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trombonechurchill · 2 days ago

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Cutting Out the Middleman

Taylor Kelly/Lucy Donato, 1,154 words, rated T

Deep down, she thinks both she and Buck knew they were fighting against the current, that their broken edges were causing more cracks the tighter they tried to hold things together. And she's relieved, in a way. Taylor's never been good at lying to herself and she has to admit that's what she'd been doing for a long time now.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

For the @9-1-1-kinkmeme prompt: What it says on the tin. After she and Buck break up, Taylor decides she wants to find out what was so great about kissing that hot flight medic. Lucy's happy to demonstrate.

Read here or on AO3

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Taylor should be out celebrating. She just broke the story of the decade about a serial killer amongst some of the city's finest and yet she's here; haunting the same old badge and ladder doing a postmortem of yet another relationship crash and burn. Taylor Kelly, coming to you live from the smoldering wreckage of the last several months of her life. And she can't even really be all that mad about it.

Probably since the second Buck kissed Lucy, really.

"What was it you said to me? 'I'd hate for things to get messy again'? I think you might have jinxed us with that one." As if summoned by some sort of karmic retribution, Lucy Donato swings herself into open seat next to Taylor at the bar.

Taylor fixes her with a tight smile, holding up her glass in a mock toast.

"If you're here to warn me off the 118, you can save your breath, I've learnt my lesson."

"The 118 can look after themselves, I am here to drink," Lucy says, enforcing the casual words with an easy sprawl of her legs. Out of the usual straight laced LAFD uniform or bulky bunker pants, Taylor supposes she shouldn't be surprised at the tight play of muscle under Lucy's jeans as she knocks her knee against where Taylor's are tucked up by the bar. Buck had insane thighs too, it must be a firefighter thing, she muses, taking another sip of her whiskey and polishing off the glass.

Lucy orders herself one of the beers on tap as Taylor considers her over the rim of her lowball glass, watching the smooth line of her throat as Lucy takes a long pull.

"Look, I'm not your enemy, I may have not liked how you did it, but I guess if the story had to come out, I'm glad it was you," Lucy says, apparently catching how Taylor had been eyeing her. She needed to work on her covert surveillance if she was being that obvious. Or maybe cut back on the drinking.

Taylor orders another lowball.

"I didn't say that you were," Taylor says simply, tilting her head and watching as Lucy's eyes follow the fall of her hair as it shifts over her shoulder. Time was, Taylor wasn't so sure if that was true. She didn't like it, playing the jealous girlfriend; feeling small and trapped and found wanting. Wondering what it was about her that pulled Buck across that line.

"You don't need to, your face is doing a lot of the talking for you," Lucy says back with a shrug, taking another long drink but punctuating the comment with a smile. Taylor does her best to school herself back into a neutral expression but she thinks maybe she's starting to get an inkling of what that thing may have been now.

"And what, exactly, do you think my face is saying?" Taylor raises a single polished eyebrow, an expression she's well perfected over the years, and feels a coil of satisfaction as Lucy turns fully to face her, giving her her full attention. Her eyes feel like a heavy weight on Taylor's skin as they trace across her face, down her cheek, her lips, back to Taylor's eyes. Taylor holds her stare.

"I think it's saying that there's something you want to ask me," Lucy says after a moment.

"That's presuming a lot." "Hey, I'm just calling it how I see it." Lucy's grin is charming, Taylor reluctantly admits, she can see the appeal. And Taylor's not blind, she could tell Lucy was attractive even sweaty and covered in soot, but it's different now, having those dark eyes turned on her, the full weight of Lucy's easy confidence and attention.

"So. What is it?" Taylor blinks, caught out staring for a second time tonight. "That you want to ask me," Lucy prompts again.

"I want to know why he kissed you," Taylor says, pleased to see that seems to have stumped Lucy at least for a moment.

"You know, I didn't expect you to actually come out and say it." Lucy scrubs at her chin, abashed but apparently not entirely ashamed for being called out about kissing someone else's boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.

"I've found it's always better to be direct about things."

"Yeah, I'm getting that. For the record, I didn't know he had a girlfriend until after we kissed. It was all in good fun," Lucy says, still watching Taylor closely.

"No, I figured, which means something about you was worth it," Taylor surmises, leaning in closer. "If I could just figure out what…" Lucy's eyes land on her lips again and Taylor smirks in triumph.

"I'd be happy to demonstrate, you know, for science or whatever," Lucy says slowly, setting her glass aside.

Taylor's barely moved her own before she's stepping forward, high-heeled shoe placed firmly between the v of Lucy's legs as she shifts into her space. With Lucy sitting down, Taylor's just tall enough to be able to tilt Lucy's face up, nails carding and catching in the hair behind her ear as she pulls her to face her.

Lucy's mouth is warm and Taylor feels heat bloom in her stomach as she wraps a strong arm around her waist and pulls her closer, her other hand coming to rest with surprising gentleness to tilt Taylor's face and deepen the kiss.

Taylor chases the taste of hops and saliva as she presses in closer, her own lips already whiskey warm and tingling as Lucy's tongue brushes over the seam of her lips as Taylor opens her mouth for more.

For a breathless moment, it's all Taylor feels, the slick slide of Lucy's mouth, the hot brand of her arm across her back and gentle fingers against her cheek. She sees a flash of dark eyes watching her under long lashes before Taylor finally pulls back, wiping at the corner of her mouth where she's sure her lipstick's smudged and clearing her throat.

"Well, I suppose I can see what all the fuss was about," Taylor says belatedly, forcing herself back and out of the loose loop of Lucy's arm as she drops back into her seat.

They're both quiet for a moment, drinking in easy comradery even as Taylor can see Lucy watching her from the corner of her eye.

"You know," Lucy starts after a beat, "I'm happy to try it again, you know. If you needed to collect more data or something."

Taylor grins.

"I do like to be thorough," she agrees, leaning back in.

#kris writes #911 #taylor kelly/lucy donato #do they have a ship name?#lutaylor? lucylor?#how did this end up being the longest ficlet I've written so far? well you see. women.#911 fic #rings bell 911 fandom come get your femslash #lucytaylor

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yandere-sins · 18 hours ago

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I love you so much, you know? I’ve been reading your work for a while now and I’ve been holding back from requesting until now. I just read your Sylus fic and oh my god??? I can’t anymore. You write him so good I was engrossed the entire time. I wanted to request some LaD stuff from you but I didn’t know if you played the game or even knew it existed (despite its popularity) so I was too embarrassed to.

That brings me to the request itself. Xavier is my fav, if you’re comfortable writing for him, can I ask for a possessive/obsessive fic for him? How he’d be possessive/obsessive in a yandere sense, since we already know he’s pretty possessive canonically. I get major wolf in sheep’s clothing vibes from him. And I think he has potential yandere traits with the whole “No matter how many times it takes, no matter where you are… I will find you.”

I love how you write smut so I would love some of that in it, if it feels right to you. If not that’s completely okay. I may not be giving enough substance to write with so please let me know if you feel like you need more elaboration. Thank you so much!

Feel free to ignore! Take care! I love ya!💕

Thank you so much for requesting some LaD, I'm so glad you enjoyed the other story ♥ Some friends to enemies for you, coming right up ♥

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Is this where he touched you?"

"Ngh— Xav— What are you—!"

"Or was it here?"

