#i just think he has been through a lot of shit

[kaisaerinlover]

if you could describe kaiser in two words you would be forced to use the words mean and conniving, if you even dared to speak any bad about him that is. you darent even have a bad thought about him recently though, because he’s been ignoring you. he was so nice before? what happened? why doesn’t he like you anymore? is he too scared to break up? what’s going on?

kaiser can guess your thought process exactly, it’s funny really. funny how predictable and dense you are; it’s fine though. he doesn’t care, he likes you this way, panicky and anxious that he doesn’t like you anymore. he likes you a lot, that’s why he’s doing this, you know? after all, relationships don’t work for him unless he plays a little dirty with the other. manipulation is a staple of any relationship actually, or any sort of abuse. no one stays without toxicity, that’s not the way of the world. not the way of his world - and as far as he’s concerned, his world morphs into your world. when you choose to date him you unknowingly choose to abide by the laws of life he lived and continues to live by.

i mean, it’s not like he wants to ignore you (he does), it’s not like he wants to see how disgustingly despair filled you are every time he brushes you off like you’re nothing more than a stranger to him (he does), it’s not like he has a choice in any of this, he has to manipulate you, it’s just how life works (it’s not). if you were half as intellectual as he is, you would realise what he’s doing, but he thinks you should be thankful. thankful that he’s putting in this effort and going to these lengths just to ensure you won’t leave him anytime soon. he just loves you too much to let you go now. he let himself get attached to you, so this is your punishment. human emotions and attachments are the bane of his very existence, he hates them. he doesn’t like being so dependant on someone else, doesn’t like the way you affect him and his mood, hates feeling loved and hates knowing he has to give love in return; it’s difficult to learn after everything he’s experienced in life. this is your punishment for getting him so entranced with you. deal with it now, if you wanna date him this is what you get.

he’s a pretentious man, he won’t even label emotions as, well, just that: emotions. he labels them human emotions. he really thinks he’s way above them, knows himself as a god. but then again; it’s the opposite. he’s a subhuman piece of shit. what a complicated mind; any psychology student, therapist or simply just psychology interested freak would have a field day with him. but here he is instead with you. punishing you with his indifference for engraving yourself so deeply within his soul.

poor you, when he dismisses you the last time and goes to leave the house you break and cry. you cry like a baby, and he almost feels bad. only almost, not quite there yet, the face you make when you cry is quite beautiful, isn’t it? why does he do this to you? if he leaves you will he even come back? you can’t take it and you can’t risk it.

when kaiser feels you tug on his arm and hears your crying he smirks to himself before turning around. you’re easy; far too easy. he won. he turns around and stares at you, a stare so hard you swear it pierces right through you like a blade. “come on, d-don’t leave me-“ you somehow manage to sputter out between your arousing sobs. only a sicko like him could find something like this arousing, gross. his mask of nonchalance never slips though, what a crazy man he is, able to control and maintain everything; even his stimuli. control for the most part anyway. “hm?” he doesn’t even bother to give you a real worded answer, you’re not worth it are you?

kaiser is awfully good at mind games, he knows it, he’s enjoying playing with you. messing with your head, it’s even funner when he knows exactly what you’re thinking. you’re in shambles, to say the very least. all you can see in his eyes is contempt towards you. why is he leaving you? you don’t want that, is leaving you really so simple? so easy? such a mundane and effortless task? are you that unimportant he can disregard you and treat you like this without a second thought? is it because other girls are better? they have a knack for something that you just quite never grasped? how is that fair? he’s your whole world, hell you’re struggling right now with him being cold towards you for, in retrospect, a short amount of time. and he is yet to even bat an eyelash at the mistreatment he’s giving you.

his tone is brimming with derision when he opens his mouth next; “what are you talking about? dumb girl?” you feel so embarrassed, what does he mean? no, maybe he’s testing you, it’s a test isn’t it? to see if you’ll beg? you will, you would, you can, you’re going to, you’d do everything to ensure he stays. even if it’s degrading. dehumanising. even if anyone who found out how hard you begged for his love and affection would be disgusted with your desperation and drop you. you would do anything. “j-jus’ don’t leave me micha- i-i don’t even know what i did- please-“ you beg. and you plead. you’re so cute when you’re this desperate, playing right into his hands like putty. you’re priceless, adorable really. he has to put effort in to hide the smirk that wants to show on his face so badly. but then you say something that he’s heard a million times before. he’s heard you say it before too. but right now it pisses him off and makes him sick. makes him angry when you choke out through your tears a weak declaration of love.

“i l-love you-“ he hates it. he’s heard it so many times, from fans and empty headed fangirls, from you as well. but right now it makes him want to vomit. he’s angry, doesn’t know how to react to it in this situation. and it shows on his face. shows in his actions when he grabs you so roughly and smashes his lips into yours. when he pulls away, he’s looking into your eyes so deeply. you’re an idiot, you should know what loving him entails. he thinks you should shut your mouth. your admission made him feel guilty. god he wishes you’d just shut the fuck up; but his eyes are telling you differently. silently pleading for something he’s never allowed himself to want. and you can tell too, stupid as you are, you’re somehow able to read what he desires in the moment from his eyes alone. “micha i l-love you” you sputter out again. he licks his lips as he watches a tear roll down your cheek and feels his insides churn, flutter, disintegrate and whatever else as you confess to him again.

it’s rare, that he feels this way i mean, totally and utterly rare. he feels sickened at your words. filled with guilt. you really love him and he really loves you too, he can’t fathom why he insists on treating you in this way. he really can’t. and he can’t fathom why he feels so much guilt over it, because everything he does is for himself. he’s a self indulgent man; that’s why he’s even more confused when he instinctively reaches out to wipe a tear running down your cheek away. he lives for himself and to make himself feel alive, tending to you doesn’t exactly fit into the equation most of the time, so he’s not sure why is body is subconsciously moving to aid you. he’s not sure why he’s suddenly aching to comfort you. he’s not sure why he’s reconsidering what he did by now. manipulating isn’t nice, only an idiot doesn’t know that, and he’s no idiot. he’s one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet in your life.

and you, sweet you, you’re hardly a victim of this anymore. you’re letting it happen, sitting and letting him do whatever he wishes with you. you’re as disgusting as he is in a way. he might have you wrapped around his thumb; he might be a master of manipulation, but you’ve had so many chances to leave yet you haven’t. because you’re dumb deep down. dumber than what he takes you for. as he dotes on you in a manner that he perceives is against his free will, you instantly feel at ease and better. you forget everything bad he just did to you. forget the weeks you spent having to play guessing games to work out why he’s suddenly giving you the icy cold treatment, you give in to his whims and relish in the attention he’s suddenly showering you in. it’s not that you’re entirely lacking in self awareness, no, quite the opposite actually. you’re just convinced he’s not all that bad, that deep down he’s not mean at all, he’s not evil to the core. and as much as even he would like that to be true, he knows it’s not. he had a rough start in life, a rough childhood, a rough few years. he’s never had it easy - but he can’t pretend that he hasn’t had any chances to change.

as he strokes your hair and feels you lean into his touch, he ponders all of the opportunities handed to him on a platter to rebuild himself into something better. remembers how all he’s ever wanted is to be loved, yet he pushes away or straight up abuses the ones who adore him the most. in a weird self loathing way, but also a display of superiority, to show how everyone around him is disposable, how important he is compared to everybody else. he’s convinced he’s evil down to the very blood courses through him, every cell in his body, and you’re convinced he’s not bad at all. that this is all some weird ploy. you’re not entirely sure, you just don’t want to believe he’s mean.

neither of you are wrong. he’s not as kindhearted as you’d like to believe he is and he’s not as cruel as he hates believing he is. the truth is that you’ve rubbed off on each other deeply. that your empathy and grace has moved him and shaped his person into something new entirely, and how his narcissistic tendencies and manipulative nature have made you more susceptible to his, well, his something. malice? shenanigans? there’s simply not a word in english to describe this man. whatever goes on in the brain of michael kaiser is complicated.

and as he holds you, rubs his hand up and down your back as he finds himself holding you so tightly, he realises he almost regrets ignoring you for all of that time. making you believe he really doesn’t love you anymore when he really loves you more than anything in the world. only almost though, because he enjoys having you like this. vulnerable and cute in his lap, longing for his attention. his beloved girl, only for him, all his. he knows it’s wrong but he has to keep doing what he’s doing to you. needs to keep up the cycle of nonstop manipulation, or you might leave. he doesn’t want you to become self aware and leave him.

and as you listen to his heartbeat whilst leaning your head against his toned chest, feeling some of his hair fall atop your head, you feel content. even if you’re self aware already, even though you know it’s so disturbing and messed up to even feel anything except contempt about this dynamic, you feel at peace. you and kaiser deserve each other after all, you’re just too stupid to realise it. kaiser remembers your earlier affections, the ones he left unreturned. you’re an idiot, he thinks. saying you love him, it has dark connotations. it doesn’t bestow anything but misfortune upon you, but you say it anyway. “meine geliebte, i love you so much” he whispers into your ear, nipping at it. he can feel his heart beating against your soft cheek. he lets out a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding in. he feels tranquil too. this and soccer, this and hurting others, this and hurting you; this is what makes him feel alive. he feels alive. he knows he’s alive.

“love you too micha” you confess back, not like it’s much of a confession anyway, nor a secret. and as he strokes your hair gently and kisses your forehead, gives you these small gestures of love and tenderness in a rare moment of uncharacteristic softness, does these things for you as you confess back; he knows he’s alive.

he knows he’s alive because his heartbeat sped up a bit and he feels tingly inside. because of your words and your devote to him. he wonders if this is how you feel too. being gentle isn’t all so bad, but don’t get used to it.

you know not to get used to it, but even you can’t help but to fantasise about being a normal couple with kaiser.

not that either of you mind this, though. you thrive on the toxicity and uncertainty this dynamic provides, as twisted as it is. and at least you love each other. at least you’re pampered and provided with attention. at least kaiser found someone that makes him feel really and truly alive. someone he knows he can ensure won’t leave.

[madamechrissy]

Would you come with me?

oneshot preview

Pairings: Satoru Gojo x F! reader

Summary: You have been Satoru's best friend for such a long time, and one day he asks you a really big favor- marry him. What!?!? Well, Satoru has to take a wife as he's running the Gojo corporation, and what better way to get them off his back than 'marry'? In name only, just best friends living together for a year to calm them down, sounds so perfect and uncomplicated, right!!! Well, living with Satoru Gojo makes you both question everything, is this fake marriage feeling... real? and can you just be friends after this?

CW: NSFT-MDNI- Going to have smut at the end like all my oneshots do, lots of sexual tension, light angst but mostly fluffy, friends to lovers AND marriage of convenience trope lol. Explicit sex, oral sex, it's me so a breed kink, gonna be a LONG oneshot, Satoru is a lil sweetie and a lil freaky ass- falls hard, ya'll both down bad.

This is what won for the poll on the thank you for 5k followerss!! <3 Comment to get added to the taglist!!!

“You love me, right?”

You blink a bit, as you stare at Satoru Gojo, he’s been your best friend all throughout high school and even before you’ve known him. You’re sitting across from him, while he’s sipping boba with you, his Gucci shades perched on the bridge of that straight nose, a smirk on his glossy lips. You tilt your head curiously at him, of course you love Satoru, but he only pulls this when he needs a favor.

“What’d you get into this time, Toru?” You demand, he gasps then, affronted, a hand to his chest.

“Excuse me, missy? I’m just asking if you love me.”

You roll your eyes, leaning back in your seat in the little cafe. “Of course, you know I love your goofy ass.”

Satoru takes off his glasses, those swirling blue eyes wrecking you as they have all these years, usually you can put up enough of a barrier not to let them consume you, but apparently you haven’t today. You watch those snowy lashes lower when his eyes bore into you, swirling storms of bright blue, you have to snap yourself out of it.

Being Satoru Gojo’s best friend wasn’t for the weak.

“How much you love me, hmm?”

“What is it you need, an alibi?” He snorts then, shaking his head and wrapping his lips around the straw.

“M’not Suguru, shit… no, I need a really big favor. Like… the biggest favor, but if you agree, I can really make it worth your while.”

“Okay this isn’t a mobster movie, Toru, what is it?” Satoru looks down then, long fingers swirling around the top of his cup, before his eyes snap back to yours.

“What if I said I’d help you with all that student loan debt, and buy you a shiny brand new car?”

“Satoru, I don’t want your money, I do fine okay?”

“Your car is old enough to drink.”

“Fuck off!” Your glare makes him snort in laughter. “It is not, it’s like… not even old enough to vote… I don’t think.”

“It’s old, sweets. Say you also had a place to stay, for free?”

���Satoru this isn’t Pretty Woman-”

“I love that movie!”

“Satoru! What are you getting at!?” You’re crossing your arms then, raising a brow at the lanky man across from you, whose legs are spread wide in his dark blue dress pants, he’s pulling just a bit at his silky black tie.

Satoru has taken a huge role recently in his family business, the conglomerate that owned a million different things, you know how much he detests it, but once Satoru graduated college his family pushed it more and more. At this point he was thriving, doing most of the work with his father taking much more of a back seat, his health starting to deteriorate.

You and Gojo spend more time together than ever, you know he needs his friend, especially with Suguru having left for some time, the two of them not together was always hard on him. You’d been friends with both of them, but Suguru seems to have left and found his own calling, swinging through to see you both from time to time, but much is different since those days at Tokyo high.

Not you and Satoru though.

For the longest time you pined away for him, but you never made that move, aside from one stolen kiss in a closet during seven minutes in heaven, and Satoru had it bad for you all of Junior and Senior year, but the two of you never risked it, your friendship. And now you’re glad to have him in your life, but it’s hard to even think of someone serious when he’s so brightly and firmly in your life.

“This is a huge favor I need, it’s… a lot to ask.” Satoru murmurs softly, you tense a bit, brows drawing together.

“What’s wrong, is everything okay?” Your voice is a low hum as you murmur, he nods just a bit.

“Yeah it’s fine just… I’m being forced to choose a bride, and they have many candidates.” He laughs humorlessly, and your heart breaks for him.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Satoru. I thought you’d have longer?”

“Yeah, I wish.” He runs a hand through his silky white locks, looking down for a moment, lips that always smirk or maybe pout actually frowning. “I need to just get it done, get em off my ass.”

“That doesn’t sound like you, why not tell em to fuck themselves, hmm? Where’s my Toru!?”

“He’s exhausted.” He swipes a hand across his face, and you lean closer, hand on his leg, his eyes sliding back to yours.

“Do you want me to help find someone? I have a lot of good friends in high families… find you someone not money hungry, not a psycho? How much time do you even have?”

“That’s not what I'm asking.” He puts his big hand over yours now, sighing, leaning closer to you. “I’m asking if you want to.”

“If I want to, what exactly?”

“Marry me?”

“What!?” He chuckles then, but even that sound is exhausted.

“You forget you’re from a top family, nah it’s not the Gojo clan but…”

“Satoru…”

“Just for like a bit? To get em to leave me alone, let me gain some more power. All for show, and I’ll help you with anything, I promise.” He’s clutching your hand, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning.

“Wh-why me? We… you… I…”

“You’re my best friend, it would be like being roommates damn near. You could… do your thing as long as you’re discrete.” He murmurs, you want to laugh then, as if you’ve done anything in a couple of years now. “And I would be discrete, respectful, we’d just be in name, appearance. We’re best friends, it will be a piece of cake, and most of all… I trust you.”

You try to digest all the information, blinking and trying not to think the insane thoughts that come with it, but you fail. “But won’t they want… an heir?”

Satoru’s cheeks flush bright pink now. “We don’t need to… I’d never ask you to do that, ever I swear. I’d never be an ass like that.”

You feel your heart racing as you shove back all of the images you should not have for your friend. “I know, I know. But… they’d-”

“That’s the thing, a year or so and they’ll back off. Give me time to fix some mistakes, with dad being sick… I’m not saying I won’t miss him, but how he is running shit? No, I know I can make things better, take down these shitty higher ups who are so greedy. You just could give me more time, and I promise I’ll do anything I can to help you too.”

“It’s insane, this is marriage!” You blink a bit, shifting, his hand now brushing back a lock of hair from your forehead, a familiar gesture that now takes on something more intimate.

“It can just be for show, we’ll be the same best friends as always. I have no one I can imagine even living with but you, maybe Suguru but… he’s not a girl.”

“He has that long silky hair?” You both laugh a little, softly then.

“He sure does, but… you’re prettier to look at.”

“Flattery? Stop that. It’s insane, and… how would we even explain it in such a rush?”

“We’ve been friends forever. Who wouldn’t believe that we got together? It’s even easier. I mean, maybe a couple kisses and things for show, but… you’ve kissed me before, remember?” He’s grinning wide then, you shove at him playfully. “That closet was cramped, hmm?”

“Oh shut it, that was so long ago. I mean, if you really need me, you know I’ll do this for you. I don’t expect you to go all out on anything for me in return.” Satoru pauses now, watching how the light streaming in through the large cafe windows hits your pretty face, as you explain to him that you’d want nothing in return for this!? For this huge imposition on your life.

You have always been the sweetest, best friend he has had, so important to him he’s never dared to cross that line, and he knows it will tempt him to no end to do this, but he also knows he can trust you. “Let me just take care of a few things for you, you can almost see it as a job. There will be events, meetings with the other leaders, trust me. Like anything I can do, you’ll be helping me so much.”

“Alright.”

“What!?”

He’s hugging you tightly to him, you giggle a bit, breathless. “Yeah, I’ll do it… I need a nice car though, Toru. A BMW?”

