#what a fun hobby i have to talk about exorcising shit from my brain and it's 'but what if kev and zallah briefly escape the cave at the end

[bereft-of-frogs]

the high republic keeps giving me these odd 'just left of canon' AU ideas that really don't make that much sense and don't go anywhere but there are all of these voices floating around in my brain about it

'just do what you used to do pre-'being able to finish anything' (c. 1998-2018), write the parts you want to read to exorcise them from your brain and keep them in a document to read later, just for you, you don't have to put work into 'plot' or whatever'

'I don't know, some of them you could reshape into something that DOES make sense, like your idea for an expansion of the sort-of-rushed path of deceit horror ending'

'girl you had a to do list for today, what happened to editing 'the station', you need to focus up'

'and anyway, look at all the other AUs that don't make any sense, why are you so worried about your 'but what if Jora lived' AU when there are so many high school AUs (*gritted teeth* and time travel AUs) that also don't go anywhere, just do it, have fun, who cares'

'also GIRL, you have your plate full with WIPs, what happened to being happy you found the discipline to commit to long term projects, why do you think you have time for any of this...'

these are the wolves that live inside me.

ok I REALLY have to go edit now...but maybe as a reward...later....we can just work a little bit on the silly AUs that won't go anywhere?

[zephyrofalltrades]

Day 9: Possession

CW: Partial demonic possession, strangulation, self-harm, graphic depictions of demonic wounds, swearing

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Aziraphale tugged at the hem of his sweater vest looking at the old abandoned house at the side of the road.

“I like spooky-looking places remember?” Crowley said pulling out his camera from the back seat of his car. “Besides, this place is aesthetic - perfect for my photography class!” he grinned as he looked back at his friend.

“Yes, well, I also heard demons live there,” the blonde shivered.

“Demons aren’t real, angel. They’re just the construct of bed time stories and the magic of cinematography,” he hummed tying his long red locks so as not get caught in the camera straps. “Besides, we’ll be out of there before you could say 'tickety-boo',” he laughed.

"I've got supplies, just in case." Aziraphale piped up, taking out a crucifix, a rosary then a water pistol from his pockets. He patted the last with reverence. "Holiest of holy waters," he announced proudly. "From a bottle my parents got when they visited the Vatican then promptly forgot in a box in the garage."

Crowley bit his tongue from making a comment. He'll be damned if he'll ruin the blonde's fun. But he ought to show a little bout of annoyance to keep his image.

Crowley rolled his eyes at the paraphernalia, and held out the crucifix. "Planning to play as an exorcist dressed like that?" the red-head gestured to his cream sweater vest and tan trousers.

"Hopefully, it won't come to an exorcism," the other sniffed. "Which reminds me, give me your arm."

"Which one?" Aziraphale shrugged so he cast in his right.

The blonde took the rosary and wound it around a sinewy wrist, knowing that the red-head would cuss vehemently if he hung it around his neck. "There," he said with a wiggle. Crowley felt the charged contact and his brain was fried for a moment or two before his senses came back. Looking ridiculous was a small price to pay to keep his angel happy.

Soon they managed to finally step out to the door and let themselves in. It was a usual haunt for teens giving innocent dares or those with questionable hobbies. The graffiti was everywhere. 

“Oh demons! Come say 'hello!'” Crowley giggled as they entered.

“I don’t think you should do that, Crowley. What if it gets mad?”

“Aww, come on angel, the demon can’t get mad because it’s not real!” he laughed aloud, earning a huff from his friend.

After a few shots of the main rooms, the pair decided to venture down the basement. It had the standard level of spookiness with an added bonus of a crudely scribbled occultist's pentagram in one of the musty corners. He gave the blonde a mischievous look and proceeded to flop himself down unto the floor, torso in the middle of the drawing.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale hissed.

"Hey, demons!" the red-head called. "Come get me!"

"Oh dear, please don't…" his friend's voice trembled.

"It's just a bit of fun, angel," he complained, but got up anyway to dust himself off. "If there are demons, they ought to show themselves more if they want to be known. Waste of time to just keep hiding in the dark, if you ask me."

His left hand suddenly came up to slap his cheek.

"Shit! That stings! What the fu-" another slap.

"Crowley, what are you doing? Is this another one of your pranks?"

"This isn't me! This is -" The hand grabbed hold of his sunglasses and threw it against a wall, hard enough to shatter the lenses and bend the frame. "Oi! Those were new!"

The sunglasses were the last straw, Aziraphale knew then that his friend wasn't playing a game. He took his crucifix and advanced towards Crowley. "Now you listen here," he addressed the limb, which Crowley was restraining with his other hand from punching himself in the face again. "Leave him alone!"

