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On A Mission | D. Winchester {16}

Unexplainable Masterlist

Dean Winchester X OC

Word Count: 2.9k

Dean and I were in one of Bobby's extra buildings, torturing demons to find out the whereabouts of Crowley. I've never seen Dean so focused on something. After I had gotten a moment alone with him earlier, we had a talk.

"I'm glad you sided with us," he says, looking down as we walk over to his car, as Sam lingers behind, talking to my dad and brother. I looked up at him, hurt fell in my eyes.

"Dean, why wouldn't I?" he shook his head, glancing back up at me before returning his gaze down to his shoes as he walked.

"I don't know, you and Crowley have this friendship, and I just wasn't completely sure whether you would side with us or not." I grabbed his arm, making him stop to look at me.

"What Crowley's doing, I can't go with. He crossed a line. When it came to him making deals and stuff, I knew that he was doing what he had to do. But now, he's the damn king of hell. I get that what he's trying to do is to give him more power, but how he's doing it is wrong. His bringing Ben and Lisa into this is not gonna fly with me. I don't know if you'll believe me or not, but I will go dark side to help you guys. And with that meaning, I'll kill Crowley, I'll be okay with that. I'd do anything for y'all." I stared, deep, into his green eyes. he smiled at me slightly.

"Thank you. That means a lot," he says, bringing his hand up to my face, creasing it. We stood there for a moment just being there for each other. He sighs before dropping his hand and walking to the car as Sam gets out of the house.

Dean strapped the next demon down in a chair with a devil's trap on the floor. Dean walked around him while I sat in a chair a little bit away from them.

"Look, I don't know anything," the demon pleaded, looking up at Dean.

"Yeah, we'll see," Dean said, looking at the demon walking away, glancing at me as he walked toward the table with all of the torture tools laid across it. Sam came in, going over to Dean, as he grabbed a bottle of liquor and took a swig of it.

"Dean?" Sam says, coming over to him, I keep my eyes on the demon in front of me as Sam and Dean have their little conversation. I smile at the demon evilly.

"What happened to you being Crowley's little sidekick?" he stares me down as I get off the chair, making my way over to him. I lift my hand in the air, starting to close it slowly. This caused the demon to groan in pain.

"Not so much anymore," I say, holding the mad smile on my face. My hand nears its closing point when Dean taps me on the shoulder. I turn to him, dropping my hand, making my hold on the demon release. He sighs in relief.

"Let me have some action, huh?" Dean says lightly to me, and I nod, going back over to my chair. Dean makes his way over to the demon holding the knife in his hand. "Now, are you going to tell us where Crowley is, or am I gonna have to go all murderous on you? Or even worse, Belle?"

He laughs in his chair, looking at him. "I don't know anything." Dean motioned for me to get up. I walk over to him, putting my hand on the demon's shoulder, sending sharp pains throughout its body. He screamed and screamed until I let go, just when I was about to get close to killing him. Dean bends down in front of him.

"Now, do you know?" he smiles up at Dean, flicking his eyes. he sends Dean flying across the room, and he breaks from the chair. I start to try and kill him, but he sends me flying back as well. He sees that I'm not getting up anytime soon and walks over to Dean.

"I'm not telling you anything," he says, while holding Dean up by his neck, cutting off his air. "So you can stop talking, you miserable sack."

Just as I start to get up to go help Dean, Cas comes up behind the demon, smiting him. The demon drops to the floor as I run over to Dean and Cas. Dean grabs his neck as I walk over to him.

"I didn't ask for your help," Dean says, panting as he makes his point to Cas.

"Well, regardless. You're welcome." Cas says as he looks down.

"Why are you here?" Dean says, brushing past me, walking over to where the demon was trapped moments ago. Probably trying to figure out how he got out, I turned and sat in my chair, holding onto my head as it was banging.

"I had no idea Crowley would take Lisa and Ben."

"Yeah, right." Cas turns around to face Dean.

"You don't believe me."

"I don't believe a word that's coming out of your mouth." Cas looked away with slight disappointment on his face.

"I thought you said that we were like family. Well, I think that too. Shouldn't trust run both ways?" My head continued to pound as if my body knew that this wasn't going a go away.

"Cas, I just can't." Cas starts to make his way over to Dean.

"Dean, I do everything that you ask. I always come when you call. And I am your friend. Still, despite your lack of faith in me and your threats. I just saved you, yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you? All I ask is this one thing." Cas talks to Dean like I wasn't here. It's like I'm watching a TV show.

"Trust your plan to pop purgatory?"

"I've earned that, Dean." Dean snickers at Cas's words. "I can tell you that I will find Lisa and Ben. And I will bring them back. Stand behind me, the one time I ask." Dean stares at Cas with a look that reads ‘unbelievable’.

"You're asking me to stand down?"

"Dean-"

"That's the same damn ransom note that Crowley handed me. You know that, right? Well, no thanks. I'll find them myself. In fact, why don't you go back to Crowley and tell him that I said you can both kiss my ass." Dean turned away from Cas, and in a moment, Cas had disappeared. Dean turns and looks at me with an upset look, and I share it with him.

"Are you good? I mean that fight was pretty messed up?" Dean says, making his way over to where I sat.

"Yeah, just a little dizzy. My head is hurting like a bitch." I say, rubbing my head before looking up. "But, I'll live. I might just go to the house and rest for a little bit."

I get up as Dean stands right in front of me. He grabs my arms, looking me in my eyes. "Thank you, Belle." I nod at him, smiling a little.

"It's no problem. Really, Dean." And with that, I left to go to the house to take a nap.

When I woke up, it was getting close to dark. My headache had slowed down, so it wasn't as bad. I guess that's what I get for using some of my harder powers after months. Balthazar had made an appearance to Sam, saying that he wanted to side with us. Now, Sam and Dean were downstairs in Bobby's kitchen listening to him.

"And we should believe you, why?" I said, leaning on the kitchen counter next to the sink while Dean was to my left, having his arms crossed in front of his chest. Sam sat on the little dining table to my right while Balthazar stood in front of us.

"Would you believe I had a shred of decency?"

"No." Sam quickly responds, causing Balthazar's attention to turn to Sam. A hurt expression crossed his face.

"Oh, that hurts." Sam raises his eyebrows at him. "Okay, you're right. It's survival. You see, I asked Cas some questions, and I disliked his answers. He seems awfully sure of himself for a man who wants to swallow a million nuclear reactors. I mean, these things can get a bit Chernobyl, you know? So voilà. Consider me your double agent." Balthazar explains himself. We all still held our serious stares on him.

"Oh, and I look the liberty of searching for your friends. Uh, took a while. Crowley's a clever one." Dean's face softens at Balthazar's news.

"You found them?"

"The upside is, yes. The downside is, no, I can't get them for you."

"Why not?" I question.

"Because Crowley's angel-proofed the whole bloody building. I guess he doesn't trust Cas. Seems that marriage is going swimmingly." I laugh a little at his joke.

"Okay, well, get us as close as you can," Dean says, ready to go.

"Sure. But then you're on your own." With that, the boys gathered the stuff they needed to fight off the demons, and Balthazar zapped us in front of the building, back down the alleyway. It was cold and grimy.

"All right, this is where I get off. God be with you and what you have." Balthazar said before he was gone in a flash. Just after we see a man come out of the building, looking around.

We make our way over to him to attack. Dean comes up behind him, stabbing him with the demon knife. Before tossing him over the railing, as Sam was down there to retrieve him. With that, we all made our way into the building, which held Lisa and Ben along with many demons guarding them.

We walk into a wide open room as Dean and I start to split ways from Sam. Dean gives him a quick be careful before we part. Dean and I make our way through the building, killing as many demons as we can between the two of us. We finally find Lisa and Ben, and Dean goes inside while I stand guard on the outside of the room.

When I heard something in the other room, I ran in to see the black smoke coming out of Lisa's mouth. She dropped to the ground as I ran down the stairs over to her, as Dean and Ben did. They both yell out for her. I bend down next to her as Dean gets a cloth to put over her wound. I push his hand for a second.

"Hold on, let me see if I can do anything," he nods as I hover my hand over the wound. The purple hues emanate from my hand. It's too bad, I couldn't help it. "I'm sorry, Dean. It's too deep, I can't do anything." I say, shaking my head as I felt a little dizzy again. He instantly put the cloth over it.

"It's okay," he says, looking from behind over to Lisa. "Here, put pressure on that, okay? I know, honey. I know," he says to Lisa. I stood up slowly. Dean starts to call Sam, but he doesn't pick up.

"All right, Ben. We gotta get her out of here, okay?" Dean says to Ben, I'd rather get out of the rest as the headache returns. I guess killing all of those demons can really take it out of a girl.

"Belle!" Dean yells at me as he picks Lisa up from the ground.

"Yeah, yeah. Ben, come over here and help me a little." I motioned for Ben to help me walk a little. He helps me up the stairs as Dean coaches him on how to use the gun. I knew that I couldn't use my powers anymore, or otherwise I'd pass out.

As we go into the other room I was just in, a demon comes around the corner. Ben drops his hold on me as he shoots the demon like Dean had instructed him to. He stands still for a second, Dean calls for him to keep going, and he grabs me again, helping me get out of the building. He shoots a few others along the way.

When we get out of the building, we hear banging on a door. "Dean!" We hear Sam yell. Dean calls back after him. Dean looks at me to see if I can open the lock on the door. I shake my head, and he puts Lisa down and shoots the lock, making it open.

Dean opens the door to reveal Sam, seeming to be a little groggy. He must have been knocked out and thrown into that room. "Come on, we gotta get to a hospital," Dean says quickly to Sam, as he looks around assessing the situation.

"Ben. Give the gun to him. Sam, we need a ride." Dean says as he picks up Lisa while Sam gets the gun from Ben.

"Yeah," Sam says, walking over to me, grabbing my waist. We both got to the car. Sam driving, me in the passenger seat, Dean, Lisa, and Ben in the back.

It was the next morning. Lisa was in pretty bad condition; it wasn't pretty. Dean had been by her side all night, along with Ben. Sam and I watched in pure hurt. I knew that if I ever saw Jake like this, I would feel horrible. Dean had checked to make sure I was okay, and I said I was fine, and for him to focus on Lisa. Sam was constantly checking on me, asking if I was okay and how my head was.

"Sam, I'm okay. It's gotten better. I just feel really bad that I couldn't do anything for Lisa." I say, turning to look through the door over at Lisa, as Dean was right by her side.

"You did everything you could. You couldn't help that your juice ran out," he says, rubbing my lower back. "Come on, let's go get some food in your system." I nodded, following him down to the cafeteria.

When we got back, Dean had told us that Cas had come and healed Lisa. He had also wiped their memory of him. I knew that Sam wasn't okay with it, but I understood Dean. The look on my face told him. I stayed with him while he told Lisa and Ben that he was the one who hit them in the 'car crash' and that he wanted to make sure they were okay.

Afterward, he turned to me, tears in his eyes, as he walked over to me, giving me a big hug. He needed me, he needed someone to be there for him. This was something that I, out of all people, could help him through, since I had been in a similar situation, and I understood.

"It's okay," I whispered to him as I felt his tears hit my shoulder. I held him close to me, tears coming to my own eyes as I felt for him. This situation was bringing back the memories of mine that I had relived just two nights ago. "Everything's going to be okay."

He pulled back, looking at me as we shared the same amount of tears. "You'll get through this," I say, moving my hand to his face. "I'll be there for you," he nodded before bringing me into another hug.

We made it out of the hospital, and tears dried up as Sam waited for us by the car. We walked across the street as we both went to the doors on the driver's side. "Well?" Sam asks, looking to Dean.

"Well, nothing," Dean says, getting into the Impala. Sam looks to me for answers, but I just shake my head, getting into the car myself. Sam followed close behind.

"Dean, you have pulled some shady crap before, but this has to got to be the worst," Sam says after he sits down in his seat, expressing his opinion on the matter. I shook my head, looking at Dean as he stared at the steering wheel in front of him. "Whitewashing their memories? Take it from somebody who knows-"

"You ever mention Lisa or Ben to me again, I will break your nose," Dean says, cutting Sam off. We all stay silent, Dean's heartache, feeling the air of the impala.

"Dean-" Sam tries to protest again.

"I'm not kidding." Dean turns to Sam, showing the hurt in his eyes as the sight of tears starts to come into the picture again. Sam doesn't say anything; he closes his door to the car before Dean starts it up.

In the car ride, I look through my phone and hover over Jake's contact. I hadn't talked to him in months, suddenly this happens, and I have the urge to call him. I sigh before closing my phone, looking out the window again, watching the trees roll by.

[pparkerreads]

Declassified Masterlist

Summary: Politics is a game that requires secrets, just like love.

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Tropes: CampaignStaff!Reader, politics, boss x employee, opposites attract, romance, fluff, idiots in love, pining, age gap (he's over 100 years old), separate warnings in each chapter

Chapter 1 : Working overtime has its surprising moments.

Chapter 2 : Actions have consequences.

Chapter 3 :  It’s a skill to remain calm in stressful situations.

Chapter 4 : Everyone has their bad days at work.

Chapter 5 : Crushes can happen out of nowhere.

Chapter 6 : A hug can mean many things.

Chapter 7 : Alcohol leads to honest promises.

Chapter 8 : The first day of work can be stressful.

Chapter 9 : Some lines shouldn't be crossed.

Chapter 10 : Self-doubt can appear out of nowhere.

Chapter 11 : Some dances look more than just friendly.

Chapter 12 : Having a high pressure job has its consequences.

Chapter 13 - In Progress

Headcanons

[pparkerreads]

Unexplainable | Knowing More Than You Should {15}

Unexplainable Masterlist

Dean Winchester x OC

Word Count: 2k

Note: Chad Michael Murray is who I cast as Jake, just FYI.

"Jake! Come in here!" I yelled from the kitchen out to my boyfriend, who was in the living room watching TV. I was making popcorn and getting ready for the movie that we were going to watch.

I soon felt hands snake around my waist as Jake put his head on my shoulder. "Yes, babe," he says, smiling, kissing my neck as he moves my hair from around my shoulder. I turn around to him with popcorn in my hand.

"You ready?" I ask, trying not to give in and kiss him.

"Yeah, I had everything set up in the living room." I nod as he grabs my hand, bringing me into the living room. The movie had been put in 'The Craft'.

"Why this movie again?" he laughs as we sit down on the couch.

"I don't know, I just really like this movie." he puts his arm around my shoulder, and I snuggle into his chest.

The dream faded into another one. I looked around for Jake but didn't see him. Instead, I'm in my room with my brother. He is sitting on my bed, reading through one of the textbooks on witchcraft that my mom had given him. I was sitting at my desk, with English work in front of me. Trey looked younger, fourteen maybe. Back when he was learning more about witchcraft. I never had to; it just came to me. He always disliked that about me, especially when he was trying to grow his powers and I tried to help him. He tended to get frustrated when things wouldn't go his way and take it out on me.

"Belle, how easy was it for you to learn Latin?" he says, looking up at me from his book.

"Not super hard. But, you know, everyone learns things differently." I say, flipping through the English book in front of me.

"I wish I came to it naturally like you did," he mumbles before reading off the Latin to do a simple levitation spell. The pencil in front of him started to float in the air. He smiled as he had finally got it right, but his happiness was cut short by the pencil dropping back onto the bed. He cursed under his breath.

I got up from my seat at the desk, making my way over to him. I sat down in front of him and the pencil. "You just have to focus more," I said, raising my hand up at the pencil that floated in the air, before I dropped it.

"But, you could always do that. You learned that when you were five, I'm fourteen, and I couldn't even do that." I smile at him slightly. He always beat himself up for not being able to do things as quickly as I could. No one blamed him, though; he just was hard on himself.

"Mom and Dad didn't figure it out till they were around your age, you will get it soon," he sighs before going back to work on his spells. I got up and walked to my door to go to the kitchen.

When I opened the door and walked through Bobby's house, Sam and Dean sat in the living room. Sam was in the armchair beside the window while Dean sat, leaning on top of the desk.

"Belle, we need to talk," Dean says seriously. My heart slightly drops.

"What about?" I say, swallowing tightly. I was nervous. They both looked at each other before looking back at me. Sam had a heart-wrenching, worried look on his face, while Dean held a serious one.

"We know that you knew about Crowley being alive." I breathed out at Dean's comment.

"Okay, and?"

"Belle, we get that we should have told you about our interaction with him, but if you knew that he was alive, I guess you knew that we tried to kill him, right?" Dean says anger rises in his voice, making me shake a little. He never really showed how mad he was with me until this. He always hid his anger, not wanting to upset me.

"Well, I knew you would just try to kill him again. I didn't want that to happen." An angered look started to come up on my own face.

"He's a backstabbing demon, Belle. I thought that maybe you had enough sense to want him dead too," he starts yelling.

"Dean, you saw how he saved me. You still have the nerve to question even a little of me wanting him dead? He's the reason I'm still the real me, Dean! You have no idea what it was like to have that darkness brought out in me. It's like being possessed. Your good parts of you have no control over you anymore. And that was mostly me," he rolls his eyes, looking away.

"Leave," he says, looking into my eyes with a dead stare.

"What?" I say, starting to choke up on my words. I look at Sam to see a pained expression on his face. "Sam-"

"Go, Belle!" Dean yells, pointing behind me. Tears streamed down my face as I turned around, walking to the door.

Next thing you know, I was back with Jake. Different scenery. It was the day he graduated from college. Right before I left him. I remembered him being so happy that day, but the next one, I ruined everything. He was going to ask me to marry him the next week at a family dinner, so that my parents were there to witness it. My heart hurt at the memory.

It was after the ceremony, we were walking back to his car. His gown was open, and you could see his suit underneath. His tie was loose, so it was more comfortable for him. He held his hand on the small of my back as he led me to his blue Toyota Tacoma. He had loved that truck. He got it on his sixteenth birthday, and he would never let it get out of shape.

"You ready to head home?" he asks as he gets to the passenger door, but doesn't open it.

"Yeah, whenever you want. It's you're big day," he smiles, turning fully to me. He leans in, putting his hand up to my face, giving me a long, passionate kiss. I fell into the kiss, never wanting to let go. I was so happy with him, I never wanted to leave. But I had to.

I pull away, looking into his hazel eyes with sadness in mine. "Jake, we need to talk."

"What is it?" Concern all over his face. "Baby, what's wrong?" he asks as a tear drops down my face.

"I have to break up with you," I said quietly enough for him to hear.

"What? What are you talking about, Rina?" he asked, giving me his nickname he would always say to me. It hurt my heart even more.

"We have to break up. You can't stay with me. It's too dangerous." I say, looking down between us, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

"Baby," he pulls my chin up to look at him with his hand. "What's going on?" Tears welled up in his own eyes, and my heart dropped.

"I'm sorry," I say, tears blurring my vision. I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if he had gotten hurt because of me. Especially with Lucifer out there still trying to find me. I break from his grip, starting to walk away, and he grabs my wrist, pulling me back.

"No. You can't just leave like that, Belle. You have to tell me the real reason. Don't say some bullshit like you're too dangerous. I know you, Belle, you are the sweetest, most kindhearted person in the world. You would never hurt me on purpose," he rambles on, trying to get me to stay with him.

"That's the point. I may not be dangerous, but the people after me are. They won't stop. You'll get hurt because of me. I can't let that happen, Jake. You mean too much to me. I love you too much." I was full-on blubbering.

"Don't I get a say in this? You're my girlfriend. You've been my girlfriend for two years. I love you so much that I would do anything to protect you. Please just don't do this," he says, the tears falling quickly from his eyes down to his cheeks. I had never seen him cry until now.

"I have to protect you, too, Jake. That's why I have to leave. Go live your normal life. Do it for me. If there were another way, I would take it over this a million times, but there is no other way. I'm sorry. I love you." I said before releasing myself from his grip, walking away.

I was in a dark room, and all I could see was myself. Tries dropping off my face. Hurting, with every drop. I loved him, and I really miss him sometimes. Maybe after all of this, I can go back to him one day. But I can hide the feelings I have for the Winchesters. Especially, how drawn I am to Dean.

"Belle." I heard a male voice call out to me. I looked around, trying to find the holder of the voice, but couldn't see anyone. "Belle, wake up. I need your help." I heard again. I held my eyes shut for a moment, trying to wake up.

