#he could build an entire new body of knowledge around dean’s…..body.

[beatsheetromanroy]

one of the things cas loves about having sex with dean is it allows him to be as close to dean’s body as he was when he was rebuilding it

[blissedtm]

six days.

that was all it took to knock down the metaphorical wall the young colombus born woman had spent so much time building up around her. yet, it seemed like he had knocked them down without so much as breaking a sweat. he, you ask? as if it wasn’t already common knowledge.

jon..

even the thought of his name, seeing it written down, speaking it aloud was enough to bring pimples to the surface of ivory arms. so many times she had repeated the sentiment “what the fuck is going on” when referencing her feelings around the older companion, but it was now no longer a question. more than aware of what was happening, if it hadn’t already happened. the prospect of the latter actually quite terrifying considering how strongly she felt in this very moment. to think this.. feeling could get stronger?

i guess you could say everything was a tad amplified at the moment. it was sunday, which meant she had work tomorrow.. which meant she was also leaving jon. the day was always going to come, their impromptu week together had unravelled due to it being her birthday, jon wanting to treat her to a few days away, on the road with him; watching wrestling. but, it turned out to be so much more than.. whether either of them expected it to go that way or not, it seemed that neither had a choice in the matter.

for so long lexi had always found a way to not allow herself to fall into this trap. there was an anxiety in her when it came to the idea of fully investing her emotions in another person.. i guess that was partly due to a sheer lack of trust in most people. but she preferred it that way, always having a door to go through, to leave or a window to burst out of. even if she had to smash something, the blonde knew she could escape, start over, donate the t-shirts and shared blankets to a charity shop, and spend a couple of weeks, teary and emotional then move on… and continue moving on. without that person.

then he came along.

and suddenly it seemed that was no longer an option. it wasn’t anything in particular she fell in love with.. it was the way - with one look - he was able to make her feel like the only woman walking the planet. barrages of past lovers never failed to provide an extra notch in her crumbling self esteem, yet.. here he was, papering over those cracks like they were never there to begin with. it was the way one simple touch was enough to haul her from even the darkest corners in her mind. it was the way he ensured she felt protected at all times, even in the heat of the steamiest and most passionate moments between the sheets. it was the way that he was a dedicated father.. who loved with his entire heart.

it was never going to be just one thing with him. it was everything.. and with every new revelation, she only found herself sinking deeper and deeper. now stood the question, where does she go from here? as rays beamed through the slated blinds of their hotel room, the blonde perched herself against the headboard with a breathy sigh.. discarded clothes from the night prior still scattered around the room messily. a dainty hand raised to tussle blonde locks over one shoulder - draping over the limb with a wavy texture. the natural light glistening over her naked body just as she pulled the white sheet up to cover the exposed area around her enhanced chest.

the echos of steady, soft breathing came from her side.. right where the male she had thought about all morning laid peacefully, sleeping soundly. it was still a weird sensation.. waking up with him. witnessing him in such a vulnerable state. having known him for close to a decade as one of the toughest son of a bitches she knew.. and while he was certainly that, he was also so much more. this was not dean ambrose or jon moxley, or whatever alias he decided to go by in his line of work.. this was jonathan good; and by god did he have an everlasting effect on her.

allowing her tenderly touched hand to trickle up and down his exposed back.. following the line of his spine, up and down she lightly dusted her fingernails against the skin as she shuffled her bare body as close to his as she could without literally climbing on top of him. edging herself down into a laying position alongside him, she positioned herself perfectly so she could admire his sleepy features.. tracing along his jawline, nails scratching through his beard, travelling over his cheekbone and finally through his lightly coloured hair. god. how she never wanted this to end. a softly placed kiss landed on his forehead.. prolonging the connection for a few moments before she had to force herself to get out of bed and begin to pack away all her things.

wherever she went from here, she only knew of one thing she wanted… him.

[buckyownsmylife]

v e l o c i t y - chapter ii

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist. It’s being constantly updated

John’s P.O.V.

God fucking damn it. Just what the hell was going on back in Bobby’s house and why the hell wasn’t he picking up the phone?

For the first time since I left her behind, I found myself considering I should have at least given my omega - no, not my omega, just Y/N - enough attention to ask her for her number. At least it would have been handy in a time like this one, where my heart was pumping loudly, shortening my breathing, and making it difficult for me to focus. I just wanted to know what was going on, but there was no way I could tap into an unfulfilled bond to see what had scared Y/N so badly.

A sharp pang in my stomach had me abruptly turning the impala around and returning to the direction we had left behind two weeks before, much to the boys’ surprise. I made sure to ignore their open mouths and raised eyebrows, but I should know better than to hope that they’d quietly accept this change of plans.

“Where are we going?” Dean asked, while Sam rubbed off the sleep from his face.

“Back to Bobby’s,” I barked, and I knew that my tone didn’t allow for any follow-up questions. Still, Dean couldn’t help himself. He had been (sometimes not so) subtly teasing me about the girl, making jokes about how I probably wouldn’t even be able to handle the needs of a young body, anything to get a reaction from me.

“Forgot something there?” I knew what he was implying, and even though it couldn’t be further from the truth, I couldn’t find it in myself to explain just yet. Terror made my heartbeat clear and quick on my ears, and I hated it. It wasn’t a feeling that was familiar, but considering it truly belonged to someone else, it was just beyond irritating.

“Something like that.”

Stepping on the pedal as I was once again flooded with a panic that didn’t belong to me, I found myself praying I’d be able to make it there in time to stop whatever the hell was going on. To whom I was praying, I didn’t know, just as I couldn’t explain why the hell I cared.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I squeezed my knees tighter to my body, trying to make myself smaller while attempting to control my breathing at the same time. It wasn’t easy, especially since my heartbeat was all over the place.

At least the screaming has subdued. Although that did little to appease my concern, it did help in my task of hiding in this safe room inside the empty basement. Just before Bobby managed to shove me in here, the last thing he told me was to keep quiet and still until someone came to get me, but now that his voice had been gone for a while and he still hadn’t reappeared, I doubted anyone would come looking for me.

Still, I couldn’t find it in myself to uncurl my body from this somewhat calm-inducing position and actually step out of the room to go explore the house. Not when I could still remember so clearly what I found when my dad was murdered. And I couldn’t see the same done with Bobby. I just couldn’t. Not when that meant that I was completely alone, with no one to worry about me in this entire world.

Tears rose, prompting me to blink them away, scared that once I allowed myself to grieve, I wouldn’t be able to stop. This wasn’t the time or the place. My life could very well still be in danger. And I couldn’t let Bobby’s… disappearance be for nothing. No. He put himself at risk for me, I’d abide by his wishes.

First things first, I’d stay right here, not moving a muscle. If nothing came to find me, then I’d slowly make my way out of this hiding spot… once I deemed it was safe enough to do so. 

But for now, there wasn’t much I could do, other than focus on my breathing and keep quiet. Real quiet. And watch time slowly go by. Praying that if something did come to find me, it would come in with a friendly face.

John’s P.O.V.

“Shit.” It was all I said as I barely managed to park the car right outside Bobby’s place before leaping out of it. It was pretty obvious something had happened over here, if not by the fact that the front door was slammed open, at least by the tracks of something that had been dragged over the front lawn, looking too much like a body not to make every single nerve end on my body stand to attention again.

At least I was feeling something again, and even if it was from my own system and not hers, I considered it a good sign. Halfway through the drive the panic that had been steadily building had completely disappeared, and I almost believed, if only for a second, something had happened to her - only to realize that if someone had killed my mate, I would have definitely known.

I still didn’t want to think about her as being my mate, but the existence of this connection between us was undeniable, especially as I bursted into the house, gun in my hand, to find blood fucking everywhere. The feelings of worry skyrocketed - I wanted to attribute them to her, but I knew they were mine. Just what the fuck had happened here and where the fuck was her?

I could hear the boys walking around the house behind me. I couldn’t give them any attention. My mind was occupied with her and only her, needing to know that she was safe, almost desperate to know where the heck she was. 

Bobby was a smart man. If he had noticed even an inkling of something going South, he’d have found a way to protect her. I just had to figure out what it was. Gun still in hand, although it was pretty clear that whatever it was that had been here had left long ago, I encircled the sofa and started to make my way down to the basement, remembering a conversation I’d had with Bobby one of the many times I came to visit.

“There’s an old closet in the back of the room downstairs,” he’d said. “It’d make for a good panic room, if I ever ended up having something I needed to keep safe.” Despite never having seen it, it wasn’t too hard to find it once I managed to turn on the lights. It really was made to be imperceptible for someone who wasn’t looking for it, but since that wasn’t my case,  the difference in the wood texture of the walls sorely jumped out to my eyes, and I reached out to curve the barely existent nail of my thumb on the indentation until I was able to pull it open. 

And there she was.

She was asleep, head resting on her knees, tucked away into the corner of the closet-sized room. A sigh of relief fell out of my mouth before I could reel it in, my heart clenching at the adorable sight before I snapped myself out of it. Fuck, no. This wasn’t any sentimental mate shit. This was me, worried about another living human being - one that had been placed under my friend’s care after having lost her entire family. That was all there was to it.

Still, I was careful when I reached out to put a hand on top of her, hoping it would suffice to pull her from her slumber. What I wasn’t expecting, however, was for that fucking connection to call out at the feeling of her skin under my calloused fingers, her eyes snapping open in shock and her mouth opening in clear intent to scream her lungs out.

“Shhhh… It’s just me. Shut the fuck up,” I groaned, one hand clasped over her mouth as I pulled her up with me and drag us out of the panic room. From the corner of my eye, I could see the boys had caught on to what had happened, and were clearly relieved to see her safe, despite the lack of indication as to where Bobby could be. 

After the initial shock, she finally stopped mumbling against my palm and took a deep breath, probably taking in the reality of the situation. It was just us. No immediate danger around.

I don’t think she even noticed when I slipped out from behind her, finally uncovering her mouth so I could try to understand what the hell had happened around here. The lack of contact between our skin, however, was sorely felt by my alpha genes, that begged me to look for her softness again, keep it close to me.

“Bobby?” Just that question made it clear we wouldn’t be getting much answers from her. Before I could say anything, Dean shook his head with an apologetic smile, and despite her falling down on a couch nearby, much to my surprise, she didn’t start crying or screaming again. If anything, she took the news (or lack of them) with quiet resignation, something that intrigued me to no end.

She’d lost everything, but instead of behaving like some poor little omega, she just accepted that this was her life now. 

“Didn’t you hear anything?” I finally asked, and had to suppress a smug grin when her eyes immediately snapped up to meet mine, easily abandoning Dean’s gaze. 

“Screams. But I couldn’t make out what was being said, it just seemed…” She hesitated then, like she needed to gather some strength to keep talking about it, but still, she pushed through. “It just seemed like they were torturing him, you know? It didn’t last long, but it was…”

She didn’t need to say it, it was easy to understand. Haunting. Devastating. I can’t imagine how it must have been like to be stuck in that spot, desperately wanting to help - because I knew it had been the case, I could feel it through our… bond, as nonexistent as it was - and being absolutely terrified about what could be waiting on the other side.

I had the overwhelming urge to wrap my arms around her, feel her body against mine again and comfort her mind with my presence. It was so strong, in fact, that I had to bury my fingernails in my palms in order to stop myself from doing that, but since the urge remained, I distracted my animalistic side with some practical tasks that needed to be dealt with.

“Okay, let’s get the hell out of here. Sam, did you pack her stuff?” Knowing my youngest had gone up to the second floor and was easily the most prepared out of all of us, it didn’t surprise me when he answered by simply holding up a duffel in his hands. “Alright, then let’s hit the road.”

Y/N’s P.O.V.

Taken by surprise and ripped from my admittedly dark thoughts, I whipped around to stare at the older man who looked like this was just another ordinary day, like he hadn’t just very clearly tried to alter the course of my existence. But instead of providing me with any sort of explanation, he just reached out for my arm and pulled me from the couch, dragging me all the way to the main floor of the house and out of it before I was able to speak again.

“Stop! Hold on!” I managed to release my wrist from his grip, but I don’t think he would have even realized I was speaking if it weren’t from the sudden lack of contact between our bodies.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” The omega in me wanted to recoil at the sight of her alpha looking at us with such anger, but he wasn’t our alpha. And he definitely had no right to come here and take control of my life like I had no say in the matter whatsoever.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” I shot back, and his mouth hung open in surprise. It almost made me feel smug about myself, knowing I had the power to shock the great John Winchester, who thought he was too good to become someone’s mate, but I was too angry to even acknowledge that. “You can’t just come in here and take me away, that’s not how it works.”

“I’m trying to keep you safe.” From the little I knew of him, considering our limited encounters and the stories Bobby and other hunters had told me about, I knew he was a man of few words, but even my irate state of mind could identify the warning bells on the way he uttered that simple sentence, paired with the sight of the veins on his forearms as he clenched his hands into fists.

Still, I pressed on.

“Who gave you that responsibility? Bobby was my godfather, my father trusted him, I know next to nothing about you. In fact, I want to keep knowing next to nothing about you. Just the same as you want when it comes to me, I’m certain.”

Waves of anger radiated from him, and even Sam and Dean seemed tense from a distance, where they stood by the car, watching our altercation. Guess seeing their dad this furious wasn’t as usual as I figured it would be, considering the Alpha inside of him.

“Why is it so hard for you to just obey? Get inside the car. I’m not gonna ask you again.” Of course, he could have made me obey, if he wanted to. One order from their alpha and any omega would fall to their knees, the genetic pull too strong to ignore. But he didn’t use his alpha voice, he used his John voice, and if at first that surprised me, believing it to be from a place of respect, the realization that it was most likely because he didn’t want to recognize that our bond even existed only filled me with even more anger.

“I am not getting in that car with you.” I braced myself for what he could do, trying to harden my soul so it wouldn’t hurt to see him leave - that’s what I wanted, right? - while also preparing to fight if he finally relented and took advantage of his manipulation power, but there was just no way I could anticipate him shortening the distance between us and easily throwing me over his shoulder like I was nothing more than a sack of potatoes. 

John’s P.O.V.

Fucking stupid ‘mega. Is she actively trying to get herself killed? Everyone around her has died in the last few months, what makes her think she can survive on her own? Why the fuck couldn’t she just be a good fucking girl and obey me? I hated that I had to resort to this, I hated having to touch her again, and especially have her over my shoulder, where I could feel the smell of her hair as it fighted against the wind and she tried to punch my back.

I grunted as I deposited her on the copilot seat, immediately locking the door so she wouldn’t be able to run away. The boys took their places in the backseat while I made my way to the driver’s seat, and although Dean didn’t look all that happy to be confined back there, it couldn’t come close to the burning expression with which she regarded me.

“Don’t you look at me like that,” I growled. “You’re coming and that’s final.”

“You don’t want me! Why are you taking me with you?” She was nearly yelling by then, arms waving around like a lunatic, and I had to to grind my teeth together so I wouldn’t reach out and…

I don’t know what I wanted to do, to be honest. I just knew that my head was pounding and I could still fill the weight of her body over my shoulder, like her skin had burned the fabric of my shirt and imprinted the shape of her body on my soul.

“You must be really fucking stupid if you think I’m gonna leave you out there, all alone.” That, thank the lord, was enough to shut her up, but I figured out pretty soon that she didn’t need to open her mouth to find new ways to annoy me.

“Driver picks the music,” I warned, lightly slapping her hand when she reached for the radio, but the infuriating little thing only slapped mine back and changed the station anyway.

“Maybe on a road trip. If you don’t want this to be recognized as a kidnapping, it’s the least you can do.” God, she was infuriating. I clenched my hands on the wheel, mulling the words I wanted to say over my head and I still wasn’t able to stop the threat from spilling.

“I swear to God, I’m not above pulling over and spanking you until you’re not able to walk for a whole week.” The second her eyes met mine, I knew trouble was coming my way, and still I was unprepared when the next words fell from her lips.

“And you think that’s punishment?” I couldn’t help it, the question provoked me into thoughts I definitely did not want to be having about her, my ears burning up as I realized that she could very easily read my reactions to figure out what was going on through my head - especially since my eyes automatically trailed over her body.

“You know what? I changed my mind. Take me wherever you’d like.” And with that, she threw one leg over the other, a dangerous smile taking over her face. “I think you and I are gonna have a lot of fun together, John Winchester.”

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly Chapter 7 : Eighteen and twenty-eight years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 4330

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Firefly Chapter 3

Firefly Chapter 4

Firefly Chapter 5

Firefly Chapter 6

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

——————————————————————————

She wasn’t moving at all. Sitting on the bench in the middle of this ocean of life, she watched people walk by. The sun had gone down now, after moving from building to building, making giant shadows change the whole city constantly.

She was overwhelmed, unable to move at all. Her eyes were drinking the world like new born baby’s ones. None of her muscles moved for hours, her fists clinging at her dress, her heart bleeding in silence for Dean.

A few people stopped to ask her if she was okay, but she couldn’t answer, her voice locked in her lungs…

But she finally got up.

After days of hiding in alleys, and walking on boulevards, escaping weird men yelling at her in the dark of night… It started to rain. A heavy, pouring storm rain that made her dress heavy and washed the dust out of her. And that warm loud summer rain somehow woke her from her torpor.

She had to live, and learn everything about life because that’s what Dean wanted for her… But Dean wasn’t here, and he will never be. So she came back to that bench, soaked and shaking, and started to cry for him. She had to be happy for the man she loved, and couldn’t without him… 

Her tears only calmed with the rain that day. And even when her eyes stopped crying, her heart never stopped weeping for Dean a single second.

Not when she got up from that bench to find a map of the city on the subway station, not when she found clothes, and ripped that stupid dress of her body… It was still weeping when she first found people in the street and asked her where to find food. It was screaming inside her during her first night in a foster home for homeless people… When she fought for the first time to escape men again. 

Her heart was weeping for Dean the first time she laughed, seeing cartoons in a TV store front, when she found out about drugs and abuse, cheating, wealth... when she started to be hungry, when she fell of exhaustion in an alley…

And even if her eyes stayed dry, her soul kept crying when the demons attacked.

Lilith had sent them after her as soon as the Queen noticed Y/n was no longer in Hell. She was hiding in an abandoned building when dozens of demons attacked her, she fought with teeth and nails to get them off and she won, but that wasn’t the end… Lilith kept sending more minions and, exhausted but determined to live, Y/n had only one option left.

She faked her own death. With the help of her powers and some research in the nearby library and in the maze of knowledge she had memorized over the years, she tricked the demons into believing she was dead, and used a certain pattern of sigils to hide herself, cloaked from every supernatural being.

Finally she was free.

So things went easier. After a little while, she met her own little angel : Sue. An older lady who offered Y/n shelter when she caught her dumpster diving her diner. Sue found Y/n a little odd at first, everyone thought that of her, but just as with every person Y/n had met on her way, Sue liked the happy girl she always seemed to be, enthusiastic about the very simpler things ; so she offered Y/n a job as a waitress in her diner.

_____________

 Y/n’s window was rolled down as the loud music blasted through the speakers of her raven black 1967 Ford Mustang as she drove to work, still the same job at Sue’s diner. And she was smiling wide on her way, because she loved every single thing about this job. 

She parked her car in the lot and made her way inside to take her light blue apron.

“Morning Y/n! How are you doing today sweetie ?” Sue asked.

“You know, same old same old.” Y/N shrugged.

Tying her apron on her, Y/n smiled kindly. She looked so different from what Dean had known, and hopefully different enough so no demon passing by ever recognized her. Her hair was tied together and no longer falling on a waterfall in her back. No more fancy dresses but only jeans and all the t-shirts she liked, with rock bands on it, or her favorite movies posters... 

Sue sighed and put her hand on Y/n’s shoulder.

“Are you still working on freeing Prince Charming ?” she asked Y/n with an apologetic smile. 

“Yes, I promised I would get him out and I won’t stop until he is” she said determinedly. 

When Sue had just found Y/n she kindly offered her to stay at her house until she could get on her own feet. Y/n dreamed a lot about Dean, some dreams worse than the others, so after the third night of her guest screaming Dean’s name, Sue had asked her who he was. Y/n couldn’t tell her everything so she said he was the love of her life and was wrongly imprisoned, and that she had promised to get him out.

“He’s a very lucky guy to have you, Y/n” Sue told her.

“Yeah, I just… I miss him so much…” Y/n said as she made the last knot on her apron.

“I know sweetie, but if you truly love him, he’ll come back, just wait and see” she smiled with that protective expression she always had when it came to her protégée, even if she seemed sometimes perplexed about all those stories she told.

She gave her her note book to write down the orders.

“Yeah I hope so” Y/n clicked on her pen and made her way into the diner to take up the orders of all the customers. 

It was a quiet day, she loved this little diner, the food was amazing and it even had a little jukebox she often used. It had given her a shelter, money to live, but also an identity and friends. A life.

Her smile faded like it did sometimes, Dean would have loved this diner too… She thought back to all the things she discovered on Earth.

She did everything Dean had told her about : She went to the movie theater, she learned how to drive (thanks to Sue), she had a date or four, went to a party, she got drunk a few times. She danced alone and with others, kissed a girl and travelled a little. Her appetite for life was never ending, so she had driven to the ocean and dived, she had smoked weird things once and ran in the forest, she had woke in the middle of the night to go buy ice-cream, she had sang in the shower and stayed home for an entire weekend crying while watching bad tv shows… And she even lost her virginity to a sweet boy. But nothing could get her mind off Dean, calm her weeping heart or divert her from her goal.

Every night she looked up at the stars and imagined him by her side, she could use her power to create an image of him that existed out of a million little stars, well more like a million little fireflies.

A lot of time had passed since she last saw him, her heart broke at the thought of him down there for so long. He must have forgotten her by now, if his soul even survived those many years.

A throat being cleared pulled her from her daydreaming. She turned to find a man smiling at her.

“Oh my apologies, what can I get you, sir ?” she asked the man, there was something unpleasant about him, he had dirty blonde hair and she didn’t like the way his blue eyes were traveling her up and down.

“Are you on the menu ?” he asked her with a sly smile.

Y/n sighed deep, why were a lot of men on Earth such… pigs ?

“No sorry, I was just joking” the man began. “I’ll take a coffee with some pancakes.” 

Y/n wrote his order down and left with a forced smile. 

He was the only customer today so Y/n handed the paper to Sue so she could make it and sat down at the little bar. She was watching the man in the mirror that hung on the other side of the counter. She couldn’t shake the eerie feeling she got from the man, he looked normal, but she could feel something… something powerful radiating off him.

The bell pulled Y/n out of her haze as she took the coffee and pancake to the man.

“Here you go sir, enjoy your meal” Y/n said as she dropped the food at his table.

“Thank you.” 

She was starting to leave when his voice stopped her.

“Can I ask you a question, miss ?” he asked as he took a bite from the pancake.

“Yeah, of course” Y/n shrugged.

“You haven’t been here for long have you ?” he said as he looked at her.

“Uhm no, not very long. Are you from around here ?” Y/n asked, he was just a normal guy, it was impossible for anyone to find her anyway. 

“Oh no not at all. But i didn’t mean this diner...” he kept on eating nonchalantly, he swallowed. “I meant Earth.” 

Y/n’s eyes went wide, she turned and ran towards the exit only to bump into the man who was just sitting at the table behind her half a second ago. 

“Who are you” Y/n asked as she stepped back from him

A deep sigh left his mouth.

“It hurts me that you even have to ask that, Y/n” he blinked and his irises turned to a fiery red.

Y/n ran towards the kitchen to get Sue. She pulled open the door and shrieked as her dear friend fell on her with her eyes burned out.

Dead.

“No ! Sue !” Y/n started shaking, cupping her friend’s face. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER ?” Y/n screamed to the man walking in casually.

“She put too much milk in my coffee, so I ended her” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Y/n stood up, her eyes a flare as she widened her arms to unleash her powers. Two fiery tentacles wrapped around the man’s legs.

“You’ll regret this” she said, her voice sounding like a thousand people at once.

The man gave her a sly smirk and snapped his fingers, her powers stopped immediately. She thrusted her hands forward to him, but nothing happened. Fear shone in her eyes as she looked at him in disbelief.

“It’s time we should head home, Y/n” he stepped closer to her, his fingers tilting up her chin.

“We have a family to start” he whispered against her lips with a dark chuckle.

“L-Lucifer” she gasped. 

 His arms wrapped tight around her and before she could blink she was back in Hell.

The suffocating smell of sulfur and blood made her cough, her whole body started to shake as she started to desperately gasp for air, her lungs crushed by the most powerful anxiety she ever felt. Her arms reached to her enemy in a pleading scratch, like he was strangling her…

“Home sweet home, baby” he cruelly cooed in her ear, his breath heavy on her skin. 

She pried her arms between them to push out of his embrace. He chuckled as he let her go and she fell backwards, scrambling away from him.

“Stay away from me!” she finally managed to yell at him, her eyes flaring back to life as she was losing control over her powers.

He tilted his head at her as he watched her, his steps following her every move.

“You are such a pretty thing, I see some potential too. But I was told you were,” he hummed in thought “a pain in the ass. And I’m starting to see why.”

Her eyes were scanning everything, the bloody walls, the frozen air all around her, the never ending screams, the smell of fear and fire. 

No she couldn’t be back in Hell…

With a turn of his wrist she was lifted up in the air, she tried to fight his power, but he was too strong… She couldn’t take on the Lord of Hell…

“Y/n, I’m only going to tell you that only once : You will obey and be helpful” he said with every step until he stood nose to nose with her, his eyes drinking her in.

She gave him a sweet smile before she spat in his face.

“Never” she told him.

His hand came up to wipe her spit away, he licked his hand clean, humming at her taste. 

“As you wish, Y/n. Then my little slave needs chains...” he sneered.

Iron ropes wrapped around her as soon as the word left his lips, they burned into her flesh making her scream in pain. She fell heavy to the ground at his feet.

“For eternity” he finished as he sat down on his throne.

“No p-please, no chains… everything but chains” she begged him.

“Oh no baby, I know what you used to do when you’re set loose, but forget about that, he isn’t here anyway, no reason to go wandering. Jeal told me all about you and your little lover.” he said as he crossed his legs over each other.

“H-he isn’t ? H-How” she asked, suddenly able to ignore the pain of the iron digging in her flesh. 

How was that possible ?

“He got out, Heaven’s plans. Now stop asking or I’ll gag you too” he sighed, looking at her. “I’ll make you your own little cage, like they did for me. No way you’ll get away from this one. And don’t think your daddy will help, he still thinks you’re dead. Everyone does.”

She whimpered in silence, only one thought on her mind. He was free… 

Dean Winchester was alive.