“I’ll get you ten BMWs.”

“Jesus, no. Silly boy.” You giggle as you look up at him, your best friend, but then your heart falters when he’s just a bit too close.

“Should we practice kissing now?” He teases, voice husky.

“Satoru, you're insufferable.”

He pouts now, and you swallow down the fact that you don’t know if you can even handle kissing his lips.

Should be out sometime this weekend!- after this is the Stripclub Sukuna full oneshot then Mr. Yan Choso hehe <3

permatags: @alt--er--love @seeing-stars-alt @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @makingtimemine @cuntphoric @loafteaw @aldebrana @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 gojo: @haruhatake @strychnynegirl @jinjen suggestion from the lovely @bunheadusa

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hadn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watched children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh, and we could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dena had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you his worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you one last firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you another assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you said because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. How to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“So, we’ve got five dead ladies, three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, shaking his head. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam says, sliding some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glace back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanished when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness as it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him moves you deeper into the parking lot. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean guides you into the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken the gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell  from space. “He’s still in denial.” 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were on at hunt before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a Chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the Chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the Chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the Chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the Chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still mostly pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his Dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with raise of his hands, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he’s never offered, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

And She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving Dean a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, dude, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean point to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, dude. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine, man.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. I mean, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “Yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, man, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“Dean, I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you goddamn crazy, there’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and Dean felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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[hacash]

No, actually I'm not done with talking about Outie Mark and how well they've portrayed his grief on Severance, because the writers have done such a good job of showing that grief can be ugly and aggravating and painful and difficult to watch. Because Outie Mark isn't actually that fun to watch, a lot of the time! He's not soulful and romantic and dealing with his grief in a palatable manner: he's all hard edges and very dark humour! He cries loud and ugly! He picks fights! He's rude to his (admittedly aggravating) brother-in-law; he's a bit of a shit date to Alexa! He's very apathetic about what's going on at work, when quite frankly if he picked up the pace a little, we as the audience could find out more about what's going on! He has genuine substance abuse issues going on and spends a lot of his screentime just lying in a stupor in front of the TV! He's a compelling character but he's not fun to watch!

And I love how they've done this deliberately - I think the fact that at times the writers have been deliberately making Outie Mark deliberately hard to watch, at times because of his awkward humour and at times because he just is trying to avoid doing anything, and that's a deliberate choice because of his grief! The reason he takes so long to get shit done is because this man is literally paralysed by the grief he feels for his dead wife! He is so emotionally disconnected from the world that he spliced his brain clean in two to get away from the pain! He's choking on her ghost! Of course he's not eager to give himself the hope of believing she's alive only to go through that pain all over again!

(Also why the fuck did he of all people have to tell Gemma's students about her dying? Where the hell is that college's HR department.)

And it's not that Outie Mark is an unlikeable character, I'm really enjoying his arc at the moment, but I think they've made some really deliberate tweaks to show just what grief can do to someone and I am loving that they've deliberately made it ugly and painful to see.

[letmeoutofthebasementt]

SKZ getting cheated on (Hyung Line + Han)

(How long it’ll take them to find out on their own, how they’d react, if they’d break up or not)

Chan

Honestly, it'd probably take him a while to realize. Because, for one, he'd probably feel very stable in his relationship and his place in his partner's life. He has that "They'd never because they NEED me" kinda mentality. The longer they've been together the less likely he is to find out organically unless he full-on catches them in the act. He also feels like his relationships are very solid at their core. Another big issue is to be entirely sure his partner is cheating, he needs to break free of delusions. It would also just be far too much for him if he did suspect it because he'd be afraid he'd lose his partner for even daring to think something like that. I think he'd also...Take things for granted? Like, "I have you there's no way you'd ever leave or want anything more/else" type of thing. Everything's familiar. And he doesn't take into account that anything could possibly happen.

If he finds out he got cheated on, he'd immediately tell his friends and seek comfort in them. I'm also getting he's the type who'd cheat on his partner to get his lick back or something. Cheating is something Chan can't get past, so he'd definitely leave them. He'd feel hopeless, and his entire life would probably momentarily crash and burn. I think he'd also be really frustrated and it'd ruin his trust in everyone in his life. He'd also push down and suppress a lot of things. Because of that, the feelings of hurt and anger and resentment can easily fester because he didn't allow himself to acknowledge them or hash them out.

Lee Know

Idk why I immediately thought of ice spice

Specifically that like "You think you the shit, bitch? You not even the fart." I don't even like her or that song

BUT ANYWAYS

He'd know quickly. You can't HIDE that from this man. Trust he'll find out ASAP. Because, one, his intuition is on a whole other level. Two, he'd immediately know if something's off. Whether that be your location being off or somewhere it's not supposed to, etc. Even if you think you're slick he'll FIND a tell one way or another. I'm also a firm believer he goes through phones. I'm talking every nook and cranny of that phone including your EMAILS. He's finding that shit one way or another and you're lucky if there's a 24 hour window of time where he doesn't know about it. He'll find a way to figure it out.

In terms of how he'd react...He'd definitely find out on his own, so there'd be this 'Aha!' moment. Because he knew he wasn't going crazy. He's going to figure out every nitty gritty detail of the cheating with PRINTED OUT laminated receipts with copies just incase. He's definitely gonna confront his partner. And trust he's going to have a boost of confidence figuring it out. Definitely not the type who blames himself. He's also probably telling everyone and their mother. And YOUR mother. He sees it as a battle won and everyone needs to hear about the victory.

He has a 50/50 chance of leaving, though. On ONE hand, while trust is very important to him he'd also feel a sense of...I don't want to say ownership but that's the only word I can think of over his partners. So, he simply wouldn't want to let them go. I feel like the love would also linger a lot because he feels very deeply. So, he may just stay with his partner and fall into some toxic habits of keeping them on lockdown, being all hovery...The type who's calling his partner every 5 minutes, showing up to their job to make sure they're there, getting their Apple login so they can receive every single message and notif they do...He's keeping them on LOCK. But on the other hand, he could very well just...Fall out of love in an instant. It's very contradictory. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin and he has a very large capacity for hate, especially when betrayed. Probably just moved onto the next. So yeah, he's either dumping you rather cruelly then moving on like you never existed, or keeping you uner lock and key.

Changbin

He'd probably FIND OUT fairly quickly, because he'd kind of have this gut feeling. But he'd suppress those feelings and convince himself he was insane until he finally catches his partner red handed and realizes he's right on the money. Because he's very passionate about his relatinship and doesn't want to be imposing on his partner or doubting them for no reason. That's not his intention nor something he's comfortable with doing. He also wants to trust in his partner. He'll probably lose faith in himself and just be very on edge until he realizes he's right.

His entire life would fall apart when he finds out. He falls into destructive tendencies. Probably self-sabotages a lot. He feels like a failure, and he's so afraid of being made fun of or looked down on because he got cheated on. He'd probably fall into a depression and just be very negative. He'd feel like he wasn't enough, and couldn't be good enough. And feel he just couldn't be all his partner needed so they found it in someone else. But he'd also regain some of his trust in himself. Because he realized his intuition was right and he wasn't just losing his mind. Would definitely need a lot of kindness and comfort from friends and family, and a lot of self-expolration. May fall into delusions to help himself cope.

He'd also definitely break up with his partner if they cheated. Because they're obviously not his person, and he'll find his person.

Hyunjin

I haven't even pulled yet and I already know this'll affect my mental wellbeing

But also...MY MAN MY MAN MY MANNNNN I haven't read on him in a while (I'm saying this because he's my bias not because i'm delusional enough to think he'd want me don't @ me)

FIRST OF ALL, he'd believe he's being cheated on long before he actually is. Like, I wouldn't be surprised if he's already been in a situation where he dreamed of being cheated on and then a few weeks later got cheated on and was convinced he was a prophet or something. Not literally but you catch my drift. But I also feel like the amount of time it'd take to figure it out is considerably lengthened by the fact that he looks at everything through rose-tinted glasses of hopeless romance. He has a love for life and is more focused on that than anything else. Plus, he's near perpetually convinced he's about to be cheated on or is being cheated on so once he genuinely DOES see the red flags it's less...Impactful? To him? Because he sees them in everything. He's sensitive, though, so i feel like he'd sense it if something was off. Like, if his partner was cheating because of lost feelings he'd realize the lost feelings. And then, his imagination would take the wheel and suddenly it's a joyride off a cliff and into a mental spiral. I feel like deep down he'd also know like "Oh shit, this is different. They may actually be cheating for real." I feel like he has the emotional maturity to know that other times he was overreacting and being delusional. But this is more than that. I feel like the moment he open his eyes, he'll immediately know.

And he's getting the hell up out of there.

He'd be CRUSHED if he found out he got cheated on. He'd probably throw his money away doing stupid shit with it, fall into certain bad habits. He'd feel hopeless, and feel like everything he worked so hard for during the relationship was a waste. Like he's failed. But he'd also 100% publicly expose his partner. I also think he'd drown his sorrows in another relationship or fling or whatever. I'm talking within the hour of finding out he's under someone else for the sole purpose of distraction. He'd also 100% use this to fuel his general anger/crashoutery for the next few months. Like he'll be another level of volatile and emotionally unstable. He'd probably reflect a lot on the relationship. He'd withdraw from a lot of things and just want to be by himself and recover from the pain. Definitely would avoid anything that could potentially stress him out.

He'd also break up with his partner. Surprisingly. I was honestly expecting him to stay. But I feel like his energy has changed? He has more trust in himself and his value and he's not just content sticking around through mistreatment anymore. Good for him.

Han

Shawty bae

I don’t think he’d notice? He’d just very much be blinded by everything. He idealizes his relationships, and he’d be so happy he just genuinely wouldn’t notice if something was amiss. He’s also just generally an overthinker and has a very scattered mind, so I think if he did pick up on something he wouldn’t notice AT ALL he’s not being delusional.

I think he’d still love them if they cheated. But I also think he’d be the type to…Cheat back? If his partner were to ever cheat on him. He’d definitely also get closer with friends and family for emotional support and find happiness there. Mask the sadness with more happiness and drown himself in pleasure. I think once he finds out everything will suddenly connect. All the puzzle pieces will fall into place and everything will suddenly make sense.

I think he would want to but I don’t think he would. It’d be a big inner conflict and he’d really have to force himself to. He’d need to think on it and his friends and family would have to push for it. Because he’s like “Well I’ve put so much effort into this why throw it away?” And just values the stability relationships and having his ‘other half’ brings to him.

[whyamievenaliveanymore]

I did not read all the Riordanverse books, but I did read most of them and know more or less what happens in all. And Nico di Angelo has been one my favorite character out of all fandoms since I was 9 to this day. So here are some things I think the fadom is getting wrong abt him

1. He is not "quiet shy poor little twink" as I keep seeing every fucking where even in 2025. He's not introverted in the "I'm scared of people" way but in the "fuck people" way. He doesn't hang out with people not because of anxiety but because he a) doesn't like them b) doesn't see the point of it and c) he has better things to do. And let me tell you, I'm 101% sure he can handle any conversation (small talk or not) at least as good (if not better) as Will.

2. This one is more abt Percy but wtv. Percy wasn't offended that Nico didn't like him anymore. He was worried Nico hated him again. That's why he was shocked. He wasn't like "HoW dArE yOu NoT fInD mE aTtRaCtIvE" as ppl say. He was worried that after all they've been through Nico hated him and Percy probably felt guilty for a lot of stuff in that moment.

3. He wouldn't choose Bianca over Hazel. 11 y/o Nico? Yeah, that one would. But this Nico? I'm 400% sure that if he got the occasion to switch Hazel for Bianca he wouldn't. Not because he likes Hazel more. I'm sure he loves them equally. But because that's just what's right.

That's all I can think abt now and idc if ppl have alr seen this or that only a few ppl still think this. This shit gotta be known by everyone

[27spoons]

travis was a misogynist not a “bitch” and excusing misogyny with “he was 16” is not the move. do 4chan boys get a free pass because theyre still in high school? why cant any of you just admit what he did was wrong and say he grew instead of excusing it with his age 😐

i never said what he did wasn't wrong lmao. I'm a travnat supporter and a travis disliker (idc if they contradict each other)

I HATED his ass in s1. HATED. hell, I hated him for most of s2 as well. it wasn't until my third (I think.) rewatch that I started liking him. once I was able to actually watch the show and think about the characters and their actions... yeah. the way he acted started making sense to me a little.

also... time period. just in general. things were a lot different almost thirty (30) years ago than they are today. the way travis acted is honestly probably pretty accurate for an angsty, hormonal teenage dude for the area.

you guys can argue w me about this but I know for a fact if travis was a chick people would be all "ooooooh toxic yuri uwu" (and I only say that because I would also be saying some shit about toxic yuri. i love toxic yuri.)

low-grade analysis under cut

Travis has done a lot of things I don't like. Let's talk about it.

s1e2 - Nat is trying to talk to Travis about helping Javi. Travis gets all pissy and tells Nat to mind her own business, and then proceeds to leave (and not go help Javi)

s1e3 - Travis forces Javi to spit the gum out by getting him in a headlock. Yes, what he's doing has good intentions behind it. But the way he went about it? Especially considering how young Javi is and all the shit they just went through?

s1e4 - ohhhh boy. This is an episode for travis haters. First and foremost, finding the gun and just taking aim at squirrels (I think idr) for fun, scaring the shit outta everyone.

s1e4 - after nat fucks up her first shot with the gun, he starts saying some shit about "folding laundry and sucking dick", which is super out of pocket considering all Nat has been thus far is supportive of him.

s1e4 - travis points the gun at nat after she calls him flex. which, honestly, was probably just her being a brat in turn for his "folding laundry and sucking dick" comment. either way, SUPER out of pocket.

s1e6 - when they get back to the cabin (holding hands) jackie starts talking shit. travis sits like a submissive puppy in the corner and lets nat talk, when realistically, he's half the problem as well, but he lets her take the attack from jackie. he could have, and should have, stepped up. she isn't the only one responsible for hunting.

s1e6 - the scene where they almost have sex. you know the one. the condom falls out of his pants. the "how many guys have you been with" / "I just wanna know if ("I'm a slut" -nat)". that entire scene pissed me off to no extent. yes, he's been a misogynistic cunt.

same scene - the jason russo comment. "he's a dude", implying that its different for guys, when realistically, it has the same repercussions as it does for chicks. (insert nats speech about vaginas having monologues)

s1e7 - the almost sex scene in the cabin. yeah, he's nervous (and embarrassed), but literally running away????? bruh. not to mention how that whole scenario made nat feel. because, if I was nat? i'd feel like shit. just... terrible. then he spends the next little while just straight up avoiding her????? like????? dude

s1e8 - bobby farleigh. FUCK that scene annoys me. I'm pretty sure I made a post when I was rewatching it last time about how much it pissed me off that travis was acting like that when NAT DIDNT KNOW HIM WHEN SHE SLEPT WITH BOBBY FARLEIGH. SHE DIDNT KNOW HIM. and nat even admits she made a mistake by sleeping with bobby. ("are you seriously gonna ruin this over something so fucking stupid") mind you, what nat said afterwards ("this would have been harder if we actually fucked") wasn't cool either. but she was hurt, and you cant really blame her for her reaction.

s1e9 - him sleeping with jackie. which, you could argue that he was high asf on shrooms, but whatever.

s1e10 - him reacting the way he does when nat just wants to check on him after the events of the previous night. telling her that he got laid (spitefully), snapping when she tries to help him... yeah. he was being a petty ass bitch.

s2e2 - listen. this one isn't on him. i know he was having a whole crisis of faith, but hallucinating lottie while having sex with nat is WILD and makes me so uncomfortable every time I see it (which is why I cant blame sophie thatcher for saying "I've never watched the sex scene" because I cant blame you girl that shit gives me second-hand embarrassment)

Now, let's talk about travnat specifically.

s1e4 - Travis is trying to cut off his dads ring for Javi. he cant do it. nat does it for him. this is the first time they actually have a positive interaction (IMO). nat didn't have to do that. but she did.

s1e4 - the scene in the plane when they share a smoke and talk about their dads. its a trauma-bonding moment. i enjoy that. sue me. they're both able to connect on a level like that because they share similar experiences. both witnessed what happened to their dad. both had a rough relationship with their dad.

s1e4 - that scene where they shoot the buck. nat starts tearing up and having flashbacks. travis is able to calm her breathing down enough to kill the deer.

s1e5 - the scene where they talk about the girls being on their periods. its cute. they flirt and tease. ITS CUTE. sue me. their teasing goes from hostile to playful.

s1e5 - the "magic trick" and the kiss had me giggling and kicking my feet. its cute. nat looks HAPPY. how often is this girl happy anymore? not often!

s1e6 - that plane scene when they're kissing. nat saw that travis was uncomfortable (and likely in his own head) after the tray table thing, and she was able to get them back into the moment without too much fuss.

s1e6 - plane scene with condom. travis was just... insecure. nat realises that after he reveals that he's a virgin. nat reiterates that their relationship means something.

s1e7 - nat asking travis not to go 😭😭😭😭😭 puppy eyes bro. the way travis responds w tears in his eyes...............

s1e8 - nat having the talk w ben about travis. ben saying "I've seen the way he looks at you"...................... ugh puppy love

s1e9 - him sleeping with jackie and saying "but what about natalie?" before they do anything, saying that he thinks he's in love with her........................... if jackie didn't do the whole gaslight thing I don't think they would have slept together. but I think travis felt bad for jackie, travis was also still hurting from his interaction with nat about bobby farleigh, AND the shrooms. it was a bad combination.

s1e9 - nat having her talk w ben about how she thinks she's in love w travis........................ ugh

s1e9 - nat saving travis from shauna right before shauna slices his throat open. travis being #1 priority before she deals w everyone else.

s1e10 - the love confession. (WITH THAT MF ULTRAVOX PLAYING. THAT WAS FUCKED UP. YOU CANT PLAY THAT FOR A MOMENT LIKE THIS AND THE SCENE WHERE WE SEE TRAVIS'S DEAD BODY. FUCKED UP.

early s2 - nat waking up earlier than she normally would for hunting to help travis look for javi. does she have to? no. but she does because she cares about him.

s2e4 - travis being a malewife and helping nat get ready for the competition

s2e4 - travis being the one to pull nat out of the ice and comfort her after they drop the moose

s2e5 - the argument between them about javi being fucked up because travis stopped looking for him after nat planted the ripped, bloodied clothing. i cant blame travis for acting this way. id be pissed if I found out my partner did that too.

s1e8 -the "you're not a bad person, nat. I'm sorry for ever making you feel like one." ugh. traumatized babies.

s1e8 - TRAVIS SAIVNG NAT FROM SHAUNA. TRAVIS SAVING NAT FROM SHAUNA. TRAVIS SAVING NAT FROM SHUANA

s1e9 - the scene when everyone is like pledging allegiance to nat or w/e and travis places her hand over his heart I'm sobbing

anyways. yes. i dislike travis. but i like travnat. i hope i dont regret saying this in the next season, but for right now? i like them. there are more reasons I like travnat than reasons I dislike travis. travis has done fucked up things, but so has nat. their characters and relationship is flawed and I like that. sue me

[novascharms]

MY STRANGE ADDICTION - RAFE CAMERON

dealer! rafe cameron x maddy perez

Maddy Perez has never been addicted to drugs—nor will she ever be. Her only addiction is the campus dealer she just can't seem to shake off and no matter how hard she tries to break free, she keeps getting pulled back into his orbit.

masterlist  w.c — 800 c.w — none a.n — choosing to continue this cause i got two free weeks and like lots of ideas abt these two for someee reason. lets ignore that rafe would actually off himself if he had to deal with maddy hihi :)

how rafe usually grovels for forgiveness <3

Maddy rested her head on BB's shoulder, her half-lidded eyes fixed on the professor’s projected computer screen, though none of the words actually registered. She hadn’t been in the lecture hall for more than five minutes and already regretted letting Kat convince her to drag herself out of bed for this stupid 8 AM class.

