#supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,399

Summary: Dean confronts Castiel about what the next steps are for the fledgling, and things come to a head with Kerubiel and the other radicals.

Part One-Part Two-Part Three-Part Four -Part Five

Story

   Dean is pulled from an interesting though not unfamiliar dream by Castiel shaking his shoulder. He startles, but when he realizes it’s only his friend, he groans and turns back over. The baby kept him and Sam up all night.

   “Sup, Cass?” he mumbles.

   “I got your message. Were you serious?”

   “Which message?”

   “The angel. Did Sam really see an angel?”

   Noticing the panic is Castiel’s voice, Dean sluggishly sits up. “What’s going on with you?”

   “Answer the question.”

   “Yeah, Cass. Sam saw an angel on a walk in the park. Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

   But Cass worries. Cass stumbles as he backs up, and mouth forms a thin line. Casting a glance at the fledgling asleep in her dingy bassinet, he starts pacing. He looks out the window and rubs his neck. Dean sighs and wakes up his brother.

   “Please tell Cass we handled the angel situation.”

   “It’s fine, Cass,” Sam confirms through a yawn. “We skipped town and drove for ten hours. This whole room is warded. The kid is fine.”

   “That was three days ago. Why are you just now showing up?”

   Castiel checks the window again. “I’ve been … working. I needed to stay away so I won’t draw attention. There are rumors now.”

   “About the fledgling?”

   “Yes. A group of pre-creation radicals thinks she’s real.”

   “That’s never – what are you doing? Don’t wake her up.”

   Dean watches his friend scoop the infant from the bassinet, watches him hesitate with his hand over her heart, watches him shut his eyes and lower that hand. Then he hears the baby scream at his touch, sees her thrash and squirm. He and Sam are up in a flash, fully awake now, but Castiel thrusts the fledgling into Dean’s arms before a word can be said, drops her like a bad habit and recoils.

   “I engraved her ribs,” he murmurs. “She’s safer this way.”

   With her head on his shoulder, Dean rocks the fledgling and pats her back. “You’re okay, sweetheart. I know it hurts.”

   After a minute, the baby settles into gentle whispers and hiccups, and Dean sits beside Castiel who has been wringing his hands. Now they match, the brothers and the fledgling: same carvings, same angel responsible.

   “What’s up with you, buddy?” Dean asks.

   “Nothing, I just …” Castiel gazes at the dozing infant. “I can’t even protect her without hurting her.”

   “Cass, she’s over it. Tomorrow morning, she won’t remember it. And like you said, she’s safer.”

   “I don’t want to hurt her.”

   “You didn’t do anything wrong, but we should talk. Give me your hand.”

   When Cass doesn’t move, Dean grabs his hand and brings up to rest atop the baby’s shoulders. There are two small bumps between her shoulder blades. He only noticed them yesterday, they don’t cause her discomfort, and he only has one guess what they might be.

   “Any idea what those are?”

   Touching lightly, Cass traces the bumps with his fingertips. “Her wings, I guess. She wasn’t born with them. Maybe this is the start of them.”

   “You think they’ll come in at some point?”

   “Yes.”

   Dean nods. “What’re Sam and I supposed to do when that happens?”

   “I suppose I would come back and help.”

   “What about all the other stuff? I assume she’s got Grace, so she’ll have to learn what that is and how to use it. She’ll want to know about her kind, and somebody’s gotta teach her how to use her wings when they do come in. Cass, Sam and I can’t teach her how to be an angel.”

   “I know that.”

   “There’s two options. One, you stick around, permanently, and help raise her.”

   “I can’t do that. It’s too dangerous.”

   “Two, you find her a better home like you said you would almost three weeks ago.”

   “I know. I’m … I’m working on it.” Cass stands. “I’ll call you.”

   “Cass, hold up.”

   But Castiel is gone.

*    *    *    *    *

   For a while, Castiel strikes out on his own. He counts the days as two weeks turns into three and then four, ducks calls from Sam and Dean, and avoids his own kind by taking solo assignments. The solitude, though refreshing, makes it harder to keep his mind distracted. It goes back to the fledgling, what to do with her. At the same time, there’s less opportunity to say something that would endanger her.

   On week five, Cass takes a personal day and takes to the forgotten slums of the urban United States. Wandering the alleys, he gives miracles to the poor, the sick, the homeless. In one afternoon, he’s healed and fed those who let him come near. It feels good to be healing and bringing comfort. For once, he knows what to do. The man in this last alley is blind, and when Castiel restores his sight, he gets to his feet, thanks his savior profusely, stumbles out into the sunlight he hasn’t seen in decades.

   “That man there,” he says to the stranger at the end of the alley, “does miracles.”

   Castiel straightens and faces the stranger. “What are you doing here, Kerubiel?”

   “I came to check on you. We were all a little worried about this isolation kick you’re on, but here you are performing miracles.” Kerubiel glances over his shoulder at where the homeless man made his exit. “That was always your problem, Castiel. Too much heart.”

   “If you’re here to make fun of me, I’ll be on my way.”

   “Oh, no.” Kerubiel stops Castiel by placing a hand on his shoulder. “I also came so we could have a little talk.”

   “About what?”

   “The fledgling. The abomination.”

   Rolling his eyes, Castiel shrugs off his brother’s hand. “There’s no fledgling. You’re wasting your time.”

   “I beg to differ. In fact, I think you can help me more than anyone else.”

   “Why would you think that?”

   “Because I know it’s yours.”

   On the outside, Cass holds his brother’s stare and tries to keep his face emotionless, but his stomach drops. Has someone been spying on him? On the Winchesters?

   “Nuriel saw one of your beloved Winchesters a few weeks back. She told me they have an infant with them. Why would that be?”

   “They must have found it on a hunt. There’s no fledgling. She doesn’t exist.”

   “She?” Kerubiel lifts an eyebrow. “It seems she does exist. You’re hidden her well, brother. Engraved her ribs? Warded the whole building?”

   “Get out of my way.”

   Castiel pushes past Kerubiel, but he doesn’t make it two steps before he’s pulled back and thrown to the ground. Two sets of arms drag him up – Nuriel and Nithael – and pin him against the wall while Mebehiah hovers nearby. Kerubiel stands in front of Castiel, arms crossed and chin up.

   “You and Haniel go on a mission somewhere in West Africa. You come back, she disappears for a year, and then she comes back and commits suicide. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean have acquired an infant. It’s not hard to notice the truth.”

   “There’s no fledgling.” The denial earns him a blow to the mouth, and he spits blood.

