#much it reminded him of argall's

[crystallakec]

HI CRIS....cried a little while drawing this and cried a little more while reading your tags. thank you for leaving these it means so so much to me and I wanted to talk about him a little more😭

even if I want to believe, it's already too late.

[rauspberries]

lawyer!aaron hotchner x paralegal!reader. summary: your boss shoots down your big idea to try and win a big case, only to use it later without telling you. noting your irritation, he sets the record straight. tags/warnings: afab reader, no use of y/n and no physical description of reader, prosecutor!hotchner, author didn't go to law school, reader is in law school, this is mostly just very hidden flirting and tension word count: 4.1k notes: this was recommended by an anon! i unfortunately accidentally deleted the ask but thank you so much whoever suggested this <3 this is mostly just tension but maybe one day i'll write more of this pairing [leave me requests huehuehue]

Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall, cascading your shadow against the wall full of plaques on the wall. When you had first started working at the district attorney’s office as a paralegal, you had been amazed by the look of the place. High ceilings, tile flooring, the cleanliness of the place. It screamed excellence and richness, like you had finally made it – even if you weren’t exactly high on the food chain.

As a paralegal, you were essentially a mini-lawyer. Your job was to collect evidence to assist the prosecutor, conduct interviews for them and help prepare for court, meaning you were extremely important in the way legal cases were handled. Your caseload was just as high as the one of prosecutors, your overtime hours just as extreme, but you enjoyed the fast-paced environment and the lovely collection of recommendation letters you’d get once you finished going through law school.

While you sometimes tended to stray to help other procescutors, you tended to be on the cases that Aaron Hotchner handled, to the point where you had memorized everything about him. How he liked his cases ordered on his desk, what order he preferred to gather extra evidence in, how he conducted his witness interviews, all the way down to his coffee order. In order to help him efficiently, you believed that you needed to know absolutely everything in order to excel.

You had been called a perfectionist for the majority of your life. To be a lawyer, that’s what you had to be. You couldn’t slack off just because you weren’t there yet.

You push through the doorway of Aaron’s office just as he sets down his briefcase on the desk, giving him a soft smile as you place a coffee cup on his desk. “Detectives found more evidence in the sexual assault case in Columbia Heights, meaning we’ll most likely have another court case on our hands during the week. I pulled more cases to set precedent for the Argal case and the summary for that is right here,” you grab the manilla folder from beneath his briefcase, holding it back to him, “and the lab results on the knife finally came in for the Neller case, we got him dead to rights.”

The corner of Aaron’s lip pulls up in a slight smirk as he pulls open the file you handed him, glancing at it for a moment before back up at you. “Whatever happened to ‘good morning, Counselor?’ And breathe, please.” He chuckles, setting the file down before sitting in the chair behind his desk. 

Taking a deep breath at the reminder, you cross your arms over your chest, tilting your head. “Is it a good morning if you haven’t slept? Kidding,” you add quickly when he pins you with a stern look, afraid of being sent home due to exhaustion. 

“The Temple murder case is tomorrow, by the way.” The words come out of your mouth slowly, cautiously. The high-profile murder case had been a storm cloud over the office since it had come through, making it the main thing that had plagued your mind – and your workload.

You knew the case like the back of your hand. A spree killer, William Temple, a married business man loved by many. Four different bodies, blunt force trauma to the head and stab wounds to the chest, evidence of sexual assault on low-risk victims. It had gotten media attention before the cops had even known what to do with it, making it a case that had to end in a guilty verdict. It was either that or letting him walk free with a God complex, believing that he could do absolutely anything with no consequences at all.

Unfortunately, there were always issues with high-profile cases. It put them under a microscope, all left under the court of public opinion before getting in front of the jury. His defense attorney would most likely use his charm to their advantage, playing him as a loving family man who couldn’t hurt a fly. Crowds would gather on the steps of the courthouse, either chanting for him to be released or for him to be locked away for good.

