#psa!!! drinking too much water at a time can kill you so be careful!

[hisui-dreamer]

jamil, who loves showing affection by cooking food for his loved ones, making sure the curry is seasoned to perfection and your favourite dessert to go along with the meal.

and you, with zero spice tolerance but so incredibly overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for how hard jamil's worked. and with your favourite dessert right there enticing you, you're determined to finish every drop of curry on your plate.

...

it doesn't go too well.

indeed, you have finished every drop of curry. but you've also downed around 12 cups of water, and the burning in your mouth is still unrelenting. jamil visibly looks concerned with how much water you're drinking and it's unavoidable you address your non-existent spice tolerance.

jamil sighs, and his eyes show a hint of exasperation you often see when he's following kailm's whims. you avert your gaze to the floor, upset at yourself that you've disappointed him and maybe he hates you now how could you not like his fo-

flick!

ouch! your hands reach up to shield your forehead, and your eyes meet his. not exasperated, maybe slightly, but amused and... loving??

"dummy, don't go forcing yourself to eat what you don't like," he sighs

you timidly explain you could never do that with how much time and effort he puts into his cooking

his smile widens slightly.

"for now, i guess i'll be making more desserts for you then,"

he chuckles at the way your eyes light up.

"here," he feeds you a spoonful of the chilled dessert. "is your mouth still burning?"

oh. you don't think it is anymore.

but your heart sure is.

[speedypandaweasel]

One Big Adventure - a Wilford Warfstache and Abe story (Non-Ship) (2,914 Words)

Thank you for the request @canceltheact! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

If you would like to submit a request, see the information at the Masterlist and submit through the Q and A!

PSA - THIS IS NOT A SHIP oke, let us begin...

Dazed images fog up the minds of two *very* hungover men as they stagger their way up to the apartment. Abe fumbles his way through the door and over strewn clothes. He continues on and manages to put together the kaleidoscope of scenery that is right in front of him. To his left, a saggy sofa sits and a cheap TV dangerously hangs off the stripping wallpaper by a thread. To his right, a grimy kitchen is on display which even the worst chef in the world wouldn't waste his time in. The other man, however, is blabbering away, slurring his words like a car on an icy motorway. "HA!, I tell *hick* you Abe, I'm so glad I remembered you, you see *hick*, I can't even remember where I put my-" Aaaand he's gone. His body moulds into the cushions that poorly support his droopy frame, and his scuffed platform boots dangle over the side. Abe smiles, slightly soberer than before. Who would have thought that this stock still of a man, whose only aesthetics were the colour beige and veterans, would somehow have a goofy, lighter side to him? All the criminals he's met and caught among the years...

Hold up, has he met anyone? He can't remember any experiences where he HAS met any, so why did he think that? Hm, must be the Tequila talking. Abe hopscotches over the empty Wine and Martini bottles that are decorated across the stained carpet. Damm, William has not been taking care of himself. Mind you, neither has he so he can't really say anything. He arrives into the walk-in kitchen and opens a dusty cupboard. His tired eyes only meet with shot and tumbler glasses.

How much does this Man drink!? Shuffling used plates and greasy cutlery out of the way, he fills a scotch glass with water. Dowsing the liquid felt like heaven. His exhausted physique felt like a body that's been stuck in the desert for a considerable amount of time and didn't know it needed water to survive. Oh, now he feels the headache coming on.

Reader, you know when water tastes funny? It's because your brain hasn't been receiving enough H20 because you've been drinking too many energy drinks. Yeah, that feeling is exactly what Abe is feeling right now. CONTINUING ON!

The scotch glass watches from the draining board whilst the Detective plays the quietest game of the floor is lava, whilst the moustached man is making much more noise. He manages to reach a corridor which he thinks leads towards the bedroom and tiptoes down the tight hall to find a vacant room. On the way, he passes another room. It was Barnum's. His mind was split in two, Does he go in? Or stay out? Through the crack in the door, the catastrophe has indeed spread into his sleeping quarters. A mountain of flamboyant disco clothes gathers dust in front of his Chester draws, the bed's not made and more liquor bottles are having a social gathering on top. Oh William, you may be a murderer, but you need to prioritise yourself. He takes a last look at his passed out flatmate down the hallway, before shutting the guest bedroom door. Grey. It's all he's met with. Much like his exterior. He slips his shoes off and starts to unbutton his off-white shirt. he runs a hand down his chest and over the scar. How the Hell did he survive that? He can't be bothered to go into it right now, he's too tired. He snuggles into bed and does the infamous cold bed dance.

You know the one.

Abe gets out of the tempting bed once more and walks back into the living room. He creeps over to William, the man's mouth catching flies. He carefully takes his enormous shoes off and places them on the floor. Barnum's mismatch socks disappear underneath the blanket. "Night William."

~ A gorgeous smell of Breakfast wanders its way through the apartment and Abe groggily wakes up. His eyes peel open and with a yawn, he trudges through to the living room. Remembering from earlier this morning, he needed to position himself for his dance routine around the non-existent floor. "What are you doing my main man?" Barnum brightly asks, a hearty chuckle accompanies the question. Resided in the pristine kitchen, his big, strong hand holds a Skillet and two China plates are centred on the pebble grey marble island. Abe, however, is currently squatting as though he was playing a game of leapfrog with some imaginary friends. The Detective goes to jump but then is taken back at the sight. The apartment is now spick and span, no more Wine Bottles, no more strewn clothes. The windows are tied wide open and it overlooks the sketchy neighbourhood that they reside in. "How did you do this?" "Do what?" "You know, clean up this quickly?" Barnum checks his watch. It's 7:30 am "Oh well you see, I ironed a nice pair of jeans and found a lovely dandelion coloured shirt. Accompanied by some rainbow braces I think I look quite dashing don't you think so?" "No William, I-I mean the Apartm-AAH!" Abe clings his hand over his head, damm this- "Headache is killing you?" William slides a glass of water over with an Aspirin pill. "And no, I didn't clean the apartment, she did." Wilford looks- wait, why are you looking at me!? "Anywho, we need to get going my slightly hungover companion! But first, breakfast!" Wilford sets a serving plate down of a full English Breakfast: Sausage, an Egg, two cooked Tomatoes, Bacon rashes, Baked Beans and a slice of Buttered Toast. Wow. He didn't know William could cook? The two men got stuck in right away and the TV is turned on. Two bright and very similar faces appear on the screen "Badgers the secret Killer?... And now for the weather, Jim?"

The camera pans to, what they believe, is Jim. Their face resembles a deer in headlights. "I swear, they don't know what they're doing. It's hilarious!" The Detective says with a mouthful of Toast. Barnum laughs, wipes his mouth with a napkin and takes a swig of his Orange juice. "Right! I mean, who is their boss anyway?!" The men eat and laugh their way through their plates talking about what topics they would cover if they were reporters. After a while, they both recline back into their bar stools and the cook starts to tidy up the dirty dishes. "Oh, no, let me do it. It's the least I can do." "You're alright my man, I've got this. Besides, you need to freshen up!" "But whe-'" "First door on your left"

They share a light chuckle. "Thanks Wilford, I really appreciated that," Abe says before going back down the hallway, whilst Wilford rolls his sleeves up and starts to clean the less-silver cutlery.

He smiles. That's the first time he's ever said that to him. "No problem Abe."

~

The passenger door slams shut on the Detective's Vintage SUV and Wiford pulls out a gigantic map from his pocket. This map includes hundreds of paths scrawled with crayons and a hint of Martini can be smelt.

"Are you sure, you know where you're going?" Abe questions. Judging by what that map reads, they are going to get lost very easily.

"Of course I know where I'm going! I am Wilford Motherloving Warftsache after all." A pang of guilt hits the Detective, he genuinely can't remember who he was.

"Ok, Wil, you can drive."

After playing at least 3 rounds of rock paper scissors, or when Wilford won, Abe hesitantly let the murderer drive. God knows where though.

Wilford excitedly thrust the keys into the ignition. He couldn't wait for what the day entailed!

"Careful Willford, you're gonna break the keys!" Abe says through gritted teeth.

"Oh pah-lease! I know how to drive" he retaliates. His brown boot floors the pedal and reverses straight into the iron fence.

"Yep, it's working."

The Detectives face, now pale, grips tighter onto his seatbelt and his feet are glued to the floor. "Wil, of course it's working. Now, step on the ga- nope, that's the brakes Wilford."

Pedestrians quiver in fear as they see a horribly driven brown vehicle screech to a stop and then start again. They have to clamp down on their ears as the monster of a car drives past them down the alleyway, swerving left and right much like the driver's speech the other night.

The SUV survives to the end of the road and dents a stop sign perched, well once, straight on the kerb.

"Will, which route are we taking?" Abe asks as he takes the map from the driver's hands.

"It's the one marked Highway of Life, it's gonna be a good one, trust you me."

"Well, this has got off to a surprising start so why not go for an adventure?" Abe says. He's given up at this point.

~

"LIFE IS A HIIIGHHWWAYY! I WWAAANNNA RRIIDDEE IIT ALLL NIIGGHTT LOOOOONNGG!" The two pop stars start belting out of the car as Wilford drives them to their last stop. Who would have thought that two polar opposites positions of the law would be in the same car together, let alone blasting Disney songs out of the car.

Wilford's hair whips away from his face as the SUV's top winds down.

"LIFE NEEDS A BIT OF MADNESS EH ABE?"

"HELL YEAH IT DOES"

The Afternoon sun blazes down onto their blacked-out sunglasses and the Golden Gate bridge paints a picture for the Detective that prescribes him with a carefree attitude.

Life was his to choose and he was here for it.

~

The SUV turns off the Highway onto Richmond Street. The Afternoon sun glowing dimmer.

Just in time.

Now reader, if you haven't read my WKM Tumblr Song series, then you won't understand this next section.

The SUV passes bountiful shrubberies and picket fences. Cherry Blossom dust drift its way into the car and Wilford starts to tear up.

"You ok Buddy?"

"Yeah, I'm ok." After all his years of interrogation, Abe knows that that answer was a lie. Yet, he didn't want to push it.

The car comes to a halt and is parked underneath a summer coated oak tree.

"Why'd we stop?"

"I want to show you something."

Abe opens the vintage door and steps out. In front of him, wildflowers and grass sway on the cliffs breeze and small pink flowers grow on its edge. Overhead, a sea glistens with sunlight rays and pink and amber hues dust the sky.

Man, this is enough to make a grown man cry.

The cars driver door can be heard shutting and a shadow walks up behind him. An intimate silence roots itself between the two men.

"You may be wondering why I brought you here."

Abe nods, still looking forward, yet intriguingly listening.

The man sighs, "I used to come here all the time as a young lad. We used to have picnics and dance until dawn. We were so free up here. Away from life, away from Duty, and she was away from Him, that was all that mattered. "

His voice breaks.

"But things change, people change and suddenly, I couldn't do that anymore.

That's why I want you to see it."

Wilford wanders over to their spot and picks up one of the pink flowers sprouting through the grass.

"You may have thought of us as the scum of the Earth Detective. But there are two sides to every story."

The Detective joins the Murderer and puts a hand on his shoulder.

Wilford chuckles. The last time he was here, he was completely and utterly alone. He was like- like a freshly born fawn still trying to find his legs into this world that didn't make sense.

But now...but now things are looking a little brighter.

"If there is anything I can do to make it up to you, just name it."

"You can't do anything really, it's just the way this messed up world works."

The two friends sit down in the grass, making fresh new imprints into the cliff edge, next to two fading ones.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure" "How many people have I killed?"

...

That question lingers in the air for an uncomfortably long time. All that can be heard are the lapping of the waves below them and the occasional swallow talking in the trees.

...

"I don- don't know Wilford," Abe breaks the silence, "I should know, but I-I don't.

...

Abe looks at Wilford, his broken and tear-stained eyes manage to glance back before returning to look out at the sunset.

Abe must do something here. But what? He said himself that nothing can be done so what can he do?

He reminisces on the day they were reunited. So much anger, so much confusion. But Wil was so cheerful, not a care in the world!

Now look at him.

And it was all his fault. If only he didn't get involved...

A second flashes by and Abe does something he should have done the second Will did it.

He hugs Him.

...

"I'm sorry Will."

...

Moments cling on for seems like forever and the embrace is broken. The two tear-stained friends look up.

The afternoon sun has now gone beneath the horizon and is replaced with the all too familiar twilight scenery, which glows softly for miles and miles, each star a lantern that has been entrusted with keeping something special.

"There was another reason why I wanted to bring you here."

Wilford wipes his eyes with his sleeve. "Do you see that star, the big one?"

"Yeah" "That's the Evening Star. That Star is the reason why I have hope. And now I want to share that hope with you. I know we got off the wrong foot but since we're in the same boat now, I think it's time I opened up about where I've actually been."

Abe swallows, this man is truly broken, and he can't do anything about it.

"Thank you for trusting me." "We're not done yet. It's your turn!" "What?" "Make a wish." Cautiously, the Detective slowly stands up from his permanent grassy imprint and walks towards the cliff's edge. The man looks around and sees only patches of shrubbery and wildflowers.

And his newfound friend encouraging him to proceed.

He clasps his hands together and wishes hard. His eyes scrunch together as he becomes a child once more as well. His once tight shoulders have finally become relaxed. After so many years of searching for answers, he doesn't need to worry any more.