Suddenly, a scene flashed before my eyes. It was Lisa and Ben being taken by some people, whom I assumed were demons based on how they were acting. Lisa was yelling for them to let her go while they snapped a man's neck that she was with. Ben was upstairs on the phone with someone, then I heard him say Dean's name. He was about to jump out of the window to get away, but it was too late; someone came into his room and took him as well. Next thing, Crowley is picking up the phone, talking to Dean.

I woke up, startled. I looked over to my right to see Dean sitting there with my Dad and Sam at the door. I look around the room until my eyes land on my phone on the side table. I grabbed it as Dean placed his hand on my arm to stop me.

"Belle. What's wrong?" he says with a worried glance.

"I saw it. Lisa and Ben. They got taken by some demons and Crowley. Ben, he-he was on the phone with you." he looked at me, amazed at how I knew about it.

"Wait, how-?" he starts to ask, losing his grip on me.

"Crowley, he wanted me to see it. Probably wanted me to help him, take his side. But that's not gonna happen." I say while opening my phone, dialing Crowley's number. I put it up to my ear, and after a few rings, he picks up.

"Hello, love. Get my tellagram?"

"You have gone too far," I say into the phone, grit in my voice.

"Well then, guess you aren't on my side this time."

"Why would I? This is low even for you."

"I thought that since I saved your life, you would side with me, but, guess that human thing can give you feelings for those Winchesters."

"I will find you, Crowley. And if no one holds me back, and with Dean's permission, I'll be the one to kill you. You and I both know I can." I said before hanging up, not letting him get a word in.

"Well, I guess I don't have to ask you to come help us?" Dean asks.

"Nope, you don't."

[pparkerreads]

Enemies to lovers, but only one of them thinks they're enemies. The other has been entirely obsessed since the beginning.

Only acceptable way for me to read this trope

[pparkerreads]

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.

[pparkerreads]

Unexplainable | Eve

Unexplainable Masterlist

Dean Winchester X OC Word Count: 5k

See, there's a difference between the Winchesters and me. I was honest. I told them what I did when I did it and why. Except for the fact that I had contact with Crowley, partially. A while back, he had called me, telling me the Winchesters almost killed him. They thought he was dead, but I knew he was alive. That's all I knew. I didn't know about his plans for purgatory. But knowing he was alive was enough for them. Though they didn't tell me what they had thought they did to Crowley. I felt hurt. But, enough of that, let's get to the good stuff.

I sat in Bobby's basement with Dean as he filled the phoenix ash into the different gun shells. He had done five so far.

"Hey," Sam says as he and Bobby make it down the stairs. "How are you doing?"

"Five shells, that's how I'm doing," Dean says, answering Sam's question, his eyes still fixated on the phoenix ash-filled shells in front of him.

"Well, you know, it's a hell of a lot more than we had last week," Sam says after he sighs.

"Maybe." Dean puts down his work, turning to Bobby and Sam. I sat next to Dean, our knees almost touching.

"Meaning?" Bobby asks, confused by what he had just said.

"Meaning I just had myself a little mishap a few minutes ago and uh, well, here look." Dean grabs some of the phoenix ash, rubbing it on his skin, we had figured out that it didn't burn him.

"Whoa," Sam says to try and stop him, but nothing happens to Dean's skin.

"Huh." Bobby is still kind of confused as to why it didn't hurt him.

"This stuff is supposed to burn the bejesus out of Eve. Doesn’t even give me a sunburn." I don't even want to try it. It's also one of the things that can hurt me, too. They don't know that, though. My grandma told me to tell no one what can hurt me. Only deep lore can tell them, and that's pretty hard to find.

"The lore says it works," Bobby says. This still doesn't sit well with Dean.

"That's always reliable," Dean says sarcastically.

"Well, you know what? Maybe it's like iron or silver, you know?" Dean gets up as Sam continues to talk. "Hurts them, not us?"

"Maybe, but a fat load of good it does us till we find the bitch." Dean grabs a rag cleaning his arm off.

"I'm looking, but I'm thinking maybe it's time you made a call." Bobby refers to Cas. I get up to stand between Sam and Bobby.

"Why's it always gotta be me, huh? It's not like cas live in my ass. The dude's busy." We all see Cas appear behind Dean, Dean turns to him, not seeming to be pleased with how close he was. "Cas, get out of my ass."

"I was never in your-" Cas says as they share a glance. I almost talked about how Dean rhymed, but held it back. "Have you made any progress in locating Eve?"

"We were going to ask you that," I say, looking to Cas.

"No, I've looked, but she's hidden from me. She's hidden from all angels."

"Awesome," Dean says, throwing his hands up in the air, looking over at us.

"You know, what we really need is an inside man," Sam says, trying to find another way to find her.

"What do you mean?"

"Something with claws and sympathy," Sam explains to Dean.

"Like a friendly monster? Those are in short supply these days, don't you think?"

"Sure, but we've met one or two, right?"

"Maybe."

"So, maybe we can find one."

We had waited for a while, for Cas to come back with a friendly vampire the boys had met a couple of years ago. Her name was lenore. Cas soon came back, having his hand on the frightened girl's shoulder. Sam stood up as we all looked over to them.

"Lenore," Sam says, starting to make his way over to her. She starts to run. "Wait. Wait. Wait. Hey, hey. Lenore. Stop. Look," Sam stood her, holding his hands up to her, as she stopped herself on a bookcase.

"We're happy you're here," Sam says calmly. I examined her face, she seemed to have dirt on her. I wasn't sure where she came from but something seemed to be wrong.

"It's been a long time. You remember us?" Dean asks, looking at the frightened woman.

"I remember. Your hunter friend almost killed me." Lenore says, looking between the boys.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, he turned into a vampire and I copped his head off," Sam reassured her. I remember Rufus. He was weird.

"Yeah, with razor wire. Wicked." Dean says, smiling a little. Sam turned to him with a 'really?' face.

"Well, that's something. What's going on? Why am I here?" she asks, looking at Sam.

"Well, that's Cas." he points over at the angel. "He's our friend. And we need to talk to you. About Eve."

"Eve? I have nothing to say about Eve."

"You sure about that?" Dean asks, giving her his serious look.

"I'm trying to stay away from her. Believe me."

"Where's your nest?" Sam questioned her.

"Gone. They couldn't fight it anymore. It's her voice, in our heads. What it does to us. So they left, started killing people," she explained.

"But not you." Sam is quick to reply.

"Don't look so impressed. I was hiding in a basement, not exactly Club Med. You don't know how hard it is not to give in. Everyone gives in."

"Alright, so this psychic two-way you got, that means you know where Mom's camped?" Dean asks, trying to get to the point of why she's here right now.

"You've got to be kidding me? You want me to tell you where she is? You do know she could be listening to us right now. I might as well be a video camera. What are you thinking?"

"So we don't have the element of surprise. We're still going in." Bobby says, looking from the boys back to Lenore.

"You're crazy. I can't help you," she says, looking back over to Sam.

"Can't or won't?" I ask as she glances at me looking puzzled for a second looking back to Sam.

"Look, it's clear as day, you still give a crap. You don't want to kill, and you don't want this whole planet dead." Sam continues on.

"You actually believe you can stop her?"

"Just tell us where she is."

"Grants Pass, Oregon. And now she knows you're coming."

"Well, let's go see." Bobby says as we all start to turn, Lenore stops us.

"Hold on. I didn't tell you just out of the goodness of my heart. I need something." She fixes her eyes on Sam and Dean.

"What?" Sam asks.

"Kill me." she begs.

"Lenore-" Sam starts to say but is cut off by Dean.

"We'll lock you down till this is over. Witness protection. You'll be safe."

"You don't get it. It's not about that. I'm dangerous. I hear her voice all the time."

"You're not like the rest of them." Sam goes to interrupt.

"I'm exactly like them. I fed. I couldn't help it. The girl couldn't have been more than sixteen, Sam. I'll do it again. I can't stop. Not anymore. You have to please." She begs to draw herself closer to him.

"Lenore-" Before Sam could fully protest, Cas was behind her, his hand on her head as he killed her just like she wanted. The bright light admitted from her face causing us all to look away. She dropped to the ground as we all looked back over to Cas.

"We needed to move this along." Cas says, the boys packed up with the weapons and Cas brought us to Grants Pass, Oregon. We looked around and the town seemed normal.

"Well, I was expecting more zombieland, less pleasantville." Dean said as we all continued to look around, children were riding their bikes down the street.

"Just because it looks quiet don't mean it is. Especially if she's got a clue we're coming." Bobby says.

"Yeah, well, if she's here, I'm glad we got Smitey Mcsmiterton and hocus pocus on our squad." Dean says pointing to me and Cas, I roll my eyes at what he called me. "All right. Where do we start?"

"I'm gonna need a computer." Bobby says before we start to walk through the town. We got to a diner and I felt something heavy on me. I didn't have a good feeling about this.

The guys sat in the booth while I sat in a chair by the table. Bobby was on Sam's tablet looking stuff up about the town.

"All right. I finally got the police database. No thanks to this. I asked for a computer." Bobby says, lifting the tablet up looking at Sam.

"It is a computer." Sam says mouth is full of food.

"No, a computer had buttons." Bobby looks back down at the tablet, as a waitress asks if we need anything else. Dean quickly replies to her before our focus goes back on Bobby.

"Anything?" I ask, feeling off about this place.

"Oh. Nickel-and-dime stuff, nothing weird. Basically, dead end. You think vampira was lying?" Bobby asks all of us.

"I'll search the town. Give me a moment." Cas says, we wait for him to disappear but he doesn't.

"Cas, we can still see you." Dean says looking to Cas.

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"Okay, well, you don't have to wait on us." Cas closes his eyes trying to fly away but it doesn't work. "Well, now it just looks like you're pooping." Dean jokes.

"Something's wrong."

"What, are you stuck?" Dean asks as we all start to get concerned.

"I'm blocked. What about you Belle?" Cas asks.

"Hold on, let me look." I close my eyes for a minute, I open them again revealing them to be a dark purple, unusual as my regular power filled eyes are a medium purple. I flick them again, back to normal, before breathing out.

"No, no, no." I say making all of them look at me with concern in their eyes. I wiped over my wrist to reveal some ancient symbols that are in a dark purple. "This is not good."

"What is that?" Dean says, making me look up at him.

"They are my powers, the things that I can reach in a way. These are not my regular ones. This only happened once, when Lucifer first met me. He turned my powers bad. this isn't good." I say swiping it back makes the symbols go away.

"What happened?" Sam says, looking at me in my eyes.

"I went to the dark side, like when Willow did in Buffy. It'll be bad. If I do, you guys need to call my mom. My family are the only ones that can get me back to normal okay?" Sam stares at me, understanding what I mean. Dean still has that deep concern in his eyes.

"I assume it's Eve, having this effect on us." Cas says, staring at me, I nod thinking the same thing. 

"So wait, mom's making you limp." Dean points to Cas before turning to me. "And trying to make you go to the dark side."

"Figuratively, yes." Cas says, trying to get Dean's metaphor.

"How?" Dean asks Cas.

"I don't know, but she is."

"Great, because without your power, you're just a baby in a trench coat, and Belle can't use her powers at all." Dean says frustrated. Cas looking out the window not saying anything.

"I think you hurt his feelings, Dean." I sigh, having my puppy eyes on, looking Dean in the eyes.

"I got something here, maybe. Had to go federal to get it. Call went out from the local office to the CDC last night." Bobby says, reading off of the tablet he holds in his hands.

"About what?" Sam asks, still chewing on his salad.

"A Dr. Silver called in an illness he couldn't identify. Patient's a twenty-five year old african american named Ed Bright." he turns the table to us showing us the guys driver's license.

"Well, that's not much to go on." Dean sighs out.

"Well, it's our only lead, so-" Bobby continues.

"So beggars can't be choosers, right I get it. All right, well, let's finish up." Dean says before getting another piece of his food, throwing it into his mouth. 

After we had gone by the doctor's office and scooped out the place. We had found the guy, Ed’s, body. We went to his house to scope it out. After a while, we were waiting on Sam and Bobby, Dean had turned to look at me as I was in the backseat.

"What did you mean earlier when you said you went to the dark side before?" he looks at me confused. I wasn't sure how to explain it. I grabbed his hands from beside him.

"Listen, this is going to be really weird but you have to trust me." he nodded, squeezing my hands in his. "For us it will probably be about fifteen minutes, but for Cas it'll be a couple."

Cas nods at me as I start my magic. The purple color streams from my eyes down to my arms. Up to Dean's arms then his eyes.

We popped into the horrible night a couple years ago. We were in the church. Dean looked around for a second, letting go of one of my hands and holding on to the other.

"Is this?" he asks, looking back at me with concern.

"Yeah, it's the day Lucifer rose. I was here, you guys just didn't know that. When God or whoever put you on that plane they left me, knowing that I wasn't going to get hurt. At least physically." We turn to see me walk through the doors, seeing Dean and Sam disappear as the bright light engulf the whole room.

It calmed down, to show nothing, but I knew that I could see Lucifer. Dean just couldn't.

"Lucifer is here. You just can't see him. He only lets people see him when he wants them too. You can't hear him either, but he's telling me that he knows me." Dean stares at me with sympathy in his eyes.

"He's talking about my power, that there's a darkness to it. He wanted to show me." Suddenly, my body in front of us was engulfed in dark purple flames. Dean tries to run after the perception of me, but I hold him back. "Dean, it's fine. This was me two years ago. I'll be okay."

The flames stopped at my eyes and were cast over in a dark purple. "What's happening?" Dean said looking at me, then we were back at my home. This time I was in our safe room. I was being held back by my mom and dad's magic. Trey was cuffing my hands to the wall.

"What are they doing to you?" Dean asks, confused by the situation.

"I basically had to realize that dark magic is not good for me. The only people who could show me were my family." We looked over at me as my parents held out their arms mumbling Latin as my brother held my face in his hands, tears streaming down his face.

"Belle! Please! You have to stop this! Don't let him get to you!" Trey yelled at me, I just laughed evilly.

"Sorry, the old belle can't make it to the phone right now." I flicked my eyes to show the dark purple haze that filled them.

I waved my hand bringing us to a different memory. It was the night that Crowley came to them. We were in the living room watching over my parents and Trey as they talked to the crossroads demon.

"Please, tell us what we need to do." My dad pleaded, holding my mom's hand as my mom cried in his arms.

"I can help, but once she's out she needs to come with me. I can protect her from Lucifer, so that this won't happen again. If this goes on for much longer I'm afraid she will lose her soul for good." Crowley explains.

"Okay." My brother says looking up at him.

"Trey, no." My mother cries out looking at my little brother with hurt all over her face.

"This is the only way mom. You heard him, she'll lose her soul. Belle, won't be Belle anymore. Lucifer will just keep coming back to make her dark again. We need to let him take her, for her own safety." Trey's tear stained face hurt me more than anything. I wave us away and we appear in my room.

"See dean." I say letting a tear slip down my face. "I can't have that happen again. It'll be too bad. If I get close you have to call my mom. They can give me something and I'll just sleep it off for a couple of days. I wanted to show you this so you know what it felt like for the people around me. God, Jake was a mess. I didn't want to show you that because it would hurt too much even for me. Do you understand now?"

He nods, grabbing my face with his hands. "I won't let you get that bad. I promise."

In a second we were back in the car. "Good, Sam and Bobby are here." Cas says before getting out of the car. Me and Dean exchanged a look before getting out of the car ourselves.

As we got out of the car, Sam and Bobby crossed the street coming over to us.

"So we got a missing doctor and an oozy patient, huh?" Dean says, Sam and Bobby are now right next to us.

"Yeah, plot thickens." Sam says jokingly.

"Well, let's go see what ed's roommates have to say." Dean says, turning to his right to see Cas come from around the car.

"Does Ed Bright have a brother?" Cas asks all of us.

"No. Why?" Bobby says.

“Then that's not his twin." Cas says pointing his head over to the window of the house. Someone that had looked like Ed Bright stood in the window, slowly trying to close the curtains.

"So, what shifter?" Sam asks as we all seem to catch off guard.

"I don't know what we're looking at." Bobby says as we see the Ed look alike cough viciously.

"Dean and I will go in. You three stay, watch the door. Something comes out, shoot it." Sam says to me, Cas and Bobby.

"Best guess, silver bullets." Dean says, I checked in my jacket to make sure my own gun was in there, already loaded with silver bullets.

"I am fairly inexperienced with firearms." cas says, a worried look on his face.

"You know who whines? Babies." Dean says patting Castiel before walking to the house with sam. I laugh a little at what Dean says, causing Cas to look at me with a sadden look on his face.

After Sam and Dean had searched inside, Sam had told us everything that happened.

"Well, I don't get it. A bunch of regular joes walk up shifters? What the hell?" Dean says walking down the stairs of the porch.

"Shifters usually run in families. This looks like an infection. Nobody touched nothing?" Bobby asks, looking at the boys with a weary glance.

"Well, I'm bathing in purell tonight." Dean sighs out.

"So, he said they met a girl." Sam explains.

"It's got to be Eve." Dean continues.

"But, why would she do this?" Cas asked with a confused look on his face.

"Mommy monster. Make more." Bobby explains what he thinks.

"Cas has got a point. If she's gonna make a shifter army why make one that's sick, gooey and dying?" Dean asks, looking at Bobby. Bobby sighs.

"Add that to the pile of crap that don't make sense."

"So should we hit the bar?" Sam asks. Then we were off.

We came into the bar expecting anything but what we had seen. Dodies lied everywhere. Everyone was dead. tables were toppled over, glass everywhere from things that were broken. We walked in farther to inspect more.

"Well, the sheriff's a mook but still, you'd think he'd notice this many missing folks." Bobby says as we continue to look around at all the dead bodies.

"Got a vamp over here." Dean says making all of our attention turn to him. The body that laid in front of him had fangs coming out of its mouth. He picked up its arm to show a pointed object that was coming from it's arm. "Nope. scratch that. We got a wraith. What the hell? What has teeth and a spike?"

"Never seen that in my life." Bobby says as Dean stood up and looked to him for answers.

"Oh, great. So Eve's making hybrids now?" I say looking around at the other bodies around this one.

"Looks like." Bobby says doing the same.

"The question is, why? I mean, what does she want with a-? What do you call these?" Dean says looking back down at the body.

"Well, congrats. You discovered it. You get to name it." Bobby says before walking away from Dean.

"Jefferson starships." We all look back at him confused. "Huh? Because they're horrible and hard to kill." Dean smiles, at his name he had come up with for the vampire/wraith creature.

"Looks like the whole bar has been turned into the-" Sam starts.

"Jefferson starships." Dean finishes for Sam before he could call them something else.

"Fine. But why are all the starships dead?" Sam continues.

"I can't say, but it looks like they all burned up." Bobby explains.

"What?" I ask, looking at him questionably not understanding what he meant.

"Like a high fever, like the flu." Bobby continued.

"What the hell is going on here? Does every monster in this town have the motaba virus?" Dean asks, bending down beside the counter of the bar to look at another body.

"Hands where I can see them." Someone yelled coming into the room with a gun in hand. It was the sheriff and some deputies. I raised my hands up and debated using my magic, I didn't want to use it on all of us because it would take more out of me, plus the more I use the more likely I go all willow.

Dean had crawled behind the counter so he wasn't seen. They had started to cuff everyone and when the one came over to me I stared into his eyes flashing the dark purple into his. "You never saw me." I said, and with that he left me with Dean.

Once all of them were out of the room, Dean stood up looking over to me.

"How did you do that?"

"Dark magic, I could only use it on myself." I say before stepping over the bodies around me making my way to the door, Dean following behind me.

When we walked into the police station, we saw that the sheriff and deputies were starships. Dean went over to the one that had Cas on the wall cutting its head off. I went over to the one that was on Bobby cutting its head off. Dean was just about to cut off the sheriff's head but Sam stopped him. We had decided to keep him for questioning.

We had questioned the monster sheriff. Sam and Dean had found two boys in another room. they had taken them to a relative. I was left with Bobby and Cas. Cas had figured out where Eve was camped out and headed out once Sam and Dean got back. We were all loaded with phoenix ash gun shells. Sam and Dean headed in before we would. They talked to her for a while we waited outside.

That was until some of her goons came out and got us. When they had brought us into the room the first thing I noticed was she was appearing like the boys' mother.