They heard an unearthly chuckle from all around them and the room's darkness felt heavier than before.

The blonde jumped and whirled about, searching for the voice's source. Before he could turn back to Crowley however, the errant hand slapped the wrist holding on to the crucifix. The wood fell from his grip but a part of it touched the demonic palm.

Crowley yelped and the hand recoiled. "That burned!" he said more out of surprise than actual pain. They could try exorcising his arm! But how? he thought frantically. Before he could think of a plan, the limb grabbed for a new target.

This time he watched his hand curl around the blonde’s throat. “Stop! No!” he screamed, but his limb took no heed. Aziraphale was holding on to it with both hands to no avail, lifting him from the ground.

Crowley pressed the rosary hanging from his right wrist at it but although it stung the same way, it didn't make it let go of the blonde. Panicked, he looked for the crucifix but it had been knocked far from his reach.

"Po-pocket," Aziraphale gasped out, still doing his best to pry the fingers away.

With wide eyes, Crowley searched his friend's pockets. His fingers touched plastic. The handle of the water pistol. He hoped it was holy enough to combat the demonic arm. He snatched it and pulled the trigger, first aiming at the hand then soaking the rest of his arm for good measure. The pain blinded him but he kept going, wringing every drop of the holy water from the toy. Finally, the fingers slackened.

Aziraphale fell to the floor gasping and watch as his attacker jerked in pain. The skin of Crowley's arm was steaming a sickly green. Bumps were forming from underneath, cracking the skin then popping to excrete a blackish sludge, oozing down to the floor.

Crowley tried not to howl but he couldn't suppress the whimpers. He retched as the smell of sulfur and decaying flesh reached his nostrils. Finally succumbing to the torture, he fainted.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was a crucifix nailed high on clean white walls. He grimaced at it before turning his head to look at the rest of the room. Cots were lined along the walls. It was a ward, he surmised, burrowing beneath the blankets once more and hissing as the sheets slid against his heavily bandaged arm.

"Ah, you're finally awake," came a voice from the other end of the room. A nun was striding towards him with a pitcher of water, a glass, cups and a pot of tea. Behind her was a smiling Aziraphale clutching a tin of biscuits. "Gave us all a fright you, did," the nun chastised. "We patched your friend up as best we could, but you were worse for wear."

She took the pitcher and poured him a glass. He did his best to not choke as he gulped the liquid down. He looked up to find both nun and blonde peering at him curiously.

"Wot? I was thirsty," he said defensively.

Aziraphale chuckled. "It appears you're good to go dear boy. If drinking holy water doesn't bother you, then we have nothing more to worry about."

[fanforfanatic]

Scar Tissue

Relationship: Dean x OFC Rating: Brief smut Warnings: Mentions of canon events A/N: This is for @pixikinz’s 100 Follower Celebration Challenge. [It was literally months ago and the deadline is tomorrow but I don’t know how to do anything but procrastinate so here it is!]

~6k words

Summary: Dean meets a girl in a bar and their damaged parts seem to match.

Read it on ao3

Scar tissue that I wish you saw Sarcastic mister know it all Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause With the birds I'll share With the birds I'll share This lonely view With the birds I'll share This lonely view

 Dean saw her as soon as he got to the bar, but in the way he saw everyone. He scoped out all the patrons, by habit, the same way his eyes found all the exits, like they did when he entered any given room.

Two hours later, he’d hustled enough pool to set Sam and him up for two weeks which Sam thought was his cue to head out. He’d humoured Dean by having an impressive not one but two beers, so he told him he’d see him back at the motel. Dean wanted to insist for Sam to stay. He wanted to ask him why he’d rather go back to a bed where all he’d do is have nightmares about Jess, instead of having some fun with his brother, or better yet, having some fun with any number of pretty young things.

Dean didn’t say any of that. He just watched his brother step outside and when Dean turned his attention back to the bar he saw her again.

She looked pretty and young enough, sitting on a stool and nursing a glass of brown liquor. That’s what drew Dean to her. There were plenty of good looking women in the bar, some that were hotter and looked easier than her, but their drinks were fruity and colourful and like they shouldn’t be served in a run-down place like this. There was nothing wrong with that, but tonight Dean didn’t want to hear anyone giggling in his ear, he didn’t feel like playing a role for them.

The concentrated frown of her brows, the stiffness in her back and, yeah, the way Dean just saw her knock back her drink suddenly only to order another had him thinking that she wasn’t much of a giggler and that she didn’t make it a habit of keeping an eye out for Mr. Right. Which was good, it was perfect, because Dean wasn’t interested in pretending to be anything he knew he would never become.