A single tear is swept away from the Murderers face as he watches on from the patch of grass. He remembers that feeling and the dream he wished for all those years ago. Yet now, his wish is slowly changing.

Granted, he can't remember who he was but bully does he know what he wants to be. And being here for him, at this very moment, is a wonderful way to start it.

Abe's hands fall to his side and he stares out onto the ever stretching view. His feet are glued to the spot and his mind is only fixated on that one goal. Wilford slowly joins his side, already having a hunch on what he dearly wants.

"What did you wish for?" The Murderer asks.

The Detective huckles, "Now if I told you, it wouldn't come true, would it?"

"Very true my friend."

Little did the men know that their newly found wishes were the same.

"Don't you mean, Best Friend?"

CRACK

The heartwarming moment is abruptly stopped by the sky blasting wide open and millions of sounds exploding across the cliff. The light breeze has rapidly sped up into a storm and is propelling thick gusts upon the two.

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL NOW!?" Wilford yells at the hole, completely unfazed.

"YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS!?" Abe yells at his Friend.

"OF COURSE I DO, IT'S TIME FOR WORK."

"WORK!? SINCE WHEN DO YOU HAVE A JOB!?"

"WE ALL HAVE A JOB - WE'RE ACTORS! I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING IF WE DON'T GET SPLIT UP."

"IF WE DONT GET SPLIT UP!? WHERE ARE WE GOING!?" "I HAVE NO IDEA! BUT THAT'S THE FUN OF IT! AFTER THREE, WE WALK IN."

"ARE YOU CRAZY WE'RE GONNA FALL!"

"TRUST ME, WE WON'T."

Wilford grabs Abe's hand and he stares at him. Abe stares back, fear-stricken. Finally, he nods.

"TOGETHER?" "TOGETHER."

"ONE"

"TWO"

"THREE!!!!" The two Actors charge straight over the cliff and into the blinding light.

~

Wilford finds himself in some kind of leather chair with neon lights surrounding him. A script in one and his prop gun in his other.

No pants on, no wonder he feels too comfortable.

He scans his scene and sees his co-actor, Kathryn, running her lines on the other side of the room.

A chair sits opposite him and behind that, a red T-30 minutes until showtime sign is displayed for him.

Abe, however, isn't needed on set yet. His adventure hasn't begun.

But both of their characters will have to cross at one point or another, it's just a matter of time. Yet for a fact, no one can edit their Friendship; Their Joint Wish.

Because, as they say, Life is a road that you're travelling on, when there's one day here, and the next day gone.

[icannotreadcursive]

Avengers PSAs: On the COVID-19 Pandemic 2: Wash Your Hands! And Other Ways To Protect Yourself And Others

“Hey, Dr. Bruce Banner here,” Bruce said from behind a lab table, doing his best to approximate Steve or Tony's I Am Talking To The Public face. “We all know that the best thing any of us can do to protect ourselves and each other from the COVID-19 coronavirus is to stay home, but most of us can't stay home all the time. You might still be going to work, or be in a position where you genuinely have to go get things from the grocery store. So let's talk about what steps you can take to prevent viral transmission when you can't stay at home.

“Now, I'm not a medical doctor, and medical personnel have their own strict hygiene protocols that they're following. Please remember that the steps I'm about to tell you are not up to those standards. It takes a lot of training to maintain those kinds of protocols, there are not enough supplies in the world for everyone to do so, and it's not practical for you to try if you don't have that training.

“Moving on, first thing's first���wash your hands thoroughly and often.  Washing with soap and water is more effective than using alcohol-based hand sanitizers. The COVID-19 virus is pretty much a tiny bubble made of lipids with DNA inside. As every dish detergent commercial ever made has taught us, soap breaks down grease and fats, which is all lipids are. So, washing with soap destroys those lipid bubbles and kills the virus.

“When you wash your hands, use warm water,” Bruce continued as the scene cut to him washing his own hands in a sink in the lab, “and scrub for at least twenty seconds using proper hand washing form, making sure to get the backs of your hands, between your fingers, and under your nails. Look up the W.H.O.'s guidelines on hand washing technique and pick out your favorite timing mnemonic. A lot of people use the Happy Birthday song, but you can use and part of a song, poem, speech, or other quote that takes twenty seconds to sing of say.”

He dried his hands and gave the camera a thumbs up. It cut back to him standing at the lab table.

“Do carry hand sanitizer on you, though, so you can clean your hands when you don't have access to soap and water,” he added sensibly. “And it is reasonable to decide you'd rather avoid the close quarters and communal surfaces of public restrooms and favor hand sanitizer while you're out in public, especially if you know the places you're going don't have touchless faucets.”

Bruce took a breath before continuing. “The next thing to think about is masks. I want to preface these points by saying that it is much more important that medical grade face masks be available to medical staff than it is for you to have them, if you aren't medical personnel, or maybe food service. Hospitals are running out, which is putting the lives of doctors, nurses, and their patients in danger. Please do not go out and buy medical facemasks. If you already have single-use facemasks at home, that's fine, use them, but if you have more than one or two boxes worth, go find out what you can do in your area to donate those extra masks to local hospitals and emergency personnel, especially if they're N-95 type masks. It should be printed on the packaging or on the mask itself if it is.

“And know that if you are hoarding masks, I personally am angry with you.” His voice stayed even but his eyes flashed briefly green.

He paused a moment, letting the implications linger, then carried on. “The point of wearing a mask is at least as much to prevent you from getting anyone else sick as it is to keep you from getting sick. Viral transmission is a two-way street, and you can be contagious long before you even know you're a carrier, so it's important to take thie esteps even if you feel completely fine.

“For purposes of reducing spread in public, lower-grade or even makeshift masks, such as scarves or bandanas tied over the face, will do. If you know how to sew, you can actually make reusable cloth medical masks at home. Some hospitals are are taking donations of these home sewn masks, too, so if you're crafty, look into doing that.

“No matter what kind of mask you're wearing, you have to make sure that it fits and you're wearing it properly. It should be snug, covering your nose and mouth, and not slip out of place when you move your head. Most purpose-made masks are adjustable around the nose area; be sure to fit that to your own nose so their aren't any gaps—if you wear glasses like me, your breath should not fog them up when you exhale. With makeshift scarf or bandana masks, this may be unavoidable. If you are using a scarf or bandana, only use ones that are tightly woven fabric. Gauzy, sheer scarves won't do you much good.

“Once you have your mask on, don't take it off, don't touch it. Don't touch your face at all, mask or not, without cleaning your hands first. Don't touch your glasses, either. If they start to slip down your nose, like glasses often do, either let ithappen, see if you can get them to slide back into place by tipping your head back, or if you really have to, use the inside of your wrist to push them up.”

He demonstrated, palm facing up and fingers curled, carefully nudging his glasses into place with a bump of his wrist against the point where the arm met the lens frame.

“When you're done with your mask—for instance, when you get home from the grocery store—take it off by the straps or ties without touching the part that goes over your face and without letting the outside surface of the mask touch you. If it's a disposable mask, bag it up and throw it away, preferably outside your home. If it's a reusable cloth mask, a scarf, or bandana, wash it immediately either in a washing machine or by hand with soap.

“When it comes to gloves,” Bruce segued, “most people are better off just washing their hands like we already talked about, and the same admonishment stands as for masks: do not hoard supplies that medical staff need to take care of themselves and their patients, do not go out buying gloves in bulk, if you already have extra, find out where you can donate them to the people who really need them.

“If you're a delivery driver, or a shop clerk, or otherwise know that you're going to be handling things a lot that other people are touching, then gloves are a more necessary precaution. Your workplace probably already has protocols in place and you should follow those.

“Gloves, just like masks, will only protect you if you use them correctly. Wash you hands before you put them on. Put them on before you're going to be touching anything that might be contaminated. Don't take them off while you're still handling things that might be contaminated. Don't touch your face while wearing your gloves. Don't touch things with any part of your body that's unprotected—for instance, don't lean your whole forearm on the handle of your shopping cart—otherwise there's no point in you wearing those gloves and you're just wasting resources.

“Take your gloves off and clean your hands again before touching anything you want to keep clean, like the door handles and steering wheel of your car, and always use proper glove removal technique. If you've ever taken a high school or college chemistry or biology lab, you've been taught proper glove removal, but just in case you've forgotten or haven't taken those classes, let's review.”

It cut to a top-down view of Bruce's now-gloved hands. He narrated as he demonstrated. “Start by pinching the wrist of one glove and pulling up toward your fingers so the glove turns inside-out as it comes off. Hold that glove in your still-gloved hand.  Slide a finger of your un-gloved hand under the wrist of your remaining glove, careful not to touch the outside of the glove, and pull it up and off just like the first one so it turns inside out with the other glove now inside.”

Cutting back again, Bruce leaned emphatically on the lab table. “Throw used gloves away as soon as you take them off and never re-use gloves.”

He relaxed a bit a straightened up. “These are the basic personal protective hygiene steps that most people should be aware of. If you want to take extra precautions, maybe because you have someone at home who's in a high-risk group, you can do things like wipe anything you buy down with disinfectant before bringing it into your home, leave non-perishables in a quarantine area somewhere like a garage or sunroom untouched for three days before bringing them inside, and make sure your washing machine is empty and set out towels in your bathroom before you leave the house, then as soon as you get back home put the clothes your wore out in the washer and go shower before touching anything else in your home.

“Most importantly, don't panic. This isn't the zombie apocalypse. For most people, the personal danger of this situation isn't very high. This precautions aren't so much to keep you alive as they are to stop the virus from spreading so it can't get to the people who are most at risk.

“Do you part. Wash your hands. Cover your cough. Save lives.

“From me and all the Avengers, be careful, stay safe, and thank you.”

The video went black for a moment then came back up as a shot of of Steve and Bucky sitting across from each other at the Avengers conference table, studiously tracing facemask sewing patterns onto old T-shirts and other fabric and cutting them out. Tony was watching curiously from the doorway, drinking a bottle of kombucha. “I can't believe you guys know how to sew.”

“Grew up in the Great Depression, Stark,” Bucky said without looking up. “We couldn't afford to go and buy clothes.”

“Besides,” Steve added, reaching to grab another shirt to trace patterns onto, “it's useful. I taught your dad how to sew on a button so Peggy'd stop making fun of him.”

Tony made a sour face.

“I don't even need a thimble anymore,” Bucky said brightly, wiggling the fingers of his left hand.

Whoever was holding the camera snorted with laughter.

[master-sass-blast]

I’m Not as Think as You Drunk I Am.

OH, WHAT’S THIS, ANOTHER FIC?

YES. YES IT IS.

And, like the title suggests, it involves drinking; this is your obligatory PSA to drink responsibly and legally. It may seem like fun, but you can actually kill yourself if you drink too much. Stay safe, kids.

Summary: Wade gets the Reader DRUNK during a New Year’s celebration at the X-Mansion. Piotr finds out and gets pissed, then helps the Reader recover from their hangover the next morning.

Rating: T for strong language and alcohol consumption.

Warnings: Vomiting, legal alcohol consumption, hangovers, etc.

Pairings: Piotr Rasputin x Reader.

(Title from “Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time” lyric by Panic! At The Disco.)

You’re minding your own business, just hanging out in the library while you innocently sketch in your drawing pad.

But, then, that’s usually how these things happen.

Wade bounds into the library, skips towards you, and hops over the couch before crouching behind you and putting his hand over your mouth. “Don’t scream. It’s just me.”

“I literally just saw you come in,” You mumble against his palm before pushing his hand away. “What’s up?”

Wade yanks on your arm until you climb over the back of the couch and crouch next to him. “Okay, so this is for your ears only, okay? Wolvie and I managed to hide some booze in the mansion for the New Year’s party tomorrow. There’s going to be a party in the basement after the fireworks go off. Anyone under twenty-one, Mr. Pole Up the Ass, and Colossus are absolutely not invited, capiche?”

You frown. “And you’re telling me this because...”

“Uh, because drinking alcohol is a great rite of passage in America. I’m Canadian, and I know that. You’re legal, right?”’

“Yeah.”

“Then you’re invited. Look, it’s better to drink with friends for the first time. We’ve all drank alcohol before --I can’t drunk anyway, so I’ll be able to keep an eye on you--and you’ll be at a safe place with literal doctors on staff if you get sick. It’s perfect!”

Hindsight will tell you that this is a bad idea. Horrible. Utterly stupid.

But, right now, you don’t have hindsight. All you have is foresight, and you’re foreseeing a lot of fun and new experiences in the future.

You grin. “Awesome.”

“And just what are you two doing?”

You and Wade both jump and stare guiltily up at your boyfriend.

He’s in his metal form right now, thick arms crossed over his burly chest. “Why are you hiding behind couch and whispering?”

“Hi, Pete!” You chirp with a sunny grin. “We’re booby-trapping Scott’s underwear drawer for New Year’s!”

“Don’t tell him!” Wade hisses, playing along with your deception.

Piotr simply shakes his head --but you can seem him repressing a smile. “Play nice, you two. No pranks tomorrow.”

“Aw, babe--”

“Nyet, myshka. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow is celebration, not time for pranks.”

You pout, slump your shoulders, and hang your head. “Okay.”

“Hey! I didn’t agree to this!”

“Fine! Do it without me!”

Piotr chuckles and turns to leave. “Behave, you two.”