"Well, so much for your plan b." she turns to us, my breath caught in my throat. She looks at Castiel. "And you, wondering. 'Why so flaccid?' I'm older than you, Castiel. I know what makes angels tick. As long as I'm around, consider yourself unplugged."

She turns to me, putting her hand on my face. "You are one of my best works. Everything evil inside of you. All me. You are one of my most beautiful creation. I can't wait to see you in full swing." she says, smiling at me.

"Don't touch her bitch." Dean yells at her, she turns to him quickly.

"Watch your tone, young man." she says in a motherly voice, before laughing a little. She walks back over to them. "Work for me. Belle, will. Though she doesn't have much of a choice. It's a good deal. bonus, I won't kill your friends."

"All right, look, the last few months, we've been working for an evil dick. We're not about to sign up for an evil bitch. We don't work with demons. We don't work with monsters. And if that means you gotta kill us, then kill us." Dean says, starting to raise his voice.

"Or I turn you, and you do what I want to anyway." she says, smiling slightly at them.

"Beat me with a wire hanger, answer's still no." Suddenly she appeared behind him grabbing his shoulders. Sam shot up from his seat causing two men to come up behind him pulling him back.

"Don't test me." Eve says slowly and quietly next to Dean's ear.

"Bite me." Dean says as a smart remark. She takes it literally and starts to bite him.

"Dean!" I yell out for him. She lets go, coughing, as Dean gripped his neck from the blood coming out of it. He turns around to her.

"Phoenix ash. One shell. One ounce of whiskey, down the hatch. Little musty on the after burn. Call you later, mom." she bent over as her body pulsated from the phoenix ash. Dark veins all around her hairline, as she turned back into the body she was in before. Murky water dripped from her as blood came out of her mouth. She looked at all of us just as she dropped to the ground dead.

The monsters all fought around us, going into a panic. As Cas' powers were back he held up his hand a bright light starting to admit them from existence.

"Shut your eyes." he said, making us all cover our eyes as the bright light engulfed the room, making all of the starships drop dead to the floor of the diner. Once it was okay to look we opened our eyes looking around at all the dead monsters.

"We gotta take you on more monster hunts." Bobby says and I nod at his comment.

"Hey, Cas, um. Dean's bleeding pretty good." Sam says basically asking for cas to heal Dean.

"I think she turned me into a Jefferson starship. Could you clear that up too?" Dean asks, Cas lays his hand on his shoulder, healing him completely. "All right, we're good. We gotta go. Now."

"Where?" Cas questions, as me and Bobby also look at Dean confused.

"The kid. The little kid, he's one of them." Dean says, Cas looking at him with a disappointed face.

"Unbelievable."

"Yeah, I know, Cas. You told me, all right? Let's just go." Dean says, and with that we are at what I assumed was the kid's uncle's house. We appeared in the living room to see the man dead in the middle of the room. "So we kill the wicked witch and she still wins. I mean they could have turned have the town by now. Don't say it." Dean motions to Cas before he could say anything.

"Found them." Bobby says from the other room, we all get there to see both of the boys dead.

"Well, who ganked them?" Dean asks. Sam bends down, picking up some sort of power on his fingertips. Sulfur.

"Demons." Sam answers Dean's question. "So, what do you think?"

"I think that demons don't give a crap about monster tweens unless they're told to." They know that Crowley is alive now.

"So you think she was telling the truth?"

"Truth about what?" Cas questioned not picking up on what they were talking about. I knew. just by feeling their energy.

"She said that Crowley is still kicking." Dean answered I backed away a little, not looking to piss them off by expressing my opinion on this whole thing.

"But I burned his bones. How-? Was she certain?"

"Sounded pretty sure. According to her, Crowley's still water boarding her kids somewhere."

"I don't understand."

"Well, he's a crafty son of a bitch." I nod at that.

"I'm an angel. I'll look into it immediately." Cas was gone, leaving the flutter of wings to tell us bye.

"Cas! Well, let us know what you find out." Dean yells out, Bobby and Sam walk into the other room Dean follows. I walk the opposite of them, getting my phone out to call my mom. After even using a little of that magic I wanted to do the sleep off thing just in case.

"Hey mom. I think I'm going to come home for a few days. Ran into some trouble and I think I should use that sleep off potion to keep me well balanced if that's okay with you."

"That's fine honey. When will you be home."

"Soon, Mom. Soon."

[pparkerreads]

Unexplainable | Welcome to the Wild West

Unexplainable Masterlist

Dean Winchester x OC

Word Count: 5.6k (it's a long one, you guys)

"It's here somewhere; I know it. Help me move this," Sam says to Bobby. They moved the desk that was in the middle of the room over to the side. Sam bent down, pulling a nail out of the wooden floor, a square part of which acted as a type of door. Sam opens it as Dean shines a light down the dark opening.

"Well, I'll be damned." Bobby says before we each start to head down the ladder like a staircase into the underground room. Sam was the first to go down, he had turned on the lights in the small squared room. Once we were all down there, we all looked around, noticing all the books.

"Welcome to the Campbell family library." Sam says as we continue to look around. Dean shines his flash light over at a wall with old looking pictures on it. I walk around looking at the books. I hover my hand over each of them as I go down the line, getting farther into the room.

"So, Samuel collected all of this stuff, huh?" Dean questions as he continues to glance around the room, flashlight still in his hand.

"Apparently." Sam replies, still looking around himself.

"Wow." I am still in awe of all of the books and other things littered around the room.

"What are we looking for?" Dean asks, looking toward Bobby for an answer.

"Well, anything that'll put a run in the octomom's stockings. Pick a row." he says before we all go to our chosen spots looking through the book trying to find anything on the 'mother of all'.

We fall into the research like it's nothing. Searching through the books of anything and everything to put that bitch down. So far I haven't found anything interesting. As I look through the books I think about how Dean had been actually like nothing had happened just those couple of weeks ago when he was at my house. I've tried to talk to him about it but, to no avail, he was still avoiding the subject completely. Sam and I had been acting like we usually did around each other. I could see Dean's side glances sometimes. How he would seem slightly jealous at Sam and I's friendship.

I wasn't trying to have anything more with them. In all honesty I was still hung up on jake. I know it had been two years but, my heart still longed for him knowing he was out there somewhere. I still had yet to truly move on.

Bobby had found something on how to kill eve a while ago. He was now looking through it trying to fully figure it out. "Any of you jokers ever heard anything about a phoenix?" Bobby looks between us as he presents his question. Me and Sam shake our heads but Dean being Dean comes back with a smart remark.

"River, Joaquin or the giant flaming bird?" Sam smiles slightly at Dean's joke but I just roll my eyes.

"It says here that the ashes of a phoenix can burn the mother." Bobby says, explaining more on his question.

"Great. Where do we get one?" I ask, looking for more on the subject.

"You got me. I thought it was a myth." Bobby says, looking at me before looking back at the boys. I lean back, sighing loudly.

"Alright, great. Well, let's see if we can find something out about a phoenix." Sam says, we all go back to researching except this time we are obviously looking for something on a phoenix.

Dean had walked back over to one of the shelves looking for another book. I assumed he had found something based on his reaction after he looked at what seemed to be a leather journal.

"Guys. Guys, guys, guys, check this out." he says as he excitedly sits down at the table. "'March 5th, 1891. Sunrise, wyoming. Gun killed a phoenix today. Left a pile of smoldering ash.'"

"Really? Whose gun?" Sam questions, looking at Dean.

"Colt's." Dean looks at Sam giddy.

"Colt? Colt, like-?"

"Like the colt. From," dean picks up the journal, turning it around for us to see the front. "Samuel Colt's journal." he opens it up to reveal a page with Samuel's name on it showing that it was his. I get up to get a better look at it, I stand next to where Sam is sitting eying the journal in Dean's hands.

"What? That's his?" Sam asks, starting to get as excited as Dean.

"Yeah."

"Dude, no."

"Dude, yes." I laugh a little at their childish behavior.

"Well, let me see-" Sam says, trying to reach for the journal. Dean pulls it back as soon as Sam reaches out for it.

"Get your own." Dean says like a child that doesn't want to share his toy. He puts his legs up, opening the journal to read some more of it.

"What else did he say about the phoenix? What does it look like? Does it have feathers?" Bobby's questions come one behind the other.

"Just says 'phoenix'." Dean answers, looking up to Bobby for a second before looking back down.

"Did he say where he tracked it?"

"No."

"Well, I guess we gotta find one of our own. Whatever it is." I say, going to sit back down in my seat.

"I know where we can find one." Dean says, turning in his seat to face Sam. He looks between all of us as we anxiously await his answer. "March 5th, 1861, Sunrise, Wyoming. We'll Star Trek four this bitch."

We all look at each other, not getting Dean's reference. "I only watched deep space nine." Bobby says, dean looks at me. I raise my hands in the air.

"I'm more of a star wars kind of gal." I say, Dean looks back over to Sam and he shrugs his shoulders.

“It's like I don't even know you guys anymore." he says looking down disappointed at our lack of knowledge when it comes to star trek. "Star trek four, save the whales. we hop back in time, join up with samuel colt, hunt the phoenix and then we hail the ashes back home with us." Dean continues, slamming his fist onto the table, excited with his plan.

"Time travel?" Bobby says Dean smiles happily at his plan. He looks like a kid on Christmas after he gets the new video game he wanted. It's actually quite funny.

“Yeah." Dean says, smiling his butt off.

"That a reasonable plan?"

"We got a guy who can swing it." Dean looks at us for a moment before standing up and bowing his head down. "Castiel. The uh, fate of the world is in the balance, so come on down here." We all look around waiting for cas to appear in the room, but it doesn't happen. Dean peaks his eyes out to notice he wasn't there, he closes them again continuing to pray.

"Come on, cas. i dream of jeannie your ass down here, pronto. please." we hear a flutter of wings and a woman pops up behind me. 'Where's cas?' I think, as I turn to look at the women.

"Jeannie?" Dean asks, looking at the angel.

"Rachel. I understand you need some assistance. How can I help you?" she says looking between all of us in question.

"Well, uh, we kind of need to talk to the big kahuna."

"I'm here on Castiel's behalf."

"Where's he?" Sam says, causing Rachel to turn to him.

"Busy." she replies quickly.

"Busy?" Dean asks, making her shift her attention back to him.

“Yes."

"Well, we've got a line on the mother of freaking everything, so-" Dean argues.

"I'm sure you issue is very important, but Castiel is currently commanding an army, so-"

"So we get stuck with miss moneypenny." I hold my laughter back from Dean's sassy comment.

"So you need to learn your place." haha!

"I don't know who you think you are-" Dean says, frustration coming with his voice.

"His friend."

"You think we're not?" Sam says, making anger switch off in her head.

"I think you call him when you need something. We're fighting a war."

"We get that."

"Clearly you don't or you wouldn't call him every time you stub your toe, you petty, entitled little piece-!"

"Rachel." We hear Cas interrupt her as all our heads turn to him. Silence fills the room for a moment. "That's enough."

"I told you I'd take care of this." Rachel's voice is now calm as she talks to Cas.

"It's all right, you can go." she turns to him with a questionable look.

"You're staying?"

"Go." Cas is quick to reply to her question with a serious look on his face. "I'll come when I can." And with that she disappears leaving the sound of winging fluttering behind her.

"Wow. Friend of yours?" Dean says motion to where the angel once was.

"She's, uh, my lieutenant. She's committed to the cause. Now what do you need?"

Dean and I were at a western store getting costumes, since we were going back to that time. He had picked out a few things for him and Sam, after he was done we had found a dress that was a deep purple. It looks like one of those dresses that you would see women wear during this era of time. 

"That would look nice on you." Dean says, looking up and down at the dress.

"Do you really think so?" I say looking up at him.

"Yeah." he says, staring at me in the eyes. I realize just how close his face is to mine. "You'll look beautiful." He grabs my face with one of his hands.

"Dean." I say looking at him with hard eyes.

"I know." he pulls his hand away, I regret saying anything for a moment. He turns, walking to the cash register, I follow slowly behind. 

We get back to Bobby's, Dean holds his and Sam's clothes while I hold mine. We walk into the house bags in hand.

"Twenty-four hours is all I can risk. If I don't pull you home within that time, you'll be lost to me." We hear Cas from the other room, we both walk in through the kitchen.

"Well, then we better get you a watch." Dean says as we both walk into the main room with the bags hating from our hands.

"What the hell's all that?" Bobby asks, looking toward the four bags Dean had.

"We are going native. Gotta blend in." Dean holds up the bag to Sam showing the 'Wally's Western World' logo on it.

"Uh," Sam says, looking at the bag laughing a little thinking this was a joke. "No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Sam." Dean says, starting to argue with him.

"Dean, I can wear this." Sam gestures to his outfit he already had on.

"Like a spaceman?" I laughed at Dean's comment.

"Look, just because you're obsessed with that wild west stuff-"

"No I'm not."

"You have a fetish dean." I looked at Dean after Sam's comment. No wonder he told me I'd look good in that dress.

"Shut up, I like old movies."

"You can recite every Clint Eastwood movie ever made."

"Even the monkey movies?" Bobby asks Sam.

"Especially the monkey movies."

"His name is Clyde." Dean says, Sam holds his hand up to Dean showing that he proved his point. I laugh. "At least wear the damn shirt." Dean holds the bag up to Sam, Sam sighs before taking the bag.

After we all get dressed the boys go down first looking back up at the top of the stairs where I was. They both stared at me looking at me with awe as I made my way down the steps in the big purple dress. Once I make it all the way down the stairs we go into the living room.

"Dean, this is stupid. I look stupid." I thought they both looked great. The blanket on Dean looks a little out of place though. We come in front of Bobby, Sam looking pissed off, Dean looking happy at the appearance. I just stared down at the dress that was on my body. It wasn't completely comfortable. The corset under was slightly tight since I didn't have anyone to fully tighten it for me but it still made my body fit to the dress.

"Going to a hoedown?" Bobby says, looking at Dean eyeing his outfit.

"Now, is it customary to wear a blanket?" Cas asks, confused as to how Dean’s appearance was normal for that time period.

"It's a serape." Dean says with a happy smile on his face. He was enjoying this too much. "And yes, it's uh. Nevermind, let's just go." Dean picked up the gold  trinkets that were lying in the bag along with a gun. "What's this?"

"Where you're going they don't take plastic." Bobby explains as Dean nods and gathers the bag up.

"I'll send you back to March fourth. That should give you time to find the colt. And this phoenix creature." Cas says coming over to us.

"All right, well, see you at high noon tomorrow, partner." Dean says while winking over at the both of them. Both Sam and Dean grab each of my hands as Cas puts his fingers on our heads, sending us back in time.

We landed just outside of the town. The sign over us telling us that we were instead in Sunrise, Wyoming. Both of their hands linger on mine for a moment before they let go. Dean walks forward as we all look around, a huge smile is plaster over his face.

"Oh, now we're talking." Dean says, continuing to look around. "All right, let's go find Samuel Colt. Hey, we should try the saloon first to see what we get from the locals."

Sam starts his timer on his watch, "Sure, whatever, sundance." he says to dean, looking at the town that laid in front of us.

"Think we'll have time to hit on the saloon girls?" I rolled my eyes at his comment. "Kidding. Come on."

I look in front of us seeing Sam about to step in some horse poop but, don't let him know in time cause him to put his foot down in it. I raise my hand up to my mouth holding back my laughter.

"Oh, damn it. Come on." He raises up his shoe looking down at the damage.

"You know what that is?" Dean asks as Sam has a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. It's horse-"

"Authenticity." Dean says before grabbing my hand dragging me with him leaving Sam behind a little ways. We walk into the town as Sam tries to catch up with us while still trying to get the horse crap off of his boats.

We walk into the main part of town where a man is about to be hanged. This is what I don't like about this time.

"Wow, talk about authenticity." Sam says as we all look up at where four men stood on a high raised wooden place where they would do executions. Only one of them was though.

They go on for a few more minutes before the man is hung, I look away not really wanting to see that. Sam puts his hand on my arm, trying to sooth me.

"Good times." Dean says sarcastically. "So where do we find sammy colt?"

"No idea." I turned around finally letting myself see the horror of the man. I still try to keep my attention away from him. I still can't get over the whole death thing even if I've been surrounded by it my whole life. I focused my attention over to the men walking down the steps of where the scene had just gone down. "Huh. I think I know who to ask."

A man in front of us turns to look at Dean. "Nice blanket." he says, I laugh a little. Sam tips his hat to him before he walks off. Dean looks down at the serape he was previously proud to be wearing. He looks disappointedly at it and backs up at Sam before handing him the duffel bag. He takes the blanket off throwing it on the ground like a pissed off two year old. We start to head over to the sheriff's station.

We walk in, I keep myself behind the boys knowing that women weren't that well respected back at this time.

"Sheriff, can we have a word?" Dean asks as Sam closes the door.

"Depends on who's asking." The man glances at us.

"Marshal Eastwood. Clint Eastwood." Dean opens his vest to show a fake sheriff-like star. "This here's, uh, Walker. He's a Texas ranger." I laugh making my presence known.

"Who's the little lady?" he says, eyeing me with a small smirk on his face. Dean grabs my waist, pulling me to him.

"She's my wife." I stared up at him, wide eyed. He must be thinking on his feet, at least I hope he was. Not just saying that because he wanted to rile me up. The sheriff looks between me and him for a second before continuing on.

"So, what can I do for you boys?"

"We're looking for a man." Sam answers, looking at all of the men in front of us.

"I'll bet. Nice shirt there." The older man says, looking at Dean.

"What's wrong with my shirt?" Dean asks as his grip on my waist lessens, though it still rests there.

"You're very clean." Dean looks down at his shirt, starting to feel self-conscious about the man's comment.

"It's dirtier than it looks."

"We need to find Samuel Colt. Do you know him?" Sam says, before Dean can go on more.

"The gun maker?" the sheriff questions.

"Yeah. Is he in town?" Dean asks, getting back on the topic.

"Not that I know of. Might try asking Elkins over at the saloon. Been here longer than God." Dean tips his hat to the three gentlemen before we head out, Dean's hand on my lower back.

We approach the saloon, and to Dean's disappointment, it wasn't what he expected. There was an old guy laying on one of the tables, passed out. Some women were sitting by the old piano, looking at the boys, giving me the stink eye. And a man at the bar cleaning the counters.

"This is not awesome." Dean says looking at Sam with a disappointed face. Sam pats his shoulder before walking over to the bar.

"Sorry, bud." I say before picking up my dress a little, walking over to sam. Dean follows close behind.

"Hi." Sam greets the man at the bar.

"What'll you have?" The man that was named Elkins, at least that's what I assumed, asked the boys mostly.

"Oh, uh, okay great. I'll have your top-shelf whiskey." Dean says a hunt of excitement on his face still.

"Only have the one shelf."

"That'll do just fine. They'll have a sarsaparilla." Dean tells the bar keep answering for us. Sam looked at him with a 'Really?' look, but I didn't say anything.

The man gets the three glasses out, putting them on the bar before turning to get the drinks.

"Are you Elkins?" Sam asks as we watch him make our drinks.

"The one and only." he replies shortly. Not much of a talker I guess.

"Know a man named Samuel Colt?" Dean asks before me and Sam get the chance. Elkins nods.

"He passed through her about four years ago."

"Is he still around?" I ask, catching him off guard for a second.

"Yeah, rumor is he's building a railroad stop twenty miles out of town, just by the postal road. Middle of nowhere."

"The devil's gate?" I ask quietly, looking at Sam and dean.

"Location fits." Dean surprisingly didn't question how I knew about what went down all those years back. Thank goodness.

"Howdy, boys." We hear from behind us. A lady walked down the stairs, she had some sort of disease around her mouth, grossing all of us out.

"Darla's my best girl." Elkins says to Sam. She makes her way to Dean, he looks at her a little weary.

"Try me." she says getting close to dean. "You want a kiss?" she grows closer to his face. I laughed a little as I stood on the other side of him. Sam and I share the same amused look as Dean and Darla stood between us.

"Ugh, ooh. So much more germier than I pictured." Dean says, looking over at sam. Sam laughs while taking a sip of his drink.

"Darla." the older man from earlier had come in calling her name.

"Judge." she says backing away from Dean looking at the older man. "Nice to see you."