A shuddering breath escaped your lips as his hand slipped beneath the waistband of your sweatpants. Your back arched as he pressed you towards the front door of your apartment, the cold wood heating up quickly from your own body heat. With his leg pushing between yours, kicking aside your right ankle, and loosening your position, you were quickly caught in his trap, feeling his fingers brush over your panties, sending tingles up your spine.

"What's gotten into you, Xavier?! Why are you even here?! I locked the door before coming home, didn't I?!"

It wasn't unusual for you two to hang out at the end of the day, Xavier being your closest friend ever since you two became mission partners. But you never crossed the line with him, never felt his hands roam your body so hungrily, reaching for what wasn't his.

The grip around your wrists tightened, pinning them even harder against the door in front of you, and you hissed at the sting of pain it caused. You knew how capable Xavier was firsthand, having watched him fight countless times, but he had never used his strength against you before, causing a flare of panic to rise inside you.

"Where was it? Where did he touch you?" he urged, his voice laced with anger that you had never heard from him before. He leaned forward, lips brushing against your earlobe until you felt the pattern of his teeth against your skin, nipping away. You didn't remember doing anything wrong, so why was he so upset?

Digging his middle finger between your folds, he dragged it upwards until it scratched at your clit, immediately turning into Xavier manipulating the little knob, flicking and abusing it while your back arched, buttcheeks pressing against his crotch. A surprised gasp eluded you as he reminded you of the more pressing matter of his assault rather than playing his little Q&A.

"Wait! Stop! That's not— We're not like that, Xavier!"

"Really? Because you seemed perfectly fine getting chummy with that guy."

"Wait, you mean the neighbor?!" you squeaked, followed by your head falling forward and breathing off the shameful moan that nearly escaped your throat as Xavier's hand changed its rhythm to include more fingers rubbing side to side. Goosebumps erupted on your arms, your body reacting with familiar glee. It was the very same touches you sometimes used on yourself, but with the fabric of your panties in the way, the friction was much better than your own fumbling.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you complained between heavy breaths, barely able to stop your hips from moving against his hand, inflicting more pushes of pleasure.

"I thought you didn't care about who gets you off, seeing how you let just anyone touch you."

"He just returned my sugar jar!" you whined loudly, your body caving into his touch. It had been so long since the last time someone actually touched you like this. So long since you had the chance to let off some steam, too, with new missions trickling in constantly. You hadn't even been home for the last few days—which your neighbor had noted when he returned the jar, having tried it a few times before.

That didn't justify Xavier's actions, though.

"Stop it! Stop it right now!" you finally spoke up, twisting your torso around and tearing one hand from Xavier's hold, instead pressing it into his chest. You, too, had enough training to qualify for the hunter position, and your strength was remarkable in every aspect as well. However... you were no match for his surge of emotions.

"So he did touch you," Xavier concluded, and despite the strain on your wrist, he stepped even closer, his hand slipping further down your sweatpants. You broke out of the clutch, retracting your hand only to reach up and grab him by the hair, the only easily reachable thing you could use against him. But by the time you made your first tug, his fingers had already pushed aside your panties.

You gasped while Xavier hummed appreciatively, even with your full hand in his hair, pulling the strands as hard as your tense position allowed, he seemed no more stressed or urged to end this. Instead, he slipped his fingers through your slick, feeling the welcoming warmth of your pussy as it enticed him with its wetness. Traitor, you thought, biting your lips while tears welled in your eyes. What a shame it was to be betrayed by your own desire while the man you presumed to be one of your best friends treated you like shit.

"Please..." you whimpered. "Let's just stop?"

"So you can go back to him now that I prepared you? Is that what you want?" Xavier asked, danger swinging in the voice he used to spit this at you.

"I'm not going to anyone, but this isn't right, and you know it!"

"Of course you won't. I won't allow it."

And with that, his fingers curled inward, spreading apart your eager lips and allowing him to slip inside. The first one made you gasp, despite barely being all the way in. But by the time the second finger arrived, you couldn't hold back a moan, Xavier's hand molding to the shape of your pussy, covering it possessively while giving his fingers the freedom to sink inside up to his knuckles. He only arched his palm to place his thumb back on your clit, slick and swollen, more jolts of pleasure zapping through you as he connected with it.

"Fuck," you breathed out heavily, feeling your grip on his hair loosen as your body sunk down onto his hand, easily lifted by his strength. But once you noticed, you jolted back up, gulping down a gasp as Xavier began pumping his fingers in and out of you.

"Is that what this is about? You think you own me? And you're jealous of someone giving me back my jar of freaking sugar?!" you managed to bite out between his fingers spreading you apart savagely.

"Correction," Xavier mumbled, and you felt his hot breath next to your ear, his movements becoming much more vigorous as he sandwiched you between his body and the door.

"You've been mine long before anyone else. I always know where you are and who you are with, and that guy is trouble. He's been borrowing your sugar more often than you fall asleep in my arms while we're watching a movie. He's into you, and I won't let him have you. And you'll no longer want him once I'm done with you."

"I never did!" you cried out, absolutely baffled at Xavier's words. You never knew he thought about you like this! He never let on that he was any more than your friend and mission partner! Sure, you two were close, but that's how it was supposed to be! All of his actions now felt like a betrayal of the worst kind.

If betrayal felt this good.

"Fuck, Xavier," you moaned. There was nothing left of the drowsy friend you knew as his fingers hammered into you relentlessly. You heard the squelching of your own juices through the fabric of your pants, paired with the pleasurable jolts wrecking your body.

"That's right, say my name. It's the only one you should be calling."

"Xavier, please—! I—!"

Your hand finally released its death grip on his hair, sinking down to the side of his body. As the edge closed in, you held on to his clothes, and he finally released your still-pinned hand to wrap his free arm around your body. Pulling you securely against him, he hit just the right spot with his ever-moving fingers that made your toes curl, your voice rejoicing as you cramped up, the bittersweet release washing over you.

For a moment, you could forget about the betrayal and heartbreak you felt, the tears in your eyes from pained relief as your orgasm shook through you. It didn't justify what he did, and you hated that it felt so good, but it was like he knew all the little buttons he needed to push inside you to scramble your brain into pieces. Despite it all, you felt more seen than you had in a long time, the pleasure releasing so much tension and stress that had built up over the weeks. It was that good.

But everything that could be considered good in that situation had to end eventually, and it did, slowly, as you regained your senses and realized what Xavier had done to you. What you let him do to you. It wasn't your fault, and yet it felt like it.

If only you had fought harder and made your disapproval clearer, maybe he wouldn't have...

Looking up, you hadn't even realized that Xavier made sure to lay you down safely on the floor, squatting above you with an intense stare raking over your body. You watched breathlessly as he lifted a wet hand to his mouth, tongue lapping at the slick from your pussy clinging to his fingers, without breaking his eye contact.

"I thought we were friends," you choked out, the floodgates of your eyes opening as tears blurred your vision. "How could you do this to me?"

"It was time, was it not?" he asked in this eerily calm voice of his. Never before had his demeanor frightened you so, but in front of you wasn't your "friend" Xavier, but the hunter. The cold-blooded, jealous hunter that you must have ignored for so long since you never saw him outside of work. Or perhaps he had just hidden it, like a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Time for what?" you sobbed.