There had already been issues with the case. The defense attorney had buried you and Aaron in unnecessary motions, brought you in front of the judge about every single piece of evidence you had attempted to submit for fabricated reasons, along with asking for extraneous files that’d never be needed for the entirety of the case. After that stalling, in which they took the chance to put his good name all over the Internet, jury selection had taken over a week, too worried about his media coverage poisoning the possible jurors.

Finally, after what seemed like years of making an air-tight case, it was time for the case to proceed. Despite the judge granting Aaron’s motion of keeping the media out of the courtroom, a few things would definitely fall through the cracks, meaning everything you’ve pulled together evidence-wise had to be airtight.

“Are you asking me if I’m ready?” The prosecutor hums as he scribbles something in a file, glancing up through his eyelashes for just a brief moment before back down at his work.

“Are you?” You respond calmly, brow arching. It wasn’t like you to question Aaron - you often worshipped the ground he walked on as a prosecutor - but this case was practically half of you. You couldn’t bear to see it go the wrong way. “Do you think we have enough to prove he did this beyond a reasonable doubt?”

A sigh leaves his lips as he sets down his pen, chin tilting up until his focus levels on you, eyes wrinkling around the corners. “I know what my job is.” He reminds you evenly, challenging you with a twitch of his lip. “We have witness testimony putting him on the block of two of the kills, the expunged record of sexual assault, the testimony of his ex-girlfriend on his domestic abuse that shows his dislike towards women.”

You press your lips together as you sit down in the chair on the other side of his desk, crossing your leg over your knee. “Yes, but they have his wife. She’d be willing to perjure herself to give him an alibi, no doubt about it, we’ve seen it before. Also, you said it yourself, his record was expunged. That’s asking for the defense attorney to twist it into how he was wrongfully accused, how this is twice in a row. This man is charming people by just existing, Aaron, we have to come up with either more concrete physical evidence or a way to show the jury that he’s not the kind man he appears to be.” 

Realizing you might’ve overstepped, you clear your throat. “Sir.”

Clearing his throat, Aaron leans back further in his seat, long legs stretching out and splaying apart as he crosses his arms over his chest. He looks dangerous, holding the same focus and grit that you often saw displayed across his face in the courtroom, sending a soft flutter of butterflies in your stomach. Dark and determined eyes watch all of your movements closely, jaw set despite the seemingly relaxed state of his body, a tuft of hair draping over his forehead and his patterned tie just slightly crooked around his neck.

“What would you do?” He questions, keeping his face even. “You want to be a lawyer, don’t you? You’ll have to make these decisions for yourself. So, what would you do?”

You swallow, anxiety creeping its way up your spine. While he doesn’t look upset at your obvious overstepping, the conversation feels like a game of tug-of-war. Pull too hard, you risk anger. Let go, you risk kicking yourself for giving up so easily. “Bring in his wife and have her sit on the wrong side.”

The prosecutor’s eyebrows raise. You can tell you’ve caught him by surprise, watching as he shifts his weight and leans a bit closer to you in curiosity. “Why?”

“During the trial, Temple is going to keep to the calm, good guy demeanor that they’ve tried to paint him to be. His attorney is going to coach him into looking likeable, sophisticated, someone who would never kill anyone, much less four people. But, based on the evidence with his domestic abuse and all of his victims being women, you can infer that he has something against women who go against what he believes is correct.” You lean closer to the desk as you talk, being extra aware to hold the tense eye contact with him.

After a pause, you continue. “If his wife, who believes he has trained to obey his every command, looks to be deceiving him, the irritation will show. If he believes his only solace is his wife and that that one person is betraying him, his good-looking image would immediately be reconsidered by the jury when he snaps at you. If you press into him, explaining to the jury exactly why he looks so agitated and nervous, he will grow defensive, further proving your own point.” Your hands move wildly as you speak, growing excited as your idea spills out of your mouth.

Despite your excitement, Aaron stays in his relaxed position, bending his knees as he places his feet firmly on the floor. “That sounds too risky to make it our smoking gun.” He responds, head shaking just a smidge. “If the wife doesn’t agree or if he’s able to keep his composure, we’re right back where we are at this moment.”