"I thought we had a date." she smiles a little before following him up the stairs. She winked at the boys before walking up. We all turn back to the bar.

"That was a close one." Dean says, I laugh at the look on his face.

"Guess it's good to be judge." Sam says before they both take a sip of their drinks. I keep my distance from mine not really wanting it in the first place. Dean chokes up on his, must have been really bad.

"Oh, it's like gasoline." he says, trying to recover.

"Sarsaparilla ain't half bad." Sam says, taking a sip of his drink. A few seconds later we heard a scream from upstairs. The boys run up, me following close behind. When we get up there, we find darla cowering in the corner while the judge is in ashes on the bed.

Minutes later, the sheriff is upstairs assessing the body, or well the ashes. "You okay, Sheriff?" Sam asks.

"Of course I'm okay." he quickly replies, but by the look on his face he didn't seem okay.

"It was a ghost." Darla piped in.

"It wasn't a ghost. Unless ghost leave footprints." The sheriff points to the footprints on the floor behind us. We all glance at them.

"I am telling you, Elias Finch was here. He did that and then he walked out that door." Darla says fear in her voice.

"Rope didn't kill him. Seen it before."

"You got any idea where we could be?" Sam questions with his serious look on his face.

"Could be a thousand places." The sheriff starts to walk to the door, but Dean stops him.

"Well, you got a way to flush him out?" Dean asks.

"Of course. We're gonna form a posse, then string finch upright. Put a bullet in his head for good measure." The boys nod to each other and we walk closer to the door as well.

"That actually sounds like a good plan."

"You two should come along. Meet downstairs at dawn." he says to Sam and Dean.

"Yeah, we'll be there."

"Get yourself some real gear first, huh?" he says looking at the boy's outfits before walking out the door.

"Well, I think we ought to pay our respects to finch." Dean says looking over at Sam as I stood a ways beside both of them.

"I was thinking the same thing." 

Eventually it had grown to be night and I was tired of being in this dress. We approached the grave where Finch was supposedly recently buried from his hanging today. Both of the guys held their lanterns for the light over the grave sight.

"Thinking what I'm thinking?" Sam says as we look over at the grave that was broken. We had assumed that he was the phoenix, not a ghost.

"Rose from the ashes, burned up its victim? Maybe we're not looking for a flaming bird. Maybe the phoenix is walking around in cowboy boots." Dean says looking at both me and Sam before looking back at the grave.

"Makes sense. Could be Finch. So how do we kill this thing?" I ask them to look. Dean looked back toward the town for a second before looking at both me and Sam, we stood side by side.

"We do know one thing that'll kill freaking anything, right?" Dean asks.

"Yeah, the colt." Sam quickly replies.

"So you go get the gun."

"But isn't the gun coming here? According to Colt's journal?"

"Yeah, but people around here barely know who Colt is. Maybe you gotta go find him and make history. Me and Belle can stay here, hook up with the posse. Because you know me, I'm a posse magnet. I mean, I love posse. Make that into a t-shirt." Dean says, smiling, moving his hand across his chest symbolizing his point. 

"You done?" Sam asks, kind of done with Dean’s rant. Dean looks down, his smile dropping slightly. "Look, the problem is colt's twenty miles outside of town. How am I supposed to get there and back before noon?"

Dean sits and thinks for a second, we hear a horse behind us and dean looks back to the noise. A thought hits him, he turns back looking at sam.

"Ride him, cowboy."

With the power of gold, we got Sam a horse. Sam starts to get on to the horse and I yell at him to wait before he goes. I pulled Dean aside for a second to talk to him.

"Hey, maybe I should go with Sam. I'm not really any use to you right now, and I think it'll be good for me to go with him." He looks away from me holding his pouty face on.

"Fine." he says before trying to turn away to go over to Sam. I grabbed his arm, stopping him.

"Dean, are you jealous or something?" I ask looking up at him.

"No, really it's fine Belle. Go with Sam." He walks off causing my hand to fall from his arm. I sigh before walking over to Sam, getting on the horse behind him, holding onto his waist. I wave at Dean as we ride off. 

"So, what's up with you and Dean recently?" Sam says as I hold my grip onto his waist. We had been gone for about thirty minutes.

"Nothing. Why?" he shakes his head, not taking his eyes off of the trail in front of us.

"You guys just seem to be acting weird recently." I sigh, not really ever wanting to have this conversation with him.

"Dean came to my house after his argument with Lisa and Ben. We talked. One thing led to another and he kissed me. I didn't let it go any farther without you knowing his feelings for me. I'm sorry you had to find out, but I don't think it's completely smart for us to keep it a secret." I say, trying to stay calm.

"Oh." he says with disappointment in his voice. It hurt me to hear his reaction. He needed to know though, sooner or later it would come out. It was better he heard it from me.

"I'm sorry, Sam." My breath shook as I said the apology.

"It's fine, Belle." he glances back at me for a moment. "I'm glad you were the one that told me. And I'm glad you didn't let it go any farther." he smiles, stopping for a moment on the trail.

Sam gets off the horse, I look at him confused. He grabs my hips bringing me off of the horse as well. He puts his hands to my cheeks staring at me, my hazel eyes looking into his. He leans down, connecting his lips to mine in a sweet but passionate kiss. I kiss back, deepening the kiss. My mind wanders to Dean and what he would feel if he says this causing me to pull back.

"I can't be a hypocrite for my own words Sam." I say looking at my hands that were on his chest, not wanting to make eye contact with him. "Dean has feelings for me, and I don't want to hurt either of you. I think it's best that we don't do anything because I'm not sure about my own feelings. I'm sorry Sam, but I don't want to hurt Dean as much as I don't want to hurt you."

I looked up to him, seeing his face filled with slight disappointment but comfort with what I had said. "Okay, I get it. I'll be there for you no matter who you choose." Sam says as he continues to crease my face in his huge hands.

We were back on the trail soon, we had talked the whole way to Samuel Colt's cabin. We had talked about the bizarre things that happen while they were in the other world where their life was a show. Sam said that the fake me was actually Australian, which I found weird.

Eventually, we made it to Samuel Colt's home. Sam had told me to wait outside which I was okay with because I wanted to pet the horse.

"Hi." I said lightly to the horse as I pet it on its nose. "You're so pretty." I smile at it.

A little while later we headed back to sunrise with the colt. Sam had told me that he had shown Samuel his phone to show he was from the future, and that was all it took, surprisingly.

We had gotten back to sunrise with a short amount of time left to kill the phoenix and get its ashes. Once we had found Dean he was leaning against a wall seeming to hide from someone, gun in his hand.

"Dean." Sam whispered.

"Sam, Belle, come on." he motions for us to hide along with him. "Where's Colt?"

"He's not coming." Sam and I both speak at the same time.

"What?"

"But he sent this." Sam says, pulling the colt out of his jacket. They switch guns and Dean looks at it in awe.

"Hello, beautiful." he mumbles at it. "All right. Come on. Go, go." he says as we rush off in the direction me and Sam just came from.

We came up to the main part of town. Sam and I longing beside a building as Dean walked into the middle of the dirt road. "Get out here, Finch!" Dean yells down the street that stretches through town.

"What are you doing?" Sam whispers yells at Dean, looking at him confused. Dean motions for us to stay quiet.

"Come on, let's do this!" he yells again. Suddenly we see Finch walk down the steps of a building that he walked from, walking into the road.

"So this is how you wanna die." Finch says as he nods over to Dean. "Fine."

They stood in the middle of the dirt road staring at each other as they got themselves ready for the duel. This was like all those western movies that Dean loved to watch. I bet in his mind he was freaking out but he looked so serious on the outside, staring finch down.

As quick as they both can they pull out both of their guns, Dean shooting him before Finch had a chance to return the favor. Finch caught in flames, his ashes dropping to the ground.

"Yippee ki-yay, mother-" I hear Dean start to say as I space out noticing the clock striking, saying it was noon.

"Dean! The ashes!" I yell out at Dean as we all start to run over to them. Before we can get there to scoop them up in the bottle we are back in Bobby's living room. "Shit." I breathe out heavily.

After a couple of minutes, Dean paced, becoming a little stressed about the situation. Cas and Bobby were sitting by the desk, Sam leaned against the door frame as I stood closer to the kitchen watching them all in front of me.

"You gotta send us back." Dean says, his voice showing his emotions. Cas looks up at him not knowing how to answer.

"Dean, look at him. He's fried." Sam says, which causes Dean to look back at Cas, hoping for a different answer from him.

"I never want to do that again." After Dean hears Cas out he looks at Bobby, worried on his face.

"Bobby, you-?"

"I'm still kicking, Annie Oakley." Bobby says before Dean can finish his question. I would normally laugh at his jokes but it didn't seem like a very good time. "Be back as good as new in a decade or two."

"Well, we screwed the pooch. Bobby, I'm sorry." Dean starts but is cut off again, this time by someone knocking on the door. Sam goes to the door, talking to whoever was there.

He comes back with a package. We all gathered around it to see what it was. Sam opens it up to see his phone laying on the top. He also takes out a note and starts to read what it says.

"'Dear Sam, I got this address and date off your thingamajig and I thought the enclosed might come in handy. Regards, Samuel Colt.'" Sam quotes, he then pulls out a bottle filled with phoenix ash.

"Is that what I think it is?" Bobby says, looking at the bottle with amazement.

"Ashes of a phoenix." Dean says, looking at both me and Sam, smiling slightly. "You know what this means?"

"Yeah. I didn't get a soulonoscopy for nothing." I hold back my laughter at Bobby's joke.

"Yes. And, means we take the fight to her."

[pparkerreads]

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling. 

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?” 

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?” 

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”  

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom. 

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween. 

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises. 

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach. 

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED. 

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal. 

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home. 

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t. 

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did. 

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange? 

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin. 

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse. 

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.   

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head. 

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg. 

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit. 

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer. 

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that. 

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered. 

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years. 

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t. 

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet. 

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago. 

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out. 

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too. 

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see. 

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit. 

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out. 

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.” 

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either. 

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding. 

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time. 

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic. 

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch. 

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her. 

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy. 

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious. 

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could. 

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.  

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused. 

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight. 

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing. 

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby. 

Fuck it. 

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.” 

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug. 

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again. 

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.” 

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me. 

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him. 

And why was he standing so fucking close again? 

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael. 

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him. 

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours. 

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland. 

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed. 

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.” 

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.” 

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.” 

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove? 

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left. 

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was. 

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone. 

“When’s your next smoke break?” 

“Who says I still smoke?” 

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break. 

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift? 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.” 

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show. 

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied. 

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed. 

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.” 

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.” 

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station. 

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed. 

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing. 

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too. 

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear. 

You had to get away before you made a mistake. 

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble. 

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin. 

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass. 

Used to be, his mind reminded him. 

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply. 

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn. 

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against. 

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all. 

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it? 

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?” 

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove. 

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same. 

“It’s nothing, Michael.”  “I’m fine.”  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in. 

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15. 

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting. 

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms. 

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward. 

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate. 

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change. 

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David. 

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed. 

But isn’t that what parents did?  

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe. 

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut. 

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being. 

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are. 

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there. 

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.” 

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough. 

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

 You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station. 

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur. 

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back. 

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out. 

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around. 

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence. 

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him. 

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same? 

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too. 

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria. 

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?” 

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off. 

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going. 

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.” 

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor. 

You didn’t want it like this. 

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers. 

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.  

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous. 

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air. 

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy. 

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it. 

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt. 

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere. 

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response. 

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height. 

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.” 

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken. 

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?” 

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance. 

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that. 

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over. 

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well. 

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.” 

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words. 

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew. 

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them. 

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch. 

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. 

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there. 

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed. 

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED. 

“Don’t you have patients?” 

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost. 

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it. 

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking. 

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t. 

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy. 

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?” 

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod. 

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here. 

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him. 

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest. 

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you. 

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different. 

Jake was still a kid. 

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted. 

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room. 

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

[pparkerreads]

The Taming of the Rake: A. Bridgerton Masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x sister's best friend!fem!reader status: ongoing

At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

Chapter 1 - I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game" Chapter 2 - I won't confess that I waited, but I let the lamp burn Chapter 3 - it was all by design Chapter 4 - uh oh, I'm fallin' in love Chapter 5 - they said the end is coming, everyone's up to something Chapter 6 - oh, my, love is a lie Chapter 7 - I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all Chapter 8 - coming soon...

follow @bosbas-library for updates!

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[pparkerreads]

[pparkerreads]

drew starkey the man that you are…

[pparkerreads]

“NEVER IS A PROMISE” | 12.4k

old man!logan x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You are everything Logan isn’t: sweet, trouble-free, much younger—and, to top it off, Charles' caregiver.

WARNINGS/TAGS: smut - mdni 18+ mentions of drinking, some angst, a tiny bit of fluff, old man!logan x caregiver!reader, implied age gap (reader’s in her twenties), miscommunication, reader is shorter than logan and has long hair, charles in his cupid era, petnames, minor injuries, wound tending, mentions of blood, virgin!reader, dirty talk, cum shot, fingering, handjobs, oral sex (m receiving), loving sex, sex with a lot of feelings (is that a tag?) unprotected p in v

A/N: i just want to fall in love with him. that’s it. that’s the reason why i wrote this long ass fic 😭 while doing so, i had “never is a promise” by fiona apple and “cool about it” by boygenius on repeat. give them a try if you haven’t listened to them (your lives will CHANGE) (also, thank you for reading <3)

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

No matter how often you play chess with Charles, you never manage to beat him. 

“You’ve been staring at that knight for five minutes. It’s not going anywhere, I promise.”

Chuckling at his sarcasm, you fold your hands in your lap, lifting your eyebrows in mock surrender. “Okay, I get it. You’re the master of chess,” leaning back in the chair, you cross one leg over the other. “Can we play something else?”

“I’m quite entertained, thank you,” Charles says, sliding the board closer to you across the table. “Your turn.”

“How is it that you don’t get tired of this game?” you mutter under your breath, eyes fixed on the board as you weigh your options, hovering your hand indecisively over the chess pieces. 

“Please do something before I’m forced to make a dash for the toilet,” he hangs his head, pinching the bridge of his nose—a telltale sign of one of his irritable days.

His words spur you into action, encouraging you to finally slide the knight into position. You glance up, meeting his gaze with a hint of challenge. “You go now.”

Charles doesn’t hesitate, and he moves a bishop. “Check.”

Fuck. You hadn’t seen that coming. “I’d prefer to walk away with my pride,” you joke, pushing your chair back and pretending to lose interest in the board.

That makes him smirk, a barely there grin dangling on the corners of his wrinkled lips. The truth is, you wouldn’t stop playing for anything in the world—not even if this old man kicks your ass every single time he suggests playing chess. “You’re not out of the game yet.”

Quietness settles over the tank while you allow yourself some time to come up with a new strategy. After a moment, you decide to go for a pawn, using it to block his bishop.

He doesn’t stop grinning, studying your move with an amused glint in his blue eyes. “Not bad, but you’ve left your king exposed.”

You gape at the board, your fragile confidence faltering for a split second. "I still have some pieces in play."

Charles nods, his brows drawing together in thoughtful consideration. "True. But sometimes, it’s not about how many pieces you have left—” he reaches out, carefully sliding his queen across the board. "It’s about where you place them,” he relaxes, hunching over, his eyes searching for yours. A smile that’s all teeth welcomes you. “Checkmate."

“Damn,” you blow out your cheeks, your gaze tracing the path of his queen. Somehow, he’s trapped your king with no easy way out.

He leans back with a satisfied grin. "That’s three games in a row. My suggestion is that you start rethinking your strategy."

"Or maybe you’re just a better player,” you admit, a mix of frustration and admiration palpable in your tone. “No more chess for today, though,” you stand up from your seat, gathering the board and chess pieces. As usual, they find their place under Charles’ bed, and you turn back to him, beaming with delight. “I think you owe me one after all this.”

“You’re a terrible loser, my dear,” he ponders, his eyes twinkling as they take you in. “Reminds me of someone I know.”

At that exact moment, you hear the familiar creak of the tank’s door opening, followed by a cough you immediately recognize. Without thinking, you straighten your back as Logan steps into the room. Charles notices, but says nothing in return.

It was an infatuation—or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself of. Logan is a very good-looking man, probably the most handsome you’ve ever laid eyes on. The fact that you live with him doesn’t help at all. You think that if you only saw him occasionally, this—this anxiety that grips you whenever he’s around or when you hear his voice—wouldn’t happen in the first place. But whether it’s good or bad luck, you’ve been sleeping under the same roof as him for over a year, and the crush you’ve had since the first time you exchanged words with him only seems to grow stronger with each passing day.

What you figure out over time is that men like Logan aren’t the dating type. He’s never brought anyone home, and for that, you’re secretly grateful. The last thing you need is to see him with another woman—thank you very much. But the thought gnaws at you: he could easily be meeting someone elsewhere. In fact, it’s more than likely that he’s hooking up with other people. It doesn’t have to be at—

Yeah, you don’t need this either.

Logan’s heavy footsteps resonate even louder, his presence more imposing, and he seems especially pissed off. Then again, he always has that demeanor—angry, grumpy, locked in a constant battle with life. But today… today, you haven’t seen him this troubled in weeks.

“Look who’s joined us,” Charles mumbles, steering his motorized chair to meet him halfway. The chair bumps against Logan’s legs with a thud that sounds almost cartoonish, and Charles scrunches up his nose, his nostrils flaring in disgust. “You smell like shit.”

“Yeah, I missed you too, Pop,” Logan grunts, shoving his hand into the pocket of his suit, searching for something. That’s when you notice the bloodstains on his shirt, smeared across his chest, and the missing buttons at the top. Your breath catches in your throat, and you bite your tongue to keep from asking any foolish questions. “They gave me new ones,” he mutters, looking you in the eye as he tosses the pill bottle at you.

You leap forward to catch it mid-air, your heart skipping a beat. Logan holds your gaze for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before giving a slight nod and turning on his heel to storm out of the tank.

When your attention goes back to Charles, you see how his eyes remain locked on the pills you’re holding, his head lowering in defeat. “He’s waiting for me to die.”

“Don’t say that,” you squat to be at his eye level, momentarily hiding the meds from his view. Still, you struggle to make him shift his gaze. “He’s taking care of you, which is something completely different,” you place your hand on top of his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. You’ve had this same conversation innumerable times, yet each time feels like the first. He offers you a melancholic but knowing look as you softly say: “You have to take them, Charles. I’m sorry.”

He raises a hand, his trembling fingers curling around your wrist, examining you, trying to find an answer in the lines. “Don’t be. At least you’re here.”

“I’m sure Logan’s tired; that’s why he doesn’t stay any longer. Haven’t you seen him?” you rise to your feet, moving behind him to guide his chair. The tank sort of has a chill in the air, metallic walls that seem to press in around you both. “Besides, you wouldn’t want to play chess with him. Rest assured I’ll always let you win,” you murmur next to his ear, succeeding in eliciting a chuckle from him.

After that, you help him with his daily routine. Charles isn’t heavy, and you manage to get him onto the bed, his frail body yielding to your gentle support. You slip the rest of his body beneath the blankets, tucking him in carefully before handing him two pills and a glass of water. “All the way down, okay? And I wanna see that tongue after you swallow them.”

If looks could kill, you’d be six feet under, covered in dust and dirt. Charles sticks his tongue out, putting the glass down on his nightstand. “Happy?”

“You’ve got no idea how much,” you say, adjusting the covers. The silence of the tank surrounds you both, and you can sense his gaze lingering on you. You flick your eyes up, furrowing your brows as you sit in the small space beside him on the mattress. “What is it?”

“You fancy him, don’t you?”

Freezing on the spot, your eyes narrow. “I—I don’t—” you trail off, pushing the words out with some effort. “Are you trying to read my mind?”

His whole chest rumbles with laughter under your touch. He finds your hand once again, intertwining your fingers with his. “Don’t be so naïve. I don’t need my abilities to see the way you get all flustered when he passes by. Why do you think they say older people are wiser?” he inquires, his lips forming a straight line. “We’ve lived too much not to notice the most common things, my dear—and let me tell you that you do a horrible job at pretending.”

“Of course I like him. Logan’s a good man, he keeps us safe,” you glance down at your hands—his, weak and delicate, in evident contrast to your own. “I’m not in love with him, Cupid.”