   “Let me make this clear. There is a fledgling, you arethe father, and you will tell me where she is.”

   “Or what?”

   Drawing his angel blade, Kerubiel waves it tauntingly. “Or I’ll kill you slowly. Where’s the fledgling?”

   There’s no point in denying anymore, so Cass says, “Bite me.”

   His brother strikes him again, this time in the stomach, and he gasps and his legs wobble. “I said tell me!”

   “And I said … bite me.”

   The blade plunges into his shoulder and cries out as his spine convulses in pain. Still, he reveals no information. Nothing Kerubiel could do will make him give up the infant’s whereabouts. He keeps his mouth shut blow after blow. After a time, Nithael and Nuriel are ordered to drop him, and when they do, he sinks to his knees, gasping for breath. Kerubiel pounces and pins him beneath one knee.

   “I’m feeling generous today,” he hisses. “I’m going to kill you no matter what, but I’ll give you a second chance to be helpful. Take a day, then tell me where you’ve hidden the fledgling. If you don’t, I will make sure your last moments are spent in agony.”

   He rises and tucks his blade away. “One day, Castiel.”

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,135

Summary:A hitch in the Winchesters’ aim to keep the baby angel protected puts them on the run, and Castiel has a run-in with Kerubiel and his followers.

Part One-Part Two-Part Three -Part Four

Story

   Sam enters the motel room much too rushed for Dean’s liking. It’s not the way he moves that Dean doesn’t like, but rather how he has the fledgling clutched to his shoulder and nearly smothered by his jacket. Now, Dean doesn’t claim to know much about parenting, but he’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to hold a baby like that. He’s handed the fledgling quickly, however, and his discomfort is alleviated.

   “Have you heard from Cass yet?” asks Sam.

   “Not a word. Same thing as every day for the past two weeks.” Dean nestles the infant in his lap and lets her dig her feet into his stomach. “Did you scare him off? Hm? Two days with you, and he runs away. What’re you hiding, huh?”

   Waving her arms, the fledgling blows a razzberry. She makes Dean smile. Lately, she’s been developing at an astonishing rate. Only yesterday, it seems, her eyes were barely open, and now she’s wide-eyed and substantially more aware of her surroundings. If she had a name, she might recognize it by now. Sam and Dean have tried out a few names, but nothing seemed to fit. They gave up and decided that they don’t have the authority to name an angel. That job should go to Castiel if it goes to anyone.

   Now Cass … there’s a walking conundrum. While his infant kin has been doing some growing, the angel has been entirely absent. He’s uncharacteristically quiet about the whole affair and hasn’t brought up finding her a permanent home since leaving her with them. From Dean’s perspective, it’s like his friend is ashamed, and to a degree he understands why. If Sam had a kid knowing it would be in danger of execution its whole life, Dean would be ashamed of him too. He would do what could be done to protect the child as Cass has done, but shame and anger would be with him forever. Yes, Dean understands Castiel, but when he looks at the baby, at her deep blue eyes and head of recently grown dark fuzz, he can’t shake the feeling that there’s information he’s missing.

   “Dean!” barks Sam.

   “Huh?” Dean looks up. “Why are you packing your stuff?”

   Sam rolls his eyes. “I just told you. We need to leave town.”

   “What? Why? We just got here. What’d you do this time?”

   “Someone saw me and the baby in the park.”

   “Well, it is a park.”

   “Pretty sure it was an angel, Dean. Call Cass and let him know we’re leaving.”

   “He won’t answer.”

   “Then leave a message. Just do it quickly because we have to go.”

*    *    *    *    *

   There are no less than thirty-six missed calls in Castiel’s inbox. A little less than one third of these calls are from Sam, and the rest are from Dean. Many of them have voicemails attached, and the angel has listened to a few.

   “Cass? Hey, um, she won’t eat. Keeps whining every time I give her the bottle. Don’t know if something’s wrong. Call me back.”

   “Cass” —this one had screaming in the background— “she’s so loud, I can’t find her pacifier – wait, never mind. It’s good. Call me back.”

   “Cass? Could use a little help. Sam’s out for a run, and I ran out of diapers. Oh my God, there’s so much poop. Help me, Cass.”

   “Cass? It’s me. How many times a day do babies spit up? Don’t know if this is normal or if we need a different formula. She puked all over my last clean shirt. Call me back.”

   “Cass, it’s been more than a week. You’re supposed to be helping, remember? You can’t vanish like this. If there’s something wrong, tell us. Call me back.”

   In Castiel’s opinion, Dean is acting like a helpless parent, and, well he is one, but he’s overreacting. As far as Cass is concerned, the fledgling’s needs are the same as any human baby’s with the added bonus of never getting sick. Maybe she can be injured at this young age, but she should become invulnerable with time. Really, the Winchesters needn’t worry about her physical health.

   Meanwhile, the angel has immersed himself in Heaven’s inner workings. With so much still broken, there’s more than enough to keep him busy. He purposefully stays close to Kerubiel and the others while trying to not attract their attention. Harut is with him for many of his jobs, so it’s inevitable that she picks up on his pattern.

   “Why do they concern you so much?” she finally asks him.

   “They intend to kill, Harut.”

   “There’s nothing to kill. There’s no fledgling. Castiel, our sister may have committed suicide, but there is no fledgling.”

   “I have seen worse acts committed for false beliefs.”

   Actually, it doesn’t surprise him when Kerubiel, his followers with him, corner him and Harut in a young forest. The leader of this band folds his arms and squares his shoulders. He and Castiel are evenly matched in strength and power, but Kerubiel has always needed to be bigger than anyone else, and his six-foot-six vessel – a well-trained army soldier with a buzz of dark hair – provides that illusion. Mebehiah, Nithael, and Nuriel, two male vessels of African descent and one female of Japanese, respectively, spread out in a half circle like obedient dogs.

   “I hear you’ve been following us, brother,” Kerubiel says. “You think we mean harm.”

   “Let us pass, Kerubiel. You have no quarrel with us.”

   “I don’t appreciate being the subject of such whispers. We do not intend to murder our kin.”

   “Then what are your intentions?”

   “We mean to serve justice. A sacred law has been broken, and punishment must be given. We would kill only to make things right.”

   “You mean to hunt down an innocent angel and an infant and slaughter them both. Broken laws or not, in what world is that not murder?” As he speaks, Castiel draws slowly closer to his taller brother until he is mere inches away, close enough to stare him down in an attempt to assert dominance.