The way he speaks, so easily dismissing you, makes irritation prick at your skin. Your idea is good. You know it’s good. It’s been done before, tactics used to sway the jury’s opinion over the defendant’s personality rather than the evidence laid out in front. At the end of the day, everyone held personal opinions about people – those ruled above any fact that someone could provide. It’s why celebrities are so highly revered despite the controversies painting the front page of magazines.

“Let me talk to the wife.” You thread your fingers together, cracking your knuckles anxiously. “I can get through to her. If Temple is the abuser we think he is, she’s been wanting to get away for a while, but hasn’t because of her kids. All I have to do is empathize and bring up her confidence. I can do it,” you insist, embarrassed by the slightly pleading tone lacing your words.

With a heavy sigh, like this conversation was unimportant, Aaron scoots his chair forward, elbows hitting his desk as his body leans towards you. “That’s not going to happen.” His tone is still even, cool, probably as an attempt to be reassuring while he crushes your idea beneath your nice shoes. “If his wife tells him or his defense attorney that we tried to turn her against him, the attorney will use that to their advantage to poison the jury and paint us as the villians. Every move we make has to be careful, I don’t need to remind you.”

Your lips part again to speak, however your words fall short on your tongue when he raises one hand, immediately silencing you. “Please. Focus on the other cases we have. I will work this case on my own and let you know if I need anything. As for the courtroom,” he takes a sip of the coffee you gave him, clearing his throat, “you are allowed to sit next to me at the prosecutor’s bench. To observe and learn, not to participate.” 

His focus finds you again, eyebrow raising in question. “Understood?”

The urge to let your irritation boil over is intense, causing you to bite at the inside of your cheek to silence yourself. The both of you are held in a tense staring contest for a few heartbeats before you nod, standing back up. “Yes, sir.” 

Without waiting for an answer, you turn around, heels clacking loudly against the tile floor as you rush towards your own office.

For the rest of your shift, you try to avoid Aaron as much as possible, dropping off files when he was away from his office and avoiding any meeting room he might be occupying. You’re annoyed, if not hurt, by his instant dismissal of your ideas. Usually, anything you suggested tended to be mulled over by him, accepted with a grunt of approval or denied with an explanation of exactly why. To be waved off so easily on the biggest case of your career so far was so annoying, so demeaning on the work you had put in in the year you had been working underneath him.

After finishing up all of your work for the day, long after the sun had set beneath the horizon, you immediately shut the door to your office before making your way back through the hallway, pulling your bag up higher on your shoulder. You are aware that you look slightly insane, chin tilted up as your feet thunk against the ground at an annoyingly fast pace, but it’s a price you’re willing to pay. You just need to leave the four walls of the office in order to simmer down the irritation before it turns into a grudge.

Unfortunately, you peer into every meeting room as you step by it, only to look directly into the eyes of Aaron. Across from him, you could only make out a mop of blonde hair, recognizing it as Mrs. Temple. Her shoulders are stiff as she keeps her focus on the prosecutor, having not noticed that his attention was now directed over her head. 

Quickly, you turn your attention away, heading straight for the exit. You weren’t supposed to work on the case anymore – it wasn’t your business what he was doing.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

Court days were always extremely stressful days. Every small thing mattered. What time you arrived, if you were too late or too early, what you wore and how you presented yourself. Even if you weren’t the person on the stands, or even one of the lawyers talking, you would be scrutinized. The last thing you needed was to embarrass Aaron.

Pulling your shoulders back, you practically strut into the courthouse, fingers curled around the handle of your briefcase. Your power walk is only stopped by the sight of Temple’s defense attorney, watching as a wicked smile curls on her lip, looking over at you and blocking your way. “I see Hotchner doesn’t have a very good hold on his dog, letting you walk around by yourself. Scared you’re going to embarrass him?”

You narrow your eyes as you look closer at her face, playing innocent. “Did you miss your Botox appointment? Or are you just stressed about how hard you’re going to lose this case?” Your head tilts slightly to the side, the corner of your lip threatening a smile.

Her brows raise in slight surprise at your bite, lips parting to respond, although she’s interrupted by the clearing of a throat. “Counselor. You best teach your paralegal some manners.”

