#it doesn’t matter that dean never actually said it

[sammy-the-boyking]

sometimes i remember the fact that sam literally never knew the voicemail from dean in s4 wasn’t real and i wanna scream a little bit

[wigglebox]

Supernatural September - Day 4 | Glitch

Canonically, Dean never said Cas’ name after the fake phone call in 15.19. Canonically, while Bobby said Cas “Helped” revamp Heaven into a Heaven that Dean “deserved,” Cas never showed up. Canonically, Dean left that heaven, which contained his family, to go “find family.”

There is a glitch that is Cas-shaped, and Dean knows it.

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yan bully had me in a chokehold. Could we possibly see their relationship progression? Pretty please?

Yandere Bully x Reader (Part Two)

An: This has actually been sitting in my drafts for a couple days. :D I hope you like it!!!

Part one

The empty locker room smells like sweat and old linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering slightly, as if trying to escape the weight of the silence. The air is thick and sticky outside, but the room is cool. Dean slouches against the metal lockers, the sharp scent of blood mixing with the stale air.

His face is already bruising. The knuckles of his right hand are split, blood oozing from the cuts, dripping onto the floor. His shirt is torn, sleeves shredded, and there’s a small tear on his jeans where something sharp must’ve caught him. He’s not entirely steady on his feet, but you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at the door that he's still ready for whatever comes next.

You don’t say anything for a long moment, not because you don’t want to—there’s just no point. There’s nothing to be said. You’ve seen this before. He’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, and yet, this time, it feels different. He’s more… nervous than usual.

"You’re gonna bleed out if you don’t let me do something about that," you mutter, stepping forward cautiously.

Dean doesn't respond, but you know he hears you. He always does. His eyes follow you as you pull out the first-aid kit from the corner. The one that’s been sitting there untouched for years. It's dusty, old. A few of the bandages are frayed, but it’ll do. Everything with Dean is always a little bit broken, a little bit secondhand.

You kneel down in front of him, pulling his hand closer so you can clean the cuts. He winces, but he doesn’t pull away. He never pulls away, not from you. It’s as if the pain doesn’t matter when you’re close enough to touch. When you wrap the bandage around his knuckles, your fingers brush the rough edges of his skin. His grip tightens around your wrist, and you don’t flinch, not even when he digs his fingers in a little too hard.

"Stupid fight," you murmur under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

He grunts in response. "Didn’t start it," he says quietly, the sound of his voice gravelly, rough. "But I sure as hell finished it."

You glance up at him then, and for a second, the world outside seems to fall away. Dean’s face is almost childlike in that moment—eyes dark and wild, lips pressed in a thin line, but something in him is different. There's a vulnerability underneath it all that he never shows anyone else. You can see it in the way his chest rises and falls too fast, the way his shoulders stiffen every time someone walks past the door.

You focus on the task at hand, wrapping more gauze around the worst of the wounds. His skin is warm under your touch, like the heat from his body is soaking through you. You don’t think about it. You can’t. The weight of his presence is already too much. And yet, there's something you can't quite shake. The way he looks at you, the way he always has.

When the cuts are bandaged, you look up again, meeting his gaze. For a long time, there’s only silence between the two of you. The buzz of the lights. The rhythmic sound of your breathing. You don’t know how to speak past the suffocating tension in the room, how to bridge the gap between what you both want and what you both need.

"Why do you do this?" you finally ask.

Dean doesn’t immediately answer. His gaze shifts to the locker across from him.

"I don’t know," he says quietly. "I just... don’t like the thought of anyone else touching you."

You feel something in your chest tighten at his words, a mixture of butterflies and dread. Because you know Dean—his actions are never just about protecting. He doesn’t protect anyone. He controls. He manipulates. He consumes. And yet, there’s something in his gaze now, something raw that makes your breath hitch.

You finish bandaging him up, standing slowly, stepping back. Your eyes lock for a long, unbearable moment.

"Next time," he says, voice low, "I’ll finish it faster."

You nod, but you don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing left to say.

He’s already made his point.

Masterlist

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Pointless Protection

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous (x2)

Synopsis: Gordon kidnaps you in 3x07, and you have your first asthma attack

“No sign of Gordon anywhere, and the sun’s going down soon.” Dean caught Sam up on his fruitless search, but Dean seemed distracted.

“He’ll be unstoppable,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Dean wasn’t looking at Sam as he grabbed his bag and one of his guns. “You two stay here.”

“What?” Your head shot up from where you were sitting, but Sam beat you to the questioning.

“What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

“After Gordon.”

“Not alone you’re not,” Sam argued.

“Sam, he’s after you, not me, and I want both of you out of harm’s way,” Dean said.

“You—“ Sam cut himself off, gritting his teeth. “Y/N, go take a walk.”

“What?” You demanded. You knew instantly what this was about—Dean had been getting more and more reckless ever since his hell deal, and both brothers refused to talk about it with you around, like the topic of hell was too much for you to handle, even though your brother was going there in a matter of months. “No way, I—“

“Go,” Dean snapped.

“But—“

“C’mon.” Dean was already pushing you to the door. “Grown-up fight, come back later.”

“You can’t just—“

The door slammed in your face before you could finish.

…

You were fuming as you stomped away from the motel room and away from the parking lot. The chilly air bit into your skin as the sun sunk lower towards the horizon, but you barely even noticed.

Why did your brothers have to keep doing that? Keeping you from the important conversations, as if they didn’t affect you. You had so much you wanted to say to Dean; you wanted to tell him you hated how reckless he had become, you hated that he didn’t seem to care whether he lived or died because you cared.

But you never got the chance. It was like they didn’t trust you with the real stuff, as if they could keep you from this world and it’s dangers even though you were in it up to you neck—

Your racing thoughts were so distracting that you barely noticed it was getting dark until the sun was already disappearing and a cloak of darkness was thrown over the land.

“Oh no,” you mumbled, turning around instantly and rushing for the motel. If it was dark, that meant Gordon could be out. If Gordon was out…

You had to get ti the motel before he got to you.

…

“Fine,” Dean grumbled at last. “We’ll wait the night out in here, and go after Gordon together.” They’d been burning sage in the room all day so Gordon couldn’t track their scent.

“Good.” Sam huffed. “Now let’s get—“ Sam barely cracked the door open before he realized the problem. “Dean, it’s dark out.”

“What?!” Dean jumped up. “Y/N’s still in the parking lot, right?”

“I-I don’t—“ Sam took another step out the door, glancing around frantically. “Y/N!” He called out into the night air, but he got no reply. Before he could yell again, Dean’s phone rang.

“You’ve had that phone all of two hours, Dean,” Sam said. They’d gotten new phones when they’d realized that Gordon could track the old ones. “Who’d you give the number to?” he asked.

“Nobody.” Dean frowned. “Maybe it’s Y/N.” He flipped the phone open and put it to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hey there, Dean,” Gordon, sounding much too happy, greeted.

“How did you get this number?” Dean snapped.

“Your scent’s all over the phone store,” Gordon explained. “But I lost the scent. It doesn’t matter though—you’re going to find me.”

“Right,” Dean scoffed. “If this is all you’ve got, I’ve got better things to do.” Dean was about to hang up, but he stopped when Gordon spoke again.

“Actually that’s not all I have.” There was a moment of rustling on the other end of the phone.

“Dean?”

A shudder went through Dean’s body at the sound of your terrified voice.

“Y/N?”

“Dean—I’m sorry De, he came out of nowhere. Don’t do what he wants, I’m—“

“Ok that’s enough.” Gordon’s voice cut off yours, but Dean could hear you crying and protesting in the background.

“Gordon—“ Dean gritted his teeth, trying to tamp down his fury. “This isn’t about her, leave her alone.”

Gordon was unfazed. “Factory on Riverside off the turnpike. Be here in twenty minutes, or your sister dies.”

“Don’t—“ Dean’s voice was cut off by the click of the phone. He didn’t waste a second, turning immediately to Sam. “Gordon has her. We have to go.”

…

“Why won’t you just shut up?” Gordon growled. He was pacing like a caged animal, rubbing his head as if that would help that fact that he’d been turned into a supernatural creature that could hear everything within a mile radius and was blinded by moonlight.

“Just let me go,” you pleaded. You’d struggled against the ropes that bound you, but all you got for it was bloody wrists. “Sam isn’t what you think he is, you don’t have to do this!”

“Shut up!” He snapped. “Your brother is a monster, and now thanks to this chase, I am too!”

“You don’t have to do this,” you repeated.

“Aren’t you listening?” He barked. “I’m not a Hunter anymore, I’m a vampire!”

“Being a monster isn’t about what you are,” you snapped, somehow finding enough bravery inside you to speak what you’d been thinking ever since you found out about Sam’s demon blood. “It’s about what you do!”

Your speech didn’t matter; Gordon wasn’t listening anymore. His head was tilted slightly, like he was trying to pick up on a faraway sound.

“Your big brothers are here to save you,” he said, reaching forwards and tying a gag around your mouth. “I’m sure this will end with all of you dead—you Winchesters seem like the type to go out together. Just remember this; I did try to warn you about Sam.”

You couldn’t say anything in response, so you just had to watch as Gordon stalked around, prepared to kill your brothers the moment they came in to save you.

…

“Gordon!” Dean’s machete was clenched tightly in his fist as he stepped into the darkened warehouse. “We’re here, now let her go!”

“I can’t do that, Dean.” Gordon’s voice echoed around the steel walls, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. “Not until Sammy’s dead.”

“Dean!” Sam’s voice grabbed Dean’s attention. “She’s over here!”

Dean rushed to his brother, getting there in time to see Sam pull your gag down and start untying the ropes that held your blood-soaked wrists in a vice grip. Seeing the blood drip down your hands set Dean’s teeth on edge, and he wanted nothing more than to rip Gordon’s head off.

Barely had the violent thought crossed Dean’s mind before Gordon came out of nowhere, tackling Sam to the ground before he could finish freeing you.

“Sam!” You whimpered, struggling against your bonds.

Dean jumped into the fray, knocking Gordon off his little brother but missing when he swung with the machete.

“De—“ you tried to call out for your big brother, but your breath caught on the word, and you found yourself gasping for air that wouldn’t come. Your chest felt tight, and each micro breath was less satisfying than the one before it. Sam locked eyes with you for a split second, and seemed to notice your struggling, but he was quickly distracted when Gordon managed to knock Dean away and went after Sam again.

You focused your energy back on the ropes binding you—Sam had managed to loosen one arm—and with a painful jerk, you were free. However, you’d been leaning hard against the ropes, so when your arm came free you nearly fell out of the chair, the still-tight rope on your other arm keeping you painfully still.

You tried to untie your left hand, but your fingers couldn’t get a good grip on the rope, and your vision was starting to go foggy as your battle for breath continued to fail.

You kept hearing grunts of exertion and pain from the other side of the room, but it was too dark to see and the sounds seemed to all blend together, so you had no idea who was winning the fight.

What was worse than the sounds of the fight was the silence when they stopped. The only sound you heard was the echoing rattle of your breaths.

“Hey—“ you nearly screamed when a face appeared in front of you, but all you did was let out a whimper as you blinked and realized it was Dean. “It’s ok, just breathe. We’re getting you out of here, kid.”

“I ca…I can’t…” the words could barely escape as you struggled for each breath.

“Ok, hey it’s ok,” Dean soothed. “We’ll get you to a hospital, ok? They’re gonna help you breathe, you’re gonna be just fine.”

“Gordon’s dead.” Sam was suddenly at your other side, untying your hand. “You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Sam lifted you into his arms without bothering to see if you could stand, and Dean followed behind as Sam carried you to the Impala.

“Her wrists are pretty bad,” Sam said as Dean started up the Impala. Sam was sitting with you in the back—something he never did—and assessing your injuries. “Those ropes were really tight. I’m gonna have to clean them up before we get to the hospital, I don’t want them asking questions we can’t answer.”

You continued to wheeze and tremble as Sam painstakingly cleaned your wrists and wrapped them in bandages.

“Here,” he said, wrapping you up in his jacket and making sure the sleeves hung down so the bandages were hidden. “You’re gonna be ok, just keep breathing.”

“We’re almost there,” Dean promised. “We’re almost there.”

…

“Does she have any allergies.”

“What? No.” Dean was getting incredibly impatient with the doctor as you continued to struggle for breath beside him. They’d made sure you weren’t being turned into a vampire already, so they figured whatever was happening to you had to be physical, not supernatural. “Would you just help her?”

“I’m trying,” the doctor assured him patiently. “But I need to know what brought this on.”

“I…she was—she—“ Dean couldn’t think of a good explanation, so Sam jumped in.

“She was scared,” Sam said. “Having a nightmare.”

“I see.” The doctor pursed her lips. “Does she have asthma.”

“No, she—“ Dean stopped short. “I don’t—I don’t think so. I mean she gets out of breath pretty quickly when she exercises, but I never thought—“

“It’s possible for the symptoms to be mild for years,” the doctor told him, then turned to you. “Does your chest feel tight right now?”

You nodded.

“And does the same thing happen when you run?”

“Not—“ you wheezed. “Never this bad.”

“Ok, ok.” The doctor turned her back on the trio of siblings and picked up an inhaler from off the table. “I thought it might be this, so if you’re sure it isn’t any allergy, this should help you quickly.” She shook up the inhaler as she neared you. “Now, once I spray this I want you to hold your breath for a few seconds, try to breathe in, and then breathe out if you can. Alright?”

You didn’t feel up to trying to talk, so you just nodded.

“Ok, good. Close your mouth around this,” she said, holding the mouthpiece to your lips. She pressed the canister down, and you followed her instructions, holding your breath before breathing in and out.

“Better?” Dean asked, seeming to hold his own breath.

“It’ll take a few minutes,” the doctor said. “Just give her some space and we’ll see if she starts to feel better.”

Sure enough, in a few minutes your chest began to feel lighter and more open, and your breathing was easier.

“Better?” The word came out of Dean like a sigh of relief, because he could already see how much easier your breathing was. You knew he was still worried that Gordon had done something to you, so asthma was a relief.

“Better,” you told him.

“Ok.” The doctor nodded. “You’ll need to get her an inhaler if she ever has another asthma attack or difficulty breathing.” She handed a prescription to Dean, who held tightly to it like it was a lifeline.

“So we can go?” Sam asked.

“Yes. She’ll probably be tired for another few hours, even days, so pay attention and give her another dose with the inhaler if she needs it.”

“Thanks,” Dean said briskly, grabbing your hand and leading you out.”

The three of you managed to slip out the back door before anyone could catch you and ask about paperwork. Dean went to the office next door to get your inhaler, and when he returned to the Impala he tore the small bag open and tucked the inhaler into his jacket pocket.

“Isn’t that for me?” You demanded.

“Are you kidding?” Dean scoffed. “You’d lose it. I’ll keep it safe for you. Just let me know if you need it, ok?”

“Fine,” you huffed, and Dean rolled his eyes. The inside of the car was quiet for a few minutes as Dean drove away from the hospital, but eventually he spoke up again.

“You really scared us there, kid.”

“That’s what you get for kicking me out of the motel room,” you grumbled.

Dean opened his mouth, then snapped it shut.

“I’m in this life,” you pushed on. “I’ve always been in it. You can’t protect me from everything.”

“Yes I can,” Dean snapped.

“No you can’t,” you insisted. “You can’t protect me from you going to hell. Don’t act like that doesn’t affect me too, Dean. It does.”

The car fell into silence again, and you thought Dean was ignoring you.

“Ok,” Dean said. “I won’t kick you out next time. But don’t think that means I won’t keep protecting you. And when—“ Dean cleared his throat. “And when I’m gone, that’s gonna be Sammy’s job. So don’t give him this much attitude about it, ok?”

You forced yourself to smile, hoping it would veil the sadness in your eyes.

“It’s a deal.”

Taglist:

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[rubyvhs]

୨ৎ your camera roll when you start dating dean winchester

So many dates. Dean can’t believe you even said yes to being with him. You want to spend your time with him? Willingly? It’s a fever dream. And so every single case the only thing he talks about is how after it’s done you and him are going to the cool diner you passed on the way, and you need to try the pie, or that you’re both definitely gonna try fishing in the lake. Or on the nights when you’re both so incredibly exhausted from all the dying and running so you decide to go for a drive. Dean thinks those are his favorite. The both of you in the car with Zeppelin on blast, sometimes your girly music too, and he tells you how much he loves you. He stops the both of you at a random spot, thinks you’ll both be there for a second but a kiss through the window turns to more and you’re there for hours. He tells you to delete the picture later, says no one needs to find him kissing you on your phone but when you decline once he doesn’t argue. He wants you happy and you’re happiest when you’re capturing him in his element. Whether it be him eating, fishing, or kissing you in Baby and being your boyfriend— because he’s damn good at that, no matter his own thoughts about it.

You decide hunting can’t be your entire life if you’re going to spend it together but you hate to admit how scared you are to tell Dean that so you start in slow steps. You pick up less cases and Sam doesn’t care, he’s always out with his new girlfriend anyway, sometimes hunts with her. You use one of Bobby’s cabins for a two day vacation with Dean. It’s hardly anything, no beach or big city, just the forest but you think it’s just as beautiful. You think Dean’s beautiful. He’s just talking to you, gambling with his life while he sits in the thin ledge and you let him because if Hell couldn’t bring him down, a ledge can’t even try. He’s happy. He’s telling you about why he thinks Back to California beats Stairway to Heaven and you’re not sure you’re listening. He groans when he sees you snapping a picture. The next day, the last day, of your vacation you’re both at a bar type of place. You’re not sure what it is but it’s cozy enough that you choose a booth to take your heels off in and when they start announcing that tonight’s all about the crowd, you bite your lip in anticipation. Dean’s always been shy when it comes to his singing but you know he’s good, he’s talented for someone who’s never once been to a lesson. You all but beg him to go up there and he stares at you throughout the entire song. You’re both leaving to get back to the bunker when it starts raining. You thought you’d use it as an excuse to stay longer but as you’re both leaving you notice that dean’s not mentioned hunting once. He doesn’t care. For once, you believe you might actually have a chance at getting him out of the life and snap a picture in the rain to send the news to Sam. He thinks you’re crazy. Crazy enough to actually do it.

part three :: yes this is now a series, last one coming out in a week<3 and im making another series for sam, you’re the ‘gf’ for him mentioned in this one.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

Across Every Universe

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey Jordan, can i request something where Dean Winchester always have a crush on the reader but never said something to her until one day Sam and Dean are transported (based on the episode French Mistake) and Dean actor Jensen and is married to the reader of the universe and she pass the whole day giving Dean hug and kisses because for everyone is Jensen. When Dean and Sam came back to their universe him and the reader start dating? Fluff 

Summary: Sam and Dean are taken back to the same place where Dean is known as Jensen Ackles and Sam as Jared Padalecki. This little trip makes Dean realize his feelings for you.

Square Filled: "god, if only you knew what you did to me" (2023) for @spnaubingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

No matter the position you’re in, you’re not comfortable. It doesn’t matter if you lie down on your side, your back, or your stomach. Not to mention the heater isn’t working in the Bunker so it’s very cold. You have three blankets over you while wearing long sleeves and pajama pants. The broken heater doesn’t help your running cold either. You’re not sure where you caught it from but you’ve been trying to stay away from the brothers to not get them sick.

That doesn’t keep Dean away, though.

He’s a complete sweetheart to you since he always brings you soup, makes sure you’re comfortable, and spends time with you even if you tell him not to go near you. You don’t know what you’d do without Dean in your life.

Speaking of, he knocks on your door and enters wearing his usual hunting attire.

“Going on a hunt?” you ask and sit up slightly.

“Yeah. I wish I could stay here and take care of you.”

“Other people need you,” you smile. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to stay in bed, watch movies, and make some soup later. Did you fix the heater, yet?”

“I have someone coming in a few days. He’s also on a hunt.”

“Right, no non-hunters here,” you chuckle.

“I’ll call you later and check up on you, okay?”

“My hero.”

You cuddle with your blankets more and Dean leaves your room with a slight blush on his cheeks. Before he closes the door, he looks back at you in thought. God, if only you knew what you did to me.

He closes your door and meets his brother in the library. As soon as they are packed and ready to go, they start the long drive to the next state over. When Dean gets onto the highway, Sam turns to Dean with a knowing smile.

“So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Stay out of it, Sammy,” Dean rolls his eyes.

“How long have you had a thing for her? Years? When are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“I mean it, Sam. Stay out of it. I can handle it on my own.”

“Apparently not, or else she’d be yours.”

Dean punches his brother not gently in the arm and Sam laughs. Dean kept the music high so he could avoid talking about his feelings for you. They get to the town that has its residents sacrificing themselves in the name of God. If anything, it warrants some kind of visit from the Winchesters.

The town looks like a normal town with normal people just trying to live their normal lives. They have no suspicions that something is happening but they only just arrived. They get there late at night so they will have to do their work tomorrow morning. Dean takes out his phone when his brother goes into the bathroom to shower and calls you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?”

“I’m doing alright but not any better.”

“Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, I did.” He can hear the smile in your voice and that makes him smile. “And I ate my soup and drank water.”

“Don’t forget to tell her goodnight,” Sam says loudly from the bathroom.

Dean grabs a pillow and chucks it at his brother. “Go take a shower. You stink.”

“Goodnight, Dean,” you chuckle, having heard Sam.

“Night sweetheart.” He hangs up and turns to his brother with a scowl. “I hate you.”

Sam and Dean actually get more than four hours of sleep that night but when Dean wakes up, he doesn’t recognize his surroundings. The motel is gone, the shutty beds and blankets are gone, and the peeling wallpaper is gone. What replaces it is a nice trailer, a comfortable bed, a big aquarium, and other nice shit that Dean has never had.

“Sammy?” he calls out. He gets up and leaves the small trailer only to run into Sam. “What the hell is going on? Where are we?”

“I don’t know.” Sam looks around and spots a name on the side of the trailer that’s behind Dean. “Oh, no. Look.”

Dean turns and sees the name ‘Jensen Ackles’ on the side. He turns back around and sees ‘Jared Padalecki’ on the trailer opposite his.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? We’re back in actor land? What happened last time?”

“Gabriel sent us here to avoid Raphael and his minions. I have no idea how we ended up here.”

“I bet it has something to do with the fact that people were sacrificing themselves in the name of God. My guess is that angels are involved.”

“There you two are.” Sam and Dean turn to see Castiel--Misha--walking toward them. “They’re looking for you two.”

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

If Sam and Dean didn’t do a good job trying to act last time, then they certainly aren’t going to do a good job now. It’s funny in hindsight but it makes for a very long day of filming. After the twentieth time messing up, Dean is ready to get the hell out of there to figure out how to get back to his world.

He looks to the right and sees you at the snack bar. He immediately calls for a time-out and leaves the set.

“Time out?” the director frowns and looks at him. “Everyone, take ten!”

“Y/N?”

“Come here, you have to try this. Gen made it,” you grin at Dean. You take a scoopful of food and present it to him. He opens his mouth and accepts the food, pleasantly surprised by the taste. “Oh, you have something on your mouth.” You wipe his bottom lip with your thumb and lick the food off. Dean is so confused about your behavior but doesn’t have time to figure it out. Your phone rings and you check who is messaging you. “I gotta go. Gen is here.”

You lean up and kiss him quickly before walking off. Dean can’t move after that quick kiss. You did it so casually like you’ve done it a thousand times. He is forced to go back to acting but he can’t do a good job because all he’s thinking about is your lips on his.

They aren’t getting enough filming done so the director calls it for the rest of the day. Sam and Dean convene outside to make it look like they’re busy so no one else talks to them.

“She kissed me, dude.”

“What?”

“Y/N or the woman who she’s supposed to be. She kissed me like we’re together or something.”

“Look, I’m glad you’re going through the five stages of teenage excitement but can we focus here? How are we going to get out of here?”

Dean looks around and spots you entering his trailer.

“Eh, you’ll figure it out. I’ll be back.”

Dean leaves to his trailer and Sam rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Dean!” he hisses but receives no answer.

Dean enters his counterpart’s trailer and sees you where the bed is. You’re grabbing some night clothes out of the drawers since you’re not going to be leaving the trailer for the rest of the night.

“Hey, I talked to Gen about the cabin and she got it all set up for us this weekend. I’m so excited to spend some time away from all this for two days.”

“Are we dating?” The comment makes you laugh. “What?”

“Are you okay?” He looks kind of nervous so you walk over to him and wrap your arms around his neck. “I don’t know what’s going on with you but I do know how to make you feel better.”

“How?” he whispers.

You run your hands down his chest and take his hands. You take him to the bed and toss your night clothes onto a nearby chair. You fall onto the bed while pulling him so he lands on top of you but he stops himself with his hands so he doesn’t completely crush you.

You pull him down to kiss you and that’s enough to bring Dean into the delusion that you’re Y/N and you’re his. Your lips are softer than what he thought and your body fits so perfectly against his. He slips his tongue into your mouth to get familiar with you. You tug on his hair to get some traction so he pulls away from your mouth and kisses down your neck.

Your neck has always been a sensitive spot for you and he really knows how to work you up. He licks up and down your neck before latching onto the side of it. You gasp, tilt your head back, and moan something that brings Dean back down to reality.

“Jensen.” You’re not his. You’re not you. You’re Jensen’s. You’re not supposed to be with him. He pulls away and pants above you. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we just lay here instead?”

“Yeah, of course. Let me get changed.”

You slip out from underneath him and grab the pajamas you set aside earlier. You strip down naked and Dean has a hard time not looking at you. He can’t help but think you’re a complete stranger. The pajamas you’re wearing are revealing but he feels better at looking at you with clothes on. You climb into bed with him and cuddle into his side, and he tucks a strand of your hair behind your head.

“How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m the lucky one.”

“Tell me the story of how we met.” You look at him in confusion. “I want to hear it from you.”

“Okay, I got tickets to a red carpet event that my ex-friend invited me to. We were going to see the movie My Bloody Valentine because we thought it was going to be the next big movie. The entire cast was there, including you, meeting fans and taking pictures with them. When we locked eyes, it was like something was pulling you to me.

“You came over to me, complimented me on my dress, signed my poster with your number on it which I still have, and the rest is history. I never got together with you because you were a big celebrity. You were genuine, kind, funny, charming, and very sexy. It was hard not to fall in love with you.”

Dean notices the big ring on your finger and puts the pieces together.

“We’re married?”

“Yes, we are,” you laugh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m just… really happy.”

You lean over and kiss him. The next morning, Dean leaves his trailer before you get up. He doesn’t want to wake you even though he wants to. He finds Sam outside his own trailer with a book in his hands.

“Hey,” Dean sighs.

“I might have found a way out of here, no thanks to you.”

“What if we didn’t leave?”

“Are you kidding me?”

“The love of my life is my wife here.”

“That’s not your wife, Dean. She’s Jensen’s wife. She thinks you’re him. Why would you take that away from him? You have a girl waiting for you at home, a girl with whom you’re too scared to do anything about. Don’t take her away from him because you want what they have.”

Dean knows he’s right. He can’t stay here. He’s using this world as an escape from his own.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Dean sighs. “What do you have?”

“I found this book in the prop section. This might be a TV show but it does have some useful books to make it look real. There’s a ritual we can do.”

And a ritual it is. Once they get the stuff needed and perform it, they are brought back to the town they arrived in a couple of days ago. In order to properly tackle this town, they’re going to need some angelic help. Maybe Castiel can meet them back at the Bunker and figure something out then.

The first thing Dean does when he gets home is go looking for you. You’re still stuck in bed watching your favorite movies on Disney+. You pause your movie when your bedroom door opens.

“Hey, how was the hunt?” Dean doesn’t say anything as he kicks off his shoes. He climbs into bed with you and pulls you close to him. “Dean?”

“I love you,” he blurts. “I should have told you this years ago but I can’t seem to think straight when I’m with you. You make everything better for me, and you’re a better hunter than I ever was. God, I love you so much.”

“I’d kiss you but I don’t want to get you sick,” you smile.

“I don’t care,” he whispers and kisses you.

