#if you had told me this eight years ago when i started watching spn i would combusted | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

there-must-be-a-lock · 4 years ago

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Spitting Venom (Supernatural x Criminal Minds)

Word Count: ~10,300 yikes

Warnings: Non-explicit violence, nothing more than you’d see on either show. More cursing though. Don’t even try to tell me Emily Prentiss doesn’t swear like a sailor.

A/N: This is for @stunudo and her “Lie To Me” Challenge! My prompt was the Modest Mouse song “Spitting Venom.” Thanks to @fookinghelljensensthighs for reading and exclaiming and also just loving Sam and Spencer with me.

This is part of the “Coffee & Psychopaths” series. It follows the events of Quitting, but you don’t need to read that to understand anything that happens here.

This centers around (and steals dialogue from) the events of “Slash Fiction” (SPN) and “Proof” (CM). In order to smoosh the timelines together right, I had to do some wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff, so don’t think about it too hard. You should be able to tell from context clues, but for reference, the flashbacks (in order of appearance) correspond to “Shut Up, Dr Phil” (SPN) / “It Takes A Village” (CM), “To Hell... And Back” (CM), “My Bloody Valentine” (SPN), “Amplification” (CM), “With Friends Like These” (CM) / “Unforgiven” (SPN), “Appointment In Samarra” (SPN), and “Memoriam” (CM). Seriously, wibbly-wobbly. So much canon juggling. Just go with it.

“Just for the record, the weather today is partly suspicious with chances of betrayal.”

― Chuck Palahniuk

“Strap in, folks, we’ve got a weird one,” Garcia says cheerily, handing Spencer a paper folder as everybody else opens their tablets.

“I thought the Winchesters were dead,” Hotch says.

“That is part of the aforementioned weird, yes. Okay, for those of you who weren’t paying attention four years ago…”

Spencer opens his file, and Garcia’s words stop making sense, because that’s Sam in the mugshot.

His first instinct is to shout, This is a mistake.

Spencer’s stomach churns. He’s cold all over.

This feeling (betrayal, his brain supplies helpfully) is becoming a little too familiar, lately.

Garcia is showing a video: a bank, a group of people scared and screaming, two men opening fire. That’s Sam. His expression is stone-cold, maybe even satisfied, as he empties the clip into the crowd.

That’s Sam.

Garcia’s talking about M.O. now, or the total lack of a consistent one, and Spencer can’t listen. He forces his features into the bland, neutral expression that has made people underestimate him for years, and he takes slow breaths, trying to calm his racing heartbeat.

“Spence?” he hears, and when he looks around the table he realizes that it wasn’t the first time somebody said his name. They’re all staring.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks, brow furrowed.

“I’m fine,” Spencer insists, with a shrug.

“No you’re not, I know that face. Are you feeling okay?” Emily prods, and Spencer hates her for a moment, hates that she can still read him.

He tries to force a smile, but it feels stiff on his face.

“I know him,” Spencer blurts out. “Sam. Sam Winchester. He’s… he was my friend. Or I thought he was.”

There’s a moment of stunned silence all around the table. Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling a pen idly, instead of looking any of them in the eyes.

“Reid,” Hotch says quietly.

“We met at a… meeting,” Spencer says. He looks up at Hotch to make sure he understands, and Hotch nods. “About two years ago. He was only here for a couple weeks. We got along, though. We… he left. We kept in touch.”

“When did you last speak to him?” Hotch asks, frowning.

Spencer swallows around the lump in his throat. It’s taking his best effort to maintain his mask of composure.

“It was eight days ago.”

Hotch nods. “I’m assuming he’s already using a new number, but just in case, we’ll need you to give Garcia any contact information you have.”

Spencer tries to smile. “Of course.”

Emily asks, “And he didn’t say anything that would…”

“That would, what, tip me off that he was planning a massive murder spree?” Spencer says. His voice cracks.

“Anything that might be helpful,” Morgan interjects diplomatically. “Locations, names.”

Spencer shakes his head. “No, it was… we didn’t talk about that sort of thing. It was random, mostly. When something was on my mind that I couldn’t… couldn’t talk to you about, or - when I couldn’t sleep. But there wasn’t much small talk.”

“And you never suspected?” Garcia asks, wide-eyed.

“Do you really think that if I suspected -”

“We know that if there were any hints, you would’ve seen them. Nobody is suggesting that you should’ve known,” Hotch says firmly.

“I should’ve, though,” Spencer insists, with a hysterical edge in his voice. “There were so many things that he just… avoided talking about. He looked familiar, even! I kept wondering where I recognized him from!”

“Enough, kid,” Rossi interrupts. “Getting angry at yourself doesn’t help anybody. It was before you joined the Bureau, there was no reason for you to remember his face.”

“This is a good thing, right?” Emily points out. “The better you know him, the easier it’s going to be for us to catch him.”

“Apparently I didn’t know him, though,” Spencer says hoarsely. “I didn’t know him at all.”

“Are you going to be able to work this case objectively?” Hotch asks. “We’ll all understand if you want to sit this one out.”

Spencer stares at him helplessly. He’s not sure he knows the answer to that question.

“I remember Gideon talking about the Winchester case,” Rossi muses. “Couldn’t make head or tail of it, no apparent connection between victims, witnesses who kept changing their stories…”

“Your insight will undoubtedly be useful,” Hotch adds quietly.

Spencer grits his teeth, shock turning quickly to anger.

“I want to find him,” he says. He wants to know. He wants to hear the confession.

Hotch gives him one more steely, appraising look before nodding.

“Very well. Let’s talk victimology.”

* * * * * * * * *

September 2011 (eight days earlier)

“I don’t understand how she could do that,” Spencer says bitterly. “If I saw one of my friends hurting like that, and I knew something that would stop them hurting…”

“Shit,” Sam mutters. “I’m sorry.”

“Did they not trust me to keep the secret? Did they not think I could handle it? We’re a team. We’re not supposed to keep things from each other. Not important things, not like that.”

“Yeah, I hear you.”

Sam leans against the kitchen counter, watching Dean through the window. Baby’s hood is open and Dean’s wrestling with something inside, and Sam wonders, for the thousandth time, whether he’s imagining the wariness in Dean’s face whenever they talk these days. He can’t shake the feeling there’s something Dean’s not saying.

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer says quietly, and his voice cracks on the last word.

“I don’t know if there’s anything you can do, except give it time.”

“I hate that answer,” Spencer says flatly, and Sam laughs.

“Yeah. But… I think hearing the truth is the hard part, sometimes. Or saying it. Right? It hurts like hell, and it’s going to hurt for a while, but now that it’s all out in the open… now it’ll start getting better. It has to.”

“I guess.”

“She thought she was doing the right thing,” Sam repeats. “Do you really think she’d do that, if she didn’t feel like she had a choice?”

Spencer sighs in a rush of static. “No,” he says begrudgingly. “But I think she had a choice. And now it’s my choice whether to trust her or not.”

“You’ll get there.”

“How do you know?”

“A very smart man once told me that’s what friends do,” Sam says wryly. “They trust each other.”

“Quoting me back to me doesn’t seem fair,” Spencer grumbles.

“Doesn’t make it wrong,” Sam retorts with a grin.

Sam watches Dean slam the hood shut, and he wonders why his brother has such a hard time trusting him.

* * * * * * * * *

“Are you kidding me right now?” Dean snaps, and the sneer in his voice makes Sam feel all of six years old again.

“No, Dean, I’m not kidding,” Sam says stubbornly. He leans against the doorframe and watches Dean pace back and forth, like a wild animal on a too-short leash in the tiny living room of Rufus’s cabin.

“Dead or alive, Sam. We’re wanted dead or alive. You try to talk to a Fed, which one d’you think it’ll be? They’ll have you pumped full of bullets before you can blink.”

“He’s got a point, Sam,” Bobby says quietly.

Sam rubs his eyes, feeling a headache building. “I trust him.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t,” Dean retorts. “Who the hell is this guy, anyway? When’d you make a friend I don’t know about?”

“Is that what this is about?” Sam asks bitterly. “You’re pissed there’s something about me that you don’t get to control?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, you don’t have a great track record here,” Dean spits, and Sam’s throat clogs with anger even before Dean says, “Whenever you’ve made a friend on your own, how’s that gone for you, huh? Meg, Ruby, Amy… two demons, a monster, and now a fucking Fed?”

Sam balls his hands into fists to fight the urge to start swinging. “Why can’t you just trust me? You don’t know Frank, either.”

“I trust Bobby,” Dean says. The I don’t trust you goes unspoken.

Sam clenches his jaw, breathing until he knows he can talk without shouting.

“Just go, then, Dean,” he says, quiet and venomous. “Go ahead. Do whatever you want. I’m going to call Spencer.”

Dean’s frozen for a moment, stone-faced. Then he whirls around and heads for the door. “Fine. I’ll check in when I get to Frank’s.”

Sam sits down on the couch, resting his head in his hands for a moment. He hears the dim rumble of the engine starting outside.

“I’m gonna use the landline, if that’s okay,” Sam says quietly.

“I sure hope you’re right about this, boy,” Bobby growls.

“So do I.”

He finds Spencer’s number on the worn slip of paper in his wallet, written down with the five or so others that he doesn’t want to lose, and holds his breath as he dials. He has a feeling Spencer might not pick up on the first try, if he picks up at all. For all he knows, Spencer’s on the job already, in Colorado with his team looking for clues that aren’t there.

He closes his eyes and thinks, please, and then Spencer picks up.

“Hi, Sam.” His voice is icy.

“Hey,” Sam says. There’s a long, weighted pause before he continues, “It’s not me.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” It’s clipped and robotic and forceful.

“No, look, I - it’s not me, okay? That’s why I’m calling. I’ll turn myself in.” Another weighted pause. Sam clears his throat. “Not to the police, ‘cause I’m pretty sure they’ll shoot me on sight, but. To you. It’s hard to explain, but I’m innocent, it’s someone else pretending to be me, so if you can get to Montana -”

“Montana?” Spencer interrupts incredulously.

“Montana,” Sam repeats. He hesitates. “I figured you’d be tracking the call, I used a landline to make it easy for you.”

“She’s working on it,” Spencer admits begrudgingly.

Sam feels a twist of guilt, wondering how Spencer’s coworkers are reacting to this… even worse than Dean, probably.

He hears a faint female voice in the background, too quiet to make out more than, “...not sure how, but…”

“Fine, then,” Spencer says quietly. “Montana.”

“Wherever you want, okay? I - I won’t put up a fight. Just…” Sam can’t help but laugh. “Don’t let them shoot me, okay?”

There’s a crackle of static as Spencer sighs. “We’ll call you with details when we land.”

A voice in the back of his head that sounds like Dean is shouting, this is a terrible idea.

Sam ignores it.

“I trust you,” he says. “And Spencer?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for picking up.”

* * * * * * * * *

May 2010

Spencer feels like he’s choking on the thick stink in the air. He looks around the packed dirt yard of the farmhouse and can’t find any relief; he’s surrounded by ugly raw grief, and he can’t stand it. Emily is consoling the crying girl. Hotch is talking to the locals, tying up loose ends. Morgan is staring numbly at the rows and rows of muddy shoes on the ground.

He knows he’s not the only one dealing with the weight of what they saw today. He should find Penelope, give her a hug, face this together, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Sharing this would make it a little too real.

Maybe it’s all the practice he’s had at being alone; his first instinct is to hide, when things start to get overwhelming, and to maintain a certain level of clinical detachment until he can make sense of what he’s feeling. He can dissect his own feelings. When his friends are hurting, though… that’s a different story. When he sees his friends hurting, he hurts too, hurts in a way that chokes him, hurts in a way that crowds everything else out, and all he wants to do is fix it. Even when it’s not something that can be fixed. It’s illogical.

Love doesn’t leave any room for logic, he’s learning.

He slips away, into the barn.

Dust motes and chaff drift in the scattered beams of light that cut through the empty space, swirling around him as he climbs the ladder to the dark drafty loft. Spencer sits down on the floor in front of the wall of drawings. He hugs his knees to his chest and looks, committing the clumsy crayon strokes to memory, because it doesn’t seem right to let all those empty shoes live on without also remembering this: bright color, crushing loneliness, constant fear.

The loneliness is too much, after a few minutes. He pulls out his phone and closes his eyes.

“Hey, Sam,” he says. His voice cracks and wobbles.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I’m just not having a great day,” Spencer says, aiming for casual, falling short.

“You wanna talk about it?”

“Not really,” Spencer says. His voice is thin and scratchy and small in the darkness of the barn, lost immediately in the blanketing silence.

Sam hesitates, and Spencer waits, hoping he’ll understand.

“If you could have one object from a fictional universe, what would you want? Has to fit in your pocket.”

Spencer lets out a grateful little huff of a sigh. “Obviously the -”

“TARDIS doesn’t count,” Sam interrupts, laughing. “It has to be portable in its normal everyday form, not just temporarily shrinkable.”

“Sonic screwdriver, then. Obviously.”

“Right? That’s what I said.”

“What else would there be?”

“Dean would go with a lightsaber,” Sam says, and Spencer can practically hear him rolling his eyes.

It’s the first time Spencer’s really smiled all day. “Based on what you’ve told me about your brother, that doesn’t actually surprise me.”

“Yeah. That’s Dean…”

* * * * * * * * *

There’s a dial tone. Spencer closes his phone and tries to breathe.

“Do you believe him?” Hotch asks quietly.

Spencer looks down at his hands, twirling his pen again, feeling claustrophobic with all their concerned gazes pinning him in place. There’s too much going on in his head, too many things trapped and buzzing inside him with nowhere to go, and he wants to start running but all he can do is shrug.

“I don’t know,” he says, voice strained.

“Even if he is telling the truth, there are parts of this case that just don’t make any sense,” Morgan says.

JJ adds, “If it’s a ruse, it’s a bizarre one.”

“Gut feeling, kid,” Rossi says softly. “Are we walking into a trap?”

Spencer wants to scream. Instead he says, “I don’t think he’d hurt me, but…”

“If you trust him, that’s good enough for us,” Emily says fiercely.

Spencer can’t help it; he looks at JJ before staring stubbornly down at the table again. The words burn on their way out: “This wouldn’t be the first time I trusted the wrong person, though.”

“We need to make sure we’re prepared for all eventualities, but I think it’s worth the risk,” Hotch says. “We can discuss it more on the jet. Wheels up in thirty.”

Spencer refuses to meet any of their eyes as he gathers up his folder and his bag. He gets out of the conference room before anyone can try to talk to him. His cheeks are burning, and his hands are shaking, and he’s already jittery but he really needs coffee; beyond that singular thought, his brain is stuck between stations, all white noise and useless static.

The coffee pot in the break room is empty. He’s glad; it’s good to have something to do with his hands, a ritual, a tiny piece of his life that he can still count on. Filter, measure grounds, fresh water…

“Spence.” It’s JJ, of course, and Spencer’s first petulant instinct is to ignore her. “Spence. Look, we gotta talk about this.”

“About what? The fact that one of the few people I still trusted turns out to be a serial killer?” Spencer says sharply. “It’s becoming a pattern, me trusting the wrong people. I’m getting used to it.”

“You know what I mean.” Her voice is low and soothing, like she’s talking to a victim’s family.

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I get it, okay?” she says, still in that calm, professional voice. Spencer wishes she’d scream instead. He wants to scream. “You're disappointed with the way we handled Emily.”

He breathes in through his nose, out through his mouth, focusing on the steady drip of coffee into the pot.

“Listen, I have a lot going on, all right?” he says coolly.

“You know what I think it is?” He doesn’t look at her, but she continues anyway: “You're mad that Hotch and I controlled our micro-expressions at the hospital and you weren't able to detect our deception.”

It hurts. Her words bite down somewhere deep, venomous needle-sharp fangs that sink in and sting, and the toxic ache spreads through his system before he can take a breath.

“You think it's about my profiling skills?” he spits back. “Jennifer, listen, the only reason you were able to manage my perceptions is because I trusted you. I came to your house for ten weeks in a row crying over losing a friend, and not once did you have the decency to tell me the truth.”

Her expression is hurt, confused, and she says quietly, “I couldn't.”

“You couldn't? Or you wouldn't?” he snaps.

“No, I couldn't,” she insists. Her eyes are brimming with tears now, and Spencer feels a sick rush of satisfaction.

He knows it’s cruel, but he lashes out anyway: “What if I started taking Dilaudid again? Would you have let me?”

She recoils. “You didn't.”

“Yeah, but I thought about it.” It’s petty and it’s unfair and it’s vicious, and he doesn’t care, not even a little bit.

It stuns her into silence for a moment, and he turns to pour coffee into his travel cup, hands shaking so badly he almost spills.

“Spence,” she whispers. “I'm sorry.”

He whirls on her, almost shouts: “It's too late, all right?”

“Reid,” she says, but he’s already brushing past her, and he doesn’t stop.

* * * * * * * * *

February 2010

He’ll never forget the look on Dean’s face. He knows it a little too well, by now: disappointment, disgust. I expected better. This isn’t who I raised you to be. You’re not the person I thought you were.

“You know I couldn’t have gotten out of that bathroom on my own,” Sam says. “You know I wouldn’t have - I wouldn’t have done that. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t want to.”

Dean doesn’t trust him, though. He’s not sure Dean will ever trust him again.

Sam lets Dean lock him in the panic room. He doesn’t protest; he goes without complaint, head down, like a dog with its tail between its legs as it waits for a kick that never comes. Detox will hurt. It always does. He feels like he deserves that, though.

Dean almost says something, before he closes the door. The words catch on his lips and die on his throat, and he just shakes his head as he slides the deadbolts into place.

“I’m sorry,” Sam says, but Dean’s already walking away, and the hallucinations are already creeping in around the edges of his vision: his mother sighing sadly, his younger self shaking his head in contempt.

Sam sits down, curls up, and looks around at the bare walls and the locked door. The floor is cold under him, and he can already feel the chill sinking into his skin, down to his bones. He leans back against the wall and tries to breathe through the panic.

“I’m sorry,” he says, over and over again, but he’s not really sure who he’s talking to any more.

The hallucinations fade. The bloodstains won’t, not really. Dean will see those forever.

He can barely look at Sam when he finally unlocks the door.

Sam’s still itchy and wired, that night, even though the worst of it is over. Dean’s not even trying to pretend he’s doing anything other than keeping watch outside. He’s sitting in the hallway with a bottle of whiskey for company. Sam can’t leave, and he sure as hell can’t sleep, so he calls Spencer, and he doesn’t realize until it starts ringing that it’s two in the morning.

“Hi, Sam,” Spencer says, staticky and distant.

“Hey.”

“You okay?”

Sam sighs, stammers, stops, tries to start again. He doesn’t know what to say.

“Not really,” he manages. There’s another long pause before he can admit, “I fucked up. I keep fucking up.”

“Oh,” Spencer says softly. “Okay.”

Sam exhales. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know. I believe you.”

“You’re the only one who does.”

“I trust you,” Spencer says. It’s so matter-of-fact, so easy, and it’s been a long time since someone trusted Sam like that. He didn’t realize how much he missed it.

“Why?” Sam asks. He tries to laugh, but it comes out wet and choked.

“That’s what friends do, right?”

Sam takes a deep, shaky breath and swallows down the lump in his throat, trying not to wonder if Dean’s still standing guard outside his door.

“Thanks for picking up,” Sam says, barely a whisper.

“Any time.”

* * * * * * * * *

They cuff his hands behind the back of the uncomfortable metal chair. Sam didn’t expect anything less, but he still hates it. They had the entire team except for Spencer there to take him in, and that was a few too many guns trained on him for comfort, but he’s alone now. It’s cold, and the walls are blank, and he shivers.

He’s spent too much of his life locked in cages of one sort or another.

When Spencer finally opens the door, Sam can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief, even as his stomach twists with nerves. He’d worried they would insist on sending someone else in.

“Hey, Spencer,” he says quietly.

Spencer doesn’t answer. He avoids eye contact as he sits down, settling in with his posture stiff and his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looks like a different person from the one Sam first met; the jittery, fidgety, chattering Spencer is gone, and there’s an actual Fed in his place. Even when he meets Sam’s eyes, his expression doesn’t give anything away. He’s ice-cold and completely closed-off.

Sam tries to breathe.

“Where’s Dean?” Spencer asks bluntly.

“He’s at a friend’s, trying to figure out how to clear our names.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

“He didn’t think this was a good idea,” Sam says. “We haven’t had great experiences with law enforcement, but… him even more than me. I trust you. He doesn’t.”

Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You trust me.”

Sam shrugs helplessly. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Spencer’s face goes stormy immediately, and he leans closer, glaring at Sam with startling intensity. “Let’s get one thing straight. You and I are not friends. You’re a murderer, and the only reason I’m here is that I want to see what you look like when you’re telling the truth… because apparently you’ve been lying to me since we met.”

It’s not unexpected, but it still hurts. Sam hesitates for a moment before saying softly, “I’m not a murderer, and I haven’t been lying to you.”

“There’s video.”

“It’s not me.”

Spencer stares at him incredulously. “All that stuff you never wanted to talk about. All those times you talked about… being scared of yourself, worrying what you could do. What was that, then?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Sam says. He feels exhausted, suddenly.

“You’ve never even told me what you do for a living!”

“I can’t.”

“How am I supposed to believe you?” Spencer asks. He’s starting to lose his composure, an agitated edge creeping into his voice.

“Look, remember when you called me, and told me you might be dying?”

“How is that relevant?” Spencer hisses.

“I figured it out, afterward. Anthrax. Right?”

“How did you…”

“And you told me that you couldn’t give me details, and the details weren’t important anyway.”

“That’s right.”

“And I accepted that, because I trust you, and I trust that if you’re not telling me something, it’s for a damn good reason,” Sam says determinedly. “They tried to keep it out of the news, but later, once I knew you were okay, I did some digging, and I figured it out. Why didn’t you alert the public?”

Spencer looks utterly baffled. “Because people would panic. There’d be mass hysteria.”

“There you go. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not the same thing at all,” Spencer exclaims. “I work for the federal government!”

“Look, I know you, okay?” Sam says desperately. “I know that your job is to notice the details that don’t make sense. Even when something seems obvious, you and your team pay attention, and you make sure everything fits, and you figure out the truth, not just whatever bullshit explanation seems easiest.”

Spencer nods slowly.

“That’s why you’re here, and that’s why your team didn’t shoot me on sight,” Sam continues. “And I know you’re good at your job, so I know you’ve noticed that there are things about this case that don’t add up. Okay? Why would I be here talking to you, if I was guilty? Did you ask yourself how I got to Montana so quickly? Did you talk to any of the witnesses from the old cases? Diana Ballard? Rebecca Warren? Did you try to profile us? Find any similarities in m.o. between all those murders? No. None of it made any sense then, and none of it makes any sense now. You know why? Because it wasn’t us,” he finishes.

“Sam. Maybe there are details from the old cases that don’t make sense, but…” Spencer trails off, shaking his head, like he doesn’t even know where to start. Then he stops himself, sets his jaw, refocuses, and when he looks at Sam again, there’s nothing but pure clear anger in his face. “Look me in the eye, right now, and tell me you’ve never killed anyone.”

Sam instinctively goes to tuck his hair behind his ears, but the cuffs cut the movement short. Spencer sees it. His face falls, bitter and disappointed.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he mutters.

“I’ve never killed anything that didn’t deserve it,” Sam insists.

“Any thing? Really? Or any person?” Spencer asks. Sam doesn’t answer, and Spencer continues, rushing, like he can’t stop the words from coming out: “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a serial killer say that? Everybody thinks they have a reason, Sam, whether angels told him the guy was guilty, or… Satan was possessing them, or… a talking dog told them the meaning of life.”

Sam lets out a borderline hysterical laugh, and Spencer just stares like he’s completely crazy. Sam can’t blame him. He’s starting to feel crazy.

“Okay, here, look,” he says, in a sudden burst of inspiration. “Go through the old case files, look at the dates. Every one, I guarantee you, people were dying before we got to town. There’s gotta be a way to prove it, right? The murders started happening before we got there. Everything you’ve told me about Penelope, I bet she can do it, easy.”

“What, so now you’re telling me you’re some sort of vigilante?” Spencer half-shouts.

“Not exactly, no.” Sam’s starting to run out of ideas.

The door opens abruptly, and a stern-faced agent says, “Reid. A word?”

Spencer gives Sam one last look before he gets up. It’s a familiar expression: disgust, disappointment, you’re not the person I thought you were. Then he turns his back, and the door slams shut behind him. Sam can hear the click of the lock.

* * * * * * * * *

April 2010

He writes to her every day, pages and pages of words. He hopes she realizes that they all boil down to “I love you,” because right now, he doesn’t know what else to say.

“Hi, Mom, this is Spencer,” he says, “I just… I just really want you to know that I love you. And -” when he blinks away tears he can practically see her, her smile swimmy through the salt water, same as it looked when he was small and crying over a scraped knee, and if he keeps thinking like that he’ll never make it through this message. He pauses, gulps for air, steadies himself. “I need you to know that I spend every day of my life proud to be your son.”

She hasn’t taken care of him since he was small. Right now, though, he feels small and scared, and all he wants is for his mom to tell him that she loves him, and that it’s going to be alright.

“Reid?” Penelope whispers, and then he hears Dr. Kimura, and he doesn’t get to be a child right now; there’s nobody there to take care of him.

“I gotta go,” he says, and hangs up before Garcia can ask questions.

“Doctor Reid?”

“You look nice,” he jokes, with a watery laugh, and she smiles. “How are the patients doing?”

“Let’s worry about you,” she says smoothly.

Spencer forces a smile and shakes his head. “I actually… I feel fine.” It’s one of the most obvious lies he’s ever told.

“If you feel any pain, I could give you something,” she offers.

“No, I’d rather not take any pain medication.” His hands are shaking, but at least his voice sounds strong.

She looks concerned. “We can at least make you feel more comfortable.”