   “But you believe there is no infant, do you not?” Kerubiel replies calmly. “There is no reason to defend something that doesn’t exist.”

   “What happens when your search fails? Will you falsely accuse one of our brothers and kill them to avoid looking the fool? I for one will not allow you to bring harm to any of us. Take your followers and leave the matter alone.”

   Kerubiel narrows his eyes, saying slowly, “Do you have something to hide, brother?” Then he snaps his fingers, and all four angels vanish.

   Castiel relaxes, shoulders sagging, and glances back at his sister. Harut is watching him with a mix of awe and fear.

   Shaking her head, she mutters, “Sometimes I question your sanity, Castiel.”

PART SIX

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles

Characters:Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warning: Death from unnamed sickness

Word Count: 1,815

Story

   He died quietly in the night. He hadn’t been suffering much – or so he said – and aside from the progressive weakness, bouts of pain, and a bit of blood when he coughed, it didn’t look like he was, but he never looked as peaceful as he did the morning you found him. You and Sam both knew it was coming, but it still stunned you when it actually happened. The world got very quiet and has stayed that way, but nobody cried. Dean wouldn’t have wanted that. Per hunter tradition, you burned the body in a place away from any other people. Others attended, a handful of hunters who had worked with and respected Dean, and the ceremony is silent and muddied by rain. The ride home is silent save for the sound of the windshield wipers holding the water at bay, and Sam sits behind the wheel this time, this time and from now on.

   Traffic is slow going in the downpour, and when you finally break off to the road that will take you home, mud impedes your progress. Bobby gave you one of his cabins when Dean got sick. It’s small, but it’s quiet and pretty much in the middle of nowhere. If Dean was going to refuse treatment, Bobby said, then he at least deserved peace during his final months. You like to think he had it. Parked outside the cabin, you sit with Sam for a long while listening to the rain. These last few days have been hard on him, you know, and now that everything is finally over, it’ll be hard to be in the cabin.

   After a few minutes of looking out the window, you say, “I’m pregnant.”

   Sam doesn’t react beyond a brief glance. “You wanna get married?”

   “Yeah, alright.”

   Another minute goes by before you brave the rain and the emptiness of the cabin and rush for the door. Tree cover provides some protection, but you still enter with your black dress damp and water dripping from your hair. A rumble of thunder shakes the house as the door closes. Sam stands behind you with his hands on your shoulders, and then he presses a kiss to your neck. The sofa is draped with the afghan Dean always had on his lap, and beyond the living room is his bedroom that he barely occupied but still contains his belongings. It hits you that you’ll never buy him pie again, never listen to his bitching about how nothing good is on TV anymore and then walk in on him watching soap operas an hour later.

   “God,” you sigh. “Everything sucks right now.”

*    *    *    *    *

   Everything about the wedding is simple. Plain white dress, a simple rose bouquet, a rental priest, a few chairs for the same half-dozen people who came to the funeral, and that’s about it. You set it up in the backyard of your cabin and use one of the two bedrooms to get dressed. Minutes before the ceremony takes place, Bobby comes in. He volunteered to walk you down the aisle, and he’s doubling as Sam’s best man. After assuring him that you’ll be all set in a few minutes, he leaves and closes the door.

   “You look nice,” says another voice.

   Whirling around, you come face to face with Dean. “You can’t scare me like that, Dean!”

   “Sorry, I can’t quite control the coming and going thing, yet.” He looks down at himself like he’ll find some sort of switch that’ll answer all his problems. “You nervous?”

   “About the wedding?” You shrug. “Not really. You really think I look good?”

   “Compared to the usual dingy flannel and jeans, yeah. I still don’t understand how my brother got you to fall in love with him.”

   “I’m gullible.”

   Dean laughs. He first appeared about a week ago and scared you so bad you dropped the dish of mac and cheese you were making for dinner. The first encounter only lasted a few seconds, and you thought you were seeing things, but when he reappeared a few hours later, you knew what you were dealing with. Every now and then he pops up, never when Sam is around, and you’ve convinced him to not say anything to his brother about this … situation. Sam’s been through enough without having to say goodbye to Dean again.

   With a sigh, you sit down on the bed, and Dean sits beside you. “Any luck figuring out why I’m still here?” he asks.

   “Nothing yet. We burned your body, all your clothes, even that damn blanket you loved so much.”

   “Have you gone through Sam’s things? He might still be holding onto that necklace he gave me when we were kids.”

   “I’ve gone through everything. That didn’t feel morally right, so you know. It can’t be the car – you show up too far away from it – and I don’t think you have unfinished business. I honest to God have no idea why you’re still here.”

   “Well, we’ll figure it out. We’ll find whatever it is, and then I can get out of your hair. But right now, you’ve got other things to worry about. Just think, (y/n). In ten minutes, you’re gonna be a Winchester.”

   “I’m aware.”

   “And seven months from now, you and my little brother are gonna be parents.”

   “I’m aware.”

   “Just do me one favor. Don’t name the kid after me. Give him his own name. I don’t want you thinking about the past when you look at the future.”

   “I think that’s the deepest thing you’ve ever said to me. Alright, we’ll come up with something original.” You glance at the clock on the wall. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a wedding to get to. You gonna watch?”

   “I wouldn’t miss it.”

*    *    *    *    *

   After the first week, you understand that babies have their own schedule. They’re like clockwork. It’s just that their schedule is on a two-hour rotation and it sucks all the energy out of those who are supposed to take care of them. By the time you feed, change, and otherwise satisfy a newborn, there’s a very small window of time for you to get in any self-care. Little Hannah has you walking around feeling like a zombie, but you love her to pieces. Sam has been very present the whole week, and both of you are so absorbed with caring for your daughter that you no longer have time to think about the other person who should be here.

   On this night, Hannah goes to sleep easily, and you follow quickly. Sometime later, perhaps an hour, she wakes you with her fussing. Drowsily, you shuffle down the hall to her nursery, scoop her out of her crib, sit in the rocking chair, and put her to your breast without a second thought. Her little body is warm against your skin, her weight a pleasant feeling, and you lean back and close your eyes.

   “Don’t go falling asleep.”

   You jump a little, disturbing your daughter, but she’s quick to readjust and goes right back to business. “Haven’t seen you in a while,” you say with a yawn.

   Dean shrugs. “With all of the running around you’ve been doing the last couple weeks, I figured I’d just be in the way.”

   “I’ve got a million things stressing me out, what’s one more?”

   “I’m sure I could figure out some way to make your life more difficult.”

