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[lostsalv]

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[cajunquandary]

A Curious Case and a Boat

The Cannon Ball Series

Series Warnings: Alcohol use, implied smut, mentions of abuse, PTSD, scars, canon level violence, some torture, probably equal parts angst, fluffiness, and plot.

Series Pairing/Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel, Crowley, Rowena various characters

A/N: This series is the brainchild of my love for Rob Benedict’s version of Dink’s Song and began as my second ever attempt at writing fanfiction. After realizing that I should probably edit it (due to the excruciatingly painful amount of errors I found), this is the third-time re-write of the story. Questions, comments, and suggestions are always welcome! Enjoy J

Part One: A Jukebox and a Lose-chester

Part Two: A Curious Case and a Boat

Summary: You’ve been living with the Winchesters and Castiel at the Bunker for over a year now. Everything is great until a case goes very wrong.

Word count: 6400

“Anything interesting in the news, Sammy?” You slung your arms around his shoulders from where you stood behind him in his favorite swivel chair.

Sam leaned his head against your arm for a moment. “Good morning. Coffee’s on.” You released him from your hold, scuffling towards the coffee pot in the library, favorite mug already in hand.

Dean entered, freshly showered and wearing nothing but his dead-guy robe.

Sam turned to him, “Actually, yeah, in Texas. There’s been freak electrical storms, mysterious deaths, and get this—a few high schoolers have been freaking out about demons among them in the town and all over social media.”

“It might be our kind of thing. Any cattle deaths? Crop failures?” You asked as the first sip of blessed warm liquid rolled through your chest, making you feel more alive.

“No, nothing like that has been reported. But this is an area of east Texas that is all forest or farmland. Some of these small towns aren’t even on a map. Who knows if they are able to even report it?”

“Or maybe,” Dean interrupted, voice still rough from sleep, “It’s just a bunch of hill-billy wackadoo church people going crazy and killing people.”

Sam scoffed. “Then what about the storms?”

Dean gave his brother his trademark ‘seriously’ face. “Uh, have you BEEN to Texas? They get more lightening than rain most of the time. Lightning is electricity. Your welcome.” Dean continued through towards the kitchen to cook breakfast.

“What’s his problem?” Sam swiveled in your direction.

“Hungover. Ain’t as young as he used to be,” You winked. Dean often teased for you being younger than Sam. The gap really wasn’t that bad, but you and Sam loved to pester Dean about it anyway.

You plodded off to the kitchen to help Dean make breakfast. He was at the sink rinsing out a pan, and you set your coffee on the island and snaked your arms around his waist, laying your head between his shoulders. He put the pan aside to be dried and turned in your arms, a smile on his face at last. He leaned in for a kiss, sweet and gentle, unlike the needy, passionate one from your rough late night escapade in the garage. You grinned and giggled at the memory, Dean pulling back from your embrace and booping your nose.

Breakfast was made quickly, you and Dean moving about the kitchen with familiar grace. Dean felt better after eating, made obvious when he cracked a joke at how tight Sam’s pants were getting.

“Well, it’s been nice having awesome home-cooked meals. You’re the perfect housewife, Dean,” Sam teased his brother back.

It was true though—as great of a cook as you were, Dean far surpassed your skills. He had a natural talent, and all you had to do was keep him company while he worked.

You sat silent, soaking the moment in. It was so domestic—none of you had ever thought this kind of peace would ever be. It was meant for civilians. No doubt, moving in with the Winchesters was the best decision you’d ever made. At first, you had your own room and only meant to stay long enough to get your own place. After a few hunts with the boys, they insisted you remain in the bunker for safety. It had become more of a home than you’d ever had before, so you were grateful to have their blessing to stay (as if you really had a choice.) You still had a room across from Dean’s, but mostly it was a closet and extra storage. You hadn’t slept in there in months.

The moment was so beautiful, you noted again, as the boys continued to banter back and forth, only ending in their typical “jerk,” “bitch,” responses.

You locked that away in your mind to hold onto during those rough hunts, the ones where the three of you had to split up and you felt exposed and alone, like all of it had been a dream. The darkness of some of the places you went reminded you of a time when you were a lot more helpless. When monsters weren’t the only things that went bump in the night. You shoved the thought from your mind.

“Well, I say we should still go check out that potential case in east Texas,” You directed at Dean.

Sam nodded, and Dean swallowed the last bit of his food. “Fine.”

After the cleaning from breakfast had been done, you showered and packed. Tossing a few shirts, jeans, sweatpants, FBI pantsuit and the basic essentials into your duffle bag, you paused before adding your truck keys. You didn’t know why, but something told you not to pack them. Knowing you would misplace them otherwise, you went out to the garage to leave them in the front seat.

Dean was out there already, making sure Baby and the weapons in the trunk were ready for the trip ahead, including a few gallons of holy water and extra paint and salt for demon traps.

You eyed the excess, Dean getting defensive. “Hey, if Sammy’s right, then there’s more than one, and they’re pretty powerful. It can’t hurt to have back up.”

You shrugged and walked away. Sam was in the kitchen packing water and a few basic provisions for the possible stake-outs ahead, his pack already by the door. You picked it up and went to retrieve Dean’s and your own from the bedroom. Everyone ended up at the Impala within minutes, ready to hit the road. Your skin tingled with excitement—you loved road trips with the Winchesters, and it had been a few weeks since your last trip.

