#i love them im never gonna stop loving them

[theartofsimpatry]

Yandere Thragg Headcanons!! 🔞

I wrote this without reading the comics so if this is OOC for Thragg… oh well ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

-You probably got his attention by either 1. Being extremely strong or 2. Being extremely fertile. Im going with option 1!

-Your strength intrigued him, he knew if you two fucked, you’d give him strong children, maybe even stronger than a pure-bred Viltrumite.

-You decided to not make the Viltrumite empire your enemy and you couldn’t help but find Thragg attractive~

-He was a lil surprised (and turned on) by how willing you were to be his breeding mate.

-You’re taken to Thraxa after he took it over and are introduced to all of his other breeding mates…

-The Thraxan doctors have your ovaries under a microscope 24/7 due to Thragg’s thirst to have you impregnated.

-Turns out you’re not as compatible with Viltrumite DNA as Thraxans are, so you convince him that he needs to put all of his DNA and time into you. As your potential offspring would be much stronger and live longer than the Thraxan-Viltrumite halfbreeds he’s been making.

-Next thing you know, you’re the only female he sleeps with now. It will take many many many times to get you pregnant after all.

-His libido is out of this world, he’s ready to go 25/8 and he would be going all day every day if it wasn’t your own tiredness.

-Originally he found this annoying, how you’d stop the fucking, have one of the servants bring food and drinks then would sleep for hours instead of being his impregnable fleshlight.

-He’d learn to wait for you to wake up, he’d lay in bed next to you watching you sleep and grew… to like it….

-He began seeing your needs as important too, not just his and the empire’s.

-He gets frustrated with himself when he realizes he’s beginning to feel the same “weakness” and affinity for the “lower lives of the universe” that his underlings had.

-He WANTS to kill you, to destroy this weakness, he needs to be strong for the empire… you’re supposed to only be his breeding mate after all.

-While he’s thinking about killing you, you’re almost killed by another alien and he finds myself protecting you. No one else is allowed to kill you, only he is! (He’s not gonna do it)

-He finds himself staring at you after you two fucked, you’re sleeping peacefully and he raises a hand to try to quickly kill you. You roll over, feeling his arm missing from your grasp and cuddle into his chest… he can’t do it, he lowers his arm and wraps it around you.

-When you do finally get pregnant, his protection and yandere-ness gets stronger.

-You won’t be able to leave the palace without him by your side, servants are with you 24/7 for whatever you may need.

-You guide his head to your baby bump and with his sonic hearing, he can hear the baby move and kick around inside of you.

-Yeah… he loves you…. He even loves that lil baby in you despite never meeting them.

-he hates how stupid and uncontrollable he feels when he realizes he truly loves you.

-His thoughts are consumed by you and your child now

-Even the empire now comes second to you ❤️

[itsaintmebabe]

close enough

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter five !

summary: vi's subtle longing for y/n grows with each lingering moment, and when their playful teasing takes an intimate turn, a sudden interruption leaves their connection unspoken but undeniable.

pairing: hockey player! vi x sports med trainer!fem! reader

notes: im loving building up the tension sm but i promise more couply stuff soon!! comment or message me if you wanna be added to the taglish and let me know how you guys are feeling about the story!!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter six / series masterlist

The next few weeks passed with a rhythm that felt suspiciously like routine. Vi found herself waiting for moments with Y/N, not always deliberately, but somehow always lingering near the sports med room longer than necessary or cracking jokes that earned her soft laughs and those quick, fluttery glances she couldn't stop thinking about.

Their conversations were easy, more comfortable now, toeing the line between casual and something more. Their teasing had developed its own language, one that made Y/N’s stomach twist in that dangerous, excited way. The touches lingered a little longer, the glances held a little too long, and neither of them seemed eager to put distance between them.

Vi had a habit of getting her hands wrapped before every practice, always had, but it was never Y/N who did it. Not because she didn’t want to, but because Vi seemed to have made it a routine with another med staffer. Still, Y/N was always nearby, sometimes organizing supplies or tending to other athletes, always exchanging words with Vi, their voices laced with unspoken undercurrents.

Today was different.

Y/N was alone in the sports med room, cross-legged on one of the padded tables, a thick book splayed open on her lap. Her highlighter danced across the page, her brow furrowed in focus, lips slightly parted in concentration. She looked peaceful, tucked away from the cold buzz of the rink outside. Unaware of the pink-haired girl standing at the doorway.