   “Careful. I’m so tired I might just be stupid enough to exorcise you.”

   Dean rolls his eyes. Hannah makes a quiet, contented noise in the back of her throat. He steps around to the side of your chair and crouches down to have a closer look at her. Your breath fogs in the sudden chill he adds to the air, but the baby doesn’t fuss.

   “She looks like you,” he says.

   “She doesn’t look like anybody yet.”

   “She will in a year or two.”

   He stays by your side until Hannah dozes off in your arms. Carefully, you stand up and walk her back over to her crib. She yawns, stretches her arms out to the sides, and drifts deeper into dreamland. For a moment you watch her sleep and long for the time when you could be as peaceful as this, and Dean lingers by the doorway.

   “I know why you’re stuck here,” you say.

   Dean perks up, taking a step towards you. “Really?”

   “I think so.” You pause, hesitating. “Do you remember that case you told me about, the one where one sister died, but she was stuck as a ghost because she donated a kidney to the other?”

   “Vaguely. What are you getting at?”

   “I know it’s not quite the same thing, but … I asked the doctor to do a blood test on Hannah.”

   “Why would you …” Dean’s voice trails off, and then he goes what passes for white as a ghost. “Hannah? No, that was one time. The odds of that are one in, what, a million?”

   “Blood doesn’t lie, Dean.”

   He bites his lip and sweeps the room with his eyes. “Does Sam know?”

   “You think I told him about the time I slept with his dying brother while we were dating?”

   “Are you going to tell him?”

   “Why would I do that? For the first time since you got sick, he’s happy. He’s got me, he’s got a daughter-”

   “No, he doesn’t. Ihave a daughter. You can’t hide that forever. It’ll come out, it’s how these things work.”

   You shake your head. “Just … leave this alone. Sam’s happy.”

   “Let me get this straight. Hannah exists because you cheated on my brother once, I’m dead but stuck here because of her, I can’t tell Sam I’m here, and he doesn’t know he’s not Hannah’s father.”

   “That about sums it up.”

   “What happens when I go bad? You know it happens. Kind of inevitable. And Sam’s bound to catch me before then. Do you have anyplan?”

   “I’ll figure it out, okay? It’s gonna be fine.”

   A rustling in the hallway, startles you both, and Dean immediately vanishes. Just in time, too, because Sam comes shuffling around the corner and peers into the nursery. “You okay? I heard somebody talking.”

   “Yeah.” You give him a smile. “I was just talking to Hannah.”

   “She gonna stay asleep this time?”

   “Probably not.”

   “Well, let’s take an hour while we’ve got it.” Sam kisses your temple and takes you by the hand.

   As you follow him back to your own room, you glance back over your shoulder. Dean is no doubt still there – he can’t ever be too far from Hannah. Silently, you plead with him to keep quiet now and forever. It’ll all turn out okay. You will keep the truth safe – you have to.

@pureawesomeness001@super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@spn-dean-and-sam-winchester

Characters: Castiel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Warning: None

Word Count: 1,098

Summary:Back in Heaven, Castiel asks a friend about the death of the angel and learns that the fledgling is in more danger than he thought.

Part One-Part Two -Part Three

Story

   Nowhere does a rumor spread faster than in Heaven. Castiel has barely been gone for two days, but when he returns, the cause of death of the angel has been subjected to various opinions. He first approaches his sister Harut who is trustworthy enough and knowledgeable. She’s one of the few beings he would trust with a light secret, and he has confided in her some of those thoughts that would be frowned upon in most circles. When he inquires about the recent death, Harut is incredulous.

   “You didn’t feel it?” she asks.

   “No, I felt it, but I know nothing of the circumstances. There are whispers it was …” Cass hesitates as the next word has a bitter taste. “Suicide.”

   “It couldn’t have been anything else if you ask me.”

   “Why not?”

   “They found her in the middle of a demon hideout. Chances are she walked in deliberately. She was supposed to wait for backup, and now the demons are in the wind. If it wasn’t suicide, then she was crazy, stupid, or both.”

   “She?”

   “You need to be more involved, Castiel. It was Haniel.”

   Castiel’s entire body locks up and seems to burst into flame. His heart pounds, veins throb in his skull, and he can feel the blood drain from his face. It can’t have been Haniel. He spoke to her not a week ago.

   “You okay?” Harut’s worried voice brings him out of his head.

   “Haniel …”

   “Were you especially close?”

   “Why would Haniel commit suicide?”

   “No one knows if that’s what happened.”

   “What do they think?”

   Harut sighs. “There are a few theories. One is that she was coerced into doing it or threatened somehow. That’s the most popular and believable explanation. Kerubiel, though … Remember Kerubiel?”

   “Yes.”

   After the fall a few years back, there had been unimaginable chaos. God was AWOL and doubted to return, and Michael and every other official secondary authority was dead or inaccessible. Order somehow built itself up out of the mess, manifesting in the form of bands of angels headed by bold and confident individuals. Violent altercations were common within and between these bands, even those who preached peace as the only solution. Heaven eventually reopened, and when it did, most of those bands broke apart. Those that tried to hold on to this system were shunned until they conformed, and they all did in the end. Kerubiel’s group was the exception.

   Of all the bands, Kerubial and his followers were the most radical. Their views regressed by hundreds of thousands of years, and they adopted the celestial rules from when angels were the only creatures inhabiting the universe. After Heaven’s reopening, they’d been reduced to only four members – Kerubiel, Mebehiah, Nithael, and Nuriel – but remained strong, declaring themselves the enforcers of the old, “true” rules. No one really knew what to do about them, but because all they could really do was make some noise when accusing someone of violating a rule, the other angels silently and unanimously simply decided to stay out of their way.

   “He was up on his soapbox again yesterday,” Harut continues. “It was funny in an embarrassing way. He thinks there’s a fledgling.”

   “A fledgling?”

   “If you buy into his claim, Haniel had a fledgling and killed herself out of shame. It was, and I quote, “the only correct action she could take”. He and his followers have sworn to resolve the matter.”

   “What do they mean by that?”

   “I assume they intend to hunt down the fledgling and the father and punish them. I suggest we all walk the other way until they cool down.”

   “They’re insane. Neither one deserves death. The fledgling had no say in its creation.”

   “You don’t actually believe this, do you?”

   Castiel shakes his head, shakes off his incensed anger so that he might lie better. “It’s just that the law against intercourse is so old. It should be rewritten along with many of the other ancient laws.”

