#where’s my anti possession sigil tattoo?

[dianawinchester03]

Accidentally threw salt on the ground while cooking….does that make me a hunter now? XD (the spn brain rot is real)

[aylacavebear]

She Thought She was Normal

Story Summary: Maria really thought she was normal, for most of her life. It was normal for people to have natural talent, she would tell herself the older she got. Many things came easy for her, and that was probably how their rivalry began when she was five and he was seven and she met the Winchesters. Little did either of them know that it wouldn't stay like that forever, both having a far larger destiny than they could imagine

Word Count: 3902

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will eventually be 18+!

Warnings: Mention of Sex, some angst, And the slow burn begins.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 14

Bobby had packed up quicker than what the original plan was and showed up at the bunker two days later. Maria and Jess helped him bring everything in. God her uncle had a lot of books and none of the boxes were light.

He picked a room not too far down the hall from Maria’s and that was where a third of his boxes were taken. That would at least allow him to go through them and figure out what he wanted to do with them all. The other two-thirds of his boxes were stacked neatly in the library.

“Boys not back yet?” Bobby asked once all his stuff was inside.

“They should be here tomorrow,” Jess told him when Maria joined them in the library.

“Have you heard from John yet?” he asked Maria.

She sighed and shook her head, “No, and neither have the boys, at least not as of their call yesterday.”

He sighed and looked around the library, “I left him a message too. That man is stubborn as hell.”

“Well, no one gave him any real details so he couldn’t just run off on his own,” Maria told him.

“He’ll show up, eventually,” Bobby replied with a chuckle.

“Oh, we’re all getting tattoos and no one is arguing with me on this one,” Maria told the two of them.

“Excuse me?” Bobby retorted, not liking being told he was getting a tattoo, even from his niece.

“I came across it in one of the books on demons,” she began as she moved the books around on the table, looking for one in specific, “It’s an anti-possession sigil, and we all need one.”

It took her a moment to not only find the book but also the page the information was on, then showed it to her uncle as Jess looked over his shoulder, “So yeah, tattoos,” Maria said proudly, not giving them a chance to argue.

Bobby groaned as he read the information. The girl was good at finding things, although he wasn’t keen on the idea of a tattoo. Jess thought that the tattoo idea could be fun, and it was a nice image. It could have looked a lot worse and she knew it, as she’d read a lot in the last couple of days.

“You told the boys yet?” Bobby asked after handing the book back to her.

“Nope,” she replied, popping the ‘p’, “Figured I’d surprise ‘em.” she finished with a smirk.

That had at least made Bobby smile as he imagined their faces, “Have you found a way to deal with Azazel?” he finally asked them.

Maria frowned, as did Jess, “No, not yet, but now that you’re here, another set of eyes to help is always a good thing,” she ended with a small smile, not wanting to sound hopeful.

The three of them read through books and files before Maria got up around four to go make dinner, needing to give her eyes a rest but too ansty to sit down anywhere. Her mind was also too full to focus on anything else. She was still trying to figure out how to approach Dean when he got back, as she never forgot the bet between her and Jess. 

She made a simple dinner, burgers, and fries, and even cleaned up afterward. She felt burnt out on research and needed a change of scenery but hadn’t felt the desire to go anywhere either. So, after dinner, she just bid them good night and went to her room. Maria plopped down on her bed and stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t long before a light blue and white glow from her top dresser drawer caught her attention.

“I don’t want more dreams,” she groaned as she covered her eyes with her arm.

The light from the book pulsed and she groaned again, like a child putting off a chore before she finally got up and opened the drawer, “Fine. I guess I can’t put it off much longer,” she sighed as she pulled the book out of its box.

The glow went away when she touched it. With everything that had been going on, she hadn’t wanted to add more to her plate but apparently, the book had other ideas. So now she was leaning against her headboard, rereading the chapter on Zamariel, for the fourth time. She had read it three times when she’d first discovered the book back at her Uncle’s, fourteen years ago. That thought made her pause and look up. Had it really been that long already, she thought to herself and shook her head a bit.

She still wasn’t aware the book was written in Enochian. It just looked like normal words to her. Maria read long into the night, far more information than she could absorb in one sitting or one read-through. Around midnight she finally put the book down on her night table before rubbing her eyes.

“Damn,” she sighed as she looked at her clock, twelve thirteen, “Guess time flies when you’re into something.”

When she clicked off her lamp and curled up in bed, she prayed that the dreams wouldn’t come, even though she knew they would. She already felt so overwhelmed with everything else that was going on, she thought that perhaps this would push her back toward whiskey if it was too much, feeling as though she was at a breaking point with her waking world. She even fought sleep for almost another hour before it overtook her.

She was at that lakeshore again with the forest around it and the snow-tipped mountains in the distance. There was a slight amount of cloud cover but it only added to the beauty.  “Are you ready?” a female voice from behind her asked. Maria turned around, more curious than anything. No one had spoken directly to her in her dreams before, “Ready for what?” she asked, taking in the woman’s appearance. Long, dark brown hair, brown eyes, and an average physique, and she was a few inches shorter than Maria, dressed in similar clothes. “Ready to take the next step in unlocking your potential,” the woman told her, in a fairly level tone. She wasn’t quite sure what to think of this and had more questions now, “What if I said I wasn’t?” Maria asked, carefully. “Then things will continue as they have been and you won’t remember this dream,” the woman explained plainly. Maria turned away from the woman and sat down on one of the large rocks near the lakeshore, thinking, “What if I said I was ready but wanted to go slowly?” she asked. The woman moved over, closer to her, “Then it would go slowly, at your own pace. The learning would take place at night, in your dreams instead of in your waking world. So it really is up to you,” the woman said calmly. “Why do I feel like somehow the weight of the world rests on my shoulders?” Maria practically mumbled. “I’m surprised you don’t have more questions,” the woman said. “I have a ton of questions. I just don’t know if I want the answers,” she replied, sighing. Maria felt like she sat on that rock and thought about everything for hours but the time of day never changed, “Can you give me a week, to really think about this?” she finally asked. “Yes. Just read the book again when you are ready and I’ll be here,” the woman told her.

She woke up sighing, lying on her back, “I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” she whispered into the darkness of her room before she glanced at the clock, “Six thirty,” she chuckled without humor.

Maria climbed out of bed and got dressed. She wasn’t feeling in the mood to deal with anyone but she wanted coffee, so headed out to the war room, glancing in the library before making her way into the kitchen. Bobby and Jess were sitting at the kitchen table.

“Mornin’ kiddo,” Bobby told her, sipping his coffee.

“Morning guys,” she replied, sounding distant.

“You sleep okay?” he asked, a little concerned.

“I guess it could have been worse,” she chuckled without humor.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jess asked her.

“Not really. Not right now at least,” she replied, giving them both a soft smile before she sat down with them, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Journalling might help,” Jess suggested.

Maria thought about that while she sipped her coffee. When it came to certain cases it did help to sometimes write out the patterns to make it easier to figure out, “Thanks Jess. I might just give that a shot,” she finally told her, smiling a little.

Jess felt good that she was able to suggest something that might be able to help her. The three had idle chit-chat for another hour before Maria headed to her room, wondering if she had anything that might resemble a pad of paper she could use as a journal. She wasn’t ready to talk to her Uncle about it either, even if her father had said he knew. Bobby and Jess had gone back to research, mostly waiting for the boys to show up with Sam and Jess’s stuff.

She found a pad of paper in the desk drawer, thinking she must have put it there the night when she had unpacked her things. Once she grabbed it and a pen, she sat down on her bed, leaning against the headboard. Her knees were up and the pad was leaning against her legs, but every time she went to write something, it was like her mind went completely blank and it was annoying the hell out of her. 

Hours passed and she still hadn’t written anything. It was like all her thoughts kept jumbling around in her mind, or at least that was what she was telling herself. She hadn’t even heard the guys come in, nor the sounds of them moving things down the hall to the room Jess and Sam had picked. It wasn’t until Dean opened her door and stuck his head in that she found out.

“You gonna help or just sit in here and let us do all the work,” he asked her, in a teasing way, with that damned smirk again.

“What happened to knocking?” she told him through her annoyance as she glared at him.

“Uh, forgot,” he said quickly, just smiling.

“Sure ya did,” she mumbled before she got up to help, pushing him out of the way.

“Rude,” he told her, rubbing his chest a little where she had pushed against him with her hand, using most of her body weight.

“At least I didn’t hit you,” she told him without looking over her shoulder as she walked toward the garage.

Apparently, they’d gotten a small U-Haul for the things they had wanted to keep since the space in the Impala was limited. Sam and Jess had talked a lot about what they wanted to keep and what wasn’t important to either of them. Now, everything they owned lay inside that U-Haul. Maria hugged Sam when she saw him, which instantly annoyed Dean, as she had shoved him. Then she helped them unload everything, taking most of it to their room. The two of them even had a mostly private bathroom with as far back a room as they had picked. This way Jess would have somewhere to keep her makeup and all that girly stuff Maria wasn’t interested in, nor would she have to even look at it.

They all ate after the U-Haul was unpacked. As they were sitting around the table, Maria spoke up, “So, everyone is getting a tattoo as soon as John gets here,” she said nonchalantly, but seriously.

Dean almost choked on his beer, which made Maria chuckle a little, even if she didn’t look over at him, “Excuse me?” he asked in utter disbelief.

“It’s an anti-possession tattoo, and everyone, including Uncle Bobby and John, are getting one,” she said confidently.

“Don’t try to argue with her boy, she showed me what it does. She knows her shit and this will keep all of us safe,” Bobby pipped in, backing her up.

“I already decided where I’m getting mine,” Jess said, giving Sam a very flirtatious look.

“Oh yeah?” Sam asked her, raising an eyebrow and smirking, “Where’s that?”

Jess leaned over and whispered something in Sam’s ear, which made him blush, deeply. Maria chuckled as she looked back down at her plate and Dean smirked, but he was looking at Maria, again putting on that cool guy front. There was a little more laughter before Bobby headed out and back to the library. They were still trying to figure out how to kill Azazel after all. 

“Come on, I’ll show you the sigil,” Jess told Sam as she got up and took his hand, attempting to get him to follow her. She also gave Maria a knowing look, which only made her roll her eyes.

Sam got up, smiling from ear to ear as he let her lead him into the library. Maria sighed and started cleaning up. She still hadn’t figured out how to ask Dean if he was interested in her without being blunt about it. Dean leaned back in his chair and just watched her move around the kitchen for a while.

“So, are you interested in me or something?” she finally just asked him as she washed the dishes.

Dean’s face went from smiling to shock before back to that cool guy facade again, “You’re hot, why wouldn’t I be,” he said cockily, with a smirk.

She wasn’t sure why but his words didn’t make her feel better, and in fact, only saddened her, “Let’s get one thing straight. I’m not interested,” she told him, almost coldly.

He was glad she wasn’t looking at him as his jaw clenched before he left the kitchen, both hurt and feeling rejected. He had been trying to compliment her, not realizing that was probably the worst way to tell her he liked her. Dean didn’t say anything to the three in the library, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and finding a room much further away than hers to go drink alone.

Maria leaned on the counter in the kitchen once he left, feeling hurt that all he seemed to want or be interested in was her looks. She felt a hand on her shoulder and spun around quickly, only to find Jess standing there.

Jess saw the hurt in her eyes, “What happened?” she asked.

“Looks like you’ve got chores for the next week,” Maria said quietly, not even able to manage a smile.

“Wait? What happened?” she asked again, not fully understanding.

“I asked him and he’s interested all right, in my looks, not me. So, guess we were both right. I’ll split the chores with you or we can just call off the bet,” Maria told her, feeling a pull toward drinking again.

Jess felt bad for even having brought it up now. She had been sure she’d caught Dean daydreaming about her, at least that had been the look on his face. It didn’t seem to be that of a guy only interested in sex. She’d been around enough college guys to tell the difference. Jess grabbed a beer for her out of the fridge and popped the top before she handed it to her.

“We can call it off, the bet. I’m really sorry I was wrong,” Jess told her softly before heading back into the library, not giving her a chance to reply.

For a moment Maria just stared at the beer Jess had handed to her before she set it on the counter, knowing there was no real relief at the bottom of that bottle. She sighed before she went back to the dishes, deciding to deal with her emotions later, when she was alone. Maria wasn’t in a hurry as she took care of the dishes and then cleaned up the rest of the kitchen. No one came to bother her though. She even dumped the beer down the drain before she threw away the empty bottle. She headed straight to her room though, not wanting to be around anyone.

Since she’d gone through her detox and her grief at Sam and Jess’s at the beginning of the year, she felt things again. These were things that had started when she was fourteen and Dean had told her that she was acting like Sam, things she’d buried back with her grief. Now though, those emotions were coursing through her again and she wasn’t entirely sure what they were or how to fully deal with them.

“Somebody want to tell me what the hell just happened?” Bobby asked Sam and Jess, keeping his voice quiet, but needing information.

Jess sighed as she looked over at him, “I was so sure that Dean actually liked her that we made a bet. Well, I was wrong. He just likes her for her looks,” she replied, still feeling bad.

“What was said, exactly?” Sam asked, curious more than anything, as he had thought the same thing.

“She said that Dean said he was interested in her looks,” Jess answered, looking up at him.

Sam furrowed his brow, as that hadn’t helped at all, “Maybe I should go talk to him.”

Bobby was wondering what exactly had been said as well. He remembered the looks that not only he saw, but that John and William had seen when Dean was sixteen. He also knew that sometimes those kinds of crushes died over time so decided that he’d keep his eye on Dean, feeling protective of his niece.

Dean had been sitting in that room for at least a half hour at this point, drinking and thinking, two bad combinations for him when he felt the way he did. He still couldn’t figure out what he’d done or said wrong. In the past, he always had lots of luck with the ladies. He was smooth, charming, and could make women melt with that smirk of his. But Maria was a completely different sort of girl. He had known this but all women liked compliments, didn’t they? Something Dean wasn’t so good at was words outside of compliments on physical beauty. He had no idea how to tell Maria that he thought she was funny, confident, an amazing hunter, sweet, could cook like a chef, and had had his heart since he was sixteen when he’d seen her that Thanksgiving morning when she pulled the pies out of the oven.

“Dude, you awake?” he heard from the other side of the door.

How Sam had figured out which room he was in puzzled him, “Yeah, go away,” Dean told him.

“Dean…” Sam said, a concern in his tone.

“I said go away,” Dean repeated, a bit more sternly, not wanting to deal with his brother, again. He’d had enough of it on the drive to Cali and back and didn’t want to hear another word.

Sam stood out there for a moment, debating pushing the topic before he finally opened the door and went inside, “What happened?” he asked, closing the door behind him.

“Well, I was right and you were wrong, let’s leave it at that,” Dean said, not looking up at his brother before he took another drink of the whiskey.

“What’d you say to her?” Sam asked, concerned, but still gentle.

“I told her that I was interested 'cause she was hot,” Dean found himself just blurting out.

Sam closed his eyes and turned his head toward the ceiling, letting out a small breath, it all made sense, “You really are clueless, aren’t you,” he chuckled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dean asked, almost glaring at his brother.

Sam was doing his best not to laugh at his brother when he looked back over at him, “She’s not some waitress at a bar or some chick you’re picking up for a one-night stand. When was the last time you ever saw her give two shits about her looks? She’s a hunter Dean.”

Dean just rolled his eyes and Sam shook his head before he left his brother to his thoughts and whiskey. When Sam sat down in the chair next to Jess, she and Bobby looked over at him, curious, “What happened?” she asked.

“Let’s just say, Dean’s an idiot.” Sam chuckled.

“Well, I could have told you that,” Bobby almost scoffed.

“He likes her, he just has no clue how to tell her. Those two are gonna have to figure it out on their own,” Sam explained, “They’re both stubborn.”

Bobby knew that firsthand, Maria was his niece after all, and Dean was like a son to him. Jess also understood how that worked. They couldn’t push the two of them toward each other or get either of them to listen to reason.

Maria sat on her bed, leaning against the headboard, her arms resting on her knees as she stared at the ceiling. Jerk, she thought to herself. Being alone in her room wasn’t helping so she got up and headed down to the gym, needing to hit something and get out the anger that had surfaced. She passed Sam in the hallway. He looked as though he was headed to either his room or Dean’s, whichever one that was for the night, but she didn’t ask. Bobby and Jess watched her walk by, through the war room, before she disappeared down the other hallway.

She found the punching bag first, not even taping up her hands, wanting to feel every blow, picturing Dean’s smug, smirking face. At first, there was no pain as she got used to the feel of the bag. Then, she put more force into it, as if she was aiming for the wall on the other side of the room. Before she knew it, she was breathing heavily, her muscles tense and burning, and her knuckles were bruised before she sank to the floor. That was when the tears came. There weren’t many but she let them fall, still refusing to admit that she even liked Dean, or wanted to. When the tears stopped, she stood up and decided she wouldn’t hate him, but she wasn’t about to like him either. She’d go back to him being her rival, like when they were younger. 

Her body was sore as she made her way back through the bunker to her room, gathering a change of clothes before heading to the shower. The hot water would feel good on her muscles and help wash away the rest of what she was feeling, relaxing her. She locked the bathroom door and just stood under the hot flow of water for a while, letting it all go. Afterward, she did feel better and was even smiling a bit as she made her way back to the library. She sat down in the seat she’d sat in earlier that day. Bobby raised an eyebrow, watching her.

“You good?” Sam asked her.

“Yup. I’m good,” she replied, lightheartedly as she opened the book she’d been reading.

The three were a little confused but dropped the subject. Dean still hadn’t come out of the room he was in, even after he finished his bottle of whiskey.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 15

Tag List: @deans-spinster-witch @kazsrm67

Link to the master list for this story.

[huntresscaraquinn]

“No one would,” Cara replied, “There isn’t exactly a department of the medical care system devoted to the effects supernatural creatures have on humans.” Not that she would get within ten feet of any medical facility in general, but that was a different story. “But even if there was, I would be wary of it. If a doctor did find something odd, how would you not end up a lab rat, stuck on lockdown while they studied you? Or what if the results ended up getting out? We do our jobs under the radar for a reason, to keep the general public from panicking. We can’t risk that anonymity, that protection that they don’t even know we provide.” He then asked if she was part demon, saying that it would be all right if she was, but that it would be a lot for him to wrap his head around, which had her shaking hers, “I’m not part demon. The signs and sigils I use would alert me to that, and - I don’t know, my anti-possession tattoo would revolt against my body in some way I’m assuming. Besides, there’s a... process when it comes to becoming a demon, and I haven’t gone through it.” As for him not wanting to be a test subject anymore, not wanting to be stuck in a lab, she nodded in agreement, “I think we both have a lot of ‘waiting and seeing’ in our futures, but that seems to be our only option. And I know, but it never hurts to hear you say it.”

“It already has,” Cara assured him. “I’ve allowed you to see both my literal and metaphorical scars. When I lost my ability to compartmentalize everything, I could’ve made you leave. Hidden myself away. But I didn’t. And now look at us, we’re setting up a home together. I’m not saying there won’t be more instances in the future where I’ll have to deal with revealing my past in my own way, and in my own time. Just like I still have to deal with comprehending you - us, and everything that you give to me. But I think we’ve made a lot of progress.” As for his comment about her being the first person on his suspect list when if his coffee went missing, she instantly shot back, “I have an alibi.”

He was close to agreeing, to saying yes, of course she had been changed, but he had misunderstood her point. @huntresscaraquinn was talking on a genetic level, and that so so far outside of his wheelhouse that he couldn't begin to speculate. "That...isn't something I know anything about." It wasn't lamenting, but just a fact. "But...I mean, like what? You're part demon now?" He shouldn't laugh it off, he supposed, after the things he'd seen with her, but it was still difficult for him to wrap his head around it all being real. "I don't know. I really don't. And I don't mean to belittle it, but...I guess I'll be honest. The whole thing is still hard for me to get. I mean, if you tell me you're part demon, then that's fine, but I don't...for everything I've seen, that's a lot harder to get into my head." Then he sighed softly, and he shook his head. "I don't want to be tested on anymore. I'd rather just...wait and see." He'd spent far too much time as a labrat for his taste, and it wasn't a role he was interested in continuing. She thanked him, then, and then spoke about Steve, which meant that it was his turn to thank her before adding, "The same goes for you, okay? Any time."

"I get it," he said. "I do. And you don't have to force yourself into anything. It's hard to change that sort of thing. I know it is. So you can take all the time you need. Maybe it won't ever change, but I'll still be here." That much he could promise her. Come hell--literally, he supposed--or high water, he would be there until the day came that he couldn't be. All of which only aided to help support what she said. He wasn't pushing her, and he knew she wouldn't push him. Which was why they were able to talk about coffee at the same time as the rest of it. "Do you think you wouldn't be first on my suspect list?

[luxshine]

So I restarted rewatching the series from season 1 to finish that damn meta (And some fics, and write more about dubbing since hey, why not. I’m back. The Empty dragged me into SPN again, and I can’t deny I love you all and most of the SPN characters so... yeah, the end is not the end, or as good ol’ Yogi Berra used to say “This ain’t over until it’s over”) and I realized something that should’ve warned us of the writing on the wall, re: Dean’s fate.

And it’s the jewerly he used to wear. 

I don’t mean just the Leash (my nickname to the “Sammulet”), but every single piece of jewelry he used to wear. Remember those? He had a tungsten ring that many people thought may be Mary’s wedding ring, and a bead bracelet with some skulls, and two elephant hair bracelets. Later, after season four, he added Mary’s hunter charm bracelet. 

And then... they were all gone.

I mean, we KNOW Jensen hated the Leash, as he broke a tooth with it once, and to be honest, once it became The Leash, good riddance. But... what happened to everything else? Was it forgotten like how the make up team forgot once to apply the hand print and thus the handprint was lost? Was it deemed too “unmanly” once the Bi Dean theories became more known? 

What happened to that jewelry is interesting, but not as interesting as HOW that jewelry came to be on Dean.