“I am comfortable, and I don’t want to take any narcotics,” he says fiercely. It’s not easy to say the words, but he feels better once he does; he feels proud.

There’s someone else he needs to call, Spencer realizes.

“Tell me how I can help,” Dr. Kimura says, and Spencer nods. First things first: if the poison is here, so is the antidote.

“I think the cure for this strain is in here somewhere,” he says, ignoring the way his chest aches.

“Well, shall I start here?”

“Yes, just… I just need a moment.”

Spencer looks down at his phone. He could call Garcia, again, have her save the message as a contingency plan, but he’s not sure he could handle her questions right now, and he can trust Sam not to push for details; he’s always been good about that.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Hey, so, I can’t explain, but I’m not sure I’m going to make it out of this,” he says, stumbling over the words. “Don’t interrupt, I can’t - I just wanted to say thank you. In case I don’t get to say it again. Recovery was… I don’t… you helped. Thanks for always picking up the phone when I needed you.”

“Right back at you,” Sam says quietly.

It’s getting harder to breathe, and the panicked hammering of his heartbeat isn’t helping.

“Thanks,” he says again, and closes the phone without saying goodbye.

* * * * * * * * *

“Reid, you need to calm down,” Hotch says, as soon as the lock clicks behind them.

“I know,” Spencer says, rubbing his eyes, agitated. “There’s just… there’s so much that doesn’t make sense.”

“It’s more than that.” Hotch gives him one of those piercing glares he’s so good at. “You’re allowing your anger with JJ to cloud what you’re seeing in Sam.”

Spencer can’t really argue with that. He just nods.

“When this is over, I want you to take a couple days,” Hotch says. “You need some time to process.”

Spencer’s instinct is to argue, but one look at Hotch’s face tells him it’s pointless. He nods again, reluctantly.

“Garcia is checking into the pattern that he talked about,” Hotch says, as he leads Spencer back into the observation room. “She may be able to pin the Winchesters’ locations at the times of the original murders. JJ’s talking to old witnesses. There has to be something Henricksen missed.”

Emily, Morgan, and Rossi are clustered in the small, spare room, watching Sam through the one-way glass. Emily cuts herself off mid-sentence as Spencer and Hotch walk in.

“You okay, kid?” Morgan asks again, looking at Spencer like he’s a bomb about to go off, and Spencer tries to smile for him.

“All my time in the Bureau, I’ve never seen a case that made less sense,” Rossi comments.

They all look at Sam, who’s frowning down at the table, deep in thought.

Spencer clears his throat and asks, “Do you believe him?”

“I believe that he’s telling part of the truth,” Hotch says. “It’s what he’s not saying that concerns me.”

Inside the interrogation room, Sam starts, eyes wide, and looks from the door to the one-way mirror.

“Hey,” he barks. “Hey, I know you’re listening! It’s St. Louis. I figured out the pattern, and they’re going to St. Louis next.” He tugs at the cuffs, clearly agitated. “Come on. Can anybody hear me?”

“He’s genuinely distressed,” Emily says, frowning.

“If it’s a delusion, it’s a complex one,” Morgan adds.

The door swings open, and JJ starts talking before any of them can ask: “That was Diana Ballard. She swears up and down that it’s all a big misunderstanding, but she’s not clear on any of the details; she just said that she’d trust the Winchesters with her life. Rebecca Warren said the same. There was someone impersonating the Winchesters, back then, and she swears up and down that someone’s got it out for them now.”

“How did Henricksen not have that statement in his file?” Morgan asks.

“Maybe Sam’s right, as much as I hate to admit it,” Emily says. “Maybe this is a case of agents just wanting the easy explanation.”

“You guys are gonna want to see this,” Penelope interrupts, hurrying through the door as fast as her hot pink heels will allow, holding out her tablet.

“Another one?” JJ asks.

“Unfortunately, yes, and it’s a doozy. This just came in from -”

“St. Louis,” Hotch fills in grimly.

“How did you know?” Penelope asks, but she presses play without waiting for an answer, and they all cluster together to watch the grainy cell phone footage: Sam, leaning in close, giving the camera a smug smile before he opens fire.

“Is that really…” Spencer says numbly, looking from the screen to the window, where Sam is tapping his foot, impatient, undeniably solid and real.

“It’s real,” she confirms. “And to top it off, I found a call that the local brass dismissed, but I just talked to him a couple minutes ago and it sounds like the genuine article. A guy thinks he saw the older Winchester just a couple hours after Sam originally called us. He was at a gas station in, you guessed it, Montana.”

There’s a stunned pause, while everybody tries to digest that news, until Emily breaks the silence with a succinct, “What in the ever-loving fuck is happening.”

“I’m going to talk to Sam,” Hotch says.

Spencer’s acutely aware of everyones’ eyes on him again as he moves closer to the window. His reflection in the glass looks masklike and composed, but he doesn’t feel anything of the sort.

He’s kind of starting to believe Sam. That’s his first instinct, at least. Something deep in his gut is telling him to trust, but it’s being strangled by the suspicion and twisted fear that have been poisoning him slowly since Emily came back. Now that it’s in his system, Spencer��s not sure how to flush it out; it’s just in him now, like some sort of chronic infection.

* * * * * * * * *

March 2011

“I hate how often we see it,” Spencer says quietly. “It’s the first thing everybody thought of, with this kid, even though it wasn’t just schizophrenia, but… what’s the difference, between him and my mom?”

“Your mom has you,” Sam points out. He can hear the murmur of Dean and Bobby’s voices downstairs, constant and comforting.

“The headaches haven’t stopped.”

Sam grimaces. “No answers, still?”

“They all say there’s nothing wrong with me, physically.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighs. “That’s… kinda harder, isn’t it?”

“I hate not knowing,” Spencer fumes. “I hate that there’s no test for it. Even if it was a positive diagnosis, I’d rather have that, you know? I mean, that’d be awful, obviously, but… ”

“At least you’d know,” Sam finishes. “Yeah.”

“It’s like my brain may or may not be a ticking bomb. No way of knowing what’s hiding up there,” Spencer bites out, with a warped attempt at a laugh.

Sam can’t help but think of his flashback: coming back to reality with Dean pale and wide-eyed above him, the disorientation of feeling the solid floor under his back, the way his skin still burned. It felt so real.

He pushes those thoughts away.

“Like you can’t even trust yourself,” Sam says softly.

“Exactly.” Spencer’s voice is small and thin, and he sounds very young, suddenly. “My mom’s counting on me. What if… if something happened - I don’t know who would take care of her. Of us.”

“Your family,” Sam says, without hesitating.

“My team? Yeah, I… I guess so.”

“Your family,” Sam repeats. “Even if you can’t trust yourself, you’ll be able to trust your family.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam’s heart leaps at the sound of the door opening again.

“They’re going to St. Louis,” he says, all in a rush, before the stern-faced agent from earlier can even sit down. The guy doesn’t bat an eye, just sits down calmly, pinning Sam with a stare that could strip paint.

“Sam, I’m Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner.” Sam’s heard Spencer talk about “Hotch,” and it all makes sense now. “What makes you think St Louis is next?”

“They’re retracing our steps,” Sam answers. “Dean and I, when we started working together. They’re hitting each town we stopped in. Jericho, Black Water Ridge, Manitoc. St. Louis is next.”

Sam holds his breath, hoping he won’t be pressed on his definition of working. He can see the moment Hotch comes to a decision with an infinitesimal nod.

“We’re too late,” he says. “We just got the news.”

“Shit,” Sam can’t help but mutter, and he tugs instinctively at the handcuffs, frustrated, done with sitting still.

“This means you’re innocent,” Hotch points out, clearly watching Sam’s reaction.

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. “Yeah, but I already knew that. It’s… Iowa next, then. Ankeny, Iowa.”

“Very well,” Hotch says flatly, giving Sam a critical, evaluating look. “It’s very clear that you’re not what we thought you were, and you may be able to help us end this. Are you still interested in accompanying us?”

“Yes,” Sam replies impatiently.

“First, I’m going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth about what’s going on here,” Hotch says, in such a low, dangerous voice that Sam’s almost intimidated. “Otherwise, if one of my agents gets hurt because you withheld information, or if there’s even a hint that you’re leading us into a trap, I will shoot you without hesitation. Do I make myself clear?”

Jesus. But if the FBI can help him get to Iowa in time, with enough firepower to put a dent in the Leviathans, this’ll all be worth it.

Sam leans forward, as much as his cuffs will allow, meeting Hotch’s impenetrable glare with a determined stare of his own.

“Look, I could tell you more, but you’re not going to believe some of it until you see for yourself,” he snaps. “So as far as I’m concerned, the only truth that matters is this: people are dying, and we both want to put a stop to it. Now, are you going to waste time asking for irrelevant details, or are you going to choose to trust me?”

Hotch holds his gaze for a moment before nodding tersely. “Let’s get going, then. I’ll go get the keys.”

He gets up and Sam grimaces at his retreating back, twisting his wrist uncomfortably to get the bobby pin at the right angle. Then the cuffs fall to the ground with a metallic clatter, and Hotch looks back at him in disbelief. Sam smiles at him, equal parts sheepish and smug.

“I told you, full cooperation,” he explains, and Hotch shakes his head like he might just be a tiny bit impressed.

The rest of the team is waiting out in the hallway, some looking skeptical (tall, dark, handsome, eyebrows; Morgan, if Sam's guessing right), others nervous (pink pom-poms in her hair; that’ll be Penelope), but almost all with some degree of confusion written across their faces. Sam can’t exactly blame them. Spencer’s staring at his shoes, avoiding eye contact.

They’re a very clean, professional-looking bunch, and it’s making Sam incredibly uncomfortable, even aside from the obvious awkwardness inherent in the situation.

“I’m Sam,” he blurts out, and then winces. “Um. You knew that.”

“Yep,” Penelope squeaks. “This is weird.”

“Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, David Rossi,” Hotch says brusquely, pointing to each in turn. “Jennfer Jareau, Penelope Garcia, and you know Spencer. There’ll be time to talk more on the jet. Everyone, grab your things, meet outside in five.” He’s already pulling out a cell phone and striding away as the team scatters, and Sam feels sort of windswept in his wake; the guy’s intense.

Sam and Spencer are alone in the hallway. Sam’s stomach twists. This is familiar. This is another person he’s let down, and the bitter voice in the back of his head whispering you fucked up again is familiar too.

“I’m sorry,” Sam blurts out. “I know it doesn’t change anything, but… I’m sorry.”

Spencer looks up at him with a quizzical frown, head tilted. “I was going to apologize to you.”

Sam blinks. “Why?”

Spencer presses his lips together in a funny little grimace. Sam had forgotten that face, the weird things he does with his mouth when he’s not sure what to say.

“For not trusting you.” His voice is scratchy and uneven and honest, now that there isn’t any anger keeping it strong and sure. “I wanted to believe that you… that it couldn’t be you. When I saw the first video, that was my instinct. But my instincts haven’t been great, lately.”

Sam shakes his head. “No, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“I think maybe I don’t trust myself right now?” Spencer barrels on. “But there’s video, and... I trust Hotch. If Hotch believes you... yeah. I’m sorry.”

Sam’s not used to being forgiven so easily. It takes him a moment to remember how to speak.

“You gave me a chance,” he says. “Most people wouldn’t have even picked up the phone. And there’s still… I still haven’t told you everything, why would you -”

“There are a lot of things going on that I don’t understand, and I want answers, don’t get me wrong.” Spencer looks frustrated for a moment. “But… knowing that you’re not a murderer goes a long way. The details can wait.”

“When I start sharing details is when most people start running in the opposite direction,” Sam admits.

“I think that’s sort of a universal human experience,” Spencer offers. He looks like he’s trying not to laugh, now. “Or at least, the fear is. Nobody likes telling the full truth. It’s uncomfortable at best, painful at worst.”

Sam huffs out a laugh and swipes a hand over his face. “Yeah, okay. Got me there.”

“I’ll trust that you’re not lying if you trust that I won’t run,” Spencer says, and he’s not smiling now. He’s dead serious, determined, maybe a little scared.

“Okay,” Sam says hoarsely. “Deal.”

There’s an awkward moment where they both just look at each other, but then Spencer jerks his head in the direction of the front doors. “C’mon, we should go.”

Sam nods and lets him lead the way. “Should we - do you know where my phone is? I need to call my brother.”

“Garcia will have it.”

They walk out into the bullpen, where the team is bustling around, collecting their things, and Sam’s reminded again of how much they’re risking on his word. It’s overwhelming. His throat feels too tight.

“So, that handcuff thing,” says Rossi, tossing his bag over his shoulder and falling into step next to Sam.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I can teach you. It’s just a bobby pin.”

“Might help next time I get kidnapped,” Spencer says, with alarming nonchalance.

“Would’ve come in handy a few times during college,” Rossi comments.

“You mean as a party trick?” Spencer asks him.

“Yeah. Sure, kid. A party trick.”

“...oh.”

* * * * * * * * *

November 2010

“Spencer?”

“I… is that you?” Spencer asks, so shocked he feels dizzy. It’s been six months.

Spencer’s first thought had been, ‘Weird, that's the second “just in case” call in a month,’ when he got the voicemail. He’d almost laughed.

Spencer had called Sam from the hospital, though, after the anthrax thing, when the antidote worked and he woke up.

Sam never called. Spencer assumed he never woke up.

“It’s me,” Sam says. “I’m so sorry, I -”

“What happened?”

“I was… sick,” Sam stammers. “Really… really sick. I’m sorry.”

Spencer has to pause for a moment to digest that. His head is spinning.

“What -” he starts, but he cuts himself off. He has some idea of what kind of sickness might cause someone to go away for six months, and it’s not physical. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Sorry,” Sam says again. He sounds miserable.

“No, don’t apologize,” Spencer protests. “You shouldn’t - it’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re okay. I thought…”

“Yeah.”

All Spencer can say is, “I’m really glad you’re alive.”

“Me too,” Sam says quietly.

Spencer’s been wanting to talk to him for six months, but now he can’t think of anything to say. Eventually he just goes with the first thing that comes into his head: “You missed some really good episodes of Doctor Who.”

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.”

Spencer closes his eyes and reminds himself to breathe. He’s never been so happy to be wrong.

* * * * * * * * *

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Emily says flatly, as Spencer brandishes the Super Soaker in her direction. “Of all the stupid fucking ideas.”

“Yup,” he says, popping the p and maybe kinda enjoying the way her eyes have gone all buggy. In a low voice, he adds, “Play along, remember?”

She casts a glance over to where Sam is busying himself with the rest of the water guns and a box of Borax. “As long as he doesn’t try to take my fucking Glock.”

“Nobody is taking your Glock, Emily,” Spencer says dryly. She shakes her head and goes over to join Morgan, Hotch, and JJ, who have already been outfitted and are standing at the other side of the parking lot. Garcia is sneakily taking a picture of them.

Admittedly, when Sam insisted that they make an emergency stop between the airstrip and the police precinct, Spencer wasn’t expecting Toys R Us, but he was also pretty gobsmacked when Sam started talking about monsters. He’d waited until they were in the jet to do so, which was probably a smart move. This isn’t the first time they’ve played along with a delusion in order to get answers, but it’s definitely the strangest.

Funniest, also. Spencer hopes Garcia got a lot of pictures.

Sam will definitely be headed to an institution, when all of this is over, and Spencer’s having trouble processing that, but… well, it’s not like Spencer’s unfamiliar with that sort of facility. Spencer’s just glad Sam’s not a murderer, and he’s ready to get Dean, arrest whoever’s framing them, and get some answers. He can deal with the rest later; there’s only so much he can handle right now.

It’s been a weird day.

“Okay, we’re ready,” Sam announces, passing the last Super Soaker to Spencer. “Bobby didn’t know where they’re keeping Dean, but I’m guessing the cells. I’ll lead the way. Don’t trust anyone, we have to assume the local cops are Leviathans, at this point. Stick together, don’t let them touch you. Clear?”

“And I’ll be right here with the emergency radio,” Garcia chimes in cheerily. “Thank God.”

Sam tucks his own water gun into the back of his jeans, hefting the fire axe he’d somehow stolen from the cockpit of the jet without anyone noticing. “Let’s go,” he says authoritatively.

“We’re right behind you,” JJ says, in her warmest, most soothing “placate the crazy man” voice.

Sam leads them around the corner and through the front door of the station, easing the door open without a sound, and they follow, entering the oddly quiet precinct quickly and efficiently.

Spencer can see his teammates starting to draw their real weapons; luckily, Sam’s too focused on what’s in front of him to notice what everyone is doing behind him. Spencer hooks a finger on the Super Soaker and lets it dangle from his left hand, drawing his gun with his right, and most of the team is doing the same, for the sake of appearances. Emily and Morgan just set their water guns on the floor.

“Dean?” Sam calls out.

“Sammy!”

Dean walks jauntily out into the bullpen like it’s a very normal thing to find a team of federal agents aiming their guns at him, but he does a double take, disconcerted, frowning for a moment at all the neon plastic toys on display. Then he recovers and turns a wide grin on Sam, who’s hanging back, wary.

“You brought backup,” Dean says, laughing. “Good, I’m hungry. I’m very glad you made it.”

“You’re not Dean,” Sam says, low and certain.

“No, I am not,” the man says, almost gleeful. “Close enough, though! I have all his memories, and I wanted to chat for a moment, before I eat you. I like my meat a little bitter.”

“What the almighty shitfire,” Emily breathes, but neither Sam or Dean pay any attention to her. Spencer has a hysterical urge to laugh, but he swallows it, heart pounding, not daring to look away from the insanity that’s unfolding in front of them.

“Dean thinks you’re nuts, you know.” The man’s eyes flick behind Sam, taking in the team fanned out behind him. “So do your new friends.”

Sam reaches behind his back to grab the handle of his water gun, but he holds it out of sight, still. Spencer keeps his finger firmly on the trigger of his real gun.

“Where’s my brother?” Sam snaps.

“Okay, okay, I’ll get to the point.” He’s wearing a smug, nasty smile, and this isn’t going the way Spencer expected at all. “Dean killed Amy.”

Sam seems frozen, completely paralyzed.

“There it is,” the man who isn’t Dean says, laughing. “Now I can eat you.”

Sam draws his water gun so quickly it’s just a blur of neon orange, and then the man (thing, Spencer corrects himself frantically) is smoking. He’s smoking and sizzling wherever the water touches, and he’s screaming, looking just as stunned as Spencer feels in the split-second before Sam swings the fire axe and chops off his head with one powerful blow.

There’s a moment where everything seems to slow down, like Spencer’s moving underwater, as he takes in the black goo pouring from the stump where the creature’s head used to be.

“What in the almighty motherfucking shitfire,” Emily says again, into the momentary silence.

“More incoming,” Sam snaps. “Heads up.”

Then everything speeds up, too fast for Spencer to process, and it all blurs together: he’s holstering his gun, spraying water at something that’s wearing Sam’s face, as someone screams. Glass shatters, somewhere. Out of the corner of his eye Spencer sees Morgan pulling the station’s fire axe out of its case, whirling around without hesitation in a spray of black goo, and he keeps getting caught in the water pistol jets but it’s better than all those goddamn teeth, what the hell, in the massive mouth that just appeared, so he shoots, what, how, and then -

And then it’s over as suddenly as it began.

It’s over.

Spencer’s heart is racing. He’s surrounded by puddles of water and puddles of oozing black, Morgan’s clutching an axe like it’s a life raft, and everyone is okay. Spencer looks around frantically, double-checking, but everyone is okay; they’re still standing, at least, although JJ, greenish-pale, looks like she’s seconds away from keeling over in shock.

“Back here, Sammy!” comes a muffled voice from the back of the station. Sam casually wipes the blade of his axe on the side of his pants, expression unreadable. Spencer watches him clench his jaw and take a deep breath.

“Sweet baby Jesus,” Rossi mumbles.

Sam’s face is blank as he looks around, taking in the mess and the team.

“I told you so,” he says mildly. Then he steps over the headless remains of a monster and goes to get his brother.

* * * * * * * * *

November 2009

He doesn’t bother trying to go back to sleep after the second nightmare. He goes outside instead, sits on the curb in the parking lot, looks up. The stars are barely visible with the Vegas light pollution, but it still helps to be outside. He can breathe a little easier.

There’s this tightly-knotted mess of rage in his chest, sitting on his ribcage like a tumor, poisoning him slowly.

It’s almost four in the morning, and he has no idea where Sam might be, or what time it is there. He takes out his phone anyway and fires off a text.

You awake?

The phone rings less than a minute later.

“What’s up?” Sam asks. He doesn’t sound like he was sleeping.

“I’m in Vegas,” Spencer says softly, and then realizes that doesn’t mean anything to Sam. “It’s where I grew up.”

“Win big on the slot machines?”

“I guess. I won two thousand dollars today, actually. I… I gave it to a prostitute,” Spencer admits. He adds hastily, “Not for sex.”

Sam laughs. “Right.”

There’s a moment of silence. Spencer could make small talk, now; he could pretend he called for no reason in particular. Sam wouldn’t believe him, but he wouldn’t question it, either.

He takes a deep breath and spits the words out fast, before he can regret letting them loose. “Apparently my dad lived really close by my entire life, even after he left my mom and me. I didn’t know. He never told me.”

“Shit,” Sam says.

“He was keeping tabs on me my whole life,” he says. His voice gives him away, breaking and rasping, and it hurts to keep forcing the words out. “He read all my articles, my dissertation, everything I ever had published. My friends seem to think I should be happy about that.”

“That’s bull,” Sam says firmly.

“Why wasn’t it enough?” Spencer whispers. He’s been holding that question in all day, and it’s been choking him.

His lower lip is wobbling. He’s glad Sam can’t see him. This is the sort of honesty that’s much easier from a distance; Sam might hang up right now, but at least Spencer won’t have to watch him walk away.

“Do you think they know?” Sam asks. “How badly they messed us up, I mean.”

“Do you think they care?” It comes out more bitter than he intended. Spencer makes a face and looks down at his feet in their mismatched socks. “I think that’s the important part. If he cared, I could probably forgive him, but… I don’t think he does. Not really.”

“Yeah.”

Spencer takes a breath. The anger is gone now. He doesn’t like how hollow he feels in its wake, but he does feel lighter. He feels better.

“Thanks for listening,” he says. “It helps.”

There’s a long pause, and Spencer thinks maybe he should hang up, now, try to rest even if he can’t sleep.

“Want to hear a joke?” Sam asks. “I tried to tell Dean, but... I don’t think he got it.”

“Sure.”

“How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”

“How many?”

“Two. One to change the light bulb and one to to observe how it symbolizes an incandescent beacon of subjectivity in a netherworld of cosmic nothingness.”

Spencer laughs, grinning up at the stars. “That’s good. I’m gonna steal that.”

* * * * * * * * *

Sam sighs as he closes the door of the precinct behind himself. They’re not totally done with cleanup, but all Hotch’s wild-eyed muttering about paperwork is starting to make him anxious.

Also, every time he looks at Dean, he feels sick.

He sits down on the bench that’s out front, under a little awning. The sky is dark with clouds, and the air is thick, threatening rain, so humid it seems hard to breathe… but maybe that’s the shock setting in.

He barely gets a minute of peace before Dean comes out to find him.

“Hey,” Dean says cheerfully. “Ready to go? I’m starving, and I don’t want to be here when that bunch starts asking questions. Pretty cool, though, having an in with the FBI. Definitely makes life easier, bein’ dead again.”

He’s standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, grinning like it’s just another day. Sam’s chest hurts.

“Don’t,” he says quietly.

“What’s up?” Dean asks, frowning.

“You killed Amy,” Sam says, and he watches Dean’s face as he realizes, the way he shifts his weight uncomfortably.

“Listen, Sam...” he says.

“No, you know what, don’t,” Sam spits. He knows the drill. Dean thought he was doing the right thing, he made a choice, he had to take responsibility if Sam couldn’t. Sam looks at his feet and says, “I don’t think I can be around you right now.”

“So… what, you -”

“You should go,” Sam says. He looks up and searches Dean’s face for some sign of guilt, remorse, empathy, but Dean just looks resigned. Sam wishes he would just start screaming, or throw a punch so Sam could hit him back. It’s not fair that Sam’s the only one in pain right now.

“Okay, Sam,” Dean says, and he turns to go. Sam watches him walk away.

He’s not sure how long he sits on the bench, watching people pass. The sky is getting darker by the minute.

Spencer doesn’t announce his presence when he comes outside, just sits on the bench next to Sam and waits quietly.

“He killed my friend,” Sam mumbles, without looking at him. “She was a monster, but she didn’t… she didn’t mean to. She didn’t want to hurt anybody.”

“Let me guess, he thought he was doing the right thing?” Spencer says wryly.

The lack of pity in his voice makes it easier for Sam to keep talking, and sarcasm feels better than grief. “Shocking, right?” he says. There’s a low rumble of thunder overhead, and they both look up at the sky. “I didn’t have many friends, but… I liked her.” The grief seems to be creeping in whether he wants it or not.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s throat feels tight. “He’s my brother, I just… I’ve fucked up in the past, I know I have. But I always feel like I have to earn his forgiveness. It feels like I’m always asking him to give me another chance, to trust me again, and… and he still doesn’t really look at me the same way. Then he pulls something like this, and I know, one way or the other, he just doesn’t trust me. He thinks it’s okay to lie to me, because I don’t deserve the truth.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, just makes an unhappy, understanding sort of sound. The first fat raindrops start to fall on the concrete in front of them, and they’re both quiet for a moment.

Sam smiles in spite of himself, remembering. “She changed her name, since I met her. Her name was always Amy, but she changed her last name to Pond.”

“Cool,” Spencer says.

“Yeah. I mean, no, she wasn’t cool, neither of us were, but… yeah.”

Sam can breathe a little easier, now.

“What are you going to do?” Spencer asks.

Sam looks sideways at him and sees the way his mouth is twitching. “Don’t.”