   “Have you met Kerubiel? Those are the laws he worships. Take my advice: keep your mouth shut unless you want to attract his attention. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

*    *    *    *    *

   Hardly two weeks have gone by since Castiel convinced the Winchesters to take in the fledgling. He left them with the knowledge that she’d be killed if her existence were found out, but that was mostly a scare tactic. If he’s being honest, Cass doesn’t quite know what would happen, but he could hazard a guess. The majority of his brothers and sisters have abandoned many of the old laws, and some would be open-minded and accepting of a fledgling, but they’re all prone to support the loud one, by not intervening if not by rallying behind them. Kerubiel would kill her for sure, but any of them who believe that the creation of a fledgling is too out of line is no safer.

   While she gazes up at him from her crib with her big blue eyes and sputters a contented spit bubble, Castiel feels sorry for her. She is no less deserving of life and love than any human child. He’s returned one more time this night, heart hurting still from the loss of his sister, to check on the baby. He needed to see for himself that the three-month-old is safe and that the Winchesters’ minds are still intact. Sprawled across their respective beds, they appear to be fine and enjoying a few hours of sleep while their charge doesn’t want for anything.

   “If I leave for a while, will you behave?” Castiel asks the fledgling. “I must distance myself from you for your protection, but you’ll be alright. Sam and Dean will keep you safe. They’ll let no harm come to you, little one.”

   The baby coos and smiles a toothless smile, rosy cheeks matching the pale pink onesie Dean has buttoned her into. With every breath she takes, she exudes the life force of an angel. Grace burns behind her eyes and courses through her tiny, delicate veins, and Cass can feel it in the hand he cups to her cheek. She’s the purest thing he’s ever seen – absolutely beautiful. The only thing more precious than a human soul is a life such as this one.

   Reluctantly, the angel takes his hand back. In the corner of the room he lingers, watching over the others until the fledgling succumbs to sleep, and then he’s gone, vanished as a quick as a breeze, and no one knows he was ever here.

PART FIVE

@pureawesomeness001 @27bmm @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @super-not-naturall@gabriel-themightysugaraddict@mogaruke@mrswhozeewhatsis@hexparker@kdfrqqg@little-castiel13@18crazybutcutealsopsycho@olympianbeagles

Character: Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warning: mention of Alzheimer’s and parent death

Word Count: 4,915

Story

   The first time they meet, Dean is pretending to be her father’s work associate. A series of suspiciously similar deaths – her father’s included – warrants an investigation. He won the bet that let him be the one to canvas the wake while Sam spends the night looking at bodies in the morgue. It’s a cool evening, summer; the wake goes into the night, and he feels out of place the whole time. Everyone has money and they act like it. One can tell by the way they talk that they’ve never seen a number with fewer than five digits in it. Dean suspects they were all weaned on some fancy food with an unpronounceable name.

   She has no answers to his usual questions. There haven’t been any cold spots or strange smells in the house, and nobody was acting odd around the time of her father’s death. “Everyone was a little off, if that’s what you mean,” she tells him. “Nobody wanted to talk about Dad but still felt like they had to. It was uncomfortable.”

   “Alzheimer’s, right?”

   She sighs. “That’s the thing … don’t tell anybody, but the doctor couldn’t conclusively figure out what it was.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “He said the symptoms were similar, but they came on too fast and too strong. Instead of forgetting the little things, he started forgetting whole days right off the bat. Whole events. It started with the recent ones, but then he forgot the time he took me to Paris when I was eight, going to my high school graduation, the time in college when I brought home that boyfriend he hated …” She goes a little misty-eyed at the thought of it all, and Dean feels bad for committing this necessary evil. “Anyway, the doctor said the severity progressed too quickly to be Alzheimer’s. That disease takes years, but Dad was gone in three months. We needed something to put in the obituary, though.”

   “I’m sorry.”

   “Thanks. So, um, how did you know my father again?”

   “We worked together. I’m in … advertising.”

   “You must be a new hire. I never saw you around the office.”

   “Yeah, I’ve been working some from home. Dealing with some … family stuff.”

   “Well, that means you haven’t had a chance to network. Come on. I’ll introduce you to some people of note.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The second time they meet, she’s in her father’s private office. In the week following their CEO’s death, the family has banded together to keep their company afloat until the replacement gets here – some distant cousin who’s been honeymooning in Italy. She’s changed out of her black dress and into a blue skirt suit and a pair of heels that, especially with her hair pulled back in a neat bun, make her look incredibly professional. When Dean enters, she greets him with a polite smile and invites him to sit down.

   “What brings you back?” she asks.

   “I have another question for you. I heard there was a nurse who took care of your dad, but I don’t know his name.”

   “Jedediah Coombs. He was a godsend,showed up when Dad was homebound and made the whole thing easier on all of us. You looking for somebody?”

   “Yes,” Dean lies. “I’ve got an elderly uncle who could use some looking after.”

   “Jed’s the best there is. Expensive, but worth it. I should have his card still.” After digging in her purse, she finds a tattered business card and hands it to him. It bears a name, a number, and a short list of some of the services provided.

   Later, he talks his way past the daytime maid service and has a look around the house. Due to its sheer size, it takes him a while to do much searching, but he focuses on the father’s room and the bedroom where he assumes the nurse was staying. There’s nothing out of the ordinary that he can find – no hex bags, no EMF, no sulfur, or the like. It’s starting to look like these identical deaths are nothing more than a freaky coincidence, and he says as much to Sam when he gets back to the motel.

   “Actually, I think you’re wrong,” Sam argues. “That nurse you had me look into? I think he’s been with every one of these victims. The obituaries mention a caretaker, and when I talked to the wife of the last family – the Hathaways – she said hiring the guy was the best thing they ever did.”

   “So he’s our guy. How’s he doing it?”

   “No clue. If there’s nothing on the house or the bodies, maybe it’s psychological. Some kind of djinn?”

   “Djinn put people to sleep, not suck out their ability for higher functioning.”

   “Something new?”

   “Wouldn’t that be awesome?”

   “And get this. I can’t track Jed, but Mr. Hathaway was seeing a therapist, and I’m pretty sure all the other victims were, too. Problem is, nobody can remember anything about anybody, so I’ve got nothing else.”

   “Jed’s got an accomplice. Great.” Dean’s cell phone rings. The number is (y/n)’s which worries him at first, but all she wants is to meet him for lunch tomorrow. She explains that if he’s still interested in hiring Jedediah, she could give him a firsthand account to see if it’s what he’s looking for. He’s aware it’s a personal offer. A letter of recommendation would do the trick, but instead she wants to meet with him for lunch. He knows what she wants and because he rather wants it too, he takes her up on the offer.

