#i’m gonna cut this out and laminate it so i can have an emotional support elf in my pocket ready to go

[daily-smol-silm]

Day #19 - Glorfy hug

Glorfy hug.

Bonus cat cameos:

Bby nuisance go blep <3

[dreamcatcherfication]

The Queens of London Part 4 - My Shadow’s the Only One That Walks Beside Me

I wrote this at 1 AM and it really shows. Anyway, I have no idea what’s happening anymore but I tried my best! This chapter feels very filler-y at parts, but I do like where everything is going, so you’ll have to stick around and “Suddenly Seymour”! *gets hit by flying book* Okay, I see how it is. Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Sorry for any spelling/grammatical errors, I’ve gotten so little sleep that I can hear colors.

Writing Masterpost

If you want to send a request or a prompt, my inbox is always open! I publish a story at 8:00 AM PST everyday, so I’m always in need of new ideas (now featuring random asks). If you want to be tagged in my works, just let me know and I’ll be sure to tag you!

Prompts | More Prompts | The Trifecta of Prompts | Random Asks

Trigger Warnings: Vague allusions to abuse

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Everyone was sat at their meeting table, silently watching each other. There was a (laminated) plan set out in front of each chair for every queen and lady, the only empty seat being Anne’s. Clearly, some of the queens and ladies like Aragon and Joan were eager to start, but no one made any move without Boleyn. The silence was practically deafening for Kat who swore she could hear something ringing.

Soon enough, the door opened slowly and Anne shuffled in. She shot a glance at Kat but turned her gaze away and sat in her seat. “Can we start now?” Aragon asked in exasperation.

“Yeah, sorry,” Anne replied, her voice slightly heavier than normal. She didn’t quite look nervous, per se, but rather like she knew something she wished she didn’t. Cathy shot a questioning glance at Anne, but kept her mouth shut. Kat couldn’t help but observe all of this, an uncomfortable hole settling in her stomach.

“Alright,” Jane started, smiling warmly at her companions. “Henry’s party is in two nights time, and we need to be prepared. Anna, I believe you have something for us.”

Snapping her fingers, Anna stood up. “Right you are, Jane Suddenly Seymour,” she joked. Bessie stood up as well, lifting a large bag she had set under the table. “Outfits made by yours truly,” Anna presented, helping Bessie lift the first dress. “Miss Aragon, would you like to see your dress,” Cleves continued her over dramatic flair.

Rolling her eyes, Aragon stood up and moved over to the other two women. Unfurling the dress, Kat couldn’t help but gasp at its beauty. It was long and sweeping, the ends ruffled in all the right places to create shimmering waves. There were sparkles around the chest portion, accentuating Aragon’s dark skin against it. As for the whole of the dress, it was a radiant gold, regal and unapologetic, perfect for the queen who would wear it. The bottom half of the dress was silky and trembled at the slightest wind. Holding the dress against her body, Aragon admired Cleves’s work. “You’ve outdone yourself again, Anna,” she praised, leaving the room to go change and try the dress on. Even if she trusted Anna, the designer always encouraged them to try the dresses on and make sure they fit well.

“Just wait until you see the rest,” Anna smirked.

As Aragon changed, Bessie pulled out the second dress. “Anne, I believe this one’s for you,” she said, delicately placing the dress on the table. If Aragon’s had been radiant, this one was entrancing. It was a dark green, so thick that just looking at the dress made Kat’s chest clench. This dress was a little shorter and more revealing (important to the part Anne would be playing) but no less astounding than Aragon’s. There were jewels tacked along the breast line, making the dress even more elegant. A leather band wrapped around the waist, holding the dress together. 

“Wow,” Kat murmured, absolutely transfixed.

“Going off Kat’s reaction, I think I can safely say this dress is going to capture plenty of attention,” Cleves raised an eyebrow at Anne. Kat blushed and looked down, embarrassed at being called out.

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” Anne replied cheekily. Aragon came back into the room, twirling in her dress. There were various compliments among the women, including a wolf whistle from Anne. “Looking good Catalina,” she teased.