Vi leaned against the frame, her arms crossed lazily over her chest as she watched Y/N, a slow smile creeping onto her face. She liked seeing her like this, absorbed, unguarded. Something about the way Y/N moved when she thought no one was watching made something in Vi’s chest ache in the best way.

“Careful,” Vi finally called out, breaking the silence. “You're gonna burn a hole through that page with how hard you’re staring.”

Y/N startled slightly, looking up with a breathless laugh and rolling her eyes as she set the highlighter down. “Maybe if you stared at your playbook half as much, your coach wouldn’t be so stressed all the time.”

Vi chuckled, stepping into the room. “Wow. Harsh today, huh? Remind me to bring you a coffee before I ask you for anything next time.”

Y/N smirked, sliding the book shut. “You always ask for something anyway. What is it today, tape, ice, emotional support?”

Vi moved closer now, her steps unhurried. “None of the above,” she said, voice softer now. “Well… maybe a little support. Think you could wrap my hands today?”

The shift in her tone wasn’t lost on Y/N. Her teasing smile softened into something quieter, more intimate. “Of course,” she said, hopping down from the table. “Just give me a second.”

She moved around the room with practiced ease, gathering the supplies. Vi sat on the padded table where Y/N had just been perched, spreading her legs a bit to make room.

Y/N returned, stopping in front of her and taking Vi’s hands gently in her own. Her fingers were careful, focused, but Vi noticed the slight tremor in her touch, the way her thumb grazed Vi’s palm like she was afraid of holding on too tight, but didn’t want to let go either.

“Didn’t think you’d ever ask me to do this,” Y/N murmured, starting to wrap.

Vi tilted her head slightly. “Didn’t want to make you fall for me too fast. Thought I’d ease you into it.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, glancing up briefly but not meeting Vi’s eyes. “Right. That must be why you’ve been hovering around the med room like a lost puppy lately.”

“Not a puppy,” Vi shot back, grinning. “A wolf. Cool. Mysterious. Very smooth.”

“Definitely not smooth,” Y/N muttered, and Vi swore she was smiling.

The two of them were so close, the space between them charged with something unsaid. Y/N focused on her work, but her pulse was pounding at the feel of Vi’s skin under her fingers. The tension in her shoulders, the way Vi’s legs bracketed her in gently, not in a trapping way but in something that felt oddly protective.

Vi couldn’t stop watching her. The crease in her brow, the way her lashes fanned over her cheeks when she looked down, the gentleness in her every movement. She wanted to say something. Something real. But the words stuck behind her teeth.

Y/N finished the last wrap, taping it off before carefully setting Vi’s hands down. She reached to set the supplies on the table beside them, and when she turned back, she met Vi’s eyes.

They were breathtaking, so blue, so focused. But not just on her. Into her.

Vi’s gaze dropped to her lips.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Vi shifted forward slightly, one hand starting to reach for Y/N’s waist like it was second nature. Her palm hovered there, fingers aching to pull her close. Y/N didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, just a bit, her eyes flicking from Vi’s lips to her eyes again.

It was all happening slowly. Carefully. Like the universe was holding its breath.

“Vi!” Claire’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, the door swinging open with a loud creak. “Coach wants to go over the new forecheck—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Vi and Y/N snapped apart like magnets yanked apart by force. Y/N took a full step back, cheeks flushed, and turned her head toward Claire with a small, “Hey.”

Claire blinked, her eyes bouncing between the two of them before raising a single eyebrow in unmistakable suspicion. “Uh… yeah. Coach. Playbook. Now.”

Vi stood slowly, clearing her throat and casting one last look toward Y/N. She didn’t say anything, just smiled, soft and a little crooked, and started toward the door.

Y/N watched her the whole way, arms folded across her chest to hide the way her hands still trembled.

Vi paused at the doorway, turning back just as Claire was already halfway down the hall.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur, like it was meant for her alone.

Y/N smiled, small, warm, everything in her chest fluttering. “Anytime.”

And Vi left, but the ghost of her hand on Y/N’s waist lingered long after she was gone.

—

Y/N couldn’t stop replaying that moment in the sports med room. The way Vi’s hand had hovered just shy of her waist, fingers twitching like she wanted to pull her closer but didn’t. And worse, Vi’s eyes had been fixed on her mouth like it held every answer she’d ever wanted. The warmth of her breath, the low murmur of her voice, it had left Y/N’s heart fluttering like a warning bell, or maybe a promise.

That ghost of a near-kiss followed her like a shadow as the rest of her shift blurred by. She was meant to leave early today, to slip out before the women’s team wrapped up practice, but Mel had texted from the library in a panic over a looming chemistry exam. Y/N hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing to cover her. And when a player from the men's team decided he needed a last-minute ice bath, her early departure turned into a stay that dragged thirty more minutes longer than expected.