He made his way over to her unhurriedly, the wood of the floorboards creaking beneath his boots every couple of steps. This joint had seen better days, even for the type of place it was, but it served booze and it was in between the last case they had worked and the next case they’ll work so Dean didn’t have a complaint.

“Hey,” he greeted her, not bothering with his usual, manufactured, charming smile, opting instead for a kind nod.

It didn’t matter either way, she didn’t bother looking up. She just sighed. It wasn’t annoyed or exasperated like she couldn’t be bothered with a guy hitting on her, but it was tired. A tired sigh that Dean recognised himself in.

“Listen,” she started, her voice rougher than he’d expected, but her tone gentle. She sounded like the whiskey in her glass. “I’m not looking to go home with anyone, tonight,” she let him down.

“Yeah okay,” Dean accepted, because maybe he wasn’t looking to go home with anyone tonight anymore either. “Think I can still buy you a drink? Knowing full well that it’ll lead to nothing and nowhere, especially not anyone’s home,” he offered.

She looked at him, then. It was a sudden enough twist of the neck that it might have taken Dean aback did he not have the instincts of a hunter. Her wide eyes were just like her voice, whiskey that was smooth but cut with something harsh. Like they once had the potential to appear sweet but had seen too much to even pretend to convey anything innocent.

“Sure.” she agreed, nodding to the seat beside her.

Dean took it, signaling the bartender for their next order. He watched her take a long drag from the glass she’d already been working on. “Long day?” he asked her.

She gave him a smile that Dean hated because there was nothing happy about it. “Yeah.” she breathed out, then paused a moment. Maybe she thought voicing how shit her day had been would erase it somehow. Like if it was put into words, the phrase could get swept away in a breeze and take the shit-feelings with it. Eventually, she un-paused, re-realised that the world didn’t fucking work that way and threw back the rest of her drink.

“Family?” Dean inquired, aware that he was projecting a little.

“Work.” Yeah, Dean could relate to that too.

She avoided looking at him when she said it which made Dean curious. “What do you do?”

Her eyes met his, her lips twisting into the ugly smile again. “As pretentious as it sounds, save lives. Usually. But not today.” No today, she failed at her job.

“Doctor?” That didn’t seem right to him. Didn’t fit.

For a quick second, she looked like she was thinking about her answer. “Firefighter.”

Dean nodded even though that didn’t really fit either because it explains the faint smell of ash he’s only just now noticing. He offered her his hand. She shook it and her callouses met his. “I’m Dean.”

“Rae.”

The bartender brought them two fresh tumblers, taking away her- Rae’s old one and Dean’s empty beer. Wordlessly, they each lifted their glasses and clinked them quietly.

“So,” Rae started. “What is it that you do? Or is hustling pool a full time gig?” She smirked at him and it wasn’t pretty, too knowing and cunning to be pretty, but it looked good on her, unlike her previous attempts at smiling.

“You picked up on that, huh?” He smiled at her charmingly and there was nothing artificial about it.

“Just a little.” Her smirk disappeared as she pressed her lips together in an odd shy repressed sort of grin. Like she didn’t want to allow a real smile to come out, which naturally made it Dean’s mission to get one out of her.

“I’m traveling,” Dean finally answered her question. “Not quite as heroic as someone who runs around fighting fires but I’m road tripping with my brother.”

“That’s nice,” she said like she didn’t think it at all, the amusement drained from her face, and she turned to take another sip.

“Most of the time,” he agreed, racking his brain for a way to salvage the conversation. Maybe bringing up her work again wasn’t his best idea.

Rae didn’t so much mind the quiet though, as nice as it was talking to the roguish man. She wondered what that must be like, driving from town to town for no reason other than the pleasure of it. She wondered what it was like chasing your own headlights for the sake of the speed, instead of chasing down leads. Leads that were either no good with false intel, or bad because the intel got her in situations like today. That’s the job , she reminded herself.

“Do you travel?” It pained Dean to hear himself ask the question as awkwardly as he did, but he didn’t regret it, because Rae’s lips curled up on one side and Dean felt like he was halfway there.

“Some.”

“So you want to play it mysterious, is that it?”

She laughed, throwing her head back. It was a whiskey laugh and Dean felt for all the world like he’d won the game. “Do you like mystery?” she asked him with a mischievous look in her eyes.

“I dabble,” he told her, committing to as much honesty as he could manage.

“I bet.”

“You bet, huh? It is because I’m tall, dark and handsome?”

She grinned easily, as though her laugh broke the dam and now she wouldn’t bother holding back smiles. Dean was charmed. “You think very highly of yourself, huh?”

“If the shoe fits.” He smirked playfully, attractively.

“If it does indeed,” she flirted back in that husky voice of hers, over the rim of her glass.