“Stuff it, Anne,” Aragon pretended to be annoyed. “Go change into your dress,” she ordered.

“As her majesty wishes,” Anne bowed out of the room, with her dress, off to try it on.

“I suppose I’m next,” Jane spoke up. She and the other ladies had been quiet throughout the ordeal, simply watching on in silent interest.

“Indeed,” Anna affirmed, reaching into the bag. Her next item was simpler, but when Jane laid eyes on it, she couldn’t help but immediately fall in love. It was a white dress with black outlines around the edges, accenting the curves and highlighting a wavy pattern. There were faint glitters on the dress, making it shine, but there was nothing inherently distracting about it like Anne’s. It was straightforward and beautiful, just as Jane would’ve asked.

For some reason, seeing the dress brought up a nostalgic feeling in Jane’s chest. She pushed it down and grasped the dress, thanking Anna politely. She left the room quicker than the others, moving past Anne as she reentered the room. “Wow,” Kat said again, seeing Anne in the dress. 

Winking at the table, Anne twirled, catching everyone’s attention. “This is the best thing you’ve made yet, Anna,” she praised while smoothing the dress.

Shrugging off the praise, Anna and Bessie pulled out the next two articles of clothing. “Now, for our last two queens,” she looked at Cathy and Kat respectively, “you need utmost mobility while also appearing formal and wearing your best. Cathy, if you’re to observe properly, you can’t be wearing a distracting dress that hinders you. Solution? Suits.” 

Revealing the suit, Cleves grinned proudly at her creation. A dark blue blazer, rich in color but plain otherwise surrounded the outfit. The color was eye-catching and blended perfectly with Parr’s skin tone. The shirt was a white button up with black stripes running up it, thin but strongly supporting the outfit. The pants were also blue, high waisted over the shirt itself. Sat on the table it was stunning, and Kat couldn’t wait to see the journalist actually donning the outfit.

When Cathy didn’t get up, everyone stared at her. “Aren’t you gonna… try it on?” Bessie nervously prompted.

Hiding her awkwardness behind a laugh, Cathy shook her head. “No, I - uh - I’d rather do that by myself if that’s alright.”

“No problem at all,” Cleves waved her off. “Let me know if there’s any problems with it. Kat,” she called unexpectedly.

Jumping in her seat, Kat quickly put on her persona. “Hmm?” She voiced, hiding her excitement. “My turn? Go ahead,” Kat made it seem like she was holding back a yawn.

The women all shot her confused looks, surprised by her nonchalance that had come completely out of left field. Maria and Maggie shared a confused look, but they said nothing. “Alright,” Cleves frowned, attempting to dispel the sudden tension. “Now, we weren’t sure what color would work, but Bessie had the great idea of this hot pink that I think you’re going to love.”

Sure enough, Kat had to stifle her astonishment at the suit. Like Cathy’s, it was covered by a hot pink blazer with black flower patterns scattered on it. The white shirt beneath it was plain, but the suspenders attached to them gave off a 1920s vibe that Kat adored. The pants were also pink, the same shade as the blazer, although there were no patterns on it. To top it off, there was a black choker sat on top of the outfit. “You like it?” Bessie asked, her eyes slightly twinkling. She had worked on this outfit specifically with Anna, and she was extremely proud of how it had turned out. 

“You did a good job,” Kat coughed out, making sure to keep her compliments vague.

“It’s absolutely stunning,” Jane said softly from the doorway, her dress stealing the spotlight. Everyone turned around to gaze at her, their eyes wide. For something so simple, Jane stood out among all of them. The dress had a life of its own, practically giving off an air of emotion to whoever set eyes on it.

Pushing Kat’s suit forward, Cleves urged, “Now that Jane’s back, you can try your suit on, Kat.”

“Uh,” panicking, Kat replied, “could I do what Cathy did?” At the awkward looks she received, Kat clarified, “Try it on at home?”

“Sure,” Anna continued, unbothered. “Bessie and I guessed on your measurements, so make sure to tell us tomorrow if something doesn’t fit right.”