By the time she pulled on her hoodie and adjusted the strap of her heavy, overstuffed purse over her shoulder, her limbs felt tired but her thoughts still clung to Vi. She stepped out of the sports med room, locking the door behind her, exhaling slowly, only to startle slightly at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Jesus, Y/N. Is that a purse or your entire apartment in there?" Vi’s voice came from where she leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed, smirk cocked like a loaded weapon.

Y/N turned, unimpressed but hardly annoyed. Her lips curled, a soft smile betraying her fondness as she raised an eyebrow. “Some of us like being prepared. You wouldn’t understand, you barely carry your keys.”

Vi grinned wider, eyes drinking her in. “I don’t need keys when I’ve got charm. Works like magic, actually.”

Y/N snorted. “Is that what you tell yourself when your charm doesn’t get you through a locked door?”

Vi pushed off the wall, walking forward until she stood in front of Y/N, eyes glittering beneath the dim hallway light. "Nah. That’s when I call you. My favorite fixer."

The teasing had become their language, smooth, effortless, edged with affection. It used to be playful, even impersonal, but now there was something softer curled beneath it. Y/N felt it in the way Vi looked at her, as if she were memorizing details she didn’t want to forget.

Vi glanced down at the purse strap digging into Y/N’s shoulder. Without a word, she stepped forward, her hand brushing against Y/N’s arm as she slid the bag from her shoulder with practiced ease. Y/N blinked, a flush crawling up her neck. Vi didn’t say anything about it, just threw the strap over her own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Come on,” she said, turning casually like she hadn’t just made Y/N’s stomach twist in knots.

They walked side by side in silence, the air between them no longer crackling with unspoken tension but buzzing with something quieter, something hopeful. The teasing didn’t stop entirely, though. Vi would throw in a comment here or there, about the way Y/N walked too fast, or the size of her hoodie sleeves. Y/N would roll her eyes, but she found herself stepping closer anyway, drawn to Vi like gravity.

Before long, they reached Y/N’s car. Vi opened the passenger side and set her bag down carefully, then moved back to stand in front of her, just like last time. Familiar, yet… changed.

Vi didn’t say anything at first. She just watched her, her blue eyes soft in the streetlight, shadowed and thoughtful. Then she leaned in, slow, almost unsure, until their noses nearly brushed. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper.

“You always look like you’re thinking about something important when I catch you off guard.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching. She hadn’t expected that. Not from Vi. Not tonight.

“Maybe I am,” she whispered back, her hand instinctively reaching out to steady herself on Vi’s arm. She could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric.

Vi’s gaze dropped to her lips again. Her hand hovered again at Y/N’s waist, then rested just an inch away, like she didn’t want to cross the line unless Y/N asked her to.

The moment pulsed between them, full of possibility. Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest, unsure if she wanted to close the distance or hold it just a little longer. She could feel the shift, the way Vi wasn’t just teasing anymore. This wasn’t just a game.

“I… should go,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling slightly.

Vi stepped back immediately, something like regret flashing behind her eyes, though her smile never faltered. “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Yeah, I get it.”

Y/N opened her car door slowly, glancing back as she got in. Vi was still watching her, like she didn’t want to look away yet.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she said, quiet but sincere.

“Night, Vi,” Y/N replied, closing the door gently.

As she pulled out of the lot, she saw Vi still standing there in her rearview mirror. Still watching. Still waiting.

And all Y/N could think was how badly she wanted to turn around and tell her she wasn’t ready to say goodnight just yet.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ taglist !

@daughterofthemoons-stuff @strawb4kdior @lover-girl009 @aprilshireath @brianna-merlim @jinririz @arahiraaai @yeinbae @jupitism @ii-vee @vxtanne31 @brooks-lin @re1daway @st0nerlesb0 @starletfemme

[strwberri-milk]

Not sure if you take these types of requests but oh well. (Jokes aside, please tell me if this is not something you’re usually open to doing)

What would Xavier, Sylus, and Caleb do if reader tried to back away from the relationship/avoid them altogether because they see themselves as the men’s vulnerabilities. What I mean is, for instance, all 3 of these men have a very harsh and demanding job in a world where showing the slightest vulnerability can lead to their fall from grace. For instance, if Xavier prioritised reader’s safety over his mission (or his own), it may lead to a catastrophe (assuming they couldn’t eliminate the wanderer). If word got out that Sylus had a lover, people could try and abduct them to squeeze Onychinus of all their resources. Same goes for Caleb. If people find out that the Colonel has a weakness, they’d exploit it to initiate his downfall.