This is where he belongs. Right next to you.

x

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[omgitskaii]

love that y’all liked the hc’s so i’ll bring some more to the table:

sam sometimes ask castiel to check if his soul is intact; no matter how many times cas assures him it’s there, sam always doubts himself

cas gets phantom pain on his shoulder blades from his wings

when dean has nightmares, he often gets violent with himself or things around him; there’s occasions he’s woken up with deep scratches on his arms or his fingernails stubbed and bloody from abuse to his wall. he tries to hide them when he wakes up.

dean sometimes flinches whenever cas raises an arm to him. he tries to play it off when it happens, but cas will always notice and assure him with a gentle touch afterwards.

when dean was still hosting michael in his head, whenever he’d fall asleep, dean would unintentionally visit him in the bar. michael would taunt him through the door, so often that dean has come to believe some of the stuff he said. he doesn’t tell anyone.

there’s a pillow in the library dedicated to sam for whenever he falls asleep/passes out reading lore books or cataloging

dean will get someone else to hand him painkillers, saying he’s too lazy to get them himself. but it’s really because he doesn’t trust himself.

cas will intentionally seem “dense” just to make dean laugh and does it mostly to fuck with sam.

sam and dean will play mystery puzzle games together to try to do “normal things,” but both of them will just apply hunters lore to it, which makes the game 10x more complicated, and then both give up.

it’s a habit he picked up when he was a kid hunting with john, but dean will still try to hide his injuries no matter how bad they are. it’s gotten him into trouble on multiple occasions.

sam bites his nails when he’s nervous or stressed out.

sam keeps an old jacket that dean gave him once when he was a kid that was way too big for him, even in his teens. it was a ratty thing from the thrift store and dean picked it out for him because he was too cold in the motel their dad set them up in. sam still wears it sometimes. it finally fits now that he’s older.

dean is soft on jack and claire because he sees himself in them, but deep down it’s also to reconcile how he first failed ben. he thinks of him sometimes, and on one occasion has sent him an anonymous birthday card. he believes he’s not father material and wasn’t made for it, no matter how badly he wants it.

dean has turned tricks in order to fend for him and sam when he was young. he’s never told sam.

cas makes rounds in the bunker to make sure both brothers are safely asleep

sam hates needles

dean has spent a lot of his time alone studying spell books to find some way to safely see cas’ true form, or some extension of it. later on, when he finds a way to make it possible, assures rowena with a quick text that he knows what fifth base is now.

sam and cas make an effort to hang out one on one. they go out for coffees sometimes when dean is off on a solo hunt, trade notes on different pieces of history and lore, or they’ll watch lengthy documentaries together.

dean goes to visit bennys grave in louisiana

whenever cas is pissed off he’ll mutter things in enochian

both dean and rowena actually do make an effort to be friends. they both just pretend to be insufferable for the sake of appearances, even though they did initially hate eachother. they’ll occasionally meet up for drinks, and rowena calls it ‘girls night’ despite deans annoyance.

cas gets pissed (and/or jealous) whenever someone touches deans shoulder

sam will sometimes jump on dean on the couch or throw shit at him when he’s relaxing in his room to piss him off, because he’s an annoying little brother. in older sibling fashion, dean will always chase him around the bunker at least once when he gets fed up before inevitably giving up to grab a drink or when cas yells at them for being idiots

dean lets jack, claire, and cas put on their own music in the impala. sam is furious about it when he finds out, but also secretly happy for him knowing how personal that actually is for his brother.

they used to do this when they were little, but sam and dean will still share clothes sometimes, even though they are sometimes too big/small. dean will lend cas his clothes too. it’s more of a comfort thing.

dean buys fidget toys for sam. sam has a collection of fidget spinners in almost every room in the bunker and multiple laying around in the impala for when they have to do stakeouts.

selectively mute dean. there are times where dean will go a few days without talking, usually due to rough nightmares or hunts gone wrong. he’s tired of taking his anger out on people, so he keeps to himself.

cas has robotically perfect handwriting, even when he needs to write something down quickly

dean likes to sing when he’s alone and he’s very good at it, but will purposefully sing off key when anyone comes in. he’ll usually sing whenever he’s cooking or working on baby, using his tools or utensils as a microphone.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Google maps, wikipideia, and the spn wiki hate to see me coming right before I write a new chapter.

Chapter Title from Happiness is a butterfly by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 17.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: New enemies are made, and strange things are uncovered. Usual warnings

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

Chapter 15 - Chapter 17

Read on A03!

You can’t smell anything but sulfur. Hear anything but screams. See anything but foul, thick darkness, and iron chains, and rivers of blood below your feet. 

And Dean.

You can see Dean.

He never looks at you. You’re here, every fucking night, and he never turns around and looks at you. He’ll move right through you, and past you, and around you. 

It’s what you deserve.

You failed him. There are bruises and scars over the Gold, and they’re your fault. You were the weak one, and Dean’s suffering for it. He’s battered and worn and beaten down, there are little shadows swirling around his soul that keep it fully from your vision, and you fucking did this to him.

He glides through everything like it’s mechanical. Every last piece of the boyish, smug charm in his steps and voice and words are gone. He doesn’t even speak at all.

He never does anything more hold those weapons in his hands, and add blood to the floor. 

And Dean won’t look at you because he can’t see you. 

Because you’re not here to him at all.

You stopped trying to make him see you a while ago. When it became obvious that no matter how loud you screamed his name he wouldn’t hear, no matter how much you sobbed at his feet he wouldn’t notice, and that when you shoved him—hard, as if the sheer force of it could rocket him back up to your side—you passed right through him, as if you were the dead one.

You miss him.

You tell him that every night, over the screams of the other damned. That you miss him, and he’s gone and will never know it, but you’re going to keep missing him, and loving him, and telling him every night until you join him.

It’s easier than looking at the people on the racks in front of him. All the color spilling down with the blood. It’s like oil. Dark and glinting and covering the world.

But this is better than when it was gold, mixing with the blood. 

And you can see the souls of the people who are screaming now. Most of them are mundane. Dull, neutral, flat tones that you’d never look at twice.

But they’re not Golden.

And it’s not Dean’s fault he does this.

You’ve seen the comfortable, smooth, vile gray of the demon that’s over his shoulder. He can’t see or hear you—none of them can—but you still try to hurt him, every time he comes near. You did, when it was Dean on the rack, and you did it only minutes ago when he was pacing around the victim—a twisting smile forming in his rolling smoke—and you’ll keep doing it until you scream and scratch and it actually fucking does something.

It won’t. It never does. 

So you’ve settled for petty mockery, to ease that pain.

“He’s ugly, Deano.” You hum, examining your nails as he slices into another, cleaner soul with a knife.

He won’t hear you.

But it does make you feel better. 

“You wouldn’t like him, back home. You’d call him a douchebag.” You pause, watching him return to your side, but only to grab another tool. “You did call him a douchebag. A few weeks ago. And a lot of other, better names. You’ve always been better at insults, though.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You’d be proud of me.” You keep going. This whole thing is for you, anyway. “I called someone a cunt yesterday. But you also would’ve said ‘you do that without me too, Princess.’ And I do. But I- I still wanted to tell you.”

Dean picks up something like a poker, turning it over in his hand. Your voice is starting to get choked. 

This always fucking happens.

“I miss you.” You whisper. “I miss you so fucking much. And I know you’re gone, but I still miss you. And I-“ 

You always choke on the words. He’ll never hear them. You still need to say it anyway. 

“I love you, Dean.” You reach a slightly glowing hand up to his face, tracing over the lines of his cheeks, as he scowls at the victim over his shoulder. “I do. I love you, and I miss you, and I’m-“ You swallow down a weak, useless sob. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

There’s a brief moment where he pauses. Where you could fucking swear Dean leans into your touch, and the Gold flares a little brighter, and when green eyes scan over the fire and blood, it’s like he’s looking for something. 

You don’t cling to this a lot. He’s done it before.

And he still never sees you. 

Dean returns to his rack, and you sit by his side and keep your eyes trained on his pretty face, telling him more and more about your day while you can. While you have Dean—even this marred and darkened version of him, because you’re not a fucking saint and you love him more than you hate what he forced to be doing—you’ll talk to him as much as you can.

And you’ll be back later. Your mind hates you, so you’ll be back tomorrow night, and nothing will have changed.

For months, nothing has ever changed.

But you feel it before you hear it. 

Sheer, raw, pure fucking power, rocketing around and over you, making the air electric and hot and strange.

Something is coming.

And nobody else is reacting, in those few seconds before it begins.

Then the screams start, and Dean looks up.

He can hear them.

And they’re warped and distorted, so they’re demon screams, and you don’t know what the fuck is happening but whatever is shredding demons a few floors up is drawing closer.

You’re not really here. There’s nothing you can do. 

But you can sense it, cleaving through hell and getting far too fucking close, aimed like a cannon at Dean, and nobody can hear or see or touch you, but whatever this is, it’s coming for Dean, and you already fucking failed him-

You don’t think when you grab Dean’s arm.

And your nails sink into his skin.

Dean’s head whips around to where you’re standing, and he can see you. You know he can. His eyes are shining, and that river of silver light that’s been muddied over in his soul is starting to gleam the longer he stares, and-

He says your name. His voice is hoarse and rough, but Dean says your name, and if the power wasn’t so fucking close, you would’ve started crying.

“What’re you-“

Something nuclear slams into you, and you let go of him with a shriek. It’s loud. It’s so fucking loud, and it’s too much, and the Silver is trying to expand out of your body but it’s as if something—maybe the fact that you’re really, truly, not real here—is clamping and shoving it down.

Dean shouts your name as you collapse on the jagged stone, reaching for you with a panicked expression, but he never gets a chance to grab you.

The sky cleaves open, and it’s here.

Something rainbow and furious—made of a million eyes and shimmering fire—crashes down onto Dean’s little platform on six, beating wings.

It’s looking at you. A thousand fists go slack at its side, and all those burning eyes widen as it glances between you and Dean, who’s still trying to take slow steps back to where you’re lying on the ground.

“You should not be here.” It says. “Wake up.”

Everything feels like it’s burning. 

It might be the residue of Hell, and the fire, and whatever the fuck that thing in your dream was. But it’s probably just the humidity. The itching, wet heat of Bolivia, making the thin motel sheets stained with sweat and giving you a horrible fucking migraine.

Although the migraine is normal, now. You have it whenever you wake up, and Dean is ripped away from you once more.

Those dreams started when he died, and you don’t really know if they’re real, or just a sick, twisted part of your brain trying to offer you some relief, but they might continue for the rest of your fucking life.

Because every night you pass out with your knife in your hand, and you dream of Dean in Hell. Every morning you wake up with a weak noise and stinging in your eyes.

You hope it’s not real. 

You’ve given up on trying to rationalize how it may be, how it could be, how that might really be your Dean—his soul, beaten and shredded and surrounded by fire—because the idea makes you feel sick.

And you have other things to worry about.

There’s still a little bit of blood under your nails, and you’ve given up on scrubbing it away. You can’t get rid of it. You think it might be a buildup, after months and months of spilling it over your feet and staining it on your hands.

Months on the run. Months sleeping in your car and being anywhere but home, because you can’t. You fucking can’t. You broke your phone when Dean died, and you never went home. Home is where they brought Dean’s body. Home is where you’d see all your own hollowness reflected on Sam’s face, and have to pretend like something hasn’t withered away inside you both. Something that’s never going to grow again. Something you can feel, but Sam can’t, and you’re both going to have to keep fucking living with as the world only continues to turn without Dean.

Home is where Bobby would try to tell you that you were tough, and that you’d get through this, and that Dean wouldn’t want ya to kill yourself over him. He’d want ya to keep goin’, and mournin’ him cause we all miss him, but he ain’t gonna like it if we make this a big fuckin’ deal and join him.

Bobby would’ve been right, if you let him say that.

But you didn’t. And you don’t want to hear it. You know what Dean would’ve wanted. His last note is still folded up in your jacket, right next to where you keep your knife. And you don’t want the whole don’t try to mess with things and bring him back speech, because it doesn’t matter.

You tried to bring him back. In the first month, while you were still in the states, you summoned countless demons and told all of them to bring Dean Winchester back, but none of them would take your deal. And after you killed all of them, they started sending Lilith.

“I told you, little one.” She’d sighed, scanning over you in another empty warehouse. “You are untouchable, and Dean Winchester is not coming back.”

“He could.” You’d hissed, spinning the Blade in your hand. “If you stopped being such a fucking pussy, you could bring him back-“

“That is out of my power.”

“No, it’s not-“

“But if you were to try yourself,” Lilith had tilted her head at you, and the Silver had flared. “Who’s to say?”

You’re not stupid. You know she was baiting you. Trying to trick you into using the Silver more, into becoming more of whatever she thinks you are.

It doesn’t matter.

You’re past the point of caring about tricks and manipulations and grand evil plans. 

You just want Dean back.

So you were all in. 

The White and Darkness haven’t split, since he died. It’s remained melded into Silver, but volcanic and sparking and volatile. Still too far out of your control, still impossible to understand, but together. 

And it still really fucking hurts. 

But by now you can’t tell if the pain is the Silver, or just that hollow fucking grief. The loathing that keeps twisting over your skin and organs, reminding you that no matter how good you get at this—at controlling the Silver, at spells and rituals and enchantments, at working and working on being whatever you need to be to keep going—you’re no closer to bringing Dean back. You’ve read the Book a million times, but there’s nothing in there to help you raise the dead. You’ve travelled further and further south, looking for some sort of answer, but you’ve found nothing. 

Your flask has mixed a million potions, but every corpse has remained rotting in the ground. You’ve summoned a million spirits and demons, but none of them have had pretty features and or a drawling, teasing voice that calls you Princess and tells you everything is going to be okay. You’ve destroyed a million motel rooms and highways and abandoned buildings when the hollow, dreadful grief got the better of you, but Dean has never emerged from the wreckage. There have been a million failed experiments, a million sleepless nights on the roof of your car, and a million times you’ve goaded a monster or spirit into hurting you because you can’t hurt yourself.

It’s part of learning to use the Silver. Years of conditioning makes self-inflicted pain shred it—makes it recoil and whine—and you need to use it if you’re going to keep going. There’s no point in fighting it anymore. There’s no one left to stay better for.

And you’re sick in a new way, where you don’t really eat, and you laugh whenever a knife drives into your gut. Where you’ve started to hear Dean’s voice on the wind, and the world is colorless, and nothing will just fucking kill you, but it should.

You’re only a storm, now. Only a girl that’s infected and razed everything she’s touched, because there’s not any color left to preserve.

The Spiderweb is still clinging to your body. Running along your veins and nerves, right into the Silver, and empty.

No light cast around it. 

No Dean.

So you’re just the fucking storm. You’ve destroyed every green demon that’s come for you. You try not to kill the monsters with the Silver, but just because you’re back to the experiments. There’s always a little bit of gold stained on your fingertips with the blood, but it fades every day and you’re dreading the moment it’s gone for good.

You might break something more permanent, when it does.

And the Sky will finally stop fucking watching, and come for you. 

You don’t know what it’s breaking point will be. Maybe the next ritual from the Book you practice. Maybe the next demon you cut up. Maybe the next time you push the Silver a little too far over the edge, when you become far too big and you can feel the concentration of the earth below your feet to stay together, and you tell it to open up so you can go get Dean, and it finally does.

But for now, the Sky just fucking watches. 

You talk to it sometimes. When you can’t sleep and you have a migraine, when you can feel the stickiness of the heat and the pain of the rotting wood below your feet. You want it to know that you won’t stop. That until it fucking talks to you, comes for you and puts you down—or swallows you, or takes you away and locks you up—you’re not going to get better. You’ll keep being sick, and you’ll keep caving in on yourself, and if it’s not careful you’ll make sure you’re too fucking malevolent to take. 

You’ll ruin yourself. The Silver is a hurricane in your body, and you can escalate every ritual in the book to be almost as big as you are, until you fucking shatter something, and the Sky has no choice but to come bargain with you itself. 

John Winchester should’ve killed you when he met you.

You really are a fucking sickness. 

And you’ll only grow sicker, until you’re cured, force-fed medicine, or simply fucking dissipate. 

You still don’t know what you are. You’ve tried to find other witches, older witches, who might know, but nobody has. There was one crone, with wrinkle hands and blind eyes, who was centuries old and told you about the days where all of us were hunted, then paused and said, but not you, dear, they couldn’t hunt you. 

“Why?” You’d asked, leaning forward over her small, wooden table, and she’d shrugged.

“Hard to hunt something that’s not real, isn’t it?”

“But-“

“You wanted to learn about divination or not?”

You’d swallowed, and nodded. That’s what you were here for. What you’d been trying to do every month. 

Embracing the Silver—no matter how much it hurt and tore you apart, you really are trying to embrace the Silver—meant embracing witchcraft with it. Not just your own little experiments and rituals. The whole thing. Spells and hexes and too many Latin words and a million books.

The crone had showed you how to read tea leaves. 

She tried to show you how to read tea leaves. 

You’d looked into your cup, seen something like a bird, a book, and a cross, and the cup had burst into flame. 

You’d been thrown out of the crone’s cabin, and when you’d looked up, the Sky had been watching.

It had done that. You know it had. It didn’t seem to mind you learning more basic things—cleaning spells to keep yourself from living in filth, potions that let you stay awake for days on end when you couldn’t stand to see Dean in hell, rituals to test out new ideas—but it hated when you tried to look into the future. 

“You’re a fucking douchebag.” You’d snapped at it a few nights ago, standing on the top of a mountains after a hunt, wiping blood off your hands with a rag. “And I’m not going to stop. I’ll die before I stop.”

The Sky hadn’t responded. It didn’t need to.

You knew it was listening, and that it didn’t like the idea of you dying. The stars had gotten a little brighter in warning, and you’d flipped them off.

Warning was pointless.

You had fucking nothing to lose. 

You’d been hunting an acalica. A little old weather wizard, whose spit you’re keeping in your flask for when you need it. 

There’s a spell in the Book that calls for it. A tracking spell, to move you to a vortex of power. A point on the earth where magic is more powerful, where you could try and see what you can do, when barriers are weaker.

There are three on every continent, you’re pretty sure one is in Kansas, and Sam would’ve found that interesting. He would’ve said that there are no coincidences in this job, then asked you how you know about the vortex points. 

You would’ve told him that the book mentions them. That it’s full of tiny, odd and interesting notes that he’d like, and he can borrow it, if he wants.

You haven’t told him that, though. You haven’t spoken to Sam since Dean died. You haven’t spoken to Bobby, either. Or Jo.

It’s better like that. They don’t have to look at you and see the monster. Look at you and see just how horribly Dean’s death broke you, that you’re trying so fucking hard to remain yourself but you’re drowning in the Silver, and there’s no light at all to guide you back to the surface. 

It doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at your gut. You left Sam alone, right after he lost Dean. You stopped talking to Jo, after she put up with all your bullshit, all your desperation that ended up amounting to nothing. 

Bobby might think you’re dead. He’s always deserved a better, easier kid to deal with than you. He took you in without knowing, and he took care of you, and you just vanished off the face of the earth without a word. He might have burned your clothing and possessions, thinking you had died, and giving you a hunter’s funeral.

There’s a chance he did it with Dean. That he burned you away, right alongside Dean’s-

You don’t want to think about that. Whenever you do, you end up in the bathroom, vomiting up whatever little food is in your body, because the thought of Dean, shredded apart and empty and staring into-

Fuck.

You push off the stiff mattress, stumbling into the slightly molding bathroom and falling to your knees at the toilet. Your own retching manages to drown out the sounds of birds and bugs outside, the static, grating hum of the fan over your head.

You can’t stay here. Once you get all the ingredients for the vortex tracking spell, you’ll cast it and move out of town. 

You’ll get through this.

You fucking have to.

And maybe when you reach the vortex and turn yourself into nothing but Silver, infecting the earth and making it split apart so you can fall right into Hell, the Sky will finally fucking come down and talk to you. 

Sam, Bobby, and Jo don’t need to know that, either. That you’ve gone insane, and you’re talking to the Sky so often. That you think the Sky is watching you and waiting to take you for itself.

You’d sound insane. Like losing Dean finally tipped you over from reckless plans and odd words into downright nonsense. Babbling like a lunatic about the Sky and the colors and how you can’t really tell what you are anymore—more than before, you really don’t know what you are when everything is Silver but it still hurts—and you’re right back to the crazy little girl Bobby picked up on the side of the road.

They have each other. They don’t need you. Nobody’s ever needed you but Dean.

And you failed him. 

So it’s better for them not to know. 

When the last bit of your dinner falls out of your stomach, you can’t tell if you’re lightheaded from the heat or the nausea. It doesn’t really matter.

Neither food nor air conditioning will fix you. 

But just sitting here, staring at your bile and vomit in the toilet bowl, isn’t going to do you any favors. You have to go back up the mountain today, then run down it to get to your car, and no matter how sick you always are you still need the strength. 

To climb, and—if you need to—fight.

There’s a pretty high fucking chance those suit and tie assholes are going to find you again, and you’re going to have to fight.

That’s a problem for future you. More accurately for future them, because no matter how many times they tell you to stop, you won’t, and you always escape them unscathed. 

They can call you a monster, or a bitch, or a cunt, or a problem, or an abomination all they fucking want. It’s nothing you don’t already know. Nothing you’re not trying to be, because the human in you isn’t what’s going to make the Sky speak. The human won’t bring Dean back.

The demons didn’t stop hunting you because of the human. The Sky doesn’t watch you because of the human. The witches don’t take you in and teach your whatever you ask because of the human.

They do it because you show them the Blade, and they look at you with fearful awe, and give you food and shelter and all their books like you’re some sort of fucking Royalty. They watch you like you’re a bomb set to go off, glance at the Blade with wide eyes, and then send you out of their home like they can see that you’re a plague, and can’t wait to clean themselves of your disease.

You feel like an occupying army, whenever that happens. They act like they can’t say no, like it’s some sort of secret code you’re not allowed to be privy to, like you tell them how you can see their soul, and suddenly they’re obliged to aid you however you ask. 

“Do you know what I am?” 

Your words had been careful, the first and only time you dared to venture down that path, and the dark haired witch across the table had smiled at you.

She’d said she was old. Ancient. Thought dead across the ocean, and that you could call her Letitia as long as you never repeated her name. 

She’d seemed like the right type of person to ask.

“There’s no modern word for it.” She’d hummed, shuffling the tarot deck between long fingers. “Most witches you encounter will not know why they are listening to you, only that they must. You from the oldest of our kind. You are… a little more than us.” She’d titled her head at you. “But you’ve guessed that already, haven’t you?”

You’d nodded, spinning the blade in your hands. “Do you know the word?”

Letitia had laughed. “I’m old, but not that old.”

“Then how do you-“

“You’re like a folk tale.” She’d hummed. “The Grand Coven is taught to warn about the return of your kind, my mentor used to warn of it, but it had been so long since a true one was born… I never suspected to meet any of you. Let alone one of your… magnitude.”

You’d frowned at her. “What-“

“That knife in your hands cannot be wielded by just anyone. It’s just as much a legend as you are.”

That had made you sit a little straighter. If there was a legend, there was a story. And no matter how slowly Letitia spoke, you’d been willing to turn to stone in that chair, just for one fucking answer.

“Legend?”

She’d hummed, giving you a soft, almost crude smile. “Don’t ask me to recite it, child. It’s just as lost to time as your ancestors.”

You didn’t just give up. You couldn’t. You hadn’t driven the Firebird to fucking Peru just to give up. “Then how do you even know it’s real?”

“What color is my soul?”

“Dark purple.” You’d answered in half a second. “A little gray, too.”

Letitia’s smile had grown. “That. That is how I know.”

“But-“

“And you should practice that more often,” she’d started to deal the cards, her voice almost bored. “You are not going to find any witch in the Coven’s favor to help you with it, and it’s only a little more than a party trick. It could be much, much more.”

You hadn’t gotten to tell Letitia that you didn’t really fucking care to be more. That you just fucking wanted Dean back, and that was the only reason you were entertaining witchcraft at all. 

But you’d still taken her advice. The Book was filled with small notes on souls, on how they were forbidden to tamper with for most anyone, but the women of the high were like their keepers. Their tamers. Their crafters and wielders.

You’d been made to touch souls. 

You still just wanted Dean.

And if this was another way to maybe, possibly, desperately get to him, you’d fucking take it. 

So now you have a ritual. 

Clean and pack up the motel room, and move it all to the car. You won’t be here tomorrow night, and it’s better to sleep in the Firebird when you can. 

It’s still has a little bit of lingering Gold, too. Under the hood and over the stereo, twined into all the cassette tapes Dean left you that he’ll never get to-

One last stop in the bathroom, dry heaving until the thought of Dean with his brain out of his ears leaves your head.

Coffee. Food. You need fucking coffee and food, and it’s as good a place as any to practice. 

Sometimes, when you do this, you pretend Dean’s there with you. That you’re not at a tiny coffee-and-book shop in Bolivia, speaking broken Spanish and alone in the whole, washed-out world. Instead, in your head, you’re in a mall, Dean’s grinning at you across from a table with his second burger in hand, and you’re telling him everything you see because he’d make it easier to say.

Things were always easier with Dean. Easier to have, easier to do, easier to accept or fight or shout, but easier. More. The most.

You miss him.

You grab extra napkins, when they pass you the food, just in case you start crying again. 

You’ve gotten better about doing that on the side of highways, parked under trees and on cloudy nights so the sky can’t see, but it still slips out, sometimes. When you see the sunlight rippling over flowers and leaves, and hear soft birdsong, or feel your knife in your jacket and remember that Dean gave you both.

Technically he stole your jacket, then gave it back.

That doesn’t make you miss him any less. It’s only really effective in making you love him more. 

But he’s never going to feel sunlight on his skin again, or pick a flower again, or hear any sort of music and sing at the top of his lungs while the wind is in his hair, and he’s never going to be able to grumble about you using a knife instead of a gun, and you’re never going to be able to roll your eyes at him and tell him to shut up when really, you’d trade the whole fucking world to hear him say just one more word-

There’s the crying. 

Your coffee tastes a little salty now. 

You don’t care. You have some practice to do.

You train in on a small, light eyed woman in the corner of the shop. Reading a book and eat some bread, completely occupied in her own world. 

She won’t notice you staring at her. Pulling out a notebook and scratching down notes without thought, not looking for anything in particular.

Just practicing. Seeing what you can see.

She’s a soft but saturated green. Starting in her hands before spreading over her body. She shimmers a little, when she moves, and every single part of her is drawn together. Firm. Immovable. 

She goes in group four. Earthy souls.  

Because, the longer you’ve been doing this, the more you’ve been looking, the more you’ve been able to see.

It started with noticing more colors, running and moving over the first, stark one. Colors that fly away in a second, little layered bits bleeding through and out of each other. Sometimes they’re grooved deep into the soul, sometimes just stained on the surface, but they’re always there. Intricate. Like little extra bit of string, woven into each tapestry, making patterns that you have to know how to look for, in places you have to know how to find. 

And every soul looks different. That was the second thing. They’re like elements, once you’d studied them long enough. Raging up and around like fire, flowing like water, smooth like air, or—in the case of this woman, with her book—solid like earth.

Like Pokémon. Dean had muttered in the back of your ear, when you were coming up with the system. Or, wait, maybe like that horoscope bullshit.

If it had been real, you would’ve giggled and asked him what the hell he knew about Pokémon, and he would’ve grumbled that it was just a thought, but that he did think they were funny little sons of bitches. Then you would’ve asked him what his favorite Pokémon was, and he would’ve told you that he didn’t have one, and when the fake-argument finally ended—you would’ve won, because you always won those dumb fights—you would’ve explained that it wasn’t like Pokémon. That it was the Classical Greek elements, and that you didn’t know what that meant yet, but you had some working theories.

You would’ve shown your theories to Sam, to get his opinions. 

Dean would’ve called you freakin’ nerds, but refused to leave the table when Sam told him that he didn’t have to sit and listen, if you’re so bored. 

You would’ve smiled at him, and nudged his calf with your foot under the table, and he would’ve smiled back, and-

You’d just started crying again.

Just like you’re crying now. 

And the woman’s noticed. She’s looking at you like you’re odd—and you are, but it’s still annoying—and she’s closing her book, and standing up-

Shit. 

You don’t have a good cover, and you drop all your attention to your notebook and it’s words—floating slightly off the page as you try to get your shit together, and stop shaking with silent sobs where the Sky can see—as the woman cross the room to stand over you.

She introduces herself in Spanish. 

Your dumb blinks must have tipped her off that you don’t understand her, because she sighs, and repeats the introduction in English.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft. Like she actually cares.

You almost start fucking crying again. 

“Yeah, um, sorry, I-“ You can do better than this. You’re a good actress. You can slide into the innocent persona when you need to. You can.

You’re coming up empty, but you can.

“Your book,” you mumble, twisting the skin of your fingers. “Looked interesting. Sorry I was staring.”

The woman—Marta, she said—glances down to the worn paperback in her hands, and shakes her head. “It is alright. A little ridiculous.”

“Oh?” You don’t really care, but you still have to pretend you do. To sell it. “Would you recommend it?”

“Do you like ghost stories?”

You give her a grimacing smile. “Kind of, but I’ve heard a lot of them. I’m hard to impress.”

She hums, and drops into your spare seat. Apparently, this is now a conversation. “These are ghost stories. They are… beyond belief. But the characters are interesting. Sexy.”

You blink at her. “Huh. Sexy ghosts?”

“Sexy ghost hunters.”

“Hu- Fuck.” You’d dropped your fork. It had been spinning between your fingers, and you’d tossed it half across the room. You’ll get it later. “Sorry, did you say hunters?”

Marta nods, and places her book face up on the table. “Monster hunters. It is not well written, either.”

You pull the book a little closer, and the cover is… interesting. Two men—one with ridiculous hair, and the other shirtless for unknown reasons—standing before a big house on fire, with a shadowy figure in the doorway holding an axe.

The shirtless man is leaning against a sleek, black car.

His face is familiar.

Green eyes. Pretty features. Dark blond hair. 

There’s no fucking way.

“Supernatural?” You glance back up to Marta, keeping your face perfectly neutral, and she nods. 

“It is a series.” She taps cover of the book as she speaks. “This is the seventeenth book. Hell House.”

“What- Uh, what’s the series about?”

“Two brothers. They hunt the monsters.”

You swallow. “They’re the sexy ones?”

Marta nods, and you might throw up. Again.

“Is that one,” you tap the shirtless man on the cover. “Named Dean?”

“Oh, have you read them before?”

“I-“ Deep breaths. Everything is spinning, and the Silver is churning in your body, but you need to take deep breaths. “No. May I?”

Marta nods, says something about going to get another coffee—it’s a good thing she’s nice, or you would’ve had to steal her book and run—and leaves you to flip through this strange, impossible book.

It’s… worryingly accurate. Marta was right, it’s not well written, but you don’t really give a shit about that. You already know the story anyway.

Because you remember Dean calling you, all the way back when John was missing, and telling you about it. About the two idiots who’d interfered with the case, and how proud he and Sam were to gank a tulpa. You’d remember how he’d grumbled about you guessing that it was a tulpa before he even finished the story, and how he’d muttered a lot easier to work it out when you’re not fighting for your life, Princess.

You’d told him that it was also easier when you weren’t engaging in a prank war with your brother. Dean had snapped that he’d won that war, so it was worth it, and then Sam had shouted from somewhere in the background that they’d called a truce, so nobody won. 

The prank war was in here too. Right down the that stupid fish Dean had made you listen to—holding it up to the speaker until you hung up, and he called you back laughing like a handsome idiot—and superglued bottle Sam had been incredibly happy to tell you about. 

Those phone calls aren’t in here, even though they happened while they were still in the city. It’s the only thing that doesn’t line up with what you remember. Sam had even run the Hollywood producer thing by you. 