His features softened a little as Xavier reached down to wipe away some of the tears that had escaped from your eyes. But just as quickly, his expression grew emotionless again, unfeeling and factual.

"That you learn your place."

It didn't make sense. Who was this guy? Why was he in your home in the first place, and why did he know how often the neighbor borrowed your sugar jar? Why was all of this relevant, and why did you have to find out this way what kind of person Xavier really was?

Reaching down, Xavier picked you up, effortlessly it seemed, not concerned with your orgasm-pleased, heartbroken, and slack body weight as he heaved you into his arms before moving towards the bedroom.

"Learn what?" you asked, desperate to get at least some answers. Make some sense of this situation. Explain it, however possible.

"Learn that there's no one who loves you like I do," he replied. With a yelp rattling from your throat, you were thrown on top of your bed, your body aching as you propped yourself onto your forearms reflexively, too scared to look away. Reaching underneath his shirt, he pulled it off in one swift motion, exposing his chest before reaching for the waistband of his own pants. Only then did realization dawn on you as to what he was doing, your pulse rising as you quickly began to crawl away until your body hit the headboard of your bed.

"And that no one gets to touch what is mine without consequences."

#xavier #lads xavier #xavier lads #xavier love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lads #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere x you #yandere tw #yandere fanfiction #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere drabbles #yandere oneshot #yandere stories #yandere writing #yandere imagines

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valwrites-stuff · 2 days ago

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Hi, I just wanted to say I love your work so much and I was wondering if you can please write about Jason finding out reader is a lead guitarist of a metal band?

Thank you so much, hope this turned out decent and you like it ❤️

Guitar goddess

Jason Newsted x Reader ☆ fluff, strangers to lovers

After seeing you a few times at parties and at the bar, Jason couldn't help but feel drawn to you. Your smile, your laugh, the way you carried yourself with confidence, it all captivated him. He found himself developing a little crush on you, unable to shake the feeling every time he saw you.

One night, at a friend's party, Jason finally mustered up the courage to approach you as he found you sitting there all by yourself, on the steps of the front porch, peacefully enjoying a cigarette. "Hey there, mind if I join you?"

As Jason's voice cut through the crisp evening air, you turned your head to regard him with a mix of surprise and curiosity.

He looked a bit unsteady on his feet, likely due to the alcohol coursing through his veins. Despite this, there was an undeniable spark of confidence in his eyes as he made his way over, claiming the space beside you.

"Not at all," you replied with a gentle smile, taking another slow drag from your cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray between your feet.

Jason sat down carefully, his thigh brushing against yours in a fleeting touch.

"I've seen you around but never really had a chance to talk," he said, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

"Name's Jason, by the way." He extended a hand towards you, his gaze flicking up to meet yours.

As he spoke, you noticed the way the dim porch light cast a warm glow across his features, the strong jawline, the piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a quiet intensity, and the curly brown hair that framed his face.

"I noticed you too. I'm glad we finally get a chance to talk. It's nice to meet you, Jason," you responded and shook his hand, taking in his ruggedly handsome features.

"You looked like you could use some company out here." Jason said, his deep voice sending a flutter through your chest. "Besides, I couldn't resist the chance to talk to the most intriguing woman at this party."

Your cheeks warmed at the compliment, a soft blush spreading across your face as you met Jason's gaze. There was something undeniably charming about the way he looked at you, his eyes holding a sincerity that put you at ease.

"Well thanks, I suppose I do stand out from the crowd." You teased and couldn't help but chuckle at his words.

You talked for what felt like hours, the conversation flowing effortlessly between you. Jason's laugh was infectious, and you found yourself smiling wider with each passing moment.

He was enchanted by your looks and aura of mystery. There was something about you that piqued his curiosity, and he found himself wanting to know more about you.

You had a way of keeping people guessing, never revealing too much about yourself. Jason was intrigued by this, and he couldn't help but feel a strong attraction towards you. He needed to unravel the mystery that surrounded you.

Little did Jason know, you were the lead guitarist in a metal band, a fact that you had kept hidden from him, but he would eventually find out by himself, knowing that Metallica would play at the same venue as your band the following weekend.

As the night wore on, Jason's gaze became more intense and you could tell he was interested. "Can I see you again?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for a response.

You smiled, feeling a flutter in your chest. "I'd like that," you replied and his face lit up with a radiant grin. "Care to give me your phone number?"

You nodded and rummaged through your purse, searching for a pen and paper, but all you could find was a crumpled tissue.

You smiled sheepishly as you scribbled your number on the makeshift paper, handing it to Jason with a laugh.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he took the tissue from you. "Thanks, I'll treasure it," he said, his voice filled with warmth.

Just then, one of your friends appeared, tugging on your arm to get you back to the party.

You bid Jason a hasty goodbye, slightly disappointed to leave his side. But as you turned to leave, you caught his eye, and the spark between you ignited once more.

...

The sticky floors of the venue clung to the soles of Jason’s sneakers as he navigated through the crowd the following weekend.

The adrenaline from their show still thrummed beneath his skin, a pleasant buzz accompanying the clinking of beer bottles and loud guitar sounds.

Metallica had just finished their set, that had gone down well with the Friday night crowd. Now, they were in relaxation mode, grabbing well-deserved drinks and watching the next band on stage.

As Jason leaned against the bar, sipping on his beer, he noticed Kirk nudging him as he stared at the stage in front of them. "Hey, isn't that the girl you met at the party?"

Curiosity piqued as Jason looked up, scanning the crowd before his eyes followed Kirk's gaze to the stage.

And that's when he saw you. His jaw hit the floor. You were a vision in black leather and lace, your fingers flying over the strings of your guitar with a skill that left him breathless. Your long, dark hair cascaded down your back, eyes closed in pure ecstasy.

Jason was at a loss for words as he stared at you, mind racing to make sense of the situation. How could he have not known that you were the lead guitarist of the band playing tonight? You didn't tell him anything about being the lead guitarist in a metal band.

He watched you in a daze, the initial attraction he felt towards you before exploding into something much, much more powerful.

The way you commanded the stage, the passion that poured from you with every note, it was breathtaking. He felt a primal urge to know you and this raw, untamed energy that pulsed through you.

He knew, with a sudden, startling certainty, that he needed to have you in his life. He needed to call you his. Jason felt a thrill course through him. This was going to be interesting.

...

The moment Jason spotted you backstage, adrenaline surged through his veins. He pushed past crew members and roadies, his heart pounding in his chest as he approached you. You looked up, startled, as he grabbed your arm and pulled you into Metallica's dressing room.

The door slammed shut behind you, leaving you alone in there. Jason released your arm only to gently pin you against the wall, his body pressing close. "I'm sorry, but how could you keep this from me?" he demanded. "Lead guitarist of a metal band? That's who you really are?"

You tilted your head, feigning nonchalance despite the butterflies ravaging your stomach. "Hi Jason...I think you would have found out eventually, as I can see." You replied with a coy smile.

"Do you know that you just got ten times hotter?" Jason replied with a serious expression, eyes sincere.

You were a bit taken back by Jason's straight forwardness, but you tried not to let it show, as you responded with a smirk. "Ten times, hm?" You mused in a flirty tone as your eyes locked with his.

"Fuck yeah." The corner of Jason's lips tugged up in a smirk. He could feel his heart racing and his palms getting a little sweaty, but he tried his hardest to keep himself cool and collected.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," He said as he rested his hand on the wall just next to your shoulder and leant closer to you.