Knowing this, what if reader tried to back away and disappear because they truly care for the men and don’t want to become a weakness that would drag the men down from their lives?

[I know it’s otome and you could imagine the men would change their jobs for reader’s sake, but I’d like to think realistically. Xavier is protecting Linkon, Sylus is protecting the N109 zone and I doubt he’d let the legacy he worked so hard to create fall because of this, and Skyhaven’s fate and his own kinda relies on how smoothly he executes his duties. I heavily doubt that realistically speaking, they’d just let it all crumble for reader]

SORRY IF I YAP ALOT!!

i do take requests like this but i also approach stuff like this more like a discussion LMAO

i do think otome logic would just. make them change their jobs LMAO but like. i like the fact that you want me to approach it realistically so im gonna tackle that too

in my head, i do think realistically all of them BUT caleb would quit which acc i talked abuot this here (this post speaks to their jobs more as moral objections but i also kinda was vague so it still applies here in my head)

i think tho sylus lowk would just become more brutal and i can see caleb doing the same thing. its like, deterrant to stop people from trying to nap you - think about it. if kidnapping you means brutal death no matter how unharmed you are then the cost of kidnapping you is severely outweighed by jsut awnting to stay alive. i think basiaclly like, people could try it or try to make threats against your life and then they end up with a hand in their mail or something thats just. horrifying happening to them and all they did was look at you funny

xavier i think would be able to beat up anything bc hes pretty strong + has been doing this for a long time but he definitely would chosoe you over the lives of others every time. you know this and you could try to leave him bc of it but honestly breaking up with him does nothing he'd STILL choose you over others

you have to rmr that the main crux of their conflict is truly how in love they are with you, meaning that i do think that while none of them would straight up quit their job, they may resort to dramatic measures to keep you. he wont want to let you go. i dont think theyd let it crumble but also, you breaking up with them doesn't really change anything bc their goal is ultimaetly to keep you safe and at his side.

i thiiiink that like. for these three in particular, hes willing to let things fall if it means protecting you. zayne and rafayel are a little different - rafayel DID choose you over lemuria but idealstically i do think hed rather have both. zayne i think wouldnt erally be in a position to need to choose you over something else but i also think he would never let himself be put in a position like that and would rather take himself out lolol

[c4tluver02]

sunshine and waves !

wc: 1.7

Summary: You, Steve, and the group go to the beach. The water is freezing and the kids are annoying but it's the best day ever!!!

Warnings: none! basically tooth- rotting fluff!!!!

a/n: haii im back!! i need to get back into my groove so this is similar to a fic ive written before but this ones better xoxo!!!!

The alarm makes a blaring sound, forcing you to wake up. Today you, Steve, and the group were all going to the beach. Unfortunately the beach is 3 hours away so that means waking up early, like right as the sun rises early. 

Despite being tired you were so excited to see Steve. Today was gonna be a perfect summer day with all the people you love around you. It was enough to get anyone up. You start getting ready until you hear Steve’s loud horn honk at you from the street. If you had to guess the kids were already on his nerves. His horn makes you run out the house, not trying to make everyone late. 

“Hi baby” Steve says with a smile, so happy to see you. 

“Hi my love!” You reply as you put your seatbelt on.The passenger seat was already open for you. It is your designated seat after all. Once you two started dating Steve didn't let anyone but you sit in the front seat.  

You hear all the kids groan at your guys' pet names. They are always quick to shut anything down, even just saying hello. 

“Is the rest of the group gonna meet us there?” You ask as we couldn't all fit in Steve's car.

“Yea Jonathan drove them. But of course we were stuck with the kids. Because who else would be the babysitter!” Steve sighs dramatically. They may have only been driving for 15 minutes and they may have annoyed him the whole time but Steve could never hate spending time with the kids. He secretly adores it even if he says he doesn't

“Cheer up Stevie I promise you an hour in they will all be passed out.” You tell him smiling, trying to make light of the situation. 

“Oh yea like you wont be passed out with them?” He says back to you with a smirk. He knows how you are on road trips, especially early morning ones. 

You roll your eyes as you get comfortable for the long drive ahead of you.

-

Like Steve said, you were all passed out the first 30 minutes of the drive. But luckily for Steve you woke up about an hour before you guys made it to the beach, allowing a flow of conversation that the kids wouldn't interrupt. 

“Okay you wanna wake up the kids and I'll get the stuff out the trunk?” Steve asked you as he got out of the car. 