“Oh, you should’ve seen him years ago,” Charles says, his eyes glazing over as he drifts back into the past. His body remains here, within the confines of the room, but his mind is elsewhere, somewhere far away. You give his hand a gentle tug, trying to bring him back. “When we took him in, he was pursuing a career as a cage fighter. I had never seen anyone like him in all my years of educating mutants. He was so… different from the rest. Reserved, didn’t talk much at first. But I gave him a family, I—” his voice falters, overcome by his own emotions. 

That’s when you realize he’s no longer with you, his gaze unfocused, looking around the tank as if seeing it for the first time. It pains you to see him like this, completely disoriented and disconnected from reality.

“Why are we here? What has happened to the rest? Has he told you anything?”

These are the questions he asks every day without fail—questions that you can’t, nor want, to answer. Since you’re not exactly sure the explanation would soothe his troubled mind, you feel forced to play dumb.

“I don’t know, Charles. We don’t really talk that much, Logan and I,” you stand from the bed, not without pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead before. You smile at him, hoping he doesn’t realize the gesture lacks authenticity. “Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll let you know if I hear anything worth sharing.”

Once you close the door behind you, you settle back into it, releasing a shaky breath. Being Charles’ caregiver was a challenging task, especially in moments like these, which required immense internal strength not to crumble in front of him. You squeeze your eyes shut as you adjust to the harsh sunlight, fighting to regain your composure. When you finally scan the area, the only thing that meets your eye is the deserted smelting plant you now call home.

You open the sliding door, the noise breaking the stillness and forcing Logan to look up from his plate. He’s eating like a starved man, casually drinking from a small bottle of whisky on the table, already half of it gone. After those long drives through the nights and the early hours, he always returns hungry. You pour yourself a cup of coffee, setting it on the stove to heat.

Neither of you says anything for a few minutes: he eats, and you sip your hot coffee in silence, not wishing to disturb the breakable peace that hangs by a thread. Thinking this is how the noon will continue, you begin to walk toward your room until he clears his throat, stopping you in your tracks. That simple gesture makes you whirl around, anticipating something.

“This is delicious,” he acknowledges, pointing to his plate with his fork, the rice with veggies and meat you cooked last night nearly gone. Dipping his chin, he adds in a low voice: “Thank you.”

You’re taken aback by his unexpected willingness to engage in conversation. Moments like these are as rare as seeing Halley’s Comet, so you proceed with caution, as if you’re approaching a skittish animal—one wrong move, and the opportunity is lost.

Setting your mug down on the table, you sit on the chair opposite him. Deep down, the hammering of your heart echoes in your ears, and you hope his sharp senses don’t pick up on it.

“I’m glad you liked it. Charles ate two bowls of it,” you explain, unable to suppress a smile. Logan hums, tilting his head to the side as he keeps devouring his meal. You take another sip of your coffee, blowing on it in a futile attempt to cool it down. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Huh?”

“Charles. He—he asks to see you a lot,” you begin, carefully choosing your words. “I know it’s none of my business, but I think it would make him feel better if you spent more time with him.”

The sound of a distant train rumbles through the walls, amplifying the silence between you. Logan doesn’t utter a word; instead, he puts down his fork, the clinking noise making you jump slightly, the intensity of his stare becoming overwhelming. “You’re right about one thing—what I do or don’t do is none of your goddamn business.”

Just like that, the buildup dissolves in a matter of seconds. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, nodding absentmindedly. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling a wave of shame wash over you. How stupid were you to think he might want to talk to you?  “I just—I want to be of help.”

“Just take care of Charles. That’s all you gotta worry about, all I’ve ever asked you to do,” he barks, clenching his jaw, and you can tell he means each word.

When he talks to you in this tone, it makes you think more rationally—it reminds you that you don’t really know him, and yet you agreed to work for him in exchange for a roof over your head and food on your plate. He’s not your friend, and he’s excellent at making that crystal clear every time you cross the line. Logan pushes you away like you’re nothing, like you’re just another of the many burdens he has to deal with.

It should be enough to send you running to your room, but despite the knot tightening in your belly, you somehow remain rooted in place, your eyes sharp like daggers. As another train echoes in the silence, you come to terms with the knowledge that one more question will drive him away.

And sometimes, you speak before you think, as you do now: “Whose blood is that on your shirt?” you ask, voice steady and cold. Perhaps it’s you who wants him to leave this time.

He shakes his head with offense, frustration crinkling his eyes. “I don’t need this shit,” he groans, his gruff voice loud enough for you to hear it. He gets up from the table, placing his plate in the sink without much delicacy. At last, he heads to his room, slamming the door with a deafening thud that reverberates through the entire place.

It’s not a crush, that voice deep inside you insists as you’re left alone in the kitchen. And it’s valid: a mere crush wouldn't cause this kind of pain, wouldn’t make your chest feel this heavy and your limbs numb.

Whenever he leaves, he takes a part of you with him, never to be returned. By now, you’re certain he’s stolen all those missing pieces from you, and you’ve got no idea how much longer you can endure before you shatter completely.

You seem to have won this battle, but what you end up losing is far greater than any fleeting gratification.

Loving Logan is maddening, to say the least.

To this day, you still recall every detail of the night that altered the course of your life—the night you met Logan.

The memories are rather vivid in your mind, and you revisit that moment on nights like these, when you can’t sleep and the past appears to be much more appealing than your present. Pressing your cheek against the cold pillow, you let your eyelids drop, reconstructing the full scene behind your sealed eyes.

It was your third week working at that restaurant, and you were still getting used to its daily rhythm. Waitressing was working wonders for you—you had a good memory, and people often gave you generous tips. Everything was going well: you were the only waitress on shift, and your boss had left for a brief errand, promising he would be back soon.

During this lull, a group of men entered the restaurant, already drunk or high—probably both. They sat at one of the empty tables, immediately calling for you. One of them, a tall blonde, was the loudest. “Come here, baby,” he pointed his finger at you, gesturing for you to approach him. The nickname felt wrong rolling off his tongue, and as you obliged, he shoved a handful of bills into the front pocket of your apron. He clutched your waist, dragging you nearer. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Think you can do something special for me?”

His friends cheered him on, laughing and pounding their fists on the table. You managed to slip from his grasp and asked them what they wanted to order. While they took their time deciding, you noticed a limousine parked in the distance, probably the vehicle that had brought these morons here. The driver rolled down his window, hanging his arm from the armrest. Though you couldn’t see his features, the interaction alone was enough to make you look away.

An hour went by, and the men refused to take off. They’d eaten, drunk, and danced—and driven you crazy in the process. The rest of the customers had decided to leave once they realized the night was far from finishing for the noisy group of friends. You apologized, feeling incapable of doing anything to change the situation. Your sanity felt threatened as you turned off the TV, ending the sixth round of karaoke, their shouts and hoots ringing in your ears.

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” you informed them, starting to collect their dirty plates and glasses. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the blonde man standing right beside you, his piercing blue eyes burning holes through your skin. He attempted to graze your shoulder, but you quickly stepped back, keeping a safe distance between you. “How do you plan to pay? Cash or credit?”

“How about with a kiss, huh?” he inched forward, his face dangerously close to yours. Unaccustomed to being approached in this manner, you ducked your head, unsure of your next move. His breath reeked of beer and vodka, a horrendous combination that had you nearly gagging on the spot. As he backed you against the counter, one of his large hands cradled your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. “I swear I can be very, very nice. You haven’t given me the chance to show it yet.”

“Hey, pal. You said one hour.”

The first time you heard his voice—low and husky, the kind that could send shivers down your spine. Your eyes locked with Logan’s, your pleading gaze seemingly stirring something in him as he got a grip on the situation. His brows bumped together in a scowl, and you didn’t miss how he limped as he made his way into the restaurant. There was something about him—how he moved, his stance—that felt strangely familiar.

“We’re busy in here, chauffeur,” the blue-eyed man protested, slightly losing his balance while still holding your cheek.

Your rescuer squared off against him, their noses practically brushing. He worked his jaw, his half-lidded, tired eyes taking in the sight of you. “I’m no fortune-teller, but I don’t think she’s into you, bub.”

“Come again?” the blonde guy released you, much more concerned with defending his bruised pride. “What’s the matter, Grandpa? Is it past your bedtime?”

“I want you to pay me for the ride, and for waiting a fucking hour and a half for you and your friends,” the older man spat, jerking his thumb toward the limousine. “I’m not taking you back to the hotel. You might want to start looking’ for another driver.”

The group of men closed in around him, their anger bubbling. “That’s not cool, dude. We had a deal,” another voice snapped, but Logan couldn’t seem to care less.

“Well, the deal’s off. And leave the girl alone, will you?” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. “So, where’s my money?”

He couldn’t have predicted it. One of the men behind him swung a plate, striking him in the nape and catching him off guard. Logan collapsed to the floor, clutching his head in pain. The others took the opportunity and began to pummel him, kicks and punches landing wherever they could.

You screamed at the top of your lungs, desperately trying to intervene. You grabbed at their clothes, digging your fingernails into every patch of exposed skin you could find, but they shoved you aside with brutal force. Your back slammed against the nearest wall, a jolt of sudden pain making you wince. The blood in your veins turned to ice as you watched, paralyzed with fear that they might kill him. But then—

Three metallic claws emerged from his knuckles, and he used them to push himself upright. Despite the blood smeared across his nose and mouth, he managed to stand, his quickened breathing coming out in short puffs. The men backed away in shock, leaving him alone amidst the chaos. 

You stared at him, your hands trembling as recognition dawned: it was the Wolverine. The familiarity, the sense of having seen him before, all made sense now. It all flooded back in a rush—the comics, the news, the rumors.

“Get the hell outta my sight,” he growled, pressing his claws against the fabric of the blue-eyed man’s jacket, making him flinch.

You couldn’t make out what you were feeling. It wasn’t fear, but intrigue. Even as the group of men fled the restaurant, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. At first, he avoided your gaze, focusing on his shoes as he retracted his claws.

Once the immediate danger had passed, he slumped forward, groaning. You gently draped one of his arms around your shoulders and helped him into a nearby chair. His weight felt like a thousand bricks, but you accomplished to get him seated.

He rubbed a shaky hand over his graying beard, his face twisting in pain as you pressed a makeshift towel of napkins against his lower lip, where blood continued to flow. Taking the towel from you, he continued tending to himself. You scanned his features, scrutinizing him.

“You are…” you began, the words feeling inadequate at the moment.

Logan nodded hesitantly, his silence confirming your suspicion. “Yeah, that’s me,” he tugged at his shirt collar, exposing some of his chest hair, fresh blood staining his work clothes. Your gaze fell there, and you quickly chided yourself. The poor guy was bleeding, and you were checking him out. Jeez.

Kneeling by his side, you introduced yourself. “Thank you for stepping up for me,” you said afterward, and he shook his head dismissively. “They were a pain in the ass. I don’t know how you even managed to drive them here.”

“Money’s money, darlin’. Doesn’t matter where it comes from, as long as—” he was interrupted by a coughing fit, and your concern deepened as you continued to spot more of his injuries. “I’ll heal,” he reassured you, his expression softening in an attempt to calm your anxiety.

Your eyes pierced his with an intensity that seemed to unsettle him. A flush of crimson crept into your cheeks as a question surfaced in your mind: “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“You don’t owe me anything, kid,” he replied, a hint of gruffness in his voice.

“But I could help you,” you persisted, your voice betraying a touch of eagerness. Stifling a cough, you tried to mask your enthusiasm, and sighed. “Are you hungry? I could cook you something, or pour you a drink. We’ve got plenty of liquor—”

Logan interrupted you, placing the towel down on the table. “Have you ever taken care of an old person?” 

Tilting your head, you considered his question. “How old?”

“Ninety-somethin’.”

You nodded, memories of the events from years ago surfacing. “I lived with my grandparents for most of my life. When they fell ill, I spent a lot of time with them. My mom had to work long hours, and I—well, the point is, I did take care of them,” you paused for an instant, his expression unreadable, though you perceived a slight relaxation in his posture, as if your answer had put him at ease. “I like being around old people. They have stories to tell,” you added, a genuine smile breaking through, “and I’m a good listener.”

“Then I suppose there is somethin’ you can help me with.”

And so began a new chapter in your life. The very next day, you were moving in with him and Charles. It took several weeks for the latter to warm up to you and get used to your presence. Initially, he was hopeful that you might also be a mutant, but his disappointment was palpable when he discovered you lacked any supernatural gifts. Leaving that aside, he valued your company.

“The shots mellow the seizures. The pills keep them from happening’,” Logan had once explained, detailing the medications Charles needed. You recalled the psychic attack from a year ago and its consequences, but that wasn’t a topic to be discussed with Logan, and you understood why.

“Where do you get these?” you asked, examining the bottle of pills with a curious glance. “Without a prescription, I mean.”

“Oh, you don’t wanna know.”

Soon, you got adapted to the whole package: his unpredictable temperament, his mood swings, and his nightmares. Logan Howlett was a puzzle box of surprises, one you could never quite unlock.

Fast forward to the present day, you realize it must be already late, because Logan’s heading to work. You stand on your tiptoes, peering out of your bedroom window. Your warm breath fogs the glass as his eyes find yours, and then he slips into the vehicle, blending into the shadows of the night. The distant rumble of his limousine signals his departure, your forehead pressed against the glass, as if somehow that could take you with him.

There goes another piece of you.

You find yourself shaving Charles the moment worry takes over your senses.

He’s retelling a familiar story: that one time Logan, Scott, Jean, and Storm saved Rogue from Magneto. On any other day, you wouldn’t mind listening to his stories, despite having heard them countless times. This one in particular is your favorite. But today, it’s hard to focus on it, even more when one of its main characters is missing in action.

Logan hasn’t come back home yet.

It’s been an entire day, and he’s usually back by morning to rest. Now, after having cooked dinner and helping Charles shower, you’ve run out of distractions. There’s nothing left to occupy your thoughts, nothing to ease the building anxiety gnawing at you.

You texted him multiple times—no answer. You even called—also nothing. Every time Charles asks if Logan’s at work or sleeping, the knot in your chest tightens. That’s when your mind starts to spiral, and you’re convinced you’ll burst any moment.

After putting him to bed, you pace the kitchen, picking at your nails and biting the raw skin around them. The sting of pain is there, but it’s faint, not enough to overshadow the real fear clawing at your insides. All these what-ifs that storm through your mind make you feel nauseous: what if he’s dead? What would you do with Charles? How would you provide for both of you without a salary?

Just as you’re about to dial his number again, Logan materializes out of thin air through the sliding door. He’s got a dark bruise under his right eye, and his once-white shirt is littered with bloodstains. You stare at him—he’s limping harder than usual, each of his movements slower. Walking towards him, your hands cup his face. His skin feels rough beneath your fingers, and he lets out a grunt as you graze his split lip. “What happened?”

“They were following’ me. Had been doing’ so for a few days now,” he says, making no effort to pull away.

“Did you kill them?“ you wonder out loud, still inspecting his injuries. The pad of your thumb hovers inches away from his bruised mouth.

Covering your hands with his, Logan ducks his head, closing his eyes for a brief second and swallowing thickly. “Somebody had to do it, sweetheart.”

You limit yourself to a nod, because you know there’s nothing you can reproach him for. You were no stranger to the idea of him killing. It was an implicit truth between you.

“I thought—I was so scared, and I—“ your voice wavers, and you feel your eyes watering, the tears prickling at the corners. “I thought you—“

He doesn’t let you finish, already knowing how it would end. “Hey, look at me,” he’s the one touching you now, tilting your chin up. Your eyes keep flickering over the cuts and old scars you spot on his cheeks, his neck. Logan forces a pained smile, unable to hide his discomfort. “It’s fine, I’m alright. Just a bit fucked up, but nothin’ you haven’t seen before,” he jokes, trying to lighten the mood, and it works. You bite your lower lip, suppressing your grin. “I always come back, don’t I?”

“But you can barely stand,” you whisper, not sure why you’re speaking so softly. You make him turn his back to you, helping him shrug off his coat. As expected, remnants of dried blood decorate his shirt like highlights. “Let me help you.” 

“I don’t—“

”There are cuts all over your back. And your chest—you’re not healing properly,” you say, turning him to face you again. The look on his face suggests only one thing: he’s about to throw in the towel. “You don’t have to do everything on your own.” You think you’ve never been this close before, his proximity both intoxicating and comforting at the same time. “Please.”

He ends up giving in to your persuasion, allowing you to guide him to the bathroom. Logan sits down on the toilet, watching you gather supplies to clean his wounds. When you come back, he’s still staring at you, his eyelashes fluttering together each time he blinks. Starting with his cheek, you press a damp towel to his skin, and he hisses. It takes everything in you not to flinch in sympathy.

“How’s Charles?” he asks, probably trying to distract himself as you continue to clean his wounds, the towel darkening with his blood over time. 

“He’s doing great. Asked for you a lot, actually,” you take a look at his jaw, where one shallow cut is already starting to fade away thanks to his healing ability, something that never fails to amaze you.

Logan hums, tilting his head. ”I’ll check on him in the morning,” he murmurs, and you flash him a quick smile, finishing with his face. He’s now free of dirt and blood, his brows furrowing as he pauses to collect his thoughts. “The other day, when we talked—“

You cut him off, turning to the sink as you rinse the towel, watching the water get red. “Forget it.”

“No, it wasn’t okay—how I acted,” he stands up from the toilet, and you feel his presence behind you, the alarm inside your head going off as the space between you shrinks. “I know you just want what’s best for him. For us. I’m sorry I was a jerk,” his voice comes out even huskier at this time of the night, sounding afraid of waking someone, even though it’s just the two of you here.

“Apology accepted,” you swirl around to meet his gaze, only to find yourself nose-to-nose with him, and you lean back against the sink, your spine pressed into the cool surface. Logan places his hands on both sides of the vanity, caging you with his body. Like the most beautiful tree, he stands tall in front of you, and you take a deep breath, getting drunk on his distinctive scent. “Are you… okay?”

You watch as he lowers his head, pursing his lips before muttering: “Imma need you to do something more for me,” he says, almost pleading, and you can’t avoid the amount of thoughts that rush into your mind. Gone was your decency when you had to deal with him.

That’s when he looks up to find your eyes, his harsh expression evolving into a more vulnerable one. “Have you ever removed a bullet?”

If you thought listening to Logan’s nightmares was painful, nothing could have prepared you for the sounds he makes while you pull several bullets from his wounds. 

He sits shirtless in front of you, grunting at each of your careful movements. As you remove one bullet lodged near his ribs, Logan practically yells, and you rest your cheek against his, desperate to ease his suffering. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m almost done,” you whisper into his ear, hoping your words might bring him some relief. He lets his head fall forward, resting it on your shoulder, trusting you enough to tend to his injuries, his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

It takes you half an hour to clean both his chest and back, but Logan doesn’t complain. When you’re finished, he goes straight to his room, flopping onto his bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. You see the way his chest rises and falls rapidly, his breathing still labored. You wish you could lie beside him, even just for a few minutes, but your last shred of self-control stops you from doing such a thing.

“Get some sleep,” you say leaning against the doorframe, your advice sounding more like a plea. He looks exhausted, dark circles sunken beneath his eyes. 

Logan lets out a bitter laugh. “Do I look that bad?”

You roll your eyes at that, your fingers curling around the doorknob. Glancing back at him over your shoulder, you catch something in his look—a glimmer of something you can’t quite put into words, but you decide not to look further into it. “Good night, Logan.”

“Good night, darlin’—and thank you,” he murmurs, holding your gaze until the door shuts between you.

Then you sprint to your room, gently closing the door before biting back a smile, replaying the last hour in your mind. How close to you he had been, how comfortable he seemed around you. You hadn’t just crossed lines—you’d broken them. You almost pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Somehow, your racing mind calms down, and you fall asleep, one hand tucked beneath the pillow, the other resting against your chest.

You’re a light sleeper. The sound of something shattering wakes you, leaving you startled and disoriented. Dawn is just breaking, the first rays of sunlight slipping through your window. You sit up, pricking up your ears as you scratch the back of your head, listening attentively. Logan’s voice filters into your room—he lets out a string of profanities, and you stifle a giggle, throwing off your covers and putting on a sweatshirt that matches your pajamas.