“What about you, Anna?” Joan asked, speaking up for the first time that night. “Unlike us ladies, you’re going to the party. Don’t you need an outfit?”

“Of course, I have my suit already prepared. It’s a surprise for you all.”

“Why would you need a suit if you’re not going to be sneaking around,” Maggie snorted as she put her feet up on the table. 

Clicking her tongue, Anna leaned towards Maggie. “Because I just look that good in a suit.”

“Okay!” Aragon cut in. “How about we finish this meeting so we can all get home. Thank you for the clothes Anna and Bessie, they’re wonderful.” The fashion team nodded and sat down, listening to Aragon take control. “Now, let’s move on to politics.”

Walking home at one in the morning was not something Kat enjoyed, but she didn’t have a driver’s license, much less a car, so she was stuck. Trekking home with the suit, Kat couldn’t help but feel dirty. This suit in her hands was the most expensive thing she had ever held. Kat hadn’t grown up poor, sure, but she was never given things. And being kicked out of the house at a young age didn’t help her either.

Having this suit made for her felt wrong, she didn’t deserve it. She had lied her way into this group and was being rewarded for it. Kat knew she wanted to help, but it didn’t make the process any easier. She was used to being alone on the streets. Before she had been able to earn barely enough for rent, Kat had lived on these streets. All by herself.

There was a strange limbo between comfort and fear as she stood alone at a streetlight. Kat was used to this, the silence of the night disrupted only by her breathing. Yet she knew of the things that lurked around the corners that weren’t her shadow. For a second, Kat contemplated staying out in the dark and never returning home. 

Before she could travel further down that path, Kat arrived at her apartment. Going into the building and making her way to the door, Kat fumbled with her keys. Getting the door open was harder than usual, the lock seemingly jammed for some reason. Regardless, she got the door open and made her way inside. Running a hand through her hair, Kat flipped on a light and squeaked in surprise, coming face to face with Anne Boleyn in her kitchen.

“Hey Brandon. You and I are gonna have a little chat,” Anne spoke coldly. “Couch. Now.”

Sitting on the couch, Kat stared at her hands, too afraid to look in Anne’s eyes. She had been caught, hadn’t she? Terrible thoughts kept running through her mind on what Anne might do, but Kat refused to voice any of them. “I thought you looked familiar to me,” Anne monologued while pacing in front of Kat. “I was just really curious as to why I know your face. But you know,” she shot a glance at the teen, “curiosity killed the Kat.”

Shivering, Kat opened her mouth, but closed it. “I thought if I stole your wallet, I’d be able to learn something about you. And oh boy did I learn something.” Making a full stop, Anne stared straight through Kat’s persona. “No drivers license or ID, no nothing. Just a few stray pounds and some lint. A laundry card with an address to some,” she gestured around the apartment, “disgusting slum house. No offense,” she quickly corrected herself, not wanting to be too aggressive. Kat shrugged. She couldn’t fault Anne for thinking her home was disgusting if she felt the same way. 

“But most intriguing of all,” Anne continued, “was the autographed card of Thomas Wolsey, one of the heads of Gemini Records. Now, anyone who has done business with Darkrider Records knows of the war those two labels are neck deep in. It’s not something they publish on the news, but if you truly were affiliated with Darkrider Records, you wouldn’t be seen within an inch of anything related to Gemini.” Gulping, Kat knew how deeply she had dug herself into a hole. “So tell me Kat, who are you?”

Taking a few quick breaths, Kat started to talk. She didn’t lift her head to face Anne and her voice was small. “My name is Katherine Howard. I’m a street musician and I have no idea how I got your letter.”

Narrowing her eyes, Anne leaned in closer to Kat. The teen expected to be slapped for deceiving Anne, or receive some kind of retaliation. Instead, Anne gasped and backed away, a look of recognition in her eyes. “Kat? Kat Howard?”

“Yeah?” Kat mumbled in confusion.

“Your father is Edmund Howard, right?” Still confused, Kat nodded, not wanting to upset Anne. “Oh my God, I know why I recognize you.”