“I make no promises!”

You opt to blow a kiss at your boyfriend --and he blows one back, which makes your cheeks flush--then grin at Wade when he’s gone and hold up your fist. “How awesome was that?”

Wade returns your fist bump with an equally devious grin. “So awesome.”

“Five... four... three... two... one!”

People cheer, fireworks go off, and camera lights flash as the world officially rolls over into a New Year.

Piotr grins down at you, holding you to him with one hand and using the other to caress your face. “S noyvm godom, myshka.”

You grin back. “Kiss me, darling.”

He does. Passionately, and longer than he would normally dare in other public displays of affection. When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed and he looks immensely pleased. “A New Year.”

“A New Year,” you repeat. You grin, then lean up on your toes. “To all it may bring.”

“Da.” He kisses you again, then breaks it with a sigh. “I am on teenager duty tonight, unfortunately.”

“I know.” You feign a yawn and give him a sheepish look. “I’m actually kind of tired...”

He pats your shoulder and kisses the top of your head. “Go rest, myshka. One of us should.”

You press a kiss against his cheek, then head upstairs. Phase One: Complete.

You and Wade had constructed a damn near fool proof plan to sneak you downstairs without your mother hen boyfriend noticing. Wade had paid Russell fifty dollars to light something outside on fire to create a diversion, and he’d text you once it was safe for you to come down.

Within two minutes of skulking around the hall, you hear the loud ‘fwoom’ of one of Russell’s fireballs; mere seconds later, your phone chirps with a text from Wade.

Bro: Silver ballz is outsies. Bring on da booze!!! Get ur ass down here. XD XP

You: Don’t ever call him ‘silver ballz’ again. That’s just gross. And I’m on my way.

You creep back down the hall, listening for any signs of approaching residents. 

Fortunately, almost everyone’s outside, distracted by Russell’s explosion. 

You hop over the railing by the staircase and make an air current to float down to the floor. The backdoor’s open, and you can actually see Piotr outside in defense mode, trying to put out a burning rose bush.

“Psst! Come on! Stop ogling and get down here!” Wade hisses through the barely ajar basement door.

You dart over and slip down the stairs, an excited grin on your face.

Logan and Nathan are already down there, drinks in hand. Neena’s with them as well, along with Peter, Kurt, and Bobby.

“Rogue and Gambit should be joining us later,” Wade says as he joins you at the bottom of the stairs. “In the meantime, let’s get this party started!”

“For once, Wilson, you’ve had a good idea,” Logan growls as he takes a swig from his red solo cup. “Colossus’s kept us from having adult New Years for a while now.”

“Yeah, well, the world’s largest Silver Bullet ain’t got nothin’ on me!” Wade pulls out a bottle of vodka and a shot glass. “First shot of the night goes to Princess here, since it’s her first time.”

“Oh, everyone, you know what that means,” Neena says with a grin.

You frown as the others refill their cups. “What does it mean?”

“Everyone downs a drink once you take your first shot,” Bobby says as he blows on his cup to cool it down.

You blink, then eye your shot glass suspiciously. “That sounds... dubious.”

“Don’t worry, that’s just your inner Piotr talking.” Wade holds out the shot glass to you. “He’ll shut up after the second or third shot.” When you hesitate, his face softens. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

You eye the glass in his hand, then shrug. “Hashtag YOLO.” You pick up the glass, lift it to your lips, then tilt your head back and down the shot in a few swallows, just like you’ve seen in the movies.

Well, almost like you’ve seen in the movies. It takes a couple tries for you to swallow it all down, and you cough once the glass is empty. “Oh my gosh. That burns.”

Wade cheers and claps his hands. “Well done! Considerably less flailing than I was expecting. All right, everyone else, she’s done it; bottoms up!”

You watch, stunned as the other adults drain their cups --cups, not shot glasses--in long, easy swallows. Your mind already feels a little hazy, but you still can’t fathom drinking this stuff that easily.

Nathan finishes first with a growl. “Keep it coming, Wade. It’s been a hell of a year.”

A couple hours in and you’re feeling great. The shots just get easier and easier to take the more you drink, and each shot you take has you feeling more and more relaxed.

Beer, however, tastes like piss; you have no idea how Nate and Logan stomach the stuff.

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nathan says with a crooked grin after he lets you trip a sip of his drink; his cheeks are flushed --apparently, he can drunk, just not as fast as you.

“An’ you keep callin’ Wade the s-su-stupid one.” You giggle and rock back in your chair, almost knocking it over. “You’re the one wi’ the stupid hair, ‘fter all.”

“My hair... is not stupid,” Nathan grumbles, pointing a finger at you.

“Maybe not, but Wade doesn’ have any, which jus’ leave you.”

“She’s got a point,” Logan says with a chuckle as he watches Domino destroy Bobby, Kurt, and Peter at beer pong. “The default answer is you.”

Nathan flips him off.

You laugh again, flopping around in your seat. You feel amazing. Normally, there’s always an underlying current of stress and worry, but right now it’s gone. You feel completely relaxed, without a care in your mind.

Your ‘Piotr’ voice --it’s not gone, just really hard to hear right now--is saying something about it being fake and one of the addictive side effects of alcohol, but you’re too busy taking another shot to focus on the actual words.

“Okay, pumpkin!” Wade lifts the shot glass out of your hand. “That’s the cut off point for you. You’ve had seven, and I’m not trying to give you alcohol poisoning.”

You pout at him. “I was havin’ fun! The fuck?”

“You can have it back in a couple hours, once you’ve guzzled some water, peed, and eaten something. The bathroom’s right behind you. I suggest you go there, because pissing your pants isn’t as fun as it sounds. Believe me, I would know.”

You blink owlishly at him. “Huh?”

“Maybe you should cut her off for the night,” Logan suggests. “She’s clearly a lightweight.”

You can’t really process what they’re saying. You’re too busy rubbing your hands all over your face. “I can’t feel my face,” You sing. “She tol’ me... don’ worry... ‘bout it!” You slap yourself across the face --it takes a couple tries, but you manage--and gasp when no sting of pain follows. “Holy shit! I don’ feel pain anymore!”

Wade laughs hysterically as he holds your hands away from your face. “I wish I had a camera! This is fucking priceless! Y/N, you’re completely toasted!”

You open your mouth to say something, but there’s a loud banging noise that distracts you. You loll your head back and try to see what’s going on.

Piotr tromps down the stairs in his human mode, fists clenched at his side. His blue eyes are wide with fury, and his mouth his clenched shut. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and glares down the room. “What is going on?”

“Shit,” Wade mutters under his breath. He forces a grin and stands, partially hiding you from view. “Colossus! Buddy! Welcome to the party!”

“Enough. Where is Y/N?”

You gasp once your brain catches up with your eyes. “Oh! Piotr’s here!” You smile --because you’re genuinely happy to see him, even though you’re too drunk to think right now--when his gaze snaps to you. “Hi, baby! How’s it goin’?”

He relaxes, just a little. “You’re going to bed. Now.”

You nod, happy to along with whatever he says. “Okay.” You manage to get out of your chair, but start falling over as soon as you try to walk.

Piotr darts forward and catches you, clutching you against his chest to keep you from toppling over.

You nuzzle your face against his chest, marveling at how soft his shirt is. You can’t really hear what he’s saying to the others, but you can feel the resonance of his voice in his chest. It tickles your face, and you let out a soft giggle as you wrap your arms around his waist. “You’re all buzzy.”

Piotr sighs and pats your back. “Come on, lyublyu. To bed with you.” He places his hands under your shoulders and tenses. “I’m going to carry you, okay?”

“Right.” You gasp when he lifts you --then groan when the room spins. “Oh shit. Everything’s sideways.”

Piotr tucks you against his chest and walks towards the stairs. “Close your eyes. Just let me take care of you.”

The trek to his room is mercifully short --though that might have to do with your passing out halfway through. Your eyes pop open when he sets you on his bed. “Huh? Where am I?”

“In bed.” He kisses your forehead. “Stay here. I’ll get you one of my shirts.”

You whine as he walks away. “No! Don’ leave me!”

“I’m just right here, at the closet. You can still see me.”

“But you’re so far ‘way!” You sob into the bed. “‘m all alone.”

“No, you’re not,” he says as he kneels in front of you. “I’m right here.”

You gasp. “You’re back! You were gone f’rever!”

He kisses your temple and wipes the tears off your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’ll be faster next time.” He sits you up and starts peeling you out of your clothes.

“Bow chika wow wow,” You mumble as he strips you out of your jeans. You start singing the intro to ‘Careless Whisper,’ but give up about halfway through. “Pete?”

“Da, dorogaya moya?”

“I think ‘m drunk.”

Last night, you felt great.

This morning, you abso-fucking-lutely do not.

Your head feels like someone’s driving an ice pick into it. Your body aches, and your stomach feels like it’s about to commit mutiny.

And you’re tired. You feel like you got hit by an insomnia train.

Piotr’s hand rubs up and down your back in soothing circles. “How are you feeling, myshka?”

You bury your face into your pillow to try and block out the light streaming through the windows. “Oh God. I think I’m gonna die!”

His lips press against your shoulder. “You’re hungover. Wade said you had seven vodka shots last night.”

“I didn’t mean to! Holy shit, this sucks! Why didn’t Wade tell me about this? I’m gonna murder him!”

“Later, dorogoy. Try to focus on getting rest for now.”

You would, but at that moment your stomach decides to launch its mutiny into motion. You lurch out of bed and bolt for the bathroom, diving for the toilet as the first round of stomach contractions start.

You’re not sure how long you spend vomiting into the porcelain bowl, but when you finally get a reprieve you realize Piotr’s sitting next to you, holding your hair back. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s natural reaction for hangover.”

“No --well, yeah, but not what I was talking about. I’m sorry that I went to the party behind your back, and I’m sorry I drank alcohol when I wasn’t supposed to. I’m sorry I broke the rules.”

He rubs your back with his free hand. “We’ll talk about it when you’re better --but you are very much forgiven.”

Once your body settles, he leaves your side to turn the shower on.

You grimace at the sound of the water pelting the shower floor. “That’s so loud! Turn it off!”

 “Sorry, dorogoy, but you’ll feel better after shower.” He helps you out of your pajamas --then strips down and joins you.

Normally, you’d be delighted by that, but right now you’re entirely consumed by how shitty you’re feeling. All you can really do is stand under the spray of the water and squeeze your eyes shut to try and block out the pain.

Fortunately, you don’t have to do more than that. Piotr’s in full ‘mother hen boyfriend’ mode right now, determined to help you survive your first ever hangover. He gently washes --and conditions--your hair and lathers your body in soap with such nurturing tenderness that you don’t even get turned on from having your boyfriend literally rub you from head to toe.

That, and you feel like shit. Actually, it might be more of the latter than the former.

Once you’re all rinsed, Piotr turns the water off and dries both of you off before helping you into a fresh set of pajamas. Then, in a gesture of ultimate chivalry, he carries you the ten foot distance back to the bed and tucks you in. “I’m going to make you some breakfast. Rest in meantime.”

You groan. “No. No food.”

“Your body needs food to help process alcohol out of system. Trust me, da? I have been hungover before. I know what helps.”

You snort, which makes your headache worse, but you can’t help it. “You? Hungover? Likely story.”

“I had rebellious phase!” He sounds indignant. “I was not always like I am now.”

“Sure, babe.” You manage to find his hand and pat it. “What, did you jaywalk instead of using the crosswalks like a law-abiding citizen?”

He huffs and kisses your temple. “Very funny, myshka. Get some rest while I make food.”

You’re out before he closes the door.

Nearly an hour later and he’s back, gently rousing you from sleep and helping you sit up.

“Breakfast in bed? What sort of alternate universe is this?” You grumble, feeling somewhat better after a nap.

“Special circumstance.” He sets up a tray table next to his bed, then sets a bottle of water and a couple ibuprofen pills on the table. “Take these and drink some water. I’ll be back in few minutes.”

Now that he’s mentioned it, you realize your mouth is bone dry. You take the pain pills and guzzle half the bottle, but your mouth wicks all the water away like one of those miracle drying rags Wade keeps buying off the infomercial channels.

Speaking of Wade, he’s walking into the room. “You okay?”

You glare at him as you gulp from the water bottle. “I’m gonna fucking murder you.”

“Figured. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about the hangover. I don’t get hungover anymore; I didn’t even think about it.” He sets an orange prescription bottle on the tray table. “But I brought a peace offering. Prescription painkillers. Best shit you can get.”

“Absolutely not.” Piotr storms into the room, sets the plate he’d been carrying for you on his desk, and yanks Wade away from you. “You’ve done enough damage already.”

“Piotr, calm down!” You exclaim, wincing at how loud your voice is. Quieter, you add, “He’s just trying to be nice.”

“By offering you stolen prescription. After getting you overly intoxicated.”

“They’re mine!” Wade insists as he flails in Piotr’s grip. “Legal and all that shit! I still have cancer, asshole. They prescribe painkillers to help with that.”

Piotr picks up the bottle, then sets Wade down after reading the label. “I am sorry. I should not have assumed. But you still got Y/N drunk --after you were told to not bring alcohol in for New Year’s. And you bribed Russell.”

“Look, babe, he wanted to introduce me to alcohol safely.”

“By breaking rules, causing damage, and lying.”