Dean watched her long neck as she swallowed a swig of her drink and he gulped down some air himself. “S-so,” he stammered, feeling for the first time the effect of the booze he’d been drinking throughout the night. Or maybe it wasn’t the alcohol. “What do you do for, euh, fun?”

Rae thought about it for a moment, tilting her head up. Dean could see her physically mulling the question over. She liked swinging machetes clean through a vamp’s neck. “Baseball.” Melting silver into bullets. “Crafts.” Exorcising demon scumbags. “Languages.” Rae’s thoughts went back to that day’s exorcism. She’d gotten the demon, alright, but she’d been too late. Too fucking late and they were just kids.

“That’s healthy,” Dean told her jokingly, hoping to erase the frown that replaced her jovial expression. “You sound very well rounded.”

She let out a quick dry laugh. “I wouldn’t go that far.” She shook her head, her hair swishing slightly, to rid herself of her thoughts. “I bet I can guess your hobbies,” she challenged.

“I don’t want to alarm anyone but you’re presenting yourself as quite the gambler,” he teased. “Betting left and right.”

“I’m a thrill seeker.”  She shrugged exaggeratedly, in a ‘what can you do’ sort of way. “Promise I’m good for it, though.”

“Yeah?” He leaned in closer to her, placing a forearm on the counter. “What are the stakes?”

She rolled her eyes at his excessive suggestiveness, then looked around since she hadn’t expected such a formal wager. Her eyes landed on their near empty glasses. “The next round?”

“Sure.” Dean agreed, leaning back with a smirk.

“You’re very lucky, you know?”

“Why’s that?”

“You’ll get to buy me two drinks tonight,” she winked.

Dean laughed. “You’re very confident. Didn’t we establish that I’m shrouded in mystery?”

“Cars, classic rock and,” she appraised him for a second. “Something dorky. The Potter books? No. Anime. Really, anime?”

The stunned look Dean gave her let her know she hit the nail on the head.

“Don’t fret, sweetheart, I have a bit of a superpower when it comes to reading people.”

“You think I’m that cut-and-dried?” Dean questioned, once he collected himself.

“No, but I figure it’s kind of inappropriate to point out your daddy issues, your inability to recognise your own worth despite that cockiness of yours and how lonely you really are.”

Dean, bare and exposed, stared at her with wide eyes. He turned forward in his seat and finished off his drink before signaling the bartender again. Rae slid her glass along the bar top to him and he finished that off too.

“Sorry,” she apologised and meant it. Her day had been shit, but she didn’t need to go and blow his wide open.

“No, no, it’s, euh, fine,” Dean tried to reassure her as he collected himself then turned to face her again. “Refreshing to be called out on shit, I guess” he laughs a little and a little uncomfortably. “I think I’m too shocked to be defensive. Just... How?”

“Your scar tissue is showing,” she shrugged. She didn’t really know how she did it. She’d always been just eerily good at reading people. It came in handy but it had its downfalls. It’s why other hunters rarely worked with her, and when they did, it was never for very long. She made people uneasy. Which made sense because she had a hard time being with herself so why would it be easy for anyone else?

Dean looked down at his body, like he expected to be shirtless and for his lifetime of healed wounds to be on display.

“Not that kind,” she corrected him with a lightness in her voice, amused by how Dean took her words at face value. “Though, I guess I’m not surprised that you’d have some of those too.”

Dean was staring again and Rae let him. He felt unmasked. Like this stranger of a girl he’d decided to hit on for the most arbitrary of reasons had lifted the metaphorical veil Dean kept securely in place between him and... everything else. More than that, it was like she hadn’t even registered that there was facade there to begin with. She didn’t have to see past his act because she didn’t see his act at all. Just him.

Dean thought that maybe he should feel unsettled, but really, it was nice. Sure she didn’t know about the things that hid in the dark, Dean couldn’t share that much, but hadn’t he committed to honesty for the night? He didn’t want to pretend to be anything and here she was seeing him for exactly who he was. It was liberating. He didn’t have to put on an act, he could just be.

So Dean smiled, with disarming charm he didn’t have to fake, and said, “What other tricks you got up your sleeve?”

She told him and he shared some of his too, which lead to them playing a game. With their backs to the counter, they took apart the different patrons in the room, boiling them down to core personality traits, with impressive accuracy, though they’d never get confirmation.

They placed wagers on who the busty blonde bombshell would decide to leave with. On whether the bookish boy in the corner was going to make a move on the bartender. On how long it’d take the youngest of the gaggle of girls near the billiards to scarf up what she’d been downing all night.