“Coffee’s not cutting it anymore,” Cassie grumbled, sliding into the seat next to Maddy and BB at the far back of the room. “At this point, I need caffeine intravenously.”

Maddy groaned, her voice muffled by exhaustion. “I could kill Kat.” Her eyes flicked around the lecture hall. Students were still filing in, with about seven minutes left before the lecture started, but there was no sign of Kat.

“She better show up,” Maddy muttered, her voice edged with irritation. “Or I swear to God—”

“How does Lexi do this every single day?” BB cut in, cracking open a can of Red Bull and taking a long sip.

“She’s insane,” Cassie replied flatly, leaning back in her seat.

“She’s just more disciplined than we’ll ever be,” came Kat’s chipper voice from the aisle. She appeared with her usual infuriatingly bright smile, the kind that made Maddy’s scowl deepen. “That’s why she got into a way better school than us.”

Maddy crossed her legs, pulling out her phone with a dramatic yawn. She began scrolling through her notifications aimlessly, barely registering anything on the screen.

“Oh my God, I love your nails!” Cassie tilted her head to get a closer look, admiring the tiny rhinestones glinting against Maddy’s polished tips.

“Thank youuuu,” Maddy sang, holding up her hand to admire them herself.

“Didn’t you just get a new set?” Kat asked, her brow furrowing as she leaned in for a better look.

“Yeah,” Maddy replied with a casual nod. “Got sick of them.”

Kat’s eyes narrowed. “Isn’t this, like, your third new set this month?”

Maddy paused to think, “Hmm, I think so, yeah.”

The girls stared at her as if she’d just sprouted a second head.

“Is your nail tech that affordable? Put me on.” BB asked, incredulous.

Maddy raised a brow. “Oh, God no. She charges a ton, but I can’t cheat on her. My cuticles have never been better. Plus, the last girl butchered my nails so bad I was bleeding.”

“I remember that,” Kat said, scrunching her nose in sympathy.

Cassie frowned, clearly doing the math in her head. “Wait…you can afford three sets a month?”

Maddy shook her head, not even looking up from her phone. “Rafe pays for them.”

A stunned silence fell over the group. All three girls exchanged wide-eyed glances. Maddy hadn’t so much as mentioned Rafe’s name since the last party, and they were approaching the one-month mark that usually ended their no-contact period. Everyone had been holding their breath, waiting to see if she’d relapse on him.

“I thought you stopped talking to him,” Kat ventured cautiously.

“I’m not talking to him.”

“And you’re not…you know.” Cassie gave her a pointed look, laced with judgment.

Maddy shot her a sharp glare. “I’m not fucking him either.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” BB leaned forward, her voice incredulous. “He’s paying for your shit, and you’re not even putting out?” Her voice carried loud enough that half the lecture hall turned to look at them.

“Bitch, shut up!” Kat hissed, shoving her.

BB grimaced and lowered her voice. “How the hell did you manage that?”

Maddy leaned back in her seat, folding her arms. “He’s groveling,” she said simply, her tone dripping with disdain.

The silence from her friends was deafening, forcing her to elaborate. “I’m not answering his calls or texts. He’s trying to…apologize.” She wrinkled her nose like the word itself offended her.

“You thought I was just paying for all that takeout?” Maddy asked, turning to Cassie with an arched brow.

Cassie’s eyes widened in realization. “Wait, he’s been sending all that food? I thought you were just being nice!”

Maddy snorted. “Have you met me?” She opened her banking app and held her phone up for them to see. A long list of direct deposits from Rafe filled the screen.

“And that doesn’t even include the food and the random packages he keeps sending to our dorm,” Maddy added as she turned off her phone.

BB stared at the phone, her expression one of mock despair. “God, when is it my turn?” she muttered, looking heavenward.

Kat laughed, shaking her head. “You don’t even believe in God.”

“Well, I’m starting now,” BB said, gesturing dramatically toward Maddy. “Because clearly, He’s real.”

Kat turned back to Maddy. “So…are you gonna see him again?”

Before Maddy could respond, her phone buzzed with a new message. She glanced down at the screen, her lips curving into an amused smile as she read it.

“Mm, maybe,” she said, her tone light and nonchalant. But the glint in her eye said everything her words didn't.

masterlist

[tarotsoul]

ghost in the wind — part three

summary: as feelings progress and truths unfold, you're left with a decision that could end your entire existence as you know it. the mother has a path for every soul, perhaps this was where yours was supposed to end.

warnings: swearing, mentions and brief descriptions of sexual abuse, consensual sexual themes, mentions of death and suicide.

word count: 5.8k

series masterlist

Feyre Archeron could never begin to imagine the pain and horror her older cousin had faced in the mortal lands. Rhysand hadn’t shared that image, hadn’t shared the memories he’d witnessed when he took some of that pain away from you. 

She didn’t need her mate to share those visuals. Not when she felt every ounce of anguish through their bond. And every day since then, she had not been able to forget it. 

Another two weeks had passed since your arrival, three in total of your being in the Night Court, and you were finally beginning to work through your trauma. 

The offer had been there to find your own place of residence, to have that independence if you so wished. But after speaking with Feyre and Rhysand, after learning it was in fact Nesta who had imposed the leave Y/N be rule… you realised just how much you loved living in the House with your family. 

Your friends. 

So when you’d finally accepted Mor’s desperate pleas to take you shopping and fill your empty wardrobe…

“You’re going to need another dresser.” 

You blinked, taking in the mess around you. Your entire closet was stuffed to the brim with dresses, blouses, sweaters, coats…

And the pile on your bed…there was no chance of those articles of clothing fitting in the closet too. Nesta was right, you definitely needed another dresser. 

“Rhys is going to lose his shit when he finds out how much we spent.” 

Your eyes widened at Nesta’s words, not quite picking up the teasing tone she spoke in. Mor shot her a look and threw a sweater at her face. 

“She’s kidding,” Mor reassured. “My dear cousin has more money than sense. This won’t have even made a dent in his wealth.” 

A relief, but that guilt began to creep its way into the pit of your stomach nonetheless. You were ashamed to admit that while you had fun shopping with Mor and your cousin, you hadn’t even taken a moment to realise how much everything had cost. 

Nesta threw herself onto your bed, right on top of the throng of clothes you needed to find a place for. “I’m thinking we raid Rhys’ wine cellar tonight…”

A gleaming smile radiated off Mor’s face in agreeance and they both turned to you with upraised brows, expectant. 

You pursed your lips, an apologetic smile on your face. “I told Rhys and Feyre that I’d babysit Nyx tonight.” 

Nesta huffed and threw herself back on the mattress again, clothes bouncing and crinkling as she did so. Mor raised another brow, as if that wasn’t a good enough excuse. 

“So? I’ve gotten drunk while watching Nyx loads of times.” 

Nesta seethed at her. “One, that’s my nephew and I never want to hear you doing that again. And two, Y/N’s tolerance to alcohol won’t be as strong as ours. Two glasses and she’d be borderline incapacitated.”

Despite the slight insult, a laugh bubbled up your throat at just how right she was. Because you’d never even drank a sip of wine in your life, and Nesta knew that. 

“I’m surprised you don’t have plans with Azriel…” 

Mor was prying, you knew that. But you had no control over the heat that made its way across your neck and face. 

“We’re just friends.” It wasn’t a lie. You’d spent a lot of time together the past couple of weeks, and he was one of the only people you felt truly comfortable around. 

Mor gave you a knowing look. “Mhm, tell that to his shadows.” 

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

Nesta scoffed, sitting up again. “Az’s shadows are basically an extension of himself.”

Mor hummed. “They don’t do anything unless Azriel commands it. Or sometimes, they’ll do something based on his emotions or thoughts. They’re so friendly with you because Azriel likes you.” 

Your cheeks burned. You hadn’t realised his shadows touching you was a product of Azriel’s emotions. And the more you thought about it, there hadn’t been a time since you met him that they hadn’t touched you in some way. 

You didn’t say that, though. No. Azriel clearly had no qualms about other people noticing, but that did not mean you were willing to gossip about it. 

You did not need to allow silly fantasies to root their way in your mind. Azriel was your friend. And you were okay with him only wanting you as such. 

Within an hour, Mor had disappeared to tend to her own duties and just as Nesta was about to leave for hers, she grabbed your wrist and motioned for you to look at her. 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

She didn’t need to say anything more. Those words were enough—more than enough. She saw you, she recognised everything you had been through and everything you did every day to overcome it. 

I’m proud of you. 

The last and only person to have ever told you that was your mother. 

And because you saw her too, because you remembered fhe young mortal woman she was before her own struggles of turning Fae and adjusting to her new lifestyle, you found yourself saying, “I’m proud of you, too, Ness.”

Nyx had been wonderful to look after that night. 

You’d gotten all the cuddles and boyish giggles, the beautiful little smiles and a few stinky diapers to go with it. You loved every moment with the little babe, and when Rhys and Feyre returned from their night off early in the morning, you offered to sit with him again whenever they needed it. 

But despite how fulfilling and wonderful it had been, it had also hurt. You wondered if you’d ever be blessed with the opportunity to carry and birth your own child. Wondered if you’d ever even find someone to want you in that way. 

Especially within Prythian. 

It was another late night for you, though your reading sessions had taken you from the lounge to the library. And you no longer spent them alone. 

Azriel sat on the couch opposite you, his nose deep in a book as you watched him. In the past week, you’d spent a lot of time together. It ranged from walks into the city to sitting and reading in the library until early hours of the morning. 

You’d grown accustomed to his presence, his scent often able to calm any anxiety or qualms you felt. He had noticed, of course, he wasn’t a Spymaster for nothing. But Azriel did not mention the change in you whenever he was around. 

He basked in it, in the way you appeared so much more comfortable with him. You weren’t afraid to speak up, to ask questions or acknowledge whatever was on your mind. 

You were coming out of your shell and it warmed Azriel’s heart to know that he was somewhat of the cause for it. 

“What does salacious mean?”

Azriel blinked repeatedly as your voice broke him from his thoughts. Salacious? His throat tightened. You’d often ask for definitions of things you were unsure on, sometimes even asking how to pronounce words you had never come across. 

But salacious? 

“Are you reading Nesta’s romance novels?” He quirked a brow. 

Your lips involuntarily pouted at him, your own brows furrowing just slightly as you rested the open book back into your blanket-covered lap. “Yes. Why?”

Anxiety creeped its way into your stomach, rooting deep into your flesh from the inside out. Reminders of how this used to go flashed through your mind and suddenly, it felt like you were back in the village, back in the mortal lands and living with Rafe. 

A tendril of darkness peaked at the corner of your vision and you focussed on it, watching it slowly dance across your knuckles and weave between your fingers in a calming manner. 

Shadows. Azriel. Library. Velaris. Safe. 

And just like that, the anxiety un-clawed its roots and crept away. 

Azriel nodded ever so slightly to the book, knowing exactly what had just happened with you but acting as if he didn’t. “Salacious means…having inappropriate interest in sexual matters.”

There was no hiding the heat on your cheeks—the way it burned your soft skin. You tore your gaze from his as quickly as you could, unable to contain your slight shame and embarrassment. 

But Azriel did not mind one bit. 

Azriel had secrets. He supposed that being the Night Court’s Spymaster, it was to be expected. But these secrets were different from the others, something he kept locked tight in his mind for the past month. 

And it wasn’t the secrets that had him moving closer and spending all of his time in the lower level of the House. No. That was very much you and your presence and whatever it was in your soul that called out to his. 

He couldn’t stay away—though, it wasn’t like he even tried—for that pull was far too strong for even his willpower. 

He had suspicions. Suspicions of a golden thread that started in his chest and ended in yours. He knew it was far fetched, knew he was only hurting himself by entertaining the complete insanity of the idea. 

You were human. Mortal. And mortals didn’t have mates. He told himself so every day, and right after, like clockwork, he countered his own sound advice with the one thing that had been troubling him the most.

Because what mortal could plant and bloom a patch of tulips with nothing more than a thought and a touch. What mortal could speak so clearly to the earth and create life right before another’s eyes. 

Despite the possible threat that could pose for his court and his family, Azriel had kept that tidbit of information to himself. Just for now. Just until he could make sense of it. Then, and only then, would he bring that information to light. 

Because Azriel did not feel any ounce of danger or ill intent from you. He did not feel anything but warmth and intrigue and that godforsaken sensation when you grew excitable over something. 

He couldn’t take that from you. Not when you were finally coming out of your shell, finally talking and laughing and going as far as joining him and Cassian for training twice a week. 

“If sex makes you uncomfortable, there are other romance novels without that.”

Heat warmed your skin again. Shadows dared to intertwine with your fingers. 

“No, it’s not that.” You played with his shadows, allowing them to caress your skin. “Sex doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I’ve just never had a good enough experience to understand much.”

He didn’t push, didn’t ask further questions. You wouldn’t be embarrassed for this, for something that was not your fault. You wouldn’t cower anymore, hide what you felt or thought. No longer would there be repercussions for speaking your mind. 

So you spoke again. 

“Rafe was the only person I’d ever…it’s just different to read it, to have it described as something enjoyable.”

Azriel’s knuckles turned white. Something enjoyable. He’d never experienced it to be anything but. His soul almost cleaved in two at the thought of what you’d endured. 

Azriel dared to glance at you again. “Sex with the right person can be very enjoyable. It should be nothing but beautiful.”

He stiffened then, blood thumping in his ears. His shadows stilled, noticing the shift in your scent just as their master had. Sweet, all consuming arousal, and Azriel did not miss the way your thighs pressed together in impulse. 

He swallowed thickly. 

You broke his gaze, your own heart thumping sporadically as you stared at the pages on your lap. You couldn’t help your mind wandering to thoughts of him, of experiencing that with him. You knew it was wrong. So, so wrong. 

“The thought of being intimate like that with someone new…” You couldn’t find the words to express the fear and anxiety that came with that thought.

Azriel listened intently, breathing deeply. 

“I want to experience life the way it should be experienced. Not the way others have pushed it upon me.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his book on his knee. “You control your life now, nobody else. If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.”

You wondered then if he could see into your mind as Rhysand could. If he could feel that shift in the air. If he could smell it on you. That want and desire. You would not apologise for it. Not anymore. 

“But if it feels wrong, is that not my guts way of warning me?” You countered. 

Azriel smiled, just barely. His knuckles still white. “It’s your guts way of protecting you. Because you’ve never experienced anything beyond what others bestowed upon you.”

Gods above. 

An ache fluttered in your chest, just above your breast and you absentmindedly rubbed at it, disrupting the neckline of your shirt. Azriel’s eyes squinted at the exposed skin, at the mark that adored your flesh. 

“Are you hurt?” His tone was primal, protective. 

You paused your movements, following his gaze. “Oh, no.” You pulled your shirt a little lower. “Just a birthmark.”

He needed to compose himself, needed to stop allowing his mind to wander about other areas of your concealed skin. He felt like nothing more than a big brute. 

Your soft, airy giggle woke him from his daze and he looked over to find tendrils of darkness caressing any inch of your skin that they could. Gods, if he didn’t have a leash on his emotions around you, how could he control his damned shadows. 

“It’s like they have a mind of their own.”