________________________

Dean’s Pov 

  Dean woke up in a little painful whine, he opened his eyes and wiped the sweat off his face and neck, watching the ceiling, trying to focus on the contour of his body, the sheets and the pillow. He took a deep breath to calm his heaving chest. 

Another nightmare.

And this one wasn’t the violent surviving of Purgatory, it wasn’t the burning guilt of old fights with John, the crushing pain of seeing Sam die ; it wasn’t the despair of losing Mary again, the disturbing memories of being a demon… It was the worst : Hell.

And among the worst, the tortures and the screams, tonight’s nightmare had to be about the cruellest idea demons ever came up with : fake hope.

In his dream, he was laying on the floor of his cell, barely able to breath because of the blood drowning his lungs, and he felt her hand, her tiny soft fingers wrapped around his wrist to ease his panic. She whispered sweet things to him but when he lifted his eyes to see her face, only Alastair was there, laughing loud and sharpening knives. 

Dean stretched and shook his head, like he could get rid of those memories like that. He couldn’t let nightmares get to him, and he couldn’t let his past crush him. 

With his guts still aching from the dream, he forced himself to get up. Staying in bed only made the memories clearer, and the trauma cut deeper. He knew only another hunt could ease the pain. 

Maybe, just maybe, if he saved enough people, he would finally expiate.

The bunker was silent, even Sam was still sleeping so early in the morning. Walking to the kitchen, he frowned : His knee was still hurting and the bruises on his face and collarbones too. 

Damn demon.

He turned to enter the kitchen and jumped a little.

“Hi Dean, sorry I scared you” Jack said, looking up from his bowl of cereal, his big eyes going to the hunter’s wounds quickly. “How are you ?” 

“I’m fine. What are you doing up so early ?” Dean grunted, going straight to the coffee in his long grey robe. 

“I have trouble sleeping lately” the boy answered, frowning in confusion like he often did. 

“Try whiskey” Dean muttered low in a sleepy grunt.

“Alcohol is really not a solution to my problem I think” Jack turned to him, even more confused.

“I was kidding” he sighed, sitting in front of the young boy.

Sometimes Jack really was Castiel’s son…

The hunter scratched his scruff and took the cereal to plunge his hand in the box, eating some while reading the joke behind it.

“I hear a voice in my head” Jack sighed. 

Dean looked up, ready to make a mocking joke but he noticed a genuine worry on the boy’s face.

“A voice ?”

“Yes” Jack searched Dean’s face. “At first I thought maybe I overheard something on the angel radio, but… It seems different.”

“What does it say ?” 

“I don’t really understand it” Jack shrugged.

“Understand what ?” Sam asked, scratching his head while entering the room with his hair in every direction and the left side of his face still swollen and bruised. “Wow, everyone is up early this morning ! What am I missing ?” 

“Jack says he hears a voice” Dean repeated, getting up to get coffee now it was ready. “But he doesn’t know where it comes from or what it says” he groaned slightly. 

Please don’t let that be bad news again…

Dean sat heavily, rubbing his tired eyes while his brother interrogated Jack. How long had he been hearing the voices, were there several, was it constant… The boy only had a very few answers.

“We need to find where it comes from, Dean” Sam states, making his brother grunt again in his coffee mug. 

That didn’t sound like a good old fight and kill hunt, it sounded like trouble.

_____________________

  Dean pushed the heavy metal door and went down the stairs, overhearing his brother, Jack and Castiel talking in the library. 

Reaching them, he almost threw the bag on the wooden table, not daring to ask any question seeing the three too serious faces looking at him.

“I guess no good news” he mumbled deep in his throat looking down to grab a beer from the bag.

“Dean” Castiel started with his worried voice, making the hunter look instantly slightly annoyed. “The voice comes from Hell.”

“Hell” Dean repeated casually, taking a sip of beer to wash the word from his mouth. “There are a lot of voices in Hell, it’s pretty loud down there.”

When his eyes fell on Sam, a shiver roamed his back. He had the face, Dean hated that face, the “you’re not going to like it” face. So he put his beer down on the table and sighed.

“What is it ?” he finally asked.

“The voice, Dean” Jack said. “It’s calling you.”

“Me” Dean’s eyes widened. “There can be another dude named Dean in Hell !”

“Dean…” Sam sighed. “Who could be calling you ?”

Dean’s first thought went to Bobby. They had freed him from Hell a few years ago, he was supposed to be in Heaven, and Crowley had decided differently… Maybe someone they lost ? An innocent locked in Hell by mistake ? But Rowena was on the throne now… Would she do that ? 

“How can you hear a voice coming from Hell ?” he shook his head. “Do you hear them all ?”

“No” Jack said. “Only this one.”

Dean sat and took a deep breath, realizing this would mean that he would have to visit Hell... again. After those break in, the nightmares were always worse, and last time he had to deal with a panic attack in the shower. 

“Okay” he stated. “What is the plan ? And how do we know it’s not a trap ?”

_____________________ 

 “So your plan…” Rowena frowned from her throne, her long dress nonchalantly falling on the floor. “Is letting the boy follow a voice like a dog on a leash ?” 

Dean’s face was stern, his arms tense, his heart a little compressed in his chest.

Each time he smelled that horrible sulfur mixed with blood smell, it was like he could feel the chains and the needles and hear Alastair’s voice all over again. Then he had two choices in his mind : Either he accepted it, and stayed with the demon’s croaky voice in his head for days, or focused on what had made him hold on for years back then : the secret girl’s soft touches ; but then the fear was replaced by the crushing feeling of despair and sadness, at knowing he had been fooled that bad, into believing innocence exited.

“More or less” his brother answered. “Rowena, you have to admit it’s something new… And if there are leaks in Hell…”

“Yeah yeah…” the witch sighed. “But don’t come crying when your little baby angel comes back traumatized. This is not a place for kids.”

Oh the irony.

“It’s not there” Jack cut them with a frown, looking around.

“What do you mean it’s not there ?” Dean grunted. “You were sure it came from Hell !”

“It does…” the boy stated. “Just deeper.”

“Deeper ?” Sam shook his head, but turned to Rowena, immediately trusting Jack as always. “Is there a basement in Hell ?”

“A basement ? Hell is a multi-dimensional…”

“Answer him” Dean cut her, losing patience.

Rowena got up and demons entered the room. She gave orders about getting the records, about the cage, and all. After a few very long minutes, a demon in an old man vessel came closer to the Queen, whispering something in her ear.

“Oh really ?” Rowena said. “Why am I not aware of all this ?”

“Because they’re all empty, your Majesty” the demon shrugged. 

“What is ?” Sam insisted with a flustered move of his hands.

Rowena sat again.

“There are cages, like the one that held Lucifer once. Smaller ones, but for all we know, they are all empty.”

“For all you know ?” Dean raised his voice a little. 

“No one uses them” Rowena shrugged. 

“They held an angel during the war between Heaven and Hell” the demon spoke, his voice shaking a little, obviously uneasy in front of the Winchesters. “I-in the dawn of time, but the angel was killed by Lucifer before Michael locked him in the cage… We kinda forgot where they were.”

“Take us to them” Jack ordered Rowena with this frown of his.

Rowena looked to the demon that didn’t move, his eyes on Dean, like the hunter could suddenly decide to kill all of them.

“Merihem, take us to those cages” Rowena called him. “Chop chop.” 

____________________

The light of Hell’s fire didn’t reach that deep in the pit, like the sun in the deepest ocean.

Dean was holding the torch like it was his lifeline in this vertiginous nightmare of deafening silence. Everything was threateningly pitch black, a perfect representation of the fear of dark, a big cold lonely nothingness… With stairs in the middle. 

“I didn’t know there was anything deeper than Lucifer’s cage” the Queen’s voice echoed weirdly in the void.

Suddenly, the stairs stopped and Dean banged into metal bars. He lifted his torch to see what was behind it, but the cage was empty.

“It’s here” Jack whispered. “I can feel it.”

Sam opened the empty cage, his arm hair ruffling at the touch of the same metal that held his soul for so long.

“Nothing” he said, holding back his own trauma probably as hard as Dean did.

“Dean…” a weak voice made them all jump, coming from the dark.

“Who is this ?” the hunter grunted, taking a few unsure steps to the next cage, firmly holding his torch in front of him with an almost trembling arm.

“Dean…” the voice now whined.

Sam put his hand on his brother’s shoulder to make him wait for him. They looked at each other, using silent words and joining their flames to fight the pitch black ahead of them. 

Even used to all kinds of nightmares, Dean wasn’t so reassured in the deepest of Hell, called by a weak and plaintive voice coming from the darkest of darks.

Something moved in the cage in a deafening metal noise, a shadow fleeing the light. The brothers both let out a shaky breath, moving closer with the demon and Rowena way behind them.

Dean swallowed, finally distinguishing a body, hunched in the opposite corner of the cage, shaking. Extremely long hair was falling around the pitiful form, chained heavily even inside the cage. 

“Who are you ?” he asked again. “You’re calling me, why ?”

No answer.

“Who is this ?” Sam turned to the demon that had guided them.

“I-I have no idea” it answered. “No one came here in years !”

“Dean ?” the voice seemed to struggle thinking straight.

“Jeez” Sam muttered. “For how long has she been there ?”

She ? Dean thought, realizing now it was indeed a woman, her thin delicate hands were clinging to the floor.

His heart was racing in his chest, from being in Hell, from the fear of what he would find, and from something else, something confusing, like an emotion flying in the air around him.

The girl finally lifted her face to them, teary eyes frowned at the light of the flame, her shaking hand open in front of her to soften the burning of the torch.

Dean felt hit violently in the chest, his breathing stopped in a strangled gasp as everything he certainly knew started to crumble in the back of his mind. He opened his mouth but nothing came out… After swallowing twice, he finally managed to speak.

“Firefly ?”

Next Chapter on @roonyxx​‘s blog

________________________

_Feedback is what makes the stories live_

Forever Tags : @parinarain @animegirlgeeky @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld  @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @stormchasingchick32 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n  @lyss-dw79 @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj @i-love-superhero @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks @fangirlxwritesx67 @mrspeacem1nusone @stylesismyhubs @deanwanddamons @jawritter @peridottea91 @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart @vicmc624 @teresa-67 @jessie-michael @doctor-hp-mcu @hawkerz12​

Firefly Tags: @waywardsistersandpie @jessica-marsh09​ @teller258316 @busy-bee-angel-misska @theatrechic26 @lovelyrocker @couldabeenamermaid​

[poopunderstander]

i am probably the 5000th person to write Dean teaching Cas to drive but i did it anyway and i'm here to make it your problem

"Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous."

2.4k words, destiel, PG/teen&up, no warnings except for a lot of geology talk at the start

link on ao3

Approximately 550 million years before what Castiel currently knows as the present day, two enormous sheets of earth collided in a dying ocean. The continent of Laurentia met with an arc of volcanic islands, and, finding itself unequal to their fury, folded downward beneath the sapping crust of the Iapetus Ocean. Over millennia, as Heaven watched, the earth and water consumed each other, leaving a thick scar of mountains, to be worn away in turn by new millennia of wind and ice and fire.

That was the Age of Fishes. Later, much later, humans climbed into the valleys in between the hills, to fish and hunt and build, and when they buried their dead they painted the graves with red earth, infinitesimal new scars over the old tectonic suture.

Castiel remembers all this—can feel it in the ground under his vessel’s feet, here in what Dean Winchester calls central Maine. They’re standing on glacial till deposited in the last ice age, and below them are the grains of sand from the Iapetus Ocean that became mudstone and siltstone, then pelite and shale and Silurodevonian granite. Twenty-five miles beneath Castiel lies a layer of Precambrian gneiss, a sheet of ancient dust pressed into solid stone nearly four billion years ago, when the ocean was wide and God himself wasn’t that old. That stone, Castiel knows, is Earth’s oldest shield: the last solid barrier between humanity and the planet’s molten core. He thinks about this as he watches Dean load guns into the trunk of his car, his boots planted in soft red earth carried here 10,000 years ago by a river of ice.

“Ready?” Dean says, turning back to face Cas.

Castiel thinks about the God who watched the continents form, who watched the planet eat itself a thousand times and heal a thousand more, the God who Castiel knows once wasn’t dead. He looks at Dean, who knows none of this and came with him anyway to trap an archangel on earth, and thinks: How could I be?

“Yes,” he says.

<>

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

They’re sitting in the empty parking lot of an ice cream shop, across the road from St. Peter’s Hospital. Dean drove them here after they left the house of prostitution, to wait for the sun to rise and the meeting with Raphael to “go down.” Castiel, still caught up in the pangs of regret and panic he brought away from the bar, has spent his last hours on earth contemplating the profound and mundane limits of his earthly knowledge.

“I thought she would appreciate the information,” he told Dean, trying to create in words a world in which he didn’t ruin Dean’s terrifying act of kindness, and Dean laughed and said, “Oh, dude, big mistake.”

“I don’t think I understand women,” Castiel said then, and Dean threw back his head and laughed, and Castiel felt a portion of the darkness inside him evaporate.

Dean started quizzing him after that, asking about things he’s done, talking about something he calls a “bucket list.” Castiel doesn’t know what the bucket is for, but Dean’s apparently contains people and places and food: a musician named Springsteen in Concert, the Chevrolet Hall of Fame in Decatur, the 1,800 pound burger at Mallie’s Sports. He asks Castiel if he’s ever been to the Grand Canyon, and Castiel tells him he witnessed its creation. Dean says okay, but did you ever hike it, and Castiel has to shake his head.

It’s in this way that Dean learns that Castiel has never driven a car—a fact which Cas thinks shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. They’re sitting on the hood of the car together, gazing out across Highwood Avenue at the glowing windows of the hospital, and Dean twists his whole body around to face Cas, telegraphing his shock.

“Why would I,” Cas points out. “I’ve never had the need.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but—dude, what if somebody, like, zaps your wings? What’re you gonna do, huh, take a bus?”

Cas shrugs. “Probably. I think it’s far more likely that Raphael will kill me outright.”

He sees a flicker of pain cross Dean’s face; this conversation made him uncomfortable before. Castiel wonders about that. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “I just meant—hypothetically. In a hypothetical world where you get your angel mojo un-mojoed, or whatever, you’d just—buy a bus ticket?”

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s admitting to, here. He thought bus travel was common. “I suppose.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, turning back to face the hospital. “That’s just wrong.”

They’re silent for a moment, spinning in their own private worlds. The lights are off inside the ice cream shop—it’s nearly dawn, and nobody buys ice cream at dawn—but the lamps above the Dairy Queen sign are blazing, and Castiel is watching the yellow light flow over Dean’s head and shoulders as he leans back on the hood of his car, still warm from the engine’s labor. Even now, looking at Dean’s body is like looking at a miracle. Castiel wonders if he’s aware that he’s the only thing in Waterville, Maine born entirely of God’s will.

“Listen,” Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s gonna be like in there. I know you said—well, I know what you said. But I think,” he says, puffing up with that bizarre confidence he always seems to pull from nowhere, “I think we’re gonna make it. And if I’m right, if we do—” He turns to look at Cas again, a grin dawning across his face. “If we do, I’m gonna teach an angel of the lord to drive stick.”

Castiel has no idea why—he’s not quite sure what those words in that order mean—but this thought seems to give Dean hope. Castiel doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t have a human soul, that thing that seems to trap hope so unfailingly it feels like a flaw in the design.

The sun is feet from the eastern horizon.

“Okay,” he tells Dean.

<>

Twenty-five miles north of Waterville is a town called Canaan. When colonists first settled on the banks of the Kennebec, they used the native word for the place they built: Wesserunsett. Not long after, though, deciding that that long name was not worth the labor of speaking or writing it, they looked at the bright green fields laid all around their stolen home, imagined a similarly verdant place of rest waiting for them at life’s end, and named the new town after the Promised Land.

Canaan, of course, looks nothing like Heaven, really. Heaven is vast and multidimensional; Canaan is a ten-room motel, two grocery stores, and two churches along the length of US Highway 2. But outside Canaan, between the highway and the lake, is a wide field of grass and purple violets, which Dean pronounces “perfect.” He pulls off the road into the field, and Castiel feels the solid, assuring weight of asphalt give way to the uncertainty of earth.

“Okay,” Dean says. He gets out of the car, and motions for Castiel to do the same. Cas does, turning cautiously to scan the field around them.

“There’s no road here,” he points out. He’s never tried it before, but he always assumed that a road was essential to driving.

“That’s the point,” Dean says. “You can’t start on the road, you’re gonna get yourself killed. Gotta start where there’s nothing to run into.” He gestures at the expanse around them. “Like so. That’s how my dad taught me.”

Dean doesn’t talk about his father. Castiel has noticed. He’s never seen John Winchester; tries to imagine Dean as a child, standing in a field like this with the man who withstood one hundred years of Hell. He can’t picture it. But then, imagination has never come easily to him.

“Come on,” Dean says, waving a hand for Cas to come around the car. Castiel obeys, walking around to the open driver’s seat as Dean circles to where Cas just was. They both sit down inside, pulling the doors shut, and Dean says, “Okay. So. Let’s start at the beginning.”

He talks Cas through the controls of the car, laying his hand on the dashboard as he talks, identifying the levers and pedals and dials with gentle, nearly reverent touches, watching Castiel’s face to make sure that he’s taking it all in. Castiel tries to concentrate, thinks he understands what he’s being told, but he has no place to anchor this information. That’s the clutch, Dean says, and Castiel nods and thinks, clutch, and thinks about gripping Dean tight. The clutch.

“You got it?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t feel he has anything.

“Of course.”

Dean beams. Cas can’t find it in himself to regret the lie.

“Go ahead and put your hands on the wheel,” Dean says. This turns out to be more complicated than Castiel anticipated. He does it wrong, apparently, the first time, because Dean frowns and says, “No, you gotta—ten o’clock and two o’clock, Cas,” and when Cas asks what that means Dean says to picture a clock, and Castiel doesn’t see what relevance that has to driving a car. In the end, Dean takes Castiel’s hands in both of his, and puts them onto the steering wheel in the right position. He sits back in satisfaction, nodding.

“Okay. Okay.” Castiel’s heart is pounding like a hummingbird’s. It’s not the same fear he felt last night. He doesn’t know what it is. Dean tells him where to put his feet, says okay, clutch first, keep it in neutral, and Cas pushes down with what was once Jimmy Novak’s left foot and then his right, feels the engine rumble to life, and lets go when Dean says okay, now.

He breaks the car. Or, that’s what it feels like at first: a heavy, surely cataclysmic crash of machinery that throws both of them back against the seat. He sees Dean grimace and gets ready to apologize, but Dean just says, “Okay, kind of rough start, but that’s fine—try it again.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Cas says. It sounded like the engine cracked. He thinks Dean may have underestimated his ignorance here. But Dean says no, try again, so Cas puts his feet back on the pedals and focuses every particle of his celestial consciousness on easing the pressure on and off in perfect unison the way Dean tells him, hands rigid at ten and two on the clock-wheel, and the four thousand pounds of steel beneath them roll approximately ten inches over the grass before Castiel’s focus falters, and the engine grinds to another explosive, neck-wrenching halt.

“You suck at this,” Dean says. His patience as an instructor, apparently, has been exhausted.

“Of course I suck at this,” Cas says, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I’m an angel.”

He expects the lesson to be over then—clearly, he isn’t going to learn this—but Dean just chuckles instead, caught up in another burst of unearned optimism, and says, “Try it again, little slower this time.”

For half an hour, Cas jolts the car in short, violent circles around the field, struggling to follow Dean’s directions and feeling sweat build up on his palms and the back of his shirt. The longest he’s able to drive in one smooth line lasts about one minute and forty-five seconds, long enough for Dean to lose his look of consternation and break out in a grin, raising his hands in celebration just as Cas accidentally pushes down on the wrong pedal and sends them screeching to a halt.

“Hey,” Dean says, once he’s recovered from the physical shock, “at least you’re getting better.”

“I’m not,” Cas tells him. He can feel an odd, nauseous constriction at the back of his throat; he wonders if it’s possible for a being that doesn’t eat or digest to vomit. “I’m not good at this, Dean. I won’t be good at this.”

“Listen,” Dean says, “if Sam could learn, so can you.”

“Sam’s very intelligent.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sam’s human.”

“Since when does that matter?” Dean asks.

Cas stares at him. Of course it matters. It’s always mattered. “I don’t know how,” he says. His hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Dean says, “hey.” He reaches over and lays his hand over Castiel’s, still on the steering wheel. His skin is warm and callused. Castiel feels the blood vessels in his cheeks and neck dilating.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Dean. He knows, without quite understanding, that what they’re doing is important to Dean, somehow, and he’s fucked it up. He did the same last night, with the woman whose name wasn’t Chastity, whose father loved her in the same unknowable way that Dean’s father loved him. He didn’t want to do it again. Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“You can do this, Cas,” Dean says. “Look, I get you’re, like, superpowered, or whatever, I know you don’t need to. But did you ever think—maybe it’s just been a really long time since you learned something new?” He pauses, frowning, searching for the right words. “I don’t care if you can’t drive, man,” he says finally. “But I know you can learn. Right? I believe in you, Cas.”

Twelve hours ago, Dean stood side by side with Cas in the light of Raphael’s wings and heard him say that God died centuries ago. Dean heard it, and told Cas to go looking anyway.

Cas looks at him, at the freckles scattered over his nose, the serious little pinch between his brows, the soft ghost of a smile on his face even though Cas has surely damaged his car by now, even though God is dead and his neck must hurt and Sam’s taking a vacation from being Dean’s brother, the other half of his world. Dean looks back at him, raises his eyebrows, and grins.

“One more time?”

[alias-b]

sins of my youth. 015

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: I was excited to post this one! Billy continues to learn secrets about Evie as they grow closer. The first day back to school arrives with new challenges. TW: talk of teacher/student relationship, vomiting, pica, bullying, and some Well Earned Smut. ​ *Thanks all and chat with me about the fic if you have time!

Chapter 15: Fires Within Fires

   Billy decided he liked unwrapping these layers to Evie, despite the fucking interruptions.

   Their little game of back and forth where even grazing her skin with his fingertips felt like a prize.

   Where a glimpse of her smile's ghost sent luna moths fluttering inside the glass jar that he'd long-sealed his beating heart away into.

   He certainly couldn't tell her she'd consumed him. Syllables became harder around Evie. No amount of cooing at his mirror would save him from those painted eyes. Brushstrokes that destroyed him utterly.

   And all he could think was brush me again.

   The greatest mystery presented itself that Saturday night. 

   Mona stayed out with friends and went home with something a little more chiseled. Which meant she’d be out and go straight to the salon to play with the books. Blue was fed. The stars were bright and silent. Placed just so.

   Evie applied a red lip, bent over the vanity before it reached eleven on the dot. With her mother out, she used the front door after grasping her coat. Green bomber covered in patches. Crept over the frozen grass and pavement toward a hippy sort of van. Tan with a maroon stripe. 

   Billy crawled out his window at the sight of her along the way. Dressed. Head down as he hid near his car.

   He had to know. 

   The van was already driving off so Billy waited a bit to follow behind it. Hoped the few cars on the road would mask him if he stayed far enough away.

   He trailed after the damn thing all the way to the city. Saw it still in an alleyway and swerved to find parking elsewhere. Waited a few minutes with his eyes on the rearview mirror to see lights flicker.

   Beyond the cold buildings, a cozy nightclub illuminated. Covered in trellises with twisted metalwork roses and thorny vines. Slicked in frost. A red, ornate canopy and steel black gate lining the outside area with empty tables.

   Music vibrated within. Billy lit up a cigarette and watched the door. Eyed a bouncer chatting it up with a group outside in the cold. Smoking and shooting the shit. He readied to make his move.

   The sign read Sugar Kane’s in swirling lights. 

   Boots carefully stepped around the alley. Eyes trained on the bouncer at the end of the street corner. A thrum of piano keys echoed. Billy slipped into the door, down an immediate tunnel of high steps into another world made of pure red velvet.

   Wall to wall velour curtains and uniform lines of crystalline lights. Felt like Billy stepped into a dim, smoky dream. Busy round tables with idle chatter and even a bit of friendly gambling. A dance floor with plenty of couples. Sleek black bar and mirrors behind it.

   Taste and class and care went into this dream. 

   Billy fell into a table in the back, darkest corner. Watched the slow dancing. Heels clicked. More people drank and smoked at tables. Playing cards and speaking in hushed tones under the music.

   The music.

   As couples swayed and parted, Billy’s eyes lifted to the band. Bass, drums, and keyboard. And the singer looking like a chandelier painted red like the walls. Red like the blood boiling and pounding under his flesh.

   Slow and steady, a pure blue light bathed. Made her the center of the universe. Let her slip into a warm bubble bath birthed of the cosmos itself. Billy had to scan her again. Had to blink to make sure he was seeing this correctly.

   Sleek dress of beads like what a flapper would wear. Glossy red lips sultry into the mic. Huge lashes. Bigger curls.

   Evie.

   Her hips moved against the swell of sound. Breathing in and out with it. Stage lights framed her body. Kissed it. Made her glimmer as an ethereal creature. Not of this world.

   Billy’s jaw was on the table. 

   “This is a man's world,” she cooed, head shaking while brown eyes fluttered closed, “this is a man's world…”

   Billy’s fingers twisted into the tablecloth. Eyes trained as her voice picked up against the reverberations. Filled the air. Filled the empty spaces around Billy. He’d heard her sing, but this starlet wasn’t the delicate songbird she came off as. She owned the air. The space. The stars. The world at her feet.

   She owned everything. She wasn't sorry.

   “But it wouldn't be nothing, nothing without a woman or a girl.” Evie plucked up the mic to come forward. Smiling when hands dropped dollars into a bowl she shared with the band. Her voice grew. Boomed. Curled around throats and hearts.

   Enthralled.

   That stage was where she belonged and she wasn’t sorry about that either.

   Bathed in the echoing ruby glow from seas of crimson velvet and black silk around the room. Spotlight pulsing technicolor. Painting in blues and pinks and reds. Utterly decadent. Small chandeliers hung down to sparkle against cherry hardwood that met the vibration of a musical crescendo. 

   Evie’s dress flicked about as she moved. Tiny knit shadowy fishnets and strappy heels. Miniature white flowers woven into her free spun curls that truly made her look like an angel. A glowy star. The light caught a collared necklace she’d made with a cameo brooch and loose jewels.

   Again and again, Billy let himself be consumed. Bowed to her voice ever-growing. These untouchable notes that wrung around his soul. 