Your gaze locked with Jason's, a sparkle of mischief dancing in your irises as you felt the warmth of his hand beside you. You tilted your chin slightly, daring him to make the next move.

Jason closed the remaining distance, his mouth crashing against yours in a fervent kiss. His lips were firm, demanding, claiming your own as if staking his ownership. You moaned softly into the embrace, the sound muffled by your sealed mouths.

Your hands came up to grip his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as you responded with equal fervor. You kissed deeply, passionately, without preamble, lost in the all-consuming need to bridge the gap between you.

Breaking the contact with a gasp, you gazed up at Jason, your pupils blown wide with arousal. A rosy blush painted your cheeks as you searched his features, a hint of wonder and trepidation swirling within your chest.

"God, I've wanted to do this since the night we met." Jason breathed, his voice husky with longing.

Your lips met again in a fierce, desperate kiss, tongues entwining in a sensual dance as you devoured each other's taste. The world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you lost in a haze of lust and longing.

#jason newsted x you #jason newsted fluff #jason newsted imagines #jason newsted x reader #jason newsted #metallica fanfiction #metallica imagines #metallica x reader #metallica #metallica fic #metallica x you #jason newsted fanfiction

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zepskies · 18 hours ago

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Aww thank you, lovely friend!! 🥹💕 I tried my best to end this series with a bang lol, but also in a hopefully satisfying way that ties up the most important loose ends. I canNOT wait to dive into your thoughts on the grand finale!!

well, what a start! the action scenes were playing so vividly in my head, i loved all the details <3 and mato being a good son-in-law! love to see it 🤣

Ooh I'm so glad the action was gripping and vivid enough for you!! I don't love writing action scenes because it can be a lot of moving parts, but I try my best to make sure certain details stick out. And yesss Mato is on his A game now actually working with Dean! loll

felt a variety of emotions with this lol. sammy!!! i had a feeling he'd hear the commotion, so glad he's back!💓 (by now i think i've established my love for sam pretty well. 😂) i felt a bit confused too because cas what are you doinggg 😩 hopefully playing chess or something. 🤔 and it makes me sad that sam lost his hat, but his horse!!🥺 i'm not sure if it was his personal horse (like dean's baby) or not, however they shared a journey together :') wherever he ended up, i hope he's alright 💕

Oh I don't blame you loll. 😅 The "wtf?!" feeling with Cas was very intentional, even with the "yay!" of Sam being back in the game (even though he lost his hat and horse 🥲). But your instincts are right -- both of them were definitely playing chess on that one. I'm actually glad you wondered if it was Sam's personal horse because it's a thought I had and wondered if I should include that detail. In my head it wasn't his personal horse, but like you said, still a horse he shared a journey with. 💙 Though I also didn't specify this in the chapter, Cas/the soldiers took possession of Sam's horse, but he got him back afterwards (in the aftermath of it all).

phew 😅 also i cannot stop picturing the colonel from kfc every time sanderson gets mentioned 😭 white suit and all, the image won't leave my head loll

ahahaha yesss that's exactly what I was picturing, with Asmodeus's punk ass. 😂😂

absolutely beautiful <3 may he rest peacefully :(

Aw thank you for highlighting that line and Tahatan's dying words -- def one of my favorite lines for this entire series honestly.

i still don't like him but i will admit, this made me chuckle a little 😂 i really feel for mila and her people. it's just so unfair to be uprooted from your home like that :( and of course that grimy gremlin would go back on his word. the anxiety of it all 😩

Otaktay's redemption arc is slow on this one lol but I liked giving him that throwaway line. 😂

Oh yes, I drew historically from the "Trail of Tears" in American history, where the Native Americans/Indians were forced from their lands and they had to travel onwards to find new territory. It's a dark time that tends to be glossed over.

Yuuup gotta have our "bad guy goes back on his word" moment! 😅 If you've ever seen the movie Prince of Egypt, it's like that moment when the Jews are being chased after by the Pharaoh Rameses after he initially released them from slavery.

awwwww hell yeah i know that's right dean!!!😭🤍

hahaa YES! Dean's made his choice. 😌

ah yes that delicious pre-established relationship danger and peril angst, my hearttt 🥺 i love them sm<3

That moment where there's no time for goodbye, knowing you mind not see your loved one again. 🥲

i will admit this made me giggle 😭 I'm so sorry dean lmaoo :') the fight scenes were so cool though!! again, very vivid in my mind. didn't expect the otaktay save, but i'm glad he's gained some sense. and oh jack, i am glad he was spared but he fr just needs to distance himself from the colonel and his bs 🤠

ahaha I thought it was kinda funny too, ngl. 😂 Aw yay!! I'm so glad you enjoyed the fight scenes and that they felt vivid in your mind! Otaktay did step up, didn't he? Some new respect is brewing between him and Dean (finally), and you're very right loll. Jack just needs to go home and start a new life. Same with Cas and Benny tbh. 🥲

this was so cute 🥺 i was worried for her, but once again we see she's just as strong as she is stubborn loll

Oh yeah, Mila's still as tenacious and stubborn as ever! lol Pregnant ladies still kick ass, amirite? 😘

period benny. goodbyeeeeee and good riddance colonel 💅🏽 Šóta choosing peace was so mature of him, i'm glad he's not being so hotheaded anymore. completely understandable though given all that has happened.

Right?!! 😂 Begone, bitch~

And Šóta is finally maturing -- his father's death hit him hard, and he's learning what it takes to be a true leader. 💜

crying. just the sweetestttt 💞💞 to no one's surprise, i'm so glad sam decided to stay longer 🤣💗 given the circumstances i'm not sure how often he would be able to visit once he returns to his city civilian life, but at least for now he gets to spend time with his brother and good people -- family :3💘

Sam wants to stay with his bro as long as possible now that he's found him, especially for his nephew's birth. 🥹 And for that reason too (not knowing if he'll be able to visit again, or if so, how often). Family indeed! 💞💞

this had me meltinggggg 💓 they're going to be the sweetest parents. they're already so sweet to each other, i can't 🥺

You know, I did intend to stop here with Mila and Dean, but maaaaybe I'll have to come back to see how they're doing as parents and pillars of their tribe. 😏💓

sobbing. i love them so much, this was the most beautiful ending 💕 another wonderful series zep!!🤍:)

Omg thank you so much, Julia!! You don't know how wonderful it's been to get your support on this very niche little series that I didn't know if anyone would even want to read. 🥹 I always appreciate your input, but especially on The Honorable Choice/Outlander series. 💕

Outlander - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

AN: Happy Birthday, Dean Winchester!! 🥳 Now, the actual grand finale…

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, blood and violence, angst, fluff, and spice.~

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: One People

Dean straps on his bow and arrow, but first he takes up his gun from his thigh holster. Then he saddles up Mato and climbs up on his back.

The horse is raring to go, and for once he responds to the firmness of Dean’s tone and trusts him enough to obey his commands.

Šóta, Otaktay, and the other men do the same with their horses. Soon, they’re thundering down the hill into the village.

It’s already chaos.

Dean recognizes the blue uniforms of the U.S. Cavalrymen tearing through tipis and shooting with rifles and revolvers. They must’ve tracked Šóta and his men back to the village.