They didn’t. But he couldn’t correct you. Not without exposing the fact that they only fed off their masters emotions and desires. Not without exposing the fact that Azriel wished he was the one touching your skin and not his shadows. 

He swallowed again, throat dry. 

“Nesta told me that they’re an extension of yourself. That they only act if you will it.” You didn’t know why you said it, why you thought you had the right to speak that truth. 

But you would not apologise, even as Azriel remained silent for a few moments. Partly out of shock, partly in awe. But that was another thing he would not speak aloud. 

“Sometimes they can act on behalf of my emotions. My desires and wants.”

You dared to meet his honey eyes. “And that’s what you want?” You were breathless, a feeling in your stomach that you’d never once experienced before. “You want to touch me?” 

Neither of you knew where this confidence had come from, but Azriel did not question it and you did not apologise. 

He shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t repeat the words that echoed in his mind and soul and body. But, Gods…he could not seem to regain any semblance of control when he stared into your eyes. He could not lie to you, could not hide what he felt. 

“I want to do a lot of things.” The admittance was barely audible, nothing more than a breath he’d been holding but you heard it all the same. As though you’d demanded the words out of him. 

You couldn’t look away, even if you tried. Your entire being was encapsulated by him. Your chest heaved, legs ached. The shadows slowly left your shoulders and neck, returning to their previous position at your fingers. 

“But above all, I want you to be comfortable. Happy.” 

Something compelled you to stand, the shadows seemingly guiding you to their master as your book toppled to the couch. He watched with a hungry gaze, one full of faltering self-control. 

If you want something, despite how wrong that desire may feel at first, take it.

Take it. 

Take it. 

“I’m comfortable with you.” 

The shadows moved like a breeze between you both, tugging you closer and closer. Nothing else mattered, not in that moment. Not when your soul felt like it was singing, like it was exactly where it longed to be. 

Azriel stood slowly, towering above you once at his full height. You strained your neck to meet his gaze and he bent his to come closer. You could feel his breath dance with yours, could feel his hard chest press upon your soft one. 

No part of you felt nervous, no part of you felt unworthy. 

But Azriel…he didn’t know what to do. For weeks he’d been dreaming of this moment, dreaming of the taste of your lips, the touch of your skin. He slowly raised a scarred hand to caress your warm cheek, and you didn’t cower or shy away from his touch. 

A test, perhaps. To see if you really could handle the intimacy of another male so soon after what you’d endured. You didn’t falter, didn’t break his gaze. He wanted you, more than he ever wanted anything else before. 

“What you went through…”

“I don’t want to talk about what I went through,” you cut him off. “That was then, this is now. I don’t want to live in the past.”

Take it.

Take it. 

Your lips…so close to touching his. 

The shadows swirled in delight, excitement.

Azriel knew this wouldn’t be just a kiss. This wouldn’t be meaningless. He felt it, in every part of him, he felt the way your entire being sang to his. He wanted to lay his soul bare before you. 

He itched to brush your hair behind your ear, to hold you and taste you. But Rhysand’s voice echoed through his mind, beckoning him for his assistance. He closed his eyes, huffed out a breath.

“Rhys is calling for me.” 

Azriel stepped away, removed his palm from your skin. You swallowed, stepping back and letting your eyes fixate on the rug beneath your feet. He cleared his throat, struggling to reign in those shadows of his. 

“I’ll come to you tonight…we can talk then.”

But had Azriel waited just a few moments longer, had he given into the urge to brush your hair from your face, he would’ve noticed the slight point that had formed at the top of your ears. 

Azriel didn’t meet you in your chambers that night. And you didn’t see him the next morning. Or the day after that. 

Cassian had mentioned that Rhys sent him on a mission. That he would be back in a few days. 

But something was wrong, you could feel it in every inch of your body. An ache that only got worse with every passing moment. You tried to ignore it, tried to relax in a hot bath with soothing lavender oils. Nothing relieved the pain. Nothing soothed the ache.

And when you left your bathroom and found your once round ears now pointed, and a trail of tulips following in your wake, your legs carried you toward the kitchen before you had a moment to consider it. Cassian and Nesta sat at the table, giggling over their breakfast when you stumbled toward them. 

“What’s happening?” Your panicked tone caught their attention, eyes wide as they stood and took in what lay before them. 

From the stone ground, moss and grass and flowers bloomed as though you stood in the middle of a field. Daisies and buttercups sprouted in your hair, roots of trees tangling around your limbs. 

Everything was so loud yet muffled. Like every word was screamed in your ear but somehow underwater as Cassian called out frantically to Rhysand. Neither of them went near you, even when Rhys flew through the open balcony doors, Feyre in tow. 

They looked at you with nothing less than concern and fear. 

“What in the Gods is happening to me?!” You demanded. 

Rhysand held Feyre back as she attempted to near you, his gaze locked on you as he assessed the situation. But it wasn’t the flowers or grass or roots that he watched. It was you, and the way your crescent-moon birthmark glowed something violet. 

Rhys had known, had suspected something lay dormant within you. From that moment he entered your mind, when he gazed upon that luscious field that seemed to call to you with promises of something new. 

He’d never witnessed such before. Not in the most powerful of Fae had he ever stumbled across that. 

With a very careful step forward, his gaze demanded yours. Feyre had told him of your mother, of her death and your marriage to Rafe. And his voice was soft when he finally asked the question that had been on his mind ever since. 

“What happened the night your mother died?” 

The world went still, cold. Feyre whirled to him in protest. 

“Rhys—“

“—it was a house fire.” 

All eyes turned to you, to the patches of bloom that haltered their growth. 

Rhysand took another step closer. “Where were you?” 

“I—“

A heat unlike any other licked at your skin, waking you from your peaceful slumber. A heat so unwelcomed that you bolted upright in a sheen of your own sweat. 

You could hear the wood of your cottage crackling under a burning flame, and smoke quickly infiltrated your room. You coughed, attempting to swat it away as you squinted in the darkness. 

“Mama!?” You called out, panic stricken in your voice and body. 

Fear began to cripple you, began to take away any sense of self preservation. You couldn’t leave your bed. Your door now engulfed in flames, you screamed. 

“Help! Someone, please help!”

No one was coming. This was the end. You couldn’t move, couldn’t get to your beloved mother. A shrill cry, unlike anything you’d ever heard before, split your heart in two. 

A scream of pure agony and fear tore through your throat, your eyes clenched shut as you gave your body over to the fire. 

Only the next breath you breathed was clean and cold. And your sheets were no longer beneath you, no. Now you laid on the rich soil outside of your home, your fingers rooting themselves into the dirt. 

You screamed and sobbed, unable to do anything but watch as the fire claimed your home and your mother. 

You were sobbing, collapsed to the ground as you struggled to breathe at the memory. 

Rhysand dared another step closer, kneeling before you now and his eyes held such sorrow, such remorse. 

“Y/N…” he spoke softly. “Was your mother ever accused of being a witch?” 

Nesta seethed, threatening. “Rhysand, that’s—“

“How do you know that?” Everything felt very, very still. No one should have known that. No one of these lands should have known that. 

Rhys didn’t answer your question. And despite the sound of large wings breezing through the sky, you did not look away from the High Lord. Not even as Azriel rushed into the House and his heart sunk at what he bore. 

“The day I entered your mind and took some of your pain away, I felt something. Something within you that I have never, in my 500 years of life, felt before.”

Azriel took a step closer. He should have said something when he first noticed the flowers. Because now, whatever power you had…it was consuming you. 

“I’d like to try something,” Rhysand proposed. 

You struggled to keep your breathing even. “What is it?” 

Another step closer, a warm hand on yours. 

“I’d like to enter your mind as far back as it will allow me. Just to see if I can find something.”

Violet eyes watched yours. “Find what?”

He squeezed your hand in reassurance. “Something to make sense of this.”

A moment of pause, to take in your surroundings. The flowers and soil had sprouted to cover the entire expanse of the lounge floor, your friends and cousins standing just beyond the brush of it. 

Eyes flickered to something hazel. Azriel. He stood in the soil, flora coating his ankles and he struggled to keep a tight leash on the shadows that fought to reach you. 

You looked back at Rhysand. 

“Will it hurt?” 

He shook his head. “No, not if you don’t resist.” 

That suddenly sounded an awful lot like your past. Memories of Rafe pinning you to the bed—scolding, reprimanding, promising no pain if you didn’t resist. 

This wasn’t like that, you had to remind yourself. You were safe. They only wanted to help. To understand. 

Azriel stepped closer, ignoring the silent warning that Rhysand whispered into his mind. A scarred hand out held, you took it. And Rhysand took that moment of distraction to enter your mind. 

The first memory he saw was one from just days before. You and Azriel reading in the library, the shadows that swirled your fingers and arms, the near-kiss that escalated into nothing. 

He dug deeper. The next, of you and Azriel again, exploring the city where you left a trail of green and brown tulips in your wake on the embankment of the river. 

Deeper and deeper, until the memories showed you living in the mortal lands. A blow to the face, to your stomach and your head. Rafe seething above you as he shouted and belittled you. 

Deeper, to a memory of your husband pinning you to the mattress, of his body crushing yours as he stole everything you never offered. 

Every memory Rhysand met, you re-lived them. 

A little deeper and he was watching you at the Archeron household, helping Elain plant seeds, watching Feyre paint, reading with Nesta. 

Deeper and deeper he went, passing the memories of the fire, of your mother, until he found exactly what he was looking for. 

“She is my child too, Selenthia. You cannot keep her from me.” A voice you did not recognise. A memory you did not recall. 

“For her protection, I will do what I must.” Selenthia seethed, coddling you closer to her chest. “No one can know what she is, or she’ll be hunted for the rest of her life.”

The unknown male huffed. He was beautiful. Tall and lean, strong and commanding. But there was something about him. Something not quite right. 

“So you plan to lock her away for the rest of her life?”

Selenthia bared her teeth. “I would never lock my child away. She will live her life as a mortal. I won’t subject her to a life like mine or yours.”

A moment of silence. “You cannot hide her from what she is.” He spoke softer now, edging close to peer at you, his daughter. 

“What do you plan to do when she first bleeds? When her ears point and her power grows—“

“That won’t happen.” There was no room for discussion in Selenthia’s voice. She placed a finger over your heart, a familiar violet glow permitting from her skin to yours. 

“What are you doing?” That male’s voice, cold once more. 

“I’m burying her power. So long as this wyrd remains on her skin, she’ll be safe.”

Selenthia pulled away, just enough to take a look at the mark that marred your skin. A mark two shades darker than the rest of your flesh, the shape of a crescent moon and no larger than a fingernail. 

“There. Nothing more than a birthmark.”

Rhysand retreaded from your mind, panting and shaking. Tears streamed down his flushed face, your own skin staining with silver, too. 

“What is it?” Nesta demanded, daring a step closer. 

But those tulips and daisies and buttercups…the soil and grass and roots, they all began to sink into the ground until nothing but the florals in your hair remained. 

“My mother…she…she was a witch. A healing earth witch. And my father—he…”

“Your father was Fae.” Azriel breathed, his eyes focused on the point of your ears that peeked through your hair and flowers.

“He was of the Night Court. A High Fae male.” Rhysand added gravely. 

Azriel’s hold on the shadows loosened and he allowed them to caress you, comfort you. Your hand never left his. 

You pulled away from Rhysand, clutching at your chest—at that crescent moon you always thought was a birthmark. Your mothers protection all along. 

“When you crossed the wall into the Fae lands, your power tried to break through. It was your mothers mark that had been keeping it buried with you all these years.” 

You dared a look at your cousins. But they looked at you with nothing but sorrow and anguish. No fear. They did not fear you, they did not pity you. In their eyes all you could see was longing. A longing for you to no longer live in such agony and hardships. 

“Our mothers were sisters. Does that mean—“

“I don’t think so,” Rhysand cut you off. “If they held the magic you do, I believe their power would have shown by now. They were Made. So it’s possible the Cauldron could’ve interfered with it if that were the case.” 

It was too much. All of it. Reliving those memories again, seeing your father… You couldn’t do this. Couldn’t have magic and powers. You could not be half Fae, half witch. 

It would be easy to give up. It would be so easy to ignore it until it killed you. So easy to just let go of everything. But a pounding in your soul begged you not to. Begged you to fight with everything you had. Begged you to live. 

“Burn the mark.” 

All attention snapped to you, flickering from your face to the mark on your chest that finally stopped glowing. 

“Are you insane?” Nesta seethed. 

You looked at her. “I don’t think I’d be far off to guess that if I don’t burn this mark, this…power will consume me entirely. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to be so lost because I have no idea who I am. This is who I am, whether I like it or not. I won’t run anymore.”

Feyre stepped closer, crouching to your level and taking your spare hand in hers. Azriel still held tight to the other. “If you wish to burn it, it will unleash whatever power you have at full force. You don’t have any training, any control over it.” 

You felt sick to your stomach. “I don’t want to die, Fey.” 

And that was enough to enrage Feyre in a way she’d never once felt before. “You are not going to die. Do you understand me?”

Azriel squeezed your hand, begging for you to look at him. You couldn’t. You couldn’t stomach the thought of him looking at you any different than he had three days ago. 

“Rhys, fetch Madja. We will burn the mark in a controlled environment. Where any fallout can be contained.”

You shook your head, not willing to risk a single soul because of your selfish decision to live. 

“No,” you said. “Drop me to the mountains and I’ll burn it myself.”

Nesta scoffed. “Oh, you are insane.”

You seethed at her. The first ounce of anger you’d truly shown. The first time you’d ever directed it at anyone but yourself. 

“This isn’t your decision. I will not risk anyone. Azriel can take me to the mountains and you can all keep your distance. At least until it’s safe.”

Until it’s safe. As if you knew for certain you’d survive it. You truly weren’t sure you would. There was nothing more to discuss, your tone made that clear enough. 

“Fly me, winnow me…whatever. Just do it now before I change my mind.”

Within a blink, your body was shivering and you were no longer in the House of Wind. Shadows encased your entire body, darkness swarming every inch of you. You said nothing as Azriel held you, nothing at all as he flew you across Velaris and toward the highest mountain just outside of the city. 

Only when he landed, when he refused to remove his hold from you, did the darkness dissipate and hazel eyes gazed into yours. 

“I’m staying with you.” 

“No, you’re not. I won’t risk your life, Azriel.” 

He set you to your feet, holding your hands now to keep you close. A plea of desperation swam in his eyes, his entire body yearning to take you and find another way to fix this. 

“There is no other option. If I don’t burn this mark, I don’t know what my power might do. It might kill me, it might destroy this city. I cannot risk anyone’s life for mine.”

Azriel parted his lips to speak but you shook your head, squeezing his hands. 

“If I don’t survive this—“

“Don’t.”

“Please, listen to me.” Silver lined your eyes, blurring your vision. “If I don’t survive this, I want you to know how special your friendship has been to me. How much I care for you, for your family.” A sob tore through your throat. “And I am so incredibly sorry for burdening you all in this way.” 

You reached on the tips of your toes and pressed your lips to his. Warmth and love and the most raw emotion could be felt between you both. An apology for not having longer, a prayer that there would still be time. 

A fuse lit within the pit of your stomach, in the pit of Azriel’s. Tears stained your lips, stained his. In that moment, you were one. Whole, as though you always should have been. 

You pulled away first, forcing your hands from his hold. You took several steps back, blinking through the distorted vision and swiping away and evidence of the fear that crippled you. 

A puff of violet darkness misted beside Azriel as Rhysand winnowed to the mountains. Pain flicked through his eyes, regret and the same sorrow you saw in your cousins. 

You did not meet his gaze. 

“Summon a fire.”

He did as you asked. And handed you a blade. 

You did not grant them another look, did not give into the pleading in your mind to watch them leave. Or else you would’ve seen Rhysand drag Azriel off that mountain. You would’ve seen the anguish on the Shadowsingers face. 

Alone. As you had been your whole life. Though the weeks spent in Velaris had given you a taste of what could’ve been. You’d treasure those memories in the Hereafter. Those and the precious ones of your late mother. 

For they were all you had left. 

You did not allow another tear to fall. Not as you hovered the blade over the flame, not as you tugged your shirt down and took a deep breath. 

For if all you were ever meant to be was a ghost in the wind, you were content to know you’d reunite with your mother soon. Where you would no longer feel such pain. 

You didn’t want to die. But if this was all the time you were fated to have, then so be it. Better you than someone else. 

“Keep them safe.” A whisper to the winds, if they deigned to listen. 

With a final breath, you pressed the scorching blade against the mark on your skin and the entirety of your captive power unleashed upon the mountain as your body allowed it to consume you. Until you saw and heard and felt nothing at all. 

From below, the city shook, a thundering boom and a gust of aftershock and pelting mountain debris that blew the Inner Circle back. 

Then there was silence. 

And Azriel’s soul bellowed. 

a/n: so a LOT happened in this chapter and there is still a lot more to happen, i'm hoping i can fit it into two parts but it may be stretched into three, we'll have to see!! i'm so grateful for all the love you guys have been giving this series and i am so excited for you to find out how it all ends!!

if you enjoyed it, please consider giving it a like and reblog, your feedback is always appreciated <3

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[cripplecharacters]

Hi, 

So, I have written expression disorder and dysgraphia, which means this might be a bit rambly or unclear but I’ll try my best to stay on as clear and as brief as I can. 