*    *    *    *    *

   The third time they meet is the next day for that lunch. There’s a private restaurant at the top floor of her father’s company building reserved for higher ranking employees and their guests. As with the wake, Dean feels drastically out of place among all the fancy business people despite the fact that he’s wearing his ‘Fed threads’. By the time he arrives at the restaurant, (y/n) is already at a table and offers him a menu when he sits.

   “Not late, am I?”

   “No, I’m early. Dad always insisted on punctuality.”

   Dean notices now that she’s wearing the same outfit as yesterday. All that’s changed is that her hair is a little bit messier. “Weren’t you wearing that yesterday? Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you, but you strike me as the sort of woman who has a different outfit for every day.”

   “I am when I think about it, but with all that’s been going on, Dad, the business …” she makes a gagging motion.

   “You don’t like working here?”

   “It’s not my thing. Everything thinks I’m the best one to take over the company because I’m the boss’s daughter, but Chris is the better choice. I’m just filling a role until he gets here.”

   “Chris?”

   “The cousin. Second cousin, technically.”

   “Ah.” Dean clears his throat. “You said you wanted to tell me about Jed?”

   She gives him a confused look. “Did I? I don’t remember that. Then again, I would have forgotten about lunch if the secretary hadn’t reminded me. Stress, I suppose. What can I tell you?”

   “What’s he like?”

   “Kind, understanding, patient even on the worst days. Dad started sleeping well after we hired him. Mom always said Jed had a magic touch.”

   “Where’d you hear about him?”

   “Well, running a company is stressful, so Dad was seeing a therapist. When he got sick, his therapist told us about this guy who did hospice care.” She laughs and toys with the corner of her menu. “Do you really want to talk about this?”

   “That’s why we’re having lunch, isn’t it?”

   “If I’m being honest, I have … other goals.”

   “I’m a ‘goal’ now?”

   (y/n) blushes. “I just meant – I’m sorry, this is … this is very suddenly a mess.”

   “Would you feel better if I said I have ‘goals’ too?” This bring a smile to her face. Dean likes it, and he moves away from the subject of Jedediah. “So, what’s good at this place?”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fourth time they meet, it’s for dinner at her house only two days after their lunch date. Without saying anything, they agree to keep their meeting up a secret. They’re not sure how her mother would react to her daughter exploring a relationship so soon after their loss, but family friends have been stopping by every day since the funeral. He brings Sam along as well. They wait on the doorstep after ringing the doorbell.

   “There’s something else I noticed about these deaths,” Sam tells him in a low voice. “There are more that follow. First, it’s the CEO, then a couple months later the spouse dies. Cops rule it a suicide every time, and then the heir disappears. Trail always runs cold, and then the company capsizes. I didn’t notice it before because the second obituary comes so long after the first, but then the Hathaways …”

   “What about them?”

   Sam sighs. “I went back there today. Mrs. Hathaway was found dead two days ago, and their son disappeared this morning.”

   “So these monsters … they’re going after families? Why?”

   “I have no idea.”

   Before they can discuss it further, (y/n) opens the door, smiling at them both. She introduces them to her mother, and then she turns to a well-dressed man with a long but well kept beard and hair to match. He looks like a hippie. “Dean, this is Mr. Coombs,” she explains.

   Dean forces himself to be polite through the introduction and the appetizer course. He fakes it well, but all the time he’s wondering what exactly the hell Jedediah is and where his friend is. And also how to kill them both before they get to (y/n) and her mother. Sam actually attempts to make conversation with him.

   “So, Mr. Coombs-”

   “Please,” Jed says in his Southern drawl, “call me Jed.”

   “Jed, I don’t mean to pry, but why are you still here? You don’t have a job here anymore.”

   “Well, these kind folks have been through quite a lot lately, and I want to do what I can to help them in their time of grief.”

   “Oh, he’s being humble,” says (y/n)’s mother. “He’s been such a help to us, connecting us with that therapist.”

   “Therapist?”

   (y/n) cuts in, “It’s nothing.”

   “Honey, it’s not nothing. You know it could be serious if we don’t get a handle on it.”

   Dean asks (y/n), “What’s going on?”

   Rolling her eyes, (y/n) explains. “Mom and I, we’ve been forgetting little things more often than usual. Jed thinks it’s stress related, and he’s asked a friend of his to come in and teach us a few stress management and relaxation techniques. That’s all.”

   “Why not see your dad’s therapist?”

   The two women look at each other. “Dad never had a therapist.”

   Dean glances at Sam. “I guess I’m mixed up. Who’s the therapist?”

   “Paul Walker. Jed can give you his information, I’m sure.”

   “I’m good, thanks. We actually have to be going. There’s a … thing, I forgot about.”

   “The business world waits for no one. I’ll walk you to the door.” She does exactly that. Before Dean can leave, though, and when no one is looking, she sneaks him a kiss on the cheek. He would float on this, but there’s a more serious matter to think about.

   Dean stops halfway to his car and looks back at the door. “We’re too late. I don’t want to leave her in there with him. God damnit.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The fifth time they meet, it’s the same night. He’s in his motel room looking for anything to help him take down Jed and his accomplice, but whatever they are, they’re either novel or obscure. It’s a break when his phone rings and uplifting to recognize the number.

   “My mom went to bed early,” (y/n) says, “so I’m all alone in this big empty house.”

   “Are you asking me to come over?”

   “Hell no. I need to get out of here and have a little fun.”

   “It’s almost midnight.”

   “Bar’s open ‘til two. You game?”

   “Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll swing by your place in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he grabs his jacket and his keys, assuring Sam that it won’t be all fun and games tonight.

   That was sort of a lie. It’s a lot of fun and games even though he keeps an eye out for questionable characters. First, this pretty Daddy’s girl gets into his car wearing jeans and a simple blouse, and her hair is down and loose. The simple change affects her in such a way that he has to make a comment about picking up the wrong girl. Second, she shows him the side of her that isn’t all about business or wrapped up in grief over losing her father. He meets the pool-playing, beer-drinking girl she was in college. They talk as friends rather than grieving daughter and pretend businessman. All too soon, the bar is closing, and he has to drive her home. In the stillness after parking the car in her driveway, it goes from no words to her leaning in for a kiss with a hand on his cheek. When their lips part, he smiles, smelling the lingering scent of beer on her breath.