“Nothing you can do, is what I seem to remember you saying,” Spencer says innocently. “Give it time. Right? Does that make you feel any better?”

Sam laughs, burying his face in his hands. “That was fucking useless advice. Fuck, don’t ever listen to me.” He wipes his eyes. “This just sucks.”

“Yeah, it really does,” Spencer agrees. It’s pouring steadily now, rain streaming off the sides of their little awning. “Apparently Hotch thinks I should run away from my problems for a little while, give myself time to process, so I’ve been ordered to take a couple days off.”

“JJ, still?”

“Yeah. I think maybe he’s right. But… I was going to rent a car and drive back to DC, instead of taking the jet. Make a couple detours. Get some space. Give it time. You could come, if you want.”

Sam turns to him, surprised, but Spencer looks sincere; he’s giving Sam one of his trademark anxious not-quite-smiles.

“I was just going to hotwire a car,” Sam blurts out, and then winces. “That might be a better idea.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”

“I guess you probably have some questions,” Sam says reluctantly.

Spencer grins. “Harder for me to run away if we’re in a moving vehicle, right?”

Sam laughs, tucking his hair behind his ears. “Yeah, guess so.”

“After today, I’m not actually sure I want to know all the details,” Spencer says, wrinkling his nose. “But I do have some questions.”

“Anything you want to know,” Sam promises. “The truth. I promise. I should’ve… I should’ve told you sooner.”

Spencer shrugs. “No, I’m pretty sure you were right, I would’ve run away screaming.”

Sam laughs and rolls his eyes, and they sit there in silence for a moment, watching the rain start to slow. The clouds are already starting to blow over.

“Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.”

― Mark Twain

You can now read about the road trip right here!

#criminal minds fic #spn fic #supernatural x criminal minds #sam winchester #spencer reid #spn #cm #crossover

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cambionverse · 3 years ago

Text

envesseled (1 of 3): poker

HELLO >:)

so. as you may have noticed, the last time we posted anything about envesseled (the claire-centric, claire-pov fic intended to follow jesse's fic cambion and ben's fic only human) was in 2013. did we forget about it? did we cancel it? is the verse abandoned? no, no, and no. we had a lot of stuff to rewrite to get the verse in the right place for envesseled, and then we got busy, and THEN there was a pandemic. but it was never very far from our minds, and now it is FINALLY time for this to be the next thing we post.

most of the fans of this verse have been with us for a very long time. for being so patient, and so supportive, we decided to post not one, not two, but THREE scenes from the in-progress envesseled, for everyone to enjoy, but especially for the people who were readers when we posted the last one (again, in 2013, eight entire years ago). we aren't committing to a posting date yet, but we are ALL much closer to the end of this wait than the beginning.

this particular scene is only mildly spoilery and doesn't have any major content warnings to watch out for, aside from a mention of the ticking clock on claire's grace. it also introduces the minor character patrick, from spn episode 5.07, who has been on our cast page for some time; finally you can get some idea of what (small yet important) role he might play in this story. there are two more previews after this before the night is over - we hope you enjoy them.

---

Lucky for Claire, there's already a poker game in progress when she pushes the door of the pub open in a swirl of cold air. The man who wins the next hand looks younger than the others by far, though there's something about him that Claire can't quite place. He catches her eye across the bar and smiles around a toothpick as his compatriots grumble and wander away with their meager winnings.

"Room for one more?" says Claire, laying the sweetness on thick and her money on the table.

He waves a hand at the now-empty chairs. "I'm Patrick."

Surely he's faking that Irish accent; it's even more ridiculous than Jesse's Australia-Nebraska hybrid. And with the name Patrick, no less. "Amelia," Claire says, and pretends the accompanying flare of pain is only because she told a lie.

"Amelia," says Patrick, with an odd emphasis on the last two syllables. "You remind me of someone I once knew." He hands her a stack of poker chips and begins dealing out cards.

Claire leans forward so her braid falls over her shoulder and says, "How did you end up here, Patrick?"

He doesn't take the opportunity to look down her shirt, which is all the more irritating because she had half-hoped he wouldn't. "Luck," he says, snapping the k. He glances at his cards. "It's often on my side."

Lie. Claire doesn't often get such strong feedback from general statements like that, but this one burns. She ups her bet by more than she otherwise would have, careful to keep her voice neutral. "That must come in handy."

"Well, that is what we Irish are known for." He flips another chip onto the pile. "Ignoring the whole bit about the famines, of course. Pots of gold don't make very good eating."

Claire cracks a smile completely involuntarily, and brings a hand up much too late to hide it. Patrick quirks one eyebrow. His eyes stay on Claire's face for a long time, though, as his expression slides into something sadder.

She wouldn't, usually, but Claire asks, "Who was it?"

Patrick blinks, and the smirk is back in place like it never left. "Who was who, darling?"

"You said I reminded you of someone."

"She was a dancer." Patrick takes a chip from his considerable pile and spins it between two fingers. "Held herself like you do, especially when she was angry. Like if she didn't hold herself tight she'd float right up in the air."

Claire's muscles go even tenser when he says that, because he's not supposed to notice. "Raise," she says, dropping the chips in the pile.

Patrick exhales. "She wasn't much of a poker player." He puts his cards down, and slides them back into the deck before she can see them. "I fold."

Claire scoops the pile of chips toward her, stacking them carefully by value. Patrick's first bet this round was high, the highest he's played all game; why did he drop the bluff so fast? With this, plus the little extra hidden in her backpack, and if she's willing to eat vending machine food for breakfast—

The door opens, and a low hum starts up in the back of Claire's head. She knows who it is before Ben ever reaches the table.

"Claire!"

Patrick's eyes narrow the slightest margin. "Claire, is it?"

Fuck, and now she's been made, and he probably won't pay out and she'll have to sleep in a fucking snowbank because Ben Braeden can't keep his mouth shut. She opens her mouth the bare minimum required to say, "Leave."

She hears him settle harder on his feet but continues to stare at her cards. Patrick folded. She doesn't even have one pair.

"I know you don't forgive me yet," Ben says, and Claire breathes out hard. "But there's something Jesse and I need to—"

"I said leave, Ben," and she's turning to glare at him even though she wanted to play this cool. His cheeks are glowing red from being out in the cold, and a little behind him, far enough back to have a clear path to the door, Jesse's watching her too. When he sees Claire looking, his eyes drop to the floor.

"No, you don't get it," Ben begins, but Patrick interrupts.

"Is there a problem here?"

Ben seems to realize there are other people around, and he slides on his most affable grin. Claire can see how it's going to go, Ben charming everyone in a ten-foot radius, what a nice guy he is. Well, not if she gets there first.

"Yeah, there is," she says, savoring the lack of pain because it's true. "This asshole has been bothering me all night. I came here to get away from him."

"Oh, come on," says Ben, already rolling his eyes, but Claire said it loud enough that quite a few people heard her and some of them are starting to mutter. He notices, and ducks closer to her. "Look, Claire, can we just go?"

Patrick stands up. "I believe the lady asked you to leave."

Ben gives him a once-over. "Who are you?"

"Oh, I don't think you want to know the answer to that," says Patrick. His smile is not kind. "I suggest you be on your way."

Claire's not surprised to see Ben's jaw set at that. "Dude, this is so not your business," he says. "I know her, okay? We've been friends for years. I just want to talk to her."

Patrick bites a toothpick idly. "Think she can decide for herself who she wants to talk to."

Ben looks like he might be feeling stupid enough to throw a punch, but then Jesse is there at his side, one hand finding its way to the back of Ben's neck. Ben calms down instantly with Jesse touching him and Claire has been so, so painfully oblivious to never see this for what it was.

When Patrick notices Jesse his arms drop, and suddenly the air feels weird. "And who's your friend?"

"I'm nobody," says Jesse, though Claire would bet her pile of hypothetical money that his other hand is on the knife at his belt. "Just don't want to see this get out of hand."

Patrick looks at all three of them like links in a chain. "And did you not hear the lady's request, nobody?"

"Maybe you should stop talking for her, how 'bout," Ben retorts.

Claire appreciates the help, she supposes, but really what she wants is to be done with the displays of aggression and for everyone to leave her alone. "Go away, Ben," she says, and it comes out tired even to her own ears. He slumps a little deeper into Jesse's grip, and that's exactly the problem.

"Claire—"

"We're going," says Jesse, finally looking away from Patrick to catch Claire's eye again. He lowers his voice. "We'll be waiting outside."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Claire says, one parting shot for them to remember her by. "I do hope you two can find some way to occupy yourselves."

They both flinch, and Claire turns back to the table with bitter satisfaction in the back of her throat.

Patrick settles back into his seat, eyes still on the door. "You do have interesting friends."

"They're not my friends," says Claire. The lie burns like whiskey.

Patrick raises an eyebrow at her. "No? Then what are they?"

"We were playing," Claire says pointedly. When he doesn't move, she grabs the deck and starts to shuffle herself.

"I am playing," Patrick retorts. If he starts to go on about how you don't play the cards, you play the person, she might have to hit him herself. Instead he leans back and chews on his toothpick. "Let me see if I got it straight. You and Ben, you've been friends for a long time."

Claire places her bet, refusing to acknowledge that he's still talking. There's nothing impressive about repeating back what Ben let slip.

"And you're not one to make friends easily, are you, Amelia." She does look up at that, and Patrick, smirking, corrects himself. "Claire."

She deals the next card.

"So maybe you thought Ben was something special. But you didn't trust yourself with him. So you told him to wait."

"Raise," Claire says, and she doesn't even have that good a hand but she wants to clean him out. He won't stop fucking smiling.

"Some people would wait, you know," says Patrick. "Some people would wait a very long time."

Some while back Ben had told her, There is nobody else. Well. I'm nobody, Jesse said. Claire turns out her hand. "Triple sixes."

Patrick sighs. "You're letting me get to you, love. Can't play a good game if your mind's out that door." He tosses his cards onto the table in front of her. "Full house, and I'm guessing you could've used this cash. Quit while you've got any left." He drags the chips out of her reach.

Claire picks up his cards and the rest of the deck. "We're not done playing."

"All that ice isn't going to keep you safe forever." Patrick leans back. "Deal."

And because Claire is tired, and lost, and vindictive, she lets the cards slide through her hands with that special twist Ben taught her.

Patrick nudges a considerable pile of chips into the middle of the table. "Some free advice for you, love," he says, eyes dark. "Your life's too short to pretend you want nothing and no one to come near your heart."

Her grace flares up even before she can shape the words I don't. He doesn't know how right he is—Claire's life is looking very short indeed, these days, and nothing Ben or Jesse can do will put a stop to the invasive light eroding her body from the inside out. Her heart's probably toxic by now anyway.

Claire takes a deep breath and shows her cards, spades all in a row just like she planned. "Straight flush."

Patrick tosses his hand onto the table. "Four aces."

"What?" But there they are, even though Claire could've sworn she cut the ace of diamonds into the middle of the deck and buried the ace of hearts even further down. She locks her teeth as soon as the word escapes, but it's too late; his cold smile tells her he knows what she did.

"I don't like cheaters," says Patrick. He places a polished wooden box on the table and begins gathering the chips back into it, along with any chance she had of getting a hotel room tonight. "And you, of all people, ought to value honesty. Better luck next time, Amelia."

Claire clenches her jaw. She stands to leave—then Patrick catches her hand.

"I'm not doing this for you," he murmurs, and she feels the papery crinkle of fresh bills on her palm. She grips the money instinctively even as she draws back, other hand curling into a fist. No one at all is watching them. But Patrick just looks at her, an unsettling depth to his gaze. "You should tell him how you feel," he says, and releases her.

Claire pockets the money and bolts before he can change his mind.

#cambionverse #envesseled #claire novak #10th cambiversary #rough drafts #writing #ours #lmao this scene is classic spn winchester hustle #but with claire it's like. gatekeep girlboss get the fuck out of my face #also the fact that she uses her mother's name as an alias: hurts me #claire novak my beloved

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saltandburnsis · 4 years ago

Text

wendigo, pt. 1

Characters: Reader, Dean, Sam, Ranger

Age: 20

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,506

Summary: With nothing to show from their week’s stay in Stanford after Jessica’s death, the Winchesters move on to Black Water Ridge in search of their father.

A/N: y’all the fact that they changed the name of the town from Blackbottle Ridge to Black Water Ridge has been so frustrating. The “‘Blackwater?’ “No, Blackbottle” dialogue I put in the last part of the pilot was a joke for myself because I could not keep the name straight and now they’re just going to change it on me?? Insane. Also, as always, all dialogue taken from the show will be in italics.

~ ~ ~ ~

Sam woke up with a start, bolting upright in the passenger seat. Dean looked to him a few times, watching his movements as Sam tried to shake off whatever had scared him so.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Sam replied, brow furrowed as he played off his sudden waking. You looked to him from your spot in the back.

“Was it another nightmare?” you asked. Sam cleared his throat but, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer. They’d been happening so frequently since that night, but Sam refused to talk about them.

“Wanna drive for a while?” Dean looked to his younger brother. Sam chuckled in response, shocked.

“Dean, in your whole life, you’ve never once asked me that.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you agreed, leaning forward and resting your arms on the seat in front of you.

“Just thought you might want to. Never mind,” Dean replied to Sam. “And, Y/N, you’re never driving Baby again after what happened.”

“God, you crash a car into a house one time,” you replied, sitting back in your seat. This seemed to lighten the mood enough to take Sam out of his head.

“Look, guys, you’re worried about me. I get it and thank you, but I’m perfectly okay.” Dean only hummed in response. Quick to change the subject, Sam spoke again, grabbing the map as he did: “Alright, where are we?”

“We are just outside of Grand Junction,” Dean replied. Sam looked over the map for a few minutes before taking a deep breath.

“You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t have left Stanford so soon,” he mused. Dean shut his eyes for a moment, and you leaned forward again to look at Sam.

“Sam, we dug around there for a week. We came up with nothing. If you want to find the thing that killed Jessica-”

“Gotta find Dad first,” he interrupted, finishing your thought.

“Dad disappearing, and this thing showing up again after twenty years? It’s no coincidence. Dad’ll have answers. He’ll know what to do,” Dean reminded Sam. The same words he’d used to convince Sam to leave Stanford in the first place. Sam tried to change the subject again.

“It’s weird, man. These coordinates he left us, this Black Water Ridge…” Sam trailed off, looking at the map again.

“What about it?” Dean asked, glancing over at the map.

“There’s nothing there. It’s just woods.” Sam lowered the map and looked out the windshield, confusion clear on his face. “Why’s he sending us to the middle of nowhere?”

——————-

You looked around the ranger station with Dean while the three of you waited for the ranger. Sam was at the terrain model of the woods, looking at the entirety of the area.

“So, Black Water Ridge is pretty remote. It’s cut off by these canyons here—rough terrain, dense forest, abandoned silver and gold mines all over the place,” he explained to you and Dean. His words fell on deaf ears, however, as you and Dean were too preoccupied with looking at the pictures on the wall.

“Dude, check out the size of this friggin’ bear,” Dean called the two of you over. You walked over with Sam and shrugged when you saw the bear.

“…and a dozen or more grizzlies in the area,” Sam concluded his summary of the area.

“I’ve seen bigger than that. I fought a werewolf twice that size a few months ago before I met back up with you and Dad in Des Moines. I could take that thing on no problem,” you scoffed. Dean smiled proudly, but Sam furrowed his brow. He knew how invested you were in this life, how much you’d always been, but he couldn’t help feeling a bit overprotective of his kid sister. You’d been out facing monstrous werewolves three times your size without any help during his absence?

“It’s no nature hike, that’s for sure,” he said, shaking his head. The three of you were interrupted by the ranger’s entrance.

“You three aren’t planning to go out near Black Water Ridge, by any chance?” he asked. The three of you turned to face him.

“Oh, no, sir. We’re environmental-study majors from U.C. Boulder. Just working on a paper,” Sam answered. Dean fist-bumped the air.

“Recycle, man,” he added.

“Bull. You’re friends with that Hailey girl, right?” The Ranger moved to stand behind his desk. You stepped out from behind Sam and Dean, nodding.

“Yes. Yes, we are, Ranger…Wilkinson,” you answered, leaning in slightly to make out the name on his badge. He set his coffee mug down.

“Well, I will tell you exactly what I told her. Her brother filled out a backcountry permit saying he wouldn’t be back from Black Water until the 24th. So, it’s not exactly a missing persons now, is it?” Dean shook his head. “Tell that girl to quit worrying. I’m sure her brother’s just fine,” Ranger Wilkinson finished, stepping away from his desk again.

“We will,” Dean stated with a nod. “Well, that Hailey girl’s quite a pistol, huh?” He chuckled.

“That is putting it lightly,” the ranger replied with a shake of his head.

“Actually, you know what would help is if I could show her a copy of that backcountry permit. You know, so she could see her brother’s return date,” Dean suggested. Ranger Wilkinson looked down for a moment then nodded.

——-

“Yeah!” Dean laughed victoriously as he led you and Sam to the back of the car.

“What? Are you cruising to hookup or something?” you asked. Dean looked to you.

“What do you mean?”

“The coordinates point to Black Water Ridge. So, what are we waiting for?”

“She’s right, Dean,” Sam agreed. “Let’s just go find Dad. I mean, why even talk to this girl?”

“I don’t know. Maybe we should know what we’re walking into before we actually walk into it,” Dean shot back defensively. He looked between you and Sam and shook his head.

“What?” Sam asked, clearly annoyed at this point.

“Since when are you two all ‘shoot first, ask questions later?’ anyway?”

“Since now,” Sam quipped, getting into the car with a slam of the door. Dean turned to you before you could follow suit.

“You know, you’re the one who said we were friends with this girl. Now you’re mad it got us some information?”

“Yeah, the wrong information. How was I supposed to know that girl wasn’t a victim going in?” you sighed. “If Dad’s here in those woods, he could fill us in on what we need to know. Making all these other stops, interviewing people Dad probably already got to…it’s just more time spent not looking for him.” With that, you slid into the backseat before Dean could answer.

———-

You opted out of going to the girl’s house, choosing instead to stay back and do some more research of your own. If you weren’t going right into the woods, you might as well look further into all this while you could. Besides, Hailey didn’t need two strangers at her door during all this, let alone three. However, this left you up to analyzing the video Dean and Sam collected while at her house. You met back up with Dean and Sam at a local dive-bar to share your findings.

“So, Black Water Ridge doesn’t get a lot of traffic. Local campers mostly, but, still, this past April, two hikers went missing out there. They were never found,” you recanted, searching through the papers on the table before you.

“Any before that?” Dean asked.

“Yeah.” You finally found the old newspaper you’d printed and laid it on the table in front of your brothers. While they read, you got the laptop from the bag and turned it on. “In 1982, eight different people all vanished in the same year. Authorities said it was a grizzly attack. And, again, in 1959, and before that in 1936. Every 23 years, just like clockwork.

“Okay, watch this. Here’s the cincher. I downloaded the video Sam sent over. Watch this.” You spun the laptop to face them. “Here’s the clincher. I downloaded the video Sam sent me. Watch this.” You pressed a key, playing a few frames of the footage. Sam and Dean leaned in closer to the laptop.

“Do it again,” Dean said. You complied, rewinding the tape then playing those three frames again.

“That’s three frames. It’s a fraction of a second. Whatever that thing is, it can move.” Sam’s eyes stayed locked on the screen as he spoke, reaching forward to play the clips once more. Dean hit Sam’s arm triumphantly.

“I told you something weird was going on here,” he said. You shook your head, shutting the laptop.

“Yeah, I got one more thing. In’59, one camper survived the supposed grizzly attack. Just a kid—barely crawled out of the woods alive.” You passed your last paper across the table for them to look over. Dean grabbed it first, and Sam looked on over his shoulder.

“Is there a name?” Dean asked.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @sassy-specter @vicmc624 @idksupernatural

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multi-fandom-imagines8 · 5 years ago

Text

The Perfect Ship

Request: Hey, I saw that you’re requests for Spn are open. Can you write a Dean Winchester x reader fic? R is a part of the team and on a mission she discovers that Spn is a book (like a cosplay or smth) and she sees people shipping them and her reaction is the same as when Dean found out about Destiel. Maybe they end up together after that. I hope that wasn’t too much. Thank you Requested by anon.

A/N: I’m glad someone finally requested a Dean fic. I’m so in the mood for him right now. And don’t worry, that’s not too much information, in fact it’s great. I decided to do two parts, so in this part there’s only a part of the request at the end, but still enjoy!

O/h/c= opposite of your hair color.

Word Count: 1634.

“Come on tell me you got us a case, Sammy! It’s been a week and nada. This has been the longest and most boring week of my life. If I have to sit here for another minute and watch the state the bunker is in right now, I’m gonna die!” you whined.

Sam smiled before answering “I think I might have something”.

“What is it? Spill it out!” you quickly came to his side to check the case on his laptop.

“Three people have disappeared in the last two weeks near Jackson Square” Sam informed you.

“Are you kidding me? New Orleans? Really? It’s full of witchy Voodoo crap and haunted houses. There are probably some teenage kids playing some stupid game. There’s no case there” Dean took another sip of his beer.

“Shut up! We’re going, but if you want to stay here, it’s your choice. I’m not gonna rott with you. Let’s go, Sammy! Oh, and even if there’s no case, why would you miss visiting New Orleans. I mean come on” you took your leather jacket and headed outside to the Impala. Seconds after, Sam followed and then Dean.

“Backseat now!” Dean ordered as you sat in the driver’s seat.

“What happened to ‘there’s no case?”.

“I still don’t believe there’s a case but no one takes baby away from me, especially not you. So, backseat now!”.

“No! I was here first. Besides, I always ride in the backseat, I’m not going to this time. I’ve been rotting for a whole week in the bunker. I deserve this”.

“You deserve nothing of a sort. Now be a good girl and do what you’re told”.

“Excuse me?” you exited the car and crossed your arms ready to attack Dean after hearing his response.

“You heard-”.

“Oh my god! Stop being so dramatic. Both of you! Y/n, you can take my place. I’ll take the backseat but for heaven’s sake, shut.up!”.

---

“Where’s Y/n?” Dean asked after fueling the Impala and paying at the gas station.

“I don’t know. I thought she was with you”.

After searching for you for about five minutes, Dean gave up and waited for you in the car. It was hot and sticky and you’ve been away for 15 minutes. Finally you made your way back to the car with a grin on your face.

“Alright, let’s go” you instructed as soon as you entered the car.

“Oh, she lives! I thought some monster devoured you. What a shame!”.

You gave him a fake smile before looking down at your phone.

“What the hell took you so long?” he turned to face you.

“As you said, there was a monster. I had to fight for my life. I barely survived” you mocked.

“Very funny. Next time, I won’t be waiting”.

“We’ll see about that” you smirked.

---

“Pull over!” you commanded.

“What now?”.

“I’m hungry. I need food!”.

“We were at a gas station like an hour ago. Couldn’t you get something from there?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Gas station food and restaurant food are two different things, Dean. What is wrong with you? You love food?”.

“I just want to get there before I’m old and toothless”.

“Well, I got some bad news for you buddy. You’re already old and you’ve lost a couple of teeth, so like just give it a couple of years and you’ll have no teeth”.

“Can you both stop please?” Sam finally spoke.

“I haven’t done anything. She started it” Dean shifted the blame onto you.

“Says mr. perfect” you rolled your eyes.

“Both of you just shh. I don’t want to hear a word coming out of your mouths the whole way to New Orleans”.

“Bossy much?” you muttered.

“Yeah” Dean agreed with you.

At two or three a.m, Sam was sleeping uncomfortably in the backseat and you fell asleep on Dean’s shoulder. He was about to tell you to move, but when he saw how peacefully you slept he refrained from doing so and couldn’t help but smile. Four hours later, you woke up at the sound of loud 70s music.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart” Dean smirked.

“Fuck you, Winchester!”.

“I told him not to do it” Sam said.

“You were sleeping for so long. I had to do something and we both know you’re not the type that’d wake up if someone just nicely asked you to” he teased.

“What time is it? Are you out of you damn mind? It’s six in the morning and I’ve slept for like three or four hours and you call that so long? The average amount of sleep a normal human needs is like seven or eight hours and I’m not normal so I need more, you asshole!”.

“That’s your problem”.

“We’ll see in the future when I’m standing on your deathbed” you rested your head on the window and tried to get some more sleep, but of course Dean wouldn’t let you.

“Hey, what are you doing? We’re almost there. You can’t go back to sleep now! You already look like hell what are people gonna say when they see you if you sleep a bit more?”.

“Maybe that’s why I look like hell? Lack of sleep causes that. And I always look awesome so…”.

---

“Ok the guy said that the first victim was going to this party which happens to be tonight. We should head there” Sam informed you.

“Where is it?”.

“The abattoir. Bourbon street”.

“It’s like three minutes away, so I’ll meet you guys there later. I’m gonna go do some sightseeing and culture” you were eager to see the city.

“Hold on, I’m coming with you” Sam said.

“Oh no, no, no. You’re staying with me and someone has to do research and it ain’t gonna be me” Dean refused.

“First of all, Sam can decide for himself. He’s not a child anymore. Second of all, if there’s no case, then there’s no research” you reminded.

“But what if there was? Are you really going to let innocent people die just because I said there ain’t one. I didn't know you trusted me that much. I’m really honored. I appreciate that” he mocked.

“I think I’m gonna stay with Dean. we shouldn’t leave him alone, you know. He might get scared. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to come here in the first place” this time it was Sam’s turn to tease Dean.

“Yeah. I think you’re right… one more thing, you stink. So maybe take a shower before you go out and make all the people we’re gonna question run away”.

---

“Guys, somebody help me!” you entered the motel room that Dean and Sam were staying in.

Sam gave you a weird look before assisting you with all the bags that you’ve got.

“What’s all this?” Dean asked.

“Let’s just say things you wouldn’t like”.