But other than that, it’s perfect. That’s even how Sam and Dean talk, in the dialogue.

You can hear his fucking voice, in your head. 

You would’ve started crying again, if you didn’t suddenly have a lot of new problems at once.

There’s a man, when you look up to the coffee counter, trying to check where Marta is in the line. A man dressed in a neat suit that must be stuck to his skin with all the heat, his hair perfectly combed and style, and his posture straight and self-assured.

Fuck.

They got here faster than you thought they would. You’re still not sure how they’re tracking you—you’ll have to go through the Firebird, one last time, just to make sure they didn’t fucking bug it again—but you’d recognized that dipshit anywhere.

Douchebag, Dean’s voice grumbles in your head. Fuckin’ douchebag.

He’s right. They’re douchebags. Idiotic, holier than thou, preachy fucking douchebags.

Marta’s not getting her book back. 

Because you’re shoving it into your bag, keeping one hand on the blade in your jacket, and booking it for the door.

The first gunshot goes off before you even push it open. Aimed right over your shoulder, making the glass shatter and slicing open your hand.

That’s pretty fucking rude. 

You were trying to play nice. 

You’ve been practicing a lot for this. You’ve done it several times over the past few months, since your first encounter with this douchebag, who—when you turn to glare at him—is unfazed by the screams around the shop, and has started to advance towards you with a military-grade rifle in hand.

You give him a sweet smile, wave with your bloodied hand, and let the Silver crash out of your body. 

Every window breaks at once, all the coffee bursts from the machines, your fork on the floor flies for his trigger hand, and you’re running. Booking it to the firebird with your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the parking lot and digging your keys out of your pockets as the suit roars your name behind you, but your car is faster is their’s, so you just have to fucking get in the-

“Slow down,” a voice drawls your name in your ear, right as a gun presses to the back of your head. “Here I thought you’d be happy to see us.”

You sigh, keeping your voice bored. Level. “I just don’t like surprises, Ketch. And I don’t like you, either.”

Ketch laughs in your ear. It’s a horrible, haughty sound.

Dean would’ve agreed. He would’ve snapped at you for being dumb and reckless and running around alone, when you knew these idiots were still hunting you, but he would’ve agreed all the same. 

You really fucking miss him. 

“I’ve told you to call me Arthur-“

“And I’ve told you to suck my dick.”

“There are those lovely manners, again. Such a charmer.” Ketch grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him and nodding to the Blade in your hand. “Drop it.”

You glance at the Blade. It was a dumb move to grab it, instead of the knife. You’re pretty sure Ketch doesn’t know anything about it—somehow, because these rich assholes seem to know everything—and you really don’t want him to touch it, but he’s got a fucking gun to your head. 

So you let the Blade clatter down to the ground, and move your foot to cover the hilt.

Ketch follows the movement, and raises his brows. 

“I don’t want to lose it.” You shrug, and douchebag two, rifle still in hand, comes up behind Ketch with a dry expression.

“I’d be more worried about yourself, darling.” Davis hums, setting his gun down on the roof of your car. His hand is bleeding worse than yours. Good. “I don’t know how you pulled that window hex off, but I’m sure our scholars will love to know.”

That’s the biggest advantage you have here. They really don’t know what you are. As far as Ketch and Davis are concerned, you’re just an American witch who’s lost her mind and is traveling to find herself. They don’t have a clue about your family, or Dean, or the Book, or the Silver. They need to capture you because you’re a powerful witch, and apparently some men and their letters are really concerned about that.

You’re not sure. You weren’t really paying attention when they gave you the speech—the first time they met you, in Mexico a few weeks after from Dean’s death, when they’d killed the witch who was showing you some basic healing potions and you escaped—and you’re not really paying attention now.

There are too many other things to worry about.

Ketch keeps looking at the Blade, and that’s going to be a problem. Davis is getting out the handcuffs, and you have no interest in going with them, but you can’t kill them either, so now you have to work around that. You miss Dean, but that’s just constant. You need to work out what the hell is going on with that book, and you can’t do that in a dungeon. Your hand is still bleeding—you’ll probably need stitches, or to heal it with the Silver—and it’s making you feel even worse than usual, and finally, Davis’ rifle is still on the hood of your car.

If it scratches the paint, on the car Dean fucking gave you, the whole no murder thing is going to go out the window very fast.

“I’m really not interested in spending another three nights in hotel torture dungeon.” You drawl, eyeing the cuff’s in Davis’ hands carefully. “So, uh, if I pinky promise to fuck off and stop being a witch-“

“Once a witch, always a witch.” Ketch shrugs. “Afraid we’re going to have to ship you on over. See if we can work out exactly what’s running through that pretty little head of yours, making you so… fascinating.”

You need a way out of this. Now. Ketch is wrapping a cloth gag around your mouth to stop you from casting any spells, and that won’t do fucking shit, but Davis has clicked on the cuffs. 

Their iron cuffs.

This is a really bad day.

This is, already, a really bad day, and you only got up a few hours ago. You can see Ketch and Davis’ souls—a muddy, awful orange and a surprisingly soft red, respectively—but you can’t really do much with it right now. The iron isn’t burning into you like it used to, but it still pushes the Silver down, makes it weaker, make you weaker. You’re still bleeding, and you didn’t eat that much—neither of those things are doing you any favors—and you’re so fucking tired. 

Tired of running. Of asking questions and only receiving confusing or empty answers, of finding more and more puzzles to solve and being completely stranded to solve them alone.

And you really fucking miss Dean.

Something flickers in your chest. Ketch is talking about how it’s going to be a nice flight, and you’ve been an interesting hunt so they’ll offer you some food—if he tries to feed you cheese with his hands again, you’re going to bite his fingers off—but you can’t really follow most of what he’s saying. 

There’s something flickering and shifting in your chest. And the Silver is bleeding out of you into the world like there’s no iron at all, and the Sky is watching. 

It’s staring at you, even though there’s really nothing to see. Ketch and Davis have been on your ass for months, and the Sky hasn’t really seemed to care all that much, because it knows you’ll be fine. The only time they’ve gotten you when they jumped you in Brazil, and you got out of that with barely a scratch. 

But the Sky is watching. 

And something is changing.

“Arthur.” Davis cuts off Ketches speech, and you don’t have to turn to know he’s looking at you. “Something’s wrong with her.”

Ketch rolls his eyes. “She’s just going through the depressive stages of grief. An animal knows when it’s been caught-“

“But-“

“He’s right,” you mutter, and you can feel the delicate joy of the leaves on the trees. There’s not a single cloud in the sky. “You should… Shit-“

You feel like you’re being torn in half. The Spiderweb feels like it’s being torn in half. Ripped open in a thin, neat line and strangled, and it’s been dead since you lost Dean but now-

You’ve only felt this pain once. On the side of the highway. 

And the Silver has never felt like this. Like it’s being electrocuted and burned and dropped from a million feet all at once, and there’s nothing to feel but everything. It’s bigger than when you grabbed the Blade for the first time. It’s bigger than any episode you’ve ever had, any time you’ve tried to use it and every time it’s been ripped from your body by emotion. 

You’re everything. More than everything. You’re every single space between the stars and all the fires in every hearth in the universe, and you’re the fabric of something thin and the wrath of something old, and none of that matters because you’re mostly in a field. Moving up and up and up and breaking through the surface, right into-

The world lights up. In a split second the Spiderweb is shot with something white-hot and blinding, and it seals it shut and rushes through your whole body until you can fucking feel the universe-

You rocket, fall, crash back down into yourself.

And—so peacefully, as if nothing was ever wrong at all—the Spiderweb is humming with color and light.

There’s air in your lungs, and the birds are singing, and there are little dewdrops clinging to the grass growing between the cracks in the pavement.

Dean’s alive. 

And the rush begins. 

At some point you must have screamed, or exploded, or something, because Ketch and Davis have been launched backwards into separate cars, and the handcuffs have fallen off your wrists. You yank Davis’ rifle off the hood of your Firebird, storm across the parking lot to Ketch—you like him less anyway—and kneel down with the barrel aimed at his temple.

You have no fucking clue how to operate this thing. 

Ketch doesn’t need to know that.

“How have you been tracking me?” You hiss, and Ketch blinks at you, slightly dazed. “Don’t lie. I’ll know.”

“Why, aren’t you full of surprises-“

“Answer the fucking question, or get your brains blown out.” 

Ketch sighs, scanning over your scowl wearily. “You are… not a normal witch.”

“Nope. How.”

“We have our ways.” He shrugs. “Cameras, trackers, tips. Don’t worry your little head about it, darling, as long as you’re in our jurisdiction, we’ll-“

You slam the gun into his temple, and he slumps over with a groan. 

He’s fine. His soul is burning from his wrists out, so he’s not dead. 

You really do have bigger things to worry about.

Dean’s alive. 

You leave town. Then, when you’re far away from Ketch and Davis and the sun has started to set, you park under the trees and pull out your metal block of a cell phone.

Your whole life, you’ve only had one phone number memorized.

And Bobby picks up after three calls. 

“Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but-“

You almost vomit out your own name. “It’s me, Bobby, and I’m sorry I vanished, I just- with Dean, and I couldn’t but, Bobby, you have to listen-“

Bobby cuts you off, his voice a little hoarse. “I- Normally I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but crazier shit has happened today, and I- I ain’t-“

“It’s me, Bobby, I swear, I-“ You take a long breath, dropping down to the pavement, leaning against the Firebird as you speak. “Two months after you found me, I got my period, and it was really heavy because I hadn’t had a real one before. I’d never- You’d been feeding me properly, and it was… really heavy. You went to the corner store two blocks down, and bought so many pads and tampons we had to dedicate a whole closet to them. You gave me my first root beer, and you let me watch cartoons all week, and I still wasn’t really talking but you bought me all those crayons, and I drew all over the walls. You weren’t angry. You cleaned them up, and then covered them in paper so I’d draw on that instead.” You swallow. “I started talking again the week after that. I sang along to the Bob Dylan record you been playing, while you worked. It was- Shit- I don’t-“

“Man of Constant Sorrow.” Bobby mutters, and you nod to the air.

“Yeah. That.”

There’s a moment of silence, and before you can damn it and just start screaming Dean, Dean’s alive, Bobby lets out a long, heavy sigh. 

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, kiddo, I ain’t been able to find you for months, and Ellen n’ Jo weren’t havin’ any luck either- It’s- We thought you were-“

“I know.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “I’m sorry. Bobby, I need to-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“Bol- Actually I crossed the border, so Brazil, but Bobby-“

“How the fuck did you get to Brazil-“

“Bobby!” Your scream tears through the parking lot. “I- Dean’s alive, he’s alive-“

“I know.”

You freeze, all the panic in your throat dying, leaving your voice small. “What?”

“He showed up a few hours ago, did all the tests and it’s-“ Bobby cuts himself off. “How’d you know he was back?”

“I got a feeling.“

Bobby grunts your name. Your fully name, with Singer instead of your usual last name. You didn’t even do anything. “What’d you do.”

“I didn’t- Nothing, I-“ 

“Kiddo-“

“I promise, Bobby, nothing. I just-“ You choke on the air, and the Spiderweb sings inside your chest. “I knew. I just knew.”

“You- Alright.” Bobby let out a long, slow sigh. “I believe ya. You, uh, you wanna-“

“Yes.”

Bobby grunts, and the seconds where there’s nothing but static on the phone are the longest of your life, and then-

Dean’s voice says your name through the speaker, deep and rough and Dean, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand.

He’s alive. You can fucking feel it in the Spiderweb, feel it deeper than your bones, but this is different. You’re not being haunted by him, by nightmares, by a constant, empty feeling of that’s where Dean’s supposed to be. He’s alive. Enough to hold a phone. To speak. To say your name, then repeat it with a nervous tone, and he’s alive-

“Dean?” 

“It’s-“ You think you can hear him swallow through the phone. “Yeah. ’S me.”

“I-“ You take a long, slow breath, pulling your knees to your chest. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“What happened?”

“I, uh, we’re not sure.” Dean sighs. “I mean, it wasn’t you? With your, I dunno, your magic shit-“

“I wasn’t me.” You whisper. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m alive anyways.”

You still failed him. He still died at all. “I know, I just- I was trying, De, I promise-“

���Yeah, shoulda guessed you were.” Dean pauses on the other end of the line, and when he speaks again, his voice is careful. “You’re coming home, right?”

“I am.” You bow your head, letting it rest on your knees. “I- There are a few things I need to take care of, but I will. Soon.”

“Are you- You’re not gonna fly-“

You let out a soft laugh, and you can taste the salt on your lips as you speak. “No. I’m driving.”

“Good. Has the car-“

“It’s been perfect.” You swallow, your voice turning into barely a breath. “Dean?”

“Princess.”

His voice is soft. Teasing. Like nothing at all has ever been, could ever be, wrong, just as long as he was talking to you. 

You love him, more than anything. 

And you glance down at your hands. 

There’s still blood under your fingernails.

And the world is Silver, but you’re not in control.

“When you find Sam, can you call me again? I have something I think both of you will want to see.”

“Sure.” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “You gonna tell me now?”

“No,” you smile into the air. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises, you know that-“

“I do.” You giggle. Fucking giggle. “You’re going to flip your shit about this one.”

He scoffs. “That’s not really putting my mind at ease, sweetheart-“

“It’s not supposed to. Drop it, Winchester, or I’m only telling Sam, and he won’t share it with you.”

Dean chuckles. “Bossy, Princess, don’t you know I just got out of hell?”

You swallow. 

You’re really sick of crying today. You’ve been sick of crying for four months. 

At least now you’re crying, and the tears hit the pavement, and for a brief second they’re golden in the light of the sunset.

And you can feel it.

Dean says your name cautiously, and you can’t say you love him. Not now. Not over the phone, when there’s blood on your hands and you know he’ll never blame you, but you still failed him. Still became a monster, only to not be the thing that saves him. But still-

“I missed you.” You whisper, and you don’t care if he can hear your sobs. He needs to know. To feel it. “I really, really missed you Dean.”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “I- Yeah. I missed you too, Princess. A lot. Coulda sworn for a second-“ He cuts himself off with a sigh. “Never mind, just- come home. Please.”

“I will. Pinky promise.”

He lets out a rough laugh, and the Spiderweb sparks through your body. “See you soon, sweetheart. I’ll call you when I grab Sammy.”

The line clicks off a few seconds later, and you swallow, tipping your head back until you can see the Sky.

It’s watching you. 

And Dean’s alive, and you can see every color, and-

All the stars flicker.

It’s a warning.

And you’re still the monster. Still being hunted.

But nothing is more important than getting home.

Getting back to Dean.

——————

One of the pros of being brought back from the dead was supposed to be that Dean got life back. That he could listen to music in his car, and eat burgers and beer with Bobby, and talk to Sammy as much as he goddamn wanted. Everything did keep moving, and he could remember every single fucking second of Hell—although he was trying real damn hard not to think about it where Sammy might see, might get worried—and there didn’t seem to be a way out of the fight, but Dean was supposed to have life back.

But he didn’t have Her. She wasn’t back home.

She’d sounded happy to hear Dean over the phone, but that had been damn near two months ago.

And Dean missed Her.

He fucking missed Her, and She hadn’t called them since.

Dean called that being MIA.

Nobody else seemed to agree.

“How long-“

“Dude.” Sam glanced over at Dean from the passenger’s seat, his tone flat. “If you ask me one more time how long it takes to drive from Brazil to America, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

Dean scowled. He hadn’t been asking that much. It had been almost a whole freakin’ day since he last asked.

“I just don’t know why she’s taking this long, alright?” Dean tapped his fingers against the wheel, glaring at the road ahead of them. Maybe if he glared hard enough, She’d just appear, and Dean could touch Her. Hold Her. Hug Her. Kiss-

“They’re two separated continents, Dean.” Sam sighed, cutting off Dean’s thoughts. “I mean, I took her four months to get down there, and she’ll have to stop for gas and food, and we don’t know what she’s been up to that whole time. Maybe she’s got loose ends to tie up before she heads back to the states.”

“You don’t-“ Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Sam, what if-“

“Not those loose ends.”

“There’s always a fucking chance-“

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, but she wouldn’t.”

She would. She absolutely fucking would, because She liked giving Dean heart attacks and she thought she was untouchable or something. There was a very goddamn high chance She’d gotten herself tangled in something, and there was nobody to help Her, or get her out. Maybe She was having an episode, and Dean wasn’t there to bring Her down. Maybe She needed him, and he wasn’t fucking there.

“I mean,” Sam let out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “I’d be more worried about what you’re going to say to her, when she does get back, than any boyfriends she’s not gonna have.”

Dean paused.

They were talking about very, very different things.

“I’m worried she’s in trouble, Sammy.” 

“Oh. Yeah. She would do that.”

Dean shot him a glare. “That’s not. fucking helpful-“

“She’ll be fine, man, she’s, you know.” Sam waved to the air as he said Her name, and he was right.

Dean hadn’t been there for four months, and She hadn’t gotten herself killed. She’d been without him for longer, and lived through that just fine as well. She had all Her magic stuff, and She was awesome, and she didn’t need Dean to survive. He wasn’t water or oxygen or food.

No one needed Dean. They’d missed him, but they didn’t need him.

Except the angels. For really stupid and cryptic reasons, the angels needed him.

And Dean really, really wanted Her to meet the angels. She’d have opinions, and choice words, and Dean would stand behind Her in the shadows while she fixed everything, because that was what She always did.

Maybe the feathered douchebags would know what She was, and it wouldn’t be that big a deal after all, and this time Dean would get to keep her in a way that stuck.

He didn’t deserve to. He didn’t deserve fucking anything—after what he’d done in Hell, who he’d become to survive, like some sort of fucking animal—but he really goddamn wanted to. He wanted to keep being Her shadow more than anything, and he wanted Her to come home, and he- 

Dean really just fucking wanted Her. Alistair had broken a lot of goddamn things in him, but the asshole hadn’t broken that. That couldn’t be broken.

Dean wanted Her.

And She didn’t need Dean, but She’d said she wanted him.

He paused, frowning at the road.

“Sam.”

“What-“

“Why’d you think she wouldn’t- You know.” He didn’t want to say it. Just the thought was making his stomach turn. “Have loose ends.”

Sam just shrugged. “Because it’s her.” 

That wasn’t an answer. Dean wanted a solid answer, that he could fucking point to. 

“I should go get her.” He muttered. He didn’t know how that would work, or where She was, but he’d find her. Make sure She was safe, and didn’t hate him for leaving her behind, and safe.

Dean had said safe twice.

But he really fucking needed Her to be safe.

“She’s fine, Dean-“

“Maybe she’s not.” He snapped. “And it’s not like- I mean, how important is this book shit anyway.”

Sam sighed. “Very important. And she’s the one who sent them to us, she’d want us to follow through.”

She would want them to follow through. She’d want answers more than anything. And Dean wanted answers too—because whoever the hell Chuck Shurley thought he was, Dean wasn’t interested in having his whole freakin’ life published for entertainment—but he wanted Her more.

“I just-“

“Dean, they’re books about our lives. And you know, speaking of,” Sam said Her name slowly, and when Dean glanced over, he was frowning. “It’s- it’s weird.”

“Yeah, this whole thing is fucking bananas-“

“No, it’s-“ Sam paused, flipping through the pages. “This is the last copy, right? Of all the books?”

“I dunno, you’re the one who’s been reading them.” Dean gave him a pointed look. “You know everything that happens, dude-“

“I know, I was just curious, okay? And it’s good I did read all of them, Dean-“

“Why, are you starting a freakin’ book club-“

Sam snapped Her name, and Dean’s whole heart seemed to explode. “She’s not in these. At all.”

Dean paused. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“I mean- The books start when you came to get me from Stanford, right? Dad goes missing, we gank that Lady in White, and Jess dies.”

“Yeah, and they end when I go to Hell, you’re not answering my question-“

“I know, just listen, dude, okay?”

Dean felt his grip tighten on the wheel, but he nodded, and Sammy let out a long breath.

“These are all about our bigger hunts. The wendigo, our first demon, that shapeshifter asshole, but not the onryo. It just goes right from that bug curse to the poltergeist. And you never mention her, at all-“

“Sammy-“

“You talk about her all the time-“

“No, I-“

“It’s just us, Dean.” Sam shot him a pointed look. “You do. And even if you didn’t, I don’t talk about her either. The books never mention us calling her for advice, or talking about her at all, and then- You sleep with someone else, dude.”

Dean scowled. “I sleep with people, Sam, I’m a freakin’ adult-“

“Yeah, but you remember that racist trucker?”

“The one in Ohio?”

Sam nodded. “How do you remember that happening?”

Dean frowned, tapping his hands on the wheel as he tried to remember the details of that hunt. “I, you read about it in the paper, we took care of it, then we dipped. Why, what-“

“In these,” Sam tapped the cover of the book. “That chick, Cassie, she asks you to take care of it. And you call her your first love.”

“I- What?” Dean shook his head, his brain flicking to bright eyes and warm body, pressed right into his under a pillow fort, as that word sunk into his head. “Cassie was just a one-night stand, when I was hunting by myself-“

“I know that. But in these, she’s your first love.”

“I mean, she was cool, but I was…”

He’d been hunting with Her, when he’d met Cassie. They’d ganked a Ventala, She’d left when he mentioned Dad was heading in—the same way She always did, which Dean was going to have to ask her about, now that his death wasn’t looming over their heads—and he’d needed company. Any company. Cassie had been there, and she’d been smoking hot, but Dean didn’t remember the sex as much as he remembered Her, smiling at him and bumping their shoulders together and saying his name.

He’d thought about that, while he fucked Cassie. And he hadn’t been proud of it, but he’d swallowed a groan of Her name, several times, then left in the morning. 

“I know.” Sam repeated, when it became clear Dean wasn’t going to keep talking. “But get this, it’s not just that. There’s no Kelpie hunt, and when we head to Bobby’s for help with the demons, it’s after we find Dad. And Bobby never mentions her. At all. Plus when we dealt with that Changeling, the girl you hooked up with in that town-“

“Uh, Lena?”

“Lisa. In this you go there specially to see her, and she has a son. Who’s a lot like you.” Sam frowned. “I don’t know about you, Dean, but I don’t remember that kid being anything like you.”

Dean didn’t either. He barely remembered that hunt at all. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, you remember that chick with the rabbit’s foot, who stole the colt? Bela?”

Dean grunted in acknowledgment, and Sam continued.

“She’s in here a lot. I don’t remember her ever showing up, after the whole thing with Hendrickson. It’s-“ Sam said Her name, watching Dean carefully. “She yelled at Bela, after we told her we lost the Colt. Called her and chewed her out-“

“Threatened to put her through a wood grinder, if the bitch didn’t leave us alone.” Dean couldn’t stop his grin. “I remember. So?”

“So that never happened.”

Dean frowned. “That’s- Huh.”

“And,” Sam mumbled Her name again. “She not at the hospital, either. After your accident. And she wasn’t really- you know- around, after Dad’s death, but neither of us talk about her. Jo doesn’t, either. And you,” Sam cleared his throat. “You seem to have a thing with Jo.”

Dean revolted slightly. “Gross, she’s like my sister-“

“Yeah, a lot of the… minimal readers seemed to agree.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair and slumping in his seat. “I looked online, on those weird forums Bobby found, and Jo was so unpopular Shurley ‘wrote her out’ while we were dealing with your deal.”

“What do you mean, wrote her out-“

“I mean she’s not around.” Sam sighed. “Jo just vanishes. Same with Ellen.”

“And,” Dean said Her name carefully, because that was how it had to be said. “She’s just- Not there at all?”

“Nope. Not even once.” Sam flipped back through the book in his hand. “In these books you still end up dying in Indiana, exact same way, but there’s no mention of Hell’s Assassin’s, or you and Bobby leaving her behind, or the arrowhead and blade, or her book. There’s just- It’s like she’s been erased.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened.

Sam had been right. 

This book shit was important. 

And it took a minute to get settled, when they reached Chuck’s house. A little extra time to convince him that they weren’t fans, they were people, with goddamn lives that Chuck had been stealing for profit. The asshole was small and weird and frantic, and they had bigger priorities than just Dean’s biting question, but had to ask it. Had to know why She’d ever been taken out of his life, even in a fucking book, because he needed Her. He goddamn needed Her, and he didn’t want to lose her, and it couldn’t because She wasn’t interesting enough for Shurley’s stupid fucking books, because She was awesome and funny and pretty and-

“He’s- uh- he’s glaring at me a lot.” Chuck shot Dean a nervous look, and Dean felt his fists curl. “Look, I’ve told you guys, I really am sorry but if we’re sure I’m not a god, there’s nothing I can do to help you-“

“Dean’s been having a rough few months.” Sam muttered, shifting in his chair. “Dude, can you stand down? I know you want to- you know- But we should figure out what the hell is going on, first.”

Dean shot Sam a quick glare. “It could help, Sammy. Maybe he doesn’t know anything about her, and he’s just- I dunno, a really freakin’ good guesser-“

“I like that.” Chuck jumped in, looking between Sam and Dean with the same nervous expression he’d been wearing all damn day. “I mean- I can be a good guesser. I used to win bar trivia, just by guessing all the answers-“

“That’s great, Chuck, just-“ Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean, that’s- I mean, you’re right, but maybe it’s nothing-“

“It’s not nothing, Sam, you’re the one who fucking pointed it out to me-“

“Yeah, but I mostly wanted you to not turn around and drive to Brazil-“

“Brazil?” Chuck squeaked, gaping at Dean. They didn’t have time for this. “I- I haven’t written about Brazil-“

Sam frowned. “You haven’t?”

“No? I mean, should I have?”

Sam said Her name carefully. “She’s in Brazil. Was in Brazil. We’re not sure where she is now, actually.”

Dean swallowed the bile in his throat. She was fine. She had to be fine.

“And, uh,” Sam paused, watching Chuck carefully. “Have you just- I read all your books, and-“

“You did?” Chuck’s eyes widened. “Did you like them?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh. Was it the writing? Or the plot?”

Sam sighed. “I just, uh, they weren’t really my thing. Sorry. But-“

“Is it because-“

Dean pushed off his place on the wall, stalking across the room to stand right over Chuck’s desk. They didn’t have the time for this, and he didn’t have the goddamn patience. Chuck could squeak all he fucking wanted—when Dean slammed his fists down on the desk—and Sam could sigh and mutter a half-hearted c’mon, dude, but Dean didn’t give a shit. He needed answers. Now.

He snapped Her name, pointing to one of the beaten-down book copies on Chuck’s desk. “Where the hell is she in these?”

Chuck just blinked at him, and Dean scowled.

“The smart witch chick, about yay tall,” Dean held his hand up to Her height, never taking his eyes off Chuck. “Best hunter in the country, Bobby’s daughter, never uses a gun-“

“The one Dean’s had a crush on for years.” Sam jumped in, and Dean shot straight up with a glower.

“I do not have a crush-“

“That’s true, I guess you’re more in love with her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Sam-“

Chuck raised his hand, the movement small and nervous. “I, um, I know who we’re talking about, now.”

Sam frowned. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Chuck said Her name carefully, eyeing Dean like he was some sort of rabid dog. “But she’s not in the books.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we got that, Einstein. Why.”

Chuck shrugged. “She didn’t fit in your story.”

There was a long, heavy moment of silence, as the words hung in the air of the room. 

She didn’t fit. 

In Dean’s story. 

It was beyond insane. Nobody, not a single goddamn person, had ever fit with Dean as well as She did. He’d held Her, and She’d fit. He spoke to Her and it was like bouncing a tennis ball off a jail cell, only the jail cell was a five-star hotel, and the ball was Her siren-like voice calling Dean down, down, down. And all of the world was technicolor, and the cavity in Dean’s chest was filled with Silver, and he wasn’t fucking good at metaphors but She fit. She was part of his life, She’d always been part of his life, and he’d spent wasted years trying to force Her out of his head only to never feel better than when he was in Her orbit, and he fucking-

She was the universe, She was bigger than the universe, She was gorgeous and brilliant and brighter than the goddamn sun, and She fit with Dean-

“Is he, uh,” Chuck swallowed. “If he hits me, I am going to call the cops, just so you know-“

“Don’t call the cops.” Sam muttered. “Dean, relax, at least he knows who she is, right?”

That was worse. So much worse. Chuck knew who She was, and he didn’t think She fucking fit.

“What do you know about her.” Dean grunted, bracing his arms on Chuck’s desk. “Talk.”

“I, um, it doesn’t feel that important if she’s not in the books, right?”

He looked over Dean’s shoulder, desperation all over his stupid face, and Sam sighed. Again.

“No, Dean’s right. I mean, he’s being weird about it-“

“Sam-“

“But we do need to know.” Sam ignored Dean’s low warning, continuing as he moved to stand at the desk as well. “It’ll help us figure out what you do and don’t know, how focused you are on our lives, if- you know-“

Sam shot Dean a firm look, and Dean understood.

Her magic. Her whole thing, that none of them understood.

Chuck might know about that. Have some real fucking answers about it.

Answers She’d want.

Dean couldn’t beat the man up, if only so maybe She could get some answers. 

“Know?” Chuck looked between them, leaning back in his chair. “Know what?”

“Just tell us what you know, Tolkien.” Dean grunted, and Chuck’s eyes widened.

“You think I’m like Tolkien?! I- That’s so kind-“

“Chuck.” Sam muttered Her name. “Focus on her.”

“Right, um, just whatever I can think of?” 

Dean gave a sharp nod, and Chuck sighed.

“I mean, she’s interesting, right? A good character- I mean, person? I don’t know, this is still really confusing, is it better if I call her a character or person-“

“Person.” Dean grunted. “She’s a fucking person.”

Chuck swallowed. “Right, uh, person. She’s a good person, and- I’m sorry, this is really weird-“

“Look, man.” Sam’s voice was level. Obviously, painfully controlled. “We know. Believe me, we know. But you just- Talk about her like you’re describing the characters.”

Dean shot him a glare. “Sammy-“

“We know she’s a person, Dean. We need to know what he knows.” Sam nodded to Chuck. “Talk, man. Now.”