It was little mundane moments like this that almost stopped your heart. His sentences sounded so domestic. You couldn't help but think about Steve as a dad and saying that to you. Despite not having kids you both already have your roles figured out. 

“Okay got it.” You say with a slight blush. 

You gently nudge Max's leg not wanting to scare her. She wakes up which in turn wakes the rest of them up. It wasn't the world's hardest task that Steve gave you but it was enough time for them to all fully wake up and get out. By then Steve had done his part of the job.

“Ok Dustin you hold the blankets, Mike you hold a chair, Lucus you hold this other chair.” Steve says, pointing at things for the boys to hold. 

“Why do we have to hold stuff and not you guys?” Mike asked in his typical sassy tone.

“First of all i'm holding the cooler, second of all do you have no manners Wheeler? Now man up and hold a chair.” Steve huffs as he rolls his eyes. You only just got here and he's already had to shut something down. 

There is a part of Steve in that moment that thought this might have been better if it was just the adults, or better yet just the two of you. But he knows despite these little disagreements today will be fun. 

You grab his hand, taking him out of his head. “Do you need me to grab anything?” You say just loud enough for him to hear.

“No honey it's ok we all got it.” He responds by kissing your cheek. You're already feeling sweat on the nape of your neck. 

All of you walk down as you see Jonathan, Nancy, Robin, and Eddie all setting up. 

“Wow i dont think ive ever seen Robin do physical labor in my life!” Steve says laughing.

Robin sticks her finger up at him, not giving his joke the time of day. Nancy and Jonathan sit down in their chairs as the kids unpack what was in Steve's car.

“Ok sunscreen time!” You yell not letting any of them get away before they all forget. 

Of course they all sigh wanting to just go out into the water already, but they oblige and do what you ask with no whining. 

“How do you get them to just do what you say?” Nancy asks.

“Oh, um, I don't really know? They just never really put up a fight with me.” You reply wishing you had a better answer for her.

“You must be special. I think because I'm Mike's big sister they all see me that way and love to go against whatever I say.” Nancy says playfully, shaking her head.

You giggle at her statement but Steve overheard the conversation. He can't help but think about what a great mother you would be. If only you two knew that you both have these thoughts about each other. The thing is your relationship is still on the newer side. Only dating around 6 months Steve thinks talking about kids together would just scare you away. 

“Steve, when are you thinking of going in the water?” You ask, trying to decide whether you want to sunbathe and read your book or go in since you're hot. 

“Hmmm we can go right now if you want?” He replies.

“Okay let's go.” You say getting up and taking your dress off. Steve has big heart eyes. You're absolutely gorgeous. 

He gets up and takes his shirt off to then give you a million little kisses all over your face. You giggle until he finally reaches your lips for a nice kiss.

 “You're so pretty. Have I ever told you that?” Steve asks with a head tilt.

“Maybe once or twice but you know it never really hurts to hear.” You say with a shrug but your smile gives you away. 

Steve grabs your hand and pulls you toward the ocean. “Wait.” You say

“What? What's wrong?” Steve is already in panic mode, did something happen from the time you were on the sand to the water? 

“It's really cold.” You say with a shiver and start backing up.

Steve lets a sigh he had held in. He should have known you would say that.

“Nope you cannot back out now, we're already here!” 

“But, but I just…. Maybe I'm not hot enough yet!” You say trying to reason with him. The thought of even going as deep as thigh level makes your skin rise in goosebumps. 

“Oh wait, look , they are waving at us!” Steve points over to your area. You turn around to look.

“No they aren- AHH!” Steve had picked you up bridal style. 

“Steve, please dont. It's so cold you're gonna be cold too just think about it!” You yell but ultimately nothing is stopping him and you come to the beach to swim. He walks into the water at a slow pace.

“See I'm fine! Once you get in it will feel warm I promise.”

You look at Steve with an unknowing look. You don't know if you trust what he said but he said it so kindly that you almost want to believe him. You dip your foot down so you can feel the water. It’s still as cold as when you first walked on the beach but you decide to fully go for it. Allowing Steve to let you down, you are now calf level with the water. 

You let out a blow of air as the cold shocks you. “See not bad! And it will only get warmer.” He says going deeper and faster now that you're not in his arms. 

“Yea it will only get warmer because all these kids are peeing in it.” You say with an annoyed tone that he was somewhat right. You are getting used to the water the longer you stand in it. 

After going in and splashing each other you decide it's now time to relax. The kids are still swimming around, Nancy and Jonathan are by the ice cream truck, and Robin and Eddie are building a sand castle. Now is the perfect time to sleep. 