It was fun and Rae’s bad day wasn’t ending so terribly anymore. Until she got a text. It was one of those leads that were bad. The information was legit but it’d lead to stuff nightmares were made of. Not in some abstract nightmares-of-the-world kind of way. Rae’s very own.

She stood from her stool and began throwing on her leather jacket. It was old enough that Rae had grown out of it a bit, but her usual utility jacket had been lost in the burning building where she’d faced off with her demon of the day. Where she’d left those kids.

“You’re leaving?” Dean asked her not bothering to hide his disappointment. Odds were she’d see it anyway.

“Yeah.” Maybe she was a little disappointed too. “Duty calls, fires to put out, all that.”

Dean’s brows knit for a second because he was pretty sure that was not how the fire department worked. “Yeah, okay,” he accepted and stood to... What? Kiss her goodbye?

Rae pulled her whiskey hair out from under her jacket and fixed her collar. They stood there for a moment, then she stepped closer and pulled him into a hug. Dean felt his shoulders sag as he drowned in the contact. It felt good to have her body pressed to his and not just for the usual reasons. Dean thought that maybe he was getting something he hadn’t really realised he’d been needing. Rae realised.

He had an arm wrapped around her and a hand in her hair, at the back of her neck, when he said, “I’ll see you, Rae.” He wished he could mean it. He wished he couldn’t tell that she could tell that he didn’t.

It was the first time he’d said her name and the sound of it rolled over her skin like sin. While Dean watched her leave the bar, Rae hoped that she’d get to hear it again coming from that pretty mouth of his.

She didn’t know it then, but she would.

  Push me up against the wall Young Kentucky girl in a push-up bra Fallin' all over myself To lick your heart and taste your health 'cause With the birds I'll share This lonely view

 It was when Sam and Dean came across the Croatoan virus for the first time, about a year later, that he saw her again. She was across the street, in US Marshall getup, speaking to a civilian. Dean waited for her to finish up with the interview then made his way over, leaving a confused Sam behind to stare at the foreboding word carved into a wooden pole.

“Firefighter, huh?” he asked, sidling up to her.

“Dean.” Rae rasped and smiled at him big and bright like she was genuinely happy to see him, until she looked scared to see him.

The next words out of her mouth were that he had to get the hell out of dodge, that it wasn’t safe here, that he should pack up his brother and go. Dean told her he had business in town. That didn’t make much sense to her. Wasn’t he, essentially, a drifter?

It took them an embarrassing amount of time to figure out that they were speaking to a fellow hunter. In their defense, it wasn’t like they could come right out and ask if they devoted their lives to killing supernatural creatures. They got there eventually though, with large grins plastering their faces.

She looked good, Dean thought. Not as weighed down as the time he’d last seen her. She didn’t have to say anything for him to know that she saw just how worn out he was. He did wonder if she could tell that his daddy issues had become dead-daddy issues.

Rae had gotten there the previous day and she’d gotten front row seats to the small Oregon town succumbing to the virus. She watched it go to hell even more alongside the brothers as they worked the case together.

Later, when Sam begged Dean not to shoot some boy they thought might have been infected, Rae stood by.

After, when Sam got infected and Dean told her and the other survivors to leave, she stayed on the other side of the door of the room the brothers had locked themselves in. She’d allow them their time, but when Sam turned, she’d do what she had to, she’d do her damn job and protect Dean, who, as far as she was concerned, was no more capable than a civilian considering the circumstances. His judgement clouded by family . Something Rae never had the luxury, or perhaps the burden, of worrying about.

When Sam turned out to be immune, the words ‘lucky break’ got thrown around. Rae wasn’t fooled. She could tell they knew the same two things she knew about lucky breaks. The first is that they never really happened and the second is that they definitely didn’t happen to hunters. Murphy’s Law and all.

With a long hug, they parted ways after that, only to be reunited a month or so later at the Roadhouse.

They drank whiskey and laughed the place down to the ground. It was a night she, Dean and Sam, who she was glad she didn’t end up killing, desperately needed.

The next morning, they ran into each other at the roadhouse again when they meant to say goodbye to the Harvelles. Dean mentioned that they had caught whiff of something not right a couple hours east, then he suggested Rae follow them in her car. For backup. When they wrapped up that hunt, Dean rode shotgun with her while Sam drove the impala to their next case. Before they found a third job, Rae stashed her wheels and made herself comfortable in the backseat of a 67 Chevy.

The years flew by after that. They killed monsters, killed a yellow-eyed demon, Dean went to Hell, Dean came back from Hell, angels walked the earth, Sam said yes to Lucifer, the apocalypse was avoided, Rae and Dean lived in domestic bliss- ha! - for a year, they got Sam his soul back, they beat the leviathans, they had a year long stint in purgatory, yada yada, bad guys, yada yada, doom and death.