“Ah, speaking of things that we wouldn’t like, this is the last available room here” Dean informed you “We have a double bed and a single bed”.

“Ok. Problem solved. I’ll take the single bed and you’ll share the double bed” you suggested.

“Ha ha, that’s not gonna happen” Dean laughed nervously.

“Do you have a better solution? I hope you’re not suggesting that Sam and I share the same bed, no offense, babe. Besides, you’re brothers so what’s the problem?”.

“That’s exactly what I suggested but I forgot that he’s a giant which he reminded me of, so… and no! It’s weird even if he wasn’t a giant”.

“Oh, no! You’re not suggesting that we-”.

“Yeah, that was my exact reaction” Dean added.

“Hell no! We can’t even sit five minutes together before starting a fight and now you want us to sleep next to each other?”.

“I don’t like it anymore that you do”.

“Right! So, sharing a bed with your brother is weird but sharing a bed with me is not?”.

“Well, it’s less weird. You’re a woman”.

“So are you saying that if Sam was girl, that wouldn’t have been weird?”.

“Ew, no!”.

“Fine, but if you end up on the floor, it’s not my fault. I warned you”.

“And if you end up without a blanket it’s not my fault. I warned you”.

“Are we going to the party or are you two just gonna stay here and fight until you actually fall asleep together from the exhaustion of arguing!” Sam left and both of you followed.

---

“Idjits!”.

“Am I hearing stuff or did someone just say-” you were interrupted by Dean.

“Idjits? Not again!” Dean sighed.

“Not again what?” you asked.

“Something related to supernatural” Sam added.

“Supernatural?” you were confused.

“It’s uhm- a series of books about our lives” Dean admitted.

“Pff, yeah right. Who’d write anything about your lousy lives. Even better who’d read such crap?” you laughed and when you saw Sam and Dean’s facial expressions, you knew it’s real “oh, you’re- you’re not joking”.

“Nope”.

“I mean it can’t be that bad. What do they know about you? Two brothers that hunt demons and monsters?”.

“Everything”.

“They can’t know everything. I mean how would this author know all about you”.

“I think you’re in the new books too” Sam believed.

“As if”.

“I love him, Sammy! What should I do? Do I tell him or do I keep it to myself. I don’t want to get hurt, because you know Dean is a womanizer and I’m not 100% sure that he loves me back” a girl with o/h/c came with a guy who was dressed like Sam.

“Listen Y/n. Life is too short and if you love him, you should tell him. Trust me on this” the guy spoke in a deep tone.

“What the hell is that?!” your mouth was left wide open from shock.

To Be Continued...

Tags: @thisismysecrethappyplace @berruneko09 @spnwinchestersd@simonsbluee @capsheadquaters

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winchesterbrotherstan · 5 years ago

Text

SPN- Bloodlust (2.03)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: While investigating a case, the siblings run across someone from a familiar background. Dean clicks right away, but Sam and Olive are weary. Chaos ensues.

Warnings: blood (lol duh), fighting, choking, idk writing part of this made me sad but i did it for the ~drama~

Word Count: 6078

“Whoo! Listen to her purr!” Dean turned to Sam and I with a huge grin. “Have you ever heard anything so sweet?”

I giggled, overjoyed to see him so happy. He had fixed Baby up, and she looked better than when Dad gave her to us.

“You know, if you two wanna get a room, just let me know, Dean.” Sam teased.

Dean shook his head, the smile still on his face. “Oh, don’t listen to him, Baby. He doesn’t understand us.”

I giggled again, and Sam laughed.

“You two are in good moods.”

I shrugged. “I’m happy that Dean’s happy.”

Dean grinned and leaned over to press a quick kiss to my forehead.

“Got my car, got my baby siblings, got a case. Things are looking up.”

“Wow.” Sam scoffed playfully. “You hear a couple of severed heads and a pile of dead cows and you’re Mr. Sunshine.”

Dean laughed. “How far to Red Lodge?”

“Uh, about another three hundred miles.” Sam threw an arm over the back of the seats.

Dean grinned wider. “Good.”

***

“Why do I have to stay in the car?” I whined.

“Because I said so.” Dean frowned back.

I sighed. “I didn’t have to stay in the car on other hunts.”

He sighed again. “I know, kid, but you don’t seem like a reporter when it’s the three of us.”

“It’s not even like I can play with Jinx. Sitting in a car is boring.” I huffed.

Jinx was still at Bobby’s. She was going to stay another week before we picked her up, since she loved his house and he loved her.

“Then say I’m your daughter and you couldn’t find a babysitter!” I begged, chin resting on the windowsill.

He huffed, then looked at Sam. Sam shrugged.

“It’s not that far off.”

He sighed again. “Fine. Fine, but you’re Sam’s kid. Come on.”

***

“The murder investigation is ongoing, and that’s all I can share with the press at this time.”

I was sitting in a chair across from the sheriff’s open door. Sam and Dean were in suits and ties. They were reporters today, and I was Sam’s teenage kid. I could see Sam and Dean from my spot, but not the sheriff. He sure as hell sounded ridiculous though, which proved enough entertainment for me.

“Sure, sure, we understand that.” Sam nodded. “But just for the second, you found the first, uh… head… last week, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, and the other victim, a uh, Christina Flanigan…”

“That was two days ago. Is there-”

There was a knock on the open door, and the blond girl pointed at her watch.

“Oh. Sorry, gentlemen, but time’s up. Looks like we’re done here.”

“One last question-”

“Yeah, what about the cattle?” Dean cut Sam off.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and stayed silent, eyes closed.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, the cows found dead, split open, drained… over a dozen cases.” Dean reminded him.

“What about them?”

Dean gave Sam a look, and I cleared my throat. Sam was quick to save Dean.

“You don’t think there’s a connection?”

“Connection? With?”

“First cattle mutilations, now two murders? Kinda sounds like ritualistic stuff.”

“You know, like satanic cult ritualistic.” Dean’s eyebrows rose.

The sheriff laughed. “You…” He stopped laughing upon seeing that Sam and Dean were completely serious. “You’re not kidding.”

“No.” Dean shook his head with a sickly sweet smile that soon faded.

“Those cows aren’t being mutilated. You wanna know how I know?”

“How?” Sam instantly shot back.

“Because there’s no such thing as cattle mutilation. Cow drops, leave it in the sun, within forty eight hours the bloat will split it open so clean it’s just about surgical. The bodily fluids fall down into the ground and get soaked up because that’s what gravity does. But hey, it could be satan.” He scoffed. “What newspaper did you say you worked for?”

Sam and Dean both cleared their throats, but Dean beat him to it. “World Weekly News.”

“Weekly World News.” Sam corrected.

“World… I’m new.” He chuckled.

The sheriff snorted. “Get out of my office.”

***

“Dean, I’ve been in a morgue before.” I whined.

“Yeah, I don’t care. You’re staying in the car, where it’s safe.”

I scoffed. “Safe from what? A dead guy?”

“Olive.” He was serious. “This is not up for debate. You are staying in the car. Do you understand me?”

I nodded. “Yeah.” I sighed. “Be careful. Please.”

He smiled and ducked his head back in through the car window. “Love you, sweetpea.”

“Love you too. Bye, Sammy.”

“Bye, bug, be back soon.”

***

The boys slunk into the car with matching looks on their faces.

“What happened?” I sat up.

Dean huffed and Sam shook his head.

“We got something weird on our hands, Ol.”

“Like what?”

Dean glanced at me in the rearview. “Vamps.”

“Hey, Ollie, you got your fake ID on you?”

I grinned as I flashed it. “Always.”

***

“How’s it going?” Dean asked as we sat down at the bar.

“Living the dream. What can I get for you?”

“Two beers and a water, please.”

The bartender snorted and I smiled. “Someone’s gotta be able to drive.”

“So, we’re looking for some people.” Sam started.

“Sure. Hard to be lonely.”

Sam smiled. “Yeah, but um…” He pulled out a fifty and stretched it out before dropping it on the bar. “That’s not what I meant.”

The bartender pocketed it and slid us our drinks.

“Right, so these… these people. They would’ve moved here about six months ago. Probably pretty rowdy, like to drink… real night owls, ya know? Sleep all day, party all night.” I took a sip.

“Barker farm got leased out a couple months ago. Real winners. They’ve been in here a lot. Drinkers, noisy. I’ve had to 86 them once or twice.”

The boys and I looked at each other. That was all we needed. I got a feeling in the pit of my stomach and latched onto Dean’s arm.

“Thanks.” He smiled and stood.

“What is it, sweetheart?” He asked, casual.

“We’re being watched.” I said through a smile.

Sam heard me and nodded, pushing Dean to lead so he could bring up the rear. We slunk across the floor and slipped out the back door.

“Alright, I’ll be the bait.” I whispered as I popped to my toes and pressed a kiss to Dean’s cheek.

I didn’t give him time to protest it as I slipped into the back alley, leaving them to hide in the shadows. I could hear the man’s footsteps as he followed after me. I stopped at the alley way’s dead end and turned, gun trained between his eyes. It was one of the men that had been sitting in the bar.

“Can I help you?”

He turned to run, and Sam and Dean popped out of their places. Sam pinned him to the wall with a fierce look on his face, and Dean’s knife was at his throat. I put the gun back in my waistband and walked over, feeling like a total badass even though my brothers were doing all the work.

I framed myself between them and scowled. “Smile.”

“What?”

“Show us those pearly whites.” Dean growled.

“Oh, for the love of… do you wanna stick that thing someplace else? I’m not a vampire.”

I glanced up at Sam, who side-eyed me, then Dean.

“That’s right. I heard you guys in there.”

“What do you know about vampires?” Sam snapped.

“How to kill them. Now seriously, bro. That knife’s making me itch.”

Dean tilted his head.

Oh how tragic.

The man tried to stand straight, and Sam slammed him back into the wall.

“Hey! Whoa. Easy there, chachi.”

I held back a growl as I glared at the man.

I wish Dad was here.

I blinked, taken aback.

Had the voice in my head just… talked to me?

I miss Dad too.

The man pulled his lips up to show us his gums. “See? Fangless. Happy?”

Sam let him go, and Dean pulled the knife away.

“Now.” The man spat. “Who the hell are you three?”

***

“Sam, Dean, and Olive Winchester.” Gordon Walker, solo hunter spoke. “I can’t believe it. You know I met your old man once? Hell of a guy. Great hunter. I heard he passed. I’m sorry. It’s big shoes. But from what I hear you guys fill ‘em. Great trackers, good in a tight spot-”

“You seem to know a lot about our family.” I cut him off.

“Word travels fast.” He sighed. “You know how hunters talk.”

“No.” I shook my head. “We don’t, actually.”

“I guess there’s a lot your dad never told you, huh?”

“So those two vampires, they were yours, huh?” I mocked his tone.

“Yep. Been here two weeks.”

“Did you check out Barker farm?” I spat.

“It’s a bust. Just a bunch of hippies. Though they could kill you with that patchouli smell alone.”

“Where’s the nest?” I ignored the rack of fancy equipment that he pulled out of his car.

“Look, girl-”

“Her name’s Olive.” Sam snapped.

“I got this one covered. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a real pleasure meeting you fellas. But I’ve been on this thing for over a year. I killed a fang back in Austin, tracked the nest all the way up here. I’ll finish it.”

“We could help.” Dean offered, finally getting a word in.

“Thanks, but uh, I’m kind of a go-it-alone type of guy.”

“Come on, man. I’ve been itching for a hunt.” Dean grinned.

“Sorry. But hey, I hear there’s a chupacabra two states over. You go ahead and knock yourselves out.” He shut the back door and got into his car. “It was real good meeting you, though. I’ll buy you a drink on the flip side.”

He drove off, and Dean and Sam both turned to me with strange looks on their faces.

“What?”

“What the hell was that?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. Dad never mentioned him, so why did he know so much about our family? He’s not a vamp, but he could be something else. A werewolf, a shifter. Hell, a skinwalker. Or he could just be some very shady dude.”

“Ol, I’ve never seen you go at anybody like that.”

“Yeah, Dean’s right. Not before.” Sam shook his head.

I sighed. “I don’t like his vibes.”

Dean sighed and Sam shrugged. “Alright. Let’s go.”

***

“Hey!” I roared, fangs on display.

The vamp turned with an open mouth and wide eyes. Sam took the chance to pull Gordon out from under the power saw, helping him to his feet. The vamp came at me full force, and Dean picked up a loose crowbar and hit him with it. The vamp fell under the saw, and I watched as Dean moved without hesitation. He drove the crowbar into the vamp’s chest before throwing a few punches.

He lowered the saw, cutting the vamp’s head off. His face got sprayed with blood, and I jumped at the sound of bones crunching. Sam reached for me and pulled me into his chest. I hid my face in his shirt and shook, horrified. I had seen Dean kill, but this sent chills down my spine.

There was a long silence, and Sam ran a hand through my hair.

“It’s okay, bug. I’ve got ya.”

“So uh… I guess I gotta buy you that drink.”

Dean laughed, and I shrunk further into Sam.

“Yeah. Hey, babes.” He reached for me, and I forced Sam back as I moved forward, away from Dean.

Dean stared at me, confused. “What…”

Sam eyed him and shook his head. I turned and huddled back into Sam’s chest.

Too much blood.

***

I was curled up in the chair, leaning into Sam’s side as much as I possibly could. Dean was on my other side, because it was either him or Gordon, but I didn’t want anybody except Sam.

“Here you go.” The waitress came by, placing another round, as well as the bill, down on the table.

Dean reached for his wallet, and Gordon waved his hand.

“No, no, I got it.”

“Come on.” Dean tried.

“I insist.” Gordon handed a 50 to the waitress. “Thank you, sweetie.”

My stomach churned and I pressed my head further into Sam. He wrapped his arm tighter around me.

“Another one bites the dust.” Gordon raised his glass.

Bad vibes, bad vibes, bad vibes.

I swallowed, hard.

I know.

“Dean.” Gordon laughed, and I shivered.

It sounded wrong coming out of his mouth. Like he had broken some ancient, blood-rule.

“You gave that big-ass fang one hell of a haircut, my friend.”

“Thank you.” Dean grinned.

“That was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.”

“Yep.” Dean took a swig of his beer and glanced at us. “You alright, Sammy?”

“I’m fine.”

“Princess?”

“Feel sick.” I mumbled, not moving from the security of Sam’s grip.

“Well, come on. Smile, princess. Lighten up a little, Sammy.”

I clenched my jaw and a growl slipped its way through my throat. Sam scowled.

“He’s the only one who gets to call us that.”

“Okay. No offense meant. Just celebrating a little. Job well done.”

“Right. Well, decapitations aren’t my idea of a good time, I guess. And my little sister is sick to her stomach, so excuse me for not throwing a party.”

“Oh, come on, guys. It’s not like it was human. You’ve gotta have a little more fun with your job.”

“See?” Dean’s face lit up, and I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him! Sam, you could learn a thing or two from this guy.”

Sam looked back and forth between the two, a look of disgust forming on his face. “Yeah. I bet I could.”

I tugged on his jacket. “Sams, can we go home? Think I’m gonna puke.”

He nodded. “Look, I’m not gonna bring you guys down, and Olive really doesn’t feel well. We’re just gonna go back to the motel.”

Dean sighed. “You sure?”

Sam nodded as he stood, helping me stay steady on my feet.

“Alright. Hey, buttercup.” Dean reached for me again, and I stumbled back into Sam’s hold.

Dean sighed and looked down. He tossed the keys at Sam without looking.

“Remind me to beat the buzzkill out of you later, Sammy, yeah?”

Sam only rolled his eyes.

“Bye, De.”

He said nothing. My bottom lip quivered, and Sam swiftly picked me up by the waist, letting me cry into his neck.

“Come on, bug. Let’s go home.”

***

“How’re you feeling, honey?” Sam whispered, putting a hand up to my forehead.

I shrugged. “Better, I guess.”

“Yeah. Maybe your tummy just needed to get all the yucky out, yeah?”

I nodded. Sam had rushed home so that I could barf. He held my hair back during, then made sure I brushed my teeth afterwards. He had braided my hair and put me in bed so I could sleep. The last time he had taken care of me, I was eleven, so the old habit was dying hard.

“Thanks for taking care of me, Sammy.” I mumbled.

He smiled and bent over, kissing my forehead. “Of course, baby. You gonna be okay if I make a phone call real quick?”

I nodded. “Can I get a ginger ale?”

He smiled. “Yeah, I’ll go after I’m done on the phone.”

I sniffed. “Are you sure?”

He nodded, pressing another kiss to my face. He sat down on the other bed with a wink as he pulled out his phone.

“Hey, Ellen, Sam Winchester.”

I felt my eyelids grow heavy as I watched him.

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s fine. Just got a question.”

I turned onto my side, focusing on Sam’s face.

“You ever run across a guy named Gordon Walker?”

A pause.

“And?”

Sam caught my eye and made a silly face at me. I smiled, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders.

“Well, we ran into him on a job and we’re kinda working with him, I guess.”

Sam’s face morphed into one of confusion. “I… I thought you said he was a good hunter. Wait, Ellen… Right…” He nodded. “Okay. Uh, alright. Thanks, talk later.”

He shut the phone and sighed.

“What is it, Sams?”

He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about, bunny.”

I sniffled again. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, smoothing my hair out. “Yeah, I’m sure. Okay. You get some rest, I’m gonna go get your ginger ale, alright?”

I nodded, letting my eyes fall shut. “Love you, bambi.”

He smiled. “Love you too, baby girl.” He kissed my head. “Get some shut eye.”

***

“Hey. Hey, Ollie. Olive. Baby girl, wake up.”

I rolled over to see Dean shaking me. I inched away as I sat up, squinting. I caught a glimpse of Gordon at the table and my chest clenched.

You aren’t safe. You aren’t safe, you aren’t safe, you aren’t safe.

“Where’s Sam?” I asked, beginning to struggle to breathe.

“Figured you’d know.” Dean tried to move closer, and my chest began to ache like I had just been shot.

“Uh-”

“Car’s parked outside. Probably went for a walk. Seems like the take-a-walk type.” Gordon cut me off.

I scowled, and Dean shook his head, unconvinced.

“Yeah, he is, but…”

The door opened, and Sam walked in. I scrambled out of bed. I dodged Dean as best as I could as I jumped over the other bed and made a beeline for Sam. He caught me in his arms and glared at Gordon.

“Sammy.” I whimpered.

“I’m here, bug. I’m here.” He cradled my head.

“Sam, where you been?”

“Can we talk? Alone?”

Dean sighed. “Mind chilling out for a couple minutes?”

Gordon shrugged, and Sam opened the door. I shuffled out past him, leaning into his side as he began down the stairs.

“Oh, I’m…” I trailed off, looking down at my bare feet.

Sam scooped me and placed me on his hip without a word. “Dean, maybe we gotta rethink this hunt.”

“What’re you talking about? Where you been? I got here and Olive was all alone.”

“I was in the nest, Dean.”

“What?” My eyes went huge. “Are you okay?”

“You found it?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’m alright, bug.” He sighed. “They found me, man.”

“How’d you get out? How many’d you kill?”

Sam scowled. “None.”

“Well, Sam, they didn’t just let you go.” Dean scoffed.

“That’s exactly what they did.”

“Alright, well where is it?” Dean’s eyebrows furrowed.

Sam shook his head. “I was blindfolded. I don’t know.”

“You’ve gotta know something, Sam.”

“We went over that bridge outside of town, but Dean, listen.” Sam sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t go after them.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I don’t think they’re like other vamps, Dean!” He hissed. “I don’t think they’re killing people.”

“You’re joking.” Dean scowled. “Then how do they stay alive? Or undead, or whatever the fuck they are.”

“The cattle mutilations.” I realized, looking up at Sam.

He nodded. “They said they live off animal blood.”

“And you believed them?” Dean was shocked.

“Look at him, Dean. He doesn’t even have a scratch on him. No bites, no blood, no bumps or bruises.” I ran a hand through Sam’s hair. “They didn’t hurt him. And they didn’t hurt me either. I was asleep in the room, they could’ve killed me, easy.”

“Wait, so you two are saying…” Dean shook his head. “No, man. No way. I dunno why they let you go, and I don’t really care. We find ‘em and we waste ‘em.”

“But why?” I stressed.

“What part of vampires don’t you understand, Ol? If it’s supernatural, we kill it, end of story.”

He kept talking, but I couldn’t hear him.

We’re supernatural. Is he gonna kill us?

“Dean! Our job is hunting evil. And if these things aren’t killing people, they’re not evil!” Sam spat.

“Sam, they’re all the same. They’re not human, okay? We have to exterminate every last one of them!”

We’re not human. Is he gonna kill us?

“Gordon’s been on those vamps for a year, man. He knows.”

“Gordon?”

No!

I tensed up in Sam’s arms, and he held me tighter.

“You’re taking his word for it?”

“That’s right.”

“Ellen says he’s bad news.” Sam hissed.

“You called Ellen?”

Sam nodded.

Of course!

“And I’m supposed to listen to her? We barely know her, Sam. No thanks, I’ll go with Gordon.”

“Right, cause Gordon’s such an old friend. You think I can’t see what this is?”

“What are you talking about?” Dean fired back.

“He’s a substitute for Dad, isn’t he? A poor one.”

“Shut up, Sam.”

“He’s not even close, Dean.” Sam growled. “Not even on his best day.”

“You know what, Sam? I’m not even going to talk about this.”

“You know, you can slap that big fake smile on your face, but I can see right through it. Because I know how you feel, Dean. Dad’s dead, and he left a hole, and it hurts so bad that you can’t take it. But you can’t just fill up that hole with whoever you want to. It’s an insult to his memory.”

Dean took a breath, then stared right at Sam. “Put her down, Sam.”

“What?”

“Put her down.”

“Wait, no, Sams-”

“Put her down or she’s gonna get hurt too!”

“Sammy-”

Dean ripped me from Sam and pushed me over onto the floor. I crumbled against the wet pavement, in shock. Dean punched Sam clear across the face and I began to cry.

“You can hit me all you want, Dean. It won’t change anything.”

Dean took another swing, and I stumbled to my feet. I let out a growl, baring my fangs at Dean. He turned to me with death in his eyes and knocked me to the ground, hand on my neck.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Olive?”

I only growled louder, and he raised a fist. I shut my eyes and flinched, but it never came. Sam pushed him off onto the ground and kept him pinned.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re gonna hit her? You gonna punch your baby sister?”

“I’m going to that nest.” Dean shoved Sam off and got to his feet. “You don’t wanna tell me where it is, fine. I’ll find it myself.”

“Dean!”

Dean turned on his heel and walked away. Sam turned and brought me to my feet.

“Olive.”

“I’m okay.”

“It’s okay if you’re not okay.”

I coughed, put a hand up, and turned. I leaned over and puked again, only this time what came up was blood from my mouth and stomach acid. Sam rubbed a circle on my back.

“I’m okay. I’m okay, let’s just go.” I stood straight and took off after Dean.

“Dean!” Sam called.

He was in the motel room, which was empty.

“Gordon?” He called.

“You think he went after them?” Sam asked.

“Probably.” Dean scowled. “I fucking hope so.”

“Dean, we have to stop him.” I spat.

“Really, Olive? Because I say we lend a hand.”

“Dean, you just took me down in the middle of a parking lot.” I hissed. “Give Sam the benefit of the doubt. You owe me that.”

“Olive-”

“This is not a debate, Dean. Either you trust Sam or I’ll leave and I will never come back.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“And I thought you would never lay a hand on me.”

He sighed. “Fine. I’ll drive. Gimme the keys.”

Sam sighed and pointed to the table, where he had set the keys when we got home.

“He snaked the keys.”

“Mother fucker.”

***

Dean grimaced as he hotwired Baby. A few sparks later, her engine turned over and she purred like she had earlier today.

“I can’t believe this.” He groaned. “I just fixed her up, too.”

I leaned into Sam’s side and refused to look up. Dean sighed. I could already feel his guilt, but I didn’t wanna hear anything from him right now, even if it was an apology.

“So the bridge… is that all you got?”

Sam nodded, tracing over the map. “The bridge was four and a half minutes from their farm.”

“How do you know?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “I counted.” He traced the trail. “They took a left out of the farm, then turned right onto a dirt road, followed that for two minutes slightly up a hill, then took another quick right and we hit the bridge.”

Dean huffed. “You’re good. You’re a monster pain in the ass, but you’re good. Alright kids, ready to rock and roll?”

I finally looked up at him and said nothing. My neck hurt, I had scraped my elbow, and my fangs had cut through parts of my lip. This was his fault.

He sighed again, then looked back at the road. “Let’s go.”

***

“Come on.” Dean pushed me slightly behind him.

“Don’t touch me.” I snarled at him, backing away from him and into Sam.

“I’m sorry.” He shrunk down.

“Just stay with me, bug.” Sam whispered as Dean led the way into the farmhouse.

“Sam, Dean, Olive. Come on in.”

“Hey, Gordon.” Dean was at attention. “What’s going on?”

“Just poisoning Lenore here with some dead man’s blood. She’s gonna tell us where all her little friends are, aren’t you? Wanna help?”

“Look, man…” Dean trailed off.

“Grab a knife.” Gordon gestured to the knives on the table. “I was just about to start in on the fingers.”

He dragged a knife covered in blood across her arm, and her veins pulsated black, tracing away from the cut. I gasped.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey. Let’s all just chill out, huh?”

“I’m completely chill.” Gordon smiled.

“Gordon, put the knife down.” Sam took a step toward him.

I grabbed his wrist and Dean put a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Sounds like it’s Sam here who needs to chill.”

“Just step away from her, alright?”

“You’re right. I’m wasting my time here. This bitch will never talk. Might as well put her out of her misery.” Gordon whipped out a larger knife. “I just sharpened it, so it’s completely humane.”

I took a step forward as a growl flowed past my lips. Gordon’s eyes locked on me, and I froze.

We fucked up.

Dean stepped in front of me, and I huddled behind him, hands gripping his jacket.