“I, um, yeah.” Chuck took a deep breath, said Her name, and Dean was going to punch him square in his stupid face. “I- I’ve only ever really thought about her when she was with you guys. So I know that Bobby found her on the side of the highway, and that her family is weird, and that she started hunting by herself when she was really young, but not much about her past-“

“Really?” Sam frowned, leaning forward. “So really only us? I mean, we already know about all that stuff-“

“Because I only thought about you two.” Chuck gave Dean a weary look. “I know about how you met her, but after you left there’s really not much else until you and John found her with that… uh-“

“Poltergeist.” Dean grunted, and Sam shot him an odd look. “Little while after you left for college, Dad and I ran into her on another hunt. I got knocked down, and they ganked the son of a bitch-“

“Actually,” Chuck cut in, and flinches slightly under Dean’s glare. “Sorry, just, John didn’t do much. On that hunt. I remember her setting the poltergeist on fire. It was just her.”

Dean frowned. “On fire? So you- I was down by then-“

“But you were still there.” Chuck mumbled. “I know about all the hunts she did with you, Dean. The ones that you were hiding from your dad. And she used her, um, her powers? Magic? I’m not sure, but she used them a lot, you just never noticed. I mean, you’d get beat up by a demon or monster, and then she’d… you know.” Chuck made a wide, explosion gesture with his hands before he continued. “One time, at a mall, you broke your hand, and she healed it.”

Dean swallowed. He felt fucking sick, and hot all over his skin, and god fucking damn it, of course She’d been using it the whole time. Of course She’d been healing him and saving his worthless ass, and he’d been a dick to her, and he was the lowest piece of shit on the goddamn planet.

“Well,” Sam gave Dean a careful look as he spoke. “If you know about her… stuff, why not add it in the story?”

“I just-“ Chuck sighed. “She has her own whole thing going on, and it was just- I was too much to track! I had to do some extra work to get around it, but it made the story better!”

Dean scoffed. “I ain’t read these books, Chuckles, but they don’t exactly seem to be classic freakin’ literature-“

“But they’re not supposed to be!” Chuck protested. “They were just supposed to be fun stories, that people liked! I mean, I could never stop thinking about them, about you guys, so I had to write them! I had to!”

“Then you shouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about her, either!” Dean’s voice was rising to a shout. Almost a bark. He didn’t really care, because if he’d been haunted by her for eight goddamn years, there was no goddamn way Chuck could just not be. It was what She did. She existed everywhere, and Dean never stopped fucking thinking about her, dead or alive, and everything always smell a little like-

Shit.

Dean grunted Her name. “What does she smell like?”

Sam gaped at him slightly. “Dean-“

“Shut up, Sammy, it’s an important question.”

“How-“

“Dean hasn’t been able to stop think about what she smells like.” Chuck said, and he was right, but Dean still wanted to shoot him. “And I, um, I don’t know.”

“No.” Dean shook his head, tapping on of the books. “Everything’s in here, and if you know her as well as you claim-“

“I don’t know her!” Chuck was almost fucking whining now. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I don’t know what she smells like! I was only ever to think about how you thought she smelled, and how you didn’t know what it was, that’s it!”

Sam cleared his throat, looking between Dean and Chuck with a frown. “I- Sorry, I’m lost, Dean, you know what she smells like, you’ve seen her perfume-“

“It’s not that.” Dean muttered, feeling his brows draw tight together. “She- That freakin’ fruit smell, Sammy. It’s that.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t- I’ve never really smelled her, man.”

“No, you have. ” Chuck sighed. “It’s- You just never think about it, Sam. Especially not since that whole plot arc with Azazel.”

Dean frowned. “Then why am I-“

“I don’t know. I really don’t, guys, I’m sorry. And this,” he gestured vaguely around them. “Is exactly why she’s not in the books! There’s- It’s just too much, and nobody even liked any of the love interests anyway-“

“That’s because none of them were her-“

“Dean.” Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a cautious look that Dean recognized. 

The fight wasn’t worth it. Even if it was for Her, the fight wasn’t worth it. Chuck wouldn’t talk if they freaked him out. 

Reel it in. Keep his head level.

Do what She’d do, not what Dean would do. Think about it, find an angle, then work it until he was right.

Dean wasn’t Her. He wasn’t a genius, or magic, or anything important at all. And if She wasn’t in Brazil, or Bolivia, or Mexico, or whatever, She’d have figured this out. She’d look at Chuck and ask him if he ever ate anything odd in his childhood, and the idiot would say yeah, a weird plum, and She’d start talking about magic plums that gave people psychic powers.

But She wasn’t here. And Chuck didn’t look like a plum kind of dude.

So Dean would keep it together, but for Sammy. For Her. 

“Look, Chucky,” Dean pushed off the desk, raising his brows. “Can I call you Chucky?”

“I’d prefer not-“

“Too bad.” Chuck could earn veto rights when all this started making goddamn sense, so Dean just said Her name and really tried not to sound too pathetic about it. “The thing about her is that she is not a negotiable part of our lives.”

Chuck swallowed. “Uh, I don’t-“

“He’s right.” Sam muttered. “Half those cases would’ve never been solved without her. She worked harder than anyone to save Dean, and Bobby will be the first to admit that she knows way more about demons-“

“Bobby’s real-“

“We’re all real, douchebag.” Dean hissed. “I’m real, Sammy’s real, Ruby’s, unfortunately, real-“

Sam shot him a flat look. “Dean-“

Dean ignored him. “Dad was real, Azazel was real, Bobby is real, so’s Jo, who-“ Dean pointed at Chuck with a scowl. “For the damn record, I have never thought about in a way that is not 100% above board-“

“I know, Dean.” Chuck rubbed his face between his hands, letting out a long, slow breath. “And I’m sorry about that, but I- I don’t know, I couldn’t spend the whole special children arc writing about how much you missed a woman that I hadn’t included-“

Dean raised his hand, narrowing his eyes. Half because he still had some damn questions, half because Sam probably already knew how much Dean had missed Her—if the smirk on the bitch’s face was any indication—but there was no reason to give him more. 

“The hell are you talking about, you know what I was thinking.” He muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I mean when I write, I can… I’ve seen all your guys thoughts. Inner desires. Likes and dislikes and dreams and hopes-“

Sam frowned. “All of them? What about, I don’t know, things we don’t even know ourselves-“

“Maybe? I don’t know. This morning when I woke up, I was just thinking about, I don’t know, snow cones? And then I was thinking about you guys, and how you just worked that wishing well case, and how you both have been really hung up on it. Dean keeps thinking about how he’d wish for uh,” Chuck cleared his throat, mumbled Her name, and Dean felt his body go rigid.

He had been thinking about that. He’d been thinking about how if they hadn’t been more careful, and that wishing well thing was real, he’d wish for Her in a heartbeat. To come home, and have whatever kind of fancy life she wanted after Dean got to hold Her one more time. Because there was a chance Her dream life wouldn’t include him. It might have before, but he hadn’t become worse than a demon in hell, and She hadn’t vanished off the face off the earth for four months, and maybe She’d never forgiven him for leaving her, at the end, and Her dream life would be far, far away from Dean and how dark and vile he was, as long as was without Her light, but he could live with that-

“He’s thinking about it right now, I think.” Chuck mumbled, and Dean was going to break a jaw. Chuck’s or his own.

“Shut up.” He grunted. “If you’re not a psychic, how’d you know what we’re thinking?”

“I- I’m not sure, I was just guessing. You- He thinks about her a lot!” Chuck looked to Sam, his voice growing pleading. “I was just gambling based off of what I know about you guys, I swear-“

“Yeah, I believe you, calm down.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You still haven’t explained why our best friend isn’t in these, Chuck. You’d really have to write around that, I mean, that last month before the hellhounds Dean almost never left her side-“

“I remember.” Chuck sighed. “But I had already written her out, when you guys were looking for your dad, and I couldn’t just introduce her so late, readers would have had questions-“

Sam drew his lips in thin line, throwing Dean an exhausted look, and Dean took a long, slow breath.

“How about this, Chucky.” He grunted. “Why’d you write her out in the first place?”

“I told you, she just didn’t fit. Like, that thing I was just talking about, where I know so much about you guys? I’ve never been able to do that for her!”

Sam frowned. “Well, do you know, I dunno, all the stuff about Bobby?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Chuck nodded desperately. “I thought I was just giving them all backstories and stuff, and I could just never come up with one for her, so I dunno, I left it? Everything else was coming so easy. I knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings and history, but she was just this mystery that my brain wouldn’t let me solve, even though I had created it-“

“You didn’t create her-“

Chuck cut off Dean’s growl with a shake of his head. “I know, I do, but I thought I had, and there was just no way for me to properly write her! Like, Sam, you read all the books, right?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, why-“

“There are scenes where you guys aren’t there at all, right? All the prologues where the first victim happens, the one that brings you to the case, or scenes where side characters are talking to each other-“

“I know how books work, man-“

“Well I could see into those characters emotions! I knew how freaked out Jo was, in No Exit, and how worried Bobby was about Dean, in No Rest for the Wicked, all the victims of the monsters, how afraid they-“ Chuck paled. “Oh, god, all those people really died didn’t they-“

“Yeah, they did.” Dean leaned forward, holding Chuck’s gaze. “That’s the job, buddy. Keep talking about my- About her.”

“Uh, it’s-“ Chuck swallowed. “I never could look into her. Like with your dad, and her, and Azazel. I knew Azazel was amused, but still a little worried, and that John was really stressed and disgusted, but-“

“Disgusted?” Sam cut in, his brow drawn together. “By Azazel-“

Chuck shook his head, saying her name slowly. “By her. It’s- Azazel told him, and he- Oh. Shit.”

It was Dean’s jaw. Dean’s jaw was going to break. “What the fuck are you talking about, Azazel-“

“I actually knew that,” Sam said with a frown. “Dad told me Azazel told him everything, that he was trying to rile Dad up, and when he went to look for her after the deal, she was gone. But- She was there? During the deal?”

Chuck swallowed, nodding nervously. “I- I’m sorry, I forgot you guys didn’t know already, I should’ve have said anything just forget- Fuck!”

Dean had grabbed Chuck by the collar of his shirt before he could think about it. Yanking him forward across the desk until they were nose to nose, damning all of Sam’s keep it together shit because it’s been long goddamn year—forty of them, in fucking Hell, alone and without Her—and he need to know what the fuck Chuck was saying about Her and Dad, now-

“Dean. Release him.”

Chuck’s eyes darted over Dean’s shoulder, and god fucking damn it, they couldn’t catch a single break.

“Cas?” Sam pulled Dean slowly off of Chuck, seemingly unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “What- Why are you here?”

Cas sighed, and when Dean turned, he was stand awkwardly in the center of the room, shifting on his feet. “I have been permitted to give you a warning. You should not be here.”

Dean frowned. “Why the hell not, he’s writing about our lives-“

“I know.”

“You- You know?” Dean ran a hand over his face, glancing back to where Chuck was still shaking behind his desk. Little fucking bitch. “What, are the angels fans?”

Cas didn’t even blink. “Of a kind, yes. You and Sam need to leave, Dean. Now.”

“Cas, we-“ Sam took a long breath, giving Dean a weary look. “Can you just tell us what’s going on? Please?”

“No.” Cas started to scan over the walls of the shitty little office, his voice remaining impossibly neutral. “As I understand, you are… ahead of schedule. You will need to return in five months.”

“Five-“ Dean shook his head. “Cas, I need answers, and I need them freakin’ now, and until the little douchenugget over there gives them, I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas looked back to Dean, frowning slightly. “I told you. There will be answers. In five months-“

“I’m not waiting five fucking months-“

“I, um-“ Chuck cleared his throat, when Dean whipped around, he flinched slightly. “Sorry, I just, you’re- Castiel. Right?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Is okay if I answer the one question? I think, uh,” Chuck’s eyes flicked back to Dean. “I like my face. I’d like to keep it, too. And I don’t, uh, I don’t know what’s going on-“

“You will learn in five months-“

Dean’s hands fisted. “I told you, I’m not waiting five months-“

“Will you relax and leave if I tell you about your Dad and Azazel and-“

Dean cut off Chuck’s whine of Her name with a short nod. “Fine. Deal.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, um, I’d like a few more answers. Cas, you can’t just expect us to pretend this never happened until the angels give a thumbs up-“

“You will have to.” Cas muttered, not looking away from Dean. “It is already quite dicey for you to be here at all. To linger. Dean, you’ll need to swear that if Chuck answers your question, you’ll-“

“Yeah, I’ll leave. Whatever.”

“Swear-“

“Whatever. Swear.” Dean grunted, turning back to Chuck with a as scowl. “Talk.”

Chuck glanced back to Cas, and—after the angel gave a small nod—cleared his throat.

“In, um, in the version of My Time of Dying, the one that I had to edit,” Chuck mumbled Her name, eyeing Dean as if he was about to just fucking shoot him. 

It was fair.

Dean was.

“Well, the one I had to remove her from, your Dad summons Azazel by himself, and strikes the deal, and that’s it. But the version I thought of first, with her, she summons Azazel.”

Dean’s felt like his teeth were clenched so tight they might snap, and when he glanced over to Sammy, he could see shock written all over the kid’s face.

“But- Dad said it was just him-“

“He lied.” Chuck mumbled. “She figured out what he was doing, and she said it would be easier if she made the call. I don’t know how accurate that is, and in my version John did it pretty fine-“

“Your version didn’t actually happen, dumbass.” The wood of the chair creaked under Dean’s grip. “What the fuck happened after they summoned Azazel.”

“It’s- Are you sure you wanna-“

“Yes. Talk.”

“Azazel told John that she was… important. That she was a witch, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand, and then, John, um, he kind of-“

“Chuck-“

“He asked Azazel to kill her!” Chuck shrank in his chair, his words frantic and loud, but no louder than the blood and ringing, drowning in Dean’s ears. “Then when Azazel said he couldn’t, John asked Azazel to kill Bobby if she came near you two again. I’m sorry, okay, I-“

“Shut up.” Sam snapped. “Dean, are you-“

Whatever Sam was asking, Dean couldn’t hear. He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t really see anything, either. The only sounds in his head was his heartbeat, and the only thing that wasn’t blurring was Chuck, still in his fucking chair, shrinking back from Dean’s glare.

That didn’t make sense. She would’ve told him- 

She had. 

She’d said Azazel had threatened Her. Threatened Bobby. And Dean had just assumed, like a fucking idiot, that it had been its own thing. That after Dad struck that deal, Azazel tracked Her down and told her to skip down for his own, crazy douchebag demon reasons. 

But Dad wouldn’t-

He wouldn’t. Dad wouldn’t, and Dean felt like something was wrapping around his throat and twisting in his stomach and growing sick in his chest, just to the right of his heart, but Dad fucking wouldn’t do that to Dean, not when Dean- Not when he- And Dad-

“Why.” 

Chuck blinked at him, and Dean realized Sam was trying to pull him back. 

He shoved Sam off, marching back to the desk and slamming his hands flat down. “Why the fuck would Dad do that, Chuck, if you think you fucking know everything about our lives and our friends, why the fuck-“

“I think you, Dean Winchester, underestimate the hatred that your father felt for that girl.” A new voice, one that was cold and crawled over Dean’s skin, drawled Her name. “Well, she was his worst nightmare. I believe that, during his time in hell, she was used to torture him. He would be put in a room and forced to watch her greatest hits.”

Dean turned slowly, and standing next to Cas was a short, balding man in a neat suit, watching them with a bone-chilling smile.

“Now, personally? I agree with him.” The man continued. “She is… Making things impossibly difficult. You two imbecile should never have been talking to her, and you certainly should’ve never grown attached, and -  Castiel, what did I say about making them leave before her little stunt, sending them the books, ruined everything?”

Cas bowed his head, and he suddenly looked smaller. Like whoever Baldy was, he was important. “To kick them out. Immediately.”

“I did. And now Dean knows about John, which is just going to make him-“ Baldy sighed, shaking his head. “Never mind. Take the dog for a walk before he does something stupid. I’ll keep an eye on these two while you clean up your mess.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I- Who are-“

“Be quiet.” Baldy snapped, and Sam’s mouth remained open, but his voice…

It vanished.

This was a horrible fucking day.

Dean was drawing out his gun without a thought—it didn’t matter how sick he still felt about Her and Dad, nobody got to fucking touch Sammy while he was still leaving, and Dean’s stupid goddamn feelings could wait—and before he could fire at Badly, the world was spinning and blurring and fuck, he did not feel good-

Everything came back into focus, and Dean doubled over with a groan.

“My apologies.” Cas said from somewhere off to the side, barely over audible as Dean’s lunch emptied onto the ground. “Sam will be fine, I just need to ensure you… cool down.”

Dean shoot him a glare, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “So I’m the dog, huh?”

Cas just shrugged, his words sounding somehow more measured than usual. “Once you feel you have worked through it, I will bring us back.”

“You gonna tell me who the ballsack in the suit was?”

“I cannot. As I tried to tell you, this is,” Cas frowned into the air. “Not what should be happening.”

“Awesome.” Dean grumbled, and dropped down onto the curb. They’d ended up in a parking lot, with a lot of trees, and this place looked really freakin’ familiar, but- “Cas. Where are we.”

“Oak Grove, Louisiana.”

Dean glanced down the road. “That’s where we worked the Demon case, in-“

“2004.” Cas finished, watching Dean carefully. “Humans are meant to feel comfort in connection to locations, or objects. I believed this location would offer you that same effect.”

Dean raised his brows. “Nostalgia?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a horrible pick. Dean hadn’t been here in forever, but it was making him think of Her. Smiling and laughing and not biting at Dean like he was scum of the earth, even when he’d been acting like it, because She’d always been beautiful and too good, and he’d might have believed She didn’t belong in the mud with him—he still didn’t, but he’d given up on trying to tell her what to do a long time ago—but She’d still been so fucking bright that Dean had never wanted to pull away. Even when it was smart and rational he’d wanted to stay, even when they’d fought and She’d shouted, when She lied, or Dad had told him-

He felt sick again.

Dad.

Dad had hated Her. Maybe because of the confusion with Her family, but Dad had sought that out. He’d looked for it, to show it to Dean, and it had been wrong, but he’d still convinced Dean to leave Her, She’d been the brightest thing in the world and Dad had made Dean leave Her-

She’d left, too. 

Because Dad made Her, at the hospital, and- 

Dad had said She left, after the poltergeist. But She’d said She never wanted to go, in Her room, and she hadn’t been lying. Dean knew when She was lying, but She’d looked him in the eyes under the blanket fort and said I didn’t ever want to leave. 

But Dad had made Her. Dean didn’t have a clue how many times, but Dad had made her go. 

He’d taken the best thing is Dean’s life. The only thing he’d ever wanted, really fucking wanted and cared about and been willing to break himself for that wasn’t Sammy, the only woman he’d ever needed and- 

Dean threw up again. Somewhere in the bile rocketing out of his body, he gave props to Cas for the location. Outside seemed to be a good call. 

But he’d been weak. Fucking pathetic. He’d let Dad hurt Her like that, he’d been a blind, selfish asshole and let Her get hurt. Just by being near Dean, She’d been hurt. And there was no goddamn way, after Hell-

Hell. 

Dean hadn’t- In Hell-

“Cas.”

Cas hummed over his head, and Dean cleared his throat. He couldn’t tell Sammy this. Or Bobby. Or anyone really, and Cas was odd, but he might have an answer. And, bonus, he didn’t seem to be all that good a liar, so worst case Cas dodged the question, and Dean went back to throwing up.

“In Hell.” He muttered, frowning at the cracked pavement as he spoke. There was a little flower, blooming through the concrete.

It was yellow. A little golden, in the light of the afternoon.

Dean swallowed more vomit.

“There were times, while I was down there, that I could…” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I dunno how any of this shit works, but I could- Could fucking sworn she was there.”

There was a pause, then Cas said Her name. Slowly. With impossible care, which Dean appreciated. 

It was what She deserved.

“You believe you were able to see her.”

“No, just-“ He sounded insane. “Feel her. I could freakin’ feel her, like there was something in me that was tugging me around and asking me to go with it, talking to me in a voice that sounded a hell of a lot like Her’s, and I think I was just losing my goddamn mind, but-“ Dean rubbed his brow, a heavy pain starting to form behind his brow. “I don’t know. Might have been going crazy, might have been just another torture thing, giving me her but keeping her under a veil and- I don’t know. It was just- Needed to ask. If that was something.”

Cas was silent. Still. Almost statue like, and watching Dean with a deep frown. 

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but at least Cas wasn’t calling him batshit crazy, telling him to find himself a nuthouse and lock up. Cas didn’t really seem like the type to do any of that anyway, but still.

Relieving.

“This woman.” Cas said Her name again, tilting his head slightly. “I do not know much about her, but-“

“She freakin’ awesome.” Dean said, glancing back to the flower. “Genius, but not a snobby bitch, and she’s funny. You’d like her, everyone-“

Everyone didn’t like Her.

Dad had, apparently, despised Her.

“From what I understand,” Cas muttered, and Dean could still feel his gaze. “She is not someone my superiors want you interacting with. That your own father-“

“Dad was wrong.” Dean grunted. “She’s not- I shoulda been kept away from her. Not the other way around.”

“Why?”

Dean frowned, shooting Cas a glare. “Because. I’m not doing a shrink session with you, man. I’m calmed down. Bring me back to Sam.”

“I will, but first-“ Cas’ brows furrowed slightly. “There is… something you should know-“

The world was blurring and turning again, and this time when they landed—right back in Chuck’s shitting living room—there wasn’t anything left in Dean’s body to vomit back up.

Baldy was leering over him, as Dean steadied himself on the desk. And when he tried to open his mouth he couldn’t fucking speak, so he just narrowed his eyes in the most hateful, furious glare of his life. 

“Mr. Winchester.” Baldy hummed, unfazed by Dean’s scowl. “I trust that when I free you and your brother, who I have graciously not harmed or mauled, you will depart from Chuck Shurley’s house and only return when the time is right, yes?”

Dean just scowled. This shitbag didn’t get to come in here and tell him what to do, standing all fucking puffed out and giving orders, expecting Dean to fall into goddamn line just like that without even giving a goddamn name-

“You don’t need to know who I am yet.” Baldy sighed, scanning over Dean’s face. “How about this. I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, you’ll leave this house like that,” Baldy snapped his fingers, giving Dean a wolf-like smile. “I won’t erase your memories of this whole encounter, and you’ll depart with all your organs intact. Deal?”

It was a shit deal.

Dean couldn’t afford to forget what Chuck had told him. He couldn’t see Her again and not know what Dad had done, because he had to use it as an explication for something snapped at the sight of Her—always beautiful, likely glowing in the light of whatever room he found Her in, all the wind in the world moving through Her hair perfectly and Her voice saying his name like a call to motion—and he fell to his knees, begging for Her to keep staying with him, all the way down, even if it ended up being lower than Hell or just right fucking there forever.

So he nodded, and Baldy’s grin grew.

“See you in a few months, Dean.”

Light flashed through the room, and when it cleared, Baldy was gone.

So was Cas. 

And Sam was coughing, pounding on his chest and frowning around the room. “Dean, I-“

“C’mon.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look back as they marched to the door. “Sounds like we’ll be back here anyway, Sammy. Let’s skip town before the brigade of featherdicks comes back.”

“Dean- wait-“ Sam was running after him, his steps pounding on the floor. “What Chuck said, about her and Dad, I swear I didn’t-“

“I know. C’mon.”

They made it to the car. All the way into their seat before someone was pounding on their windows, and Dean glanced up to see Chuck, leaning down with messy hair and wide eyes.

Sam frowned. “What’s he-“

“Guys!” Chuck called through the glass, knocking once more. “I’m sorry about that, I just- I have a question for you and the angels didn’t say I couldn’t ask you guys stuff-“

Dean glanced over to Sam, who shrugged. That was true. And Baldy had said to leave the house. 

“I know you can- shit-“ Chuck jumped back as Dean rolled down his window, before ducking down and giving them a nervous smile. “Uh, thank you.”

“What’s your question.”

Chuck watched Dean as he said Her name, and Dean’s whole body braced. “What’s she like?”

Dean scowled. “What.”

“I just, I know about all of you. Everything. Call it curiosity, maybe even killing the cat, but I’m just-“ Chuck shrugged. “I’d like to know.”

“Know what?” Sam jumped in, and Dean could’ve sworn Chuck shot him a glare. “Like, her favorite movie?”

“Yeah, sure. Or food, song, or- just anything, I guess-“

“Indiana Jones.” Dean grunted, and Chuck blinked at him. 

“I-“

“That’s her favorite movie.” He’d have to clean Baby, later. As an apology for strangling her wheel. “And she’ll eat anything with sugar, but she doesn’t have a favorite song. Likes all of them.”

Chuck nodded slowly. “Alright, how about-“

Dean didn’t have the time, or patience for this. 

He rolled the window up in Chuck’s stupid face.

“See you in five months!” He called through the glass, and before Chuck could even open his mouth, the man was just a musty spot in the rearview mirror.

For a while, it was just Dean, Sam, and the music, turned so loud it was pounding in Dean’s ribs.

It almost filled up the pit. The place that his body had always saved for Her. To be filled by Her light.

Dean needed to fucking find Her.

Sam cleared his throat, turning down the dial. “Weird day.”

“Yep.”

“I know we probably have some stuff to figure out, but, uh, Ruby texted me-“

“Did she now.” 

“Yeah, look, I know how you feel about her, dude, but she says she might have some important information for us-“

“Awesome.” Dean glanced at one of the highway signs as he drove. “Tell Bobby.”

Sam frowned. “Bobby? Why-“

“He’ll help you with it.”

“Dean, just because it’s Ruby-“

“I don’t care that it’s Ruby.” Dean snapped, and for once, that really wasn’t the problem. “I have something else to do, Sam, so Bobby’s gonna help you out!”

“What- Dean.” Sam sighed. “I told you, she’s probably fine.”

“I’m not making bets on probably.”

“It’s- It might be a girl who can hear angels.” Sam said Her name, leaning forward to try and hold Dean’s attention. “C’mon, man, that’s huge-“

“Good thing you’re taking Bobby.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t. It’s, I’ve waited too fucking long, Sammy, and she needs to know about this-“

“So call her-“

“She hasn’t been picking up.”

“Maybe she’s in a dead zone, she’s driving through miles in different continent-“

“Sammy. Drop it.”

“But-“

“I need to see her, okay?!” Dean’s voice had risen to a shout, but he didn’t care.

Sam didn’t understand. No one fucking understood any of this, but She-

Dean had told Her he’d be fine, and he’d lied. He’d told Her that she’d be okay, and now he didn’t know where the hell she was. He didn’t care about the angels, or Ruby, or Chuck, or fucking anything but Her.

“I need to see her,” he repeated, Sam sighed, and the conversation died.

Good.

Nothing, not another set of hellhounds, a single angel, or God him fucking self, was going to stop Dean from bringing her home.

End Note: Welcome to season four, squad. Kicking it off on a high note (meeting Cas)

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

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[lila-lou]

✨The smarter choice - 1/8✨

Summary: The pull was undeniable—every glance, every touch, a spark. Dean was everything you shouldn’t want, yet resistance was futile. Teaser

Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language

Word Count: 8819

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The sounds of pots and pans clanking echoed through the kitchen of the bunker as Sam wiped down the countertops, his broad frame moving smoothly through the space. He hadn’t even noticed his older brother lurking nearby—Dean was always the one who loved to poke fun, and today, he was feeling particularly mischievous.

"You sure you want to bring her here, Sammy?", Dean’s voice rang out, teasing but with an edge of curiosity. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching his younger brother intently. "I mean, the bunker’s great and all, but it’s not exactly a romantic getaway".

Sam didn’t miss a beat. He was used to his brother’s banter, though that didn’t mean it didn’t annoy him. "Dean, we’ve been over this. She’s not like—".

"Not like who, Sam?", Dean interrupted, smirking. "She’s not a hunter like us, right? Just a normal girl, who doesn’t actually know what she’s getting herself into?".

Sam shot Dean a glare, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "She knows. I’ve told her everything. She’s not freaked out".

Dean raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? You sure she’ll be able to handle—", he motioned vaguely with his hand, clearly meaning the life they led—"all this? The monsters, the blood, the nightmares?".

Sam was about to respond when he heard the familiar buzz of his phone from the counter. He quickly wiped his hands on a towel and checked the screen.

It was you.

"Hey, I’m on my way. Should be there in 20. See you soon :)".

Sam smiled softly at the message, his heart warming, and that didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, who suddenly took a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"See, now that’s what I’m talking about", Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The great Sammy Winchester, the smooth talker. Getting some girl to text you emojis and all. You sure you're ready for her to meet this version of the family?".

Sam rolled his eyes, trying to hide his smile. He wasn’t embarrassed by his brother’s antics—well, not totally—but he was more concerned about how you’d react to it all. You’d been really understanding about the supernatural stuff, but Sam knew meeting Dean was a different matter.

"I’m serious, Dean. She’s not like other people. She’s not going to freak out". Sam looked at Dean with a raised brow, as if daring him to argue.

Dean chuckled, his arms uncrossing as he pushed off the doorframe. "Yeah, we’ll see. It’s just… funny to me. You spent four weeks talking about her and now—", he grinned, "now I get to meet her. What’s she like? You know, aside from being really into you?".

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You’ll find out in twenty minutes, won’t you?".

Dean smirked and shrugged. "Guess I will".

Sam turned his attention back to the counter, his heart still thumping with the excitement of seeing you. He really did want you to meet his brother. He had been so careful about introducing you to this world, and now, with you so close, he hoped you wouldn’t be overwhelmed.

But deep down, Sam knew the biggest challenge wasn’t the monsters or the blood—no, it was whether or not Dean would scare you off. That was always a risk when it came to Dean.

Dean’s grin widened as he leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. His gaze shifted to Sam, that playful glint never leaving his eyes.