Because see, usually, everything that a character wears is decided by the costume department. They decide on the personality of the characters, and there we go. But the jewelry wasn’t in Dean’s original design. As far as an interview with Jensen tells it, he thought that a supernatural hunter SHOULD wear protective charms and silver rings and stuff like that so someone handed him a box of props from who knows where, and he CHOOSE the stuff Jensen was wearing to make him more real. 

Boy, did that work. 

And consider this was BEFORE Demons were added, BEFORE we knew of possessions and the anti-demon tattoos, and all the sigils. When Kirkpe was talking about his “backroads working class” and “one horror movie a week” and of course, super special Sam’s hero road... Jensen was thinking about how a real hunter would dress, act, react.  He took that script and made Dean his.

But the writers? Didn’t care. In fact, they cared so little that the ONE time his jewelry got mentioned it was to make it a super special re-gift from Sam. (Before it became the useless God-finding thingie, before it got lost, before it became again the God-finding thingie). Because nope, Jensen and Dean couldn’t have ONE thing that was theirs and theirs alone. It had to be related to Sam somewhat.

Are we REALLY that suprised that 15 years later, writers were still playing favorites and gave Dean such a rotten ending?

[wafflewarriors]

A Rewrite of History

Chapter 9—Hook Man

You woke up on a bed.

You hadn’t slept on a bed in months. And it was like a cloud. It had a soft but firm pillow and a heavy comforter, and if it had been your choice, you would have never left.

But like a sunbathing cat, you were always listening. A familiar flap of wings was brought to your attention and your heart sank. Angels. Of course—it had to be angels.

A deep voice broke your comfortable silence: "We know you're awake. Don't waste our time further."

You lifted your head to meet eyes with the pair gazing back at you. Muriel and Castiel. You sighed, almost wishing it was the Winchesters instead; at least they didn't talk riddles.

You propped yourself up, then realized your arm was back to its full range of motion. No sling. "You healed me." Same deal with your hand burn and some other little scars.

"Yes. You had severe malnutrition to the point of shutting down."

"Oh. I meant the bum arm, but... yeah, thanks for that, too."

"You need to be at your best for your next job," Castiel said.

"Excuse me, my next… job? And what would that be?" you looked between them. Something told you it wouldn’t be good.

Muriel offered the fakest smile you’d ever seen in your life. And that was saying something, considering the last few months. “We want you to kill Miss Lori Sorensen.”

“You… you mean for the hookman case? But… that’s not necessary. All I have to do is melt her necklace down,” you told them.

Their silence suggested they already knew that.

You squinted. “You can’t seriously be…” you tried to catch Castiel’s eyes, since he was more considerate, but he refused to meet your gaze. “That’s murder!”

“She is killing people.”

“No. Wrong. The hookman is killing people. The necklace is… she doesn't even know what she's doing! Cas, don’t tell me you’re actually condoning this?!”

Muriel turned calmly to Castiel, monitoring his reaction.

And there, you got a glimpse of just how long they’d really been brainwashing Castiel. Heaven must really be leashing him. He was as still as a statue; so motionless it gave you chills. Not even his trenchcoat dared to tremble. “It is His command,” was all he said.

Your eyes widened. Castiel still thought his orders were coming from God. As much as you wanted to tell him now, Muriel would certainly keep that from happening. No, you would keep this to yourself until Castiel was alone.

Trying to reflect Castiel's stoicism, you cleared your throat. "Right," you said sourly. "So, why the change? Why is… He… so eager to change the game? What makes this different?"

Muriel's eyes narrowed. "The Winchesters failed to bring the apocalypse the first time. It forced His hand."

You scoffed. "Forced God's hand? Now that is something." So it was true. The angels and demons really were changing the rules—and writing their own. "Or… you're trying to separate me from the Winchesters. That's it, isn't it? You want them to hate me." 

As you unwound the truth, Muriel became more impatient. "I've had enough of your stalling. Do you understand your role or not?"

You held his gaze, reluctant but determined not to look weak. "Sure." Which really meant: we'll see.

"Good. I hope you mean what you say. Otherwise, you'll be forcing my hand," Muriel hummed.

Was that a threat? "On who? On me?"

"On you. On your friend. On your family," he said. His eyes were glowing. "On whomever I need."

You stared at him, processing this. On whomever I need.

Castiel finally spoke, almost like an automated voice, "Consider this room a gift. Checkout is at twelve. Your car is parked outside." And both angels disappeared before your eyes.

You turned to look at the clock, which read '11:58 AM'. You sighed. Of course it was. You couldn't ever enjoy anything.

You dragged yourself out of bed, already missing it's comfort, and grabbed your bag off of the table. "Time to go," you muttered.

To be honest, you were probably lucky Muriel didn't dump you in the middle of a corn field. He'd been giving you the stink eye since he first laid eyes on you.

You wondered briefly if Castiel had proposed the hotel room. Muriel certainly thought nothing of you; you were nothing more than some gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe.

Even if they had him tethered like a dog, the thought of Castiel trying to help you out in little ways was... comforting.

There was a map in the hotel lobby, which you pondered over. You were in Ankeny, Iowa. And you needed to get to the church.

The car drive there wasn’t anything like the Winchesters. There were no long talks, no discussing cases, no brotherly moments—just a solemn, smooth drive to drown in your thoughts.

The question remained:

Were you a killer?

///

When you got to the church, you had decided.

You were a killer.

After all, who else should shoulder the deaths of Will, Jessica, and Bill? Your inaction made you just as guilty. You knew what would happen, yet you still failed. And here, you would fail Lori too.

You had failed the Winchesters.

You don't know what you had expected of yourself, but you certainly weren't a hero. This was the real world, where the choices weren't always black and white.

You found Lori sitting by her lonesome, probably wondering if she had killed the people around her. 'Avenging' angels, you remembered her saying. She thought the hookman was an avenging angel.

She didn't really know how right she was. Just… not in the way she might have imagined it.

She heard you and turned, looking to see her visitor, but was startled by the gun in your hands. "What—what's going on—"

"You're killing people," you told her.

"Wh-what? I don't—look, I don't know what you're talking about," she blurted, doe eyes on your gun.

This feels so wrong.

"You wanted your boyfriend punished for ignoring your lack of consent. You wanted your roommate punished. And now? You want your father punished," you said. "Do you see where this is going? Do you see how this ends?" you sneered.

"Please," she cried. "Please, I don't know how to stop it!"

You began to have second thoughts.

You mentally kicked yourself. Do the job already. You don't have the luxury of second thoughts.

Yet, your heart still strained at the thought of killing Lori. She didn't deserve that. She was an innocent girl witnessing a horrible event—just like you.

How the hell did the Winchesters make all these hard choices all the time? Why did you have to decide if the life of your friends and family were more important than another innocent girl? That wasn't fair—to you or them.

And who's to say this wouldn't continue? That the body count wouldn't rack up, that they wouldn't just keep asking for more from you, until you realized you were never the good guy at all?

The weight of the gun was suddenly too heavy. You let your arm fall to your side, shaking your head. "Just give me the necklace," you said stonily.

"So this is a robbery now?!" she yelped, though still fumbling for the silver cross.

"No," you said. "No. I'm… I'm saving you."

As she handed you the necklace, you did not expect the hookman to appear before you, swinging his scythe. You barely had enough time to dodge it.

So this was the thanks you got for saving her.

Just as you were about to bolt, Muriel and Castiel appeared. Castiel beside you, and Muriel beside Lori.

"What's going on?" you demanded.

You dropped the necklace when Castiel grabbed your arm with urgency. "Close your eyes," he said, and covered them with his hand anyway.

Light encompassed the room. You could see it by the red tint behind your eyelids. "No," you said with devastation. "No, you can't—"

You couldn't move away. There was a barrier—like a heavy blanket had been draped around your backside.

Like… Cas had thrown his wings around you.

He released you when the light faded out. You blinked, staring at Lori, who had two smoking holes where her eyes should have been.

"No," you said. "This… this wasn’t supposed to happen."

Castiel's jaw ticked. "If she had not died, you would have been punished."

Punished. Specifically the word punished. You sneered, "You know what? You angels are no better than the hookman." You kicked at the pile of dust near your feet, which used to be the silver necklace. It must have been incinerated in the blast. "Except he had no choice."

You let the silent 'you do' hang.

You could tell Castiel was listening—that you were finally getting the gears to turn in that funny celestial mind of his.

But just as you began to make progress, stupid Muriel had to intervene. "Let us go, Castiel. We have more important things to worry about than a mud monkey's defiance." 

Castiel nodded and flew off a second behind Muriel.

It confirmed one thing, though: you needed to get Castiel alone. You had to convince him to help the Winchesters. And you, for that matter. His trust could be gained, but it would require time, patience, and a dead Muriel. And maybe—just maybe—you could then strike an alliance. 

The first thing you would ask of him would be to get some damn angel sigils on your ribs.

On a similar note, you really should start by getting yourself an anti-possession tattoo. With as many demons as you were going to be facing in the future, you were going to need it. You weren't keen on being one of those thing's meatsuits.

Your thoughts were broken by the church doors being thrown open by Sam Winchester himself. Catching you red handed in an act you were only a witness to. Again.

There was no way to make this look good. Lori was dead—eyes burned out of their sockets—and you were alone with her, unscathed. And it wasn't like you could convince Sam that the hookman had done it; this wasn’t exactly his signature.

You ran for the backdoor, your heart panging in sorrow as you flew by Lori's body. There wasn't even time to let yourself grieve.

Sam was at your heels, but you managed to duck from his reach and throw yourself out the backdoor.

When you made it to your car, you pointed your gun at Sam, who skidded to a stop. "Don't move. Don't try to follow me," you told him. "You saw what happened to Lori." It was an empty threat, but it wasn't like Sam knew that.

His narrow eyes were fixated on you. Then, strangely enough, he backed off.

You turned to enter your car when someone slammed the gun out of your hands and grabbed you from behind. You struggled, but the arms were strong, and you were not.

You'd think after a few months of hunting, you'd have built some muscle, but your diet wasn't doing you much good. If anything, you were weaker. 

"You are quite the escape artist, you know that?" It was Dean. And he didn't sound happy. His arms were tight, like a boa constrictor around your neck. You fidgeted, struggling to breath through his tight grip.

Sam straightened himself and glared at you. "She killed Lori."

You bit back your protests. It's not like they would listen. What's worse: you couldn't really deny it anyway. It was your fault she was dead. It was all your fault.

"Well, that settles it, then. You're not leaving our sight," Dean said as he snapped handcuffs around your wrists. He was rough about it, letting the metal dig into your skin. "We're going to figure out whatever the hell you are…" He brought his face real close, growling into your ear: "And then we're going to kill you."

If only they knew.

///

Tags: @rosaren2498 , @pillowjj , @busy-bee-angel-misska , @elle-r , @dagnylokisdottir , @omg-we-really-doo , @millieccino , @regainedworld , @postcardsfromliterallynowhere , @rycbar-221b (it won’t let me tag you)

[littlepenguin21]

My notes/complaints/hope? on the end of SPN

(This was written the night of November 19th) My list of grievances against the last episode of Supernatural 1. There is absolutely no way on Jack's green earth Sam didn't look for Dean. When Sam got a dog and didn't look for him, Dean was so angry and sad that I refuse to believe Sam wouldn't at least try to bring him back, especially since Sam had no way of knowing a)where Dean went (Dean was even a little surprised to see he was in Heaven), b)about Heaven's reform, or c)whether that was what Dean truly wanted (he's lied before, remember?) It almost makes Sam look like a bad guy who just doesn't care about his brother as much his brother cares about him. I will acknowledge Dean's final wish was to not be brought back, but I still think Sam would've like investigated the afterlives to see where Dean ended up.

2. Cas's sacrifice was completely meaningless. Cas was always happy to bleed for the Winchesters, but his final time hit the hardest because he wanted Dean to lived so much that he admitted to happiness and caused his own death to save Dean. And then Dean dies. Like three weeks later.

3. Dean, the greatest hunter in the world, the man who killed Hitler gets impaled on a piece of metal and thinks, "yeah, this is how I wanna go out." There's no way that that's an outcome that Dean would've accepted so easily. Being killed in a vampire's nest that they already half wiped out. He could've prayed to Jack, or taken his chances getting to a hospital. His death had no purpose, other than to forced Sam to move on without Dean.

4. Why didn't Jack bring Dean back? I get that he wants to be hands-off, but he brought Cas back, and if I know anything about Cas, he wouldn't want Dean dead/separated from Sam. I'm going to choose to believe that Cas, Jack, and Dean sat down together and discussed the pros and cons of bringing Dean back.

5. The dog died. We didn't see it happen, but it did.

6. Only Bobby is seen. If they're in Heaven, and almost everyone (I see you Kevin, living your best afterlife) Dean knew and loved is there, why doesn't he go see them? All the people he couldn't save or that he couldn't say goodbye to, and he just leaves it at that? What about Ellen and Jo, Dean? You're not even going to check on them? Pamela? Jess? No one?

7. Dean rides alone in the car. Even though his best friend, his son (Jack, not Ben or someone), his mom, his other friends, and both his dads are in Heaven (and closeby), why doesn't he take any of them along for the ride? Sam gets to raise a family, but Dean can't have a road trip buddy? Even if the Covid restrictions and stuff didn't allow Misha or Alex or another guest to come back on set, you'd think they could've put a body double for Cas (or whoever) in the seat for a couple of minutes. It just makes Dean's life seem less important than Sam's because Dean has to wait for Sammy, while Sam's free to hang out with others and socialize. Even if time works differently in Heaven or something (like 40 years on earth was only 2 minutes in Heaven), Dean could've found somebody to tag along instead of just being a loner.

8. Sam's wife isn't established to be Eileen. If Sam had like signed to her in ASL or something, or we could've had some clue as to her identity, that would have been wonderful. Instead, she was just a nameless means to an end (getting Dean II).

9. The beginning of the ep establishes that there are very few monster cases. So, does that mean Sam gave up hunting? Apparently not because his son has an anti-possession sigil tattooed on his arm (even though with Rowena in charge, those tattoos are super unnecessary). Sam hunting could've been another moment that would've been okay to see.

10. The ep had a noticeable lack of inside jokes. Normally tuning into a series finale means you're going to hear callbacks to other episodes and be able to reminisce on the past. Besides the pie part, I don't think there was much of that. No jerk, no bitch. Did Bobby even say Idjit?!?!

11. For an episode that supposedly was written to resolve their family arc, the boys were barely together, and their created family was almost nonexistent (other than Bobby and his mentioning of Cas and Jack).

12. The show forced family to end with blood. Dean drove off to wait for his biological brother, while leaving Bobby (and apparently Cas) behind. Sam, on the other hand, marries, has a kid, and lives a full life, but too doesn't have his family network outside of his nuclear family. There are many living friends that Sam has that we don't see him visit because all the time is spent on his raising of his son so that his death can parallel Dean's (someone the care about tells them it's ok).

13. Jared doesn't really look old.

14. During his death, Dean wouldn’t have wanted to Sam to be left alone. They were in a vamp’s nest, and Dean just decides that he’s gonna allow himself to die with no guarantee that Sammy is safe. There’s no way Dean would do this.

15. Gay love didn't pierce through the veil of death and save the day. Instead, Dean died and we all got was a lousy existential crisis. DISCLAIMER: I'm only writing about what happened in the ep, not what could have happened. Like, Sam could've had dinner with Jody and the girls every weekend and Dean could've made out with Cas offscreen, and I would be non the wiser. I'm going off of what I saw and heard in the episode. This was written on the 20th 15. Dean died young.

16. The forehead thing was a little weird, ngl

17. Sam didn’t even try to pray when Dean was dying. Did he believe that Jack just wouldn’t listen? His dad was dying, there’s no way he would’ve left him to die. And Sam would’ve tried anything. Why did he think their (Cas, Dean, and Sam’s) son wouldn’t want to help?

18. Sam burned Dean’s body by himself. No friends.

19. Chuck got to live his life, while Dean didn’t.

Pros, I guess? 1. Sam does get a dog.

2. Dean really wasn't okay. He wasn’t coping well with Cas’s death and Jack’s leaving. That’s the only explanation for why he’d be willing to die. He was depressed, or at least hopeless.

3. They're all together at the end, even thought it isn't shown. And by all, I mean all: Jack, Cas, Bobby, Rufus, hopefully Ellen and Jo...

4. Dean likes Kansas

5. Dean finally got a kid named after him.

6. The Hunter Corp. Sam and Dean are somewhere, living their best lives.

7. The movie is possibly happening in 5 years

[jasontoddiefor]

Title: you gave up half your life Fandom: Supernatural Summary:  When Dean and Cas disappeared, Sam was lost. But in a world that had nearly broken apart so many times, he wasn’t the only one who needed support and guidance. AN: Remember when I ranted about season 7? Yeah good times. Here’s my 10.000 words Salty Post Season 7 Fix-it in which Sam Winchester accidentally starts organizing a bunch of Hunters all while trying to find his brother.

Read on AO3

Sam didn’t remember the first 48 hours after Dean had disappeared. He knew he must have gotten out of the building, away from the Leviathans, the demons and every pretty little hell his mind could have thrown at him, and driven away in the Impala. He had woken up covered in black goo at the side of a road outside of some tiny town he didn’t even know the name of, miles and hours away from where they had stopped the apocalypse 2.0.

Dean was gone.

Sam had to get him back.

The two of them had a pact, of course. If one of them died, the other would continue on with his life. No shady deals, no sacrifices, no years wasted away chasing after the barest whisper of hope.

That pact was lie.

Sam had known as much from the moment he had died for the first time. They had sworn it to assure each other that they weren’t too far gone yet, that they could still be functional members of society that weren’t utterly codependent.

During his time at Stanford, Sam had taken a course on children’s psychology. Siblings that grew up with absent parents tended to cling more to each other. The younger they were, the stronger the bond.

The course had been eye-opening and confronted him with more than just one uncomfortable truth. (Sam had never cried out for their father after a nightmare.) As long as Dean was out there, somewhere, Sam could manage.

But now Dean was gone.

Not dead, not possessed, just gone.

The pact was a lie and Sam was alone.

His next course of action was clear, he knew his mission (had done so once already in a fantasy land created by a cowardly angel): find Dean, consequences be damned.

(He heard Lucifer singing, oh, so sweetly, “This is why you were made for me.” He ignored it.)

X

Sam started to research. He had always liked that part of the job the most. Ever since he could think, he’d been absorbing knowledge. It was the most ordinary, white-picket-fence like part of being a Hunter. When he had been younger, Sam used to pretend that he was preparing for a school project instead of trying to figure out what was going to kill his family if he didn’t do his job correctly.

He began collecting books from all kinds of places. All his Leviathan research was already stored on his laptop and about five different hard drives he carried with him at all times. It was hard to find anything online Sam didn’t already know or the Leviathans hadn’t covered up themselves. The lore on purgatory, which Sam had already gone through, was about as vague and contrasting as possible. According to the Catholic church, it didn’t even exist anymore. At the same time, the older the lore, the more accurate and Dante had written a whole adventure about it. Sam should have asked Cas how reliable Dante's account of hell, purgatory, and heaven was. Sam had only been to two of those realms and his memories of both were hazy. What little the monsters had let slip out about purgatory didn’t help him either.

Sam was looking at a puzzle he didn’t know how to solve, where to start searching. Usually, Dean would throw in some random comment now, sparking a new thought process.

But Sam was alone.

(For now.)

He had to keep looking.

X

After he had gotten back from the Cage, Sam had to stop himself whenever he introduced Dean.

“This is my brother-,” he would say and halt. Dean took over then, playing whatever role he had assumed at the moment.

Sam had been too much of a coward to ask Dean if he knew that it took months for Sam to get it under control, until Adam was no longer the first name on his tongue.

“You’re my brother Adam,” Sam had whispered for a century, wrapped tightly in Grace while sheltering his younger brother.

The least damage to the most innocent of us, three of them had decided down there. The Cage did not provide any space for raging battles or accusations, and it was meant for only one of them. There was companionship to be found in equal suffering.

(Even in the darkest place on Earth, Sam hadn’t been on his own.)

Sam had lost one brother for eternity. He wasn’t going to lose another.

X

Sam had almost forgotten that he had a phone until it rang one day. He had been lying half asleep on the small table of the motel room, which still had two queen-sized beds because Sam hadn’t gotten out of the habit of asking for such yet. Last time, it had taken almost two months. Sam didn’t intend to be separated from his brother long enough to get rid of the habit again.

The ringing of the phone startled him awake. In his disorientation, he knocked his mug, half-filled with cold coffee, off the table.

“Shit,” Sam cursed and threw the nearest piece of fabric he could find over it.

He then rushed over to his bag, searching for his phone.

Please, he thought. I need just this one miracle.

Sam didn’t recognize the number on the phone. Memorizing numbers of hotel rooms, license plates, phones, holes in jeans, and bullets had been one of the first things John Winchester had taught Sam.

After Dean had shown Sam how to read such numbers.

“Hello?” Sam answered the phone. His voice was rough – when had he last talked to someone?

“Sam Winchester?”

Sam’s first reaction was to recoil. He wanted to scream, shout, throw something.

He did neither of those things.

“Kevin? Is that you?”

A sob rang from the other end of the line.

“Oh, God. It really is you. I know I memorized your number correctly, but the tablet messed with my head and I just, I need-“

“Kevin, breathe,” Sam ordered. “Where are you?”

“New York,” Kevin stammered. “State, not city. I managed to escape, but Crowley will know soon because I blew up his demons and I don’t know where to go or what to do-“

“I’ll come get you. Go somewhere safe and ward the room like you’re expecting the devil himself to knock and then call me again.”

He sent a quick and silent prayer to Castiel, the only angel worth praying to left these days despite everything, and began to pack his things. Truth be told, Sam hadn’t really thought about Kevin since that day. Crowley had just grabbed him and vanished, and Dean, always Sam’s priority, had been more important.