Baby purred to life, Dean popping in a tape. “Ramble On” began to play and he turned it up until the car vibrated as you rolled out of the bunker, bound for one of your favorite states.

A couple burgers, an emergency stop at a diner that boasted Best Pie in the County, and about twelve hours later, you rolled into the small town… again. The first time, Dean was so used to driving through one-stop towns that he accidentally passed through it. A few minutes after, Sam’s GPS regained a moment of service long enough to get you back to it within minutes.

Broaddus was truly tiny. The only place to stay was on the outskirts of town, a Country Inn. It read “No Vacancy,” to which you all groaned. You were missing your truck about now. It was easy to camp out in it—comfortable even with two people. You and Dean had taken it out several times on hunts when Sam needed the Impala.

Dean turned down a side road and pulled over, turning off the car. “Welcome to the Winchester motel.” The three of you piled out of the car, more than ready to stretch your legs. The forest around you loomed tall, pitch black even in the light from the near-full moon above. It was quiet… Too quiet. Dean put his hand on your shoulder and you jumped.

“Woah, are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you,” Dean pulled you in close, the first time since before you began the trip.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted, and these woods are giving me the creeps. I’m gonna hit the sack,” You leaned up and kissed him, wanting to prove that you were fine. You were never this jumpy, but something about this place left you deeply unsettled. As you climbed back into the rear seat of Baby, you wondered why your skin was still buzzing after all these hours. This was no longer from excitement, as you’d realized hours ago. The buzzing had slowly melded into something more akin to a fire under your skin, an itch you couldn’t scratch. Something about this was wrong, and you hated that Castiel wasn’t able to join you immediately on this case. You prayed to God that he’d get his feathery ass down here quick.

Dean came in behind you, kicking off his shoes as he shut the door. You curled against his chest as Sam crawled into the front. “I think I saw a diner just down the road. We should start there in the morning,” the younger brother suggested. Dean let out a hum in agreement. It wasn’t long before the three of you were fast asleep, light snores filling the cab.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

You jerked awake, blinking hard against the seep in your eyes. Thankfully, it was just Sam knocking on the window. He was usually up first. Heart pounding, you untangled your limbs from Dean’s and got out of the vehicle. You stretched your limbs, an occasional loud pop sounding as you greeted Sam. You changed quickly behind the cover of the Impala’s open trunk, having decided that plain clothes would probably be better received in a town like this than Fed clothes. You double checked the fake badge and open carry license in your flannel pocket, a demon-killing knife strapped to your ankle, and the loaded gun holstered on your belt. God bless Texas, you thought. It was nice to be able to open carry for a change. Your normal concealed holster rubbed sores into your side if you wore it too long. The boys finished double checking the gear bag, Sam tightening the laces on his shoes. You’d just gotten to town and it already felt like you were prepping for war. If this demon problem was really as big as Sam feared, then it would be a battle.

“Ready?” You asked. Dean slipped in the driver’s seat and jingled the keys in response.

The diner was so close, you could’ve just walked. During breakfast, you learned that your waitress’s oldest kid was one of the teens ranting about demons. “He just lost his mind. We’ve gone to that church since he was born. He and the others in his Bible study group. The other parents and I just don’t understand what’s gotten into those kids. Pastor Tim has been with the congregation for thirty years, and practically raised a few of them. Now they won’t go to church, they skip school, and three have killed themselves,” She choked, involuntary tears welling in her eyes.

“Whatever it is, ma’am, we’re going to get to the bottom of it,” Dean tried to reassure her.

“I think…” She sobbed, “I think it’s… d-r-u-g-s.” She leaned in and whispered, then sighed and went to tend to her other tables, wiping at a tear with the back of her hand.

Dean’s brows went up then pressed forward, and he mouthed “Wow.”

Sam shrugged, looking down at his half-eaten food, moving his fork aimlessly.

“Dean, these towns are very tight knit,” You recalled, thinking of the various places in Texas you’d lived before you became a hunter. “Drugs, among many other things, are completely taboo in places like this. We need to be careful. Is everything okay, Sam?”

“Oh uh, yeah. Well, no. Something doesn’t feel right here.”

“I can second that,” Dean agreed.

From the diner, you went to interview the kids of the study group. The parents all said the same thing, but the kids wouldn’t talk, like they were too afraid. Eyes wide and wandering, never making contact with you or the Winchesters. Until…

Sam and Dean were in the living room of the last person on the list, a young girl, no more than sixteen, speaking to her parents. You broke away to speak to her in the privacy of her bedroom. The girl had practically pulled you there. She closed the door behind her and made sure the window was tightly drawn. She was shaking and rubbing her arms. “What’s going on, honey?” You asked.

“We were told you’d come. We were told not to speak to you, but I’m scared. I’m so scared!” She spoke barely above a whisper and collapsed into your arms. It was slightly awkward, as she was taller than you, but you held her anyway.

“Who told you, dear?”

She pulled back. “The girl with black eyes.”

You stopped breathing and the girl sat on the edge of her bed, burying her face in her hands.

“And what about Pastor Wayne?”

“Sometimes, he has black eyes, too. He’s different, he makes us do things in study now. He—he stares at us in church a-and… He’s a demon, we all know it. He threatened to massacre the whole town if we didn’t do everything he says.” She was bawling quietly now, her thin frame racking in fear.