“But give me something Sammy”, Dean began. “She probably a little nerdy, huh? You know, like you”. He snorted, clearly amused by his own joke. “I’m picturing a cute, bookish type, glasses the size of saucers, maybe even a ponytail, and some kind of vintage sweater”.

Sam rolled his eyes, trying his best to stay patient with his older brother’s antics. “Dean, you’re not even close”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing at his brother’s expression, which was somewhere between fond and embarrassed. “Oh, I know I’m close. You’re basically saying you’re dating a female version of yourself, right? So… same height, same awkwardness, same love for dusty old books, and all the same nerdy stuff that makes you… well, you”. Dean made exaggerated air quotes with his fingers. “You’re probably gonna end up sitting in a corner, playing board games, or—God forbid—watching documentaries together, right?”.

Sam sighed, fighting a smile. “She’s not like that, Dean. She’s…”. He paused, trying to find the words. You were a bit of a nerd—he loved that about you—but there was a lot more to you than that.

Dean was still going strong. “Yeah, yeah. I bet she doesn’t even know what a real hunter is. Probably thinks all this is just some Halloween stuff, huh? Well, good luck with that”. He laughed at his own words, clearly enjoying every second of getting under his brother’s skin. “Can you imagine it, Sammy? You, with your little nerdy girlfriend, sitting there, all cute, surrounded by textbooks and… and cats. So many cats”.

Sam shot him a glare, but it was impossible to hide his amusement completely. “You’re ridiculous”.

“Just tell me one thing. She tall? You know, like… as tall as you?”. He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying getting under Sam’s skin, the older brother’s usual role. “Or is she one of those tiny, cute types you can just—”.

Before Sam could answer, his phone buzzed, cutting him off. His thumb quickly tapped on the message, and he read your text aloud, clearly amused.

“I’ve knocked like five times, Sam. Are you ever going to open the door?”.

Dean’s grin only widened as Sam read your message aloud, his voice carrying a trace of amusement. Dean, of course, wasn’t about to let up. “Guess she’s not the patient type, huh?”, he teased, leaning a little further into his brother’s space. “Maybe you’ve got yourself a little firecracker, Sammy. Or a tall one”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide the smile creeping up at the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, she’s a bit of a handful sometimes”.

Dean leaned in, his voice taking on a more exaggerated tone. “A handful, huh? What, like a tiny, cute handful with her oversized glasses and a love for knitting?”. He chuckled, clearly relishing the thought of you fitting the quirky, innocent image he had concocted.

Sam was about to retort when his phone buzzed again. He quickly glanced down at it, his heart skipping a beat as he saw your name flashing on the screen once more.

“Sam, are you seriously just gonna leave me out here? Open the door!”.

Sam couldn’t hold back his laughter now. “Alright, alright”, he muttered to himself as he pushed off the counter and made his way toward the door, shooting Dean a look over his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous. Just wait and see”.

Dean was unbothered by the warning, following his brother with his eyes.

Sam ignored him and reached for the door, his excitement growing. He finally swung it open to reveal you standing outside, your hand raised in the air as if ready to knock once more.

You looked up at him, the tiniest hint of impatience in your eyes. “You know, I was starting to think you were ghosting me, Sam”, you teased, a playful smirk curling at the corners of your lips.

Sam stepped aside quickly, scratching the back of his neck with an apologetic smile. “Sorry about that. Dean was…”. He glanced back toward the kitchen, choosing his words carefully. “…distracting me”.

You shook your head, brushing it off with a soft laugh. “It’s fine. But seriously, don’t keep me waiting next time. I was starting to feel like a door-to-door salesperson”.

Sam chuckled, gesturing for you to step inside. As you walked past him and into the bunker, you couldn’t help but glance at cavernous walls. The space felt huge, even more so because of your height. Not even reaching Sam’s chest, the bunker seemed almost overwhelming. Still, you moved forward with confidence, curiosity lighting up your features as you carefully stepped down the metal stairs.

“Whoa”, you said, pausing for a moment to glance back at Sam. “This place is… something else”.

Sam smiled, pleased by your reaction. “Yeah, it’s a bit much at first, but you get used to it”.

As your feet touched the ground, you ran your fingers along the edge of the war room table, taking in the ancient, heavy atmosphere of the place. Just as you were about to comment on it, the sound of footsteps echoed from around the corner.

Dean appeared, beer in hand, his usual cocky grin plastered on his face. “Well, well”, he said, his voice light and teasing as he approached. “What do we have here?”.

But the second his eyes landed on you, something in him shifted.

You turned to face him, and for a moment, Dean simply stared. He hadn’t been expecting someone like you—not even close. You were small, barely coming up to his chest, and the contrast between your petite frame and your confident presence was magnetic. The high-waisted jean shorts you wore showed off your curves in a way that made his throat go dry, and the fitted top you paired them with hinted just enough at your gorgeous figure.

Dean’s brain went blank for a split second.

“Uh…”, he started, his usual charm stuttering as he tried to find words. “You’re… uh… not what I expected”.

Sam cleared his throat, stepping forward and giving Dean a pointed look. “Dean”.

“What?”, Dean shot back, still unable to tear his gaze away from you. He gestured vaguely with his beer. “She’s definitely not nerdy”.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused as you crossed your arms and looked up at him. The size difference was almost comical, but you didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “And what exactly did you expect?”. There was a playful edge to your tone, but something in the way you held his gaze sent a strange jolt through Dean’s chest.

Dean blinked, quickly scrambling to recover. He leaned casually against the wall, lifting his beer to his lips. “I don’t know. Glasses, books, maybe a little cardigan or something”. He smirked, though it wasn’t quite as sharp as usual. “I mean, you’re dating Sam”.

Sam groaned softly, running a hand down his face. “Dean—”.

You cut him off, your smirk widening as you tilted your head. “Sorry to disappoint”, you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “No glasses. And I left my cardigan at home”.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, I can see that”. He took another swig of his beer, though it did little to cool the sudden warmth spreading through him.

Sam stepped in then, clearly eager to move things along before Dean could dig himself deeper into the hole he was making. “Alright, let’s sit down. Y/N’s probably hungry”.

“Hungry? Or thirsty?”, Dean quipped, holding up his beer. “I mean, I could—”.

“Dean”, Sam interrupted sharply, shooting him another warning glare.

Dean held up his free hand in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Food it is”. But as he turned to follow Sam toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance back at you one more time.

You caught him looking, your lips curving into a small smile that sent his pulse racing.

What the hell is happening? Dean thought as he dragged his eyes away.

For all the teasing he’d thrown Sam’s way, he wasn’t prepared for this. You weren’t nerdy, awkward, or shy. You were gorgeous, confident, and way more than Dean had been ready for.

And something told him this was just the beginning.

The sound of your light footsteps on the bunker’s floors seemed to echo louder than they should have, or maybe that was just Dean’s heightened awareness of your presence. He tried to shake it off, forcing his thoughts back into his usual easygoing rhythm.

“So”, Dean began, his tone casual as his eyes flicked between you and Sam. “Sammy here been bragging about his cooking skills yet?”.

Sam sighed, already sensing where this was going. “Dean—”.

“Oh, come on”, Dean pressed, walking a little faster so he could fall into step next to you. He gave you one of his signature grins, the one that usually worked wonders on just about anyone. “He didn’t warn you that his idea of fine dining is throwing together a salad and calling it a meal?”.

You glanced up at Dean, amused by the way he towered over you. “Actually”, you said, your voice laced with playful curiosity, “he told me he made something special tonight”.

Dean arched an eyebrow, glancing toward Sam as they all entered the kitchen. “Special, huh?”. His eyes darted to the oven, catching sight of the lasagna baking inside. The smell was already wafting through the room, rich and savory, instantly recognizable.

“Lasagna?”, Dean asked, surprised despite himself. He leaned back against the counter, folding his arms across his chest as he turned his attention to Sam.

Sam ignored the jab, moving to check on the lasagna. “Figured you’d be less… disruptive if I made something you liked”, he said, adjusting the oven temperature and glancing at his watch to time it perfectly.

Dean smirked, picking up on Sam’s strategy immediately. “Oh, I see what this is. You’re trying to keep me quiet. Feed me comfort food, and I’ll behave, is that it?”.

Sam didn’t answer, which was all the confirmation Dean needed.

You laughed softly, leaning against the counter opposite Dean. “So lasagna’s your weak spot, huh?”, you teased, your tone light but curious.

Dean turned his grin back to you, his green eyes narrowing slightly in playful suspicion. “Depends”, he said, dragging out the word. “You any good in the kitchen? Or are you more the ‘microwave and hope for the best’ type?”.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze with an amused smirk. “I can hold my own”, you replied, not missing a beat. “But if I’d known I’d be competing with this”, —you gestured toward the oven— “I’d have brought something to prove it”.

Dean chuckled, impressed despite himself. “Well, that just means you’ll have to stick around long enough to show us, huh?”.

Sam gave Dean a pointed look as he turned from the oven to grab plates and utensils. “Dean, maybe try not to scare her off within the first ten minutes”.

Dean held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just being friendly, Sammy”. He turned his attention back to you, his grin softening into something a little more genuine. “I’m not that scary, am I?”.

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Not yet”, you replied, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll let you know if that changes”.

Sam rolled his eyes, setting the plates down on the counter with a little more force than necessary. “Alright, dinner’s almost ready. Can we all just… focus on eating like normal people?”,

Dean gave you a conspiratorial wink before turning his attention back to Sam. “You’re the one making the rules, chef”.

You caught the dynamic between them easily—Dean’s teasing, Sam’s patient exasperation. It was clear they had their differences, but there was no denying the bond between the two brothers. And as Dean reached for another nearby bottle of beer, cracking it open with ease, you found yourself wondering just how much of Dean’s charm was a front, and how much of it was the real him.

The next few minutes passed smoothly—or as smoothly as they could with Dean in the mix. As Sam checked on the lasagna one last time, you busied yourself helping him set the table. You grabbed utensils and napkins from the counter, moving around the space with ease as though you’d been in the bunker a dozen times before.

Dean, leaning against the counter with his beer, watched you with casual interest. “So, Y/N”, he started, his tone light, “if you’re not a hunter, how’d you end up with my nerdy little brother here?”.

You glanced up at him, amused by his bluntness. “We met at a bookstore, actually”, you replied, placing the last fork down. “I was looking for a gift for a friend, and Sam swooped in to save me from picking the world’s most boring biography”.

Dean snorted. “Of course he did. Let me guess, he probably gave you some twenty-minute lecture on obscure historical facts before you even realized he was flirting”.

You smirked, shooting Sam a playful look as he turned back from the oven. “It was more like fifteen minutes”, you said with a shrug. “But to be fair, he was right. The book I was about to buy sounded awful”.

Sam sighed, shaking his head but smiling all the same. “I wasn’t trying to lecture. I was just being helpful”.

“Sure you were”, Dean shot back, his grin widening. “Bet you even pulled the puppy-dog eyes, didn’t you?”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean’s chest tighten in a way he hadn’t expected. He wasn’t sure if it was the way you seemed so at ease around them, or the way your laugh lit up the room, but something about you had him hooked.

“Sam’s told you about… you know, all the crazy crap we deal with, right?”, Dean said, changing the subject as he leaned in slightly,

You nodded, your expression growing a little more serious. “Yeah. He’s been easing me into it. It’s… a lot, but I’m getting there”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed. “And you’re not freaking out? Most people would’ve run for the hills the second they heard the words ‘demonic possession’”.

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “It’s a lot to take in, sure, but Sam’s been really patient about explaining things. And honestly? I think what you guys do is incredible. It’s scary, yeah, but also… kind of amazing”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by your sincerity. He wasn’t used to hearing people talk about their work like that, especially not people who weren’t hunters themselves. “Huh”, he said after a moment, a crooked grin forming on his face. “You might be tougher than you look, short stuff”.

The nickname made you laugh again, and you couldn’t help but shoot back, “Careful, Dean. I may be small, but I can hold my own”.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that”, Dean said smoothly, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “Bet you’ve got a hell of a right hook for someone your size”.

“Maybe”, you replied, a playful glint in your eye. “But you’ll just have to take my word for it”.

Sam cleared his throat loudly, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from where he knew it was headed. “Dean, maybe stop interrogating her and let her breathe for a second”.

Dean waved him off, his attention still fixed on you. “Relax, Sammy. We’re just getting to know each other”, He leaned back slightly, his tone turning more casual. “You got a day job, or are you just spending all your free time keeping this guy out of trouble?”.

You smiled at Dean, enjoying the banter. “Actually, I’m a fitness coach”, you said, leaning casually against the counter.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his grin widening. “A fitness coach?”, he repeated, his tone equal parts impressed and intrigued. “Didn’t see that one coming”.

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you looked up at him. “Why’s that? You don’t think I could handle it?”.

Dean tilted his head, giving you a quick once-over, and while his expression remained playful, there was a genuine curiosity in his eyes. “Oh, I think you could handle it just fine”, he said. “But man, Sammy must have his hands full. What, you got him running laps between cases now?”.

Sam sighed, clearly trying to stay out of the conversation, but you were quick to play along. “Not yet”, you said, shooting Sam a teasing look. “But I’m thinking about it. He could probably use the cardio”.

Dean barked out a laugh, his head tilting back slightly. “Oh, I like you”, he said, pointing at you with his beer. “You’re a smartass. Sam needs more of that in his life”.

You grinned at Dean’s comment, enjoying the playful energy in the room. “Oh, trust me, he gets plenty of sass from me”, you said with a smirk. Turning to Sam, who had been quietly tolerating Dean’s antics, you reached up and pressed a quick kiss to his bicep—the highest point you could easily reach without him bending down.

“Just kidding”, you mumbled teasingly as Sam gave you a soft, amused smile. He leaned down slightly, brushing a kiss against your forehead in return, his hand grazing the small of your back as he murmured, “Thanks for putting up with him”.

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you grabbed the last glass and placed it on the table. “I think I’m handling it just fine”.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the two of you, the ease of your affection and the way Sam looked at you. There was something about the way you and Sam moved together—comfortably, naturally, like you’d been part of this world for longer than the few weeks you’d actually been dating—that made something twist uncomfortably in Dean’s chest.

Dean took another sip of his beer, the cool bitterness doing little to chase away the nagging feeling in his chest. He leaned back against the counter, his posture relaxed, but his jaw tightened subtly as he watched you and Sam. There was something about the way Sam looked at you—like you were the only person in the room—that made Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Hell, he barely even admitted it to himself.

It wasn’t like he was jealous. Dean Winchester didn’t do jealousy. No, this was just… him being protective. Yeah, that was it. He was just making sure you were really who Sam thought you were. Making sure Sam wasn’t setting himself up for another heartbreak. It had nothing to do with the way you smiled when you looked up at Sam, or the way your laugh seemed to linger in the air, soft and warm.

Dean cleared his throat, forcing his gaze away from you. He focused instead on the beer bottle in his hand, rolling it between his fingers. “How long until dinner’s ready, Sammy? I’m starving over here”.

Sam shot him a glance, clearly catching the faint edge in Dean’s tone. “It’s almost done”, he said, moving to check on the lasagna. “You can survive a few more minutes”.

Dean smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, well, good thing you went all out. I wouldn’t survive another night of your rabbit food experiments”.

You laughed, the sound light and genuine, and it made Dean glance up despite himself. “Rabbit food?”, you teased, looking between the brothers. “That´s about your love for salad?”.

Sam sighed, shooting Dean an exasperated look. “He’s talking about the one time I made a salad with kale”.

“It wasn’t a salad”, Dean shot back, pointing at Sam with his beer. “It was punishment. Nobody eats kale by choice”.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t bring a kale smoothie, huh?”.

Dean couldn’t help the small grin that tugged at his lips. “You’d better not. I’d kick you out on principle”.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, busying himself with pulling the lasagna out of the oven.

Dean’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer than he intended, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself grounded. He wasn’t jealous. He was just… protective. Yeah, that was the story he was sticking to.

Dean watched you as you moved around the kitchen, effortlessly fitting into the bunker like you’d always been there. It was unsettling how natural it all seemed. His eyes followed you, and he took another sip of his beer, determined to shake whatever it was that had him so off balance.

But then you leaned over toward him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of whatever perfume you were wearing. Your thigh brushed against his, the contact sending a jolt of heat up his leg. Before he could react, you tilted your head slightly, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye.

“I fucking hate kale”, you whispered, your voice low enough that Sam couldn’t hear, but there was no mistaking the teasing lilt in your tone.

Dean froze for a second, his brain short-circuiting as he tried to process the sudden proximity, the soft warmth of your leg against his, and the quiet intimacy of your words. Then, almost involuntarily, a grin broke across his face, quick and genuine.

“Good”, he murmured back, his voice equally low. “Means I don’t have to kick you out after all”.

You laughed quietly, the sound sending a ripple of something warm and unfamiliar through him. Dean blinked, his grin fading slightly as he tried to steady himself. He cleared his throat, shifting slightly as he sat down at the table. He told himself it was nothing—just the heat of the moment, the way your laugh had hit him, or the accidental brush of your thigh. It didn’t mean anything. He could shake this off, no problem.

Except it wasn’t nothing. Not with the faint trace of your perfume still lingering in the air or the way your mischievous smirk had seemed to sear itself into his brain. Dean shifted again, leaning forward slightly in his chair to subtly adjust himself under the table, hoping like hell neither you nor Sam noticed.

Sam, thankfully oblivious, placed a plate in front of Dean and another in front of himself before sitting down next to you. “Alright, dig in”, he said, shooting you a small smile. “Let me know what you think”.

You grabbed your fork, glancing at Sam with a grin. “No pressure, right?”.

Dean snorted, hoping to distract himself from his predicament. “Trust me, you don’t need to worry. This is probably the best thing Sammy’s ever made. Not that the competition’s stiff or anything”.

Sam shot Dean a dry look, but you laughed, your shoulders shaking slightly. The sound sent another ripple of heat through Dean’s chest, and he focused hard on cutting into his lasagna, the knife scraping against the plate.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence”, Sam said sarcastically, turning his attention back to you. “I’m glad someone appreciates the effort”.

“I think it’s great”, you said after taking a bite. “Seriously, Sam. This is amazing”.

Dean grunted in agreement, though his focus was less on the food and more on keeping his gaze off you. The way you leaned forward slightly when you laughed, the way your lips curved around your fork—it was too much, and he knew if he let himself keep staring, he was going to lose whatever shred of composure he had left.

“So, Y/N”, Dean said, forcing himself to speak, his tone casual as he leaned back slightly in his chair, “You like it?”. He gestured vaguely around the bunker, doing his best to sound normal despite the tension knotting his shoulders. “I mean, it’s not exactly… cozy”.

You glanced up at him, your eyes warm. “It’s definitely different”, you admitted. “But honestly? I think it’s kind of cool. It’s like something out of a movie”.

Dean smirked, though he avoided looking directly at you for too long. “Yeah, well, wait until the pipes start rattling in the middle of the night. Real cinematic experience”.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He just hates doing maintenance”.

You laughed again, and Dean felt his resolve waver. He grabbed his beer, downing half of it in one go just to have something to do with his hands.

The meal continued, with Sam and you trading stories while Dean chimed in occasionally, mostly to toss in a sarcastic comment or crack a joke. But the whole time, that nagging feeling sat heavy in his chest, and he couldn’t shake the heat pooling low in his stomach.

It was going to be a long night.

The meal wrapped up smoothly, though Dean spent most of it trying to keep his focus on his lasagna. By the time the dishes were done, Sam had his sleeves rolled up, his hands wet from drying the last plate, and you were leaning against the counter, chatting idly with him about your plans for the next day.

Dean lingered nearby, his fifth beer in hand, trying to keep his eyes anywhere but on you.

Finally, as Sam dried his hands and set the dish towel aside, he stepped close to you, his palm brushing down the small of your back in a way that seemed almost instinctive. “Ready to call it a night?”, he asked gently, his voice low, the kind of tone that was meant just for you.

You glanced up at him, reading the softness in his eyes. Sam wasn’t one for late nights, not unless a hunt demanded it. His mornings usually started early with a run or a workout, and you knew he valued his sleep schedule more than most.

But you? You weren’t tired at all. You were used to staying up late, whether it was working on plans for your clients or just relaxing with a spicy book or a show.

Still, you smiled at Sam, your hand brushing his briefly. “Sure”, you said lightly. “If you’re ready, we can head to bed”.

Dean, who had been pretending to check the contents of the fridge for the last few minutes, glanced over at the exchange. Something about the way Sam’s hand stayed at the small of your back made his jaw tighten again, though he quickly covered it with a casual tone. “Wow, Sammy, calling it a night already? It’s barely nine. You getting old or what?”.

Sam shot Dean a look, but there was no real annoyance in it. “Some of us actually like starting the day early”, he said, his hand still resting gently on you. “Not all of us are night owls”.

Dean smirked, leaning back against the counter with his beer. “Night owl? Please. I’m just making sure the world doesn’t fall apart while you’re catching your beauty sleep”.

You laughed softly at that, glancing between the brothers. “So what, Dean? You stay up all night patrolling the bunker or something?”.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes flicking to yours with a spark of mischief. “Something like that”, he said, his tone easy. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things around here”.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “Ignore him. He just watches bad movies and eats junk food when he should be sleeping”.

“Hey, classics aren’t bad movies”, Dean shot back, pointing his beer bottle at Sam. “And nachos at midnight? That’s living, Sammy”.

You grinned, folding your arms. “I think I’m with Dean on this one. Nachos at midnight sounds way more fun than an early morning run”.

Dean’s smirk turned into a full grin at your response, his eyes glinting as he looked over at you. “Finally, someone around here with taste”.

Sam rolled his eyes at your comment, though there was no mistaking the fond smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, you two can bond over junk food another time”, he said, his hand brushing gently against your back again. “I’ll leave you to it, Dean”.

You glanced back at Dean, your smile softening as your eyes met his. “It was nice meeting you, Dean”, you said warmly, your voice genuine. “I can see where Sam gets his sense of humor now”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard by the way your words—and that smile—made his heart skip a beat. He forced a grin, though it felt a little stiff. “Yeah, you too”, he said, his voice a bit quieter than usual. He gave a small nod, his gaze lingering on you for a second longer than he intended. “Goodnight, short stuff”.

You chuckled softly at the nickname, turning back to Sam as he led you toward the hallway. Dean stayed rooted in place, leaning back against the counter with his beer as he watched the two of you disappear from sight. The sound of your voices—low and comfortable—faded as you headed down the hall.

For a long moment, Dean just stood there, staring at the empty space where you’d been. He let out a long breath, running a hand over his face before muttering under his breath, “What the hell, Winchester?”.

He downed the rest of his beer in one swig, the bottle clinking softly against the counter as he set it down. Shaking his head, Dean turned back toward the fridge, already looking for something to distract himself from the way his heart had stubbornly refused to settle all evening.

But the image of your smile—soft, genuine, and directed at him—lingered, refusing to fade. And no amount of nachos or bad movies was going to fix that.

Inside Sam’s room, you looked around, taking in the neat, utilitarian setup. It wasn’t anything fancy, but it had a certain comfort to it that matched Sam’s personality. The shelves lined with books, the neatly folded bedding, and even the scent of him lingering in the air—it all felt cozy and inviting.

Sam moved across the room, opening one of the drawers and pulling out a simple white shirt. He handed it to you with a soft smile. “Here”, he said, his voice low and gentle. “This should be comfortable for the night”.

You took the shirt, your fingers brushing his briefly as you gave him a small smile. “Thanks”, you said, though there was a slight edge to your voice that you hoped he didn’t pick up on. You’d been dating for weeks now, and while things between you and Sam were great, there was a tension simmering under the surface that you couldn’t ignore.

Sam hadn’t made a move to take things further, not once. No matter how many nights you spent together, how much time you spent in his arms, he never seemed to push for more than kissing and light touches. It wasn’t that you didn’t respect his pace; you did. But you were only human, and lately, the frustration had started to build.

And tonight? Tonight was unbearable. You couldn’t explain it—maybe it was the lingering energy from dinner, the way Dean had looked at you with that mischievous grin, or the way Sam’s hand kept brushing against the small of your back. Whatever it was, it had you wound tighter than a spring, and your body was practically humming with need.

You turned away from Sam as you began to undress, your fingers deftly unbuttoning your pants and sliding them down your legs. You tried to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks, aware of Sam sitting quietly behind you, his presence filling the room. The air felt heavier than usual, like a current of unspoken tension buzzed between you.

You slipped off your top next, leaving your bare skin exposed for a moment. You weren’t wearing a bra—something you’d normally think nothing of, but tonight, it felt impossible to ignore. The cool air brushed over your skin as you reached for the oversized white shirt Sam had given you, the fabric soft in your hands.

Pulling it over your head, you let the material fall into place. It was so big on you that it nearly reached your knees, the hem swaying slightly as you moved. The sleeves hung past your wrists, making it look more like a dress than a shirt, and you couldn’t help but glance down at yourself, a small, amused smile tugging at your lips.

When you finally turned back around, Sam was already in bed, propped up against the pillows with a book in his hands. His eyes flicked up as you moved, and for a brief moment, you caught something in his expression—a flicker of something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken—but it was gone as quickly as it came.

“You good?”, he asked, his voice soft as he closed the book and set it on the nightstand.

You nodded, climbing into bed beside him and pulling the covers up to your lap. “Yeah”, you said quietly, though your voice felt strained. You couldn’t shake the awareness of him next to you, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, or the warmth of his body so close to yours.

He reached over to turn off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into. As he settled back into the pillows, you found yourself lying rigidly on your side, staring into the darkness and trying to will away the storm of frustration building inside you.

The shirt you wore smelled like Sam, wrapping you in his familiar, comforting scent, but it only made things worse. Your body was on fire, and every little movement—his hand brushing the covers, the sound of his breathing, the shift of the mattress as he adjusted his position—felt like a spark igniting something deeper within you.

You squeezed your eyes shut, biting your lip as you tried to focus on anything but the ache that had settled low in your stomach. Sam’s steady, calming presence had always been enough to soothe you, but tonight, it wasn’t working.

And the worst part? You had no idea what to do about it.

Meanwhile, in the war room, Dean sat slouched at the map table, his boots propped up on the edge as he cradled a large glass of whiskey in one hand. The amber liquid caught the dim light, casting faint shadows that danced on the tabletop. He swirled the drink absentmindedly, staring into the space ahead of him but seeing nothing—nothing except you.

He let out a heavy sigh, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the image of you leaning toward him in the kitchen, your thigh brushing his, the warmth of your breath on his skin as you whispered, I fucking hate kale.

It wasn’t just that, though. It was everything—the way you moved, the sound of your laughter, the way you fit so effortlessly into the space that had always felt so cold and utilitarian. And, of course, the way you looked at Sam, the softness in your eyes that made it so damn clear how much you cared about his brother.

Dean scowled at the thought, tipping back his glass and draining the rest of the whiskey in one go. He set the glass down with a muted thud, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. His jaw tightened as he scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

It’s nothing, he told himself. Just a little admiration. She’s cool, that’s all.

But the ache in his chest said otherwise.

The thought of you in Sam’s room, wrapped in his arms, made Dean’s stomach twist in a way that felt uncomfortably close to jealousy. He clenched his fists, shaking his head as though he could physically dislodge the thought from his brain.

“This is ridiculous”, he muttered under his breath, reaching for the whiskey bottle and pouring himself another glass. He stared at the amber liquid for a moment before taking another sip, the burn doing little to drown out the frustration bubbling inside him.

He didn’t get it. You were with Sam—his brother. You were off-limits, plain and simple. And yet, there was something about you that felt like a punch to the gut every time you smiled.

Dean huffed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. The faint creak of the bunker’s pipes echoed in the distance, a reminder of how quiet and empty the place felt most of the time.

But you’d brought a kind of energy into the bunker that Dean hadn’t realized he’d been missing. And it was driving him insane.

Dean drained the second glass of whiskey, letting the burn spread through his chest as he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. His gaze drifted to the door that led to the hallway.

“Get a grip, Winchester”, he muttered to himself, shaking his head again. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

Dean’s head snapped up at the sound of footsteps entering the war room. His first instinct was to expect Sam, coming to lecture him about something—or maybe just checking on him—but when he turned, he froze.

It was you.

You stood in the doorway, looking a little out of place, your bare feet pressing softly against the cold floor. Your hands fidgeted at your sides as you tugged your hair behind your ear, mumbling, “Sorry, I was just looking for the bathroom. Didn’t mean to interrupt”.

Dean’s gaze lingered, the whiskey in his hand forgotten as his eyes took you in. You were wearing Sam’s oversized white shirt, and on your smaller frame, it hung loosely, nearly brushing your knees. But the cool air of the bunker seemed to cling to you, and he couldn’t help but notice how the faint chill had tightened your nipples against the fabric of the shirt.

He forced his gaze back to your face, his throat tightening. “Uh… yeah”, he said, clearing his throat and sitting up straighter. “Bathroom’s down the hall, second door on the left”.

You gave him a small smile, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks”, you murmured, your voice soft. But instead of immediately leaving, your eyes flicked to the map table, then to the glass of whiskey in front of him.

Dean followed your gaze to the glass of whiskey in front of him, his lips curving into a slow, teasing smirk. He leaned back in his chair, his green eyes flicking back to yours as he lifted the glass in a mock toast.

“Don’t tell me you’re a whiskey girl”, he said, his voice light but carrying that unmistakable edge of mischief.

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth lifting into a small smile as you stepped further into the room, your bare feet making the faintest sound against the cold tiles. “Maybe I am”, you replied, your voice soft but with just enough challenge to make his smirk widen. “What’s wrong with whiskey?”.

Dean chuckled, swirling the liquid in his glass. “Nothing”, he said, his tone teasing. “Just didn’t expect it. I mean, you’re walking around in Sam’s shirt, looking all cute and innocent, and here you are, eyeing my drink like you’re ready to steal it”.