Dean would be ashamed Sam had let himself get so absorbed in such a single-minded attitude. This hyper-focusing, while it helped fighting one cause, could get you killed just as quickly. A Hunter couldn’t be entrenched. They had to think quickly and be flexible and open to other ideas. For all that Hunters hated deviating from the norm, if you only knew how to salt-n-burn bones, your third ghost would get you.

Within fifteen minutes, Sam was packed. He loaded his belongings into the Impala and drove off into the direction of New York.

X

Sam found Kevin in an overcrowded motel, hiding out in a wardrobe that was covered in so many sigils, it might as well be drenched in ink. Kevin had picked up on quite a lot of knowledge in the short time he had been exposed to the supernatural. Though, maybe, that also had to do with his status as a prophet of the Lord. Perhaps this knowledge was written into his soul.

When Sam opened the door, Kevin was cradling the demon tablet with one hand and a water bottle with the other.

“Hey, Kev-“

Sam didn’t get much further, as Kevin hit him with a glass full of water.

“I’m not a demon, Kevin,” Sam said slowly. He knew better than to scare the younger man now.

“You could have been possessed!” Kevin insisted, bloodshot eyes wide open with a crazed look.

Sam shook his head and pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck to expose his anti-possession tattoo.

“Not with this. As long as I’ve got this one intact, I’m good.”

Kevin stared at the black ink.

“Is that Hunter standard?” He asked. “And can I get one?”

For the first time in weeks, or so it felt like, Sam managed to twist his face into something resembling a happy expression with the hint of a smile.

“Sure, Kevin. If you’re up for a long drive right now.”

Kevin was tired. It was written all over his face, his posture. He had a haunted look in his eyes, one Sam knew all too well. It was easy to forget that not everyone had been raised in this life like Sam and his brother had. But right now, staring in Kevin's sunken-in face, Sam was reminded of just how much Kevin had had to adapt since he’d woken up as a prophet.

“I need to keep moving,” Kevin insisted, subtly shifting so the tablet was pressing into his body uncomfortably.

“Okay. Then we keep moving.”

Kevin fell asleep in the backseat of the Impala within fifteen minutes, still holding onto the tablet. Once in a while, Sam glanced at Kevin, but he slept peacefully. The past weeks must have been an enormous strain on his body and mind if he rested as well as he did now, with no nightmares haunting him.

(The first few nights after Cas had taken Lucifer from him, Sam had been so out of it as well. He had fallen asleep and just woken up again, not chased by blood, torture, and screams. Nowadays, if he slept, he had night terrors. It almost made him miss Lucifer. Almost.)

Sam wished he could say the same.

X

After a couple days of pretty much non-stop driving, Sam and Kevin arrived in a relatively small town. They got a motel, checked for any signs of demons and promptly warded the room to withstand a minor assault. Then they left the Impala in the parking lot and headed for a diner. Kevin hadn’t eaten properly in days (not that Sam had either, but he also wasn’t recovering from a kidnapping) and needed something nutritious.

“Where are we?” Kevin asked while he was swirling his soup around with his spoon, not eating any of it.

“Nebraska, passed the state lines a couple hours ago.”

Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I can read road signs, Sam. But you were heading to this city specifically – why?”

“There’s a retired Hunter here, or at least, I hope he’s still here. He owns a tattoo shop.”

Kevin stared at him, not giving Sam the impression that he had made the connection. Then again, he’d been so out of it when Sam had picked him up, he might not even remember.

“You wanted to get an anti-possession tattoo,” Sam elaborated.

“Oooh, yeah.” Kevin looked down on his bowl. “I forgot about that. But why here? Couldn’t we have walked to any shop?”

The answer was yes, they could have, but Sam didn’t want to. Marty McKinnons never really left his state for hunting. Sam had met him when he was on his way to Stanford, seven days separated from Dean. Sam may or may not have had a minor breakdown in the passenger seat of Marty’s car while they drove away from a graveyard.

“I only managed seven fucking days of normal before the crazy came back again. What the hell was I thinking?” Sam had said then.

Marty had let Sam crash on his sofa that night and set his head straight again. He had been managing a shop and a band while hunting. “You don’t have to give it all up, kid,” Marty had said. “Or push it all away. If you see a ghost, take care of it or call someone who can. No need to go searching for cases like your daddy. If your neighborhood’s good, so are you.”

And then he had given Sam breakfast and driven him to the bus station.

“We could,” Sam finally replied. “But I’ve wanted to check out who else is still in the game, and if they know what the demons are up to.”

Kevin mustered Sam a little while longer. “Alright.”

He went back to pretending he was actually going to eat more of his soup and Sam picked at his salad.

X

Marty’s shop was crammed into an alley, an off-shoot of the main road. It was still standing. Sam took that as a good sign. Kevin walked slightly behind Sam, staying as close as he possibly could without full-on taking over Sam’s personal space.

Sam opened the door to the shop and the old bell attached to the doorframe rang. Marty had stolen it out of an abandoned church. Sam couldn’t quite recall what monster church bells warded against, but he could remember in perfect detail Marty’s hilarious tale about its acquisition. It had involved neon pink paint and lucky charms and had sounded like something out of a comedy sketch.

“Welcome to Artemis Tattoo’s, what can I do for you?”

Marty looked a little different than Sam recalled. It shouldn’t surprise him, it had been over a decade. The red-haired man was well into his fifties now, and his hair was graying, giving him a silver-fox look.

“Hey, Marty,” Sam greeted lamely. “It’s me, Sam-“

“Sam Winchester?” Marty interrupted him with wide eyes.

He took off his glasses and rubbed them over his black t-shirt before putting them on again.

“Christo, is that really you, kid?”

Sam shrugged helplessly. “Still me, still kicking.”

Compared to Sam, most people were smaller than him. Marty was the only person Sam knew who was taller than him still. When he marched towards you, it was impossible to not feel intimidated. Nobody would expect a man of Marty’s age and built to be as silent and fast as he was, so when he suddenly rushed towards Sam, Sam was caught off-guard. He didn’t even have a chance to act before Marty pulled him close.

He was hugging him, Sam realized belatedly.

“Holy fucking hell, kid,” Marty cursed. “You’re alive. You wouldn’t believe the shit I heard about you Winchesters in the past years. Where’s your brother?”

Sam tensed and Marty slowly let go of him. Marty had started hunting because his older sister had been killed by a witch, Sam remembered.

Sam didn’t have it as bad as him.

“Dean’s- he’s gone.”

(But he would be back.)

“Hell, kid. I’m sorry-“

“He’s not dead,” Sam insisted. Each time he said it out loud, he managed to stand a little bit straighter. “He’s just lost. I’ll find him. But that’s not what I’m here for. Look, this is Kevin.”

Sam stepped aside to let Marty get a good look at Kevin. Kevin waved timidly and nervously took in Marty’s many tattoos. The older man was covered in them from head to toe. Most of them were for the aesthetic, but quite a lot were there because they helped on the job.

Marty specialized in taking down witches, and while you couldn’t protect yourself from all of their spells, there were quite a lot counter measurements one could ink into their skin.

“Kevin’s a prophet. Crowley’s had him for a while-“

“Crowley?”

Right. Sometimes Sam forgot that not everybody dealt with demons on the daily like him.

“Current King of Hell,” Sam continued. “Kevin managed to escape, but we need to get him some extra security.”

Marty nodded slowly and then grinned, warm and toothily like Sam remembered. It was nice to be looked at in kindness for once instead of hatred and fear like most Hunters did nowadays.

“Anti-possession tattoo, you’re thinking?”

“Yes,” Kevin spoke up for the first time since they had entered the shop. “I don’t want one of those bastards in my head. If they know what I know…”

“Could get bad, I got you. Man, am I glad I don’t deal with those sons of a bitch. And you, Sam? Can I get you anything?”

Sam stuck his hand in his jeans pocket and pulled out a paper sheer that used to be white once upon a time.

“Yes, actually,” Sam said. “There is something I want.”

X

In the years Sam and Dean had been hiding from Heaven and Hell, they had learned more about wards than their father had in his entire life. Most of them had to be powered by blood, freshly spilled. A few of them, like the Enochian sigils Castiel had branded onto their ribs, could be applied and would work without a sacrifice, or one that only needed to be paid once.

Sam had never thought about putting anything other than the anti-possession tattoo on his skin (it was too easy to alter wards, to make them turn on the one using them, to have them drain you, they made you recognizable) but the last years had worn him down.

And if anything ever got close enough to him again to manipulate him (wear his body, wrap his soul in sweet lullabies while they tear into his brother’s flesh-), then perhaps Sam deserved it.

He wasn’t young and weak anymore.

(He had pulled Lucifer apart.)

Sam could afford to wear the wards he wanted.

“Are you sure?” Marty asked, studying the paper Sam had handed him. “This is… I don’t even recognize half of this.”

(Nobody would. Something had been meant for Archangel Grace only, but Sam had been there and he had listened. And he remembered.)

Kevin looked over the paper as well, frowning. When he met Sam’s eyes, he was troubled.

“That’s a lot,” Kevin said, something old lingering in his voice.

Maybe being a prophet didn’t just mean that Kevin could read God’s Word.

“I know,” Sam said. “I want it.”

(I consent.)

X

When they separated from Marty, the man pulled both of them into another heartfelt hug. Kevin looked like he was about to break and Sam’s hug was a little awkward as Marty was mindful not to touch Sam’s back.

���Don’t get into any trouble,” Marty said. “You have my phone number. If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Same goes for you, Marty,” Sam replied. “And if anyone wants to get the wards, but has questions about them, they can call me. I can explain.”

Marty smiled warmly and messed up Sam’s long hair. “You’re a good kid. Stay safe.”

X

They drove westward, hitting old libraries and archives, universities and churches. Sam kept learning, kept going. He couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop. He felt a little bit like he was losing his mind.

(Except this was reality.)

Kevin wasn’t any better.

He barely slept. Most of the time, he was staring at the demon tablet, taking notes and trying to make sense of everything written there.

After a month of traveling, Kevin admitted defeat.

“I can’t do this if we keep moving,” he admitted quietly. “I need peace and calm to actually understand what I’m doing here.”

“Okay,” Sam said. He had expected it. “I’ll find a place.”

Some Hunters never traveled far away from their home, others were so lost they drifted until some monster killed them. As much as Sam had detested it, he had been raised on the road. He had studied for his finals lying on the backseat of the Impala. He had gotten a full-ride to Stanford with sticky-notes pinned to the windows.

(Sam wondered what he could have been if he had been able to recover in peace.)

X

Sam left Kevin at an old abandoned church. They set up traps for demons, bought enough non-perishable food to ensure Kevin wouldn’t have to leave the church for a while (until Sam found a better solution) and said their quiet goodbyes.

(“Looks like you’re well and truly on your own.”)

Everybody left.

Sam should be used to it by now.

It didn’t stop him from watching Kevin in the rearview-mirror until the distance ate him up.

X

Dean was gone two months now. Kevin called sometimes, but Sam couldn’t always keep up with his rambles. The Impala was stocked full with books kept in a neat organization system that hadn’t ever made sense to anyone but Dean.

X

Sam hunted a vampire in Colorado.

Then a witch in Utah.

A werewolf in Arizona.

Ghouls, shifters, ghosts, wendigos, rugaru-

And then, blood splattered over his clothes, Sam killed a demon.

Two hunters with twin shocked expressions pointed at Sam, then at the dead body and threw up their arms in defeat, shouting, “You can do that!?”

X

Sam had been avoiding demons to the best of his abilities. He knew they were hunting him and Kevin down, and while at some point he had entertained the thought of using himself as bait to lure them as far away from Kevin as possible, he had settled on trying to stay as far away from them as he could.

Until he couldn’t.

The demon was working on his own and he hadn’t been really all that well-informed or strong. It was easy enough to trap him and get him to break.

Sam hated torture, but not as much as Dean did.

(Because Dean wasn’t just good at it, he was great.)

But he could get a demon to start speaking if he wanted it to. The demon had boasted so proudly about how much he had made the owner of his meatsuit suffer until the soul had died, not knowing that his actions had only made it easier for Sam.

And then, when he had stabbed the knife through the demon’s heart, two college kids broke into the warehouse.

X

They must be siblings, twins maybe even, Sam thought. Both of them had curly dark hair, equally dark skin, and their expressions were too similar for them to not be family.

“You just killed a demon,” the smaller one said. “How do you- what. Just. What?”

Sam’s eyes narrowed.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Dude, who are you? You just offed a demon!”

They couldn’t be older than twenty-five at most, at best if Sam allowed himself to hope. They knew about demons, so they had to be Hunters. Probably not in the business for long if they didn’t know demons could be killed. That was common knowledge amongst the community, or what was left of it. At least Sam thought it was. He and Dean had never really been close to a lot of Hunters because of their reputation.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” he introduced himself.

The eyes of the pair widened.

Not good.

Sam slowly shifted his body into a more versatile position and counted the exits. He would defend himself, no questions asked, but he didn’t want to hurt anyone. If he could get away from the two without the situation escalating into a fight, everything would be alright.

“Sam Winchester,” the taller twin spoke up. “You’re really Sam Winchester?”

And then something curious happened.

The twins dropped their shoulders in pure relief, hope lighting them up like they still had something to believe in that hadn’t been broken by blood and deals.

Well, that was a first.

“Dude,” the smaller one said. “Thank you so much.”

What.

Sam hadn’t said a word, but his confusion must have shown (damn it, he used to be better at acting, at pretending, at reassuring everyone that he was fine) because the kid immediately began to babble.

“You saved us. Just. Thank you. Just, thank you for everything.”

“You are welcome?”

Sam still didn’t know what they were talking about, but he sincerely hoped that he was right in assuming the two of them meant no harm. They put away their guns, practically vibrating with energy.

“I’m sorry, but have we met before?” Sam asked.

“No,” the taller replied. “I’m Gregory Rosswell and this one here next to me is my brother Frederick. Our parents got snatched by Leviathans a couple months back. We’ve been going after them ever since and everything else that came our way.”

Gregory glanced at the dead demon behind Sam. “Mostly ghosts though. Caught one demon, but he almost blew our brains out. Couldn’t chug enough salt and holy water at him fast enough.”

“Yeah,” Fred agreed. “How did you catch one so easily?”

“Devil’s trap,” Sam said.

“Oh.”

The twins shared a look. “Can you teach us how to draw one?”

X

Gregory and Frederick Rosswell were twenty-years-old (too young, children still, they shouldn’t be here) and had both been home from university when their parents had been replaced by Leviathans. When they had tried to do the same to Frederick, Gregory had cut off their heads with a cutlass from their father’s ancient weapons collection.

Sam refrained from asking whether the cutlass hidden beneath the backseat of the twins’ car was the one Gregory had used. They had a fairly impressive collection of knives and swords, but only two small handguns.

“We don’t need those much since we mostly go after Leviathans,” Gregory explained. “Didn’t even know there was more crazy out there until we ran into our first ghost.”

Gregory said it so casually that Sam didn’t know whether to be impressed or shocked. Leviathans weren’t easy to kill, even depowered as they now were, and Hunters, whose introduction to life was so violent, tended to die sooner than later.

When Sam tried to explain that, the Rosswells only looked at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, man. Back up a second. Vampires are real too?”                           

The twins turned to each other, conveying thoughts in half-smiles, a groan and a tap on the shoulder. Then they decided to invite Sam back into their conversation.

“What else is there?” Gregory asked. “And how do we kill it?”

“You don’t have to do this,” Sam said.

They were twenty, they shouldn’t be hunting when they had their whole lives still ahead of them.

(Sam was twenty-nine, was two-hundred-twenty, centuries, ages, older than his brother would ever be.) 

“We know,” Frederick replied. “But we don’t want to stop. We can’t stop.”

Sam had never met a Hunter who could. (Himself included.)

X

Sam had never actually taught someone how to be a Hunter. Frederick and Gregory got the basics done already and research wasn’t unfamiliar to them. Their father had been a policeman, so they knew how law enforcement worked and could pretend to be a part of it well enough. Sam didn’t feel like he was actually teaching them a lot by giving them a list of America’s Top Twenty Monsters and a How To Kill Them All manual.

If he was honest, he thought the twins did most of the work. For the weeks they stuck with him, they asked countless questions, treating him like a tired college professor.

“How much Holy Water can you bless at once?”

A lot, but no, you can’t just bless the ocean. That’s not how it works.

“Wooden stake for tricksters? Where does that even come from?”

Yes, wooden stake. Works if they’re not angels in disguise.

“Angels are real!?”

Yes, and they all suck. Never let one of them possess you. They may need your consent, but it doesn’t need to be an informed or gentle one. You’ll be out of control and feel like you’ve been strapped to a comet. (Like you’re trapped in the softest dream, surrounded by memories of your siblings when they still loved you and the world was whole and untainted.)

“I know Latin and I’d been learning Greek for my bachelor, but how many languages do you need to know?”

A lot.

“Why do you carry so many books around in your car? Wouldn’t it be easier to get a place to store them in?”

“And organize them properly?” Frederick teased.

Sam looked at the backseat of the car and yes, true enough, he had accumulated a small library.

“Oh, shut up, you two,” Sam muttered, and pointedly ignored that one of the stacks of books had fallen over, making the twins grin like idiots.

When they went their separate ways again, Sam was a little more convinced that he wasn’t sending the two of them off to their deaths. And if they ever met anything they didn’t know, they could call him. It was the least he could do.

X

What Sam hadn’t expected when he handed the Rosswells his number, was how often they would call. Sometimes they asked for help regarding hunts, but more often than not, they just asked about him or talked about whatever kind of crazy had happened to them lately. When Sam had started attending Stanford, he’d had to train himself in the delicate art of small talk. While attending school, he’d never connected much with his peers, too aware that he’d soon move away again, and with Dean around, he hadn’t needed to say a single word more than necessary. Even with all their differences, the choices that had made them grow apart, they got each other.

(Except when they didn’t and the world had to pay for it.)

At Stanford, though, Sam learned that small talk wasn’t just something you took part in to stay busy but to build longer-lasting relationships. The years on the road had made his skill rusty, but the Rosswells were doing their best to bring it back.

Sam didn’t know why telling them what he had for dinner was a good topic choice (but it did make him more conscious of the meals he kept skipping) or why he could listen to Gregory talking for a good fifteen minutes about how difficult it was to eat healthy on the road.

He always accepted their calls, never hit decline, even when they called in the middle of the night (Sam wasn’t sleeping anyway).

Marty called a few times too, his latest call informing Sam of his new partner Caitlyn, a young florist, who had set up her shop just a few meters away from him and put all her bouquets in holy water.

“She’s new to all of this. Vamps got her husband last year – that’s why she moved town.”

Kevin checked in less regularly and to even more random times than the twins. After one more erratic call that almost chased Sam halfway across the country, he asked the twins to go check in on Kevin.

At 3 a.m., his phone rang, and Sam got to stare at a picture of three young men, squatting in a confessional box and watching a movie on a laptop. Kevin was smiling tiredly and Frederick’s new scar was healed enough to be exposed.

They were healthy.

(They were alive.)

Sam could keep going.

X

Month four without Dean started by Sam staring at his phone and the many messages he had received in the few hours he had been asleep. Apparently, his friends had decided to team up and create a group chat.

The last dozen messages were everyone trying to make out what the hell Kevin’s sleep-deprived 4 a.m. message had meant while the prophet in question was probably (hopefully) fast asleep for once.

That’s Enochian, Sam typed mindlessly. It means Protection, but specifically referring to a situation in which demons are trying to possess someone who used to be an angel vessel.

Gregory: What?

Frederick: Hi Sam!!!

Marty: how is that ever a likely situation?

Sam grinned. It can also mean Protecting someone who is Loved by God. Angel vessels are precious to them. Ruining them is a severe offense.

Marty: yeah no goodbye I’m out. 

X

Sam met the Hilllains on a ghost hunt. They had three kids, fifteen, twelve and six years old, who all knew how to handle knives and shoot guns and what to do when your mom fell over because she had a vision. The Hillains usually didn’t leave their state since “Raising kids on the road is just irresponsible”.

Susan Hillain-Waterbury was the descendant of a long line of gifted people and Terrence Hillain was a priest turned Hunter after a run-in with a demon. Most of the time, they hunted on the weekends and brought home fast food as a treat on Sunday afternoons.

Sam stayed with them until Monday evening because Susan insisted on making her world-famous lasagna for him as a thank you.

X

Four months and two weeks into his search and Sam had stopped asking for a room with two beds. When he realized that, he abandoned most of his weapons except the knife and headed for the nearest bar. People made space for him when he walked past them, and he didn’t think it was just because of his height.

The bartender took one look at him and filled a crystal clear glass with something that smelled so strong it burned in Sam’s nose.

“First one’s on the house,” she said.

“Thank you,” Sam muttered and downed the drink in one go.

(“Free booze! Awesome. C’mon, Sammy. Smile at her! See if you can get a second!”)

“Just keep them going, please.”

Alcohol couldn’t properly knock Sam out anymore. He hadn’t tried drugs (strong ones, anyway), but those shouldn’t have much of an effect on him either. He remembered the peaceful embrace of another, the oblivion that came with being lulled into memories of happy times when Father still loved them all.

Sam was tired.

His research was going fucking nowhere and he couldn’t keep everything organized and he was failing Dean yet again. He hadn’t been able to get his brother out of hell and he wouldn’t be able to get him out of purgatory.

What a fucking waste of space he was.

X

When he stumbled out of the bar, he stabbed a man with blonde hair and green eyes right between his ribs, watched as the demon within perished. Wordlessly, he dropped the body in a side-alley where it would be found by morning and a mourning family would have a place to grief at.

What did Sam have left?

(Nothing.)

He put the few belongings he had bothered out pack back in the car and drove off.

X

The next day he hit a dog.

X

Sam wasn’t thinking when he wrapped the dog into his towel and drove to the nearest animal clinic.

“I need help,” Sam exclaimed when he entered the clinic. Admitting more than he wanted to. “The dog needs help.”