   “But it wouldn't be nothing!” Evie’s head tipped back. “Nothing!” Mic high with the greatest note that stilled the entire room as the music hushed so she could shine. Obscene and shameless and so bright. Eyes lifted from tables to see her there beckoning like the sirens of old. Evie came down to look out, settled the mic on its stand. Romanced it. “...without a woman or a girl…”

   Billy sat there and watched the set. Eyes all over Evie without her knowing. Blissfully unaware of the boy in shadows. He smoked a slow cigarette and no one from the bar bothered him. Not yet.

   Evie was five songs in before they switched it up. Let the band take on some peppier instrumental so Evie left to cross to the bar. Billy thought to flee before a huge hand touched his shoulder.

   “You look a little young to be in here. Not drinking. Where’s your ID, kid?”

   “Hey, I’m eighteen.” Billy sounded childish, snuffing a cigarette out on a clean ashtray. The bouncer glared down at him. Bodybuilder type and pretty. Tanned with styled slick hair and little strands tumbling into his brow. Blue eyes. One ear framed in silver piercings. “Just listening to the girl, she...she knows me.” 

   “Yeah, yeah, let’s go, stalker. She's working.” The bouncer cooly plucked Billy up like he was a doll. Catching the attention of the bar as they stumbled toward it.

   Evie reeled out of her conversation before Billy Hargrove was presented to her. One shoulder high into the air as a muscled hand held his arm.

   “Does this belong to you, Eve?” He began, giving Billy a jostle for good measure.

   “Oh, god.”

   Billy flashed his brightest smile. Begged to be claimed like a little, lost puppy. Poor Evie could only groan. Elbows on the sleek wood to hide her face. The woman she’d been speaking with behind the bar was already cackling. “Yes...he’s mine.”

   “Is this the boy you won’t shut up about?” Came a quip. Gravelly, feminine voice. 

   “Told you, I know her. Lemme go, Lurch.” Billy ripped himself clean from the bouncer. Fixed his jacket.

   “Marlon, baby, we got him from here.” The barkeep continued, bringing one acrylic nail to her plump lips. Dolled to the gods in a Marilyn Monroe type wig of platinum, buttercream waves that swooped to frame her face and touched her glowing shoulders. Sapphire cocktail dress cinched in and flowed to knee length. Matching heels that made her a head taller than Billy. 

   “Whatever you say, honeybunch.” Marlon gruffed and went back to go up the steps. Evie shoved at Billy and grabbed his jacket.

   “What are you doing here?” Her classic hiss.

   “I wanted to know where you snuck off to two nights a week. Just a concerned neighbor.”

   “Sometimes three when we have the stage open.” A hand adorned in a huge diamond ring extended. “Looks like James Dean and Jim Morrison had a blond baby boy. Little Eros crawled out of a Def Leppard video.”

   “Billy.” He shrugged out of Evie’s grip. Left her making that signature scrunchy face of anger she was known for. Arms crossed at him. Pride rose so he boasted. Took the bejeweled hand in both of his to kiss the knuckles smelling of jasmine. “Evie’s favorite subject.”

   “Are not.” The retort clipped.

   “Don’t tell lies, Evie dearest, they cause wrinkles.” A wink of huge false lashes followed. “Iris Lee Arden. I manage the place for the owners. Evie’s never brought us a pretty stray before.” She gave Billy’s chin an affectionate brush. Nails painted to silver claws. 

   Iris moved like a feline. A trans woman with brown skin and a full figure. Thirties. Commanding presence. Love of Marilyn Monroe with roots in the art of drag. Billy spotted a sign behind her about the specials. Chalked in different colors. A variety of musical stylings. Another sign about the shows nightly. Thursday being drag night.

   One of those open places he figured. Accepting of all colors and sexualities. Safe haven to outcasts. California had them too. Seemed more of a rarity in this area. Double the bouncers of the places back home.

   “Evie’s telling people about me, huh?” Billy leaned into the bar to play the flirt. Evie’s hand covered his mouth.

   “Ignore him. He should not be here. I’m sorry.”

   “Says you who lied about your age for the job, sugar.” Iris teased, eyes flicking to Billy. “We found out like the day after. Obviously.”

   “I was in it for the free booze.” Evie beamed a smile, hand snatching from Billy when he licked her finger. “Gross.” The pink tongue caught between his teeth before he grinned.

   “Uh. Nice try. I don’t even drink the alcohol for free, girl. And the only thing we ever give you free is a Shirley Temple.” Iris laughed again. “I’ll get two going while you lovebirds work things out.”

   “We’re not, ugh…” Evie rolled her eyes and decided to sit. Huffed for effect. “So, you got me.”

   “I always do." His dangling earring caught the light. "Not a bad place. You ever sing on Thursday?”

   “No, but I did host a couple of shows for Iris. The girls love me and I love them. They taught me plenty. Helped me. And I...learned a lot about myself too.” Evie kicked a stool out so he’d join her. Paused to see his expression. Her lips quivered. "Would it bother you if I think about girls and boys the same?"

   "Did it bother you when I flirted with that Jesse guy right in front of you? More in common, Angel. It's adding up." Billy held her eyes steady when he said that. They shared this softer beat. Simple and clean. Plenty of room to breathe. He shifted, lashes batting. "So, this place. Start from the top."

   “I was sixteen and I saw flyers so...I sorta lied about my age. No one knows. Not Heather, not even Fredrick. They found out I lied quickly. But, they liked me so we worked out some rules and I just sing a few nights with the band. Couple songs. Great guys, too. The Starlighters. They’re here almost 24/7. Marvin on bass, he drives so they pick me up on the way most days. I have to hide in back, I don’t want to get them in trouble. Cops will treat them differently cause they're not white. Always been that way.”

   Billy noticed most of the people in here, including the workers and band, were people of color easily. Many mixed like Evie.

   Opposite of Hawkins. She and Tommy H were practically the only mixed kids in their classes since his birth mother was Hispanic. Strange thing neither of them addressed in the open.

   “The club runs all sorts of music. Jazz, rock, classics, and some pop. I like the more rock and pop nights cause I can bring my guitar. Sometimes I help back up visiting bands. This place just appreciates it all. I love it here and I can sing anything they need, it's like a second home. Accepting. Good for people who get the fuzzy end of the lollipop.” She shrugged and two bubbly glasses were set down. “Thank you, Iris.”

   “Owners have more musicians coming in toward spring so hours for you will be slim. Summer should be better, they might have some more day and evening gigs.” Iris perked a smile.

   “I get it. Easier to work during the day when I turn eighteen.” Evie sipped. "The best birthday present of all is more of that stage."

   “It's happy to have you, sugar. So, tell me, Billy, have you locked this girl down?” Iris plucked up a clipboard to make some inventory notes, elbow on the bar. 

   “Hey!”

   “I’m working hard on it,” Billy winked and that was enough to silence Evie.

   “She also told me you’re the one who took care of the shithead who gave her that,” Iris tilted Evie’s face. "Boy is lucky I couldn't sink my talons into his eye sockets. Sick my guys and dolls on him." Billy barely caught the bruises under layers of color corrector and makeup. “Good boy.”

   “I do what I can.” He shrugged and played with the straw of his drink. Evie could have blamed her blush on stage lights. Instead, she stole a sip when Iris offered a fresh glass of water.

   “I’m gonna go sing.” She pushed Billy’s arm. “He’s a compulsive liar. Don't listen to him.”

   “Don’t worry, Eve, I’ll babysit the pretty boy. Make him feel right at home. It's what I do.” Another wink and Evie groaned all the way to the stage. Rejoined the band with a red smile. Sparkling. Garnered a few claps and nodded to pick up the next song. Beaming.

   She found Billy's eyes for one fleeting moment.

   "The French are glad to die for love..."

   “She’s gonna go far, that one." Iris caught his attention. "Just needs a chance is all. Someone bigger than me to give it.”

   Billy’s eyes were glued to the ruby supernova whirling and bursting before his gaze. Felt the vibrations inside his ribs. Again and again.

   “You take the stage too?”

   “Oh, yes. Never too late. Prefer to manage these days. Guide others starting out. Lots of queens and questioning tweens in the city in need of a place. I like to give them one. Outcasts who need to learn they're not alone in this big world. I've had plenty of success and now I have dreams of managing one great star.”

   “My dad would hate all this.” Billy piped up aimlessly, head shaking.

   “More of us than of him, if you believe it. Just have to speak up. Scream it out.” Iris cleaned a couple of empty glasses. “You’re pretty. You could do drag, you know?”

   “Thanks.” Billy broke to chuckle, eyes turned back at last.

   “Don’t hurt my girl either.” One long nail pointed. A talon that tapped Billy’s chin. “We’ll take you out back and smack you around a bit.”

   “Maybe I’m into that, lady.” Billy flirted back. His insufferable self. The pretense lowered. “Already hurt Evie. Trying not to do it again.”

   “You’re young. So is she. You both will fuck up, that's life. Sometimes people hurt more when they're comfortable. Just make it right.” Iris had offered, arms back in the bar to sigh. 

   “Sometimes I don’t know how to do that,” Billy blinked his gorgeous eyes, “make it right, I mean.”

   “Watch. Listen. Learn.” She cooed softer. “It’ll do you good. Be a gentleman too, offer my girl a ride home when her set is over. Short night. I assume you’re staying?”

   “Yeah…” Breathless, he marveled. “Yeah, I’m staying if she is.”

   Evie had a few more songs before the mic was turned over. Something sinking every single time she had to see it go. They split tips and she parted ways for the night. Offered the shortest hours of all the workers being so young. Schooling first, Iris always said.

   Bundled in a jacket, Evie pushed through some beads and curtains to see Billy waiting. Head cocking toward the exit.

   “You stayed.”

   “Why wouldn’t I? Drove all the way here.” He lit up a smoke outside, having not had many during the set. Music lingered behind them. Echoed along the cool winds and wet pavement. “Free show and all the Shirley Temples I could suck up. I did tip, by the way. All the pretty people I could flirt with and brag about my girl to. What a night.”

   He slung a lazy arm around Evie’s shoulders. Not looking at her. His girl. Smoke flitting out his lips and Evie lost all her thoughts. Lost the nerve to tell him he was so beautiful. That she could be his. He shifted closer to her and peered at his watch, trapping Evie into his chest.

   “Damn, it's just after two.” 

   “Couple times I stayed till four.” She lamented. “Guess I should be happy they have room at all even if it’s once a week these days. Iris is good to me, I’m loyal… What did you guys talk about?”

   “How pretty the stars are at night.” He mused, snuffing his cigarette out onto a brick wall before he paced to the car waiting. Evie slid in wordlessly, sighed when Billy got the heat on before she buckled.

   She also noticed he did it too for the first time since riding with him. 

   “Usually I’m wired after shows but I’m dead tired tonight,” she rubbed her head to moan, leaning back.

   “You had a long week.” Was all Billy said, swerving down the street to the freeway.

   This heavy silence hung in the air. Billy intent on the road. Idle glances that never matched up. Finally, he peered over and saw Evie’s head lulled aside. Fast asleep.

   A smirk crept.

   He turned some easy music on. Let her rest all the way to Hawkins and parked at his house. Turned slowly and brought his knuckles up against the apple of Evie’s cheek. He felt her shift into his touch and reeled back. Evie seized up, groaned to see him.

   “We’re back.” He whispered. Not sure why.

   “Hm, sorry. Dozed off there.” Evie felt for the handle. Also felt Billy’s eyes on her skull. She froze and blinked to see him. “You want to come inside?”

   “Easier than sneaking into my place. Dad’s a heavy sleeper, but he has Billy Fuck-Up Radar.” He laughed and she didn’t, pushing out. Evie staggered in her heels, holding herself so Billy crossed around in silence. They went up into her house. 

   “Gonna...bathroom. Wash my face off ‘n change.” She had this sleepy adorable way about that, petting Blue idly. Already tugging little clips from her curls.

   Billy came to give the cat some attention. Heard the sink running and crossed back to Evie’s room. Tucked his boots and coat aside. Sprang at attention when she came in wearing a long tee and cradling a bundle of clothing. Curls free and messy. The slightest smear of black makeup still under her eyes but the rest of the paint came off leaving her fresh-faced and glowy. 

   “Need to use it?” She gestured behind her and stepped aside, depositing her laundry properly. Blue eyes lingered before he went off. Wordless.

   Evie let out the breath she’d been holding to sit on the bed. Back taut when Billy returned so she stood awkwardly. A quick movement that made him stop. Created a standoff. Eyes held steady. Expectant. She bit her lip and clicked the light out.

   Somehow that made him feel safer to cross. Careful steps like he was approaching a skittish nymph. Stood inches away. Evie let herself cave in.

   “Can I undress you?”

   The words blurted.

   Billy didn't hesitate.

   “All yours.” He watched her too pointedly so Evie looked aside. Reached to lift his shirt until he adjusted to get out of it. She got a look finally at the nasty red and purple welts on his shoulder. Healing yellow tinge. Clouds shifting.

   Visible from the moon and streetlamps outside flitting through the blinds. A hand hovered but didn’t touch and he just went rigid there. Let her look at him. Let her see every inch. The color splashed over his shoulder like spilled paint. 

   “Can I kiss you there?”

   “Only once.” He said so she swept over. Placed her lips on the flesh that was burning hot. Pecked too light and came out to see Billy’s eyes close. They opened and she reached for his belt. Clicked to get it off before unbuttoning his pants. Billy hitched to shudder when she brushed him, easing his pants down over white briefs. 

   Slowly, Evie brought a finger to her lips. Tapped once and Billy obeyed. Claimed them without ceremony. Pushed into her body until they tangled back in bed. Adjusting so he could hover.

   Aroused into a creamy thigh, Billy rocked easily between parting legs. Nestled there and heard her moan. Drowsy kisses as her hands slipped around his back. One arm braced by her head, fingers smoothed the curls aside. 

   “Can I look?” He uttered, hand inching under her shirt. Gazes locked. A pulsing beat.

   “Yeah.” Evie let her hands fall into the mattress. Billy pushed fabric up over her chubby stomach and naked breasts. Traced her flesh without shame and she felt it all melting away. Piles of insecurities shedding to drop like little weights hanging from her heart. Brown eyes lifted elsewhere. A quiet shiver followed.

   Her chest rose and fell. Evie tried to stay alert and locked into him, but the sensation returned that sunk her down.

   “Billy," she squeaked to still him, "I-I do want you.”

   That broad hand palmed her side. 

   “If you’re unsure, Angel, it’s a no.” He shrugged. “It’s okay. You’re tired. Doesn’t hurt my pride.” Eyes lingered on her face. Evie still felt so exposed there. Billy’s thumb rubbed a hot circle into her skin. He chuckled before pecking those waiting lips with ease.

   “We could...I still want to… Do things.” Evie shuddered, swallowing to find the words. “Warm-up. Start slow. Small.”

   “Little things you dream of me doing to you.” He leaned in again to taunt. Hips pushed into hers. “Wet your panties already.”

   “Please, you leaked all...over me…” Evie lost the exact jab while he kissed up her neck. Tongue and teeth. His hand inched. Ever so slightly. She touched his knuckles, guided him higher to cup her breast. Billy moaned at that alone. Twitched like he might burst and wasted no time getting his tongue on her nipples.

   “Taste better than I dreamt, that’s for damn sure.” He ran his nose over her sternum. Tormented her other breast. Let his teeth tug once. Twice.

   Suckles until she bucked into him. Head tossed back to moan. Fingers curled into spun gold. Coaxed him onward. Billy kissed her all over. Tummy and back up again. Shifting, he moved over to straddle one leg, nudged her thighs to stay parted.

   “Wanna spread you open,” lips ghosted, “touch you.” Brush you again and again.

   Evie had his arm in her grip. Felt like two irons clinging. Slowly, she nodded, eyes huge and darting over his there in the dim light. 

   “I want to feel good again, Billy.” She gulped dry air. “Want you to make me feel good.”

   He took in her expression. Pleading and vulnerable. Unafraid to want him in the open. Fingers rolled over her hard nipple and then slipped down under flimsy fabric he wished he could tear. Contained himself just barely at the feel of her. Soaked for him. Responsive to every little beat and sigh. Pride set fire to his marrow. Two fingers pushed up into the bud, coated in arousal to stroke it.

   "Like that?" He teased slow. Her mouth opened for his tongue in response.

   Evie grasped desperately at the pillow under her head. Legs opened so he got off to curl next to her. Braced his head up with one propped elbow and offered lazy rubs. Drew it out until her thighs hitched to part wide.

   “Hear that fucking sound you make?” Billy’s lips touched her ear. “Fuck.” He whimpered like she was the hottest thing on two legs. Made her feel coveted and sexy. Desirable. Slick sounds mingled with their breathing hurried. “I could listen to it all day and get off on that alone, you know. Musical girl. I could play you all night.”

   He kept kissing her, rendering Evie unable to articulate. Wanting him in little breathy sounds.

   Fucking wanting him.

   Evie twisted, hitching a gasp as her toes curled. Thighs parting wider because Billy was some sort of fucking wizard at this. This boy couldn't be real. Eliciting perfect notes out of her. One hand gripped the pillow under her head while the other clung to his bicep now. She felt the muscles bulge white-hot and loved it. Heard Billy breathing soft in her ear, lips trailing down her jawline and collar. 

   “You’re so wet.” Billy brought his fingers up to lick them. Pushed his tongue into her mouth after. “Taste so fucking good.” Evie yelped as he slapped her thigh playfully. The words slurred into her lips. He slipped his hand back into her panties, played rougher, and felt her tense. Evie’s lips opened into his to moan. Her legs bent up and spread for him. Bucking to meet his touch that was ending her. “Shameless, Evie, I like it.”

   “You talk too much.” She had gasped, eyes rolling to shut. Breast jutting so he kissed them next.

   “I don’t think people talk enough during the act.” Billy curled back into her. Supporting himself on one arm by her head. “Nothing like seeing a pretty girl’s face when I tell her she’s gonna come so hard for me.” She felt his shaft against her side, rubbing idly to make some friction. Leaking and wet. "So very hard."

   Billy liked to play dirty, it kept his emotions at a safe distance.

   Evie caved in. 

   “More… Faster, Billy.” She clung for him. Neck exposed. Pulsing. Lips parting obscenely. "More."

   A finger pushed inside with another following. 

   “Oh, fuck.” Evie worked into his touch. Brown eyes finding his intent ones. Billy thumbed her clit in tune. Pumped a few times. Watched her chest rise and fall in shaky breaths. The shirt still bunched over her tits. Lips fell to suckle one rosy nipple then the other.

   “Too much, Angel?” Billy slipped out to resume circling the bud. He hummed, slowing to inhale deep before he granted her another taste of his lips.

   “Don’t stop, I like it.” Evie whimpered into his mouth. Caught his bottom lip in her teeth playfully. 

   “Couldn’t tell.” Billy sped up again. “Wanna see you come for me.”

   “Billy.” Evie twisted at that. Thrusting herself into him. Breasts bouncing.

   Slick, filthy sounds filled the room. The damn streetlamps glimmered around the curtains. Gave her almost no place to hide from him. Something churned in her stomach. Alert. 

   “I’m close.” She strained at last. "I'm so..."

   “I know,” he grazed their lips to murmur, “just chase it. Don’t run, Angel. That’s it. Chase it for me.” He watched her expression flutter and cloud. Loved it. Worked her relentlessly.

   Nails dug into his skin. Out of breath and bucking until her body gave a little quake. A moan followed. Drawing out with her climax. Billy rubbed her until she fell to pieces. Crying out and shuddering. All for him. Back curved to echo sweet delights. He didn’t stop until she fell limp and quivering by the force. With Evie spent, he pushed up to reach into his briefs. Slicked his shaft in her arousal. Began to pump. 

   “Lemme see you.” She slurred, turning over to tug his underwear down. God, he was beautiful. Lines cut down his hips. Trimmed gold curls. She bit her lip again and wasn’t coy for once.

   “You mind?” A suggestive eyebrow rose.

   "If I can help." She pushed up more with heavily hooded eyes. Drunken. Messy kisses trailed his abs before she licked his tip.

   “You just go for it, huh?” Billy added. Allowed her to swallow him down. “Fuck, that mouth you have, Evie.” He bucked into her throat. Tried to apologize when she made a sound that was utterly pornographic. Heavy cologne wafted up her nose. A trail of spit ran from flesh to lips as she came out. Lapping again. Sinking down so he could pump. She gripped his hips and worshipped him. "You don't...You don't have to..."

   "I like it when you feel good. You're so beautiful." Evie dipped out. Let Billy tilt her head up by the hair. Thumb slicking her swollen mouth. Billy curved to dip his tongue in. Groaned when she kept stroking. "Feels good to give pleasure. We have that in common, Billy."

   His spine arched. Muscles taut because her lips were on him again.

   "You look like a star, you know that?" Billy had to peer away. Sighing soft. Shuddering. She didn't lie about being skilled at this. Evie placed little kisses up and down. Slowed. He didn't have time to continue the praise.

   “Where do you want to cum?” She resumed stroking him. Kissed shapes around his hips sweetly. Billy tried to articulate and gasped as her teeth nipped along his skin.

   “You’re asking me? Shit...You won’t like it.” He tried to not blow it all on her face. Felt like that might be rude. Billy shuddered again. “On your tits.”

   “Hm.” Evie reclined back, let him scoot in and helped him stroke himself. Being dirty also assisted in keeping her emotions and insecurity at bay. She worked him with her slick hand. Felt him starting to lock.

   “Listen, I’m not gonna last much...longer.” He was thrusting into their palms. Leaned over her to grasp the pillows so she could finish him herself.

   “It’s okay. Just let go, Billy. It'll feel so good when you do.” Tease.

   “Fuck, Evie, fuck.” Billy looked exquisite. Vulnerable. Eyes glittering with pleasure. Whining. Lips opened to groan. She worked him until release gushed. Milky spurts right across her chest. Billy swallowed for some air, looked down at her. Messy and fucked out. Shirt bunched up with his filth all over her skin. Puffed. 

   “Don’t get mad, but I thought about that the first time I saw you.” He twisted one nipple, heard her hitch to sigh. Evie fell back with a huff.

   “Yeah, you made that obvious.” She felt Billy sweep up some release with two fingers and offer it to her lips. Sucked him clean, peering through thick lashes. Evie laced their fingers and let a slow smile pull. “I enjoy you, Billy.”

   “Yeah?” He fell next to her. Nestled in so their curls mixed. “Only took you a couple of months and an orgasm to admit it.”

   “Shut it… I want you. Not trying to countdown to it like it’s some rocketship.” She pushed over him and felt under the bed for a dirty shirt to wipe off with. “That’s all I’m saying. Foreplay is one thing. Sex always changes people. Maybe I'm...freaked about that.”

   “I enjoy you, too.” He admitted to the dark. Eyes lifting to the ceiling before she tucked herself back in between him and the wall. “We could get a motel room sometime. Make sure no one walks in for once. We'll be wide awake and go a few rounds. And I won't change on you.”

   “Hmm.” She turned to muffle into his chest. Drowsy as can be. “Sure.”

   “Really?” Didn’t expect a quick reply. “Not gonna take it back when the glow wears off?”

   “Maybe.” Evie teased, grinning into Billy’s skin. “You make me mad sometimes. Still want to go slow like this.” He chuckled with little air, chest steady until he adjusted so she could cuddle into him. Evie traced a heart into his flesh. Caught herself. “Can I have a ride Monday? I think Steve will understand… I’m just freaked out about going in.”

   A hand pushed her hair aside so they could look at each other. Billy played with lush curls. Got serious.

   “He's not gonna be there.”

   “I know.” Evie hummed with her eyes closing. Fingers in her hair lulled her further. “Sometimes I think I see him standing in dark corners. Even when I’m on stage. There’s this glimmer of him everywhere. Especially as I close my eyes.”

   Billy didn’t know what to say so he kissed her until she was breathless and distracted. They shifted around so Evie faced the wall, pulling his arm over. Thrilled him to pieces. Billy framed her body with his, lips melting into dark curls. Sweet blessings placed upon her crown. A protective barrier he hoped soothed her.

   He really hoped.

   The blankets pulled up so they twisted together. No more syllables followed until the morning birds began to sing.

** ** **

   Monday crept to swallow Evangeline whole.

   She donned a vintage plaid dress that was cinched with a belt and short. Threw her bomber over it and fashionable black tights. Knew she was dressing for Fredrick even still. Her little outfits pieced together so he could imagine taking them apart in class. Earrings caught the light as she swung her bag on and crept outside into the morning windchill. Didn’t want to keep Billy and Max waiting. 

   Just in time, they stalked out of the Hargrove house. This knowing smile crossed Max’s face when she saw Evie.

   “So, you’re hanging out with Billy again.” Came the monotone observation.

   “Back seat.” He snapped at her. Evie’s lip twitched before a little nod followed and the redhead disappeared into the back. Snapping the seat in place for Evie to take. Without ceremony, the Camaro lurched forward to go. Billy fiddling with his radio and cursing all the hick stations until he found one at Evie's quiet recommendation. 

   “Is Evie your girlfriend now?” Max was leaning between them.

   “I’ll pull over, I swear to god, Max.” He lifted his eyes with an aggravated breath, turning hard after the stoplight changed. Max snickered and Evie wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Eyes darting at the many trees they passed until they began to blur. A sea of earthy tones and pure white frost pooling. Almost looked like chaotic, muddy ocean waves. Crashing.

   Sensing the nerves, Billy’s hand found her knee. Stayed there until they got to school. Thumb smoothing.

   “See you two later.” Chipper for once in the morning, Mad Max jumped out after them and raced down the hill to meet Dustin waving across the way. Evie huffed as he looked between Billy and her then asked Max an obvious question out of earshot.

   Students moved all around them. Many pausing to glance at Evie Fenny appearing from the magical blue of Billy Hargrove's legendary Camaro. She didn't belong there. One hot orgasm wouldn't change that. Fingers curled into her bag’s strap. Nervously twisting it.

   “He’s not gonna be in there and you won’t feel better until you face it.” Billy finished his cigarette against the hood. Eyes pointed.

   “We could just skip.” Evie looked around at passing students and Billy came to her side.

   “You do know how to tempt me. C’mon.” An arm swept around her shoulders. Nearby students took more frantic notes as they got down the hill so Evie wiggled from him. Kept walking and felt sick by the time they got to her locker.

   “People are staring at us.” She faced inside and sorted books. Billy leaned next to her. Eyes flickering with this unreadable expression. 

   “I didn’t notice.”

   Evie gave him this glance like she didn’t believe him. 

   "I don't care." Came the actual sentiment.

   “I have to get to calc.” Evie dismissively shut the metal door and gasped when he kissed her. Right there in front of everyone. Billy cupping her cheeks. Making a point in his way. Cartoon confetti tumbling down. Students watched Evie stumble into the lockers. Billy Hargrove’s arm steady around her back. Pulling her into his body as if he wanted her and only her and nothing else existed.