Barefoot, you walk down the hall, stopping at the kitchen’s entrance. Logan is kneeling beside the table, gathering the shards of a broken mug. It seems like he’s just gotten out of the shower, tiny droplets of water trailing down his neck.

“That was my favorite one,” you say in a low voice, teasing him. His back muscles flex under the material of his shirt, and he turns to look at you, his expression a silent apology. “I take it you’re not using your glasses?”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” rising to his feet, he grunts, digging his fingers into his lower back with a grimace. “They’re called readers for a reason.”

You decide to let him have that one, grabbing a new mug from the shelf and handing it to him. He accepts it, thanking you, and fills it with freshly brewed coffee. “Was it a nightmare?“ you ask, watching as he sinks into the couch, spreading his thighs apart with a sigh while you take a seat at the table instead.

Logan gives a nod, sipping some of his coffee. “At least I slept for a few hours.” 

“Are you really going to stay up? It’s pretty early,” you stretch your arms over your head, a yawn escaping you before you can hold it back.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

You hesitate for a moment, but then comes your question: “Can I join you?” you prop your elbows on your knees, any trace of sleepiness now gone with the wind.

He squints his eyes, his unrelenting stare boring into you. “Feel free.”

So here you are, studying him as he drinks his coffee, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic. There are so many things you want to ask him—about how he’s feeling, if his wounds have healed—but it seems you’ve entered a silent staring contest without even knowing it. Not that you mind him looking at you—you just want to know the reason why.

You snort, and he arches a brow. “Do I have something on my face?” you decide to ask him, straightening your back.

“I guess I can’t help but wonder why you agreed to all of this,” he says, setting the mug down with a soft clink. By this, you understand he’s referring to being Charles’ caregiver and leaving your old job behind. “I mean—you could be doing better things with your life. Why would you choose to do this?”

“I told you before: I wanted to help you,” you shrug, trying to keep your tone light even as your stomach tightens with nerves. You watch as Logan folds his arms, the muscles of his biceps becoming more visible. “Plus, I love being around Charles.

“I don’t think people your age would be that interested in spending their days like this,” he says, and you toy with a lock of your hair, wrapping it around your finger.

“Well, good thing I’m not like most people my age then.”

His silence hangs heavy in the air until he speaks again. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know that feeling when life seems like a race? And you just have to keep up with certain things that everybody else is doing, or you’ll be left behind?” you pause, the words falling more naturally than you’d expected. Logan nods, making it seem like he understands what you’re trying to say. Whether he truly does it or not, you don’t know. “When my friends started going to parties, getting boyfriends… I couldn’t. My family wouldn’t let me. And even when I could, it felt like it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

Inhaling sharply, you stop yourself. The conversation suddenly feels far too personal.

“You never had a boyfriend?” he gets more comfortable on the couch, his voice gruff as he rubs his chin, waiting for a reply.

A familiar heat settles between your legs. “I went out with some guys, but it never led to anything serious,” you say, your cheeks getting warmer the more details you share with him. “I guess I wasn’t the kind of girl they were looking for,” you add, not missing the way his lips twitch momentarily.

“How could they not want you?”

“They didn’t think like you do.”

“That’s because they were boys, not men,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to your hands before returning to your face. “Did they treat you right, those boys?”

Swallowing hard, you can hardly register the uncertainty in your own voice. “I mean… yes, I think they did. They were nice to me.”

There it is—the faintest hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. “Nice doesn’t mean good, though.”

You dig your nails onto the table, your pulse quickening, trying to hide how affected you are by his words. “What is it that you want to know?”

“Come sit with me, doll.”

Doll. Doll. Doll. Inside your chest, your heart gallops, your legs trembling as you get off the table, moving closer to him. Feeling lighter with every step you take, you plop down beside him, and Logan sits straighter, his knees almost bumping into yours. You can’t bring yourself to look at him—this is happening, just like in your filthiest dreams.

His hand slides up to yours, not applying any sort of pressure. He scrutinizes your skin, bringing your hand to his lips, and he presses a kiss to the inside of your wrist. It tickles, it burns—it ignites a fire inside you, one you know you can’t ignore. A gasp attempts to escape you, but you suppress it.

“Did you let them touch you?” he whispers, attaching his mouth to your neck, brushing the sensitive spot where your jaw and ear meet.

This time, you moan, any possible rational thoughts turning into putty, melting with the way he’s touching you. “Logan,” you purr his name, begging for something, anything he’s willing to give you. Your thighs, once shoved together, spread of their own accord, and you hear him click his tongue.

“Didn’t I ask you something?” his teeth graze your pulse point, forcing you to close your eyes.

“I didn’t. They wanted to, but I—I wouldn’t let them,” you answer, and as if he’s rewarding you, his fingers begin to tug on the hem of your sweatshirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the floor, admiring you.

“Why?”

Goddamn.

“Because I was waiting for the right guy,” you manage to get out, grasping his hand and positioning it on top of your right breast, encouraging him to go on with what he had started. His pupils widen further, and he squeezes your tit roughly, eliciting a moan from you. “I think I’ve found him.”

Logan scans your face, searching for any sign of repentance in your expression. “I’m going to hell for this,” he murmurs under his breath, his hard-on noticeable through his tented sweatpants. “Lay down,” you obey his command, easing yourself onto the couch, and sinking into the cushions as he presses himself to your side. He peppers your neck with kisses, playing with the waistband of your shorts. “I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.”

You accept his offer, knowing that you’ll probably regret it in a couple of hours. Right now, it doesn’t matter. You need his electrifying touch, his fingers, his—

With a swift motion, your shorts are yanked down your legs, and his calloused hands part your thighs even wider. A damp spot on your underwear sells you out, and his thumb rubs gentle circles over that area, causing you to lift your hips. “So this is what you look like when you touch yourself, huh?” he edges his fingers closer to your clit, his breath tickling your ear, and he dips his tongue into your collarbone. “I hear you all the fuckin’ time. You’re not as quiet as you think.”

It should embarrass you, the fact that he has listened to you pleasuring yourself. But in a moment like this, it only succeeds in fuelling your desire. “Please. You said you’d make me feel good.”

“And I will, but you’re greedy as hell,” he says, his movements more deliberate now. You feel hot all over as he pulls your panties to the side, exposing your glistening cunt. Logan’s on the verge of drooling over you, reaching for your folds and spreading your wetness. “Men aren’t strong creatures, honey. You’ve got no idea how hard it is to hold back.”

“D-don’t hold back,” you stutter, losing your composure when he returns to your clit, his fingers coated in your arousal while they flick your swollen bud. “Oh, Logan…”

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he rasps, mouthing at your jaw, though as you try to kiss him, he slows his pace. “What’s wrong? Am I not giving you enough?”

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” you whisper, fascinated by how big his fingers look in comparison to your pussy. “I’m just—”

“Needy, I know,” he finishes for you, and he picks up his merciless rhythm again. Heat pools in your lower abdomen, and you can’t help but arch your back every time he teases you, grazing your entrance with his middle finger. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

You dig your nails into his arm, relishing the way his body responds to your touch. He grinds his cock against your hip, his teeth nipping at the column of your neck. “I want to come. Please, make me come,” you sob, letting out a shaky breath. A thin sheen of sweat covers your forehead, and Logan locks eyes with you after what feels like an eternity. “Please, Lo.”

The nickname snaps something inside of him. His fingers circle your clit with a fervency you hadn’t experienced before, your pleasure seemingly being his primary focus. “The shit I’d do for you.”

You warn him, telling him you’re close—so so so close—until the fire in your belly flares, and blood rushes to your ears. You collapse against him, holding his hand firmly against your core, hips jerking as you ride your orgasm. The world narrows down to this—this moment, your most desired fantasy.

Logan holds you as you go limp in his arms, rubbing your clit ever so slightly, murmuring soft praises. “Y’did so good, honey,” he whispers, planting a kiss on your temple, burying his nose in your hair. You’re still out of breath, the pulsing between your parted legs persisting long after your release. “Told you you weren’t quiet.”

A giggle bubbles up from your chest, his beard tickling you as he slides his hands up under your shirt, finding your nipples. “It was n-nice,” you tell him, your voice faltering the more he toys with your hardened peaks. Your skin heats up again, heart racing at the thought that he isn’t done with you yet.

“Just nice?” one of his hands makes its way back into your pussy, ghosting his fingers over your hole, and he smirks when he feels you squirm. “You surely know how to hurt a man’s pride.”

“I wasn’t—I didn’t mean to—” you can’t structure a proper sentence, not when he’s playing with you like this. Logan rubs your arousal between his fingers, as though he wants you to see how slick you still are, even after coming. “Are you going to touch me again?”

He hums, feigning uncertainty. “What do you think, baby? Should I make you come with my fingers now?”

It’s like a switch flips in your mind. He knows exactly how to make you beg and which buttons to push, using that power to his advantage. “Yes, please. I want it,” you plead, intending to buck your hips into his touch, impatient for more.

“Do you fuck yourself with your fingers?” 

“Sometimes, but I can never finish—Oh my God,” he slips one finger inside you, causing you to curse, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench around the intrusion, your head falling back onto the cushions. “Fuck me.”

“In a minute,” he begins to thrust his finger in and out, gathering your juices every time he goes back to hammering that sweet spot in your interior. Soon, one finger becomes two, and he reduces you to a panting mess.

Tears threaten to well in your eyes, and you whine as he involves his other hand in the matter, furiously rubbing your clit. “Your fingers feel much better than m-mine, Lo.”

“I could tell,” he curls them just right, and you push back against his thrusts, tilting your pelvis to meet him halfway. “There you go. Take what you need, pretty girl. I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

Everything feels frenzied, fast, the way your inner walls spam and contract around his fingers as you chase your second climax. Once you come down from your high, your blurred vision catches him tugging the waistband of his sweatpants down. His cock springs free, and he fists himself, stroking his length angrily. You watch as some pre-cum dribbles from the head, and you lean forward, watching it closely.

“You look goddamn beautiful when you come, darlin’,” he murmurs through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched tight. Hovering over you, he rucks your shirt up until he can see your tits from above. He alternates between your breasts, squeezing them while he continues to stroke his girth. “Want to see these two all dirty.”

Logan truly loses it when your hand reaches out to him, tracing a bulging vein near the head of his cock. You meet his lustful gaze, batting your lashes, and then you feel his come splashing against your bare chest, a choked moan escaping Logan’s throat, spurts of his hot seed landing on your skin.

“Fuckin’ hell… fuck,” he grunts, still tugging at his cock, enamored with the masterpiece he’s created. When it’s finally over, he lies beside you, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, and he nuzzles further into your touch with a groan. “I’m too old for this.”

Minutes pass as both of you seem to grasp the gravity of what has just happened. Eventually, Logan rises to his feet, disappearing for a brief moment before coming back with a towel to wipe his come off your stomach and chest. He’s gentle with you, his gaze trained on his task until his eyes flick up to meet yours. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, pulling your shorts back up.

“Like what?” 

“Like you want to see right through me,” he adjusts your shirt to cover your body again, but the towel remains in his hand, a reminder of the previous events.

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

You don’t have to talk about it. You definitely don’t. 

Two days later, he’s the one who comes looking for you.

You’re nearly asleep when he knocks on your door. “Come in,” you mumble, a bit of drool having dampened your pillow. You dry your mouth with the back of your hand, your back turned to the door.

He steps into your room cautiously, as if navigating a minefield. The mattress dips under his weight. “Were you sleeping?” he asks, caressing your leg over the covers. 

You shift onto your back, your body responding before your mind. There’s no blood on his clothes—that makes you feel a bit better, and you shake your head.

“Good,” he looms closer, fumbling with his belt. His thumb applies little pressure to your lower lip, and your mouth parts to let him in, salivating.

This is just like Pavlov’s dog experiment—except that Logan isn’t an experimenter, and you aren’t a dog. Yet, when he approaches you like this, you can’t help but respond, settling into a routine where you both take take take from each other.

Logan doesn’t fuck you, even when you beg him to. He gets you off with his fingers, his thigh, his mouth—but his cock remains out of the equation. 

“Just the tip,” you plead, voice laced with pure need, when he’s got his face nestled between your legs. 

As he stops eating you out, his beard shiny with your arousal, he’s still got that angry look on his face. Your cries don’t get to him. “That lie’s older than me,” he slips his fingers back inside you, aiming to make you drop the subject. “Come on, baby. I gotta get ready for work, but you need to come first.”

Nor does he stay the night after telling you you’re the most gorgeous girl he’s ever seen in his life. Just when you think he’s fallen asleep, his legs intertwined with yours and one of his large hands under your head, you drift off.

By the time morning comes, he’s gone. You just know that when night falls, he’ll be back for more, drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

Despite that, Logan won’t kiss you. He keeps his promise—you hate how determined he is. 

“Not even once?” you ask him one night while going over the scars on his back. You’re in his bed this time, and he has his nose buried in his pillow, moments away from dozing off. 

“No,” he answers, squirming slightly under your touch. “I’m tired. Stop doing that.”

“How did you get this one?” you trace one scar that’s close to his shoulder, resting your chin just inches from it.

He turns his face to see your eyes. “Well, I was doing Pilates, and I—Hey!” he laughs when you pinch the skin near his ribs, tickling him. “I don’t even remember it. Must’ve got it a long time ago.”

“Did it hurt?” it’s a dumb question, but he doesn’t mention it.

His index finger grazes your cheek, and he chuckles at the way your eyelids flutter. “In the past, they all did. But not anymore,” he replies, though you wish you could believe him. You know he’s in pain most days. That when he goes down on you, and he’s on his knees for too long, he has trouble standing up without cursing. That no amount of alcohol, or his healing ability, helps him with it.

You kiss each of his scars before curling against his side, brushing your nose against his. “And now?” your eyes fall to his lips, silently hoping he’ll say Yes.

Instead, he sighs. “I think we should go to sleep.”

So despite the lack of kisses, the miscommunication, and the fact that he won’t fuck you even though you know—you feel—he wants to, things are good between you. Charles notices it, openly expressing his recent realization.

“He looks happier, doesn’t he?” the old man says after winning two games of chess in a row, startling you. 

“Logan, you mean?”

“Yes, my dear.”

You glance down at the board, fidgeting with the pieces. “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” he parrots your previous words, raising an eyebrow in doubt. “Look at me,” he says, and as you do it, he points a shaky finger toward your neck. “I assume mosquitos have taken a liking to you.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, your hand flying up to cover the hickey you had completely forgotten about in the first place. “Charles, I’m—“

“Are you happy?” he interrupts you, and you nod, because you are. 

A nagging thought lingers at the back of your mind. You don’t know if you’re asking for too much, but it still feels like something’s missing.

One morning, you accidentally overhear a conversation between them. The door of the tank is ajar, and right before you step inside, you recognize Logan’s voice in the distance.

“Charles, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your advice.”

There’s a pause before Charles responds. “You know, Logan… this is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.”

Logan doesn’t say anything in response to that. And if he does, you don’t stick around long enough find out, because you’re already turning on your heel.

A poet once said: “Blowjobs are fucking amazing.”

Actually, you might be wrong. Those may not have been a poet’s words, but your best friend Keira’s from high school. You remember the sleepovers at her place—she had a boyfriend at the time, a boy she had met at a party you hadn’t been invited to. 

“Welcome to blowjobs 101,” she had declared one night, holding a hairbrush like a microphone. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll tell you everything you need to know when the moment comes.”

Luckily, many years later, that moment arrived.

Just ten minutes ago, you were cooking dinner, sniffling back tears while chopping onions, so lost in thought that you didn’t realize Logan was already home. He tossed his keys onto the table, hugging you from behind seconds later. You leaned back against his chest, enjoying the scratch of his beard against your sensitive skin, his lips planting soft kisses wherever they could.

“How was work?” you dropped the knife, wiping your tears as you turned to face him, throwing your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you in tighter by the waist, giving your ass a firm squeeze.

“Hell, as usual,” he looked into your eyes, finding them all glossy. “You miss me so much you started crying?”

Of course, you didn’t talk about it—but words aren’t the only ones who can convey meaning.

You’re not sure how, but one thing led to another, and now you’re on your knees, Logan’s cock filling your mouth. Your lips, swollen and red, suck hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back, and his hips jerk deeper into your throat. “That’s it, fuck. Doin’ so good.”

Your movements are far from graceful. As a matter of fact, it’s all too sloppy and desperate. Saliva drips down your chin, some of it coating his balls, and you fondle them at the same time you bob your head. Keira’s advice plays on repeat in your mind, and you pull out every trick you know to make Logan roll his eyes.

So far, you think you’re doing pretty great, judging by the way he’s gripping the back of your head.

“H-how is this your first time suckin’ cock?” he slurs, more to himself, his voice strangled as you make eye contact with him. He brushes your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of him disappearing into your wet mouth. “God, I fuckin’ love you.”

Taken aback by his sudden confession. you involuntarily gag around him. He pulls you off his cock, not even sparing you a glance, tucking himself back into his briefs. “Wait, Logan—”

“Not now,” he mutters abruptly, withdrawing into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

But still, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

How bad is it to tell somebody you love them and then avoid them?

Yeah, it’s absolutely terrible, right? Tell that to the idiot himself—Logan Howlett.

It’s been over a week, and no matter how many times you press him for an explanation, he keeps dodging it.

Things go back to how they were before you two started fooling around, and Charles’ questions don’t take long to come: “I thought you two were getting somewhere.”

“Me too,” you admit, your voice quieter as you try to appear indifferent. You have no answer for him. Not that you don’t want to discuss your relationship problems—it’s just that you don’t know what went wrong.

When evading you isn’t enough, he works longer hours, which only adds to how little you see him. At least he lets you know if he’s going to be late, sparing you from waiting up. But apart from that, your interactions have dwindled to nothing, and it’s eating you alive.

You’re madly in love with him. You thought you knew that already, but now that he’s distant, the depth of your feelings has become clearer than ever. He’s everywhere you go, just not physically—he has conquered your mind.

And it should be funny, loving someone who used to be no more than a myth for you. Though Logan is real—maybe too real for your own good—and he hasn’t been the mutant you once read about for quite some time.

This morning, he’s having breakfast at the table when you walk into the kitchen. You hold your breath as your shoulders brush for a microsecond, his gaze following your steps. You’re no longer accustomed to sharing the same space with him, so it makes sense that you stay as far away as possible.

After an awkward silence, he stands up and mutters something about checking on Charles and giving him his meds, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It’s infuriating, how collected he seems. Why isn’t he miserable like you? Doesn’t he miss you? Didn’t you two have something… special?

I’m not gonna kiss you, but I’ll make you feel good. Just this time, ‘kay? And we don’t talk about it.

The shit I’d for you.

God, I fuckin’ love you.

Not now.

The memory of his words lingers, seared into your unconscious, but the sound of his phone jolts you out of your thoughts. It’s ringing beside the coffee machine, and you try to ignore it, determined to be the bigger person.

But after five minutes of the relentless ringtone echoing in the empty kitchen, you’ve had enough.

Unknown caller—interesting. What could he possibly be hiding?

Charles, you better keep that asshole busy, you think to yourself, swiping right to answer the call.

Before you can say anything, a woman’s voice fills the line.

“James! Thank God. It’s Gillian. You didn’t reply to any of my texts, and I was starting to get worried,” she lets out a giggle, the sound grating against your nerves.

As your grip on the phone tightens, your knuckles start to go white.

“Look, I know you said you weren’t available, but I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that ride. I didn’t see any ring on your finger, so what do you say, huh? Will you let me take you out?”

Red. You’re seeing red.

“James? Hello? Cat got your tongue?”

At last, you clear your throat. “Hey,” you greet her, pacing around the kitchen. “I’m deeply sorry, but James can’t talk right now.”

“Excuse me?” she snaps, her high-pitched voice echoing through the speakers, and you pull the device away from your ear. “This is James’ number. Who the fuck are you?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you who the fuck I am, you intolerant piece of—” before you can finish, the phone is yanked out of your hand, the call hastily ending.

There is no use in playing dumb, not when Logan’s standing right in front of you, observing you like you’re a child who’s made a severe mistake. His deep, brown eyes pierce your soul, shattering any chance you had of coming up with an excuse.