“He just came out of nowhere, right in front of my car. We need a doctor. Are you a doctor?”

The animal couldn’t die. Not now, not right in front of Sam because he had made another mistake. It shouldn’t have to pay for Sam’s flaws.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t die.

It couldn’t-

X

Sam’s shirt was still drenched in (Dean's) the dog’s blood. The smell didn’t bother him, it was too familiar to him to register on his mind.

When the doctor entered the room, everything was still a blur. Sam tried to keep his breathing under control, stop his hands from shaking and not fall into a panic.

Somehow, it ended with him owning a dog.

X

The motel he was staying at didn’t mind that he was keeping Dog, who still didn’t have a proper name. Sam had always been terrible about naming anything at all. When he was younger and had wanted a pet, Dean had collected the spiders of their motel rooms and named each and every one of them.

The various hero names Dean had slapped on them hadn’t been very creative either, but better than anything Sam had come up with.

The doctor who had done Dog’s surgery assured him that he was recovering well. Amelia Richardson, that was her name, was much kinder to him now that he apparently didn’t classify as a total asshole who hit animals while driving irresponsibly.

She still thought he was creepy and that there was something wrong with him (he was torn to bits and pieces, no amount of tape could fix him), but she stopped with the random accusations. The cash he earned at the motel, fixing a little bit of everything here and there, was enough to help him pay for Dog’s medication.

Sam felt like he was holding his breath and he didn’t know what he was waiting for.

X

Five months after Dean’s disappearance began with another random call. He didn’t recognize the number displayed on the phone screen, nor the voice speaking.

“Is this Sam Winchester?”

Sam evaluated the pros and cons of lying but settled on stating the truth. If it turned out this person meant to harm, Sam knew how to disappear quickly.

“Yes, who’s calling?”

The woman on the line sighed.

“My name’s Penny. I’m a… Hunter?” She trailed off, sounding unsure. Sam thought he heard a second voice ring in the background, saying something like, “That’s what Mackey called us!”

“Okay, jeez. I didn’t ask for your opinion Himari and Chasers sounds way better, it’s like Harry Potter,” Penny muttered. That was probably not meant for Sam’s ears. “Anyway. We already called Mackey – he’s another Hunter – but he couldn’t help us, and the Rosswells said you always help them with their cases so they gave us your number, and people are dying and we don’t know what to do.”

While Sam had gotten accustomed to his new network over time, he hadn’t expected the others to hand out his number. There was a certain risk attached to it but- Never mind. He could help out another Hunter, especially if she 

“Okay,” Sam said. “Yes, sure. Of course, I can help you. What are you hunting?”

“No idea.”

Sam grimaced and put the phone on speaker, another habit stemming from being around Dean 24/7. Whenever Bobby called them to give them a little help, they put the phone on speaker so the other could listen in. Sam didn’t need to do it anymore. He did it anyway.

“What and how does it kill then?”

“It burns the victims,” Penny said. Her voice sounded a little off, she probably hadn’t come across many burned corpses then already. The smell and the sight were always a little nauseating. “But there are also multiple bite marks and poison and the only reason we think it’s only one monster is that all victims have at least two of those signs.”

Sam couldn’t think of a single monster that killed in such a way, but that didn’t mean it didn’t exist. If the whole catastrophe with Eve had shown one thing, then that America’s monsters didn’t care about staying traditional. Much like humans, they had immigrated over the centuries and spread and there was no way to keep track of every country’s varied monster population.

“I’ll go do some research, Penny. Just send me what you have so far per SMS,” Sam replied, already packing his messenger bag. “I’ll call you back as soon as I got something. If a new victim pops up, give me another call.”

Sam hesitated. Penny couldn’t be doing this for long if she was unfamiliar with the term Hunter, right?

“Otherwise, stick to silver, iron, salt, and holy water. Those works on most things.”

Seasoned Hunters would think of such advice as patronizing, as much as they appreciated help on a challenging hunt, they were all fairly arrogant, considering themselves experts.

“Thank you, Mr. Winchester.”

Sam snorted. “Just call me Sam, everyone does.”

He ended the call and halted, just for a moment. Everyone?

(He sure had surrounded himself with more people than he thought he would, than he ever should.)

X

Sam didn’t expect to run into any trouble while researching for Penny until he stood in front of the library, Dog’s leash still in his hand. He couldn’t take a dog into a library, could he? A bit helplessly and lost he stood in front of the library until a young girl took pity on him and told him he could leave Dog on the west side of the library, where they had a small sheltered space for dogs. Sam thanked her and quickly got to work.

He started looking for any incidents happening in the town Penny was in, but couldn’t find any. Then he moved on to ghosts, covering the basics before returning to researching all kinds of monsters. When the American usuals didn’t bring any results, Sam turned to European folklore and myths, where he soon discovered something fitting.

Sam dialed Penny’s number. “Hey, Penny? I think I know what it might be.”

“Really? But- what. That took you barely 3 hours!”

Sam glanced at the time displayed in the corner of his laptop. It really hadn’t taken that long.

“Well, want to hear what I found?”

“Yes, please.”

Sam smiled and scrolled to the top of his word document. “Okay, so, it looks like you’re dealing with a chimera from Greek mythology. It’s a fire-breathing female monster resembling a lion in the forepart, a goat in the middle, and a dragon or snake behind. In the myth, Bellerophon kills it by lodging a block of lead inside the Chimera's throat.”

“How are we supposed to stuff lead inside such a monster?” Penny replied, her voice bordering on hysterics.

“Look,” Sam said. “Myths like to make things more complicated, heroes more heroic and cunning. Most likely, you’ll be fine by using weapons made out of lead.”

“You sure?”

“As sure as you can be with those things.”

Penny took a deep breath, probably to calm herself. Sam waited until she was done to speak up again. “Do you need back up?”

“No,” Penny said. “Himari called Mackey again to tell him I called you – he says hi by the way? You called him after Bobby’s death apparently…?”

Oh, that Mackey. He was one of Bobby’s contacts. Sam had rung them all up to tell them about Bobby’s death. Not all of them were glad to hear of him, but a surprisingly high amount was.

“Yeah, I know Mackey. He’s a good guy.”

“Yeah, Himari worked with him before. Anyway, he’s driving our way to help out. I guess I’ll call when it was a success?”

“You do that. Much success and don’t forget to aim for the head.”

Penny laughed, still a little nervous but at least not as much as before. “Thanks for the help again, Sam.”

X

A week later, Sam got a call from Mackey, asking if he had any use for chimera blood.

“Always split the spoils with Bobby,” Mackey said. “I swear, Bobby had everything stored down there in his basement.”

“He did,” Sam agreed. He remembered spending two months at Bobby's by himself while John was out like always and Dean was gone. Sam had done a lot of research during that time, not all of it necessarily child-friendly despite Bobby’s attempts to keep him away from it. He’d spend at least one weekend labeling all the weird monster parts Bobby had been keeping on old shelves.

“Thanks for the call, Mackey, but I don’t have the space for that.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to the books and weapons already taking up most of the space in the Impala and some more.

“Too bad, I don’t have any either. You know any Hunter shops?”

“I…” Sam’s thoughts drifted back to Marty or rather Caitlyn. She didn’t hunt as much as the rest of them, only really when Marty asked her to be his back up. But she did start to collect more unusual ingredients, even if most of them were plant related.

“Actually, yes. How far are you from Nebraska? I know a good place there.” 

X

Sam began to run into Amelia everywhere or so it felt. She was funny and kind, and she understood what it was like to lose something so dear to you, you forgot how to breathe.

“So, Sam, I was thinking: Do you want to go out on Friday? A proper restaurant, I mean. Not another motel room talk.”

“I like our-“

Sam’s phone rang. Frederick was calling him. Last Sam had heard, the twins were a couple hours away from him. “Hold up. Hey Fred, everything alright?”

“Sam!”

Frederick’s panic immediately put Sam on edge. “Fred, what’s going on?”

“Can you come drive up? Gregory and I stumbled upon a werewolf pack and they’re hunting kids for sport and I think they’re onto us and I know there are four at least and we have no idea what to do. Just. Please. I know you’re busy searching for Dean, but we’re at our wit's end.”

Sam looked at Amelia. She was smiling softly still, much happier than the first time he’d met her. Riot, the finally renamed Dog, was lying next to her and wagging his tail.

“Sam?”

People were relying on Sam.

“I’ll be there as soon as possible, give me your coordinates.”

Dean’s cursing about dog fur on the Impala’s leather chased Sam over the highways. He broke the speed limit on most roads, haunted by images of two death he could prevent if he was just in time. Riot looked out of the window, peaceful and healthy. All of Sam’s belongings were crammed into the trunk and on the backseat. A whole life and five months.

X

Sam made it just in time. The werewolves had indeed caught up to the twins and jumped their motel room. When Sam emptied a whole load of silver bullets into the werewolves, Frederick was only wearing sweat pants and using a towel to cover up his chest, holding onto his unconscious brother whose head was bleeding.

The werewolves dropped to the ground, dead. Frederick, blood splattered over his face, didn’t let go of his silver knife or Gregory.

Sam didn’t bother checking whether the werewolves were really dead, they had taken a bullet to their heads and wouldn’t return from that (unless heaven or hell took mercy on them and neither were kind to anyone but themselves).

“Frederick,” Sam said. “You need to get up.”

Frederick didn’t move. The motel was pretty empty, but someone was bound to have heard the attack, the fight or the murder, and they would come looking. They couldn’t afford to lose time now.

“Fred, get up,” Sam ordered. He held out his hand and when Frederick, shaken up, lifted his, Sam quickly took the knife out of it and threw it in the small suitcase on the bed. “Get dressed, I’ll take care of Greg.”

Frederick seemed to be moving in slow motion, but he was finally returning to the action. Sam pulled the pillowcase off one of the pillows lying on the bed and used it to stop Gregory’s bleeding. He probably only had a concussion.

Then Sam picked Gregory up as carefully as he could and carried the man to the Impala. Riot looked up in interest when Sam laid Gregory on the backseat.

“Keep watch,” Sam told him and returned to the Rosswells’ room to help Frederick finish.

When he arrived, Frederick was as good as dressed and gathering everything of importance. Sam picked up two bags and threw one last look at the corpses on the ground. They had no time to get rid of the bodies, they would have to stay.

Frederick sits down next to Gregory and pulls his brother’s head in his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Frederick murmured. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, …”

The mantra followed them down the road until they were three cities further and utterly safe from being accused of any of the crimes they had committed.

X

“Do you have a safe place to stay somewhere?” Sam asked.

They were near Kansas now and could easily swing up to Nebraska. Neither Caitlyn nor Marty had enough space for the two hunters, but it would do long enough for Gregory to heal until the twins could hit the road again.

If they still wanted to after this encounter.

Sam had been injured so often in the past years, he hardly even blinked at a concussion anymore, he and Dean just kept on driving.

“We’ve got a house,” Frederick replied. “I don’t know what shape it’s in, but we were meaning to go check it out anyway.”

“Alright. Directions?”

X

Frederick led Sam to an abandoned house that was a good twenty-minute drive into the woods in the north of Kansas. It looked fairly old and was surprisingly big and in a good shape.

The entire façade of the building had been painted in a soft green. The color was starting to peel off in some places, but it was mostly intact.

“What is this place?” Sam asked after they had carried Gregory inside and let him continue resting on a sofa in the living room.

There was something off about this place that Sam couldn’t quite pinpoint, but it put him on edge. He felt like somebody was watching him, waiting for him to make a mistake. He began mustering the painted walls. Elaborate landscape paintings of a forest covered the living room. The longer he looked at it, the more did he think he was seeing familiar symbols.

“It’s our great-grandmother Agatha’s house,” Frederick said. “Never met her. According to our grandmother, she was a wicked witch who should have never been allowed to have a child. As soon as Grandmother was sixteen, she left and married a nice man and had a completely normal daughter who then had us. Agatha died back in 2009 shortly before you stopped the apocalypse that almost happened and she left everything to our mother. Mom wanted to sell the house, but no deal could be made. People had unfortunate accidents as soon as they stepped into the house.”

Sam stepped closer to the entrance door, tracing over carvings in the wood. “What?”

Frederick grimaced. “That’s why we were heading here. We wanted to check it out. We thought a ghost might be haunting the building.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that,” Sam muttered.

“No?”

“These symbols spread all over the room, they’re runes. I’m pretty sure they’re wards. Any chance your great grandmother worshipped pagan gods?”

“I don’t know. But she got super old and she was from Norway.”

Sam sighed. “Alright. Let’s track down which god is protecting this house and get them a proper offering before they kill us.”

X

In the end, it was quite easy to figure out which god Agatha had worshipped. Sam found her altar in the eastern kitchen window, the first to see the sun in the morning. Old, half-burned candles with a sugary sweet smell stood around a handmade clay flower pot filled with small pink flowers that appeared to be blooming although nobody was taking care of them. And right next to the flower pot stood a bowl filled with sweets.

The irony of this situation wasn’t lost on Sam.

“It’s Loki,” Sam said when he returned to the living room. “Your great grandmother was a follower of Loki.”

“That was the trickster angel, right?” Frederick asked. “The one who died? Shouldn’t this house be clean of his influence then?”

Sam shook his heads. “You can never really kill a pagan god. More than any other beings, they cling to faith. As long as someone believes in them, they exist. Gabriel might be dead, but the idea of Loki is still around.”

(He wondered what that meant for angels. They did die, expect when God or whatever interfered. Castiel had died and come back. So why did God let one of his oldest angels die?)

“Anyway, I’ll get a package of chewing gum from the car. Not his favorite, but it’s sweet and an offering.”

“You’re not going to destroy the altar?”

Frederick’s expression was neutral. He wasn’t judging Sam or implying anything. He only wanted to know why Sam wasn’t getting rid of the threat.

And honestly? Sam didn’t know why. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

“This place has pretty strong wards,” Sam said. It was true, they must have been powered by Loki. If Agatha’s life force had also been included in that, it was no wonder she had died when Gabriel did. If the twins took up residency here, offering their blood and redrawing some of the ownership-tied wards, they had a pretty protected place to stay at. It shouldn’t cost them more than a couple sweets every now and then and some new candles. “There’s a bigger advantage to keeping it.”

X

The twins got settled and Sam spent a couple hours exploring the house. The wards Agatha had set up were truly impressive, even more so after they had made the offering. The house itself was a pretty nice place too. Sure, it needed some fixing and a new paint job, but the amount of knowledge stored in the crammed library in what must have been Agatha’s study was astonishing. Sam would definitely take a closer look once he had the time. Since they had no food or drink, Sam went back to the car to head to the nearest grocery store and buy some supplies.

X

After about two days, Gregory was already up and running again - or walking. Every time Frederick even just suggested Gregory take it slow or, God forbid, brought him food to his bed, Gregory looked slightly more murderous. His injuries weren’t as bad as they had seemed, but it had scared Fred regardless. It reminded Sam a little of his childhood when he’d been deemed old enough to give first-aid but too young to hunt still and Dean or Dad had come back already half out of it and Sam had to stitch them back together. They’d always looked as if they’d come straight out of a horror movie, but nothing vital had been hurt (well, except maybe once or twice.)

Sam and Fred had cleaned up what appeared to have been a guest bedroom and settled Gregory there. To avoid going stir-crazy, they’d cleaned up the other rooms afterward. The house had electricity and warm running water and Sam was sure those had only shown up after Sam had added a lot of treats to Loki’s altar.

He might have gone a little overboard, but Sam owed the guy. He’d died for them, the whole world, when he could have certainly taken up a golden throne right next to Lucifer. As twisted as Lucifer was, killing Gabriel had hurt him and that showed how much he would have loved to have his favorite sibling by his side.

And Gabriel has said “no”.

Frederick had only glanced questioning at the mountain of candy, porn magazines, crossword puzzles, honey, and candles, but Gregory was the one to actually ask about them.

“I thought altars were all blood, dark magic and-“ Gregory moved his hands through the air in the bad imitation of a TV witch. “You know?”

“Blood is for worshippers and, in this case, the owner of the house. The stuff I brought is just a guest gift.”

Maybe not just merely a guest gift, but also a little bribery to protect the three of them as they resided here.

“So whoever offers blood owns the house?” Gregory inquired.

Sam shrugged. “Basically.”

“And non-basically?”

Right, Sam had forgotten he was talking to an ex-history student. Without further prompting, he latched into a lecture on Pagan gods, worship, and ownership rules, only halting once to give Frederick a chance to get settled comfortably when he joined them.

X

Caitlyn: Fred & George are okay?

Gregory: It’s Greg

Frederick: Don’t ruin my fun, bro

Gregory: Of all the names you could have picked, why did it have to be Frederick again?

Sam: @Caitlyn They are getting better

Caitlyn: Sweet. We got a couple Hunters here asking how to get phoenix feathers. Anybody got some ideas? And can I give them your number? @Sam

Sam: Sure, tell them to give me a ring and I’ll see what I can do

X

Frederick and Gregory were up to something. Sam didn’t just guess so, he saw the incriminating looks they shared. Sam had been in and out of their house for a month now. He’d spent two weeks there going through the books their great-grandmother had possessed, but unfortunately, those didn’t provide much information on purgatory either.

Another dead end.

After that, Sam threw himself into helping other hunters. His number of acquaintances had grown exponentially the more the word spread that one Winchester was still alive and kicking and willing to just hand over everything he knew (while the other was gone, never dead. All of them thought it, Sam knew, but they didn’t dare say it around him.).

Hunters were guarded people, they wouldn't survive otherwise. Even information was just shared sparingly, so of course, they all jumped on the opportunity. It was strange to be confronted with Hunters who worked very specialized or were just at the beginning of their careers, as far as you could call killing monsters a job.

Of course, the older ones didn’t exactly trust Sam (he did have a history filled with a lot of dangerous bullshit such as letting Lucifer out of the Cage), but he was America’s expert on everything angelic and demonic.

Even if he didn’t really feel like it. There was so much to know about heaven and hell, Sam’s active knowledge barely scratched the surface and he didn’t dare try to reach for the memories he had buried.

(The Cage hadn’t been all bad, but trauma didn’t let you pick how you’d react to any memory at all.)

But compared to everyone else, that was still more so he taught how to exorcise demons and kill angels and hoped it was enough.

X

“So,” Gregory said one morning. “I’m all healed up and Himari called, asking for backup, so we think it’s time to leave again.”

Sam nodded and closed his book. “Time to move on then.”

“Yeah, about that…” Gregory trailed off and turned to his brother.

Frederick pushed himself away from the wall and began walking up and down.

“Look, Sam. We don’t really have use for this place. And you’ve got Riot.”

“A car’s not a home,” Gregory added. He bent down to pet the dog, who definitely enjoyed his stay at the house more than the endless hours on the road.

Frederick pointed at his brother. “Right? And a dog needs a home and you need a space for the library in your car.”

Sam frowned, realization only dawning slowly upon him. “You can’t-“

Gregory held up has hands. “We can. Look, we still got our parents’ house and all these wards and stuff? That’s your niche. We like hunting stuff that doesn’t require enchantments and we can’t even read half of the words painted on the ceiling.”

“You can learn,” Sam insisted. “This house belonged to your great-grandmother.”

Legacy was important to Hunters. All the lives saved, the knowledge passed on – many Hunters didn’t have any blood relatives left, so their hunting partners were the ones who carried their memories.

But Frederick and Gregory didn’t know that and Sam struggled to find the right words.

Frederick shrugged. “We never even met her, Sam. This house might as well belong to a stranger. We’ll, of course, come visit and crash here whenever, but otherwise? You need a place to search for your brother. Take it.”

X

It took another week for them to wear Sam down, and even then they wouldn’t leave until Sam had gone to the nearest supermarket and returned with new offerings for their pagan god and finally bled over the altar.

Frederick had looked smug the whole time while Gregory sent Sam’s new address to their mutual friends and acquaintances.

It didn’t even take a week for the first person to show up at his doorstep.

X

Sam had always liked doing things with his hands, repairing broken items, stitching up shirts. A lot of handiwork had come out of necessity, but there was also something soothing attached to it all. Over the course of the next weeks, Sam drove to the construction market about every day until the cashiers there greeted him by name.

He bought paint and tools and wood and started to repair the house where it was damaged and touch it up where it just didn’t look all right.

He added his books to the library/study and organized the artifacts Agatha had left lying around pretty much everywhere. The room that once must have belonged to the twins’ grandmother was turned into a guest room with two beds, as was another storage room, a corner of the basement, and the attic.

When Sam was finally satisfied, too much time had passed already, but Kevin Tran, while tired and exhausted, was not bitter and welcomed the change of scenery.

X

Fact was, a lot of Hunters distrusted Sam Winchester. He had a reputation that made them uneasy and the stories haunting him made him out to be much less human than he ought to be. Those Hunters relied on Garth to collect info for them, give them back up and so on. They pointed the new Hunters they found in his direction and Garth-

Well, Garth gave them Sam’s number.

Old school Hunters relied on old and proven methods, they would not suddenly think of recording exorcisms on their phones or starting a Supernatural Wikipedia. These New Age Hunters, as they liked to scoff, didn’t know how much the world had changed.

And they were right in that assessment.

When your first hunt involved leviathans and demons, angels stealing people who returned as mere shells, then you didn’t miss the times when the world was straightforward and didn’t include more than ten types of monsters.

X

“Hello, Agent Mercury? One of your field agents is claiming our body here is part of an FBI investigation-“

“The heads, Sam! It only leaves the heads!”

“-and the Park Rangers really-“

“So like, they steal from blood banks, but otherwise they’re vegan?”

“The military must be really desperate if they try to recruit people off the police.”

“Hypothetically, if a werewolf and a vampire had a kid together-“

“Winchester! Holy Christ, you won’t believe-“

“It’s Kevin,” the prophet interrupted Penny. “Sam’s making dinner.”

Silence. Kevin had to stop himself from laughing out loud.

“Oh. Hi, Kevin! How’s it going?”

“Good, but it’s been busy. How can Agatha’s help you today? Need some spells to get rid of a wicked witch or brain for your local zombie population?”