“By doing it in a safe place, with people who know me and know how alcohol effects the body, and where we had access to a doctor if things went super sideways. He didn’t take me to a bar, he didn’t force me to drink anything, and he cut me off before I got too out of control. I think he deserves some credit for that.”

Piotr mulls it over, then sighs. “Your intentions were... good, Wade. Even if your techniques were... misguided.”

“Thank you.”

“You still have to answer for your actions. You broke many rules last night, and bribing Russell to cause damage to property is unacceptable. He or any number of others could have been seriously hurt.”

 “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Wade waves his hand dismissively before plucking his bottle of painkillers out of your boyfriend’s hand. “I’m going now. Before you get too far into lecture mode.”

Piotr glares after him, then shakes his head and retrieves the plate from his desk. “Sorry about that, moya lyubov’.”

“It’s okay.” You gratefully accept the plate --you’re hungry now, ravenous beyond belief.

The plate is loaded with all your favorites --including a small stack of golden, perfectly fluffy chocolate chip pancakes.

Piotr kisses the top of your head as you dig in. “I will be right back. Do you want more water?”

“Yes, please.”

He returns a few minutes later, water bottle tucked under his arm and two glasses in hand. One is filled with an orange liquid and almost looks appetizing; the other...

“Is that... pickle juice?” You grimace when you give the contents of the glass a precursory sniff. “Why? Haven’t I suffered enough?”

“Salt will help your body. Take sips. Don’t try to drink it all at once.”

You take a sip --and it’s a disgustingly salty and sour--and eye the other glass with suspicion. “Do I even want to know what that is?”

Piotr holds it out to you. “It is Russian hangover cure. I think you will like this better.”

You sniff the contents --it smells decidedly better, just barely not like orange juice--and take a sip. “Oh! I like that!” You down the glass easily and set it on the table as you smack your lips. “Can I have more of that?”

“Maybe later, if you still need it. Try to keep eating.”

You manage, growing more subdued and sleepier as you fill your belly. Eventually, Piotr says you’ve eaten enough --and drank enough of the pickle juice, which is still gross--and lets you flop back down on the bed.

He pulls the blankets up around your shoulders and smooths your hair away from your face as you settle back in. “I will check on you later. Rest well, myshka.”

You wake up several hours later, feeling considerably less fucked over. Your head no longer feels like it’s being scooped out by a melon baller, and your stomach is considerably less grumpy. You manage to get yourself upright and pad out of Piotr’s room on shaky legs.

The mansion is practically silent as you wander through the large halls. Most of the mutants visit their families during Christmas and New Year’s, meaning that there’s no one to run into while you search for your boyfriend.

Which is probably for the best. You can walk, but you definitely don’t feel human enough for conversation.

It takes a while, but you manage to track him down; he’s outside, in full on defense mode, watching Nathan, Neena, Logan, Kurt, Wade, Peter, and Bobby clean up the remains from Russell’s bush burning.

Scott’s also there, supervising, which briefly makes you hesitate; you ultimately decide that you want your boyfriend, so you jam your boots onto your feet and brave the cold and snow.

The sunlight hurts your head, and you tromp towards Piotr as quickly as you can.

He starts slightly when you wrap your arms around his waist --considerably harder than usual since he’s in defense mode--and turns around with a concerned frown on his face. “Y/N? You should be inside.”

“I wanted to come find you,” You mumble as you press your face into his coat to block out the piercing sunlight.

He makes sure Scott is good to go, then scoops you into his arms and carries you inside. Before you can think of anything to say, you’re back in his room and in bed again with the blankets tucked over your legs.

He hands you the water bottle as you prop yourself into a sitting position. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. My head still hurts, though.”

He kisses your forehead, almost like a parent kissing their child’s scraped knee. “Do you want some more painkillers?”

“Later. I saw that you had the guys and Neena doing due penance. Why didn’t you have me out there, too? I was part of last night.”

Piotr takes one of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. “Scott and I talked it over with the Professor. We decided better ‘penance’ would be to have you take course on alcohol safety.”

You frown. “Scott agreed to that?”

“Eventually. Wade made very compelling case for you this morning. He said you had no experience with alcohol previously, and that you had no basis to know why New Year’s rule was in place to begin with.”

You make a mental note to thank Wade later.

“The Professor and I agreed --and Scott added the safety course, which is not that unreasonable, I think.”

“It’s not,” You admit. “But I might bitch about it anyway.”

“And I will be there to pat your hand and remind you that it is due consequence of your choices.”

“Like the wonderful boyfriend you are. Pampering me and keeping me grounded.” You smile softly. “I like to think you bring out the best in me, Pete.”

He smiles back and kisses you gently. “I like to think you bring out best in me, Y/N.”

Despite the pounding in your head and the knowledge that you’re going to have to take a pain the ass course eventually, you melt into the kiss.

There’s no place you’d rather be.

[dailychapel]

Lord, despite the challenges and struggles of yesterday, help me to focus on You, Your provision over my life and the blessings you continue to bestow upon me. Rather than complaining over what I don’t have, help me to focus in on all the wonderful things you’ve blessed me with. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

[Psa 86:1-17 NLT] 1 A prayer of David. Bend down, O LORD, and hear my prayer; answer me, for I need your help. 2 Protect me, for I am devoted to you. Save me, for I serve you and trust you. You are my God. 3 Be merciful to me, O Lord, for I am calling on you constantly. 4 Give me happiness, O Lord, for I give myself to you. 5 O Lord, you are so good, so ready to forgive, so full of unfailing love for all who ask for your help. 6 Listen closely to my prayer, O LORD; hear my urgent cry. 7 I will call to you whenever I'm in trouble, and you will answer me. 8 No pagan god is like you, O Lord. None can do what you do! 9 All the nations you made will come and bow before you, Lord; they will praise your holy name. 10 For you are great and perform wonderful deeds. You alone are God. 11 Teach me your ways, O LORD, that I may live according to your truth! Grant me purity of heart, so that I may honor you. 12 With all my heart I will praise you, O Lord my God. I will give glory to your name forever, 13 for your love for me is very great. You have rescued me from the depths of death. 14 O God, insolent people rise up against me; a violent gang is trying to kill me. You mean nothing to them. 15 But you, O Lord, are a God of compassion and mercy, slow to get angry and filled with unfailing love and faithfulness. 16 Look down and have mercy on me. Give your strength to your servant; save me, the son of your servant. 17 Send me a sign of your favor. Then those who hate me will be put to shame, for you, O LORD, help and comfort me.

[Num 20:14-29 NLT] 14 While Moses was at Kadesh, he sent ambassadors to the king of Edom with this message: "This is what your relatives, the people of Israel, say: You know all the hardships we have been through. 15 Our ancestors went down to Egypt, and we lived there a long time, and we and our ancestors were brutally mistreated by the Egyptians. 16 But when we cried out to the LORD, he heard us and sent an angel who brought us out of Egypt. Now we are camped at Kadesh, a town on the border of your land. 17 Please let us travel through your land. We will be careful not to go through your fields and vineyards. We won't even drink water from your wells. We will stay on the king's road and never leave it until we have passed through your territory." 18 But the king of Edom said, "Stay out of my land, or I will meet you with an army!" 19 The Israelites answered, "We will stay on the main road. If our livestock drink your water, we will pay for it. Just let us pass through your country. That's all we ask." 20 But the king of Edom replied, "Stay out! You may not pass through our land." With that he mobilized his army and marched out against them with an imposing force. 21 Because Edom refused to allow Israel to pass through their country, Israel was forced to turn around. 22 The whole community of Israel left Kadesh and arrived at Mount Hor. 23 There, on the border of the land of Edom, the LORD said to Moses and Aaron, 24 "The time has come for Aaron to join his ancestors in death. He will not enter the land I am giving the people of Israel, because the two of you rebelled against my instructions concerning the water at Meribah. 25 Now take Aaron and his son Eleazar up Mount Hor. 26 There you will remove Aaron's priestly garments and put them on Eleazar, his son. Aaron will die there and join his ancestors." 27 So Moses did as the LORD commanded. The three of them went up Mount Hor together as the whole community watched. 28 At the summit, Moses removed the priestly garments from Aaron and put them on Eleazar, Aaron's son. Then Aaron died there on top of the mountain, and Moses and Eleazar went back down. 29 When the people realized that Aaron had died, all Israel mourned for him thirty days.

[Luk 8:1-15 NLT] 1 Soon afterward Jesus began a tour of the nearby towns and villages, preaching and announcing the Good News about the Kingdom of God. He took his twelve disciples with him, 2 along with some women who had been cured of evil spirits and diseases. Among them were Mary Magdalene, from whom he had cast out seven demons; 3 Joanna, the wife of Chuza, Herod's business manager; Susanna; and many others who were contributing from their own resources to support Jesus and his disciples. 4 One day Jesus told a story in the form of a parable to a large crowd that had gathered from many towns to hear him: 5 "A farmer went out to plant his seed. As he scattered it across his field, some seed fell on a footpath, where it was stepped on, and the birds ate it. 6 Other seed fell among rocks. It began to grow, but the plant soon wilted and died for lack of moisture. 7 Other seed fell among thorns that grew up with it and choked out the tender plants. 8 Still other seed fell on fertile soil. This seed grew and produced a crop that was a hundred times as much as had been planted!" When he had said this, he called out, "Anyone with ears to hear should listen and understand." 9 His disciples asked him what this parable meant. 10 He replied, "You are permitted to understand the secrets of the Kingdom of God. But I use parables to teach the others so that the Scriptures might be fulfilled: 'When they look, they won't really see. When they hear, they won't understand.' 11 "This is the meaning of the parable: The seed is God's word. 12 The seeds that fell on the footpath represent those who hear the message, only to have the devil come and take it away from their hearts and prevent them from believing and being saved. 13 The seeds on the rocky soil represent those who hear the message and receive it with joy. But since they don't have deep roots, they believe for a while, then they fall away when they face temptation. 14 The seeds that fell among the thorns represent those who hear the message, but all too quickly the message is crowded out by the cares and riches and pleasures of this life. And so they never grow into maturity. 15 And the seeds that fell on the good soil represent honest, good-hearted people who hear God's word, cling to it, and patiently produce a huge harvest.

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.

Lord Jesus Christ, send us out with confidence in your word, to tell the world of your saving acts, and bring glory to your name. Amen.

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

One Day At A Time - Jensen x Reader

A/N: Part Two! As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block. 

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Widower!Jensen. Grieving process. Age Gap. Character pregnancy. Unrequited feelings. I believe that is all.

Word Count: Roughly 3,200

“Jared!” You screeched just in time to find your body thrown in the air. You didn't let go, tugging the large, heavy weight in after you. The water rushed around your form. Cradling your fall. An angry cry left your lips as you surfaced. Glaring at your friend as he shook out his shaggy, dark hair. “You're such a shit.”

The sound of kids shouting out their own war cries sounded before they followed. The noise was enough to diffuse the mini war for a moment. They were careening their bodies into the water one at a time. Six cannonballs of various sizes.

“Teach you to sass,” He cackled, wincing every so slightly as you splashed at him in mock outrage. You dodged Shep as you bolted away from him; kicking your feet hard enough that Jared couldn't see well enough to dive at you until you had some distance between your bodies.

“Gen!” Before you could bring his wife into the mix, you were tackled again. Losing your shout in the liquid. Jared's unnatural length had given him the advantage. Again.

“They're going to kill each other,” Jensen muttered to Genevieve at the grill. Watching the scene from the corner of his eye. He'd refused to bet on who would come out on top. Both of you were too determined to end the mutual torture amicably.

“The kids will break it up before it gets there.” She answered with a grin as she watched your leg hook Jared's. The towering height was a disadvantage for the first time as you yanked the limb upwards with your entire strength. It slowed him down. His arms couldn't quite reach you before you threw him off balance. Crashing his bulk backwards. Creating waves that all six kids rode out. The high pitched betting on who would be winner making the brow rise towards his friend's wife. “Or maybe not,” The devilish smile on her love's face made her tsk in shame.

The hiatus-bearded forty four year old beside her stopped watching the meat for a moment. Focusing on his best friend and his nanny. You had promised yourself wouldn't leave. It had been just over two years since Danneel had passed away, and you'd kept your word.

For not knowing how to care for other people full time, you'd figured it out in a hurry. Ouchies were bandaged. Homework was helped. Food was prepared just in time for everyone to slink out of the rooms. You'd gone above and beyond. Taking up a housekeeper role, even. No one could have asked for a better person to fill what had been needed.

“He takes her out? He has kid duty.” Jensen warned; his own grin covered as he took a swig of his beer to compose himself. A recent habit he'd invested in when it came to anything involving you. Too many people found themselves asking questions. He didn't want to answer them.

“Fair enough,” She shrugged as she watched Jared toss you like you were a rag doll. “Overgrown children. The both of them.”

“Keeps life a little interesting,” He acknowledged easily. It really had. Helped keep it all lighthearted when things were anything but. It'd helped him survive the worst thing he'd ever experienced. “They're too busy pranking each other to turn their wiles on us, nowadays.” That brought up Gen's brow.

“She's given you wiles, huh?” Her own drink was brought to her lips to keep her face as neutral as could as she watched her friend turn the deadly chromatic gaze her way. Looking for a sign that would tell him to keep his mouth shut. He didn't find anything. Being in the acting business had its perks, and cons, when it came to their friendship.