   “Clear enough, Angel?” He pulled out. Left her breathless. Unworried and wishing it was enough to unbind her nerves. A thumb fixed her lipstick idly. “See you in English. Don’t run.” Billy swept off. Students parting to let their king by. Evie shuddered to herself and hunched to hurry in the opposite direction. Cheeks burning. 

   Brush me again.

   She didn’t learn much in her first period. Heather met her at the door and kept glancing the entire class. Carol and Tommy both skipped. That should have brought Evie some ease. Instead, she figured she might blow chunks.

   The first bell had her springing up. Not even waiting for Heather as she disappeared into crowds. Shoving a bathroom door open so she could throw up her breakfast. Two eggs arranged with wheat toast. Mona had spent the entire time prattling about some man she was seeing as if Evie were her best friend and therapist and not a soul she gave birth to.

   Evie so often wondered if her mother had wanted her. Really wanted her. This life that stilled all her starlight, electric dreams. And not treated birth as a duty because these things can happen.

   Luck was not on her side. Evie had passed Carol in there with a couple of other girls in her gaggle's orbit. Smoking and late to class. Too cool for it either way.

   Bile and food exploded into the toilet bowl. A twisted clothing pin that was stuck somewhere it shouldn't have been came up too. Evie swallowed that a good while ago. Spots of blood pricked.

   “Gross, Fenny, didn’t know you were that type.” Vicki sneered outside at the sound. Snickering followed. “Two fingers are better than one, precious. I hope you give Billy’s dick better treatment.” Footsteps followed and Evie didn’t have time to be mortified. She figured they all left and gasped. Spotted a loose bolt in the wall. 

   Evie propped her head up and fumbled to unscrew it.

   Heard voices that told her to stop. Just stop. She can stop. She can stop this at any time.

   There rust.

   It went down and Evie felt that sickly wave of calm wash. Rocked back to a distant shore and wiped her mouth on a wad of thin toilet paper. Felt disgusting. Gave her cheek a soft pat like a baby. Breathe. Breathe. Feet staggered out with her backpack to see Carol sitting on the farthest sink like it was a throne. Smoking still and far too elated.

   Shame sunk its talons into Evie like Carol watched the entire thing play out. 

   Unable to even rasp, she went to the sink and washed out her mouth. 

   “Not preggers are you?” Smoke pooled up.

   “Just sick.” Evie bit back, hands braced over the sink.

   “About the party,” Carol continued, not listening as she snuffed out her cig against the mirror's corner, “I was so drunk. Don’t take it personally.”

   “Fine.”

   “I just think it’s a fresh start today. New leaves. Right?” Carol dug around as Evie shuddered and tried to reapply her lipstick. The redhead approached. “Here.”

   A stick of bubblegum flicked out. Evie eyed it suspiciously and Carol actually smiled. Glossy lips curling before she chewed her own piece. Blew a plush pink bubble for good measure.

   It popped.

   “Nothing funny. You need to work on those trust issues. Especially if you’re gonna hang with Billy. He gets around." Her head cocked. "Don't mind Vicki, by the way, Billy sorta dropped her unexpectedly. Hm. She was hoping to take him all the way to prom and only got one taste at Lover's Lake. Poor thing.” 

   Carefully, Evie took it. Let the sweet flavor fill her rustic mouth. Didn’t mask enough.

   “Thanks…”

   “Anytime.” Carol went to the door and stopped. Lips smacked. Couldn't hold it in any longer and let the glee flow. Red hair flicked. “So how does it work, you and Bowers, is it a grade thing? Are you just easy? I’m so curious because he seems like a guy who could get anyone. Billy, too. So, why you, Evie?"

   The question that kept Evangeline up at night haunted the air. Carol grew relentless.

   "Are you a witch of some kind? Could be comparing the young and old. Gross. Maybe you work well on your knees. I’d love some tips.”

   Evie stared at the sink. Heard the bell blare signaling she was late. A deafening silence followed.

   “I don’t…” She peered at Carol crossing her arms to smile. The gum went sour. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” 

   “I don’t know if I’m grossed out or impressed, Evie,” Carol faked a look of shock, “you really suck off our teacher. I mean, how pathetic do you have to be?” A nasty, faux scoff followed. 

   "As if you weren't leaning over his desk to press your tits against his back and hiking your skirts up all the same." Evie shot up. Caught Carol off guard by matching her malice. Easily.

   Evie found herself shaking. Face hot. Eyes betraying her too well.

   “But, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.” She spat the gum in the trash and pushed out to go. Carol followed her down the empty hallway, skipping and loving this side of Evie that poured like tar.

   “Does he at least buy you nice dinners? I bet he’s flush with cash. Buys you things in leather and lace. Does he have a preference? I think lace. You're a dainty spring flower he plucks the petals from all for himself. Right?" Carol struck Evie with an arrow at that sentiment. "Is Billy jealous? Bowers is probably into the weird shit. You must be a real pro at-” Carol hitched to squeal when Evie flared.

   Two hands plucking her up to shove her into the lockers. Breaths in sync, Evie found herself hissing. A fire built to pour and ravage. Warming them both. She leaned too close to Carol's face.

   “Just, shut up.” She trembled, teeth-baring. A silver tear fell down her cheek. Fingers warped into Carol's pink turtleneck sweater. The trapped girl actually reached up to catch it on her finger. Looked dreamily into the droplet like she was viewing a distant memory.

   “Ah, you’re actually crying. Like a little baby. You should start wearing a big red A, Fen. Bowers must love having a little baby girl around. Dress her up and down, down, down.” Carol sneered, glossy lips popping.

   She dropped the pretense as Evie held her there. Let it all flutter. Started to shatter silently. Evangeline wondered. She really wondered if what Carol Perkins saw in her that she hated so much was just herself reflected. Poor thing.

   Poor things.

   "You don't know shit about me." Evie managed. It sounded so unconvincing coming out.

   "I know all these people around here are weak. They're so fucking weak." Came the spark. "But, not us."

   Carol came in close. Added fuel to the fires. Did something peculiar and gave Evie this sickly sweet peck on the lips. Gloss and red mingled. She stole something she saw deep inside of Evie that she felt too. Got shoved back again when Evie recovered. Tongued her mouth after tasting the salt of more tears. Carol was welling now. Voice low. Starting to quiver. Evie's fingers left blushing marks on freckled skin.

   It hurt and Carol loved that it hurt.

   “It feels good, doesn’t it? Real good. Pile that pain onto someone else. This. Feels better.” Carol sniffled with budding fury. Waited for admission. She tremored and asked a question that killed them both. "What happens when we run out of silky petals, Evie, huh? What the fuck do we do then?"

   Tears shed, they didn't cleanse.

   "I d-don't know, Carol," Evie released the thoughts and mourned it deeply, "but, I think about it every single day."

   Disgust welled. Evie thought of Fredrick grabbing at her. Seething to keep their secrets locked at any cost.

   Wheels within wheels. Turning endlessly.

   Fires within fires.

   She dropped Carol and stalked off. Proud like Hester in The Scarlet Letter. Fleeting temptress with dominance and power for days like Abigail in The Crucible. Heroines and villains and virgins and whores and martyrs. None of them win.

   Women were always packaged just so. The world seemed to prefer that. All these stories Fredrick made her read and reread until she took them into her soul. Lolita who always gets the blame she never deserved because she was young and a victim and no one cares about that. Why don't they care about us? They care about how she was prepackaged by a society that never tried to save her.

   No one cares or grieves why and how women are carved from pristine marble, only that it's their fault if they tarnish and crack. Their fault if they stumble and fall. No going back.

   No going back.

   White roses painted red. They never asked first.

   Evie was a couple of steps away from the classroom when a mass of claws tore into her curls. Yanked her back so hard that her backpack fell off. 

   “Still pretending you’re better than me, bitch! Admit it!” 

   Evie cried out. Alerted nearby classes. Thought of Fredrick tearing her down the same way and whirled with her hand out on pure instinct. Smacked Carol in the mouth. Froze with huge eyes. And Carol actually smiled. Bloodied teeth and sticky lip gloss. She looked like such a girl there.

   "Alright, Fenny babe, I'll play the villain for you. Just like you wanted." Carol dove on Evie while classes began to pool out. They hit the floor and lockers rolling around. Not really landing punches or slaps. Just locked around each other shouting and tearing into clothing and loose hair. Both crying.

   “Shit!” Billy, Steve, and Tommy shoved through the jeering teens to pull them apart. Chaos rained.

   “Girl fight! Girl fight!” This school really reveled in such things every single time. 

   “We need help here! Ladies, enough!” The poor substitute in Bowers' room was not having a great first day.

   “Get off me!” Carol finally detached from Evie so Billy scooped her up under the arms. The redhead noticed Mr. Bowers wasn’t around and stopped struggling. This cruel look twisted her face. 

   “Can’t leave you alone for a second, huh?” Billy’s voice brought Evie back into the shouting as she scrambled up with his help.

   “You two! Principal!” Another teacher came between them. The useless security guard was just now jogging around the corner. Evie tore her bag up and passed Steve and Tommy. Carol was already stomping off. Something awful lighting her bones aflame. Red locks bounced and became fire.

   Ushered away through crowds, they were put into a cramped room. Seated next to each other.

   “Perkins and Fenny?” Their principal plopped into a chair with his secretary sitting in back to make notes. “I haven’t had problems with either of you.”

   Carol burst right there. Sobbed through the words.

   “It’s all Evie's fault! She slept with him and she’s just getting away with it! She gets everything! I'm sick of it! I'm sick of all this and...and I want it to stop! I just want it all to stop!” 

   “Ms. Perkins, you’re not being app-!”

   “What if I told you it was a grown man, huh! Maybe someone who works here.”

   “Liar!” Evie wretched over her chair to swat at Carol until they had to be forced apart again into separate rooms. A clock ticked. Blared in her ear and made her crazy while she waited. Tears streamed.

   Carol was about to ruin her life. Drag all this shit back to the surface.

   God, what would Mona say if she knew her daughter was an evil temptress?

   Evie got into her bag for something. Anything to make it better. Nothing small enough to swallow at the bottom so Evie just rocked. Patting her cheek again to console herself. Bubblegum lip gloss still stained her red lips. No wiping it away.

   Chief Hopper poked his head into the room ten minutes later, causing her to drop the bag and send her items everywhere.

   Hester. Abigail. Lolita. Twisting goddesses. They all pay for it somehow. The narrative always makes them pay and they never had a chance to be anything else. Can't blame them.

   Poor things. Lost to the fires within fires.