Manicured hand raising, you’re ready to bite back again, only to stop short when you feel a tug on the back of your neck. Without you noticing, Aaron’s hand had slid up the space between your shoulder blades, his index finger curling around the hair at the nape of your neck and giving it a sharp, but brisk tug. The temporary pain sends a slight shudder down your spine, eyes turning towards him accusingly. Leaning down, he murmurs low enough for only you to hear. “Behave.”

You manage to keep your cool long enough for him to straighten his spine, looking back at the other attorney. “The only time you should be speaking to my paralegal is if you are requesting to speak to me. The only time you should be asking for me is if you are willing to discuss a deal. Until then, any conversation you have is not my business. See you in court.” His tone is authoriative and straight to the point, leaving no room for argument before his hand is on the small of your back, leading you away.

“I can handle myself.” You grumble, although you make no attempt to step away from him. You’d spend the next few days by his side in the courtroom, anyways, it wasn’t like you could avoid him. Plus, the warm feeling of his hand through your shirt was comforting the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. You always had the worst anxiety on court days. Aaron usually poked fun at you for it – when it was lesser charges and not multiple counts of murder, that is.

He sighs as he opens a door to one of the conference rooms, guiding you in before shutting it. The room isn’t too small, enough to fit a larger table and a group of people, but it feels like he’s looming over you, taking up too much space. “You need to get yourself together. It is a stressful day and you don’t need to make it worse by arguing with the defense. Focus.” He crosses his arms over his chest, the act almost sinful with the way it makes his toned arms press against the fabric. “You aren’t speaking today, but I will be speaking a lot of words you spoke. You will be the one speaking in front of the jury soon enough, you need to take this time to learn, not bicker.”

The way he looks at you, dark eyes searing into your own while he scolds you, makes you feel small. Not insignificant, just small. You’re very aware that you are just one piece of this puzzle. You’re also aware that you are incredibly attracted to the stern version of Aaron Hotchner. 

Sighing, you shake out your shoulders, cracking your knuckle before nodding. “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I just need you to make sure the best version of yourself is walking into that courtroom. And stop cracking your knuckles, it makes you look nervous. You can be nervous, but you cannot show it.” His brow raises as he stares you down before his hand finds the doorknob. “Are you ready?”

You nod, adjusting your blazer before grabbing your briefcase tighter. “Yes.”

Aaron nods back at you, opening the door. He holds it open for you to step out before following close behind, his shoulder brushing yours as you make your way towards the courtroom.

Once you’re in, you let every thought not regarding the case fall away. Instead, you go over the facts in your head. There wouldn’t be much today, other than opening statements, but it was vital. The opening statements were the jury’s first impression of your side – and one of the only things they’d actually remember. 

As you settle down at the prosecution bench, you take a quick look around the courtroom. There’s a few faces you don’t recognize, but they’re blurs alongside the faces you do know. The first victim’s kids, the second victim’s parents. It’s almost suffocatingly sad.

Your eyes raise again as the courtroom doors open, revealing Mrs. Temple and her two kids. You note the nervousness on her face, but you chalk it up to the fact that she was walking into a court session for her husband of a few years. That is, until you watch her saunter to one of the benches behind you, settling herself down on the wrong side of the courtroom.

Immediately, irritation prickles at your skin. Accusatory eyes find the side of Aaron’s face, which is perfectly settled and calm as he stares down at the pad of paper in front of him, scribbling notes after notes. If he feels your gaze, which you’re sure he does, he doesn’t react to it. 

Not one bit.

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹✩°｡⋆⸜ 🎧✮

The trial goes by quicker than expected. After Aaron cross-examined Temple himself on the stand, digging into all of the worst parts of him in the perfectly suave tone he saved for the courtroom, the defense attorney had practically begged for the plea deal you two had offered long before. It took a couple of days to actually settle the details, but then it was done. Over. Months upon months of work just for it to go away in a couple weeks.

Now, you’re back to normal life. Who knew how long it’d be until you got into another courtroom again, especially since you had been doing everything in your power to avoid him. It was childish, how something so simple had hurt your feelings, but you had never been one to let a bruised ego just get swept away.

