“Go…Go away! Don´t- Don´t touch me!” You´re screaming, flinching away from his touch. Your eyes are wild, your breaths come fast and shallow and your whole body is trembling in fear.
“It’s okay… I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, slowly approaching you and crouching down to one knee in front of you, carefully reaching out his arms to take your hands in his, holding them firmly. Looking up, your eyes meet his piercing blue ones. “I´m here. They won’t get you, kitten. You’re safe and they can’t hurt you again. I won´t let them come near you. You know you can trust me, right?”
Lucifer watches you, scanning your body for wounds and spreading his arms for you to lean in, just like you always do. Carefully and wincing, you lean close to his chest. He wraps his arms around you and startles when he feels something sticking out of your back and the warm wetness around.
Your head leans against his shoulders and you feel your limbs getting numb. You struggle to keep your eyes open.
“Hey, no kitten. Stay with me,” Lucifer mumbles and tries to wake you up, to heal you, but his grace is almost gone. “Don’t you die now kitten…i need you!” He yells and then the darkness surrounds you.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
She’s just hanging limb in my arms, I couldn’t save her. But I know, she’ll wake up again. I know this place… I once created it to torture. The city of nightmares and blood, a place where one lives his nightmares to an extend that will break them. I never visited this place before, I don’t know anything about it… Just that I created this place and it’s guardians.
(Y/N) ’s moving in my arms.
“Slow, kitten. It’s alright, I’m here.” She opens her eyes and smiles when she sees me. Please kitten don’t smile like this.
“Lucifer… You are alright!” Tilting her head upwards to kiss me, she sighs. “Luci… I died again, right?” She asks and I nod.
“Kitten…I…I don´t know…how often…I will be..be able to see…you die before…I lose my mind..” I am stuttering at the thought of her dying again and fear crawls up in my chest.
“It´s….it´s okay, Lucifer. My…My brothers will find a way to…to get us out of here…” She mumbles and slowly sits up. Hearing some strange noise, I look around, not seeing anything but a writing appearing on the ground.
“Sacrifice… blood….love…escape…nightmares.” Reading those words out loud, I am confused.
“See…I told you they find a way, Luci.” She says, her eyes growing wide of fear when reading it.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Your heart drops.
Sacrifice the blood of your love to escape the nightmares. You just KNEW that you´ve read about this place somewhere.
“It’s simple, Luci….To get out of here…You have to kill me and sacrifice my blood…to this place” You explain, your voice shaky and hoarse.
He stares at you in shock. “No. I can´t. You…You have to kill me so that you can get out of here, kitten! I won’t kill you…” He mumbles, his voice dying at the end.
Cupping his cheek, you give him an encouraging smile. “Don´t worry. You have to do it…You’re an archangel…I can’t kill you, Luci.”
Just shaking his head and mumbling “No!” The whole time, he clings to your body.
“Lucifer…” You sigh, cupping his face again and kissing him softly. “You saw me dying so much down here…I don´t want you to break…I want you to live and help my brothers. And…someday you will see me again up in heaven, okay?” You whisper while pulling out his archangel blade and laying it into his hands.
Lucifer shakes his head and starts to get up, you in his arms, but immediately drops down on his knees again. “No kitten… I….just can’t lose you..” He mumbles and lets his beautiful, yet bruised and faint wings surround both of you.
“You have to…” You wrap his hand around the handle of his blade and place it right above your heart.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Shaking my head, I just sit on my heels, clinging to her while she wants me to sacrifice her.
“I… I Can’t do this… Kitten…I’d rather die than to hurt you…” My voice breaks and I just stare at her with tears in my eyes. She really wants me to sacrifice her, to end her life that I can escape.
Staring down at the archangel blade, she placed above her heart, I hesitate. My hands are shaking and I have to blink tears away.
“Do it, Luci.” She whispers and then presses down my hands, piercing her heart while she just smiles and looks into my eyes.
I can feel the blood flowing out of the wound and let go off the blade, just to cling even more to her body and let out all the tears and sobbing.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“(Y/N)!” You hear your brother’s voices and open your eyes.
“Dean… Sam? Am… Am I back?” Sam nods and smiles happily at you. Dean carefully helps you to sit up and you see Lucifer laying next to you, sleeping.
“He’s still caught in his nightmare…” Sam mumbles and your eyes grow wide.
He should’ve been back already. He did what the lore said. He sacrificed you to escape.
“But… He…he sacrificed my blood, the blood of his love… He should be back!” You yell at Sam and he shakes his head.
“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice sounds sceptical. “He could never have killed you. You know that."
His words let your eyes grow wide.
"No…You’re right. I… I pushed the blade in my heart… His hands were wrapped around it… But I pushed it down….” Your voice breaks when you realize it and you crawl over to shake him.
“Luci… Please wake up now… I’m sorry… I didn’t..mean to…to leave you there…” Trailing off, you lay your head down on his chest and let out the sobs which are shaking your body.
“… ‘ts okay… Kitten…” His voice pulls you out of your thoughts and he lays a hand on your head. Lifting his head a bit, he kisses the top of your head.
“How…did you…” Your eyes grow wide, stare at him.
“I still…had my blade… I just…couldn’t live without you…” He mumbles and wraps both arms around you.
“Sacrifice your blood for your love to escape the nightmares.” Sam recites the lines. “You had to be ready to sacrifice yourself to get out of there. They want you to give your own life, your own blood, that’s the trial in this city of nightmares and blood.” He explains and looks at both of you.
“I just love you so much, my kitten.” Lucifer whispers and kisses the top of your head.
“And I love you, Luci.” You mumble and smile into his chest.
If someone is pretty bored, I just created a supernatural rp server on discord. It’s for fun, so you can join there to play one existing character of the show, or just create an OC to join the bunch
Author:somemaycallmesunshine Pairing: Matt Cohen x Reader Reader Gender:Female Word Count:2k Warnings: fluff (is that a warning?), swearing, reader has self-confidence issues, mentions of anxiety/depression
A/N: Hi, everyone! Sorry this took so long. I first want to thank everyone who liked or followed this story and for everyone who still is reading it despite my absence. It means so much to me. I hope you enjoy this next chapter! (Internal thoughts are in italics)
Summary: You had long dreamt of meeting your hero Matt Cohen and thanking him for changing your life. But now with SPNCon rolling around, you finally get your chance, and it’s more than you could have ever imagined.
You checked yourself in the mirror for the umpteenth time. You didn’t have anything to wear for a day out with your hero so you asked your friend Cecelia, who, just like friends do, let you borrow a cute sundress she brought. But not without the price of grilling you on the details.
“Come on! At least show me a picture of your mystery date!” She pouted.
“It’s not a date, Cece.” You insisted.
She snorted, “Yeah right. What kind of guy asks you on a whim to eat lunch with him alone and tells you how special you are? Not to mention he just met you. Face it, Y/N. He totally asked you out.” She sighed as she flopped onto the hotel bed. “God, why don’t these kinds of things happen to me?”
You hesitated for a moment, fiddling with your hands. “Cece, what if it’s not all it’s cracked up to be?” You asked, your voice low and hands shaking. “What if this is just a game? What if he’s just using me?”
Cecilia frowned, “You know he’s not.” But your unconvinced expression told her otherwise. “Y/N, you’ve gotta be a little more hopeful about this. This is someone new, this mysterious and probably hot and handsome stranger asking you out on a friggin’ date for god sakes! It’s like a dream!”
“And what if that’s all this’ll be? Just some stupid dream that ends up being a complete nightmare?”
“I don’t think that’ll happen.” She replied. “Not everyone is like Barron, you know.”
You sucked in a deep breath, knowing that what she said was true but the doubt still lingered in your mind. You weren’t one for fairy tales and happy endings. They just didn’t happen to you. And you weren’t going to start believing in them now just because some gorgeous guy supposedly asked you out.
You turned away from the mirror to face her, changing the subject. “How do I look?” Truthfully, whatever your friend said, you felt a little strange. You never dressed up for anything really and it was one the first times in your life you ever put that much effort into make up and hair. Your reflection almost made it seem like you were a completely different person.
Cece gave you a wink, “Rawr.” She made a sound similar to a purring cat. “Trust me. He won’t be able to resist.” You grabbed a nearby pillow and threw it into her face.
“Hey! What the hell?”
“You’re crazy.” You snorted.
She smirked and kicked at your heels, “Yeah but you love it. Now get going or you’re gonna be late for Prince Charming!”
Matt fiddled with his collared shirt and tried combing his unruly hair once more before turning back to his friends, Richard and Rob. “There. How do I look?”
“Like a friggin’ archangel.” Richard snickered and pinched Matt’s cheeks. Matt swatted his hand away and Richard’s snickers turned into full on guffaws.
Rob shook his head, “I still say it’s a little weird. You met her yesterday, right?” Matt nodded his head and he continued, “So what – do you like her or something? I mean, it’s not like you to wanna just pick girls up on a whim.”
“Um no. Girls wanna pick him up. I mean, have you seen the ass on this guy? He’s fucking blessed.” Rich snorted.
Matt rolled his eyes and ignored his friend. “It’s hard to explain. It was… It was a feeling, you know?” He paused for a moment, biting his lip to help collect his thoughts but they all traced back to your smiling face. “It was like God was opening this door of opportunity and I had to take it – seriously, you’re a fucking perv, Rich.” He scoffed as he watched his friend collapse in tears.
“Face it. You walked right into that one though, dude.” Rob smirked.
Sometimes Matt wondered why he was best friends with those psychos but he couldn’t help but love them. He sighed and glanced at his watch and his eyes widened, “Shit! I’m gonna be late!”
As he bolted out the door, he heard Richard holler, “Use protection, Matty!” And he flipped him off.
You couldn’t stop the thrumming in your heart as you waited in the lobby. You tapped your toes on the ground and checked your phone to try to calm yourself down but it still didn’t seem real. Matt had asked you to lunch and half of you thought it was a dream you were more than excited to experience and the other half thought it was too good to be true.
Maybe I was just dreaming it all up. You thought as your heart sank but just as it had, it lifted and raced as you spotted the all too familiar face enter the lobby.
Several heads turned as they saw him and some folks who had gone to the convention gasped and squealed upon seeing him but once he spotted you, yours was the only face he saw. He dashed to you, bypassing the spectators nearby and that was when you realized you hadn’t dreamt it at all. It was a reality and you were about to live it and you didn’t know whether you were bursting from excitement or trembling from that nagging fear that you would mess it up.
“Y/N, hey. Sorry for being late.” Matt remarked, giving you a quick hug. “Rich and Rob kept me but hopefully you didn’t wait too long.”
You shook your head, “No I didn’t.”
Matt’s nervous expression turned to one of relief as he sighed with a grin, “That’s good. I would’ve hated it if I worried you.”
“Truthfully I’m surprised you remembered.” You admitted.
His eyes grew wide before he frowned, “And forget about you and our special day together? Keep dreaming, Y/N.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “Speaking of that, I made us a reservation in an hour so shall we go, m'lady?” He drawled in a fake British accent, holding his arm out.
You hooked your arm in his and nodded. He squeezed your arm against his as you both headed for the parking lot.
You were dreaming. You had to be. There was just no other explanation as to why Matt not only asked you to have lunch with him but followed through with his plans and took you to the quaintest restaurant you’d ever seen. It was like a little slice of Italy with pictures of olive groves and Tuscan villas decorating the walls and the sweet smell of garlic and tomatoes wafting through the air. They had the sweetest staff and you both wound up in a corner booth a ways away from the other customers.
“Any friend of Rob’s is a friend of ours.” The owner, a tiny Italian woman who looked like a grandma grinned at you as she took your orders.
“I’ll have the special.” Matt remarked before turning to you, “What would you like, sweetheart?”
You blushed at the nickname but Matt didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on you. Nevertheless, the waitress was awaiting the response and you didn’t want to keep her waiting. You glanced at the menu, hiding behind its pages before ordering the same thing and the woman left you both alone.
“I don’t think I said this yet but you look beautiful.” Matt grinned.
You almost thought it was his goal that day to make you blush constantly. You fiddled with your sleeves as heat rose into your cheeks, “You’re just saying that –”
“Trust me. I’m not. You really do look great today, Y/N.”
You ducked your head, feeling even warmer, “Thanks. You – you look great today too –not that you don’t look great everyday! Im sure you look amazing everyday – oh God, I’m digging myself in a hole aren’t I?”
Matt chuckled, amused. “I’m glad you think so, sweetheart.” He winked.
You were pretty sure your face was now officially on fire so you hid your face behind your hands. “I just need to shut up. I’m such an idiot.”
“Hey, no, Y/N.” Matt frowned, “Look at me.”
You shook you head and he sighed. “Y/N, please.” His voice grew serious and you peeked behind your hands for the briefest moment before relenting and letting them drop. Then you lifted your gaze and met his green orbs as he replied, “Thank you.”
You nodded, feeling your throat run dry as he continued. “You’re not an idiot, okay? I know we don’t know each other much but trust me when I say you aren’t. And for the record, I didn’t mind the rambling. I thought it was adorable.”
You flinched, reliving the words that made you feel humiliated. “Sorry about that…”
“You don’t have to apologize, you know, for anything. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But –”
He put his hand out and placed it over yours which easily shut you up. “Y/N, it’s okay. You have nothing to apologize for. Alright?”
Your throat seemed to swell and your eyes sting from the unshed tears that always seemed to appear at the drop of a hat. But Matt didn’t seem to mind. He tilted your chin up, allowing you to gaze once more at his handsome face. His eyes searched yours, awaiting a response so you nodded your head.
He beamed and his whole face lit up. “Well alright.”