“She's decided that I'm too serious, lately,” He grumbled. Finger quotes and all. Pulling on the years of playing Dean Winchester for a way to express his displeasure with adequate emphasis. He'd long ago accepted that the Winchester would pop his head up whenever he needed him to. Almost eighteen years on the job did that to a man. “She gets the kids in on the plots. Got Jared in on a few before they turned on each other.”

Jared had eagerly adopted a new victim in his favorite sport. Jensen had lost the urge to get down and dirty years ago. After an incident that may, or may not have, involved stink bombs in a trailer. He reserved his angst for Misha and other cast members. However, that didn't mean that he didn't enjoy watching his best friend meeting his match.

It was nearly as explosive as when him and Jared had been younger. The only thing that prevented a forced truce was the amount of space and time apart that you two experienced. It never had a chance to build up and become deadly. Or, that's what everyone was counting on, anyway.

“Did it work?” The Winchester's bitch face was turned her way. Two could play the acting game. She just read it better, “So, it did.”

“It's been two years. I don't need checked on, constantly,” He grumbled. Taking another swig as he flipped the burgers and hot dogs. She wasn't quite sure if he was talking about you or her nosing about.

“Jensen-”

“I'm fine, Gen...Really...I'm great.” She didn't look nearly convinced. Impatiently waiting for him to continue. He didn't disappoint. Unleashing the verbal diarrhea in a torrent after a moment of silence. He'd been stewing for too long. “She just...she's something else.” That seemed to catch her attention even more.

“Are you two fighting?” The question was carefully let out, ensuring that he knew she wasn't trying to push too hard. Simply expressing a bit of concern.

“No,” He scoffed. Despite that it's actually what he'd tried to enact more than once. You were just unshakeable. “She's just...she's always there, you know?” He sounded weak to his own ears, but that didn't stop the word vomit leaving his lips. “And she's always... on top of everything. God forbid I tell her what to do.” Every thing that had been itching at his nerves burst forth. “That's another thing! She isn't intimidated. At all. I told her to take a day off, or she's canned. What'd she do? She laughed. Laughed!” He was going to lose his mind over the saucy nanny. That much he was sure on.

“And you don't like that?” Gen's teasing tone made him mentally kick himself in the ass. His long suffering parent face came out at that. She missed the point. “Sounds like the perfect nanny if I'd ever heard of one.”

“She's not just a nanny,” He was aware that he sounded like a sulking child. It made his shoulders straighten even more. His voice deepening in frustration. “She joined the damn family. When she shouldn't've had to. Y/N was supposed to get back on her feet, and moved on.”

The lingering guilt came forward. You hadn't wanted to be trapped in role. Yet, there you were. All for his family's benefit. His benefit.

“Doesn't seem to bother her,” Genevieve noted, nodding her head subtly towards the scene in the pool.

You'd gathered reinforcements. Jensen's three helped you knock Jared under the water again while his own children simply cackled around the attack zone. All it took was a simple bribe from their chief to get them to join in on the battle. Suddenly, the pool erupted into full blown war fare.

Waves crashed over the edge. Floaties went flying through the air. But, everyone knew their limits. Tenderly, you all rode the thin line that would lead to death as you wrestled in the chlorinated pit.

“It should,” He grumbled. It had at one time. The memory of you insisting that you couldn't fill the void echoed in his brain. People didn't change that much. No, if you were okay with it? There was a reason. And there was only one he could piece together enough to make some kinda sense. “She's using us for a crutch. She should be out there. Looking to start her own family.”

He'd painted the image in his mind. Clear as day, it danced there. He could see you in a bar, taking a down night. Later, with your own family after you'd stumbled into some nice good looking chap who'd appreciate you. God knows that you'd earned it.

“Ever think that she doesn't want to?” The idea was dismissed before she even finished it. After all, what woman didn't want someone of their own? “She's a big girl, Jensen...She can decide when she's ready.”

“You don't always get to choose,” His answer was softer that time. Thinking of the turn his life had taken. “You don't always get time.”

His own lack of time still haunted him more than he'd acknowledge. Jensen had wanted forever. Instead, he'd gotten a sliver of it. Best damn sliver of his life, but still. It hadn't been enough. He wanted his wife back. Wanted the life they'd been denied.

“I know,” She would have offered him a hug if his expression hadn't turned back to the mulish expression that often resided in his character's face at the soft words.  It was his way of coping. Emotions turned deadly. He wouldn't- couldn't give into it. Not in front of the kids, anyway. Alone in his room was a different story. “Have you tried actually talking to her?”

“She treats me like one of the kids,” He muttered with a soft scowl that made Gen bite back a laugh. “Actually, that's not true. I get lower. She gives the kids more attention when they take up a problem with her.” The sulking was back in full force as he nudged at the meat, once again. It was the one trait of yours that drove him crazy. That easy dismissal of his concerns.

“I can talk to her-”

“No,” His head jerked her way in dismay. He didn't want anyone fighting his battles. Didn't want you to feel that he was forcing you out. “No,” He cleared his throat; this time speaking more calmly. “I'll figure something out...providing Jared doesn't kill her.” His eyes locked onto your form as you tried to tackle the bigger man, and failed. Laughing as you were tossed around like a rag doll.

–

“I still have water in my ears,” You grumbled back at the Ackle's fortress. Trying to dislodge the liquid by shaking your head. It was useless. You'd have to pull out the cotton balls and rubbing alcohol to try and draw it out. “Your friend is wicked.”

“You started it,” Jensen shot back, setting the dish he'd dried back into the cupboard.

They'd been discarded from that morning, before the small get together. Going to sleep with a dirty sink had turned into one of your pet peeves. So, there you were. At midnight. Cleaning dishes next to your employer and friend...of sorts.

“Fair point,” You relented, passing him the pan you'd just rinsed.

After nearly three years? You'd had no problem taunting the man who'd once intimidated you. The puppy-like beast could truly do damage if he wanted. Jared simply never had the desire to inflict permanent harm. Rather stuck to temporary discomfort.

And, you loved every bit of it. It made you feel welcomed. Placed on equal footing, despite the fact that you were the furthest thing from famous.

“I think it's time to replace this thing,” Jensen muttered as he shifted the thinning towel to a dry spot to work on the metal more.

“I can do this on my own, you know.” You pointed out without malice. After all, that's what you were paid to do. A job that you didn't particularly mind, either.

“Figured Jared kicked your ass enough, today.” The wry grin made your eyes roll before you turned away. Ignoring the way his chuckle made your stomach knot.

It wasn't a new feeling. Simply one that you couldn't focus on. He'd had that soul deep kinda connection that you longed for before. So rare that you doubted you'd ever find it. Not only was he still madly in love with Danneel. But, there was also the issue of him handing over a paycheck weekly. Even if you were willing to bend the rules a bit? He wouldn't. So, you turned back to what you could focus on. The dishes.

“I can take it from here,” You returned when you gathered your wits back to where they belonged. It took longer than you had liked. “Besides, you have a flight in the morning. You should get some sleep.”

“Sure thing, mom.” His dry tone was telling enough. You were being blown off. “You sure you can handle them on your own?”

His anxiety over the trip was both endearing and frustrating. On one hand, you understood it. The kids were his everything. He hadn't left their side for longer than a few hours since they'd lost their mother. On the other, it almost hurt that there wasn't enough trust built up to give him relief for a single weekend. To let you step in and care for his family as if they were your own. Hadn't you already proven your worth?

“I'll be fine,” You waved him off with a sudsy hand. Blowing him off as easily as he had your concern. He and Dee had raised some pretty fantastic kids before you'd stepped in. They'd stay that way over two days without their dad. You'd make sure of it. “You need some time to yourself, Jay.”

“When do you ever get that?” He pointed out, jumping on his opening. Your eyes rolled back so far that it was painful. Rehashing the now familiar argument.

“I'm starting to think that you're trying to get rid of me,” His horrified look your way was ignored as you pressed your point home. Making him understand exactly how it was coming across each time he pushed. “If you don't want me around-”

“Did I say that?” The answer was so Dean that you had to bite back the chuckle. He'd only get more worked up, again, if you did. So, you resisted the urge. The kids were out. Neither of you wanted to wake them. “I just think that you need a getaway- one that doesn't include my kids.”

“Are you kidding? What fun is it to go to the beach on your own?” You'd joined the family on their excursions. Everything from the family vacations to trips to conventions. You'd even stayed in Toronto when it came time to film Supernatural. Ensuring that Jensen hadn't needed to worry for a second about his children. Instead, he'd begun to direct it towards you. “I'm not missing much. Trust me. Been there. Done that.”

“Are you still hung up on-”

“I should have never told you that story,” You muttered before he could finish. He'd never forgotten. Or let you forget that you'd confided in him. It was the first thing that had made him give you a second look. “I have bad taste, Jensen. Notoriously bad taste.” He wasn't going to argue there. The guy in question was a douche. “I'm not bringing anything like that home with me, again. There's not enough sage in the world to get rid of that kind of energy. You really should thank me.” A sad smile lined Jensen's face. Danneel had been known to burn a bundle as needed. The tradition had lived on, even just for memories sake.

“Yeah,” He cleared his throat. Taking the hint, finally. “I shouldn't push.” The look on your face said that you agreed. Silence ensued as the nightly chore was wrapped up before you went your separate ways. The issue only held away for another day.

–

“We're good. Go have fun,” You winked over the snapchat. Jensen could see all the girls in the back. Odette had taken the place of Zeppelin for the night. The boys were all with Gen. The children's own request.

You pulled away from your face to record the dance party that was taking place to Little Mix's Salute. Makeup covered all their little faces haphazardly. Your own face carried the telling marks of a young child's heavy handedness. Boas and frilly pink pajamas filled the room. All had embraced their inner female, looking remarkably fierce as they yelled the lyrics.

You ended it with a little lip sync action and your own, half-assed salute. He found himself replaying it for the simple, wide smile on your face as you turned away in the end. You'd seemed happier than he'd expected. His fingers rubbed over the bridge of his nose. Maybe you and Gen had a point.

“Dude, you okay?” Jared's shoulder jostled his best friend lightly, making the shorter one jerk away from his phone. When he glanced back, his reflection stared back at him. A flower crown rested over his forehead. His back straightened as he locked the screen, and tucked the device back in his pocket.

“Fine,” He answered easily. His hand ran through his hair. A simple tell. “Y/N was just checking in.”

“It's hard to be away from them,” The understanding tone made Jensen's tension fall a bit. It was ridiculous to even try to hide it from Jared. “I get it, man.” The large hand clasped against his arm. “If you want to bail, I'll find a way to cover-”

“I can't do that to the fans,” He shook his head. They'd all been so patient. So damn sweet after he'd lost Danneel. They deserved more than him flaking out. Again. “No, she's got it.” A crooked side smile pulled up his face, “Besides, Gen would kill me if I left you alone. You're practically bursting at the seams.”

“Am not,” The little shit eating grin said otherwise. A look that called bull was the only response he got. “Okay, but number four being on the way is kind of a big deal.” Fatherly pride was contagious.

“Yeah, man, it is.” With a sigh, Jensen pulled himself together. Determined to fall back into old patterns as much as he still could.

Years ago, Danneel and him had said they were done. Hell, even on live TV. Yet, so had Jared and Gen. There was no predicting how life would go. What turns would come forward.

Jensen was happy for his friend. Hell, his brother. He'd be there for them and the kid. Just as they had for him and his brood. But, it didn't settle the pit in his gut.

His focus lingered on the what ifs that life had left him with. Where would they all be if that car accident hadn't happened? Would the man who'd hit her be behind bars for someone else? He even found himself wondering if he'd have a fourth baby if Danneel was still alive...

Part Three

ODAAT: @winchester-ofthe-lord

Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12​ @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce​ @malfoysqueen14​

[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Love How You Hate Me - Sam x Reader

A/N: Part Twelve is finally here. I kept it longer, to kind of make up for the gap. It seems life doesn’t quite know when to settle down. So, I won’t make any undue promises. Instead, I’ll just offer this for today. Here we go... As always, feedback is incredible. If you want tagged, please send an ask or message so I am sure to see it. Same goes if I missed your tag. And, I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Uncomfortable family dinner. Feelings. Talk of murder/attacks. Usual show violence. Smut. Outside sex. Minor blindfolding and ice play. Not enough editing. That’s all, I believe.

Word Count: Roughly 6,100

“So,” You played with the food on your plate as Sam spoke up to break the silence, “anything exciting happen since we left?”

You were with the boys in South Dakota. Sioux Falls to be exact. Sitting at Jody Mill's table next to Alex while Claire sat at the end, by Dean. Jody to your left.

Alex was graduating, and Jody had invited the boys out. You were simply a tag along to aid in your restlessness. And there wasn't a chance you were giving up the opportunity to finally meet the infamous Mills.

“Alex has another boyfriend.” The blonde spoke up, grinning mischievously. Knowing exactly the response it would garner. “Not a vampire this time.” Clarifying statements helped, but not enough.

“Oh, you do?” You bit back a grin as Dean's inner father escaped. He'd never admit it, but it was there. He cared about this family. Sam's brow rose, too. Equally alert. You felt for the poor girl. The boy could expect a visit if their expressions said anything.

“Shut up,” Alex shot Claire a dirty look. Sibling rivalry in full form. It was like looking at smaller, feminine versions of the brothers.