Men and horses are the main targets, but women and children are getting caught in the crossfire. Šóta purposefully knocks his horse into an officer who had his weapon aimed at Misae and her two daughters. Otaktay guides them in the opposite direction, pointing the way to escape into the forest.

Dean rides onward through the village. He and Mato leap over fallen bodies and horses, and Dean shoots at an officer who would’ve shot him first. He has to be careful with his bullets though. He only has two left.

He fights his way to the center, all the while searching for any sight of Mila’s dark hair. It’s almost impossible to see with so many people running and screaming and fighting. But when he hears a familiar voice, Dean cuts to an abrupt stop.

Chief Tahatan rides his horse, white and dappled black. He wields an ax as the horse rears up on his hind legs and lets loose a powerful bray. Just ahead of him is Colonel Sanderson, flanked by Benny and another officer. The Colonel holds a rifle poised in his hands.

“Stop!” Dean shouts.

He rides hard towards the scene. He takes aim with his gun, and he shoots. The bullet clips Sanderson in the shoulder. Yelling in pain, he recoils from the force of the bullet and misses his shot.

Dean’s just not fast enough.

The Colonel’s bullet ricochets off the ground and hits Tahatan’s horse. The animal whinnies and buckles, and he brings Tahatan down along with him, rolling onto his side and crushing the Chief’s legs and most of his torso under the horse’s weight. Dean hears the crunch of bone as the Chief utters a stifled grunt.

Gritting his teeth, Dean brings Mato to a short stop in front of the Chief. Dean aims his gun at the Colonel. By now, the man is clutching his bleeding shoulder and staring at his former captain in disbelief. Benny is maybe a little less shocked to see Dean, but there’s conflict in his eyes—happiness mixed with turmoil.

The other officer is Jack Kline. He recognizes Dean too, with wide eyes and a gaping mouth.

“You…” Sanderson trails. He blinks, his brows furrowing. “Dean Winchester.”

Other officers come to join him, both on their horses and on foot. A few of them have wrangled women and their children, along with a few men. One man is dragging Mila along by the arm, even though she pulls and struggles against his hold. He has a long, jagged cut over one closed eye that streams with blood, and Dean doesn’t have to wonder how it got there. The man holds Mila’s own knife to her throat.

Dean’s heart falls into his stomach as he meets her gaze. Hers is angry, until she finds him. Her brown eyes are relieved and hopeful, but then worried for him. Dean reads it all there. He knows her face as well as he knows his own.

“Now this is what we call an interesting development,” Sanderson says, dragging Dean’s attention back to him.

Dean only feels moderately better when Šóta, Otaktay, Chatan, and a couple of the other men come to flank him on either side. Weaya manages to shuffle away from the officer at her back, just to go to Tahatan. He’s still lying there under his horse, breathing shallowly. Šóta itches to climb down from his horse and go to his father, but he can’t allow Dean to stand on his own.

“Apparently your death has been greatly exaggerated, son,” Sanderson says. He glances at Benny, who wears a grim, guilty frown.

“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean says, his voice laden with grit. His hand tightens on his raised gun.

Sanderson tsks at him while Jack wraps a rag tightly around his arm to help stem the bleeding. Afterwards, he adjusts his blue jacket and his Stetson.

“Is this really how you’ve been living for all these months? Like a dog, sleeping in the thatch with the fleas,” he remarks as he glances around. But his gaze stops on Mila. His brows crunch together as recognition dawns in his eyes.

“Ah, now I see why,” he says. He reaches for his pistol at his belt and points it at Mila, like it’s merely an extension of his hand. Dean’s jaw clenches. Chatan and Šóta become even more tense; their horses shift in place, picking up on their riders’ unrest. Sanderson notes their reactions, and finally Dean’s too.

“Instead of putting this savage bitch down, you took her for yourself, didn’t you?” Sanderson wonders aloud. His face breaks into amusement, as his deep chuckle echoes in the clearing. “You threw it all away. A promising career, your respect as a man, and even your life. A traitor to your goddamn country. And for what?”

His thumb pulls back the safety on his revolver.

“Enough, you bastard. You deal with me,” Dean tersely demands. He slowly lowers his gun, and his last bullet. “Let her go. Let them all go, and you can have me. Court martial me. Hell, put me in front of a firing squad, or put me down like a dog if that’s what you want… But let them go.”

Mila breaths in sharply. She stares at Dean like she wants to protest.

“Ah, but ya see, I didn’t come here for you,” Sanderson says. Without taking his aim off Mila, his shifts his gaze down to Tahatan, who struggles for every breath. “I’m gonna wash this land clean, from here to the West Coast. However long it takes.”

“Colonel!” an officer calls out. He approaches on a horse, though he leads a man by a rope that ties his wrists behind his back.

Dean’s eyes widen in shock. It’s Cas, and he has Sam as his captive. Sam is dirtier and more disheveled since Dean saw him off not too long ago. He’s lost his hat and his horse, but he doesn’t look afraid when he meets Dean’s gaze, then the assessing Colonel.

“Mr. Winchester. I should’ve known,” Sanderson says dryly. “Here to reacquaint yourself with your brother? Though I’ve got a feeling you already have.”

“What’re you gonna do about it? Kill me?” Sam says. “In case you’ve forgotten, I work for the government too. I’m a prosecutor for all the surrounding counties in Kansas City.”

Sanderson raises a brow. “Is that supposed to intimidate me, son?”

“It should, Colonel,” Sam says. He nods at his brother. “The world already thinks he’s dead. Fine. But there’s plenty of people who know I traveled to Fort Laramie. People high up in the chain of command. If you hurt me, my brother, or these people, someone’s gonna hear about it. And soon.”

“He’s got a point there, Colonel,” Benny says.

“You shut the fuck up!” Sanderson barks at his captain. “You’re lucky I don’t shoot you down where you stand. You and Novak. But believe you me, I’ll be dealin’ with you later.”

Sanderson continues to seethe. He thinks hard about the decision he makes next as he stares down at Sam, and then back up at Dean. He grits his teeth, his mustache twitching. Dean holds his breath, though he briefly meets eyes with his brother.

Slowly, Sanderson lowers his weapon away from Mila. Dean can breathe again, if shallowly. He doesn’t drop his guard though. In fact, he watches Sanderson even closer.

“I’ll give you dirty mongrels one hour to clear out of here,” Sanderson says, his eyes narrowed. “Anything left gets tied down and burned to charcoal.”

With that, he sharply tugs on his horse’s reins. He commands his men to fall back, and like the soldiers they are, they obey. Benny and Cas both cast Dean a backwards glance—one that tells Dean that he still has the loyalty of his friends. He now realizes that Cas brought Sam back for a purpose; it wasn’t to hurt him, but to help him. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if the whole “capture” was Sam’s idea.

After the soldiers clear out of the area with the Colonel, Dean and the other men dismount from their horses. He beelines for Mila, gathering her into the safety of his arms. Then he spares a hand to grab his brother’s shoulder as he smiles.

“I think I’m more glad to see you the second time,” Dean remarks.

“I’ll take that,” Sam says. His grin is infectious, but Dean returns his attention to his wife. He touches her cheek and runs his assessing gaze over her body. He frowns as he examines the thin cut along her neck where the soldier pressed the blade of her knife.

“You okay? Are you hurt?” he asks.