“Gordon, I’m letting her go.” Sam went at him.

“You’re not doing a damn thing.” The knife went up to Sam’s chest.

“Hey, hey, hey, Gordon. Let’s talk about this.” Dean’s hands went up.

“What’s there to talk about. It’s like I said Dean, no shades of grey.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I hear ya. And I know how you feel.” Dean moved closer, and I moved with him, horrified.

“Do you?”

“The vampire that killed your sister deserved to die, but this one-”

He stopped as Gordon started to laugh.

“Killed my sister? That filthy fang didn’t kill my sister. It turned her. It made her one of them. So I hunted her down. And I killed her myself.”

“You did what?”

“It wasn’t my sister anymore. It wasn’t human. I didn’t blink. And neither would you.”

My blood ran cold, and Dean reached behind him, his hand landing on my arm. I moved to hold his hand in mine and gripped it. He locked eyes with me over his shoulder.

His eyes said it all.

I’m so sorry.

I sighed and leaned against his shoulder.

He would blink.

“So you knew all along, then? You knew about the vampires, you knew they weren’t killing anyone. You knew about the cattle. And you just didn’t care.” Sam shook his head.

“Care about what? A nest of vampires suddenly acting nice? Taking a little time out from sucking innocent people? And we’re supposed to buy that? Trust me. Doesn’t change what they are. And I can prove that.”

Gordon twisted Sam’s arm back and sliced it. Sam grunted as Gordon put the knife to his throat and dragged him to Lenore. Dean pulled his gun and cocked it faster than I could blink.

“Let him go. Now!”

Sam looked horrified, and I panted, trying to hold back.

“Relax. If I wanted to kill him he’d already be on the floor. Just making a little point.” He twisted Sam’s arm again and squeezed.

His blood began to fall on Lenore’s face. She gasped before her fangs extended and she began to hiss.

“Hey!” Dean shouted.

“Think she’s so different? Still want to save her? Look at her. They’re all the same. Evil, bloodthirsty.”

Lenore regained control of herself. Her fangs went back inside, and she turned her face away, crying.

“No. Please, no.”

“You hear her, Gordon?” Sam challenged.

“No! No!” Lenore hung her head low.

Sam pushed the knife away from his throat and backed away from Gordon. “We’re done here.”

“Sam, get her out of here.”

“Yeah.” Sam picked her up. “I gotcha. I gotcha.”

Gordon took a step toward Sam, and Dean kept the gun trained on him.

“Uh-uh. No. Gordon, I think you and I’ve got some things to talk about.” Dean inched closer.

“Get out of my way.” Gordon put the knife back up.

I pulled my gun and cocked it, aiming between his eyes once more. “Sorry. Not gonna happen.”

“You’re not serious, Dean.”

“I’m having a hard time believing it too, but I know what I saw. If you want those vampires, you gotta go through me.”

Gordon eyed his knife before jamming it into the table. “Fine.”

Dean eyed the knife and nodded. He pulled the clip from his gun and set it on the table. I put the safety back on mine and tucked it into my waistband. Dean and I looked at each other. He had a soft smile on his face, and I felt close to tears.

Gordon came at him and punched him across the face. I pulled my gun again, but they were tussling back and forth, and I couldn’t get a clean shot. Gordon grabbed the knife again, and Dean let out a groan. They kept fighting, but my hand wasn’t steady enough to knock Gordon without hitting Dean. Dean knocked the knife out of his hand.

“What are you doing, man? You doing this for a fang? Come on, Dean. We’re on the same side here.”

“I don’t think so, you sadistic bastard.”

Gordon took Dean back to the ground, and I groaned as Dean grunted, hitting the floor.

“You’re not like your brother and sister. You’re a killer. Like me.” Gordon howled.

Dean rolled away, and I grinned, finally lining up my shot. Clean through the knee. Gordon screamed, and Dean smiled at me. He pinned him down and slammed His head into a wall.

“Oops, sorry.”

Gordon was now out cold, and I pulled over a chair so Dean could tie him up.

“You know. I might be like you, and I might now. But you’re the one tied up right now.” Dean grumbled before spitting in his face.

He turned to me and gave me the same small smile from earlier. I slowly made my way to him and accepted a hug, resting my head against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Olive.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have put my hands on you. I’m so sorry.”

I nodded again. “I know. I shouldn’t have lost it in public.”

“I shouldn’t have hit Sam either. I’m sorry.”

I nodded a third time. “I’m sorry too. You miss Dad more than Sam and I do, and we should try to respect how you’re coping.”

He let out a soft laugh. “I really lucked out with you, kid.”

Another nod. “I know. I love you, De.”

“I love you too, baby girl. My sweet, beautiful girl.”

***

“Did I miss anything?” Sam asks as he walks back into the barn.

“Nah, not much.” Dean shakes his head. “Lenore get out okay?”

Sam nods. “Yeah. All of em did.”

He eyes Olive, who is fast asleep on the floor, her head in Dean’s lap. He looks at Dean, who smiles.

“We made up.”

Sam grins. “Good.”

“Then I guess our work here is done. How you doing, Gordy? Gotta tinkle yet?” Dean taunts.

Gordon glares.

“Alright. Well, get comfy. We’ll call someone in two or three days, have them come out and untie you.”

He shakes Olive awake, who groans and rubs her eyes. She remembers what happened last night and tries to dig her head into Dean’s leg so that she won't have to get up. He laughs as Sam grabs her by the hands and drags her to her feet. She huffs.

“Ready to go, De?”

“Not yet.” Dean sighs. “I guess this is goodbye. Well, it’s been real.” He smiles his charming smile before punching Gordon at full force, sending him flying backwards in his chair.

Sam clears his throat as Olive giggles. He turns to his younger siblings with a smile.

“Okay. I’m good now. We can go.”

***

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean cups Olive’s face as they stretch outside of the farmhouse, basking in the sun.

“What?” She asks, cheeks smushed.

“I need you to know that I will never lay a hand on you again. Okay? I will never hurt you again. Ever. I love you.”

She nods, feeling tears well into her eyes. “Okay. I love you too.”

He pulls her into his chest and kisses the top of her head. Olive wipes the tears away from her eyes. Dean may be a douchebag at times, but he’s her brother, and she wouldn’t trade him for the world.

“Okay. Okay.” He clears his throat and stands, setting his feet apart like a boxer would. “Sam, clock me one.”

“What?”

“Yeah. You get a freebie, and then Olive gets to do whatever the hell she wants. Come on, let’s go.”

Sam and Olive cock their heads, staring at each other, and then their big brother.

“No.”

“Come on, I won’t even hit ya back. Let’s go.”

“You look like you just went twelve rounds with a block of cement, Dean. I’ll take a raincheck.”

Olive giggles, and Dean turns to her, patting his cheek. “Come on. Your go.”

She smiles and runs at him, but jumps into his arms. He catches her with a groan as he stumbles backward. She’s not heavy, but Dean’s so tired that he wishes she would’ve bitten clean through his arm instead.

“This is my punishment?”

“Yeah, you gotta carry me to the car.” She grins as she gets comfy in his hold.

He sighs, patting her back as the siblings start back toward their car.

“What is it, De?”

“I wish we never took this job. It’s jacked everything up.”

Sam and Olive share another look.

“What do you mean?”

“Think about all the hunts we went on, Sammy. Our whole lives.”

Sam nods. “Okay?”

“What if… what if we killed things that didn’t deserve killing? Ya know? I mean, the way Dad raised us…”

“Dean… after what happened to Mom… Dad did the best he could.”

“I know he did.” Dean sighs. “But the man wasn’t perfect. And the way he raised us, to hate those things. And man, I hate em. I do. Olive’s the only creature I’ve ever loved. When I killed that vamp at the mill, I didn’t even think about it. Hell, I enjoyed it.”

“You didn’t kill Lenore.” Olive pipes up.

“No, but every instinct told me to. I was gonna kill her. I was gonna kill em all, ya know.”

“Yeah, Dean.” Sam starts. “But you didn’t. And that’s what matters.”

Dean scoffs. His younger siblings keep him grounded, and he knows that. But he’ll be damned if he admits that.

“Yeah, well, cause you two are major pains in my ass.”

Sam grins. “Guess I might have to stick around to be a pain in the ass, then.”

“Thanks.” Dean whispers.

Sam grins. He can’t tell if Dean’s whispering because he feels weak or because Olive is sleeping again. He smiles either way.

“Don’t mention it.”

Sam climbs into the car. Dean opens the back door and lays Olive down, letting her curl up onto her side. He peels off his jacket and lays it over her with a smile. He shuts the door, stares at the sunset, and then gets in the car and drives off.

Previous Ep: Everybody Loves a Clown (2.02)

Next Ep: Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things (2.04)

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mlovesstories · 5 years ago

Text

You Know Who You Are Part 7

AN: @spndeanbingo square: mutual pining. Thanks to @cherryblossom1997 for giving me an idea for a section of this.

Warnings: abuse, fights, hospitals, blood, talk of abuse

Words: 1700

Summary: YN starts her recovery and sees the doc.

PS- Should I do anything for reaching 500 followers? I’m almost there!

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“Hi, YN. Lame James, how you doing, son?” James stirred from his restless slumber in the hospital. YN sat straight up in her bed.

“Terry? How did you get in here?” YN wiped her eyes, scared and tired.

“Get out of here, Terry.” James growled and stood in front of YN’s bed as a protective measure.

“Boy, you have been hurt so bad, you can’t protect her.”

“I ain’t your son or your boy. Now leave!”

“See,” he stepped into the room, “Susan and I hated each other when we first met. Eventually we tolerated each other, but my wife is taken care of and out of the way, so I can have YN to myself. Move.” As he approached YN, she was silent in shock. James pulled the emergency cord to alert hospital staff. “You shouldn’t have done that, son.” He threw a vase of flowers at James, glass breaking and spraying everyone. The older teenager was able to keep on his feet when he saw Terry lunge for YN. Fists flew until James sat on top of him, the older man’s face buried in glass on the ground. Before they could do anything, James was being pulled off of Terry, and security escorted the attacker out of the room.

“James, you’re cut!” YN saw blood trickling down his body. She started to stand, but he startled her by yelling for her to sit back down.

“Keep your feet on the bed until they clean this up.”

“I can’t- I can’t believe he-,” she sputtered.

“I know. Who knows how he found us, but we’re okay.” Wearing his hospital slippers, he walked slowly on the glass toward YN’s bed. He held her hands and kissed her forehead.

“Sir, back up so that I can check your wounds,” a nurse stated. “We’ll have the room swept and vacuumed so that you two won’t be hurt.”

“We already were by the worst man in the world! Gah!” YN slammed her fist into the bed. “You people need better security!”

As the room was cleaned, medical staff assessed their newest injuries. Once the glass was removed, James settled back into his bed which dawned new sheets.

“Thank you,” YN said calmly.

“For what?” James asked.

“Saving me.”

“You’re the one who fights. I protect you because you’re my little sister.”

Before she could respond to his sweet comment, Jensen and Danneel walked through the door.

“Sweetie!” Danneel ran over to YN’s bed.

“Ow!” YN squealed in pain as the mother tried to hug her.

“Sorry! Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, but guess who showed up?” James asked.

“No. There’s no way,” Jensen guessed. “How could he know where you guys were?” YN saw his demeanor change from relief to anger.

“We’re fine, Jay. Come here,” she opened her arms, inviting him to hug her. “How long were we gone?”

“Eight hours.” Danneel answered.

“Longest eight hours of my life,” Jensen sighed.

“Really?” YN looked up at him.

“My daughter and her friend were missing. Of course.”

“Oh,” she saw how much he loved her in that moment. “I missed you,” she replied.

As they settled in and the police were called, YN and James took a sigh of relief. After they were interviewed and Terry was taken away, the two teens were evaluated once again.

“Oh, YN.” Jensen said in sorrow. As she was being examined, he saw scratch marks and cuts. With her casted foot and ankle, she slowly maneuvered on her bed so that staff could inspect her wounds.

“I’m okay, Jensen.” She looked up at him. “I’ve been through worse,” YN admitted. Without verbal expression, the adults’ eyes went wide.

“That doesn’t make it right that you need to be here because they’re assholes. Excuse me.” Jensen walked out of the room.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I didn’t mean to make him upset.” YN frowned.

“You didn’t. Terry and Susan did. He just doesn’t like that they did all of this to you. You both don’t deserve any of it.”

“But we made our way through, didn’t we, short stuff?” James smiled. YN weakly turned up her lips in response.

———-

After recovering in the hospital, James went back to school, and YN went home with the Ackles’.

“Stop, James!” YN giggled. “I’m fine,” she told him on the phone.

“You having bad dreams? I wish I could have protected you from-“ he started.

“You did. Now both of them are in jail. How’s school?”

“It’s good. My professors gave me a break since we got hurt.”

“They better, or I’ll come knock some sense into them,” YN sighed.

“DINNER!” Jensen gelled up the stairs.

“Oh, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later, Jamie.”

“Okay. Love you, YN.”

As they hung up, she tossed her phone on her bed and heard Jensen walking toward her room.

“Ready for your taxi down the stairs?” He smiled.

“Yeah,” YN sighed. She sat up on her bed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, let’s see: I was raised by an ass and his wife, got kidnapped with my friend, and then I was attacked in my hospital room.”

“Is that all?” Jensen gave a weary smile. “Don’t give up. You-“

“I’m not, Jensen. It’s just so much.”

“I know. I didn’t mean to make light of it. I’m sorry.”

“They used to throw me on the basement.” She abruptly stated.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Being back there was hard.”

“I’m sure.” Jensen empathized.

“If I didn’t do something right he would take me down there. This isn’t my first busted ankle. Terry would throw me down the stairs to the basement.”

She went on to describe other things that he did to her. By the end of her story, Jensen was in tears.

“Are you listening to me?” He asked her.

“Yeah,” she didn’t dare look at him.

“YOU deserve to be treated like you are the most important girl in the world. You hear me? Not like how they treated you. You will never feel like that here. I’m going to do my damndest to make sure you never go through that again.”

“Okay,” a whisper all she could muster.

“Do you believe me, Princess?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Your carriage is here to take you to your throne in the royal dining room.” He grinned.

“Oh, stop!” She held her stomach trying to hold in her giggles. “I’m ready, thank you, Jensen.” She scooted to the side of her bed.

———-

3 Weeks Later

“Hi, YN.” Her psychologist greeted her at his office.

“Hey, doc,” she walked into the private room.

“I’m so very happy to see you. I’m glad you’re okay.” He grinned widely.

“Me too.”

“Have a seat, let’s get started.” He escorted her to the couch.

As they met for the first time since YN and James has been kidnapped, she told her psychologist about all of the same feelings she had years ago while in the care of Susan and Terry.

“I think we should go back to what we used to do. It will help you to work through what you’ve been through.”

“Not the notebook! Please, I hate it!” YN practically cried.

“What? I thought you liked it.”

“But that means I’m not doing any better!” YN grabbed a pillow and held it against herself. “I don’t want to,” she whispered.

“YN, this is not to penalize you. Let’s start this conversation over. Do you remember why I had you write in a notebook?”

“Yeah. It was to tell you how I felt without looking at you because it made me nervous.”

“Right. Do you think you can tell me face-to-face?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Why don’t you write down what you’re feeling this week, and then we can talk about it face to face next time. If you feel that you can’t, you can hand me the notebook, and we talk about something else.”

“Fine. But just so you know, I don’t like it.” She crosses her arms. “Can I type it? I get distracted sometimes because my brain thinks faster than my hand can write.”

“I would like you to try the notebook first,” he weakly smiled.

“Really, doc?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Fine, but it’s only because I like you.”

“Good enough for me, kiddo.”

Abruptly YN changed the subject.

“I told them.”

“What?”

“I told Dee and Jensen about what they did to me.”

“Wow. Do you feel good about it?” The psychologist placed his pen and paper on the table in front of him.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve been with them for a while.”

“I’m very proud of you.”

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” YN huffed, insecure of her decision all of a sudden.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m so messed up. I can’t handle all of this.” YN cried until she was gasping for air, hicupping through her tears. “It’s too much.” Once YN had stopped wailing, she sniffled.

“I am going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to respond right away, okay?” The doctor looked expectantly at her.

“Okay.”

“It’s really hard to battle, to constantly fight whatever it is. Depression, anxiety, foster parents. It gets tiring. I know you have expressed that every time you feel that you have made progress you think you have gone back to square one because of Terry, Susan, or something else that has happened. That’s simply not true, though.”

“But-”

“Just listen, please. I am not saying this just to make you feel better. What I am about to tell you is fact. I am a very smart man, and you are a very smart young lady.” He took a deep breath and watched her pick at the fringe on the pillow in front of her. “You are one of the most resilient people I know. You have fought and fought. You’re still here. I know it is so hard to keep fighting to live a productive life. You could have given up fighting for yourself a long time ago, but you didn’t. This newest family has been really good for you. Are you still listening?” He checked in with her.

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“I don’t want you to give up, so I have an idea…”

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welcome-to-lovecraft-country · 5 years ago

Text

The Devil Inside

Author’s Note: This is my first story on Tumblr and I am very nervous about how this will turn out. This story is not around a certain fandom, but my fellow SPN Family will like some of the words I used. This is an original horror story. I also wrote this story two years ago around Halloween. Please enjoy and happy Halloween. xx-Anna

Waking up in an abandoned house is not a normal occurrence for everyone, but for me, it was normal. Getting up from the cold, dirty, cracked tile floor, dusting off the dirt and dried mud from my clothing and my body, I can still see the dried burgundy-colored blood on my hands and my chipped black nails. My back and arms aching in pain from horrible slumber during the night itself.

Smoothing over my long, white, blood-splattered dress to get rid of the wrinkles that were on the dress. Realizing that the dress was completely ruined, I tried to figure out how I get out of the building without attracting unwanted attention from the outside world. I try to look out the window to figure out where I am in town, but that was no use. However, the windows are covered by old newspapers.

Fixing my hair, making sure there were no knots, tangles, or pieces of trash on my long, black, wavy hair. I made sure that there were no bruises or injuries on my arms and legs from the night before; then I realized the bruises that covered my collarbone, stomach, arms, and legs. I try to cover the bruises up as much as I can, but there is no use. The color of the bruises is so dark with a darker reddish hue.

As I walk towards the bathroom that had cracked and discolored tiles and various forms of weird, strange bugs and various colors of mold on the walls in there, I feel a presence beside me. I wash my face with the water from the rusting pipes. I look into the dirty, cracked mirror and saw the dark red blood that was all over my face, but I ignore that. I knew that it wasn’t real. I focus on the sound of my heart beating in my chest and keep whispering the phrase “Violent delights have violent ends” over and over to keep me calm. I don’t know why, but it keeps me calm like this.

“Are you afraid, Aurora? You should be very afraid, sweetheart.”

When I was done, I look deeply into the mirror; I saw a reflection of myself, but I knew it wasn’t me in the reflection; I knew it in my heart that it wasn’t me. As the mirror started to crack, the girl inside the mirror started doing motions that I wasn’t doing myself. Her skin became almost translucent. I could see the veins underneath her skin. The person’s eyes turned like a snake’s own, the ultimate betrayer and sinner like me.

“I am Lucifer, sweetheart. I thought you knew this about me by now.”

“See child,” he said as he gave me an evil smirk. “Such a sweet, innocent, pretty little girl you are, Aurora, too bad that you have no soul anymore. This is what happens when you play with me, sweetheart.” I hate that stupid pet name he gave me since we first met; it always made me feel small and worthless compared to him. Someone from heaven can be as evil as someone from hell.

“What do you want from me? I did nothing to you and you know that. Just leave me alone,” I shouted angrily and irritated; tired of this endless cycle of events that has happened every single day for the past ten years, a never-ending cycle of unbearable and neverending nightmares that he did to me. I felt like a slave, a piece of property to him.

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

Just because of one stupid, selfish mistake that my mother made long before I was born. A mistake that will cost her and my dad’s lives and legacy. When I was sixteen years old, my parents had a conversation with me about how I was brought into this cursed, dark world. A few years before I was born, my parents had a hard time trying to conceive a child.

My mother was thirty-four years old, a high school English teacher and my father was thirty-eight years old, an Assistant District Attorney for the city of Arcadia, California, my hometown, a town that is three hours north outside of Santa Cruz, California. That town, I think, is rotten to its own core even after what happened to my family. My parents tried every possible solution for them trying to have a child. The doctors told them it would be a miracle. My mother had a solution.

She knew someone that could do satanic sacrifice to summon Lucifer himself. A witch who could help them make a deal with Lucifer.

She traded the soul of her firstborn child on their sixteenth birthday. After I was born, he came to visit my parents afterward; his vessel was an old family friend, David Mulder, my dad’s best friend since childhood who had died when he and my dad were seventeen years old when he got in a car accident in high school. He reminded them of the promise they made to him. A promise that they will pay with their own lives.

When my parents told this story to me, I refused that this person could have my soul and my own body anytime that he wanted it. I thought it was some kind of sick joke. My mother explained to me that he could go after me until I give my consent to this promise that she made to him.

As I grew older, I was more rebellious and courageous than anyone in my family who knew about this deal expected out of me, even though my father thought I was stubborn and stupid for not giving Lucifer the “yes” that he needs. My mother knew that in her heart that I wouldn’t give in to his claim to my soul and my vessel and that I will die because of that.

“Are you sure your dear, dead mommy told you the truth, sweetheart? Did you really think your father was a good man after all of these years, sweetheart? You have to learn the truth for yourself. Don’t let the people that your father convicted hunt you down like an animal. Did you really think that your parents loved or even cared about you, Aurora? Think again. Learn the truth about who you really are, sweetheart. It will change your whole world forever...”

Every year until my twenty-sixth birthday, he started to kill off every person that I cared the most about in front of me. Boyfriends, friends, family members, and anyone that even tried to help me throughout the years. I thought he was making a point about how stubborn I was and how I lucky I was that he wasn’t going to kill me yet. Every time it happened, I questioned why I am still on this earth. I attempted suicide five times in the past seven years to escape his torture, but he wouldn’t let me die.

He wants me to have a fate worse than death. He said that he wanted me dead, he would let me. He said that I was a piece of property to him. Every single day for the past ten years, I have woke up in this abandoned building after a night of him possessing my vessel for the night (an unfortunate clause in the deal). Even now, I still have no idea why he still takes pleasure in riding my vessel like some kind of animal that he owns as a pet. I had to deal with the ramifications of what he did every night.

“Have you ever felt infant’s blood on your chin,” he asked after I woke up one morning, touching my lips and chin with his thumb.“It will feel fantastic on your smooth skin like velvet, sweetheart. It is like euphoria, Aurora, something you have no experiencing in your own life. When I am controlling you, I will make you watch everything that I will do using your identity and body. It won’t be torture. No, I won’t do that to you. It will be a present for you. It will be something that you will like, deep down. I promise you that.” He told me that he went easy on me for our first go-around, at that exact moment, I knew that I thought it could be the end for me.

I wanted to kill him right there, right now, and just escape from his custody of my body. I have no idea how horrible he really is and scares me so much. Later that day, I read an article about what he did that previous night.

He killed a small family in the next town over, and I was worried that the police will figure out it was him using my identity the entire time. That feeling keeps me awake at night, thinking about the horrors that he did to those innocent people. So I started to run away. Escaping from the town that I once called home, I have been in every city in every state in the continental 48.

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

“The exact same thing I wanted since the day I first saw you.” He flashed his snake-like eyes at me. He grabbed me by my throat and pulling my hair to the point of breakage. I could tell that he meant business and he wasn’t playing around anymore.

“I am not going to kill you. I am going to hurt you really, really bad to punish you for being a stubborn, selfish little girl.”

“Your vessel,” he said in my voice, touching my face in a parental way with his surprisingly cold hand (and still holding my hair in the other), “I want to show the entire world who I am and what happens when you lock me in a cage for eons and who I really am. The only thing you have to do is to say yes; otherwise, you are stuck with me for the rest of your puny, pathetic, human life.”

He transformed out of my identity to make a point about the power that he has over me, then went into another person’s vessel, which I have seen before.

I know that the man’s name was Nick. He was a married Irish-American man. I had to look up towards him, because of his height. I always wonder what his family thinks about him: being a vessel of Lucifer then being a husband and father. Nick was the man who told Lucifer “yes” before me. Nick was a man of honor, not anymore. His wife and child died in childbirth, which led Nick to a deep depression and alcoholism that no human could get out of alive and perfectly sane.

Lucifer used him as a way to appeal to my own empathy and compassion--he saw it as my own weakness. Sometimes, I would talk to Nick, when Lucifer doesn’t need him. He always seems like a kind soul. Then, I fell in love with Nick. He always has this personality that any woman would swoon over. He was always the person was there and who understand me for me.

For some apparent reason, Lucifer always seems to write something on the wall when he possesses Nick. I don’t know what it is, but I know it could mean something about the fate of Nick and me both.

“Nick, you are such a pathetic man. Why did you have to say yes to me? You would be happier with your bottle of whiskey. Is it because I showed you your potential future with your recently deceased wife and child? You fell in love with this girl who looks a lot similar to your wife. Wow, you have a type here, buddy. I hope that you don’t lose this one. Too late for that one.” He turns his head towards me; I feel bad for Nick. He never wanted any of this.

Now, Lucifer is using him as a pawn in his little game. All I was that I won’t make it out of this alive, not like this anymore. Lucifer twirls his fingers like he thinking of something, which makes him dangerous and very unpredictable.

“Love can make you humans act and do things very strangely. You can kill, die, or hurt someone else to find love itself. Why did my father create you puny, little things anyway? You, humans, worship false idols that don’t protect you from harm. It distracts you from what is really going on in this world. Corruption, lies, murder, adultery. I even want to put you out of your misery. They do nothing but hurt or even disappoint you all. My father created you humans to live and grow, but you do this to disrespect us? I am going to make you feel my wrath for all eternity.”