“Okay, don’t worry. We’re here and we aren’t going to let that happen. We handle this stuff all the time, okay?” You reassured her, even as goosebumps dispersed in waves over your skin.

“Really?”

“Yeah, just don’t tell anyone, okay? Don’t even think about it.” You gave her a sincere smile and patted her shoulder.

“Okay,” she sniveled.

You thanked the parents on your way out, meeting Sam and Dean back at the car. Heading back to the Inn, everyone was glad to see the sign was off from the night before. Dean secured the only room available—a king suite. Even if you had to rotate who got left off the bed, it was still better than being cramped in the Impala without a proper bathroom. You took turns showering and sat around the tiny table, discussing your findings from the day of interviews.

“So it’s definitely the pastor. Who is the woman though?” Sam pondered.

“The girl didn’t seem to know. But the suicides are definitely tied to this sicko.”

“Yeah, sounds like it,” Dean pitched in. “Well, let’s stake out this guy and see if our mystery woman shows. Maybe we’ll see just how many we’re up against.”

“Okay. You and Sam do that, and I’ll go talk to the coroner. Let’s meet back here after.”

“Wait, Y/N, I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should probably stick together on this one.” Sam looked worried.

“I’ll be fine, promise. I can hold my own, and besides, it’s the two of you who will be in the thick of it. Y’all promise me to be safe and not rush in—call me first, okay?” You grabbed each of their hands and squeezed.

“Alright, fine. But you call us if you even think something is off.” Dean commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

Sam smiled.

The boys dropped you off at the coroner’s office. The coroner was an attractive woman, not much older than you were. The bodies of the teenagers looked like they’d been beaten and tortured before they died. “And you said they each threw themselves off the roof of the high school? Any way they could have died from these other injuries?”

“No, the only cause of those injuries is from the fall… it’s been very hard for the town,” She looked down at them sadly.

“Were they in fights prior to their death? I understand they fell a good distance, but not all of these wounds are consistent with a fall. Look at their hands—defensive wounds. Whatever it was, they fought back, hard. All due respect, but I don’t believe these were suicides.” You flipped through her report on the latest victim again.  You looked up from the papers to ask another question about the sparse documents, but the coroner was gone. You dropped the papers and withdrew your gun loaded with demon-trapping bullets. You cleared the room, and moved to the hallway. You sent a quick prayer to Cas and planned to call the Winchesters as soon as you made it to a safe place outside, but you would never get there. The coroner came out of nowhere, slamming something cold and hard into the back of your head, knocking you to the ground, vision swimming in the crack of pain. You looked up at her through squinted eyes, reaching for the hidden knife inches from your fingertips. Before you could grasp it, her foot met your nose, and your vision went black, the last thing you heard being a muffled, “Hunters, can’t ever leave well enough alone.”

Sam and Dean sat, growing weary of watching Pastor Wayne. His eyes had flashed black, confirming the girl’s testimony. It had been hours, though, and all the pastor had done was drink a few beers and watch TV. Y/N hadn’t called, so they suspected that nothing was off. They decided to attend church in the morning to get a closer view of the situation and headed back to the Inn.

“Honey, I’m hooome!” Dean called into the room jokingly as he flipped on the light. Sam closed the door behind them.

“I’ve got dibs on the bed tonight, man,” Sam said.

Dean waved him off, walking to the restroom to greet you. He knocked on the door, and it creeked open, the light off. Dean began to panic. He flipped on the light and slammed the door all the way open, calling out your name. He continued to call for you, growing louder and more crazed as he threw open the shower curtain and running back into the room. “Sammy, she-she’s gone. Sammy, where is she? Where’s Y/N?”

Sam’s face fell, and he grabbed Dean by the shoulders to keep him from exploding. “Hey-hey, let’s go to the coroner’s office. Maybe she’s still there. We’ll find her, I promise.” Sam tried to remain calm for his brother, but panic was rising in him, too. You were never late.

“I knew I shouldn’t have let her go alone!” Dean threw the keys to Sam, knowing he couldn’t drive in this state. They made it to the morgue in record time—no more than 45 seconds. Dean jumped out before Baby had even rolled to a complete stop. He had his gun out and charged into the building, Sam shortly on his heels, watching the blind corners and behind them, his gun drawn now as well. Dean found the room, bodies still laying on the tables, the papers from the files scattered about from where you’d dropped them. There wasn’t a living soul in the entire place. Dean stopped abruptly in the final hallway, next to the back exit. There was a small puddle of blood left from the wound on your head. Sam ran into the back of him, then clenched his jaw and swallowed hard when he followed Dean’s gaze. Dean couldn’t breathe. He broke his gaze, and ran out the door, looking for any sign of where you’d gone. “Y/N!” He screamed into the still night, only his own cries echoing back to him. “Y/N! CAS! Cas we need you! Y/N needs you!”

Just in case the angel didn’t get his prayer, he dialed him quickly, throat quickly threatening to close up in fear and guilt. “C-cas, they took her. Get down here, NOW!”

Sam lowered his gun and looked to his brother. He hadn’t seen Dean this hurt in a long time.

The boys went back to the pastor’s place, kicked in the front door, ready to torture the demon until he told them where you were, but were too late. The pastor was dead, a sickening message written in his own blood on the wall above his body—follow us and she dies.

Dean collapsed to his knees. He would come for you, but he would need to be careful and stealthy about it to keep you safe. He wasn’t going to give up.