“Zombies…?” Penny trailed off, sounding unsure. Kevin imagined her shaking her head. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Do you guys know anything about a spell or a monster going after the blood of two drained lambs, the liver of a lion, and the eyes of a monkey? We got a bizarre case here in a zoo.”

Kevin glanced at the clock. He wasn’t going to work on the tablet anymore today and if he could help it, Sam wouldn’t shut himself away in his study/purgatory lore cave.

“Yeah, we can do some research. We’ll ring as soon as we got something.”

X

Soon after word had gotten out that Sam had settled somewhere, Mackey showed up at his doorstep, only Himari in tow. Penny, her better half in Himari’s own words, was apparently visiting family up north.

Sam didn’t buy the lie, but he saw no point in questioning her.

“Oh, man, Sam. I love what you’ve done with the place. It’s like Roadhouse and Bobby’s in one,” Mackey said.

Sam smiled and looked around. It really was starting to look like a proper place for hunters to crash at. “Not enough books and dirt for Bobby’s yet.”

Marty laughed and knocked his beer against Sam’s. “True enough. I swear the cleanest I ever saw Bobby’s was when your Daddy had dropped you off at his place again.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but still managed to smile softly. “That’s only ‘cause Bobby made me and- made us clean to keep us busy and away from the books depicting torture.”

“Oh, yeah. That sounds like Bobby!”

Himari, who up until then had only been nursing her tea silently, spoke up for the first time since she had stepped into Sam’s house. “What is the Roadhouse and Bobby’s?”

Mackey's cheerful expression fell and Sam too, who had been making all kinds of calls over the past weeks and should be used to it by now damn it, couldn’t stop his throat from closing up.

“That was before your time, kid,” Mackey replied. “The Roadhouse was the Hunter equivalent to a community center – a place to recover after or before a hunt. I swear, nobody ever managed to talk me out of a hunt before without even saying a word but Ellen. And Bobby was the meanest son of a bitch you could ever meet. You vaguely describe him your latest crazy, and he’d call you back within a day to tell you what the hell you’re facing and how to kill it. Also our go-to man if the authorities came calling. Without the two of them, the community’s shot to hell. Garth’s been picking up some slack, but he ain’t got time to teach anyone… That reminds me.”

Mackey picked his backpack up from the ground and rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for – a dirty sheet of paper apparently – and held it up victoriously.

“Here,” he said and gave it to Sam. “I got into contact with a couple Old Timers. Not sure if they’re on your contact list already, but they offered to help out with the huge influx of newbies so you’re not stuck handling all their questions.”

Sam scanned the list. A few names stuck out to him, but others he was only vaguely aware of or didn’t know at all.

“Thanks, Marty. I’ll give them a ring.”

X

When the Hillains asked for Sam’s help, he expected a little more “Could you be our back-up?” and less “Can we leave the kids with you for the week?” but Sam agreed anyway.

It was certainly an experience to have three kids running around for a week, but not one he minded. He had babysat couple times as a teenager to earn some extra cash, and the experience was familiar enough.

Besides, all three of them loved Riot and the dog was more than just happy about the extra attention.

X

Irv Franklin liked to think he was as good a man as a Hunter could be. Of course, he didn’t have utter faith in Sam Winchester, everybody knew the Winchesters messed around with Heaven and Hell and a whole lot of other things that shouldn’t be touched, but the kid was also Bobby’s kid.

And, really, everybody who actually cared about Bobby knew those two Winchester brats had been his whole world.

Tracy hadn’t wanted to come to Winchester’s place – called Agatha’s for some unfathomable reason – and Irv couldn’t blame her. He had told her she could stay in the motel, but she had decided to meet the man the demons had killed her family for.

From the outside, the house looked comfortable, not as militant as Irv had expected. Sam was kneeling on the porch, painting something on the windowsill. As soon as he spotted Irv and Tracy, he stood up.

“Irv! Good to see you.”

“Right back at you, Winchester,” Irv said and followed Sam inside.

The kid led Irv and Tracy into the kitchen and took a couple beers out of the fridge. “We only got beer and water right now,” he said apologetically.

Irv wondered who exactly we were, but didn’t ask. He had heard rumors about prophets, and everybody who went after demons knew that hell had been in an uproar lately. Sometimes it was better if you didn’t know anything.

“I did look into the killings you described,” Sam continued. “Couldn’t find anything directly, but the books in the living room contain everything I’ve got on ritualistic murders. Feel free to look through them, just don’t run off with them. One of the upstairs’ rooms is already occupied, but you can sleep downstairs in the basement if you want.”

Irv reached for one of the beers on the kitchen table. “Thanks, kid.”

They left two days later.

“He’s not really what I expected,” Tracy admitted carefully.

Maybe she could start to heal properly now.

Irv grimaced. “Winchesters rarely are.”

X

Sam’s study was a bit of a mess. Papers covered half the floor and whole books the other. Kevin kind of wanted to sigh in frustration, but that wouldn’t help anyone. Instead, he sat down on the ground next to Sam.

“Is everything alright?” Kevin asked, already knowing the answer.

Sam laughed bitterly, his ink-stained hands still brushing through Riot’s fur. “No, nothing’s alright. Just look at me, Kev, what am I doing? It’s been almost a year, and I still haven’t found a way to save him.”

Sam didn’t need to say out loud who he was talking about, it was as clear as day.

“I have only been wasting my time trying to- to-“

“Keep over two dozen hunters alive, researching about fifteen different things at the same time with more dedication than I ever put into my term papers despite my mom?” Kevin said drily. “Give yourself a break, Sam. You’re already doing more than humanly possible.”

“But it’s not enough!”

Sam’s outburst was not unexpected but that didn’t make it any more pleasant.

Kevin was used to it, though.

They kept themselves together well enough around others, but some things needed more than the duct tape they stuck onto their wounds.

“I want to visit my mom,” Kevin said into their silence. “I haven’t left the house in months and I think it’ll be safe enough. Just a quick trip. One last time.”

“Alright,” Sam agreed quietly.

Maybe this was healing. (Maybe it was giving up.)

X

Sam would never know.

Lazarus rose once more.

(Rinse. Rise. Repeat.)

[banshee1013]

Suptober Day 25 - Tattoos

Link to ficlet on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21203021

Day late again but this one took me a while. My first attempt at arms and hands - damn they’re hard!

Accompanying ficlet is an excerpt from my upcoming Harry Dresden/Mists Of Avalon/Supernatural crossover fic.

Rating (for this excerpt): Teen

Warnings: Nothing you wouldn’t see on an episode of Supernatural.

Background: Kat, the Lady of Avalon and wielder of Amoracchius, one of the Swords of the Cross and originally a piece of the Holy Regalia of Avalon, has just returned from a visit with the Lady of the Summer Fae. Time travels differently in Faery, so while she believes she's only been gone for several hours, she has been gone for over a week  "real time". Sam, Dean, and Cas become alarmed at her absence, so they track her to Chicago and Harry's house to confront him just as she returns from Faery, and sporting some new ink.

=====================================

"Wait…a… a WEEK?" Kat stammered, then turned to Harry. "A WEEK?"

 Harry ran a hand through his hair absently. "Uh, yeah… time passes a little differently in Faery, I forgot to mention it." He grinned apologetically. "Sorry?" 

"Yeah, that wouda been NICE TO KNOW, HARRY!" she growled, shoving him in the chest. 

"You're right, I should have warned you." Harry acquiesced. "But it doesn't excuse your attack dogs busting into my home and pointing guns at me!"

Kat glances over her shoulder to observe Sam, Dean, and Cas picking themselves up off the floor where Harry's spell had cast them. 

"Didn't seem to be a problem for you," she remarked, turning back to him. "They were worried! This would have been prevented if I would have known…"

Harry held up his hands in surrender. Butters headed over to where the boys were recovering to check on any injuries, but Dean waved him off angrily. 

Kat crossed her arms and surveyed each of them. "Fine. Is everyone going to behave now, so I can tell you what I learned?" 

Cas tilted his head, observing what appeared to be a familiar pattern on Kat's arms. "Is that… an angel banishing sigil?" he inquired, gesturing at the tattoos on her crossed arms, still fresh and slightly red from the needle.

Sam and Dean followed Cas' gesture and raised questioning eyes.

"Yeah, that's part of the story," she said, motioning in the direction of Harry’s living room before walking toward the kitchen cabinet where she knew Harry stashed his whiskey. Grabbing the bottle and five glasses, she met them back in the living room, setting them down on the coffee table there, then returned to the kitchen.

Dean grabbed the bottle. Unstopping it, he poured himself a hefty portion before plopping wearily down on the couch. Sam picked up the bottle and followed suit, handing it to Harry, who poured a glass, setting the bottle down when Butters waved off the proffered portion, and took a seat in an armchair.

Kat returned from the kitchen with a glass of water and handed it to Cas with a smile and a quick brush of his cheek.  She took his hand and led him to the living room where he joined Sam and Dean on the couch. Sam sat up quickly to pour a sizeable portion of the whiskey into a glass and handed it to her. She nodded her thanks and took a seat on the arm of the couch to face the group.

Dean broke the silence. "So… spill. What's with the new ink?"

Kat downed the whiskey in its entirety, waved for the bottle which Sam reached to grab and pass to her. She poured herself another large portion, setting the bottle down at her feet.

"When I left the Bunker, I said I was going to Avalon, right?" she addressed the boys, who nodded their assent. "Well, I did, and when I got there, what I learned made me realize that I'm gonna need some protection."

She stood and turned her back to them, gathering her hair and pulling it over the front of her shoulder, exposing the new anti-possession tattoo inked between her shoulder blades. "First, this. Placed where no one expects it and where I'd have to be killed to remove it." 

"Not necessarily," Cas commented. "It could simply be burned off."

Kat smiled grimly. "Not this one. Not only is it a tattoo, but it's scarred as well. Can burn off the ink but the design is there as long as my skin is."

She turned back to face them. "Then there's this, which you already recognized." She held up her arms, displaying the new tattoos on her forearms. 

"Yeah, the angel banishing sigil…," Dean noted,  "but you have half of the sigil on each forearm? What good is that going to do?" 

Kat pressed her forearms together, and as she did, the halves joined to form the full sigil. Cas flinched as she did so, then relaxed when nothing happened. 

"How very 'Constantine'," he quipped. 

Sam and Dean's heads snapped toward him in surprise. Kat barked a laugh. "Exactly! That's where I got the idea!"

Sam's brows knit in confusion. "But… it didn't work," he said, pointing to the obviously unbanished Cas. 

Kat nodded. "Right… I wanted the sigil close and easy to access, but require a bit of work to activate so as to not set it off accidentally." She approached them to show them the tattoo more closely, rusty red in color. "The ink was mixed with a healthy dose of my own blood. All it requires to activate it is a small nick on my forearm right above it to freshen the blood, I slam my forearms together a la 'Constantine'," she paused, giving Cas a wink, "and it activates. Bye-bye Angels." 

"I suppose you'll get to the part about why you feel you'll need to banish angels at some point," Sam surmised, "but it's right there… they’re gonna see it and take away any knife you have on you to prevent you from activating it."

Kat snorted. "Yeah, I suppose you're right." She flipped her right arm down to expose a third tattoo on her inner right forearm - a dagger. "That's what this is for."

Dean laughed. "Sorry, but I don't think it's sharp enough." 

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Kat retorted. Cas, Sam, and Butters chuckled at the reference. Dean glared at them. Harry rolled his eyes.

"The previous two tattoos I got upon returning from Faery." she continued. "But this one is a gift from the Summer Lady herself." 

Closing her eyes, Kat extended her right arm again and murmured "Gladius".

The tattoo glowed silver, and with a flick of her wrist, slid off her arm and into her hand, manifesting into a shining silver dagger. Opening her eyes to meet their startled gazes, she smiled and flipped the dagger in her hand. The silver blade caught the light as it spun in the air, reflections dancing off the walls and their startled faces.

She flicked it again, and it flew over to imbed itself into the hardwood floor between Dean's feet. He jumped with a yelp as Harry sputtered, "HEY! My floor!"

"Sharp enough for ya, Dean?" she smirked.

[crashdevlin]

Well-trained

Author’s Note: Written to fulfill my Free Space for @spnkinkbingo, I chose Pain Kink and threw in some nice Dom/sub dynamics and the rare pair of Debriel x Reader. It’s also a take on this thing I shared two weeks ago about getting my newest tattoo. I blame the Debriel on @thewhiterabbit42. They welcomed me to this trashcan with open arms...

Pairing(s): Dean x Gabriel x Reader

Summary: Y/n’s boyfriends take her to get her anti-possession tattoo.

Word Count: 2526

Story Warnings: Dom!Gabriel, Switch!Dean, Sub!Reader, pain kink, established poly relationship, possessiveness, handsy tattoo artist... no sex, just kink 

The parlor was well-lit and smelled of cleaning solvent. You'd insisted upon it. You didn't want the neons and black-lights of the parlor down the street. You didn't want the place to smell like incense. You were getting a medical procedure done, that's how you saw it. A tattoo was art, but it was also more disruptive to your epidermis than most laparoscopic surgeries these days and you wanted it done somewhere clean, somewhere that smelled like a hospital.

You filled out your paperwork and sat in the waiting area while the tattoo artist set up his area. Gabriel took the opportunity to flip through the sample books, a popsicle in his hand despite the cold weather outside. “I'm thinking a badass dragon across my shoulders. What do ya think, babe?”

“I think you could do it yourself with a snap,” Dean responded, not looking up from his phone where he was losing Words With Friends to both Mary and Sam.

“Not the babe I was talkin’ to, but you're right. I could do hers the same way if you wa-”

“No. She's gotta get it done right, Gabe.”

Gabriel turned to him, eyebrow cocked over his perfect honey eyes. “You think I'd fuck it up? I could have that thing done perfectly and completely healed in a fraction of a second and she wouldn't have to worry about-”

Dean dragged his eyes up and green met gold. “The pain is half the point. You don't heal her when we tan her hide in the bedroom, why would you deprive her of what she likes, here?”

The archangel blinked slowly and nodded. “Got me there, Winchester.”

Dean turned his attention to you, nudging you with his elbow. “You nervous, baby girl?” You shook your head. ‘Nervous’ wasn't the right word. ‘Anxious’ was closer. “You sure? I mean, you're about to have a big Romanian dude with ⅞ gauges in his ears seeing the glory you usually reserve for me and a damn archangel.”

You smiled. “Not all my glory, Dean. Besides, Gabe’ll be able to tell if he’s thinking impure thoughts and he can give him his just desserts if he acts unprofessionally.”

“Don’t give him that permission, y/n. He’ll kill the guy. Dude’s gonna be full of impure thoughts once your shirt comes off.”

“Come on. He doesn’t need permission, Dean.” Gabriel’s eyes sparkled at that. “And the shirt’s not coming off. It’s why I wore a camisole instead of a t-shirt. Just gonna pull the left side down. He shouldn’t even get to see any nipple.”

“Shame,” Dean rumbled. “Definitely love it when other guys get hard for you, coveting what’s ours.”

“Don’t worry, Dean-o. He already wants her.” Gabe tossed the stick from his popsicle at the trash can by the door and flopped down next to you on the black leather couch. “He keeps wondering which of us is her boyfriend. Thinks he’s more attractive than me, but if she’s your girl, he doesn’t have a shot.”

You scoffed out a chuckle. “You guys should put on a show. See how he acts when he thinks you’re my gay best friends and I’m fair game.”

“You hear this girl? She’s trying to get this guy killed,” Gabriel said, an almost proud tinge to his words.

“Am not, but come on. It should come as no surprise that I like games, Gabe. Why else would I have fallen for you?”

“I’m adorable?”

Dean smiled and leaned across in front of you to wrap his fingers in Gabriel’s hair and pull him in for a kiss. It was a rare thing for you to be caught between, in public at least. The hunter usually kept his PDA with the archangel to a bare minimum. If he was going to neck with someone on a park bench or something, he wanted to know people were staring because they were enjoying the show not because they were judging him.

Each man put a hand on your thigh, digging their fingertips into your flesh as their tongues danced across each other in front of your face. You immediately flooded with heat, your cheeks warming under the stimulus.

“I’m ready for you, sweetheart,” the tattoo artist, Kevin, said, walking into the waiting area. The look on his face was a mix of disgust at the display of man-love on his couch and excitement at the thought that those guys were obviously together and not with you.

Your boyfriends separated once Gabe gave Dean’s bottom lip a nibble and all three of you stood to follow Kevin back to his work area. He sat you down on a seat that reminded you of a weight bench without the bar and lifted the stencil he’d made of the anti-possession sigil. “Where we puttin’ it, darlin’?”

You placed your hand over your heart. “Right about here.” His lips twitched at the corners but he held back his smile.

“Okay, just lean on back and look straight ahead.” You did as you were told, looking straight ahead as he pulled the straps of your bra and camisole down your left arm. Based on the cold air on your skin, you could tell he’d pulled the fabric down almost to the edge of your areola. His gloved fingers carefully placed the stencil and he had you stand and check the placement, which was perfect. You sat down again, getting comfortable. Dean sat in the chair in the corner and Gabe leaned against the wall.

“Play a ‘D’ on Sam’s ‘SOPHISTICATE’. You’ll get the triple,” you coached from your chair as Kevin retrieved his tattoo gun. Dean’s eyebrows raised and he pursed his lips as his phone buzzed.

“Thanks. He's probably just been waiting for a ‘D’.”

“No prob.”

“Keep looking at him. It stretches your skin just right,” Kevin said.

“Okay.”

You took a deep breath, scene starting as the gun touched your skin. The pain was instant, and a throbbing pulse of need took up in your core because of it. You focused on Dean. Not the pain or what it was doing to you, just Dean and breathing. Dean and breathing. Not the wetness slowly seeping onto your underwear. Just Dean and breathing.

“Wow. Is this thing even working?” Kevin commented after a few minutes. Dean's eyes jumped from his phone to your chest, where the outline of the symbol was definitely starting to be etched into your skin. “You haven't even flinched, sweetheart.” Dean smirked and looked back down at his phone. You didn't respond as Kevin started in again, his pinkie finger dipping under the edge of your shirt in a way that could have been an accident but totally wasn't.

“I could tattoo you forever, y/n. You're, like, the perfect client,” Kevin praised a few minutes later.

Dean nodded without looking at you. “Thank you,” you answered, now that you'd gotten permission.

The gun started its trek across your collarbone and the sharper pain forced your eyes closed, but no sound escaped you, still. “I mean, I have had grown-ass men, like big burly guys like me in this chair and not a single one has been as tough as you. I could tattoo you ‘til I was blue in the face.”

“I'd be worried if you went blue in the face, Kev,” Gabriel spoke up.

“I'm just saying, she’s a fuckin’ rock. She barely moves. She's got a pain tolerance to die for. I mean, I'm stabbing prime fuckin’ real estate here and you're barely even acknowledging it's happening.” He turned his attention back to you as he finished speaking.

Dean's smirk made you bite your lip. “Yeah.” He looked up and caught your eyes. “She's well-trained, aren't you, baby girl?”

“Yes, sir.” Kevin's hand twitched at the words and he seemed to catch the tone. Of course he didn't understand that he was just a tool in your scene, that he was no more relevant to the game than a flogger or cock cage. But he would come to understand.

His fingers dipped under your camisole again, this time far enough to brush your nipple. Dean caught it this time. “Hey, Gabe,” Dean said, quietly, a deep rumble in his voice.

“I saw. That's two.”

“And we're going to give an opportunity for a third?”

“Well, we don't want the job left unfinished. If I explode him now, she'll only have an outline… and not even a full one.” Kevin snatched his hand away from your body and looked up at the other two men, trying to ascertain what Gabriel meant by ‘explode him’.

You still didn't move. As Kevin determined there were no explosives for Gabriel to explode him with, you stayed looking off at Dean, whose green eyes had taken a darkness. “What's wrong, guys?” Kevin asked, trying to sell the idea that he didn't know why they were upset.

“You think we're blind?” Dean leaned forward. “You've got more than enough access to her ‘prime real estate’, Kev. You don't need to be tryin’ to get more.”

“I… I mean, if she's uncomfortable with anything I've done, she should-”

“Y/n?” Gabriel called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“How you feel about this fucking disgrace sticking his fingers where they don't belong?”

“I don't like it, sir. He's not supposed to do that.”

“What do you think Dean and I should do about it, lollipop?”

“Whatever makes you happy, sir, but I'm partial to the head-splosion.”

You couldn't see Kevin's eyes go wide with fear, but you could see Dean lick his lips and Gabriel raise his hand. “I wanna make you happy, sweet stuff, but head-splody is such a Lucifer move. And it's a bitch to clean up.”

Dean stood up, phone going into his pocket as he walked around you to stand next to Kevin. “How about Kevin keeps his hands off'a our real estate, he doesn't make our girl feel any more uncomfortable than he already has, and maybe, just maybe, we don't kill him and wreck his shop?”

There was a moment of silence as Kevin debated with himself what to do and were they serious. “If you call the cops, they will arrive to blood and body parts viciously strewn around your shop. I don't usually go for the direct explosion death, I like a little more flair, but I'm more than capable of it.”

Kevin cleared his throat and nodded. “Yeah, I'll… I'm sorry. I'm gonna finish the, uh, the thing.”

“Good call.” Dean stepped back and looked down at you. “You need to move, baby girl?”

“May I, sir? This chair is very uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, why don't you get up and stretch, huh? Kev ain't comin’ near you again ‘til he stops pissin’ his pants.”

You stood, smiling, scene effectively paused as you stretched your arms across your chest. You turned to the mirror, ignoring the terror still on Kevin's face as you examined the start of the tattoo in the mirror. “Well, you're a terrifying guy, Dean,” Gabriel teased. “You shouldn't have been so hard on the man.”

“Me? You're the one talking about exploding the guy, name-dropping your brother ‘cause who's gonna be frightened of Gabriel: the trumpeter?”