Before you could say anything, the waitress returned, bringing over your plates of food. Upon seeing you both, she rushed with placing the plates in front of you before disappearing with a knowing wink. And just like that, you were blushing all over again.
“Man, Rob wasn’t kidding when he said this place was good.” Matt sighed, patting his belly as the both of you walked out of the restaurant.
You nodded, “I don’t think I can even eat dinner.”
“Tell me about it. I’m not even sure I could eat breakfast tomorrow, but do you know what sounds pretty good right now?” He asked and you shook your head. “A nice, cold pint. I could go for a pale ale or something to cool down after all that chow.”
You gestured in front of you. “I saw a bar a few blocks down if you wanna check it out.”
Matt’s eyes sparkled as he turned to you, “Only if you check it out with me.”
You wrinkled your nose in displeasure, “Okay, but… I’m not much of a beer person.”
“You’re kidding.” He deadpanned.
“It tastes like piss.”
He snorted, “Only if you haven’t tried the good stuff.” You didn’t look convinced and he smirked, “That’s fine. I’m up for the challenge. I’ll school you on good beer and in return, I’d like you to do something for me.”
“What’s that?”
“I want you to stop speaking so negatively about yourself.” He replied and though you opened your mouth to object, he continued. “I know it’s hard and I know you don’t want to do it, but it would make me really happy if you stopped criticizing yourself when you’re a strong and beautiful woman. Okay? So can you do it? Please? For me?” He batted his lashes at you and you turned to mush.
You bit your lip, wishing you could not only refuse him but stop yourself from turning scarlet again but it was as though your mouth betrayed your mind. “So you really think I’m strong?”
He nodded, “And beautiful.”
“… Fine.”
Matt grinned and his eyes twinkled with glee. “Perfect! And for every negative comment you say about yourself, you gotta find five things you like about yourself.”
Your eyes widened, “Hey! Wait a minute! I didn’t sign up for that!” You hollered but he was already bounding ahead of you, skipping like a child.
“You’re not gonna regret this! I promise.” He called out as you chased him into the bar.
The Pond is always growing and we want to make our new members feel welcome! Here’s a list of recent additions to our fishy family, along with a link to a work they’ve posted!
@chaoticcockles -
They’re new to Tumblr, and don’t have a masterlist or any fics posted, yet, but have expressed interest in becoming a beta reader!! Head over to their blog and make them feel welcome!
They don’t have a masterlist or any fics posted, but they are signing up to be a beta reader! [Insert “WE GOT ONE” gif here] Head over to their blog and make them feel welcome!
No SPN masterlist or fics found in her recent posts, so head over, say hi, and give her some inspiration!
That’s all for this month, folks! (If we’re missing anyone, let us know and we’ll add them to next month’s list!) Make sure to say hi to the newbies and let them know you enjoy their stories!
Summary:Jensen films in Vancouver, his wife Ava films in Atlanta.Living and working in different countries is hard but the reunions are definitely worth it!
Characters:Jensen Ackles x Ava Ackles (OFC), Madeleine (Maddie) Ackles (mentioned).
A/N:Text in italicsare internal thoughts. As always, this hasn’t been beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Enjoy, like, reblog, comment, give feedback – all would be appreciated!
She licked and kissed her way up his body, paying extra attention to his neck until finally, she reached his lips and kissed him passionately. One of his hands caressed her side and back, the other settling on the back of her neck and squeezing gently. She pulled away from his lips and trailed open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and up his cheek. “Tell me what you need, baby,” she purred into his ear, lightly biting on his lobe, and smiling as his abdominal muscles twitched under her thighs.
“Ride me. Slowly,” he groaned.
“From the front or back?” She asked before lowering her head back down and sucking at the soft spot on his collarbone.
“Uhh, fuck!” His hips bucked up, looking for some much needed friction. “Front, Princess. I need to see you when you come!” He growled.
Raising her hips, she reached a hand between her legs and gently grasped his solid member placing it at her entrance, slowly sliding him inside her, both moaning the entire time. When she bottomed out, her hands skimmed slowly up his torso and chest before curling around those broad shoulders she loved so much and gripped gently to keep her balance. Jensen’s hands caressed her knees before sliding up her thighs, over her hips and coming to a stop on her waist. He tightened his hold on her when she began rocking her hips lazily up and down his length.
“Shit, Jensen! It feels so good!” Ava gasped as she set herself a slow and sensual pace.
*Do Not Read if you are Triggered by any of the following Warnings
Warnings:cursing, funerals, using people for profit, unprotected sex/wrap it up kiddos, intentional poisoning, slow death by blood letting, buried alive, rough oral sex, gun/knife play, blood play, necrophilia
A/N:Set Season 6 between Clap Your Hands If You Believe & ..And Then There We’re None
Summary:You and Jensen get hot and heavy (and loud!) in your hotel room.
Pairing:Jensen Ackles x Reader
Bingo Square: Quote J
Warnings:Language, smut, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving), face riding, fingering, a little bit of spanking, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!)
Word Count: 2,997
A/N: This is written as a submission for Tell Me A Story Bingo hosted by @supernatural-jackles. The square filled is “Quote J” and the quote used is in bold. This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy it! This hasn’t been beta’d so all mistakes are my own.
“Come on!” Jensen said, frustration evident in his words and wildly gesturing hands. He’d pushed and pulled on every switch but the spotlights on the ceiling of their hotel room remained on. Making his rounds to check every switch in the room for the third time, he was becoming desperate.
You’re lying in the big comfy bed looking like a Goddess in the plum, lace underwear set he’d bought you as a present. Well, it was more of a present for him, but whatever. He desperately wanted to be in that bed with you instead of dealing with this shit.
“How the hell do we get these lights off?” He murmured, travelling around the room again flicking all the switches.
“Babe, just come to bed.” You said.
“I won’t be able to sleep with that light on!”
“I can think of something that’ll make you so exhausted, you won’t care,” you bat your eyes at him.
A deep groan rumbled from his chest knowing exactly what you meant. “Just give me a minute,” he said as he appeared at your side of the bed to flick the switches next to you. You can’t help yourself as you reach out and grab at the half-hard bulge you’d been working on with your hands before he decided to turn some of the lights off and get cosy.
Summary: Have you ever felt like you’re too far up your fandoms that you’re not really living your real life? Well, that. But more.
Word Count: 1,817
Pairings: Dean x reader, Sherlock x reader
Warnings: You’re not gonna like it. Sudden fandom changes, bit of smut which is not really smutty, lazy writing, suicidal attempt, usage of drugs and alcohol, OOC scenes.
Original A/N: Because of who I am, I like to exaggerate everything. With that being said, let me tell you that this is how I felt for many years, with multiple fandoms. I have lived a tortous life, therefore I was always seeking to live somewhere else. Almost all of my childhood and teenage years were an on-going loop between my fake life inside my fandoms and my real life. I barely remember anything now outside that make-pretend life I created for myself. Now I am living my life, in a way that I can no longer hide inside that fake life. Call it what you want. Anxiety is coming back to me, fyi, and I tried to hide there but I just can’t. This is my way of expressing it. The Girl, Interrupted theme is because I watched it yesterday after performing Lisa’s monologue at my acting class - a way of giving therapy to myself through art. Anyway, I hope you don’t read this fic. I didn’t like it at all, but I feel the need, nonetheless, to share it somewhere. To have evidence that I went through that. Probably, someone out there has too. Idk.
New A/N: I wrote this MONTHS ago, long before I got diagnosed, and I got scared of posting it because it could be too depressing. But I hate leaving drafts all alone so here goes nothing.
Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought you were moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy… Maybe it was loneliness…
“Put her in restraints!” A woman yelled. “Withdraw blood… Give her five milligrams of Valium, IV”
“Turn her head so she doesn’t aspirate,” another woman advised. I felt my head being turned by a pair of terribly warm hands.
I was attacked. I had been attacked.
“You should check my hand. There’s no bones in it anymore…”
“What were you thinking?” The first woman asked.
“I was trying to save the world…” I replied, “Don’t worry, you’ll thank me later.”
Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in one place.
“Hey,” I opened my eyes at the familiar voice. The image at first was blurry, but I could recognize the colors of their flannel shirts. My back was killing me, and my arms felt numb. “(Y/N) are you okay?”
“Yo, sweetheart! Wake up!” A rough voice called out. I could see his red flannel.
Red flannel. Dean was wearing a red flannel, and Sam had the green one. That could only mean one thing…
I looked down at my own clothes, I was wearing a brown flannel.
I smiled childishly, and my vision finally cleared. Both men were staring at me, worried. “I’m home,” is all I could say.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, Sam smiled back at me.
“Yes, you are,” he said, “you’re home with us. Where else would you be?”
“At a hospital or some shit,” I replied.
“We don’t do no hospitals, sweetheart,” Dean reminded me from afar.
“Did we get him? The djinn?” I inquired, with wide eyes.
“Yup,” Sam nodded.
Dean appeared back again, handing me a cold beer. It was closed. Sam took my hand and guided it to my forehead, so I could press the bottle to my forehead. I was probably wounded there too.
“We Jafar-ed the shit out of him,” Dean snorted. Sam inhaled profoundly, as an attempt to not slap his brother. “I Jas-min that we almost didn’t make it…” Dean continued, “but enough Abu me,” he giggled, “how was your daydream, sweetheart? Where’d Iago?”
“Please, stop,” Sam begged. Dean tried to argue but Sam was already looking back at me. “But do tell us where did you go?”
“I…”
“Where did you go?”
“(Y/N)” a strong light blinded me for a second. I suddenly felt something in my eyes, pulling them open. “(Y/N), we’re calling you!” The voice chanted. “Hello, Earth requires Ms (Y/N)…”
“Wha-what?” I stuttered, pulling away from the light.
The scenery had changed. I was no longer at a motel room with awful wallpaper, but instead at a very nice living room, though the wallpaper was still awful.
“Are you okay?” The man that had been calling my name asked. He kneeled in front of me.
“Are you real?” I tilted my head to the side, and he smiled tenderly.
“As real as your nose,” he said and booped my nose. His touch was soft and warm.
“What happened?”
“You fainted,” another voice answered. I looked back, only to see the familiar figure of Sherlock sitting on his desk, typing furiously on his computer. “I told you not to get too close to the evidence, but did you listen? No, why?” He gazed back, “Because ‘oh Sherlock, don’t be so stern, it’s just a flower bouquet!’ but I was right, as usual.”
“Let her breath,” Watson commanded. “We both smelled it too and nothing bad happened.”
“Yes, but so did the police officers… All male, I must remind you” Sherlock snapped. “The flowers were sent to a woman who, where is she now? Oh, yes, DEAD!”
“I don’t get it,” I interfered.
“I suspect the flowers are poisoned with some sort of chemical that only affects women, by reacting to their production of hormones.” Sherlock informed me.
“Right… And what does that have to do with your intoxication?” The female voice asked again.
I suddenly snapped back to the hospital. I was laying in a hospital bed, with lots of tubles connected to me. There was a woman in white, sitting by my side with a notepad on her lap.
“Well, obviously I’ve been affected… It’s the flowers, you see…” I spoke.
“Flowers? What flowers?” The nurse, she was a nurse, asked again.
“The poisoned flowers!”
“Do you see them now?” She inquired.
“Of course not!”
“No?”
The djinn stood behind her. “Say no,” he said with an ominous voice.
“No,” I obeyed.
The nurse looked behind her and the djinn disappeared instantly. “Are you seeing anything out of the ordinary at the moment?”
“No, why would I? I’m not crazy,”
“At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were…” Dean sighed. He was sitting by my side, in bed, and was connecting his phone to the charger. “I am a little crazy too, you know?”
“Oh, yeah?” I trembled.
“Yeah,” he muttered and finally let go off his phone. He turned to look at me for a second before cuddling me. I was the small spoon, he was shirtless. “I’m crazy about you.”
“Smooth,” I replied sheepishly. I could feel the ghost of his arms around me… Ghost, because I couldn’t really feel him. He was hot, yet cold as if air was blowing over my skin.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked.
“I am.”
I wasn’t. I’m not okay.
“Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered and pecked my shoulder. Again, I felt it but not quite.
“Dean?”
“Huh?” I closed my eyes, not wanting to see what would happen after I said what I wnated to say.
“I feel like I’m still inside the djinn’s daydream,” I confessed.
Dean sat up and fixed a lose strand of hair that was falling over my eyes.
“You’re not inside a djinn’s daydream…” He said, calmly.
“How can you tell?” I asked, still not opening my eyes.
“Because djinns don’t exist, that’s why,” he said.
I finally opened my eyes. Black locks and blue eyes were all I could see for a moment.
“Djinns are mythological, and that is all…” Sherlock continued. I could hear his voice turning from Dean’s to his own. “I understand that maybe the toxins from the flowers could affect your perception of life, but there is nothing to fear. The effects will pass and you’ll be good as new.”
“I don’t feel good as new.”
“Clearly,” he grunted.
Noticing my state, he decided to go a little further from his usual behaviour. He pressed his head to my arm… I was still laying on my side, as if I was still being the small spoon.
“I will be here, by your side, as long as you let me.”
My heart fluttered, but not in love but rather in pain.
“I can’t control that.”
“The pills are having a positive effect on her now, we can get her to be conscious for a bit longer than before…” I heard a voice coming from the hall.
“What is that?” I asked. Sherlock tilted his head.
“What?” He furrowed, “I don’t hear anything.”
“Well, I do.”
I got up from bed and opened the door. At the other side of it was a hospital hall rather than Sherlock’s. All white, with blinding white lights. The nurse was talking to what I assumed was a doctor.