I’m currently writing a fanfiction for Wynonna Earp as a way to improve my writing skills without needing to stress about it. Background on the show: It’s a supernatural show based around a descendant of Wyatt Earp who was a legal officer in the wild west and got involved in a massive feud. It also has his friend Doc Holliday becoming immortal and being a love interest for the main character. The primary reason I’m doing this is because I dislike how they portrayed Doc Holliday in the series (often outright the opposite of the reality) and also because they just left out the fact he was disabled completely. Due to a gunshot wound when he was fairly young, probably along with weakness due to having tuberculosis for most of his adult life, which did eventually kill him, he used a cane part time. He also had a cleft lip and palate that was surgically corrected and he got surgery for it as an infant and had speech therapy, which doesn’t really seem to have impacted his adult life much in what I’m writing.

 I do have chronic pain due to an injury which was pretty bad when I was younger, so having a character who’s portrayed as dealing with that and continuing to be brave and selfless would have meant the whole world to me at that point in my life and still will. But as I was doing research I ran into a few things I knew very little about. 

My own disabilities are invisible, which means that I don’t have much experience with how people respond to seeing mobility aids. It would be interesting to show people’s responses, especially since he pretty famously took offense easily and didn’t leave things alone. There’s a fun scene there but I’m not sure what a common response to set it off would be. The biggest problem I have, that I haven’t been able to find a lot about: according to a medical article I read even when it’s cured people who had tuberculosis typically have some lung damage. I haven’t been able to find a lot on how that would impact someone day to day. He was cured of it magically but the idea of there still being damage makes sense based on the in universe rules and also someone being magically cured is generally considered not good. So how would it impact someone on a daily basis?

There’s some things in the research I did that make me think he was autistic (namely literal thinking to the point where he almost killed someone due to not understanding that a duel was meant to be a joke as a teen). Or maybe I’m just projecting because I am. Any ideas for how somebody who grew up in a time where nuerodivergence just wasn’t known would accommodate himself and be helped by friends? How would they understand it at that time?

How in general do friends respond to disabilities and try to help now?

There’s a few other things but they’re mainly just me being a beginner writer who doesn’t honestly. Thank you so much for reading through this even if you don’t end up responding!

[part 2] clarification: I meant the cleft palate wouldn't come up in what I'm writing because he's an adult and it didn't seem to have huge bearing on his adult life. I'm so sorry I left out part of that sentence in my ask bc I have a learning disability! didn't mean to! I'm so sorry and thank you again!

Hello!

People respond in many ways. In the modern west a lot of it involves random strangers being intrusive as shit ("what happened to you??") but in historical times I think it would be more of avoidance, especially if he has visible symptoms of tuberculosis. People still think that "visibly disabled person coughing = plague". If you're going for historical accuracy, it wouldn't really surprise me if strangers didn't want to sit next to him.

Long tuberculosis (affecting 25% of those who had TB) seems to be very similar to COPD, so the main day-to-day effect would probably be fatigue, being out of breath after physical exertion, etc. COPD is an incredibly common disability so you should be able to find a lot of info about it and how it can be managed.

Friends will also respond in many ways, and it also depends a lot on the disabled person. This guy sounds like the "hyper-independent physically disabled man" type and in my experience most of them don't talk about their needs much, especially not with the boys. In this case the accommodation is often just silently agreed on after spending some time together (e.g., after a few times going out they can see how annoyed he gets when they suddenly change plans so they learn to tell him as soon as they know, if he drops something they pick it up for him without saying anything since they know it's tiring for him to get up, etc.). If they know him well enough to know he takes offense easily they probably wouldn't bring up his inability to do something to not upset him and try to work around it instead.

I don't have enough historical knowledge to answer the second question, so I'll leave it to other mods. But I think it'd make sense if they just thought he was eccentric or weird rather than having a medical condition.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

Hello, thank you for your ask! In regards to the second question, it would depend on his symptoms, how well/if he could mask, and how other people view(ed) him.

I'm assuming he's level 1 / low support needs, as you don't mention him having a caretaker or difficulty doing tasks. Some of the examples include specific autistic traits that he may or may not have/used to have, they're mostly there to be examples. These are also assuming you're writing him as an adult only, if you want some info on how it would be like growing up during this time let us know!

Without good knowledge of autism, most people would think he's very strange if he cannot [fully] mask. Flat affect, lack of social understanding and other symptoms would make most allistic people uncomfortable, with responses ranging from thinking he's just weird [and would want to avoid him] to believing he's angry at them specifically [and would either want to avoid him or get aggressive themselves]. Most people will probably just see it as character quirks rather than symptoms of anything, or even think he's choosing to act the way he does. His friends would most likely be other neurodivergent people who either experience the same symptoms or don't have enough of a social understanding to realize he's not acting 'correctly' if he doesn't mask.

Unless his friends/family experience similar symptoms to him, they probably wouldn't understand why he does/reacts the way he does. This isn't to say they wouldn't try to accommodate him still, that moreso depends on the individual, but those who don't understand might try to push him to 'get over it' more than someone who gets it. Like Sasza said, over time his friends would be able to accommodate him by noticing what makes him upset/happy and how to help. 'Doc likes to keep his hands busy so I gave him my butterfly knife to spin' or ' the yelling in the hall was bothering him so I asked if he wanted to go to outside with me' could be ways of accommodating him without realizing, basically seeing his symptoms and trying to find an easy solution to help, wether or not they understand them. They could also give him unhelpful solutions while trying to accommodate, which would probably just further stress Doc if given in a stressful situation. Essentially unless he knows what helps and tells them it would be a guessing game for them [if he does that or his friend[s] respect it depends on them]. Try to think of his symptoms and what might be available at the time to help [like stim toys didn't exist back then but butterfly knives did, and ear defenders weren't a thing but he could walk away if needed].

As to how he'd accommodate himself, he wouldn't know words like 'stim' or 'overstimulated,' but if he doesn't care about/understand social norms he would be more likley to 'move in odd ways' or exit an upsetting area. A more socially conscious person might try to hide it, like using small tactile stims [i.e. rubbing a cloth or tapping his foot] or making excuses to leave an upsetting area. He might also be able to mask and try to just bear it, only unmasking around friends or in private.

Also the wiki said he was born in 1851 but died in 2020, and although autism would be named during his lifetime I'm not sure he would identify with it. The first medical documentation of autism was in 1877, and at the time it was called developmental [r-slur]. I doubt he'd want to identify with that, and even later on autism was only ever studied in children, and of course was not thought of well. It was thought to be caused by cold parenting or a form of psychosis/schizophrenia exclusive to children in the early to mid 1900's. For many, many years the only idea of autism he'd have would essentially be that. Because most studies at the time thought autism could be 'grown out of' [with exception to higher support needs people] he'd have lived most of his life at that point believing it was a child only disease. Even if he hadn't heard about autism until the late 1900's-early 2000's, it was still thought of as a stigmatized childhood disease by the public until recently [even by people today, hence the blog's existence]. If he's the type of character to be less set in his opinions at an old age then maybe later he could read on modern autism and identify with it, but I find older people tend to prefer dismissing disability for the sake of avoiding any change.

I hope this was at all helpful!

Mod Rot

[zara-renata]

jumping up and down pls pls pls tell me your thoughts on caleb’s lore in the main story and what u think after going through his memoria and bond. as soon as they brought up the chip in the main story i wanted to throw my ipad bc i thought they were gonna do the whole “oh he’s not actually like that his mind is twisted from the chip” thing. but then he directly addressed that idea so i was like ok wow i guess not but everyone seems to think he is actually being controlled by the chip??? idk

heey thank you for this ask, i have a lot of thoughts as usual, thank you for asking <3 just a note: i wholly accept the gege caleb is your adopted brother aspect of his story like in the CN, KR, and JP versions, so i'm referring to him as mc's brother below. you can switch out brother for childhood friend; in either case, mc has a deeply rooted relationship with him.

First off, if I had a braincell I might have worried about the chip controlling his brain as a plot device, but I got the yandere vibes from him before he blew up, so that didn't even occur to me. But who are these 'everyone' of whom you speak? I don't think he's being controlled by the chip to any extent that matters in regards to his feelings and behavior towards mc. He's actively fighting against the chip's influence with his wildly cute and bizarre little black hole in his brain blocking its further invasion into his mind. the cliffhanger is, can the EVER scientists figure out a way to work around the block he's thrown up to actually exert control over him? The answer will be -> fuck if I know, I've never played an infold/PG game to later stages, but this is a dating sim, i'm assuming he'll be fine.

But I do think that all of his obsession about MC is wholly his own. His only wish in high school was MC's name -> MC herself. His need to protect her, to provide for her, all his own. he's been wearing a mask his whole life, he tells MC straight up that 'maybe this is how i've always been' because that's who he has always been. he's just finally "done playing these games" and is finally unapologetic about what he wants and is tired of fighting himself in getting it. I love him so much for it. "I know best, I'm the only one who can do this for you, and i'm going to do it whether you like it or not." and then if MC refuses to listen to him, if she pushes back, he looks like a kicked puppy and still keeps doing it. He's Like That without the chip. Is what he's doing okay? No man, this is unhealthy as fuck. if you want a healthy relationship based on mutual trust and support, you don't lie to and drug your sister-girlfriend. you don't urge her to be a hunter and then not trust that she can also take care of herself. you don't loom outside the cafe she's out at friends with and scare her friends into thinking you're some kind of abusive controlling asshole. I mean, unless you're caleb, and he doesn't care, he's finally owning his red flags. But I think it's fabulous to see his pikachu face when MC is like, i don't know you anymore, I might not want to see you for awhile, i'm pissed that you're still treating me like a defenseless little girl when i'm a trained killer now too. he deserves to look like that after all the shit he pulls. i like that infold just takes him right to the edge but doesn't push him over into 'okay this isn't fun anymore' territory with all of his core traits and motivations. he does let her go in the end, he lets her get in the airplane, escape the cage he's dying to put her in. with just the little card, begging her forgiveness, the forgiveness she promised him years ago.

But i digress. I really like the main storyline, but it's not without its flaws. So the things I liked: i'm shocked and happy that they made him full on yandere with the drugging mc and locking her in the house and then locking her in the infirmary and sidelining her at every opportunity in order to protect her. Those parts were great. I think the main story line was a wonderful showcase of how him as a character. I love his tenderness, and his suffocating presence were really well done. I loved how unhinged he is when MC says she doesn't need him, and he knocks over the apples and is laughing in breathless disbelief. Unmasked caleb = hot and a little scary. but please note! even when he's really upset, he does not hurt her! he's a hell of a lot more gentle than sylus! just, you know, throwing that out there.

What I didn't like: I thought that the plot was kind of all over the place. and like they often do in games like these, they nerfed MC in order to emphasize caleb's personality and traits and strengths. the whole mia and kevi storyline was a tragedy, and MC made some stupid-ass choices in it for an elite hunter. Like, the parallels with CalebMC were really clumsy, it felt a bit exploitative because they were such little kids, and for me its only value was highlighting how little Caleb cares about collateral damage in his quest to protect MC. He does not give a fuck if a little girl just like MC dies, as long as MC herself lives. That's some stone-cold villain shit, and I like it. They gave me my green flag with Sylus, I'm happy to have someone with such chilling aspects to his character as a nice balance. ALSO with the main storyline: Look, I love the other LIs. But Zayne, you're green grass, you're so lovely, but i am here for my toxic brother-boyfriend, why are you showing up and making me love how gentle and tender you are, genuinely are, unlike the fucked up walking disaster of a man i'm absolutely swooning over, who is gentle and tender in the way a child is when accidentally suffocating carefully-caught butterfly under a glass bell. Go on zayne, back to akso, I want more of the insecure border collie/german shepard crossbreed puppy masquerading as a colonel.

So because I am mainly interested in this game for the characters and their relationships to MC, I don't really mind that my low expectations for the the actual plot of the game tend to be proven correct and leave so much to be desired. but, If the plot was perfect I wouldn't feel the need to write fic to fix it, so I'm not too upset.

Another thing I hated, but I knew i'd hate: their reunion was so tepid. MC's joy in seeing him again, the relief that he's actually alive, her rage, her grief, everything he put her through in the past year -> like with sylus, glossed over, not addressed to the full extent necessary for a fun story or for emotional catharsis. i thought it was hilarious that mc is like, oh my brother is now a space nazi, and she is immediately ride-or-die, 'i don't even care that you're doing such awful shit, i've got your back no matter what,' even though he put her through so much and reveals himself through the whole main story to be Not The Brother She Knew. Who is this stranger? Apparently MC doesn't care, he wears caleb's face, so she's going to trust him. incredible. stupid. hilarious. but, oh well, that's what fic is for, to fix this nonsense. sidenote: Sylus didn't get this level of benefit of the doubt! MC made him suffer for SO long, suspecting him, not trusting anything he did! justice for sylus! and he had done way less horrible shit than MC watches caleb do!

As for the memoria and the bond: i love that he's been obsessed and nuts about her since high school, long before he left for the DAA. I love that the 4 star cards are all set in the past, but slowly show their growing romantic feelings for each other in high school, and don't just focus exclusively on cute childhood nostalgia. i love that they show how loving caleb is, when he's not wearing his space nazi uniform. because yes he's controlling, possessive, ruthless in a way that not even sylus is, but he really does love mc. he really does want whats best for her, and i think one of his character developments in the game will be learning to let her walk next to him instead of always sidelining her and making her feel less-than as a result. i love that she and caleb fight, and get in spats, and then make up, and he shows all of his emotions on his face. I love that in his memories he tells her that she's beautiful, that he thinks she's amazing. he's so open with his affection for her, and i love that so much, it's heart-fluttering.

Also some more thoughts about Caleb and Sylus I was sharing with @minniestarmj today: i love that caleb and sylus are two sides of the same coin. they're both caretakers, they both are obsessive about mc, they both track her and stalk her, and want what's best for her and to be the ones to give it, but Sylus never considered himself human but slowly finds his humanity in mc, and caleb, if he ever had humanity, slowly loses it because of mc.

they're both brain-empty, only-mc levels of motivation. sylus, though not being human, cares about weaker creatures. caleb only cares about mc, despite being human.

sylus is assured, stable, deeply devoted, MC is his other half, and just as strong and capable as he is. caleb is deeply insecure, unstable, has a trouble keeping a lid on his need for control of and protection of mc. sylus fully respects mc, trusts she can do anything, and is just waiting to step in to support when/if necessary. caleb is fear motivated-i think he does respect, admires, worships mc, but is too afraid of anything happening to her and leaving him alone to give her the freedom she craves/needs.

I love that sylus is the king of control, and can give it up so easily to MC, whereas Caleb is so desperate for control, and is always on the verge of losing it around MC. that's a nice fucking contrast to play with in their respective romances.

All in all, with both Sylus and Caleb, I get my healthy, sweetest beyond measure dragon boy and i get my unhinged yandere cyborg boy, and i love them both very much. i'm happy with the caleb as a character, and all the content they've given us so far. it's a mess, just like him.

So! despite all my bitching i love it and I'm having a great time! Thanks for the ask and making it this far in this rambling diatribe!!

[apomaro-mellow]

Let's get you that bingo🎉 has anyone requested phone sex yet?

Steddie Bingo Prompot: Phone Sex

Eddie had thought the most hectic things could get were fighting monsters from a parallel dimension but he was wrong. The five months that followed the Spring Break from Hell were the most chaotic of his life. Between healing from his injuries, finding out what the hell happened in California and Russia (goddamn), getting his named cleared, having a diploma thrown in his face, reconnecting with his uncle and friends, being brought into the weird little throng of resident monster hunters, it was all so overwhelming. And that was only half of it. The other half was all Steve Harrington. Eddie figured they'd have some kind of tentative friendship, a mutual respect for each other going forward.

He didn't expect to fall in love.

He also didn't expect Steve to reciprocate. For Steve though, it seemed as easy as breathing. The wrench in the works came when partway through summer, Steve found he'd been accepted at a college. One all the way in Virginia. Within a week of that, Corroded Coffin got discovered and a manager wanted them on the road right away.

Heading west of course.

Just as quickly as they had come together, things tried to pull them apart. But Eddie was tenacious and Steve was steadfast and together they made it work. Mostly through calling. Back in high school, Steve imagined college as bigger parties, looser girls, days running into each other. But reality was better. He stayed in more, with the hopes of getting a call from Eddie. He wasn't doing great in his classes but he wasn't failing either. And since admitting to being an idiot, his pride wasn't too high to attend tutoring sessions.

All to say, life had turned out so differently as he imagined, yet he wouldn't change it for the world. He was in the middle of reading (for fun!) when his phone rang.

"Eddie?"

"Hey angelface."

Steve swooned, suddenly feeling such strong longing. Last time they'd talked, the band was halfway through Wyoming. "Where are you guys now?"

"Just a few miles from Carson City. We convinced Merv to stop for the night."

Steve rolled his eyes. He wasn't the biggest fan of Merv. "He's got you guys all sharing a room again?"

"Actually...the guys decided to go out on the town." Eddie made a drown out sound like he was stretching, probably across a bed.

"Sooo, you're all alone right now?", Steve asked, twirling the cord around his finger.

"Yep. And I assume you're all alone too, handsome?"

"I assume your hand is already down your pants.

I haven’t even gotten to say what I wanna do to you.”

Eddie chuckled on the other end of the line. “Well don’t leave me hangin’, baby.”

Steve hummed in thought as he also got comfortable in bed. “You know what I’ve been thinking a lot about?”

“What’s that?”

“You, me, a really nice hotel room…”

“Hmm, how nice?”

“The nicest. It’s Vegas. There’s a fountain, valets, and you just finished a show, so you’re all amped up.” Steve’s hand went over his jeans and palmed himself, thinking of how Eddie got after performing. “I left the show early, I’m all ready for you in our room.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m in those shorts you like.”

“Oh baby~” Eddie’s voice held a shiver.

“You can’t wait to get on me”, Steve continued. “You’re already on top of me, hard.”