“A lot of people!” Gabe defended.

“Maybe you as Loki, but not you as-”

“Guys!” you called out, before nodding your head toward Kevin, whose eyes were huge with shock. “Don't think he's quite ready for all that.” You turned to the mirror and smiled. “You're doing a wonderful job, Kevin. With the tattoo and the scene. Don't worry about my boys. They won't hurt you.”

“Speak for yourself, y/n. He touches that tit again and I'm gonna fuck him up.”

You rolled your eyes at Dean and shook your head. “He kinda has to if we want the tattoo finished. I mean, unless you want me to get possessed by demons.”

“What are you people?” Kevin asked.

“Well, one of us isn't even a people,” Dean joked, slapping his hand across Gabriel's ass.

“The short answer, Kev? Dangerous. Those two much more than me, and you had the bright idea to touch what belongs to them. So, ya know… you should refrain from that shit in the future.”

“Or you won't have a future,” Dean finished.

When you sat back down, Kevin started to tattoo you again, your head stayed turned to the corner where Dean was sitting. He moved quickly, without the inappropriate touching and without the praising remarks. Just Dean and breathing, Dean and breathing… pain and dizziness, pain and dizziness. Your breaths went heavy to compensate the flushing heat assaulting your skin.

“There she goes,” Gabe whispered to Dean as your eyes crossed, going unfocused as endorphins rushed through your system and all there was in your world was Dean. “She’s so cute in subspace.”

“Is she gonna pass out?” Kevin asked, but you didn’t hear him. All you could see was Dean. All you could hear was Gabe.

“Nah, she ain’t gonna pass out. Just finish the tat, man,” Dean demanded.

“She did pass out that one time, didn’t you, tootsie roll?”

“I awayaoh,” came out of your mouth but Gabe just nodded in complete understanding of your drugged-out mumbling.

“She only passed out because you didn't put the whip down when I said to.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, but what part of ‘archangel’ do you think puts you in charge, huh?” Gabriel gestured to himself, then Dean.

“Well, if you had listened, she wouldn't have passed out. Too much pain puts her over.”

“I know that, now, don't I?” Gabriel took your hand, kneeling next to you. “You good to go for her aftercare, Deanie Baby, or do you want me to handle it?”

Dean stood. “Huh, here I was thinking we were both her doms and we'd take care of her together.”

“Ya silly switch, you. Of course we can do it together. I thought you might wanna lose Words with your family some more, that's all.”

“The day I pick games on my phone over you and y/n, explode me.”

“Gonna hold you to that.” Gabriel popped to his feet, looking down at you as Kevin finished your tattoo, sliding petroleum jelly over the new symbol. “Great job, Kev. I'll take it from here,” he said, snapping his fingers.

“Gabe…” Dean's voice was full of warning.

“I didn't kill him. Just thought he should know what it feels like to be pawed at against his will.”

“Where is he?”

“Currently performing a striptease for a dozen ladies in their eighties.”

Dean chuckled as he reached down and picked you up. You nuzzled into his neck, still riding out your high. “Come on, let's get her home. She's gonna need to get her sugars back up after she's done in subspace.”

“And after that, we can see if I can get you there,” Gabriel said, quirking an eyebrow.

“Told you, man, I can't get there. Just can't let go enough.” Dean leaned down and pressed his lips to the archangel’s. “But I'm happy to let you try.” He winked as Gabriel reached out to take his hand. “Sir.”

KITCHEN SINK TAGS @heyitscam99 @wonderlandfandomkingdom @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mrs-meghan-winchester @henrymorganme @lonely-skys @allykat2108 @mogaruke @flamencodiva @team-free-will-you-idjits-67

SUPERNATURAL TAGS @letsby @mrswhozeewhatsis @adoptdontshoppets @spnskinnyballs @deansenwackles @gayspacenerd

GAGA FOR GREEN EYES TAGS @akshi8278

[saunteredslowlydownward]

Born As the World Burns Episode Headcanons: Season 4

Are You There God, It’s Me Dean Winchester

Has waaaaay too much fun researching angels

What Witness would Emma see?  Dean, maybe?  Would it be Lydia, for having a daughter that betrayed the Sisterhood?  Corbett?  One of her first hunts, where she wasn’t able to save someone in time?

In The Beginning

Wakes up just after Dean is transported to the past by Cas - first one on one meeting with Cas?

Metamorphosis

Emma is torn on the issue of Sam’s powers.  Cause if Dean sees that as Sam being something other than human… what does that mean for her?

Painfully aware that other hunters would consider her something that needed to be hunted.

But very not on board with the blood drinking, obviously.

facepalms whenever Sam and Dean reveal that they’ve been keeping something from one another.

Goes to research with Sam.

Hates the use of the term “long-pig”… cause memories.  Considers going vegetarian after this (tries and fails- Amazons are obligate carnivores)

Silently cringes every time Dean says something about ‘monster’.

Sam: “This is my choice.”  Emma: “Then good for you, Sam.” *proud*

Monster Movie

Emma has a map in her journal where she tracks all the states they go to.

Headdesks about the whole “rehymination” *eye roll*

“…there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin.”

But also, teases Dean by suggesting that she probably ought to be looking to lose hers as soon as possible if that’s how things are meant to be done.

Yellow Fever

Some of Dean’s early fears heavily revolve around Emma and her safety

Or maybe Emma is sick right along with Dean? she does use fear as a weapon

Sees the Amazons coming for her and Dean turning on her and trying to kill her

It’s the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester

Emma’s first Halloween!

Sam: “Two words: Jail bait.”  Emma: “Dude, they’re like… my age!” *gag*

Corrects everyone’s pronunciation of Samhain

Cas: “Tell me, Dean, when your father gave you an order, didn’t you obey?” Emma: “When my mother gave me an order, I ran away so I didn’t have to obey.  Orders aren’t always right.”

Wishful Thinking

Disappointed that Bigfoot is a hoax

Tries to actually sit down and talk to the giant teddy bear… cause why the fuck not?

What would Emma wish for?

Discount Rupert Grint was a prime candidate for “Vigilante Feminism” with his shower spying

Damn it, Sammy, maybe he doesn’t fucking want to talk about it cause it’s traumatic! *eye roll*

Gives Wes a kiss on the cheek in thanks (she finds him cute)

Starts to consider sharing some of the details of ‘boot camp’ with Sam and Dean to help Dean feel open to sharing about Hell

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Sam: “Let’s trade stories.  How was Hell?  Don’t spare the details.”  Emma: *glares at him a second and then busts out the story of how they forced her to eat human flesh*

Can Anna see Emma’s ‘face’?

Goes with Ruby and Anna

flashbacks show Sam ditching Emma at Bobby’s, Emma semi catatonic in her grief

Heaven and Hell

Emma is the only one surprised when Uriel announces that Sam’s  been screwing Ruby (cause she wasn’t there for the big heart to heart last episode)

An angel, a demon, and an amazon in the back seat of a car

Family Remains

Having three in the car makes sleeping in it a lot more cramped

Emma always has at least three knives hidden on her at all times, so at least they have some weapons left.

Stays out in the shed with mom and daughter to keep them safe

Criss Angel Is A Douchebag

Emma investigates parallel to the guys, masquerading as an aspiring young magician

After School Special

Emma enrolls in school - that’s an adventure

“Dude, Dad, those girls are my age!  …kind of.” re: legal teenagers

Sex and Violence

Junior Agent Emma ^_^

just rolls her eyes at Dean’s joy over a case with strippers

goes straight to the back room to talk to the girls, who try to be super helpful but can’t actually help much other than give a bit of confirmation to the siren theory

“They’re princesses.  All the girls that the siren is masquerading as have Disney princess names.”

Emma is tricked by the siren’s illusion but it’s venom doesn’t work right on her (weaker, easier to fight off) but still enough to get her for a bit

Follows along with Dean and Nick to the strip club, letting Sam have some alone time with Cara

wanders off, having befriended a few of the dancers who have decided to adopt her

Dean and Nick leave her behind there

Hitches her way back to the hotel just in time to help Bobby break the guys out of it and kill the siren

says nothing about their little ‘we good?  yeah, we’re good” bro moment, but definitely left with the feeling that they are not, in fact, all good

Death Takes a Holiday

Can’t agree more with Pamela on how crazy they are.

Emma can’t do the astral projection thing so she has to stay behind and keep an eye on their bodies and Pamela

kicks some demon ass and keeps Pamela safe, thank you very much

On the Head of a Pin

Emma fights so hard against Uriel and Castiel taking Dean to torture Alastair that they have to literally knock her out.  Probably breaks her hand punching Uriel.

And she doesn’t even make a move to stop Sam from killing Alastair.

Doesn’t leave Dean’s side for one second while he’s in the hospital until after he wakes up, and even then it takes some serious convincing.

It’s a Terrible Life

Emma Browning, recently hired to be Dean Smith’s new personal assistant.

Of course she follows along as the weirdness happens.  Like he could stop her.

There might be a bit of flirting going on between Dean and Emma… and once they remember just exactly who they are, they both agree to never speak of it again.

The Monster at the End of This Book

Can’t stop laughing at the cover art.

Reads through them voraciously.

Skips the sex scenes.

Oh lord, you know that there are Sam/Dean/Emma fans in this verse. *facepalm*

“I mean… are we *sure* that he’s not actually a god?”

Of *course* Emma asks Chuck for an autograph.  Probably hangs out at his place if Chuck and Dean let her, asking all sorts of writing questions.

Jump the Shark

“… it’s a binder, the rings open.  Why the hell did he tear the pages out?”

Gets a weird scent off of Adam, can’t quite place it until they figure out about the ghouls - it’s death.

The Rapture

Emma points out that getting him back to his family might not be the safest of ideas.

I wanna say that Emma catches Jimmy sneaking out and tails him.

“Hey, I’m not gonna stop you from going back to your family, but I *am* going with you.”

Manages to hold the demons off till Sam and Dean get there.

Suggests getting Amelia and Claire some protective sigils maybe?  Or anti-possession tattoos.

"Put pressure on the wound, Jimmy!”

“Uh, Sam, you got a little something… on your face…”

Emma makes an actual attempt to stay in touch with Claire.

When the Levee Breaks

“If you think that Sam is a monster…. then what does that make me?”

Dean: “Then at least he dies human!”  Emma: can’t handle it, leaves the house before Dean sees her cry.

Emma refuses to choose sides between Dean and Sam on the demon blood thing... but she does follow after Ruby when Sam tells her to get out of there.  Ruby manages to slip away from her, though.

Lucifer Rising

Backs Bobby up on Dean being a better man than John was, adds “a better father, too.”

Once again left behind when Dean is taken to the Beautiful room

[fightevilandthengetblownup]

CANONFIC: A Return To Earth

It was as if she was blinded one second, and the next her world was a swirling mass of colours again.

She had just been in the bar, lining up the 9-ball while taunting Ash that he was going to lose and be stuck on angel-banishing duty until their next match. Her palms had been slightly sweaty and the smell of marijuana smoke as the mulleted genius has let out a stream of smoke above her head. Jo had just lined up the shot and started the follow through before her memory went blank.

Next thing she knew, her vision had been filled with nothing but bright white, so white it felt like she had never been seeing before.

And then she was here, blinking around at her new surroundings. There were sounds, voices but none familiar, and her back hurt where she was sitting up against the wall behind her. The floors beneath her were brand new floor boards, crisp and flat as if they’d only been installed in the last few years and had no heavy foot traffic or wear before.

Pulling her legs in under herself as she struggled to her feet, Jo let out a gasp noticing the dark, rust-coloured stain covering the entire front and splashing down the thighs of her jeans. Eyes widening, she recognised the bloody shirt she was now wearing too, all torn and ripped as it had been in the last moments that she had seen it just three years earlier. Holding out her arms, Jo’s surprise was dimming as she recognised the green jacket as the same from that fatal hunt as well. Shifting her feet, Jo looked around her quickly before shrugging the mostly undamaged jacket off and holding it in front of herself, covering up the dried blood stains as effectively as she could.

Looking about the space, it seemed familiar but completely foreign at the same time. The floors were brand new, the walls bright and clean, the shelves all new but clearly second hand at the same time. Nothing was what she remembered except for the shape of the space as Jo made her way through the racks of the now re-opened hardware store. It had to be the same store, she thought as she looked out the window and recognised the street she had been laid prone by Meg’s hellhounds in.

Winding her way through the store’s shelves she waited for the friendly looking older man manning the counter to move out and begin to assist an elderly looking woman asking about screw drivers to make her move - rushing behind the counter, opening the till and tearing out as many notes as she could, as well as palming a few pens and note pads. Just as the man appeared to be finishing, Jo ducked back out and ran straight out the door into the street. Her feet were moving fast, and everything felt more real than she could ever remember Heaven feeling like, but she was sure this was still just someone’s memory she’d accidentally been drawn into, it had to be.

Making her way down three buildings away and ducking into an alleyway without being spotted by the infuriated shop keeper she could hear screaming behind her, Jo moved over to the wall and began drawing out her passage sigils to open the doorways back to the Roadhouse to give Ash a piece of her mind. All because she was beating him at pool.

When the first did nothing, no doorway opening up, she moved onto the second with a frown. It did not glow as she finished the last line, and nothing appeared to happen again. And then she tried the next, and the next. Nothing was working and she was stuck in some memory far from home where she should be.

Scowling, Jo chewed nervously upon her bottom lip before looking about the alley as if something would come to her.

Moving out of the alleyway once the shouting had died down, she made her way along the street itself, looking about at what had been an abandoned and slaughtered town when she had last been in Carthage, Missouri, in confusion. There was no sign other than a slight charred look to some street lamp posts out front the hardware store that anything bad had ever happened in the town.

Making her way down the street, she spotted a second-hand store taking up the entire ground floor of the corner building across the street. Running across, dodging around traffic, Jo looked at the cash she had managed to swipe - just under $300 - with a short nod before stuffing it back in her back pocket and making her way into the store.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” She said, approaching the slightly older woman - she must have been in her late fifties, and probably a volunteer if she friendly smile that had not been worn down by years of retail work was anything to go by - behind the counter with an awkward smile. “I have completely mind blanked, could you tell me what the date is? I was supposed to meet my mom on the 12th here and she’s not here and my phone just died.”

“Oh sweetheart, you’re way off. It’s-” As the woman recited the date, Jo’s ears felt like they were ringing as she realised just how far off she was. It was months since the explosion, or months before, she couldn’t quite tell.

“Thanks so much, guess I would lose my head if I didn’t have it screwed on proper!” Jo laughed, nodding to the woman as she moved away from the counter and along the racks of clothes. She kept an eye on the woman at the front, before making her way over when the older lady moved off to straighten something in the toy section of the store. There was a laptop open on the counter, and twisting it about, Jo bit back a shout seeing the date of 2011 staring back at her. She was almost three years out of date right now.

Biting down on her lip again, Jo let out a shaky breath and moved back towards the women’s clothing area, pawing through the racks in a blur and pulling out the first few things she came across before rushing towards the back of the store where there appeared to be a change room.

Latching the door behind her, tossing the light blue shirt and jean short-shorts she had seemingly grabbed onto the rickety looking seat as she looked about the small space - and approached the mirror as she took in her dishevelled but clean appearance. She looked exactly like she had when she’d stepped out of her mom’s car that morning as they entered Carthage; could almost believe it was the same day if it weren’t for the tears and blood stains on her shirt and jeans.

Running a hand over her hair, Jo pulled out the pen she’d stolen and quickly drew on the mirror, knowing they tended to work as better mediums for such sigils and summoning than the patchy, worn walls of the changing room would do with all the crumbling paint flecks. She marked out the lines carefully to only draw on the one angel she thought could possibly help make heads or tails of what was going on. The last time they had spoke he’d given her the symbol and had promised he’d try harder resisting the impact of the monstrous Mother running about. It might have been a bad idea, but she didn’t really have any better ones at that moment.

“God I hope you’re somewhere you can help me, Mikey.” Jo murmured to herself as she finished the lines with a final flourish before she cut her palm with the jagged latch of her belt and pressed the bleeding mark against the centre of the symbol. “I really hope..”

“Jo…” The deep voice behind her didn’t even make her jump as Jo sagged in relief against the cold mirror’s surface with a relieved sigh, eyes closed.

“Oh thank God.” Jo replied, blinking her eyes open and locking immediately on the dark haired man standing behind her with an almost blank look on his face. Rubbing a hand across her face as she stood up straight and turned to face the archangel without a care, Jo smiled at him and gestured about herself with one hand. “Hey, do you know what…is going on? Where am I and why am I here? Is this.. is this the real world?” She almost hissed the last part out, uncertain if voicing the idea aloud would make it real and just what that would mean.

Michael took a step forward towards her, his footfalls sounding for once - something Jo blinked at realising she’d never really experienced his presence in reality, always simply as a projection of himself, tactile enough but missing those nuances and weight of real existence - in the small space as he moved the four feet between them from one end of the change room to where she was at the other. “Yes, Jo, you are in the real world. I have made you whole again and given you your life back.”

“Wha- you did what?” Jo blinked in surprise at that, tilting her head to look up at him before shaking her own. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was willed for you to return. It was willed, and so I made it so.” The words should have sounded cold as he spoke, but Jo couldn’t help but smile hearing the slight warmth that bled through in his tone, the same soft look she would get from him spread across his face. “Are you not pleased to be given another opportunity to make an impact, Jo?”

At that, Jo laughed and scratched at her stomach where the dried bloody shirt was itching her sensitive skin, the memory of her flesh being torn apart. Tugging the shirt up to look down, she smiled wider seeing the flat, unmarred flesh there. Blinking in surprise when she noticed that the other marks, like the burn that had been just above her navel from accidentally burning herself as a child helping her mom with a batch of cookies, Jo tore her shirt off without any thought to the other’s presence, looking at her back for any of the marks she’d developed over the years. None were there, she was as clear and unmarked as a new born babe. Blinking in surprised she noticed all of the tattoos she’d accumulated were missing too - the oak tree, the birds and the dark end of her anti-possession tattoo that would poke out under her hair line on the back of her neck were all gone.

“I made you whole, Jo. You’re brand new and ready for a great purpose.” The words made her jump, having forgotten the other was there at all as she caught his eye in the mirrored reflection before she saw his hands reach and grasp her shoulders gently. “I am so glad it was you that was chosen. I am quite fond of you, and you are so spirited. Made perfect in every way now for the task.”

“Uh, Mikes, not to be ungrateful for the whole… resurrection thing. I know that’s kinda a special-people only thing, but,” Jo frowned up at him as she turned her head back to face him, blinking in surprise as the archangel was a lot closer than he had been before and his hands held her shoulders almost too tightly. His face was closer to her too, and raising a brow, she tried to shrug his hold off of one shoulder gently without any success. “Uh, what do you mean purpose and task?”

“Why, to be the next Mother of course.”

That stopped her dead cold, a shiver running along her spine and goosebumps breaking out across her bare skin as the archangel stepped closer, pushing her back against the cold mirror behind her. The cold surface however was not the cause of her shivers as she looked up at him, his face closer to her own again and as she opened her mouth to ask what he meant but that horrifying statement, her lips were covered by his instead.

Squeaking, Jo tried to tug out of his grip and jerked her head back harshly, turning away from his dispassionate look, eyes darting about the small space.

“Mikey, what the fuck.” She hissed the words out, keeping her head to the side as she took in the rickety chair with her intended replacement clothes to the left, and then nothing else at all in the small space she could use. “What..is this all about?”

“Sweet little Joanna,” The other said, that warm tone slipping and instead the slightly cold tone she had come to associate with the last time they had spoken since the arrival of Eve, the Mother of Monsters. Michael’s voice was so familiar but not at all the gentle, kind tone he would use with her before, and his grip on her chin as he let go of her right shoulder was more forceful than she knew he would usually use on a human such as herself. “You’ve been chosen by my Mother to do something incredible. You have been reborn, and remade, and reconstructed in such a way for the task itself - through her powers and my own - to be the vessel for her greatest achievement.”

“I thought that was all those other monsters.” Jo bit the words out, eyes darting between each of his own, unable to focus on just one as she tried to move even fractionally further back while he kept a firm grip on her face and other shoulder. Her right hand, still holding the uncapped marker, gripped tighter on the pen as the only thing she could do. Jo knew better than to try to throw a punch at an angel without breaking herself. “I thought she hated me.”

“She’s been watching you, Joanna. She’s watched you, and she’s watched me, and she’s got plans to make the final greatest piece.” Michael’s thumb stroked her jaw, and unlike the comforting feeling it had brought in past, it felt wrong and like the precursor to some greater horror. Eyes wide, Jo let out another high pitched noise of confusion as the archangel pressed his lips to hers again a moment later, a lot more forcefully than he had before. Whining and trying to pull back, it’s only a few seconds before Michael pulls back and continues his wide eyed stare at her. “Angels are strong, but there is something more powerful but it requires something special to be able to achieve successfully without catastrophic failure. And even more so for it to be with an archangel.”

Jo’s brain screamed at her at that point as his words started to click in her mind. “Are… Michael, what has happened to me? What..did you bring me back for?”

“You’re to birth the next monsters, Joanna, the mother of nephilims.”

“What the fuck, there is no way that I’ll do that!”

“You do not really have a say in this any more.” Michael responded, his hands moving into her hair as he had done many a time before, pushing the loose waves near her face back with a little more force than previously before holding her head tightly in the one position. Jo bit her lips tightly, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t lean in for them again. “Mother chose you due to my fondness, and we shall create the strongest force the world has ever seen through my Grace and your…new form.”

“Michael,” Jo growled the name out, a cold look crossing her face as she looked back up into his equally stony one. “What did you and that bitch do to me?”

Her head knocked harshly into the mirror behind her, pain blooming on her forehead where her skin broke and bled, flecks of red on the now cracked mirror behind her as Michael crushed her against it. She had forgotten he reacted so poorly when his Mother was insulted.