I felt like I would faint again.
Sherlock got up as well and dragged me back to the bed, closing the door behind us.
“You know what could help?” He smirked. “I know… Because I know you.”
He got me back in bed, facing up to the ceiling. I was about to talk, when I felt him pulling down my pijama shorts. A sigh left my lips, as I felt his tongue rubbing my clit in circles. I closed my eyes, filled with pleasure, and tried to keep it quiet so neither Mrs Hudson nor Watson could hear us.
“Come here,” I begged after a while.
I opened my eyes and saw Dean crawling up to my face. His tattoo was covered in sweat and his hair was ruffled.
“You thought I would just leave it there, sweetheart?” He flirted and, without a warning, he thrust inside me. “You feel good today… Tight, and so wet for me…”
I moaned, getting lost in his green eyes. I wanted to kiss him, but I couldn’t.
I didn’t even feel his weight over me.
I blinked.
TARDIS.
I blinked again.
Dean was looking at me, dumbfounded as he made love to me.
I shook my head and closed my eyes again, letting my body fall back into the pillows as I succumbed to the pleasure he… they were giving me. I called both of their names in between whispers until I climaxed.
I sighed and opened my eyes.
I was in my room. Darkness surrounded me. I was alone, and my fingers were still between my legs.
I wiped them quickly with the bed sheets and took my phone to googled Dean Winchester’s name, only to find out that he was not being looked at by the US government, but rather a fictional character. Not only that, but I saw pictures of him in the most intimate moments… Moments I could recall from living them with him.
I clicked on one of his pictures.
Jensen Ackles… Married.
I clicked on Sam’s.
Married.
I clicked on Castiel’s.
Married.
They were all married. Click by click I undercovered the lie I was living in.
“But what about Sher?” I thought to myself.
I googled him. Fictional character, based on the books by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
There he was, my Sherlock, next to others who had also played him.
“I thought I was in a hospital,” I whispered.
“Maybe it’s just your unconscious mind asking to be treated by a professional.” Castiel’s voice spoke.
“Maybe it’s because that is where you’re going,” Sam gestured to the side of my bed. A bottle of vodka laid there empty, next to empty sets of aspirins.
“Is there an end to this?” I asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Jim Moriarty spoke from the darkness. “But aren’t you having fun?”
“What if I die?” I insisted.
“You won’t,” Sherlock said, “you still got enough energy to call an ambulance for yourself.”
“Please do,” Watson begged softly.
I grabbed my phone and dialed the number.
“I need an ambulance…”
“We’ll see you on the other side, sweetheart.” Dean smiled with a glimpse of sadness.
“I love you, guys.”
Have you ever confused a dream with life? Or stolen something when you have the cash? Have you ever been blue? Or thought you were moving while sitting still? Maybe I was just crazy… Maybe it was loneliness… Or maybe I was just a fangirl… Interrupted.
Hi! Can you do an imagine where Dean and Sam comes back to find the reader possessed. And Dean is willing to do anything to save the reader because he loved her. And some fluffy after care? Thanks!
Hi! Can you please do a Dean x reader where the reader comes back from Hell and she sees Dean and he’s happy to see her, but she’s acting distant and cold after what happened to her in hell, but he convinces her how much he loves her and they decide to pick up where they left off in the romantic relationship they had before the reader died? Can it be kind of angsty but fluffy at the end? Thank you so much!
Combined these 2 requests. This one is a bit shorter, but hope you enjoy anyway.
It was your first hunt since you’d came back from hell. Tension was thick in the air for multiple reasons. One; You’d changed, the boys knew it and could do nothing about it. Two; you were on the way to kill the demon that took your life and got you sent to hell in the first place. And Three; you had decided to end the relationship with Dean that was blooming before you went to hell. All that was on your mind right now was revenge. When you didn’t have anything to focus on your mind wandered, and remembered things about hell that you just couldn’t bare to think about.
The breaks were slammed on in the car jolting you forward. You peered out the window, eyes tracing the warehouse where the demon had been working out of for the past 3 days.
You were scouting out entrances and exits from a distance, while Sam and Dean prepared the weapons bag. Your breath started to get lost in your chest as vengeance filled your body, and all you could see was red. You stormed over to the boys and snatched an angel blade out of Dean’s hand, spinning on your heels and jogging in the opposite direction towards the warehouse.
“Hey!” Dean yelled in a sharp whisper, “Fuck” he swore, before looking at Sam as they silently agreed with each other to follow you. They chased after you, a short 30 seconds behind you but in that 30 seconds you managed to get grabbed by the demon. He had you with a gun to your head in front of the door for when the Winchester’s would burst through.
“No” Dean cried, pain spread across his face as soon as his eyes met the sight.
The demon cackled, tormenting the boys as he froze them in place and played about with you. He traced the gun up and down your body, dragged it up your torso and paused it between your breasts as he licked his lips.
“Y/n! Back from the dead!” He started the usual spiral of tormenting conversation before the physical harm began. You stared at the demon and didn’t respond.
“How was hell then? I heard you made quite the impression” he chuckled as he looked at the brothers who had confusion painted on their faces. He flung you to the floor and your body skidded across the concrete and up the wall. You were pinned there when the demon caught a random smile, and expelled himself from his meat suit, who instantly dropped to the floor and didn’t flinch. Sam ran to the meat suit and Dean ran to you.
“Dead” Sam pronounced, whilst Dean cradled your shoulders in your hands trying to get a reaction out of you. He screamed at you asking were you alright, and how could you be so stupid. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. You could hear him, and wanted to tell him you’re fine but your mouth wouldn’t open. You started to laugh uncontrollably, no matter how hard you tried to stop. You flicked your wrist and Sam was thrown into a wall. Dean’s face dropped and he let go of you as he realised what had just happened. You were possessed.
“What a mess up here holy shit!! My god this girl is troubled!!” The demon walked into Dean, forcing him to stumble back on to his heels and you gently pushed him over.
“Oh she’s so in love with you she’s going to hate me for this… oh well!!” The demon grabbed Deans shirt and started punching his face. You tried so hard to take control of your body, you were screaming and shouting and doing everything you could think of to try to expel the demon. But nothing worked.
“Settle down in there!” The demon spoke to you, as you battled with him inside your head.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas” Dean started to exorcise the demon in between punches. He screamed out and grabbed Dean’s throat and picked him up, proceeding to choke him.
“omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica” Sam who was pinned to the wall spoke the next lines. The demon screamed and dropped Dean. Cradling your head as it yelled out in pain, it began to twitch.
“Ergo, omnis legio diabolica, adiuramus te.“ The boys spoke together as the demon lost a hold on both of them. You shrieked as the black smoke expelled from you, a sharp burning sensation rushing through your body. The smoke left out the nearest window and you dropped to your knees, tears spewing out instantly.
“I’m so sorry” you repeated to Dean as he crawled on his knees over to you. He caught you as you started to fall down, your arms slumped over his and you just stayed there sobbing, lying in each others arms. After a few moments Sam picked you both up and guilt filled your heart when you saw Sam’s ripped up clothes and limp, and Dean’s beaten bloody face. Your tears continued as Sam brought you both the car, one of you under each arm. The three of you got in and silently drove the nearest motel. Sam dropped you off and left immediately to get some medical supplies. You attempted to clean Dean up with what you already had.
You blotted a cold wash cloth over his face, he was wincing matching the movements of your hand. He was sat on the bed and you were on your knees in between his legs. He held an ice pack in one hand and alternated it between his busted lip and busted eye. You sat back having done as much as you could with the supplies you had.
“You don’t know how sorry I am” You broke the silence that had been lingering in the air since Sam left.
“I’m sorry. You wouldn’t have needed revenge if I looked after you properly all those months ago” He spoke muffled through his swollen face. You hadn’t discussed it, but you knew Dean blamed himself for your death. He takes the blame for everything, and you could see it in his face anytime the demon was mentioned how sorry he was that he even allowed it to kill you in the first place.
“It wasn’t your fault. You did look out for me. I made a stupid move, that’s what got me killed. And that’s almost what got us all killed tonight. I’ll never forgive myself for putting us in that danger” you confessed, catching your bowing head in your hands, attempting to breathe deeply in order to keep any more tears at bay.
“I know what it’s like to want revenge. You didn’t do it on purpose.” He attempted to comfort you. He had folded over, using his elbows on his knees to prop himself up and keep his ice pack on his face. You picked his face up gently with a finger under the chin, he followed your hand and brought his head up to look at you.
“I’m so sorry. I’m just so fucked up right now.” You apologised.
“Was the demon lying? When he said you loved me”
You paused as you watched Dean search for answers on your face. The demon wasn’t lying, you loved him so much, and you wanted to be with him but hell messed you up so bad you didn’t want to burden him with your problems, which is why you cut things off when you came back.
“He was telling the truth” you whispered, hoping if you said it quietly enough it wouldn’t be real.
“Why are you shutting me out?” He asked, voice cracking, showing you how much it hurt him that you’ve stopped talking.
“Hell messed me up” you said.
“Let me be here for you. It kills to know you’re hurting alone. Please, y/n. I love you too” he ended his sentence planting a light gentle kiss on your lips, just enough for you to know he means it. You grazed his lips not wanting to hurt his injury. He bumped his nose against yours playfully and attempted a little smile, before wincing at the pain a smile caused.
“We can be here for each other” you said, as you kissed the top of his forehead, standing up tall on your knees and wrapping him up in a hug.
Hi, can you do an imagine where you’re a hunter who’s been dating Dean for a while, and he decides to introduce you to Ellen Jo and Ash, and Jo ends up disliking you because she’s jealous that Dean loves you? Thanks!
I wrote Jo quite bitchy so if you’re a Jo stand be ware. Enjoy.
The door to Harvelle’s bar slammed shut as the Winchester’s yelled their hellos through the joint, trying to grab the attention of Ellen, Jo & Ash.
“Boys!” Ellen beamed coming out from the back, grabbing two cold beers and placing them in front of the brothers as they planted on to two bar stools beside each other.
“What brings you fellas here then?” Ellen asked, as Jo appeared and pulled up a stool beside Dean, dragging the chair as close to his as possible. She looked up at Dean eyes wide with admiration and lust alike as she awaited his answer.
“I’m meeting up with a girl who I want to introduce you to” Dean explained, positioning himself in a protective manner waiting to defend himself from the backlash. Dean was met with chuckles, sounds of confusion and lots of questions.
“Dean Winchester seeing a girl for more than one night.. what has the world come to?” Ellen poked fun at the man.
“Alright, alright. I know. But I really like this girl ok? I need you to be nice to her because for the first time in my life, I see this one lasting.”
“What?” Jo splurted out, in utter disbelief.
“Took me by surprise too, but I’ve met her and she’s a really nice girl.” Sam explained to the group, settling them down a key. Dean’s phone rang to interrupt the chat, he picked up, smiling when he saw your name on the screen and stepping away from the conversation to answer.
You were sitting in your car in the yard of the bar, filled with nerves to meet the rest of Dean’s friends. Before he introduced you to Sam you were physically shaking, Sam is his whole world and you knew that before you even got together so you knew if Sam hated you that it would be all over. But he was so receptive and welcoming, happy to have you join them on hunts and enthusiastic to help you learn how to research properly. Hopefully this meeting would go just as well.
Dean left the bar after you explained on the phone how nervous you were, he walked towards your car opening up the door and giving you a hand as you got out. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a calming hug, kissing the top of your head.
“Hi Babe” he whispered in your ear before playfully biting on it, teasing a giggle out of you.
“Hey don’t, not before going to meet your friends, I’m a bit on edge. Can’t go in horny” you confessed with a giggle.
“Don’t be. They’re great people” He reassured. He gently took your hand and intertwined his fingers in between yours, giving you a comforting squeeze before leading you into the bar. You spotted Sam straight away and his smile as he nodded his head at you put you at ease a bit. A series of “hello’s” and “how are you’s” came flying your way as Dean proudly told everybody your name.
“Hi everyone” you spoke shyly, Dean let go of your hand to put his arm around your waist to pull you into side hug, then lead you to the bar stools and sat you down. You were served a beer by Ellen and started to get to know everybody.
About an hour had passed and you had settled down majorly. Dean was right, everyone was nice and you felt so welcome. From all but one. Jo had been grabbing every opportunity to one up you or make a snide comment. It was very off putting whilst you were trying to get to know Ellen and Ash, and bond a bit more with Sam. To have to pretend that you can’t hear someone try to put you down was difficult, but you managed for Dean.
“Come here” Dean stood up from his stool as he finished the last swig of his beer, he walked you around the corner where no one could see.
“Keep it PG guys!” Sam called after you, erupting laughter and Dean sighing in embarrassment.
“I know what she’s doing, she can be a bit cold to new people. Don’t stress” Dean explained to you, you met him with a look of defeat prompting a tender kiss to your forehead.
“I think Ash and Ellen are ok with me, 2 outta 3 ain’t bad” you tried to look on the bright side of the situation.
“She’ll warm up” Dean promised. He smiled at you trying to put you at ease. Grabbing on to the collar of his shirt, you lifted yourself up to reach the lips of your boyfriend, sinking yourself into a kiss, taking advantage of the little bit of private time you probably would have all night. He reciprocated by grabbing the small of your back and pulling you in tight to his body, with the other hand on the back of your neck. His tongue ran into your mouth and your hands raised up to his hair forcing the connection even deeper.
“Ew” Jo scoffed as she walked around the corner. Your kiss broke and you looked down at your feet while wiping your mouth.
“Dean. Can you help change this barrel please?” She asked, following an enthusiastic yes from Dean who was always happy to help. He walked towards the back and you took the chance while it was just you and Jo to find out what was wrong.