You and Steve walk up and he starts drying himself off with a towel. You realize that he doesn't need to as the sun will do it in a matter of minutes but you decide not to bother him about it. You instead crawl onto the blanket, reaching into your bag to get your book and you feel a slap on your butt. 

“Steve! There are kids!” You whisper shout at him, eyes wide even though he just has a big smile on his face as he's gigging. 

“What? You had sand on your ass! I was just trying to help.” He says it like it was a fact. 

You start to laugh because he's laughing, the whole situation is too silly to stay mad at. You both finally lay on the towels and you open your book. It's a perfect one for this occasion and before you get through your first page Steve asks-

“Baby could you read outloud?” Steve asks in a soft tone. You can tell he's tired. He was the one who got up earlier than any of us and didn't take a nap on the drive here. Reading to him will always calm him down. 

“Of course my love.” You say in a warm tone, happy to be where you are at, in this very moment. You start reading aloud and you can see Steve get comfortable and close his eyes. He looks so pretty. But it's only a matter of minutes later that the kids come back. They simply don't know how to be quiet and now there's no nap for Steve. But again he can't stay mad at them.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Going one by one🩵 These are my favorite comments to get HERE WE GO

Bobby's sick of everyones shit. She and Dean won't stop making heart eyes and he can't do anything about it, Sam's being a butthole and he's too stressed to join in, everyones dying. Someone get him a Xanax

BOBBY IS GREEN (... not to give you homework but it's actually mentioned earlier, literally half the story back)

.... no comment

Bobby doesn't need to ask that question he'll know when it happens🩵 (she'll be happier and Dean will look like he won the lottery. Honestly Bobby is team "let them bang" cause the ship has sailed he just actually wants it to land somewhere)

.... no comment

She's a girlboss. A murdery, slicing girlboss

Therapy would do both of them wonders. Two people have never been more stressed over their self-worth and blinded by their own affection to see what's right in front of them. Rivaling Ben and Sunshine from No Love Lost levels of denial (please ignore my self-promotion im sorry)

SKY DADDY NOOOOOOOOO (no comment otherwise)

They be lending the others grace they do NOT lend themselves "dont kill yourself princess" as if he was not ready to roll over and die literally six months ago

Ellen IS mom now.

Thank you I was proud of that one🩵🩵 He would. He's a creature

I loved writing the soul convo cause she's trying to downplay it (she's SO worried she's gonna say the wrong thing and he'll leave) and Dean's just like "I'm GOLD :)". He's a puppy.

Yeah :(

I should really start looking into that then.

Thank you so much again!!!! And you CAN call me pookie

Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were. 

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn’t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands. 

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out. 

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not. 

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word. 

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her. 

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-�� Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that. 

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her. 

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense. 

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her. 

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala. 

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself. 

And he never knew when to stop. 

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven. 

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body. 

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go. 

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him. 

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself. 

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane. 

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her. 

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with. 

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried. 

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good. 

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to. 

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight. 

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped. 

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm. 

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour. 

The extra thirty was mostly for safety. 

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left��not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care. 

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all. 

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time. 

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” 

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care. 

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before. 

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it. 

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.” 

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine. 

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that. 

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked. 

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick. 

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her. 

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him. 

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he- 

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew. 

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs. 

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books. 

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first. 

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to- 

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom. 

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her. 

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone. 

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him. 

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to. 

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed. 

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way. 

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade. 

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic. 

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again. 

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well. 

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious. 

But you have to do this. 

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.” 

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here. 

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body. 

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together. 

Knowing still really doesn’t matter. 

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. “It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost. 

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse. 

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone. 

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision. 

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last. 

None of this place has. 

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom. 

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but-  No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.” 

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door. 

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still. 

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static. 

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were. 

Like Lilith. 

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror. 

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel. 

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book. 

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time. 

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole. 

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up. 

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore. 

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting. 

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching. 

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone. 

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross. 

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party. 

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here. 

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.” 

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky. 

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you- 

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t- 

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings. 

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea. 

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning. 

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice. 

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse. 

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean. 

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

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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[anonmousegosqueek]

So, I was thinking about poly 141 complete (GhostSoapGazPriceNik)

So, maybe they go in Christmas leave at Johnny's house, and Johnny's parents are completly clueless about their relationship, both because John never addressed having a partner and because they are really casual aboit it (on base they kinda hide it, bot by hiding it for so long it became showing affections in small gestures that you have to look into to notice love between all of them).