He led me to the chairs in the middle of the room and told me to sit. We both sat down in the chairs. He sat up in the chair. That moves his body closer to mine. I was scared about what he was going to do to me.

I look into Nick’s eyes to let him know to treat me as an equal to him, but I know he can overpower me without any effort. I kept focusing on the sound of my heart beating in my chest to keep me calm, even though the rest of my body wants to eject itself out of mercy.

“What is wrong, sweetheart? I thought you would like me like this.” He laughs in my face, making this situation feel like some kind of sick joke. It makes me sick. I had feelings for him in ways that I have never felt before. Nick was someone that I still do care about.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted any of this, you know that. Just leave me alone!” I walked away from until a presence draws me back, eye to eye.

“You wanted this. All of this! Everything I have done is for you. To impress you; inspire you to be like me. Deep down, you wanted this; all of this!”

“You are insane! I never wanted this. Any of this. You killed my parents to impress me?! I can’t do this anymore. The deal is off.” I tried to leave the room, but he stops me in my tracks by holding me by my arm, pulling me closer to him so he can whisper in my ear. His grip was getting tighter by the second.

“I didn’t kill them, Aurora. You did.” All of my attempts to not make any aggressive actions towards him went horribly awry. He comes towards me like he was trying to comfort me. Instead, I punched him square in the nose. As he went down to the ground, the blood starts dripping from his nose. I wanted to give up right there, but there was a part of me that wanted to keep fighting against him to make sure that he will never hurt me ever again.

Instead, I started to cry; my entire body broke down into something that I never experienced in my life. I felt like I was going to give up and give my life away from me.

“There is a darkness inside you. Something that we can both relate to, sweetheart. It doesn’t make us bad people. It makes us special. It makes us unique, strange even.”

I want to die right now, but I can’t. He holds my face in his hands holding on to me for dear life. I wanted to kill him right there and right now, but at the same time, I wanted to kiss him passionately. I know that it wasn't lusting, it was love.

No, I love Nick. Not this monster, I thought.

It feels like I am going back to him every single day like a dog coming back to its owner. Love and hatred for one man; I don’t believe that anyone understands the pain and agony I have been through. It felt like I was in an abusive relationship or even I have Stockholm syndrome.

“Stop playing the innocent victim, Aurora! You and I both know that is not you. After all this time, I think you secretly enjoy our fun times together. Recently, you stopped having control of your own body. Let me have the reins, Aurora, I will promise you that I will do everything in my power to bring back your parents. This secret will just be between both of us; they won’t even know about our deal. You live the life that you deserve. I promise you that. Just say yes.”

“Yes,” I said in total surrender. I had nothing else to do besides sit there and do nothing about my fate, which would happen anyway. I gave in after ten years of torture and humiliation that he put me through just because I didn’t give in to his demands. Maybe I was selfish and stubborn. I didn’t want any more innocent people to die, just because I said no to him again and again.

I just wanted it to be over for once and for all. He leaned in and gave me a kiss to seal the deal that I committed to. I felt I made a choice that I couldn’t get out of, but at the same time, I felt I made the right choice.

Suddenly, I felt a bright light going through the room surrounding us. A state of euphoria and freedom, as he said when talking about what it would feel like for him to be possessing me. It feels amazing.

What is happening to me?

Now, I feel surprisingly calm about this, but I can’t be. I should be freaking out, telling him to get out of my body. However, I feel like I had a force inside me, controlling what I say and what I do and I can’t do anything about it. An anxiety attack starts creeping in, but suddenly, it stops like it never happened in the first place. I have no idea how I did that. I feel calm, but I don’t at the same time. I am terrified for my life right now.

“Calm down, Aurora. You are making the right decision about this.”

I know I made the right decision because I know that I feel like I made the wrong choice as evil sets in. I feel stronger than I have ever felt before, and I don’t feel like an innocent victim anymore.

“It is the exact same thing I have been feeling for eons. Now, you get to feel my power. You and I will get to take over the world, sweetheart. We will be partners in crime, like, always, Aurora. It will be us together forever.”

Now, I have the devil inside me and he is going to run rampant using my body and my identity as a vessel for his horrendous and vicious games that he is going bring into humanity.

Nick, I’m so sorry. I love you.

I’m sorry that I could not stop it. I had no other choice. He won’t stop until everyone will be punished, even me. Humanity will be destroyed forever, and there is nothing that any of us can do about it.

Goodbye, cruel world.

Goodbye, forever.

“Too bad. She told her story so many times to people like you. Pathetic, puny humans. You do not know the complexity of this story and its costs. Now, it is my turn to tell the actual, true story now. This is going to be so much fun. Now, where would we start?”

“Why did you make her here again?” asked Nick.

“It is so simple. Don’t you see it? I want you to at least see her again before you die.”

#horror #fiction #halloween

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go-diane-winchester · 6 years ago

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Are people not allowed to ship destiel?

Thank you for the very pertinent question. I, like most sensible slash fans, have absolutely no problem with any ship. I don't have issues with tinhatting. When it comes to shipping, I am very tolerant. As long as you don't hurt people, go ahead and have your fantasy. Destiel is not a problem. The militant shippers, or hellers, most definitely are. Some people I know, used to ship Destiel, before getting fed up and moving on. We have made a distinction between destiel shipper and destiheller before, until we were blue in the face, but we have to keep repeating this because hellers don't circulate the truth, just their headcanons. I even did posts about it, but the hellers don't want to acknowledge that. I have come across destiel shippers. They are nice people. They ship their ship and ask for nothing in return, because they acknowledge what slash fiction is and they make no demands of any kind. Hellers are a beast of a different breed, altogether. A heller is someone who wants to control fandom's thoughts. Nobody is allowed to think contrary to what a heller thinks. And if you do, then you deserve to kill yourself. I, myself, was recently told to put my head in an oven.

So what kind of person is a heller?

A heller cannot understand that subtexts is opinion-based, and that not everyone going to see what you see and interpret it the way you interpret it. For example, the Dr Sexy scene. Jensen, and most fans, interpreted the scene as Dean was fanboying over meeting his on screen idol. The hellers insist, even despite Jensen saying otherwise, that Dean was ''crushing'' on Dr Sexy. The Destiel camp is very headcanon and meta heavy. Instead of just writing stories, indulging in fanart etc, they are constantly writing headcanon and meta. Other hellers, just reading the headcanon and meta, just accept it with question. No debate is held over the analysis. Why is that? They don't question meta writers because then they will have to question their ship and they cant question their ship because they want Destiel to be canon. They can't have it any other way. If an individual uses Destiel and canon in the same conversation, immediately I can tell this is a heller. A normal shipper doesn't want to change the entire show to suit her kinks. And she recognizes that its a kink, a fetish and nothing more. Hellers don't do that. They pretend that they are crusading for LGBT representation when they ask for canon. And why do I have a problem with it? Its shouldn't be my business what hellers blindly believe or don't believe in the heller section of the fandom, should it? Unfortunately, it is. Its everyone's problem, because the hellers believe the meta writers and then they ask questions based on the meta at cons. They harass J2 over the meta. The Dr Sexy question is meta-based. So is the Cas-Collette parallel question. The Js will be put in an uncomfortable position based on how thinly veiled the question is because they will have to answer honestly. The Dr Sexy question was a thinly veiled question. They answered honestly and got bashed on Twitter for it. The parallel question flew right over Jensen's heads. Myths and archetypes are something Jared is fascinated by, so Jensen told Jared to answer the question. And Jared answered the question positively from a literary standpoint. I guarantee that if he had asked the fan to elaborate on the parallel, his answer would have been vastly different. They use that as proof that SPN is queer baiting them.

They cannot differentiate between SPN fandom and Destiel fandom. When a heller speaks about Destiel, especially when harassing SPN execs on SM, they speak for the rest of fandom. They say that ''the fans demand a spin-off'' and ''the fans deserve Destiel to be canon''. And if someone points out to them that not all the fans agree with that statement, they are called a ''fake fan''. If you don't care much for Cas, you are fake fan. If you don't like Misha, you are a fake fan. If you are not ''Destiel positive'' you are a homophobe. Hellers are notorious name callers. Their name calling reaches epic proportions when they have to deal with J2 and wincest shippers because these two ships are their primary competition. They seem to hate sastiel and mishalecki too, but no so much. They rationalize their ship shaming by saying that shipping Destiel is the moral high ground. Because ''wincest is incest'' even though many wincest fans have said they just like J2's onscreen avatars and chemistry, and that they don't condone incest. But acknowledging that is too difficult so instead of doing that, hellers go on repeat insisting that wincest fans are liars and perverts. Shipping J2 is also morally wrong because ''they are totally like brothers''. So hellers essentially want to police fandom and how it behaves and what it thinks.

The Destiel fandom, primarily, only likes Misha and Misha-related stuff. They insist that Misha is a lead, and an equal to Jensen and Jared. They attack anyone who says otherwise, including Jensen and Jared. Remember, the Nolacon joke that got blown out of proportion? The only ones who screamed about the joke on SM, where the hellers. They were taking revenge from Jensen and Jared for saying that Misha not a lead or ''lead support''. Two people approached me about Misha fans [and these may just be minions and Destiel shippers] who said that they were attacked for not liking Cas or Misha. One was attacked online. The other is a kid who is attacked by a heller at school. They can't seem to understand that you can't force someone to stan a celebrity or ship. Its a common sense thing, that has to be explained to a heller. They don't realize that people don't like to be told what to do and who to love. People like celebrities who are their ''type''. I don't like Misha. He is not my ''type'' either physically or personality wise. I never liked SPN because of him. I like SPN because of the brothers and the story. Forcing me to change my opinion is kind of drastic, don't you think? I am certain that most fans who have a blind hatred for Misha now, used to be neutral fans who didn't have a negative opinion about him previously. By forcing Misha on everyone, constantly screaming ''where's the angel?'' and insisting talk show hosts invite Misha too, since he's a ''lead'', they have irritated these fans to the point where now the fans scowl and the mere mention of Misha or Cas. The same can be said for Destiel. They pushed Destiel so much into everyone's face that fans who were amused by the whole shipping thing previously, no hate anything related to Destiel because they are sick of it. I have seen Destiel in the AKF tag. Hellers are also notorious over taggers. In fact, that is where the rift began. With the tagging.

They don't acknowledge that slash is opinion-based. Although this is an understudied area, I have a hypothesis. Shipping is based on love. If you love both the people in the pairing, you will write slash about them, because slash fiction is an expression of love, primarily. There are some kinky bits and pieces here and there, but they are a byproduct of the love that the writer may have. Some people cant slash Jared for some reason. One fan [not a shipper, this is just an example] said, her brother [or was it her cousin] looks exactly like Jared. She posted his picture, and if I hadn't read the caption, I would have thought that it was really Jared. So I can understand if she doesn't want to slash Jared with anyone. It would be weird for her because then she will have to write about him romantically. One fan said [and this was years ago] that Jensen looks identical to her uncle. She would never ship him or his character with anyone, because she would be repulsed. I feel Jensen is one of the most beautiful men on Earth. That is my opinion. My cousin watched the scene where Dean is crying over Sam's dead body. He wipes his tears and when his hands were in the frame, my cousin said ''he has ugly fingernails''. Did I get offended? No. That is her opinion. To her, his finger nails really are ugly. And yet she thinks he has a handsome face. I read a Sevin fic where the writer said, ''Jared has such hot knuckles''. She is gushing over an obscure body part, because that is probably what she likes. Hellers don't understand that. They want everyone to like the same people, for the same reasons, in the same manner. No diversion from that collective opinion is allowed. People's desires are not uniform. How they perceive beauty is also not uniform. I call Misha ugly, partly because I don't appreciate being told to put my head in an oven and partly because [in my eyes] his behavior made me become sexually put off by him. I used to slash him before. Believe me, Misha only started to look ugly to me, when I started to really not like him. For eight years he was nice looking. Now I cant stand him and he is the most hideous beast I have ever seen. That is not just my thinking. I am certain other anti-Misha fans feel the same way. They used to like him and find him attractive, until he just put them off. I am sure if Misha did a 360 and changed his ways, he might start to look nice to us once more. So technically Misha lost fans because of his own behavior.

Hellers think that J2 fans are as crazy as they are. They think bibros love J2 the same way that they love Misha. Blindly. In the years that I watched SPN, I remember falling in and out of love with both Jensen and Jared [and Sam and Dean for that matter] based on something that they had done that I had liked or didn't like. Sometimes where I was emotionally, also played a part how I felt about them, or any other human being for that matter. People's opinions over an individual will change due to various issues. Just recently Jensen said something I didn't approve of. Sometimes Jared puts his foot in his mouth. They are human so they will mess up. If they make one stupid mistake, I let it go only because messing up is not something that they consistently do, unlike Misha who doesn't acknowledge or learn from his mistakes. If they consistently do things to cause a rift in fandom, then there are other celebrities out there. I don't need them. I will move on. So I acknowledge, that just because I like someone, it doesn't mean that he is perfect and will never mess up. It also means that because I like someone, it is not necessary for other people to like him too. Even amongst bibros, we have minor disagreements J2 but we don't hate each other based of differences of opinions. We don't insist that our opinion is the right one. In the heller camp, meta writers think for everyone. They decide how people are going to perceive a scene, or a moment during a panel. In fact, the lower level hellers leaving the actual watching of the show to the meta writers. They skip episodes that don't include Cas. That is a lot of episodes they are missing, because Misha, up till this year, was only allocated a fixed number of episodes per season in his contract. The meta writers watch the episodes through their shipping goggles, looking for what they would consider subtext, and then they write essays based on the episode, and the possible subtext they have found, including flimsy things like shirt colors. The lower level hellers read it and become affronted that SPN is queer baiting them so blatantly. They do the same thing with panels. Instead of watching the generously shared panels on YouTube, for free, they follow a high level heller on social media who attends the con, and tweets something they perceive to be slashily scandalous. They especially look for something to get offended by, when Jared speaks. So the lower level hellers were not forming their own opinion but basing how they feel on someone else's opinion. They hate Jared because of reasons listed by someone else. If they were smart, they would think for themselves.

There is nothing wrong with any of the ships on SPN. Do I believe all ships are equal? Well on SPN, to a certain extent, sure. If someone doesn't like wincest, because they are victims of incest, that would make sense. Wincest fans who acknowledge the abuse are friends of mine. Those that are cruel about it, are not. Its as simple as that. I am a victim of pedophilia. So I hate weecest. I don't go near weecest fic. If weecest fans acknowledge this and leave me alone, there wont be any problems. If they try to push their kink onto me by trying to tell me how wrong my opinion is, then they will be sorry. But you cant call yourself a victim, by going where you are likely to find a trigger and them complaining that you are being triggered. Not only are you looking for trouble, but you are making abuse victims and their triggers look trivial. Because now they appear like Divas, whom everyone else has to bend over backwards to please. This allows me to segue into a similar topic. I have heard complaints from fans, looking up a general SPN fan fic, investing time to read it, only for their enthusiasm to come to a screeching halt because as the chapters progress, Dean comes out as bi and in love with Cas. Shouldn't the writer notify the reader that she or he is reading a destiel fanfic. Not only are they mistagging their Tumblr posts. They are mistagging fanfiction. Essentially they are duping people into reading their stories. What kind of indoctrination logic is this?

Hellers need to understand that Destiel is not the biggest ship on SPN. If they insist that it is, then they have to quantify that opinion with a number. They wont because the last time they did that, the number went up to 8000 and stalled. That makes them 1% of the fandom and they hate being reminded of it. They have done debunking essays with regards to the number, but then why not do the census again. Don't debunk with your words. Use actual data. Prove to ''all the haters'' that there are millions of you, voting with your remote and contributing to the ratings in the USA alone. We will never bring up the number again. Hellers need to also understand that slash is not the point of SPN. The show is not about love and kinks and soap opera nonsense. It is about the supernatural, hence the name. Insisting on making Destiel canon and destroying Jensen's reputation by calling him a bigot because he refuses to do so, is a nasty thing to do, because hellers are not the only ones watching SPN. Everyone is, and they like the show as it is. They don't want change. In fact, it will surprise you to know that wincest fans don't want wincest as a romance, to be canon. They don't demand anything accept better storylines. The only people doing the demanding are the hellers. It is time for dialogue to open between the destiel fans and the hellers, because the hellers are ruining not just the ship but the show as well.

I hope this answers the question. Thank you once again, for the ask.

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kazosa · 6 years ago

Text

Blind Heart

Summary: The Reader and Rich have known each other for eight years. Rich (who has never been married) thought knew everything there was to know about you. When SDCC comes around, you tell Rich you want to go and he makes sure you get to go. Once there, Rich finds out that he doesn’t know everything about you and who you used to date. Emotions and jealousy flare!

Pairing: Richard Speight, Jr. x Reader/You

Word count: it’s in the “holy moly” zone ……..7100

Warnings: Fluff, Angst. (I also use bad language and dirty jokes, though not always)

Square Filled: Accidental Confession

A/N: Written for @spngenrebingo

Tags: @coffee-obsessed-writer @laurajw14 @fictionalabyss @missihart23 @sorenmarie87 @n3rdybird @winchestergirl-13 @moviemonzy @etxm

If you liked, commented, or reblogged, you got on the tags... (just for this one)

It was Friday morning in San Diego. Rich’s flight arrived from Vancouver the day before and (Y|N) was supposed to be with him but some airline FUBAR had left her at the terminal to make other arrangements.

“Rich,” you assured him, “I promise, I’ll get there as soon as I can, even if I have to drive, I’ll get there by Saturday.”

“Nope. There has to be a better solution. There’s gotta be something else we can do,” he argued. That was one thing you were sure he loved to do.

“Yes, and that’s for you to get where you are contractually obligated to be,” you put your hands on his shoulders and tried to turn him toward the gate.

Rich was one of the best men you had ever known, and it gave you a jittery flutter every time he looked at you like that. That look that said he wanted more from you, but you just couldn’t take that next step with him. You were gun-shy and poor Rich was being as much a gentleman as ever.

Grudgingly, he’d gotten on the plane, knowing she was right had not made the decision any easier. He liked (Y|N), a lot. Ever since she’d started on the show, he’d noticed her. Things had never worked out to where he could ask her out on a date. Either he’d been seeing someone, or she was. He did notice one thing, he’d never seen her date another actor. She didn’t really talk about her personal life. In showbusiness, people either couldn’t keep their personal live private or they were bulldogs of privacy.

Rob and he were in the greenroom waiting until everything was ready for the walk around the floor. Rich pulled out his phone and checked his texts and social media again.

“Dude,” Rob said next to him, “she’ll be here.”

“Robbie, I shoulda stayed,” he lamented.

“She knows how to fend for herself,” Rob reasoned.

Snapping out of his worried mood, he made sure he had his pass properly secured on his lanyard and left with Rob to go do press.

Your original flight with Rich got messed up. You were supposed to fly with him to San Diego, but the airline overbooked the flight. As usual, everyone was too important to take a later flight, and since you didn’t NEED to be in San Diego until the next day, you gave up your spot and took the next available flight. Unfortunately for you, that meant spending the night in the terminal to get the early flight out the next morning.

Sleep in the terminal had been elusive at best and you weren’t feeling very cordial when your flight finally started boarding. The airline didn’t even give you the courtesy of upgrading your seat. Once you’d settled in your seat, you got out your headphones, putting them around your neck, preparing for the long flight to San Diego. You got your phone out of your purse and text Rich that you were in your seat then started looking for some music to drown out any of the flight noises.

“Supernatural, huh?”

You hadn’t been fast enough. Your neighbor to your left was feeling chatty. The girl next to you couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Her hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and was dressed like a Winchester, many layers and a flannel shirt.

After your night on the terminal floor, you’d changed into your spare clothes, comfy plaid lounge pants and a solid black Supernatural shirt with an anti-possession symbol on the breast pocket. You squirmed in your seat, both for the unwelcome intrusion (and clear “I don’t want to talk” headphones around your neck) and to get comfy. All you wanted to do was get some sleep on the flight. Any little bit would help for your long day in San Diego. It would have to wait, you knew ignoring her wouldn’t help.

With a faint smile on your face, you nodded, “Yeah, I like it.”

“I’ve never seen that shirt design before. Where did you get it?” she asked.

“Amazon,” you lied.

“Oh cool,” she turned in her seat to face you. “So. Are you a Sam-girl, or a Dean-girl?”

It was a question every fan seemed to ask other fans. Knowing Jared and Jensen as well as you did, it was a tough question to answer. Usually, you told people you were a Dean girl, but this time was different.

“Gabriel,” you answered.

“Oh! I love Gabriel!” she exclaimed.

Briefly, you thought, “Huh, me too.” Richard was the only person, in your opinion, that could ever play the mischievous archangel. If you hadn’t sworn off ever dating another actor eight years ago, you would have gone after Richard. You’d admired his work ethic, loyalty, the respect he gave people, generosity, humor…never mind you thought he was damned good looking. You had more than a little bit of a crush on him.

You and your neighbor chatted on for a bit and about a half hour into the flight, she saw how tired you were and finally let you get some much-needed rest. You put your headphones on and started your playlist. Closing your eyes, you thought of Richard and his grey shirt that you liked, the way he left an extra button undone. Sometimes you thought he could read your mind with the way he would smirk at you. You fell asleep thinking about what it would be like to slip your hand inside that extra undone button…

Making do with the sleep you got on the airplane, you went to your hotel for a quick shower, got into your con outfit, and got a cab to the convention center. Rich had sent you several texts while you were sleeping and on the way to your hotel.

“Text me when you can.”

“Are you on the ground?”

“Where are you?”

“In the cab, going to my hotel.”

“There you are! Do you need a ride here?”

“Rich, shouldn’t you be working?”

You’d managed to get a cab to the hotel just fine, apparently, you were incapable of getting one again.

“I’ll stop pestering you once you’re here.”

“I doubt it. See you soon.”

It never failed to make you get butterflies when you got a text from Rich. Of course, you were excited to go see him… and everyone else, but there was something about the texts. You passed off his concern for you as the friendly thing to do and nothing more. You liked Rich a lot, probably too much. The last time you’d dated someone you worked with, it hadn’t ended well. To make matters worse, he’d become mega-famous and you had to see his face everywhere. If you got together with Rich, you weren’t sure you could take it if it ended.

Your cab driver pulled up to the convention center and let you out amongst the shocking amount of people that were outside the building lining up for their passes. Rich, of course, had told you exactly where to go to bypass the crowds so you could get your special access pass.

“Name please?” the convention worker asked.

“(Y|F|N)(Y|L|N),” you answered.

Her head snapped up to look at you.

“Oh good, you’re here! The Supernatural people have been… eager for you to get here,” she said and picked up her radio.

Two other convention workers checked your ID and located your lanyard and other necessary items for your weekend at the con.

“…could someone in the SPN group let him know she’s here?”

You looked at one of the other girls, “Oh God. Has Rich been bugging you all?”

“Not sure who was asking,” she answered. “Just that someone has been asking every fifteen minutes.”

“Sorry,” you apologized, “I got here as soon as I could.”

She handed you your pass with a smile. Putting it around your neck, you grabbed your things and they pointed you in the direction of the Supernatural green room.

If it hadn’t been for the tattoos on her legs, he might not have recognized her. He, Rob and Misha were coming back from interviews when he saw her. He was so used to seeing her in cargo pants, occasional shorts, and tee shirts. A dress was new territory. She was even wearing high heels.

“Hey you. About time you got here,” he was loud enough to get her attention.

When she turned, she took his breath away. The hem of her dress flared out from her legs and the smile she had for him did him in. She seemed to glide across the floor as she closed the space between them. With her arms up stretched, he gladly gathered her to him for a hug. He held her tightly to him and managed to resist the strong urge to kiss her bare shoulder. After just a moment too long, he let her go and smiled a bit when her hand went up to smooth her hair.

“Me? I’ve been here over an hour. I got to hear all about how you’ve been giving the staff a hard time,” you admonished him.

“I am contractually obligated to do work while I’m here, miss,” he retorted. “Bob-o, when’s our next thing?”

You were pretty certain that giving the event staff a run for their money was not the kind of work he should have been doing. You turned to Rob and he checked his watch and schedule on his phone.

“Not for an hour and a half. We’ve got the signing thing,” he told Rich.

“Perfect! We can go down to the floor and check out the booths,” he’d wanted to give you the full con experience since you’d first mentioned wanting to go.

The floor was paced with people and Rich walked fast so you had to catch up to him in order not to lose him. You took his hand to both help stay with him and to make him slow down a little. He finally slowed and looked back at you in surprise but smiled and curled his fingers around yours. His eyes were so warm. You knew you were walking a fine line with him, but you were starting not to care.

There were quite a few cool booths and Rich introduced you to people you never knew he knew. He had a lot of cool friends and acquaintances. He groaned a little when you made him stop at the Charlie the Impala booth.

“C’mon, Rich! Jensen won’t let us touch Baby, we can sit in this one!” you were begging. You got to see the Impala’s on set, of course, but you couldn’t get near the “hero” cars.

Rich talked to the owner, who, of course, recognized Rich and he let you both get in the car next.

“You two want a picture?” he asked. “We can get one for you. And if you don’t mind, can we take pictures for the website?”

You were all for it as long as you got to sit in it with Rich. Richard hemmed and hawed, as you walked around the gorgeous car. You stuck your head in the passenger window and looked at your friends’ signatures all over the dash. Rich finally came over and leaned in the driver’s side window to look at you.

“Let’s do this,” his voice was a low rumble and it gave you a jolt up your spine. He probably had no idea how sexy he could be.

Your excitement for the car took over and you reached for the door handle and yanked it open. The vinyl of the seat groaned slightly with your weight as you slid in and closed the door. Sitting still for a moment, you just took it all in. The car owner had done a really good job restoring the car. It was absolutely perfect, and it even smelled like an old car. You knew you shouldn’t be surprised, but it was just more than you could have hoped for. Charlie was a sexy car. The only thing you needed was to drive one of them. Maybe you could bribe Jensen and the car guys to let you take one out sometime.