The next moment, his fingers touched her forehead and the pain receded, her eyes wide and concerned while she tried valiantly to pull away from him. It felt so wrong for him to hurt her and then heal her in turn, so wrong for him to have the power to change her body. And Jo felt herself shudder as he spoke, revealing just how much he had changed. “Your previous form would not be able to survive the process, nor support and allow the safe birth and continued breeding necessary as it was. This has been fixed now. You will be safe in all ways as you provide us with the offspring.”

“And who is us, Michael.” Jo gritted the words out, her free hand twisting as she realised she’d have no chance to escape easily without some other angel’s interference or even a demonic one. If only she had called someone else, maybe she could have denied any of this longer. She had a feeling she knew who he meant, and glaring back at him, she wanted him to confirm just how much control the other now wielded over him.

“Why, you will provide Mother the young she needs to fulfil her wishes. I am to help you with that.”

“That’s what I thought.” Growling in response, Jo twisted her wrist painfully as she thought of a way out of this situation finally, pushing off the cap of the pen with her thumb while she tried to keep his attention off of her movements. Shaking her head, loosening his grip on her hair, Jo snarled back. “What happened to you, Michael..You can’t seriously want this. You know what those things are, you know your Father flooded the world to destroy them-”

“I flooded the world, Joanna.” His grip was on her throat, pushing her back against the mirror as he spoke, the other hand moving from her shoulder now to press her hip back against it as well as he crowded against her. The idea of personal space had always been lacking, and even more so now she could tell he had been commanded as such. Michael tilted his head to one side before speaking softly to her, hand moving from her neck to her cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers in such a gentle way she almost thought he may be himself again. “I flooded it on my Father’s order, but he has gone, and now Mother is here to take his place. I know this is a hard ask, but I care for you Joanna, and I will ensure you are cared for through the process if you do not fight it. This is your duty, now.”

“I know you think that..” Jo mumbled, twisting her hand and scraping the end of the pen blindly and with as deliberate and calm a moves as she could against the mirror behind herself in a familiar pattern as she spoke. It was muscle memory by this point, having traced the symbols out for years within the confines of Heaven, banishing angels left and right as she had begun her own movements against the forces trying to interfere with Earth and her friends. As she moved for the last mark, Jo looked back up at the somewhat pleased look on the other’s face before the last line was placed and the white light flooded from the symbol behind her. “But I’m not goin’ to do that, and I will stop her.”

“Jo.” It was the last thing she heard as the changing room was flooded with light from behind her and the hold on her disappeared along with the archangel himself.

The next ten minutes was covering the stall with anti-angel symbols and an entire array of protections on the mirror itself - easy for the owner of the store to clean away when Jo managed to come up with another solution - and changing into the spare clothes.

As she sat down on the old chair, Jo sighed and rubbed a hand over her face before she uncapped her pen again and started the marks to summon her next port of call, the next person she knew could help her out and may just be able to protect her against the might of Michael and Mother.

She sighed quietly as she began the ritual to summon him to her, and smiled painfully when the Scottish voice broke through the quiet changing room, “What trouble have you gone and gotten yourself into now, Princess?”

[percussiongirl2017]

Confidence

Title: Confidence

Pairing: None.

Summary: This was written for @mrsbatemotel53 challenge. Sam and Dean stop at a bar for drinks, but when the house band’s lead singer quits they see an unexpected face join the band.

Prompt: Paralyzer by Finger Eleven and I named my motel Starlight Motel.

Word Count: 1183

Warnings: None.

A/N:  REPOST OF AN OLD FIC. Feedback would be greatly appreciated. Italics represent lyrics.

Buy Sam and Dean’s scents here!

********

     Sam and Dean walked into the bar hoping to drink away the case they just finished. They sat down at the counter and ordered their drinks. There was a band tuning on the stage and suddenly there was a loud commotion. The duo turned around to see the lead singer storm off the stage and out the back door labeled EXIT. The bassist set his instrument down and hopped off stage. He ran over to someone in the corner booth and talked in a hushed voice. Sam turned back around to the bar while Dean continued to watch what was going on. The bassist finished his conversation and the person in the booth followed him back to the stage. You had on boots and a pair of dark blue jeans that were riddled with holes and frays, but complimented all your curves. Your Jack Daniel’s tank top was covered by a red and black flannel. Climbing onto the stage, you pulled out your hair tie, allowing your black hair to cascade down to the center of your back. You looked vaguely familiar to Dean, but he couldn’t place who you reminded him of.

“Hey, everybody!” You called into the microphone. “So many of you know that this is a cover band and they’ve played here before. Unfortunately, Jake, their lead singer, just quit.”

     You waited for the crowd to quiet down before you continued.

“Calm down.” You laughed. “Lucky for Brett and the others I’m still in town and volunteered to fill in tonight.”

The bassist, Brett, grabbed the other mic. “A huge thanks to Y/N for agreeing to do this last minute. We’re very lucky that she was in town.”

     Y/N? Dean turned and nudged Sam’s shoulder to get his attention.

“What?” Sam asked while turning around.

“You know who that is?” He asked while gesturing to you.

Sam thought for a minute. “She looks familiar. You know her?”

“Dude,” He said. “Remember Y/N? She hunted with us for a while.”

“What?” Sam said while doing a double-take. “That’s her? Man, it’s been years since we’ve seen her.”

      While the boys continued their discussion, the band started up and you took off your flannel which raised a cheer from the crowd. Smirking, you grabbed the mic.

I hold on so nervously To me and my drink I wish it was cooling me But so far has not been good

It's been shitty And I feel awkward as I should This club has got to be The most pretentious thing

Since I thought you and me Well, I am imagining A dark lit place Or your place or my place

Well, I'm not paralyzed But, I seem to be struck by you I wanna make you move Because you're standing still If your body matches What your eyes can do You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

     The boys watched in awe as you moved around the stage. Your tank top accented your curves as you danced to the music. You had changed a lot since the last time they had seen you. You moved freely and seemed more comfortable in your body.

I hold out for one more drink Before I think I'm looking too desperately But so far has not been fun

I should just stay home If one thing really means one This club will hopefully Be closed in three weeks

That would be cool with me Well, I'm still imagining A dark lit place Or your place or my place

Well, I'm not paralyzed But, I seem to be struck by you I wanna make you move Because you're standing still If your body matches What your eyes can do You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

     You moved back towards the center of the stage and hooked the mic back onto its stand. Your lips just barely brushed the microphone as you finished the song. Dean couldn’t help but watch as you sang your heart out.

Well, I'm not paralyzed But, I seem to be struck by you I wanna make you move Because you're standing still If your body matches What your eyes can do You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

Well, I'm not paralyzed But, I seem to be struck by you I wanna make you move Because you're standing still If your body matches What your eyes can do You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

You'll probably move right through Me on my way to you

    The crowd cheered and Sam and Dean joined them. You gave the crowd a small bow before stepping over to talk to Brett. Now that you were standing still, Dean noticed something else that he had missed. You had tattoos. He could make out the anti-possession on your collar bone, however, he couldn’t see any of the others.

“Dude, she’s inked.” Dean stated.

“What hunter isn’t?” Sam laughed. “Every hunter has at least a sigil or ward on them.”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “She has more than one or two. Let’s go catch up with her.”

      Dean pulled his wallet out and paid their bill. You had already walked out so Sam went over and talked to the bass player. He met Dean in the Impala.

“She’s staying at the Starlight Motel down the road.” Sam informed him.

“Awesome. That’s the same one we’re staying in.” Dean said while starting the Impala.

      They took off down the road hoping to catch you before you left town. Pulling into the dingy motel, Dean instantly knew which car was yours. You always liked classic cars and had convinced Bobby to let you have one of the cars lying around the junkyard. Parked in front of the motel doors was a dark blue ’65 Mustang. Dean pulled in next to the car and the boys climbed out. As they walked around the front of the car, you walked out your door with your duffel on your shoulder.

“Hey, stranger.” Dean called.

You looked up from your phone. “Dean? Sam?”

“In the flesh.” Sam laughed.

“Wow.” You chuckled while pulling them into a hug. “It’s been years. You guys look good.”

“You too.” Dean smiled.

Sam looked at your bag. “Where you headed?”

“Bobby’s.” You answered. “Why don’t you guys come with me? We can catch up there.”

“Definitely.” Dean agreed.

     After returning the room keys, you climbed into your Mustang and started it, smirking as Dean’s jaw dropped slightly.

“You not the only one with a nice car.” You said out the window.

Dean started the Impala. “I wonder who has the faster car.”

“Let’s find out.” You challenged. “Last one to Bobby’s buys drinks.”

“Deal.” The brothers accepted.

     Both cars lined up on the empty road and you counted down over the roar of the engines.

“Three…”

“Two…”

“ONE!”

You and Dean hit the gas and rocketed down the barren road leaving the Starlight Motel in the dust.

********

Tags:

@impala-dreamer @feelmyroarrrr @mariekoukie6661 @latishiante1001 @ellen-reincarnated1967 @i-cant-believe-its-not-satan @ellie-andthemachine @spnbaby-67 @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @meeshw777 @rideandwritethings @sleepylunarwolf @moose-and-sqruille-lover @youre-acting-like-a-psycho @waywardasfudge @amotleyworld @fallenangelsneverfade @claitynroberts @wingedcatninja @carryonmywaywardwriters @dean-winchesters-bacon @death-unbecomes-you @arses21434 @lonely-skys @mannls @internationalmusicteacher @theloudkilljoy @closetspngirl

[aiaranradnay]

Grief

A/N: this is for the spn angst bingo challenge hosted by @spnangstbingo ​ . I've finally begun this journey, and am really excited about it <3

Square filled: Free Space

Pairing : Dean x Reader

Warnings : Loads of Angst, canon typical violence, torture and tears. 

word count : almost 5k.

Inspiration : Scientist by Coldplay. also shoutout to @effie-w coz its that vintage clock of hers that got me in love with this song <3 

Betaed by @wingedcatninja who offered to help my rusty head. thank you so much<3 your support and guidance refined the fic a great deal. she’s also named the fic, so thank you<3

feedback is much appreciated :)

It had started out as a pretty decent morning – Sam just back from his morning run, Dean sifting through the newspaper pile looking for a case. He had been grouchy lately – ever since he had been stupid enough to drunk dial his ex at one in the morning. He had woken up the next day instantly regretting his actions. She had left him; it was not his fault.

No matter how many times he thought of it, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the end of that relationship. But that call, she had specifically told him that it wasn’t him, she had taken the blame; he should probably accept it.

But she sounded so broken ... was she hurting too, just like he was?

His head whirled around the same thoughts over and over as his eyes raked through the most recent paper, finding an article about a gruesome animal attack two towns over – nowhere close to the wild. An uneasy feeling crept into his gut, his mind repeating her last words; her voice sounding pained and forlorn – “Goodbye, Dean, take care.”

Then his phone rang out, your name flashing on the display as the guitar riff blared out.

“It’s Y/N,” he told Sam with a scowl of pure hatred, masking the tiny seed of hope that had blossomed in his chest.

Sam watched his brother answer the call with a gruff ‘hello’, his expression rapidly changing into one of shock and fear. His face got paler by the second as the person on the other side spoke.

Dean felt his eyes burn as he withheld the tears. The hand that held the newspaper trembled, the article now making sense. The officer at the other end of the call requested him to collect the body and ended the call.

The first tear rolled down his cheek and his world came crashing down as he looked back into Sam’s concerned eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” he whispered.

It took them a whole month to get done with your ‘funeral’ – to get your mangled remains and a handful of bloody photographs from the police, put you back together as best as they could and bury you; for Dean to begin coping with your death; for Sam to accept your absence; for them to start living like normal hunters again. Sam probably tried to get his closure, but neither one was over it yet. At least once every week, one of them would be at your grave, Dean wishing he could have prevented it all, wishing he could go back to where it all started.

The first week, he was a mess; it was supposed to be a short visit, but the nearer he got to your place of resting the more he shattered. The impala too had picked up his sombre mood; her purr sounded like mourning, her radio softly singing one of your favourite songs. He then clambered out and seated himself beside your grave, whispering apologies to you – for not being there, protecting you as he should have.

His mind flew back in time and stopped by the pool table at a dingy bar where he was hustling his daily quota from the other players. They were idiots, and he was taking complete advantage of that. Then you had sauntered in. You were a stranger looking for some fun time; at least that was what you said. Two rounds later, he had miserably lost his entire day’s income to you. While you gave him a victory smirk, he desperately tried convincing himself that it was not your skills but his distracted mind that got him losing. However, you split the money with him the moment the blokes left and the table was cleared. “For all the trouble we go through for these losers, I think we deserve the money”, you whispered showing him the anti-possession tattoo on your wrist.  A few beers later, you had traded hunting stories and he had, to his own surprise, offered you a place at the bunker.

His entire frame shook as he sobbed over the death of his best friend, his love, who was unfairly snatched away from him.

Two weeks later, when he returned, he was exhausted – both physically and emotionally. The case they had just finished had been rather gory; but it wasn’t the gore that affected him – it was the victims. They all had something that eerily reminded him of you – the hair colour, the age, the physique. Every time they had a body in the morgue, the boys couldn’t help but remember your mangled form that lay six feet under.  The third time, Dean refused to go, unable to stand the grief. That day, the reaper at the crime scene who had popped up to harvest the soul confirmed that your soul was somewhere deep in hell, in some maximum security cell, with the best torturers available. The exact location however was unknown.

Castiel had called in a few days later, only to let the boys know that he couldn’t get that deep in the pit. Crowley had been smart enough to stay away. Dean felt terribly helpless as he sat there by your grave, not knowing how to help you. The usual strings of self blame wove around his head as he thought of endless scenarios where it hadn’t ended this way, where he had managed to save you. What he wouldn’t give to make a deal and take your place... wait a moment.

He abruptly stood up, a plan formulating in his head. Hurrying to his car’s trunk he pulled out everything necessary. Half an hour later, he was ready. The traps and sigils were strategically placed, and the tiny box buried in the middle of the crossroads. The only thing missing now was the demon. Soon enough the putrid stench of sulphur filled the air and a young man in a dark suit popped up, his eyes blood red. At first, Dean bargained his own soul in exchange of yours. When that failed, he drew out the demon blade, threatening and torturing the dealer for information. However, his attempts were fruitless, and ended with the orange-red glow of a dying demon when Dean buried the knife into the monster’s chest in blind fury.

As the sun descended, the rays shone on his handsome face, making the splatter of demon blood glisten. The tips of his dirty blonde hair glowed like embers as he stormed towards his Baby, seething with rage.

When you had first joined their ranks, you had requested just one small thing. “Don’t ask me about my past,” you had said. Both boys had readily agreed; they respected your privacy, knowing firsthand that a hunter’s life never starts with a happy event.  

As time passed any kind of discomfort or doubts you had about each other had evaporated into thin air. You had found a family you never thought you’d get again. The boys found you filling in the void they never knew they had in their lives.

To Dean you were like his saviour. He often watched you as you fooled around the bunker, loving how you patiently sat through research with Sam, despite being utterly bored. He loved your enthusiasm when he asked you to accompany him to the bar. He loved how the two of you had fun at the bar, even helping each other get someone for the night. It was all jokes and stupidity, for neither of you took anyone home. Ever since you’d waltzed into his life, his one night stands had diminished in number, and replaced by actual blissful sleep.

Sure, he still got nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat; but somehow every time that happened, you’d be at the door with a look of concern. Neither of you exchanged words – you just walked in and wrapped your arms around him, calming him down with your mere presence. He’d often apologize for it, but you’d always brush it off with a ‘doesn’t matter... wasn’t really sleeping anyways’. You would then soothingly coax the bad dream out of his mind; and he’d simply pour out all his secrets, answer all your questions and then spend hours reminiscing about the early days of hunting when things weren’t this painful. You’d listen earnestly, commenting at some points and by the end of it, Dean would be snoring softly yet again, a part of his burden having disappeared.

Sam loved how you took care of his brother; he saw the love you had for each other, the love that neither of you were even aware of yet. You had now become his best friend, and he often had hinted that Dean and you would make a good couple, but you were ignorant of it. He knew for sure though, that someday it would all click into place. He simply couldn’t wait for the day when his best friend would officially be family, be his sister-in-law.

Now, with you gone the world seemed to have lost colour. The research work was too tedious, the bar nights too lonely and the nightmares more gory and terrifying. The boys no longer had that caring hand comforting them, or that soothing voice loving them. The bunker was too quiet with no sound of high pitched laughter bouncing off the walls, or the steady hum of a song being sung.

Your death had ripped open a huge hole in their lives, and they had nothing to patch it back up with.

By now, it had become a very common sight to have a Winchester mourning at your grave; the mornings were filled with Sam’s tired yet ever hopeful voice, and the evenings reserved for Dean’s pain. They never came together; never even told each other about the frequent visits.

The fourth week thus passed with them wondering why you’d never told them that you were dying.

Dean had always considered you to be his rock; maybe it was your constant support, or your everlasting optimism... to him you were invincible, a constant. So, that one day when he saw you break down he panicked. He had never seen you so broken... and now the memory of your voice, you crying, fallen crumpled in the middle of the road, haunted his mind. It was obvious that hunting was affecting you too and he didn’t like that. So he did the only thing he thought was sensible – he benched you. He gave a different reason every time but it always ended with ‘you’re not going Y/N’. You didn’t like it one bit. You were a full fledged hunter who’d given up on everything other than hunting; to be forbidden from doing the one job you knew didn’t sit well with you... and thus the fights started. Misunderstandings and arguments escalated. Moreover the two of you had just begun being ‘more than friends’, and it didn’t work well.

Your fights left Dean restless and as a result, the hunts often got botched up. Both your minds were losing peace, your lifestyle got more reckless and your relationship got rockier. Sam tried his best to calm the two of you and make you see sense, but you were stubborn and you butted heads ever so often. It finally took one hunt to sever whatever was left. You were benched but you broke protocol and followed them. Time wasn’t on your side, and you almost ruined it for all of them. Cas had turned up last minute and saved you all.

By the time you reached home, Dean was seething with rage. The usual argument turned heated, both your voices loud and bellowing, a volley of angry accusations tossing back and forth until you broke. “You know what?! I quit! I FUCKING QUIT!! I’ve had enough, Dean! It’s clearly not working. We’re over.” Minutes later, you were at the front door, a duffel bag hitched up your shoulder.

Time froze for a millisecond before Dean exploded. “Y/N, DON’T YOU DARE! You walk out that door, don’t you ever think of coming back! IF YOU LEAVE, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! YOU GET THAT?” for a split second he sounded so much like his father, even Sam flinched at the turn of events – like history repeating itself.

Maybe Dean would hate himself for doing it if only he was thinking straight. Maybe he’d have noticed your tortured face, his comment hitting much closer than he could have possibly imagined. Maybe he’d have apologized and things would be okay. But at that moment, it was a game of egos. “That would be just perfect, wouldn’t it?” you hissed, before storming out, the door clanging shut behind you. The silence that followed was deafening.

The silence seemed to have seeped into the bunker to this date.

In the stifled whimpers of the older Winchester, living his nightmares on repeat.

In the slumped frame of Sam Winchester, aching with suppressed emotions.

In the hushed flutter of the angel wings, as Cas popped by your grave, his eyes sunken with helplessness.

In the quiet of your absence, your grave remained still.

A dull grey evening.

A broken black car, grey with soot and dust.

A lonely grey headstone in the middle of nowhere.

A  defeated young man with a pale grey face staring hopelessly at the grave, leaning against the car.

He doesn’t know how to bring you back; he doesn’t know how to move on. The world has stopped for him, it doesn’t even have a meaning.

Regrets. A billion regrets; it’s the same thing haunting him.

Realization... of how the two of you had wasted your time fighting; all the time that you could’ve spent together; if only...

Memories... flooding in – cheesy lines and flirting; hugs of comfort, of love; stolen kisses, fearing the risk; giving in to your feelings; the nights together, loving each other.

“Hey Dean?” you mumbled, your head resting against his shoulder as the two of you sat, leaning against a tree in a tiny meadow Dean had discovered. It was hidden in the woods, a tiny paradise for the two of you. “Yea?” he whispered, not wanting the moment to end.

“Tag. You’re it,” you squeaked, before dashing into the wilderness. It took him a second to process, before he got up and sprinted in your direction.  Peals of laughter echoed through the trees as you ran, Dean right at your tail. You knew he'd easily catch you, despite the headstart. “Gotcha,” he growled as he tackled you, holding you close as the two of you came crashing down onto the forest floor. You squirmed under him, giggling the whole while as he watched you in awe.

And suddenly, you looked him in the eye, and he saw pure fear in yours. “Dean!” you gasped out. Startled, Dean pulled back slightly. “Dean!!” you cried out.

A blink of his eyes; you were gone.

“Dean!!!” your voice called out... but you weren’t there.

Sheer panic filled in Dean’s heart as he looked around in vain. Where did you go?

“DEAN!!!!” your voice was right there... where was it coming from? Under the ground?

That just didn’t make any sense.... yet there it was. Right from the depths of the earth.

A voice of pain; a voice of fear.

“DEAN!!!”

A sharp pain burnt his cheek as Cas slapped him out of his stupor; eyes focusing as he came back to the real world, his gaze meeting the concerned looks of Sam and Castiel. No one uttered a word. They simply helped him into the car and drove home.

The skies turned dark; the grave, once again, lonely.

Another case was done and dusted; and here he was yet again. His legs folded beneath him, his shoulders hunched carrying immense grief. A single tear rolling off his cheek and many unshed ones held within. His hands trembled, as he clutched a scrapbook – your scrapbook – tightly.