The night comes down, the uncles, aunts, cousins and nieces go home, they remain in the Task Force and Johnny's parents and two of his sisters.

Johnny has to go to sleep in his old childhood room (tradition every time he goes on leave) and remain a guest room and the two small couches in the living room.

Maybe they don't fuck, but they defnitely cuddle, maybe one of them can't sleep and goes down in the kitchen and has a conversation with those that are in the living room or something like that. You choose who sleeps where ;)

AGHHHJ- FENNEC IM SORRY

So this was so scrumptious yummy texture thought that I wanted to make a whole fic, right? And I'm still gonna do that, no one can stop me. Problem is: I'm in waaaay over my head.

So yeah, this has been sitting in my ask box for too long 😔

I just wanted to say that I DIDN'T FORGET!

I'm just silly and struggling.

To tide me y'all over, I have some fun little sillys we came up with under the cut.

Ship name? Ghoappricenikroagaz. It's funny because pp.

Sleeping chart: Soap got his childhood bedroom, bottom bunk. They put Gaz in the top bunk, bro slept cuddled up to Soap every single night.

Ghost got the couch, Mama MacTavish apologized constantly about "making such a big lad sleep on the sofa" and such. Ghost didn't mind, Gaz thought it was hilarious.

Price and Nik got the spare room, mostly because they're the oldest. Soap jokes about being jealous, except he also totally sneaks in there one night. They wake up to a Sargent somehow on top of both of them, muttering in his sleep.

Roach comes in later (delayed flight/spent the first bit of break with his mom)

For being the "quiet" member, he won't. Shut. Up.

Everyone is dancing around the romantic aspect, he comes in with a kiss and an offer to suck dick.

He also starts to openly argue with the homophobic aunt. She's not homophobic out of hatred, she just doesn't think about it and keeps on talking about "when they get wives" she supports 'the gays' she just doesn't think about them. Roach reminds her in the most passive aggressive way possible*

*good for him! No notes, let him do whatever he wants.

Nik is out here, zoning the heck out while surrounded by a family all speaking literal Gaelic (yes I know most Scots speak English, I need this tho). 8 languages? Sure! *Scottish*?? Bro does not understand a bit of what they're saying.

Ghost has the easiest time with the language. As the resident Johnny Whisperer™, he can understand (mostly gathered from context clues) what the conversation is about

The sisters all have bets around what the heck is going on relationship-wise

At one point they literally gang up on Soap, cornering him like they're about to kill him.

You'll just have to wait and see how the conversation goes (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

Ghost is the favorite uncle, full stop.

[outrunningthedark]

Since you're a person with CP can I ask a question that I hope doesn't come wrong? I wondering wouldn't it be very taxing for Eddie to make him and Chris ride a bus all the way back to LA if he decides to move back cause I'm seeing some buddies wanting this scenario cause they want a NDE so buddie can happen and I just confused wouldn't this be hard for Chris and super stressful for Chris but since Im not a person with CP im wondering your thoughts on this?

(None of this is directed at you, don't worry) I've never been to El Paso or LA, but I DO know that they are two different cities in two different states - very large states, at that - so I thought "Lemme look up the time just to verify my instincts":

The average bus journey from El Paso to Los Angeles takes around 15 to 16 hours, with some buses completing the trip in as little as 13 hours. 15 to 16 HOURS???? Okay, yeah, buses make stops, but even the stops can't undo the...damage caused by sitting there for an extended period unable to move your muscles and limbs in a way that keeps them functional. Eddie would NOT put his son through such a difficult/intense form of travel if it wasn't absolutely necessary???? What the hell???? I get that this is television and Tim is gonna do whatever feels right regardless of how true-to-life it is, but the fandom doesn't even have the decency to apply real life logic to a very real situation (especially one involving a CHILD) and THAT is worse. THAT says more than enough about how much they care for the physically disabled people around them regardless of whatever "missteps" are made in the writers' room. Instead, they look at the show as a way to validate their ableism because SURELY Tim knows how things sound when he writes them! (No. No he does not.) Also, just to point out how stupid this scenario is, it is literally canon (from Hero Complex, 5x17) that they travel by AIRPLANE when Buck asks why Eddie is rushing around getting ready instead of TAKING THE LATER FLIGHT. (Love you, nonnie. Thank you for being respectful and bringing this to my attention <3)

[cimmerian1275]

ART TRADES!

I already talked about them here, but im gonna talk about them a bit more in this post!

Do i do Art Trades? HELL YES I DO.