“Girls,” Jody's mom voice made you smile wistfully. You'd wanted to hear that dry, worn tone from a parental figure for as long as you could remember. Even if it wasn't directed at you, it warmed your soul. “Yes, she does.” She didn't sound pleased about the situation, but there wasn't any obvious animosity.

“He's a good guy.” Alex sighed out. Trying to smooth the waters. No doubt hoping this one wouldn't be beheaded, too.

“Uh oh.” Sam sipped on his drink, looking unimpressed as Dean settled back into his chair to lift his brows further. “One of those, huh?”

“One of what?” She definitely sounded defensive. With her family, she had every right.

“A Winchester type.” You clarified, making both brothers look at you as if you were a traitor. But, the shoe fit. “Good guys in a lot of ways, but come with a lot of trouble attached to them.” That was the understatement of the year.

Sam's lips hardened before a boot connected to your shin firmly. You barely held back the curse that wanted to slip out. He hadn't gone full force by any means, but it was enough to make you scowl his way all the same.

“Actually,” Jody spoke up, seeming kind of happy about your presence. “These guys were useless-”

“Jody... no.” Sam looked pained all of a sudden. Physically pained. His eyes averted to the table. Refusing to make eye contact with anyone. As if that would stop it.

“Oh, here we go.” Dean blew out a long puff of air, as if he had been hit in the gut. Reaching for his glass of wine. Draining it in one swoop. Both girls just looked resigned. Unable to escape from the table.

“Oh, now I'm intrigued.” You picked up your own glass. Taking a sip before immersing yourself into the family talk. “Hit me.”

“Birth control.” Jody left it at those two words. Nothing else was needed. However, the look in her eyes spoke volumes.

“Super important.” You nodded easily. Jumping into the fray without fear. “Literally, it's my lifeline. Kids aren't in the plan, right now.”

“See? I'm not crazy.” Jody pointedly looked at the young girls while ignoring the men at the table. Sam couldn't shovel food into his mouth any faster. It wasn't humanly possible. Dean was making good work of his wine for the second time. It was absolutely pathetic. Jody wasn't kidding when she used the word 'useless'. “And not just the pill, right?”

“Never just the pill. It's great for regulating periods, but this... this is your fall back guy.” You reached into your pocket. A foil pocket landed on the table. Almost as if you two had planned it. “And if that bad boy breaks, the morning after pill is a girl's best friend.”

A brief look of horror lined Sam's face before he pinched his eyes shut. Dean scowled deeply down at his plate. Refusing to make contact with anyone else.

“Thank you!” The mom's eyes were widened, as if she were crazed with relief.  Sam peeked back open to inspect the damage. “Someone who will back me!”

“Guys should have them with them, too. But, not always the case.” Your eyes locked with Sam's for a second before you shrugged. “Been there a few times. Gotta pack it up.” 

If it was possible, the boys settled further into their funk.Sam looking away, tongue in cheek, Dean glancing around the room. Jaw working all the while..

As the conversation shifted, another kick landed on your shin in response to your cheap jab. It took all your strength to keep your face straight and not return the favor. Instead, you slipped off your shoe. Planning to fight dirty.

Your foot trailed up his leg lightly, making him freeze. Tickling him with the light touch of your toes. A shuttering breath escaped his lips as the hazel gaze landed on you. The table was narrow enough that you could just reach enough of him to draw his attention.

You continued to talk, acting as if you weren't teasing the younger Winchester underneath the table. His muscles were tightly coiled as he avoided the conversation. His eyes holding all kinds of promises whenever they met yours. You two hadn't been alone since he'd infiltrated your room after the party.

Only, you weren't giving him the chance to make up for it in a home filled with people. As soon as dinner was over, you slipped away. Two blankets, more wine in a bucket of ice, snacks and more packed away. A note left behind.

Having lived in the state before, you knew the ins and outs of the climate South Dakota held. Your favorite thing? Those rare moments when Aurora Borealis peeked through the clouded nights. It had been a reprieve from your life back in the day. By some miracle, it was due to appear in the skies when you'd gone back. You weren't going to miss a minute of it if you could help it.

There was a small clearing in the woods near Jody's you had discovered that had a perfect view towards the north. Ensuring if it didn't cloud up, again, they would be vibrant against the black silk of night. It'd be your bed for the time.

You covered the ground with pine needles you'd swept together, creating a soft cushion against the chilled ground. The needles were covered with the one blanket to provide a barrier before you unbunched the second for warmth. A habit you'd picked up during cold, late night hunts in the woods before. Your jacket was used as a pillow. Waiting patiently, you eyed the sky. Finding as many constellations as you could to kill the time.

–

“I hope ya realize how gross it is to hear my best friend talk about packin' it up...so she can screw my brother,” Dean grumbled, handling dishes with Sam for Jody. Still snarling.

The minute you'd pulled out the condom and looked at Sam, he'd known. He'd found you out 'cause of that slip, after all. You hadn't been nearly as smooth as you'd thought.

“Oh, here we go.” Sam sighed out, having predicted this coming the minute you'd donned that foil packet. This wasn't the first discussion. Likely not the last, either. “Drop it, Dean.” Soap splashed from his hand as Sam practically tossed his brother the plate to dry.

“You want me to drop it?” Dean's voice dropped into a deadly low. Scrubbing harshly with the towel. The action being the only thing keeping the oldest from strangling the youngest. “I'll drop it when you stop sleeping with my best friend.”

It had taken a long talk, and every piece of Sam's persuasion skills to keep everything under wraps. Dean hadn't kicked his ass, miraculously. And wouldn't let the cat out of the bag. You wouldn't know that you'd been found out. That didn't mean he liked any of it, though.

Dean swore venomously that he would gladly send his brother to the hospital if you ended up hurt. Or pregnant. Or with crabs. Etc. He'd been very thorough in his list.

But, he wouldn't interfere. The only thing that had saved Sam's life was that Dean had heard you inviting Sam to his room. Not, the other way around. Thank god for small mercies...

“I'll stop when I want to.” He shrugged, “Or she wants to.” It was that simple in his mind. The full lips beside him pulled down further.

Dean shuddered in open disgust, “I still don't get it.”

“You don't have to.” Sam returned, running a sponge over the final plate. “Just know we're both consenting adults.”

“Sneaky, consenting adults.” Dean muttered. It wasn't that it had happened that bothered him so much. It was how you'd snuck around. And hadn't intended for him to ever know. The two people closest to him had played him for a fool. That was simply unforgivable.

“Dude,” Sam shook his head before repeating the same idea again. “Get over it.”

“I'll get over it when it's over.” He stated pointedly. Making his stance clear for the umpteenth time. “Maybe.”

“If Y/N and I can get past our differences-”

“Oh, please.” Dean snorted. Calling his brother on his bullshit without a moment of hesitation. “Past your differences? Ya had some kind of battle at dinner. You two aren't even close to past your differences.”

The mocking note in those final words brought out Sam's pettier side, “I can think of a time or two where they haven't mattered-” Water sprayed at him before that thought could be finished. “Dude!”

“I agreed to keep you alive and not tell her, Sammy.” Dean sent his brother a withering glare. “But, that doesn't mean I want anymore details.” His hand came out in defeat as he wilted, rubbing over his face. “I just can't wrap my head around it.. You two...shit, Sam...all you do is fight.”

“I haven't exactly figured it out, myself.” Sam replied. Solemn as he dripped water. Genuinely sorry that his brother felt any kind of weird over it all. But, he'd be damned if that stopped him.

-

Sam went out for a walk as night approached. Needing the cool, crisp air to clear his mind. To get it off of his brother. Off of you.

You'd run off somewhere. Left a note, saying you'd be back by morning. No text. No call. A few items missing. He had no idea when you'd left, much less to where. And it bothered him. A lot. And he was further agitated by the fact he was even bothered to begin with.

As he stewed, he almost missed it. The tiniest hint of smoke filled the air. He followed the scent. Ready to fight to the death if he had to in order to protect his family. Instead, he found something much more alluring than he'd anticipated.

He'd recognize that outline, anywhere. Your head was supported by a clumped up wad of cloth as you stared at the sky. Lower body wrapped, you looked almost too peaceful to disturb. A small fire, nothing more than a source of light, was going beside you. A white beanie was pulled onto your head to help keep yourself warm in the chilled night.

“Didn't know camping was your thing.” His voice made you jump and reach for your gun instinctively. Stopping once you realized it was Sam.

“How'd you find me?” You asked, your brow furrowing as you sat up. Hadn't anticipated on a Sasquatch stumbling along on your camp.

“Bad luck.” The way he said it had your lips tilted up. False loathing wasn't his strong suit. “What're you doing out here?”

“Did you know that the Northern Lights come down this far?” You looked back up to the sky that was quickly darkening. Waiting for the tinge of green to begin.

“Never really stopped to look.” He sauntered over to your blanket, his hands in his pockets still. It wasn't a proud admission. Simply another one of those things his lifestyle had prevented.

“I did.” You smiled lightly, but the look in your eyes said there was a story behind it. Before, he wouldn't have cared. But, in that moment? He wanted every detail. “It was the best part of living in the upper states. The winters can be shit...but then there's moments where the real beauty shines through. Almost makes it all worth it.” You patted the blanket beside you. Inviting the moose to the party. “Might as well wait. Add an experience to your list.”

“You've already added a few.” He pointed out, reaching for the wine you'd brought with. Taking a swig from the bottle, he rested on the thick material.

“Nothing wrong with living on the wild side.” You shrugged out. Not even the slightest bit ashamed. Sam couldn't help but to wonder if you'd feel the same once you realized it wasn't as secret as you thought.

“So, when are these things supposed to show up?” He demanded, looking up at the sky. Turning his thoughts away from the negativity Dean had wormed into his head.

“About another hour, maybe two.” You answered, taking the bottle back for a drink of your own. “There's time to kill.”

“And how do you want to do that?” His eyes glinted with heat that you reacted to, but pushed away.

“Let me play with your hair?” You suggested, making a point to look him dead in the eye. Letting him know you were serious.

“No,” He shook his head, letting the part of him you'd mentioned sway with the motion.

“Please?” You stuck out your bottom lip in a pout. “I'll let you have your filthy way with me when I'm done.”

“Selling yourself for that?” His brow came up. But, his lips tugged down into the dimpled smile that had rarely been bestowed on you.

“I know,” You huffed dramatically. Rolling your eyes as if it was the greatest task to endure. “It's amazing...the lengths I'm willing to go just to play with those luscious locks of yours.”

“That bad, huh?” Sam was unable to resist the small chuckle that escaped.

“Terrible.” You assured him, moving closer. “So, please?” Your eyes were batted in a full beg. “Make it worth my while, Sammy.”

“On one condition.” He held up his finger as you lit up in excitement. Instantly, your face fell in distrust. “We try something new-” You opened your mouth to protest. “As long as you're comfortable.” The quick amendment made you pause. Your eyes stared at his hair calculatingly as you debated on whether the hair was worth actually trusting him.

Finally you nodded, “Fine. Now...come to mama, Goldilocks.” He rolled his eyes, but moved over so that his back was turned to you. There wasn't a moment of hesitation.“I need to steal your shampoo and conditioner.” You sighed out as your hands brushed through the silky locks. No split ends, or damage anywhere to be found. Just nirvana.

“Well, we could always share later...” You could hear the grin with that husky undertone. It'd be risky in the bunker. But, hunts opened all kinds of new possibilities.

“Maybe.” Your own lips were etched into a smile as you stood on your knees. Turning away from the thoughts. “Now, hold still.”

“What're you doing?” He demanded, trying to turn his head around. You simply pressed his cheek back before you started braiding.

“Playing.” You responded easily. Focusing on the task. A small, simple rope rested in his hair before you spoke again. “Since we're doing cliché best friend shit? Time to spill a secret or two.” Teasing came easy as you used your fingers to start on another twist.

“One secret?” He nodded softly. Making you freeze at the thoughtful words. “Deal.”

“Wait, Sam...” You spoke up in a hurry. Dropping your hands as if he'd burned you. “I was kidding-”

“No, it's...It's fine.” He let out a breath. Sam didn't know where the urge came from. But, ignoring it wasn't an option out in the small oasis you'd created in the woods. “I'm the one who said we'd try something new, remember? Two seconds ago? How deep are we talking?”

“Well,” You chewed your lower lip. Regretting ever opening your mouth as you reached back up to his hair. “Girl talk can get pretty intense. But, considering this isn't girl talk? I'll let you decide.”

“Alright,” He settled more on the blanket; enjoying the feeling of your fingers rubbing along his scalp. “I still feel...feel guilty about abandoning Dean...back when he was in purgatory.” Your hands paused momentarily, but you went back to work. Absorbing the raw regret in his voice.

“Why didn't you look?” You asked quietly. Not sounding the least bit judgmental. Instead, simply opening the door for more explanation. Knowing he wanted to talk to someone about it. Just not understanding why it was you he'd chosen.

It was his turn to process that one. Trying to decide if he really wanted to open all the way up. Especially to you of all people.

“I...I...I thou...I thought he died.” He answered finally. Sounding broken at the thought. “I didn't think there was any bringing him back. Not ...Not without Cas...if...if it was even possible.” Sam remembered every moment his brother had been gone. How easily he'd given up. The way he'd let Amelia distract him.