“Why?” Kat probed, needing answers for Anne’s sudden change in behavior.

“Because you’re my cousin.”

Silence. And then Kat stood up. “I’m your what?”

“Your cousin!” Anne exclaimed. She moved closer to Kat and started inspecting her face. “I mean, you’re a lot less chubbier than I remember, but you would’ve been, what? Four at the time? You look so different.”

Backing away from Anne, Kat wrinkled her nose. “You’ve gotta have me confused with someone else. I’m not related to any Boleyns.”

“Uh, clearly you are,” Anne rolled her eyes, pointing to herself. “Your aunt is my mom. You won’t remember me, we only met like, once.”

Still, Kat was unconvinced. “Why wouldn’t my father tell me about you?”

Anne frowned and lost a bit of enthusiasm. “Everyone in the family knows Edmund as the deadbeat. His wife died and he totally pulled away from everyone. No one’s talked to him since the funeral.” Kat cringed, remembering her mother disappearing one day. And how everything had changed after that. “Although I’m not one to talk, seeing as I’m the black sheep of our family,” Anne added.

Scoffing, Kat looked at the floor. “You’re the black sheep? Have you seen where I’m living?”

Awkwardly clicking her tongue, Anne once again observed the place. “Yeah, not the best living space.”

“Can’t afford anything else,” Kat grumbled.

“Street musician doesn’t pay too well.” Turning her attention back to her newfound cousin, Anne still needed answers. “How did you get that letter?”

Shrugging, Kat wound her arms tightly around her chest. “Some lady dropped it in my guitar case yesterday. It had my name on it, so I thought it was for me. I went to the meeting and you all started calling me Katherine Brandon and… I panicked.”

“Understandable,” Anne muttered, thinking about the implications of the letter landing with Kat. “And so the plot thickens,” she whispered to herself. Anne decided not to push on that front, instead bringing up another topic. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I need to,” Kat fired back. “I’m never going to do anything worthwhile in my life. This is my one shot.”

If it had been anyone else, they probably wouldn’t have encouraged Kat, but this was Anne Boleyn, known for her chaos. “Then let’s do it.”

Of all things Kat had been expecting, that wasn’t it. “You’re just going to help me?”

“Hell yeah,” Anne agreed. “I already want to take down Henry, and you’re already in on everything, so why stop now? If you’re willing to do this, then I’m gonna help you.”

A short grin grew on Kat’s face. “You won’t tell anyone I’m not really Katherine Brandon?”

“Anything for my baby cousin.”

-------------------------------------

@annabanana2401

@boleynhowards

@radcowboyalmondtree

@babeebobo

[thecleverdame]

Caught - Part Two

Sam x Reader

Masterlist

Summary: You're arrested and interrogated as an accomplice to the notorious Winchester brothers.

Warning: Talk of past violence, death of parents, murder, rape, torture and domestic abuse/violence.

Words: 2.8k

Beta:  ilikaicalie

Part 3, 4 & 5 are available now on my Patreon for a monthly pledge of 2.50. This pledge includes early access to all my stories and Patreon exclusive content.  >> CLICK HERE <<

-

-

You’ve had the dreams since you were a kid. They were mostly about small stuff like the weather or the score of a football game. They were vivid dreams, so mundane that you would have deemed them insignificant if it weren’t for the fact that they always came true.

It didn’t end there. Just like the visions, the other things came small and slow as you grew older. You could roll a pencil off the desk without touching it or make the lights go out without getting anywhere near the switch.

Small stuff, bad stuff, that your mother caught you doing when you were fourteen and put the kibosh to your wild imagination.

“No child of mine…” she mumbled, dragging you upstairs by the arm.

She was deeply religious, and couldn't bear the idea of you being part of something she deemed ‘the devil’. In her mind it was all the same, Ouija boards, fortune tellers and pentagrams, it was all worshipping a horned beast.

That was the road to hell and she wasn’t about to let you walk it.

Five Years Ago

Sam holds open the door of Pinkie’s Diner and follows you inside. It sounds ridiculous but he’s so close you can feel the energy coming off him as if he’s vibrating on some frequency you’re attuned to.