~

It had been months. Spring had turned to summer, and fall, then winter began to close in. The boys had gained a few leads in that time, but they lead to dead ends—literally. Anyone that seemed to be involved with these demons ended up six feet under pretty quickly. Even Crowley did his best to help. He didn’t owe the Winchesters anything, which he made very clear, but even he missed your sass. No one dared to berate and poke fun at the King of Hell quite like you did. Not even Dean. He secretly had every demon under his command on the lookout for you, and a price on the rogue demons’ heads. No one dared defy the King and get away with it.

~

They never let you out of the cage except for an occasional hose down or special torture session. You were weak now, months of starvation, torture, and cramped quarters depleting your muscles to a ghost of what they formerly were. The only thing that kept you sane was imagining Dean bursting through the doors and coming to your rescue. The latest preferred torture of your demonic captors was sleep deprivation however, which left you pliable, your vision fuzzy and mind in the weeds. Slowly, you began to forget the Winchesters and your life before. You remembered the last morning you spent with them in the bunker, but you couldn’t recall the conversation, or the color of their eyes. Eventually, their faces began to fade altogether, merely blurs in fleeting memories.

On the hardest nights, you sang to yourself. Like the Winchesters, the lyrics of your favorite songs began to slip, too, until you could only hum. One song though, you sang every day when you realized everything else was slipping away. You hated that it always made the demon’s laugh, that it made them happy that the song you remembered was one of pain.

You began to drift to sleep at last, but another zap from the cattle prod made you whimper and roll to the floor from your bed mat.

“Sing, little bird, I haven’t heard you today,” The demon sneered. He was still wearing the female coroner from the case back in east Texas.

You slowly sat up, getting onto your knees as you were expected, wanting to please the demon enough to let you sleep afterwards. He smirked and walked away, shouting, “Sing!”

Your voice was small and scratchy from screaming and dehydration, but you started anyway after an attempt to clear your throat. You closed your eyes and tried to remember what the Winchesters looked like, what your Dean looked like.

“If I had wings like Noah's dove

I'd fly up the river to the one I love

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

-

I had a man, who was long and tall

He moved his body like a cannon ball

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

 -

One of these days and it won't be long

You’ll call my name and I'll be gone

Fare thee well, my honey, fare thee well

 -

I remember one night, a drizzling rain

Round my heart I felt an achin' pain

Fare thee well, oh honey, fare thee well”

A tear rolled down your cheek as you finished, unable to remember your family. It was in that moment that you lost hope, a cold breeze drifting in from somewhere you couldn’t see. The summer had been blistering hot, and had it not been for the harsh, fluctuating temperatures, you would’ve thought they’d drug you straight to Hell. Judging by the sweltering days and freezing nights, you were in a desert somewhere, but it’d been a long time since you felt the heat now. It was mostly just cold and colder. Before you could brace yourself, you fell forward, exhaustion taking over. Finally, the demon allowed you to fall into dreamless sleep.

~

Dean was beside himself, drinking himself stupid every night. He wouldn’t speak to Sam, Cas, Crowley, or anyone unless he had to on the rare occasion he would work a case. Even then, he was mean, short, and all shoot-first-ask-questions-later. Still, he left the questions part to Sam.

Everything was as you’d left it in the bunker. Dean refused to go into either of your rooms—not that it really mattered, since he would get too plastered to get much farther than the couch anyway. Sam had to put a cover over your truck before Dean could even go into the garage. Even Baby was suffering. Her brakes needed replacement, her belt was squealing and threatening to snap at any moment, and the air in her tires was low. Sam and Cas had to fix these things themselves. Dean had never been like this.  

~

It was a few weeks after you lost hope, an emptiness replacing the weak heartbeat in your chest, when the demon, who you’d come to call Jeremiah allowed you out. He’d hosed you down, given you fresh clothes, and even given you a brush, scissors, and a mirror to clean up your appearance a bit. You hadn’t recognized the face staring back at you. It was pale, sunken and lifeless. Your hair was darker than you could recall it being, and much longer. You chopped until it was manageable, and brushed it out of your face. You didn’t care to look at the ghost staring back at you, and abandoned the items in a corner of your cage.

Jeremiah instructed that you would be a liaison, a messenger between him and a man whose contract he held. You were to report back everything that you saw, and deliver commands. He told you that the man was very powerful and wouldn’t think much of your life, and to not piss him off. If anything happened, you were to remind the man of the hellhound waiting to drag him to his eternal fire. You nodded. He handed you a piece of paper with an address in case you got lost and gave you directions to the meeting place. You stood in the doorway, sunlight so bright you cried out and covered your eyes. When they adjusted, you walked out, legs still slightly wobbly from disuse, everything around you bleached white. The wind nearly knocked you over as you pressed on. You flipped the hood over your face to help block out some of the glare, and stuffed your hands in your pockets.

Approaching the dock, you took a moment to stare out over the lake. It was such a stark contrast of vibrant blue against the sun-bleached, barren land around it, and it sparkled incredibly, tiny waves white-capped. The moment gone, you looked back at your feet, the caliche sticking to your shoes already. For some reason, this lake was familiar to you. You couldn’t remember why.

You got in the boat, disconnected from the rickety dock, the engine spurring to life after a few tugs. The little john boat propelled forward and you steered it expertly around the underwater trees. You knew how to drive a boat? Huh.