   “I knew there was more where that came from,” he murmurs.

   She furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?”

   “The kiss you gave me earlier after dinner. I suspected you were saying something with that.”

   “You didn’t come to dinner. Mom and I ate alone, Jed stopped by a little later, but that’s it.”

   “(y/n), I was there, we – what did Jed want?”

   She scoffs and pulls away from him. “What is it with you and Jed? It’s all you ever talk about. He wanted to set up a good time for Paul to come over, okay?”

   “I don’t think you should meet Paul, and I don’t think you should hang around Jed either.”

   “What are you talking about? Don’t do this. Don’t ruin the entire evening we just had.”

   “I’m sorry, but this is really important. I don’t trust him.”

   “You wanna talk about important? My dad couldn’t sleep, couldn’t take care of himself, and he was angry and scared all the time. But then Jed comes along and makes his suffering easier. Jed knew what to do when the rest of us didn’t, and now he’s helping my mom and I get through the worst thing we’ve ever experienced. If you don’t think that’s important, then …” She trails off, fuming.

   “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

   “Go to hell.” She climbs out of the car and stalks into the house.

   Dean drives back to the motel in silence.

*    *    *    *    *

   The sixth time they meet, he’s broken into her office searching for anything on Jedediah Coombs and Paul Walker. It’s after the work day is over, after dark – even the janitor has gone home. He sent Sam to watch the house for signs of Jed, so he’s all alone here. Over the years he’s found this to be a peaceful moment in any hunt even if his search is fruitless. Whether the monsters have wiped evidence of themselves or if it got screwed with in the mess of the last week, there’s nothing about a nurse or a therapist. Frustrated, he shuts down the computer and leaves the office and runs blindly into another human being.

   “Dean!” (y/n) exclaims. “I didn’t see you. What are you doing here?”

   “I, uh, forgot my keys.”

   “Oh. I left my phone here.” An awkward pause fills the space between them.

   “I … should go …”

   “Wait, Dean. About last night … the whole thing was stupid.”

   “No, don’t-”

   “It was. I mean, I can’t even remember what we were arguing about, so it had to be stupid. I overreacted.”

   “I was annoying. I should’ve let the Jed thing alone, I was just-”

   “Who’s Jed?”

   Dean’s stomach drops. “Your dad’s hospice nurse.”

   “I know Dad had a nurse, but …” She shakes her head. “I don’t really remember him. I suppose that’s another thing Paul can help me with.”

   “Have you met him yet?”

   “No. He’s coming over tomorrow. Listen, I’d like to see you again sometime. Maybe we could try ending on a more positive note.”

   “Yeah, sure. You know, we could go now, we could have a couple drinks, maybe we’ll end up at my place this time.”

   “That’s sweet, but I should get home. Maybe Friday?”

   “I don’t want you to be alone. We could just drive for a while, if you want.”

   She looks down at her feet. “I guess just one drink won’t hurt.”

   He isn’t watching the clock, but it doesn’t feel like more than an hour before they’re making out behind the wheel of the Impala. They didn’t make it inside the bar. Distracted by conversation, they let time pass, and they kept moving closer and closer together until their hands touched. From there it only took one little sloppy kiss to push them both over the edge. She took a breath to comment on how deftly he was able to pull her shirt off but promptly started working on the buttons on his. He thought they would at least make it back to his motel, somewhere safer than his car, but obviously they wanted each other too much to wait. After it’s over, he reclines across the seat with his head against the window and hers on his chest. He feels the warmth of her skin on his and the press of her ribs when she takes a breath. One of her hands rests on his collarbone, and one of his is stroking her bare shoulders.

   “I like you, Dean,” she confesses. “I haven’t felt like this since college, and I’ve only known you for a week. There’s something about you.”

   “I’m pretty attractive, I know.”

   “And so humble.” She lifts her head to meet his eyes.

   He smiles back at her. “I like you too.”

   “So … when can I see you again?”

   “Whenever you want, sweetheart. You’ve got my number.”

   Dean doesn’t do dates. He does bar pick-ups and one-night stands that maybelast while he’s in town, but he doesn’t date. That’s for people who are looking for a relationship. These last couple of times he’s been with her, he’s told himself it’s for her own protection. She knows nothing about Jedediah and what he’s done and will do to her family, but he does. If he’s being honest with himself, he really has enjoyed their time together. Two dates and one dinner don’t exactly say she’s soulmate material, but for the first time in a while, he wants to stay with her. But first he has to kill a couple of monsters.

   “(y/n), I have to tell you something, and it’s gonna sound insane.”

   “Okay, what is it?”

   “There’s … things you don’t know about me. I’m not who you think I am.”

   “I’ve known you for a week, so that not surprising.”

   “That’s not what I mean.” He takes a deep breath. “There are things out there, bad things, and they go after people.”

   “Like a serial killer?”

   “Worse. And I’m not in advertising. I … I hunt these things. I’m kind of like a bounty hunter without the bounty part.”

   She’s silent and stares at him. There’s no way she could understand this, but he’s said too much to cut it off now. Either he stops talking, or he pushes forward.

   “There’s a couple of them after you. They’ve killed other people, ruined their lives, their companies-”

   “And now they’re after me? Do you know how insane you sound right now?”

   “Yes, I do, actually.”

   “So, what, I’m being stalked by a killer and you’re here to save me?”

   “I’m here to stop them from hurting anyone else. That includes you. Ilike you, (y/n), and I don’t want you to get hurt. The nurse is one of them, and the therapist you’re planning on seeing is the other.”

   “What is that supposed to mean?”

   “Your dad didn’t die from Alzheimer’s. The nurse did something to him and passed it off as a disease. Now they’re coming after you and your mom.”

   “Shut up.” She sits up and heaves a breath. “Is this what you’re like? You pick on people who mean something in my life and then tell me lies to make me believe you? To make me stay?”

   “I’m not lying to you. I promise.”

   “Don’t promise me anything.” Angrily, she pulls her clothes back on. “Just drive me home.”

   “I can’t. You’re not safe there.”

   “Take me home, Dean. Now.”

*    *    *    *    *

   The seventh time he sees her is at her house again. He’s going to get her away from Jed and Paul if he has to carry her away from here himself. It’s still early when he gets to her place, and he pounds on the door relentlessly until it opens. Rather than (y/n) or her mother, a maid opens the door and chides him for his rudeness. Seconds into his argument with her, (y/n) rounds the corner into the foyer and stops cold when she sees him standing there.