“Fuck yeah, my baby loves when I hump him like an animal”, Eddie growled.

Steve moaned, unzipping his pants. He was about to stick his hand down when he had the bright idea to use the pillow instead. It wasn’t exactly Eddie’s weight on top of him, but it was closer than just his hand. “Yeah”, he sighed. “You’re right on top of me. I’m spreading my legs and your cock’s on mine and it’s so hot and thick, Eddie.”

“Shit.” Eddie whimpered and Steve could tell he was getting close. “Gonna make me cum in my pants again, Stevie?”

“Mmm, you love it", Steve said, hips rolling against the pillow.

"Can't wait to have you again, have you under me again, taking it like you were made for it, fuck."

"I am", Steve breathed out. "I am made for it. Fuck, Eddie, I need you so muuuch."

"You got me baby", Eddie's hand was moving fast, stroking himself up and down and imagining his dick sliding against Steve's.

For a few moments, they simply breathed on the line, listening to each others moans and fantasizing about what they'd do once they were together again. Eddie came first, with a long drawn out groan that brought Steve over the edge too. Then it was just the sound of them panting.

Eddie was the first to speak up once he caught his breath. "You ever thought about spending Christmas in Louisiana?"

Steve smiled. "I'll mark my calendar."

@steddiebingo

Card:

[flieslikeamoron]

For the ask meme, if you're still doing it! I wish you would write a fic where either Eddie or Steve can read the other's mind, or feel their emotions, or are otherwise psychically linked in some way. :)

Hiiiii! At one point I was thinking about writing a soul bond type of thing where the bat bites create a hive mind that Steve and Eddie share. Your ask reminded me of the idea so I wrote a little bit of what that could have been like. Some dicks and stuff behind the cut.

-*-

It’s not that weird.

Sure, it’s a little strange Steve always seems to know when Eddie pulls into the parking lot at Family Video. Even if he’s in the back room, couldn’t possibly have heard the rattle of the van’s rusted muffler. 

And yes, he can tell when Eddie’s hungry. Thirsty. Tired. Can tell without asking if he’s craving a burger or spaghetti. Can tell where Eddie is in a room without looking. Can feel it like a magnet pulling. But he knows when Robin’s hungry just by looking too. Or when she has a crush on someone. He knows when Nancy’s fed up or trying not to laugh. He knows when Dustin’s about to go off on some nerd rant before he starts talking. 

It’s just because they’re friends now. That has to be why he feels so much better when Eddie’s around. Like something he didn’t know was missing clicking into place. That’s friendship, isn’t it? 

It’s not that weird. 

Not compared to all the shit they’ve been through. It’s nice, actually, the way Eddie smiling at him sinks deep into him like sunshine on his skin. The way Eddie’s pacing footsteps or the drumming of his fingers on the counter thumps in a rhythm against Steve’s chest. Even when Eddie’s pissed, it rattles like rain on a tin roof in a way Steve kind of likes. 

It’s just because Steve likes him. It’s not a big deal that he hasn’t felt exactly like this about any of the other people he’s friends with. Any of the people he loves. Different isn’t bad. There’s no reason to mention it. What would he even say? Do you know when I’m thirsty too? Do you feel like a lock turning when you touch me? That does make it sound weird. And what if Eddie says no. What if Eddie has no idea what he’s even talking about. 

No, Steve will just give him a Coke when he knows Eddie wants a Coke. And bask in the smile that gets him. There’s no reason to bring it up. To make it weird.

Until.

It comes out of nowhere, heat building low in his gut when Steve’s in the middle of putting his laundry away. He’s got the phone trapped between his ear and his shoulder, Robin on the other end giving him a play-by-play of her latest not-date with Vicki. He puts the rest of his jeans away, trying to ignore how turned on he is for no apparent reason. But there’s something fucked up about having Robin’s voice in his ear while he’s popping a boner. 

“I gotta go,” he interrupts. “Sorry, I forgot I have to-” He tries to think of something he could be doing that’s not jerking off.

“Am I boring you?”

“No I just-” He stops again. This time because he has the oddest feeling. Almost the feeling of a hand on him. Of fingers pinching into his nipple. It’s never really done much for him, having his nipples played with. But a pulse of heat goes right through his balls. He curls a hand thoughtlessly against his boner, feeling the needy weight of it. “I’ll call you in a sec.” He can hear Robin protesting as he hangs up and tosses the phone aside. 

She calls right back, but he lets it ring. Too busy tugging his pants down. He can’t explain anyway. That he just really needs to get off right now. It’s rude as hell. He doesn’t know why he’s- But he’s so turned on. He’ll make it up to her after he gets this out of his system. 

He tugs his underwear down enough to get his dick out, starting to stroke himself with one hand, the other braced on his dresser. He likes to start slow normally, get himself worked up, but he feels strung tight as if he’s already been at it for a while. He spits in his hand, spreads precome down the shaft. Watching his hand move, the head of his dick red and slick in the circle of his fingers. 

There’s something wrong with his vision, something sort of blurry like a double exposure in a photograph. He blinks. It’s like the almost there of another hand, that’s not his hand. Of a dick that’s not his dick. He can almost feel it ghost against his skin when that hand moves, off rhythm with his. It’s making his dick throb, gut snarled tight with heat. It’s making him dizzy. He closes his eyes, and tries to focus on the slide of his hand. Just his hand. Tries to picture Phoebe Cates getting out of the pool. Perfect boobs and a slo-mo smile. But the picture in his head feels impossible to hold on to. Feels like he can’t- 

And then he’s seeing himself a little hazy and far away like looking through clear water. It’s him pulling himself out of the pool in his swim team speedos. Muscles flexing. Water streaming off him. Hand running through his own wet hair, and a cocky grin on his face. 

And okay, he knows he’s a good-looking guy. But he’s not- His ego isn’t this big. This isn’t the him he sees in the mirror. It’s sort of- Everything a little better than he actually is. The him he wishes he was. 

He didn’t- The shape of it feels wrong inside his head, like it doesn’t fit right. But he’s watching himself sitting down now, at the edge of the pool. And there's someone still in the water. There are hands on his thighs. A mouth on his cock. He can’t see much of the other person but long, dark, wet hair. He can almost feel it, the heat of that mouth on his cock. The sizzle of it through his mind going straight to his balls. And every time he strokes himself it’s like he feels it in his dick, and then he feels it again somehow like an echo throbbing through him. An overwhelming feedback loop of want and need and how good it feels. God. Fuck. I’m gonna come. He is gonna come, but he hears it against the inside of his head, and it doesn’t sound like him. It sounds like-

“Eddie?” he says cautiously. Out loud and in his head too.

He feels a quick stab of shock, fear. It feels like the rest of it. Sort of the wrong shape inside his body, inside his head. And then it’s like he’s got a song stuck in his head, but it’s a heavy metal song he’s never heard before. 

“Eddie?” He thinks it harder. Tries to make it a scream, send it out past the inside of his own head. But the music keeps going, the noise of it so loud he can hardly think past it, can’t hear past it to whatever Eddie’s thinking behind it. That is Eddie behind it though, he’s pretty sure. That was Eddie just now. The things Steve was feeling. That was what Eddie was thinking about while he was getting off. He was thinking about Steve. 

Steve should be more weirded out by that, probably. Knowing he’s starring in Eddie Munson’s wet dreams is a bit of a surprise. He didn’t even know Eddie’s gay. He waits to feel shocked or upset, but outside of being kind of confused how any of this is even happening, he doesn’t seem to mind it. It’s a compliment, really. If that’s the way Eddie sees him. He kind of likes it, actually, in a deep down, self-satisfied way that makes him wonder if he does need to work on his ego after all. 

He feels vaguely guilty that he accidentally ruined the guy’s jerk off session. He looks down at his hand on his dick. He’s not sure if he should finish now. It’s like stolen valor or something. Is he even horny or was he just piggy-backing? However he got here, he’s still pretty close. He gives himself a couple careful strokes. Can Eddie feel that? Or was it just a one way connection? He heard it when Steve thought his name though. The heavy metal is still fucking blasting, so maybe he can’t hear or feel Steve past that just like Steve can’t hear him. He doesn’t know if he should risk it though. 

It’s pretty fucking weird.

The kind of weird he can’t ignore. 

He takes a cold shower, the heavy metal stuck in his head starting to give him a headache. Could you turn it down a little? he tries thinking. If it gets through to Eddie, he ignores it. Steve tries to figure out if there’s a way to turn down the volume on his end. Putting his fingers in his ears doesn’t help. He tries counting backward from a hundred and that seems like it does something, sort of. But as soon as he stops counting he can hear the music just as loud. Maybe Eddie will turn it off on his own if Steve gives him a little time to stop freaking out. 

He’s got to be freaking out. Having the dude you’re jerking off about pop up in your head has to be the nightmare scenario of all time. But how is Steve supposed to tell him it’s cool if he won’t stop putting up a wall of sound?

Or maybe Steve could try something a little less direct than whatever this head to head connection is. He tries calling Eddie’s trailer. No answer. He tries the walkie. No answer.

He wonders if Eddie can tell he’s pulling into the trailer park like Steve can always tell when he’s pulling up the street to Steve’s house. Steve can feel it. That magnet tug as he walks up the stairs. That feeling just underneath his breast bone that always seems to orient toward Eddie like a compass pointing north. He wonders if Eddie can feel that too. 

But maybe he can’t, because he looks shocked when he opens the door. Wide-eyed for just a second. The music breaks apart in Steve’s head enough that he can feel fear, just for a second. Less than that. Barely long enough to notice if he hadn’t been paying attention. And then the music starts up again, and whatever Eddie’s feeling is hidden behind it. Behind the easy laugh as he reaches out to thump Steve on the chest with the back of his hand like normal. Says, “You couldn’t call?” like Steve didn’t. Says, “You’re lucky I don’t have a life,” and tugs Steve in through the doorway. Like normal. 

For a moment Steve thinks maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he’s just like- Losing it. Maybe he's making up weird shit and thinking he and Eddie have some kind of psychic connection and hearing things that aren’t there and seeing things that aren’t there. Maybe none of it is real. And there’s nothing weird here except him. 

But there’s music in his head. And he doesn’t know this song.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Can I request the maximum of 🌲 and ⚖️?

Yes!

1k for 🌲:

---

As Buck gets back on the road, headed south to El Paso, he wonders if he’s made a mistake. Not in going after Eddie. Not even in leaving Chris. But in his timing. Is his timing wrong? 

He hadn’t wanted to wait. He’d wanted to get to Eddie as soon as possible. Who knows what the hell that woman is putting him through, right? Who knows if his father is hurt or dead or… Or what! But at the same time, what’s the plan here? What edge up does he have, going back? Should he have waited for business hours? Gone and purchased a gun or something? No. What? No. He’s being crazy. He doesn’t want a gun. He doesn’t even know how to shoot. Guns don’t make anything better. Not really. He’s just scared. He doesn't want anything to happen to Eddie.

He parks outside of a Cabela’s when he reaches El Paso. It’s not even six in the morning. The store doesn’t open until nine. He’s not sure what he’s doing here. Is he going to wait three hours? Buy a weapon? No. Right? He’s not… No. That’s not him. That’s never been him. But who is he willing to be, to protect Eddie? Pretty much anyone, he thinks. For Eddie? Anyone. Anything. 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, unsure of the next best step. He doesn’t know what’s right. He doesn’t know what’s crazy. He doesn’t even have a plan. 

The feeling of his phone vibrating in his pocket startles Buck. He doesn’t expect it. Not at this hour. He reaches into his pocket, hands a little shaky, and pulls it out. It’s a text. From Eddie. 

Idk if you’re awake or even nearby… But if you are, I need you to come pick me up.

Buck just stares at the text. He’s kind of baffled. Just… Just go pick him up? That easy? No gun needed?

Uncertain, he replies: 

How do I know this is really Eddie?

The response is immediate.

Buck… Really?

You’re the first to cry on emotional calls.

You watch way too much reality television.

You have a freckle on your left ass cheek. 

Need I go on?

Wait. He does? Well, okay. That’s Eddie. 

He replies:

I’m coming for you. 

🌲

There’s a long discussion. One that doesn’t include their mother. One that hardly includes their father. 

It’s a discussion about how to move forward. About how to take all this shit, and move forward anyway. 

Ramon will go with Sophia for a while. Stay in San Antonio. He needs time. Eddie can respect that. He’s been through a lot. Eddie’s not sure how much of the blame his father bears in everything that has happened. He’s not blameless. But whatever he did, no one deserves to have their agency stripped away. 

“Marcus is okay with that?” Eddie asks Sophia when she makes the call.

“He’ll have to be,” she says. “Plus, he can’t stay in this house. Not until it’s… A house again.”

Rather than a forest. Right. 

“I’ll work on that,” Adriana says.

It’s her Eddie is most concerned about, actually. Because it’s her who has volunteered for the unhappy task of staying behind. With their mother. Eddie didn’t like it. He didn’t agree with it. Surely she doesn’t deserve that; a child sticking by her after all of this. Especially Adriana, who she left out to rot in the woods, when she was the only person who could have known what had happened to her. 

“You can’t think of it that way,” Adriana argues. “It’s not about giving her what she wants. It’s about… Well, someone needs to keep an eye on her, first of all. You two have kids. Eddie, you… You never need to be around her again. I mean that. And I… I have a lot of time on my hands, while I figure out how to heal from this.”

She plans to fix the house. To make Helena help her fix the house. And maybe, if she can do it without making herself worse, take their mother back to Sweden.

“Maybe it’ll help her,” Adriana says. “Or maybe I’ll leave her there. Haven’t decided yet.”

“You know you don’t have to do this alone,” Eddie says. He’s told her and Sophia what he and Buck figured out. Their theory. The one he plans on rolling with, as best he can.

“We love you,” Sophia adds. “You’re our sister and we are always going to fight for you.”

“I know,” Adriana smiles. “I love you guys. But I need to do this. I have a lot to atone for.”

“It’s not your fault,” Eddie argues.

She shrugs. “That’s a flimsy line. And I need to feel less like a monster.”

Eddie supposes he understands that. 

“But you won’t be a stranger?” He ensures. “You’ll check in?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good,” Sophia says. “We will look through any forest to find you, Adri.”

“I know you will,” she smiles. She looks at Eddie. “Thank you for finding me.”

Eddie nods. “Always.”

For his own part, Eddie feels sort of like he’s getting away with something. Like the only one in the group project not doing any work. He is simply going to go home to his son and… Well, and his boyfriend. He guesses. That’s probably the right word for them. Anyway. Point is, he’s going back to his life. He’s going to try to get as much of it back as he can. He’s not taking on the care of any parent. He doesn’t actually have the energy for that. He doesn’t want to be involved in whatever happens to their mother, and he’s not too clear on if he’ll ever have a relationship with his father again. Maybe. He doesn’t know.

---

1k for ⚖️:

---

 Buck is hardly functional when the knock hits the door. He’s crashed out hard after delivering that punishment. Half because of the relief of the tension inside him, half because of the horror of viewing that man’s life. It makes it sort of hard to stay awake and think. Not to mention days and days of hardly sleeping at all have taken their toll on him. 

The point is, when he opens the door to Eddie, he feels like a zombie. He’s sure he looks like a zombie, too. 

Buck frowns when he sees Eddie standing there, two coffees in hand. 

“You don’t have to knock,” he says by way of greeting.

Eddie's mouth tightens a little. “I wasn’t sure.”

Buck sighs. “I told you it’s not… Can you just come inside?”

Eddie hands the coffee to him and steps through the door. 

“Thanks,” Buck mumbles. 

“I don’t know how much space you need,” Eddie says. “So tell me to leave, I guess. But I’m worried about you, okay? I just wanted to make sure you’re okay and you didn’t answer my texts.”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “I was sleeping pretty deeply… After not sleeping for a while.”

“Oh,” Eddie nods. “Uh, sorry for waking you up.”

Buck shrugs. “S’fine.”

Eddie exhales heavily. “Buck, are we okay? I don’t… I don’t want us to not be okay.”

Buck does his best to smile. It probably doesn’t look very convincing. 

“We’re totally fine, Eddie.”

Eddie frowns. “What? You were… You were pretty mad at me yesterday.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck says. “I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Okay,” Eddie says. His brows furrow, like he’s still not satisfied. “I appreciate that. But I’m also kind of thinking that there’s, like, a bigger issue than just some heightened emotions yesterday.”

Yeah. Yeah, Buck can see how he’d think that. 

“There was,” Buck agrees. “But I fixed it. It-it won’t be a problem anymore. So we can forget about it.”

“What does that mean, Buck?” Eddie asks. “What did you do?”

“Does it matter? It’s… It’s fixed.”

“Fixed?” Eddie asks. His expression turns from concerned to angry. “The problem where I don’t want you to look into my future is just fixed? You aren’t worried anymore? So, yeah. It matters. What did you do? I mean, when did you even… We didn’t even touch after that!”

Okay, right. He can see how that looks. 

“No, no, no,” Buck shakes his head. “I didn’t look. I didn’t do anything.”

“Then how the hell is it fixed?” Eddie asks. 

“I made a deal,” Buck says. “I made a deal with Nemesis.”

Eddie’s face slackens. “What?”

Buck explains it. The whole thing. The deal, the terms, all of it. What he had to do in the middle of the night. The way he feels now. Eddie listens, face frozen with terror. He should be happy. Why isn’t he happy? Buck fixed everything. All their futures. Everyone is going to be okay. 

“Oh god, Buck,” Eddie says. “That’s not a good trade.”

“What?” Buck demands. “What do you mean? It’s a great deal, Eddie. Everyone I love is going to get the best future they can.”