The wind was unforgiving, going straight through your thin clothes, the cold seeping into your bones. You reached your destination after about ten minutes, pulling up to a much nicer looking doc, with huge, expensive looking boats tied to it. You cut the engine, hands expertly securing the boat to the dock with the rope.

A man in a white suit was standing there, expecting your arrival. He wore a red tie. It was very distracting. He held out his hand. Reciprocating, he caught yours and brought it to his lips, kissing it lightly in greeting, but you didn’t even feel it. “Hello. They call me El Jefe Rojo—the Red Boss. You can call me Red. And what, mija, is your name?”

Your mouth opened but you couldn’t remember. The syllables were there, but they were jumbled. “You can just call me Mija,” You said after a moment.

You’d just noticed the four men surrounding you, wearing all black and holding rifles, machetes and other various weapons strapped to their waists. “Don’t be alarmed, they are merely here to ensure that our meeting goes smoothly.”

You met Red’s eyes. They were a honey brown, wide and beautiful against his tanned skin and thick, dark locks. His accent was soothing in a way. He waggled his finger, and another man in black came forward, carrying a wrapped box. “Please send Jeremiah my thanks, and that I hope this satisfies his needs. Also, I have a gift.” A young girl was drug forward, fighting halfheartedly against her bonds. She was tossed in your boat, nearly falling overboard. She screamed into her gag upon impact, something making a sickening snap noise. Red looked at her, and she immediately quieted to a whimper. “Tell him that business has never been better, and we will surely have the rest of his request by next week.”

“Yes sir,” You replied. Somewhere in the back of your brain, you thought that you should be freaking out, looking for an exit, anything. But nothing phased you. Not the large men and their weapons, nor the man in front of you. You understood that he was meant to be intimidating, but you felt nothing. Just… emptiness and distance, like you were watching from behind a screen.

“I like you, Mija. Respect. That is hard to come by these days. I look forward to seeing you again…” He nodded and turned his back, walking away dismissively. You climbed back into the boat, without looking at the broken girl. It barely even registered on your radar. The trip back seemed faster. You reattached to the rickety dock near the storage unit that was your new home. The girl struggled to get up, and you helped support her for the walk, but did no more than that to help her. When you reached the unit, you set the girl on the floor and set the box on Jeremiah’s desk. You glanced around the fairly large unit. The demon wasn’t in. You closed the door and crawled back into your cage and curled up on your mat, watching to make sure the girl didn’t try to escape.

What must’ve been hours later, you heard the demon approaching. You sat up.

“What do you mean, ‘Crowley offered you a better deal’? No. No. I won’t have it. I’ll top that. Yeah. Yep. I’ve got it. Well, I have half of it. I’ve sent the girl for the other half already. Uh huh. Yeah she should be back… The Winchesters? Please. They haven’t found her yet and they won’t. If-If they do, I’ll kill them. And her, for good measure…”

The demon’s conversation drifted out of range again. Winchester. Crowley. It was coming back to you. Before you could close your eyes and try to imagine your family again, the demon burst into the room. You jumped.

“Good girl,” He snarled, coming to lock your cage on you again. He picked up the box off the desk and eyed the girl. “Who’s this?”

“A gift, sir. Red sends his thanks. He hopes this satisfies you and will have the rest of your request by next week.”

The demon nodded. “I will send you to collect in two days.”

You gulped. Jeremiah grabbed the girl by the broken arm, dragging her screaming from the unit and left you alone again.

Two days later, you made the same trip as promised. When you arrived, Red was not at the dock. Instead his minions were yelling at you in Spanish and brandishing their weapons at you. Glad that you understood most of what they were saying, you got on your knees and placed your hands on your head. A few minutes later, Red came out of the mansion on the hill and down the walkway. He looked pissed. His nose was bleeding from one nostril and his suit looked slightly disheveled. “I told you next week! I thought we had respect, Mija!” He spat at your name. He slapped you hard out of nowhere, but you only slightly lost your balance, hands still on your head. It wasn’t like you hadn’t been through this before.

“Jeremiah sent me, sir.” You spat blood from your mouth into the water below. “He says he needs it now.” You kept your eyes cast down as the demon had conditioned you.

Red grabbed you by your suspended arm and pulled you to your feet. “Fine. But you must wait here until I get it.” Not having released his grip, he towed you towards the mansion. He sat you down at a table in the screened-in porch and paced, making a few calls, but speaking to quickly for you to keep up in the foreign language. After a long while of screaming into the phone, he threw it across the room in a fit, slumping into the chair next to you, legs still shaking wildly. When had he drawn a revolver? It was white and silver, with a red stripe down the center, to match his suit probably. He tapped it against his shaking leg. You zoned out a few times, just watching the light waves on the lake slopping against the shoreline and boats. The names came back to you as you dazed—Crowley, Winchesters. Cassie… Castile… Castiel. Your vision narrowed, and at last you remembered their faces. Not well enough to give specific eye color, but you could remember the boys’ smiles, most importantly, Dean’s.

Red snapped your attention back to reality as he jumped to his feet. One of his men held a long, narrow, wrapped rectangular box. Red ripped it from his hands and shot the man. You flinched as the dead man fell in a heavy thud. Red practically threw the box at you. It was getting dark.