You’re nosedeep in a pile of cases late at night, sitting on your desk for a new perspective with your leg crossed over your knee, when there’s a knock on the door of your office. Your head raises quickly, thinking it’s a prosecutor needing something urgent from you, only to take in the sight of Aaron. He’s obviously on his way out, his necktie loose around his neck and the buttons on his wrist and collar undone. You feel dumb for the way your heart flutters.

“Can I come in?” He questions, leaning against your doorframe.

“Depends. Are you going to steal my stapler?” You deadpan. The past couple of weeks, you haven’t been hiding your discontent, nor have you had any intent to. You did your work, you put in the hours and you weren’t outwardly rude – what would he do, fire you?

A shadow slowly looms over you as he steps closer, two palms landing on your desk on either side of you. His presence is so close, so sudden, that you’re automatically leaning back, eyes widening as you glance up at him. “Can I help you?”

“I didn’t steal anything.” Aaron starts, his brow furrowing as he looks down at you sternly. “You had a great idea and I decided to use it. I know I was a bit blunt when I dismissed it the first time, and I apologize for that. I should’ve told you when I changed my mind, and I apologize for that. But I’d appreciate it if you’d speak to me instead of acting like a brat for weeks.”

That word, falling off of his tongue so easily, mixed with the slightly dishelved look he was currently sporting, was enough to have blood quickly rushing to your cheeks, heat gathering there as you stared back at him. There’s a part of you that wants to argue, however you cannot get the words out.

The prosecutor must take your surprise for being upset, sighing as his shoulders fall. His head droops for just a moment, causing a strand of hair to come loose and drape over his forehead. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel any type of negative way.” He sounds the most sincere you have ever heard him – which was saying a lot, seeing as he spoke in a cool, collected cadence most of the time. 

Not wanting to make him beg for forgiveness, you find your words. “It’s okay. I probably was being a bit of a brat.” You admit, raising one shoulder in a shrug.

“Oh, you definitely were.” He stands up straight, removing his hands from their spots beside you as he shoves them into the pockets of his slacks. The air around you feels ten times cleaner now that he’s no longer in your space, although the feeling is bittersweet. 

Aaron is quiet for a moment, eyes flickering to the work on your desk and the ground before back at your face. “You’re the hardest worker here at this office and an essential asset to me. I didn’t intend to offend you and I never will.” His eyes glint with a hint of amusement, the familiar wrinkle on the side of his lips deepening with the ghost of a smile. “Can’t have my best girl leaving me in the dust because I wasn’t clear.”

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me.” You roll your eyes, standing up and setting the files in your hands on your desk. You’re trying your very best to seem calm and collected, although you’re admittedly extremely flustered. For someone who craved to be recognized growing up, you’d never been the best at taking compliments.

“Just a little bit.” He admits bluntly, a small chuckle rumbling in his chest before he turns his back to you, making his way towards the door. “Go home, take a break. Come in late tomorrow. We have a lot to do so I need you at your best.”

With that, he steps out of your office, leaving you to watch him walk past the glass and disappear down the hallway, ignoring the intense thudding of your heart against your ribcage.

You’ve got it bad.

[ladylilithprime]

In Sickness

Series: Fluffy Faerie Tales

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sastimmy/Jamstiel (Jimmy Novak/Sam Winchester/Castiel)

Rating: General to Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Half-Fae Sam Winchester, Jimmy and Castiel Are Twins, Sam Winchester Is Jack Kline's Adopted Father, Brief Allusions to Canon-Typical Violence, Sickfic, Castiel Hates Being Sick, Sam Has A Magical Twin

Summary: Living in a magically integrated community had its perks. Unfortunately, immunity from illness was not one of them. Luckily, Cas's half-faerie boyfriend is willing to come stay with him and Jimmy to help take care of him, which leads to a few unexpected revelations about Sam... like the fact that he technically has his own magical twin.

For: @fluffyfebruary challenge!