Mila shakes her head. “I’m fine.” Though she inspects him the same way with a wandering hand across his chest. Dean takes that hand and gives her a reassuring smile.

It falls when he hears Weaya crying. She sits beside three other women, including Šóta’s mother.

“Father,” Šóta says lowly. His voice is a rasp as he kneels beside Tahatan’s broken body, holding his hand. The chief manages to raise his head slightly. He looks at his son, and then his gaze travels. Eventually, it falls on Dean.

Tahatan smiles.

“Under this sky,” he says. “We are one people.”

He takes three more labored breaths before his eyes close. Šóta lays his father’s limp hand over his chest, which no longer moves.

Šóta’s mother gently raises her husband’s head to remove his long headdress. Among other things, it’s made of leather, glass beads, horsehair, and eagle tail feathers. Each feather represents a warrior’s honor earned in war, like a soldier’s insignia.

With shaking hands, she places it on Šóta’s head. He takes a deep breath, and he looks up at the many tear-stained faces that mirror his own.

“We have to go,” he says.

Sam stays to help mobilize the tribe. He helps a mother join her children into one of the caravans, then he and Otaktay heft rolled up tipis and supplies into the back of it.

“You are a law man?” Otaktay asks him.

Sam nods. “That’s right.”

“Make better laws,” Otaktay says, and walks away.

Sam is left with a bemused look on his face. Dean comes over and thumps him on the back.

“Making friends?” he says dryly.

“Don’t think so,” Sam replies. He shakes his head and follows his brother over to the second caravan.

“Eh, consider yourself lucky. That guy pretty much hates my guts,” Dean whispers.

Sam raises his brows. “What?”

Dean explains the story in its simplest, briefest terms. Meanwhile, the mood around their packing is somber and quiet.

For Mila, it feels wrong. It’s wrong for them to have to leave the river where they’ve tilled and nurtured the land for three generations. It’s wrong to leave Chief Tahatan’s body wrapped beside Takoda’s on the hill without at least one proper night of mourning. She feels her grief down to her very core, but all she can do is sit in the caravan beside her mother and hold protective hands around the small swell of her stomach. Her tears fall silently down her cheeks and dissolve between the indigo beads on her dress.

She only raises her head when Chatan comes to check on her and her mother. He touches Mila’s cheek, drying her tears there. He leans in to kiss Weaya’s hand.

“We leave soon,” he says.

“Where is Dean?” Mila asks.

“Helping Šóta,” Chatan replies, but he stops short and corrects himself. “He helps our Chief.”

A few moments later, the caravans begin to move as the horses pull with the reins. Šóta leads at the front with a few of the warriors, but the rest of them ride strategically around and behind the caravans. Sam and Dean fall back to ride beside Mila’s caravan, where Chatan sits at the helm. Sam has been given the horse of a fallen warrior, while Dean rides Mato.

Despite how low she feels, Mila smiles at the sight of her horse allowing Dean to ride him, even with a saddle and bridle.

“Mato is being agreeable,” she remarks.

“You sound surprised,” Dean says, teasing slightly. “Told you I’d get him to trust me eventually.”

“More like wear him down,” she quips back.

“Hey, he impregnated my mare. Without my say so, I might add. I’d say we’re proper father and son-in-law.”

“Yes,” Chatan chimes in wryly. “That is what that means.”

Mila scoffs at him, but the gleam of good humor in his eyes amuses her. She smiles as she rubs a hand over her belly. Dean smiles too. It’s strange that he can still do that after a night like tonight, but seeing Chatan do it, along with Sam, and Mila, and her mother too, it gives him hope for them—for all of them.

Until the first gunshot fires into the air.

Dean freezes. His body coils tight, and he turns to look sharply over his shoulder.

He shouldn’t be surprised that Colonel Sanderson went back on his word. His cavalrymen are gaining behind them on horseback, hooting and hollering like it’s a game for sport. His jaw clenching in both anger and determination, Dean tells Chatan to speed up the caravan. He locks eyes with Mila for a moment.

Be safe, he tries to say with that look.

Then he gives Sam a nod; together they speed up to alert Šóta at the front.

“They’re gaining on us,” Dean says, gesturing behind them. “We need to lead them away from the caravans and pick ‘em off—as many as we can.”

Šóta nods in grim agreement, but he has a moment of hesitation as he considers Dean.

“You go with the caravans,” he says.

Dean shakes his head. “No, I’m ending this. Once and for all.”

“You are willing to fight your people?” Šóta asks.

The set of Dean’s determined face doesn’t change.

“I’m protecting my people,” he says. He looks to Sam. “Stay with the caravans. Make sure they get across the river.”

Sam agrees, and the men split ways. Dean turns Mato away from the group along with Šóta and Otaktay, and a few other warriors. The caravans continue with Sam to help guide them. Mila clings to the edge and watches with growing dread as her husband rides farther and farther away from her.

Dean can’t allow himself to look back. Instead of drawing his gun, he reaches for his bow strapped to his back and an arrow from his quiver. He takes aim at the first soldier he sees raise his gun, along with a steadying breath, and he shoots his arrow before the other man can fire. The arrow embeds itself in the man’s chest and knocks him clean off his horse.

Šóta and Otaktay follow suit. They shout out yips and battle cries on the air as they take aim. The soldiers begin to scatter out of their formation. They weren’t expecting the Lakota to go on the offensive. Sanderson has conveniently let his men ride ahead of him, but Dean hears him giving the orders from behind. The Colonel has his left arm wrapped in a sling while he holds his gun aloft.

“All right, mustang,” Dean says to Mato, tightening his hands on the reins. “Remind ‘em why they should be scared a’ you.”

He gives the stallion a subtle kick. It’s just enough for him to pick up into a full gallop. Dean tucks his head down and lets the horse speed forward like a bullet carving across the plain. The soldiers take aim, but that’s when Šóta and Otaktay join in from behind. They begin to take down the uniformed men, one by one as they weave between bullets.

Dean tears between two officers and unbalances them. Mato, with his big head and chest, bulldozes straight through them. They shout in surprise and fear, and one of them even topples off his horse. Dean banks left and turns Mato around to finish what he started.

He retrieves his knife from his thigh holster and slices into one man’s neck, making him choke on his own blood. Dean forcefully takes the rifle off another man, and after flipping it around, hits him dead between the eyes with the butt of it—once, then twice until his nose breaks. He careens back off his horse into the dirt. Dean wracks the rifle and shoots the man for good measure.

The sound of a safety clicking back alerts him and turns his head, but he’s too late.

An arrow flies into the officer’s throat.

Dean looks over sharply. He finds Otaktay, lowering his bow.

Dean’s eyes widen. The other man just saved his life.

Dean nods in thanks, and Otaktay slowly returns the gesture. The moment is cut short, however, when Dean sharpens in alarm. Instead of opening his mouth to warn, he knows he has no time, not even to grab another arrow. He just throws his knife.

It carves through the air and hits Jack Kline where his arm meets his shoulder—his shooting arm that would’ve clipped Otaktay with his pistol. Jack falls off his horse and hits the ground hard, the air leaving his lungs in a hot rush. He groans in pain while clutching his arm. It’s not an easy wound, but he’ll live…as long as Otaktay doesn’t kill him first. Still on his horse, he towers over the younger man with another arrow notched.