   Books and papers flew out elegantly around her feet. Scattering away as Evie burst into harsh tears.

~~~~~~~~~

Oof, sorry to end it there lads! More to come and thank you so so much for following as always. All the comments mean so much to me and I’d love to chat about the chapter!! Thanks!

TAGGED: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @orxhidshavana   @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan​ @10blurredsmoke10 @stanley--barber  @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown

[castielsshield]

Sutton

Title: Sutton (Leave A Message Part 3)

Pairing: Female OC/Sam Winchester

Synopsis: After losing Jess, Sam continues to leave messages on her phone as a coping mechanism. Unbeknownst to Sam, that number has been adopted by another person.

Word Count: 1,871

Warnings: None

Part 2 || Part 4 || Masterpost

— • —

   May 14th, 2006 - 8:13 p.m

     “Hi, babe. Dean and I went after a werewolf earlier today. I almost messed up the entire hunt. I had gotten to know the werewolf before we knew she was the monster, so I didn’t shoot her when she came after me. I just stood there and watched her come after me. I couldn’t see her as a monster. I only saw her as the girl I had previously been protecting. I’m sorry, Jess. I wish I had stayed away from you. If I had, you might still be alive. Sure, you would be with someone else, and I would be alone, but at least you would be alive. For that, I’m sorry.”

     May 27, 2006 - 10:18 p.m

     “Hey, Jess. Dean and I pulled over for lunch by the ocean today. It reminded me of the first time you took me to the beach. Do you remember that? I cried when I first stepped into the water and felt the waves. I know you saw, but you pretended not to notice. I don’t think I ever said thanks for that so, thank you, Jess.”

     June 6th, 2006 - 5:29 p.m

     “Hey there, Jess. I wish you were here, babe. I think Dean’s not telling me something. I don’t know what it is, but I’m so worried, and I don’t know what to do or what to say. I need your help, Jess. You were so good at figuring out a way to convince people that it was okay to tell you their secrets. I remember you wouldn’t even tell me what was going on if the other person wasn’t okay with it. I just don’t want Dean to get hurt. I wish I could get your help, Jess. I miss you.”

     June 7th, 2006 - 6:37 p.m

     “Jess, you wouldn’t believe what just happened. Well, maybe you would. Dean ate five burritos at dinner, and now he’s locked in the bathroom. The thing I left you a message about yesterday, how I thought Dean was keeping something important from me, he was just deciding what he wanted to eat five of today. I still wish you were here. I still miss you. I love you, Jess.”

     July 16, 2006 - 7:06 a.m

     “Jess, I don’t know what to do. We found Dad and saved him, but a demon hit us with a tractor-trailer when we were in the Impala. Dad is hurt, but he’s okay. Dean isn’t waking up and the-- the doctors are talking about taking him off of life support. A reaper is after Dean, but I can’t lose him. If Dean’s gone, I’ll only have dad left. Jess, do you remember what I told you about how dad used to treat Dean and me? What if he starts doing that again? What if-- what if dad tells the doctors to let Dean go? God, I wish you were here, babe. I need your help, Jess.”

     July 19, 2006 - 6:32 p.m

     “Jess, dad sold his soul. He’s gone. The last thing dad did was sell his soul so Dean could live. The demon that killed you and mom killed dad too. Jess, I’m losing everybody. What if I lose Dean too? I’m going to kill this damn demon. I’m going to kill it for killing mom and dad and you. I swear, Jess. I swear to you that I will kill this demon. I’ll kill it even if it kills me.”

     July 27th, 2006 - 1:09 a.m

     “Hey, babe. Dean and I hunted down a vampire nest today. I had to kill one as it stared right at me. I hope I never have to kill another one. When it looked at me, it seemed so human. I almost stopped and dropped my machete when it came after me. Its eyes were blue, just like yours. I miss you, Jess. I wish I were back at Stanford with you. I was so close to asking you to marry me, Jess. You would’ve been Mrs. Jessica Winchester. You would’ve been my wife. We would’ve been happy together. I would’ve been happy.”

     Those were the types of messages I got for the next couple of months. At first, I didn’t understand a thing about the werewolves or vampires. I especially didn’t know anything about the demons. However, my lack of understanding quickly mutated into motivation, yearning for knowledge. 

     I began reading old lore books. I bought everything from lore on werewolves to lore on angels and demons. I had my own money from selling my art and writing pieces online, so I never had to bring my father into the loop on what I was doing. 

     I would research one type of monster at a time, taking precise, organized notes about it as I read. I wanted to be able to reference the notes years in the future, so I kept the order of the records consistent. 

     The title of the page was the name of the monster, always placed at the top. The middle of the page was the signs and identifiers of that monster, how to kill it placed at the very bottom. On each side of that was a small column about half the size of the body paragraph. The right column was a rough sketch of the monster while the left column was filled with wardings, symbols, sigils, and other items that could be used against the monster.

     As I got farther along in my research, I decided to buy a laptop to help me research more and find signs of monsters around the country. I was also able to make copies of the lore pages in a document, so that will be helpful if I ever need to move around.

     After the message where the man revealed his last name, he began saying where he and his brother were going to ‘hunt’ the next monster. Every time I got a new location on the brothers, I would read up on the latest news articles of the town they were going to. Sure enough, every single time, the lore would match the signs in the town.

     As time went on, I learned more about the people that kill the monsters; Hunters. I learned what they did and how they moved around. I often found hunts around my state and the ones that surround it. Most of the time, I couldn’t hunt the monsters I found, but they still needed to be taken care of. My solution to that: inform other Hunters.

     At first, it was difficult to find other Hunters to pass the information to. But all I needed was one. Alexander Sutton is his name, and he was the key to my own life as a Hunter. 

     I first met Alexander when there was a string of odd killings in my hometown of Clayton, North Carolina. It was the end of February, a bit over a year after I got the first voicemail. I was at the gas station just down the road from my house. My dad was out on business again, and I had felt a need for something sour.

     I placed my sour gummy worms and bottled Coke on the counter, reaching behind me to pull out my wallet. As I twisted to my right, I caught sight of a newspaper headlining murders. I picked up the paper and began reading the first section of the article.

     ‘New Body Found By Police, Signature Matching Murders From Previous Months,’ read the headline. My eyes darted down to the sub-heading, and I inhaled as I read the bolded text. ‘Bodies Found In Clayton, North Carolina Without Their Hearts.’ 

     “Werewolf,” I murmured to myself, wincing as I remembered werewolves eat the hearts of their victims. I tapped the newspaper I was holding, signaling that I wanted to buy it as well. Pulling the cash for my purchases out of my wallet, I handed it to the cashier. He bagged my items and gave me my change. I gave him a tight smile and said, “thank you” before walking out of the building. 

     Before I made it out the door, I heard the man behind me rush forward and toss something light onto the counter. “Keep the change,” he said, pivoting on his heel and heading for the door as well.

     I was following the pale squares of the sidewalk away from the store when I felt a hand grab my shoulder. My body snapped around, and I took a step away from the person behind me. Instinctively, my left hand strayed to my back pocket, where I kept my new silver pocket knife. 

     Looking up, I realized the person who had grabbed me was the same man who stood behind me at the cash register. His eyes flicked to my hand, and he chuckled, taking a small step away from me.

     “Calm down, kiddo. I’m not trying to hurt you.” He leaned against the brick wall at his side, and he looked down at me. “You’re a Hunter.” It was a statement, not a question.

     “I’m more of a researcher, so far, but yes. I’m a Hunter,” I responded, mirroring his actions of leaning against the side of the building. I looked up at him, meeting the intense gaze of his grey eyes. ‘I might be young, but I’m not ignorant,’ I thought to myself.

     I hooked my thumb in the back pocket of my jeans, keeping my other fingers wrapped defensively around the knife. “I take it you’re a Hunter too.”

     “Yes, ma’am.” The man pushed himself off of the wall, extending his hand towards me. “My name is Alexander Sutton. I’ve been a hunter for fifteen years now. I started when I was twelve, so a bit younger than you, I’m guessing.”

     Reaching out, I clasped his hand in mine and gave it a firm shake. “I’m Ashley Whitman, but I go by Ash.” As I pulled away from Alexander, eyes focusing on his once again, I noticed the shock registered on his face. 

     His eyebrows furrowed together as he squinted his eyes. “You said your last name is Whitman?” 

     “Uh, yes. Is something wrong?” I questioned, my head quirking to the side.

     Alexander rubbed his hand down the side of his face as though trying to brush away a thought. “No, nothing’s wrong. I, uh, I just confused your last name with the name of another Hunter. That’s all it is.” He flashed me a grin, using it as an ending to his reassurance. “So, Ash, you seem to know quite a bit about hunting and I’m looking for a partner. Would you like to work on this case together?”

     I considered his offer for a moment before returning his grin with a crooked one of my own. “I don’t know. Would you be able to keep up with me?” 

     At my words, he threw his head back and laughed. Once he had regained his composure, Alexander stepped forward, gripping one of my shoulders in one hand. “I think we’re going to get along just fine. You’ve got potential, kid. You could go far in the hunting world.”

[hystericalweenie]

Just Another Day at the Office Series - The Sexperiment

George MacKay x Reader Series

Part One: Ratatouille

Masterlist

Summary: Y/f/n Y/l/n is doing better than ever; she’s finally in a relationship with the man she’s been constantly thinking about, she has some great friends, and she’s thriving at her dream job. Except, there’s one problem: being in a relationship with one of your coworkers can get really steamy, and can cause a lot of sexual frustration. Her new pitch idea may solve exactly that problem, but will George be okay with it?

a/n: I have absolutely no personal experience in magazine/journalism career, so the information in this fic will be provided with the knowledge I have conducted from research. With that being said, please don’t be mad if this is not accurate!!! **“The Sexperiment” is inspired by an actual Cosmopolitan article (here’s the link!)

Warnings: This is a slow burn fic, their relationship won’t happen in one night, so if you’re not into that, check out some of the beautifully written imagines that you can most likely find under the george mackayxreader tag. I might eventually write some of my own too :P At least one person’s saying “fuck” and there’s NSFW content..aka smut. You have been warned.

I was officially in a relationship with George, and man, was it fucking amazing. I’d told Bree as soon as I got home–along with telling her that we’d finally done it–and she insisted that we share a bottle of champagne to celebrate. We ended up getting drunk off of the cheap bubbly alcohol and fell asleep, waking up hungover on a Sunday morning sprawled out on our living room sofa whilst our television asked us if we were still watching Queer Eye. 

The entire week was followed by George coming up to my desk and taking Dean and I out for lunch. I was grateful that out of everyone in the office, my favorite brunette editor happened to be his previous choice of friendship. Our afternoons were filled with club sandwiches and laughs, which made me look forward to going to work every morning. And our weekends began consisting of going on dates, which almost always ended up with us spending the night at one another’s flats. We’d spent moments of laughter, where I felt like I’d been getting to know him much more as I studied his musical laugh and memorized the happy crinkles by his eyes. 

However, we hadn’t had sex since the night he’d asked me to be his, the night we’d had sex together for the first time. I wasn’t particularly bothered by this, but it made me wonder if it was something he’d been avoiding. 

I sat on my sofa on a Sunday night after spending the day with George, my legs sprawled on the cushions as my back rested against armrest, laptop in my lap. I’d been procrastinating brainstorming ideas for my pitch, guiltily looking at lingerie while my subconscious pondered why George still hadn’t instigated having sex. The beautifully stitched thin, lace fabric sparked an idea in my head and I found myself clicking back onto my document, typing away immediately. 

“Y/n? You got anything for me?” Connie’s eyes glared into mine, intimidating emerald orbs making me want to shrink into the corner of the room and shield myself from her. 

You got this, I thought to myself. Gulping with a confident nod, I began talking. 

“I’ve been seeing women online complain about their sex lives declining in their relationships, especially after building families,” I started, using my hands to help gesture my way through my pitch. “Women are finding it difficult for themselves and their spouses to become aroused, especially when couples become so comfortable with each other. I, uhm,” I stuttered, “have been experiencing a sort of dry spell, if you will, in my own relationship, so I was thinking of conducting an experiment, where I test how I–and other women–can bring the arousal back in their relationships.” 

I couldn’t ignore Dean’s eyes on me, and I cursed myself that he had to be part of this meeting. 

“I was thinking my experiment could be whether lingerie could possibly effect women’s sex lives, and if it does, then lingerie could be a cure to suffering sex lives,” I finally finished, nervously bringing my lip between my teeth as I awaited my boss’ feedback. 

She nodded slowly, her eyebrows raised. 

“I’m surprised, to say the least, Y/n,” she began, making a lump in my throat appear. “But, I like it. A lot of women can relate to that, in fact, a lot of the women in this room can probably relate to it.” 

She looked around at all of the women in the room, all returning scared-shitless expressions. 

“I’ll be looking forward to reading it,” she concluded. There was a glint of satisfaction in her eyes, yet her face remained its serious composure. 

I released a breath I hadn't realized I’d been holding, and as soon as the meeting ended, Dean rushed to my side. 

“So, Georgie ain’t givin’ it to ya?” he chided with a smirk of amusement. 

I rolled my eyes, my cheeks reddening more than I’d liked them to. 

“I’ll fucking kill you if you tell him about this,” I warned him as we made our way to our desks.  

“You know he’s going to read it after you post it though, right?” he interrogated, taking a seat in his chair as he looked at me from the side of his computer.

Fuck. I hadn’t thought about that. 

“I’ll deal with that when the time comes,” I assured him, chewing on my lip nervously as I pondered George’s reaction. “Just don’t tell him, at least until it’s done and published. Please,” I pleaded.

He rolled his eyes, a slight amusing smile playing on his lips. 

“Fine,” he gave in. “But, you realize this makes me a bad friend, right?” 

“This makes you a good friend to me,” I winked at him. “Besides, this is for work.”

“Mhm,” he hummed sarcastically, slapping his headphones onto his head and bringing his attention onto the screen in front of him. 

I made a trip to Victoria’s Secret after work, buying a simple–yet overpriced–black satin and lacy babydoll. I didn’t want to go all out just yet, and I figured it’d be simple, yet sexy enough to get my point across. I sent a text to George as I arrived to my apartment, slipping the thin fabric onto my body.

8:09 pm, Me: Hey, are you home? 

8:11 pm, George: Yep, just got back from the rehabilitation center. What’s up?

I chewed my lip, wondering what I should say.

8:12 pm, Me: Is now a good time? I need something. 

8:13 pm, George: Yeah, are you okay?

8:14 pm, Me: Yes G I’m fine. Do you think I can come over? 

8:14 pm, Me: I have a surprise for you

8:15 pm, George: A good surprise? 

I smirked.

8:16 pm, Me: A very good surprise.

8:17 pm, George: I give in. Come over.

Just wearing the lingerie, I wrapped a big coat around my body, reaching longer than the thin fabric. I practically looked naked underneath the coat, but I buttoned it up regardless and grabbed my purse and keys. The cold air igniting my skin, leaving me covered in goosebumps as I headed to my car, I began slightly regretting my plan, blasting the heat as soon as the vehicle roared to life. I made my way to his flat eagerly, driving faster than normal in attempt to arrive as quickly as I could. Once I parked, I didn’t bother waiting for him to meet me outside; I scurried into his complex, thankfully remembering the number on his door as I anxiously knocked. 

Butterflies took over my stomach as I suddenly felt sick, awaiting the unknown from the other side of the wood. The door slowly opened, revealing a confused George. His waves were in perfect condition, a muted purple button up clinging to his torso, the sleeves rolled up. The scent of pasta sauce and cooked vegetables greeted me, almost making me forget what I’d gone there for.

“I made a ratatouille,” he informed me, gesturing to the kitchen.

I slowly unbuttoned my coat, revealing the satin and lace against my skin. His eyes immediately trailed down my body, his lips parting to form an ‘o’. Time turned into slow motion as he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me inside, shutting the door behind me. My back rested back against the door, his hand next to my head from shutting it so quickly. He took my coat and tossed it across the room, attacking my lips at once. His lips were rough against mine, as if he’d had built-up tension that had finally gotten the chance to release. 

I moved my leg to rest against his side, grabbing his collar and pulling him closer to me, his tent in his pants making contact with my core. My lips parted at the closeness of his bulge to my heat, giving his tongue access to explore my mouth. His other hand went to my leg, gently dragging his fingertips against my exposed thigh, trailing where I needed him most. His fingers reached the scrunched up fabric of the babydoll, removing his lips from mine to look down. 

“No panties?” he taunted, bringing his eyes back up to see my reaction. 

I looked at him innocently, shaking my head to answer his question, my lips parted in awe as I watched him. 

“Tsk,” he clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he looked back down at my exposed heat, shifting my leg to reveal more of myself to him. 

He slowly lowered himself, getting down on his knees in front of me. His hands went to my thighs, separating them and spreading them as far as they could go whilst I stood, before trailing up and pushing the fabric up to my stomach. My heat was entirely exposed, as he trailed soft kisses up my thighs, pressing a kiss to my mound and returning his eyes up to meet mine. 

“My dirty girl,” he muttered, shaking his head once again, a smirk of amusement playing on his lips. 

He looked back down at my heat, licking his lips, before flattening his tongue against me. I sighed, head hitting the door whilst my hips bucked. He grabbed my hands, moving them to hold the fabric of the satin lingerie for him, moving his hands to hold my hips down instead. His tongue began slow figure eights through my folds, making me squirm against his grip on my hips. With one hand keeping the fabric out of his way, my other hand went to grip his locks. He responded to my tugging fingers with a low moan, sending vibrations through me, causing my legs to shake. 

However, I didn’t want to cum without him. I wanted my first orgasm of tonight to be with him inside of me. My hand went lower to grab him by his collar, bringing him to meet my lips. I could taste myself on him, and I knew he secretly liked the thought of that, that I was tasting my own juices on his tongue. He moved my legs to his hips, gesturing for me to wrap my legs around him. I obliged, jumping up and attaching my lips quickly back to his as he carried me. I parted my lips, half-lidded lustful eyes meeting his own. 

“Why don’t we fuck on the couch?” I asked, my eyes moving to look at his living room sofa. 

He turned his head to look at it as well, a low raspy chuckle exiting his throat.

“I like the way you think, love.”

Our lips found each other’s again, as he changed his direction towards the sofa. He gently laid me down on the cushions, quickly unbuttoning his shirt whilst I sat up, my hands moving to his belt. His toned torso met my eyes once he peeled it off, his hands helping my own undo his pants. His feet assisted in kicking his jeans off, leaving him in his boxers, the large tent on his crotch taunting me. I reached to the bottom of the babydoll, peeling it off of me, tossing it across the room whilst I sat completely exposed. 

He looked down at underwear, his hands going to his hips confidently, glancing back at me. “You want to the honors, angel?”

I nodded, my fingers looping around the band of his underwear teasingly before pulling it down, his erection instantly slapping against his stomach. He kicked the fabric off, slowly spreading my legs.

“You ready angel?” he asked once more, his eyes meeting mine, searching for permission.

I nodded, gulping as I looked down at the angry head of his dick, already leaking with precum. He brought one hand to caress my cheek, thumb stroking my cheekbone whilst his other hand aligned himself at my entrance. Swirling his tip up and down my folds, coating himself in my juices, he began slowly pushing into me. He moved his hand to support himself against the couch, the other still caressing my face. Sliding the remainder of his length into me, he moved closer down to me, resting his forehead against my own before he slowly pulled himself almost entirely out of me, gently sliding back in again. My hands went to his bare back, nails running down his shoulder blades. 

He kept a slow, steady rhythm, our hips gently meeting each other’s, the only sounds being our unsteady breaths, his length slowly pummeling through my juices, and the quiet chorus of curses he muttered when reentering me. The pleasure began building, and every thrust began contributing to the building of knots in my stomach. My hips began bucking against him, encouraging him to pick up his pace. His thrusts became increasingly faster, and he moved both of his hands to rest against the back of the couch to support himself. He moved his forehead away from my own, moving away from me as his hips moved more quickly against my own. My eyes met his, his half-lidded blissful eyes staring back at me, a few stray locks stuck to his forehead, his locks now disheveled. 

I bit my lip before grabbing one of his wrists, bringing it to my throat. His jaw went slack at this action, gently grasping at my throat and driving into me harder.

“My dirty girl likes to be choked, huh?” he taunted, his accent making the words sound even sexier, his skin slapping against my own while he fucked me faster and faster.

He moved one of my legs over his shoulder, before drilling into me deeper than he’d ever been. I couldn’t help the loud moan I released, my eyes scrunching closed at the feeling of his cock hitting the spot that made my legs twitch. 

“Cum for me, angel,” he praised. 

“George!” I screamed, my legs shaking as I clenched around him, ecstasy taking over my body while he thrusted against me before stilling, spurting inside of me whilst I rode out my high. 

His body plopped against me on the couch, his chest heaving up and down. My legs were still shaking, the intensity of the orgasm still lingering. He looked down, resting a hand on my leg in attempt to calm it. He chuckled, looking at me.

“You alright, love?”

I nodded, my lips parted, my breathing pattern slowly returning back to normal. 

“That was fucking amazing,” I breathily exclaimed, earning another chuckle from him.

He wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. My cheek rested on his bare chest, his heartbeat lulling me to relaxation. His arm soothingly rubbed up and down my arm, his own cheek resting against the top of my head.

“Well,” he began, his voice raspy, “before you came here, I made ratatouille.”

[cluz1babe]

*** Strong Tongue and Slender Fingers ***Episode 1 Chapter 5: *** Goblin ***

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

NOTES:

I hope it’s understandable.

With the exception of characters who are "dead" on the show, it's as canon as possible (I try to fact-check as much as possible). Taking place after season 14 (up to a few years after). I wrote it kind of like a script because that's just how I am. Reading this version, you will miss some information, but check my "Works" for the others. I also have alt scenes ready to go when the series gets to that point.

You leaned against a tree. Sam walked over to you.

“Hey, it’ll be fine. You have three other people to help. You said yourself that you could easily take care of us if you wanted.”

“You’re humans.”

“I’m sure everything will go fine.”

“How? No one knows how to kill it or get rid of it. Even if this is your job, you’re being really stupid by running in there without a plan. Why do you want to kill it, anyway?”

“We have to try something. It’s been hurting people. I have a good feeling about you.”

You put all of your weight on your right leg and crossed your arms. You turned to leave.

“Hey, wait.” He felt through his jacket as you turned around. He took out a knife and handed it to you.

“A gift!“ You took the knife and then took a few steps closer to Sam. “That’s so sweet.” You grazed his cheek before suddenly giving him a hard pat on the face and walking off.

“Ow! Hey!”

“This was already mine!”

Castiel joined Dean. “Are we really going to trust her with this?”

“Why not?” Dean shifted his weight and looked Castiel up and down. “You’re scared of her.”

“I am not scared of her. Her knowledge makes me nervous. What made you want to drag her along?”

“I saw some things… When she did that thing with her hands.” Dean groaned at Castiel's stare, “What were we supposed to do? Tie her up and leave her in the motel room?”

“As much as I don’t want to say this,” Castiel paused. “Y/N’s right. We don’t really know how to kill this thing. Of course, that’s if it’s even real.”

“Sam’s the one who made this decision, to be honest.”

“Why would he want to bring her?”

“He got a call from Patience.”

“She’s sent us up here.”

Dean turned to Castiel. “I’m pretty sure she wanted us to find Y/N, and what Patience told him proves that what I saw was real.”

“What’s that?”

“She’s gonna kill it.“ Castiel frowned at him, so he continued, “I don’t know how, but she’ll do it. She just needs to concentrate and give in to whatever powers she has.”

“So essentially, we are exploiting her.” Castiel’s patience was growing thin. “Dean, I may not like her very much, but I don’t agree with this. We don’t know what her powers can do.”

“If we survive today, maybe you should get to know her while we try to help. You’ve done it before and you usually end up liking the person.”

Castiel watched Y/N as she surveyed the area. “Her problems could become our problems.”

“Always do.” Dean finished loading his shotgun. “Where did you go earlier?”

Sam interrupted before Castiel could answer. He grabbed another gun from the trunk. Dean looked over at him. “Where’s Y/N?”

“I don’t know. Didn’t follow her after she slapped me.”

Castiel looked at Dean and gestures at Sam as if to say, "See?”

Dean checked Sam’s face. “Relax. It’s not even red. She came to us. She’s the one who needs help, and Patience agrees, so why are we still arguing about it?”

Sam snickered, “You just want to get laid.”

“No. But I already would have if you could wait long enough before barging in.”

There was a loud crash, and they all looked at what was a small concession stand in a pile of rubble. You were standing there looking embarrassed.

“Sorry,” you yelled.

“Great,” Sam mumbled. “The one who’s afraid of a guardian will probably be the reason it gets angry.”

“All these buildings and rides are close to falling apart on their own. It was probably an accident.” Dean put his hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Just in case, I want you to stay with her.”

“Why me?”

“Because she and Cass were at each other before we even left the car. I think it’s safest for you to go with her.”

“Not you? You seem to be the only one not as affected by this thing, or her.”

“Well, I also think it’s funny.” Dean smiled at his brother.

When the group split up, Sam and you entered a horror ride.

“After you.”

You rolled your eyes and walked further in. Sam waited until it seemed like nothing would happen.

“What’s your problem, anyway?”

“I thought you said it was this place.”

“No, you and Castiel have both been annoyed ever since I decided to connect with Dean.”

“You decided to connect?” Sam asked you, almost sounding disgusted.

“When we zoned out for two hours. Are he and Castiel, or were they…”

“What?”

“Together?”

“What? No!” Sam actually had a moment where he tilted his head as he thought, then shook the thought. “No.”

“Really? Seems as if you may be the type of sibling who would be protective of his brother’s heart.”

“He doesn’t need help with that.”

“You are touchy when it comes to your brother. I guess all the stories must be true. You’re protective of each other.”

You stopped. Sam sighed and continued forward, “You popped into our lives, asking for help. I don’t know why you have to be difficult. All you’ve done so far is argue and do whatever it is you did to Dean.”

“It was harmless. Like when tired people become delirious. It wore off.”

Realizing he was genuinely worried, you paused as he continued forward. "Sorry.” The words left your mouth with a stubbornness. “I know I’m unpleasant. It’s not entirely an accident, but I’ve been at it for so long, I’ve forgotten how to not be this way.” Sam turned to look at you and furrowed his brow. “Why start?”

“Surprisingly, people don’t enjoy being around a pain in the ass. It keeps everyone from getting attached and making stupid decisions. Usually keeps me from revealing too much about myself.”

“Why?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Lonely way to live.”

You shrugged, "I guess.”

Sam turned back around and continued walking. You looked behind you, then continued forward. You walked close to one of the old animatronics and inspected it, wiping off some dust.

Sam sighed. “I don’t think there’s anything in here.”

You knocked the animatronic over and triggered an enormous clown face to fall on the tracks, causing Sam to jump back and gasp. You looked over at him, all panicked, and smiled. "Scared, yet?” You felt something tug at your jeans, but when you looked down, there was nothing there. Your eyes widened in horror. “Sam?” When he looked over at you, he saw something wrapping around your waist.

“Bounty?”

“What?” Sam asked. You were suddenly pulled back, your entire body disappeared into the dark. “Y/N!”

Dean marched to the Impala and opened the trunk, grabbing a different gun this time. “What did she say before it took her?”

“Bounty.”

“That could be anything. Did you see which direction it took her?”

“I think I have an idea.” They heard the low timber of Castiel’s voice. He was covered in dirt.

“What happened to you?”

“I sort of…fell. Into the ground.”

“Elaborate?”

“I may have caused the collapse of a tunnel. Luckily, it’s not the only one I found.”

“Please don’t tell me this has something to do with ghouls.” Dean begged.

“No, it’s not ghouls,” Cas grumbled. “I did find this.” He held up an obsidian blade.

Sam took it and looked it over. “It looks like a bloodletting blade. These were used in rituals, but not around here.”

“So what are we dealing with?”

“I don’t know. These were used by people, not monsters.”

You found yourself in a cavern. You heard scurrying around you and leaned back against the wall. “Hello?”

The three men stood in front of a cave.

“Guess this is the front,” Dean said.

Sam looked at the blade. “I’ll go in, a different way.” He parted from the others and made his way into the attraction. After searching about ten minutes, he found an opening big enough to fit through. “Y/N? Are you down there?”

“Sam!” You ran to the sound of his voice and looked up. You reached for each other, but something flew through the air and hit your arm. It pierced your skin, causing you to pull your arm away. You pulled it out. It was a needle that almost looked like it came from a cactus. You looked around and quickly turned back to Sam.

“You have to go back.”

“What is it?”

“Goblin.”

“A goblin?”

“It’s not small.”

“Y/N, I can’t leave you here.”

You were pulled back as an arm reached around your neck. Sam jumped in and followed the direction you were taken. He stopped when he saw the goblin and realized it was much bigger than he expected. Nearly 6 feet tall with long limbs. It pointed a weapon at him.

“What is it you want?”

“Bounty.”

“Which is?”

“Nothing you can provide.” The goblin pulled back as Sam walked closer. “She will be the new mother.”

You released an unexpected laugh. “That’s a good one. I think you’re confused.”

“Do you want her to be the mother of your children?”

“Doing that would mean breaking a truce. I want to go back home and you cannot release me.”

“I still think you have the wrong person.”

The Goblin shook his head at you. “I don’t.”

“What does she have to do with what’s been going on here?”

“If I don’t bring her to him, someone will. Maybe you.”

“Sounds like the opposite of our job.”

You felt around for your knife, which you had stashed in your jeans. “Are you the guardian? How long have you been stuck here?”

“A very long time. I may have been a little too ambitious by taking this area.”

“Who are you supposed to take me to?”

“Your god.”

“I don’t have a god.”

“You will.”

You managed to pull your knife out. “Will I?” You stabbed the goblin in the leg. It released your neck and pushed you down. Sam rushed the goblin, taking your knife and stabbing it in the stomach. It only got angrier and pushed Sam against the side of the dirt cave. Balling its hand into a fist, it pulled roots from the wall. The roots wrapped around Sam’s wrists and legs, then around his chest.

“Y/N! Get out of here!”

You desperately searched for water, but couldn’t find any. The cave was much drier than it should have been. You heard Dean yelling for Sam and tried to run out, but your way was blocked. You were pulled to the ground and held there.

“You can’t go.”

“Why does anyone want me?!”

“Because of what you can do.”

The goblin turned his attention back to Sam who was struggling against the roots. He pulled out an obsidian blade and walked toward Sam. Just as the goblin was about to stab Sam, you got to your feet and pulled at the goblin, but it crumbled to dust.

Confused, he looked up to see you standing there. Dust fell from your hand. You were just as surprised at he was.

“That’s new,” you said, trying to sound calm.

EXTRAS:

PLAYLIST  (music for this episode)

Please Buy Me a Beer!