Somewhere along the way Dean and Rae fell into a relationship, not as far from conventional as they would have thought they’d end up in. It was still pretty fucked up, but then again, that was part of the normalcy. No couple wasn’t fucked up. Well, no couple they had ever come across, anyway.

They fought a lot. Mostly because Rae wouldn’t put up with Dean’s shit and she always did have a knack for seeing right through him.

Sometimes they fought because Rae felt like Dean ignored what she needed on purpose. Like he was intentionally withholding comfort she’d grown desperate for. Dean tried to give her what she needed. Dean did his best. He just didn’t get her as easily as she got him. Didn’t know what she wanted unless she asked for it. Rae wasn’t very good at asking.

They were good at fighting, at poking where it hurts most, but they made up just as often as they argued. That, they were great at.

Rae pushed Dean against the bookshelf lined wall of the bunker library, tugging his flannel off his broad shoulders. She crashed her lips to his and started working on lifting his shirt up.

“You wanna maybe get to a bed?” Dean laughed, eyes crinkling.

Rae frowned at him. “No.”

Dean shrugged in acceptance and helped her help him out of his layers. All these damn layers.

Then, he scooped her up in his arms just long enough to set her on one of the tables, shoving a chair out of the way roughly. He divested her of her own clothing and buried his face in her breast.

Her hands were in his hair until they weren’t. Until they were on his dick. Until they weren’t. Until they were everywhere. Tracing the planes of his body. Dipping in where his muscles did. Tickling where he was soft. Gripping tight when he entered her.

She lifted his face. They kissed. They were so good at that. It was un-rushed, languid even, in contrast to the sharp pace of Dean’s hips. Their lips met with intent, like they were trying to say something, neither knew what. Maybe meaning to say something was enough. Maybe Rae didn’t feel so misunderstood like this. Maybe she didn’t feel so lost.

They didn’t kiss a lot when they had sex because they were both noisy. They were both talkers.

“Dean, yes, fuck, c’mon.”

“Say you forgive me, Rae.” He didn’t remember what the fight had been about, but it was usually his fault.

“Fuck, Dean.” She squeezed his hips tighter between her thighs. Pulled his chest closer to hers. “Love this. Love you inside of me. Fuck. ”

“Say it, Rae. Give me what I want.” Dean was no longer sure what he was asking for.

It didn’t matter, because just then, Rae would give him anything. “Yes,” she moaned, pitchy and breathy all at once. “Yes, Dean. Take it. Whatever you want, have it.”

Dean was pulled out of his haze long enough to give her a cheeky smile. “So generous, sweetheart.”

Rae laughed, banging her head on the table when she threw it back. “Get on.”

Dean took her in his arms again and sat on the table. When Rae had her knees planted firmly onto the tabletop, she began riding him slowly. “Fuck no. Rae, let’s go. ”

She sank all the way down and rolled her hips once before stilling. “So impatient, sweetheart,” she teased, replicating his earlier tone.

Dean growled and tugged her hair back, exposing her neck so he could speak against it. “You think you can last like this? You think I don’t know how fucking needy you are? Come on, Rae. Move for me.”

She did, almost mindlessly, all sensation, no thinking. She raised her hips and bore down again and again, faster with each bounce and she did it because he’d asked her to.

“That’s my girl. God, you feel amazing. You feel incredible, Rae. You always do, always so good.”

Rae couldn’t really do coherent anymore, instead dropping Dean and God and Yes like the words were bombs and her goal was to knock him out. Which she sort of did.

Rae was able to read Dean from the get go and that transferred into their sex lives. She was so good for him. The best, really.

  Blood loss in a bathroom stall Southern girl with a scarlet drawl Wave good-bye to ma and pa 'cause With the birds I'll share With the birds I'll share This lonely view With the birds I'll share This lonely view

 Rae shuffled backwards, her knees almost buckling under Dean’s weight. He had one arm draped over her shoulders and the other pressed to his side in an attempt to minimize blood loss. She had one hand holding his where it hung over her chest and the other clutching her sawed-off, the side of which dug into Dean’s back as she did her best to keep him upright.

“Sam,” she grunted through the exertion. “Switch with me.”

It took a moment for Sam to beat back the onslaught of demons but when there was enough calm he took Rae’s place as Dean’s pillar, hooking his arms under his older brother’s armpits, making his way back towards the bathroom of the establishment faster than Rae could manage.

She took his place at the front, shooting the demons that got close and running precariously low on rock salt ammo. Just barely, the trio made it inside the bathroom with one shell to spare.

Rae locked the door while Sam laid Dean down on the dirty tile floor.

