmuring for her to go back to sleep. It didn’t take long before she crashed again. The sound of Sam’s heartbeat under her ear lulled her to sleep assuring her that her giant was with her.

  Authors Note:

 Okay, Okay, I know super angsty, but I felt Max deserved a real goodbye. This was one of my favorite chapters to write so far. Hope whoever reads this enjoyed it as well. I want to thank ANYONE who has continued to read so far. I am deeply honored. If you like what you are reading please like and I would be over the hill to get any comments. It would be an awesome early birthday present lol. Thank you again for reading!

 This Corona virus thing is insane! If things continue like this I might be posting a lot more.

[thesinglesjukebox]

SAM HUNT - DOWNTOWN'S DEAD

[5.91]

...but "Sacrifice My Heart" still has a couple years in it.

Matias Taylor: After "Body Like a Back Road" became the biggest country crossover hit of the past year by adopting sonic trademarks of other genres, Sam Hunt returns to his roots with "Downtown's Dead," a hooky post-breakup anthem that sounds precision-engineered for country radio. What's clever about "Downtown's Dead" is that it positions him as indifferent to the things he's previously sung about: dancing in the strobes ("House Party"), Friday nights ("Leave the Night On"), girls walking by and saying hi ("Take Your Time"); this time heartbreak takes precedence. Sam's earnest croon and some smart production touches (the echo effect in the chorus sounds like it could be beaming out of a half-opened door from a nightclub) are just enough to make it a convincing thematic reset. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: It would be Sam Hunt who paints his country-music scene of urban loneliness with strobe lights and "the throes of loud house music" -- which shouldn't be novel imagery at this point if you've been around a college town since Hunt's Montevallo, where out-of-town students party to EDM tracks while mending homesickness with country tunes. There's a subtle yet vivid modernity to "Downtown's Dead," if not in those lyrical details then the post-1989 hand-claps in the chorus. The haunts may look different, but the ghosts sure feel the same. [6]

Elisabeth Sanders: Sam Hunt, who until recently was on a years-long hiatus from music, concentrating instead on winning back the girl his first album was about after he cheated on her during the tour for that very album (STRONG brand there), who since then has released only 1. an emo SoundCloud song about missing her and 2. a song about how hot she is (even stronger brand there) is finally back for REAL this time with another banger about being super sad while drinking beer because of your deep feelings yet general lack of timely emotional insight! Some might call Sam Hunt's oeuvre shallow, but I mean this with absolute sincerity: it's not nothing to admit that you're a dumbass and then explore the intricacies of your own dumbass feelings. We are all dumbasses, and all feelings are stupid, and also very important. Sam Hunt begins "Downtown's Dead" with his own voice in the background of the track, saying "thanks, Hannah Lee... for comin' back." I would like to thank her as well, and you know what? I hope they are very happy. [8]

Alfred Soto: A title like this deserves a production that reflects the din and tumult in Sam Hunt's pretty head, not drums that boom like a fender bender and Hunt singing as affect-free as an Au Bon Pain cashier. [4]

Anthony Easton: Sam Hunt ceding his perfect voice to a canyon of drums is an act of ego by erasure. Erasure, like the exurban blank landscape--but unlike his previous blank and elliptical metaphors that make even more slippery the erotic ennui of these spaces, this one carves an elaborate monument. Downtown is empty, the city is empty, and nothing can fill it. It is a work against his previous ideals of pleasure. It's also an ironic reversal of all the times he talks about the non-urban spaces that he described as sort of empty and sort of full. [10]

Claire Biddles: Between the bars/cars/bright lights/I'm-so-lonely-in-this-big-ol'-town imagery and the girl-as-a-night-on-the-weekend metaphor, I've heard this all before -- which would be fine if the music was less of a slog. [4]

Stephen Eisermann: The worst kind of boring song is one that tries to make up for its boringness by being loud. There's no discernible melody that I can hear, Sam sounds disconnected from the music, and the hook, if you can call it that, is Sam shouting "downtown's dead" at you as if you're some tourist asking about the local scene. The lyrics are surprisingly introspective, but the rest of the song weighs too heavily on the track. [3]