“Hey” you stopped her in her tracks. “Have I done something?” You asked curiously. She rolled her eyes at you, and took a step closer.
“He was mine first.” She whispered low and quiet, not loud enough for Dean to hear in the back room. She then turned and stormed off, leaving you standing there trying to process what she’d just said. Did they have a fling? A relationship? Surely Dean wouldn’t introduce you to an ex without telling you that they were together at one point, so did she have a crush?
“Dean stop!” She giggled playfully from the other room. You walked closer to the back room to see what was going on. You peered through the gap of the semi-open door. Dean was throwing a barrel up on his shoulder.
“Wow you’re so strong” she spoke like a damsel in distress who’d never seen a bit of muscle before. Dean just smirked to himself at the compliment. She walked towards him seductively, he paused in his tracks, barrel still in his grasp. She closed the gap between them, you saw her tilt up towards his lips before you saw what was about to happen you looked away. You were not about to watch another girl kiss the man you were falling in love with.
Warnings: angst. Seriously…like–way too much angst.
Summary: in one of the most heartbreaking moments of Dean’s life, he and Team Free Will say their goodbyes. (Dean’s POV)
She’s so beautiful. The way the light shines on her face makes me have to catch my breath every time. I look at her and it’s like staring into the sun, though I can never look away.
She does this thing when she’s thinking, she’ll just nibble on her lip without even noticing she’s doing it. Her skin smells like gentle lavender like the flowers just bloom under her skin. And her eyes–oh, those eyes take me somewhere far away with every glance.
On the horizon, I can see the sun beginning to set. The water is practically still, though the breeze still blows softly through her hair. She’s a force of nature all on her own.
As I study her with tears in my eyes, I watch the final colors left in the sky make her skin glow. Never have I longed for someone the way I do her, and I know that I never will again.
I’m considering creating a website that is solely devoted to my SPN series rewrite “Wayward Hearts”. I think it might be fun to have it available almost as a book, to post art I’ve made, fan art I’ve gotten (which still blows my mind), share my writing process, and make it an all around experience for those who want to dive back into the Supernatural world.
Welcome to my series rewrite masterlist! I hope you enjoy and find yourself wanting to join the hunt with me and share our heroes’ journey together.
“Wayward Hearts”
Summary: As Sam and Dean begin the search for their father, a chance encounter with another hunter will change the roads ahead. Riley Munroe is a hunter, raised by her father after her mother tragically died when she was only six months old. Brought together by loss, grief, and the family business, Sam, Dean, and Riley join forces. They’ll find that their stories are intertwined and lean on each other as they search for answers and to avenge those they’ve lost. They’ll face evil, darkness, and hell itself…as a family.
Getting back to the family business over the next couple weeks. With all the fandom drama going on and no more SPN to feed our hunger for more…I hope this series rewrite helps fill the void.
Stay tuned and keep a look out for new chapters coming soon :)
But, I’m having surgery next week and will be on bedrest for 2-3 weeks. So…I’m thinking that might be a good time to get back into writing the SPN series rewrite “Wayward Hearts”.
I think about this series all the time and I’m constantly missing being a part of the story of Sam, Dean, and Riley. My life has been so chaotic (in mostly good ways) that I just haven’t had the time or energy to work on it. But, with no work, the kiddo out of town, and time off school…I think it’s as good a time as any to bring back our heroes. We still have at least a season and a half to go!
I will have more information for you over the coming two weeks. I’m eager to get back into this rewrite and to get back on the road with you all.
I love you, my friends and I hope you are all well and safe. Keep a look out for updates on our series :) (yes–it’s ours)
Check out the SPN series rewrite “Wayward Hearts”<—and get all caught up before we continue the hunt.
“Right here, kid. Right here,” he yelled from below. His words were steady, but his heart was not. “You able to get down?” He was pacing, though he didn’t stray too far from you.
You shuddered, held tighter to the inclined platform, and shouted down, “No.” Most of your weight was on the backboard of the basketball hoop, which was held up horizontally by pulleys on the ceiling. It was a twenty foot drop from where you sat, which was a fatal fall—or worse, paralyzing. If Bobby was any indication, that wasn’t fun.
“Do you want me to come up there?” He was already gauging the structure, figuring out how to get to you.
“No,” you said miserably, stopping him. Because what would that do? Then you’d both be stuck up here.
“Okay, okay, just—” A loud banging from outside the gymnasium cut him off.
The minotaur was close.
“Dean, you need to get out of here,” you urged.
A minotaur was not something you wanted to tango with unless you had the right weapon. They were bulls on steroids. If your research sessions with Sam had taught you anything, it was that bullets were hardly going to tickle this thing.
Dean edged closer. “No way.” He was both frustrated and scared for you. “How did you even get up there?”
“Do you really not see the person sized hole in the ceiling?!”
“I see it, I just—” another banging rattled against the gym’s doors, which made you both flinch. “I fail to see how you always end up in these kinds of situations!”
“Better this than five feet in any other direction!” Ironically, you were very lucky to land on the basketball hoop, and not straight down onto the polished hardwood floor.
“Right, I forgot. You’re the luckiest unlucky person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something, considering I’ve met myself.”
You snorted, but it felt forced.
Dean paced, raking a hand through his messy hair and looking desperately around the gym. Then, he abruptly stopped, muscles tensing as an idea came to him. “I got an idea, but you’re not gonna like it,” he said. “At all.” He began walking over to the doors.
“Dean?” No reply. “Dean?!”
For a second, you thought he was going to open the doors for the minotaur, but then he paused right in front of the control panel and picked open the lock. “Do you trust me?!” he shouted across the gym. Even from so far away, the look in his eyes was intense.
“I—yes—but Dean—!”
He flipped a switch.
Without warning, the hoop lurched into motion. You scrambled, clutching onto any handhold for dear life as the backboard slowly got steeper. “DEAN?!”
“Easy, easy, I’m right here.” He was beneath you again, watching your every move.
You were tense, heart beating against your ribs like a bat in a cage. “A little warning would have been nice!”
“Trust me, okay? Just sit tight, I’ll catch you if you fall. You’re going to be okay, you hear me?” His arms were ready just in case you slipped.
The hoop was halfway down when the wooden gym door shattered.
The minotaur had rammed through it, having heard your commotion, and it was huge. It had horns as long as your entire leg; beady, soulless eyes; and clouds of dust stirring from its flared nostrils.
Your blood ran cold. “Run!” You kicked your right leg for emphasis, despite the risk of falling.
Dean hesitated.
The minotaur charged, leaving Dean barely enough time to roll out of the way.
It’s horns drove deep into the hardwood where he missed, tearing up the floor like butter.
Somewhat of a silence overcame the room, only to be filled by your hoop noisily clanking in place.
The minotaur paused, reared its massive head around to look at you, and growled.
For once, you were glad to be high up.
Until it stood, that is. It was at least nine feet tall, horns adding an extra few feet to its height. It could most certainly ram its head into the hoop and kill you.
Dean’s eyes were blown wide as he made the same conclusion. “Hey, you!” he shouted, pulling out his gun. “Pick on someone your own size!” And he shot it point blank.
As predicted, it just made it angry—except, it was too stupidto know who to be angry at. Funny, since it had nested in a freaking public school—because apparently they were the modern day labyrinths. But mostly not funny, considering it attacked you.
It roared, and the entire gym trembled.
Dean booked it for the doors. You couldn’t blame him, but… man, that was cold.
The minotaur stomped toward you until you could feel its furious breath in your face, its grunts sending all your hair flying back. This was it.
Without warning, everyone—including the minotaur—stopped to listen to another obnoxious creaking which overcame the room.
You were like a statue, still staring into the dark eyes of the beast, not even daring to turn your head in the direction of the sound.
The minotaur flared its nostrils once more, pivoting on an angry hoof to look at the basketball hoop that was slowly but surely descending from the other side of the gym.
Your heart lifted, and you spotted Dean beaming at you from the control panel, probably high on relief.
You gestured around you. Excellent work, but don’t get too smug, now. We still gotta get me out of here.
Dean mouthed one word, pointing to his phone: ‘Sam.’
Well, that was good news. If Sam was on his way, then he probably had a weapon to kill it.
You both jolted as the minotaur slammed its monstrous head into the adjacent hoop and ripped it to shreds. Glass and plastic the size of plates dropped and shattered on the surrounding floor. All that was left were the beams that once held the backboard.
That would have been me.
Dean ran to you—having set off the third, fourth, and fifth hoop—and urgently mimed for you to jump into his arms.
You mimed back that, no,that was not something you could do. But you paused, his words from before coming back to you. Do you trust me?
And, yeah, you trusted him. You trusted him with your life.
So you clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from screaming and pushed yourself off of the hoop.
Dean caught you with bent knees, cushioning the impact of your landing. One hand supporting your legs, and the other catching your back. He set you down, and, locking eyes, gave you a proud nod before turning a wary head toward the minotaur.
The hoops still occupied it, as it violently bashed its head into one hoop after another. Glass rained down in sheets, gliding dangerously on the polished ground until there was a small mountain of glass surrounding the minotaur.
You tried to stand—to get away—but your knees were weak.
Dean noticed, slipping your arm over his shoulder, hauling you up, and guiding you to the emergency exit all in one move. His priority was you.
You held your breath as a heavy rumble reverberated from outside the exit. At the moment, you wanted to strangle Sam for the worst timing ever.
You and Dean shared looks, glancing back at the minotaur who was aware of you once more.
Dean scooped you up, not even bothering to deal with your uncooperative legs, and tore his way to the exit. He barreled through the door, tumbling onto the concrete, with you falling out of his arms.
You watched, stunned, as the minotaur rammed at the door. It’s horns were too large, locking in inside the building, for even it, for now, was no match for the sturdy brick that held it in place.
Dean interrupted your daze by breaking into a random fit of laughter. There he was, on the ground of a wet, public school parking lot, throwing his head back and enjoying himself for no obvious goddamn reason.
You weren’t sure whether to be concerned or laugh with him. “What the hell is so funny?”
“S—” he could barely spit it out. He couldn’t breathe. “S-Sam’s got a—ahaha—aha—hehehe’s got a—haha—”
You turned to see what on earth Sam hadand felt your eyebrows rise to your hairline as you watched a freaking wrecking ball crane align itself with the gym.
You had heard of the Winchesters 'borrowing’ equipment, but this was next level. Where had he come across a wrecking ball?
And that bass you had heard from before? As Sam came nearer, it became more distinct.
Your jaw dropped.
Sam was blasting the song ‘Wrecking Ball’.
Dean’s howling laughter only became louder as Sam drove closer.
You could tell Sam was smirking, obviously aware of what he was doing to Dean. As Sam hit the brakes, you could see him grin and chuckle—oh he was patting himself on the back for this one.
The minotaur, dumb as a rock, was still slamming itself at the doorway. If it had any brains, it would know to get out of the way because something much larger was about to come through those doors.
Dean eventually sighed, wiping tears, sitting up to watch the demolition.
“You think the cops’ll show?” you asked.
Dean shook his head. “Nah. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be blasting music at midnight for the entire neighborhood to hear with a wrecking ball crane on school premises.” He stood and offered you a hand.
You took it. “Good point.”
The wrecking ball collided with the doorway. It caught the minotaur by the chest, crushing every bone in its body.
“If it isn’t the Winchesters. And… Winchest-ee.”
Crowley.
“Did I miss the party?” When you both glared at him, he smiled. “Is Sam enjoying his little gift?”
“You gave it to him?”
Crowley hummed. “I’m letting him borrow it. In exchange for one minotaur.”
“You want the dead minotaur?” you asked. “Why?”
“I’m going to mount it on my wall.” Crowley shrugged.
“That's… it? Taxidermy?” Dean asked skeptically.
“Yes. Do I need a betterreason? It’s cool. Obviously, I want it in Hell. Why, did you expect I’d want his soul or something? Well… of course, I want his soul, but that would never happen. We all know he’s smarter than that, Dean, no need to go full mama bear.”
Once Sam dismounted the wrecking ball crane, it vanished with a dark smoke.
Crowley sighed. “Well, I suggest you skip town—I’m expecting the school won’t be happy about your renovation.” Crowley began walking toward the now destroyed exit, disappearing into the dust and not walking back out.
Sam made his way over, smirking at the ground with his hands in his pockets. “So, how did it go for you guys?”
“Horrible.”
“Great.”
Sam was glancing between you both. “Well, someone’s lying.”
You shot Dean an odd look. “If you count me getting stuck on a basketball hoop twenty feet in the air with a minotaur trying to kill us, then you have a twisted idea of 'great’.”
“Oh, c'mon, you handled it like a champ.”
Sam’s eyebrows quirked. “You were on the basketball hoop?”
“I fell through the cheap ceiling.”
Dean snorted. “Guess they needed a renovation anyway.”
You socked him in the shoulder. “You’re an idiot.”
You woke up to a deep ache in your shoulders. It was sore all the way down your back. Probably bruised to hell.
You grunted, and your breath fanned back onto your face. You attempted to move, despite your smarting back, and your hands brushed against loose dirt and flaky wood. You tried to adjust your eyes, but there was nothing to see. Just… black. Wherever you were, it was a narrow space. A dirty narrow space.
Was it time to mention you were also slightly claustrophobic?
You were sweating. The air was stuffy. But there was something cold right next to you. Something cold and yielding. You reached for it, blindly patting with your hand flat out, until your fingers curled around something with contour.
You mapped out the dimensions of the object before recoiling in horror. That was no object—that… that was a body.
Which, with your odds, meant you were in a coffin. An oddly large, though still cramped, coffin. Underground. With no way out but through the suffocating dirt.