“Go. Get out, NOW!” He kicked at you, narrowly missing as you obliged and ran as fast as you could down the stairs, pathway, and dock. He chased you all the way to the boat, screaming in Spanish. As you maneuvered the boat away, you sighed. The sun had set, the last tendrils of light peeking over across the lake. You shivered in the darkness. You looked up. Stars. How long had it been since you’d seen them? You forgot how beautiful they were. You felt the flutter in your stomach, remembering how tiny you were in this universe, insignificant, and you smiled. It was the first time you’d felt something in ages.

You laughed loudly, relishing in the moment, then refocused on your journey. It was going to be harder to find your dock, now. You did though, only taking slightly longer than last time to do so. You took the odd box back to Jeremiah. As you approached the storage unit, you could hear him on the phone again and timidly slowed your step, not wanting to make him mad.

“Thanks for the heads up, we will move out as soon as she gets back. Yeah, she’s getting it but she’s been gone a while. I’ve already sent the Hellhound to take care of him. No, no you listen to me—I’m the boss now. I say when we kill the Winchesters. She’s almost ready. Yes, very complaint… Okay. Meet me there at dawn.” His conversation finished and you picked back up your pace.

“You’re late.” You rounded the corner, eyes cast down, holding out the package. “Very good. We’re leaving.”

Panic raised in you. You didn’t want to leave. Not now that you had the boat, the lake, the stars… Jeremiah threw you into the unit but didn’t bother with the cage as he slammed the door behind you. You froze in place, unsure of what to do as you heard him walking away quickly. Minutes turned to hours, and you daydreamed of your family… There was a world out there, you remembered.

Grasping onto the strength the stars had given you, you stood up and jimmied the door open after a few tries. You peered out, clearing the corners. You grabbed the can of gas by the door and ran to the dock as fast as you could, careful not to shake the gas can too much. You jumped into the boat and drove as fast and far as you could. About an hour later, the wide open lake faded behind you as it narrowed into a tall canyon. The moon was overhead now, lighting your way. You continued on until the first morning rays peaked above one side of the canyon. You slowed down and steered into an alcove. At the base of the canyon, there was brush that you used to conceal the boat, and an old cave that looked undisturbed, Native American pictures still on the walls. You let your hands glide lightly across them, then sat down, looking out over the water. You knew this place.

The memory came back to you in your sleep: Your dad smiling as a much younger version of yourself touched the walls of the cave. You looked back at his bass fishing boat, as shiny and sparkly as the crystal water beneath it, fishing poles slung lazily across one of the seats. Del Rio. The Rio Grande. Lake Amistad. The names flooded back to you, and you woke with a start, expecting to be back in that cage. To your relief, you were still in the cave, the sun beginning to set on the other side of the canyon. If you remembered correctly, the 1st and 2nd railroads of Texas were close, and just beyond them would be a boat ramp you used to put in at those years ago. You smiled, jumping back into the boat and topping off the engine with the last bit of fuel. You prayed that it would get you there.

The only problem would be getting past border patrol. There were two stations, and you had no identification. Even if you made it past them, how were you going to walk all those miles back to town? Back home? Where was home? You couldn’t remember yet.

You drove on anyway, the stars comforting you as they came out. You’d never seen so many stars—not since you were here as a child.

When you got to the ramp you’d remembered, you breathed thanks into the cool air of the canyon. You did your best to wash out the gas can until it didn’t smell like fuel. You rinsed and rinsed until your arms and back ached and threatened to give. Trying to save some of your strength, you settled with what you had, and filled the can with water from the fountain.

~

You didn’t know, but the moment you remembered Castiel’s name, he was able to locate you. Almost instantly, the boys piled into the car, a frantic Cas gripping the dashboard and cramped Sam sitting in the back. The Impala roared forth and Dean dialed Crowley.

“We’ve got a lead.”

@supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @aseasyasdeanspie @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79 @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @deathtonormalcy56

[wanderingaunt]

An Open Letter about Faith, Religion, and Freedom

This post is by far the most vulnerable, open, and difficult post I’ve ever written. It’s taken me several days to actually write everything out, and a lifetime to reach the point of being brave enough to share it. My hope is that you will read it from a place of love and acceptance, rather than from a place of judgment and disappointment. While this post is written for my own freedom, I know others out there who have struggled with their own faith and religious identity who need to hear it and need to know that they are not alone.

It’s nearly 10 pm on a Saturday night. I’m sitting outside at a Whole Foods drinking kombucha and distracting myself every which way to not write this post. One of my coaches encouraged me to just write. Don’t try to make it perfect. Don’t erase things that I’m afraid people will question or that I’m afraid to say.

Just write.

The truth is, I am a perfectionist when it comes to writing. When I write a blog post whether for me or for someone else, a podcast script or any other type of writing, I review every sentence as I go. Rather than just writing. This process takes longer, because I am fixing before I have even finished. Is this wrong? Perhaps not. I don’t think there really is a right or wrong process; it is up to the writer to determine what is best. But I recognize this approach can trap me or hold me back from just writing what I really want to say.

You may be asking, “Well, don’t you already write what you want to say, Robin?”

That’s a valid question. While on one hand I may look confident and fearless on social media (and even in person), on the inside I shrink down and hold back from fully expressing myself. I have things I want to say and yet hold back because others may not agree, approve, or like me. I’m afraid others may judge me or fire back at me and tell me I’m wrong.

And to that you might say, “Who cares? Be you!”