Tip Me on Ko-Fi

AO3

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

~ Klee PG Version ~ (Currently only on AO3)

*** Strong Tongue and Slender Fingers *** (Here and AO3)

KLEE (Original Version) (Currently only on AO3)

Alt KLEE Smut (Currently only on AO3)

*** Alt Strong Tongue and Slender Fingers Smut Scenes *** (Currently only on AO3)

[angelkurenai]

Imagine Ketch introducing you to the new android he’s been working on for the past months, David, and Dean being jealous of how interested he seems to be in you because it looks like flirting.

“You. Have got. To be kidding me!” you breathed out, eyes wide as you took in the sight before you.

“Wow, Ketch this is-” Sam breathed out a laugh “You've been really working on getting organised again huh?”

“It wasn't easy with the sources I had but let's say, borrowing a few did help in completing most of the work.” the British said with a proud smile as he too looked around the place he'd been trying to set up for over a year now. After not being able to be with the Men of Letters anymore, or what was left of them, and while finding your, Sam and Dean's ways still too primitive – you had made a mental note to punch him for that – he had tried his best to build a base of his own that would help him still do his job with the same ease as when he was with the British Men of Letters. “I don't know if the British Men of Letters have gone any further with their designs but I believe I did the best I could with what I could get from them and what I could find. I took the pieces, put them together and perfected what I could so here he is.”

“I can't believe what I'm seeing.” you muttered, shock still written all over your face.

“Well, then that makes it two of us. Those douchebags really hid the best part from us huh?” Dean nodded his head, the same look of awe on his face as he looked around the place “They even had real freaking androids and they let us play around with- with funny angel cuffs?”

“Well, humans are really not an ideal hunting partner at the moment, at least not for me. And if it is any comfort the androids were not perfected up until four months ago, so there was no possible way you should know.” he shrugged “He may be just one for the time being but updates shall be made and I fear not that David will be the next step in helping us effectively deal with monsters.”

“He really does look like a human, so realistic it's unbelievable for what's really just a machine.” Sam all but said in awe, geeking out and barely holding himself back from rambling on about all the new advances made by the British Men of Letters and Ketch himself.

“He does indeed. It has been the purpose from the beginning. To achieve his full capacity we should limit any problems and one of them unfortunately happens to blending in.” Ketch said with a hand in his pocket, back straightened and smile full of pride of his work “So... human features were the key.”

“A-and you've created the perfect combination. It's- it's like the perfect disguise, the way we use a fake badge or a suit, but here you- you've managed to make him look absolutely human. He looks human-”

“He is for most parts.” Ketch pointed out “But not the parts that can make him vulnerable. And every human part has been specifically enhanced so that he will be the perfect assist during battle.”

“Incredible.” Sam breathed out a laugh while all you did was look at him with a blank face, mixed with one of disbelief “This would mean that when it comes to, like, a vampire there are no chances of- of losing in a fight or being slowed down. Like, a vamp won't be able to drink his blood... does he have any?”

“Or a demon can't possess him.” Dean added with a shrug “Or an angel. And wait- An angel blade can't kill him, right?”

“No, it can't! I mean, probably no usual weapon can right?”

“I'm starting to feel jealous now. No feeling pain, no need to sleep and saving time, no- wait, does he eat? He can't possibly eat. Man.” he made a face shaking his head “That sucks. Imagine not being able to taste pie, what kind of hell is that? Nah not a good thing. That's actually a terrible thing. And he doesn't eat burgers, does he? Nope, of course not.”

Sam rolled his at his brother's mumbling which didn't seem to end “Means more pie for you when he joins on hunts anyway.” he said instead to him before adding “But there's something much more exciting. Just think about it, being an android does mean he has a bigger knowledge about things that us so he could like read hundreds of books and always be able to recall everything when we need? Imagine how much faster that would make solving cases o-or-”

But Sam only trailed off when he noticed the look on your face and his smile dropped altogether “Seriously? Is that seriously what you guys have to say about- about him? Seriously?!” but all you got was blank stares from the three men “Has any of you not seen Prometheus? Alien Covenant? Anything?!”

Despite all the noise of the hunters around the place, you could hear the gears in their head spinning as they tried to understand what you meant. Until Dean finally asked “...What?”

“Oh my God, why do I even hang out with you guys?” you rubbed your temples “You've both seen the Alien movies countless times, and I've specifically forced you to watch those two movies with me and yet not a single brain cell in those heads of yours seems to remember him? Him?! And you, Ketch, of all the androids you could get, you got him? Him?!” you whisper-hissed at the British man who was only giving you a funny look, certainly being just as unable to understand what you were trying to say or why you were acting this way.

“Geez, (Y/n), relax. The dude seems pretty cool, why are you even freaking out so bad?” Dean blinked, relaxing in his chair that he had long ago taken a seat in.

“Relax? Relax?” you narrowed your eyes at him “You've got an android that looks exactly like David from Prometheus and Alien Covenant with plenty of monster-related weapons and samples here and you guys are telling me to relax? Alright, that's it, I'm getting out of here. And if he turns you into mummies after you give birth to baby aliens then I won't be here to say I told you so. I'll be living my life in peace and eating all your pie, Winchester. But, keep in mind, I'll say it in the afterlife where I will kick your asses for being such idiots and trusting him.”

“Last time I remember-” Sam started with a smirk before you could get up from your seat “You said something along the lines of letting Michael Fassbender as David do anything he wanted with your body especially get to-”

“Alright-!” your eyes widened as you said a-little-too-loudly and a little-too-fast to stop him from saying the full sentence which you certainly remembered very well saying all that time ago “No. Nope. Definitely don't need to share that kind of information with everybody else.” as expected Sam snickered with your red face while Dean's face had entirely vanished “And by the way, is that seriously the only thing you remember out of two whole movies? How come Dean doesn't?”

“Alright, first he fell asleep during the first 30 minutes and second, it just clicked that's all. And now I certainly remember you saying many many more things about David and Michael Fassbender in Alien Covenant so I'm asking, are you sure you really wanna leave (Y/n)? Besides, this is not the same David, you know it, so it makes me wonder... what's the real reason you want to leave and not get to meet him?”

You narrowed at him without saying a word at first before ending up muttering “I'll kill you tonight in your sleep. I promise.”

“What's the real reason?” Dean's voice was more gruff, the one that sounded a lot like the one he used when interrogating someone. But the look on his face, although definitely serious, held something else that you had not seen before nor could pinpoint.

“Wha- I- I don't- What are you even asking? The reason is obvious! I don't want to guenie pig for whatever baby monster he plans to-”

“Allow me to intervene now and tell you there is no chance of him doing any of that. David is a valuable asset to the team, not our enemy. And he was not programmed-”

“Yeah, well tell that to all the people that died in two movies because of him and then you-”

“(Y/n) it's movies, come on! This is not the same person.” Sam still kept that smug knowing smile on his lips and you were on the verge of snapping at him.

“And our lives are a TV show in another world, where's your point? Besides, I'm saying-” you looked at Ketch “Didn't we deserve a warning for this? Had I- I known that- that I would come here a-and find-”

“Michael Fassbender's look-alike.” Dean said, still in a very serious voice tone “That's what you found. So how about you answer my question, sweetheart, what's the real reason?”

“That's just stupid Dean. And I already told you. This- this doesn't have to do with how he looks like, it's all just-”

“You're getting nervous.” he pointed out, eyes almost narrowing at you, as he cut you off “You don't get this nervous when I ask you something unless you have something to hide.”

“He's speaking from experience.” Sam muttered, this time not earning a glare from his brother the way he normally would because the older Winchester was too busy being, well, jealous at the moment. But it was true anyway. If Sam had a coin for every time Dean had turned into stuttering mess when anyone questioned him about yours and his “friendship”, he'd be a millionaire by now.

“And I remember that Fassbender guy now.” Dean continued, speaking almost accusingly at you “You've talked about him before, in fact you have talked about him many times before. Sometimes I get confused because of course, who can keep up with your celebrity crushes which I still struggle to understand what the hell you even like in those guys when there are men out there that are certainly much better and would ask you out in a heartbeat but you won't even-”

“Whoa whoa whoa Dean!” you rushed to say, cutting him off before he popped a vain “First, take a deep breath, yeah? You need oxygen to survive. Second, this- this has nothing to do with Michael Fassbender o-or how I feel for him. It's different, and the fact that the British Men of Letters had first started working on it makes it only worse; movie or not.” you pointed out to Sam who only had an amused smile on his lips “This is a very serious subject that concerns us being moms to baby aliens because of a-”

But as you were speaking, your words got caught in your throat when you dared look over your shoulder and found that said android wasn't all those feet away from you but rather only a couple inches away. You nearly jumped in your seat and as expected – which you wouldn't dare admit to Dean – you felt your face heat up not because of embarrassment that he might have heard something but because of how close he was and how more beautiful his features were and just how drawn you were – again not something you'd tell Dean.

“Hello” his eyes were fixated on you, refusing to leave, as a smile played on his lips. A smile which you couldn't read and didn't know if you had the mind to, but you could definitely say he had something in common with you: He was intrigued.

“David, why hello!” Ketch grinned but only a way that was meant to annoy you or embarrass you more, or maybe even both “Bit busy, weren't you?”

“It would seem so, yes. I did get something for you to drink, though, as an apology and...” he placed a beer before Sam who sent him a big smile, next up Dean who only kept his jaw locked in place and made David's smile flutter before he moved to Ketch while saying “A welcome. I've heard a lot about you and it is certainly a pleasure to meet you from up close.” he looked at the British man and asked “The usual sir?”

Ketch hummed as the android poured him some whiskey “You seemed quiet popular right there, we feared you wouldn't have time for us. All those new hunters acted like they have never seen an non-human being before. The Winchesters came all the way here for you and... (Y/n) here was actually rather eager to get to meet you.”

You all but felt your blood run cold when you heard his words and saw David's eyes fall right back on ou again, a smile on his lips a bit different from the previous one that got you wondering just how much was he capable of feeling. Not that you wondered for too long because you were too busy planning out Ketch's death.

“Well, if I am allowed to say so myself and up to the degree my programming allows-” he got closer to you again, too close for you to be able to think anything else and certainly too close for Dean's liking; especially at the words that followed next “The feeling's mutual.”

“David has been looking forward to meeting you.” Ketch said with a smirk

“As anyone would.” the synthetic brushed it off with a mere shrug “I have in fact seen footage of you on the field, as provided by Mr Ketch-” you did send a glare at Ketch who only shrugged “As I have heard many things about you and allow me to say it is all extraordinary.”

“I-” you shook your head a bit shyly “It's not anything special.”

“Do allow me to argue. You are.” he placed the beer before you, soon followed by a white lily next to it which made your eyes widen and Dean's back straighten in alert “A beautiful flower for a beautiful lady... Is that not proper?” he asked reluctantly in the end when he noticed the surprised look on your face.

“N-no- I- I mean, yes. Yes it is. It's just that-” you shook your head softly “I don't get things like this frequently. If anything the men around me have forgotten how despite being a hunter and covered in monster blood 24/7 I am still a lady and I'd very much appreciate this kind of-”

“Wha- Hey!” Dean went defensive “You want flowers, I can get your flowers! I can fill up the entire room. You want lilies? I'd get you all there are.”

“Too late now Winchester.” you shook your head before looking back at the android,missing the way Dean threw his arms in the air and shook his head in disbelief “Thank you so much for this, David.”

“No need, Miss. I do happen to grow them in the garden in the back. It is one of the few things I do besides building up new programs and look for new monsters. I could show you if you would like?” he suggested.

But just as your lips parted, Ketch beat you at it because he obviously noticed how stiff Dean had gotten “David, why don't you bring the computer and show our friends what you've been working on and let the tour wait for later, yes?”

The android's smile flattered a bit but he did nod his head and mumbled a small “Of course sir.”

“So, not that scared of him, are you (Y/n)?” Ketch asked you as your smile flattered and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Nope. Too busy thinking about all the ways I can murder you for what you said.”

“Sure you are (Y/n). And Dean is on the verge of being best friends with him, too, and not thinking about what flowers to get you right now.” Sam grinned but you only glared at him “And hey, by the way, is that the way robots flirt?”

“Sam I swear, if you don't shut up I'll-”

“Get in the line. I'm gonna kill him first.” the older Winchester grumbled.

“Fine, fine by me.” Sam raised his hands in surrender “Only... one last question. To Ketch.” he looked at the man as you took a sip of your beer “Hey, you don't happen to be working on another android that will go by the name of uhm... Walter maybe?” and as expected you choked.

“W-Walter?” Dean blinked “Why does that sound familiar?”

“Oh because it is.” Sam grinned “He is an android too and... he looks exactly like David.”

“Son of a bitch.”

[katehuntington]

Title: All I Want - part two Fandom: Supernatural Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Pairing: Dean x Reader Series summary: Sam and Dean come across an object that could be the solution to Michael. The Pearl of Baozhu grants the beholder’s deepest desire. Once Dean focuses on his wish, the archangel remains caged in his mind however. Instead his former girlfriend Y/N shows up, who was killed in 2010 in Detroit, by no other than Lucifer himself. Summary part two: After another horrific nightmare, Dean joins his brother in search for an answer to take down Michael. They strike gold when they find the Baozhu, but Dean’s wish doesn’t ban the Archangel from his mind. Instead he reunites with the one person he never thought he’d see again. Warnings part two: NSFW, 18+ only. Spoilers season 14 episode 13. Angst, fluff-ish. Nightmares, descriptions of flashbacks, mentions of major character death, anxiety, grieving over lost loved one, swearing, alcohol consumption. All the tears. Word Count: 4019 words Author’s note: Part two of a multi part miniseries, based on the 300th episode “Lebanon”. Prepare for major angst, heartwarming reunions and heartbreaking goodbyes. Beta’d by the lovely @kittenofdoomage​ and @coffee-obsessed-writer​, thank you so much for your feedback!

All I Want Masterlist

February 7th, 2019 Lebanon, Kansas

    A rigid gasp for air ends Dean’s tormenting dream. He bolts up in bed, sheets and yesterday’s clothes clinging to the cold sweat that covers every square inch of his skin. His heart is racing as if he just ran up ten flights of stairs, shivers wrecking his body. Eyes wide open he stares at the opposite wall, trying to calm himself by focusing on his breathing. It’s not real, Dean. Not yet. Not now.

    The splitting headache that has haunted him ever since he locked Michael in that coolcell far in the back of his mind, pushes itself to the front, pounding behind his eyes in the rhythm of the archangel’s fists on the door. The hunter breathes in deeply and exhales, letting the air flow from his lips. He’s not in the box, he’s not drowning like he was a second ago, and although he knows it is written in Billie’s book that this will be how he will meet his end, he has to hold on to the present. Dean sighs and closes his eyes. I’m in control.

    A knock on furnished wood draws his gaze towards his bedroom door, finding the tall silhouet of his brother, carefully pushing it open. Faint yellow light from the hallway reaches into room number eleven, illuminating only one side of Sam’s face, but it’s enough for Dean to make out the worried expression in his features.    “Did I wake you?” Sam asks hesitantly.     But the oldest of the Winchester brothers shakes his head, rubs his eyes and glances aside at his alarm clock. Not even 3 ‘o clock, so that gives him… two and a half hours of sleep? If you can call back to back nightmares sleep, anyway. Then Dean notices the scratches on the wall next to his bed, traces of crimson in the concrete. When he checks his right hand, he finds his fingertips bloody, his nails scraped away to the flesh.

    The hunter shifts his gaze back to Sam, who honestly doesn’t look like his night was any better.     “What are you doing up?”, he wonders.     “Cataloging Bart Kemp’s stuff. Thought I might find something that could help us out. He owned a ton of occult objects,” Sam asserts.     “Need a hand?” Dean shifts, flopping his legs over the side.     Sam frowns at that. Dean who wants to catalog hundreds of ancient items? That’s a new one.     “Sure you don’t wanna get some rest?” Sam returns doubtfully, watching how his brother straps on his boots.     “Nah, I’m good. Can’t sleep anyway.” He gets up and runs his fingers through his hair, smoothening it out.

    Avoiding his little brother’s concern, he pushes himself past Sam in the doorway, awkward unspoken words hovering between then. He can feel the tall hunter’s eyes, fixed to unravel what Dean is desperately trying to hide. Endless nights of terror as Michael wreaks havoc in his mind. Reliving the worst moments of his life and experiencing the new definition of hell that is yet to come. Trapped in the Ma’lak Box, screaming for help, for his brother, for Y/N, as he tries to crawl his way out while the water seeps in.

    As Dean enters the library with Sam on his tail, he grabs yesterday’s half a bottle of Jack Daniels from the table, unscrews the cap and takes a swig. His eyes roam over the collection of curse boxes, books and scattered notes, again ignoring the look his brother is throwing him. He has never shied away from liquor, but these days he fills more whiskey tumblers than coffee mugs. Self-medicating, he keeps telling himself. Anything to shut the tremors down.     “So, what we got?” he wonders, trying to steer the attention away.     “Dean...”     “Don’t.”

    With an agitated sigh the oldest of the two sits down, dismissing his brother’s attempt to start the conversation that he’s been trying to avoid for weeks. But for a short second, his mask wears thin. It confirms the worries that keep Sam up at night as well. Suddenly his brother seems older than forty, the age that the hunter miraculously reached last month. He’s much older when you count the decades he spent in Hell. Add the losses he suffered, the pain he’s been through, sleepless nights and tainted dreams; he’s an old soul, tired and worn. Keeping the Archangel on lock down is becoming more difficult with each day. Especially now that Michael is trying to break him by using the woman Dean lost his heart to.     “I heard you,” Sam admits. “I’m pretty sure the entire bunker did.”     Dean rolls his eyes slightly before looking away, opening his mouth to fire a second warning. But then Sam drops the bomb.     “I heard you call out for Y/N, too.”

    Y/N. The name of the woman Dean loved more than he ever thought he would be capable of, especially after all the horror he bared witness to. The name that’s never mentioned, not because she’s not worth to remember, but because even after all those years, he’s still afraid that touching that subject will wreck him the same way her death did.

    His heart starts to physically hurt as pressure on his chest builds. Struggling to hide the discomfort from showing, Dean has another swig of whiskey. He can’t prevent his jaw from clenching as he swallows down the alcohol, allowing the strong after burn to distract him. He could blow up on Sam, remind him of the fact that last time when he brought her up, Dean threatened to break his little brother’s nose if he ever would speak of her again. But Dean doesn’t counter. He’s too tired to fight Sammy, too.     “What do you want me to say, Sam?”     Sam spreads out his arms and lets them fall against his side, despondency in his stance.     “Anything!” he exclaims, his voice a little higher and a little louder than he anticipated. “Dean, I know nightmares come with the job, but this isn’t normal. Not even for us.”

    “Of course it’s not normal, Sam! Having a fucking Archangel trapped in my head ain’t a typical day at the office either! Who do you think is causing these dreams, huh?” Dean snaps, looking Sam in the eye for the first time that night. Then he takes a breath and collects himself. Stop being an ass, Dean. Sammy’s just worried.     “Michael is pulling out all the stops to crush me before we pin him down. Keeping me quiet by giving me what I wanted didn’t work, so now he’s doing the opposite,” he continues, much calmer now. “During the day I can handle him, but at night…”

    Mixed feelings cause the hunter to pause. He doesn’t want to burden his little brother with the weight that comes with the knowledge. He’s troubled enough as it is, frantically trying to find another way to expel Michael and lock him away where he can’t hurt anyone else. Another option, a scenario that doesn’t include his big brother on the bottom of the ocean in the Malak’ Box. But God, Dean needs an outlet.     “So this is his new approach? He shows you your darkest days?” Sam assumes, frowning empathetically.     Dean averts his eyes back to the bottle, his fingers around the glass body.     “On the big screen,” he confesses. “I’m not just watching, though.”     “What you mean?”     The younger Winchester has taken a seat, leaning his elbows on the rosewood surface as he leans over the table.     “I’m not a witness,” Dean begins to explain. “Sometimes I’m under water, like I’m in the Box already. Other times I experience memories I wish I could forget, exactly the way it went down. It… It feels real. I’m there, in the moment, but I can’t stop it. I can’t change what I did or didn’t do.”

    Sam runs his hand through his dark hair, feeling terrible that his big brother is forced to endure this every time he closes his eyes. His mind floats back to the moment earlier tonight, when Dean’s screams reached his hearing. His own name echoed through the hallways, but the chilling cry when he called out for her, will stay with him for a much longer time.     “Dean, Y/N’s death was not your fault,” Sam tries to assure him.     But Dean disagrees, shaking his head as he leans back in his seat. “I was supposed to protect her. She shouldn’t have been there with me, Sam.”     “She was our back up.”     “Yeah, and it got her killed.”

    Dean swallows down another slug of Jack Daniels and sniffs when he lowers the bottle, having downed almost a quarter of it’s content already. He bites his bottom lip hard, tempted to draw blood as he thinks about that day in Detroit. He remembers the argument they had before entering the apartment building where Lucifer held up. She refused to let the brothers go in by themselves, claiming that they needed a third man in case the plan went south and there was no one to finalize the mission. She didn’t just wanted to be there for them, she wanted to be there for him. He was about to lose his little brother forever, and she wanted to catch him before he fell to his knees. Dean allowed it reluctantly, and minutes later her skull was crushed against the concrete, bringing her short but meaningful life to a screeching halt.

    He was supposed to have her back that night. She was his girl. His girl he failed to save. And it’s not just Y/N who haunts him, because the son of God was right. His father, the Harvelles, Ash, Bobby, Pamela, Charlie, Kevin… The list goes on. All perished either because they gave their life for the Winchesters, or because they got caught in the crossfire. That’s on him. Every loved one he ever lost lost, they are all casualties he blames himself for. He doesn’t need an Archangel to remind him of his wrongs.

    Dean rises to his feet and pushes his chair back, its legs drawing such a loud screech from the smooth furnished floor, that Sam startles. Both were lost in thought for a moment, until the oldest of the two snaps out of it and decides that it’s time to get to work.     “Let’s not dwell on the fact that Michael is making my time in Hell look like Disney World. As long as I’m still sane, I much rather spend my night finding a way to end him.” He frowns at his little brother, his mask back on. “What do we got?”         The younger Winchester gathers his thoughts and shifts some notes aside.     “Well, uh - amongst all this there are a few artifacts that could be interesting. One of them is called the Pearl of Baozhu. It’s one of the eight ancient Chinese treasures.”     “What does it do?” Dean wonders.     “It grants wishes. Technically it’s supposed to give you ‘what your truly heart desires’.”     Hopeful Sam looks up to the hunter at the head of the table, who shrugs and seems to consider it.     “That would be Michael out of my head,” he concludes.     “Exactly.”     Dean takes a look around at the stack of boxes.     “So you’re telling me that the answer to our problems is sittin’ somewhere in this pile of shit?”     “Better start digging,” Sam suggests, pushing a box in his direction.

    Serenity lingers in the bunker in the early hours of a new day. The table lamps spread their light over the surface underneath, their rays warm and gentle for tired eyes. Dean is surrounded by several boxes and books, going through a journal while leaning back in his chair and with his ankles crossed, somewhat more relaxed now that he contributes to something useful. He’s nursing his whiskey, kept busy in search for a clue in order to find the Pearl. It’s a few minutes past five in the morning, when Sam opens his third box of the night and reveals a small bag, the silk fabric tied together with a yellow cord. Curiously Sam takes it out and loosens the tie, unfolding a little red cushion, on which a perfect round shape rests.     “Dean.”         “Hm?”     His brother doesn’t look up immediately, biting the end of pen as he scans through Bart Kemp’s notes.     “I think this is it,” Sam states, looking down at the tiny object that could be the solution to everything.      Now he does captures Dean’s attention, his green eyes darting up from sloppy handwriting to the little white ball.     “That’s the Pearl?” he checks, for some reason expecting something so powerful to be bigger.         Sam nods, hope pulling at the corner of his mouth. Intrigued Dean rises to his feet and circles the table, his eyes fixed on the powerful artifact.     “Let’s do it.”     “Are you sure you don’t want to call Mom, or wait for Cas?”, his brother suggests, somewhat anxiously.     “No,” Dean dismisses, taking the unfolded red cushion in both hands gingerly.  ‘If this mojo works like you say; great. If not; why get their hopes up?”

    Sam holds his brother’s gaze for a moment, wondering if that’s all there is to Dean’s eagerness, or that the real reason why he’s jumping the gun, is his desperation for expelling the Archangel from the Alcatraz that is his mind. Deciding that this is not the time to test that theory, he agrees.     “Okay, so…” Dean reaches for the Baozhu, not sure if he can touch it without consequence. “What do I do?”     “I don’t know.” The younger brother shrugs hesitantly. “I… I guess you hold the pearl and concentrates on what your heart desires?”     “Michael out of my head.”   ��  The man holding the Pearl imprints the sentence into his brain, while Sam shoots his sibling a short glare, as if just stated the obvious.     “Got it,” Dean reassures, just a little too quickly.

    To Sammy it might seem cut and dry, but the man who is about to make a wish isn’t so sure. He could think of a list of things he would want differently. What would the world look like if the Yellow Eyed Demon hadn’t come after his family? If all evil would disappear from the face of the earth, just like that? Would Mom have raised her sons to have a normal childhood? Would his father still be around? Would Cas have descended from Heaven? Would Dean’s path crossed Y/N’s? Would she be alive?

    Dean regains his focus, picks up the little white ball from the cushion and holds it between his thumb and his index finger. Michael out of my head. That’s all he needs to keep in mind. Right now, that is all he wants. Before he rolls the Baozhu into the palm of his hand, the brothers exchange one last look, but then Dean encloses his fingers around the tiny treasure with such great power, and shuts his eyes. With furrowed brow Dean concentrates.

    It only takes a few seconds before an eerie electric static reaches his hearing, triggering him to look up. The wall lamps in the library flicker violently, until the power shortage causes the back up generators to start running. All secondary equipment is switched off and the emergency lights come on, draping the Winchesters in a red gleam. Sam observes his surroundings allerted, his eyes adjusting to the sudden darkness. Cautiously the men try to pick up on even the slightest movement or sound, their senses heightened, driven by instinct.

    Then they hear footsteps. Sam pulls his gun from behind his waistband in a split second, aiming at the central War room. His brother isn’t as quick on the draw, though, a hint of familiarity in the way the boots sound on the marble floors slowing him down.     “Dean? Sam?”

    Right there and then, Dean’s heart stops. He knows that voice, he’d recognize it anywhere. Soft and clear, just like he remembers, just like he dreamed. Shell shocked he stares down at the other room, where a silhouette appears from around the corner. Now he inhales sharply, wide eyes fixed on the figure approaching. No way… It can’t be.

    The power switches back on, the ominous red emergency rays replaced with warm bright light. It reveals Dean’s careful suspicion and it knocks the air out of his lungs. He must be dreaming again. That, or he’s having a hallucination. It wouldn’t be far fetched, sleep deprivation and alcohol consumption considered. But when he steals a glance at Sam, he sees the same shocked expression while his brother slowly lowers his gun.     “Y/N?” he stammers.

    She walks up the steps and halts under the arched entrance to the library, a little out of breath after her run down the hallways of this immense place. She glances from one Winchester brother to the other, her wild eyes leaving Dean for a second as she looks around at the impressive library. She doesn’t recognize the place, but despite the brick walls and lack of windows, it feels welcoming and safe. Wait, is that a telescope?     “What in the Hell? Where the fuck are we?” she wonders, returning her gaze to Sam. “And what happened to you guys? You both look like you aged a decade overnight.”

    Sam lets the air flow from his lips with a short huff, not sure if she’s trying to be funny or doesn’t have a clue what is going on. It’s so unmistakably her, though. The wit, the way she lights the room, a carelessness in her stroll as she enters the library. This is, without a shadow of a doubt, his friend, the closest he ever had to a sister. He can’t take his eyes off her, and he’s not the only one. It doesn’t go unnoticed, because Y/N bounces her focus between the boys, frowning at the evident shock on their faces.

    “W- why are you looking at me like that?” Uncomfortably she rubs her arm, her gaze now fixed on Dean.

    Unable to answer, he dumbfoundedly stares, his mouth agape. A mix of disbelief and astonishment has the hunter frozen on the spot, something that rarely ever happens to him. In his nightmares the Ma’lek Box would slowly fill up, until he drowned. In reality it’s his emotions that overflow the walls of his mind, the waterline rising until it reaches his eyes. Mystic green shimmers, his vision fogging, but he still sees her. He still sees the woman he lost, yet never stopped loving.

    Finally he’s able to move, stepping forward tentatively. With each step, Dean gets a little braver and closes the gap between them. When she’s at arm’s length, he stops, frantic eyes darting to take in every feature he never wants to forget. Afraid to burst the bubble, he slowly lifts his hand to her face. What if he touches her and she turns out to be nothing more than a mirage? An apparition of his hopes and dreams, crumbling to dust once he gets too close? Michael has played these kind of mind games before and it wrecked the broken hunter every time his fairytale world fell apart. But like he has done all those times, he reaches for her anyway, because what if this time, it is real?

    His fingertips brush her soft skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Overcome by both love and fear that speak from his watering eyes, she returns a worried gaze. Not daring to speak, she keeps looking at Dean as he cups her face, brushing a messy strand away with his thumb. It’s clear as day that the connection moves the person who has such an important part in her life.

    Feeling her under his touch, being able to connect with her when he thought he would never be able to again, it’s too much. He swallows down the lump that creeps up his throat, tears threatening to breach the walls. She’s here. Fuck, she’s really here.

    Dean takes a final step towards the woman of his dreams while he pulls her in and, without wasting another second, he does what he has been longing for ever since her shattering death. He presses his lips to hers, kissing her with everything he has. For a short second he feels her tense against him, but then she slips her hands around his forearms and she answers him, melting into the kiss. The man who regained what he had lost can’t help the tremble in his breath, can’t stop the teardrops from rolling down his cheek. He doesn’t care about showing vulnerability, because finally… finally he got her back.