Freaking ghouls.
Your first instinct was to scream. To pound up against the wood and holler until your throat was raw. It wasn’t that you wouldn’t, either; it was that you couldn’t.
You couldn’t breathe.
There was something in your chest right now. There had to be. A void where your lungs had been, like a vacuum that swallowed up all the usable air. Your heart was in your throat.
Were you running out of oxygen? Was it already too late? Your shallow breaths were burning a hole in your chest. You couldn’t breathe.
You reached over to the corpse, this time with urgency. Cold but still flaccid. The body had been fresh for about an hour, then. Rigor mortis hadn’t even begun.
Does it matter? a part of your mind reasoned. It sounded a little like Dean. There’s a cold, dead body next to you, you’re on your last round of air, and you still can’t stop being a nerd?
“It matters,” you muttered to yourself. “Matters ‘cause that means I’ve been stuck down here for about an hour. Takes about five hours total to run short on oxygen. Means at the very least, I’m not dying… yet.”
As hard as a transition was going to be, you needed to breathe deep and slow. But there was still a tightness in your chest.
Relax your shoulders, you could almost hear Sam chiding.
“A little… difficult to do… suffocating in a pine box,” you said, but you relaxed them anyway. You then took in your first, full breath since you woke up. That was progress.
You couldn’t count on the Winchesters finding you in time, or at all. You were going to have to take matters into your own hands and try to climb out of the grave. Dean had done it before, so you could too.
Dean’s also, like, 200 pounds of muscle, Sam cautioned.
If you were going to climb out of your grave, you needed a mask to protect your face from the dirt. Which meant you were going to need to work your shirt off of your head. You brushed your hand over your stomach. Well, you must have put up a fight. Your shirt was shredded, so… that was a no go.
The dead guy had a shirt, Dean said.
Fantastic.
You looked over to your left, to the corpse you couldn’t see. You reached over, awkwardly pulling the shirt up. Its cool skin grazed yours as you worked the fabric over its head.
The neck didn’t jerk about; it was rigid, but the arms weren’t. Rigor mortis was kicking into gear. Which meant you had been down here for roughly two hours. Working as a hunter, you needed to have some level of knowledge on the dead.
Such a nerd, you could see Dean rolling his eyes.
You tied the bottom of the shirt which took a little while with your arms pinned down and the pitch darkness to guide you. Finally, though, you made a tight knot.
You pulled the shirt over your head like a bag and sat there for a moment. You wished the Winchesters could talk you through this.
That’s when you broke at the pine box. The dirt was cold, dry, and thankfully loose. It fell in clumps around your shoulders, and you shoved it down at your feet.
Climbing your way past the dirt was no joke. It was grimy and freaking difficult. It was like those foam pits that gymnasts use that are nearly impossible to work your way out of, except in complete darkness with limited space. In other words, a freaking nightmare.
But you kept working. Kept pushing up while pushing the dirt down. Six feet, Sam reminded you. Just six feet. Once you’re standing, just work upward. Should be about as tall as I am, yeah?
You made a risky move upward, throwing your hand up as far as it could go, and touched air. A light breeze fell over your skin.
To say it was encouragement was an exaggeration. You worked twice as hard, shoving your way to the top. When your hand felt hard dirt, you crunched your abs and pulled until your chest hit the surface. You frantically dug your legs out before collapsing on the ground.
You went into a fit of hysterical laughter, a result of your adrenaline high and the last throes of your panic.You threw the filthy t-shirt off of your head, inhaling the air that you had once taken for granted.
In your brief delirium, you recalled Dean Winchester retelling his old raising-from-perdition story. He had hardly mentioned climbing out of his grave, as if it hadn’t been important. His focus had mainly been on the mystery of the angels and how they turned out to be douches. He had made this part sound like a. Slice. Of. Pie.
And, well, you got a freaking reality check today. Because it was an entire body workout, and it was exactly as terrifying as it sounded—no, worse. Waking up in pitch darkness, in a small space, with a corpse, six feet under the ground? Hell naw. You were lucky you’d had enough trauma to know how to push back your panic. Because two years ago, you probably would have rotted down there, helpless.
It left you to wonder, though. Why the ghouls left you alive, and not the dead guy. All the other grave desecrations had been long dead—but you were the first to live.
First, you were going to have to get back to the motel. You already knew the boys were gonna freak.
///
When you opened up the hotel door, the Winchesters sprang out of their chairs, barking your name in surprise. “You're—you're…” Sam stammered as he took in your state. You couldn’t blame him; the grave had covered you in dirt from neck to toe.
“Alive. I know,” you said. “I’m also really dirty. You mind if I use your guys’ shower?”
Sam blinked. “No, not at all, but uh, seriously—what happened?”
You let out a halfhearted, breathy laugh. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You tried to shrug past Dean, but he caught your arm.
“You were gone for three hours,” he said.
“Look, we’re just worried about you. Could you humor us?” Sam added. His eyes were pleading and damn hard to say no to.
You scowled. “You two gotta tell me what happened on your end first. Deal?”
“Deal,” Dean said. “You know most of it. Several grave desecrations of old gravestones, but fresh bodies where bones should be. People in town go missing a few days before that. We split: you went to check on the newest body, while we checked the cemetery. We ganked the ghoul, figured you were coming back from the morgue, but you never showed. After about three hours of looking, we came back here to see if you had maybe come back at all. Actually, we were just about to leave again.” Dean clapped his hands. “Did you ever find anything at the morgue?”
“Yeah, the guy had died from…” …asphyxiation. You trailed off. “Oh crap…”
“What? What is it?”
“Asphyxiation. The guy… he, uh, he had died from asphyxiation. Originally, I mean. The ghoul had been burying his food to eat later. Like… like a squirrel. Must have taken the guy out to snack on, but he was already dead.” It was all coming together. “The ghoul was either stupid or confident because he got sloppy. Probably because he was too hungry to care. That’s why… why I… why I…” Damn it, you let that slip. You peered around them, looking for escape. “Guys, hey, can I just shower? I really just wanna—”
This time, Sam caught your arm. He was gentle, but he had a firm grip. “That’s why you what?”
You clammed up, peeling your eyes away from them. “Why I… uh…” you couldn’t think of an excuse, and the silence was becoming too long to make a convincing one on the spot. You should have walked into this room with a workable lie in mind, but all you had wanted was to shower, scrub all the dirt off your skin, and to lather soap where you had touched that god-awful corpse. You just wanted to be clean and to sleep.
And you seriously were trying to tell them things. Lying sucked, but this? You weren’t sure if you could tell them this and come out of it in one piece.
Sam softly said your name again, trying to bring your eyes back to his. It was too easy. He knew your tells. Your eyes always gave you away if you lied.
We’re never going to let this die, your inner Dean voice sang. And you internally swatted it away.
I know, you thought sourly. Behind your eyes, a pressure built. Just let me go so I can cry alone. I can’t cry in front of you. I can’t. “He—it… might have… buried me alive.” It took everything you had in you for your voice to stay steady.
Both of them rocked back a little. Dean looked a little dazed, and Sam looked pale. Sam tilted his head, “Excuse me, buried—?”
“It explains the dirt,” Dean sighed. “No offense, sweetheart, but you smell like a toilet.”
Oh, shove it, Winchester.
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I just want to shower—”
“Hold on,” Sam said. He had his hands combing his hair. “Hold on, hold on, just— am I the only one bothered by this?! She— you could have died!”
“But I didn’t,” “But she didn’t,” you and Dean said in unison. He winked at you and you rolled your eyes back.
“Sam. I have been through a lot. You know it, I know it. I’m not that girl from two years ago. You said it yourself once before: I’m a Winchester now. And I’m not a Winchester without a few near death experiences.”
Sam scowled. “You two are so frustrating. Fine, go. Go take your shower. This conversation isn’t over, though.”
Thank God. You could handle this later. The conversation alone had keyed you up. You were burning with tension, anxiety, and trauma. You waved a hand at him. “Fine. But can we do it in the morning? I am so frickin’ exhausted.” It wasn’t a lie; you had bruises lining your entire back, and your face muscles hurt from all the fake expressions you were sending Sam.
They can’t know that I’m weak. How hard could it be, anyway?
Dean did it once, like a freaking champ. Why couldn’t you just suck it up and be a big girl?
He looked on at you with that sad, thoughtful look of his. Complete with the infamous Winchester puppy eyes. “Yeah, sure.”
You were happy to get out of the conversation—and this hunt—relatively unscathed. Hopefully, you would never have to go through that crap ever again, or you really didn’t think you’d be able to keep yourself together like you just had.
When you shut the bathroom door behind you, you let the silent tears run down your face. You bit your hand, heaving, wishing you had the freedom to scream. But you couldn’t, so you didn’t. All you did was turn on the shower right as you let out a quiet sob into a towel to muffle it out.
Why did your life suck so bad?
///
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You and Sam had been wrapping up a wendigo case. The wendigos had been twins, so you had split off. You and Sam taking on the first one, and Dean on the other side of the park taking the second.
Shortly after ganking the first wendigo twin, Dean called Sam for backup… which apparently didn’t include you, because Sam hadn’t even blinked when he abandoned you with the Impala.
It was ten miles up this stretch of road. Course, it wouldn’t take Sam very long. But you? That was at least a two-hour walk, if not three. Running would be faster, but you were wiped after being out in the blistering sun all day.
The sky was dimming, too. Even if you had ganked the wendigo, walking alone in the woods at dark was a big hunter no-no. Your pistol was useless against a wendigo, and Sam had taken the flare gun.
You could take a shortcut through the woods to get to the campground. Less than a half a mile in, and you’d be right next to tents and RV’s. Surely you could hitch a ride from that point, if not, hot-wire a car.
With that, you veered off the trail. The terrain was muddy and covered with old, dead leaves. “Stupid Winchesters,” you said, kicking at the tall grass and brooding. It was like you were a freaking balloon. Appealing, but easily forgotten. Replaceable. Dispensable.
You kicked again at a tree and a rock. And when that wasn’t satisfying, you kicked a patch of grass.
Excruciating. Pain.
Your vision whited out, momentarily going numb, then refocusing entirely on your leg. Your scream echoed back into your ears.
You had fallen. You wheezed, trying and failing to collect yourself before finally sitting up. Carefully, you moved your leg in front of you to look at the injury. Your teeth tore at your lip to hold back a scream when the movement jolted your leg.
It was a bear trap. The muscle and fat had cushioned most of the blow, but it had cut deep enough to let blood seep into your jeans.
You could still wiggle your toes, which was a good sign. It wasn’t like the movies; they designed bear traps to catch the leg of a bear, not cut it off. But holy hell if it didn’t feel like it had.
You need to push down on the springs. Dean’s voice bounced around in your head.
“Springs…” you muttered. “Okay, okay, springs.” You pressed down on each of the springs with all your might and the trap pried open. You pulled your leg out, releasing the trap altogether and letting it snap onto itself.
With your leg free, you rolled your jeans up so you could assess the damage. You had multiple stabs from where the spikes drove into your skin, and each spike had made about a centimeter long incision into your calf. You had dry blood caked along your leg, so it was hard to see how bad it really was.
Wearing layers as a hunter always came in handy. You ripped a large strip of fabric from your shirt, wrapping it around your leg wound; zipped your jacket closed; and pulled your jeans down over the wound, thankful that they were dark enough to hide the blood stain.
Now, to get help. Sam took the flares, so you pulled out your phone. You could probably call emergency numbers. Except… the Winchesters didn’t need ambulances, cops, or authorities snooping around until this Wendigo thing blew over. You would just be putting more people in danger.
You scrolled through your contacts, muscle memory bringing you to Dean’s number first, since it was alphabetical.
It rang for two beats before something clicked.
“Hey, what’s up?”
You fell back with relief. “Dean, hey, could you pick me up? Your stupid brother left me stranded out here.”
You could almost feel the glare Dean was giving his brother in his voice. “Course, where are you?”
It would probably be smarter if you had him pick you up on the trail, rather than search for you. “Sammy knows where it is. Same stretch of road.”
You could walk back. It wasn’t too far.
“Alright. Be there in a few.” And then he hung up.
You wiped the stray tears from your eyes and prepared yourself. You stood with the help of a tree, teetering. Your leg was painfully tender, and your knees rocked under your weight.
It was possible to walk, sure, and it wasn’t far on two good legs, but you had largely underestimated the effort you were going to need to get there.
You were going to take a helluva long nap when this was all over.
///
When you made it to the road, you took it upon yourself to sit down at a large stump. The day had faded into night, and you could hear the raccoons shrieking.
Finally, the low rumble of the Impala could be heard over the cicadas. You stood, albeit a little wobbly, and somehow walked closer to the road without limping.
Headlights washed over the ground and made long shadows. Dean’s window was rolled down, and his eyes drank you in. Satisfied that you didn’t look too roughed up, he motioned to the back door.
Sam had a tight smile. “Hey, I’m sorry about—”
“It’s cool,” you said. “Seriously. No harm done, I just wanna get back to the motel and shower.” Well, yes harm done, but the shower is the escape. I just need to escape for a little while. The last thing you wanted was the Winchesters getting all freaked.
Dean looked at you a little skeptical. “Forgiven that easy? Dude, if he had done that to me I’d’ve punched him.”
Sam scowled at his brother.
You laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m not one for grudges. I know he didn’t mean it.” Or did he? Then, you went quiet.
Dean was giving you ‘the look’ in the rearview mirror, and you tried not to acknowledge it, but you could tell that he knew something was off. Did you leave blood somewhere?
“You sure you’re okay? You’re kinda pale,” he questioned.