And while that may be easy for you, for me, it’s a real concern and fear. For most of my life, I’ve learned to suppress my words and say the “right thing” so that I’m not causing friction, and it’s exhausting. It’s exhausting to be one way for some and another way for others; to mold myself to fit others’ approval out of fear of being judged. I don’t believe that we always must share what’s on our mind or our opinions on everything, but if it’s something that is compromising who you are as an individual, why hold back?

So that is what this post is for me. It’s me expressing who I am so I’m honoring my own integrity with a full, open heart. It’s me allowing myself the freedom to fully be myself and no longer compromise who I am just to appease others.

If you’re completely confused or have no idea what I’m talking about, read on. Like I mentioned in the beginning, this is not an organized or perfectly written post. So bear with me as I digest my thoughts in whatever way they unfold.

What is one of your biggest fears?

I recently posted this question on Facebook asking people to share what they fear. I received responses ranging from harm coming to their children; not being good enough; getting cancer; dying penniless; death; failing at work or in life; paralysis; getting to the end of life and feeling like they missed out on what life has to offer. I was blown away by the amount of responses I received. And how different they all were. Yet even with the differences, they still carry a level of fear around something going wrong or happening outside of their control.

I responded to each comment with validation—acknowledging their fear and letting them know that I hear them and see them.

Fear is good for keeping us safe from physical harm. Without fear, we could be in real danger. But fear also blocks us from being ourselves, taking chances, speaking up, traveling, trying new experiences, and so on.

For me, my fears are around being rejected, abandoned, not liked, and being seen as a disappointment.

I have been a people-pleaser and conformist most of my life. We all have defining moments from our childhood whether we realize it or not. Something happens and we make an unconscious decision about always or never doing ‘x’ again. Without realizing it, we can live a whole lifetime based on a decision a child made.

When I was 7, I was playing with my dad’s chalk tape that he used for marking lines on sheet rock. I broke it and then hid it. I was afraid to tell the truth. I thought I could get away with it, until my dad found it. He asked who broke it. And I don’t quite remember if I confessed or if he found out some other way, but I got in big trouble.

From that moment on, I made an unconscious decision that I would always be on my best behavior. I’d rather be “good” then risk getting in trouble again.

And for the most part, I was. I was teacher’s pet—all my teacher’s loved me. I made sure my parents praised me for cleaning my space, staying organized, getting up on time, etc. I made sure I did and said the right things so people would like me.

I had no idea the impact this one decision (made by a 7-year-old) would have on my life.

To add to this, I grew up in a very conservative church. Everything appeared to me as black and white, right or wrong, good or evil. I remember hearing the term “Fear God” as a young child and thinking that if I messed up or sinned, lightning would strike down from the sky and hit me. As I grew older and understood more of who God is, I learned that fearing God was not like that. But as a young child, that’s exactly what I thought. This perspective created a lot of shame and guilt. I remember being afraid of sex, dating, drinking alcohol, cursing, not going to church 3x a week—that if I missed, I was in the wrong. If I went to a friend’s church that played instruments, they and myself were going to hell. Dancing was wrong. Homosexuality was wrong. It was a lot more wrong than right.

I remember meeting friends in high school and college and hearing them talk about “hearing God” or being “called” by God to follow a certain path. I never had that experience. I would pray, read my Bible, and learn about the characteristics of God but I never felt the connection like others felt.

But I was a “good” Christian, and would go to church, bible studies, take notes from the sermon—check all the dots.

It wasn’t until I began traveling internationally that I began to see another side to what it means to be a Christian and spiritual being.

I went to a Christian college and was exposed to other people in my group being from different religious backgrounds. I learned a lot from these friends, and I learned a lot from visiting various churches in Europe. It was my first experience of thinking, “There’s no way this person is going to Hell. They love Jesus and build their life around serving and honoring him.”

It was my first time thinking, “maybe the way I’ve been taught is not the only way.”

When I got back from studying abroad, I continued going to the church I had been going to prior to leaving. I had found some lifelong friends there and continued going because of them���and because I was afraid to step outside of the box. I enjoyed the preacher at the time. He was very philosophical, intellectual, and challenged a lot of beliefs I had learned when I was a kid. Yet, I never really felt at home there. I felt at home with the church community and my friends, but not with the denomination itself. But I didn’t see there being another way. I was a “good girl” and it wasn’t my job to stir the pot or question anything.

It wasn’t until I moved to Dallas in 2011 that I began to take a step back and consider other churches and denominations. I found a great non-denominational church and home group. Yet, when I would go back to Tennessee to visit, I wouldn’t tell people where I was going. I was afraid that they would find out and judge me or tell me that I was wrong by going somewhere with instruments and women having leadership roles. So I hid this side of my life and tried to avoid any topic around church or religion.

In 2016, I went on my very first mini meditation retreat. It was the first time I was exposed to a meditation practice. I was amazed at how connected I was to my body and my mind. And I was amazed at the clarity I gained through it. It was also around the time that I began a more regular yoga practice. Through yoga I learned to tune into my body and tune out the thoughts in my head. I received more clarity and found my spiritual connection to God increasing.

I took these meditation skills into nature and learned to be present to creation and the beauty around me. It opened me up to signs, wonders, and miracles that I otherwise may not have seen.

I was discovering a spiritual side to life that I had never experienced before. For the first time in my life, I was beginning to understand how someone could say that they “felt” God or how they were called to a certain purpose in life.