“At what cost? You torturing yourself?” Eddie asks. “This is too much.”

“No,” Buck says. “No. I was already stuck with this either way.”

“But this is worse,” Eddie protests. “You could have gotten by on helping people. You liked that part.”

“I… I still can,” Buck reasons. “It just doesn’t… It won’t be enough.”

Eddie sighs. He pinches the bridge of his knows. The way he does when something - or someone - is exasperating him. Buck tenses. It feels oddly condescending. 

“Stop,” Buck pleads. “Eddie, stop. Just be happy. Please. You’re going to be happy.”

“Have you possibility considered I don’t want to buy my happiness at your expense?” Eddie asks loudly. Almost a shout. 

Buck swallows. He doesn’t understand why this is so bad. He doesn’t get it.

“Well, I’m the one that made the deal,” Buck says. “It was my choice.”

Eddie purses his lips. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Buck. I’m not going to pretend I’m not freaked out for you.”

“Okay, well I’m good. I’ll adjust,” Buck says. 

He’s actually not sure that that’s true. He thinks he might be lying. Because really… He’s scared. He’s terrified. He feels awful. He wishes Eddie would just get over this so Buck could just… He doesn’t even know. Ask him to stay here and hold him for a little while? Would that make it better? Maybe not for long, but for now…

Eddie sighs. He crosses his arms tightly, like he’s cold. “Okay, well… Alright.”

“Alright, what?” Buck asks. 

“Alright, I… I guess I don’t know what to say.”

“About what?” Buck asks. “It’s done, Eddie.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Eddie replies. 

“What do you want me to do?” Buck asks. “I’m not going to take it back. So either… Either you…”

“Either I what?” Eddie demands.

“Either you-you have to be okay with it, or… Or you leave me, I guess!” Buck flounders.

Eddie’s whole face falls. “Are you serious?”

No. No, Buck is not serious. He doesn’t want Eddie to leave. He doesn’t want any sort of ultimatum to be issued. Not really. But, what else is he supposed to say? What more does Eddie want him to do? What's done is done.

So Buck just shrugs helplessly. He feels helpless. He feels exhausted. 

“Wow,” Eddie says. “So much for your best possible futures for everyone, then.”

“Wait, no, that’s not-”

“You know, I think I’m gonna go,” Eddie says. 

“Eddie, come on. No, I-”

But Eddie is already walking towards the door.  “You know, when I was struggling, you were allowed to worry about me without me giving you some sort of ultimatum,” Eddie says. “I think you’re in trouble, Buck. And if you can take your head out of your ass to actually listen to me, I’ll be around.”

[mepuppy]

Let It Ride - Supernatural rewrite

A.N.: I do not own the characters, nor the storylines. I'm simply adding a twist to the episodes. Please feel free to help me out with constructive criticism on the story or the writing. Sorry for the mistakes, not proofread and english is not my first language. Coming back like I didn't disappear for over 2 months...

1x01 1x02 1x03 1x04 1x05 1x06

Word Count: 6.9k

1x07 - Hook Man

“Yeah, don’t worry! We’re all fine.” Y/n reassured Bobby once again over the phone. They had stopped at an outdoor café they passed through to eat something. The two brothers headed to a table but she stayed back, leaning against her bike to call the older man. “It was weird and all, but we walked out without major problems.”

“I know the lot of you can take care of yourselves. But ‘still worry.” He told her and she smiled warmly. The man was as much of a father figure to her as John Winchester was. “Any leads on John?” 

She sighs, her smile faltering, and looks over to the table Sam and Dean were. “No. After we found his journal, back in Jericho, the only sort of news we got was that he had re-activated his voice message, redirecting his calls to Dean.” She explains seeing a waitress approach the two other hunters and getting their order.

“We’ll, shit.” Dean looks over at her and she just nods, knowing he wanted to ask if she was going to eat. “Imma try calling him and see if I can pick anything up, ‘lright?” Y/n gets up from her bike and starts walking slowly to the other two.

“Okay. Let me know if you figure anything out.” She says as Sam passes her and she frowns at the youngest.  YYU88

“I will. Take care of each other out there.” She gets to the table and sits down. “Say hi to the boys f’me.” He hangs up and she looks up at Dean. 

“Bobby says hi.” He looks from the computer screen at her and gives a small smile. She motions her head to Sam who is on a payphone. “What’s up over there?”

“He’s trying to find dad.” Dean rolls his eyes and turns back to her. The waitress came back and laid on the table, three cups of coffee, a piece of pie, an omelet and 2 chocolate chip cookies. “They had cookies.” He grins at her and she smiles back. “And pie.” He eyes the plate pulling it closer to him.

Dean takes a bite, looking to his computer and then back at Sam who just hang the phone and is walking back to them. “Your, uh, half-caf, double vanilla latte is gettin’ cold over here, Francis.” He teases and y/n takes a bite of one of her cookies chuckling. 

“Bite me.” Sam retorts sitting down.

“So, anything?” Dean asks while Sam takes a sip of his coffee, he shakes his head.

“I had ‘em check the FBI’s Missing Persons Data Bank. No John Doe’s fitting Dad’s description. I even ran his plates for traffic violations.” Sam sighs defeated, leaning back on his chair. 

“Sam, I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t think John wants to be found right now.” Y/n says as her forehead creases and Sam looks disappointed.

“‘lright. Check this out.” Dean says turning the computer screen so the other two can see. In it there’s an article about a young man’s death. “It’s a news item out of Planes Courier. Ankeny, Iowa. It’s only about a hundred miles from here.” Dean raises his eyebrows at them. 

“The mutilated body was found near the victim’s car, parked on 9 Mile Road.” Sam reads the beginning out loud looking at Dean skeptically.

“Keep reading.” Dean said looking bored at Sam. 

“Authorities are unable to provide a realistic description of the killer. The sole eyewitness, whose name has been withheld, is quoted as saying the attacker was invisible.” Y/n finishes the paragraph and raises an eyebrow at Dean. It was a good thing he developed the hobby of reading these types of article, it was so much easier to find cases with him.

“Could be something interesting.” He said to her and then looked at Sam. 

“Or it could be nothing at all. One freaked out witness who didn’t see anything? Doesn’t mean it’s the Invisible Man.” Sam turns to eat his omelet.

“But what if it is? Dad would check it out.” Dean taunts him, making y/n roll her eyes, taking the last bite on her cookie.

They finish eating the breakfast and Dean pays it with the credit card as the other two head back to the vehicles. Sam gets in the passenger seat of the Impala, with a frown on his face. Y/n stops by the side and waits for him to roll the window down, and when he does she leans over resting her arms on it.

“Do you wanna explain why the pout?” She asks him with a slight tilt to her head.

Sam sighs and turns to her. “I just wanted to find Dad, get some answers. I hate that he’s playing with us like that.” His tone gets harsher as he explains his feelings. “And Dean doesn’t seem interested in finding him anymore. So I guess we’re just gonna hunt until dad decides it’s time for him to show up again…”

Dean finishes paying and turns to head back to the car, only to see y/n’s ass in his direction, with her elbows on Sam’s window. He liked the view, but saw a man who did too. ‘Men are gross’, he understands why you say that everytime the two of you go to a bar or something. Doesn’t matter he was looking too, it’s not as gross when it’s him, because he’s your… you’re his… Okay, so he couldn’t pin point exactly what you were for each other, still, the stranger sitting 2 feet away from him was grosser than he was. 

He started walking back to the car, hitting the man’s chair in fake accident and mumbling an ‘m sorry’.Walking way slower than what was considered normal, he took in the view for a few more seconds. When he was close enough to the other two, Sam was looking to the street in front of him and y/n with her forehead on her arms sighed. “I know it’s frustrating, but…” she started but Dean cut her off and started to walk at normal speed.

“Put that butt down and let’s go.” Dean passed them to go to his side of the car. Y/n raises her head and looks at Sam again, annoyed.

“Yeah. We’ll talk later.” He chuckles knowing what she was about to say. Y/n goes back to her bike and pulls it to Dean’s window. 

“I’m guiding!” She winks at the oldest hunter, with a smirk, and starts driving, knowing he will follow.

Arriving at the city, y/n lets Dean pass her to lead the way until they stop at a big house. A couple of guys are outside with their heads together over a hood of a car. She gets down the bike and goes to the Impala.

“Victim lived here.” Dean says as he gets out of the car and the three of them head to the guys. “Nice wheels.” He says faking an innocent smile and the boys look at him strangely. “We’re your fraternity brothers. From Ohio. We’re new in town. Transfers. Looking for a place to stay.” Grinning he points to Sam. Y/n looks at him mentally tanking for the warning and trying to form a plan, knowing she won’t be able to stay in a fraternity. 

“Uhm. Sure.” One of the boys replies and goes back to the car. 

“And who is she?” Another asks, smiling at her and taking a step closer. 

“A cousin of ours. She got lost to her house.” Dean also takes a step forward blocking the other guy. 

Frowning at Dean, y/n sidesteps him and smiles back at the fraternity guy. “Yeah… Do you happen to know the address to the sorority?” She asks him, with a smile in his direction. 

After Marc, the fraternity boy, gave her the directions and she thanked him, she got back on her bike and headed to the corner, stopping out of sight of the house. She didn’t see a reason to actually go to the sorority house, when she could get a motel room just for her. 

Y/n: Let me know if you guys gather any info. I’m heading to a motel. 

She send the message to Dean and returned her phone to her jacket pocket, repositioning herself on top of her bike and heading to the end of the street. She took a few turns and found a motel. It wasn’t really good, but she was used, at this point, to all the shitty rooms they grew up in. Heading to the office, she fixed her hair and jacket. 

“Good morning.” She smiled at the man in the front desk, who was looking down at a magazine with a bored expression. “Do you have any vacancies?” Using her flirty voice, she learned a long time ago it helped her get things easier, and she wasn’t ashamed of doing so. 

The man raised his head and readjusted his posture when his eyes landed on her. “Oh. Good morning.” Clearing his throat, he continued. “Yeah. Sure. How many nights do you need?”

She talked to the front desk man for a little longer and, after paying for two nights with the card, some random bank had sent her last, she headed to the room. Getting inside she looked around, locking the door behind her, and let out a sight going to the closest bed and collapsing on it with throwing arm over her eyes. Her knuckles brushed the cut on her upper cheek, from their last hunt, and she flinched. The wound was basically healed already, but the flesh was still tender to the touch. 

Y/n stood up and headed to the bathroom. After using it, she was coming back to the room when her phone started vibrating in her pocket. Pulling  it out she answers Dean's call. 

“Hey, pretty blonde.” She grins and heads back to the bed “Missing me already?”

“Sure, if you say so.” He chuckled on the other side of the line “where are you? We got the witness information.”

She told him the address of the motel. Sam took the phone from Dean and explained Rich, the victim, was with the reverend’s daughter when he got killed. She waited in her bed until hearing the Impala’s engine, and headed out to meet the brothers. 

“Okay. So what's the plan?”  she asked, getin in the back seats of the car and looking at the two.

“How you feel about a little prayer?” Dean asked her looking over his shoulder for a couple of seconds, befre turning tback to he road.

“We're heading to the church reverend Sorensen preaches. His daughter was on the girl with Rich.” Sam explained further “So, taling to her is our best shot to figuring out what is this thing.”

She agreed, nodding. “You missed one of the funniest experiences of my life.” Dean grinned still lookng at th road. “Our roommate, from the fraternity, is going to a gamee today, so Sam helped him get his back purple for the spirit.”

“What?” she chuckled lightly with Dean and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well. When you throw me under the bus the way you did is hard to say no to the guy. Especially when we need information from him.” he youngest mumbled annoyed, which just agravaded th chuckling fro the other too.

Dean parks the car in front of a church and they all get off, heading inside. The service had already started, so they entered quietly, however the door slams behind Dean, making everyone going silent and looking at the trio. They sat on the back when the reverend continues “as a community, and as a family. The loss of a young person is particularly tragic. A life unlived is the saddest of passings.” Y/n skims the room and see a girl looking back at them,more specifizlly at Sam, who smiles weakly at her. “So, please, let us pray. For peace, for guidance, and for the power to protect our children.” Everyone lowers their head, in prayer, except Dean. Y/n elbows him, ad he then notices everyone else, repeatting the gesture. 

The service ended shortly after and everyone headed out. The three hunters spot Lori, the reverend's daughter, as Dean and Sam explained to y/n, talking to another girl. After they hug and the oher leaves, the three approach them.

“Are you Lori?” Sam asks when they get closer to her.

“Yeah.” the girl nods.

“My name is Sam. This is my brother, Dean.” Sam points at him and Dean waves. “And this is Y/n, our cousin.” He points at her, using the same cover story Dean did earlier. Y/n smiles at her.

“Hi.” The two hunters say in unison to the girl.

“We just transferred here to the university.” he tells Lori.

“I saw you inside.” she gives Sam a small smile.

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

“We wanted to say how sorry we were.” Dean cuts him off and the girl and she tightens her lips into a thin line.

“I kind of know what you’re going through.” Sam looks back from his brother to the girl in front of them. “I-I saw someone… get hurt once. It’s something you don’t forget.” Lori nods slightly and reverend Sorensen walks up to them, putting a hand on the girl's shoulder.

“Dad, um, this is Sam, Dean and Y/n. They’re new students.” The reverend takes the outstretched hand and shakes it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” he says while the rev. shakes y/n hands as well.

“I must say, that was an inspiring sermon.” y/n tells him and Dean exchange a look with Sam.

“Thank you very much. It’s so nice to find young people who are open to the Lord’s message.” he smiles at the hunter and Dean chuckles.

“Listen, uh, we’re new in town, actually.” They lead rev. Sorensen away from Sam and Lori. “And, uh, we were looking for a, um, a church group.” they walk to the other side of the parking lot.  

“Do you happen to have a nice one in here?” Y/n ask, looking at the reverend.

“Well, yes actually. We do.” The man tells them when they stop. “What days were you two thinking about participating?”

“Well, we're not entirely sure yet.” Dean starts to explain “We just got to town and haven't received our classes table yet. So we don't know exactly how our free time will be laid out.” he finishes and the older man buys the lie.

“Oh. That's okay. We can schedule a day next week, once the three of you have already settled in and talk more.” The hunters nod and smile at him. “Are you staying in Lori's sorority house?” he turns to y/n.

“What? Oh, I think so. Yes.” she stumbled over her words “I just have to organize a few last documents.”

“That's nice. I really think those sororities need more people like you.” His gaze going from her to Dean and someone calls him. He looks over his shoulder and back to the two hunters. “I have to go. But let me know if you need anything else.” They all smile and the reverend leaves.

“If he dreamed of what you would be like in a sorority house, I think he'd send you to an ordination.” Y/n turns to Dean, chuckling.

“Probably, yeah. But I do doubt you would be too innocent.” His eyes narrowing at her and she feigned outrage. Sam approached the two.

The Impala was parked in front of the library building and the three hunters were heading inside. Sam explained what Lori told him and they decided to do some research. “So you believe her?” Dean asked as they passed through the doors.

“I do.” Sam tells him.

“Yeah, I think she’s hot, too.” Dean grins at his younger brother and y/n rolls her eyes mumbling a very low ‘gross’.

“No, man, there’s something in her eyes. And listen to this: she heard scratching on the roof. Found the bloody body suspended upside down over the car.” Sam recalled what Lori had told him and y/n frowned at him.

“Wait, the body suspended? That sounds like the…” She starts and Sam cuts her off.

“Yeah, I know, the Hook Man legend.” He nods at the her.

“That’s one of the most famous urban legends ever. You don’t think that we’re dealing with the Hook Man.” Dean counters the two.

“Well. Every urban legend has a source. A place where it all began.” she says, stopping and  looking between the two.

“Yeah, but what about the phantom scratches and the tire punctures and the invisible killer?” Dean, stopping too, tilted his head at her.

“Well, maybe the Hook Man isn’t a man at all. What if it’s some kind of spirit?” Sam tries looking at Dean.

“I think we should see some records.” Y/n states and they head to the librarian behind a counter.

They sat at a table in the library while the librarian placed a few big, old, dusted boxes in front of them. “Here you go. Arrest records going back to 1851.” She gives the three a small mile while Dean blows some dust off a box and coughs.

“Thanks.” he tells her and she nods walking away. “So, this is how you spent four good years of your life, huh?” he looks at Sam with a frown.

“Welcome to higher education.” Sam smiles at his older brother and y/n chuckles. They start reading through the files. Y/n skimming through the names, and cause of arrest of each file, dividing it between possible, probably not and definitely not suspects for 3 hours.

A groan escaped her as she closed yet another ‘definitely not’ file. Dean rubbed his eyes the moment Sam, who was now standing behind the two, using a bookshelf as support, spoke. “Hey, check this out.” Dean and y/n get up and go to the shelf Sam is “1862. A preacher named Jacob Karns was arrested for murder. Looks like he was so angry over the red light district in town that one night he killed 13 prostitutes. Uh, right here, ‘some of the deceased were found in their bed, sheets soaked with blood. Others suspended upside down from the limbs of trees as a warning against sins of the flesh.” Dean pulls a piece of paper from inside the folder.

“Get this, the murder weapon? Looks like the preacher lost his hand in an accident. Had it replaced with a silver hook.” Dean shows the page he has with a draw of the hook to the others.

Sam chuckles humoressly and points to a page he has. “Look where all this happened.”

“9 Mile Road.” Y/n reads where he is pointing and looks at Sam. “Same place where the frat boy was killed.”

“Nice job, Dr. Venkmen. Let’s check it out.” Dean tells Sam, with a impressed smile on his face, turning around back to the table. Sam gathers all the research and they leave.