You wanted to retaliate, to shout, Dean, shut up, I’m literally fine. But then he would know. So you shrugged instead. “I’m cool.” You stretched, careful to set your leg somewhere comfortable before resting your head on the window.
The peace didn’t last long. The Impala went over a pothole, jostling your leg and you cursed out loud before you could bite your tongue.
“What is it?” Dean asked.
“I’m trying to nap back here,” you snapped. “You’re shakin’ the whole car.”
“My bad.”
You rolled your eyes.
The rest of the ride went fine. Until you had to get out of the car. You swung your leg around, but when you put pressure on it, you nearly fell on your face. Fortunately, you caught yourself, gingerly shifting your weight onto your other leg.
“I knew it. I knew you were hurt,” Dean growled, coming over to haul you up by the shoulder. “Why do you insist on hiding this stuff from us?”
You let him shoulder most of your weight, leaning on him. “Because you baby me!”
“We don’t baby you, we make sure you’re freaking okay, so we don’t screw your injuries up even more. And you’re not really the reliable type,” Dean said, scowling.
He pulled you into the motel a little roughly. He was irate—the upturn of his lips were not a smile, rather, a sneer. Yeah, he was sick of your crap. You didn’t blame him.
He sat himself on the bed across from you, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see it.”
You didn’t move. You needed to explain first. “Dean, before you—”
“No. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I was—”
He said you name in a low, warning tone.
Welp. You let your shoulders drop, sulking. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I figured, when you decided not to tell me about it. Show me the damn wound, or so help me—”
“Promise you won’t yell.”
“I’m not making promises I can’t keep.”
That shut you up. You reached down reluctantly. Rolling up your jeans, you brought your eyes to the wall. You didn’t want to see his face. When he was silent for longer than you were comfortable with, you mumbled, “It was a bear trap.”
“Yeah, I’m seeing that,” he snapped.
That’s when Sam walked in with the bags. His expression crumpled. He murmured your name in alarm, tossing the bags on the adjacent desk. He looked so disappointed in you. “What the hell? You said you were—”
“I was fine. Cool. Yeah, I know. I lied, okay?” you admitted uncomfortably. “You two are just a bit overwhelming sometimes. I was going to tell you—”
“When? When were you going to tell us?” Dean barked.
You knew Dean loved you and was protective, but sometimes he was so pushy. “I don’t—I was handling it, okay?”
Sam’s expressions shifted into realization. “Hold up, did you walk back to the road?”
Dean analyzed you, and did not like his findings. “She did,” he announced. “She freaking—” he stood up and disappeared into the bathroom.
You sighed, pulling your head into your hands.
Sam shook his head. “The bear trap would have been in the woods, and we picked you up at the road.”
“I took a brief detour, which never would have happened if you hadn’t ditched me!”
Sam snapped his mouth shut.
Dean came out of the bathroom with a med kit. “Lets see how bad this thing is.” You stuck your leg out on display, wincing as you placed it on the bed.
Dean dug out the alcohol and cotton balls. Right. He had to sterilize the wound.
Not much missed Dean Winchester. He could read your body language pretty dang well. He watched as you stiffened, and his expression softened. He nodded to Sam, who moved to sit beside you on the bed.
You breathed deep, a slow panic setting in, and it hitched as Sam’s hands fell onto your shoulders. “Relax your shoulders”, he said. “It’s going to sting a little, but it’s nothing you can’t handle.”
Winchesters. In all irony, as much as they left you in the worst freaking moments, they were also there when you needed them afterward.
Or maybe that was just you getting sentimental before Dean agitated a painful wound of yours.
You hissed as he first dabbed the cotton ball onto the lacerations. He wasn’t harsh with it, but he wasn’t gentle, either. His movements had a clinical urgency to them— quick and fluid.
You leaned into Sam’s loose embrace, which tightened a little as you settled yourself.
Dean hummed at his work. “You’re lucky. It worked deep, but it’s nothing that some stitches can’t fix. You’ll have some ugly bruising tomorrow, though.”
That was some good news. You sent them a soft smile. “Thanks, guys. Really. I know I can be a bit… secretive. Sorry for that.”
“We just want you to open up a little more. That’s all we’re asking.”
You huffed a little laugh, then squirmed as Dean drove the needle in for the first stitch. “I wonder who I learned it from.”
Sam waved his flashlight around the porch of the house. “Neither do I. But this is our only chance to gank this shapeshifter before it moves to the next town.”
“I just have a gut feeling.” You met eyes. In the shadows, they were a deep, compassionate brown.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”
Well, that wasn’t happening. “Forget it,” you huffed, nervously stepping into the front yard.
“I mean it. If you aren’t comfortable, then I can do this myself. I’ll understand.”
“Don’t be stupid. I’m coming with.”
Sam’s eyes lingered on you before nodding slowly and turning away, keeping the flashlight pointed at the door as he approached it. When the door handle didn’t turn, he fished his pockets for his lock pick.
Meanwhile, you stayed on guard, anxiously looking into the dark street like you expected a jump scare. You hugged yourself as the icy breeze bit through your jacket, saying, “I hate this.”
“My offer still stands.”
“Your offer still sucks.”
He shut up, leaving you some time to ponder about the case.
One who was oblivious to the supernatural might believe the MacDonalds—and, yes, Dean had a blast poking fun at their surname—were just an unfortunate family. It was a small home—or were small homes now, you supposed—containing two divorced parents and their only child.
Knowing that the shapeshifter would strike tonight, you had to split between the two households. Dean took to the father, meanwhile, you and Sam took the mother, knowing that the entire family went for a therapy session.
Dean’s little parody, ‘Old McDonald had a therapist’ played into your head. At most annoying, if a little pitchy.
The break-in, you suspected, was exactly where the shapeshifter was getting all his DNA to shift.
Most people didn’t realize the trauma that came with a theft, and you had the misfortune of experiencing it. You once lost trust in the lock of door—lost trust that it would hold or that you could sleep in peace knowing that you were alone. All because a werewolf-witch hybrid decided he wanted your heart, and not in a sexy way. But that was another story.
Thankfully, now, you felt more at ease with the Winchesters—though that didn’t mean you couldn’t relate with the poor family. Break-ins were terrifying.
And not only had there been one break-in, but two. The shifter had been in both homes, which put an even larger strain on the family’s relationship. They quickly turned against each other, throwing accusations and lawsuits to feel more powerful. When really, they were both victims.
It was really an unfortunate situation for everyone involved.
You shook your head. “I can’t even imagine what that kid went through. I wouldn’t doubt they were trying to get him to take sides. Just imagine your parents doing that to you. I could never.”
Sam gave you a funny look. “Can’t really imagine. Both of my parents are dead.”
Oh, damn. You should have known. “I’m so sorry—”
Sam shrugged. “It’s fine—you didn’t know. Anyway, it was… years ago.” He looked uncomfortable. “Can we focus?”
“Yeah.”
Sam jiggled the thing in the lock, and when it clicked, he straightened, slowly pushing the door open, slightly wincing as it creaked. He crept forward, entering the home and shining his flashlight on possible hiding spots in the shadows, wary of anyone that could be inside.
You followed close behind, unwilling to split up like people do in horror movies. Thankfully, Sam didn’t mention it. Perhaps he felt the same.
“This is so creepy.” The house was giving you the heebie-jeebies. There was a narrow staircase which slowly disappeared into the darkness of the upstairs, and none of the lights would turn on with the flipped switch.
“Huh,” Sam said, bouncing the flashlight in his hand. “Guess this will have to do.”
“You got a second one? Not a big fan of the dark.”
You could nearly see the gears turning in his head. It was no secret you were afraid of the dark. Ever since, well, multiple unpleasant experiences.
You probably needed a therapist more than the MacDonalds—but Dean had rubbed off on you, always talking negatively about those 'shrinks’.
Anyway, what was the point of a therapist when you always had to lie to them? It wasn’t like you could ever tell them the whole truth—you’d be sent to an insane asylum.
Even PTSD wasn’t worth that.
Sam hummed, patting his pockets. “Nah, Dean took it. We’ll have to share.” Then, to your surprise, he handed you the flashlight.
You blinked. “Thanks.”
He took a lighter from his breast pocket and shrugged. “No problem.”
You stepped further into the house, feeling bolder with the flashlight in your hands. The light fell over a cabinet, and with it, two framed photos alongside a small lamp.
Sam was your shadow, peering over your shoulder at the cabinet. He reached a hand, tracing over the dust of the family photo. The eyes of the child were flashing gold.
You stared. And stared some more. “Well, that’s…” you trailed off.
“…yeah,” Sam agreed.
“His eyes are…”
“…yeah.”
You both briefly took in that information. “So the kid was…”
Sam’s mind was on the same track. “I’ll call Dean,” he said, walking to the kitchen and using his lighter to see the buttons on his flip phone.
You scanned the room, waving the flashlight until it illuminated a thin gooey membrane on the bathroom floor, which trailed out into the hallway. “Oh, god, no,” you said. You inched closer, shining the light down on the mound of slimy shapeshifter skin on the tile.
“Sam!” you called, running back to the main of the house where you nearly crashed into him.
“We need to go,” you both said simultaneously.
Sam pointed to the foggy window where red and blue lights had replaced the black abyss of the night. “Save your I-told-you-so’s. We need to get out of here. Now,” Sam said.
As you made it for the backdoor, he grabbed your arm. “No,” he pointed to the kitchen. “Window."
The kitchen window was a decent sized opening. He climbed through easily, and you tumbled out after him, terrified to your core.
The lights were almost blinding.
An officer shouted, his silhouette darting out from the shadows. You hauled yourself over the tall wooden fence, just a hair behind Sam, right as the officer caught up.
A gloved hand grabbed your arm.
Like a deer in a bear trap, you fought as they tried to secure your wrist. "Help me, help, help, help,” was all you could cry as Sam ran back. You struggled to wrench your hand out of the tight grip; punching at it, but it was like iron. You could see more officers were nearing.
Sam set fire to the officer’s hand with his lighter, but it still didn’t let go. Smoke rose and you finally stabbed the hand with your silver knife.
The officer shouted and released you.
You and Sam sprinted down the grass to the sidewalk, feet rapid, aiming for the line of trees on the horizon. The forest would provide enough cover for the police to lose sight of you.
It had turned into a footrace.
You tried to match your steps with Sam, but his legs were longer and stronger than yours. You weren’t a poor runner by any means, but he surpassed your endurance by a long shot.
So did the officers, apparently, as they were gaining ground on you.
You were just a step behind Sam (who was hardly breaking a sweat), struggling to keep your distance between you and the advancing officers.
Your breath was hot, your lungs already burned, and you lost your pace. Sam noticed and grunted, glancing at you from his peripheral. It was just a little noise, but it brought the strength and energy back into your step.
The trees were a few blocks away. Just a little further, and you could catch your breath in the shadows.
You let out a strangled yell as your nervous system completely frizzed, seizing and crumpling to the ground in a breathless heap.
Sam shouted your name.
You blinked up, dazed and confused. What… what was… was I shot? What…
The officer was ordering you to put your hands behind your back, waving a yellow device at your chest.
A taser. One prong dug into your chest, while the other was deep in your leg.
And the officer was at liberty to light it up again.
You complied, slowly bringing your stiff arms back, so they could cuff them. And from the scuffling to your right, Sam was doing the same.
You could take on monsters any day, but three officers with loaded guns and tasers? It wasn’t a fair fight.
This officer was seemingly much more pleased with himself in comparison to his partners. He lugged you up beside a planted tree, not to be confused with the woods, which was standing ten feet away. How irritating.
His eyes flashed golden, and you tensed under his hold.
“You’re the shapeshifter,” you breathed.
“Must you spoil the surprise?” All at once, he raised his gun and killed the other officers with two resounding bangs.
You screamed.
Sam stumbled in his handcuffs, which had him secured to the chain link fence to your left. His eyes were like saucers as the officer arresting him dropped dead at his feet. “What… why… why did you…” he asked, stunned. “You’re the…”
You bit back another scream as the monster put a knife to your throat. The blade’s edge was cold, just enough to be painful against your skin.
Sam’s hazel eyes were dark. “What do you want?"
His cuffs were far too low for him to stand, so he had to awkwardly hunker down. It looked uncomfortable.
The maniac had the blade right against your jugular. All it would take is pissing this guy off, and it would be over—you’d be dead.
"You’re going to give me the demon knife,” the monster demanded. His hand was dripping blood from where you’d stabbed him.
“How entitled,“ you said.
The knife pressed harder. “I don’t care what you have to say, girl. Sam Winchester has the demon knife, and I want it.”
"Well, good luck, chuckles.” You spat, “Because Sam sure ain’t going to listen to you.”
Sam’s brooding, however, didn’t waver.
The shifter trailed the knife along the veins of your neck. “It wouldn’t be hard for me to kill her.”
"He’s bluffing,” you said, and you fell on the wet dirt, choking back a scream as he lit up the taser.
He leaned in, his breath warm on your ear. “Not bluffing,” the shifter said. "I just have better things to do than pick fights with noble Winchesters.” His eyes flashed. “My only exception is the knife. It’s the demon knife, or it’s her. You choose.”
“Sam…” you warned. “ Sam don’t—” The shifter pulled the taser’s trigger, and you keeled over into the dirt, trying not to cry. “Sam—” you tried in vain. You were met with another interval of several long, excruciating seconds.
Getting tased felt like a full-body charley horse. Pitchforks instead of prongs. Portable Hell.
Little tremors still ran through your arms. You wanted to tell Sam that you couldn’t let the knife get into the hands of this psycho, but from the look on his face, you could tell he was thinking the same.