Alex Clifton: I completely thought "Downtown's Dead" was going to be a tale of small-town economies going bust thanks to the government, and was pleased that it didn't end up being the sort of song I feared. Instead, "Downtown's Dead" is a heartbroken ballad with a dramatic title. It doesn't always live up to the feeling; I don't feel weepy, and the chorus's handclaps make this more of a stadium sing-a-long than an emotional piece. But considering how "Body Like a Back Road" triggers a berserker button for me to the point where I'd counted out ever enjoying a Sam Hunt song, I'll count this as a win. [5]

Katherine St Asaph: Certain unlinkable country retrogrades have heard "Downtown's Dead" and are torn, like Javert-in-"Stars" agonized, that it's undeniably a well-written song, but still not country and thus killing it! The argument is weird -- small towns have downtowns too, and cars and bars do not a metropolis make -- but also moot, because "Downtown's Dead" is absolutely country, in that it invokes a specific country music tradition. Like "You Lie" or "Give Me Back My Hometown," it takes a dog-whistle (here: Downtown's dead! Empty Main Street storefronts! All the jobs are gone! And you know why?) and turns it into a songwriting conceit about lost love. Which might seem like a stretch, but A) dog-whistling exists for the callout-immunity of seeming like a stretch if pointed out, and B) country songwriters love extended conceits, and popular music in general magpies up the culture of its time to make them -- see Ester Dean literally copying phrases from magazines and TV, or Sia collaborator Jonathan Daniel's "high concept" conceits about fireworks and piggy banks. That magpie-ing includes politics; in country, this spans through the late-'50s odes to and laments about military sexual tourism (h/t Joseph M. Thompson, via one of the many good talks at April's MoPOP Conference) to the 2010s' "Made in America"/"Only Prettier"/"Automatic" counterprogramming to pop's Michelle Obama shoutouts. Sam Hunt is a smarter songwriter than many Nashville cogs, and he, Josh Osborne and Shane McAnally don't just use the concept but invert it: downtown isn't dead but bustling, and he's not bustling but lonely. But this urban-alienation theme is done constantly -- see Jukebox favorite "Vermillion" -- and Hunt's take feels dead too, composed as a huge Southern rock slab but performed without the energy. Which, to be fair, is another country tradition: in its ongoing rehash of '90s-'00s soft rock, country music has now reached "Unwell." [4]

Maxwell Cavaseno: Decades ago on Long Island, a truck full of tropical birds intended for a Petland Discount in the area crashed on the highway, and more than a few dozen of the birds escaped into the nearby parks and woods. The Northeast isn't exactly meant to be a haven for cockatoos and parakeets, yet more than a few of them managed to procreate and linger for years and years, making what was considered antithetical to their existence a home. In a world where your Chris Stapletons are all about Taking It Back To What It's 'Sposed To Be, Sam Hunt brings the ideas and essences of country into a modernity that at times feels counterproductive and inhospitable. The strength of "Downtown's Dead" is that even as an overproduced, phantasmal bombastic anthem, it sustains itself in ways you don't expect to make sense without the indulgences of Thomas Rhett or, further back, the cynicism of Garth Brooks. There's no reason it should feel at home, and yet it does. [6]

Crystal Leww: Hunt's debut album Montevallo was such a beautiful and specific album about heartbreak that it's hard to imagine what a Sam Hunt album would sound like if he were actually in a happy, committed relationship. "Body Like a Back Road" hinted at it, with its pop success and sexy and fun disposition, but it also didn't quite feel like a Sam Hunt song. "Downtown's Dead" returns to the period of Hunt's heartbreak over his ex-girlfriend, but the point of view is someone who's moved to the city, who's become successful, who's built a life and who hates how lonely he feels after all. This is formulaic Sam Hunt -- sharp details about strobes and house music, a pathetic internal back-and-forth after downing one too many free drinks, the thunder of those drums and guitar, and its adherence to the traditions of country music and its ability to document tiny, human moments. I think my favorite tiny detail here is buried in the mix during that intro: a quietly murmured, "Thanks Hannah. Thanks for coming back." He's married and happy now, but I have high hopes that there's still plenty of heartbreak to go through for the sequel to Montevallo. [9]

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