“What where you doing with my phone?” it’s the first thing he asks you, his voice still steady, the calm before the storm. Perhaps you’re not as mature as you thought you were—your forehead furrows, unwilling to back down, and you fall silent. He takes a step forward, as if he can’t believe your attitude. “I think I asked you a question. Why did you answer?”

“Gillian sounds like a lovely lady. Tell her I said ‘hi’ the next time you see her,” you croak, attempting to walk past him, but he doesn’t budge, his solid frame blocking your path. You collide with his chest, and it feels like trying to move a brick wall without success.

“We’re talking. You can’t just leave.”

The nerve of him.

“You can’t be serious,” you retort, staring at him, wishing the emotion in your tone could capture even a fraction of what you’re truly feeling. “Weren’t you the one who walked away first? After telling me you loved me?” you search for any sign of the man who once held you close, but he feels miles away, hidden under all those layers that smell like cheap whiskey and gasoline. “You didn’t mean it.”

“I did. I meant every word,” he growls, his fists clenching at his sides, and you don’t miss the exhaustion in his eyes, the dark circles that expose the fragile façade of control he’s so desperate to maintain. “Goddamit! You’re doing that thing again!”

“What thing?” you exclaim, your mouth hanging open in frustration. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m not doing anything.”

“Yes, you are! You’re trying to see through me, like you can read my mind.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but I’m not a fucking mutant. I just have eyes, Logan,” you throw your arms up, exasperated. “People actually look at each other when they have a conversation, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re testing my patience,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

“And you are testing mine,” you rest your back against the table, raising your chin. “So, who is she?”

Logan drops his shoulders, slamming his eyes shut. “I drove her once, last week. It was a long ride and she… wouldn’t stop talking. Didn’t shut up for a single second. She hit on me, but I told her I’m off the market.”

“Why? ‘Cause she talked too much?”

“No. Because I love you,” he says, pure awe transforming his expression, like he doesn’t believe he has said it out loud. “I don’t know when I started feeling like this, or if I’ve always felt it, but—I do. I love you.”

Oh.

You had heard those words slip through his lips before, but now they sound different. It might be that keeping him at arm's length has felt like death by a thousand cuts, or perhaps it’s the realization that this is the first time someone’s declaring their love for you.

Fuck. He loves you. As in, he’s in love with you?

“Then why do you keep running?” you edge closer to him, your eyes trained on his. “I’m done with the chase, Logan. It’s tiring—I am tired. I’ve been sleeping like shit, trying to figure out what—”

His arms surrounding your body, cutting you off and pulling you close. The hammering of his heart matches yours, and you return the hug, nuzzling your nose against his neck.

You fear that this might be all you’ve ever needed, feeling as if the pieces he took from you in the past are finally falling back into place. Logan holds you as if in a past life he lost you, but now, he’s decided to never let you go.

This profound sense of completeness, of being where you’re meant to be, makes you realize you’ve found home in the warmth of his embrace.

“I’m sorry. This… this scares me, alright?” he murmurs next to your ear, raking his fingers through your hair. “You make me feel things I didn’t think I could feel anymore. That’s what I’m running from—the part of me I thought was gone. But you… you brought it back.”

You feel a deep urge to curl up and cry, wondering why on earth he would ever think he was unworthy of being cared for. “Logan, I…”

“I sound pathetic, I know. It sounded way better in my head.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” you retreat a bit, looking him in the eye. He stares down at you with a tenderness you’ve never seen before. “It’s not pathetic to voice how you feel. I want to know it all, want to know everything about you.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything. But I need you to promise me that you won’t run away anymore. I know it’s difficult, but it’s not fair to any of us.”

His eyes peer directly into yours, and he gives a nod. “I promise to do my best,” he presses your foreheads together, and that’s when his mouth turns into a grin. “You’re not going to say it back?” he teases, gripping your waist. “Come on, I said it first. Twice, for the record.”

Lifting your shoulders in a half-shrug, you find it hard to conceal your smile. “I may need a bit more convincing.”

Kiss me. Kiss me. Kiss me.

Before you know it, his lips are on yours, almost making you lose your balance. You whimper into his mouth, tightening your arms around his neck as his tongue wastes no time in finding yours, stroking it sensually. The wait had been definitely worth it—you’d do everything all over again if it meant having him kiss you like this at the end of the day.

He tilts your face so that he can deepen the kiss, and a whine gets caught in your throat when his fingers pull gently at the hair at your nape, nibbling at your bottom lip. 

“I love you, too. Very much, to be honest,” you blurt out against his mouth, pleased with the way he laughs at your reaction, squeezing your hips. “But I still have some ideas in mind.”

“I’m all ears.”

Here goes nothing. “Fuck me like I’ve been asking you to,” you cup his cheeks, guiding your lips into his once again. “Please,” you mewl, standing on your tiptoes. “Want you to be my first.”

If it were up to you, you would’ve begged him to take you right there on the kitchen floor. But Logan, ever the gentleman, insists on moving things to his room. Each of his movements is slow, igniting your skin with a burning heat, leaving his name imprinted where his teeth sink into your soft flesh.

You’re left in nothing but your underwear by the time he murmurs: “Let me take my time with you,” trailing his lips down your chest, your stomach, until he’s planting several kisses along your ankle. “I don’t know how I got so lucky, baby. Look at you.”

Under his gaze, you feel shy, your eyes snapping to the ceiling instead. “Shut up,” you say, tugging at his shirt to undress him, your fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen before you pull him into a bruising kiss, sucking on his tongue.

He strips out of his black slacks and hovers over you, his clothed cock grinding against your throbbing core, eliciting a moan from both of you. “So goddamn beautiful. Can’t believe you’re mine,” his tip grazes your entrance through the fabric, making your toes curl in ectasy. “I’m gonna make you feel good, I swear.”

At first, he’s extremely careful, making sure to stretch you out with his fingers while you stroke him, pumping your fist to match his rhythm. “Keep that up and this’ll be over sooner than expected,” he warns, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

It doesn’t happen like it does in the books or movies. No foreplay could’ve prepared you for the moment he enters you. You move clumsily beneath him, your nose bumping into his forehead as he eases the first inch of his length inside.

For a moment, you’re not certain which hurts most: the dull ache in your nose or the way he’s splitting you open. 

Logan freezes, his eyes wide in concern. “Shit. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Are you okay?” His hand cradles your face as he props himself up on one forearm, pushing your hair back while you adjust to his size. You laugh despite the sting, and he wipes away your tears with his thumb. “You’re laughing?”

“I’m just happy,” you manage to get through the lump in your throat, raking your nails down his back, feeling the rough texture of the scars beneath your fingers. “I love you. Since that day at the bar, I—” you pause for a second, gasping at the sudden wave of pleasure when he twitches inside you. “I’ll always love you. F-forever.”

As you wrap your legs around his waist and tell him you’re ready, something inside him shifts. He feels like a madman, eyes are fixed on your face the whole time, searching for any hint of discomfort, though he occasionally glances down at the place where your bodies meet and become one, entranced by the sight of you taking him in, slick coating his length. 

Your heels dig into his lower back, pulling him back to the present—back to you, with your pretty tits bouncing each time he pistols his hips, the intensity of his thrusts increasing.

“All those times you took care of me, when you—Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw to regain some of his composure, his humid breath dampening your skin. Your scent drives him wild, and he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. “You made me feel loved when no one else did. My girl, love you so f-fucking much.”

His pace is nothing more than a voiceless testament to everything he feels but can’t find words to express.

With each minute that passes, your dripping cunt grips him tighter and tighter, his thrusts losing finesse. He needs you to come first—why does he feel like a virgin?

When you tell him you’re close, the world around him turns into a musical. You cling to the sheets, the mattress creaking noisily as he clutches the headboard, determined to find that angle that will push you over the edge. “That’s it, sing for me,” Logan mutters from above, hypnotized by the crease forming between your brows. “Come on, let go.”

Time seems to slow down as your muscles tense and you clamp around him, your body sagging against him. His name spills from your lips in breathy whimpers, like an endless prayer, and your mouth engulfs his, tongues and teeth clashing in a fevered kiss.

Soon after that, he surrenders to the coiling tension deep within him, pulling out just in time to stroke himself once, twice, before emptying his hot load across your mound. You gently thumb the head of his cock, coaxing out every last drop of his hot seed. He’s panting as he comes down from his high, his brain foggy and blissfully blank for a while. 

Logan loses track of how many times he tells you he loves you—he does it when he pulls you into his chest, when his lips press against your temple, and when you crack that smile, the one that resembles the very purpose of his existence.

“So this is what it feels like,” his voice sounds low like a murmur near your ear, and you stir, half-asleep.

“Hmm?”

“It’s nothing, baby. I was just thinking aloud.”

You don’t have to talk about it, at least not know. Deep down, he knows that whatever thoughts run through his mind will somehow find their way into yours.

This is what life looks like. You should take a moment and feel it. You still have time.

And, man, is he feeling it.

dividers by: @cafekitsune thank you!!! :)

[pparkerreads]

Unexplainable | "What's Wrong?"

Unexplainable Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester x OC

Word Count: 2.3k

i was at my house, my parents and brother were still at my grandma's so i was staying here for a couple of days. it was quiet but, nice. i was in the kitchen looking at the take out menu that my dad always had handy when mom would burn the food. i was looking at the chinese before my phone started to ring. i answered it and put it on speaker, not looking at the caller id.

"hello?"

"hey, belle."

"dean? what's wrong?"

"where are you?"

"at my house why?"

"can i swing by to talk to you."

"yeah, of course. what's up?"

"i'll tell you when i get there." and with that he hung up the phone. i sigh before dialing the number of the chinese restaurant.

"hi, can i get take out please." i said before giving them my order.

i was sat on the couch watching some rerun of gilmore girls while eating my chinese food when i heard a knock on the door. i get up and walked to it. i opened it up to see an upset dean. he said nothing, just walked in and hugged me. his arms were around my waist as he leaned down holding me in his arms. i rubbed the back of his head playing with his hair.

"what's wrong dean?" i say before pulling away from the hug to look him in his green eyes.

"ben he, he called acting like lisa was hurt so i rushed over there just to find out i was caught in a parent trap. i got into a fight with both of them and i just-" he says as i see how upset he was. i motion him to the couch in the living room. we both sit down and i turn down the tv.

"dean. did you and lisa break up?" i ask and he just nodded. "what was the fight with them about?"

"lisa was going on a date. we argued about how i never answered her calls, how i wasn't talking to her at all so she decided to try and move on." i smile sympatheticly at him. "ben he was upset that i left in the first place. he said that i was leaving my family behind. even though i was doing it for their own safety."

"dean, i know what it's like to have to leave the people you love behind to protect them. it's hard but your doing it for their own benefit, ben may just not see it yet he's just a kid. you can't blame him for being sad that you aren't there anymore." he nods looking up from his previous gaze which was at his hands in his lap.

"how did you cope?" he says looking at me sadness coming through his voice.

"i thought about how much more of a life he got to live by not getting wrapped up in mine. dean we have our destiny laid out in front of us. we are meant to be hunters. we both have tried to get out of the life but just get reeled back in. i know it hurts a lot right now. but in the end the people you love that can have a normal life will be safe." dean looks at me for a second before hugging me again.

he pulls back looking at me, he looks down from my eyes to my lips. he leans in giving me a sweet kiss, pulling me closer to him with his hand on my waist while i pull mine up to his face. he pulls away staring at me in my eyes for a second.

"uh, can i stay here for the night?" dean asks as we stay in the same position on the couch.

"yeah." i say nodding. "we have a guest bedroom, you can stay there if you want to."

"sounds good." he keeps his hand on my waist as my hands now rests on his chest. i breathe out getting up walking to the stairs.

"are you coming?" i say motioning to the stairs. he gets up and walks up behind me as we go up the stairs. we get to the room that is right next to mine, i open the door to show a queen bed that sat next to the window. "this is it. my room is right next door if you need me."

"goodnight, dean." i say before turning around, walking over to my room. i smile at him before opening my door to the bedroom.

2008

"did you hear?" i got a call from another hunter friend randomly. i figured that it was just her calling about a hunt but, this was bigger than that.

"hear what?" i say, confused as i keep my eyes on the road.

"dean winchester. he's back from hell." i screech to a stop in my car. good thing there was no one behind me on this lonely highway. i breathe in and out heavily not saying a word. "belle. belle!"

"do you know where he is."

"no clue. but i heard from one of bobby's friends."

"i got to go." i say, not listening to her shouts of my name into the phone as i hang up. i instantly call bobby. he picks up the phone after a few rings.

"hello?" i hear from the other line.

"hey bobby. it's belle. i heard about dean, do you know where he is?"

"um, he's here right now."

"okay, i'm on my way. i should be there in about an hour i'm in iowa right now."

"okay, we will be waiting on you."

i hang up, making a u-turn in my car before zooming to bobby's house. i can't believe that dean is back. how the hell did he get out of hell?

"morning dean." i say as dean comes into the kitchen, i am making breakfast. waffles, bacon, and eggs.

"smells good." he says, sitting down at the counter on the stools.

"thanks." i put the bacon on a plate bring it over to dean. i sit it on the counter and he picks up a piece looking up at me with a smile. he takes a bit closing his eyes as the flavor rushes through his mouth and down his throat.

"figured you'd like me making breakfast before you hit the road." he looks down picking up another piece of bacon, not smiling at me this time. "i just assumed you would be. you never tend to stick around."

"i might later, but right now i'll stick around if that's okay with you." he says looking up at me with his skeptical green eyes.

"that's fine. i just thought you might want to get back to sam." i say turning back to the counter next to the stove getting the plate of waffles and eggs bring them as well over to dean.

"um, i don't really want to talk to him about the whole lisa and ben situation yet." he gets one of the clear plates i had laid out earlier, he puts a waffle, some eggs, and more bacon on the plate grabbing a fork and going to town.

"okay, that's fine with me. you can stay as long as you like." i say smiling at him before coming around the kitchen counter to sit next to dean on a kitchen stool. we silently eat our breakfast, after ward dean insists on cleaning up. we argue for a minute before i finally give in, i go into the living room turning on the tv flipping through the channels. eventually i land on a movie channel and bring it on was playing.

"oh, come on. this movie really?" i turn around to see dean walking into the room with a beer in his hand as he comes over to sit next to me on the couch.

"this is a good movie." i say turning to him after he sits down. we were in a similar position as last night.

"no, it's not." he says shaking his head, taking a sip of his beer. i roll my eyes turning back to the tv ignoring him. i can see out of the corner of my eye that he's staring at me.

"you know, about last night." he says keeping his eyes on mine as i turn to him again. "if that kiss was a little too forward i get it-"

"dean. it's fine." i say putting my hand on his shoulder. he stares into my eyes, i find myself flashing back to last night. this time he puts one of his hands on my cheek and the other on my waist, resting on my hip. "dean-" he shuts me up before i can say another word, he kisses me again. i put my hands on his chest, melting into the kiss.

we pull away after i couple of minutes looking into each other's eyes longingly. his thumb rubs against my face, as i bring my hands up to his neck. i can't help but feel the closest i've ever been with dean out of all the years i've known him. and all we did was just kiss. then my thoughts went to sam, and i felt guilty. me and sam were never together but, i knew about his feelings toward me and i was here, kissing his brother.

my thoughts reached my face, dean notices the guilt filled look and he squeezes my hip with his hand that was rested on it trying to get my attention back on him again.

"belle, what's wrong?" he looks at me with concern in his beautiful green eyes. i sigh looking away from him as my hands went down his chest.

"i can't do this." i say before getting up causing his hands to fall from my body. i pace behind the coffee table as all that guilt sores through my bones.

"what do you mean? it's not like you didn't kiss me back. why did you kiss me back if you 'can't do this'?" he says anger raising in his voice.

"dean. i want to. i really do. i just can't." i say while i make my way back to dean sitting next to him on the couch bringing his hands in mine. he doesn't look at me at all. he stares in front of himself. "sam, he told me something when he first got back that i just can't do this to him."

"this is about sam?" he says looking at me with a 'really?' type of look. "i know you and him had a kind of flirty relationship, but i thought that was it?"

"after he found out about what he did, that he was soulless. he told me that he did have feelings for me." i say, the guilt look still plastered all over my face. he looks at me for a second before looking away again. "dean. i don't want things to be weird between us. i do like you dean. i just can't do that to your brother."

"you mean that you like both of us and you don't know who to choose." he says looking at me with a hard look. "me and sam found that little journal of yours that talked about how you were supposed to be with one of us. that that's your fate. so, at some point your going to have to choose."

he gets up and grabs his coat heading for the door. "i'm not going to sit around waiting for you to decide. listen we're good, but i think it'll be good for both of us to keep this a secret." i stand up making my way for to him.

"so are you leaving?" i say looking at him, having hurt in my eyes.

"yeah. i'll see you later." he says opening the door, leaving my house. he gets into the impala and drive off while i stand on the porch watching him go.

2008

i rush up to bobby's house knocking on the door. i wait for a second, getting nervous. dean opens the door and i instantly put my arms around his neck pulling him into a hug. he slowly puts his arms around my waist hugging me back.

"it's good to see you too belle." he says laughing a little. i pull away from him and look him in his eyes.

"you're back. how?"

"yeah. about that. i kind of got brought back up to this beautiful earth by an angel." i stare at him confused. "come in. i'll explain more." he says before motioning me to come in. i follow suit and walk into the house. 

after dean had told me everything, i was still kind of in shock. i couldn't believe that angels were actually real.

"wow. that's pretty crazy." i say rubbing my face before looking up at him.

"yeah, i'm still kind of stuck on the whole angels are real thing myself." he says smiling slightly, while looking down at me where i sat down.

"i'm really glad you're back though dean." i say standing up making my way to him.

"yeah. me too." i sigh as he says this, bringing him into another hug. i pull away looking back to his eyes.

"look, i know that i am a dick for leaving now. but i was on my way to a case and i got a call saying that you were alive so i raced over here-"

"i get it. you can go." i sigh making my way to the door and dean follows me there. i open the door, looking back to him one last time.

"goodbye, dean."

"goodbye, belle."

A/n: omgosh looking back on this, it is so bad. 2020 me writing though so keep that in mind.

[pparkerreads]

Unexplainable | Sam's Back

Dean Winchester X OC

Unexplainable Series

Word Count: 5.3k

"what's wrong sam?" i ask, he sighs looking down before looking back up at me again.

"i'm sorry. for everything i did to you while i was soulless. shamelessly flirting with you. toying with your feelings. i'm really sorry." i sigh looking into his hurt filled eyes.

"sam, it's not your fault. you didn't care." i say putting my hand on his that was laying on the table.

"i do now. belle, when you showed me your home and that field. i felt connected to you. those feelings. i do like you belle. i have since then. which for you was a long time but for me not so much. i just want you to know that, just because i didn't care then doesn't mean i don't care now." i nod before pulling him into a hug. i pull away looking at him confused again.

"wait, who told you?"

"cas."

"ah." he sighs getting up from the table.

"i'm gonna go talk to dean." i nod as i watch him walk away. maybe my grandma was right. only time will tell. 

bobby had brought us into the living room to his desk. he wanted to tell us about the journal we had found in the dragons lair.me, bobby and dean sat in the living room of bobby's house. bobby was on one side of the desk while me and dean sat on the other.

"sam's still asleep?" bobby ask as he sips on his whiskey in his hand.

"yeah." dean mumbles out as he doesn't look at bobby.

"he'll wake up." i say looking at dean. he keeps his eyes away from us.

"yeah." dean says again.

"dean, he's been through how much? somehow he always bounces back." bobby says trying to lift dean's spirits up a bit.

"he's never been through this." dean drags on as he looks down at the paper in front of bobby. "job?"

"hmm, might be." bobby says throwing the piece of paper over to dean so he could see it. dean picks it up.

"can i help? send me to the library? anything?" i look at dean as he asks this. the whole conversation that cas and him had just a few minutes ago, really didn't sit well in him. he was scared that he would lose his brother.

"couple goes up on a light plane. wreckage was found in the woods." bobby explains.

"couple of buddy hollys doesn't really seem like 'news of the weird.'" dean says handing bobby back the paper as he leaned back in his seat. bobby hands be the paper before explaining more.

"pilot was found seventeen miles away, flambéed. girl's just gone. no body, no nothing." hm, that's interesting.

"okay, i'm not changing the channel."