Prompt: Day 20: Partners

Read on AO3

LIVING IN A magically integrated area had several benefits. The security systems for businesses and homes were backed up by magical wards and some particularly powerful locals whom nobody with any sense wanted to risk making angry. The beaches were protected and patrolled by selkies and merfolk who didn't mind saving the occasional human tourist so long as they didn't litter or try to run off with somebody's pelt. The weather tended to stay reasonably decent unless it was unavoidable, and there was plenty of warning before anything major hit the town.

Unfortunately, being in a magically integrated area couldn't do too much about the spread of diseases. It wasn't just human illnesses, either. Dragons, selkies, dwarves, and merfolk all had their own particular infirmities, seasonal and otherwise. In fact, it was more likely that various illnesses could run the risk of crossing the species barrier, leaving people who might have otherwise been perfectly fine suffering some magically mutated malady.

"It's the flu," Sam sighed as he gently adjusted the blanket covering his boyfriend's legs. "Nothing magical or strange about it aside from you somehow catching the variant we all didn't get vaccinated for."

"Are you sure?" Cas pressed around the congestion in his sinuses. He hated how much he sounded like a whiny child, dismayed at how being ill could reduce him to this even after so many years.

"I'm quite sure," Sam said, handing Cas a tissue. "Dr Argall didn't find anything unusual in her tests, and Adam assured us that the sample we sent came back positive for just influenza."

Adam had actually laughed at them when they had called with the request until a sneezing and tearful Cas had choked out his worries about Sam or Jack catching something horribly mutated that their human blood would make them vulnerable to from having been in him. He hadn't apologized for laughing, but he had at least taken Cas's concern and their request a bit more seriously. That his testing had come back negative for unknown pathogens had helped settle Cas's mind... at the time.

"Don' wanna get you sick," he muttered, blowing his nose obediently. "Y'got th'cafe an' Jack... don' wan' Jack t'get sick...."

"And that's why Jack is staying with Donna and Amelia and Matt for the weekend," Sam reminded him patiently. "He'll probably have a hand-drawn get well soon card all ready for me to bring to you after work tomorrow."

"'M missi'g work," Cas grumbled, scowling at the blanket and decidedly not pouting.

"Jimmy's got the baking covered for now, even though we both know you're better at it," Sam said, unperturbed. "And I have it on good authority that your boss approved your sick leave and wants you to rest and recover at your own pace." He paused, and Cas could hear the smile in his voice when he added, "Consider this proper exchange for when you took care of me after the alicorns."

And it really was that easy for Sam, Cas knew. As a faerie of the Summer Court, Sam tended to calculate the balance of debt on a longer time scale than immediate transactions while being very humanly coy about the exact balance. Or maybe that was a faerie thing, too. Cas knew that Jimmy had asked Mary about it and she had been only moderately helpful in explaining, something about Sam being "more human in his heart, but more faerie in his nature" that didn't make a whole lot of sense at the time.

Thinking about it just brought up another nagging feeling of unbalanced debt. "S'rry..."

"For what?" Sam asked, sounding genuinely bewildered.

Cas shrunk down into the couch nest. "Dean..."

Silence, and then Sam let out a long, heavy sigh. "Dean is responsible for his own behavior and, therefore, the consequences of that behavior. His choices are in no way your fault or responsibility." Another moment of silence, and then Sam settled down into the nest against Cas's side. "Honestly, I was sort of expecting him to take things badly. Not to the degree he did, that was an unpleasant surprise, but Dean has never reacted well to someone other than him taking care of me when I'm hurt. Bad enough for him when it was just my twin."

"Twin?" Cas nearly jolted upright, only to collapse back from dizziness. Cool hands gently pressed him back down into the cushions, faintly callused fingers stroking back his hair, and he blearily looked up towards Sam's face.

"It's not the same as you and Jimmy," Sam said gently, his eyes lowered to stare pensively at the blanket to give Cas the space to study his expression. "We aren't in separate bodies having wholly separate experiences. Calling him my twin is just sort of more accurate to faerie standards than calling him an alter or split personality. Emotionally speaking, he's much younger than I am, and he tends to prefer to sleep much more than I do."