Your cheeks warmed at his words, but you refused to let him fluster you. Crossing your arms, you leaned slightly against the edge of the map table, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I was just wondering why you’re sitting here all alone in the middle of the night”, you shot back. “Doesn’t seem like your usual scene”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, impressed by your quick comeback. “Huh”, he muttered, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “What about you? Thought you’d be in bed, snug as a bug with Sammy by now”.

You hesitated, glancing toward the hallway before looking back at him. “I couldn’t sleep”, you admitted, your voice quieter now.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening into something closer to genuine curiosity. “And you ended up here, instead of the bathroom”, he said, gesturing around the room. “Lucky me”.

You laughed lightly, tucking your hair behind your ear again as you glanced at the map table. “I guess so”, you said, your smile lingering as your eyes returned to his. “But seriously… is whiskey your midnight snack now, or what?”.

Dean chuckled, reaching for the bottle and pouring a small amount into the empty glass beside him. He slid it toward you, his smirk returning. “Why don’t you find out?”.

You glanced at the glass, then back at him, your brow lifting slightly. “Is this how you get all your guests to stay up late with you?”, you teased, taking the glass in your hand.

Dean leaned back in his chair, watching as you reached for the glass. His lips parted slightly, and without even thinking, his tongue darted out to wet them, a habit he couldn’t seem to shake whenever his nerves got the better of him—or when his thoughts strayed somewhere they shouldn’t.

His gaze flicked downward, almost involuntarily, landing on the curve of your chest beneath Sam’s oversized shirt. The fabric shifted slightly as you raised the glass to your lips, the movement drawing his attention like a magnet.

Dean’s eyes lingered for a second too long, his grip tightening around his own glass as he caught himself staring. He clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze back up to your face. You didn’t seem to notice—or maybe you did, and you were just too good at hiding it. Either way, it only made the tension in the room thicker, more suffocating.

You set the glass down. “What?”, you asked, your voice casual but with a glint of curiosity. “You’ve been quiet all of a sudden. Did I say something wrong?”.

Dean smirked, trying to mask the heat crawling up his neck. “Nah”, he said, leaning back again and taking another sip of whiskey. “Just thinking”.

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “About?”.

He hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him. He wanted to say something cocky, to deflect like he always did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he shrugged, his voice dropping slightly. “About how you’re a hell of a lot more interesting than I gave you credit for”.

Your eyes widened slightly, the soft flush in your cheeks deepening as you let out a quiet laugh. “Well, I’ll take that as a compliment”, you said, your tone light but tinged with something warmer.

Dean tilted his head, his smirk softening. “You should”.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was charged, heavy with unspoken things that neither of you seemed ready to address. Dean’s chest tightened as he watched you tuck your hair behind your ear again, the movement so simple yet somehow mesmerizing.

You bit your lip lightly, your arms wrapping around yourself as an involuntary shiver ran through you. The cool air of the bunker combined with the cold tiles underfoot wasn’t doing you any favors, and the oversized shirt you wore didn’t provide much warmth. You glanced away from Dean, suddenly feeling more vulnerable under his gaze.

Dean sighed softly, setting his glass down on the table with a quiet clink. The sound drew your attention back to him just in time to see him stand up, his broad frame now looming over you. He wasn’t as tall as Sam, but he felt larger somehow—his shoulders broader, his presence more commanding. The air between you seemed to crackle with unspoken energy as he closed the space between you in just a few steps.

“Here”, he muttered, his voice low and rough as he reached for the flannel he’d been wearing. The movement made his biceps flex beneath his gray T-shirt, and for a brief moment, you couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles shifted. He didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care—as he slipped the flannel off his shoulders and held it out to you.

Before you could say anything, Dean gently draped it over your frame, the fabric settling around you like a warm cocoon. It smelled like him—faintly of whiskey, leather, and something distinctly Dean. You glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat as you realized just how close he was.

“Can’t have you freezing to death on my watch”, he said, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something warmer, almost protective.

Dean tugged the flannel tighter around your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your arms as he adjusted it to make sure you were warm. The gesture was meant to be casual, maybe even brotherly, but as he shifted closer, his hips inadvertently brushed against your belly.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t mean to react, but the unmistakable press of him against you—even through his thick jeans—sent a jolt of heat rushing through your body. Your gaze flicked up to his face, and you saw his jaw tighten, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something, but no words came.

Dean froze, his hands still resting lightly on the flannel draped around you. He’d felt it too, the way his body betrayed him at the worst possible moment. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, trying to push down the flood of sensations threatening to overwhelm him.

For a second, neither of you moved. The tension that had been simmering between you all night boiled over, the air crackling with an intensity that made your pulse race. You weren’t sure what to do—what to say—but your body seemed to have a mind of its own, leaning ever so slightly closer to him as if drawn by some invisible force.

Dean’s hands dropped from the flannel, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. He took a half step back, his expression unreadable as he looked away, his jaw clenched tightly. “You should, uh…”, he started, his voice rough and uneven, “you should probably get back to Sam”.

His words felt like a bucket of cold water, and you blinked, stepping back yourself as you clutched the flannel tighter around you. “Right”, you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “I should”.

Dean nodded, still avoiding your gaze as he grabbed his glass from the table and drained what was left in one swift motion. His other hand raked through his hair, and he let out a slow, shaky breath. “Goodnight, Y/N”, he said, his voice softer this time but still laced with tension.

You hesitated, your lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you turned and walked toward the hallway, your bare feet padding softly against the tiles. As you disappeared around the corner, you couldn’t help but glance back once, catching a glimpse of Dean standing there, his shoulders tense, his head bowed.

Dean didn’t move until he was sure you were gone. When he finally sat back down, his elbows resting on the table as he buried his face in his hands, he muttered to himself, “What the hell are you doing, man?”.

But no matter how hard he tried to push it away, the ghost of your touch and the warmth of your body against his lingered, driving him closer to the edge than he cared to admit.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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Part 2

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Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick

[artinventor]

So after watching 8x17 I was informed that originally Dean was supposed to say “I love you” in the crypt instead of “I need you” but tbh the change makes more sense to me and might even be even worse than if he said “love”. Dean shows his love in everything he does, shows it plenty with everything he was doing in purgatory, but for him to not only NEED you but to admit it,,,

“I need you” was was more powerful and more in character for both of them cuz:

1. I don’t think at this point cas understands human emotion fully or human love for that matter, he’s certainly learning it more as the seasons go on, but it’s not something he’s familiar with right now. So unless dean elaborated more, which he wouldn’t, would he really know what that meant. even though he wouldn’t admit it, dean is actually so caring towards everyone, cas could easily think he could mean any type of love that isn’t special to him. Honestly considering his absent father and the fact that he’s a soldier with no army, which used to be his only purpose, he wants to be needed. Just looking at hippie cas, he turned into that cuz he lost his powers and felt useless.

2. dean is not one that tells people that, he just shows it, and he was already showing it. He never told Lisa he loved her even when he was with her as a stand in husband/father to her son for a whole year, he barely even tells Sam that he loves him and that’s his brother. Also considering who he is and how stubborn he is it’s really rare and means a lot for HIM of all people to say he “needs” you. Dean’s abandonment issues kinda rejects the idea of needing someone, and growing up the way he did, he doesn’t trust easily. Love is a risk, but needing someone is just full on vulnerability. Also it’s just insane cuz it’s like why do you need him dean? surely you’re not doing all that just cuz his angel powers are useful

Though this IS the second time dean said he needs cas, he said it in purgatory earlier in the season as well. Both times he’s pleading with cas, the first time to try and get him to go with him and escape purgatory together and the second time he’s trying to get through to him past the mind control. The second time being in a much more romantic context. He does say that they’re family before saying it, but then he says “we need you” and changes it to “I need you” which is the main thing that really does it. THEN after he breaks through it, dean asks what broke the connection and they’re both clueless, if it was purely platonic wouldn’t cas, being as blunt and factual as he is, just say that it’s because of their friend/family bond?

[musubi05]

╰┈➤ R.I.P Dinos

Sam Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: You have to make an active volcano for science class. Sam was more than happy to help!

Warnings: None!

"Jesus all of these assignments for what? I swear this school sucks," you mumbled as you walked down the bunker's grand stairs. Luck was not on your side today but it almost never was for you. Today, specifically, you got tasked with four different projects from four different teachers. Thankfully one of them was a group project.

You threw your bag on the table in the library, accidentally causing a beer bottle to shatter once it hit the ground. Again, luck was not on your side.

Sam ran around the corner with a gun in his hand causing you to put your hands up. "Oh my god it's just you," he breathed out relieved. He uncocked his pistol and put it back in his waistband.

"Ouch," you replied sarcastically as you bent down to pick up the shards of glass. Sam came over and crouched on the floor to help.

"You know what I meaann." Sam rolled his eyes.

You chuckled softly, tossing a handful of glass shards into the trash bin nearby. "Yeah, yeah. Just messing with you," you muttered, brushing your hands off on your jeans.

Sam flopped down into one of the library chairs with a dramatic sigh. "So, what’s with the whole bag slam? You mad at the table or what?" he asked, leaning back and propping his boots up on the edge.

You groaned and pulled out the stack of assignment sheets. "Four projects. Four teachers. All due next Monday," you grumbled, spreading the papers out like a bad poker hand. "One of them’s a group thing, though, so I’m hoping I can trick someone into doing most of the work."

"Dang. Only a week to prepare," Sam’s eyes flicked over the papers disinterestedly, but then he snatched one up. His lips curled into a mischievous grin. "At least one of these seem fun! A volacano! Oooo."

You pursed your lips in a line with a unfazed look. "Are you serious right now?"

Sam shrugged as he read the projects details on the paper. "Yeah, actually. Why don't we do it together? Who's better at exploding things than me?"

"Dean is pretty good at exploding things with that grenade launcher," you smirked when Sam raised an eyebrow.

"He used that thing?! Without me-" Sam took a breath to stop himself. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I'm better with mixing things to explode. I don't need a gun to do it."

"Fine, we can do it together. But we can't make it actually explode. If I get in trouble I'm blaming it on you." You point your finger at him with your warning.

"Okay okay. Minimal property damage." Sam put his hands up like he was swearing to it. "No fun," he mumbled.

"I am fun! Just don't want the attention." Sam hummed in response understanding what you mean.

⛧

You guys got started later that day after getting the supplies and your workspace was a mess. Newspapers covered the entire table, and somehow, you had managed to get some powder in your hair from the mâché. Sam, who has clay all over his hands, was vigorously shaping the volcano’s body with a mixture of paper-mâché and clay.

"Okay, okay, hear me out," Sam said, voice full of excitement. "What if we carve out tiny lava paths down the sides? Like, little rivers of doom?"

You raised an eyebrow as you smoothed another strip of paper-mâché onto the volcano’s surface. "And what happens when the 'lava' doesn’t follow your little paths and just explodes everywhere?"

"Then we know it’s realistic," he shot back with a grin.

You shook your head, but a small smile tugged at your lips. "Fine. But if this thing floods the classroom, I’m telling everyone it was your idea."

Sam dramatically placed a hand over his heart. "I’d expect nothing less."

After another half hour of slathering on layers, the volcano finally looked somewhat presentable—if you ignored the fact that it was still dripping with glue.

Sam leaned back in his chair, hands on his hips. "Dude. We made this."

"Yeah," you said, admiring the lumpy, yet oddly charming volcano. "And somehow, neither of us got hurt in the process."

Sam grinned. "Yet."

⛧

The next day, once the volcano had dried, the real fun began.

You were painting the gray and white paper-mâché into green and brown hills on one side. On the other side, that was already dried, Sam stuck little plastic dinosaurs into the scene. He gave one of them a dramatic shove, sending it tumbling down the side of the volcano. "This one knows what’s coming," he narrated ominously.

You rolled your eyes, but you were trying not to laugh. "Sam, I don't think the dinosaurs even knew the difference between a volcano and a mountain."

"Shhh," he hushed you, gently placing a palm-sized T-Rex on the peak. "This is the Volcano God. He watches over the others."

You looked at him, unimpressed. "You’re ridiculous."

"And yet, you keep me around."

Shaking your head, you grabbed a couple of tiny fake trees and positioned them at the volcano’s base. "Okay, I think this actually looks pretty cool."

Sam clapped his hands together. "Now we just have to make it erupt."

The moment of truth had arrived. The volcano sat on a metal tray, ready for the test eruption. Sam held the baking soda like it was a vial of liquid gold, while you carefully poured the vinegar into a cup.

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath. "If this explodes too much—"

"It won’t," Sam interrupted confidently. "I measured this out."

You gave him a skeptical look but still handed him the vinegar. He dramatically lifted the cup over the volcano. "And so, the Volcano God awakens!" he proclaimed before dumping the liquid in.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, with a satisfying hiss, thick red foam bubbled up from the crater and poured down the sides. The tiny T-Rex at the top was quickly swallowed in the fizzing mess.

Sam gasped. "The Volcano God has fallen!"

You burst out laughing as the foam dripped onto the tray. "Dude, this actually looks sick."

Sam grinned proudly. "Told you."

As the eruption slowed to a stop, you sat back, arms crossed. "Okay. We definitely deserve an A for this."

Sam nodded, wiping a bit of foam off his sleeve. "Agreed. And if not, we threaten to make it actually explode next time."

You shot him a look.

"Kidding!" he said quickly, but his smirk said otherwise.

⛧

Today was the day. The day you had to turn in all four of your projects. After a week of nonstop researching, putting things together, and writing. You finally finished and jesus, you were tired.

Unfortunately Sam had to leave after helping you finish with the volcano to go do a hunt. He didn't want to just leave you alone with all this stress of school. Every time you were stressed out or very focused on something you wouldn't take care of yourself that well.

Sometimes you'd forget to eat meals. Sometimes you don't drink enough water and you don't realize until you have a huge headache that won't go away no matter how much water you drink. You also stay up at night making sure everything is perfect. That trait is from Sam himself and you mentally thank him every time this happens. However, you still convinced him to go and that you'd be fine.

You walked into the bunker, down the stairs and into the library as quickly as you could. You were happy that you were done and happy that Sam was coming home soon. You had planned to get some snacks so you could watch a movie in Dean's man cave which was one of your favorite things to do to pass the time.

You set your volcano down on the table and your bag on one of the seats when you heard the bunker's garage door opening.

"Sam?" You called out to see if that was him.

"Yep. I'm back!" He announced as he walked into the main room with his warm smile. You went down the little steps with arms open wide to hug him which he accepted with no hesitation.

"Welcome back," you said softly as your grip slightly tightened around him. He rubbed your shoulder with his thumb in response.

"Thanks, sweetie. So, how was school?" He asked not wanting to get out of the hug just yet.

"Better now since I'm not worrying about any projects," you bluntly spoke with annoyance about those assignments. "Speaking of..." you broke the hug to go back in the library with a curious Sam following you.

"Tada!" You put up jazz hands to show off the volcano. "I brought it back!"

"What grade did you get on it?"Sam asked as he smirked a little as if he already knows.

"Well, she hasn't officially graded it since she's slow at grading things but I may have saw good points on the rubric she was writing on," you returned the smirk to Sam.

"Ayy that's my girl!" He ruffled your hair a little but you didn't protest like you normally did. "But why bring it back? I thought you'd just throw it away."

"So we can make an actual explosion!" You said which warned a big smile from Sam.

"You're the best sister ever."

[itshelfiredean]

Being Dean Winchester’s Daughter Would Include

1.) Dean teaching you how to drive in the impala, but he’s scared that either of his babies would get hurt so he would make up any excuse for you never to get behind a wheel. This of course ended with Dean catching you and Sam in a driving lesson and you both got yelled at for hours.

2.) Ever since you were in pigtails, Dean would always call you nicknames like “Kiddo”, “Rugrat”, or “Princess”. Your Uncle Sam would keep it rather traditional with “Sweetheart”,“Honey”, or your least favorite “Lil’ Dean”.

3.) Your dad and uncle would make lasting friendships through the years, but would hide them from you because they know that if you get attached, then it’ll break your little heart if they died.

4.) Dean taught you his music taste and basically forbid you to obsess over Bieber or Katy Perry, but you didn’t necessarily ‘love’ his hard rock music taste. You tended to favor Sam’s favorites such as The Beatles, Wings, and the Traveling Wilburys, but Dean got you hooked on Queen, Creedence Clearwater Revival, and David Bowie.

5.) If either your dad or uncle were killed on a hunt or by whoever, they made a deal to take you in no matter what the circumstances were because they would never abandon you like John would.

6.) If you were ever hurt or sick, Dean and Sam would put on this whole show of Dr. Dad and Nurse Sammy. They would dress up in scrubs and check you over all while keeping a playful charade. Your final treatment would always be 20 extra cc’s of tickles and of course rest. Unlucky for you, this carried on well into your teenage years even if they had to drag you down to the infirmary to do so.

7.) You always understood that family doesn’t end in blood. When you were a little girl that reached up to just below their knees, you had the best family you could remember. Uncle Cas was always around and would let you put makeup on him and style his hair, but little did you know that you taught Castiel how to open his heart to people especially to a little girl. That came in handy when he sacrificed himself for the sake of you and Jack against the empty. Then of course you had Grandpa Bobby, or “GrandBob”. Bobby would come off as a nasty old grump to everyone else, but to you he would do anything you said. He practically raised Sam and Dean, but you were different than they were at your age. Bobby saw you as Dean’s precious baby girl who deserved the sun, moon, and stars. And damn-it, he would lasso the biggest star in the sky if you asked him to. You grew up with many amazing men who would do anything to keep you happy, but no one compared to Jack. You were 16 when Jack was born and unlike your dad and uncle in the beginning, you did everything in your power to protect him from your family. You actually helped Jack run away when he was first new, but you knew damn well and Dean dragged your ass back to the bunker once him and Sam tracked you both down. After Dean finally cam around to your side and chose to accept Jack as a member of the family, it made it easier for you to get closer with the devils son. You both were never romantically involved, but your were destined to the two half’s of a whole. He was your Westley and you were his Buttercup. However, Dean wasn’t too happy with seeing you and Jack getting all buddy-buddy, but Sam convinced him that this was really the first friendship you ever had. All through your life, you realized that you had a huge family that loved you, and you loved them in return always.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Y/N age 6

“Daddy, would you still love me if I was bad and mean like Lucifer was to you and Uncle Sammy?”

“Kiddo, I would still love you if you told me that you completely wrecked the Impala”

“That must mean a lot because Sammy told me that you love ‘Baby’ more than anything.”

“You’re my real baby. I will always chose you over a stupid car. But don’t tell Sammy that because it always makes him mad.”

“I love you too, Daddy. I love you more than all of the stars in the sky.”

“I love you more, Princess. With all my heart and each and every grain of sand”

[jenanigans1207]

1/7/25: Petty

“Dude,” Sam says to Dean one night when they’re sitting in the library pouring over some boring ass books that haven’t helped them even a little bit up until this point. “What the hell’d you do to Cas?”

“Who says I did anything to him?” Dean asks without glancing up. “Dude’s weird, it’s probably nothing.”

A hand appears on the page that Dean was pretending to read, and it takes him a second to even realize it’s happened, blinking his attention back to the moment and glaring at Sam as he reaches out to smack the offending hand. Sam snatches his hand back before Dean makes contact, but the effect was successful because Sam now has Dean’s full attention.

“He’s taking everything I say so literally.” Sam explains, pausing as if he’s waiting for Dean to add something. When Dean doesn’t, he presses on. “We’ve known the guy for twelve years and even when he was his most angelic, he didn’t do this.”

“Sure he did.” Dean argued, the phrase no, he’s not on any flatbread circling around in his head.

But Sam shakes his head, a few long pieces falling into his eyes. “That was different. He didn’t know then. He’s doing it on purpose now.”

Dean sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “He’s doing it to be a petty bastard.” He says finally. “On our last hunt I yelled at him because he never fucking listens or does what I ask him to do, which is how he got hurt. So now—”

“He’s taking everything said to him literally and acting it out exactly as he’s told to.” Sam fills in the blank.

“Yeah.” Dean says. “I was trying to ignore him hoping that he’d stop, but he only seems to be doubling down on being an ass about the whole thing.”

To Dean’s surprise, the only response Sam has to the whole situation is to burst out in laughter. It’s the kind of head thrown back, belly laugh that Dean hasn’t heard Sam do in years. It was the kind of laugh he cherished, because he used to get it so infrequently that he had to commit every second of it to memory. And even though Sam laughs more easily now, he still rarely laughs with this kind of unbridled joy— for a moment it makes Dean entirely forget about Cas and his petty revenge. Despite himself and despite the situation, Dean finds himself grinning a little too, just happy to see his brother happy.

“You really met your match,” Sam finally manages to choke out, still smiling in a way that’s happy but definitely verging on shit-eating. “For every pain in the ass thing you do, he returns the favor.”

“It’s not funny,” Dean grumbles, leaning back in his chair. He wants to take a swig of his beer but it’s empty and he doesn’t feel like getting up. “He needs to be more careful!”

Sam settles more comfortably in his own chair then and it’s the slant of his shoulders that tells Dean he should’ve gotten up to get the next beer because he’ll need it for whatever Sam is about to say. “Have you just tried telling him that you’re worried about him? And that it matters to you that he stays safe?”

There’s a lot of deflections and defenses that jump to the tip of Dean’s tongue, but he bites back on them. He’s been trying to be better to be at least a little more honest— with himself, Sam, and Cas. Nobody else was yet included in that honesty, but he figured he’d get there someday. So he swallows the immediate words he wants to say and glances down at the table.

“He should know.” He answers instead which isn’t much but it’s better and more vulnerable than anything else he would’ve said. At least it implies admission that Sam’s right about his true reason for being upset.

“I’m sure he does.” Sam agrees and there’s a sincerity in his voice that does actually comfort Dean a little. “But knowing it deep down and hearing it are different.” Sam explains, pausing before adding, “You know he loves you, but it’s still nice to hear, isn’t it?”

And goddamn it all, Sam has a point that Dean can’t even begin to deny. Because he does know that Cas loves him, knows it to the core of his very bones. But if Cas were to just stop saying it out loud, were to stop reminding him of just how much he’s loved, it would be hard for Dean. He wouldn’t doubt that love, but he would still struggle with it.

Dean groans and pushes back from the table, mumbling an affectionate and exasperated “bitch” under his breath as he leaves the room. He doesn’t have to travel far to find Cas, situated in the bathroom preparing to shave. Cas glances up when he walks in the door, their eyes meeting in the mirror. Cas’s hand stills where they were unrolling a towel over the sink in front of him.

“I’m so hard on you because I’m worried,” Dean blurts before he has the chance to lose his nerve. “I’m terrified of losing you and it scares the shit out of me when you get hurt on our hunts.” Cas’s eyes have gone impossibly wide in his reflection, but he doesn’t interrupt. “I don’t mean to be an ass, I just— I can’t lose you, Cas. You mean too damn much to me.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes, turning to face him properly.

“So there you go,” Dean scuffs the toe of his boot on the ground. “You can stop being a petty bitch now.”

Cas smiles as he steps up to Dean, reaching out to cup his elbow gently in a warm hand. “Thank you for telling me.”

“You knew, right?” Dean confirms.

“I knew,” Cas answers. “I couldn’t have been so petty if I had thought you were serious.”

“You’re such an ass.”

[gliphyartfan]

It’s that’s time of year again folks! Another year over and a new one beginning!

To those who stuck to my blog, thanks for STILL finding my works worth reading!

@yanderelinkeduniverse @stars-for-thought @eternadreeblissa @imprisioned-in-the-hole @screaming-until-god-hears-me @crestfallenmermaidan @ice-cream-writes-stuff @linked-heroes

To those who are new to my blog, thanks for finding my works worth reading 🥰

You guys are the best and I treasure you lot greatly.

Now, as always let’s begin this final bit for the year to make way for the new year!

————

———

——

—

The dean’s office buzzed with excitement as invitations to the prestigious Martell Charity Gala were handed out to select students. (Y/n) was one of the lucky few. She stared at the sleek black and dark blue card embossed with silver lettering.

‘You are cordially invited to the annual Martell Charity Gala. This year’s theme is Midnight Elegance. Dress code: black and dark blue. Formal attire required. We hope to see you there.’

The invitation was beyond anything she’d ever dreamed of. Or anything she ever expected to happen to her.

Attending the gala meant mingling with the city’s elite, and maybe even a chance to network for any future career she chose at the end of her term at the college. The dean himself had handed her the invite, his smile unusually cheerful. “You’ve been a promising student, (Y/n).” Says the man who never even spoke to her before. “ This is a rare opportunity. Represent our school well.”

She didn’t notice the brief glance he shared with an unassuming man in the corner of the office as she left the room, a subtle nod exchanged.

——

(At a certain home base.)

——

“We all know this alliance with the Martells is a powder keg. They’re unpredictable, and Emilio doesn’t trust us any more than we trust him.”

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a single overhead light and the faint glow of the city skyline beyond the large windows. Around the long table each hero sat with an air of tension hanging over them.

Time sat at the head, his hands folded in front of him.

Twilight, having been the one to speak, leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression grim.

“That’s an understatement,” Warriors added, sitting up straight with his hands folded in front of him. “The only reason he agreed to this ‘partnership’ is because it’s been mutually beneficial. But if he thinks we’re a threat to his control, he won’t hesitate to strike first.”

Hyrule shifted nervously, glancing between the others. “Do you think he’ll actually try something tonight? At a public event?”

“It’s possible…” Time said, his voice calm but firm. “Emilio knows this gala is the perfect stage to send a message, it’s his stage after all, to either solidify his power or undermine ours. That’s why we can’t let our guard down.”

Four, seated quietly at the table, nodded. “If he does try something, it won’t be obvious. He’ll strike in a way that keeps his hands clean while making us look weak.”

Wild smirked, his arms resting on the table. “Then we make sure he doesn’t get the chance. If things go south, I’ll have a plan to cut off his escape routes.”

“And cause a scene?” Warriors snapped, glaring at him. “We can’t afford to look reckless tonight. This Gala is well known in this city. Our reputation is at stake just as much as theirs.”

“Reputation doesn’t matter if we’re dead.” Wild shot back.

“Enough.” Time interrupted, his sharp tone silencing the room. He looked around at each of them, his gaze steady and commanding. “This isn’t the time for bickering. Emilio’s greatest weapon is chaos. We need to be united, disciplined, and ready to act. Without drawing unnecessary attention.”

His piercing gaze moved from one man to the next, ensuring he had their attention before he spoke.

“The Martell family’s gala tomorrow is an opportunity.” Time began, his voice calm but firm. “They’re gathering their allies, consolidating power, and using the pretense of charity to solidify their influence in the city. This is our chance to remind them that their reach is not absolute.”

Warriors leaned forward, his arms crossed. “And how exactly do we plan to do that without starting an all-out war in the middle of a ballroom? They’ll have security everywhere.”

“We’re not here to make a spectacle,” Twilight interjected, his tone even. “This is about sending a message. Subtle but clear.”

“Subtle’s not exactly our specialty,” Wild muttered, smirking.

“We’ll manage.” Time said bluntly, cutting off any further quips. “Legend, Four, and Hyrule have already ensured we’ll be prepared to bypass the Martells’ security measures.” He gestured toward the cane by his side. “Their metal detectors won’t detect our weapons.”

Hyrule nodded, his usually bright demeanor subdued. “The enchantments on the wood will hold, but they’re not infallible. We’ll need to act quickly if it comes to a fight.”

“What about their allies?” Legend asked, his voice sharp. “It’s not just the Martells we’re dealing with. They’ve got half the city’s scum in their pocket, and you can bet some of them will be at that party.”

“That’s why we’re keeping our eyes open,” Time replied. “This isn’t just about the Martells. It’s about understanding the full scope of their operations. Who they’re working with, what their next moves are. information is just as valuable as action.”

Sky leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed thoughtfully. “What’s the endgame here? If we make our move too soon, we risk pushing them into retaliation. And if we wait too long, they’ll see us as weak.”

“They already see us as a threat,” Warriors said. “That’s why they’re inviting us to this gala in the first place. They’re making a show of strength.”

“And we’re here to remind them that we’re not afraid.” Twilight added.

“What about (Y/n)?” Wild asked suddenly, drawing the attention of the group. “She wanted to invite us to celebrate New years with her family.” Every one was quiet at that.

“…Does she even know about any of this?”

“She doesn’t know the specifics.” Time said, his voice softening slightly. “And she won’t be involved. The last thing we need is for her to become a target when our position is being challenged.”

“Keeping her out of this might be harder than you think.” Legend muttered. “She’s observant. If she figures out what we’re up to-“

“She won’t.” Time interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’ve kept her in the dark for a reason. This is not her world, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Wild exchanged a glance with Twilight, but neither said anything further.

As the conversation continued, the Chain began outlining their individual roles for the evening.

“Warriors and Twilight will be stationed near the entrances,” Time instructed. “You’ll monitor who comes and goes. Note anyone of interest and ensure no surprises.”

“Understood.” Warriors said, his expression serious.

“Sky, you’ll be mingling within the crowd with me,” Time continued. “Keep your ears open for any useful information. If anyone seems too eager to flaunt their alliances, take note. Wild will go undercover.”

Sky nodded, while Wild smirked. “I’m great at blending in.”

“Legend, and Hyrule,” Time said, turning to them. “You’ll be my backup. If things take a turn, we’ll need to act quickly and decisively.”

“And besides being with Sky, what will you do?” Warriors asked, his brow furrowed.

“I’ll handle Emilio Martell personally.” Time said. “If he thinks he can intimidate us into backing down, he’ll learn otherwise.”

The group was wrapping up their meeting when Sky frowned and gestured toward the table. “What about the alliance? Are we still trying to maintain it, or are we burning that bridge tonight?”

“The alliance is tenuous at best,” Time admitted. “If the opportunity arises to weaken their position without breaking our agreement, we take it. But if they cross the line—”

“We make sure they regret it.” Twilight finished, his tone cementing the decision.