   “I’m a little busy, Dean,” she says coldly. “Why don’t you come back later, and you can tell me more lies in my free time?”

   “I need you to listen to me! You are not safehere.”

   “Miss (y/n)?” A familiar southern drawl echoes from another room, and a moment later a horrifyingly familiar face pairs itself with it. “Is everything alright?”

   “I’m alright, Paul.”

   But it isn’t Paul. It’s the face of Jedediah Coombs, and he’s wearing the same suit he wore to dinner. The minute their eyes meet, Dean knows he’s been remembered. Jed – or Paul – doesn’t act as if he knows Dean, but rather he takes his hand and shakes it warmly.

   “I’m Paul Walker.”

   “Pleasure to meet you,” Dean says through gritted teeth.

   “Likewise. Now, you seem like a man who could use a few tips on anger management. I am happy to help you, but I’m afraid I’m with Miss (y/n) at the moment. I’ll have to ask you to leave so we can get back to our session.”

   “(y/n), please, you-”

   Jed/Paul closes the door in his face, and he’s left standing on the porch like an idiot. The first thing he does is call Sam. His message is clear: he’s been recognized, and they’re out of time. As he hangs up the phone, a scream echoes from inside the house followed by a sob. It’s all cut off by silence. Dean doesn’t even bother calling her name, he just slams into the door shoulder first, twice until it bursts open. He races inside and doesn’t have to go ten feet before he almost steps on the body of the maid who opened the door. She’s sprawled facedown across the bottom of the stairs with blood pooling beneath her from a hidden wound. He steps over her and heads up the stairs. At the top is (y/n)’s mother in the same shape as the maid.

   “(y/n)?!”

   There’s no answer. Fortunately, he finds her in the first bedroom Unconscious, but she’s got a pulse. As he presses his fingers to her neck, her eyes flutter open, and she starts to scream at him to get out. Something strikes the back of his head, and the world goes black.

*    *    *    *    *

   The eighth time they see each other, (y/n) is in Dean’s line of sight when he comes to with a throbbing in his skull. She’s crying silently and trembling, and her hands have been tied to the bannister behind her. They’re on the staircase, rope binding them both and two dead bodies at the top and bottom. The knots are good and tight, too.

   “Dean,” (y/n) whimpers. “What’s happening?”

   “Just stay calm, okay? I’ll get us out of this.”

   “And how do you think you’ll do that?” Dean looks up, and there’s the monster watching them from the top step. “You aren’t exactly free at the moment.”

   “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out.”

   “Tell me when you do.” Jed/Paul leans against the wall and folds his arms. “You don’t even know what I am, do you?”

   “I can think of a few fitting names.”

   “Oh, good. Because I don’t exactly have one. I like to think of myself as an energy vampire. You know what happens to my victims. The deterioration, forgetting themselves, losingthemselves – I sucked their essences out. Now, here’s the clever part. Forgetting yourself is a stressful experience, but all I have to do is make them forget about being stressed out. All of a sudden they’re sleeping better, more at peace then ever before. And it’s all because of Jedediah Coombs.”

   “And when the family is grieving their death, you turn on them.”

   “Turn on them?” Jed/Paul chuckles. “No, Dean. I help them. See, losing a loved one is hard. They get so stressed out and lost in grief that they start losing their minds a little bit. They need help, and then Paul Walk is there.”

   “Is that what you did to my dad?” (y/n)’s voice shakes. “You sucked out his soul?”

   “Not his soul, my dear. His thoughts, his feelings, those things that make us who we are. I’ve been doing it to you, too.” He descends the stairs until he’s in front of (y/n) and crouches in front of her. “Normally, I like to do this slowly, over months. I get more out of you that way. But unfortunately, I have to leave today, so I’m a little short on time. Just hold still, my dear. This won’t hurt … much.”

   He covers her face with his hand, and his eyes roll back in his head as a white glow lifts off (y/n)’s face. It soaks into his palm like water to a sponge.

   “No!” Dean strains at the ropes with all his might. He’ll be next if he doesn’t get free, but worse, (y/n) will die. With a yell, Dean breaks free, and the bannister splinters with it. Now he’s loose and he’s got a jagged weapon in his hand. Without thinking, he jumps on the vampire and knocks him over. He plunges the sharpened wood into the monster’s chest, and it lets out a shriek of agony. Still, it’s able to rise up and shove Dean down the stairs.

   Dean feels every step on his way down. Now he’s got a concussion and a pissed off energy vampire after him. The next attack is quick, but he sees it coming and rolls out of the way. He scrambles for his weapon that has become dislodged and swings it in front of him. Only the whites of the monsters eyes show, and it hisses at him.

   “You want me?!” he taunts. “Then come get me!”

   The monster rushes him, and this time it gets the upper hand and pushes Dean down to the floor. It moves its hand to his face, and Dean fights to hold it back. Suddenly, the door bursts open and the monster is startled enough for Dean to get out from under it. He sees Sam in the doorway wielding a shotgun in one hand and a blade in the other. Bullets do nothing but stagger the white-eyed vampire except stagger it a bit.

   Dizzy, Dean shouts, “Head! Cut off it’s head!” He jumps the creature from behind, knocking it to the ground and giving Sam the opportunity to sever head from neck with a single machete swipe. Finally, the creature stops moving, and both brothers exhale. Then Dean staggers back up the stairs and pulls the ropes off (y/n)’s hands. Her head lolls, but she’s breathing.

   “Hey, wake up. Come on, (y/n).”

   “Mmm,” she murmurs. Slowly, her eyes open, and she picks her head up. “Who – where am I? What’s going on?”

   “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

   “Who are you?” The look on her face is honest, truthful. He didn’t get to her in time. She doesn’t recognize him anymore. Then she looks at the bottom of the steps, sees the bodies, and screams.

   “Hey!” Dean grabs her by the shoulders and steadies her. “It’s okay! He was a monster!”

   Her screams subside into terrified sobs. Her body tenses up and is wrought by tremors, and she becomes catatonic. No matter what he says, she can’t be brought out of it. All she sees is the blood, the bodies, the bloody spike that used to be a bannister.

   “Dean, we should go. Before she sees her mom.”

   “I can’t leave her. I can’t leave her like this.”

   “I know.”

   “This isn’t fair.” With a lump in his throat, Dean pulls the shaking woman close and kisses the top of her head. She doesn’t respond, but he whispers, “I like you, (y/n).”

   Slowly, he lets her go. He stands, and he steps over the bodies at the bottom of the steps, and he follows Sam out the door.

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