——————

Am i currently available for an art trade? Ask me! If i dont reply to your dm, message me again after a few days because i DO see your dm but i have a really bad habit of forgetting to actually answer it xD

At the time of posting this i can say im currently not taking any ATs right now since ive had 3 ppl reach out and i dont want to overload myself xD but i WILL reblog this whenever i am free!

My art schedule is all over the place and really unpredictable, so theyre technically by default 'always open' unless ive said otherwise. Ive accepted the fact that ill always have owed art of some kind due, but that wont stop me from adding smaller things in-between like a spontaneous AT <3

If i tell you theyre currently closed, just check on this post every few weeks.

How do your ATs work? Dunno if the way i do them is universal, but we just each pick one of our OCs (<- doesnt have to be an oc btw, you could even request ROTTMNT art) or something for each other to draw and have fun. Preferably we both agree on an equal amount of art, so if you were to draw an unshaded, sketchy half-body of my chosen character i would also do the same with yours!

On my end, youll most likely be asked to draw either Sagara or Jr <3

I dont really want to do any big scenes or detailed artworks since with my artstyle it takes HOURS... over DAYS... and i dont have enough of an attention span for that xD (and id quake under the pressure of trying to finish something big like that, shgfjhdhdfs)

So smaller things like fullbody drawings, sketches, sometimes multiple doodles, i love doing those kinds of things! Sometimes i get carried away with shading too.

Just dm me and we can hash out the details <3

What can you draw? Dragons (anything draconic tbh) gryphons, creatures, TMNT and TMNT OC's (and by extension any accessories they may have)

Backgrounds? Eh, if you like clouds or something abstract, sure. But i have no clue how to add props or anything xD

My artstyle is also pretty inconsistent, so heads up! I like experimenting with it.

Need to knows: I cant give you an accurate estimation for how long itll take me to complete my side of the trade, days? Weeks? No idea, life gets in the way and in my irl one i never know whats gonna happen next (seriously my fam sucks at letting me know if theyve made plans for the week or not 💀)

Tumblr crunches the file quality sometimes, but i can send you the full file via a Stash link from DeviantArt.

☝️ Yeeeaah im on DeviantArt........ the sites a dumpster fire but im still active there.

[lostandbackagain]

im having so much fun with this reread post-MFOM for so many reasons and rn it's because having heard skulduggery's thought process out loud it's even more obvious that he's coaching valkyrie and trying to train her observation skills and fluid thinking. much as she would like to think otherwise he's very rarely actually asking for answers he doesn't know

even better that realizing this eventually causes valkyrie to crash out because he "only hangs out with her because he likes her"

[mrmeepsmadmind]

Metalhawk: bro stop calling my people NAILS

Starscream: if you tase me im gonna make u my dead wife istg

Wheeljack: why do your optics turn separate directions whenever i mention the word 'plan'.

Ratchet: yeah i have arthritis so idc if i die tbh :/

rodimus: im buying an rv and me and all these strangers (who like me more than u, not that it matters ) (im hot) are gonna * EXPLODES EVERYONE *

wheeljack, in the middle of discussing a very elaborate pain-staking plan:... ... something just exploded & i wasn't the cause 😢...

prowl: WHERE IS YOUR RAGE

needlenose: i sure love my big dumb evil husband. sure hope a disgruntled little popcorn kernel doesn't detonate a bomb in his head

Wheeljack: fuck my life

Starscream: i love lying, so, naturally-- im gonna become a politician.

ironhide: i saw the hat man

the intelligent Bumble (bee):

[xxplastic-cubexx]

it doesnt need to be said but its genuinely so funny how at-the-hip charles and erik are in krakoa like they really had the green light- the OBLIGATION- to be as obnoxiously close to each other as possible and abused that right to the fullest extent

[princeyam]

champions of my heart

[yourlocalbug]

Give it up for the most hyena man ever (and the several fukawa reactions)

[arom-antix]

I bring to thee some quick late night Viktuuri sketches because I think we could all use some fluff

[allyougottado]

the scotty and cthylla car crash chronicles

based on this part in the cradles choreography

it surprised me so much when i played it for the first time i wanted to laugh so badly what is she making him do 😭😭😭

[lameow-l]

GAMING IS MY SON AND IF ANYTHING HAPPENS TO HIM IM GONNA KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM AND THEN MYSELF!!

LOOK AT HIM HES SO CUTE

i still have hope in getting the other boys too

its ok they can be a band or smth.. at least then gaming wouldn’t have to be so disappointed in people not hiring him bc he’s just having fun with his boys…