The room fell silent as the weight of their mission settled over them. Each man understood the risks involved, but none of them wavered.

As they prepared to leave, Time glanced at them one last time. “This is a game of chess. Stay sharp, stay vigilant, and don’t make any moves you can’t defend.”

They nodded, each heading off to prepare for the night ahead. None of them realized that (Y/n)’s presence at the gala would throw their plans into chaos.

——

——

(Y/N) sat crosslegged on her bed, her laptop open to a collection of evening dresses she had been scrolling through for the past hour.

Around her, piles of her own clothes were scattered, a few dresses, skirts, and tops she had dragged out in a half hearted attempt to make something work.

Her best friends, Nic and Tess, lounged nearby, armed with snacks and opinions. Tess flipped through a fashion magazine, occasionally holding it up to show a dress she thought would work, while Nic leaned against the wall, his arms crossed and a skeptical look on his face.

“I don’t get why you’re even going to this thing,” Nic said, frowning. “Missing New Year’s with your family for some snobby party full of rich jerks? What’s the point?”

(Y/N) sighed, flopping back onto her bed. “The Dean basically cornered me into it. He said it’s a great opportunity for networking, and I could represent the college or something. Plus, he said the invitation was ‘special.’” She made air quotes.

Tess raised an eyebrow. “Special? Sounds suspicious.”

“I thought so too,” (Y/N) admitted, sitting up again. “But he made it sound like I’d be ungrateful if I didn’t go. And now I’m stuck trying to figure out what to wear when I could be at home with my family, watching movies and eating junk food.”

Nic snorted. “Yeah, sounds like a real ‘opportunity.’”

“Stop sulking, Nic.” Tess said, smirking. “If she’s going to go, we might as well make sure she looks amazing.”

(Y/N) groaned. “That’s the problem. The dress code is black and dark blue, and everything I’ve looked at is either ridiculously expensive or way too fancy for me.”

Tess tossed the magazine onto the bed and gestured to (Y/N)’s laptop. “Show me what you’ve found so far.”

(Y/N) pulled up a tab with a simple but elegant black dress, a knee length with a slight shimmer to the fabric and a modest V-neckline. “This one’s nice, but even the budget version is still kind of pricey.”

Tess nodded approvingly. “That’s actually pretty perfect. It’s simple, but with the right accessories, it’ll look classy.”

Nic squinted at the screen. “How much is it?”

(Y/N) winced. “More than I’d like to spend.”

“Ugh, fine,” Nic said, throwing his hands up. “I’ll chip in. But you owe me one.”

(Y/N) blinked in surprise. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” Nic said, rolling his eyes. “I’m not going to let you show up to some hot shot event looking like you just rolled out of bed.”

Tess grinned. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Okay, we need shoes. Do you have anything that would work?”

(Y/N) got up and rummaged through her closet, pulling out a pair of black heels. “These?”

“Perfect,” Tess said. “Now jewelry. Do you have anything sparkly but not over the top?”

(Y/N) nodded, grabbing a simple silver pendant necklace her grandmother had given her. “…This?”

“Oooh~” Tess said. “It’s perfect.”

Nic sighed dramatically. “I can’t believe I’m sitting through this. I could be at home right now.”

(Y/N) laughed. “But you’re not and I love you for it Nic. I owe you big time.”

“Damn right you do.” he said, with a half hearted grumble.. “But seriously, you better make it worth it. If you’re going to miss New Year’s with your family, at least make sure you own the room.”

He paused and looked at Tess. “…and since when can you pick decent looking outfits?”

Tess cheerfully flipped him off as a response.

(Y/N) smiled, feeling a little less anxious about the event. “Thanks, guys. You’re the best.”

Tess waved a hand dismissively. “Just remember us little people when you’re flattering the rich boys.”

“Not likely.” (Y/N) said, grinning. “But I’ll try to survive the night without embarrassing myself.”

———

—-

——-

The ballroom was a sight of elegance.

Dark blue and black draped the high ceilings, lit by soft, golden chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the polished floors.

Guests were trickling in, dressed in sleek gowns and sharp suits, as waiters weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. The Martells, as always, spared no expense for their events.

The Chain arrived early, sharply dressed in tailored suits. Time, standing tall with his cane, led the group into the room. His expression was calm, blank, almost cold, but beneath the surface, his mind was cataloging every detail his eye took in.

Warriors adjusted the cufflinks on his dark blue suit, his eyes scanning the room for anything out of place. “The decorations scream ‘power play,’ but the crowd isn’t just Martells and their allies. Look, some of their enemies are here too.”

“Which are also OUR enemies.”

“Enemy of my enemy and all that?”

“ They’ve got a mixed hand tonight.”

“Not good” Twilight said, his voice low. “But the more we know, the better.”

Sky walked close to Time. “I’ll keep an eye on the exits. If anything goes wrong, we’ll need a way out.”

“Wild,” Time said, glancing at him. “Mask up. We need you moving unseen.”

Wild nodded, slipping on the Stone Mask Time gave him. As soon as it settled on his face, Wild’s presence seemed to fade, even from his companions.

“Make a circuit around the room.” Time instructed. “Mark the exits, entrances, and anything unusual. Report back as soon as you have something.”

Without a word and two taps on Time’s shoulder, Wild slipped into the crowd, moving unnoticed even as he brushed past guests and waiters..

That was the cue for fhe Chain to subtl spread out, the tension between them was palpable. Hyrule stayed near the refreshments table, pretending to enjoy a drink as he scanned for any signs of trouble.

Warriors lingered near the dance floor, his sharp eyes watching the movements of the waitstaff and Martell associates.

Twilight leaned against a pillar near one of the exits, his stance relaxed but his senses sharp. “I don’t like this…” he muttered into the comms.

“No one does.” Time responded coolly. He stood near the center of the room, his cane in hand, glass of champagne in another, looking every bit like a guest enjoying the event and he smiled at Legend while they pretended to have a normal chat. “Focus. Stay sharp.”

Minutes passed, and then Wild’s voice crackled through their earpieces. “…We’ve got a problem.”

“What is it?” Warriors asked immediately.

Wild’s tone was unusually tense. “She’s here.”

There was a pause before Time’s measured voice cut through. “Who?”

“(Y/N).” Wild said, his voice more anxious this time. “She’s at the event.”

The Chain froze. The air seemed to thicken as the weight of Wild’s words sank in.

“What?” Twilight said sharply, his calm demeanor cracking.

“Are you sure?” Sky asked, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern.

Wild confirmed, “Positive. She’s here, and… she looks like a guest, not someone who wandered in. This isn’t an accident.”

Sky clenched his fists, trying to stay calm, but his attention shifted sharply as he spotted movement across the room. His eyes widening slightly when he saw a tall, dark-haired man in a perfectly tailored black suit approach (Y/N).

“It gets worse..” Sky muttered into the comms. “She’s being approached by Emilio Martell.”

The Chain’s tension snapped into a razor sharp focus.

———

—

———

(Y/N) stood near a small group of guests, nursing a flute of sparkling water as she tried to blend in. Her dress fit the event’s theme perfectly, but she still felt out of place. She glanced around, scanning the faces of the room, trying to distract herself from the dull ache of missing her family on New Year’s Eve.

“Miss (Y/N)..” came a smooth voice behind her.

She turned, startled to see a tall man with a confident smile and piercing green eyes. His presence was…attention grabbing, the kind of aura that drew you in whether you wanted it or not.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” he said, extending a hand. “Emilio Martell. Organizer of this years event. A pleasure to meet you.”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment before shaking his hand. “(Y/N). Nice to meet you.”

“You must be a guest of honor,” Emilio said, his tone laced with charm. “You stand out in a room full of people trying very hard not to.”

(Y/N) gave a polite smile, unsure how to respond. “I’m.. actually here on behalf of my college. My Dean thought it would be a good opportunity. I’m surprised you know my name.”

Emilio’s smile widened. “A wise choice on his part. And I make it a point to know the names of my guests. Your presence certainly elevates the room.”

—-

——

Sky’s hands balled into fists as he watched Emilio speak to (Y/N). His posture stiffened, and his normally calm demeanor wavered. “We need to get her out of there,” he muttered.

“No sudden moves, Sky stand down.” Time said firmly. “We can’t tip our hand.”

“She doesn’t know who Emilio is.” Warriors said, his voice strained. “She doesn’t know she’s walking into a lion’s den. Who invited her here?”

“I aim to find out.” Legend growled under his breath as he tapped away at his phone, Wind and Four on the other line, watching though the cameras.

Twilight growled, his frustration barely contained. “We need a plan. Now.”

“We can’t draw attention.” Time said. His voice remained calm, but there was a cold edge to it. “Wild, stay on her. Legend, find a way to get closer without causing a scene. Everyone else, maintain your positions.”

The Chain knew they were on borrowed time. The stakes had just risen, and they couldn’t afford to make a single misstep, not when (Y/N) was now caught in the middle of this.

——

——

Emilio Martell’s charming smile never wavered as he continued speaking to (Y/N), his body language relaxed and confident. He was fully aware of the eyes on him. But it was no matter. Emilio thrived on this kind of tension, playing the predator circling his prey.

“You’ve been making an an excellent impression tonight.” he said to (Y/N), his voice low and smooth. “I’m sure your college will appreciate the effort. And what about you? Are you enjoying yourself?”

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing at the luxurious surroundings. She was still a little on edge, but Emilio’s casual attitude eemed to ease her nerves. “It’s a beautiful event…” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “A bit overwhelming, but… yes, I think I am.”

Emilio nodded, his smile widening. “I’m glad. It’s always a pleasure to meet someone with a genuine appreciation for the finer things.” He gestured toward the bar. “Can I get you something? A champagne? Perhaps something stronger?”

“No, thank you.” (Y/N) said politely. “I’m fine with sparkling water.”

“Ah, a woman of discipline,” Emilio said, his tone approving. “I respect that.”

From his position near one of the exits, Sky watched the interaction with barely contained anger. Emilio’s posture and expression were deceptively polite, but there was an undeniable undercurrent of smugness, as though he were mocking them with every word.

“Emilio knows,” Sky said into his comm, his tone tight. “He’s playing her to get at us. This isn’t a coincidence.”

“No,” Time responded coldly, his gaze locked on Emilio from across the room. “This is deliberate. He wanted us here, and now he’s using her as leverage.”

“Then why isn’t he doing anything yet?” Twilight asked. He was stationed at a nearby pillar, his sharp eyes scanning for any sign of Emilio’s associates.

“He’s baiting us,” Warriors said grimly. “Waiting for us to make the first move so he can claim innocence.”

“What’s the plan?” Wild’s voice came through, calm but edged with tension. He had taken a position near the shadows of the room, his presence still cloaked by the Stone Mask.

“Hold positions.” Time ordered. “We can’t act without exposing her connection to us. Sky, stay close but out of sight. Legend keep your bracelet at the ready, Wild, keep circling. Look for anything out of place.”

“And if he tries something?” Hyrule asked, his voice quiet but determined.

“He won’t get the chance.” Time replied calmly.

As (Y/N) tried to navigate the conversation, she felt the weight of Emilio’s attention growing heavier. He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping to something more intimate.

“You have an air about you,” Emilio said. “Something unique. People like you don’t go unnoticed in a place like this.”

(Y/N) offered a polite smile, her discomfort starting to creep back in. “I’m just here to represent my college. Nothing special.”

Emilio chuckled softly. “Don’t sell yourself short. A sharp mind and a beautiful face, those are rare qualities. But I imagine you already know that. Perhaps there is a position in one of my businesses that could use someone like you..”

Before (Y/N) could respond, another voice cut through the moment.

“Ah, Martell. Already charming the guests, I see.”

Time’s smooth, even tone drew Emilio’s attention. The older man approached with a casual gait, his cane tapping lightly against the polished floor. His expression was perfectly neutral, betraying nothing of the storm beneath.

Emilio straightened, his smile unfaltering. “And here I thought you were too busy inspecting the decor to join us, Signore Time.”

Time’s lips twitched in the faintest semblance of a polite smile. “One should always make time for old acquaintances.” His sharp eye flickered to (Y/N), and he added, “And new ones.”

(Y/N) brightened slightly at his familiar presence. “Time! I didn’t know you were here.”

“I couldn’t miss such a prestigious event, especially one I was invited to.” Time replied smoothly, his gaze briefly lingering on her before returning to Emilio. “And it seems you’ve already made an impression.”

Emilio’s smile tightened, just a fraction. “Your reputation precedes you, Signore Time. Always a man of observation.”

Time inclined his head, his grip tightening slightly on his cane. “And you’ve always been a man of theatrics. How… fitting.”

The subtle tension between the two men was palpable, though (Y/N) seemed blissfully unaware of the undercurrents. Distracted with the relief of someone familiar at the event with her.

Emilio continued, Wild’s voice came through the comms again.

“Martell’s got people,” he said quietly. “Two by the north exit, one near the bar. They’re watching Emilio closely.”

“Armed?” Warriors asked.

“Likely,” Wild confirmed. “And they’re not alone. There’s movement on the buildings across from this place, looks like snipers.”

Four’s voice came through the comms, cold. “Keep marking positions. We’re not moving until we know the full picture.”

—-

Emilio took a step closer to Time, his smile still intact but his eyes hardening. “This city is a place for opportunity, don’t you think? A place where alliances can thrive… or falter.”

Time didn’t react, his tone even. “Opportunity, like respect, is earned. Not bought with cheap theatrics.”

Emilio chuckled, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “And yet, it seems even you can’t resist a good show.”

Time met his gaze steadily, unflinching. “Let’s hope your finale doesn’t disappoint.”

The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, but both men maintained their masks of civility.

As Emilio turned back to (Y/N), his charming smile returning, Sky took the chance to step closer, his presence calm but deliberate.

“Excuse me.” Sky said smoothly, his voice gentle but firm. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

(Y/N) turned, surprised but relieved to see him. “Sky! You’re here too?”

“I’m someone’s plus one tonight.” Sky replied, his gaze briefly flicking to Emilio before returning to (Y/N). “Would you mind if I borrowed you for a moment? I’d like to catch up if that’s alright with you Mr. martell?”

Emilio’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to monopolize her time.”

(Y/N) nodded. “Sure, Sky.”

Sky offered her his arm, and she took it, allowing him to gently guide her away. As they moved, Wind’s voice came through the comms.

“She’s safe for now, Sky has her.” he said. “But Emilio’s watching her closely. We need to wrap this up before he makes his move.”

——-

——-

Emilio watched as Sky led (Y/N) away, his smile lingering for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to Time. The man before him was an enigma, always calm, always composed, and always a step ahead. Emilio had played these games with powerful men before, but there was something about “Signore Time” that unsettled him.

“Your associate seems quite protective,” Emilio remarked, his tone casual but his words carefully chosen.

Time’s one visible eye remained fixed on him, cold and calculating. “My associates are loyal. Loyalty is the foundation of any successful… endeavor, don’t you agree?”

Emilio’s smile tightened. “Of course. Loyalty, after all, is the currency of trust. But trust can be so fleeting, can’t it? Especially in our line of work.”

“Only for those who don’t know its value,” Time replied smoothly. He leaned lightly on his cane, the movement calculated to appear as a casual gesture. “Those who gamble with loyalty often find themselves alone when the stakes are highest.”

Emilio chuckled, though there was no humor in it. “Ah, but gambling can be so exhilarating, can’t it? The thrill of the unknown, the rush of risk… It’s what keeps us all moving forward.”

“Some might say it’s a fool’s game,” Time countered. “A fleeting pleasure for those who mistake recklessness for strength.”

Emilio tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. “And yet, even the most calculated plans can crumble under the weight of a single misstep. Tell me, Signore Time, do you ever wonder if your own calculations might one day fail you?”

Time’s lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile. “I’ve learned to anticipate missteps. To anticipate possibilities of past, present and future. It’s why I’m still standing.” He paused, his tone lowering slightly. “But the same can’t be said for everyone, can it…Emilio?”

The subtle use of Emilio’s first name was not lost on the younger man, whose smile faltered ever so slightly before he quickly recovered. “Touché. You’ve always been… thorough. But thoroughness has its price. It must get exhausting, always watching, always waiting.”

“Not as exhausting as underestimating an opponent.” Time said, his tone icy. He tapped his cane lightly against the floor, the sound barely audible over the soft murmur of the gala. “Tell me, Emilio, do you ever wonder if your own gambles will come back to haunt you? Or do you prefer to ignore the debts you’ve accrued?”

Emilio’s smile grew sharper, his eyes narrowing. “Debts, Signore Time, are a necessary part of the game. It’s how you leverage them that determines your success. But then again, you’ve never been one to play by conventional rules, have you?”

“I’ve found conventional rules to be limiting. ” Time replied. “And fragile.” He stepped forward slightly, just enough to subtly impose his presence. “Unlike the alliances I forge, which are built to last.”

Emilio laughed lightly, though there was a tension in his posture now. “Well, I suppose that’s what sets you apart. A man of… permanence in a world that changes so quickly. It’s admirable, really.”

“Admiration is a fleeting thing,” Time said, his gaze unwavering. “I prefer respect. It holds more weight.”

Emilio held his gaze for a long moment, his smile thinning. “You’ve always been good at commanding respect, Signore Time. But I wonder… how long can one man hold the weight of it all before he crumbles?”

Time didn’t blink. His voice was calm, deliberate, and unyielding. “A man who stands alone might crumble. But a man who stands with those who are loyal to him? He becomes unshakable.”

The two men stood in silence for a moment, the tension between them palpable. Emilio’s smile remained, but his eyes betrayed the simmering frustration beneath the surface. Time, as always, was unmovable, his presence as solid and enduring as the name he had chosen for himself.

“Enjoy the evening, Signore Time,” Emilio said finally, his tone polite but edged with malice.

“I always do.” Time replied, his voice even. “And I trust you will as well. After all, tonight’s… festivities are just getting started.”

As Emilio turned and walked away, Time remained still, his grip on his cane tightening ever so slightly. The game had begun, and Time was already five moves ahead.

——

——

The gala was in full swing. Guests floated across the polished marble floor, their laughter and conversation a background to the string quartet playing softly in the corner. Yet, for those who knew the true purpose of the evening, the atmosphere was a mask stretched thin, ready to snap at the slightest poke.

Amidst the glittering gowns and tailored suits, the Chain moved like shadows. Twilight and Warriors blended seamlessly into the crowd, their sharp eyes scanning the room for potential threats. Hyrule lingered near a grand pillar, subtly marking the entrances and exits, while Wild, cloaked in the anonymity granted by his Stone Mask, wove unnoticed through the clusters of guests.

Through the comms, Wind’s voice cut through the quiet hum of tension. “Why do they get to hang out with her? I’m stuck doing recon! It’s not fair!”

“Wind,” Warriors replied curtly, his voice low and commanding, “focus on your task. She’s safer this way.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Wind muttered, clearly pouting. “Still sucks.”

Wild, unseen and unnoticed, chuckled softly through his channel. “Keep your eyes open, kid. We’ll make it up to you later.”

“Wild,” Time’s calm voice interrupted, laced with authority, “report.”

Wild’s tone shifted immediately. “Martell is making his rounds, but nothing actionable yet. I’ll keep tracking him.”

Time’s gaze flicked briefly toward the far end of the room, where Emilio Martell moved among the guests with practiced ease, his smile as polished as the cut crystal glasses in their hands. But his focus didn’t linger. He turned back to (Y/N), who stood beside him and Sky, her expression bright with a mix of curiosity and unease.

Time allowed himself a brief moment to savor her presence. Her dark blue dress, simple yet stunning, caught the light just enough to draw the eye without overwhelming, the intricate stitching along the hem whispering of elegance on a budget. Her (h/c) hair framed her face perfectly, and her eyes sparkled with the kind of sincerity that felt rare in a room filled with veiled intentions.

Sky leaned closer to her, his warm smile disarming. “You look incredible tonight, (Y/N). It’s no wonder you caught everyone’s attention.”

She blushed lightly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks, but I feel a little out of place here. Everyone seems so… important.”

“You belong here as much as anyone.” Time assured her, his voice steady and grounding.

Her lips curved into a small smile, though doubt still lingered in her eyes. “Well, I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for the Dean. It’s strange that he thought I’d fit in at something like this.”

Sky’s expression remained relaxed, though a flicker of unease passed between him and Time. “You’re more important than you realize.” Sky said softly, his words layered with a meaning she didn’t catch.

In the distance, Hyrule’s voice crackled softly through the comms. “Martell’s stopping near the auction stage. He’s speaking to someone, looks like one of the heads of the merchant syndicate.”

Twilight’s voice followed, low and steady. “No sudden moves. We’re not here to start anything unless it’s unavoidable.”

“Unavoidable might come faster than we think,” Warriors murmured. “Keep eyes on the entrances. If Martell’s expecting trouble, he’ll have a backup plan.”

Meanwhile, (Y/N) shifted slightly, her attention caught by a glittering chandelier overhead. “This place is incredible,” she said, her voice full of genuine awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Sky chuckled. “It does have a certain charm, doesn’t it?”

Time’s gaze remained fixed on her, his usual stoicism softening ever so slightly. “You have an eye for beauty.” he remarked.

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I think it’s just the novelty. I’m not used to this kind of… luxury.”

Through the comms, Wind groaned dramatically. “She’s so adorable, and I’m missing it! This is the worst.”

“Focus, Wind,” Warriors snapped.

“Fine.” Wind muttered, his voice laced with defeat.

Wild’s report cut through the moment. “Martell’s moving again. Heading toward the upper balcony.”

“Good,” Time said quietly. “Everyone, stay in position. Sky and I will keep her occupied. Wild, follow Martell but keep your distance.”

“Understood,” Wild replied, already moving.

As the Chain’s unseen web tightened around the room, Sky leaned closer to (Y/N), his voice low and playful. “So, what’s the verdict? Are you enjoying the party?”

She smiled up at him, her earlier unease momentarily forgotten. “Honestly, I think I’m more nervous than anything. But it’s… nice.”

Time’s hand rested lightly on the head of his cane, his ever watchful eye scanning the room even as he spoke. “As long as you’re with us, there’s nothing to be nervous about.”

Though she didn’t fully understand the depth of his words, (Y/N) found comfort in them, unaware of the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

——

Far away from the Gala, something odd began to happe.

The Chain’s main property had a vault hidden deep within its estate, a place no one besides the nine visited. This room held everything they had managed to hold on to from Hyrule: old weapons, tools, trinkets, and treasures with enough magic to make anyone in the modern world go pale. The storage was locked tight, enchanted by Hyrule, Legend, and Time to ensure no one but the Chain could enter.

The room was dim, the only light coming from faintly glowing runes etched into the walls and the edges of shelves. Everything in here had a history, everything had a use but tonight, one item decided to stir.

A small, nondescript pouch sat on a table, forgotten among the more dramatic relics. It didn’t look like much-just a plain, worn bag. But it twitched, the fabric shifting like it had something alive inside.

Then, the drawstring loosened on its own, and out rolled a small wooden carving. The figure landed lightly on the table, lying still for a moment before its smooth, carved head tilted slightly, as though waking up.

The carving was unmistakable: it was (Y/N), dressed in a blue tunic and trousers like a proper Hylian adventurer. The details were shockingly accurate, down to the tiny curls of her hair and the soft expression on her face.

The doll’s eyes glowed faintly, their light cutting through the dark room. Then came the sound, soft at first, like a faint giggle, playful and almost childlike.

It echoed, but it did not sound malicious. The doll twitched, its tiny arms shifting slightly as if it was trying to stretch. And then, a voice filled the room.

“Warmth…” the voice murmured, the word reverberating through the storage like a ripple in still water. “Home. Heart. Warmth is here.”

A translucent mist began to seep out of the doll, curling like smoke but with a faint glow that pulsed like a heartbeat. The mist swirled and rose, twisting as it moved toward the ceiling.

The voice spoke again, louder now, with a strange resonance that filled the room. “Warmth is near…will find it.”

The mist lingered for a moment, swirling around the wooden carving before shooting upward, slipping through the cracks of the ceiling and disappearing entirely. It moved with purpose, drawn by an invisible force.

the undeniable presence of its Warmth, its Home, its Heart.

Somewhere, far from the location, (Y/N) remained blissfully unaware of the being seeking her out, as it moved with desire to be ever closer to its source of warmth.

——

The Gala buzzed around them, a hum of conversation, clinking glasses, and soft music filling the air. But (Y/N) barely noticed any of it as she leaned slightly toward Sky and Time, the tension in her shoulders melting just a little.

“I’m just saying,” (Y/N) grumbled, crossing her arms, “the Dean could’ve picked literally anyone else. I don’t even know why he thought I’d be a good fit for this.” She sighed, glancing at her nearly untouched glass of champagne. “I should be home right now, watching cheesy countdown specials with my family and eating way too many snacks. Not… whatever this is.”

Sky smiled at her, a little softer than usual. “Maybe he just thought you’d represent the school well,” he offered, though there was an edge to his voice, like he didn’t buy it either.

“Doubt it,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. “This is the same guy who got my name wrong at orientation. Twice. And now I’m here, dressed like someone I’m not, trying to smile at people who probably don’t even care if I’m alive.”

Time didn’t say much, but his presence was steady. He tilted his head slightly, letting her vent without interruption, his good eye focused on her like she was the only thing in the room worth paying attention to.

Suddenly, Four’s voice came through the comms in their ears, low but clear. “I’m already looking into the Dean.” he said. “No way this is just a coincidence.”

Sky and Time didn’t react outwardly, but they exchanged a quick glance.

“What’ve you got so far?” Time asked, his voice barely above a murmur as he turned his attention back to (Y/N), who was fiddling with her glass and muttering something about how dumb gala food was.

“Not much yet,” Four replied. “But the timing’s too perfect. The Martells pull this stunt, and she just happens to be invited? Nah, there’s more to it. I’ll keep digging.”

Sky nodded subtly, keeping his expression neutral for (Y/N)’s sake. “Keep us updated,” he said under his breath, before giving her a reassuring smile. “At least you look good.” he added lightly, hoping to cheer her up.

(Y/N) groaned, half-amused. “Yeah, well, this dress cost me an entire paycheck, and a debt to Nic, so I’d better.” She glanced down at the elegant-but simple-dark blue gown she’d managed to snag last-minute. “I still feel out of place.”

“You’re not,” Time said quietly, his voice carrying that calm authority that made it impossible to argue. “You belong here with us.”

(Y/N) blinked at him, a little thrown by his certainty, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. “If you say so…” she mumbled, though her lips quirked into a faint smile.

Meanwhile, through the comms, Wind’s voice piped up, loud and eager. “Are we done keeping out of sight yet? I wanna hang out with her too!”

Sky sighed, keeping his voice low. “Patience, kid. She’s in a good mood. Let’s not ruin it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Wind huffed. “I’m stuck back here like some kind of stalker.”

“Wind,” Four said flatly, “you are a stalker right now. Stay put.”

The Chain kept their focus tight, even as (Y/N) relaxed more, her complaints slowing. But the underlying tension in the room wasn’t lost on them.

The music eventually slowed, and the crowd’s murmurs hushed as Emilio stepped onto the stage. His smile was wide, charming, but there was something in his eyes that set every nerve in the Chain on edge. A single hand gesture brought the room’s attention to him like he was the star of the show.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Emilio began smoothly, holding a glass of champagne like he was about to propose a toast. “I want to thank you all for joining us tonight as we welcome a new year. A year full of opportunities, partnerships, and, of course… resolutions.”

The crowd chuckled politely. Time’s jaw tightened, his cane resting just slightly closer to his side.

Emilio’s smile sharpened, though his tone stayed light. “Now, as we move forward, let’s all remember: respect is key. Whether in business or… personal matters.” He let the words hang in the air for a beat too long. “After all, no empire, no matter how storied, lasts without mutual understanding.”

Sky stiffened beside (Y/N), his hand brushing against her back as if by accident. Time said nothing, his face unreadable, but (Y/N) noticed his grip tighten slightly on the cane.

Emilio raised his glass higher. “To a prosperous new year-for all of us.”

The crowd erupted in cheers, the clinking of glasses filling the room as the lights suddenly flickered and cut out, plunging the venue into darkness. Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire.

“Stay close.” Time muttered, grabbing (Y/N)’s wrist with enough firmness to leave no room for argument.

“What’s happening?” she whispered, but before either of them could answer, Wild’s voice crackled through their comms.

“They’re moving in.” Wild said, his voice clipped and urgent. “Emilio’s men are storming the place. They’re heading straight for you, Time. You’ve got maybe thirty seconds.”

Sky was already moving, grabbing (Y/N) by the arm and guiding her with Time through the chaos of startled partygoers. His voice was low, but firm. “Keep your head down and follow us.”

(Y/N)’s heart raced, her breath catching as the noise around them grew louder-panicked whispers, the shuffling of feet, and something heavier, more deliberate in the distance. “What’s going on?” she hissed.

“Not now.” Time said sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

Sky’s grip tightened as he scanned the room, their path lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights near the exits. “Wild, where are they now?”

“Closing in fast. Four’s trying to block the north wing, but there’s too many.”

“Twilight?” Time asked, guiding (Y/N) through the crowd with precise movements.

“Already clearing the way out,” Twilight answered. “Just get her to safety.”

(Y/N)’s mind raced as she tried to piece together what was happening, but the sheer force of Time and Sky’s urgency kept her quiet.

—-

The crowd grew more frantic, murmurs turning into shouts as Emilio’s men pushed through, barking orders for people to move aside. The air was thick with tension, and (Y/N) could feel it like a weight pressing down on her chest. Time and Sky moved quickly, keeping her between them as Four’s voice came through the comms.

“Keep moving south. Wind and I cleared a path through the kitchens. Get her there now.”

“Understood.” Time muttered, his grip steady on (Y/N)’s arm.

The three weaved through the growing chaos, Emilio’s men shoving partygoers out of the way as they advanced. A few of the guests started screaming, the reality of the situation hitting them like a brick. Sky stepped up his pace, his hand briefly brushing (Y/N)’s back to guide her faster.