    They part and she opens her beautiful eyes, confounded by his actions. A small yet genuine smile forms, breaking the shimmering paths of sorrow that came down his cheeks. Then the hunter pulls her in a tight hug, burying his face in her hair. Her heart beats against his chest rapidly and he can smell the shampoo she always used, feel the warmth she’s radiating. Memories roll into shore and the tough hunter holds back a sob. Noticing his distress, Y/N folds her arms around his back, giving him a squeeze that calms him down like only she could. God, does this feel good. She came back to him. It’s then and there that me makes himself a promise. I’m never gonna let this go.

    “Dean, you’re scaring me,” Y/N whimpers after a while.     The older Winchester brother snaps out of it and loosens his grip on her, distancing himself from her slightly, now that he realizes he lost track of time for a moment. He struggles to man up and shoots her another reassuring smile, not wanting to upset her.     “I’m sorry,” he utters, his voice raw and on the verge of breaking. “It’s just… It’s really good to see you after all this time.”     Puzzled she looks at him, not sure what he means by that.     “What are you talking about? I saw you last night.”

    Dean narrows his eyes at her in confusion. She saw him last night? How is that even possible? She’s been gone for nine years!     “What day is it?”     It’s Sam who asks, drawing both their attention. Y/N looks aside, then averts her eyes as she thinks. Monday, or is it Tuesday? As a hunter, there is no routine. Nights last long and days fly by, blending together endlessly. She forgets what part of the week it is all the time, nothing new there. Home Depot was closed when she went out to pick up a few errands yesterday; that makes it Sunday. Which makes today...     “Monday,” she decides.     Sam motions her to continue.     “Monday, October 20th,” she adds. “2008.”

    Stunned both boys look at her, the youngest of the brothers letting out a sigh now that his suspicion has been confirmed.     “Y/N, it’s 2019,” Dean informs, his voice soft to cushion the blow.     She cocks her head back at him, staring into his green eyes. Then she chuckles, shaking her head.     She scoffs. “No, c’mon, guys. That’s… that’s insane.”     But when both men keep a straight face that doesn’t in the slightest suggest that this is a joke, the grin on her lips fades. Unable to grasp what is happening, she takes a step back.

    “How?” She questions firmly after a long silence, an uneasiness oozing through her veins.     “I think we - uh…” Sam stammers, not sure if he believes it himself. “I think we summoned you.”     Large eyes bore into him, then shift back to Dean, who watches empathetically how she struggles to process the information. Her gaze drifts off to nothing in particular, going over their words. This isn’t happening. This is fucking insane. Last week they wrapped up a hunt in Pennsylvania during Oktoberfest that involved a shapeshifter with a fetish for old school monster movies. That was enough crazy for one week, if you ask her. And now they are telling her that she was fast forwarded eleven years in time?     “You boys better tell me what the fuck is going on,” she demands. “Right now.”

Holy shit! That was a ride, wasn’t it? Stay tuned for part 3, I hope to finish it soon. Meanwhile, don’t hesitate to let me know what you think so far!

Read part three here

‘All I Want’ tags: 

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @justkending @the-is13 @wildsageleon

[wwwafflewrites]

The Not-So-French Mistake

Chapter 5: Ain't In Their Blood

Dean had finally arrived at the heat-stricken town. He appreciated the short drive; the knowledge of how cramping, long car rides wore a person down was now ingrained after years of life on the road.

The town was eerily quiet. An unnatural fog was settling at the peak of the brick architecture that set off alarms within Dean’s gut. He shivered as the hairs along the back of his neck stood on end; goosebumps developed along his shoulders, spiraling down the ridges of his spine.

It was then Dean realized it wasn’t fog: it was ash. Descending scorching embers and ash-surfaced buildings sent Dean into a silent, frozen frenzy. He didn’t dare breathe. Upon not finding Sydney immediately, his mind worked up worrying scenarios. Had they already lost her? What if she had suffered for hours, hoping someone would save her before her last minutes ticked past? Would he find her charred body? He slammed the breaks, launching himself out and slamming the door behind him in utter denial. She was not dead. He wouldn’t allow it.

He marched toward the center of the town, prying his eyes for an indication of life or Sydney. The street and sidewalk were coated in a crispy layer of soot, sticking to the heels of his boots unpleasantly. Dean startled when an unsupported plank of thick wood collapsed with a resounding snap and clattered, whacking several iron beams on its way down. It struck the floor with a deafening clap.

“Woah,” Dean breathed, “this place looks like it’s been struck by a bomb.”

The main road was singed and still burning with life. As he walked, the smoky cloud revealed a relievingly large mass of people, fortunately having survived the recent inferno.

By the looks of it, they had voted somebody as captain among their bunch, commanding the crowd with results and success. A random, attentive individual amongst the crowd caught the apparent leader’s attention and pointed subtly toward Dean until they swiveled around.

Dean suddenly felt stupid.

The dusty auburn hair and gritty jean jacket should have been the dead giveaway. Her leggings had been discolored and torn at the knees, and filth stained her cheeks. A pair of men’s shoes adorned her sockless feet, too wide for her to walk without the heels slipping off; were those his?

“Yo, cheeseball,” he called flatly,  “are you wearing my shoes?”

“Dean?” She straightened herself, slightly self-conscious with a crowd eavesdropping in on the conversation.

“Yep. You ready to go, or do I need to transport more strays? I've got room in the back seat.”

Sydney shook her head. “No, they'll be fine. I taught them how to hijack a car, pick a lock, and an idea of how to fend for themselves.” Her chest puffed with pride.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“What?” She shrugged, “You guys were gone for a while, and I know a few things; I'm not totally useless.”

Dean snorted. Who was she reminding him of? He puzzled on it until he poked the memory of red-toned hair and geeky skills. A name sprung to mind, and he grasped onto it: the nerdy hacker, Charlie Bradbury. That was it. The girl who had assisted in the exterminate Dick Roman, the egotistic Leviathan whose death slung him and Castiel into Purgatory. Good times.

“What happened here?” he asked once he’d realized his delayed reaction.

“We really don't know. We figured out the pattern out too late; if we let one person out of our sight, they disappeared and left a giant bloodstain where they'd been standing. No signs of struggle―like they had been dead before they comprehended it.” She lowered her eyes bitterly. “It only took looking away for a second, and then you'd turn around to find their blood staining the grass.” 

She sighed, “Caleb's missing, too; he was a real help.”

“Caleb?”

“Yeah, good kid. Helped be distribute water to everybody. Your brother, Sam, had encouraged him.” Sydney shared a frustrated frown. “Not that it did much good. This is all that's left.” She gestured to the group, which contained several hundred people. Out of an entire town, that was a terrifyingly small number.

“All right. We'll find them.” The thought of leaving children to whatever evil was terrorizing this town was despicable, and Dean wasn't having any of it.

“And what if they're dead?” There had been a lot of blood.

Dean was steadfast with his decision. He growled, “Then you'll have a body to bury.”  He remembered all the unfortunate times when the burial had been an empty casket on a case, and it only became heavier. “Trust me, that's better than never knowing what happened. Otherwise, you'll always blame yourself for not trying. Trust me. I know from experience.”

Sydney signaled for the group to stand. Her shoulders squared and her vulnerable expression vanished as she faced the town. “What I taught you today will not be enough. Dean knows a lot more than I do. Trust him; he knows what he’s doing.”

The survivors mirrored Sydney's military expression when regarding Dean.

He could make do with this; it was a dedicated, able-bodied group ready to throw themselves into combat for the greater good, and while they seemed stable, he would need to see what they were capable of. “Awesome. Let's get to work.”

After the assembly of people had adjusted to the new leader amongst them, they congregated into groups. Dean and Sydney swapped to help in different locations, looking to teach efficiently. Those who were not yet instructed reviewed their previous learning and class with Sydney. Thankfully, everyone remained compliant and willing to listen to diverse ideas.

He found quickly that Sam was a treasure of a partner compared to these peevishly ordinary civilians. They just weren't hunters! Dean remained collected though; there was no reason to snap at anyone. They were only looking to help.

He held the gun comfortably, easing his form and supporting the weight of his right hand with his left. He displayed it openly, modeling his posture and stance. “You see? Fully extend your arms, but don't lock them; you'll hurt something. Remember it will recoil.” 

The instruction continued to frustrate.

“No, don't lean away from it.”

“You can't flinch. It will totally ruin your aim.”

“Yeesh! Don't point it at me! At the target! At the target!”

“Dude, you're holding upside down. How did you even manage that?”

“How on earth did you shoot backward?! The target is right in front of you!”

Dean wiped at the sweat that had accumulated along his brow. He hadn't even worked out; he was just exhausted from the few hours of worrying for the people's safety, along with his own. He might combust if he had to show one more person how to load a gun; his fingers ached and cramped at the thought. The fact that he was hungry only made him more irritable. He barely reacted when he noticed the figure of Sydney making her way over.

“At least they're trying.” She offered.

Her optimism was uninvited. “They are?” he snapped incredulously, “This is worse than Sammy's first shooting lesson.”

She sat down, considering it. “That bad?”

“That boy was reluctant to shoot the target. ‘Fraid he'd hurt it or something.” He was too cranky to soften his criticism. This all just sucked. “Your army will need more work before they are ready for war, Sugar. There are some dumb bricks out there; I caught one loading the bullets backward. Who does that?”

“Do you... do you need any help?”

“I need a burger,” he said.

She sighed, knowing this was the expert, and if the expert was tired, she knew everyone was. It took an effort to crack Dean. She clapped for everyone's attention, shouting, “Okay, everybody! Let's set up camp. We'll resume tomorrow. By then, we'll hopefully have a lead.”

They left their training posts as the word spread their cessation. Soon, they had dispersed, tents illuminating across the broken town like waking fireflies. The hot gaze above them finally died, cooling as the sun shrank on the horizon.

And night began to cool the world again.

Tags: @queen-bubble

[thewhiterabbit42]

WIP Tournament

Week 1 - Soulmates vs Somniphobia

Soulmates  [Gabriel x reader]: Every world Chuck’s created may be different, but there are some threads that remain universal, and Sam, Dean, and Castiel try to use it to their advantage to save their reality from descending into darkness.

Somniphobia [Dean x reader, Gabriel x reader]: Nothing’s the same since Gabriel’s return, including the night terrors you’ve had since you were a child.  The more you experience these, however, the less you’re certain that’s what they are.  

Below the cut are 300-500 ~1000 words from the beginning of each WIP and some general tags for each story.  Vote for the one you want to see continued in the next round by:

Sending an Ask (anon’s allowed)

Leaving a comment on this post or in the body/tags of reblogs

Voting is open until midnight 6/7.  Thanks in advance to everyone who participates and keeps my muse going!

Soulmates

Preview warnings: none

General story tags: series, dark fic, canon divergent, post S14, dark(ish) Gabriel, slow burn, eventual smut [additional tags withheld to avoid spoilers]

You’re told you’re important, so much so that there are people ready to fight and die at a moment’s notice for you, but you don’t understand why your life is worth more than anyone else’s.  

You’re told you’re lucky.  Hundreds of people are out there, alone and defenseless, but you have the Winchesters and the seraphim, Castiel, to protect you.  

You’re told you’ll understand when you get there.  It will all make sense.  You’ll just know, and it sounds one degree away how parents pacify a questioning child.

You’re told so many things, about angels and demons, zombies and God.  The seraphim, Sam, and Dean are a wealth of knowledge, and it’s clear their intelligence and determination is much of what’s preventing monsters from swallowing this world whole.

Yet, for all their wisdom and abilities, you don’t understand why none of them can tell you who you really are.

They say your name is Ana, but it feels the same as when they tell you how the world came to be like this: empty, foreign, and one hundred percent certifiable.  

You can’t remember a thing from before you woke up to the three of them standing over you while you suffered from what felt like a universal sized hangover.  They’d practically had to drag you from the building as it became swarmed, and there isn’t much you recall from that either other than snarls and snaps and screams.  

If you didn’t know better, you would swear this is just one, long nightmare.  

The fact you can’t take ten steps without getting whacked by a zombie, spirit, or demon convinces you otherwise.  Rather, the constant pain of it does.  Memory or not, you’re pretty certain you’ve never hurt his much in your life, and if that’s not true, then it’s a blessing your past has vanished.

Sometimes it feels like you’ve been sucked into a work of fiction and are living someone else’s story.  Most days, however, it simply feels like Hell on earth, which you imagine is the entire point of an apocalypse.   

It takes you all of a day to realize you don’t like being told.  What to do.  How to act.  When to drop it.  Anything by the seraphim.  It could be information overload, or maybe how he acts like saving your life somehow gives him the right to control it.  

There’s just as much that they don’t tell you, like why you’re so special or where you’re even going.  Nobody knows, except the trio because it’s too important.  

The seraphim attempts to drop a scholarly essay on you about the fickleness of human nature and how easily persuaded it becomes during times of uncertainty and duress.  Dean thankfully breaks it down for you in much more relevant terms.  

“Demons are convincing people to go darkside without possessing them.  Promising them favors and rewards, the usual bullshit.”

You’re thankful for his candor, but that’s as far as it extends, his lips as sealed as tightly as the seraphim’s.  You might have an in with the gentle, if not overly pensive giant that accompanies them, but every time you think you have a moment alone with Sam, one of the others appears and the opportunity slips away.  

Whatever you were before this is clearly not useful.  There’s no muscle memory or instinct to guide you.  You are so far out of your element, and watching them cut through monsters like they’re nothing make you question how long you’ll actually survive.  

You won’t.  You’re not meant for this world.  You don’t suppose anyone is, really.  Who’s born to go up against such impossible odds?  To live in fear and witness such gruesome horrors?

You know you need them, which is why you don’t push for answers.  Not at first.  But you’re only human, and as the days stretch on in front of you, your ability to blindly trust there’s a reason for this all erodes with every fresh body that’s left in your wake.  

It’s not that they’re heartless.  You see the toll it takes every time they’re forced to ignore a cry for help, or watch another ally sacrifice themselves for the cause.  But you don’t operate this way, on secrets and orders and the greater good, especially when you can’t fathom how you could be part of it.

They’re not a chatty bunch to begin with, but the car is particularly silent after your protest.  Sam’s features are pinched in thought, worry more than anything seeping through the surface.  Dean is not impressed, though he hasn’t said a word.  The seraphim, however, is pissed.

There’s no doubt in your mind if one of the men had lectured you, you’d have simply tuned them out, but there’s no ignoring the seraphim when he’s mad.  Fire and brimstone may not fall from his lips, but there was plenty of Heaven’s wrath in his eyes.  

“What you did was stupid and reckless, and the moment you left this car you put everyone on this planet in jeopardy.”  He thunders, blue burning so fierce it begins to glow.  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t ask for this!” You hiss, jabbing him hard in the center of his trenchcoat, sorely tempted to jump out of the car for the second time that day.    

You flex your free hand, grimacing at their rawness as you briefly wonder if you’ve ever had road rash before.  The zombie bite to the shoulder, however, you’re pretty certain is a new one.  

You move your hand again, the discomfort temporarily distracting you from the persistent, burning throb that’s beginning to spread down your arm.

For someone so important, you’d think they’d do a better job of patching you up.  

Somniphobia

Preview warnings: none

General story tags: one shot (?), canon divergent, dark fic, dark(ish) Gabriel, love triangle

“One.”  A solitary finger appears over the edge of your lorebook, dragging it down to reveal determined shades of gold.  

Even though it’s futile, you have to at least attempt to change the topic.  “One more victim before we hit a double digit body count?”  

As expected, it’s like you haven’t even spoken.  

“One night,” Gabriel insists, using both his hands to push your book flat onto the table. “Let me take you out of this dismal hole in the ground for one evening and do something fun like we used to.”

You sigh, loudly, hoping this might be the time he takes the hint.  He doesn’t, and you end up having to push his grip away from the pages so you can try to go back to reading.  “I’m in the middle of helping Dean.”

“What?  He suddenly out of thumbs and unable to crack a book himself?”  The archangel snarks.  There’s an unusual thrum of impatience beneath his words.  Not that it’s uncommon for him to be irritable these days.  He’s just not usually with you.

“We’re a team,” you remind him.  Not that you’re certain he understands the concept.  He might act like he’s the newest member of Team Free Will, but you have a sneaking suspicion it’s because so far there’s the payoff of finishing his hit list and getting to stick his dick in something.  

“For crying out loud,” he hisses, all pretense of patience vanishing.  “Are you ever gonna come off that?  It was one time.”

Between you, Sam, and Dean, you’re aware of at least three, and you try hard not to think about how high the actual number is if all of you have managed to catch them.  

You’re not certain what upsets you more.  That he’s clearly hit it off with Rowena.  That he’s lying to your face about it, or maybe it’s the likelihood he’s still doing it even as he’s on a mission to rekindle your friendship in what increasingly feels like not so platonic ways.

You know he’s been through a lot.  You know the horrors he’s experienced are the kinds of things that change someone.  You still accept him, whatever variant he may be now, but knowing about Rowena still smarts.  More than you’d like to admit.  More than you know is fair.  Nonetheless, it does, and you’ve had enough disappointment in your life than to want to know how much it will hurt to become just another one night stand to him.

“C’mon, sweetheart, what will it take to convince you to give me a chance?��

You purse your lips, refusing to answer him, no different than the time before, the one before that, or the several before that.

“I need to focus right now.”  End of discussion.

From the corner of your eye you can see his hand raising, fingers poised for that trademark snap.  The moment it echoes around the room you sigh, flipping the book shut and folding your arms over your chest like a sullen child.

You know what he’s done, and as happy as you should be that there is one less monster in the world, you hate it when he swoops in to save the day.  Before, there was a thread of altruism running through most of his actions.  Now, it’s whatever serves his interests in the moment, and another reminder that the Gabriel you knew is gone.

The archangel, on the other hand, looks positively pleased with himself.

“Want to know what it was?”

You look him square in the eye.  "A power move?“

Your not certain what happens in these moments when everything stills and he looks almost unnatural.  It’s too subtle for human perception, but whatever it is makes you incredibly uneasy beyond the brief second it occurs.  

“Thanks for the help, Gabriel,” he smiles brightly, though it’s your voice that comes out of his mouth.  A slightly more sarcastic version, but still you nonetheless.

You scrub at your face, trying to do a hard reset with your mood.  He’s right.  Regardless of his motives, you should be grateful that no one else is going to get hurt.

“I’m sorry.”  You don’t mean to be such an ass.  He just has a way of bringing that out in you these days.  “I’m just tired.  Thank you.”

There’s a pause before his eyes narrow.  “Are you having nightmares again?”

They’re not exactly nightmares.  Night terrors, perhaps, though you think the official term is sleep paralysis.  All of it’s just an easier way of saying you’re such a hot mess that you can’t even manage to wake up from sleep normally.  

They started when you were a kid, and they tend to really ramp up when you’re under stress.   

Which, given your line of work and the company you keep, tends to be a lot.  

What Gabriel doesn’t know is how bad they’ve been since he died… or rather faked his own death and took off to fuck and party his way through existence.  

You’d also like to keep it that way.  

“It’s whatever,” you brush his concern aside.  “I should call Dean and let him know it’s done.”  

You need to get away from him, before your not so subtle pushes to keep him at arm’s length turn into shoves.  The more he tries to pretend like things haven’t changed, the more you resent him and not the monsters responsible for changing him into the warped version of your friend that’s returned.  

You stand up, but you haven’t even taken a step when he catches you by the arm.

“You know you can talk to me, right?”  All pretenses drop.  That soft underbelly of his emerges, in the quiet quality of his voice, resonating beneath his touch as his thumb strokes along your sleeve.

In these rare moments, he almost sounds like himself again, and they never fail to remind you how much you miss him: your Gabriel.  

You catch yourself before you lean into him, but you don’t stop the finger beneath your chin from making you look at him.  

The moment your eyes meet his you immediately regret it.  

There’s nothing there.  No warm flecks of gold.  No playful green.  Nothing but still waters surrounding vacuous depths that scare you with how infinite they seem.  

“I know I messed up.  With a lot of things.  With you.”  His confession is as startling as the emptiness that continues to echo through his gaze.  “But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped caring.”  

You can’t help but feel like it’s forced, like he’s trying way too hard to be what he thinks you want him to be, and it hurts far more than him sleeping around ever could.  His sincerity is the last vestige of your friend you have to cling to, and if that, too, is gone, you’re not certain you know who is really standing in front of you.  

Soulmates or somniphobia?  Send and ask and let me know!

[saxxxology]

THE CURSED - Ch.10

Being an English Princess in 1739 is everything for Y/N, a Princess from a prosperous, powerful kingdom, to be happy about… until her parents arrange for her to marry a Prince from a nearby kingdom against her wishes. Unable to join her on her journey, the Royal family hires the Winchesters, two experienced Rangers, to guide her. However, the Princess and the younger brother begin to display affection for each other, and when her heat threatens her life, Sam makes a possibly deadly decision to save it.

PAIRING: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader

WORD COUNT: ~2200

OVERALL WARNINGS: a/b/o dynamics (heat/rut, claiming, knotting), age gap, smut of varying levels, descriptions of injury and gore, a tad of dub-con and 18th-century sexism from time to time, occasional bits of angst, fighting, and violence, eventual minor character death

NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy and @quiddy-writes - please heed all warnings! Please keep in mind that this series is set in the 18th century - society is not what it is today. I do not control where your eyes go; if you feel disturbed or think something may trigger you, it is your responsibility to either stop reading or scroll past.

Buy Sam’s scent from my Etsy shop

Access the entire series early on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

THIS WORK IS 18+ ONLY. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK ON ANY OTHER SITES.

They arrived home a little under three hours later. The clouds were heavy in the sky, and Sam left Y/N at the door to collect buckets of snow from the ground nearby so they could prepare dinner and bathwater. She was in love with her new cloak; deerskin with a long hood that kept the wind off her cheeks, and she carefully hung it on the little coat hook by the door.

After changing into more comfortable clothes, Sam and Y/N reclined on the bed as the warmth filled the cottage. She lay across his chest, absorbing the sound of his heart beating as they dozed off.

They reawakened as the sun was setting, and together they scrambled to prepare a quick dinner of roasted beef, bread, and cheese. Afterwards, they reclined against the edge of the bed, watching as the fire roared on.

“I know what you want,” Sam murmured, “I know you want to be an immortal, like me. But I don’t want you to…” he swallowed, “I don’t want you to live with the knowledge that one day everyone you know, everyone you love, is going to die.”

Y/N tilted her head up on his chest. “I know. I don’t have anyone else to love besides you, I don’t have family outside of you and Dean and Jo.”

“What about your other family?”

She shook her head. “They sold me off to someone because my father was too scared to take account for his actions. I don't love them.” She stretched up and kissed him gently. “Just because they’re blood doesn’t make them family. I love you.”

Sam smiled at her words and interlaced his fingers with hers. “I love you too… but I refuse to see you suffer. We already have to live with the possibility that we may never have a child, I don’t want to turn you into something you’ll end up hating.”

“But I want to be with you,” Y/N protested. “I don’t want to grow old and frail while you stay young and handsome. I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Sam sighed and stood up. “I’d like to hear another reason besides you not wanting to grow old or leave me alone for the rest of time. Can you give me that?”

Y/N swallowed and watched as he poured a tankard of mead. “You’d miss waking up to me every morning. You’d miss the way I smell, the sound of my voice.”

Sam turned to look at her. “Go on.”

She stood and went to him. “You’d miss the way I fall asleep against you every night, how I kiss your cheek and run my fingers through your hair.” She undid the tie of her long robe and opened it. “You’d miss,” she sank to her knees and tugged his trousers open, “the way I make you feel with my hands… my mouth.”

He was already half hard when she pulled him free, and within seconds he was swelling and thickening in her hand. When she angled his cock, leaning in to lick at the thick vein underneath, he shivered and let out a moan. “You’re getting bold, Princess.”

“Am I?” She opened her mouth and wrapped her lips around the velvety head, giggling around him when his lips parted in ecstasy. She stroked him expertly, adjusting her grip and sucking on him as innocently as she could.

Sam caught his fingers in her hair, watching as she pulled her mouth away and began licking and kissing at him, even reaching between his legs to tease at his balls with her fingers. He hissed and hastily pulled his shirt off, casting it to the floor. “Take your dress off.”

Y/N obediently stood and tugged her dress over her head, allowing Sam to cup her bare breasts in his hands as he claimed her mouth with his own. “Sit,” she commanded.

Sam obeyed, kneeling on the floor, and Y/N sank into his lap, taking one of his hands and guiding it between her legs. When Sam kissed her, he could taste himself on her lips, and a shock of primal pleasure shot right down to his cock.

“You’d miss my body,” she moaned, rolling her hips on his hand. She reached down, pulling his cock between her thighs and sinking down on him. “My warm, tight, willing body,” she kissed his neck as he groaned, “ready for you whenever you need.”

Sam’s hands flew to her waist as she rose up and slammed herself down with a sluttish whimper. He growled and tugged her head back so he could bite at her jaw, keeping one arm wrapped around her back as she started riding him, hard and fast, just how he liked. Her ass slapped against his thighs, the sound a perfect second to the crackling of the fire in the grate.

“You’d miss me riding you,” Y/N panted hard as Sam dug his fingers into her skin, “miss the way I say your name…”

“Yes,” Sam breathed, “I would miss that…”

Y/N felt him throb hard inside her as she ground her knees against the stone, riding him as passionately as she was able to. Sam groaned loudly and shouted as she scratched down his back, surely leaving long red marks on his golden skin. She reached between her legs and rubbed at her clit, sighing his name right into his ear as she began to reach her peak.

“Cum for me, Alpha,” she whimpered, “I wanna look at your face when I make you cum.”

She rubbed her clit harder, her body locking up as she peaked. She felt herself cum with a loud cry of his name, felt her walls pulsing around Sam’s achingly hard member. He strained to keep himself from coming until she said he could, and when she began working herself on him again, he made sure that she was staring right into his eyes.

“Look at me,” he gripped the back of her neck and moaned as she ground herself down on him, and then he was coming, spurting hot and thick inside her. Y/N felt her belly grow warm with his seed and tightened her walls around him, coaxing every last drop from him. Sam fought to keep his eyes open, but lost the battle and slammed them shut, shouting with pleasure as his cock throbbed inside her.

When he opened his eyes, Y/N was pressed into him, her fingers trembling against his chest. They stayed there for a few minutes, taking the time to relax and come down from their highs. When Y/N suggested a warm bath, Sam was all to willing to oblige. They quickly filled the washtub with fire-heated water and used several washcloths to scrub each other clean.

When they climbed under the blankets, Sam pulled Y/N close against him, cuddling her from behind. “I’ve never seen you like that before,” he murmured, “what you did earlier…”

“I don’t know where it came from,” she sighed, “I just felt… when you asked for another reason I wanted to show you how much I mean to you, and how much you mean to me.”

Sam exhaled heavily “You mean everything to me, Y/N, you know that.”

“Then why don't you just change me?” Her voice was thick with emotion as she turned to face him. “I want to be by your side forever,” she reached beneath the covers and brushed her fingers over his thigh, “or do I have to prove that again? I will if I have to.”

Sam traced his thumb over her lips. “I don’t want… I don’t want to know that I’ve cursed you more than I already have and I do not want you to go through the pain. When I said ‘excruciating’ I meant it in the worst sense of the word.”

“It won’t be a curse if I have you,” she murmured, “please, Sam, if there is a heaven, I know it’ll be with you and… and when I find it, I’ll never see you again. I’ll spend eternity waiting for you to come home to me and you could be building a home with someone else, a different life—I can handle pain, but I can’t live with knowing that you’ll take another mate after I die!”

Sam soothed her as she began to cry and pulled her tightly against his chest. “I will never stop loving you, Y/N. If I didn't love you, I would have let you suffer during that first heat, I wouldn’t have saved your life, I would have let you marry that man and left with a thousand crowns in my pocket.” He cupped her face and tenderly wiped her tears away. “I love you, and I do not want to see you in pain unless it is absolutely necessary, now that is that.”

He dipped his head to kiss her and stroked her hair. Y/N buried her face in his chest, silently seething in anger.

I bet you told Jess you’d never find another Omega either, she thought.

***

Two weeks later, they were awoken by the sound of a fist pounding loudly on the door early in the morning, before the sun had even risen. Sam sat up quickly, and Y/N gripped his arm tightly as a rush of fear rocketed through her system.

“Sam—”

“I’ll handle it,” he touched her side to calm her and slid from the bed, shivering slightly as the chill in the room hit him. Then Dean’s voice echoed through the room, and Sam immediately snapped to attention. He went to the door and wrenched it open.

Dean strode inside, breathless and fully clothed. “There’s been an attack,” he panted, “in town, some sort of animal… Sam it looks like… it’s bad, you need to come quickly, everyone is panicking. You’d better bring your bow.”

Sam rapidly dressed as Y/N stepped into her boots and coat. He wasn’t saying anything, and that made her incredibly nervous.

“Did anyone die?” Y/N asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Dean nodded. “I don’t know who.”

They left the cabin in a hurry, and Sam hurriedly saddled Shadow before lifting Y/N onto the horse and climbing up behind her.

When they reached town, almost everyone was outside in the town square. Y/N caught a glimpse of several men holding the crowd back, and when the Winchesters pushed towards the front, the people fell away from them as if the men radiated heat as strong as the sun. A stench hung in the air, like rotten fruit and something distinctly sour… the stench of death and wet-dog, all mixed into one.

There was a tall, dark-haired priest there that Sam recognized as Father Michael. A man was being held back by several men, yelling for his wife and sobbing loudly. Two children sat by him, their thin arms wrapped around his legs, fear in their eyes.

“Samuel,” Father Michael approached him and gripped his hand. Y/N noticed that contrary to everyone around them, the priest did not react in fear. “I am glad you could come at this hour, please…”

He led them into the church, past the outraged and panicked crowd. Rowena was cuffed and held between two large jailers, her lower lip split. Y/N looked up at Sam and saw that he was just as surprised as she was.