“Wait!” Dean shouts.

He meant what he said about finishing this, but now looking at Jack, all Dean sees is a kid following orders. He doesn’t deserve to die like this, hundreds of miles away from home, just trying to make something of himself.

Otaktay looks up, wasting a precious second. Another beat, and a bullet tears into him, almost forcing him off his horse. Dean grits his teeth and speeds forward. Šóta rejoins them in time to help lead Otaktay away; he’s been hit in the side. There’s no telling how deep, but all Dean can focus on is the path ahead.

He comes face to face with Colonel Sanderson.

Dean raises his bow and arrow and ducks his head against another bullet, still shooting off his arrow. It misses its aim at the horse’s legs, but it spooks him enough to whinny in distress. It begins to buck off the Colonel.

“Whoa!” he shouts, trying to take back control of the horse. Dean rides in close and cracks a fist across Sanderson’s face. His head whips back with a pained grunt. Dean grabs his wrist and twists, until he feels tendons popping and the gun loosened from the other man’s hand. Then, Dean brings his elbow up into Sanderson’s nose and spills blood.

“Fuck!” Sanderson growls. He manages to land a punch of his own with his left arm, despite how it makes his shoulder bleed again. Dean recovers from the blow to his cheek and goes to grab that wound, digging in his fingers hard. He’s satisfied by the howl of pain Sanderson lets loose.

Dean doesn’t care if it’s a dirty tactic. He’s taking any opportunity he can, because right now, it’s not about his honor. It’s about protecting what’s his.

But Sanderson fights back just as dirty. He grabs Dean by the back of his neck and headbutts him, so hard he sees stars. Sanderson lands one more kick to Dean’s chest that almost sends him off of Mato. Dean has to grab on tight to the saddle and pull himself up, just in time for a lassoed rope to circle around his neck. Dean’s eyes fly wide in alarm. He slips his hand between the rope and his neck just in time before it tightens—because Sanderson tugs hard as he urges his horse into a gallop.

“Aw, sh—” Dean is yanked off Mato. He lands hard in the dirt, before he begins to be dragged across it.

Once again, the current is strong across Little Cheyenne. The first caravan has more horses to pull it through, but the caravan that Chatan is trying to lead starts to take on water. Mila and her mother sit behind him, along with Misae and her daughters, Tahatan’s widows, and Eyota and her husband.

The colt is doing his best to keep going, but Baby and two of the other horses are struggling in the pull of the river. They’ve hit a deeper patch under the water, and now it’s all the way up to Baby’s chest. She can’t handle the weight of the caravan along with the river’s current.

Sam comes closer with rope in hand, but Mila can see in his eyes that he’s trying to decide what to do. She grasps the edge of the caravan to pull herself up, and she points to the black mare.

“She needs help!” she calls out to him.

“Mila, sit down!” Chatan orders.

Mila turns back to her father with a determined set to her face. She knows his ankle has never healed entirely right. If he tries to do what she’s about to do, he’d probably fall into the river and get trampled by the horses. She knows what she must do.

She carefully stands up all the way and moves to the edge of the caravan, ignoring her father and mother trying to stop her. Sam’s eyes grow wide, but he tries to come in closer to support her. She steps out onto Baby’s back and slides into an astride position. The frigid water climbs up Mila’s dress and reaches her waist, making her shiver, but she ignores that too. She reaches out for Sam.

“Throw me the rope!” she calls out.

Sam follows her lead and does what she says. Mila not only catches the rope, but loops the ends of it around Baby’s bridle and around her chest. It’s hard work, especially because Mila has to tread water just to get the rope around the mare’s wide chest, but Sam helps her as much as he can.

When they’ve finished securing the ropes, Sam pulls ahead. With his horse leading Baby, she gets the momentum she needs to climb out of the dip, and eventually, cross the rest of the river.

Mila is sopping wet by the time they make it to the other side. Her braid has come loose, and so her hair becomes a black curtain around her face. She clings to Baby as she catches her breath, stroking the horse’s neck.

“Good girl. Big, strong girl,” she soothes. “Your father will be proud of you.”

Speaking of, Mila turns to look back. Across the river, the men are still fighting off the soldiers that sought to finish what they started last night. Mila scans with narrowed eyes for Dean.

“You all right?” Sam asks. He sidles up next to her and grasps her shoulder to make sure.

“Fine,” she breathes.

But she hesitates on a sharp inhale. Her brows furrow as she tries to make sure of what she’s seeing. Her mouth drops open in shock.

“Sam!” She points out the shape of a man she thinks is Dean. Sam follows her line of vision and becomes just as alarmed at what he sees.

Mila immediately takes her father’s knife from her shoe and cuts the ropes that bind Baby to the caravan. Mila puts her fingers to her lips and whistles sharply instead of kicking the mare. Baby sharpens to attention and heeds the command, just like she’s done for Dean a hundred times before.

Mila guides her back through the river.

Dean is being road hauled across the plain. He hits every bump, rock, twig, and dry patch of dirt in several yards as he twists and struggles to break free.

He lost his knife to save Otaktay, and he’s probably lost all his arrows along with his bow. Dean grits his teeth, as he can hear Sanderson’s insane hooting and hollering on the wind whipping past his ears, and not much else.

He doesn’t know where Šóta is, or if even Otaktay’s still alive, but his last thoughts aren’t about them. Instinctively, he thinks of his wife. It’s not even a coherent thought. It’s just her name, her face, her hand on his heart.

And the rope snaps.

Dean grunts as his momentum slows. He rolls across the dirt and grass to a stop. He probably has road burns and cuts and bruises all down his back, but at least he can stare up at the morning sun and breathe.

Heaving for free air, he tugs the rope from around his neck and shoves it off. He hears familiar horse hooves galloping his way. Somehow, he manages to raise his head.

Now, either the sun is playing tricks on him, or a black shape is thundering towards him.

Apparently, his eyes aren’t lying to him. Baby slows to a stop, and Mila climbs down from her back. Mila rushes to his side and kneels beside him after putting away her knife. She takes his face into her gentle hands.

“Dean?” she says, her voice tinged with desperation.

He grabs onto her wrist and smiles weakly, looking up at her soulful brown eyes.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says.

She sighs and shakes her head, despite the tears in her eyes.

“Be quiet,” she laughs. Dean just grins.

She cups the back of his neck and guides him up slowly into a sitting position. His back is a bloody mess, but they’ll deal with that later.

“You all right, brother?”

Dean’s smile drops. He clutches at Mila’s arm protectively, but he looks up at Benny Lafitte. His horse shifts in place. Dean finally notices Sam is there too, with his gun trained on Benny. But Benny’s gun is raised right back at Sam.

They’re joined by Colonel Sanderson. He wears a self-satisfied look on his face as he approaches with his pistol held aloft.

“Well, well,” he drawls. “Ain’t this a picture. Traitors and savages.”

Mila keeps her back to the Colonel; she stubbornly defends Dean with her body, even though he’s gathered her to his chest protectively. With his right hand, he subtly reaches for the gun holster at his thigh. One last weapon. One last shot.

He shares a look with Mila, silently asking her to trust him. She gives him a subtle nod.

“Captain Lafitte,” Sanderson addresses Benny, even though his gaze is straight on Dean and Mila. He holds Sam in his periphery. “Now’s the time to take a stand. Are you gonna serve your country and put these three in the ground where they belong, or are you gonna join ‘em?”