It took shedding my old religious ways to learn to embrace this deeper spiritual connection. Yet even with shedding my old religious ways, I’ve still felt trapped and afraid to say something.

No matter what the denomination or religion, many groups feel that what they believe is the “right” way and often the “only” way. Who am I to say that someone else is wrong for believing what they believe or don’t believe? Or say that just because I grew up Christian and was born in the United States, I’ll be saved and others won’t unless they convert? Each religion has its own conviction and belief. I do believe that the Bible is inspired, and I also know that there are so many translations and interpretations out there. And lots of debate over which translation is most accurate. But it still comes down to me believing one way, and someone else believing another. Even typing this, I am wanting to erase it because I am afraid of all of the comments I’ll get questioning this view. And that’s okay. You don’t have to agree with me.

In 2018, I took the plunge and quit my corporate job to follow my dream of traveling the world. When I left to go to Thailand, I had such a sense of freedom come over me. Aside from studying abroad for 3 months in 2004, I had never lived outside of the “Bible Belt” (aka southern U.S.). It was the first time in my life that I felt free to explore my faith and spirituality, and discover what it is that I believe. With this freedom also came suffering. After being in Thailand for a week or so, I became extremely sick. I was in bed for nearly 2 weeks. I allowed my body to purge whatever it needed to and heal itself. I learned the true meaning of what it is to surrender and let go of control. I believed that the illness happened so I could heal from the trenches of old beliefs, hardships, and old ways of thinking. I learned through this experience that we often store pain and trauma in our bodies, and until we make a conscious effort to heal ourselves internally, we may continue to be sick or in pain. If you think this theory is totally absurd, read Louise Hay’s book Heal Your Body or check out my friend Brook’s site Emotional Body Mapping.

When I returned to the states after nearly 2 months abroad, I reverted back to my old fears. My 7-year-old “good girl” self took over. I was afraid of being judged for how I was choosing to connect with God and for not attending church wherever I went. So again, I distracted myself and stayed extremely busy so others wouldn’t question my lifestyle. Because, honestly, at this point, I was still on my own spiritual journey and taking time to question, dissect things, and discover more of what it is that I believe—not what others told me I should believe.

It's been a journey since then, and I still find myself living dual lives. When I’m traveling or with people who I believe accept me, I’m more of myself. When I’m around people who I fear are judging me or don’t approve of how I’m living, I hold back and suppress certain parts of me. I be the person I think they want me to be. This is not authentic. Neither role I’m playing is. I will never be who people want me to be or who they think I should be. I can only be me. I’ve held back out of fear of losing friends and out of fear of being a disappointment to my family. While that could happen, the bigger loss is being a disappointment to myself. And I can’t risk that anymore.

I acknowledge all of you who have reached out to me over the past couple of years questioning what I believe and how I’m living my life. Asking me if Christians can do yoga and how I believe yoga transforms my soul; wondering why I don’t mention God more in my blog and in my social media posts; being offended that I’ve said the f word in podcasts and worried about what others and God will think of me; telling me I’m not marriage material; being concerned for me doing meditation and being too focused on my inner self; instructing me that as long as I stay on the straight and narrow path, I’ll live a beautiful life, and if I don’t, destruction will come. For sharing your concerns about how I dress in photoshoots and your fear that men want to do harm to me.

I know it is not easy to see me as someone other than who you thought me to be. I understand that by me coming out from religion and unveiling all of this, it may challenge you to consider other thoughts, and you didn’t ask for that. I understand you may not agree with anything that I’ve written and may be concerned for my soul. I am not trying to hurt you, disappoint you, or tell you that you are wrong. We are born with free will and have the right to believe what we wish to believe and have the freedom to be vulnerable and share what’s there for us (speaking for the U.S.).

I also acknowledge those of you who read this and think, “What’s the big deal? Why do you care so much about what others think or if they accept you or not?” I understand that you may not understand where I am coming from, and that’s okay. I understand that you may have ill-will towards the church and religion, and if you have been ostracized, I am sorry that happened to you. Like the hate that is seen in this world, fixed beliefs and excluding groups of people from the church, is a very small percentage and does not embody all Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindu, etc. I believe there is more love in this world than we often give credit for.

I love and honor all of you.

As for me and my journey:

I love and accept myself for the woman I am.

I honor all the ways I challenge my thinking, consider others’ beliefs and views, and love others because of our differences.

I own all the lessons I have learned in life and believe there are no mistakes; only moments that continue to make me stronger and lead me to my highest self.

I am grateful for the foundations I received through my upbringing and for my parents giving me the freedom to be my own person.

I love, honor, and cherish my family, friends, and relationships close to my heart.

I wish to be a role model for my nieces and nephews and show them that they can be who they want to be in this world.

I find beauty in my brokenness and the brokenness of humanity.

I am grateful to have the freedom to express my thoughts and beliefs. I realize that many religions and cultures do not have this luxury.

I hold true to my faith in God and all the ways that expand my own spiritual growth.

I believe that Love is the greatest command, and we could all stand to embody it more and extend more of it to others all over the world no matter what religion, background, race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, or gender identity they are.

I share all of this so that I can fully be myself and not hold back any longer, and so I can set my little 7-year-old self free. And while my fear around how this will be received is great, freeing myself from the constraints I’ve placed upon myself is greater. I imagine a world where we all feel brave enough to share our true selves, and that when shared, others will validate it and receive it with love and acceptance.

From my open heart to yours,