It wasn’t that the knife mattered to you (because it didn’t, you had angel blades that worked just fine against demons) but it was that the knife would matter in the shifter’s hands. This guy was clearly unhinged.
You were all for killing demons, but giving any kind of knife to this guy just put a bad feeling in your gut. If there was anything you’d learned today, it was that your gut had a pretty good intuition.
“This can go on…” he sighed. “Though, I’m not sure how long a human heart can take this."
“Enough.” Sam finally said, glaring. "We’ll give you the knife.”
“Oh, you’re not giving me anything. You’re going to tell me where it is, and I’m taking it.”
You couldn’t let Sam tell him where it was. “What do you want it for, anyway?” you snarled. “It can’t be of any use to you. You kill people, not demons.”
“Sure, it’s of use to me. Demons are scum on the earth. They kidnapped and tortured my family, and the knife is just what I need to avenge them.”
“So that gives you the right to hurt the MacDonalds? What would you want with them anyway?”
The shifter laughed. “Oh, all that? That was just a case to reel you guys in. I knew you’d follow the little ‘omens’. And then you’d see the skin I left so clumsily by the dumpster, and you’d talk with the parents and find out that… oh, wow, their stories aren’t matching up about each other—how could I have been so messy? Silly, stupid shifter.”
He smiled, resting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing. “You know, it was funny watching you do the whole 'monster test’ on the parents. It was cute. You’d never assume it was the child, would you?”
The photo on the cabinet had been from before the parents had divorced, so this guy must have planted himself for at least four months, doing whatever he pleased until the Winchesters got wind of his ‘mistakes’.
“Honestly,” he said. “I couldn’t care less about the MacDonalds; I was just biding my time until the infamous Winchesters showed.”
Sam’s lips were curled in disgust. “All this for a knife?”
You noticed a shadow twitch from behind Sam and in the line of trees. So small a movement that if you blinked, you would have missed it.
The shifter sneered. “Rather hypocritical, coming from someone who would do anything for their family. Would do anything to get the Colt to kill the devil.”
“That’s a lot different—” Sam argued.
Again, you saw something move in the woods.
The monster cried, “No! No, it’s not! These demons—they’re slaying my kin. They’ve ruined everything, and so have you! All you’ve ever—”
You intervened before it got out of hand. “You know what? Fine. I’ll tell you where it is,” you said. “After all, just a knife, right Sam?”
Sam’s expression became one of absolute bewilderment. “What? What are you…”
“Where is it?” The blade dragged down and dug a little harder at your collarbone.
You couldn’t help but smile. “You’ll find it in Hell.”
Dean Winchester took the shot.
The silver bullet hit its target on point. Right through the shifter’s heart, and the monster crumpled, its skin already peeling.
Dean ran over, shotgun slung over his shoulder. "You guys okay?!”
“Yeah. The crazy shifter wanted the demon knife.” Sam nodded. “Lockpick in my left pocket.”
“Got one already,” Dean said, waving his. “Why didn’t you just give the knife to him? You guys look like he beat the shit out of you.” He worked on picking Sam’s cuffs.
“I had a bad gut feeling,” you grunted. “He would have killed us afterward.” You were in a daze. Your muscles were rigid and they smarted like a bitch. Your skin was tingling.
Dean glanced your way, and when he saw your condition, left Sam the lockpick to do the rest himself. “Jesus—hey. Kid? Hey, hey, you gotta stay awake.”
“M'fine,” you groaned. “Just really sore.”
“What happened?” His eyes flitted over you.
“Zzch zzch zzch,” you mumbled, imitating the noise. “Taser. Not fun.”
“How many times he get ya?”
“Too many.”
Dean angrily worked the cuffs off your wrists. “That could have killed you.”
You knew he was referring to your time with the werewitch, which left you with a few heart complications. You shrugged. “Didn’t.”
Sighing, Dean hauled you up. “All this for a gut feeling?”
“He would have actually killed us if we let him get his way,” you said, leaning into him. “Could see it in his eyes.”
Dean threw your arm over his shoulder. “You gonna recover?”
Dean flashed you a cheesy grin. “You did good out there tonight. Proud of you.” His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, but he still seemed mostly sober.
He was checking out the group of women up at the front of the bar, who wore more revealing clothing than you dared.
You envied their confidence. Sometimes you wished you had the grit to do that stuff.
Dean didn’t fake reluctance to leave you or Sam. He knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it. When he finished his drink, he made his move, leaving the table, and you and Sam with it.
The younger Winchester smiled at you awkwardly. You could tell he wanted to leave as well—he and some girl at the bar had been making googly eyes at each other since he walked in—but was conflicted on leaving you.
“Sam,” you said impatiently. “That girl has been giving you the eyes since we walked in. And don’t think I don’t see you sending them back. If you don’t get up now, I’ll push you over there.”
You were glad that women weren’t assuming you and Sam—or Dean—were together; it made everything much less complicated. Both of the Winchesters were way out of your league. You were more likely the sister they never had.
He was a little surprised, and a little amused by your attitude. “Oh, really?”
“Don’t test me,” you joked.
He laughed, collecting his jacket and walking away.
Your deluding smile fell from your face once you were alone. Bars were usually their choice of festivity, but they mostly just made you uncomfortable.
You were now alone, as both of the boys hit on some chicks and snuck off to get laid. You were used to it. It wasn’t your ideal celebration, but if it made them happy, you’d bear it. You supposed they just assumed your interests matched theirs. Even if all you wanted to do was go home and sleep.
Anyway, the faster the Winchesters both left with broads, the faster you could leave. It was just that simple.
You sipped your whiskey that Dean had paid for. It was strong, and hard to swallow, but in small portions it was tolerable. You appreciated the gift, even if it wasn’t your preferred drink. Dean had a big heart, and you wouldn’t ruin your sweet moments with him because you were feeling picky.
You let your mind wander to a darker place.
You were still coming to terms with hunter life. And from what you’ve gathered, it was cruel, unfair, and thankless.
The Winchesters didn’t sugarcoat it, either. Everything that society looked down upon—the suspiciously cult-ish tattoos, borderline or over-the-line alcoholism (a line you were uncertain where Dean fell), and cheap clothing with leather jackets—was a signature of a hunter’s life. Not to mention the trigger-happy hands, suspicious glares, and their off-putting, dark looks.
It opened your eyes.
That “gothic” girl you saw in your neighborhood? That might have looked like a satanic tattoo, but it was actually an anti-possession tattoo that she got because she was terrified of the demons that wanted to kill her. And those knives in her pocket and backpack? That was for her safety, and probably yours, too.
Or that shady alcoholic up the street? Werewolves brutally murdered his friends, and he has to live with the survivor’s guilt. He drinks while obsessively researching how to hunt them down. Though he’ll likely die of a failing liver before ever taking on the pack.
The point was…
Looks weren’t always transparent.
And, well, you were everything hunters weren’t.
Your pain tolerance was pathetic, for one. Tattoos? Big nope. You hated all things needles, and despite tattoos looking cool, you liked to avoid pain, thanks.
Second, your wardrobe. As if that wasn’t blatantly obvious.
And, last, you were a hopeless lightweight. A few shots and you were tipsy. Dean thought it was hilarious.
Still, you drank your whiskey, feeling guilty that you hated it.
You were tired. It was dark out, and you could already feel the whiskey in your system. You just wanted to go home.
So the last thing you expected that night was for a guy to hit on you. You, feeling unlike yourself—and very drunk—warily flirted back.
He was charming. Thing was, with your buzzing vision, all you noticed were his eyes and handsome smile. You didn’t notice the more important things, like, say… the roofies dissolving in your drink.
Too bad you hadn’t—because you wouldn’t have let him breathe down your neck like he had been… or breathe at all, for that matter.
Your words slurred, and you leaned into him when he stood. “Hey, hey, h-hey, mister. Wheeere ya’ goin’ off to?”
You were smashed.
You didn’t feel too hot, either. You were practically dangling off his shoulders as he helped you from your chair, and your stomach churned. “I don’ feel so guud…” you slurred, keeling over to vomit on the pavement. Huh. You were outside?
You made out two shapes that looked dubiously like him. Albeit one may have very well been a trash can. “Yeeuur kindouf prr…retty.”
He snickered, though you weren’t sure what was so funny. “Just let it sink in,” he said. “It’s okay, babe.”
What was he talking about? You frowned, troubled. “Doe… don'ttt… calmeh that.”
There was only a muddy sense of direction. You fizzled in and out of consciousness, and your memory escaped you.
You were completely at this man’s mercy.
///
You woke up feeling like hell. The lights… the sounds…it was all too loud.
Your head felt like a crushed soda can. You turned—inch by inch—trying to get a view of the entire room, tied up—which, yeah, was a big red flag—and leaned awkwardly against the wall. When you finally saw behind you, you met the eyes of multiple other women in your same predicament.
The previous evening was a haze. Your mind was still catching up with the present, much less the past.
Something in the shadows of the room moved, and you watched as two figures loomed over an unconscious woman covered in dark, bloody bites around her neck and chest.
“Vamps,” you spat. But it came more like “vamffptss” through your gag with a few lisp-y expletives.
They spun around, smiling to themselves. A vampire crouched down to your level, taunting you, “Ah, so there is more to her than a pretty face! Who would have known? Are you a hunter, babe?”
A memory clicked as he said that. You might say it rang a bell—an alarm bell, anyway—but you couldn’t place it. His voice was bouncing around in your head and it was hard to focus.
“Sssgrew you.”
He stood, gave you a smirk, and drove his foot into your abdomen. Hard.
“Wow. I mean, you were a little feisty at the bar, but I never would have envisioned you’d have so much kick.” He winked at you, then turned back to his goonies. “Alright. Ship ‘em. Mark the pretty ones. They’ll be worth more.”
You puffed, still recovering from the harsh blow, as a skinny redhead yanked you up by the ropes. He was watching you like one looks in a microwave at their meal.
You thrashed. It was a weak move, hardly knocking him back on his heels, but it was also a minor triumph.
Then said vampire punched your throat, and all smugness disappeared.
The lead vamp turned to see the commotion and erupted, “Are you kidding me? Christ—get the gag off her, will you?!” When the others looked at him in alarm and skepticism, he barked, “She’s no use to us dead! Do you want her suffocating?”
Carrot Top worked the gag from your aching jaw, and you just laid there, winded, like a dead dog.
The Lead Vamp grabbed the shirt collar of your redhead attacker. “Hey, maybe don’t punch 'em in the throat next time. They’re gonna squirm a little—it’s what they do. So ignore it.”
“Yessir’.”
“Good. And, hey, guys—bag the ugly ones. I got a client for them.”
You coughed, propping yourself up by the elbow. You were concerned. Am I ugly?
The redhead vamp kicked you down by your arm, hissing, “Not you. We got a special guy for you. Likes the fighters.”
You were so tired and weak and helpless. Couldn’t do anything but lay there. You could only watch as the other vamps manhandled poor, terrified women.
“Leeches,” you said, earning you a foot to the face.
“Do yourself a favor and shut up.”
It was hard to not comply. As your head lolled, you spat blood at his feet. You would not go down easy.
He hauled you up, and his punch cracked like a whip.
You stared at his bloody knuckles, feeling your own arms twitch. The ropes were loose. You wondered briefly if you could even run—
Another strike had your vision swimming with stars.
“Hey. I got a question—huff—” You said, taking the punches like a champ and distracting him. “Has anyone ever told you—uff—that you look like—guh—Strawberry Shortcake?”
The ropes worked off your wrists and when he swung, you ducked—or fell, more like—away from his swing. Breathless, you pulled yourself to your feet to run.
The adrenaline was really the only thing keeping you going. Thing was, adrenaline didn’t give you accuracy, it just gave you strength. And little that strength was.
And, woah, was the ground spinning. You gagged as you watched the hallway sway. You were not in any shape to run, but you sure as hell tried to. You stumbled down the hallway, your knees giving out multiple times before you couldn’t pick yourself up again.
The vamp’s yell echoed down the hallway. “You’re not a hunter anymore, little lamb! You’re the hunted!” It probably wouldn’t take much for him to follow the sound of your hummingbird heart.
That was enough encouragement to get anyone on their toes. Even someone who was shaking like a leaf.
Whatever roofie they’d given you, it was enhanced. Everything was so hot and bright and loud. You wished the world could just be quiet. Your heart was beating so loud you could feel it in your teeth.
You clambered to the exit, reaching for the doors to push them open.
Just then, a hand pitched you backward, pulling down on your shoulder. You yelled out, petrified.
“It’s me, it’s just me,” Dean whispered quickly, easing you through the door, around the corner, and to where Baby was parked.
Your heart was still jack hammering in your chest as he pulled you in for a hug. You were high as a kite on adrenaline.
“Been looking all over for you.” The pitch in his voice was more stressed than usual. You were like a little sister to him.
You leaned into his embrace. It was warm and solid and safe. And it was exactly what you needed to ground yourself.
“He drugged me,” you blurted. “He drugged me. I couldn’t—he just—”
He paled. “Did he touch you?” When you paused, his expression darkened. “I’ll rip his lungs out. I’ll kill every single one of them. I'll—”
“He didn’t touch me,” you interrupted. “Not like that.” You rested your forehead against his chest.
“Thank god.”
“But I think they would’ve.” You practically melted as he smoothed your hair down. “They’re human trafficking. Selling women as blood bags.”
Dean turned to Sam, who was leaned up against the Impala, and nodded at him. Sam took that as his cue to go ahead without Dean. “I got Sammy on it right now. You sure you’re alright?”