Benny stares back at his superior officer. He thought he understood before, but today is when he truly understands why Dean made his choice.

Benny lowers his weapon down to his side.

“This ain’t the law,” he says. “This ain’t justice. It’s just pride, plain and simple. Your pride, Colonel.”

After a moment of genuine surprise, Sanderson rolls his eyes. He shifts his gun off of Sam and points it at Benny next.

A trigger fires, but the bullet that hits its mark is not the Colonel’s.

It’s Dean’s, and it hits Asmodeus Sanderson between the eyes.

Dean lowers his silver, smoking Colt down at his side, where Mila moved just in time for Dean to take his shot. He holds her to him now, taking in deep breaths.

Benny and Sam both look to Dean with shock still in their eyes, but before either of them can say anything, they notice Cas stumbling over on foot with a wounded Jack Kline leaning heavily on him. They’re flanked on both sides by Šóta and Otaktay. The latter has a cloth tied tight around his middle. His bullet wound just looks like a nasty graze.

The other warriors that remain follow behind, and they have Mato and Baby in tow by their bridles.

Dean realizes that Cas and Jack are the only other survivors from the rest of the unit. Šóta has taken them prisoner. He orders the other men to force Benny off of his horse. They shove him closer to Cas and Jack.

Dean quickly tries to raise up onto his knees, though it’s hard for him to stand. Mila helps him the rest of the way, and he keeps his arm wrapped around her shoulders.

“We will make an example of these,” Šóta says, nodding at Cas, Jack, and Benny. They look rightly nervous, shifting their gazes towards Dean.

Dean raises his hands to placate Šóta (and hopefully reassure his friends).

“Šóta, I know these guys. They were my men,” he says. “They were just following the Colonel’s orders.”

“And what does that mean to me, Dean Winchester?” Šóta says. He climbs down from his horse, his headdress of feathers tousled as a breeze rushes through.

“It means they won’t follow us,” Dean says. “They won’t tell the Army what actually happened here. They’ll keep their word if I ask them to. So I’m asking you…trust me. Trust me like you’ve trusted me before.”

Šóta seems to consider it, even though he doesn’t exactly like the idea. Otaktay seems to like it even less.

“We won’t betray you, Chief,” Benny says to Šóta, and to the other warriors. “We respect you, and we don’t want any more trouble. For us, or for Dean.”

Šóta considers this with a tilt of his head. Before he decides, first, he turns to Otaktay. Other than Dean, he’s now the man Šóta trusts most.

Otaktay looks over at Dean. Between them, there’s an understanding. Finally, there’s also respect. Otaktay returns his gaze to his leader, and he nods.

Šóta expels a deep breath. He addresses the three soldiers.

“Go. Go in peace, or next time, there will not be peace,” he says.

The soldiers breathe in relief.

Dean steps forward with Mila’s help. There he shakes each man’s hand. He’s said goodbye to Cas and Benny before, but somehow, this feels even more final than the last.

Benny and Cas are given back their horses. They help Jack up first, then Cas climbs up with him. Benny mounts his own horse, and Sam, Dean, and the Lakota watch them leave the way they came.

It takes days to cross the plains and maneuver through the mountains, but Šóta leads the rest of the tribe to safety within Sioux territory. They find a place to settle along the Big Cheyenne River, northeast of the Black Hills.

There they will learn the land and what to plant and forage there for the late autumn harvest, as summer ends. There is where they will honor the dead who couldn’t make the journey. There is where their traditions will be celebrated, old and new.

Like today. The men have painted each other with blue circles around their faces and blue lines across their foreheads, chins, and cheekbones. The women are painted similarly in red. It symbolizes change in its many forms, but most of all, it symbolizes new relationships, and new responsibilities.

Today, it’s Huŋkápi. The Making of Relatives. This ceremony formally welcomes Dean into the tribe by marriage. It also recognizes Sam as his brother, and so, it acknowledges Sam as a friend to their tribe as well. They are now all family. One people.

Dean sits with his brother around the large firepit, where a roasted boar is already half-eaten. Dean has shared a lot of meals with these people, but somehow, this one is the best he’s ever eaten. Maybe it’s the company, he thinks, as he laughs at some old story Sam is trying to tell.

“No, no, no, that’s not what happened. Let me tell it—”

“What, so you can make stuff up?”

“Oh, I’m making stuff up?”

Mila giggles quietly, but it’s enough to earn Dean’s attention. She sits at his left, and he turns to her with an amused smile.

“What’re you laughing at?” he teases. His arm wraps around her waist and pulls her in.

“You,” she replies. “You and your brother. You’re worse than me and Šóta.”

Dean chuckles and shakes his head. He points over at her cousin, their esteemed Chief, who’s busy making shadow creatures with exaggerated voices to impress the kids. Right now, it’s a big grizzly bear that threatens to eat the closest child.

“Worse than the grizzly?” Dean says.

“Hmm, maybe not,” she says with a laugh.

That evening, Dean is glad he convinced Sam to start sleeping in his own tipi. He agreed to stay until Mila has the baby, but while Dean is grateful to have his brother here for a few more months, he still wants some much-needed privacy with his wife.

He “helps” her undress for bed, all the while distracting her with lingering kisses across her neck and shoulders, winding his fingers into her long hair. He wraps his arms around her and cups her full breasts from behind, satisfied by the arousing way she moans.

“They’re heavier,” Dean whispers in her ear, gently squeezing her breasts. She hums in response. “Your thighs and hips are thicker too, nice and soft for me.” He squeezes those too for good measure.

“I am changing,” she admits. “Are they good changes?”

“Hell yeah,” Dean says, his lips moving against her throat. He gently turns her around and guides her down to lay on the bedding and furs. He palms at the best change of all—the growing swell of her belly. She’s gotten bigger, and growing a little more each week. Dean really wants to meet his kid.

He dips down to lay a path of slow, tender kisses down between her breasts, and over her belly. Mila smiles and threads her fingers through his hair. It’s getting long, brushing past his ears.

“Do you want a son, or a daughter?” she asks him. It’s not the first time she’s asked, but she wonders if his answer will change now, after everything they’ve gone through to get here. She finds that her own answer hasn’t changed.

Dean shakes his head. “I don’t care. Either one.”

All he wants is for the baby to be healthy, and for Mila to be healthy too. He moves back up to claim her lips. When he kisses her like this, he hopes she knows what he’s really saying. Just in case, he says it anyway. He says it out loud to her for the first time.

“I love you,” he says. He pauses, then smiles a little. “You know, you’re the only woman I’ve ever said that to.”

She smiles, because she knows. With her hand over his heart, she knows.

And when their son is born a few months later, she has a dream. She dreams of an eagle’s wings that shift from white to gold in the light.

Dean plans to give him a name he picked out weeks before, Elijah. It was his father’s middle name. But she will also give their son a name.

Ikíphi, the name her uncle, Chief Tahatan, gave Dean Winchester himself.

Because one day, she knows her son will be worthy of it.

AN: And there we have it! A more definitive end to Dean and Mila's story. 🥹

For those of you who read and enjoyed this, thank you so much for sticking with me through this sequel of The Honorable Choice. This was an idea that wouldn't let go of me once I started, and it's the first time that I've written something like this. 💖💖

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")