“So, you tried to move on.” You finished softly. Moving your fingers to coax the tension that had appeared in him away. “Understandable.”

“N...Not in our world, Y/N-”

“I'm part of your world, Sam.” You stated softly, massaging his scalp. Earning a low groan of approval he hadn't even meant to release. “Trust me. It makes sense...none of it comes with a map. There was no... guidance. We figure it all out by going through all this shit...You had no way of knowing he was alive.” Your fingers moved down, rubbing along his neck before moving to his shoulders. The massage deepened. Demanding he relaxed. Listened. “When are you going to stop believing that you're the root of the problem, and start realizing that you're part of the solution? You and Dean both have done so much for this world...Even after all the bullshit it dumped on you two.” You took a break, deciding if he really needed the boost enough to get the next few words out. “Besides...Dean knows you care, still...You two are...You two are kinda goals when it comes to family closeness. Even with all the dysfunction.”

“Never thought that I'd hear that from you.” But, some of the tension left his body.

Absorbing the empowering words from a person who had every right to hate him. Someone who could have taken what he'd said and used it as a weapon. Someone who was causing him to get under his brother's skin, again. Adding to the damage that still existed. Even if you didn't know.

“Yeah, well... I never thought I'd say it to you, either.” Your lips pulled up. Smiling at him when he turned to look you in the eyes. Searching for the sincerity in the E/C. “Doesn't make it any less true, Sam.”

“So... what's yours?” He moved on, not wanting to dwell on his insecurities. Sitting straighter up as he pushed away his doubts involving his brother. A move to reassert himself as a man who didn't need to lean on someone else.

“Guess I gotta match it with one of the deeper ones, huh? I'll be honest...it's not as good as yours.” Your teeth sank into your bottom lip for a minute as your fingers slipped away from the chestnut locks. “My first kill? It was before I turned eighteen.” You shrugged as it didn't matter. But, there was more to the story. Sam could hear it in every word that escaped. The way your eyes wouldn't meet his when he turned spoke volumes. “You and Dean were hunting before then. So, it probably seems like no big deal. But...it...it really shook me up.” Still did based on the way your breath shook. “He...he wasn't even a monster.” You let Sam pull away. Believing that he was appalled. Only to find his hands reaching for you after he turned your way better. The hunter didn't hesitate. Tugging you until you fell into his lap. Needing to return the comfort you'd given him.“Well...not by our usual definition.”

“What happened?” He asked as softly as he could, his hands kneading along your tensed neck. Mimicking the way you'd touched him.

“He was abducting girls up by the Highway of Tears.” Memories clouded your vision. Taking you back to that time. “I'd gotten across the boarder. Trying to find something new...I was young. So...so sure that I'd be fine. He got a hold of me when my car broke down...so I did what I had to do.” Your finger trailed over a scar on your wrist. The only physical reminder that remained. Sam's gaze followed the movement. Curious, but not ready to push. “He didn't get a chance to cut deep before I broke free...I  ran...can't remember how long it was. It felt like forever before I couldn't go any further.” The Winchester had an imagination that couldn't be rivaled. He could picture it perfectly. You sitting against a tree. Bleeding. Terrified. Trying so hard to catch your breath. “I found a sharp branch. Must've broken off during a storm...he hadn't counted on that.” You took a long drink from the wine, letting it start to warm your blood. Needing the sensation to feel that much more alive. “I jammed it in his throat when he grabbed me...He'd left at least ten other girls in the foliage right off of the road. Who knows how many uncovered bodies.”  

“Jesus, Y/N...” He couldn't imagine the fear. How the guilt would've eaten at you.

His first kill had technically been a salt and burn. But, his first real kill had involved a knife and a woman determined to eat a piece of his brain. He'd been younger, but he'd been trained enough to take it better than a young girl on her own. Raised by two hunters that got him through it. You'd had no one to talk you down. To make sense of it all.

“I don't regret it.” You looked back at him. Making that much clear. There'd been too much time to dwell on it. To see it objectively. “I just wish that I had been a little older...maybe been with someone who'd been through it.” You shrugged it off as though it didn't matter. Despite the fact that it did. “After that? I always kept a blade on me. Just happened to be silver. My second kill was a werewolf...” Memory lane wasn't filled with happy. Another small shrug left you. “Dean thinks he was my first.”

“That's when you and Bane started hunting together.” Sam connected the dots. He'd heard enough about the wolf to fit the timeline together. Amazed that he was getting something his brother didn't know anything about.

“Yeah... He didn't tell me about the life before that. He'd actually run into Bobby when I was busy traveling through Canada....Seems like a life time ago.” The memories were bittersweet, then. So much history that had led you to the point where you were. “He assisted me with the wolf's body. Taught me what he knew... It got easier, then. Helped me realize that by taking out the bad? I was helping save the good. I needed that.”

“And then you turned into a bad ass.”

“And then I turned into a bad ass,” You agreed, turning to smile at him softly. Appreciating the attempt to cheer you up. “Bane doesn't even know about him.” Your eyes connected with the deep, soft hazel that rested above you. “He knows pieces... But, not...not all of it.” Wheels were turning in your head. That much was clear. Then, you spoke up again.“Yeah, I can't have you telling anyone about this. I only have two options here...” Teasing. Sam could live with that. It was easier than the dark and depressing. Familiar. “I have to kill you...or-”

“Or what?” Sam played along. His brow lifting as he waited for the answer.

“Or, you have to pinky promise not to tell anyone what was said out here.” You stuck out your pinky. Mouth tugged down in a mock frown.

“Really?” He laughed. Actually laughed. His head thrown back and all.

“I'm glad you find this amusing, but I'm serious.” You wiggled your pinky mullishly. “Come on! I'll agree to the same terms.”

“Fine,” He chuckled, wrapping his pinky around yours. Taking in the pinched expression you carried.

“Now, kiss your thumb.” You ordered before kissing your own. He did it, his hazel eyes still glowing in amusement. You pressed your thumb into his. “You break this promise? It becomes open season on moose men.”

“Deal...” His grip loosened. Moving instead to trace over the top of your hand. Hormones never seemed to settle when you were close. “Kissing my thumb was fun and all,” Sam grinned wolfishly your way. “But, I definitely know of something I'd rather kiss.”

“Oh, yeah?” You'd definitely caught his meaning. The heat in his eyes gave it away.

“Yeah.” His lips landed on yours gently. “Come here.” Orders usually fell short. But, with his mouth on yours? You were putty in his hands. Slowly, you let him tug you up until you were straddling his lap. “You know...I think we have a lotta time to kill until those lights make an appearance.” His thumb stroked your cheek almost tenderly as his eyes further darkened in the last bit of dusk and firelight.

“Sex outside?” Your arms wrapped around his neck. More than willing to take the distraction that he offered. “Sam Winchester...You're getting pretty adventurous.” Your lips ghosted over his, pulling back as he moved in to make full contact. “What happens if someone finds us?”

“Invite them to join the party, or ignore them.” He answered easily. Too set on what he wanted to give a damn. “You agreed to something new, Y/N... Don't back out now.”

“But did I pinky promise it-” You squealed as you were thrown beneath his body. Pinned down using nothing more than the heat of his body near you. “So forceful.” You got out breathlessly. “One of these days? We're going to have to switch roles. I never get to have any kind of control.”

“You already have too much, Y/N.” You didn't get a chance to process those raspy words before his mouth ceased conversation.

That dangerous tongue of his demanded entrance. Allowing it was second nature. Letting yourself become drunk off of the taste that was uniquely his mixed with the wine you'd both consumed. Your hands trailed over his body, opening his jacket. Getting closer to his skin.

Pieces of clothing were thrown as you two grew closer. More demanding. When you were naked and he was in nothing more than his boxers, Sam stopped. Looking over at the wine that was back in the ice- which was taking it's time melting.

“What?” You asked, still caged beneath him. The cool air in contrast to his body left goosebumps along your skin.

“Just how many new things can we get away with tonight?” His warm voice asked, sending more bumps along your flesh. The rough hand was busy running along your side as he glanced back at the bucket.

“Do it...” Your lips pressed into his collar bone. Giving your consent without even looking. Too horny to turn away anything he could come up with. At least, that was your excuse. “Whatever you're thinking? I'm in.”

“Just like that?”

“You haven't steered me wrong, yet.” You pulled his face back down to yours for a heated kiss. Encouraging him. “So, yeah... Just like that.”

“If you don't like it-”

“Sam... I get it. You'll stop.” It was sweet. Having someone care so much about needing your approval. You were starting to believe that you'd give into anything he asked of you. “Go for it.” His shirt was tied into a makeshift blindfold, covering your eyes. His body left yours for a minute, before it returned. As his lips pressed against yours, you felt the coolness. “Really?” You laughed, pulling away. “You watch 50 shades earlier, or what?” A cold drop hit your chest before you felt the ice press against your skin at the base of your throat. “You know what? It doesn't matter.” You huffed out, taking a shaky breath. You heard the small, muffled chuckle and could just picture his smug face, but that didn't matter as the ice moved.

The chill of the cube was combined with the heat of his mouth, creating an interesting combination as he pressed open mouthed kisses down your body. Cold swirling between your skin and him. He took his time, teasing. Trailing the ice over you.

Occasionally, it was left out on it's own to torture you instead of being combined with him. Other times, you only felt his lips, tongue, and teeth against your skin. He left little skin untouched by either. You never knew which to expect, or where. It drove you crazy as time faded away.

Sam Winchester had you moaning, gasping, and begging before he stopped. His favorite sound leaving you as he pulled away. You almost wilted in relief when the crinkle of the condom was heard. This time, you felt the blanket slide over your bodies as well when he was back over you.

As his lips pressed into yours, the blind fold was removed. He let your eyes adjust to the light from the fire. When they settled back on him, a small, not quite arrogant tug of his lips graced your view. At one point, it might have irked you. Instead, you pulled him back down to you. Kissing him deeply as you demanded more. Your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him down where you needed. Luckily, he had no problems reading the silent language.

You cried out his name passionately as he pressed into you. Not bothering to be quiet in the wilderness. He growled in response; picking up his pace to make up for lost time. To hear that needy, broken note leave your throat again. And again. One hand was busy keeping his weight from crushing you. The other holding your leg open so he could hit where he needed to. His fingers were sure to leave marks on your skin as he pounded into you relentlessly. Marks he was sure only you'd see.

You'd be feeling it for days the way he was going. Would think of him slamming in deep every time you saw a bruise. But, that didn't make you want to stop. Instead, you moved with him. Your hands pulling on his hair to earn one of those sexy growls. Or, scratching along his back to drag out a feral groan. Digging into his ass to guide him along. Anywhere you could get them.

You weren't typically a screamer, but there was something about Sam that drug the shouts from your lips. As you crashed over your climax, your head flew back and one left you brokenly. A few more erratic thrusts and he found his own release. His own shout being lost to the wind before he practically collapsed in relief. He rolled off almost immediately, breathing as heavily as you.

Immediately his gaze turned to your face. Looking for any more of the regret that had been known to linger. Instead, he found you watching the sky. A small smile gracing the still swollen mouth. Hair splayed out along the pine bed. Slowly, he looked up to see what you had moved onto.

“Wow.” Sam breathed out as he started settling down.

“Is that in reference to the sky... or the sex?” You asked, turning your head to look at him for the first time. Drawing his attention back to your face.

“Both.” He answered, taking the time to look back at you with a grin before going back to the sky.  It was filled with green lights writhing lightly, mixed with some pink and even twinges of blue. They were brighter than you'd ever seen them before. “You weren't kidding.”

“No.” You smiled almost happily. “I wasn't.”

You two sat watching the skies quietly. Just enjoying the lights, the quiet, and each others presence. You weren't quite sure who made the first move, but you found yourself with your head resting on his shoulder. His heavy arm around your waist. Pinning your body to his under the blanket as he fell asleep. Once you were comfortable, and almost out, it clicked. You knew exactly what was missing, and your stomach dropped. You were falling for Sam freaking Winchester.

–

“Y/N!” Your lips twitched as the lisp ridden roar filled the air. All eyes turned to you. Not bothering to look up, the eggs in front of you were shoveled into your mouth. Simply waiting for the thundering buffoon to find his way to confrontation.

Finding a sense of safety in Sam Winchester's arms was unacceptable. It was pathetic how cozy you'd been. How easily you'd given up several of the rules that would ensure your protection.  Once the lights were gone and you'd gotten your distance, you'd turned the tables back to where they should've remained the entire time.

The furious rumbling didn't stop until the giant leered above you. Lazily, you lifted your gaze to the dark, injured hazel. “You good?”

“I thwear to god.” You'd managed to mix Orajel into his tooth paste. Coated his toothbrush in the brew. Extra strength. Apparently he'd let it sit before hunting you down. “Why?”

“I got bored.” You dropped all pretenses as your fork was set down. Stubbornly, your jaw tilted upwards. Daring him to challenge it.

Jody watched the exchange quizzically from her place at the head of the table. Claire seemed to enjoy the childish antics. Grinning in appreciation at the numb mouthed beast in front of her. Alex was simply tired. Uninterested in the early morning drama after the first roar had been released.

Dean, however, waited for your response. Brow raised as he inspected the closest people in his life duking it out. Again. Trying to sort out if there was any real animosity behind the actions, or if it was an attempt to disguise the most recent late night disappearances.