His arms around you were the only thing keeping you standing. “Just tired. And my head really hurts.” Gunshots went off behind you, and you flinched. Your ears were still sensitive.
“Sounds like nothing a little sleep can’t fix.” Dean patted your back and opened the back of the Impala.
You crawled in and fell asleep before Dean could even pull out of the parking lot.
You tried following your heart, once, as a senior in college with straight A’s, a bright future, a career so close you could almost touch it. You were so close to satisfaction. So close to that diploma.
And all at once, that dream ceased to be. And all you could think was my heart must be very very lost.
It all began on a cloudy Friday evening, you were just about to end your shift with the dogs. It was a tangled mess of leashes when you made it back to the animal shelter. Sweat and dog hair covered you, and after a good shower of puppy kisses, you finally untangled yourself from the mass of dogs and return them to their rightful cages.
You refused to meet their sad eyes. You made that mistake, once, and had spent half an hour reassuring each heartbroken dog that they were, indeed, a good boy.
“I’ll see you guys in the morning!” you promised with a wave and a jangle of your dog whistle, and after a reply of barks, you left the building at dusk.
The road was silent, the street lamps weren’t on yet, and the clouds had become heavier in the sky. You had read in the forecast it was going to rain, but hadn’t expected this.
The tightness in your chest only continued to build as you made it to the campus. The sun was just barely visible behind the storm clouds that had rolled in. The wind had become cool, and the wind had picked up, sending chills up and down your spine.
Perhaps it was just a combination of paranoia and reasonable worry for a woman walking alone at night to her college dorm, except your blood chilled the moment you unlocked your room and entered.
The hair on your arms and the back of your neck were on end. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you realized that the window was open, and the harsh breeze was whipping past you.
You laughed it off, feeling silly. Though that night you slept with your cover tight against your chest, back against the wall, and your little silver paring knife under your pillow.
The next day, you experienced the same fear. Except, this time, it was sunny out.
What was triggering these feelings of dread? It was like you couldn’t focus anymore. Everything just felt… itchy. That was the only way you could describe it.
With each day that passed, the source of your terror was slowly revealing itself. Little, weird things that wouldn’t be so noticeable to an outsider, but as someone who valued cleanliness and order, it might as well have been an elephant in the room.
Things were never as you left them. On Sunday morning you couldn’t find your hairbrush. Monday evening, your bed was mysteriously unkempt, even though you’d recalled making it that morning. Tuesday, the caps of your perfume bottles were all off and littered on the floor of your bathroom. Someone had been in your dorm.
You didn’t have a roommate.
You called the police at midnight on Wednesday, and they showed up to your dorm to find you locked in the bathroom. They chalked it up to a wild imagination. You were three floors up, after all. Nobody was breaking in. You were just a stupid, homesick college student.
Right?
Pah, it wasn’t like you were a senior, or anything. Or that you’d ever even cried wolf in the last three years of living alone. But yeah, sure, call it paranoia.
Three weeks later, there was a knock on your front door.
It startled you enough to send you on your ass. You stared at the door from the floor, and it loomed over you like a bad dream.
Your stalker had been your shadow for almost a month at that point. A gaze that burned into the back of your skull, even when there was no one around. You wanted them to keep their distance.
You stood like a whisper, careful not to make any noise as you tiptoed to the peephole of your door. This was it. There would finally be a face to your terror. Someone you could blame.
A weird combination of disappointment and relief washed over you when you saw two FBI agents instead. Your fear of it being your stalker morphed into a fear of the justice system. Had they come to laugh at you just as the police had?
When they knocked a second time, you opened the door.
They showed you their badges and introduced themselves. “Mind if we come in?” Agent Young asked. He had longer, brown hair and kind eyes. You couldn’t hold a gaze with him worth your life.
Strangers in your home, even authorities, made your hackles raise. What the helllllll was all you could think as you welcomed them into your tiny dorm as your legs shook.
A million questions raced around your head at once.
“Could we ask you about the death of your professor? Mr.Cleveland?”
Your heart plummeted and all hope died within you. Oh. This was about that whole freak-show. “What about it?” you said. Your feet shifted.
“Well, it’s said that you were there at the time of his death. Is that true?” Agent Scott asked. He was more intimidating—more rough around the edges—but you supposed he was just professional.
“Um. Uh, yeah. It…” the agents were watching you with intrigue, and you looked to the carpet. “It was horrible.” And it was. It was bloody and scary, and all your fault because you had just stood there—watched as the professor died right in front of you.
Upon seeing your haunted look, Agent Scott spoke a little gentler. “Did you see what happened?”
“I—yeah… I saw it all. He—he had been helping me with something. An essay. I was flunking and he suggested a one on one.” That had only been a week ago. Your grades had suffered as you juggled your classes. When Mr.Cleveland died… you abandoned college altogether and let the dog whistle collect dust.
“I don’t know… he just…” started dying at your feet. You hadn’t even tried to pick up a phone. You just stood there, and you watched. Your breath picked up. “…he just—”
Agent Young’s voice was sympathetic. “He started coughing up blood?”
“Yeah. I didn’t—I didn’t know what to do. I kept thinking about…” the stalker, you thought. I couldn’t stop thinking about the stalker. “I froze and, a-and I just watched—”
“Easy, easy. It’s okay. We just need to know the details,” Agent Scott said.
You paused, then. Something didn’t add up. “Wait… why is the FBI interested in a guy that died of a lung disease?” When the agents exchanged glances, you squinted at them, your anxiety briefly replaced with confusion.
“We don’t think it was, erm, lung disease,” Agent Scott said. “We think he might have been…” He searched for the word a little too long for your liking. “…uh, poisoned.”
“Poisoned?” you yelped. “Who could have… oh god, that makes me a suspect, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately.”
Your stomach sank, and that anxiety returned. “You guys have to know I wouldn't—I would never—”
“If we thought it was you, you would be in custody,” Agent Scott informed you curtly.
Agent Young frowned at his partner as if to say not helping and then turned back to you. “We just want to know what you saw that day. Anything weird? Strange noises? Smells?” He narrowed his eyes. “Is there anyone you know who would want to kill Mr.Cleveland?”
This was your chance to tell them about your stalker. If there was anyone who could help you, it was the FBI.
Yet you clammed up. "No, not really,“ you blurted. "Nobody I can think of, honest. Not to be rude, but I have finals tomorrow. Could you… leave?”
Who were you kidding, your grades had dropped so low lately that even finals wouldn’t save you. But they didn’t know that.
…probably.
They offered you a trained smile that didn’t reach the eyes. “Of course. We’ll get out of your hair. If you think of anything else, here’s our card.” And with that they left the room.
The tightness in your chest did not ease.
///
That night, you had dreams of monsters and of evil people that could poison someone and smile. You dreamed of your stalker, and them laughing as you choked on your own blood.
You woke up in a cold sweat, eyes snapping open to the glow of an agape window. It was shut when you fell asleep, but it was open now, blowing in a breeze that chilled your blood.
Your dog whistle was gone.
It was a fear like no other. Your gut was screaming at you to launch for the phone. You did, automatically dialling the number on the business card that laid discarded on the other end of the room. You had memorized it after hours of staring at the numbers, debating whether or not to call them, then ultimately deciding not to with anxiety gnawing away at you.
They answered it on the second ring.
“Hello?” said a gruff voice. Agent Scott.
“I remembered something,” you blurted. “You-you said to call… if I thought of something…” You trailed off when you saw the clock. “Oh god, it’s three in the morning. Maybe this can… this can… this can wait…” It couldn’t wait.
“No, wait. What is it? Might be important if it’s got you up at three in the morning. Unless it’s just finals?”
You shook your head and then realized he couldn’t hear that. “Not finals. Someone’s been stalking me for the past week. I thought… maybe, I was paranoid. I was… constantly told that I was paranoid. But someone was in here while I was asleep. And might… might still be close.”
“Okay, you got a knife?”
“A knife?” You squeaked.
“Yeah. A knife. To defend yourself.”
“Oh. Right. Right, okay. Uh. Well, uh, I have a paring knife?”
“You have… a paring knife,” he repeated.
“Um, yeah? Is that okay? The dorms have rules against big knives. For safety reasons. It’s a silver p—”
“Silver? Okay, you know what? That’s fine. That’s good. Use that. Is it sharp?”
“Sharp enough, I hope.” You ran over to your cabinet, pulling out the knife and holding it to your chest. Your ragged breaths were loud in your ears. “Now what?”
“Well,” he said, and you could hear an engine starting in the background. “We should be there in a few minutes. Stay on the phone, you hear me?”
“I—should I have called 911? This has never happened to me—”
“You’re doing fine. Now, what made you so sure that someone had been in your room?”
“Well, the open window. I live up a few floors. There is no way they could have opened it unless—”
“Unless someone had been in your room. Alright. Just sit tight, okay? Don’t hang up.”
“O-okay.” The agents will be here soon. They will help me. You had the knife and phone held so close to your chest and tight in your fist that your knuckles were white.
I will not die.
Without warning, you choked. It was wet, coppery, and lukewarm on your tongue. You clawed at your neck for air. You fell to your knees. The phone clattered on the wooden floor’; it buzzed with muffled shouting, but you couldn’t pick it up, nor could you answer.
Just then, a massive shadow crawled in from your window, and it grunted like an animal. You barely had enough strength to look at him as trails of red spit hung from your face.
The man had claws. The man had claws. The man—the thing, had—for the love of God, inch long claws.
Down the hallway, there was a muffling of running feet. They would be too late. You realized then: you were probably going to die. You were no fair match.
You could feel the monster’s breath on your neck when the beast abruptly fell down like a sack of potatoes, howling and twisting.
Blindly, you stabbed it in the chest with all your strength, twisting the blade and then collapsing once again into a fit of retching.
The agents burst into the room.
But instead of moving to help you, they tore the room apart in search of something. You couldn’t help but sob in despair. Why weren’t they helping you?
But when Agent Scott whipped out a little bag from your drawer and lit it on fire, the choking miraculously ceased.
You melted into the floor to catch your breath again. For a minute everyone just breathed. You really appreciated the minor break.
Agent Young helped you up, closely inspecting your heavy, slightly bloody, zoned-out face, and decided you were okay.
You licked your lips, still not processing any part of the last hour. “What,” you said, “just happened.”
The agents exchanged looks.
You looked at them. Really looked at them. “You’re not FBI, are you?”
Agent Scott shrugged at his partner. “You gonna give her the talk, Sammy, or should I?”
///
“Were-witches,” you deadpanned. Monsters, hunters, hex bags, and were-witches.
“Yep,” Agent Scott—or Dean Winchester, you were now learning—said. “He probably got a whiff of you covered in dog hair or something. You’re lucky we got here in time. The pervert was, I kid you not, jellifying human hearts with dark magic. Like, alive. And then he’d make you regurgitate—” He caught the hard look from Agent Young—Sam—and shut up. “But, yeah. Were-witches.”
You frowned. “I can accept witches and werewolves, but… were-witches? For real?”
“Trust me, we didn’t know they existed either,” Sam informed you.
Dean laughed to himself. “Hey Sammy, should we call him a son of a witch or a son of a bi—” His smile faltered with both Sam and your glaring. “Get it? Witch jokes? Dog jokes? Sheesh, okay, you guys are seriously no fun.”
Sam sighed. “We should probably take the, um, dead werewitch, out of here.”
You followed his eyes to the heap of fur on your floor. Seeing your stalker dead was a major weight off your shoulders. It was such a relief that you felt high.
Sam was still talking. “—and you have finals?”
You sobered. “Right. Those.” Like you would do anything except bomb them.
Sam must have known the look. “You haven’t studied, have you? At all.”
Shaking your head, you slumped into the mattress. “Nope. This stalker thing screwed me up big time. There’s just no way.” You sighed. Sam’s dark look made you squint at him. “What?”
“I just, uh, know the feeling,” Sam said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I got a free ride to law school before the hunting life took me away. I was already a hunter, I didn’t have a choice. But you still do. You can still have that life you want.” He tapped the card, still on the desk from his last visit. “Stay out of trouble and call us whenever. Especially if it’s three in the morning.”
Right then, you noticed the dog whistle was back, as if it had never left. Realization hit you like a brick to the head. “You did that! You blew the whistle.”
“Yeah, well, I knew it was a werewolf. So I took a gamble and… borrowed it. Guess I didn’t think you’d miss it—it was pretty dusty.”
“You stole my whistle!”
“Hey, no, I borrowed it—”
“You gave me a heart attack! I thought the werewitch had stolen it! That’s what set me off and made me call you—not the window!”
Dean cracked a smile. “Hey, it saved you, though, yeah? If I hadn’t taken it, who’s to say I could have saved your damsel ass?”
“Jerk.”
“Bitch,” Dean said automatically.
You blinked in surprise at the speed of his reply.
His eyes widened. “Sorry. That's… uh, Sam usually says that and I respond with…”
You laughed. Really laughed. You doubled over, struggling to breathe for the second time today, but this time it was welcome. The Winchesters inevitably joined in as you howled. You wiped away your tears of laughter, occasionally breaking into a smaller fit.
“You good?” Dean asked, grinning,
You sighed, the hysteria wearing off. “God, it wasn’t even that funny! You just caught me by surprise. Thanks, though. For saving me, and all.”
Dean smiled, patting you on the back. “No problem, kid.”
You settled into a comfortable silence. You were still trying to calm down as they watched you with looks of fondness.
“Are you going to be able to sleep?” Sam asked.
You knew what he meant: were you going to be able to sleep alone? And honestly, you had a feeling you would sleep like a baby tonight. However, you had no purpose staying here anymore. “Would I be stepping too far if I asked to come with you? Just for the night.”