“Ready for the picture?” the photographer came over to where Rich was in the driver’s seat.

Rich moved his left arm to rest on top of the down window, his right arm on the top of the bench seat. He looked at you and raised his eyebrow, his head tipping his head ever so slightly away, motioning for you to come over. You didn’t need to be asked twice and you carefully slid across the seat and tucked into Rich’s side. Slouching in the seat, you rested your head on his shoulder.

Like most photo ops you’d ever done, you got precious seconds of time before the picture snapped and it was over. After the quick photo, and you were both out of the car, Rich checked his phone for messages.

“Robbie’s losing his mind,” he smirked. “Ten texts asking where we are.”

You watched him type a response and hit send.

“How much time do you have? Are you late?” you asked.

“Still got ten minutes, but he’s three already, freaking out,” he told you.

Though the SPN signing booth wasn’t far, it took at least ten minutes to make it to the booth. The people around Rich either parted like the Red Sea, or they crowded around wanting to talk or say hello. Rich had taken your hand this time. Looking over at him, it was hard not to appreciate the extra button undone on his gray shirt. He looked so damn good. A flood of dirty thoughts ran through your head. To distract yourself, you tried to think of a word that adequately described what you wanted to do to Rich.

“Devour,” you murmured.

Rich must have heard you, “You hungry?”

“Um…” you couldn’t think of a good cover, “oh look, here we are!”

The fellas all came over to “ooh” and “ahh” over (Y|N) and her “con dress” and her, he supposed. She looked really good. She’d done up her hair and he noticed she’d put on a little makeup. It was a look he wasn’t used to seeing on her. Of course, he thought she looked cute in her cargo pants and tee shirts with boots. He thought she looked cute after a long day and her hair would be a mess. It irked him a little how the boys were all fawning over her, but he said nothing.

About a half hour into the signings, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find (Y|N)’s gorgeous face smiling at him.

“Rich, if you don’t mind, I saw a few friends when I got in and want to go say hi,” she said.

“Sure, do what you want. I’ll be here a bit longer,” he said.

Watching her dress sway as she walked away, he appreciated the shape of her. Again, he thought about taking her out to dinner. Just (Y|N) and him, no one else. They always had a great time together, but there were always other people around.

When the crowds dwindled for signings, it gave Rich a chance to look around and see where (Y|N) was. When he finally spotted her, he was a little surprised at who she was with. He moved down the line to Jensen, the one person who knew her better than herself.

“Did you know (Y|N) knew Norman Reedus?” he asked Jensen.

Jensen looked quickly at rich then finished his signing. He followed Rich’s gaze to where (Y|N) was talking and laughing with the man in question.

“Dude, I thought you two talked?” Jensen asked.

“She obviously knows the guy, right?”

Jensen finished up with the last person in his line and turned back to Rich.

“Uh, yeah, she knows him. You really need to talk to her about it though,” Jensen told him.

“What? You obviously know something I don’t. What’s the deal?” Rich asked.

Jensen moved him away from the cluster of people in their booth.

“Look man, she’d kill me if she knew I told you this,” Jensen looked Rich dead in the eye to make his point. “Before she came to us, she worked on The Walking Dead for a season and a half. They were…close.”

“She’s been over there a while…” he said more to himself, not quite processing what he said until, “What do you mean they were ‘close’?”

Jensen sighed. “Richard, they dated. Couple years. They’re still friends, but it’s still hard for her. You tell her I told you any of this,” he clapped his hands loudly and spread them wide, “disavowed. Done.”

“Dramatic much?”

“I’m serious. You want to know more, ask her. I don’t do girl-talk,” Jensen told him and grabbed his discarded jacket and left the area with Clif and Jared.

Rich had known (Y|N) a while and she had never mentioned that she had dated one of the most recognizable people in showbusiness. Not even a casual mention of even knowing te guy. Not even a word about even working on The Walking Dead. Not a peep about being friends with him. They’d gotten close over the last eight years and it hurt his feelings a little that it never came up. He watched them talking happily for a few moments before he’d had enough and decided to interrupt.

His pass easily got him access behind the scenes and he found Norman and (Y|N) in the backstage part of The Walking Dead signing booth. He turned the corner and found them talking quietly together. He didn’t like the way Norman was looking at her. (Y|N) was beautiful, even when she wasn’t wearing a dress that showed off her figure and legs. Did Norman even appreciate how messy her hair would get at work or how cute she was bundled up for winter? Did Norman have a hat that she would snatch off his head and wear around just to annoy him?

“Hey!” he came striding up like he was king shit of the con.

You turned around startled by the loud sound of Rich’s voice that came from behind you.

“Oh my God, Rich, you scared me!” you put your hand over your heart in hopes of stilling the mad pace it was keeping. “Are you on break?”

“No, no. We’re done,” he was feeling a little pissy. “Got done and couldn’t find you. Thought I lost you.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I didn’t think I’d been gone that long. I lose track of time when I’m with Norman.”

Feeling like a child caught in a lie, you didn’t think to introduce the two men. Instead, Norman stood up and introduced himself.

“Hi, I’m Norman, nice to meet you,” Norman said, not missing the irritation in Rich’s eyes.

“Richard,” he said, sizing him up.

You watched the weird vibe between the two men before you realized that you were probably late to meet up with Kim and Briana in the greenroom. Being dressed up, you didn’t have on your usual watch and couldn’t check the time. Instead you grabbed Rich’s wrist to look at his watch.

“Damnit Norm, I’m late to meet up with Kim and Bri, told them I’d be there by now. This always happens!” You were only half angry with him. It had been good to see him and things had gone well and weren’t too awkward. You turned back to Rich, “I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

“Go. I’ll catch up. I want to chat with Norman for a sec,” Rich told you, letting you off the hook.

You hated being late and you felt bad for taking off on Rich again, but at least he was understanding. Not knowing what else to do you gave Rich a hug and kissed his cheek. Norm always gave you warm hugs and his full attention. That part had never changed. The lights were dimmer backstage so he had off his sunglasses. Reaching for him, he pulled you in and you saw the slightest wink as he brought you in close. Holding the embrace a bit too long and a bit more lewd than usual, you could feel Rich’s eyes burning into your back. As Norm released you, his hands cupped your face and he kissed you softly on the lips.

With your back still turned, you looked at Norman and mouthed the words “What the fuck?”

Norm just smirked and said, “See ya later, sweetheart,” and nudged you on your way.

Rich’s gaze followed (Y|N) as she walked away, he sound of her heels clicking on the cement floor, her dress swaying side to side with each step. It was mesmerizing, but he made himself turn back to Norman.

“So, you work with her, huh?” Norm asked, noticing the glare. “She’s amazing.”

“I agree. Hard worker. Great friend,” Richard assented.

“God, she looks good. You seeing her?” Norm asked, hoping to get an emphatic response.

Rich narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him.

“No, we’re just friends,” he crossed his arms.

Norm looked over his shoulder in the direction of where (Y|N) had disappeared.

“Think she’d take me back?” Norm knew he was needling him, it was all over his face, but he kept going. “We’re gonna meet up later, you wanna come?”

Having never spoken to Norman before, Rich couldn’t tell if he was being baited or not, but it got his blood pressure up anyway.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but if it was enough to make her walk, I would put money on her not taking you back. As for the meet up, I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he was done talking. “Nice meeting you.”

Norman had always been good at reading a situation and had noticed the way Richard was looking at (Y|N). If that guy didn’t have feeling for her at least a little bit, he would eat his shirt. Richard had jealousy written all over his face.

“Hey man, if you’re into her, just say so,” Norman said. “She’s cool as hell.”

Rich wanted to tell Norman that his and (Y|N)’s personal lives were none of his business, but he held back. They were backstage, but it was still a very public place and the last thing he wanted to do was create a scene and get (Y|N) drug into the middle of it.

“Thanks for the advice,” he said sarcastically and finally walked away.

Rich was taking his sweet time getting back, you’d noticed. Every time the door opened, you checked to see if it was him. You hoped that Norman wasn’t giving him too hard of a time. You really wanted them to get along. Your feet were also killing you and you really wanted to get back to the hotel to get into more comfortable clothes. It was fun to look pretty for a while, but ma, was it painful.

“Do you need to get back to your hotel?” Kim asked.

You looked at the door again and then to your phone for the clock. Norman was only in town for a few more hours and you needed to get going, but you wanted to wait for Richard.

“Um…yeah,” you gave her a sheepish smile. “I was hoping to go back to the hotel with Rich.”

“I’m sure he bumped into ten people he knows. You know how it is with him,” Kim reasoned.

You did know what it was like. Everybody loved Rich. That wink that Norm gave you though. What was that about? And the kiss right before you went back to the greenroom? It was pretty innocent, and the only thing you felt was the burning heat of Richard’s glare into your back, but he hadn’t let you in on the fact that he was going to do it.

“Yeah,” you said to Kim, “I need to get out of these clothes. I feel weird in them.”

“I bet Rich will help you get out of them,” Briana chimed in.

Kim burst out laughing.

“C’mon, (Y|N), you had to have noticed the way he looks at you,” Kim said.

“I bet he’d rip your dress off with his teeth,” Briana mused.

“Stop!” you pleaded. Before you had time to be fully embarrassed, you turned to see Rich staring back at you.

What the hell was that? Who the hell did he think he was treating (Y|N) like that? What was he trying to get at? Was he deliberately trying to make me mad, ‘cause that was sure as hell working. And why didn’t (Y|N) tell him off, or even tell him that she knew one of the most recognizable faces in showbusiness, let alone that she had dated the guy? Did she want him all over her like that? Was she wanting to get back together with him, too?

He had no business being angry, and he knew it. He had no claim on her, but he wanted to. He wanted her. He wanted her to have eyes for no one but him. He went down the corridor and past the SPN greenroom door, he wasn’t ready to go back in there yet. Instead, he continued walking and thought about what to do for the evening.

There was no way he was going to let (Y|N) go to that meet up without him. After all, he was invited, right? He needed to know if there was anything left between the two of them. He wasn’t they type of guy to not go after the woman he wanted, but he also wasn’t one to get in the way when he wasn’t wanted in return.

Finally making a decision about what he was going to do, he turned around and went back to the SPN greenroom. He took a calming breath and gently pushed open the door. He could hear Briana talking.

“I bet he’d rip your dress off with his teeth.”

Had he walked in on them talking about Norman? Carefully, he stepped inside just as he heard (Y|N) say ‘stop’. She turned toward him like she was going to head for the door.

“There you are!” she exclaimed. “I was worried you fell in,” or that he’d killed Norman, “Are you ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” he said.

Your feet were screaming at you now and you started walking toward the door again.

“Ladies,” Rich waved at them and followed you out.

You didn’t know what happened with Rich and Norm after you took off, but you were going to kill Norm anyway. Rich seemed pissed off about what had happened, and you felt like you had some explaining to do. The trick was, how do you bring it up without setting him off again? You were getting close to the outer doors and were grateful that the event staff had a discreet car service for people that needed to leave and not want to be seen. Rich opened the door to the suv for you and let you get in first. Once the door was closed, the silence was broken.

“How long have we known each other?” he was blunt.

“About eight years,” you were quiet.

“In all that time, you never thought to mention that you knew Norman Reedus, or that you dated him?” his voice was accusatory.

“It never really came up, Rich. You don’t talk about the people you’ve dated either, and we don’t ask one another about them,” you pointed out. “And since when do you care?”

He fell silent again. You could feel him fuming next to you. You wanted to assure him, but you didn’t know how. You weren’t ready to tell him how you felt.

“Eight years,” he grumbled, “that’s a long time to keep that little nugget tucked away. I guess if I ever need to keep a secret, I know who to tell.”

“Are you really mad at me for not telling you?”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” he turned back to the window.

The last thing you wanted was for Rich to be mad at you, but he had no reason for it. He was acting like…

“Oh my god,” you whispered.

“What?” he growled.

Now you understood why Norman did the things he’d done. He’d seen it right away. You couldn’t believe how stupid you’d been. Too shocked, you had no words of explanation for Rich.

“Nothing,” you squeaked out and the rest of the ride to the hotel was silent.

When you got back to the hotel, Rich walked you to your room to make sure you got in safely. He was still upset, you could see, and he was going to leave to go to his room if you didn’t stop him.

“Rich, would you at least come inside and talk to me?” you pleaded. The silent ride back to the hotel had been awful.

Resignation crossed over his features as he walked inside.

“Okay, I admit, it was shitty of me not to tell you. I hope you will forgive me. I didn’t really want to talk about him. Whenever I’ve told a guy I’ve gone out with him, they get weird on me, so I just stop,” you sat down on your bed and finally took off your shoes. “Will you at least come out with us tonight?”

“Why? I thought you two looked pretty chummy back there at the con,” he said, that hint of anger still there. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of anything.”

He wasn’t ready to listen yet.

“Okay, fine,” you were exhausted. “I can’t make you go. Sit in your hotel room and be a miserable shit the rest of the night.” If he wanted to be Dick, you could play that game, too. “Maybe we’ll get back together and I can just tell you all of the details then.”

He bit back using Norman’s own words, “See ya later, sweetheart.”

You’d tried to lay down for a while after your shower, but you were too wound up to sleep. You had on your skinny jeans and your favorite going out top as you laid on your bed, contemplating the fuckery you had just participated in. Of course, you understood where Rich was coming from, but he was being an ass. He seemed to assume that because Norman was around that you would just go running back into his arms? You’d wanted to tell him that he was jealous for no reason. You’d wanted to tell him all of it when he was in your hotel room, but the jerk had taken out his jealousy on you instead. Even so, you still felt a little bad about needling him further, but only a little.

A knock at your door both startled you and gave you hope. Maybe Rich had gotten over it enough and was coming to get you? You sprang out of bed and rushed to the door.

“Rich?” you said, opening the door.

“I fucking knew it. You do have a thing for that guy,” Norman said with a smug look on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here? I thought we were meeting down at the bar?” you were dumbfounded. Norman had always been the king of incognito where you were concerned.

“Nice to see you, too. Can I come in or are you gonna leave my ass hanging out in the hall?” he asked.

“What for?”

“Geeze, no faith. I have a plan for you and Mr. Growly,” he said, still smirking.

You pushed the door open and let your former lover in, wondering what in the hell he had cooked up in the few hours you’d been apart.

You sat at a high-top table with your Supernatural friends, Briana and Kim on either side. Norman was off getting you another Cap ‘n’ Coke. You’d really thought that Rich would show up. The lack of his presence at your table was more than a little noticeable. Rich was the kind of guy that thrived on his friendships and it just didn’t feel right to not have him there. The mood of the table was off.

Norman came back with your drink and noticed that Mr. Growly still hadn’t showed up. He handed (Y|N) her drink, of which she took a big gulp before he could warn her.

When she started coughing, he said, “Hey that’s mostly rum,” with a chuckle.

“No shit,” you coughed.

“Better finish it off,” Norman said in your ear, “he just walked in.”

Knowing he was right and that you would need the brace, you took another big gulp. Norm’s plan was going to require you to be more of jerk than you were used to. Norm squeezed your shoulder in reassurance. He was an actor, after all, he knew how to make it look good for the audience. When he told you his plan, you socked him in the shoulder and told him he better not make it look TOO real.

Rich came strolling over to the table, saying hello to everyone, but barely acknowledging you and Norman. It stung a bit, but you still tried to do what Norman had told you.

“Hi Rich, I thought you weren’t coming,” you tried to be casual.

“Yeah, well, here I am,” he said, obviously bitter and faking his glib tone.

Jesus, Norman was right, you thought. You were right, too, if you were being honest. He was acting like a jealous teenager. What had been hard to accept was that it was because of you. The conversation at the table continued on as though Rich had been there the whole time, but the energy coming off of him was palpable, he was practically sizzling.

“So, sweetheart, when are you gonna come back to Georgia? It’s been stupid crazy down there since you left. You really need to come back and hang out with us,” Norman said to you, but loud enough that the whole table heard.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you said, playing along. “I have a few things to take care of in Vancouver, but once the season is done, I can come down and get back together with you all.”

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. Jesus, I can feel the daggers coming off of him.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” Norm said expertly, and Rich took a drink from his own glass.

The chords of a very familiar song began to play on the jukebox. Elvis’ version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” filled the bar.

Norman grabbed your arm and pulled you off your bar stool.

“C’mon, doll, they’re playing our song!” he said.

He led you out into the small dance floor by the jukebox and pulled you close. You put your arms around his broad shoulders and started swaying to the music with him.

“We don’t have a song, Norm,” you said into his ear.

“I know that, but your guy doesn’t know that,” he said. He was clearly having fun with this role.

“What’s he doing?” you asked.

“Killing me with his mind,” he chuckled and put his hand on your shoulder, slowly moving you in a circle. “You know, I was mostly serious about you coming down to Georgia. It would be cool to have you back.”

“Norm,” you said, “I like where I am. I like the people I work with, and…” you caught sight of Rich and saw the hurt and the anger all the way across the space between you.

“And you kind of love him,” he finished.

“Yeah, I think I do. I’d like to find out anyway,” you admitted.

“I should never have let you go,” he said. “I hope he makes you happy, (Y|N). I mean that. Now, laugh a little and touch my face.”

You were feeling a little melancholy for the time you’d had with Norman, but what you’d had with him wasn’t the same. It hadn’t been that hard to walk away. Norm was a great guy and you loved him, but it just wasn’t what either of you deserved. The thought of Rich never speaking to you again, of him not being in your life, it wasn’t something you wanted to think about. You reached up and brushed back his hair from Norm’s forehead. He growled a little, kissed your cheek, then pressed his cheek to yours as he continued dancing with you.

“Where the hell have you been, I thought you’d be here an hour ago,” Briana scolded.

He’d seriously debated even showing up. He didn’t want to be around to see (Y|N) and Norman rekindle their romance, but he thought he might have a chance to stop it if he could just get her alone.

Briana nudged him and pointed to (Y|N) and Norman on the dancefloor, “You just gonna let that go, Dick?”

He didn’t say anything, he just observed the two dancing. It wasn’t until she touched his face that he had enough and got up from his seat and crossed over to where they were.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked when they stopped to look at him.

Norm looked from Rich to you and back again before he said, “Nah, man, not at all.”

Rich looked like acid was shooting out of his eyes, but you were interested to see where this went and if Norman’s plan had worked or not. As he was getting past you to go back to the group, he gave you a swat on the ass, startling you but still making you smile.

“Did he just?? I’m gonna kill him!” he was seething.

“Rich, stop it! He’s just helping,” you tried to calm him. You’d never seen him like this before and it was a little unsettling, but also a little hot.

“Helping? Helping what? Himself to you?”

“You better be very careful about what you say next, mister Speight,” you warned, still letting him take you in his arms for another slow song.

“Me? Please tell me you didn’t fall for anything he said…” his words were dripping with derision.

“Excuse the hell out of me?” you said.

“You aren’t really going to go back to Georgia, are you?” he mocked.

“It’s not like I have anything in Vancouver that is going to keep me there. Besides, Norm will keep me busy,” you said.

“Oh, I bet he will. From what I saw, he was already keeping you plenty busy,” he said.

“Who the hell do you think you are talking to me like that? You’ve never made the slightest move on me, never once said you were even the least bit interested in me. You don’t even know Norman,” you were hurt and you decided you’d had enough of that day. “Why the fuck do you suddenly care who I dance with?” You pushed him away hard.

He stared at you for a moment, a rush of emotions crossing his face.

“Why do I care?! Because I love you!”

There was a marked drop in the noise level in the bar. You could feel everyone’s eyes on you, including all of your friends from Supernatural.

“Oh hell no! You don’t just get to say that and expect everything to be all hunky dory, nah!” you said and walked off the dance floor to the nearest door, fearing you might pass out if you didn’t get outside immediately.

Your panic factor was kicking in hardcore. You needed to get out of there. The walls were suddenly too close and there were people seemingly everywhere. Finding a long hall to the restrooms, you kept going straight for the door at the end of the hallway that had an “exit” sign hung on it. You didn’t know what you’d expected to happen with forcing Rich’s hand, but you hadn’t expected that. To have him say it out loud like that… but why did he have to be such a dick about it?

Finally, outside in the fresh air, you were able to breathe again. If every convention was like this, you weren’t sure you wanted to go to anymore. It was almost too much to bear. The familiar sting began in your nose and traveled to your eyes, the tears filling your eyes making it difficult to see. You turned your back to the sound of the ‘exit’ door opening and returning to closed.

“(Y|N)?” he said from behind you. “Do you love him?”

“Go fuck yourself, Rich,” you said, your throat thick with emotion.

“I gotta know, darlin’,” he said, the pain evident in his voice.

“Oh, now I’m ‘darlin’, huh?” you were done hiding your hurt. “Yes, I love Norm, always will. And before you go off half-cocked again, it’s not what you think. We just couldn’t make it work. We were better friends than we were ever anything else. I see him once, maybe twice a year.”

“Then why was he all over you like that out there?” he asked, inching closer to you.

“I think there was a small part of him… maybe both of us, that wanted to see if the old spark was still there,” you admitted. “It might have been there for him, but it wasn’t for me.”

“What changed?” he asked, getting within arm’s reach of you.

“I fell in love with my Dick of a best friend,” you said, finally looking at him.

He moved in a blur. His hands cradling your head as his lips crashed into yours. His strong arms moved down and crushed your body to his and you responded in turn. For so long, you’d wanted to know what it was like to be in just that position, it was like heaven, if it were a hot and steamy place. You wanted to devour him. His lips didn’t need to force yours apart, you wanted all of him just the way he wanted you. Not realizing he’d been guiding you to the wall until it was pressed against your back, you moaned into him as you felt him pressing hard against you. His tongue swirling and lapping at your own sent you into a state of euphoria. After a few moments, the passion you both felt slowed down and he leaned back, his body still holding you firmly to the wall behind you.

“What do we do now?” his thumb stroked your jaw.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”

#SPNGenreBingo #RPF #Richard Speight Jr x Reader #Richard Speight Jr x you #RSJ #kazosa #fan fiction #fluff #angst

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hannahindie · 7 years ago

Text

Ten Seconds

Characters: Sam Winchester, Reader Word Count: 665 Warnings: Canon typical violence, language, angst, character death, Sam not being allowed to have nice things, ever. A/N: I was trying to write something for my Sing It With Me Challenge and was well on my way to getting it started when this took a totally different turn. Same Winchester brother, different scenario. I’ve apparently been feeling rather angsty as of late.

Beta’d by my loves @masksandtruths and @pinknerdpanda, without whom most of my words would probably not exist, and even if they did, wouldn’t make as much sense. Thanks, darlings.

As always, tags are at the bottom. If you’d like to be added, please let me know!

It takes ten seconds.

Each second feels like an eternity, a deafening click of the clock hands as they shift into place. Ten seconds isn't a lot of time, but in this moment, it's ten hours, ten days, ten years.

It's fucking eternity.

The first second, I see her eyes widen, scared and rolling around in desperation as she grabs for the dead man’s blood that had, until that moment, been in her pocket.

Second two, we both realize that the thing that could save her, save us, is missing.

Second three, she looks at me, and I think what I see is hope. Hope that I can find what she's looking for, hope that I'll save her from the monster that is trying to take her from us...from me.

Second four, the hope starts to fade and I can see it going. I want to scream, but I can't, my voice locked inside me as I desperately try to locate the syringe. I manage to tear my eyes from her, but it's nearly impossible.

By the fifth second, I'm scrambling, and calculating how great the risk would be to just tackle the vampire versus finding the dead man’s blood first. I can hear her fighting, she's giving him hell, which also gives me a little more time. A glint to my left catches my attention.

Second six, I'm diving across the floor, the syringe almost out of sight under a desk. I'm not even sure how I saw it, nothing short of a miracle can save us at this point, but I manage to make it, my fingers wrapping around the cool, smooth plastic. I look at her and smile as if I'm trying to say everything is going to be okay.

Seconds seven and eight happen too fast, almost as if time is being compressed. I flip around and move towards the vampire who's wrestling with Y/N, but before I can stand, a foot connects with my ribs and I fly backwards into the desk. I lose my grip on the dead man’s blood and it hits the floor, spinning away into the darkness. “Y/N!” Another kick, this time to my jaw, and the world starts to go dark. I shake my head and try to loosen the cobwebs, and my vision clears just in time to see the vampire bite deep into Y/N’s throat. She lets out a strangled cry and for a second, I'm almost positive I'm going to be sick. The sounds she is making as she struggles is not something I can even begin to describe, and I try again to get up.

Second nine feels like it's never going to end. It's like I'm moving in slow motion, and my heart is in my throat as I watch her struggle, her eyes rolling as blood spatters the smooth, pale skin of her throat and chin. Before I can get to her, the second vampire grabs my arm and twists it behind me and I fall back to my knees. I look up in time to see Dean appear, and I get a second wind, jamming my elbow into the vamp behind me as Dean slices the head off of the one grappling with Y/N.

Second ten, and I'm stumbling across the floor, tripping and clawing my way against the rough wooden boards to get to her. I can hear Dean behind me, taking care of the remaining vamp, but all I can focus on is her. She's trying to hold her throat and not cry out, but the tears are rolling down her face. Her hand slips from the wound, slick from blood and tears, and I finally make it to her side and replace her hand with mine. “I'm here, I've got you.” Her eyes lock with mine and I realize I should have told her that a long time ago, that she'll always have me.

All it takes is ten seconds.