"dean." we hear from behind us. me and dean turn around quickly to see sam standing there. sam slowly walks into the room. looking at all of us with this still look on his face.

"sam?" dean says as he stands up. sam rushes over to dean giving him a big hug. me and bobby stand up, bobby makes his way around the table.

after sam hugs dean, he notices me and bobby. sam hugs me, his arms around my waist and mine around his neck. he holds me for a second, i can feel his breathe hitting my neck. he pulls away from me giving me a slight smile before he made his way to bobby.

they embrace for a second. "good to see you." bobby says as sam pulls back.

"wait. i saw you- i felt lucifer snap your neck." sam says looking at him confused. dean look at me for a second with a 'he doesn't remember' look.

"well, cas kind of-" bobby was cut off my sam.

"cas is alive?" sam says as he lets out a heavy breathe of relief.

"yeah, cas is fine. sam, are you okay?" dean says as he walks closer to him. sam smiles a little, before waiting a second to reply.

"actually, umm.. i'm starving." we all look at each other before i go to the kitchen and make sam a sandwich. he sits at the table and starts to eat, me and dean sit with him at the table.

"so, sam." dean starts off.

"yeah?"

"what's the last thing you remember?" dean asks as sam thinks for a second.

"the field, and then i fell." sam says as he glances at all of us before returning his attention to dean.

"okay, and then?" dean tries to pry more.

"um, i woke up in the panic room." death's barrier he put on sam's soul must have worked.

"that's it?" bobby questions. "you really don't remember-?"

"let's be glad." dean says cutting off bobby giving him a look. "who want to remember all that hell?"

"well, how long was i gone?" sam asks looking to me and bobby.

"about a year and a half." i say looking at sam with hurt in my eyes.

"what?" he glances back to dean. "i was downstairs-? i don't remember anything. so how'd i get back? was it cas? or did you find a way using magic?" he says looking to me questionably.

"not exactly." dean says making sam look at him while he just looked down at the table.

"dean, what did you do?" i look away not exactly wanting to be here for this part of the conversation.

"me and death-" dean says looking up at sam, which he was soon cut off.

"death? the horsemen?" sam asks raising his voice.

"i had leverage. it's done."

"you sure?"

"it's over. slate's wiped."

"well, isn't this just neat and clean?" i was glad that bobby said something. i would normally but dean was still mad at me, he was just hiding it mostly.

"yes, it is, for once." dean and bobby share a look making the room silent for a minute.

"is there anything else i should know?" sam asks looking to dean for an answer.

"no." dean says shaking his head. i try to keep a happy look on my face for sam's sake. "another beer?" dean asks him motioning to the bottle.

"uh, yeah." dean gets up and heads over to the fridge.

after a while bobby had gone outside and dean went to go check on him, which left me and sam alone. me and sam sat on the couch as we started to talk.

"so, how have you been the last year and a half. you haven't really said anything." sam says taking a sip of his beer. i half expected him to put his hand on my leg like he had been doing before, but then i remember that that was sam without a soul.

"um, nothing super. dean met my family." i laugh a little looking down at my hands. "my dad thinks he has a thing for me but, he thinks that every guy that comes by our house does. on a sadder note, my grandma died a couple of weeks ago." i look back up to sam to see him with a sad look on his face.

"i'm really sorry belle." he says putting his hand on mine which was on my lap still.

"it's fine, she was a great woman. i miss her but, i got some of her journal's, so did my brother. they are pretty interesting. some are about her witchcraft and others are just about life events, like when me, my dad and my brother were born. or when my dad got married, even when she got married." he smiles at me as he sees my face glow when i talk about it.

"that's great. have you started reading any yet?" he asks, keeping his hand still on mine.

"some, my brother and me read this one about when i was born. she mentioned how she thought i might be the natural witch. i guess she was right. my dad said that she always was." i say look in his eyes. he was very interested.

"i would love to read some of those, if you'd let me." he says kind of not sure if he should ask or not.

"yeah, i'm sure she wouldn't have minded. she told me to stick with you guys before she died. i guess she knew that my future lied with you both." he laughs a little.

"belle, i want you to know that i'm always going to be there for you. i kind of figured out that you and dean aren't in a good place. just the way he was acting." i sigh looking away.

"yeah, he's kind of mad at me for something stupid. he'll get over it. you know how dean is, stubborn." we both laugh. 

me, dean, and bobby are outside packing up the car. bobby and dean were going to go check out a hunt that they talked about earlier. i was planning to stay here with sam. dean closes the truck of the car as we finish putting everything in.

"sam still asleep?" bobby questions as he opens the door to the impala to put his bag in the front.

"yeah, let him rest. we'll call him later." dean says before we hear sam from behind us.

"call me from where?" sam asks as we all turn around to face him.

"oh. uh, there's this thing in oregon." dean starts to explain but sam cuts him off before he can finish.

"great. i'm in."

"whoa, whoa, you just got vertical."

"exactly. i'm up. i'm good."

"a few more days of cable couldn't hurt you." dean trys to protest.

"right, because that's what you did when you got back from hell." dean didn't try to argue with him.

"all right. you, me and bobby. and belle if you want to come." i nod at him.

"oh, you three go on ahead. you got this covered. i, uh, forgot i promised that idjit rufus i'd work the phones for him, so..." bobby says as he brings his bag from the car with him.

"you sure?" i ask bobby.

"yeah, yeah, yeah. you three enjoy catching up, okay?" he says before walking away. we all turn and look at him for a second.

"what was that?" sam asks, turning to dean.

"one part age, three parts liquor." dean says before making his way to the car. 

i slept most of the way there, being super tired still from the drive to sioux falls two days before. we got to portland not to long and we started to work the case. we went to the sister of the recent victims house to ask her some questions.

"you're, uh, penny dessertine's sister, right?" dean asks after we show her our badges. she nods at us.

"uh, we'd just like to ask you a few questions." sam says with his normal nice voice.

"look, the cops already came by. i'm tired. so if you don't mind." she says looking at us, hoping that we would just go away.

"i understand. really, i do. i know how hard this must be. we'd just like to figure out what happened. this will be quick, i promise." sam always did have a way with words.

"okay. fine. come in." she says moving into the house as we all follow her, dean lingering behind.

she had brought us to her room to look around. sam was looking down at a picture of penny and a guy. i stood next to him looking at the picture as well.

"penny was very shy. to herself." me and sam look up to her sister as she talked. "not at all what you'd call adventurous."

"not like flying through a lightning storm in a two-seater." dean says as he stands next to the night stand near the window.

"she was terrified of that thing. she just did it for stan."

"stan?" i say looking at her questionably.

"they were just starting to get serious. she didn't want to seem, you know, not interested. i just wish i'd told her to stay home. we don't even have a body to bury." we all look at her sadly. sam looks back down at the picture continuing to examine it.

sam was sitting at the table in the motel room while i laid down on one of the beds reading one of my grandma's journals. sam was researching. dean can through the door with drinks and food in his hands. sam said a quick hey before dean closed the door with his foot.

"what do you got?" dean asked making his way over to the table that sam sat at putting the food on the table.

"well, looks like those other two missing girls baked cookies for the lord." sam says as dean makes his way over to his bed which was across from sam's which was the one i was on.

"what is that, code?" dean asks turning back to sam.

"no. church choir, bake sales, uh, promise ring clubs, the works. they were good girls. but penny wasn't even a christian, so-" sam explains but is soon cut off by dean.

"i have another theory." dean says as he pulls out a diary.  "penny's diary."

"did you steal that from her room?" sam asks as i look up from the journal in front of me to dean. 

"i love that you even ask me that."

"and why wouldn't i?" well sam you wouldn't have for the last year and a half but, you don't know that.

"no reason. so girlnappings. what if it's not about religion? what if it's about purity?" dean pauses as him and sam share a look.

"you mean you think they're all-?" i question thinking i'm on the same page as dean.

"virgins, belle. virgins." dean says giving me a look before sitting on the chair across from sam.

"penny was twenty two." sam says not really believing it.

"yeah, with a pink room." dean says flipping through the pages of the diary he had in his hands.

"so?"

"and stuffed teddy bears." i say looking at sam with a tight smile.

"fine, but you really think-?" sam says while looking from me to dean. dean cuts him off by holding his finger up before reading from the diary.

"'i've decided i'm going to give stan my most precious gift.'" dean quotes from the girl before holding his arms out in a 'i'm right' gesture.

"wow. that sounded really creepy coming out of you mouth." sam says looking down kind of grossed out. i nod my head getting up to stand next to dean, as i read over his shoulder.

"i think i delivered it." dean says seeming full of himself.

"you know, you could have led with the diary, you know?" sam says as dean continues to flip through the diary and we both skim the pages. "anyways, let's say you're right. fine. who would want virgins?"

"some guys are into that." i say shrugging taking a seat back on the bed.

"i prefer ladies with experience." dean says smirking at sam as a joke. i laugh a little before going back to the journal i was reading once before. 

we heard of another victim, this one was left alive. we were in her room in the hospital questioning her. she was laid sideways on the bed looking up at us.

"it happened so fast."

"it's all right, melissa. what came at you? you can tell us." sam says looking at her with his sincere eyes.

"it-it looked like, uh.. a giant bat." sam and dean look to each other as melissa looked at them knowing what they were thinking.

"you think i'm making it up, right? that's what the other man said." she says looking away laying back onto her pillow.

"well, we aren't the other guy." i say as she meet my eyes. she started to open up more.

"it came right at me. it was huge. i swear. that's how i got this." she pulled her gown over to show us her back. she had deep cuts going down from her shoulder blade to her mid back. they had been stitched up but they still looked awful.

"so, it attacked, then what happened?" sam questions as the girl pulls the gown back to cover her before going back to the same position.

"i don't know. i passed out and when i woke up, it was gone." hm, why would it do that? maybe she's not a virgin and it didn't want her.

"anything else you can think of? anything you can tell us, even if it doesn't  important?"

"well, my ring got lost. or else that thing stole it, if that makes any sense."

"what kind of ring?" dean asks and melissa is quick to answer.

"gold. promise ring."

"promise ring. so, uh, from, like, a church, like a purity ring?" dean rambles with his question.

"yeah. why?"

dean cleared his throat. "i gotta ask. ahh... melissa, look, nobody is judging anybody here, okay? believe me. but should you really be wearing that ring?" dean caught on to my thoughts to.

"well, i mean, i am-"

"really?" melissa and dean share a harsh look. me and sam kind of sat there awkwardly.

"matt barne didn't count."

soon after we leave the hospital. we were still trying to figure out what this was and what the motive was with the virgins.

"so, what, you think batman tried to rape her?" sam asks as we start to walk out of the hospital and to the car.

"well, he does carry a lot of rage. but he rejected her because she was already dehymenated, huh?" dean went on.

"you think?" i ask looking to dean as i tried to keep up with them.

"i think it just goes to show that being easy is pretty much all upside." i roll my eyes and sam scoffs.

"so, what kind of thing likes virgins and gold?" sam asks exchanging glances with me and dean. i shrugged.

"p. diddy?" dean jokes, sam rolls his eyes.

"you know, it's comforting."

"what?"

"i did for a year, came back and you're still not funny." i laugh at sam's joke as we get to the car opening our doors.

"shut up. i'm hilarious." dean says as we get into the car. 

when we get back to the motel i decide to take a nap while the boys do research. i wake up to find only sam. he was looking through lore.

"hey, you're awake." he says looking over at me. "we figured it out, well sort of. we think it's a dragon."

i sigh sitting up rubbing a face with my hand for a second before getting up and heading over to sam sitting next to him. "i thought those didn't exist."

"well, apparently they do. and they like virgins." i laugh a little, we both stare into each other's eyes for a second.

"so, do you know where they hid out or how to kill them?" i say breaking the eye contact and looking to the laptop in front of us. i sit down on the chair next to him.

"um, dean is going to see one of bobby's friends about it and all i can find is caves." i let out a deep sigh before leaning back in my chair. sam gets up and heads over to the wall with all the pictures of the girls and the map on it. he looks at it for a second before pulling out his phone calling someone.

"hey. um, he went to go see your friend. so look, i'm trying to figure out where this thing lairs up. little help, maybe?" bobby. while he's talking he come and sits back down in the chair facing me. "... caves, basically. but there's nothing around for miles.... huh." he says getting up again going around me back over to the wall with the pictures. i turn to look with him but stay in my chair. "well, um, there's no subway lines. sewers. that could be it. thanks... wait, bobby. wait, um. you okay?.." i look at him confused. was there something wrong with bobby?

".. besides the way you've been acting and talking, nothing." sam says into the phone kind of acting like a dad talking to his attitude filled kid. "is there something i should know?" he continues walking pacing a little around the room.

"...well, bobby, what happened this last year?" sam asks sitting in front of me again. i give him a 'what are y'all talking about?' look and he holds up his finger to tell me to wait a second. "right. of course." he tries to say more but bobby hanging up gets him before he can talk. he stays silent for a minute throwing his phone across the table. i get up grabbing my phone.

"hey, i'm going to go get some food. you want anything?" i say and he looks up for a second.

"no thanks." i sigh turning around the the door, i pull it closed behind me before heading down the street to the diner i saw on the way in. 

when dean gets back he comes in with a half broken sword that we are supposed to use to slay the dragon.

"what are we supposed to do with this dean, give it a booster shot?" sam questions eyeing the sword as i stood next to him doing the same.

"it's what we got. we just have to get closer. that's all." dean says as sam hands him back the broken sword. "where are we on the caves?"

"nowhere. sewers, on the other hand. here, check this out." sam says as him and dean go to the map on the table i look at the journal that used to be on the bed was now on the table as well. i hope sam didn't read it. it's the one about when i was born. that would be awkward. "so two of the disappearances happened with in a mile of here. so i figured we start there, work out way around." pointing to a spot on the map.

"awesome. who doesn't love sewers?" i raise my hand but they both ignore my joke. "let's go." dean walks over to get some supplies while i get some of my stuff as well. sam staying in the same place. "what?" dean says looking at sam confused.

"nothing. uh yeah, let's go." he says after sighing and heading with us to the door.

we get down into the sewers and the smell is awful.

"oh, God. just when i get used to a smell, i hit a new favor. dude, we have been here for hours. there is nothing. i think the lore is off. hey, what if dragons like nice hotels?" dean rambles as we head down a set of stairs and look around the new found area we have reached. sam looks to the other side of me and dean pointing his flashlight.

"what is that?" sam says as me and dean both turn to the pile of gold trinkets sam had is flashlight on.

"holy crap." dean says walking over to it. he bends down and picks a bracelet in his hand eyeing it. "okay. maybe there are dragons here."

"wait. dean, not right now. check this out." i say looking down the hall we hadn't adventured to yet, noticing something strange.

we walk down to see a ledge hanging out acting as some soft of table. on it were candles, lit and other trinkets placed around. a notebook was placed in the middle of it all.

"a little arts-and-crafty for a giant bat, right?" sam questions as dean picks up the journal. "huh."

"hello? is someone there? can you help us?" we heard someone yell from another room. we start to proceed toward the voice. we come to this big open room as we walk across a bridge like walkway, it was metal and was scary in my opinion. "hello? over here."

we heard the voice again but it was closer. we get to the voice to see a group of girls trapped in a metal cage, similar to the bridge we had been walking on. "help us." we bend down to look for a way to get them out.

"hey. we're going to get you out." dean says looking at the frightened girls.

"he's coming back." one of them says. sam says a quick okay and goes to open the cage but is pulled away quickly. dean stands up quickly as i do too. dean has the half broken sword at the ready.

"where do you think you're gonna stick that?" the man that we assumed was the dragon said. dean charges and slices into his arm a little cutting him. i think that dean has it covered so i head over to sam to make sure he's okay.

"sam." i say trying to shake him awake, it doesn't work. i look up and notice that the dragon had knocked the half broken sword out of his hands and was now approaching him with his hand red hot. i come up behind him with a floating metal bar i had found hitting him across the head, distracting him from dean so he could get the sword. sam had woken up and grabbed the metal bar that was now away from me since i did that with my powers, he hit the dragon again continuing to distract him. i use my powers to hold him back so that sam could get some good hits in. before i know it sam accidentally pushes me back and the dragon is released from my grip for a second. this lets him grab the iron rod with his hot hand before sam can get another lick in.

i noticed dean getting picked up from where he was trying to get the sword by what looks like another dragon. i get close to the sword enough from me to be able to get it out from were it was. "sam!" i yell giving him the half broken weapon. at least one of us was armed. if only i could kill dragons with my magics this would be a lot easier.

sam cuts the dragon in front of him before turning and stabbing the one that was trying to attack dean. all of us staring at the dead one, before turning around just in time for the other to disappear. 

we get back to bobby's i head inside, trying to cool down from the hunt. i sigh sitting in the kitchen. sam comes up to me and sits down. he looks at me with a sad smile. i tilt my head a little confused.

"now, as near as i can figure it, this dates back around the fourteenth century." bobby says turning to book over as he sits down in his chair. me, sam and dean gather around to look at the book. sam and dean are leaned down, while i am sat on the side of the desk looking over at it.

"what language is it in?" i ask wondering if maybe i could translate it. good thing about being a witch is that you have to learn multiple languages to perform spells. most of the spells are in latin so, my mom taught me since i was in fourth grade which caused me to now be fluent. thanks mom.

"da vinci code." welp i'm out. don't know that. sam flips through the pages i look through them noticing something. i think it's made out of human skin. ew. "real obscure latinate. gonna take me my golden years to translate it."

sam goes over to get a chair and brings it over to sit down. "oh, and, uh, fyi... that ain't paper." bobby says pointing to the book.

"what is it?" dean says with a confused look on his face.

"human skin. right bobby?" i say looking to him as he nods and we both look back to the boys to see slightly disgusted faces.

"okay. i'm fairly clear on this first bit. it basically describes this place. it's like the backside of your worst nightmares. it's all blood and bone and darkness. filled with the bodies and souls of all things hungry, sharp and nasty." bobby explains. i take a deep breath, i think i know what he's talking about.

"monsters?" sam questions clarifying what he was thinking.

"it's monster land. according to this, it goes by many names, most of which i cant pronounce, but i'm thinking you know purgatory." my heart slightly drops. i mean, there's rumors of that place but i was hoping it was fake.

"purgatory?" dean asks looking at bobby a little weirded out. "awesome. well, that is, ahem, good to know." dean grabs a glass and the whiskey starting to pour himself some before he continued.

"so you're saying that these dragon freaks were squatting in the sewers and reading tone poems about purgatory?" dean asks sitting down in the chair that was next to us.

"no, dean." i say rolling my eyes looking back at bobby. i was already picking up that this was a bigger deal.

"they're reading an instruction manual." bobby says making dean look at him crazy.

"what?"

"yeah. if you're nuts enough to want access to a place that gnarly this book will show you how to open a door." i sigh.

"door to purgatory. i know a demon who would have loved to have known about that. so how do you open the door?" dean asks as we all look to bobby for the answer. bobby flips over the page to see where one was ripped out.

"ask cloverfield. i'm pretty sure he's got that page. it gets worse."

"worse?" i ask, not really enjoying this subject.

"this ain't talking about how to take a vacation over there. this is all about opening a door to let something in."

"bring something here." sam says in clarification. "what?"

"i'm working on it." we all exchange looks not excited about what bobby had just told us.

"well, can you give us something?" dean asks.

"i got a name."

"okay."

"mother?" bobby even questions himself not completely sure.

"mother? mother of what? mother of dragons?" sam asks looking to bobby for answers.

"i wish. it says it a few times here. mother of all."

"what the hell does 'mother of all' mean?" dean asks confused as well as all of us.

"i don't know." bobby says looking down.

"i can't believe this." i say getting up and going to the kitchen.

"what, belle?" dean asks concerned.

"this is just too crazy. two days ago i read in one of my grandmothers journal about this place and how when i die i might end up there, to now how were are finding out about it." i say starting to pace walking from the kitchen back to the living room.

"what do you mean when you die you go there? you're not a monster." sam says looking at me confused.

"not personally. but literally i guess i am. the perks of being a natural witch are pretty good, power that only grows that you don't even have to work to get but, when it comes to death that seems to be the curse. at least that's what my grandmother thinks. everyone else in my family are practiced so, they don't go there. but i might." i say starting to ramble looking at the three men fear dropping from my voice. "this is too scary."

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Dean Winchester:

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Unexplainable

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