You had called it a journal; an art journal. And you wrote nothing about monsters in there. Dean hadn’t got it then; now that he had gone through it, he understood it all; hell, now he knew every little thing that was in it. It started out from when you’d joined the boys and contained every happy event that had followed. There were a million photos, drawings and cute cut-out crafts woven into a beautiful tale of a lonely huntress who found the best family. Faces – his, Sammy’s, Castiel’s – were delicately drawn around the day’s events. He didn’t even know how you’d gotten so many photos and it made him smile as he went through over and over. Those tiny flip-book motion pictures of the boys peeked out here and there. His smile only widened when he reached the timeline where the two of you had gotten together. There weren’t many photos – “I can’t even think straight around him, much less take photos”, you’d written. There were drawings though, where you had tried to recreate the time spent together as best as you could... and it was magical; like a fairy tale dream where you’d made him the prince. His heartstrings tugged in grief at the few missing photos, because he knew they were the best ones. They weren’t lost; as a matter of fact they were right there in his hand – slightly frayed and caked with grime and the remnants of your blood from when you had held them while you got torn into ribbons. Why had you made that deal anyway?

His vision blurred as the tears took over, his body casting a long shadow of a broken man, as the sun slipped below the horizon.   

Almost the end of week ten; yet Dean hadn’t come to you. Sam however did.

He knew that you were gone, and probably wouldn’t hear what he had to say; but if you could – then you had to know.

The young man knelt by the headstone, a bunch of fresh flowers in his hand – your favourite ones. “He wanted to come... Dean I mean; he wanted to see you, even put up a fight... but I... I just couldn’t let him out; he isn’t well, you know. Mentally – he...he’s crumbling, Y/N/N. He’s hallucinating; he sees you everywhere, and he...he just keeps saying that it’s his fault. He’s drinking himself to sleep, he’s hurting himself... it’s like your break-up all over again; a million times worse this time.” His eyes clouded with unshed tears as he remembered your heated arguments; the way you two butted heads. It seemed all so trivial then; all couples tended to fight – he could see the intense love you had for each other despite all the bicker.  

But over the days, your fights simply intensified; almost as if you were doing it all on purpose. And finally one day, it erupted with a final,’it’s over’ and you had walked out, never to return.

This time when the sun set, it cast its final rays on the longer locks of your best friend. “He’s losing it, Y/N; the pain, its killing him. He couldn’t even stand straight today, but he was so persistent about meeting you,” he chuckled sadly, “I had to add a few sleep meds into his drink to knock him out... I know that he’ll hate me when he wakes up, but you do understand my intentions right?”

Sighing softly, he rose. “Y/N, if you can hear me, come back to us. We miss you... Dean needs you back; hell, I need you back. I miss my best friend,” his voice broke towards the end.

The darkness settled in as he drove away.

Week eleven and yet you were still dead; they hadn’t found anything that could get you back. It was a Thursday and would have been your birthday if you were still alive. Sam had visited in the morning, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand. He had sat there for quite a long while talking to you. He was suffering – it was even worse for him because he hadn’t just lost you but also his brother; no matter what show Dean put up every day, he knew that the older one was no more the same.

That evening as the sun set, loud screeching of tires burned away the thick silence around your grave. A car – sleek, black, classic from the 60’s – swerved violently before shuddering to a stop right where the dirt trail to get to your grave started. A man stumbled out; a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was drunk beyond measure, struggling to stand upright.

How many could he have possibly downed just so he could get to this stage?

He fell on his knees with a thud. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was going to celebrate your birthday you know? But you weren’t there,” his broad frame violently shook as the pent up grief and sorrow flowed out of him.

“Why’d you leave? We could have worked it out, why’d you just give up like that?”

The ‘angry young man out for revenge’ facade that he held all day had crumbled, leaving behind a broken shell.

The worst part of it was that you were helplessly seeing everything. Hell apparently had wonderful reception to watch the outside world. Ever since the traditional chop-chop techniques of torture had ceased to affect you, the demons had improvised their torture methods – mind games.

They started out with a regular dose – your family dying, all your best memories with them changing into horror flicks while you watched helplessly. Surprisingly it didn’t affect you; years of recurring nightmares, Dean’s reassuring arms telling you that it wasn’t real, Sam’s wise counselling and all the love you got from them, had finally let you find the closure you sought. You now had a new family.

Then the visions of your family were replaced by the boys – you betraying the two, them suffering, dying, asking you over and over “why, Y/N/N?”... But you survived those too, convincing yourself that it was just trickery and that the boys were safe; they were Winchesters.

And finally one day they just let you see what the world upstairs was up to. That was where you crumbled – at their mourning faces; at Dean’s reckless attempts to bring you back, at Sam’s silence and their frequent visits to your grave.  That week was the worst, both for you and Dean. He visited everyday and you watched helplessly as he blamed himself for your death. The boys hadn’t taken a case that week, yet Dean seemed to have injured himself – bruised knuckles, multiple cuts and burns on his arms; never anything serious enough to kill him, but immensely painful. You screamed and bled freely as they carved into your skin, knowing that you were slowly giving up.

The last day of that week or maybe it was the next (or so you assumed for time ran differently out there), the torture seemed way more intense, and though you put up your best fight, you felt your body collapse and black spots dancing around your eyes. The last thing you remember before blacking out being a blinding light encompassed in gigantic golden wings followed by a searing pain in your shoulder.

Four months since your death, three since your funeral and yet he was there every week, reminiscing the time you spent, wishing he could go back to where it had all started.  

Thirteen weeks since your funeral; yet he wasn’t over your death. He still found himself pining, wishing, praying, hell even begging for you to come back. This week too, when they returned from the hunt, his hand automatically sought Baby’s keys. Despite the exhaustion, and the desperate need for some booze, he had yet again driven straight to your burial site. Like every week, ever since the funeral, he flopped down on his knees with a soft thud, right beside your grave. His eyes all teary, his voice all hoarse, he repeated the same three words he always said.

“I’m so sorry.”

The sun crawled down towards the horizon, casting its glow on the grief stricken man who sat by the grave. Silent tears rolled down his cheek as they did every time. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, as always, before recounting the week’s events. Soft noises of the underground rodents scraping through and scampering filled the silence as the darkness crept in. The noises – they seemed louder today; not that it mattered to Dean.

Then, just as he rose to leave, the soil that marked your grave started caving inwards, forming a shallow ditch. A hand shot out, feebly pushing off the dirt. A head followed, coughing and spitting out mud. The man’s tired green eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips.

“Y/N.”  He breathed. 

@writingthingsisdifficult   @thing-you-do-with-that-thing   @petrovadixon   @the–blackdahlia   @peddlergirl   @eturtle2002  @laura160604  @super100012 @rosey-persephone  @theas-bedtime-stories  @firedhomearrow  @trollhunter94   @percywinchester27 @mrs-squirrel-chester ​

[kpothoof]

To prove her superiority against Crowley, Abaddon captures a new prize. But she may have bitten off more than she can chew.. Count: ~1300 words

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Sam Winchester, Abaddon, Crowley

Prompt: Muzzled

Other Tropes: Kidnapped, caged, forced to kneel/bow

AO3

Get your card @badthingshappenbingo

Enjoy this latest bingo square. Let me know if you want to see more scenes of this story!

To prove her superiority against Crowley, Abaddon captures a new prize. But she may have bitten off more than she can chew...

The last of the demons arrived and the doors echoed shut. Abaddon circled to the front of her throne-like chair, her arms hanging casually at her sides. She slowly scanned the crowd, pinning them with her gaze. The silence stretched for several long moments, and several demons shifted uncomfortably beneath her wicked stare.

“It has come to my attention,” she began without preamble, “that there is doubt among our ranks. Some of you,” she hissed dangerously, “have entertained the notion that Crowley would make a better leader than myself.” An icy chill rippled through the assembly, though Abaddon’s tone was deceptively level.

“Apparently,” she continued, “some of you need a reminder of who’s really in charge.” She signaled a nod at a demon at the back of the room, who swung the creaky double doors wide open.

A second demon pushed a large, wheeled cage into the room down the middle aisle to where Abaddon stood, her eyes alight with suppressed glee. Within the cage knelt the figure of a man, his long hair falling into his eyes and a muzzle engulfing the entire lower half of his face. He was shirtless and barefoot, with only a pair of worn blue jeans protecting his knees from the rough floor of the cage. Heavy manacles pinned his hands to the floor in front of him, and a third chain led from the floor of the cage behind him to a heavy iron collar on his neck.

“Everyone,” announced Abaddon, smirking, “say hello to Sam Winchester.”

Sam raised his head, glaring daggers at her as he rolled past the other demons. “I acquired him myself outside of a motel in Reno. Some of you are familiar with his reputation, along with his alliance with Crowley. But now,” her voice dropped as she stared hungrily back into Sam’s fiery eyes, “now he is my trophy.”

Every demon in the room seemed unable to take their eyes off of the lair’s newest guest. One demon in particular, currently occupying the meatsuit of a short but husky nurse named Steve, was especially captivated. He had heard the stories, of course, about Sam and Dean Winchester. These two notorious hunters always left a bloody trail of dead demons in their wake. Azazel. Alistair. Lilith. They had even taken on the Devil and won. Steve wasn’t sure if even half the stories about the Winchesters were true (as if anyone could kill demons with their mind), but he had heard enough to be wary of Abaddon’s confidence.

As the cage was rolled past Steve’s position near the front of the crowd, he got a good look through the bars at the captured Winchester. He had a tattoo of an anti-possession sigil on his chest, and surprisingly few scars for a hunter, especially one who had literally been to Hell and back. However, it was his eyes that really held Steve’s attention. They were bright hazel, lit from within with such fury that Steve could swear they were glowing. Sam Winchester wasn’t even looking at the demon, but those eyes pierced his core and made Steve feel like he was staring into the caldera of a volcano. Or a star going supernova. Or his own impending doom. He was utterly petrified by whatever lay behind those awful, terrible eyes.

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity to Steve, the cage finally reached the front of the room. With his back straight, Sam was at exactly Abaddon’s level, not dropping his eyes from Abaddon’s possessive stare.

“Oh pet,” she cooed with mock sympathy as she reached through the bars and stroked Sam’s muzzled face. Sam turned his head sharply away from her invading hand, but made no other attempt at escaping her grasp. Undeterred, Abaddon began stroking his hair instead. “You had no idea what you were getting into when you decided to cross me, did you?”

Her eyes roved over his entire body, contemplating the many possibilities. “Perhaps,” she continued, “once I’ve had my fun with you…I’ll take your brother as well.”

The change in the hunter’s demeanor was instantaneous. He lunged forward as far as the chains would allow, growling dangerously. His fists were clenched, every muscle tense and poised to attack. His eyes were those of a wild animal, a predator poised to attack.  It wasn’t the helpless thrashing of a desperate man; it was a promise of certain death.

Abaddon chuckled, disregarding Sam’s ire. “Don’t worry, pet,” she said. “You and I still have plenty of quality time to look forward to. When I’m through with you, no one will ever again question who holds the power here.”

Steve the demon nurse, having not moved an inch since Sam Winchester entered the room, was willing to admit to himself that when the meeting had started, he had indeed been among the doubters. But now, Steve was absolutely certain that he was watching a staring contest between the scariest monster he had ever seen, and a doomed enemy. Abaddon had certainly removed all of Steve’s doubt about who was the better leader.

Crowley would never do something this absurdly suicidal.

It was nearly midnight when Abaddon returned to her hideout, teleporting directly into her throne room to enjoy some time with her new pet. Her black eyes snapped open, anticipating the familiar threadbare furniture and the promise of some quality time with her subdued enemy. As she scanned the room, however, her stomach dropped; the cage was empty.

The door of the cage hung wide open, and the chains and muzzle lay unlocked and discarded on the cage floor. Now on high alert, Abaddon turned to the room’s only entrance and saw the bodies of two demons sprawled across the broad doorway, their throats slit. She stepped out into the long, winding hallway, where she found more bodies, lining the hall like a bloody trail of breadcrumbs. One of the taller ones was missing his shirt and shoes.

She snarled as her pace quickened. If that Neanderthal of a hunter had done this…

Abaddon followed the macabre trail all the way to the front gate, the entire fortress still silent as the grave. An entire squadron of her demons had been slaughtered, and the hunter she thought she had cornered was in the wind. She let out a roar of fury that exploded outward from her like a shockwave. Streetlamps blew out. A mini-tornado whipped her hair around her like a fiery halo.

“Looking for something?” said a familiar voice behind her.

Abaddon whipped around to face the newcomer.

“Crowley?”

“Hello, love,” he replied casually. His smug grin shone in the dim starlight.

“You let him out?” she snarled.

“Now, why would a Winchester need me to do anything?” said Crowley. “Maybe he had a hidden bobby pin. Maybe his brother came and rescued him.” He circled Abaddon nonchalantly. “Or maybe,” he continued, “one of your saner, smarter demons took some very good advice and slipped him a key.”

“How dare you—”

“By all means,” interrupted Crowley, “feel free to blame whomever or whatever you want. Just remember you brought this on yourself.”

Abaddon quirked her eyebrow questioningly.

“Rule number one of this century, darling,” said Crowley. “Never underestimate a Winchester.”

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 3x12: “Jus in Bello”

Hoo freaking boy.

Just how many wigs did Bela own?

“You understand how many people are gonna die if you do this?” The answer is approximately 30.

“You know nothing about me.” Gee, it’s like you’ve told them nothing about you and they’re only going off their ow personal experiences with you, which are currently “kinda” shitty.

And then she adds salt to the wound...son of a bitch.

Hello, Henriksen.

Dude, chill out.

“Hey! Hey! Watch the merchandise!”

The boys being chained together like that must’ve caused some funny shenanigans as they had to move together.

Like right freaking now.

I’m just now realizing that the BMOL are currently keeping an eye on this shit going down and aren’t raising a finger to do anything about it.

Henriksen has to go through his own b.s.

“I got a lot to celebrate. I mean, after all, seeing you two in chains...”

“You kinky son of a bitch. We don’t swing that way.” lmao. 

“Take a good look at Sam. You two will never see each other again.”

WHOA WHOA WHOA. PUMP THE BREAKS HENRIKSEN.

What a dick. He kinda has to be, so I get why...but srsly chill out.

See, like right there. He goes in for a handshake and gets handed paperwork instead and treated like an inferior. I was pissed at Henriksen less than 10 seconds ago yet when someone treats him poorly, I’m outraged.

Deputy Director Steven Groves.

OOH SHIT HE SHOT DEAN HOW DID I NOT SEE THAT COMING

Sam memorized his exorcism!

But doesn’t complete it, the demon makes an early exit.

RIP Deputy Director Steven Groves

Poor Dean bleeding out. Jeez, give him medical attention!

RIP All these people.

RIP Reidy

Henriksen and the Winchesters all keeping their cool.

See, that’s the Henriksen I like!

Sam and his powers of convincing.

SAM THAT IS REALLY JOLTING, JEEZ.

Nice work, Sam.

“Would it kill these cops to bring us a snack?!” They’re the target of a major demon attack and Dean’s major concern is that he’s hungry, lmao.

“It’s like we got a contract on us. Think it’s because we’re so awesome? I think it’s ‘cause we’re so awesome.” LMAO, shut up Dean. 

One of these two is possessed AND IT WAS HENRIKSEN.

RIP Sheriff.

Good job Sam!

Nothing like a good ol’ exorcism to convince people that the supernatural exists.

“I shot the sheriff.”

“But you didn’t shoot the deputy.”

 I made the exact joke when I first watched this right before Dean did. I’m telling you, me and Dean? Connected.

Sam’s ultimate bitchface, hahahaha.

(x)

Aaayyyy. The alliance has been forged.

Both Henriksen and Dean ask Nancy how she’s doing.

“When I was little, I would come home from the church and start to talk about the devil. And my parents would tell me to stop being so literal. I guess I showed them, huh?” She’s got a great sense of humor.

Dean risks his ass to get more weapons.

Shame they don’t have the freakin’ Colt....

Get back inside Dean!!!

Was Sam unaware of Dean leaving?

Guess not.

Well, that was something.

Anti possession charms.

AAYYY THEIR TATTOOS!

Henriksen laments over his kill.

OH NO DUDE.

Henriksen gets “the talk”.

Would Henriksen have become a hunter? He would’ve been a pretty good one. Him, Jody, and Donna: cops turned part time hunters.

God, Henriksen had personality.

Fucking Ruby.

Sam, without question, frees Ruby from the trap. I’m about as frustrated as Dean right now.

30 demons.

Sam kept quiet about Lilith? Son of a bitch, Sam. And I know this shit is gonna continue into S4....

Again, had BELA not interfered and stolen the Colt, they wouldn’t be getting ripped a new one by Ruby. 

Tho Dean is somewhat enjoying watching Sam fumble his way through an explanation. Payback for keeping secrets from him.

Damn it, the Colt being gone means that Ruby has to perform a spell that would kill even her. We missed out on an early Ruby death, fucking hell.

(But this is reminding me of when Cas almost killed himself when he carved an angel banishing sigil on his chest to get rid of 5 angels. Cas and Ruby, both willing to kill themselves to help out the Winchesters, except the former actually went through with his plan...)

The spell calls for a virgin...Nancy steps forward.

Unfortunately, it calls for Nancy’s heart to get cut out of her chest.

Nancy is noble af. She deserves better.

“Nobody kill any virgins!” Kinda funny out of context.

Dean’s got a plan.

Dean’s plan wins.

Oh boo freaking hoo Ruby.

Also, I’m just realizing that Sam considered going through with Ruby’s plan because it would save the people outside...when she already killed a good number of them just to get to them. Dude...where is your logic.

8 minutes left. Here we go lads.

Dean and Henriksen working together! Fucking A!

“When this is over, I’m gonna have so much sex...but not with you.” Nancy...you’re awesome.

A mass exorcism! Dean’s plan was so great.

But one demon gets away....

How cool was that???

“Rest in peace, guys.”

Oh, Henriksen....goddamn it, I’m about to be sooo fucking sad.

no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no

RIP Henriksen, Nancy, and all the others. They deserved so much better.

I hate when Ruby’s right. I hate admitting when she’s got a point, fuck man.

Don’t let her get you down,boys. Y’all did the best you could...which is often the greatest tragedy: doing everything correctly, giving it your all, and still coming up short. 

(Allow me to scream into the void.)

[alphalib22]

Do All the Questions

Welp, here goes nothing.

0. Height: 5′3″

1. Virgin?: No

2. Shoe Size: 9 1/2

3. Do you smoke?: No

4. Do you drink?: On occasion, but not heavily.

5. Do you take drugs?: Adderall for my ADD, but that’s the only drug I take.

6. Age you get mistaken for: People think I’m in my twenties.

7. Have tattoos?: No

8. Want any tattoos?: Yes, one in memory of my best friend from high school, an anti-possession sigil from Supernatural, and probably something related to family and music/color guard.

9. Got any piercings?: One on each ear.

10. Want any piercings?: Probably just more on my ears.

11. Best friend: @timelock97, hands down

12. Relationship status: Single and really need a boyfriend.

13. Biggest turn ons: When he holds my face in his hands and kisses me.

14. Biggest turn offs: When you talk about you a lot.

15. Favorite movie: The Nightmare Before Christmas

16. I’ll love you if: You will stay at home with me in our sweatpants and t-shirts and just watch movies with me all day and probably make out or something.

17. Someone you miss: I kinda miss my ex-boyfriend, but I know he’s happy with someone else, so I won’t get into that.

18. Most traumatic experience: My boss walked in on me in the bathroom at work. That’s what I get for not locking the door, and that’s what he gets for not knocking.

19. A fact about your personality: I’m very much a homebody. I’d rather stay at home than go out and do stuff.

20. What I hate most about myself: I hate that I always look at myself in the mirror and think that I’m fat. I’m actually average size for women today.

21. What I love most about myself: My smile, and my hair. I just fixed my roots so they match the rest of my head, and my hair looks amazing. Plus it’s really soft.

22. What I want to be when I get older: I want to be doing business stuff. I haven’t decided what that will be yet.

23. My relationship with my siblings: I think I have a really good relationship with my sisters. It got stronger while I was away from them this whole summer.

24. My relationship with my parents: Some days it’s really good, but others are more difficult.

25. My idea of a perfect date: We go out for dinner somewhere, then we go see a movie, then we go get ice cream or fro-yo somewhere, and then we go back to one of our houses and watch another movie and just snuggle.

26. My biggest pet peeves: When I was section leader of my high school color guard, my little guardlings wouldn’t put their equipment away after games no matter how many times I showed them how to put it away, so I would have to stay and put it all away. That ticked me off.

27. A description of the boy I like: He’s tall, dark short hair, skinny, and he plays trumpet.

28. A description of the person I dislike the most: She’s tall, dark-skinned, bossy af, thinks she’s really good at guard and actually isn’t, in her twenties at least, and I marched with her this summer.

29. A reason I’ve lied to a friend: I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell her that whole story because I didn’t want her to think differently of me, and because I didn’t want to own up to what I had done.

30. What I hate the most about work: People don’t do things right no matter how many times I tell them how to do it correctly. It’s annoying really.

31. What your last text message says: Here

32. What words upset me the most: That’s not good enough.

33. What words make me feel the best about myself: When the guard staff calls me out on something I’m doing well.

34. What I find attractive in women: Being a nerd like myself, humor, good looks, my height. Idk.

35. What I find attractive in men: Plays an instrument, taller then me, abs, strong, humor, nerdy, and will watch me do what I love.

36: Where I would like to live: I really want to live on Mackinac Island (Michigan fam, what’s good). It’s so beautiful there, and no cars means it will be like that for a long time.

37. One of my insecurities: I always think that people are going to look at me and see someone who’s undesirable and that no one wants to date.

38. My childhood career choice: I wanted to be a star and be famous.

39. My favorite ice cream flavor: From the ice cream shop that I work at (we make all of our hard ice creams in house), Cherry Bomb. It’s a cherry based ice cream with dark chocolate pieces and maraschino cherry pieces. It’s amazing.

40. Who I wish I could be: My older sister. She gets all the guys.

41. Where I want to be right now: Somewhere warm, like Florida, California, Hawaii.

42. The last thing I ate: Macaroni and cheese.

43. Sexiest person that comes to my mind immediately: TJ Perkins of the WWE. Seriously, look him up.

44. A random fact about anything: I’m addicted to Starbucks.