“Shit,” she heard Sam say behind her.

She braced herself before turning, knowing that nothing but the worst case scenario would have had Sam’s voice sound like it did.

“S’no big deal,” Dean assured even as the sight of the ceiling above whooshed one way and then the other.

“You’re gonna bleed out, Dean.” Sam pulled sheet after sheet of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall, annoyed at his brother’s stupidity.

“Christ, what were you thinking?” Rae bit, marching towards Sam and knocking the cover off the machine with her shotgun, allowing him to simply take out the roll.

Kneeling beside Dean, while Sam did his best to- sort of- bandage up the gash wound, she continued her lecture. “That was the dumbest shit I’ve ever seen you do and I was there when you jumped off that roof in Boston. I am so upset with you right now, you shouldn’t have been so reckless, Dean.”

“Hi,” he said when he saw her face hover over his, smiling goofily.

Rae sighed

“I thought I could make it to the next building over and I had hellhounds on my ass.”

“What?”

“In Boston.”

“Shut up.”

“You brought it up!” he defended.

“Dean what you did was really dumb,” Rae spoke angrily, her concern seeping into every word.

“Had to.”

“No you didn’t .”

Dean wheezed out a breath. “Yeah, they were going after that girl.”

“So naturally you threw yourself on a machete?” She raised a brow at him.

“Well, that wasn’t the-” Cough. “-plan, exactly.”

“I said I had it, you should have let me-”

“You didn’t see the second one comi-”

“I would have if you’d given me a sec-”

“You don’t get a second in this life you kn-”

“And you don’t get to make shit decisions like that.”

Sam remained quiet, let them have it out even though he thought it was neither the time nor the place. Dean and Rae were combustible like that, and the best way to deal with it was to let it sputter out. Which it always did.

After a moment of quiet, Rae leaned down and touched her lips to Dean’s in a barely there kiss but Dean swore it breathed life into him. He tried not to think too much about how that made him the Disney princess in the scenario.

“Okay, that should hold, not as long as we need it to but it’s what we’ve got,” Sam cut in, wiping his hands clean of his brothers blood. Well, clean-ish. “Ideas on how we’re making our great escape? We’re down to the last of our ammo, we’re down one man-

“I’m not down-”

“No windows in here either,” Sam barrels on.

“Only way out,” Rae says, looking at the door. “Is through.”

“I’m not liking those odds, Rae.” Sam sighed. It’s not like they had much of a choice. “We can break the mirrors and use the glass.”

“Bucket,” Dean rasped, pointing at the item.

Rae smiled. Of course Dean is still the best damn hunter- person- in the room. “We’ll get some holy water going too.”

  Soft spoken with a broken jaw Step outside but not to brawl Autumn's sweet we call it fall I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl and With the birds I'll share This lonely view...

 Rae kicked at the asphalt and focused on the sound of pebbles clattering against the ground. She didn’t want to look at Dean, because she knew what she’d see. She listened to him lean against the heavy metal door of the bunker, instead.

They’d been fighting again. Rae had stepped outside after a particularly harsh exchange, needing to cool down and Dean gave her time before following.

That was a half hour ago and they weren’t fighting anymore now, not really. They’d stopped actively arguing with each other, stopped trying to get the other to come around, to see things their way. They were just at odds. Quietly at odds under the inky black sky. They looked like what people look like when they’ve given up.

“I’m going to go.” She nodded towards her car. It wasn’t in the garage because she’d gone for a drive earlier that day, to cool off from a different argument. “I, euh, I don’t think I’m coming back. To the bunker, I mean.”

She held her breath once the words were out. She didn’t know why she did, that was what they were leading up to. Maybe for years now.

Rae had been through more crap than she could quantify. Had lost more people than she could count. She’d been through the ringer time and time again. She was bitter and cynical and far too comfortable with pulling a trigger no matter what she was aiming at. She’d been damaged for a while and now she finds herself broken. But she wasn’t so jaded that she didn’t want to be fixed.

For some time she thought it’d be Dean. She thought he’d be able to make sense of her the way no one else could. The way she barely managed to most of the time. She thought he’d get it, whatever it was. Maybe she thought he’d get her.

Dean couldn’t be the one to put her back together, though, because he’d been busy keeping the world from falling apart. Stopping one apocalypse after another with little more than sheer will and a metaphorical roll of duct tape.

No, Dean couldn’t save her, not with the baggage he’d been carrying around his whole life on top of the weight of humanity. She couldn’t expect him to take on her own lacerations. She couldn’t ask him to heal her.

“Yeah, okay,” Dean accepted and then he was the one who didn’t want to look at her.