The smell of greasy fries and fresh coffee wash over you like a welcomed familiarity. With one hand on your arm, Sam leads the way to a back booth, ensuring that you sit before taking a seat himself. The waitress does a double-take when she gets a good look at your battered face. Her eyes shift to Sam, then his bruised knuckles.

You can only imagine what the two of you must look like. He’s working the whole pissed off hulk vibe and you look like the poster child for the domestic violence hotline.

“You kids alright?” she asks, tapping her pad with the eraser end of a pencil.

Are you alright? No, no you’re not.

“We’re fine,” Sam grunts. “Two coffees please.”

She gives you a look but doesn't say anything else before walking away.

He stares at you for a solid minute before asking the question that’s been eating him up inside.  “How’d you learn how to do that?”

“Do what?” you ask quietly, dropping your head to stare at your hands. You know exactly what he’s talking about.

Sam sits silently but you feel him fixated on you, he might as well be twisting your arm. “I didn’t learn how to do anything, I just…I’ve never done anything like that before. It was always dreams and then today...I don’t know. I just watched you and I knew I could help.”

“I don’t believe you.” Sam’s hostile, imposing his own personal brand of interrogation. He snaps forward in his seat, both hands balled on the table. He looks like a wild animal, poised and at the ready to tear you apart if you so much as breathe the wrong way.

If you hadn’t spent the last twenty-four hours in a car with him you might be scared, but you’re fairly sure you make him just as nervous as he makes you.

“I don’t need you to believe me,” you growl, eyes narrowing. “You show up out of nowhere in the middle of that shit storm, kidnap me, drive me out into the boondocks and now you’re calling me a liar? You’re the one who’s fucked, buddy.”

You slap the table in frustration, the grief rising into your throat. Sam’s watching something behind you and you turn to see the waitress leaning over the counter talking to one of the patrons. They’re both staring at you, whispering to one another.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Sam continues, lowering his voice as his eyes flick back to you. “You can’t just get that strong out of nowhere. There’s no way. I worked for a year and Istill needed...help.”

“I don’t even know what that means!” you hiss. You want to be mad but you’re too tired for this shit right now. Hours of unchecked adrenaline have worn off and you’re a shell, numb and drained. Nails dig into your palms as you clench both fists. “I just came home to find-” You have to stop, choking on your own words as tears well up. “I walked into the kitchen and those two guys had my mom pinned to the fucking counter and they were cutting her. I couldn’t even scream I was so scared. The other guy was holding my dad but I knew he was already dead, there was so much blood, no one could survive that. I must have surprised them, but all I remember is being punched in the jaw and everything went black. When I opened my eyes, you were there.”

You’re sobbing quietly, so sleep deprived that you can’t even begin to control your emotions.

“It’s okay.” He sighs. “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that.” Sam relaxes a little, reaching across the table to pat the back of your hand. “I’m sorry about your parents. I tried to get there in time. I tried to save them.”

The waitress arrives with two cups of coffee, setting them in the middle of the table.

“Anything else I can get for you two?” Indignantly she eyes Sam who looks irked by her unspoken accusation.

“You hungry?” he asks and you nod yes. “Two burgers and fries. To go, please.”

“I’d like a cheeseburger,” you add, wiping tears from your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt.

“You got it, sweetheart.” She offers you a sad little smile and walks away.

“Why don’t you tell me how the hell you did that?” you whisper, staring at him. “You pull some Chuck Norris moves and then black smoke is coming out of people. “

“You helped with that,” he counters, cocking his head.

“It’s not like I knew I could...until I did it.” You drop your head. You’ve always been so desperate to fit in. To be like everyone else. But after the last twenty-four hours, it’s never been more obvious that you couldn’t be less normal. You’re an oddity, but it seems like maybe this guy is too.

“And what exactly is it that you did, Y/N?”

“I don’t know.” You roll your eyes, tipping the back of your head against the booth. You’re exasperated and exhausted. “I just grabbed your hand, closed my eyes and concentrated and bam. Exploding, sizzling black smoke was coming out of people’s mouths.”

“Look me in the eyes and tell me you've never done anything like that before,” Sam insists, both hands sliding palm down across the table as he leans closer.

“I swear to God, I have no idea what’s going on. I’m scared and hungry. I can’t think anymore. Please, Sam. Just lay off for a little bit, will ya?”

This seems to strike a chord, he nods toward the motel across the parking lot. “We can get a room for a couple of hours. You can sleep if you want.”

“So we’re getting rooms together now?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Y/N,” he shakes his head, at the end of his rope as much as you are. “You’re just gonna have to trust me.”

There’s something about him. Maybe it’s his eyes, Sam has kind eyes. But you also watched him kill with the ease and precision of someone trained to do it. He might be trustworthy but he’s also lethal. “Are you going to throw me over your shoulder again if I try to leave?”

“No, I won’t try to stop you,” he confirms. Sitting back in the booth, tucking his arms under the table.

“But?” You swirl your finger in a circle. “Come on. I know there’s big ol’ but coming.”

“You need to stay with me. You’re not safe.”

“Not safe? Not safe from black smoke?”

“Among other things.”

“Wonderful,” you mutter, more to yourself than him.

A fifty dollar room and a cheeseburger later you’re feeling a little less like walking death. You shower, peeling off dirty clothes you’d rather burn than put back on. There are little splatters of blood on everything if you look close enough, even your underwear is a reminder of what happened, little red dots that soaked through your jeans.

“You think there’s a laundromat around here?” you ask, inching out of the musty bathroom with a tiny motel towel wrapped around you.

“Probably, but you can’t go like that and I can’t leave you alone.” He’s careful not to look at you, surprisingly respectful for someone who easily breaks so many other rules.

Sam digs through his things, offering you a wrinkled shirt from his backpack. “It’s clean.”

“Thanks.”

The flannel falls almost to your knees, it’s long enough that you’re willing to brave going to sleep without putting dirty panties back on. You crawl into the bed furthest from the door and watch Sam watch TV until your eyes finally close.

Present Day

“Talk to me about what your life is like?” The psychiatrist sits across the table from you. He’s an unassuming, mousy little man in his late fifties, maybe he’s older but it’s hard to get a read on him.

“Boring,” you huff, picking at the peeling laminate covering the table top.

“I find that hard to believe,” he counters, smiling softly at you. “They found your fingerprints at a break-in. That doesn’t sound boring at all to me.”

“I don’t usually participate in that part of things,” you admit, sitting back in the chair. This is an intricate dance between honesty and a story you need to weave. They already know a lot, there’s no point in denying most of it.

“Tell me then, what is your role in all of this?”

“Laundry,” you shrug, looking him in the eyes. “Cooking, cleaning, moral support.”

“So, Sam and Dean go out and do the dirty work and you what? Keep the home fires burning?”

“Pretty much.”

“That must be hard. Isolating. Do you ever stay in one place for very long?”

Is he fishing for information for the cops? You’re not sure. This could just be him honestly trying to get a handle of what your day-to-day life entails.

If only he knew. The bunker is a full-time job. It’s huge and when you’re not playing doomsday housewife, there are rooms of files to be organized and documents to be scanned and electronically catalogued. There’s always something to be done.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “When it’s safe.”

“And Sam leaves you on your own?”

“Yeah...” you nod, beginning to understand where this is headed.

“He must really trust you...to leave you alone without worrying that you’ll run away.”

“He does,” you respond simply.

“Did you ever try?”

“Try what?” Your eyes narrow, watching him jot down notes on his legal pad. “Did I try to get away from him?”

“Yes,” he confirms, pulling off his glasses to look at you. “Did you ever try to tell someone what happened to you? Or attempt an escape?”

“Yeah, a couple of times.” You smile to yourself thinking about those first months.

“And what happened?”

“The first time the men who killed my parents came for me. Sam had to save my ass yet again from certain death. And the second time he caught me and talked me into staying.”

“That must have been some conversation,” he offers quietly without looking up.

“It was.” Your mouth twitches as those memories flood back. Sam’s earnest declaration of affection and a kiss that said everything else. A sad little motel room with decaying wallpaper and the feeling of his hands on your skin. The stretch of him inside you that first time. You fucked on a squeaky mattress while Dean waited in the car for his brother to convince you to come back. “He made a lot of really good points.”

“Has he ever hurt you?” he asks, tapping the inky tip of the pen on the paper.

This is where things get...delicate.

You need them to keep you here. You’ve been in holding at the local sheriff’s office for two days now. When they do move you, it’ll be to a more secure facility. It doesn’t matter if that’s a psychiatric hospital or the county jail. Both of those places are hard to get out of. You need to stay here, where it’s easy for Sam to get to you. He’ll come for you, it’s only a matter of time. That is if he’s alive, but you have to have faith. It’s all you’ve got anymore.

If you refuse to talk about it, they’ll label you as uncooperative and formally arrest you. After processing you’d be sent to the county jail. If they think you’re nuts, finally broken after years with the Winchesters, you’ll be committed, at least for a while.

This place is best. Security is minimal, but you doubt you’ve got too much longer. They have to know that Sam will try to get you out.

“Y/N,” Dr. Harold repeats himself. “I asked if Sam has ever hurt you.”

If you say no, if you try to explain that the people in the video they have are not you and Sam, he’ll think you’re delusional. You have to admit to at least some of it, despite how sick the very idea makes you feel.

“Not on purpose.”

There. That’s honest.

“I’m going to show you some photos and I want you to tell me what happened.” He opens a folder, pulling the first page. He turns it in your direction sliding it across the table. “You were calling yourself Tabitha Ripley.”

They found your fake IDs. They have more than you realized, every fake name you’ve used over the past five years.

You’re staring at a hospital admission form and three grainy photos from various angles. Your face is beaten and swollen. Two black eyes swelled shut and a broken nose that made your entire face blow up like a balloon. You looked like that for weeks.

And it wasn’t just your face, you’d broken an arm and a collar bone in that fight. It was a vampire that intended to avenge the death of his nest. It followed Sam home and nearly killed you before Dean came back early and saved your bacon. That was the attack that finally spurred Sam to teach you how to defend yourself.

“I, umm,” you gulp, remembering of the weight of the creature on top of you with its arm around your throat. You’d thought that was it, you were going to die on the shag carpet of an abandoned house. “I was mugged.”

“I see.” He makes a mark on his paper. “What about this one? You were calling yourself Holly Costagan, I believe.”

“Shit,” you breathe out. You’ve tried to put this incident out of your mind. Out of all the awful things that have happened to you, this was by far the most traumatic.

They were hunters. Four men who were convinced that Sam was the enemy, that he was going to end the world somehow. When they couldn’t find Sam they took you as their consolation prize and tortured you. The black and blue fingerprints around your wrist, the burn on your forearm, and the remaining scar are a painful reminder of the older man holding your arm over the stove.

There are still several dozen scars on your back from the tiny cuts they made, insistent on asking questions you didn’t have the answers to. They had you for a week before Sam broke down the door and killed all four of them.

Your hands shake as you trace over the hospital photos.

“This wasn’t Sam.” You close your eyes, unable to look at them anymore.

“Another mugging?” The doctor asks, his tone is gentle, he wants you to share. He probably thinks he can help you if he can get you to open up.

“Yeah,” you confirm staring at your hands. “Another mugging.”

“We can help, you know,” he offers. “You’re not the only one. Lots of women don’t leave. You don’t need to worry about what people will think, we’re professionals and we understand what you’ve been through. We have doctors who can help you heal. But we need you to cooperate with the police. I can’t do anything for you if you're in prison.”

This is it, right where you need to be. They think you’re abused but rational. They’ll keep you here for questioning and you can stall, for days if need be. A traumatized victim can ask for breaks, draw out the process long enough for Sam and Dean to come and get you.

“Okay,” you nod, looking at him with a wilted smile. “What do you want to know?”