“Almost there,” Sky said lowly, his eyes darting to every shadow.

(Y/N) stumbled slightly, catching her balance before glaring at him. “What the hell is going on? Who are these guys?”

“Not now.” Time said again, his voice firm but not unkind.

“Of course not now,” she muttered. “It’s always ‘not now.’”

They slipped into the kitchens, the bright lights and sterile metal surfaces a stark contrast to the dim chaos outside. Wind was waiting near the door, waving them over impatiently.

“Took you long enough.” he said, shutting the door behind them and locking it. “This place is going to hell out there.”

“Thanks for the update,” Sky said dryly, turning to (Y/N). “Sorry about all this. You weren’t supposed to-”

“To what?” (Y/N) cut him off, throwing her hands in the air. “Get dragged into some shady mafia nonsense on New Year’s Eve? Yeah, I kinda figured this would happen the second Time decided to show up.” She crossed her arms, her glare switching to Time.

“I should’ve stayed home, eaten my weight in cookies, and fallen into a food coma watching bad movies.” She huffed. “But no, this had to happen because you, Mr. Mysterious Mafia Boss, decided to ruin my night.”

Sky stiffened, unsure how to respond, but Time-of all people-just smiled. It was sheepish but amused, like he wasn’t even going to try denying it.

“That’s fair.” Time said, his tone lighter than she expected.

(Y/N) blinked, caught off guard by his reaction. She stared at him, then threw up her hands again. “Okay, good. Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Does that mean you’ll forgive me?” Time asked, his tone teasing but sincere.

She narrowed her eyes. “Only if I make it out of this alive-and you owe me big time.”

Time chuckled softly, his one good eye crinkling with amusement. “Deal.”

“Uh, not to interrupt,” Wind said, gesturing to the door, “but we’ve got bigger problems heading this way. Might want to save the banter for later.”

Time nodded, his expression sobering instantly. “Wild, status?”

“Still busy,” Wild answered over the comms. “But Emilio’s men are splitting up. They know you’re not in the main hall anymore.”

“Perfect.” Sky muttered, checking his surroundings.

Time turned back to (Y/N), his voice softer this time. “Stay close. No matter what happens, we’ll get you out of here.”

(Y/N) sighed, her irritation giving way to nervousness as she nodded. “You better.”

“Don’t worry,” Sky added with a small smile. “We’ve got this.”

“Less talking, more moving!” Wind urged, leading them toward the far side of the kitchens. The faint sounds of heavy boots grew louder, and the group picked up their pace, hearts pounding in sync with the chaos outside.

—-

—-

In the middle of the chaos, Warriors, Hyrule, and Twilight were like shadows slipping through the edges of the fray. Armed with their enchanted wooden weapons, they moved quickly and silently. The daggers and short swords, deceptively simple-looking, cut through Emilio’s men without a hint of hesitation.

“Stay quiet, stay fast,” Warriors muttered to Hyrule as he ducked low, slashing the back of a man’s legs before delivering a swift finishing blow. “We can’t let them regroup.”

“On it,” Hyrule replied, his dagger already sinking into another opponent’s side. His movements were light and precise, almost like he was dancing around the chaos.

Twilight moved alongside them, his short sword cutting a clean arc through the air. “These guys are persistent,” he said through gritted teeth, ducking a swing and jabbing his blade into a man’s chest.

“Yeah, well, they don’t know who they’re messing with,” Warriors shot back, deflecting a strike and kicking his attacker hard enough to send him sprawling.

Meanwhile, Legend was a blur of motion, merging into the walls like a ghost thanks to his bracelet. Every time Emilio’s men thought they had him cornered, he’d reappear behind them, striking with brutal efficiency before fading back into the stone.

“Gotta admit,” Legend muttered under his breath, stepping out of a wall to grab a man’s throat before slamming him to the ground, “this is kinda fun.” He disappeared again, only his faint laughter trailing behind as more of Emilio’s men fell.

Overhead, Wild perched in the shadows of a balcony, his bow drawn tight. He had his eyes on Emilio, watching as the man barked orders and rallied his remaining allies.

“Emilio’s sticking close to the west hall,” Wild said through the comms, notching an arrow tipped with a makeshift wooden head. “But he’s got a lot of backup.”

“Keep him pinned,” Time ordered back. “We’re handling things on this end.”

“Got it,” Wild replied, taking aim at a particularly loud ally of Emilio’s. He let the arrow fly, grinning when it hit its mark right between the man’s shoulders. The target dropped with a grunt, and Wild ducked lower, quickly nocking another arrow.

Another group of Emilio’s men was rushing toward the kitchens, and Wild couldn’t let them get too close. He took another shot, this time hitting a man in the leg, sending him sprawling and causing the group to scatter.

“They’re slowing down,” Wild said into the comms. “But Emilio’s not backing off. He’s sending more men your way.”

“We’ll handle it,” Warriors replied, his voice sharp as he slashed through another attacker. “Just keep him busy.”

“Don’t worry,” Wild said, a smirk in his voice. “I’ve got it covered.”

The Chain worked seamlessly, their movements efficient and purposeful, each strike calculated to thin the enemy ranks. Even in the chaos, they were perfectly in sync, and while Emilio’s men were persistent, they were no match for the skill and coordination of Hyrule’s finest.

In the middle of it all, Time’s calm voice cut through the comms. “No mistakes. Stay sharp. We’re not leaving until she’s safe.”

“Roger that,” Legend muttered, slipping back into the walls to finish off another target. The Chain pressed on, their only objective was making sure (y/n) was safe from this place.

The dimly lit kitchen was eerily quiet for a moment, the sounds of shouting and chaos muffled behind the thick walls. Sky and Wind stood near the doors, their weapons ready, while Time kept his cane in hand, standing protectively in front of (y/n).

“Stay close.” Time instructed, his voice calm but firm.

Before (y/n) could even nod, the door to the kitchen slammed open, and Emilio’s men poured in. Time moved without hesitation, swinging his cane with surprising force. The enchanted wood slammed into the first man’s chest, sending him sprawling into the counter.

Sky stepped forward, his sword cutting through the air with a clean precision that sent two more men staggering back. “Keep moving!” he shouted, his gaze darting to Wind.

Wind grinned, brandishing his dagger as he dashed forward, darting between two attackers and tripping one with a swift kick before driving his blade into the other’s arm. “Not so tough now, are ya?”

As the fight raged, another man appeared from the shadows, moving silently toward Time. The older man was focused on the two men in front of him, his cane spinning in fluid, powerful arcs.

The figure behind him raised a knife, his steps quiet…too quiet. Time didn’t notice.

But (y/n) did.

“Time!” she shouted, her voice shaking as adrenaline kicked in. Without thinking, she grabbed the nearest heavy object, a large iron pot from the stove, and rushed forward.

The man didn’t even have time to turn before (y/n) brought the pot down with all her strength.

CLANG!

The sound echoed through the kitchen as the man crumpled to the ground, the knife slipping from his hand. (y/n) stood there, panting and wide-eyed, the pot still gripped tightly in her hands.

Time turned, his visible eye widening briefly as he took in the scene. The would-be attacker lay unconscious at his feet, and behind him stood (y/n), looking more shocked than he’d ever seen her.

“Nice one!” Wind called out, laughing as he deflected another strike.

“Not bad, (y/n).” Sky said with a faint grin, his sword taking down another attacker.

Time stepped closer to her, his expression softening just slightly as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. “You alright?”

“Uh… yeah,” she breathed out, still clutching the pot like a lifeline. “I think so.”

“Good,” Time said with a small, amused smile. “You might want to put the pot down, though.”

(y/n) blinked, glancing at the pot in her hands before letting it clatter to the floor. She exhaled deeply, her shoulders relaxing.

“I knew hanging around you would lead to something like this,” she muttered, glancing up at Time. “You owe me for ruining my night.”

“That’s fair.” Time said, his tone light as he turned back to the chaos, his cane swinging again.

But as another wave of men stormed in, (y/n) couldn’t help but glance at the pot again.

Maybe she wasn’t entirely done with it just yet.

——

——

The night air outside the gala was tense, Emilio stomping toward a black car parked at the curb with his men in tow. His face was twisted with anger, and his voice boomed over the chaos still brewing inside.

“Find them! Take them out! How the hell are they winning?!” he snarled, jabbing a finger in the direction of the building. “They’re a small group! They shouldn’t even be a threat!”

His men nodded, scattering to follow his orders as Emilio climbed into the car. In his hand, he held a small, sleek switch, his thumb hovering over the button. A grim smile spread across his face as he stared back at the building.

“It’s a shame I didn’t get to speak more with that girl,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the venom in his tone remained. “But that’s how it goes. And as for Time-that fool! His death will be an example to everyone of what happens when you cross me.”

With that, Emilio pressed the button.

He stared at the building, waiting for the fireworks, for the grand finale that would erase all evidence of the Chain and everyone else inside.

Nothing happened.

Emilio frowned, pressing the button again. Still nothing.

He leaned forward in his seat, pressing it a third time, then a fourth, his frustration mounting with each click. “What the hell is going on?” he snapped, slamming the switch down on the seat beside him.

One of his men leaned into the car. “Sir?”

“WHERE are the explosives?! WHY isn’t this working?!” Emilio barked, grabbing the man by his jacket.

Before the man could respond, another voice called out from the crowd. “Boss! We’ve got a problem!”

Emilio shoved his current victim aside, stepping out of the car. “What now?”

The man hesitated, clearly nervous, but eventually spoke up. “Several of our bases… they’ve just exploded. Reports are coming in one after another, everything’s gone!”

For a moment, Emilio froze, the weight of the words sinking in. Then it clicked.

His face darkened, a snarl curling on his lips. “Time. That bastard knew. He knew what I was planning!”

He turned, glaring in the direction of the building, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. It all made sense now-the calm demeanor, the subtle arrogance. Time had been playing him the entire night, and he’d walked right into it.

Emilio’s glare could’ve set the building on fire if it hadn’t already been rigged to blow. “Get me out of here,” he growled, voice low and seething.

“But sir, what about—”

“I SAID GET ME OUT OF HERE!” he roared, cutting his man off.

With that, Emilio climbed back into the car, slamming the door behind him. As the vehicle sped away from the scene, he stared out the window, his mind racing with a mix of fury and humiliation.

This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

——

——

The group finally burst out into the cool night air, (y/n) panting from the running (never good with heels). They stumbled past the remnants of the chaos, adrenaline pumping as the sound of distant shouting faded behind them. Several sleek black cars, headlights cutting through the dark, pulled up in front of them.

Four leaned out the driver’s side window of the lead car, his expression calm but his eyes sharp as ever. “Get in. Now.”

Behind his car, other vehicles packed with their men pulled up, forming a protective barrier between them and the building.

Without hesitation, Time opened the back door and ushered (y/n) in first, followed by Wind and Sky. He slid in last, pulling the door shut behind him. Four hit the gas, and the car sped off, the others falling into formation behind them.

(y/n) leaned her head back against the seat, trying to catch her breath. Her heart was racing, her arms still trembling. “Oh, come on!” she finally burst out, her voice cracking with exhaustion and frustration. “Of course Emilio’s mafia! Of course nothing in this stupid city is normal!”

Sky, seated next to her, glanced over with a small, understanding smile. He reached out and gently placed his hand on hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. His calm voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. “Hey, you’re safe now. That’s what matters. Just breathe. You did great back there.”

Her breathing slowed as his words settled over her, her grip on the pot starting to loosen-until Sky tilted his head slightly and added, “Though… you’re still holding onto the iron pot.”

(y/n) blinked, looking down at the pot like she’d forgotten it was there. Her shoulders sagged as she stared at it for a long moment. Then, in a flat, deadpan voice, she looked back up at Sky and said, “I’m keeping it.”

Wind, sitting in the far seat, tried to stifle his laughter through the comms. “She’s adopting a kitchen utensil. Classic.”

Four’s voice cut in over the car’s speaker, dry as ever. “It’s probably sturdier than most of our weapons at this point.”

(y/n) huffed and hugged the pot closer to her chest, glaring at the lot of them. “You laugh now, but this pot saved Time’s life. It’s earned its place.”

Sky held up his hands in surrender, smiling softly. “Fair enough. Just don’t name it.”

(y/n) grumbled, muttering something about ‘Stainless Steve’ under her breath as the car sped toward safety.

——

——

The car ride back was filled with (y/n)’s assurances that she was fine, though she kept hugging the iron pot like a security blanket. “Seriously, guys, I’m fine,” she said for the third time, looking between Time, Sky, and Four. “No one died, I didn’t get shot, and I’m home safe. That’s a win in my book.”

Sky gave her a worried glance, but (y/n) waved him off. “I’ll call you in the morning, Time.” she promised, her voice tired but steady. “If there’s any trouble tonight, just let me know.”

Time nodded, his expression softening just a bit. “We’ll be fine. I will always worry. You just get some rest.”

As Four pulled up to her house, (y/n) got out with the iron pot still in her hands, giving the group a tired wave as they drove off. She smiled faintly when she saw Wind hanging halfway out the window, waving enthusiastically. “Bye, (y/n)!” he shouted, “Happy New Year!” only to yelp as Sky yanked him back into the car by the collar.

Shaking her head, she walked up to her front door, unlocked it, and stepped inside. Her mom was there in the living room, walking over with a warm smile. “Hey, sweetie. How was the gala?”

At that, (y/n) sniffled, her resolve finally cracking. She pressed her face into her mom’s shoulder, shaking as the weight of the night caught up with her. Her mom froze for a second, surprised, before wrapping her arms around her daughter. She could feel the dampness on her shoulder and (y/n)’s quiet sniffles.

Whatever happened, her baby needed comfort, so she just held her tighter.

“What’s wrong, honey?” her mom asked softly.

“Mmmph,” (y/n) mumbled into her shoulder.

Her mom tilted her head, stroking her hair. “What was that?”

Pulling her face away just enough to be heard, (y/n) blurted out, “I’m friends with absolute jerks!”

Her mom blinked in confusion, only for (y/n) to launch into a tired, almost comical rant. “Do you know what happens every time I’m with them? Shenanigans! Absolute shenanigans! I knew I should’ve stayed home, Mom. I knew it!”

Her mom blinked again, trying to figure out if she was supposed to be concerned or amused. It didn’t sound like (y/n) was actually upset, more like she was venting out of sheer frustration.

Finally, (y/n) sighed deeply, slumping her shoulders. “I just needed to get that out of my system,” she admitted.

Her mom gave her another hug, patting her back. “Well, good news-you’re just in time to celebrate New Year’s with us!”

(y/n) blinked, pulling back slightly. “What? Mom, it’s after midnight.”

As if on cue, her younger sister Jack walked by, picked up the wall clock and turned it around, manually turning it back an hour. “Dinner’s almost ready.” Jack called out bluntly before disappearing into the kitchen.

Their dad walked in next, pulling (y/n) into a big bear hug. “Go change and get comfortable,” he said with a grin. “I got your favorite sparklers and cake. We’re celebrating properly tonight.”

Tears welled up in (y/n)’s eyes again, but this time they were happy ones. She nodded, her body finally relaxing completely. “Thanks, Dad.” she whispered, her voice soft but grateful.

“Anything for my girl.” he said, ruffling her hair before walking off to help Jack in the kitchen.

(y/n) sniffled again, looking between her mom, dad, and sister, feeling the tension of the night finally ease away.

This.

This was exactly what she needed.

So much better than going to a Gala.

….

She wasn’t gonna get school credit for going, UGH!

—-

The chain was gathered back at their base, still tense but trying to regroup. Everyone was either sitting around the meeting table or leaning against walls, tired but alert. Four had his laptop open, typing away as the others traded updates on the night.

“Emilio didn’t even follow us,” Sky said, breaking the silence. “It didn’t sit right. He’s not the type to just let something go.”

“He didn’t need to.” Warriors muttered, arms crossed. “He thought he had us.”

Wild, sitting on the edge of the table, raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Four looked up from his laptop, his face grim. “Our men sent over some footage. Emilio wasn’t following us because he had other plans.”

He turned the laptop toward the group and hit play. The room went silent as Emilio’s face filled the screen, furious and shouting at his men. His words hit like a punch to the gut.

“Find them! Take them out!” Emilio yelled in the video, holding a switch in his hand. “They’re nothing! A small group of fools, and they’re winning? Kill them all! Bury them in rubble!”

Time’s face was unreadable, but his grip on his cane tightened as the footage showed Emilio pressing the button repeatedly. The room stayed silent as the realization sank in.

“That bastard planted explosives,” Twilight said, his voice low and dangerous. “He was going to take out the whole building.”

“He was going to take us all out,” Sky corrected, his voice tight. “Everyone in that building…gone.”

“(Y/n) was in there,” Wild said, his tone sharp. “She would’ve-“

“She didn’t,” Time cut him off, his voice calm but heavy. “None of us did.”

“But why didn’t it happen?” Hyrule asked, looking around. “The explosives didn’t go off.”

Four turned back to his screen, pulling up another video. “Because while we were dealing with him and his men, someone else was dealing with him too. Watch this.”

The second video showed Emilio again, but this time, his rage was directed at the switch in his hand. He pressed it over and over, cursing loudly when nothing happened. The scene shifted to chaos,explosions, but not in the gala. It was Emilio’s bases going up in flames.

“No one else was targeted,” Four said, leaning back in his chair. “Whoever did this wanted Emilio to lose everything. And they did it.”

The group sat in stunned silence, watching the flames consume Emilio’s properties on the screen.

“Whoever this was,” Legend said after a moment, his tone uneasy, “they were…thorough.”

“And they knew exactly what they were doing,” Warriors added. “They waited for the perfect moment.”

“But why?” Wind asked, his voice almost a whisper. “Why go after Emilio like that? And why not target us?”

He paused and stared at the footage again.

“….Heck of a way to start the new year ya know.”

“Indeed.” Time said, his gaze dropping to the table, his thoughts clearly turning. “We weren’t the target. Not tonight. ”

Sky let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. “So Emilio was outplayed. Completely blindsided. But by who?”

“We don’t know,” Four admitted. “No patterns, no leads, nothing. At least not yet.

“But if Emilio’s plan had worked…” Hyrule’s voice trailed off, the weight of what could’ve been hanging in the air. “We wouldn’t be here.”

“Especially (y/n),” Twilight said quietly. “She wouldn’t have made it out in time.”

Time stood up, his cane steady as he looked around the room. “We don’t tell her. Not now. She doesn’t need to know how close it was.”

The others nodded reluctantly, though the unease was clear. Whoever had stepped in tonight had saved them, but it didn’t feel like a favor. It felt like a warning. And no one liked that one bit.

——

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the TV playing some badly made movie no one cared to finish. (Y/n) and Jack were curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Leftover snacks were scattered on the coffee table, and a few stray crumbs clung to the blanket draped over them.

The mist floated in silently, barely noticeable as it moved around the room. It paused by the couch, hovering over (y/n) like it was studying her. A soft, almost musical chime sounded, so faint it could’ve been mistaken for part of the movie.

“Warmth… Home… Heart…” The words were barely a whisper, carried on an unseen breeze as the mist seemed to brighten slightly. It moved closer to (y/n), swirling gently around her before stopping by the blanket.

The blanket shifted, as though an invisible hand was carefully pulling it up to cover both her and Jack properly. The air felt warmer, cozier, as if the room itself was tucking them in.

“Keep safe…always…”

A quiet giggle echoed, soft and playful, as the mist swirled one last time. Then it vanished, leaving no trace but the lingering sense of comfort. It wasn’t gone, though. It was there, watching over (y/n), ready to protect her all night long.

The room settled back into stillness, with only the flickering light of the TV casting shadows over the peaceful scene.

———

(Happy New Year folks!)

[rubyvhs]

show me love [ part two ]

synopsis. you find out dean is dying but he’s just as much of an asshole as he was the first time you met him tags. 0.8k words, major character death, angst, hurt no comfort, fwb,, fills my ‘last words’ jacklesverse bingo square. part one

January 2006

You: I’m on my way, is Bobby there?

Sam: Nah, he’s out getting grub, how far out are you? I can come with the impala.

You: Dean?

Sam: Bingo.

You: Asshole

Sam: Asshole

See? I know you so well.

You: You’re not funny. You’re dying and you kept it from me?

Sam: To be fair it only started a month ago

You: You’ve knows for a fucking month? How did that even happen?

Sam: Demon deal.

You: Why?

Sam: Sammy was dying. I did what I had to do.

Right?

You: yeah, D. Of course you did. How does Sam feel about it?

Sam: He’s pissed and trying to find a way to fix it.

I don’t want him to fix it, the demon was clear and I don’t want him to die again.

You: We’ll figure it out.

Sam: I miss you.

You: Same.

Sam: Is that all I get? ‘Same’?

You: Yeah, cause I hate you right now. You’re the most immature person i’ve ever met and you’ve played with my feelings to fucking much that I thought I was actually going crazy. 

You sleep with me then leave for weeks, no texts in between.

Even fwb don’t act like that!! That’s what the ‘friends’ part is for.

Sam: I’m sorry.

You: Whatever.

Sam: We’ll talk when you get here?

+

Dean: Where are you? Burgers don’t take that long to get.

You: I can’t believe you made me do this again.

Dean: Made you?

You: Not like that but you pulled me in again. And it’s all my fault because I love your eyes and if I look into them while you say anything I automatically agree and I hate you.

Dean: You say that an awful lot before we do something that’s the exact opposite.

You wanted as much as I did, sweet girl.

You: Obviously I wanted you but it’s wrong and horrible for everything other than my lust.

I came here to help you and Sam find a cure, not so we could start sleeping together again, I’m over that, Dean.

Dean: Why do we have to be? You’re my friend but we both want each other, why is that so wrong?

You: You know why.

Dean: And you know we can’t have that, we’re hunters.

You: Oh really? I forgot. 

Dean: I’m serious, why can’t we just be together without that part

It’ll mess everything up

You: How the fuck would it ruin things, Dean? 

You’re dying in a year and you still can’t find it in yourself to look at me like anything other than a convenient lay. 

Dean: Sweetheart you know that’s not what I think of you.

You: I’ll stay at a motel until Sam needs me. I’ll try researching, stay safe.

Burger is coming to your place.

Dean: Hey, c’mon.

That’s not what I meant.

You have to know that.

You: I’ll text you guys if I find anything.

March 2006

Dean: It’s coming faster than we thought. Sam made some stupid mistake and now they’re taking off some months.

You: How long do you have?

Dean: A month. 

You: Are you serious? I didn’t find anything to help, I’m sorry, Dean.

Dean: I don’t want anything, I just want you. I miss you.

You: Dean come on, we shouldn't do anything, you’re going to die, we need to find a way to stop this.

Dean: I don’t wanna stop it. I just want you. 

Please, baby.

You: Location.

+

Dean: Can we meet? 

You: Just to talk?

Dean: Sure, just to talk.

You: Location.

+

Sam: Dean’s phone is off but he said to ask I where you are, we wanna pass by.

You: Sure.

+

Sam: Have you found anything?

You: No

Sam: Okay, can you come by? Dean’s asking for you.

You: Location.

April 2006

Dean: I’m getting real sick which means it’s coming soon.

You: Where are you?

Dean: I love you.

You: What? What the fuck, Dean? What the actual hell! Where are you??

Dean: Doesn’t matter. I don’t want you to see me like that, it’ll just mess with your head. I love you and I’m sorry I didn’t say it before and I’m sorry you thought you were just convenient. 

Still don’t know how you think that, we’re literally never in the same state.

But I love you. 

You: I love you too, but please just tell me where you are.

Dean: I love the way you style your hair too. And your eyes, really love when you just woke up and they’re just half way open. And you looks at me in that way and I just love it. 

You: Are you drunk?

Dean: No, just on the brink of death.

You: Dean please.

Dean: I’m scared.

Is that bad? I did this for Sammy and I’m trying to be strong for him but I’m scared.

You: We’ll get you out. Please please know that.

Dean: I do. 

Dean: I love you. Idiot.

You: I love you more, asshole.

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[luna-writes-stuff]

Supernatural characters and what they want to do on a date, please? ♡

some of these will surprise absolutely no one but I am sO GLAD YOU ASKED ANON

——

Dean Winchester

I feel like Dean would be one of the easiest with a date. He always tries to do the things he wants to, so in a date, it won’t be much different. His perfect date would be a road trip - the length depending on what kind of date it is. Usually, you’d drive about four hours to destination unknown, but there have been occasions where you took a couple days off to travel the country and see some classic tourists locations. Vegas is most often where you end up. He’d take you to roadhouses for food, unless you’re travelling to a town specifically. Then, he’d try to find a restaurant which has food he actually likes. If you know him long enough, he might even let you drive Baby. But only for a short while. And his eyes will be glued on you constantly.

——

Sam Winchester

Sam is an absolute gentleman. He’d take you out to a restaurant, hold the door open for you, slide out your seat, won’t eat before you do etc. Nine out of ten times he has a tiny gift with him, regardless of the situation. It could be a random day and he’d give you a box of chocolates or a bouquet of roses. Again - he’s a classic gentleman. He settles for the classic gifts. Afterwards, he loves to take walks with you, visit a museum or simply sit on a bench with a view of some landscape. During hunts, he is likely to take you out to spontaneous trips to the library cafe. Not the most romantic place to go to, but he knows that his lifestyle makes it difficult for him to get to properly take you out all of the time. He prefers the short in between moments more than the entire night planned out. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t like them though.

——

Castiel

Does exactly what you randomly mentioned once. When you had only known him for a handful of weeks, you might have casually mentioned you love something such as going to the movies or visiting a beach, and now - years later - he’d have that remembered and do exactly as you said. Over the years, he learns much of human customs, so it isn’t that he doesn’t know what a proper date looks like. It’s simply that he likes to do the things you like to do. He’d much rather do something you forgot you had ever told him than to plan something out for himself out of thin air. Besides, he always enjoys seeing your reaction whenever he takes you out. ‘How did you know I would like this?’ ‘You told me four years ago.’ ‘?????’ He’s very endearing and can never get enough of the absolute shell shocked expression on your face whenever he decides to make your ideas come true. And it still surprises you after so many times.

——

Charlie Bradbury

No, I am not going to tell you she would not take you to a renaissance fair or an arcade or an impromptu DnD session because she absolutely would. Depending on your personal interests and experiences with either three, she’d definitely engage in it. Your first date would likely have been at a ren fair and it has become a tradition ever since. No - not a ren fair like her LARPing (which was still awesome). She’d get dressed up and offer you her arm the entire time. She’d take you to the medieval eating tents, watch live performances of battle field with you, buys you little trinkets at the marketplaces, lets you try on some cool clothing; whatever you enjoy most. The longer you’re dating, the more often you’d go out. At night when both of you are bored, she’d grab a car and take you to a nearby arcade, lovingly annihilating you in Dance Dance Revolution. When you have a free day, she’d try to introduce you to DnD and her current party. The more you learn about it, the more often you’d get invited to their sessions with your own character. She’d sit beside you, holding your hand under the table as she’d be by your character’s side the entire time. It doesn’t even matter that there are other people too. To you, it still feels like a date.

——

Gabriel

Initially, he’d definitely try to escalate the situation into a Casa Erotica tape, but he’s quick to agree with you once you decline. Most dates are spent in fancy hotels or restaurants of which you do not even know the same. He simply takes you there and you trust him with it. Gabriel is one who enjoys party and clubs, so he’d love to take you to cocktail bars every so often, keeping you close to him constantly and showing you off to everyone. Think hand on your waist constantly, sips of your glass, kisses on your cheek, chin on your shoulder etc. If you aren’t one for crowds or parties, he’d bring the party home or to a hotel chamber. He’d pop up his own little bar, mixing his own cocktails (or mocktails), offering them to you as a dramatic bartender, flirting with you as if he’d never seen you before. He’s also a big fan of taking you to big cities just to enjoy the view. You’d be at West End the first evening and Tokyo the second. He’s seen a lot of the world and loves to share that experience with you (and a lot of embarrassing tourist pictures with ‘I love Amsterdam’ shirts)

——

Lucifer

Whatever he does, he tries to brush it off casually. Did he put all that effort into making a non-poisonous dinner with a made table? Pfff, no big deal. Did he really remember you really liked that one necklace? Yeah, he thought you might like it. He definitely did not take that the moment you mentioned it and weren’t looking. He’s a big fan of the tiny date ideas. Movie night? Absolutely. Oh yes, there is a pit with pillows there but it definitely isn’t there because you love them and he secretly loves to hold you close in them. Going out to the marketplace? Fun! He definitely won’t offer you his arm the entire time and get everything you claim ‘smells nice’ or ‘still need’. He does tiny gestures and tries to brush them off every single time, even after you thank him for it or compliment him on it. He doesn’t brush it off out of his pride or negligence of you - on the contrary. He brushes it off to make it seem as if it is easy for him. He has spent a long time separated from any form of contact and has not known love for the majority of his life. To have finally found you is something completely foreign to him, and he tries to keep you happy so desperately, but he doesn’t want it to seem like he puts too much effort into it. It’s okay, though. You secretly know this.

——

Crowley

Much like Sam, he takes you out on classic dates. He’d show up to your doorstep, even though he can easily enter. He offers you his arm the entire night as he takes you out to dinner, walk the city or take you to that concert you mentioned once. Even better - he got you backstage passes. Your favourite artist in town? Isn’t it great to not have that ticket sale stress anymore? Whatever you do during the date, he makes sure you have a great time. Your pleasure and enjoyment comes first, and if that means he has to eat a place he hates or see a band he cannot stand, then so be it. He won’t make a long face nor express his dissatisfaction. If anything, he might even start to like it purely because you do. He’s quick to associate these things with you as well. Once you mention your love towards a certain dish or city, he keeps it locked in his mind and thinks of you every time someone mentions it. He’ll make sure to give you gifts often enough which go hand in hand with your interests and loves. He knows perfectly what you like and don’t like and always keeps this in mind. He’d never take you somewhere you don’t want to be or don’t like to go.