There was a woman lying on the ground, her body mangled and covered in blood. Her eyes were closed, and her brown hair was spread about her head like a halo. Y/N recognized her instantly as Hannah, the best baker in town. A blood-soaked stretcher lay underneath her, and Sam quickly knelt by the woman’s body, Y/N standing over his shoulder. Deep gashes ran the length of her torso, ripping her nightdress and staining her alabaster skin crimson with blood.

“She was torn to shreds,” he lifted Hannah’s arm, carefully avoiding touching her blood, and inspected a set of deep bite marks that Sam estimated went to the bone. “Why is Rowena in chains?”

“Because she is a witch,” one of the jailers replied harshly, “a Jacobite witch comes to an English town, it was a matter of time until she cursed us!”

Sam’s reply was calm, but filled with suppressed anger. “This was not Rowena’s fault. This was gadhar ifrinna, a hellhound. Rowena may be a witch, but she has saved the lives of many people, including my own. I trust her, and if you were to send her to the stake I would be sure that everyone I meet knows that the jailers in Dolgellau sent an innocent woman to her death.”

He rose to his feet and nodded at the priest, who in turn glanced at Castiel. They motioned for the jailers to uncuff Rowena, who angrily shook her arms out, muttering furiously under her breath.

Sam went back to Y/N and took her hands in his, bringing them to his lips. He was shaking, and Y/N saw him look around, over the pews as if he was terrified of being watched.

“Is it like Jessica?” Y/N asked.

Sam nodded. “Almost exactly.”

She reached up, touched his cheek gently. “Are you okay?”

Again, he nodded. “I’ll be fine. But this means that everyone in this town is in danger,” he brushed a tangled lock of hair out of her face. “You’re in danger.”

Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat. “Me? Why?”

“Because…” Sam swallowed thickly and Y/N saw tears fill his eyes, “because one of the hounds that killed Jessica knows I’m here. It’s found me.”

If you want to see chapter 11, reblog and leave a comment! Feedback is my fuel!

TAGS FOR THIS SERIES ARE CLOSED

Forever tags: @atc74 @becaamm @bamby0304 @crispychrissy @crashdevlin @curly-haired-disaster @cameronbraswell @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @kittenofdoomage @kayteonline @kdfrqqg @littlegreenplasticsoldier @lunarsaturn88 @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @manawhaat @mereka18 @mrswhozeewhatsis @meganwinchester1999 @oneshoeshort @percussiongirl2017 @serpentbaby @spnwoman @smallgirlbigpersonality @shaelyn102 @thelittleredwhocould @winchesterprincessbride @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @81mysteriouslyme

[reallyawesomecostumes]

Dean Winchester in his Coffin

A comparison between Queequeg’s coffin in Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick and Dean’s coffin in Supernatural

(screencap from Home of the Nutty)

In Supernatural 14x11 ‘Damaged Goods’, Dean Winchester builds his own coffin. 

It’s not really a coffin, it just looks like one. The box is a ma’lak box designed by Death herself to secure Dean and AU-Michael at the bottom of the Pacific for all eternity*. We as viewers of a long-running episodic television show are pretty sure the  Winchester boys will find a way out of this mess in the next couple episodes, but Dean built it, so we have to talk about it. 

There are closet metaphors inherent in this coffin-building (I recommend @drsilverfish here); there are show-internal parallels to Amara being locked away, Adam’s current fate in The Cage, the wall in Sam’s mind in season 6; the list goes on. I wanted to talk instead about how Dean’s coffin-building compares to some coffin-building in classic American literature: the story of Queequeg’s coffin in Herman Melville’s “Moby-Dick; or, The Whale.” 

Moby-Dick, published 1851, is a book that many of us were forced to read in high school or college. I escaped this fate but had to read “The Scarlet Letter” and “Bartleby the Scrivener” instead. I did watch the Patrick Stewart TV miniseries version as a teenager, of course. For some dumb reason** I became a Moby-Dick reader because I was a Queequeg/Ishmael shipper, so know that I have a fairly biased perspective on the book as a whole.

In Moby-Dick, our narrator Ishmael (a depressed unemployed Yankee) meets Queequeg, a cannibal

(Queequeg as a character is a jumble of noble savage tropes, the author’s own knowledge of Pacific Islanders met during his whaling experience, and ideas pulled from other contemporary books both fiction and non-fiction), when they become accidental bedfellows at Peter Coffin’s inn (Coffin is a prominent name among the whalers of Nantucket, in real life and in the world of the story). Ishmael wants to go whaling, and Queequeg’s a guy who is very good at whaling. They have similar life goals, if not similar life experiences . They’re textually married***. 

Queequeg catches a chill crawling around belowdecks on the Pequod moving barrels to find a leak (the hold is described as an ice-box). While he’s dying Queequeg says he doesn’t want his body to be wrapped up in his hammock before being thrown overboard like an ordinary sailor, but put in a canoe-style coffin like the harpooneers from Nantucket use. He convinces the ship’s carpenter to make one for him. Queequeg kits the coffin out with food and water and his (most precious possessions) harpoon and paddle, and puts earth from the hold at the foot of it . He lays in it, and Pip the cabin boy sings nonsense briefly (a la the Fool in King Lear). Ishmael sort-of suggests that watching this guy die would make him start a religion. But then Queequeg decides not to die. He throws off the fever with his own will, and recovers (for plot reasons, but also so Melville could add more Noble Savage tropes). He uses the coffin as a clothes-chest. He starts carving the lid with the pattern of the tattoos on his body (these tattoos are religious in nature, but are unknown and unknowable, ‘a complete theory of the heavens and the earth’), making it into a sort-of body double for him.

Some time passes. A guy falls from the rigging, and the stern life-buoy is thrown to him, and both the man and the old, rotting cask that serves as a buoy sink and drown. It is suggested that the nice new well-built no longer needed coffin can be made into a new life-buoy. This re-purposing is lampshaded in text:

“Here now’s the very dreaded symbol of grim death, by a mere hap, made the expressive sign of the help and hope of most endangered life. A life-buoy of a coffin! Does it go further? Can it be that in some spiritual sense the coffin is, after all, but an immortality-preserver! I’ll think of that.”

-Captain Ahab, in a theatrical aside, Chapter 127: The Deck.

After the whale drags Captain Ahab down and sinks the Pequod, the very well-made coffin/life-buoy shoots to the surface, and the only surviving crewmember (Ishmael, our narrator) clings to it until another ship picks him up. 

While Queequeg’s coffin is intended for mundane use (to preserve his body from sharks after death) and is eventually used for mundane purpose (Ishmael’s life preserver), Dean’s pseudo-coffin-building serves a more esoteric purpose - to lock himself and his angel double away from the world said angel wants to destroy (“for all angel is not’ing more dan de shark well goberned” - Fleece the cook, Moby-Dick). The ma’lak box is Dean and Michael’s “immortality-preserver”. We have two pairs of characters, and two death-coded vessels that serve to preserve them.

Remember that time Ishmael and Queequeg got married? Some authors have characterized this wedding as "the first portrait of same-sex marriage in American literature". That it causes some readers 'uneasiness'. The line 'our heart's honeymoon', describing the time post-marriage, was censored in the original publication. Other readers have taken the marriage esoterically, relating Ishmael and Queequeg's earthly marriage to the internal marriage of the self to the Jungian shadow-self.

Shadows**** follow the two protagonists of Moby-Dick, Ishmael and Ahab. Ishmael accepts and marries his shadow, Queequeg the cannibal, and learns the customs of the whaling-ship from him. He admires the unknowableness of the ocean and sky as well as Queequeg's unknowable tattoos. He frees himself from his initial depression, and is literally saved at the novel's conclusion by Queequeg's pseudo-body. Ahab, conversely, pushes away Pip the cabin boy (who serves as Lear's fool through the story, and speaks unknowably) and turns towards Fedallah the Parsee (described as Ahab's shadow in the book) who speaks concrete but awful truths. Ahab rejects reality and stays on a path of revenge even though warned multiple times that he will fail. He eventually dies, and brings most of his crew down with him. His lack of acceptance of his good shadow and of his true place in the world brings about destruction. Self-actualization results in being saved.

The (current) protagonists of Supernatural have shadow selves as well. Again @drsilverfish has an excellent post about this. Castiel's shadow is The Shadow/The Empty, which has appeared in his own form, and wishes only for sleep and nothingness. Dean's shadow, AU!Michael, only wants to destroy the world that Dean keeps sacrificing himself to protect. Sam's shadow, Nick, went through the same dark experiences Sam did, but unlike Sam wound up horribly twisted and murderous. We haven't seen Jack's shadow-self yet, but I suspect current sweet and kind graceless!Jack will have a foil in future uncaring soulless!Jack. The idea of marrying oneself to one's shadow, in Supernatural, is nearly unthinkable: they are destructive, inhuman entities. However, in 14x11 Sam managed to accept the reality of his shadow self and release himself from responsibility for Nick.

At this point Dean's plan is to death-wed himself to Michael for eternity, sharing one body and one coffin-bed at the bottom of the Pacific. We know from Jung and from Melville that the only way to survive the confrontation with the shadow is to accept it - to 'Know Thyself', without misconceptions about your place in the world. 'Gain[ing] the perspective on [your] soul and the universe that will make balance possible.' The coffin will become a life-buoy.

I suspect the ma'lak box will be used to trap something other than Dean or Michael (soulless!Jack, probably) at the end of this season. Even if it's current purpose is untenable, it is a tool that can be used in the future.

Comparison between Moby-Dick and Supernatural can occur on a number of different levels. Ishmael and Dean (and Castiel whose human vessel, Jimmy Novak, is of the line of Biblical Ishmael) are the heroes of the bildungsroman part of the story and are hangers on to Ahab/John/Sam's Shakespearean revenge quest. Each story is a very American depiction of a masculine world. Each mirror the world in a smaller vessel, a ship and a car. Jung's concept of the shadow self, however, holds as the key to this season through all of these eleven episodes, and the shadow self is one of many keys that promote understanding of Melville's Moby-Dick. Self-actualization saves the day.

* Note that geologists cry whenever people suggest indestructible things sent to the bottom of the ocean will stay there for all eternity.

** It was Yuletide, and I’d just binge-read the entire Aubrey-Maturin series.

*** I wrote about this last year when Yockey dropped Led Zeppelin’s Moby Dick into the story. Moby Dick, song, has nothing to do with Moby-Dick, book, except their mutual length, but Supernatural and Moby-Dick share quite a few themes. 

**** yes, Melville does make the shadows of his white protagonists literally dark-skinned

References:

@drsilverfish, “A Fridge-Locker, An Enochian Puzzle Box, a Ma’lak Box… and the Closet (14x11 Damaged Goods)”, http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/182296360214/a-fridge-locker-an-enochian-puzzle-box-a-malak 

@drsilverfish​, “The Shadow (14x08)”, http://drsilverfish.tumblr.com/post/180906003584/the-shadow-14x08

Brashers, H.C., 1962, "Ishmael's Tattoos": The Sewanee Review, v.70, n.1, p.137-154, http://wwww.jstor.org/stable/27540756

Halverson, John, 1963, "The Shadow in Moby-Dick": American Quarterly, v.15, n.3, p.436-446, http://www.jstor.org/stable/2711373

Horton, Margy Thomas, 2012, "Melville's Unfolding Selves: Identity Formation in Mardi, Moby-Dick, and Pierre": doctoral dissertation, Baylor University

Melville, Herman, “Moby-Dick; or, The Whale”, project Gutenberg ebook, http://www.gutenberg.org/files/2701/2701-h/2701-h.htm

[fangirlingtodeath513]

dean’s first crush read here on ao3 based on this post

Sam’s beginning to understand his brother’s vitriolic hatred of witches now. Not that he’d liked very many witches to begin with. They were generally more troublesome than helpful and a pain in the ass to boot. This though? This really takes the cake. They’d taken a case a few hours away in Laverne, just over the border into Oklahoma. It hadn’t seemed like their thing, originally. Adults were disappearing more than they normally did with nothing left behind at the site. Sam hadn’t thought much about it until he spotted an article a few days later that claimed one of the adults had returned as a child. Testing had confirmed that it was the exact same person, so Sam pulled Dean and Cas into the library and showed them the article. They’d had their bags packed and were in the car twenty minutes later.

They hadn’t reached Laverne until late that night, so they settled into the motel room and went over the news articles again.                                                          ✤ “Could be a witch.” Castiel pipes up, crossing his arms over his chest. “A powerful one, at least. Didn’t you run across a witch who could take years from people?” Dean grimaces at the reminder but nods. “Yeah, let’s not bring that up. Bit of a sore spot.” Sam snorts. “Not for me.” Dean turns a glare to his brother but Castiel simply rolls his eyes and continues. “If it is a witch, we need to figure out who it is and why they’re turning adults into children. What benefit are they getting?”

Both Winchesters shrug and agree to work on that problem in the morning once they’ve gotten enough sleep. Cas joins Dean in bed, a sight Sam still isn’t entirely used to. Ever since the shit with Michael, Cas and Dean had just kind of… been together. Dean hadn’t told and Sam hadn’t asked, but his brother was happier than Sam had seen in a long time and Cas was sticking around, so Sam really didn’t have any complaints. Morning came way too early, but Sam was used to it at this point. He walked down the street to the nearest café, grabbing a few different things for breakfast and coffees for each of them. Dean and Cas are both dressed and ready by the time he returns, so Sam drops the food and coffees on the table and takes the opportunity to shower. An hour later, they’re all in their Fed suits, piling into the Impala and heading to interview a few of the victims. Their attempts are… unsuccessful, to say the least. Not only are they in a child’s body, it appears that their minds were reverted to their childhood state. Most of the victims are now somewhere between five and eight, so they don’t get a whole hell of a lot from them. They grab a quick lunch before heading to the police station, which turns out to be another dead end. They’re more baffled than the Winchesters are, and they’ve got no evidence to go on. One of the officers pulls them aside on their way out of the building and swears it’s the work of the devil. The three of them glance at each other and Sam catches the corner of Cas’s mouth quirking upwards, almost as if to say yeah, like Lucifer would give a shit about this even if he was alive. Since they don’t have to go to the morgue, they grab a quick dinner at a burger joint in town. It’s crowded and noisy, so their theories about the case blend in with the chatter easily. “Maybe it’s a curse?” Dean suggests, shoving a few fries in his mouth as he glances between his brother and Castiel. The former shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. “No, I don’t think so. I think Cas’s suggestion that it’s a witch might be right.” “What’s the motive, though? The witch you encountered that was taking years from people was keeping himself alive. No matter what age you were after you met him, though, you retained your mental state, so it can’t be magic of that sort.” “Maybe it’s just a witch that likes fucking with people.” Dean says, shrugging and finishing off his dinner. Sam and Cas exchange a weary glance. “Let’s hope for our sake that it’s not. A witch that likes fucking with people is the last thing we need.” Sam says, paying the bill and following his brother to the car. The ride back to the motel is nearly silent, aside from the quiet music coming from the radio. Cas is the first to speak, just as Dean pulls into a parking spot. “Do we have occupations for the victims?” Sam raises an eyebrow as he shakes his head. “No, but I can get it. Why?” Cas hums and follows them into the room. “Just a hunch. Can you get me their occupations and then I’ll explain?” Sam glances over at his brother, who simply shrugs and motions toward the laptop. Instead of questioning them, Sam drops into a chair and pulls the laptop toward him. It takes him a few minutes to get a list of the victims and their occupations but, once he does, he passes the laptop to Cas. The angel settles at the table and reads them over quietly before nodding once, seemingly to himself. “Care to explain?” Dean questions, tugging his tie off and tossing it in the direction of his duffle. “I think whoever it is may be stealing knowledge.” Sam and Dean both raise their eyebrows at Cas, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he continues. “All of the victims were in fairly knowledgeable jobs. A doctor, a psychiatrist, a few professors and teachers, and an astronomer.” Dean raises an eyebrow, sitting in the only empty chair at the table. “Can they do that? Take someone’s knowledge?” Castiel shrugs, pushing the laptop back toward the Winchesters. “I don’t see why not, if they have the proper spell for it. Sam sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Great, so we’re looking for a witch that’s stealing knowledge from people. How’re we supposed to beat that, exactly?” Dean hums, shrugging. “Witch-killing bullet usually does the trick.”                                                     ✤ Of course it doesn’t go according to plan. Nothing ever does for them. They find the witch pretty easily, all things considered. A guy in town had recently had a few breakthroughs in various fields despite having no previous knowledge of those subjects. They also find evidence of him visiting each of the victims before they were de-aged, so as soon as night settles over the town, they pile into the Impala with their guns and spare witch-killing bullets. They park a block from the guy’s house, using the darkness of the night conceal their entry.  It’s a simple place, given the recent success the guy’s had. No flashy car out front, no weird collectibles in the house. There’s a creak from their right just as Dean and Cas enter the threshold of the living room and before either can manage to get their guns up, there’s a blindingly bright flash of light. Sam ducks behind the wall, covering his eyes quickly and trying to regain his senses so he can get a shot off. He stops dead in his tracks when he opens his eyes again, though. Instead of Dean and Castiel standing next to him, there’s two toddlers in their place. They’re unmistakably Dean and Cas; they’ve got the same features and Sam vaguely remembers seeing pictures of Dean around this age. He thinks about trying to fire a shot, but if this witch is stealing knowledge, he’s got all of Dean’s hunting knowledge and knows what their plan is. So instead, he picks up both toddlers and hightails it back to the Impala. “Well that didn’t go well.” Sam startles as Cas speaks. The voice isn’t the same; this one’s much higher-pitched and way more gentle than Cas’s normal tone. “Wait, you… how can you still talk like that?” He manages to get out, setting both toddlers in the back and climbing behind the wheel. “I’m clearly immune to the spell.” He can hear the snark in the angel’s voice, but he doesn’t comment on it as Cas continues. “My knowledge is contained within my grace. The witch only gained Jimmy’s knowledge which is… mostly selling advertisements.” “Ah.” Sam says intelligently. If he’s being honest, he’s more than a little startled by this turn of events. He glances at his brother and Cas in the rearview mirror. Dean still hasn’t said a word and his gaze is currently glued to his hands. All of a sudden, it dawns on Sam. “Hey, uh, Cas? How old would you say you guys are?” Cas glances at Dean quickly before answering. “Around four. Maybe shortly before five? I’m not entirely sure. Why?” Sam clears his throat quietly, pulling into the motel parking lot. “If that witch took all his knowledge… he’d only remember what had happened up until whatever age he is, right?” Castiel nods along but doesn’t elaborate, so Sam presses on. “Which means Dean’s right around the age that Mom died…” He lets the sentence trail off, but Cas doesn’t seem to see where he’s going with this. He’s not entirely surprised Castiel doesn’t know. It was a dark time in Dean’s life, one Sam can’t even hope to remember. He knows a bit from reading John’s journal, but John’s view of things was… distorted, to say the least, so he’s not sure how accurate it is. Nonetheless, both Castiel and Dean follow him into their motel room, the latter staying silent. Sam sighs and turns his gaze to Castiel. “After Mom died, Dean didn’t talk for about a year. According to Dad’s journal, anyway. He just… stopped communicating. Not that he needed to with me, since I was a baby, but he didn’t say a word for a little more than a year.” Castiel frowns and the gesture looks so out of place on such a young face. “Oh. That… explains why he hasn’t been talking. He also won’t remember me.” The angel turns to Dean, sitting next to him on their bed. “Dean? My name’s Castiel. You can call me Cas if you want to.” Dean nods, but his eyes stay glued to the floor and he doesn’t say a word. Sam sighs and runs a hand through his own hair. “The witch has all of Dean’s hunting knowledge now, which means he knows all of our plays. We’re gonna have to find a new way to deal with him.” Castiel nods in agreement, stifling a yawn and sighing. “Dean and I will have to sleep, unfortunately. My grace is occupied at the moment, so I’m at the whims of this vessel. I’m sure Dean’s tired as well.” Sam and Cas both turn to look at Dean, who nods slightly. Cas hums his approval and pushes himself onto his feet. “Come on, Dean, let’s go get ready for bed. We can figure everything out in the morning.” Dean doesn’t say anything, but he does follow Cas to the bathroom and get ready for bed, so Sam’s counting it as a win.                                                       ✤ The next morning is a flurry of movement. Sam gets breakfast for the three of them and settles in at the table. Dean eats, thankfully, and Cas helps him get ready while Sam looks for a way to take down the witch. “Um, Sam? I hate to be a bother but… Dean and I don’t have any other clothes. And we’re going to need car seats if you’re planning on not getting arrested.” Sam blinks at his screen for a moment before turning to Castiel. “I… right, yeah. Didn’t even think about that. Um… let’s go now. I think there’s a Target nearby, we can get both for pretty cheap.” Castiel nods and motions for Dean to follow him. Sam stays where he is, allowing himself a moment to just watch his brother. He’s never seen Dean from this angle. Dean’s always been the stronger older brother. It’s… strange and utterly disconcerting to see him like this. Quietly and mostly to himself, he says, “We’ll get you back to yourself, Dean. I promise.” Dean doesn’t acknowledge him, but Sam hadn’t really expected him to. The ride to Target is silent. Castiel doesn’t have anything to say and Sam’s not going to push his brother to talk if he doesn’t want to, so silence remains. He parks as close to the entrance as he can, ushering both kids inside and grabbing a cart. The car seats are the closest, so they get those first. He picks up the least expensive, most functional ones, since they’ll hopefully only need them for the duration of this case. Not that they’re paying for them anyway, since new credit cards had just come for them a few days ago. With the car seats picked out, they move on to the kids clothing section. Sam gets a few looks from people, but for the most part they’re left alone. He lets both of them pick out clothes for themselves. Dean picks out an overabundance of blue shirts, which… okay. Cas has an armful of clothes that match in no way whatsoever, but Sam just shakes his head and lets the two continue. Much to his surprise, though, Dean walks over to Cas and ducks his head as he holds out the shirts to Castiel. The angel turns to glance at Sam, the confusion on his face painfully evident. That��s when Sam finally realizes: all the shirts are nearly the same color as Castiel’s eyes. Sam shrugs and Castiel accepts the shirts with a murmured “Thank you, Dean.” Dean picks out some clothes for himself and, once everything’s been tried on and loaded into the cart, they head back to the front of the store to check out. Sam winces at the final bill, but he won’t be paying for it anyway. He swipes the card, breathing a sigh of relief when it goes through without a problem. He takes the receipt from the cashier and heads back out to the car. He loads the clothes into the trunk before turning to stare at the car seats. He’s never actually had to put a car seat in, so he sends a silent prayer to Chuck, hoping instructions are included. He doesn’t realize, but sometime in the midst of him installing the car seats, Dean wanders off to a grassy patch of the parking lot and plops down on the ground, carefully picking all the flowers within his reach. By the time Sam turns around to load them into the car, Dean’s approaching him and Castiel with the stems of the flowers clutched in his small hand. Castiel watches him with wide eyes, taking the flowers gently when Dean offers them, though the Winchester’s eyes are pointedly glued on the ground. “Thank you, Dean.” Dean nods, and Sam can see a slight flush on his brother’s cheeks. It brings a grin to his lips, despite the current situation. “I think he’s got a little-kid crush on you, Cas.” A blush colors the angel’s cheeks and Sam finds his grin widening. He gets both of them settled into the car seats, looking for a place for lunch on his phone. They have a quick lunch at a local restaurant before heading back to the motel. As they’re walking into the room, Dean taps Cas on the shoulder gently. “What’s wrong?” Cas asks as he turns to look at Dean. Dean holds his small fist out toward Cas, so Castiel holds his hand out, palm up. Dean opens his hand and drops a necklace into Cas’s. Sam steps forward to take a closer look, eyes widening when he sees a sapphire. “Dean, did you take that from the store?” Dean shakes his head but doesn’t elaborate further. “Is… is there something you want me to do with this, Dean?” Castiel asks gently, glancing down at the necklace. Dean’s lips move a few times before he looks up to meet Cas’s gaze. “’S a pretty color, like your eyes. Want you t’have it.” Castiel and Sam glances at each other with wide eyes. Dean flushes and looks down at his feet, clasping his hands together in front of him. Castiel rests his free hand on Dean’s, his voice gentle. “Thank you, Dean. It’s lovely.” “Where’d you get it, Dean?” Sam asks, turning to sit on the bed. Dean chews his lip a moment before answering. “The house we were in las’ night. Was on the floor.” Castiel furrows his eyebrows and is turning to Sam before Sam even has a chance to speak. “This is an instrument of his magic, Sam. Perhaps, if we can find the right spell, we can undo what he’s done and return everyone to their rightful selves.” Sam raises his eyebrows, glancing at the necklace. “Great. Point me in the direction, what kind of spell am I looking for?” Castiel hums in thought, brushing a thumb over the sapphire. “The spell he recited was Celtic, so some sort of undo spell in the Celtic language. Perhaps Rowena could be of service? I’ve heard her perform several Celtic spells.” Sam nods and pulls out his phone, dialing Rowena’s number as he moves to the small table in the room. She picks up on the second ring. “Samuel. Nice to hear from you outside of apocalypse times. What can I do for ya?” He runs a hand through his hair, chuckling softly. “Hey. So, uh, slight problem.” He can picture Rowena rolling her eyes as she speaks. “There always is with you three. Merry band of misfits, I swear. What can I help you boys with?” Sam chuckles and rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “So we’re working a case in Laverne, Ohio. Turns out it was a witch who was de-aging people so he could take their knowledge.” Rowena sighs. “Let me take a guess: Castiel and Dean got hit with the spell and you need me to come undo it.” Sam chuckles nervously. “I, uh… could you?” “Of course, Samuel. Charlie and I are only a few hours away, we’ll be there soon.” He hears the click on the other end that signals Rowena hanging up, so he sets his phone on the table. “Alright, so Rowena’s on her way. How do we get the other people turned back? They’re in the custody of CPS, it’s not gonna be easy to get to them.” “We may not need to.” Castiel says, sitting on the bed next to Dean. “We may only need a sample of their DNA, like some hair or something left over in their houses. Ask Rowena, we can collect it while she’s driving.” Sam snorts. “We? No offense man, but I don’t think you two are gonna be much help. You can barely reach the doorknob.” Castiel rolls his eyes. “I’m more than capable of opening a door, Sam, and I’m sure Dean is. We-” Castiel stops himself and turns to look at Dean, frowning. “Perhaps you’re right. I’d forgotten that Dean’s lost all of his hunting knowledge.” Dean huffs, squirming in his seat. “Why d’you talk ‘bout me like ‘m not here?” “Apologies, Dean. It’s just… there’s a lot you don’t remember right now.” Dean stays quiet, but he shifts closer to Castiel. Sam sends Rowena a quick text asking what she needs, bringing up the victim’s addresses just in case. Sure enough, all they need is a sample of DNA. He knows he shouldn’t, but he leaves Dean and Cas in the motel room as he goes to collect it. It’s dark enough that he can get into the houses unseen. It takes him less than an hour to get a sample from all the victims. Rowena and Charlie are there by the time he gets back. He shoulders the door open, smiling gratefully at them. “I brought dinner.” Charlie grins. “Mm, real food. I’ll never get enough of it.” She grabs one of the Styrofoam containers, dropping onto the bed with Dean and Cas. “I can’t believe you let your brother and best friend get turned into little kids.” Sam scoffs. “I didn’t let them, they were ahead of me!” Rowena simply rolls her eyes, holding out a hand. “I presume you’ve got samples from the other victims?” Sam nods and motions to the various bags on the table. “One from each, yeah. Do you know how to fix it?” Rowena looks mildly insulted, snatching the bags off the table. “I’m a centuries old witch, Sam, reversing a simple de-aging spell is easy. I could do it in my sleep.” She motions for Charlie to help her, grabbing a book, the necklace, and a few spell ingredients. Everything gets set on the ground in an orderly pile before she walks over to Dean and Cas and plucks a few hairs from their heads. Cas winces but Dean full-on flinches away from her, which is concerning to say the least. He seems to relax once Cas’s hand finds it’s way onto Dean’s knee, though. It’s remarkable how much Dean relaxes with just a simple touch from Cas. Rowena’s done with the spell a few minutes later. It’s silent for a moment, and Dean and Cas are still in the bodies of five-year-olds. Sam turns to ask her what the hell went wrong when the blindingly-bright light from the witch’s house fills the tiny motel room. He and Charlie both cover their eyes while Rowena sits there unfazed. When Sam opens his eyes again, Dean and Cas are sitting on the bed as their normal, age-appropriate selves. Sam breathes a sigh of relief and pulls both Rowena and Charlie into a hug. “Thank you guys so much, I was at my wit’s end.” Rowena brushes off the thanks, chuckling. “Can you boys handle this witch on your own or do I need to take care of that too?” Sam flushes, glancing at Dean and Cas, who simply shrug. “I-I… you’re welcome to stay if you want to. We know where he lives, and he won’t be expecting us.” Rowena raises an eyebrow. “I’m certain he felt the reversal of his magic. If he isn’t already, he’ll be on his way here. Sooner, rather than later.” The sound of the door’s lock clicking open has them all turning to face the door. Dean and Cas both dive for their guns as Sam pulls his from his waistband, training it on the door. Charlie pulls a gun from her waistband as well, copying Sam and aiming it at the door. It all happens in an adrenaline-fueled blur. The four of them pull the trigger before the witch can even get a word out. Rowena doesn’t even flinch, just crosses her arms. “Well that certainly wasn’t the smartest. We’re in a motel, not the woods.” The four of them glance at each other, eyes wide. Clearly, none of them had thought of that. Rowena sighs and rolls her eyes, collecting her things. “Idiots. Get the body and let’s get the hell out of here, I’ll wipe you from the security tapes.” Sam smiles sheepishly at her, helping Dean and Cas load the witch’s body into the Impala’s trunk. Dean grumbles about the bloodstains, but for the most part goes along with it. They’re gone in five minutes. Charlie and Rowena go their separate way not long after leaving the motel. They boys pull off when they get to a particularly woody area, finding a clear spot and digging a pit before doubling back for the body. They’ve got it salted and burned in a few minutes, Dean and Cas both rubbing at their eyes as the flames blaze in front of them. The walk back to the car is silent, save for the chirping of a few crickets and a wolf howling in the distance. They agree to clean the trunk once they’re back at the bunker and Sam offers to drive home so Dean and Cas can rest. He can’t resist, though, as they’re climbing in the car. “So, Dean, you think Cas’s eyes are a pretty color?” Dean’s face grows bright red and he fixes his brother with a glare over the hood of the car. “You shut your mouth and get in the damn car.” Sam laughs, grinning to himself as he slides behind the wheel. Dean and Cas both climb in the back and the ride is silent for a few moments before Dean speaks again. “Look, you can’t tell me his eyes aren’t pretty. Especially when they do the whole glowing thing when we’re-” Sam knows exactly where this is going, so he switches the radio on and turns it up, drowning his brother out. His brother and Castiel are both snickering in the back seat and, despite nearly being scarred for life, Sam’s got a content smile on his face as well. Their laughter is contagious, though, and soon Sam’s snickering right along with them. The three of them haven’t laughed like this since they brought everyone through the rift, nearly a year ago now. Sam can’t help but enjoy the moment, even though it was borne of his brother very nearly letting Sam in on some things about their relationship he’s very content not knowing. All in all, the case wasn’t too bad. And, despite seeing Dean so vulnerable, it was actually pretty entertaining. Not to mention the fact that he’s got plenty of blackmail material for future use. A glance in the rearview mirror shows that Dean and Cas are both sound asleep just as they cross the border into Kansas. Castiel is curled into Dean’s side, with Dean’s arm loosely slung around the angel’s shoulders. It’s such a soft sight, and certainly not something Sam had ever expected to see from his uber-macho, ladies-man older brother. It’s cute, he thinks to himself. He’s happy for them. They’re good for each other. That doesn’t mean he’s ever letting Dean live this down.