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Forever Tags: @trexrambling @pinknerdpanda @wheresthekillswitch @emilywritesaboutdean @arryn-nyxx @emptywithout @escabell @charliebradbury1104 @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @deanssweetheart23 @canadianjelly @super-not-naturall @aubreyreadsstuff @dean-winchesters-baby @melissaj616 @fandomismyspiritanimal @keepcalmandcarryondean @assbutt-still-in-hell @owllover123 @rosie-winchester @amionthetumbler @duubaduu @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @goldenolaf25 @authoressskr @nanie5 @mrssamfuckingwinchester @zincomms @kathaswings @crazynerdandproud @barbedwireandbubblegum @sandlee44 @boxywrites @justanotherdeangirl @smalltowndivaj @captainradicalpassion @myloveforyouxx @atc74 @mrsbatesmotel53 @there-must-be-a-lock @masksandtruths @thelittleredwhocould @jotink78 @amanda-teaches @ilsawasanacrobat @squirrel-moose-winchester @mjdoc90 @anticipate1003 @mrswhozeewhatsis @mogaruke @speakinvain @linki-locks11 @wildlandfox @rhochradel @lostnliterature @fandom-queen-of-wonderland @spn-ficfanatic @polina-93 @lexiiiii28

Sam Only: @bunnybaby121115

#supernatural fanfiction #angst #sam winchester #sam x reader #reader insert

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mycasandstarrs · 6 years ago

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SPN 8x23: “Sacrifice”

THE ROAD SO FAR: Kicking ass, taking names. Dean got out of Purgatory. Sam hit a dog. Kevin discovered the way to close the Gates of Hell forever. Abaddon is in the wind. Naomi mind-controlled Cas. The trials are “purifying” Sam. Metatron. Crowley is putting the Winchesters in a difficult place. What will they do now?

(Set to the show’s official/unofficial theme song.)

Aww Jody!

Roderick. Crowley used his human middle name as an alias.

Why must I always be reminded of what Jody went through?

Man, Jody was just trying to get back on the dating scene. She didn’t deserve to almost die.

“You have less than one minute before a very dear, attractive, and slightly tipsy friend of yours snuffs it.”

“Call it off, Crowley.”

“Because?”

“Because it's over, you son of a bitch. We want to deal.”

Did the Winchesters already have their plan?

“First, I need to hear two little words -- I surrender.”

The show never let us hear Dean say “I surrender”. Good.

Nice location.

“You hid the Demon Tablet underneath the devil? Seriously?”

Sam looking like a real supermodel.

“All right, listen, this is a secret lair. You understand me? No keggers.” Kevin’s our next guest in the Bunker.

Houston, Texas. (Aaayyyy, my hometown!)

“What was he like?”

“Who? Oh. God? Mm, pretty much like you'd expect. Larger-than-life, gruff, bit of a sexist. But fair -- eminently fair.”

Hmm. I’d say that’s a good description.

The second “angel trial”: retrieve Cupid’s bow.

:Cas didn’t want to kill again.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota.

At Bobby’s old scrapyard. (I bet it was Crowley’s idea to meet up here.)

There’s Bobby’s car. :( (Isn’t there any way they can take it with them and have it at the Bunker?)

“You know why I always defeat you? It's your humanity. It's a built-in handicap.“ Huh, didn’t Soulless Sam say something similar?

Who’s plan was this?

“Sooner or later, you're gonna have to face it -- you're ours. Which means that your demon ass is going to be a mortal ass pretty damn quick.”

“What's he mouthing on about?”

“You're the third trial, Crowley.”

Oohh!!!

“Would you say that you're looking for, uh, a partner in crime... ...or, uh, someone who's into nurse role-play and light domination?”

“Brother, it's 10:00 a.m. on a Tuesday.”

I love Cas.

(Okay, but tell me that doesn’t describe Destiel. Partners in crime, where one is into nurse role-play, Cas, and light domination, Dean.)

NOO, NOT THE BARTENDER.

“Stop. Please, Castiel, don't make this any worse. Please.”

“How you feeling?”

“Honestly, for the first time in a long time, it feels like we're gonna win. I'm good.”

Aww.

“You ever, uh -- you ever done the ‘forgive me, father’ before?”

“Well, once, when we were kids.”

What did Sam say back then?

“I have no clue what to say now.”

“Well, I mean, I could give you suggestions if you want.”

“O-okay. Yeah, sure.”

“All right. Well, I'm just spit-balling here, but if I were you, uh... Ruby, killing Lilith, letting Lucifer out, losing your soul, not looking for me when I went to Purgatory--”

Yeah Sam, you got a list.

“Well, that was you.”

“...Carry on.”

Pfftt.

We won’t get to see Dean’s confessional until S10, I think.

“Okay, um...if anybody's listening, here goes.” I would’ve liked to have seen Sam’s confession.

Cas has come to Dean for help.

Metatron, meet Naomi.

Who would’ve known that between these two evils, Naomi was the lesser one?

"Of the blessings set before you, make your choice and be content." I do like that.

“Metatron, the guy who was full-on crazy, cat-lady-hoarder angel yesterday -- now he wants to save Heaven?”

“Yes, he wants to. But I'm the only one in who can. I can't fail, Dean, not on this one. I need your help.”

NOOO. What did I say about being the “only one” being shady??

“Now, if anybody needs a chaperone while doing the heavy lifting, it's Sam.” Of course that’s when Sam had to walk in.

“Start the injections now. If I'm not back in eight hours, finish it, no questions, no hesitation.”

The third trial has officially begun.

“According to your own words this morning...this is not what I do. It's what I did. You told me I was out, Dean.”

“There is no out. Only duty.” Damn, Cas.

“...until the day you cease to exist, and then another Prophet takes your place.”

I love that Cas has to add that technicality.

Owww, Crowley! That hurt me.

He got a good amount of blood too.

Oh, we ‘bout to get it!!

“Your, uh, buddy over there thinks you saved his life.” AWW. Cas probably went over and healed him after the angels had left.

This could’ve been one of the last times Dean and Cas have a conversation...and it’s about whether Cas might die soon.

“So this is it? E.T. goes home.” You know damn well Cas doesn’t understand pop culture.

Gail, our Cupid.

“Damn, that's sweet.” “ Damn, that's sweet.”

There it was.

"Nice to Be with You” by Gallery.

Dean’s just in total awe.

I’m so proud my hometown is canonically the location of that scene.

Crowley would be singing that song. “Changes” by David Bowie.

“Hello, boys.”

Ouch. There went Sam.

“Give us your bow.” Slow your roll, Cas.

“Talk first, stab later.”

“Do you know what I find the most shocking about time-traveling through a closet and landing in the year 2013? Somebody thought it was a good idea to make you the King of Hell.”

“Right now, you and I are gonna talk about regime change.”

Burned Abaddon to a crisp. Good job, Sam.

Cas acquires cupid’s bow.

“...to sit at God's feet, to be asked to write down his word? The ache I felt when he was gone, telling myself, "Father's left, but look what he's left us -- paradise." But you and your Archangels couldn't leave well enough alone. You ran me from my home. Did you really think you could do all of that to me and there'd be no payback?”

Naomi ain’t buying it...but she seems to have figured out what he’s really up to.

Oh, is this the scene with Crowley?

It is!

“We just shared a foxhole, you and I. We beat back the Tet Offensive, outrun the --the Rape of Nanking together! And still you're gonna do me like this?! Aah! Aah! ‘Band of Brothers’? ‘The Pacific’? None of this means anything to you? All those motels, you never once watched HBO, not once? ‘Girls’? You're my Marnie, Moose. A-and Hannah -- she just --she needs to be loved. She deserves it.”

Wow. Fine acting form Mark Sheppard there.

“Would it be possible, Moose...I'd like...to ask you a-a favor, Sam. Earlier, when you were confessing back there...what did you say? I only ask because, given my history...it raises the question... Where do I start...to even look for forgiveness?” Mark Sheppard is truly doing a great job.

Human!Crowley was wonderful.

“Come on, Kev! We're on the one-yard line here.”

“Okay, a-and I should have mentioned this six months ago, but the sports metaphors -- y-you want to motivate me, "Magic" cards, "Skyrim," Aziz Ansari.”

“What? Yeah, I don't know what those words mean.”

Pfft.

“Metatron isn't trying to fix anything. He's trying to break it -- an act of revenge for driving him away.”

“Break it how?”

“Expel all Angels from Heaven, just as God cast out Lucifer.”

“Cast you out? To where? Hell?”

“Here. Thousands of us, walking the Earth.”

Naomi’s telling the truth.

Dean can stop a powerful warrior with one touch.

“If Sam completes those trials, he is going to die.” Oh dear.

“I will listen.”

“Dean, I'm not wrong. I'm going to fix my home.” I’m not sure which I consider more painful: that Cas was wrong, or that Cas still considered heaven his home.

Now knowing that Naomi’s still alive, it’s kinda obvious that a drill to the head wouldn’t have killed her and she was just catatonic here.

“She told you I lied, didn't she? You should've listened to the bitch.” Metatron, you asshole.

“What's going on? Where's Cas?!”

“Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam.”

“So?”

That one little word shattered my heart.

“These were never trials, Castiel. This is a spell. And what I'm taking from you now -- your essence, your Grace -- is the last piece.”

The moment that changed Cas forever.

“Think about it. Think about what we know, huh? Pulling souls from Hell, curing demons, hell, ganking a Hellhound! We have enough knowledge on our side to turn the tide here.” 2 of these 3 things will come back. They’ll work a case that involves killing a hellhound in S12, and even sooner than that, they’ll cure demon!Dean.

“You want to know what I confessed in there? What my greatest sin was? It was how many times I let you down. I can't do that again. What happens when you've decided I can't be trusted again?”

(So Sam was jealous of Cas?)

“Hold on, hold on! You seriously think that? Because none of it -- none of it -- is true. Listen, man, I know we've had our disagreements, okay? Hell, I know I've said some junk that set you back on your heels. But, Sammy...come on. I killed Benny to save you. I'm willing to let this bastard and all the sons of bitches that killed mom walk because of you. Don't you dare think that there is anything, past or present, that I would put in front of you! It has never been like that, ever! I need you to see that. I'm begging you.”

Dean loves his little kid brother very much, and it is the backbone of this show.

“Hey, listen,we will figure it out, okay, just like we always do. Come on.”

“Castiel?! Where the hell are you?” Cas can’t come to the phone right now.

And where the hell was Kevin gonna go??

What a tragic and beautiful shot.

“Angels. They’re falling.”

#supernatural #spn summer rewatch #spn liveblog #spn 8x23 #sacrifice #season finales are always a doozy

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ourhappylies · 7 years ago

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Heal My Broken Heart - Gabriel (SPN) Part Two.

Author: Cherry🍒 Word Count: 1425k Warnings: A little bit of cussing, bit of angst, panic attack. Summary: It was eight years ago that Gabriel was murdered by his own brother with an angel blade. Since that day, Y/N had been mourning the loss of her soulmate, she never truly recovered from the loss of her beloved. But one day, Ketch suddenly reappears in hers and the Winchesters lives, making claims that he’d discovered something that would change everything for Y/N.

Part One

Before long, Sam, Dean and I were in the Impala and travelling to the meeting place Ketch designated. He’d decided on a small diner on the outskirts of town. It was small enough to prevent anyone from overhearing our conversation but big enough and public enough to stop me from causing a scene, or so he says.

Ideas of what it could possibly be were running through my mind the entire way there. Perhaps, it had something to do with… Gabe? No, no that’s not possible. He died, I saw it. Maybe it’s got something to do with a hunt I did in the past, that’s the most likely out of all of my thoughts.

The humming of the engine died down, alerting me to our arrival at the diner. I jumped out of the car, appearing almost eager to be there to anyone who saw. I marched inside, leaving the two brothers behind me, who were sharing the look they always did when they knew something was about to go wrong. The bell above the door dinged as I walked in, I quickly glanced around the diner, looking for the abominable excuse of a human being, also known as Arthur Ketch. I recognised the back of his head, sitting in the furthest booth from everyone else.

I approached the booth, Sam and Dean trailing close behind me. Dean slid onto the seat first, followed by me and then Sam, almost as if they were trapping me between them. Ketch examined me with a worrisome expression. We waited for the waitress to fill our cups of coffee before we began. My eyes were glued to Ketch the entire time, the intensity of my gaze was unsettling him.

“What do you need to tell us? And why is it going to make me “go mad?” I snapped at Ketch as soon as the waitress had strolled away. My fingers doing air quotation marks as I spoke the last part.

The dark haired man quirked an eyebrow before rolling his eyes. “Well, it’s good to see you too, Y/N. How have you been?” He said with a faked smile.

“Cut the shit.” My hand smacked the table in front of me, shaking the three mugs that were resting on it, spilling a bit of coffee from each of them. There was no doubt about it, I hated Arthur Ketch more than anyone else in this world. Well, there was one other person I hated more, but he wasn't exactly a ‘person’. In my mind, and the brothers’ minds, Ketch should be buried six feet underground by now. He had terrorised us for long enough. The anger I felt towards this man distracted me from the constant sorrow that had filled me for the last eight years.

“I have no problem with telling you as soon as you calm yourself,” he stated. Sam’s hand grasped mine, drawing my attention to him. His eyes were pleading with me to not lose my temper, to just stay calm. I took a deep breath in and sat back, leaning against the seat of the booth. I nodded at Ketch, letting him know that I would control myself from now on.

“As you’re well aware, Asmodeus is now ruling hell, and he has recruited me to work for him. Just the other day, he showed me a weapon he has procured, the Archangel Blade. He plans to use it too. He’s even got his hands on an Archangel.”

I glanced up at Dean who wore a similar expression to mine. All three of us were brimming with confusion and wondering who the hell Asmodeus could have. Raphael died years ago, so did Gabriel, Michael was still in the cage, to our knowledge, and Cass told us Lucifer wasn’t particularly fond of Asmodeus. I raised an eyebrow at Ketch, waiting for him to clarify his previous statement.

“Well? Who is it?” Sam huffed beside me. His tone indicated he was also getting irritated with Ketch’s vagueness. If he didn’t explain himself soon, I was hoping the brothers would let me drag him out of this establishment and beat the explanation out of the assassin that sat in front of us.

“That's the thing,” Ketch started, “I don’t know if you’re going to believe me, Asmodeus has the Archangel… Gabriel. He’s alive.” Shock washed over me and ice pumped through my veins, it felt almost as if a cold had settled over me. I stared blankly at Ketch, wanting, but also not, to believe what he had just stated. It wasn't possible.

“What? No, that’s crazy. He’s dead. We saw him die,” Sam asserted, looking to Dean for backup.

A gruff chuckle left the man on my right, “I think I might have just heard you wrong, but did you say that Gabriel is alive? The winged guy who we saw get stabbed with an angel blade by Lucifer?”

Ketch nodded, “He is indeed alive. He’s being held prisoner by Asmodeus, and I can’t say that he’s been all too nice to Gabriel. Gabriel… he is in very poor shape. Nearly completely drained of his grace, on the brink of being human—” Ketch’s words faded into the background.

He was alive… after all this time, all the grieving and mourning I’d gone through since his loss. I’d watched the life leave him, I saw the heartbreak and self-hatred in Lucifer’s eyes as he stared down at the body that once held his brother. How could this have happened? Did he die and then was brought back? Did he fake his death and just do a disappearing act? All the questions spinning through my mind became overwhelming and I felt the need for fresh air. I push Sam up and out of the booth so I could squeeze past, muttering that I needed to go outside.

As I staggered out the door and around the side of the building, my breath came in short pants, it felt as if no matter how much I breathed in the oxygen wasn’t reaching my lungs. My vision started to blur, dark spots filling it. My hands were shaking and so were my legs, I collapsed against a wall around the back of the building, unable to walk any further. The numbing feeling of pins and needles started running up my quivering limbs. I pulled my knees up to my chest and buried my head in them, trying to calm myself and even out my breathing. Hot tears were sliding down my tingling and paled face.

I felt a large body sit down next to me, an arm wrapped around my shoulders pulling me into them. I could tell by the smell of the cologne that it was Dean who had come after me. He started rubbing my back in slow circles, helping me calm down. Slowly the tears stopped and my breathing evened out. But even then, I didn’t want to move or to go anywhere, I continued to lean against Dean, listening to him making promises about rescuing Gabe and bringing him back home to me, where he belonged. I only nodded in response, too shaken to verbalise myself.

After I’d calmed down more, Dean helped me up and walked me back to the Impala, opening the back door for me to climb in. He went back to Sam and Ketch who now stood in front of the vehicle, discussing a plan to rescue the broken Archangel. I could hear both of the men ask Dean how I was, surprisingly, Ketch had a touch of empathy in his voice.

On the way back to the bunker, the Winchester decided to fill me in on the rest of the discussion the next morning after I’d had enough rest and accepted the reality of what had happened. I agreed with them, knowing that I needed some time to get it through my head that the love of my life wasn’t dead after all. A tinge of happiness was surging through me, I could actually be with him, after all. But anger and hatred were all there along with the happiness, I was going to get Gabriel back but I was going to take down anyone and everyone who had hurt him during his captivity. I would finally avenge the lost years of mine and Gabriel's relationship.

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fandomimaginesftw · 7 years ago

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An Old Flame (Part Eight)

Summary: Y/N is a hunter. She always has been, and she knows that she always will be. Headstrong, fierce, and takes no bullshit is the best way to describe her. A case in Ohio leads her to a nest of vampires, but that’s not all. As she’s investigating, she runs into a pain from her past, the one and only Dean Winchester. The man that ruined her, left her to trust no one ever again. When Dean sees her again, he feels like he’s alive again, and he’ll do anything to get her back. Will she fall back into old habits or will she stand her ground?

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven

Pairing: SLOW BURN! Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,123

Warnings: smut, a little angst

Forever Tags: @reigns420 @onemorefanblog @carryonmyswansong @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues

SPN Tags: @tacklesackles @iam-a-cutiepie @mogaruke @akshi8278

An Old Flame Tag List: @p3nnyforyourth0ughts @jenspadwincest @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @emilypkuzu @happygirl62304 @shamelesslydean @ myrabbitholetoneverland @abigayle19

lolita-wolfson (I didn’t know how else to tell you there was an eighth part, I have to put the link on the parts. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!)

It had been possibly the longest night of dean’s life, and he didn’t even pass Ohio’s state line but an hour ago. Sam had asked him to drive since he was exhausted, and he obliged. He needed a few minutes to himself anyway. He glanced over at his brother, making sure he was asleep before he let himself really feel everything that was brewing inside of his mind and his heart. He just kept going over the past few days and how he hadn’t felt that alive in a very long time. The way you kissed him before he left was on his mind too. The way you said your “I love you”, the way you looked when he let your hand go. He gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles had started to lose any color they had before. Memories flooded his mind, from both years ago and the past few days.

The laughs you two had shared, the late night talks, the conversations that lasted for hours that was only interrupted by you getting tired and passing out on his shoulder. He remembered holding you as you slept, listening to you breath calmly, the sound bringing him his own peace. He kept thinking about the times you were there for him, no matter what. Before you lived in the bunker with them, he would show up at your door at four in the morning, and you wouldn’t even ask questions. You would just pull him in, lie him down, and let him feel any emotion he had. Sometimes you would take care of him for days, feeding him, making sure he showered and drank enough water. You had always been there for him.

You were the only person that truly understood him. Sure, Sammy knew him like the back of his hand, but he didn’t know how he felt inside. His younger brother had no idea about the mental turmoil that clogged his brain. You were the only person he talked to about anything remotely emotional. You knew how to push his buttons, you knew every single little thing about him. And he knew everything about you. He knew everything about your past, what you had been through. He knew how to make you laugh and how to make you moan. You were truly his better half. He was sure you felt the same at one point, but he knew he messed that all up.

Tears started to sting his eyes as he thought of how he repaid you for putting up with all of his shit for so long. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the road. Instead of settling down and giving you the life you deserved, he cheated on you. He had essentially used you for those years that you shared together. All over a stupid fight that he didn’t even remember now. And he had ruined everything with a woman that meant literally nothing to him, and he couldn’t think of her name either. He grit his teeth, then looked at the upcoming sign telling the drivers about the nearest motel. He took the next exit, pulling in to the parking lot. He woke Sam up, giving him all of the money he had and told him to get them a room. Sam nodded, and as soon as he closed the door, Dean sped off, heading back to Ohio.

You weren’t in a much better position in your head. You were currently lying down on the hard motel bed, trying to even out your breath. Dean’s shirt had dried and you really did scrub it like a champ, so you were currently wearing it and not much else. You just wanted to feel like he was still there with you, even though you knew he wouldn’t be. You had watched the Impala speed off, and you felt your heart go with it. You wondered if you should have asked him to stay. You wondered if he even would, but in the back of your mind, you knew he would.

You covered your face with your palms, closing your eyes. You had no idea what you were doing, if you were even doing the right thing. You didn’t regret kissing him, not in the slightest. In fact, you were pretty sure it helped you clear up a part the part of your mind that revolved around him. You thought about the kiss you two had shared, and one of your hands moved from covering your face, your fingers tracing over your lips. You could still feel the way he kissed you on his lips, like a part of him was still there with you. You sighed, deciding that you should get some sleep, since you were gonna hit the road later on that day. You needed at least an hour of sleep so you didn’t have an accident or anything. You reached over, turning the small lamp off, leaving you in the darkness with your thoughts and the feeling of Dean’s hands on your hips, and his lips on yours.

Little did you know, as you slept not so soundly, Dean was literally pedal to the metal to get back to you. He wasn’t gonna mess this up again. This was the second chance that he has asked for, that he had prayed for. This was it, and he would be damned if he was gonna let it go by. He needed you in his life, and he was going to make sure to make that very clear to you. Afte about an hour, he sped into the parking lot, very quickly braking. He apologized to Baby for treating her that way, he just needed to get to you, and nothing else really mattered in his mind at that moment. He got out the car, the door closing with a slam loud enough to wake you. The bright lights in the window didn’t really help either.

Frantic knocks at the door really woke you up, though. You jolted up, furrowing your brows. Whoever was knocking like that better be dying or ready to get their ass kicked. You walked over to the door, looking through the peephole. You figured it was useless since you were literally only in Dean’s shirt, but you always liked to check. When you saw him, though, you fumbled with the locks, opening the door with a confused and shocked look on your face. He didn’t even let his full name slip out of your mouth before he silenced you with his own. You stumbled back by the sheer force of his kiss, but you quickly regained your balance and returned his kiss. The way he moved his lips against yours told you he was here for more than just talking. Your hands found their way to his hair and you gently tugged at it, making him moan. God, you missed the way his moans sounded. He stepped further into the room, kicking the door closed. He then kicked his shoes off, and you immediately got to work on his jacket and shirt.

He continued walking backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. He then ran his hands down your thighs, grabbing the back of them and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, continuing to gently massage his scalp. Keeping you wrapped around him, he lied you down on the mattress. You moved up further on the mattress, and he crawled between your legs. He looked down, taking all of you in. His hand ran up your bare thigh, and you held back a whimper. He ducked his head down, kissing your lips gently now.

“Please let me hear you. I need to hear you, Y/N.” He kissed down to your jaw, then started leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. You moved your head to the side, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed all of the right places. Your hips instinctively rolled upwards, needing him to touch you. He already knew what you needed, though, and he obliged. Usually, he was all about teasing, about dragging it out as long as he could, making you beg. But he needed you so much in that moment that he couldn’t even find the words to describe it. One hand ran up the lining of your panties and the other went up his shirt you currently wore, his hand massaging one of your breasts. You moaned softly, and he needed more. He lifted the shirt that covered you from him, your curves illuminated by the moonlight that danced through the cheap curtain. He snaked one arm onto your back, pulling your upper body up, your chest now pressing against his. You opened your eyes, looking into his. He shared your gaze, his heart hammering against his ribs. You lifted your hips, and he took care of the rest, He skillfully took them off, tossing them somewhere in the room. He then slid his pants and underwear off, letting himself spring free.

You kissed him, and he slowly pushed into you. You tried to keep the kiss going, but his girth stretched you out too deliciously for you to be able to do anything other than moan his name. It truly was a beautiful sound for him. He moaned as well, your walls already so tight around him. He continued pushing until he was in completely, both of you exhaling. You whimpered at him when he stopped moving, so he lied you back down and looked down at you as he started moving again.

You had almost completely forgotten everything about this. How his moans sounded, how it felt when he moved his hips slowly against yours, and how with every drawn out thrust he filled you up and stretched you out. You were a mess under him, and he was in heaven already. Looking down at you, listening to your moans and whimpers made him sure that this was right. He held your face, resting either elbows on both sides of your face. You wrapped your legs around him, intensifying the feeling for both of you. He started rolling his hips in just the right way, grazing your spot every single time.

Your toes started to curl as he continued, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. You looked up at him, and you could tell he wouldn’t either. You squeezed your walls around him, and a deep groan escaped him. You told him between moans that were close, and he told you that he was too. His thrusts suddenly got fast, and he sat up on his knees. You watched as he grabbed your hips, lifting them before he sheathed himself inside of you again. Your mouth fell open as he did, your back arching as well. Curses fell from your lips like honey as you started to hit your high. He started twitching inside of you, and you both rode out your highs.

After it was all said and done, you both lied on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. He was the first to move at all, and he just looked over at you. His eyes wandered your naked body, and he felt so lucky. You looked over at him, smiling at him. He smiled back at you, holding up his hand to you. You lifted your hand as well, placing your palm against his. He put his fingers between yours, holding your hand. You pulled his hand to you, kissing the back of his hand.

You wanted to ask why he came back, but you didn’t want to say anything. You just wanted to be here, with him. You flipped over onto your side, facing him. He lifted his arm, placing it under your head so you could get even closer. You nuzzled into him, tangling your legs with his. He kissed your temple, humming softly. You looked up at him, and he looked back at you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly, almost like he was scared to say it. You smiled, kissing him gently.

“I love you too, Dean.” You both laid there, letting the silence fill the air around you. The cold air started to chill your bones, though, and Dean could feel you start to shiver. He reached over, grabbing the thin blanket that the motel provided. He threw it over the two of you, then pulled you close. You nuzzled into him, sighing softly. So many questions ran through your head, but you didn't ask any of them. You knew Dean was happy, you didn't want to ruin it. But you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right call.

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