"Will you tell us about him?" That was Jimmy, either drawn from the kitchen by Cas's exclamation or simply bringing the bowl of soup he held at the right time. The soup was handed to Cas, and Jimmy took up a position on the other side from Sam where Cas could reach his hand if he needed. "If he's a part of you, then we'd like to know... and if any humans out there can understand magically created twins...."

"Point," Sam chuckled softly. "Alright. You both know I was in the military back in the faerie realms. When I was about eight hundred and sixty years old, there was a skirmish near the borderlands and a rift opened up. I kept my unit as safe as possible, but the rift was into a Hell dimension and several of us were dragged through before it sealed.

"That's when my twin was born, in the fires of that hell dimension," he murmured. Cas exchanged a glance with Jimmy, then reached out and took their boyfriend's hand gently. Sam smiled softly and stroked over Cas's hand with his thumb. "He spent more time awake there than I did, fighting off the demons that threatened our people, killed a number of them... lost all but two of my people when we finally rushed their high command and my twin, uh, basically took over rulership." He ducked his head a bit sheepishly. "So technically speaking I'm King of Hell, albeit more like my twin and I are jointly a king of a hell. Crowley, I think you met him in passing a few times? He's essentially our regent. Dean doesn't know exactly how long I was there, because of the way time worked differently between the various dimensions, and the two survivors, my twin, and I all agreed that he didn't need to know. When his forces busted through, we had all visibly aged, but perks of faerie genetics meant he couldn't tell how much. He assumed it was a hundred and fifty years, and none of us corrected him."

"But it was much longer?" Jimmy asked.

"Upwards of five hundred that I'm aware of," Sam admitted with a wince. "Probably longer. There are chunks of time missing from my memory where my twin was in control and had me buried deeper down to protect me. He was in control when Dean busted through, and... well, the fact that my twin exists at all made him furious, because he's proof that Dean wasn't there to protect me. So he sleeps and only really comes out when I'm in mortal peril. Because I'm less quick to attack than he is, more likely to defend or negotiate than simply... execute."

Silence descended once more as Cas and Jimmy processed this information, broken by Cas needing to blow his nose again. It did somewhat explain Dean's blow-up, even though it didn't excuse it. And it also explained the weirdly irreverent deference Crowley showed Sam whenever he dropped by with the monthly supplies of--

"Tha's why th'cafe gets such a good deal on th'hellfire roast coffee beans and other demonic byproducts?" Cas asked.

"Sure is," Sam nodded. "Yearly tithe, but because of the time difference Crowley brings it by once a month by our reckoning. I have similar deals with other realms to get certain ingredients at a discount."

"Useful," Jimmy hummed. He exchanged another glance with Cas. "Is there a way to tell the two of you apart when you, er...?"

"Swap?" Sam supplied. He shrugged. "I mean, we use different glamour sets due to our different personalities and respective responsibilities... my twin took to the whole 'ruler of a hell dimension' role and tailored his glamour accordingly. Yellow glowing eyes, gold-tipped black horns, black warding marks, claws, articulated bat wings for the intimidation factor...."

"That sounds seriously badass," Jimmy breathed as Cas nodded. Sam's cheeks turned pink, and Cas wondered if he was actually blushing or if he was altering his glamour to make it look like he was. Jimmy must have been thinking something similar, because he said, "I have more questions about how your glamours work if you don't mind explaining sometime, but we wouldn't be opposed to meeting your twin if he wakes up while you're with us."

"Surprised he didn' wake up with th'alicorns," Cas mumbled, blowing his nose again and screwing up the tissue to toss at the trash can.

"Oh, he did," Sam admitted with a grimace. "I asked him to stay back because... well, you two were already having a rough night without adding my semi-demonic and bad-tempered twin into the mix. We might want to have a more controlled and deliberate first meeting if you really want to."

"He's your partner in ruling your hell dimension," Jimmy pointed out with a shrug. "We're your romantic partners. It seems like a good idea that we all know each other."

"But not until I'm not sick," Cas said, sniffling even as he winked. "Don' wanna be mistaken for a threat to your health."