It wouldn’t have mattered. Even if Dean allowed his eyes to drift to her, even if he looked, he wouldn’t see. He never had so far. Rae was able to read his wounds like a map, but he rarely glanced at hers. Too often he saw a reflection of himself in them so maybe he didn’t want to see. Rae wouldn’t hold it against him, she barely wanted to. He was never very good at seeing her scar tissue, loud and angry and jarringly red as they were.

It’s only when Rae turned to walk off, once there was no risk of her whiskey eyes meeting his, that Dean looked up. He watched her disappear into her vehicle. Watched the car disappear down the road. Then he disappeared himself, back inside the bunker. A fortress that has done nothing to protect him from this ache settling into his bones like it planned to stick around for a long while.

  Scar tissue that I wish you saw Sarcastic mister know it all Close your eyes and I'll kiss you 'cause With the birds I'll share With the birds I'll share This lonely view With the birds I'll share This lonely view…

 Dean walked into the bar, the one near enough to the bunker that some of the staff recognised him as a regular, and spotted her immediately. Rae.

“Hey,” he greeted, taking the seat beside her.

Rae offered him a sad smile. “How’d you know I was here?”

“I didn’t. Not for sure anyway. I was heading to Missouri, I thought you’d drive straight to St-Louis for the ice cream waffles you like.”

Rae’s smile was less sad, then. “That was the plan.”

“Then, I saw the bar.”

“I needed a drink,” she confirmed.

“I know.”

The bartender came over. She asked Dean if he’d like the usual, and topped Rae off.

“I need a drink too,” Dean said after the bartender left.

Rae nodded. No surprise there. They were both heavy-handed when it came to booze.

“I don’t want you to leave,” Dean said, his voice ringing painfully honest. Enough that it made Rae uncomfortable. She could almost always tell what Dean was thinking but that didn’t mean she was used to him voicing his thoughts.

“Me neither,” she admitted.

“So stay.” Dean didn’t think it needed to be more complicated than that. They’ll figure the rest out. They have so far.

“You think what we want is all that matters?” She leveled him with a look that wasn’t as reprimanding as her words suggested. It was an honest question. Does Dean think wanting things to work out will be enough?

“No.” He paused. “But I think it’s what matters the most.”

Rae mulled his words over, taking a sip from her whiskey. “We fight all the time.”

“We’ve made it this far.”

“Fighting all the time.”

“Come on Rae, fighting is in our nature. We always make up. Today… Today’s a fluke.”

Rae peered at him with intent. “I can’t tell if you believe what you’re saying.”

Dean laughed a little, shaking his head and wondering how in the world he stumbled on this chick who thinks she’s a human lie detector. She sort of is, but that’s not the point.

“I think I want to be with someone that changes my nature.”

Dean’s laughter cut off and his eyes widened. He knew he wasn’t exactly what you would call a catch, that he didn’t deserve Rae, that she could do better, but he thought he was enough. “The way you are is what’s kept you alive.” There was a little bite in his words but mostly they were desperate.

It was Rae who shook her head this time. “I don’t want to be someone who shouts all the time, Dean. I hate that I don’t feel guilty about the things I say to you until after the dust has settled. It’s not normal that we’d rather cuss each other out instead of talking things through.”

“We’re not normal, Rae. C’mon, I don’t want to be a dick here but we’re never going to have that sort of… we can’t be together like civilians can- I’m-” Dean stopped himself. How was he supposed to say they can’t have sanity, not really, not ever.

“I know,” she sighed. Of course Rae understood him, she always did. “But it’s what I want and that’s what matter most, right? That’s what you said.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” They were quiet for a moment, then Dean spoke again. “So we’ll try harder. I’ll try harder.” Dean still didn’t think it had to be more complicated than that.

Their eyes locked and it was whiskey meeting spring.

“There’s nothing else out there for me, Rae.” No one else.

“There could be.”

“If there is, I don’t want it. Come home. I’ll give you everything I can. Please, come home.”

Dean stood and asked for her hand by offering his. Rae stared at it for a long while.

“Rae?” Dean tried to hide his nerves, despite knowing it was pointless. She’d always see them.

When was the last time she heard him say her name? She wasn’t sure. Probably when he yelled it earlier that evening. She remembered the first time he spoke it, though. The first time he formed it with his lips and tongue making it sound like it was meant to be heard. Like everyone until then hadn’t known how to pronounce it just right.

She remembered hoping against all odds that she’d get to hear him say it again as she left that bar years ago.

This time, as she took his hand in hers, she chose that she would. She didn’t know for how long, but she and Dean were always good at fighting, so they could probably beat the odds.

Read it on ao3

Tag thing: @impandagrl @hannahindie @trexrambling