They  handed the rest of the files to the librarian and headed to the car, driving to the 9 Mile Road. Dean stops the car and they get out of it. Dean opens the trunk and hands Sam a rifle. 

“Here you go.” He goes turns back to the trunk and Y/n grabs something from it too.

“If it is a spirit, buckshot won’t do much good.” Sam chuckles and looks through the neck of the gun.

“Yeah, rock salt.” Y/n says handing some projectiles to Sam. 

“Huh. Salt being a spirit deterrent.” Sam nods as Dean takes out a coil of rope and shuts the trunk.

“Yeah. It won’t kill ‘em. But it’ll slow ‘em down.” They start walking towards the trees.

That’s pretty good. You two think of this?” Sam questions walking behind them with the gun ready. 

“I told you. You don’t have to be a college graduate to be a genius.” Dean grins at his younger brother, Y/n puts an arm out stopping the two as she hears some noises among the trees. Sam raises his gun and looks around.

“Over there. Over there.” Dean whispers nudging Sam. He aims aims the gun and cocks it. A figure comes out from behind the trees.

“Put the gun down now! Now! Put your hands behind your head.” It's a sheriff with a gun aimed their way. Y/n mumbles a ‘fuck’ so low only Dean hears. 

“W-w-wait, okay, okay!” Dean tries as Sam puts the gun on the floor. They all do as they're told.

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

“ He had the gun!” Dean says as they lay down.

The sheriff calls reinforcement with the gun still aimed at the three on the floor.

“C'mon man. Let us explain.” Dean tries to reason with the sheriff but the man ignores him.

After waiting for a few minutes with their faces pressed against the dirt, other officers arrived. The one that busted them gave a brief explanation and three of them came to get the three up. The sheriff got closer to Dean.

“Keys?” He said and Dean looked exasperated at him. “Unless you want to leave your car here…” the man shrugged as Dean sighed. 

“Fine.” He said with an infuriated look on his face and turned his pocket to the officer, since another one was holding his hands. The older man grabbed the keys and they took the hunters away. 

Sam and y/n were sitting inside a cell. The woman had her head against the wall and her eyes closed. Sam, sitting beside her, was holding his head in his hands. How could they’ve been so dumb? “Y/n y/l/n. Sam Winchester. C’mon.” An officer called them and the two got up. Dean was being questioned, so maybe now it was their time. The officer led them to the table at the entrance of the station where Dean was flashing a grin at them. 

“Here is your stuff.” The officer behind the desk handed them two bags with cell phones, wallets and personal stuff. Sam and y/n exchanged a glance and grabbed their stuff. They left the station. 

“Saved your asses! Talked the sheriff down to a fine. Dude, I am Matlock.” Dean started bragging as soon as they stepped out of the station. 

“But how?” Sam asked amazed. 

“I told him you were a dumbass pledge and that we were hazing you.” He answered Sam, motioning between him and y/n. 

“What about the shotgun?” Sam continued to question as they headed to Baby. 

“I said that you were hunting ghosts and the spirits were repelled by rock salt. You know, typical Hell Week prank.” Dean explained with a proud smile on his face. 

“And he believed you?” Sam’s face turned exasperated. 

“Well, you do look like a pledge.” Y/n told Sam with a grin. As they got to the car several sheriffs ran out of the building and sped away in police cars. The three exchanged looks and got in the car. Dean followed the police cars from a distance. 

They get to a sorority house, and as they drive by Dean points at Lori seating on the back of an ambulance with a blanket wrapped around her. 

Dean parks on another street and they get out walking around to the back of the house. “Why would the Hook Man come here? This is a long way from 9 Mile Road.” Sam questions, a confusing glance on his face. 

“Maybe he’s not haunting the scene of his crime. Maybe it’s about something else.” Y/n states as two sorority girls come out the side entrance of the building, luckily they don't see the three who lean against the side of the house next to some bushes to hide themselves. 

“Dude, sorority girls! Think we’ll see a naked pillow fight?” Dean says turning to look at Sam, but sees y/n trying to climb onto the balcony instead. He helps her and climbs after, with Sam following them. Once they are up there, she sees a window and sneak inside with the two brother doing the same. Dean falls on top of y/n’s legs “Oh, sorry!”

“Be quiet.” She shushes him with a whisper getting to her feet. 

“Me be quiet? You be quiet!” He retorts, doing the same.

“Both of you be quiet!” Sam complains, turning to close the window behind him. 

They look around to realize they are inside a walk in closet. Sam opens the door slightly and sees another sheriff leaving the bedroom, waiting until the sheriff went downstairs and then opening the closet door. He checks to see if they are alone and steps out of it, followed by the other two. Once in the bedroom they see a bed covered in blood with some police markings. Y/n sees the wall and nudges the other two to do the same.

“‘Aren’t you glad you didn’t turn on the light?’” Sam reads the words written on the wall “That’s right out of the legend.” He looks to the other two. 

“Yeah, that’s classic Hook Man all right.” Dean replies.

“And it’s definitely a spirit.” Y/n tapped her nose indicating the strong scent in the air, while heading to the other bed in the room, Lori’s bed. She knew because of the picture of a younger Lori, the reverend and a woman on the bedside table.

“Yeah, I’ve never smelled ozone this strong before.” Sam said as Dean moved over to the window. “Hey, come here.” He motioned to the other two, who joined him. Pointing at a cross symbol beneath the writing. “Does that look familiar to you?”

“Holy shit.” Y/n says and they hear a noise downstairs. Moving quickly and silently they go out the same way they got in and head to the car. Sam grabbed the folder they took from the library and opened it, stopping by a picture of the cross symbol they’d seen on the wall. 

“It’s the same symbol. Seems like it is the spirit of Jacob Karns.” Sam states handing y/n the folder. 

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

“After execution, Jacob Karns was laid to rest in an Old North Cemetery. In an unmarked grave.” She reads the next page on the folder and looks at Dean, both of them looking annoyed.

“Super.” Dean mutters leaning against the car next to y/n. 

“Ok. So we know it’s Jacob Karns. But we still don’t know where he’ll manifest next. Or why.” Sam says going to his door of the car. 

“I’ll take a wild guess about why.” Dean moves to the driver's side and picks up a fine left on the windshield. “I think your little friend Lori has something to do with this.” The two enter the car and y/n moves to go in too. 

After an afternoon with some research at y/n’s motel room, Sam and Y/n go meet Dean at the boy’s frat house where there’s a party going on. 

“Hey.” Y/n says when they find the oldest brother. 

“Man, you’ve been holding out on me. This college thing is awesome!” Dean says checking out a girl who passes them and y/n smacks him on the head.

“This wasn’t really my experience.” Sam states looking around with a face. 

“Let me guess. Libraries, studying, straight A’s?” Y/n teases him and he nods.

“What a geek.” Dean rolls his eyes as Sam unravels a piece of paper. Dean asks, eyeing the paper.. “Alright, done with your homework?” 

Sam nods. “Yeah. It was bugging me, right? So how is the Hook Man tied up with Lori? So I think I came up with something.” He shows the printed pages to Dean. 

“1932. Clergyman arrested for murder.” Y/n reads aloud showing Dean the different pages. “1967. Seminarian held in hippie rampage” she reads the second page. Dean looks back at them confused. 

“There’s a pattern here. In both cases, the suspect was a man of religion who openly preached against immorality. And then found himself wanted for killings he claimed were the work of an invisible force. Killings carried out… get this… with a sharp instrument.” Sam explained his train of thought and y/n questions.

“What’s the connection to Lori?” 

“A man of religion? Who openly preaches against immorality?” Y/n states as it’s obvious and Dean suddenly understands. “Except maybe this time, instead of saving the whole town, he’s just trying to save his only daughter.”

“Reverend Sorensen. You think he’s summoning the spirit?” Dean asks as someone bumped into them. 

“Maybe.” Sam says, shrugging.

“Or… You know how a poltergeist can haunt a person instead of a place?” Y/n looks up at Dean and he nods. 

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

“Exactly. Without the reverend ever even knowing it.” She continues

“Either way, you should keep an eye on Lori tonight.” Dean says and looks around the party, while Sam nods. 

“What about you?” He asks the other two. Dean looks at an attractive blonde smiling at him by the pool table and makes a face. 

“I’m gonna go see if I can find that unmarked grave.” He mumbles, reluctantly. 

Y/n looks between the two brothers, trying to see who was in greater danger. “Come on.” She tells Sam and goes with the youngest to Lori’s house. 

Sam and Y/n are looking through the kitchen window of the Reverend’s house. They can see Lori and her father arguing. They look at each other and then back to the house. Lori complains and leaves the room. Her father sighs and turns out the light, leaving the room. Lori comes outside and finds Sam and y/n outside.

“I saw you from upstairs. What are you doing here?” She asks, looking between the two hunters. 

“I’m keeping an eye on the place.” The girl makes a face when Sam answers and he continues. “I was worried.”

“About me?” Lori asks and y/n takes a few steps away, looking around the house and giving them space.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sam scratches the back of his neck. 

Y/n calls Dean to see if he managed to dig and burn the Jaco Karns remains but it goes rings until it falls on voicemail. She huffs looking down at her phone when, suddenly she hears reverend Sorensen scream followed by Loei’s. She runs to where Sam and Lori were when the door slams shut and Sam runs to it with his gun in hand.

“Are you okay?” she asks Lori when she reaches the girl pulling her back into the garden. She nods quickly and tries to run inside again. “We need you to be here, okay?”

“But…” She starts but reverend Sorensen screams again. A gunshot is heard and the window on the second floor shatters. Y/n is still holding Lori ck while she pulls her phone to call 911. Lori manages to escape the hunter’s grasp and runs inside.

“Dad! Dad!” The girl enters the bedroom and kneels down next to her dad. “Okay. It’s ok, Dad, it’s ok. It’s ok.” Sam is watching when y/n approaches and end the 911 call.

“Ambulance is on the way.” She simply states and Sam nods.

In the hospital Sam and y/n are talking to the sheriff while Lori is standing by her father’s bedside in a room.

“We were just talking. Then Lori’s dad came out. And then he appeared.” Sam explains looking convincingly confused.

“A big man? Carrying a weapon, some kind of hook?” the sheriff narrows his eyes at the two.

“Yes, sir.” the hunters nod.

“Ever seen him before?” The man asks and both shake their heads.

“No, sir.”

“Kids, it seems every time I turn around, I’m seeing you. I suggest you try to stay out of trouble…” y/n takes a shaky breath and the two nod at the sheriff.

“Yes, sir.” They say in unison as Dean approaches down the hall.

“No, it’s alright, I’m with them. He’s my brother.” Dean says at two officers who try to stop him. “Hey! Brother!” Sam, y/n and the sheriff turn to see Dean, who’s smiling and waving.

“Let him through.” The sheriff says and the other two make way for Dean to approach.

They go towards Dean as he’s walking their way too. “You ok?” He looks worried from Sam to y/n.

“Yeah.” they answer the oldest hunter.

“What the hell happened?” Dean asks, making a face.

“Hook Man.” Sam says with a sight.

“You saw him?” Dean wide eyes look back at Sam.

“Damn right.”

“Why didn’t you torch the bones?” y/n asks in a hushed tone.

“What are you talking about, I did. You sure it’s the spirit of Jacob Karns?” He answers looking at the woman as she opens her mouth confused.

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

“Well, yeah, the guy wouldn’t send the Hook Man after himself.” Dean says in a mocking tone.

“I think it’s latching onto Lori. Last night she found out her father is having an affair with a married woman.” Sam continues ignoring his brother’s comment.

“So what?” Dean frowns.

“So she’s upset about it. She’s upset about the immorality of it.” y/n explains to Dean.

“She told me she was raised to believe that if you do something wrong, you get punished.” Sam whispers.

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

“Right. Rich comes on too strong, Taylor tries to make her into a party girl, Dad has an affair.” y/n brings out all the deaths and correlates to Lori.

“Remind me not to piss this girl off.” Dean murmurs. “But I burned those bones, I buried them in salt, why didn’t that stop him?” he asks the two younger hunters.

“You must have missed something.” Sam tries and Dean shakes his head at him.

“No. I burned everything in that coffin.” y/n is chewing on her lip when it hits her.

“Did you get the hook?”

“The hook?” Dean asks with a frown.

“Well, it was the murder weapon, and in a way, it was part of him.” She explains her point of view.

“So, like the bones, the hook is a source of his power.” Dean whispers and exhales, shaking hi head.

“So if we find the hook…” Sam starts.

“We stop the Hook Man.” They smile at each other.

The three are back into the library with more papers. “Here’s something, I think. Log book, Iowa State Penitentiary.” Dean says and start reading. “Karns, Jacob. Personal affects: disposition thereof.”

“Does it mention the hook?” y/n asks looking up from her files.

“Yeah, maybe… Upon execution, all earthly items shall be remanded to the prisoner’s house of worship, St. Barnabas Church.” Dean reads the next line.

“Isn’t that where Lori’s father preaches?” y/n asks Sam, who nods

“Yeah.”

“Where Lori lives?” she asks again.

“Maybe that’s why the Hook Man has been haunting reverends and reverends’ daughters for the past 200 years.” Dean tilts his head and looks between the two.

“Yeah, but if the hook were at the church or Lori’s house, don’t you think someone might’ve seen it? I mean, a bloodstained, silver-handled hook?” Sam asks his brother.

“Check the church records.” Dean says and motions to the piles of paper in front of them. They go back into reading.

“St. Barnabas donations, 1862. Received silver-handled hook from state penitentiary. Reforged.” y/n reads aloud when she stumbles into something and with a sigh looks up at the two brothers. “They melted it down. Made it into something else.”

“So… I guess back to the church we go…” Dean gets up. The other two follow him.

“What’s the plan once we get there?” Sam asks confused as they head to the car.

“We can’t take any chances. Anything silver goes in the fire.” Dean says as he gets in the car, followed by the two.

“We’ll have to break in, Lori’s still at the hospital.” y/n looks between the two.

“And we have to check both the house and the church.” Sam says.

“Alright. Take your pick.” Dean looks at Sam as he parks the car.

“I’ll take the house.” They get out and Dean and y/n look between the two buildings.

“Church’s bigger.” y/n says going in that direction to help Dean out. Dean nods and look back at Sam with a grin.

“Hey.” Dean calls and Sam turns around. “Stay out of her underwear drawer.” Y/n snorts and they both walk away.

They are some time inside, Dean is already throwing everything the two found in the fire when Sam approaches with a bag. “I got everything that even looked silver.”

“Better safe than sorry.” Y/n shrugs and hands the bag to Dean. They throw everything into the fire when suddenly, they hear footsteps above them.

“Move, move.” Dean takes his gun and they go upstairs. They find Lori sitting in a pew alone, crying. Dean lowers his gun and goes back downstairs with y/n. 

“Man, that girl is in serious need of a therapy session.” y/n says sighing as they reach the fire again. When neither of them could see anything else besides the fire they relaxed a little, but then they hear Sam yelling.

“GO!”

Both of them get up as fast as humanly possible and run upstairs again. They hear Sam screaming and force their legs to go even faster. Y/n raises the gun she grabbed from the floor.

“Sam, drop!” Dean yells and the young hunter crouches down as y/n shoots the Hook Man once and he disappears into dust.

“I thought we got all the silver.” Sam looks at the two as they get closer.

“So did I.” Dean agrees.

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

“Well, maybe we missed something!” Y/n says as it was obvious. They look around.

“Lori, where did you get that chain?” Sam asks pointing at the necklace of a cross on her.

“My father gave it to me.” She answers holding it as the three hunters eye ii

“Where’d your dad get it?” 

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

“Is it silver?!” Y/n asks her.

“Yes!” As she’s still answering Sam rips the chain off from around her neck and starts running to the hallway. The Hook Man, who is now invisible, is making a long scratch on the wall. Y/n turns around to look at it.

“Sam!” She throws the rifle and the rock salt to him and Sam tosses Dean the necklace, he runs back downstairs. Sam aims the gun at the scratch that is being made and shoots. He quickly reloads the gun with rock salt.

Y/n runs to them crouched down and pulls Lori back. Afterwards she goes to Sam and takes the gun from his injured hand, but the Hook Man appears and knocks the rifle out of their hands. They all crawl into the corner and watch the Hook Man tower over them. The Hook Man raises his hook in the air and stops. The hook melts and the rest of his body burns into nothing. Dean appears on the door looking at them. He walks over to the three on the floor and gives them a knowing look.

Outside the church the Sheriffs are walking around and there is an ambulance parked.

“And you saw him, too? The man with the hook?” The sheriff asks Dean and y/n rolls her eyes from the side.

“Yes, I told you, we all saw him. We fought him off and then he ran.” Dean explains.

“And that’s all?” He narrows his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s all.” Dean says and the sheriff sighs.

“Listen. The three of you…-” The sheriff starts but Dean cuts him off with a raised hand and a head shake.

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re leaving town.” The sheriff nods and walks to his car. Y/n approaches Dean back. They head back to the Impala and get in. Y/n sighs and rests her head on the headrest. Looking through the mirror they see Sam approaching the car after giving Lori a small, sad smile. 

“We could stay.” Y/n says as Sam gets in, but he shakes his head. The two older hunters look outside the car and see Lori looking at the car. Y/n looks at Dean with a worried expression and Dean shakes his head in disappointment and drives away.

Taglist: let me knowif you want to be added or removed.

@stillhere197

@lmhf1

@un-expectedly

[grazi-your-rockette-queen]

as sexually attractive as nikki can be, i feel like maybe he just needs a forehead kiss or a hug