The younger Winchester had no trouble discerning the issue. He'd seen that cold, detached expression time and time again. You were throwing up your walls after a hint of intimacy. And damn if that didn't make his skin crawl.

It was you who was the threat to him. One complaint to Dean and he'd be thrown on his ass. A single wrong move and Bane would geld him. But, you? Everyone would back you. No matter how it went. There was nothing that should've sent you running backwards in his eyes.

His nostrils flared as he fought to prevent himself from throwing you over his knee and being done with it, “Thith ithn't over.”

“I know.” The fallen tone had Sam rocking back on his heels. As if all fight had left you with a single sentence. Slowly, you got to your feet. Leaving nothing but confusion in your wake as you turned away.

Part Thirteen

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[carryonmywaywardwriters]

Taphophobia - Dean x Reader (One Shot)

A/N: Okay, this is going a little slow. But, seems to be going still. I have this edited piece, and then at least one drabble to post before I crash. As usual, feedback is always incredible. I hope you all enjoy <3

PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse. Phobias. Being buried alive. Reader death. Nothing but angst.

Word Count: Roughly 2,700

“What's your biggest fear?” The air chilled around you and Dean. Fogging up the breath you let out into the night. Sixteen years old, and too many cares in the world.

Hunting did that to a person. Aged them young. You both felt as if you were forty. Weighed down by the weight of others' lives.

“My biggest fear?” He passed over the whiskey, and leaned back against the tree behind him. Humming a bit as he thought. Looking up at the moon as you rolled up the sleeves to his jacket over your own arms. “I don't know...I guess...” The Winchester inhaled deeply, trying to settle on one as you took a swig. “I guess being alone.” His lips tightened as he dwelled on it for a moment. “Yeah, I think that's it. Sammy...he's already talkin' college. And being left with dad...”

“Being alone sounds less scary than being left alone with John,” You shuddered at the very idea. Thinking of the bruises that had been known to line Dean's body.

He told everyone it was monsters. Always had. Yet, you knew better. A drunk, angry John Winchester was a force to be reckoned with. Dean rarely came out on top. But, he took it so you and Sam never had to. Always had been, and always would be, your hero.

“At least he's familiar,” The green eyes turned towards you. Trying to see the positive.

However, he must not have been able to. They widened as he imagined life alone with his father. Silently asking that you didn't leave him to face the reality. Didn't force him to make the choice between facing the emptiness he was so scared of, and the harsh life he'd live with only John by his side.

“Yeah...I get that.” The words seemed to relax him a little more. Letting a deep, heavy sigh leave the boy that carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Your own parents had been killed six years prior. You'd just been a kid. So had Dean. The only reason John had allowed you to join the crew was so that Sam was never left on his own. Unfair? Perhaps, but that's how things were.

The Winchesters were all you had. If it came down to choosing John over nothing? You'd choose the abuse. As sad and lonely as it would be. Anything to be close to the memories of Sam and Dean.

“Now, what about you?” Dean's brow rose. Asking you to dig deep. You took another large swig in response. Letting the burn down your throat give you strength. “That bad?”

“It just freaks me out,” You shuddered, passing over the bottle for Dean to finish. Wincing a bit at the after taste. “You know I don't like small spaces?” An easy nod was his answer.

It was no secret. Hiding away, in the back of a closet was the first thing you were able to remember. Listening to the screams of your family. Hearing the roar of the wolf that had tore their beating hearts from their bodies. That kind of thing left scars.

Maybe even more than holding a baby brother while everything burned had impacted Dean. At least he hadn't been able to see Mary on the ceiling. You could see the flash of blood through the panel's cracks. See the bodies being thrown.

John had tossed you in a coat closet, once. His version of a fitting punishment. For simply grabbing his fist before it could hit the squared jaw of the oldest boy.

While you were in there, you could hear John raving. Words slurring as he tore Dean a new one verbally. Not even caring that Sam would be witness for once. Too deep in the drink and grief to care, anymore.

When Dean had opened up the door, the damage had been done. Eleven years old, and mentally broken. Tears trailed down your face as the heavy panting left your parted lips. Too trapped in the memories to move.

The older brother had to crawl in next to you. Drained and all, he'd helped you ground yourself enough to walk away. To plaster a smile on your face to tell the youngest that everything would be okay.

“Just small spaces?” His brow furrowed at that. Remembering it all. Wondering, not for the first time, just how damaged his father had left you.

“Almost,” You shrugged, tugging Dean's leather jacket closer around your body. Needing that sense of security as you faced what haunted your dreams. “Being buried alive.” His head tilted a bit as you explained. “There's the small space, for one. The lack of control that comes with it. You can't escape...it isn't slow, either. You have time to panic. To try and claw your way to safety...but, in the end? There's not a thing you can do.”

Every nightmare you'd ever had stared back at you. There wasn't a thing you hadn't imagined. The terror that came with it sank into your bones.

“Come here,” Dean tugged you closer, holding you under his strong grasp. His chin rested along your scalp. “Let's think about something more positive, alright? I'm kinda sick of all the doom and gloom.” Sick of seeing your unease. He wanted you happy. Safe.

As you nodded, his lips dropped to press against your temple. Telling you how much you meant to him without words. A gentle squeeze pulled some of the tension from your body. Trusting him to keep you secure. After all, he always had.

–

“Where is she?” Dean growled out, stalking forward with fury in his green eyes. The male witch was shoved backwards by his throat.

There was no fear present in his face. No remorse. Simply amusement. As if he got off on causing pain.

“You aren't going to make it in time,” The being bit out gleefully. Looking up at the hunter with a smug grin. It didn't fade when the solid fist slammed into his head. If anything, it only grew stronger despite the blood dripping down his chin. “She had six hours...if she's lucky.”

“You better hope you're wrong.” Magic stalling cuffs held him captive. Leaving Dean time to play. Time he didn't have.

Every minute ticked by faster and faster. Making the Winchester more desperate with each click from the clock. Torture was a trick he'd learned to keep under wraps. However, he had no problem placing each cut into the unmarred skin of the witch. Ensuring that his pain would be too much to bear. Sure enough, it worked. “She's buried,” The bloodied being hissed out, arching against his restraints. “But, that's all you're getting from me, Winchester.”

“You did what?” The hunter roared, grabbing the man by his collar. His stomach twisting at the thought. He could hear your voice from all those years ago. Echoing in his head as his fist slammed into the smug face. Over and over again. Not caring if the witch was dead, or just unconscious. It was only the thought of time running low that pulled him away. “Sammy?” Dean was on the move as he called his brother. “We need to get some shovels. Start looking for any disturbed ground.”

“Why?” The younger man's voice cracked in fear. He had reason to be terrified. There was only minutes left. If you were lucky.

“The bastard threw her in the dirt,” Dean bit out, already on the prowl. Needing to fix everything. To save you. “We've got two acres to cover. He figured six hours, Sam...”

“Dean...what if-”

“Don't say it.” The biting tone ended the thought before it could escape. Terror squeezed at his heart. It was if he was feeling what you were. Suddenly his lungs burned. “We're going to make it in time. We have to, Sammy.”

“I'll meet you around back,” Sam stated softly. Almost as though he felt it was hopeless. Dean ended the call with a slam. Refusing to buy into the negativity.

It would be okay. You would be fine. You had to be.

Ten minutes. Twenty. By thirty, Dean was coated in sweat. His heart raced as he desperately searched over the ground.

Then, he saw it. The disturbed dirt was nestled beside a tree. At the very end of the property.

“Sam!” He shouted, already on the move. By the time his brother made it to his side, the flannel had been discarded. A large dent in the top started.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered, taking in the size of the hole. There was little mistaking what rested underneath the dirt.

Neither brother said a word from that point on. Too afraid to do more than shovel. And pray that everything would be fine. Miracles happened every day. If anyone was due for one, it was you. Holding onto that thought, the dug until their muscles ached.

They'd ripped open a million graves in their life time. But this time? They were digging up yours. And it made all of the difference. What would usually take hours, and breaks only took them a fraction of the time.

You were down to seconds as Dean threw the final layer of dirt out with his bare hands. Exposing the shiny coffin that had been reported missing eight hours before. The witch had planned on nabbing one of them. You'd just happened to be in the way.

“Y/N!” He yelled out, yanking it open. There was no sound outside of their harsh breathing. You didn't move- didn't react- as the light hit your face. The color was leeched from your skin. “Y/N?” The broken crack left Dean as he stared. Trying to see movement. Anything to tell him you were okay. There was no fluttering of your eyelashes. No twitch in your limbs. Not even the rise and fall of your chest. “No,” He whispered; his eyes filling with the water he'd been fighting so hard to repress. “No...god, please...no.” He was lunging at you, then. Checking for your pulse. Even knowing that there would be none. “Damn it, Y/N...” Dean bit out, moving his hands to yours to begin chest compressions. “You can't leave me, okay? Not like this.” You didn't answer as he slammed his hands over your sternum rapidly. He bent over, pinching your nose before breathing into your parted lips.

Sam watched as his brother lost it. The tears slipped down the dirt covered skin only to land on your body. Cracking filled the air as the force of his will broke your ribs. But, there was no in drawn breath.

Fifteen minutes passed before the younger brother couldn't take anymore, “Dean...” Yet, the older brother didn't stop. Begging you quietly through gritted teeth to open those E/C eyes inside that coffin. “I...I think she's gone.” Sam's voice cracked, watching the scene unfold helplessly.

“She can't be,” Dean hissed out, starting to slow. His arms burned. The breath leaving his lips was ragged. Sweat trailed lines across his grey t-shirt and dirt coated skin. But, none of that mattered. Not so long as your chest didn't rise on its own.

“Dean-”

“No!” He shouted back. Voice hard and filled with threats of violence if anything got between him and you. “She's alive, damn it. She has to be...I have...I have to save her.” But that time, his movements ceased. It was beginning to sink in. “I...” His words ended as he looked down at the blue tint to your skin. There was no coming back. Your nails were ripped to shreds. Hands raw and bloody from your attempts to dig the coffin open. The material above your head was shredded. You'd fought til the end, he was sure. “Y/N?” The finality of it sunk in when you didn't respond. He lost it in earnest, then. “I...I...I'm...I'm so...so s...sorry, sweetheart.” His fingers ran through your hair, gently. Shaking as a broken sob left him. Sam could only sit back and watch as his brother mourned the love of his life.

It was daylight by the time he managed to pull himself away to begin building a pyre. The younger brother had it over half done. Preparing to give you a hunter's funeral. It felt more right. You had never been scared of fire.

Dean carried your body to the pile; kissing the cold forehead as he'd set you up on the wooden stand. When he'd pulled away, he willed you to move. Anything to tell him it was all a bad dream. That he was making a mistake.

There was nothing. With a defeated sigh, he stepped back. A small crack sounded, making him jerk down to the noise. Your phone rested on the ground, underneath his boot.

You'd never felt the need for that kind of privacy a password offered. He swiped the screen. Preparing to shut it off. Only, the sight of a sending message caught his attention.

An audio file glared up at him. Daring him to listen. Slowly, he pressed play. Raising it to his ear.

“Dean...I don't know if I have much time left,” Your voice shook into the phone's speaker. Dean looked over to the pile your covered body rested in. Forcing himself to remember that he wasn't hearing you in that moment. “I shouldn't be talking... It uses the air faster...I...I know that.” The broken edge that followed let him know that you were crying. “But, I'm getting tired...” He swallowed tightly; his eyes beginning to water at the anguish he was hearing. Dean had thought he'd been out of tears. He'd never been more wrong. “And I'm scared...” He'd known you would have been. But, hearing the words tore through him even more. “So...so scared.” A sniffle followed, “It's okay, though...” You swallowed tightly, trying to compose yourself. “Because...I know...I know this means...means that you're safe. He didn't get to you, first.” A weak laugh left your lips. As if that made everything alright, again. “And I know you won't be alone.” A thud sounded as your elbow hit the lid. He could picture you trying to wipe away the tears. His heart squeezed at the message. “Sammy's home, now.” The shakiness as you fought to remain strong was apparent. Not for yourself. But, for him. “He'll stay with you...If...If he doesn't, I'll haunt him. Burned body be damned.” You coughed, then. The air thickening the more you talked. There must have been some fight left in you. The beating of your fists could be heard before another sob, and a broken cry escaped. He hated the sound of it, but clung to the fact that you hadn't been completely resigned to your fate. You had been strong. If only it had been enough. “I just...I love you, okay?” You came back to your senses, for a moment. Remembering your mission. “I know...I know I say it a lot...but, I needed you to hear it right...right now.” Another sniff left you as you repressed the tears for a moment longer. “This isn't your fault, Dean...this...I'm...I'm okay with...with this being it...if..if it is.” Your final, gasping words that he'd ever hear had him dropping to his knees, “You're not alone, Dean...You're not...not gonna be all alone. I promise...That's what matters, alright? You're...you're not alone.”

The message ended, then. Leaving him to realize that your biggest fear hadn't truly been being buried alive, after all. You'd been trapped in that coffin. Facing the thing that you had claimed to be the one thing you couldn't handle. But, in the end? It had been something much deeper.

Your biggest fear had been that Dean would be, or feel, all alone. And have to face what you'd both been terrified of with it. The thing that he hadn't realized? His biggest fear hadn't truly been being alone. It had simply been being without you...

Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger