#I WANT KEVIN TO KILL A DEMON WITH HIS BARE HANDS | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

primatechnosynthpop · 2 years

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Like A Catabolic Seed (I Want To Destroy Everything That's Mine)

Something's wrong with Neil.

He knows that much, and the others know too. He tries to hide it anyway. Don't worry about it, guys, I'm fine, honest-- No, not honest, and certainly not fooling anyone. But he puts on the act anyway.

Beneath the washed-out yellow bathroom light, he wraps a bandaid around his paper cut and pauses to take a long hard look at himself in the mirror. Pushing back his overgrown bangs reveals bloodshot eyes whose colour looks a little off. Maybe it's just the lighting... yeah, that's what he'd say if someone asked, but deep down he knows that's not it. His stomach turns with discomfort. Below those discoloured eyes, his skin is pale and clammy, seeming to press a little tighter than usual around his cheekbones. And ooh, his mouth... it's itching again. Lately he's had the urge to gnaw on things like a teething puppy. And they're not acting up right now, but his forehead and shoulderblades have been periodically aching in a way he hasn't felt since teenage growing pains. Finally, his fingernails need to be trimmed--when did they get so long and sharp?

Well, he can't do anything about 83.3% of his problems, but at least he can trim his nails. He reaches for the vanity and--

The glass cracks as suddenly as the lightning bolt that struck him the day before. Neil staggers back, eyes wide, hands instinctively clutching at his chest. He can feel his pounding heart, and... it's wrong. The rhythm is all wrong. His breaths come quick and shallow and distorted, wrong. Gosh, his teeth really hurt. He runs his tongue around the inside of his mouth and ooh, that's not the shape those teeth should be but more importantly, man, I could really go for a nice bloody steak right now. Just the thought of sinking his teeth into flesh makes him start salivating right there in front of the broken bathroom mirror.

Never mind the nail clippers. He can just chew them down--not a usual habit of his, but in this case it'll be killing two birds with one stone. And oh does he ever want those two birds dead. Heck, he wants the whole flock demolished and served to him on a silver platter!

Back in the living room, his friends are waiting for him with matching concerned looks etched across their faces. Neil takes a seat next to them and forces a grin.

"Everything okay, Neil?" Kevin asks.

"Yeah, you sure took a while in there," Ryan adds with a questioning tilt of his head.

Dang it, did he really zone out for that long? Skin prickling, Neil gulps and looks away. "Sorry, guys. I had trouble finding the right bandaids."

"Ohh... my condolences, friend." Ryan smiles, appeased by the excuse, and pats him on the arm. "I've had that same trouble more times than I can count."

They carry on with their house of cards like normal. It all ends in bad luck, but Neil barely notices. He zones out for a moment, thinking about how easy it would be to tear the whole deck of cards to shreds with his overgrown nails, and then how easy and fun it would be to tear apart the couch and the whole clubhouse and his friends' bodies and-- No, wait, I don't want to do that, what am I...? And next thing he knows the fire alarm is blaring and Kevin is whipping out the fire extinguisher. A few flecks of foam spray onto Neil's cheek. He hisses as he flicks them away, nearly slicing his own cheek open in the process.

This is no good. If they're going to make a webisode this week, he needs to get his act together. Luckily, Neil knows just the thing.

Fortuna Daemonium, also known as corpse puppet demons, have a tried-and-true operating system. They rely on humanoid host bodies, but lack other demons' ability to directly possess a living host. No, they can only inhabit inanimate objects, rudimentary plant life, and--as their colloquial name suggests--corpses.

In its larval stage, the demon takes the form of an item which mortals can't resist picking up. Upon contact with a suitable host body, the demon bestows a bad luck curse upon the (un)lucky mortal. Once the curse kills the mortal, the demon is free to transfer itself into their body and take control. The trouble only comes when a demon acts too hastily.

A direct lightning strike against an unguarded mortal should have been fatal. It should have! Was the luck demon truly such a fool for thinking, as its host crumpled to the ground with a smoking crater in his chest, that it was free to propagate? And yet when it sent forth its demonic seed, it ran up against a barrier. The human's brain and soul were--and indeed are--still active. The demon can't possess him yet. Frustrating, yes, but not the end of the world. It just has to keep triggering bad luck events, and eventually something is bound to keep the mortal down.

But there might be a problem. Some humans' blood is far purer than others, and they ingest all kinds of terrible things, so as a precaution Fortuna Daemonium release demonic toxins into the host's bloodstream before taking them over. The toxins essentially provide a makeover that renders the corpse (normally it would be a corpse at this point!) more habitable for the demons, and better suited to their violent needs. If released into a living being, however...

There are a few recorded accounts of such a folly, but accounts of what happens to either the host body or demon differ greatly--unsurprising, when these events rarely leave behind survivors. It seems humans can fight with surprising ferocity if they think there's a chance it will save someone dear to them.

Sitting on his bed with his legs drawn up and his shoulders hunched, Neil lowers the horseshoe necklace over his head with an unexpected tremble in his hands. His fingers twitch and jerk involuntarily like they don't want to touch the good luck charm--which is pretty silly of them, because those hands are high on the list of body parts that could use better luck. He takes a deep breath in and releases the string on the exhale. There, now he'll be safe from the...

Safe from...

Neil hears and smells his sizzling flesh before he feels it. But when the sensation does reach his nerves, oh, does he ever feel it. Screaming in agony, he rips the necklace off and flings it across the room. It bounces off the wall and lands with a clatter next to his trunk full of puppets.

Panting, he stares down at himself. Twin trails of smoke wind like lazy rivers off the points where either end of the horseshoe briefly connected with his skin. At least his shirt isn't completely ruined, but it's a tiny bit singed around the collar. Maybe he should wear a jacket today, so the guys don't get suspicious. Yeah, yeah, and if they ask he can say...

"Wait, who cares about keeping up appearances?" he cuts himself off. "I've got bigger fish on my plate right now. Like: since when am I allergic to horseshoes?"

And why is there a ringing in his ears as he slinks cautiously toward the discarded necklace? Why, as he reaches for it, does a hiss escape his bared fangs? Why does he have fangs and claws all of a sudden when two days ago his teeth and nails were perfectly normal and flat? He blinks against the strain of his headache, and--hey, were his eyelids always oriented that way? His shoulders twinge as he kneels down, and he could swear there's something swelling up beneath the skin, just like it feels like something's swelling at the top of his skull. There's no bruising, no recent injuries apart from the lightning strike which could account for all this. He reaches for the horseshoe with a trembling hand--his skin has taken on a yellowish hue now, and the veins on the underside of his wrist are green, which he's pretty sure isn't a normal human colour--and braces himself for a scalding sensation.

If he clutches the horseshoe for long enough, will it drive out whatever evil force has lodged itself inside him? Or will it just kill him?

"This is no good," Neil laments. Chickening out at the last second, he retracts his hand and drops it in his lap. The horseshoe goes untouched. "I need to ask Ryan for advice. He knows all about curses and stuff."

(Kevin might know something too, since he moonlights as a ghostbuster, but that's different. Kevin would worry if he knew. Ryan wouldn't worry. Would he? Neil won't tell him if it'll make him worry.)

Neil shows up for work wearing a horseshoe necklace and a big nervous grin. And colour contacts, apparently, unless his eyes were bright green the whole time and Ryan never noticed. But no matter, they have a webisode to film.

Ryan gets in the car and turns the engine over. For a moment he tenses, hairs standing on end in anticipation of something dreadful happening. But nothing does. Kevin climbs in beside him, and Neil allocates himself to the backseat, where he sits with his knees pressed tight together and his nails digging into the upholstery and his mouth all clamped up like he's got a case of lockjaw.

"Neil, you haven't stepped on any rusty nails lately, have you?" Ryan asks, shooting his friend a glance in the rearview.

Neil blinks in surprise, and oh dear, his eyes are definitely not supposed to be that colour and his eyelids are not supposed to go that way. It's an exciting new look, but not a style Ryan thought Neil would go for.

"Huh? Uh, no, I don't think so."

"You'd better not have," Kevin admonishes. "I've warned you guys about playing barefoot at the abandoned nail factory."

Despite the increasing worry about Neil's condition, they reach the warehouse they've decided to film at and get through a productive rehearsal without much issue. Eventually they encounter another bout of bad luck: one of their cameras acts up, and when Neil leans in to carefully adjust the lense, the entire piece of equipment crumbles to dust. That garners a concerned eyebrow raise from Kevin, which Ryan acknowledges with a tight-lipped nod: Indeed, something's not right with him. But clearly Neil doesn't want to talk about it, so what can they do? At least the curse or whatever it is isn't hurting him directly anymore.

Kevin heads off to buy a replacement camera while Ryan and Neil set up the rest of the equipment. Nothing goes wrong, and Ryan manages to relax a little. He almost wonders if there's no curse after all, and Neil is right to accuse him and Kevin of being paranoid. Nothing really bad has happened since the lightning strike, and those are usually random anyway, so...

But then Neil goes stiff. The chair he was moving drops from his hands in a clatter and he leans over it for support, hissing like a feral cat in distress. Ryan rushes to his side and holds him upright--he's clammy to the touch, and green-tinted veins pulse frantically beneath his skin. Brushing his bangs aside, Ryan lays a hand against Neil's head to check for fever.

Oh. Oh, there are some very strange lumps on Neil's forehead. That's... not good. Icy dread stirs in Ryan's gut as he pats his friend down.

"Say, Neil, what are those protrusions?" he asks, trying and failing to keep his voice from shaking. "You're not... sick, are you?"

Neil doesn't answer. His discoloured eyes are glazed over, and his breathing is shallow yet echoey, like it's coming from far away. The horseshoe necklace dangles loosely around his neck. Too loosely, for a heavy steel object.

Something snaps into place in Ryan's mind, and he jerks back with a gasp.

"An electric car! With the luck you've been having, its magnetized engine should have attracted your horseshoe... unless..." He rips off the necklace, and his hand closes around moulded plastic. "Ah-hah! You thought you could fool us with a fake horseshoe necklace? But--" Triumphant revelation gives way to an even deeper concern and bewilderment. "Why not wear a real horseshoe? A smart man like you should know the plastic ones never work."

Neil's shoulders spasm. His head jerks back, and his bangs fall back into place to conceal the tumours on either side of his forehead. His mouth moves to whisper something. It sounds like he's saying Ryan's name.

"I'm here, Neil," Ryan assures him, laying a hand on his friend's arm to hold him steady. "I'm right here."

"No... Ryan..." Neil shakes his head, and it looks like the motion hurts. Thin streams of blood trickle down from beneath his bangs. He bares his teeth in a grimace and they're so much sharper than they're supposed to be. "Run away."

And that's the only warning Ryan gets.

Neil's head is going to kill him. And that's not just a dramatic way of saying it hurts a normal amount; no, it really and truly feels like his skull is going to burst open and splatter his brains everywhere. He tries to breathe in and out evenly, like that'll help. But he can't catch his breath, nor slow his frantic pulse. His body shakes, and oh my god it hurts so bad help please guys you have to help me it hurts it hurts it hurts--

Ryan is saying something. Neil can't hear the words over the buzzing in his head, but the tone sounds reassuring. It's funny--Ryan is rarely the reassuring type, but when he is it's almost maternal. Neil wants to lean into his friend's touch, to listen to those calming words and fool himself into thinking he's gonna be okay.

But his fangs and claws itch to tear something apart. And if Ryan doesn't get out of the way--

"Run away," Neil pleads. There should be tears pricking at his eyes, and it feels almost like there are--his eyes are hot and irritated, and there's something wet sliding down his face now--but his tear ducts seem to have sealed up. He can feel something slithering out of his back, like being stabbed in reverse. "Please--you can't--I don't want to--"

Is he pleading to Ryan now, or to the thing he's becoming? It doesn't make a difference anyway. Neither of them listen.

Neil doesn't mean to swing his hand in an upward arc, claws extended. He doesn't mean for those talons to shred the front of Ryan's jacket and dig into the flesh beneath. He doesn't mean to send Ryan falling back, jaws parting in silent shock, or to then leap on top of him while he's down and bury his fangs in his shoulder. He doesn't want to do any of it.

But also... maybe he does want to do it. His pulse settles into a regular rhythm at last, a healthy pitter-patter of excitement, and he can taste the saliva swelling in his mouth when he rips a chunk out of his friend's shoulder and worries it between his teeth. The pain is finally gone. Now it's just a rush of exhilaration. Neil breaks into a giddy grin as Ryan screams and writhes beneath his claws.

This is going to be fun.

Their equipment still isn't set up when Kevin returns. That's the first thing he notices, and he frowns at the sight of the filmmaking gear strewn around like furniture after a robbery. His frown deepens when he spots his friends jumping around in the shadowy corner of the warehouse, apparently play-fighting--complete with disturbingly realistic screams and growls and hisses. What is this, a warrior cats roleplay? Eccentric as they are, Neil and Ryan are professionals; they should know better than to goof off at a time like this.

"C'mon, guys," he says, clapping his hands together like an animal trainer as he approaches them. "Let's get to--"

The scent of blood hits his tongue, and Kevin's breath catches in his throat. What are they... this isn't another one of Ryan's creepy rituals, is it? He flicks a lightswitch on to illuminate the warehouse. When he does, his blood runs cold.

Four leathery green wings protrude from Neil's back. No, not quite leathery--they're rounded, and they look delicate, like leaves. Less delicate-looking are the golden horns sticking out the top of his head, with swelling around the base and trails of blood running down from where they protrude. Just looking at the extra body parts makes Kevin cringe. Those definitely weren't there before, and it looks like their growth wasn't pleasant.

But his sympathy for Neil is dampened by what he's doing. Rather, what he's already done. Ryan sways on his feet with a sickly expression, arms wrapped tight around his own torso like he's trying to hold his guts in. Maybe he is. There's a lot of blood streaming down his face and matting his hair and staining his tattered clothes. One section of his sleeve is torn away, revealing a flash of exposed bone where flesh has been shredded.

Kevin takes this all in as a tableau, his friends both having froze in place like deer in headlights when he flicked the light on. It's several breathless, stomach-churning seconds until Ryan turns his wide-eyed stare on Kevin. He opens his mouth to say something--a plea for help? A warning to stay back? Some odd little overly casual remark, haha, typical Ryan yeah I bet he's not even bothered by this sure yeah he probably likes it, we know him, what a weirdo--

But Neil--if this even is still Neil--lunges before Ryan can speak. He grabs Ryan by the collar and flings him across the room, where he crashes against a radiator with a pained yelp and crumples to the ground. Neil grins, exposing a row of gore-caked fangs, and leaps forward to finish the job.

"Hey!" Kevin rushes forward with no plan in mind, just protective instinct. "Get away from him!"

He grabs Neil's leg and pulls him to the ground moments before those claws would have slit Ryan open. Neil hisses and squirms around, but Kevin locks his arms around him--though not without getting an armful of fangs. Diluted by adrenaline, he barely registers the pain, but he can see blood leaking through his shirt sleeve and his stomach hitches at the dull scrape of enamel against bone. Drawing in a shaky breath, Kevin closes his hand into a fist and draws it back. "Sorry about this, bud."

He clubs Neil in the back of the neck, like they do to knock people out in TV shows. Neil spasms at the contact and goes still. For a split-second Kevin is terrified he hit him too hard--but no, he still has a steady pulse, albeit one with an alien rhythm. Thinking fast, Kevin peels off his flannel shirt and ties it around Neil to bind his arms and those creepy wings (which upon closer inspection look like plant matter, but a tear in the lower right one--Ryan must have gotten a few hits in during their scuffle--is bleeding, and it's definitely not sap. He considers just ripping the wings off, but... no. Possessed or not, he doesn't want to hurt Neil.) Once that's done, he sits back on his heels to catch his breath. The pain from his freshly sustained wound creeps in now, and man does it ever sting. And that's just one bite, so he can't imagine how bad it is for...

Ryan. Oh, god, Ryan. Snapping back to grim urgency, Kevin scrambles across the room to his fallen friend in such a hurry that he trips over his own feet. He falls to his knees at Ryan's side and turns him over, shuddering at the glassy look in his eyes.

"Hey, stay with me, man," he commands. "We need a plan, and whatever's up with Neil looks like a two-person job."

"Mmn... a plan. Yes." Ryan rolls his head back and shifts slightly. "I definitely... have... a plan..."

His mannerisms are those of someone reluctant to rise from bed on a cold winter morning. Kevin's certainly been there, and the thought of such a simple shared experience makes him half-smile despite the circumstances. That smile fades when Ryan's face contorts in pain and he curls in on himself with a hiss. After a few shallow trembling breaths he speaks again, more faintly this time.

"I think Neil... is possessed. An exorcism may be in order. But there could be--" He coughs, and blood dribbles from his lips-- "another way. If..."

He trails off, head lolling to the side. Kevin waits expectantly for him to pick back up, but... nothing. Swallowing down a spike of anxiety, he props Ryan up and brushes a strand of sweat-and-blood-soaked hair out of his unfocused eyes.

"What's the plan, Ryan?" he prompts. "C'mon."

No answer. There's so much blood seeping through Ryan's jacket. Is it too much? He's not sure. It looks like too much.

"Ryan."

Nothing.

"Ryan!"

Neil stirs from a dreamless sleep to the sound of a dripping faucet. There's a damp chill to his surroundings that makes the human part of him shiver even though the demonic part is unbothered. He opens his eyes to find himself surrounded by four rough-hewn dark gray walls; the floor and ceiling are the same material. There's a busted pipe sticking out of one wall which seems to be the source of the dripping. In the far left corner is a staircase leading up.

What is this, a basement? Ugh, I hate basements... Neil hisses in annoyance and tries to move, only to find himself bound by ropes. Twisting his head around, it looks like he's tied to a wooden column, the way pirates used to tie up their prisoners. Uh oh. Am I gonna be executed?

As if in answer to that question, the sound of footsteps alerts him to a human descending the stairs. It's one of the same humans Neil was playing with earlier--the one with the short dark hair and the flannel (he knows their names, but that information is locked away right now). But he's not wearing flannel anymore, just a plain white t-shirt and jeans and... what is that, a backpack? No, it's something else, something Neil recognizes, but... his head feels funny. It's like his mind is splitting in two, and the half that's in control right now doesn't know or care about mortals or any of their strange devices. He just wants to torture and kill and eat them!

The mortal flicks a lightswitch. Neil flinches at the too-bright yellow glow that flickers on overhead, curling in on himself like a dying plant and hissing like a vampire. Only when his eyes adjust does he realize the lights were off a moment ago. Come to think of it, his surroundings did look a little washed out, but he could see everything perfectly. Woah, I can see in the dark, he realizes with a grin. Cool!

"So... Neil." The mortal strides slowly over to him and comes to a stop a foot away. He unhooks something from his backpack and points it at Neil as he speaks. It looks like one of those weapons mortals use--the kind they only bring out when they're really serious. So it's surprising when the mortal's first question is: "You okay?"

"Huh? Uh, yeah..." It's not a lie; the ropes might be a bit tight, but they're not hurting him. Heck, he can barely feel them, nor can he feel the cut on his wing or the spot where the mortal clubbed him to knock him out. Demons aren't built to feel that kind of stuff. "How about you? That arm looks pretty bad."

He nods to the appendage in question. The bandages look hastily applied, and he can smell that the wound isn't fully closed. The bloodscent is simultaneously enticing and sharply concerning. The latter reaction is surprising, moreso when Neil reminds himself that he did that, and it's nothing compared to what he did to the other mortal.

"I'll live," the mortal replies tersely. Only his inflection is more like "I'll live," as in yeah, he'll live, but somebody else won't.

"Is that supposed to be a threat?" Neil wonders aloud. The testy look he gets from the mortal in response seems to confirm it. "Pshaw, you mortals are so pathetic! What are you gonna do to me?"

The mortal cocks an eyebrow, and one corner of his lips twitches into a smirk. It's an amused expression--or no, the human side of Neil recognizes, a wry and weary one. It's all in the tired eyes: this mortal is not having fun. He raises his weapon and presses its tip against Neil's upper abdomen.

"Oh, you'll see what I can do to you."

Throughout this exchange, the true Fortuna Daemonium is silently screaming from within its four-leafed prison. Such sickening irony, to be confined to a clover pinned to the shirt of its would-be host body! And there's nothing else nearby to transfer itself to--nothing that would be any more useful, at least. Exiting the clover without transferring to a new vessel is out of the question. That would expose it to human eyes, which is probably just what the human with the proton pack wants.

Yes, Fortuna Daemonium know exactly what that device is called. It's imprinted in their collective consciousness, ever since the incident several decades ago when a group of four middle-aged mortals wielding such weapons managed to wipe out a whole colony of demons. If this newly demonic mortal isn't careful, its naive taunting will get both it and the Fortuna Daemonium captured at best and demolished at worst.

Only one way out of this situation, then. A bad luck event at a scale that can reduce mortal and half-demon alike to corpses fit for possession. As the two humanoids continue their exchange, Fortuna Daemonium tunes them out and channels its energy into summoning a natural disaster.

"Hey, where's the other mortal, anyway?" Neil asks, tilting his head. "He was fun to play with. His blood was delicious."

The mortal (Kevin, something in the back of his head supplies--the wall between things the demon knows and things it chooses to forget is crumbling) stiffens at that. He raises his head to stare into the ceiling light and waits until his eyes begin to water before speaking in a low voice.

"Yeah, I'll bet it was. But we pathetic humans only have so much blood we can lose, you know."

Neil blinks. Something about those words send a shiver down his spine... but they shouldn't. He's a demon, isn't he? What does he care about mortals getting hurt? He's just gonna eat them anyway. Sure, they're more fun to play with when they're alive, but... hey, what do those two specific specimens matter? There's whole cities full of potential prey! And here he is all worried about...

About...

"But he's okay, right?" he asks despite himself, or maybe exactly because of himself and despite the thing he's become. The question slips out as a nervous little squeak. "He has to be okay. We still need to film our webisode, and the script calls for all three of us--"

What is he talking about? It's like he's on autopilot now, human mind running on instinct and overpowering the demonic influence. There's that sensation of the bisected mind again, and the thing that calls itself Neil is standing on the brink with the ground splitting under it. He doesn't know which side he wants to land on anymore--powerful demon or feeble emotional human. All he can do is babble out his instinctive pleas for the status quo.

"--And we can't find a replacement on such short notice!"

"Well, maybe you should've thought about that--" Kevin's voice crescendos into a yell as he jabs the proton gun into Neil's ribs-- "Before you murdered him!"

...What?

"Oww," he whines at the jab of the weapon before his human side can fully process the mortal's words. Kevin's finger trembles over the trigger. There's a scent emanating from the weapon that makes Neil's hairs stand on end. It's not quite electric, not quite acidic, but he knows on an instinctive level that he can't let it touch him. If he does...

His fragile human side catches up just then. Tears well in his eyes. When he blinks them back, he finds that his eyelids are angled the right way again.

"You mean Ryan is...?"

"I just buried him in the backyard," Kevin confirms grimly. He squeezes his eyes shut until a tear slides down his cheek. "So you don't dig him up and eat what's left of him."

"But that's... no, I'd never do that..." Neil shakes his head, lips drawn back in a grimace. His fangs flatten when he presses them together. "Ryan has to be okay. Things always work out for us!"

His demonic side can't put up a fight anymore. Neil doesn't want it to. His heart clenches with such monumental dread that it shudders back into its original rhythm, along with his frantic breathing. He can't feel his wings anymore, and his horns feel lighter, like they're hollowed out and ready to crumble. He can feel the blood caked onto his claws even as they shrivel back into regular fingernails. Ryan's blood. Are his organs physically rearranging, or is that just nausea? It might be nausea. Oh, geez, he's gonna be sick.

In this moment of emotional turmoil, he doesn't notice when the earth begins to shake. It just feels like another part of his breakdown. Dust crumbles from the ceiling, and none of it makes a difference. The whole place may as well cave in at this point.

Despite everything, watching Neil break down is the toughest part of the ordeal. The ground shakes--some last-ditch resistance from the demon, no doubt. Even so, Kevin stands his ground. He bunches up Neil's shirt collar in his free hand and pulls it taut, while with his other hand he aims the proton gun at his possessed friend's chest. He keeps talking as he does this, grasping at any words that'll keep the demon distracted.

"He was the only one of us with a necromancy license, you know. So we're probably never going to get him back."

"No, no, we have to... he can't be dead, we... I..."

Neil's words give way to uncontrolled weeping. The unnatural colour of his eyes, toxic green with dark violet pupils, drains like cheap dye down a sink as he cries. Soon his swollen eyes are their usual shade, everything is its normal length, and his wings droop in a lifeless shade of gray-brown. He curls in on himself as best he can around the ropes to bury his head in Kevin's shoulder. The pressure against his forehead loosens off the horns, and soon they and the wings peel off altogether, shedding like snakeskin. It's over. Or at least it will be in just a moment.

Kevin twists the proton gun around to aim perpendicularly at the front of Neil's shirt, angled so it won't hit the man himself, and presses the tip directly against the clover. As carefully as they plotted all this out, his breath still catches when he squeezes the trigger. He didn't count on an earthquake when they made this plan. If he's off by an inch...

The clover explodes to ash in the glowing beam's wake. A demonic screech rings out, and green smoke trails into the air. Neil gasps and jerks back. The instant the job is done, Kevin releases the trigger and powers down his proton pack. The earthquake stops immediately upon the demon's demise, but he could swear he still feels the ground shaking beneath his feet. He can't breathe for a solid ten seconds.

It takes Neil several shaky tearful breaths before he straightens up and ventures to speak. "I can't believe I killed Ryan. What are we gonna do?"

"Worry not, my friend," Kevin assures him, laying a hand on his arm. "Things aren't quite as they seem."

Half an hour prior, Kevin shoved a half-conscious Ryan into the backseat and a possessed bound-and-gagged Neil into the trunk of Ryan's newly upholstered electric car that he definitely acquired by legal means. Minutes later, the frantic driver rounding a sharp corner pulled Ryan awake with a gasp. After a few dizzying moments trying to determine his surroundings and process the hurried explanation his companion offered, the cogs of his mind were set in motion. Passing out from blood loss served as a good excuse to not explain the plan he definitely had earlier, but it's even better to actually have a plan for real in times like these.

"When he was attacking me, he kept making pop culture references," Ryan mused, stroking his blood-matted facial hair thoughtfully. "I think Neil's consciousness is still intact. The right stimuli could draw his human heart back out."

"You think so?" Kevin met Ryan's gaze in the rearview, then shifted to glance at their possessed friend in the trunk. (Come to think of it, it's a miracle Neil stayed asleep the whole time. The fight must have really tuckered him out.)

"Well, I sure hope so," Ryan replied cheerfully. "Otherwise we're dead meat!"

"Dead meat..." Kevin echoed, drumming his fingers against the wheel with his brow furrowed. Suddenly he turned in his seat and snapped his fingers. "That's it! What if we make it seem like he killed you? A shock like that is bound to snap him out of it."

"Oh boy!" Ryan sat up excitedly, only to wince as his injuries offered their sharp complaints. Quickly recovering, he rubbed his hands together with a grin. "I'll slather myself in zombie makeup and moan about dragging him to hell."

"Hm... I was thinking more the kind of death you don't come back from."

"...Oh." Ryan sat back with a disappointed huff and crossed his arms. "Well, that's a little bleak."

"I know--" And judging by Kevin's tone, it didn't sound like he was thrilled with it either-- "but it could be the only way."

And so that's exactly what they did. Hiding at the top of the stairs and listening in on the whole shindig, Ryan soon decided it was for the best that they didn't go with his zombie performance idea. He may not be dead, but he is still injured. Overexertion is the last thing he needs--to say nothing of the brief earthquake toward the end.

Now, as the figurative and literal dust settles, Ryan braces himself against the banister and hobbles down the stairs, slow-clapping as he does so.

"A marvelous performance, Kevin," he says upon reaching the bottom of the stairs. "You almost had even me fooled!"

Kevin nods with a smug little I-told-you-so smile, crossing his arms. Neil stares blankly at Ryan as he walks to his side, produces a switchblade from his pocket, and cuts the ropes to release him. Upon being freed, the blank stare continues for several seconds before Neil rubs his eyes and gulps--not nervously, but like he's trying to swallow down any further tears.

"Ryan... you must've come to forgive me before you ascend," he murmurs sadly. Without waiting for a response, he pulls Ryan into a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, bud."

"Er, yes and no..." Ryan wriggles out of Neil's embrace--as lovely as it is, he could do without being squeezed right now. "Of course I forgive you, but I'm not actually dead. 'Twas but a clever ruse!"

He punctuates that announcement with a raised finger and a cheesy grin. After a beat, Neil slumps with relief.

"Boy, am I glad to hear that. I dunno what I'd do if I'd--if you were really..."

He starts trembling again and breaks off into sniffles. Ryan offers him an awkward pat on the back, while Kevin lays a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"There, there, Neil. You're alright."

But is he really alright?

He doesn't stop wondering, even six hours later when he's getting ready for bed. Running his toothbrush around his mouth for the fifth time in as many minutes, with a little too much pressure and way too much toothpaste, he finds that he still can't get the taste of his friends' blood out of his mouth. He doesn't like the taste anymore. Now it makes him gag, which might be more morally upstanding, but it's way less fun.

He cups some cold water into his mouth, swishes it around, and spits it out. The blood taste is still there, and now his teeth ache from over-brushing. At least they're not fangs. Nothing is growing in ways it shouldn't be.

He's not going to sleep that night. If he does, he'll dream about doing it all over again and maybe even worse. Or what if he turns demonic again in his sleep? How many people might he attack without even realizing--other friends? Family members? Random strangers on the street? Too risky. Instead he fixes himself a bowl of cereal, sugary enough to keep him awake, and nestles into the couch with a blanket and pillow to watch TV. He tries not to fidget too much, but it's hard not to. It's like when you wear a backpack or hat all day and then you can still feel it on you even when it's not. He keeps thinking he can still feel the horns and wings. Yeah, Kevin assured him the demon was gone, but what does Kevin know? He didn't think there was a ghoul in spooky manor either, and look where that got him.

Speaking of...

Neil grabs his communicator wristwatch and dials in the frequencies to contact his friends as, on the TV, a jungle snake lunges to attack an explorer. The watch displays a split-screen as Kevin and Ryan answer a few seconds apart. The timing of it coaxes a subdued laugh from Neil. I guess all three of us are on edge.

"What's wrong, Neil?" Ryan asks. "There's no sign of the demon re-emerging, is there?"

"No, but..." He leans back and worries his lip between his teeth, cheeks colouring with sudden embarrassment. Are they gonna think he's being a baby? Maybe he just won't admit to being nervous. "Do you guys wanna have a sleepover? And in case I go all demonic again--not that I think I will--you can get out the bible and holy water and everything and, y'know, take care of it."

"Sounds like a plan. We'll be right over."

Despite himself, Neil finds himself dozing off at some point. Even before they actually arrive, knowing his friends will be there is like a tranquilizer. Next thing he knows, Ryan is nestled in on his left side and Kevin on his right, debating in hushed tones which Ernest movie they should watch ("Scared Stupid might be too scary for him right now--" / "Yeah, but Goes to Jail has the whole identity-stealing thing, and that might..." / "Well, how about Rides Again? That way we could bore him to sleep!") Neil smacks his lips and tries to shake himself back awake--he doesn't want to miss the evening entertainment--but it's a lost cause. He sleeps peacefully that night, and clovers don't show up in his dreams even once.

Yeah, it looks like he's gonna be just fine.

#good freaking morning people!!#id in alt text #for the like cover image thingie #it doesn't exactly match up to how i describe demon mode neil here because i made the edit a while ago #so i changed my mind on some details because im literally always doing that #hey did you know that i write stuff sometimes?

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parrotwatcher · 2 years

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(All) Which of the ROs would cause the most damage if they turned evil?

Max (The One Chosen): Global necromantic overlord.

Kevin (The One Chosen): Like The Birds, except all animals want you dead.

Helena (The One Chosen): I honestly can't imagine her turning evil, but if she did, she could do almost anything, given enough time to prepare for it.

Ædmund (The One Chosen): Knows how to summon a demon, and is willing to die to achieve his aims. Also knows how to rupture thousands of eardrums at once.

Teri (The One Chosen): Political power plus mind control.

Aiden (Unearth your Gays): Mind control, teleportation, can't be properly hurt by anything except silver (even sunlight and garlic just weaken him), almost insatiable appetite for human blood, plus the potential to learn shapeshifting. Somewhat mitigated by a self-preservation instinct that would keep him away from any political positions, or else he'd be a couple of places higher.

Sammy (Totem Force): Can hack military software, so about as dangerous as an entire army.

Veera, Fothy (Lovecraft Academy): Political power, but without the mind control (Fothy has more than Veera during the story, but Veera has potentially more... if he murders a whole bunch of brothers and cousins).

Lani (Totem Force): Pretty much has her own private army. (Oh, and is probably already evil.)

Kay, Chi, Anara, Ryu, Akira, Mirabelle (Totem Force): Very powerful, insanely durable, but ultimately quite localised.

Dahlia (The One Chosen): Knows some pretty powerful spells, but nothing insanely dangerous.

Xiulan (The One Chosen): Tornadoes. Destructive, but pretty local like the TOT3M characters (and without their durability).

Charlie (The One Chosen): Could kill you with his bare hands. Or with a sword.

Toby (Unearth your Gays): Stronger and more durable than the average person, but slower, too.

Phil (Totem Force): He knows martial arts.

Seth (Unearth your Gays): Had a lot of political power in Ancient Egypt; now he's just some guy.

Robin, Will, Bignell, Jasper (Lovecraft Academy): Just teenagers.

Lan (Unearth your Gays): Literally incapable of interacting with most of the world. Can't even teleport in front of traffic to scare people.

#the one chosen #lovecraft academy #totem force #unearth your gays #interactive fiction #hosted games #choicescript #visual novel #romance options #renpy

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asmo-ds · 3 years

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this is kind off relatable for everyone tbh. mc got pissed off when another quarantine was announced so they packed their stuff and found a way to go to the devildom on their own. none of the brothers knew that they would be staying with them, how would they react? i can imagine asmo being shocked when he sees how irritated mc's skin is because of the masks!!

There Is No Pandemic in Hell

Obey me Crack

Word Count: 2534

Summary: when the government announces the quarantine has been extended, MC decides to pack their bags and head down to Hell, but they were so desperate to leave they didn’t wait for permission and instead grabbed their bike and rode all the way to their real home.

A/N: Ok so the brothers aren’t really in this fic until like the end and its mostly MC riding their bike through the layers of Hell and almost dies like 10 times. And they fight a cult. That happens too.

“The governor has announced that we will be once again shutting down most businesses and we will be required to wear our masks no matter where we are, that includes restaurants, which will be closing due to the inability to eat with a mask on. Furthermore, we-” You turned off the television, groaning pulling on your mask before you headed to the market. You couldn’t believe that so many people had refused to wear masks and now you were forced back to square one of the world’s recovery from COVID-19.

As you walked down the aisle of the grocery store, you got lost in thought. Did demons ever get sick? Surely they wouldn’t be affected by COVID and they definitely wouldn’t be trapped inside their home for 95% of their day (unless you’re Leviathan and then you will happily do so). You realize you passed half of the aisles you had meant to go down, effectively missing half of your grocery list.

You feel your D.D.D vibrate in your pocket and rip it out wondering if you had missed your daily call with one of the brothers only to see the group chat was being talked in.

Horny Man: Heyyy anyone wanna go shopping with me?

Horny Man: Except Mammon, I’m not looking to go broke from his shopping trip

Gambling Addiction: Oi! I was gonna go with ya but now I think I’ll stay >:(

Otaku Snek: yea that was what Asmo wanted lolz

Mom: I have council business with Diavolo today.

Bookworm: You can call it a date y’know?

Mom: Satan, come to my study immediately I want to have a talk with you.

Gambling Addiction: Ha! It ain’t me in trouble for once

Otaku Snek: Anyway I can’t I have an in-person meet up with some of my teammates

Hunger: Asmo, may I come along so we can stop at Madame Screams?

Horny Man: Of course Beel ~

You silence your phone and put it in your pocket. You couldn’t stand to watch them make plans so casually. It was unfair. You wanted to go out and have fun without your mask or risking your health.

You wished you could be in the Devildom walking around breathing fresh air and not walking through eerily empty stores yelling through two masks and some plexiglass. That’s when it struck you.

Diavolo had told you that you had a home in the Devildom and were always welcome. So why could you not just go back now? Spare yourself the acne you gain from masks and the annoyance of not being able to hang out with anybody but your reflection every day.

You abandon your cart in your excitement, silently thanking whoever has to clean it up and apologize as you run out of the store. You make it back to your home, pulling a backpack from the depths of your closet and opening it, throwing your most needed items in, and attempting to zip the overfilled bag as you try to think of how you’d get there.

You know that Lucifer would never allow you to come on such short notice, so you knew asking them was a no-go. You suddenly remembered someone mentioning how to get to the Devildom by foot you had to walk through the seven layers of hell and you groaned knowing it was going to be a rough journey.

You try to figure out where the entrance to the seven layers would be, googling all sorts of demonic places where worshippers would gather. You find one that seems like a good option as it is nearby.

You get on your bike and ride to the area and start to look for any worshippers that would be willing to help you find the gate. You wander the dark woods watching carefully for raised tree roots or rocks that would cause your bike to break.

“Stop right there !” A man in a blood-red hood calls out. “State your business.”

“Listen, dude, I know Lucifer and I wanna go see him but he can’t know yet. So tell me where the gate is,” You reply impatiently.

“Why should I help you? You don’t even know how to open the gate! You do not deserve the help of Satan’s worshippers-” You climb off your bike putting up the kickstand and walk towards the robed stranger. You grab his collar with one fist and pull his face close to yours.

“Show. Me. The. Gate. Or so help me I’ll summon all seven lords right now and have them disembowel you and gouge your eyes out as the life leaves them. You won’t get to work for Satan as you wish for, instead, you’ll be eaten by him in the most painful torturous fashion. I have to say few words to get him here so I suggest you send me down right now, bud” You growl. The man looks as if he is about to cry and points behind him.

“T-the cave at the end of this path. You s-should walk into it and keep following the path of torches down. There you’ll f-f-find my cult and they’ll help you out, just tell them I sent you.” The man cries out with teary eyes. You let go and take a step back, giving a sweet smile.

“Thank you, sir! I’ll put in a good word with Satan for ya,” you wink at the man before getting on your bike, carefully continuing down the path. You were getting back to the Devildom if it killed you.

Thankfully the cave’s path was fairly smooth and you were able to ride your bike to the group the stranger had spoken of. They asked you to stop and you had a repeat of the process you took with the stranger.

“... Fine, we’ll send you down but we need a goat,”

The ritual was performed and you were engulfed in a dark shadowy mist. You appeared in an area clouded with a purple fog and you felt sudden drowsiness overtake you. Sloth, the closest layer to the human realm.

You smack your hands harshly to your cheeks and shake your limbs to wake yourself up. You then remember you had packed a pack of Redbull. You stopped your bike and pulled the backpack onto your lap, pulling a can out and opening it as you continue on your way.

By the time you reach gluttony, you had downed 5 Redbulls and were sure, if you even survived the demons that eyed you hungrily in the land with red fauna and food everywhere, you’d have a heart attack when you finally get to the House of Lamentation.

You slow your bike down a bit, knowing demons were sneaky and fast. You take off your jacket as it gets increasingly hot the lower you go. Demons lurk in shadows and eye you hungrily and you shiver. Instinctively you place a hand on your stomach as it rumbles. Gluttony.

You suddenly remember the human world snacks you had packed since you knew how badly you missed them last time you were down here. You once again pull your bag onto your lap, ripping the packaging open. The crinkle and sudden smell of food caused multiple demons to charge at you, drooling and feral looks in their eyes. You put the food in your mouth and speed off, pedaling as fast as you can to the fifth layer.

As the sky began to turn pink you let out a sigh of relief. Until you felt a small creature

on your shoulder. You had failed to notice it when you arrived in Beel’s layer, but it was a small demon that had fallen asleep under your coat and on your shoulder in Belphegor’s area.

“Hey there, little guy~” You coo at the creature giving it a small pet. “You wanna come back to RAD with me?” The creature nuzzles into your neck with a demonic purr.

You were glad to at least not be alone anymore.

Entering Lust was awful as you suddenly felt hot and bothered, barely able to keep pedaling. We’re almost to Wrath, just a bit further. Ignore the horny man’s power!

The clouds in the sky begin to turn a sort of green color, making the sky look a bit like a watermelon. Too caught up in staring at the sky you suddenly hear a small caw from your shoulder opposite of the one your newest companion rested on.

The black crow with yellow eyes stared at you tilting its head. Mammon knows I’m here you thought giving his pact mark on your collar bone a soft touch to let him know you were okay, glad it was him that knew and not another brother who was bound to tattle on you. You nodded at the bird as it fluttered its wings and flew above you.

As you paid attention to the bird and the way it kept pace with you an angry demon jumped at you, knocking you and your bike over as your small friend and the crow both made noises of surprise.

“Hey, Kevin, it’s alright if I call you that, right sleepy head?” you looked at Kevin as he made a happy noise in response. You turn your attention back to the angry demon that had taken the form of a large feline. “Yup… this is definitely Satan’s realm,” you sigh before sprinting off in a different direction trying to get the demon off your trail. You swerve through trees for quite a bit before you are able to get back to your bike, you, Kevin and the crow taking off at high speeds, approaching the orange wetlands.

Its so unfair I have to go through all of this, your mind wanders, they all get to have this life without this stupid journey. So stupid.

You shake your head, urging away Leviathan’s envy and continuing to pedal down the dry path that was surrounded by an orange sea for miles. You focus on the path and stare straight ahead.

Suddenly, Mammon’s crow caws in a panic as the water splashed upward with a creature that lunges for MC who manages to swerve and avoid the attack, pedaling faster and breathing heavily. At least I don’t have to wear the stupid mask while riding my bike anymore.

The sky gets lighter, turning yellow and the crow flies in circles above your head cawing with the excitement of being in the layer of Greed. Gold littered the grown, jewels scattered about. It was bright and you had to squint but it was beautiful.

Suddenly you stopped, an overwhelming urge to scoop piles of gold to bring along with you. Mine, Mine, my mind raced with selfish thoughts I need all of it.

Your eyes shimmer with the reflection of gold as you reach out fingertips brushing a shiny Grimm before Mammon’s crow bites your ear, causing you to jerk back and place your hands over the targeted appendage

Wincing you move your hand and see the blood. “What the hell asshat! Do you know how much the straps of my mask are gonna hurt to put on now, stu- oh that’s right I won’t need the mask. BUT STILL THST HURT, YOU JERK!” The crow seemed to give you attitude and you realized it probably just saved you from succumbing to the sin and being trapped in this realm forever. You start pedaling again seeing a royal blue fog ahead.

You take a deep breath and keep going forward, trying to stay as quiet as possible, knowing any demon in Lucifer’s land would be the strongest out of any you’ve encountered thus far.

You failed to consider the blood dripping from your earlobe attracting demons to you. Suddenly a demon tackles you, throwing your bike to the side as it pins you down, mouth watering onto your face as it stares at your bleeding ear. You scream and kick attempting to free yourself to no avail. You feel tears welling up in your eyes as sudden regret runs through you.

Why hadn’t you just asked Lucifer and waited a couple of days? Why were you so desperate to escape Corona that you literally biked to hell?

“Kevin… Crow… Thanks for coming with me,” you whimper as the demon opens its mouth wide ready to bite.

Suddenly before it can attach its mouth to you’re flesh a sword goes into its mouth and out the nape of its neck. You shiver as its blood drips onto you.

“I should’ve known why we hadn’t heard from you in weeks,” a familiar voice says as he kicks the dying demon away from your trembling body.

You jump up and wrap your body around the torso of Lucifer, squeezing and crying. “LUCIII THAT WAS SO SCARY WHY DIDN’T YOU GET HERE SOONER” you sobbed as he took his handkerchief and wiped your tears and snot.

“Well, I wouldn’t even have known you were here if it weren’t for that idiot Mammon bursting into my office screaming about you biking your way through the layers.” He sighs and suddenly picks you up, throwing you over his shoulder as he lectures you the whole way, dragging your bike with the hand that wasn’t keeping you steady as the crow let Kevin ride on his back.

“Wait hold on did. you say weeks?” you interrupt him.

“Yes time moves slower in the seven layers than it does in any of the places you’ve been to. So you were in there for about two weeks in our time, but to you it should have felt like maybe a few hours.”

“Ya should be thanking the GREAT Mammon for finding you and sending his best crow to find ya!” Mammon scolds as you sit on the couch, head hung in shame with Asmo and Belphie at your sides.

Lucifer had left to go speak to Diavolo on the matter of the human exchange student walking through all seven layers of hell.

“These guys are my favorite part of my layer,” Belphie reaches to your lap and pets Kevin, “They’re really sweet, y’know, for demons.”

“MC those masks were so bad for your skin,” Asmo puts his hands on your cheeks, twisting and turning your head to get a better look at the damage. “Tonight we will dedicate to fixing that skin of yours!”

“No way! MC obviously wants to come to play the new game I got today with me!” Levi shouts.

“Nuh-uh, they owe me and gotta come with me to the casino tonight!” Mammon yells back, as all the brothers grow irritated.

“MC, would you like to watch some detective movies with me, one of my larger felines attacked you and I feel as though I owe you,” Satan puts a hand on your shoulder.

Belphie smacks Satan’s hand away and pulls MC against him, “guys they’re exhausted can we not do this right now…”

When Belphegor goes to ask what you want to do he is met with your closed eyes and steady breathing, mouth hung slightly ajar.

“...Yea we should have expected that but I get MC first when they wake up I call dibs, you can’t go against dibs!” Asmodeus continues the argument over who gets to hang out with MC first as Belphegor lays down and falls asleep with them.

You were just really fucking happy that you didn’t have to wear your mask and you could cuddle with people for the first time since March.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me luficer #obey me crack #obey me crack hc #shall we date asmodeus #obey me! shall we date?#shall we date #shall we date obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me: one master to rule them all #obey me oneshot #obey me imagines #sad obey me imagines #obey me satan imagine #satan obey me imagine

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soysaucecas · 3 years

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a religion that was chosen for me (ao3)

Kevin Tran, 600 words, thoughts about bánh chưng and prophethood written for @spnpocweek day 4: roles

According to Vietnamese legend, after the sixth Hùng emperor retired, he gave up his throne to his sixteenth son, Lang Liêu, who won the position through what was essentially a cooking competition: whoever brings back the best culinary dish becomes the next king.

According to his fairly recent memory, Kevin Tran became the next prophet of God in his sixteenth year of life. He didn't win his title; he didn't even have a choice in the matter. His name, apparently, had been burned into the mind of every angel at the moment of the universe's creation. Which name—the one his teachers call him or the one his grandmother does—Kevin doesn't know, but either way, he’s been doomed by a measly three syllables.

"You should have named me Lang Liêu," he'd joked to his mom once years and years ago, as his eight-year-old fingers struggled to wrap another bánh tét in banana leaves. "Then, I could cook really really good, and I'd be king."

"But you're going to be president, aren’t you?" his mom had teased. Kevin had nodded, and she’d said, "That's close enough for me."

Maybe if Kevin had been named Lang Liêu, Heaven would know that he wasn’t the right person to be a prophet. They’d know that he didn’t have servants or advisors like the other princes did, that he couldn’t travel to faraway lands and taste strange dishes. They’d know that all he knew how to work with were rice, minced meat, mung beans, green onions, and his own two hands. If Kevin had been named Lang Liêu, some other poor fucker could have been zapped by lightning and kidnapped by Leviathans and demons, and Tran Lang Liêu could be at home with his mom instead of tied up in a warehouse, awaiting torture.

Kevin’s mom told him once that bánh tét’s cylinder shape helps them last longer and makes them easier to eat while traveling; that's why they evolved from the flat shape of bánh chưng. Decades ago, she left Vietnam for Michigan with all of her savings hidden in the bottom of her bag. Before recent events, Kevin barely ever traveled out-of-state, but he still made bánh tét with his mom each year. Maybe all those hours Kevin spent wrapping rice in banana leaves were preparation, spiritual provisions for the long road ahead. Maybe his entire life was just him biding his time until someone needed him to read a fucking tablet.

Kevin’s forgotten the details of most of the legends his mom told child-him before bedtime, but he remembers wanting to be one of the heroes in them. The gods in those legends weren’t absentee fathers; they visited heroes in dreams or in-person. When they arrived, they spoke clearly and directly, not through chicken scratch on stone. Kevin knew where he fit into his mom’s stories: as a child of dragons and fairies; someone who knew to rebel against invading forces, be clever against evil, and be a friend to his community. That made sense; his life now doesn't. Kevin may have been born as a prophet-to-be, but this angels and demons bullshit is a mythos he never wanted to be a part of.

Luckily, he thinks, reading the line in front of him again, he has an idea of how to escape the demons part of his current shitty circumstances. Thank someone for demon-killing spells. He just needs to wait.

Lang Liêu won his dad’s competition by presenting the king with two simple but delicious forms of rice cakes: bánh dày, which were round to symbolize Heaven, and bánh chưng, which were square to symbolize the earth. Nowadays, to make bánh dày and bánh chưng is to thank the heavens and the earth for what they’ve done for you. The demon tablet in Kevin’s hands is both round and square, but the parts Kevin has translated have made it clear that its contents are not about Heaven or Earth. That’s just fine by Kevin. He can understand Heaven and Earth without being a prophet—he just needs rice, minced meat, mung beans, green onions, and his own two hands.

#kevin tran #food cw #spnpocweek #spn #supernatural #my fic #kevin #orig

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tenderdean · 3 years

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i was talking to @andromedaskyline about how we just know whatever this ending is gonna be will be—well, a punch to the gut at best, but then it got us thinking about what kind of ending we want for dean and listen. listen.

when all is said and done, dean is alive and well, and he drives off into the sunlit horizon, and at the end of that road after however much time he needs to recover—

he starts a halfway house.

a halfway house for hunters, yes, but mostly for kids.

kids like claire and krissy and josephine, and alex and patience. kids that fell out of their normal lives and into hunting, with no feasible way back out. kids like dean.

it’s a place to crash and recuperate, where there’s a roof over their heads and a bed to call their own and a food-stocked pantry (it never runs low. dean never lets it run low.) but also: a waypoint.

dean’s still got sonny’s number, and if there’s one person who can help a kid find a future or a family or a purpose, it’s sonny. (it’s also dean—but he’s not used to advertising himself; it’ll always feel like overselling.) he sits up late at night working through college applications, scholarship applications, to help these kids through the nightmare that is lying convincingly on paperwork. he teaches these kids all the things he had to learn by his lonesome: how to cook, how to clean and mend clothes and treat wounds and hustle pool without getting decked in the face. and if they’re set on hunting—and he gets it, he does, because retiring was never an option for him when there’s lives to be saved, and he knows how—then he rolls up his sleeves and he teaches them.

hunters are a special kind of people, too rebellious for their own good, but he knows not to push. anyone can leave, but anyone can also stay. and when they do, he’s got things to tell them: the fastest way to decapitate a vamp and torch a wendigo, where to park their getaway car, which weapons to always have on hand and which to leave in the motel room, never to leave a case too early to miss something or late enough for the cops to get you. who to call when they do. basic skills, survival skills, but there’s nothing basic about them anymore when they’ve amounted to his entire life and he’s perfected them, had to perfect them to stay alive through it all.

he’s seen things, butted heads with things that go unmentioned in even the thickest of lore books, and he makes sure they know how to take all of them down, or else how to sweet-talk it back where it came from. he makes sure every kid knows the vampire antidote by heart. he also tells them about purgatory, and to think hard before mercy-killing anything into an existence of blood-slash-blood-no-rest-no-peace. some things can save themselves: if they want to, let them, but make sure they follow through. it’s about the saving, not the killing, and if the two of them become muddied you have to save yourself first.

dean has a bed for you, in that case. a bed and a mean burger and an ear tilted in your direction.

sometimes, sam calls: dean lets it go to voicemail, and that’s a gift to them both. dean will leave a voicemail of his own, in time. he’ll talk for however long he wants to, about whatever he wants to, answers the questions he likes and doesn’t answer those he doesn’t. talks about the kids, all the time, about how much he wishes he could’ve done this for kevin. there’s no interrupting in voicemail, no pointed glares, and the new routine is maybe the healthiest they’ve ever had.

he still goes out on hunts, as a teaching outing with the kids or to let off steam or because it’s an all hands on deck sort of thing. he can’t let himself get rusty, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t indulge: memory foam on his bed, a monthly road trip in the Impala planned and followed through with, a nice, slim pair of new boots perhaps more often than he needs. it’ll take a while, but someday in the future, he even goes to the beach. leaves the united states to do it, and comes back toasty and bug-bitten and about fifty tons lighter by way of his soul.

it evolves, as kids leave and new ones come in, because no one can leave dean’s house without his number. it becomes a hub. dean makes sure there’s a weapons arsenal in the garage, stakes of various obscure woods and silver bullets by the thousand and machetes besides. they’re all for borrowing—he’ll get new ones if some don’t return. the rest of the garage is divided: the impala and all that’s needed for her upkeep, and a workbench, a visor, a torch. he works on side-projects. lets his inner inventor out to play. EMFs that can detect hex bags, glasses that fracture the light just weirdly enough that no ghost can slip past the wearer unnoticed.

that’s how, in ten years, he’ll reinvent the Colt. he makes as many bullets as he can, and it’s expensive, slow work, but it’s the largest ace any of them have ever had up their sleeves and he wants it to be available to anyone who needs it.

knowledge isn’t something to hoard, not when it can save lives. and fuck if holding the world together with his bare hands more than once, more than twice, didn’t leave him with some unconventional wisdoms, some hard-earned truths and bits of trivia that could never end up being useful but also very well could. he’s prepared for that. makes sure his kids are prepared, too.

it’s not just the kids anymore, though, not when the hunters among them have branched out and met other hunters and the world knows his name, anyway, for all kinds of reasons, good and bad. his is not a name that slips someone’s mind when it’s mentioned in passing. hasn’t been for a long, long while, and that was never a good thing until this: until it just grows around him, not murder-plots or resentment or a heathy dose of fear of being associated with him, not like a snare drawing tight but a garden. (he keeps one, out back. hasn’t really got that much of a knack for it, but some of the kids like ripping roots out of dirt, and hell, so does he.)

it’s not replacing bobby. he doesn’t pretend to be the FBI superintendent or social services or someone’s lawyer, not when he’s not out there in a suit. when a phone rings, the person on the other end always knows his name.

it starts out messy, and it’ll always be messy, but it becomes more structured as they go. a demon case comes in: they’ve got people specializing in that, send them out. a rugaru: the same. and if it’s something that’s truly Out There, they send dean, and he’ll handle that. when he comes home, he’ll make sure that next time, it won’t be just him who knows what to do.

some kids start penning down comprehensive lore books, his dad’s journal with the volume turned up, with only the stuff that’s true and none of the fluff, the muddied waters. dean contributes to that more than he expects, at first, and suddenly they’re crowding and crawling around him, eager for his input. turns out he has a lot to say.

not enough for the kids, though, it seems, because they keep sneaking carver edlund’s books into the house when he has banned them, has made it a bold point on his penned-down list of house rules. he finds them stuffed under mattresses and as pdfs on phones. he burns what he can. but he also says, okay, all right, i’ll write a fucking memoir if that’s what it takes to get you people to stop smuggling this trash in. and he lays down the basics: azazel’s plot and meddling angels, an apocalypse or two, what’s there besides the earth and how to make sure you never go there. nothing warranting gaudy pulp covers with half-naked men on them. if anyone wants to know which brother did what, they’ll have to be damn good at reading between the lines, because dean’s too over it to point fingers, especially not when his words might stick around for other generations to read and judge and point their own. he doesn’t put his name on it. leaves it anonymous.

what he doesn’t count on are the notes in the margins, the whispered conversations after dinner or the glances he’ll get: that he’s the hero of that story, he’s just too humble to write it down.

he only yells about that once.

in the end, it’s like this: there’s no american men of letters, but there’s people of action, and they all cluster around the heart of the country where the drive is about the same to each coast, and at the heart of that is dean.

in the very, very end, it’s like this: his memoir goes into print, and there’s a preface telling his name in bold letters, and clarifying the details he had made sure to leave extra vague. if you’re in a roadhouse bar somewhere—and there’s more of them now, run by those who wouldn’t stay but wouldn’t leave, either—there’s a solid chance you’ll run into a dean or deanna or ten, and they can tell you exactly who they were named after and why.

but right now, it’s just a chance, something to build out of nothing, something he wishes he had back when. something to turn his north towards, to pour all his strengths in that have grown from pain and weakness. they do always say the best leaders are those who never wanted to lead. out of all the rubble, something that’ll hold up without him there to keep it together, though he’s the heart that beats in it, anyway. he’s the home it grew up in.

#dean winchester deserves better #we both spitballed this into this huge wonderful thing #and it helped so much. so had to share #text #prose #fic

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julieloveupstead · 3 years

Text

"It Was So Close" - Upstead 8x07

Description: They came so close to losing the most important person in their lives in an instant, but after all, they are police officers and that's their job risk, right?

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Hailey was still asleep when Jay left her suite. They were going to start working separately that day. Jay, Adam, Kevin, and Kim were working on the Becerra brothers of the Latin Players, who Ruzek had been working on for the past few days, and Hailey had some paperwork due that had her at her desk all morning. She didn't know why, but she had the radio on on their shared frequency and was listening to something she didn't even know what exactly. Maybe she wanted to kill the boredom and the silence in the room or she wanted to make sure that the work the team was working on went according to the plan and that nothing unexpected happened, although she did not expect anything special to happen. She was almost finished with her report when Kim's voice came over the radio

- 5021, Eddie, 10-1, 10-1! Shots fired at police. We're at 4200 South Justine.

- Sergeant! - she called out and immediately a grey head emerged from her office.

- We have undercover officers firing shots. - Kim could still be heard.

- Let's go - decided the boss. Hailey took her jacket and ran to the car. When she heard her friend's words her heart stopped and the darkest thoughts came into her head and she didn't know how to throw them out. After all, Jay was surely fine, right? Shit what if he's lying there right now with a hole in his caltrop and oh god what if he's bleeding out right now and I'm not there with him? No, no, no, no. I'll never forgive myself for not being there, and I suggested to Jay that he wanted me to go with them, but he told me to get some sleep. Oh my God, what if this morning was our last? I'll never see his green eyes again, his wonderfully gallant smile that is reserved just for me and that makes my knees soften and butterflies dance in my stomach. Oh god, oh god, Hailey get a grip on yourself damn it nothing happened because if something bad happened Kim or Kevin would report it, right?

There was a war going on in Hailey's head, and her heart was rumbling in persi, and squeezing unpleasantly in her stomach. She was trembling all over her body and could barely keep herself from crying, but she knew that with Voight around, she couldn't afford to.

For Hailey, it took forever to get to the scene of the shooting, and when Voight finally parked, she took off running, praying that Jay would be okay and that she could scold him for freaking me out again.

- Jay! - shouted Hailey as soon as she saw Kim, who was waiting for backup. Apparently they had arrived first, which probably meant that nothing bad had happened, but as she got closer she saw a black cloth and a piece of shoe sticking out from under it. She froze at the sight and couldn't even move or breathe. She didn't hear someone say her name, she didn't feel Kim touch her arm. All that mattered was that she was late. That she wasn't where she needed to be, that she had let him down. She had promised Jay that she would always cover his back, that she would always be there for him. She was mad at herself for daring to tell him so late that he had long been more than a partner and friend to her. She regretted that they had so little time to themselves. She hadn't had time to tell him that she loved him, that she wanted to become his wife and grow old with him. Yes they had only been together for a month and hadn't really talked seriously about the next steps in their relationship, but it was so obvious to her that he was the one for her that she hadn't considered that something like that would happen. Or should she? She dropped to her knees a few inches from where the body was and, with trembling hands, reached to hide the bag, but then, as if from an abyss, a voice emerged that always brought her out of the dusk. She closed her eyes and let out a few tears that came unexpectedly, she wanted so badly to remember that sound.

- Hailey - she heard someone calling her more clearly now, but she still didn't open her eyes. She was afraid that if she opened them she would not see the most calming and amazing green of Jay's eyes in front of her. - 'Hailey, open your eyes, please,' she heard someone whisper, and someone's hands drawing unknown patterns on her shoulders. Just because she smelled a familiar scent she slowly opened her eyes. At first she thought it was a dream, but then when she studied with her eyes the whole face looking at her with worry, and steam escaped from his mouth, she believed that she was not dreaming that there was a whole and healthy Jay kneeling before her. Then all her senses seemed to awaken from their winter sleep and she realized what she had done, what a circus she had put on. Because of her, it was probably now anyone's guess that she and Jay were together. Damn.

When her breathing normalized and her thoughts returned to normal, she wordlessly got up from her knees and moved away from Jay, who now really looked worried and she knew he wanted to talk, but her survival instinct told her to put on the mask of a professional cop and go back to work as if nothing had happened. Because, after all, nothing had happened. Jay was alive and that was the most important thing, and they could talk later when they got back to her apartment after work. She let Jay know that she was okay and that they would talk later, and then she walked off in the direction of the arriving officers.

There was no time to talk for most of the day, about what had happened that morning. Hailey buried deep in her memory what had happened and did her best not to over-intellectualize the stares her colleagues were sending her, especially not to give into Jay's constantly sending her stares. She tried to work and act like she did on any normal work day, which was to say, professional and cold-blooded, as if it wasn't happening. She worked and functioned better that way. The only upside was that she wasn't avoiding Jay she just knew that command wasn't the place to talk, last time they broke that promise and she's pretty sure Kev suspected something. She'd promised herself she'd never let that happen again, and oh this morning it all came to a head, and now she was sure everyone knew about them. Damn. She could have acted more professionally, but emotions got the better of her.

On the other hand, no surprise there, right? Jay had already escaped death almost twice in front of her eyes, until now she sometimes wakes up at night with the sight of a bloody and unconscious Jay in that damn basement. More her reaction shouldn't surprise anyone and it doesn't have to mean anything right away. I'm sure I'm just exaggerating all these looks. She kept repeating to herself. Her head was starting to hurt from all this, so she got up from the desk she was sitting at and headed towards the breakroom with the intention of making herself some coffee.

Adam and Kim went to talk to Adam's CI, Kev disappeared as I suspect to call Vanessa who got a job in the drug department. Voight, on the other hand, went to see Deputy Inspector Samantha Miller, so it was just Jay and her left in the break room.

- Hey - she heard Jay's voice behind her who she didn't even know was standing behind her, she was still consumed with thoughts from the whole day and which she was trying so hard to keep out of her mind. She turned with a small tired smile towards the man. Jay also had a similar smile on his face, but she could also see that he looked worried and as she guessed probably because of her. This guy was unsmiling. He had barely escaped with his life recently, and he would always worry more about her than himself. Sometimes she felt guilty about it, because she didn't want to cause him even more problems, and now since they were together she felt overwhelmed by it, because no one in her life and the early one where parents in any normal family should do it and the later one when she grew up no one cared about her like he did. At every step he proved how much she meant to him. She almost felt like a princess with him. And maybe that's why losing him scared her so much back then.

- Hey, you want some coffee? - I asked, trying to sound as natural as possible, but it only took a glance at Jay to know that he didn't believe her one bit, but he slowly nodded.

Jay sat down on the couch waiting for Hailey to make them coffee in peace. He wanted to give her a moment to sort out her thoughts, he didn't want to rush her, his goal all along had been to reaffirm that she could always count on him, that he would always be there for her, despite everything. This was, after all, how their thing had started and how it would be until the end, because this was how they functioned. So without rushing, he waited patiently for Hailey to open her heart and soul to him. He did not care if it could be today, tomorrow, next week, next month or even next year, for him the most important thing was that in the end he would entrust her demons to him. And even the smallest secret from her childhood, or what she felt, would fill him with unbelievable love and pride, that she was able to trust him.

And so they sat in the kitchen, in the department and sipped their coffee unhurriedly. Jay often tried not to look at his girlfriend, but sometimes he couldn't help thinking what a damn lucky guy he was to have such an amazing woman by his side. When he heard the shots his first thought was Hailey and the guilt he felt for letting her down again, for breaking the promise he'd made to her a year ago and he'd repeated that promise last week, that he'd always come back to her. He couldn't do that to her, not when his biggest dream had come true. She was the only thing that had kept him alive for four years now almost. When he heard her calling him there that morning he felt so relieved that they still had time and a chance for everything that awaited them on their journey together. What bothered him, however, was the state Hailey was in and he knew full well it was all his fault. This overbearing little person must have been terrified and it reawakened old memories that they both wanted to forget.

- When I heard over the radio that there had been gunshots... - Hailey spoke so quietly, but Jay would have heard her even at the end of the world. He gave all his attention to his girlfriend, he would always want her to know that she was the most important thing to him, so he sat quietly letting her calmly express her emotions, he didn't rush her. - And then when she saw the two bags.... - he didn't need to see her face to know that there were tears in her beautiful ocean blue eyes. Jay stood up and slowly walked over to her. He set his cup down on the table and knelt by the woman of his life.

- Hey, Hailey will you look at me? - he asked himself just as quietly. His heart was breaking into a million little pieces when he saw how scared she was. He slowly wiped away the tears running down her cheeks with his thumb, then took her hand with his and squeezed it tightly. He wanted her to know that he was here, that he would not leave her. He did everything slowly and calmly, he didn't want her to cringe inside, to suffer. He dreamed of taking away all her pain, fear and anxiety and all the weight she carried on her back. - I'm sorry I scared you, I'm sorry it all came back again, I'm sorry you had to go through this again. - With every word, he looked centrally into her eyes. - I can't even imagine what you went through today. I'm so damn sorry, Sunshine.

- It's okay, Jay, it's our job, right? - she said trying to sound more confident, but Jay knew her too well. The green-eyed man merely nodded, knowing that slowly Hailey was trying to end the conversation, and he didn't want to pressure her or force her into anything knowing that then she would shut down completely. That's why he sent her a small reassuring smile, he hoped she could read from his gaze, his face, everything he wasn't able to convey with speech. He stood up and hugged the girl sitting in the chair and kissed her head.

Back then, Jay didn't know that he would soon feel a substitute for what Hailey probably felt every time she saw him in a more dangerous situation. Now he was more determined to be more careful, because the kind of fear and helplessness he'd felt out there under the warehouse when they'd managed to catch those responsible for that morning's shooting and when it got hot and he didn't have a good place to shoot he didn't wish on anyone.

Today was so close to both of them losing what is most important to them, but all the more reason for both of them to be determined to keep fighting and never stop.

#upstead #upstead fic #upstead fanfiction #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #chicago pd 8x07

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kickingitwithkirk · 3 years

Text

I’m Not Clean

Paring: Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader

Word Count: 1948

Warnings: A/B/O, angst, verbal fighting, cursing, cheating, oral sex, p/v sex

A/N: for @jawritter #jensmakemecrychallange

A/N II: Set between mid season six-starts after Death puts Sam’s soul back-ending before the last Trial in season eight. Told from Sam’s POV alternating between present and past memories/ events. Some altering of events to fit story line. Prompt in Bold.

*no beta, all mistakes are mine.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I chant this mantra over and over to myself.

I was drunk before leaving, roaring out of the garage in Baby, leaving the stench of burning rubber and exhaust in my wake.

We’ve had some hell raising fights over the years. This one tonight the vilest we have ever had, saying the most unforgiving things to each other because you broke our agreement.

What we said...our knowledge of each other’s weakest points to abuse, verbally cutting into each other in the deepest manner, inflicting as much carnage as possible.

The only other person in the universe who knows how to hit me that hard is my brother. Man, how we’ve done that dance too, over and over yet somehow always finding our way back to each other.

My brother tried to intervene, to stop us from saying the things we can never take back or forgive. It felt as if he was taking your side, I went after him as well.

I feel the need to punish myself for all the pain I have caused. I am always creating pain, torching those I love.

I found her at the dive bar, a few days out from her heat.

She is my punishment.

We go to a nearby dump. I close the door and she's already on her knees, my jeans zippers down, pulling me out and starts licking up the underside of my cock, making gagging noises trying to deepthroat me. My head thunks against the door and all I can think is that she’s not you.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I remember like it was yesterday. We ended up at Bobby’s after cleaning out a vamp nest two states over.

Grabbing our duffels we didn’t rock, paper, scissors over who got the spare bed, my brother just face plants on the couch, unconscious before I’m even at the foot of the staircase.

I wearily make my way upstairs not bothering to shower in spite of how bad I smell, too exhausted to care. I toed off my boots and socks, throwing my blood encrusted shirt and jeans in the corner, collapsing face down on the bed, landing on top of something under the covers.

Why am I staring at the ceiling?

My brother barrel's in, woken by the sound of my body hitting the floor, stopping in the doorway with his gun drawn looking for what attacked me...this confused look crossed his face as the scent of fear flooded the room.

I sit up gazing over the bed as you huddle in the corner looking scared to death. My brother puts his gun back in his waistband, hands up with his on display to show he’s no threat.

I slowly got to my feet and came around the bed towards you. You shrink even further in the corner, pulling into yourself as tight as you can, hiding behind your arms and drawn up knees.

I stop and sit down trying to not appear threatening and speak softly to you.

“I’m sorry I scared you, we’re friends of Bobby’s. He didn’t tell us you were here. We’re not going to hurt you.”

You're so still, all I can see is your beautiful eyes moving between us, the only movement you are able to do.

My brother gives a small smile before going back downstairs to the couch, giving you space to calm down. I stay on the floor, my back propped against the bed talking.

It’s a one sided conversation but that’s ok.

Bobby’s back just after daybreak found us still in the same positions on the floor asleep.

“Balls!”

You spring from the corner and bury yourself in his arms. Seeing that Bobby has you I grab my stuff and head for a shower. My brothers just came out from taking his. I strip and climb in turning on the water.

Fucker used all the hot water.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I don’t want to be touching her now, or her touching me, my self loathing rising like the bile in my throat but my body has a mind of its own tonight as my brain turns off given into my Alpha.

I grab her hair, yanking her off my dick with an audible pop, saliva and precome running down her chin, adding another stain to the discolored rug. I pull her up, tossing her onto the bed before dragging her back to the edge, the barely there skirt rides up out of the way as I lave my tongue up her uncovered thighs, swirling it through her dripping folds. Roughly inserting several fingers into her tight cunt I start sucking on her clit as she grabs my hair soaking my face with her slick as she cums.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

The smell of coffee calls to my still fuzzy brain as I staggered downstairs to the kitchen. My brother and Bobby are at the table talking. As I pour a cup you walk in from the porch.

I turn towards you, finally able to scent you without the terror that clouded the room last night.

Are you a classic beauty? No, but you beguile me.

I’m enamored with your beautiful eyes, recalling the way they never left mine last night. You’re taller than I expected, curvaceous, not delicate like others I have been with.

As you hold my gaze I remember the verbal platitudes, reading the drivel, even watched some of the bathetic romance movies but they could never fully articulate this feeling. It de-queues through me, permeates my soul.

My brother relentlessly teases that I am having a chick-flick moment.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

She wobbly moves onto her hands and knees, I climb on the bed behind her and ram my engorged cock into her sodden cunt as far as she can take me mindlessly pounding. I wrap my hand around her throat, squeezing enough to stop the incoherent noises escaping from her mouth that grate against me.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

We ended up staying at Bobby’s for a couple of weeks, it was quiet and I wasn’t in any hurry to leave you.

Bobby explained to us how you ended up here over a bottle of whiskey late one night.

Jo found you bruised and bleeding, huddled in the door jam out back of Harvelle's Roadhouse. You had been injured by your pack for defying them. Ellen of course took you in.

The pack came looking for you, trailing your scent to the bar. Ellen’s shotgun and don’t fuck with me attitude convinced them you had left but she knew it wasn’t safe for you to stay, your pack would be watching.

Smuggling you out of the bar proved harder than anyone thought. There were multiple hand offs among hunters traveling along the way, finally delivering you to Bobby Singer's home days later.

For the first time in your life, you were safe.

We took our time getting to know each other, I had to work harder than I ever have with anyone before to gain your trust.

After my brother and I caught a case, I would call you every day and matter the time, you answered. We would talk for hours, share what we had been doing that day, finding our mutual interests in a variety of subjects coming to light.

My brother would yell for me to get off the damn phone, I was keeping him awake, even though I’m sitting outside the motel room.

Then things got out of control.

Castiel broke the wall and died. Leviathans were anyone and everywhere, finally imitating us.

We became America’s Most Wanted. Bobby sent us to a man named Frank who owned him a big favor and made us disappear.

We found Bobby’s burned down house and almost got killed ourselves.

Then Bobby showed up at the hospital to break us out, informing me you were safe, hidden at a long forgotten hunters cabin.

We managed to stay in contact, I needed that, to know you were staying safe before being able to sleep at night.

The first fight happened in the hospital, blaming us for losing Bobby.

Then Dick and Purgatory.

And a lost year.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I pulled out of her relieved my knot had finally deflated enough to release me. Collapsing onto my back I fling my arm over my eyes disgusted with myself as she’s curling into my side literally purring.

I’ve repeatedly used her...in this bed of sin I created...I’ve lost control...not the first time.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

It’s never quiet for long in our lives. Castiel mysteriously returns and Kevin Tran sort of deciphers the demon tablet, how through three trials we can close the Gates of Hell and seal away so much evil if we survive the First Trial- kill a Hell hound.

While on another case we met our grandfather Henry Winchester of The Men of Letters and inherit the key to the Bunker. We have a home of sorts and I finally have a safe place for you, for us to be together. A few months after moving in, before the Second Trial-rescuing a innocent from Hell, and your heat, I made a decision that saddened both of us but with our lives was necessary and allowed me finally to make you mine forever.

Right before finding out about the Third Trial I found the test hidden in a drawer and my diminishing mind bounces between being petrified and elated. I sat there downing a bottle of whiskey from my brother's copious stash waiting for your return and upon seeing you all the alcohol in my degenerating body gave me permission to release my pent up fury and paranoia, ending in that cheap room with her.

~~I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean I’m Not Clean~~

I made my way back to the Bunker to find my brother sitting in the War Room waiting on me. He wrinkled his nose at the stench of her all over me but said nothing as I handed over the car keys pocketing them. His eyes shifted to a chair and I apprehensively sat down awaiting the bombardment he would unleash. He remains quiet as he turns the open laptop towards me. I blink a few times to focus on the screen, reading the online article from a national news agency about the contraceptive failure. I’m in disbelief when he slides your phone in front of me and plays the voicemail from your doctor.

I get up swaying from a nonexistent breeze slowly walking the halls till I’m standing outside our bedroom door. I can scent your sadness from outside the closed door causing me to freeze holding the knob, unable to summon up the courage to turn it when it disappears from my hand finding you instead. You move allowing me to enter, shutting the door as I sit on the edge of the bed before crossing over, moving to stand directly in front of me. I don’t know how you can do that with the smell of every wrong I’ve done clinging to my skin polluting us.

I feel your hands cradling my face softly telling me Grown men don't cry as your fingers track the tears coursing uninhibitedly down my cheeks.

I completely collapse wrapping my arms around your waist resting my forehead against the special place where our pup is, undeserving of your love that’s purifying me in ways the trials never will.

tagging: SPN @donnaintx

Sam/Jared @idreamofplaid

#jensmakemecrychallange #alpha!sam Winchester x omega!reader #alpha!sam winchester #Sam Winchester #SPN Supernatural #SUPERNATURAL AU #supernatural a/b/o #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #supernatural reader insert #angst

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apocalypseornaw · 3 years

Text

Always be Yours- 2

Word Count 5,437 *not my gif*

Story Summary: Inspired by the 2 part I did of the same title. Follows Dean and Reader through season 9 into season 10

Chapter Summary: Adaddon is back and using two hunters to draw the boys into a trap so of course you're right there with them

Warnings: cursing, fights, minor character death

Dean could hear your laughter drifting down the hall the moment he stepped out of his room. You'd only been at the bunker a week or so but you'd always had a habit of making any place feel your presence. Hell even Crowley asked if he could see you when he found out you were there. Kevin was acting more normal than he'd ever seen the kid and it was a bit of a relief to know he wasn't the only one keeping a close eye on Sam should Ezekial decide to not hold up his end of the bargain.

He headed towards the kitchen and could hear music. The closer he got he made out the tune of "You give love a bad name" when he stepped around the corner he was met with the sight of Sam spinning you around while you sang along word for word. Kevin was sitting at the table working on a large stack of pancakes and laughing at the show of you and Sam dancing around the kitchen in your pajamas. The two of you had formed a close friendship back when you were both the youngest kids being pawned off on Bobby during hunts and Dean would be lying if he said he didn't wish you were as comfortable around him as you were Sam.

He could still remember the first case him and Sam worked solo with you. It was the Croatoan virus. You hadn't blinked an eye when you refused to leave Sam's side when he was exposed telling them both that if they were giving in so were you. Over the years you'd been in and out of their lives and the day he'd been dragged out of hell you showed up at Bobby's and had a blade to his neck before him or Bobby could explain. When they proved it was really him that was the first time you'd ever hugged him. You'd pratically squealed when you jumped into his arms "Dean! You're back!"

You always had a habit that no matter how long you went without seeing him or Sam you always treated them as if you'd just seen them the day before. When Sam was soulless you helped him to track down Death to get Sam's soul back. He'd never seen you back down from a fight especially if someone you cared about was fighting.

He was pulled out of his thoughts when you slid to a stop in front of him and held a hand out to him. "C'mon Dean" you pleaded and he shook his head "I haven't even had my coffee yet Y/N" you being the ever persistent woman you were rolled your eyes then looked over your shoulder at Sam "Be a good little brother and fix the man some coffee" Sam grinned as he moved to grab Dean's mug and you turned back around to Dean with a smile "So now what's your excuse?" the song switched to "Have you ever seen the rain" and your eyes lit up when he hummed the first couple bars before hesitantly taking your hand.

You slid your arms up around his neck and he put his hands at your waist careful not to catch the bare skin when your shirt rode up slightly. Normally he'd feel stupid as hell dancing in the kitchen? Especially with an audience but the smile on your face was worth it, most of the time you tried to keep up the front of a fearless hunter but since Bobby's death you'd started to let your guard fall more often and around more people than just Sam. When the song ended you winked at him and said "Who knew Dean Winchester can dance?" then moved to turn the player down. Sam cleared his throat and looked from you to Dean before holding the coffee out "Want your coffee Dean?" when you turned your back Sam raised his eyebrows and Dean shot him a glare "Thanks Sammy" you thankfully didn't see the look passed between them when you turned around to ask Kevin if he wanted orange juice.

-------

The ease of the morning was interrupted by a phone call coming in about a busload of bodies found on a naval base. That mixed with the freaky storms and dead cattle circling that area screamed demon. You grabbed your duffel bag and the bag with your fed suit then stepped out of your room and met up with Kevin in the hallway. He glanced down towards the armory so you shot him a smile "Just stay away from him Kev. He'll try to get into your head and it's not worth it" he gave you a small smile in return "I'll stay away from him Y/N" he turned to head to the library so you headed for the map room where Sam and Dean stood waiting. Dean's eyes skimmed over you and your crossed your arms "Is there a problem Dean?" he met your eyes and smirked slightly "Naw, just you're gonna be a lot more fun to look at all day than Sammy here" you rolled your eyes and chunked your duffel bag to him considering they both already kept go bags in baby's trunk "Easy tiger, we got work to do"

You walked next to Sam up the stairs talking about the case and what could possibly be waiting.

------

When Dean rolled to a stop right outside the area that had been tapped off you slid your ID into your pocket then climbed out the backseat. You had stopped off about ten miles back for all of you to change into your suits. "This place reeks of sulphur" Sam muttered and you nodded "Between the stink and the storms.." "Mixed with the dead cattle I'll take demons for a thousand Alex" Dean finished holding the police tape up for you to walk underneath.

The MP noticed the three of you and headed your way so you pulled your badges out while Dean did the introduction "Agents Stark, Banner and Barnes. FBI. Just need to have a look around" She didn't hesitate to ask "Why? This is a military case, not a federal one" "Well that's not what our supervisor said" you interjected and if anything you speaking seemed to make her attitude that much worse "That so? Then maybe him and I ought to have a chat" Sam cut his eyes at you and Dean said "Ok" then pulled his phone out. You wondered what he was doing and leaned up slightly to see him hit Kevin's number.

"Hey boss, we got a little problem" poor Kevin you just hoped he knew to play along. After a beat Dean continued "Yeah just a local badge needs a little confirmation we're supposed to be here. How the word came down from FBI headquarters in D.C." you were glad you were used to situations like this because if not you probably would've laughed imagining how confused Kevin must be but nonetheless Dean said "Yeah" then held the phone out to the MP.

She looked between the three of you before saying "This is sergeant Miranda Bates. Who am I talking to?" She looked back at Dean who you knew by far wouldn't break before asking Kevin "How old are you?" you were started to get annoyed with her attitude when she said "Listen kid, I don't have to do anything and I don't take orders from the feebs so unless you can give me one good reason you got a couple of pretty boy agents and their handler poking around my crime scene" "Handler?" you scoffed and Sam reached a hand out to pull you back next to him as she kept ranting "I'm gonna put them in cuffs and spank your ass raw"

Her face fell at something Kevin said "What?..How did you find that?" You looked between the boys to see if they had any idea what Kevin was telling her but they both shrugged. She finally said "Yes sir" then handed Dean's phone back and walked away.

Dean was barely holding back a smile when he said "Kevin, what the hell did you just do?" Sam motioned to the bus so Dean waved the two of you ahead.

You stepped on the bus behind Sam and went to the first body while Sam started looking over a different one. "Sam look" you pushed back the guy's shirt with a pen to show the bullet hole in his chest. All the bodies had fatal wounds but they were all also long dead.

Dean then stepped up on the bus and asked "Got anything?" Sam nodded to the body nearest you "This guy was shot in the heart" "That what killed him?" he asked and Sam looked at you so you shrugged "Maybe? but like ten or twenty years ago" Dean glanced at Sam who added "All these bodies have fatal wounds but they're all old" "So meatsuits?" Dean guessed so you nodded "Bodies took a licking but demons kept them ticking"

"And now they're riding the soldiers" Sam added. Dean looked behind Sam "Hey" you looked up to see sergeant Bates walking up onto the bus with a tablet in her hands "Excuse me agents. We pulled this off the security camera. You might want to take a look" Sam reached out for it so you moved to the side so Dean could see the screen as well. It clearly showed the soldiers walking away but Sam froze on one woman in particular. You knew they couldn't tell you why in front of Bates but the moment the three of you stepped off the bus Dean said "Abaddon? Seriously?" and you knew why Sam had frozen the screen. That was the demon that had attacked the men of letters and who killed their grandfather Henry after him and her jumped through a magical portal to recent time.

"I thought you kentucky fried that meatsuit?" Dean asked Sam who shrugged "I did Dean" "Then how did she get it back?" you asked and nodded to the cop that held the tape up for you to pass. "And why's she playing G.I. Joe?" Dean said and Sam responded "No clue. Why don't you ask her when we find her?"

You slid into the backseat and pulled your suit jacket off while Dean pulled out onto the road and said "Oh I will and then I'm gonna chop her freaking head off..again"

------

After stopping off long enough for all of you to change back into normal clothes you got back on the road to the bunker. It was already dark out and you were laid across the backseat when Sam's phone rang and you heard him say "Hold on Kevin..Wait..slow down" Sam cut his eyes back when you sat up then put the phone on speaker while Kevin repeated the coordinates he'd been given then said "And she gave me two names. Irv Franklin and Tracy Bell" "Irv's a friend, don't know Tracy" Dean cut in before Kevin continued "All right, the lady said they were hunters and that if you didn't go save them that she would kill them" "Yeah heard that song before" Dean grumbled but you were looking up the coordinates to see where you were all headed.

"Dean, who was she?" Kevin asked so you answered without looking up "The bad guy" Dean asked Kevin to dig up everything the men of letters had on the knights of hell. Abaddon was one although you didn't know exactly what that entailed. After Sam hung up with Kevin you leaned up between him and Dean "The numbers point to a spot on the outskirts of Eugene, Oregon" then glanced between the two of them "Are we gonna adknowledge this is a trap right?"

"Yup" Dean said matter of factly. You turned your head to look at Sam when he asked "And we're just gonna walk right into it?" "Guns blazing" you answered and saw Dean glance your way in the mirror. "Well Y/N's with me, Sam?" Sam of course said "You know it"

------

You drove through the night and stopped a few miles shy of where Abaddon wanted to meet so all of you could be as well prepared as possible. The place was completely abandoned. Dean gave voice to your thoughts when he asked "What the hell happened here?" "A local chemical plant sprang a leak years ago. They evacuated three square blocks. Guess it's still contaminated"

"Wait? So this whole place is poison?" you asked, a little worried. "Yeah" Sam replied and you laughed when you saw Dean's hand move to cover his crotch "That's not gonna help" Sam told him with a sigh. Dean realized you'd seen him and shrugged "It doesn't hurt"

One thing you'd gotten used to was that when you hunted with them both they had a habit of keeping you between them when they could. You weren't sure if it was on purpose or not. The three of you walked further into the town then heard a slam coming from an old diner that caused you and Sam to pull your guns. Dean nodded so you covered Sam while he kicked the door in.

"Clear" you and Dean went in behind him so you kept an eye on the kitchen to make sure there was no surprises while Dean untied Irv and who had to be Tracy. You glanced back when he said Abaddon had been torturing hunters to get information on Sam and Dean. If you hadn't been with them she might have gotten her claws on you.

Dean gave Irv a shot of holy water while Sam gave one to Tracy who rolled her eyes "Happy?" she was slinging more aggression towards Sam than you would've liked but now wasn't the time. Irv nodded to you when Dean untied him "Y/N, good to see ya" "Yeah" you said then once again Tracy got mouthy with Sam when he introduced himself. You knew the look you had when Irv quickly explained "She's new. We worked a shifter job in Sacramento together. Smart but got a mouth on her" She scoffed so you clicked your tongue "Honey we ain't got time for whatever you got going on. We need to gear up and clear out" Dean tilted his head towards you "What she said"

------

You were helping Dean lay out every weapon you'd grabbed. "We got jesus juice, devil's trap bullets shoot a demon with them and put em on lockdown" He explained and you spun an angel blade in your hand "Angel blades work"

Irv took a gun loaded with Devil's trap bullets about the time Sam said "They're coming" "Good" Dean said handing you a vial of holy water. "They've got assault rifles" Sam added and you cursed under your breath "Ok, less good"

Irv looked at Dean "So, what's the play?" Dean looked at you "Give me your phone" you handed it over without question and watched him record a voice memo of himself saying "COME AND GET IT YOU DICKS" and knew his plan. You grabbed one of the cake trays and drug it over in front of him "Prop it up here" he did as you said then looked between everyone else. "Let's go"

------

All of you made it out behind the cafe so Dean looked around "We got to flank seal team douche in there so uh Irv, you and me will go left. Sam, you Y/N and Tracy go right" "Ok let's move" Sam said and reached for Tracy's arm but she shoved him back "Don't touch me" "What is your problem?" you asked feeling Dean grab you around the waist with one arm to hold you in place while he repeated the question.

Tracy's eyes never moved off of Sam "My family's dead because of him" "What?" Sam asked and in that moment you could've knocked Tracy flat just for the guilt in his eyes. She looked back at you then at Dean before saying "I watched a demon slaughter my parents and the whole time it talked about how it was celebrating how some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage" you looked over your shoulder at Dean and he slid his arm from around you. "Ok we got to move. Y/N you go with Sam and Irv, Tracy with me" you didn't really want to leave her with Dean in case it became a your brother did this to my people so I'm gonna do this to you type of thing but it wasn't like you were in a position to start an argument. You simply nodded and tapped Sam's shoulder "Let's go"

------

You were walking close to Sam gripping your gun and trying to keep an eye out, He had the demon blade in his hand and Irv was behind you. "Sam you copacetic?" Irv asked and Sam nodded "I'm good" Irv glanced at you then said "Good. Give me that toothpick, grab Y/N then you two get Dean and Tracy and get the hell out of here" "What?" you asked in shock and Irv explained "I'm going in there alone. I'll buy you as much time as I can"

"Irv, that's death" Sam glanced at you for help but you didn't know what to say at a friend basically asking for the two of you to be ok with him killing himself. Irv looked ashamed when he finally spoke "Yeah, well it's what I got coming..It's my fault. I was in some dive and I was sloppy and lonely" Sam glanced at you as Irv continued "And I met some girl and the next thing you know, I'm strapped to some bed and she's twisting things that ain't supposed to be twisted" "She who?" Sam questioned but you had a feeling you already knew the answer Irv saying "Abaddon" just confirmed you were right.

Irv's voice broke when he said "I gave em up. Pete,Tracy,even you Y/N. I gave em all up. So Sam you hand me that blade and you let me do what I got to do or so help me" but he had moved to the point his back wasn't blocked by any building and a shot rang out a second before Irv fell. Sam instinctively pushed you back and pulled his gun. You nodded that you were ok then you both leaned out to return fire then make a break for the diner that was across the street.

You fell in behind Sam and looked up to see one of the demon's holding you at gunpoint "Boo"

He snatched you to your feet and Sam dove for him with the demon blade but another demon popped up and knocked Sam sideways then both of you were thrown over the counter. You scrambled to your feet again about the time the third demon walked around the corner and smiled "Cool. I didn't miss the best part"

------

Safe to say you and Sam were getting your asses handed to you. He had his head slammed into a wall and you thought he was unconscious then suddenly his eyes glowed blue and he looked at "GET DOWN" "Bout time you pop up" you muttered diving back behind the counter and tucking yourself into the smallest ball possible as Ezekiel's wings shown on the wall of the diner.

You stayed in that position until the door of the diner opened and Dean called your name. He let out a visible breath when you popped up. "Fuck don't hide again!" "He told me to!" you argued pointing at Ezekiel who was stabbing the last demon in the head with the demon blade. "They were going to kill him and her Dean" "Ezekiel?" Dean asked and you nodded. "What the hell did you do?" Dean pushed and Ezekiel turned to face him "I was protecting your brother and Y/N. I thought that was what you wanted" "Yeah of course, Thank you we're just still getting used to all this" you cut in and Ezekiel looked around "As am I" "Sam's ok?' you asked and Ezekiel explained that he had been knocked unconscious and in a way still was and wouldn't remember what happened. "So what the hell am I supposed to tell him when he comes to?" Dean asked and Ezekiel held the demon blade out "Which was why I used the knife"

"Right, smart" Dean took the blade then looked at you when Ezekiel spoke "You are troubled still" Dean turned back towards him "Yeah it's just that uh. Yeah this is on me. I was the one who talked Sam out of boarding up hell so every demon deal, every person they kill you're looking at the person who let it happen" "Dean" you tried but he wouldn't even look at you. "You were protecting your brother" Ezekiel offered then continued "I am in Sam's head. Everything he knows I know. and I know that what you did you did out of love"

Dean scoffed "Look Zeke, I'm gonna call you Zeke. I'm not really with the whole uh love and well love" you were standing there looking between the two of them when Ezekiel said "but it is why I said yes" "Yeah and if that goes sideways that's on me too" you finally snapped at Dean "PLEASE STOP HATING YOURSELF FOR FIVE SECONDS"

They both looked a little startled so you took a breath and said "We're trusting you Ezekiel" Dean finally shook himself out the shock of you hollering at him to say "and I just hope you're one of the good guys" "I am" Ezekiel said then added "But I suppose that's what a bad guy would say...Dean Winchester you are going the right thing" you took a deep breath and look at Ezekiel "How about letting Sam take back control? me and Dean will clean up before he wakes up" Ezekiel nodded then walked over to where Sam had been knocked out and sat back.

------

Once his head drooped over you moved to help Dean load the weapons back into the bag. Neither of you spoke until Sam started to stir.

When he groaned you made it to his side first "Sam?" "Sammy?" Dean asked helping Sam to his feet. Sam looked at you "What the hell happened?" you shrugged "You took a shot to the head, I was about to be the pinata for these asshats before Dean decided to slide in and save our asses"

Sam looked at Dean "You killed three demons, alone?" Dean shrugged "Took them by surprise. Got a little messy, I got a little lucky oh and I'm awesome so there's that" Sam looked around and you smirked when he said "You are pretty damn awesome"

You heard an engine roll up and looked out the window to see Tracy roll up in baby and looked back at Dean "She gets to drive baby and I don't?" Dean tried to explain but you simply grabbed the weapons as the three of you headed outside.

------

Tracy looked at Sam "You good?" "Yeah, more or less" and you smiled when her reply was "Good." She chunked the keys to Dean "I got everything but guess I'm late to the party" "Lucky you" you muttered and walked around to get in behind Sam as Dean said "Let's blow this toxic dump. Burgers and silkwood showers on me"

------

After you dropped Tracy off at one of her friend's houses you and the boys got back on the road. You hadn't really said much to either of them. You were thinking about Ezekiel and if he truly was a good guy. Sam was used to the way you'd get quiet sometimes but Dean had looked in the mirror about a dozen times before you finally said "Speak Dean" he shrugged "You pissed at me?"

You knew you had to look as confused as you felt so he clarified "Tracy driving baby?" you laughed "Naw if you wanted to let me drive her you would" and shrugged he looked a bit hurt so you winked at him to let him know you weren't upset about that.

------

Twenty miles from Lebanon Dean decided to stop to get Kevin some food. You were sitting in the backseat with your head leaned back while Sam checked his emails.

You glanced up when the door closest to you opened and was surprised to see Dean holding the car keys out to you "I really don't want you killing me in my sleep" you grinned and snatched them from him not risking him changing his mind.

-------

When you pulled up to the bunker and killed the engine you looked back at Dean who was watching you and smiled "Thank you" he took the keys that you were holding out and nodded "Wait, you're still staying around right?" you didn't stop to think Sam hadn't heard that conversation between you and Dean before he said "What?" you shook your head and climbed out the car "Don't worry about it Sam I'm not going anywhere any time soon."

-------

Kevin was nowhere to be found and considering Crowley killed his mom the three of you ran to the armory.

Crowley was beat up but at least not dead and neither was Kevin. "Who worked you over?" Sam asked. Crowley looked at you then said "Martin Hayward and Brandon Favors" "They did this?" you asked but he shook his head "No they're demons. Your boys wanted names, I'm giving names. They're underperformers. Spike them, You're doing me a favor"

Dean smirked "Wow, you break easy" Crowley rolled his eyes "Please,your little plan to have me stir in my own delicious juices? Pathetic. You want intel, I want things too. Maybe we can come to some kind of arrangement. Quid pro quo gentlemen" "So these names are freebies?" you asked and Crowley smiled at you "Not at all sweets.You can consider them fair trade for the enjoyment Kevin gave me" "What the hell's that supposed to mean?" You and Dean asked in unison and Crowley quirked an eyebrow at that before saying "He's my new favorite toy. Wind him up and watch him go" You glared at him "You red eyed bastard" then spun around to walk out the armory and find Kevin. You heard Dean tell Sam "Check the names, I'll help Y/N find the kid"

------

You found him packed up and trying to leave "Where are you going?" Dean asked but Kevin kept walking so you stepped in his path. "Y/N you can't keep me locked up here. I'm leaving" "Like hell" Dean said and you cut your eyes at him "Kev we told you not to talk to Crowley he messes with your head" "He said my mom was alive, that if I let him go he'd give her back"

"And you believed him?" Dean asked with a scoff. "He's still in there isn't he?" you moved to put yourself between Dean and Kevin before saying "Kev, Crowley's lying" "And if he's not?" he asked and you were glad for once that Dean answered "Than she's dead, in every way that matters anyways. We're sorry Kevin"

"I know you're dying to bolt. I get it but out that door it's angels and demons and they'd all love to get their hands on a prophet so even with Crowley here..It's still the safest place for you" you took a breath hoping you'd gotten through to the kid. "and we need you" Dean added.

It hurt your heart when Kevin assumed "Because I'm useful?" but you couldn't help but smile when Dean answered "No,because you're family. Same as Y/N. If you don't think after all we've been through together we all wouldn't die for each other man I don't know what to tell you. We're all we got but hey if none of that matters to you then I won't stop you and I won't let Y/N"

Kevin looked at you then slowly nodded "Ok" you cut your eyes at Dean "I'm gonna get him to his room then I'll come find you and Sam"

-------

You walked into the library and heard Dean telling Sam "You have helped a lot more people than you've hurt" and guessed it was due to what Tracy said so you stepped further in and Dean waved you over and sat a glass of whiskey in front of you.

You took it then sat down next to Sam. Dean looked back at him then said "All of that was then" he held up his glass so you did the same and bumped Sam's shoulder so he'd join in when Dean said "Here's to now"

You clicked your glasses against theirs then took a sip. "You both ready for it?" Sam asked so you looked at Dean who questioned "Ready for what?" "Fallens angels, Abaddon. Cas losing his halo, Crowley living in our basement"

You half laughed "Dean you invited me to move into a freakin sitcom" Dean shrugged "At least you have company?" Then turned his attention to Sam "What about you? How's the engine running?"

Sam looked between the two of you before saying "Honestly? I feel better than I have in a long time. I know it's crazy out there but I look around here and I see friends and family. I'm happier than I've been in forever. It's just things are good" Dean met your eyes and nodded "Never better"

------

Sam had already headed to bed and Dean went to check in on Kevin. You knew you wouldn't wind down for a while so you collected the books Kevin had pulled about the knights of hell and laid them out across one of the tables in the library.

You poured yourself another glass of whiskey then sat down. You were halfway through the first book when Dean cleared his throat and you glanced up to see him leaning against the doorway "I figured you went to bed" you said and held the bottle out. He took it then sat across from you "I figured you did too"

He poured a glass then reached for one of the books so you slid it across to him. The two of you read in silence for a few minutes before he called your name. You glanced up "Yeah?" "What was that about?" You weren't exactly sure what he meant so you asked "What was what about?"

He closed the book and for once there was no humor in his face when he asked "You yelling at me about not hating myself for five minutes?" Oh that was what he meant. You finally answered "You're very self deprecating Dean even worse than Sam. I can't stand it" he nodded but still pushed "Why?"

You sighed and laid the book down pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and trying to get the words right before you spoke them "You're a good man Dean. You damn near raised Sam, you have saved so many people. You have a good heart and even when you fuck up it's due to good intentions and don't start about the road to hell being paved with good intentions you know what I mean. When it comes down to it there's no one else I'd rather have to back me in a fight or as a friend" the corner of his lips ticked up in a small smirk "um thanks?" You shrugged "It's the truth. Now let's finish with these books we're currently on then I think we should head to bed" "Yours or mine?" He teased with a smirk but you knew the best way to handle Dean was to give his own medicine right back to him so you quickly fired back "Oh honey I just don't think you could handle me" and laughed at the look on his face "Yeah I can definitely see why Sam likes having you around" "oh and you don't like having me around not even in the least?" You asked and and he rolled his eyes then pushed the book you'd been reading back at you "Read your book Y/N"

You turned your attention back to the book but noticed the way he kept glancing your way for the next half hour. When you finally closed your book to head to bed you stood and stretched "See you in the morning?" He nodded "I'll be the best looking one" you shook your head with a smile then headed to your room.

Tags: @akshi8278 @facadeformyrealblog

#spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural fic #always be yours

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jawritter · 4 years

Text

Living With Regret

Summary: Death can be hard to deal with in any aspect, but when you’re in the life, it's something you deal with all to often, and carry with you until it's your turn to burn.

Warnings: Angst, Drinking, mentions of OC character death, swearing, hints of depression. I think that's it.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2387

A/N: This is a Patreon Exclusive that I’m bringing to Tumblr as a way to celebrate the return of my electricity! LOL! Please do not copy my work! This fic is unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine!! I hope you all enjoy this one!!

Want more? Check out my Masterlist! Not on Patreon yet? Check the link below and for just two bucks a month you can get exclusive stories and make request!

**MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

The hunt was bad, very bad. You had lost a friend, another piece to the puzzle of your heart now gone permanently from you, leaving a new hole to form a hard callous over. You wondered ideally as you pulled your duffle off your shoulder, and dropped it onto your bed if you would ever get used to losing people, or would ever one hurt as bad as the first time?

You knew hunting was hard when you’d gotten into it, but how could you live in a world that monster existed in, and not try and fight back? To you that would have been just like rolling over and giving up.

When that Werewolf back in your hometown had killed your parents, you had readily joined the Winchesters. Much to Dean’s dismay, he would have rather you go on to try and live a normal life, but how were you supposed to do that after what had happened to you? Nothing had ever been fixed by anyone burying your head in the sand, and pretending that it didn’t exist in hopes it would all go away.

You had been with the boys since John had died. So it was safe to say that you had been with them long enough to know that no matter how much you were hurting right now Dean was hurting that much worse.

He didn’t know Ben very well, but he carried the same name as Lisa’s son. That alone had opened up some bad memories for Dean anyway. Tonight though, as you watched your friend’s body burn, you could see it in Dean’s eyes, regret.

He didn’t open up very often to anyone. Dean had walls that would have made the architects of Jericho jealous. Marching around those bad boys for seven days wouldn’t have done shit, because you had been marching around them for years and to no avail.

You had always carried a torch for the elder Winchester. Even though you weren’t dumb enough to tell him that. If Dean thought anyone was getting too close to him he’d push them away as a way of “keeping them safe,” because he believed that he had some target painted on his ass that would doom anyone he cared about.

The two of you had somewhat of a “friends with benefits” arrangement that worked out well for the life that you lived, and you were determined that if that part of him was all you could have, then that would be enough.

Dean had two settings after a rough hunt, he’d either be in here tearing your clothes off, and using you as a way to erase some of the pain he felt for just a little while, or he’d shut down completely for days and not let anyone in. Looks like tonight was going to be the latter.

You rummage around in your special stash of whiskey that you keep for special occasions, and a couple of tumblers before heading to Dean’s room. If Dean wanted to shut down and block everyone out then you knew the only way to stop it was to force your way in, well as far as you could anyway, and try to pull it out of him.

Dean was the kind of guy that carried things with him. He never let it go. Never. He held onto things better than a nun with a grudge. He carried every loss, every mistake, every failure, and he would take it to his grave. You attributed that to John Winchester’s A+ parenting.

Dean was always to be the perfect son and in turn the perfect soldier. Even though you know Dean as an adult now realized that John was nothing but a narcissistic, abusive asshole, he was his dad, and it still hurt, and he still carried the way he raised him.

You didn’t bother knocking on the door of Dean’s room. It was cracked away. So you just pushed it open, and Dean barely even turned to look at you from his position on the bed with his headphones in place. You could faintly hear the classic rock music blaring through them. Probably hoping it would be loud enough to drown out whatever voices in his head that was screaming at him tonight.

He pulled the headphones off with a sigh, and set them on his nightstand next to his bed, giving you a weak smile as he shoved over to give you sitting room, and taking one of the tumblers and the whiskey from your hand.

“Spill Winchester?” you said, flopping down next to him dramatically, trying to keep this conversation as light as possible so that Dean wouldn’t just shut down, and stop talking. If you could even get him to start that is.

Dean let out a long exasperated sigh as he poured a healthy three fingers to each glass.

“Just… I don’t know. I guess I’m just tired tonight, sweetheart. I'll be fine in the morning.” Dean said, taking a generous drink from his glass. You stared at him with narrow eyes until he snorted a sarcastic laugh, and shook his head. “Okay, so you didn’t buy that then.”

“How long have we known each other, De? I think I can tell when you're bullshitting me by now,” you state matter of factly, watching him closely as you take a sip of your drink.

Dean licked his lips before pulling his plump bottom lip between his perfect white teeth, eyes a thousand miles away from this room.

“I guess I’m just tired of losing people, Y/N/N. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there fast enough to save Ben. I’m sorry you had to burn your friend’s body tonight.”

You watched him closely, knowing full well that wasn’t even a scratch on the surface of what was really going on with Dean. You had known him too long. You decided to play along anyway, and see if you could get him to open up to you a little.

“Dean, it’s part of the job. Ben knew the risk, and it didn’t matter how fast we got there it was too late. He drew the short straw. It could have easily been any one of us. At least now Ben can rest, at least now he doesn’t have to fight anymore.”

You hoped you sounded convincing because right now you weren’t even sure about how much rest people got in death. You had killed enough ghosts and fought enough Demons to know that you didn’t always get a white robe, and a beach house on the shores of paradise when you died.

Dean nodded his head, and took a long drink from his glass, polishing it off, and refilling it before settling into his pillow that was propped against his headboard. His eyes looked distant and dark, and you knew that even if you got him to open up just a little tonight, it would scratch the surface of horrors Dean had seen in his life.

“I have lost so many people. Friends, family, other hunters that died way before their time like Ben. He would have been pretty close to Ben’s age by now, he may have been only a few years older than the Ben I knew.”

Dean’s eyes shifted over to you carefully. You sat quietly and just waited for him to continue. Determined not to push him in any way.

“I will never not regret exposing them to this life, even if Cas did erase their memories,” Dean said, shaking his head, and playing with the string on his sweatpants.

“You mean because you still love Lisa?” you asked, mentally slapping yourself before for not keeping your mouth shut, and asking him something so personal. Dean chuckled at the shocked look on your face, knowing damn well you didn’t mean to say that.

“No, I never loved Lisa. She was… Comfort when I needed the distraction after Sam went to the cage. Then, when I found out Sam was back, she was a burden. She never supported me. No matter what I never fit into her perfect little Stepford husband, picture-perfect family.

You must have had a shocked look on your face because Dean chuckled again into his glass before he refilled yours. “Don’t look so shook, sweetheart.”

“Sorry,” you mumbled, looking down at the brown liquor in your glass, and avoiding Dean’s watchful gaze.

“I guess, I just always thought that you loved her because you told Sam to never bring her up again.”

Dean nodded his head thoughtfully. “That was regret talking. I felt like shit because I felt like I ruined their lives. When I should have just left them alone. If I would have just left them alone, then Lisa wouldn't have gotten possessed, and almost died, and Bed would have maybe had a real dad.”

You thought about that in silence for a long time before taking a sip of your drink again. Letting it burn all the way down to your toes, warming you, pushing the cold you felt inside away for just a little while.

“I guess I haven’t really ‘loved’ anyone, since Cassie,” Dean said. Now that a crack in the dam had formed, it all seemed to be waiting to flood out, and you were more than willing to listen.

“I told her things about me no one else knew. I trusted her, and she ripped my heart out. Not once, but twice. After that, I’ve never really been able to let go again. Never really could trust another woman. I wouldn’t let myself get close to anyone. Well, anyone except you.” Dean said, giving her a half-hearted smile before turning his attention back to his spot he’d been staring at on the wall.

“I carry so much regret. Things I could have changed but wasn’t good enough or fast enough to change. Joe and Ellen died because of me. Ash died because of me. Bobby died trying to save me. I left Jack alone with mom knowing that he was unstable, so that’s on me too. Kevin is somewhere staggering around a ghost that I will probably have to hunt and salt and burn one day. That’s because of me. I let myself get close to one woman, and she fucked me up so bad that I can’t get past it, and that’s because of me.”

Dean let out a dry laugh before his eyes turned to meet yours. “I can’t look back on one damn thing I’ve done in my life that I can say I’m proud of. Except for maybe the fact that Sammy turned out okay. Other than that I was never good enough, and I never will be.”

If your heart could have stopped beating, and you still be breathing, at that moment you were almost sure that’s what had happened. The truth in his little declaration, or at least the truth as he saw it, was enough to break your heart into an unfixable, shattered mess.

If only he could see what you saw. Someone who was smart, handsome, funny, charismatic, talented, strong, a hero. One who had endured more hurt and heartache than any one person should ever have to in their life. Someone who was constantly cut down, and underrated. Someone who deserved so much better than what this life had given him. Someone who deserved love, whether he believed it or not.

In a momentarily fit of bravery, you reached across the empty space in between you, and grabbed his hand in your own. Dean looked down and smiled a little, lacing his fingers with yours before bringing the back of your hand up to his lips, brushing a quick peck across your skin.

“Dean, you can’t blame yourself for everything that goes wrong, John was an asshole, Cassie was a bitch, Lisa was an unsupportive moron who didn’t realize what she had, Jo? Well, Jo died a hero, just like she always wanted. Ash and everyone else knew the dangers of this life, just like Ben did, and you can’t carry all that with you all the time. Dean, you’ve saved so many people. The good outways the bad, trust me.”

Dean’s eyes searched yours for a moment before he leaned in and closed the distance between you, brushing his lips lightly over your own before kissing you slowly. It was a tender thing, one that was laced with fear, and hurt, and regret, something that Dean would always live with no matter what you say to him.

This life comes with some form of regret to everyone, but no one should have to shoulder it all alone. If he’d ever just let you, you’d gladly help to shoulder some of his burdens, but tonight was not the night to talk about that.

Tonight, tonight Dean just needed you to be close to him. So that’s what you intended to do.

When Dean finally broke the kiss he leaned his forehead against your own, taking a deep breath before pulling the covers back, offering her a spot next to him. “Stay with me tonight baby girl?” he said in more of a plea than a question. You smiled and nodded, making yourself comfortable in his arms as his lips brushed over your own again after he flipped the lights off on the old lamp sitting on his bedside table.

Dean didn’t know how to tell you yet, but you made him feel things he never thought he’d feel again. Having you this close to him right now, made his heart feel like it could beat a little easier. He could feel himself falling for you as you fell asleep in his arms. He wouldn’t tell you though, not right now. He did vow that it would be soon because tomorrow wasn’t promised, and he was determined that this time, this time he could finally have that thing he was missing the most in the shitstorm of regret, hurt, and scars, and that was you. The piece that had been missing all along. He may have lived his whole life with regret, but that didn’t mean he had to die in it, and whether you knew it or not, you gave him something he never thought he’d have again… Hope.

Forever Tags: @deanmonandnegansbitch @hayleeharling @flamencodiva @coldmuffinbanditshoe @bxbyizzy @rain-dance-goblin @itmejado @supernatural3002 @teresa-67 @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @Waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn one shot #dean winchester one shot #dean one shot #jawritter #jensen ackles #x reader inserts

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carveredlunds · 3 years

Text

“I won’t be hands-on”: A meta on Jack becoming the new God

“But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” -- Dean Winchester, season 4, episode 2 “People pray to you. People build churches for you. They fight wars in your name, and you did nothing.” -- Dean Winchester, season 11, episode 21 “I won’t be hands-on. Chuck put himself in the story. That was his mistake. But I learned from you, and my mother, and Castiel, that when people have to be their best, they can be. And that’s what to believe in.” -- Jack Kline, season 15, episode 19

I’ve still barely processed my anger at the end of the Brothers VS. God storyline. The idea of Jack being a “new God” is ridiculous. Not only does it ignore established lore of the universe by reducing Chuck to a human who was (apparently) just filled with divinity which can be sucked out of him like Daniel Plainview drinking his milkshake (yes, that’s a There Will Be Blood reference!), rob Amara of any agency by making her exist inside her nephew (ew), and make Jack (who has always been an OP character) a super duper Gary Stu, but its final message is an insult to long-held beliefs of both of the brothers, especially Dean.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

Ever since the earliest seasons, Dean has had an issue with the state of the world. In season 2, episode 13, Houses of the Holy, he makes the following pessimistic speech to Sam:

There's no higher power, there's no God. I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds.

There are too many mentions of Dean’s lack of faith in God to go through each one, but it essentially boils down to this -- Dean can’t believe there is a God, because the world is so full of suffering and injustice, and no God would allow that to happen. It’s a classic atheist stance, held by a lot of people. But it goes a little further than that. In season 5, episode 2, Good God, Y’all, Dean says the following to Castiel:

Even if there is a God, he is either dead -- and that's the generous theory -- or he's up and kicking and doesn't give a rat's ass about any of us. I mean, look around you, man.

So, what a lot of atheists point out is that not only do they not believe in God, but they often believe that, if there is a God, he is not worthy of worship or praise, because he made such an unfair, pain-filled, evil, world (for a very eloquent speech on this, check out Stephen Fry talking about it.) I’m not going to get into the Problem of Evil, because I’m not a theologian, and that’s not the point of this meta. But basically, that’s Dean’s stance on the subject of God. At first, Dean doesn’t believe there is a God, and then, when he’s forced to accept that there is, his belief changes to “God must be dead, or evil”.

Enter Chuck Shurley in season 11. At last, Dean is able to actually vent his feelings to God, and they have this exchange:

CHUCK: You're frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on. Real hands-on for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being over-involved is no longer parenting. It's enabling. DEAN: But it didn't get better.

Given what we later find out about Chuck, it’s easy to say he’s lying. He was hyper-involved all along, pulling the strings, being the puppet master. This is what Dabb wants us to believe. Even though it literally ignores 14 seasons of established canon which say that God was an absentee father. Even though it ruins the narrative parallel between John Winchester and Chuck. Even though it retcons season 11, episode 20, Don’t Call Me Shurley -- one of the most beloved episodes, adored by fans and cherished by Rob Benedict as his favourite episode.

But sure. Let’s say Chuck is lying. That’s not even the point. The point is that Dean isn’t satisfied with a God who took a backseat, and let humanity stumble along by themselves. He wanted a God who steps in, who is involved, who stops suffering, and helps his creation.

Even Sam Winchester, the one with all the faith, eventually loses his cool with God, and, in season 14, episode 20, Moriah, says the following to Chuck:

Then why don’t you do something? If I had your power, I --

If he had God’s power, he’d... what? Rid the world of suffering and evil? Remove all the monsters? Get involved? Maybe even all of the above, given the context of the whole conversation. But again, the point is that Sam is angry at Chuck’s lack of involvement.

Fast forward to season 15, episode 19, Inherit the Earth, and the conversation between Jack and the brothers.

JACK: I’m already there. DEAN: Where? JACK: Everywhere. SAM: So you are... Him?

This isn’t the first part of the interaction that I take issue with, but I’ll focus on it anyway, otherwise this meta will be 1000 words long. The small gasp Dean gives when Jack says he’s “everywhere”? The almost reverent way Sam says “him”? The wannabe poetic explanation Jack gives to being “in every drop of falling rain, every speck of dust which the wind blows, and in the sand, and the rocks, and the sea”? It’s all supposed to bring the long-since lost mystique back to the character of God. Before he was introduced in the form of Chuck, God was only talked about reverently. Angels talked about his wrath, his power, his Divine Plan. God acted as an offscreen force, putting Sam and Dean on the plane at the beginning of season 5, bringing Castiel back from the dead in Swan Song. He was an unseen force. Yes, he intervened, but the idea of God sitting and playing a guitar? It would’ve been ludicrous in the early seasons of the show. They wanted the mystery of God as an unseen force, working in the world when the plot needed him.

All that to say, obviously that’s what they’re going with now, with Jack. He’s in everything, within everyone. But my question is... was Chuck that way too? If Jack is just God 2.0, if he’s omniscient and omnipresent, then surely, Chuck was too? Heck, we know Chuck was omniscient, because he told Amara he was, just two episodes ago.

Which brings me (in a very roundabout and rambling way) to the double standard here. It is okay for Jack to just “be in everything”, to not answer prayers, to be a “hands-off God”. But it’s not okay for Chuck to do that? It’s okay for Jack to make some speech about how people can find him by looking within, but that they don’t have to pray to him. News flash, kiddo: People are still going to pray to you. So... are you just ignoring those prayers? Jack is doing exactly what Chuck did, but, where Chuck was shown by the narrative to be a villain for stepping back, this is seen as a good thing. Because they played some sad music, and Sam and Dean looked solemn, and Jack talked about the power of human goodness. The show was screaming at us to see this as a good thing, to see Jack as a benevolent force, to be glad that the new Man With A Plan was the three year old son of Lucifer, instead of the ancient deity that’s been doing the job since the dawn of time.

And Sam and Dean do think this is a good thing. They get all teary-eyed, and let their surrogate son walk away in his fancy white suit (which has got to be a call back to both Chuck’s Swan Song appearance, and his final scene in Inherent the Earth, right?)

Everyone is talking about the Death of the Author, and how Chuck had to step aside to allow the boys to be free. But there was no Death of the Author. There was just a change in management. Jack is still fulfilling the role that Chuck once did -- an uninvolved, neutral, God, with all the power in the universe at his disposal, but apparently no intention of using it.

We have no reason to believe that Jack didn’t bring the world back exactly as it was before Chuck vanished everyone. All the murderers, rapists, monsters, abusers, are back. All the evil and suffering which Dean hated so much in the earlier seasons is still happening. The difference now? God is a three year old who looks like he’s in his mid-twenties.

And the most annoying thing? The show itself lampshaded, in season 15, episode 13, Destiny’s Child, how ridiculous it would be if Jack took over the role of God:

DEAN: But if Jack kills her... Kind of a family plan. Then there's no God, there's no Darkness. Nothing out of balance. World saved. SAM: Okay, yeah, but then who takes over? Uh, Jack? [Jack enters, chewing gum. He blows a bubble and pops it, grinning proudly] JACK: I just learned how to do that. DEAN: Probably not.

But now he’s made some saccharine speech about the inherent goodness of humanity, and Sam and Dean have conveniently forgotten how they hated it when God did nothing, and we’re all supposed to be okay with this, because Chuck turned out (over the course of one season) to be nothing like the neutral, distant, God we’d come to know over 14 seasons, but instead, he was a megalomaniacal control freak who apparently sent Kevin to Hell, tortured Sam, and is personally responsible for every bad thing that ever happens in the world, and has happened to the brothers. (Side note: Does this mean that they’ll blame Jack now, when bad things happen to them?)

I could go on about how sapping Chuck of his “powers” doesn’t stop him being God, because being God is more than just being a human filled with God-ness, and Chuck was never canonically said to be possessing a human vessel the way angels and demons do, but this is already long enough. So, sure. Let the Devil’s kid go be the rain, or whatever.

#supernatural #spn #spn meta #spn spoilers #jack kline #chuck shurley #sophie speaks #sophie talks about spn #i am so tired tbh

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cloudysonder · 4 years

Text

Home (Andrew Minyard/Neil Josten)

Summary:

Neil had never known family. He knew the definition of it in four different languages and knew the word for it in twice as many. He never understood it, and probably never would.

But, looking out to what seemed like a sea of people in one room, looking into the eyes and the faces of people who would fight for him, people who he would fight for, and home, in the form of blonde hair and an uncaring stare that was a cocktail of both, he guessed that perhaps it would feel a little like this.

...

Set in the cabin vacation after Baltimore; drunk, honest, sorta sappy Neil (it's Neil) realizing that he's come home, and hoping, for the first time in his life, to stay.

Also: Drunk Neil is excellent at flirting, Andrew wants nothing, and they both give the Foxes heart attacks.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24332473

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Neil looked around the small table, crowded over by Foxes. He brushed his thumb over the shot Andrew had poured for him and stared out into what would've seemed like a sea of strangers, if not for the past year.

Now, he knew their names, their stories, their unwavering determination, and their inexplicable willingness to hold on to him, holding him tight with fierce words and fiercer glares at the things he'd been running away from all his life.

Neil had never known family. He'd known blood, sure, known his place as the Butcher's son, carried his father's name in his own, an unescapable shackle on him, and he'd needed to run, to get away, to change it, but not in the ways that mattered.

Blood was a curse, an inconsistent axing pendulum that'd he'd known since birth, and he'd run away from it all his life.

"It's dangerous." His mother's vicious snarl seeped into his bones whenever he stepped out of line, and they ran, always ran, because they hadn't had a choice, had they? But they stopped.

The smell of his mother's burning body on the beach still wrapped its tendrils around his head during the night, but if he had the control to smother his grief, he'd feel almost happy for her. She stopped. It was forced, sure, and Neil knew the tremor of force rushing through his legs a forced stop brought better than anyone. But she stopped.

Neil did too. He'd chosen it, over the terrified safety, over the lonely nights, over his mother's whispered memories.

"It's dangerous. "

Neil had the proof carved into his body. He curled his fingers around his shot, ignoring the sharp bursts of pain at the burns, and tilted his head back to let the alcohol fall down his throat. The burn in his throat distracted from his wounds, and he looked up at the Foxes again.

Matt, ever amiable, ever protective, had his arm around Dan, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he smiled, honest and relieved and so damn open that Neil felt the same relief bubble inside him. Dan was bared fangs and sturdy pillars of support, holding up a team that was like a raggedy old shack, all rotting planks and broken pieces that would've crumbled if not for her.

Renee and Allison were fierce stories wrapped in their own versions of redirection; Renee with her soft words and kind stare, and Allison with her perfect makeup and her flawless wardrobe. They'd both given Neil so much honesty it scared him.

Nicky downed shots like water, dancing to a nonexistent beat as the jokes and quips and cheerful smiles seemed to flow out of him, and Neil appreciated the mindless sunshine he always offered, even if he never laughed at his jokes. Aaron and Kevin stood to the side, a clump of exasperation and cynicism, even if Kevin was too drunk to roll his eyes properly.

Neil had been given their stories, even if they didn't offer them, and the two had never been especially good at transparency. But they'd fought for themselves alone for so long, and Neil would join their battle if it was ever offered to him.

The picture of happiness in garish orange and white colors in the nicest kitchen Neil had ever seen would've made him feel like a passing onlooker, the way he'd been for such a long time, if it wasn't for the way Andrew's intent stare fell on him.

A year ago, it'd look the same to Neil as his other stares. The Neil now had the memory of Andrew's lips on his, his steady hand on the back of his neck, his keys and a phone weighing his pockets down. The Neil now knew all of Andrew's expressions even when Andrew didn't, because somewhere along the line, Neil had stopped running because Andrew was home.

Andrew quirked an eyebrow up at him, an almost imperceptible question. Neil pushed his shot glass towards him in response, and Andrew rolled his eyes before placing the bottle of whiskey in front of him.

“Staring,” Andrew mouthed to him, but no explicit complaint followed. Neil tried not to smile as he poured whiskey in his shot glass and knocked the swallow back.

Neil had never known family. He knew the definition of it in four different languages and knew the word for it in twice as many. He never understood it, and probably never would.

But, looking out to what seemed like a sea of people in one room, looking into the eyes and the faces of people who would fight for him, people who he would fight for, and home , in the form of blonde hair and an uncaring stare that was a cocktail of both, he guessed that perhaps it would feel a little like this.

The heat from the whiskey traveled from his throat and settled in a pleasant lump in his stomach, warmth pooling in his chest. The warm tears slipped out before Neil could process it, and he saw Andrew immediately stiffen, the familiar feeling of calloused fingers on the back of his neck before he could blink.

The rest of the team reacted in a ripple, Matt immediately noticing and concern spilling across his face before it reached his lips, and the girls noticing the shift in Matt’s expression before softening at Neil. Nicky silenced, and Kevin and Aaron watched from the sidelines, inscrutable. Andrew knelt down in front of him, and Neil watched their gaze flicker to Andrew in varying degrees of interest as they backed down.

Neil looked at Andrew, his expression deceptively blank as concern shaded his eyes. There were gears turning behind them, Neil knew, a list being formed of the people to hurt and the people to kill, coldness directed towards Neil’s enemies, never towards him, but always for him. He looked at Andrew’s hazel eyes, his pupil focusing on Neil with pinpoint precision, always looking at him, at Neil Josten, never Nathaniel Wesninski.

“Are you okay?” Matt asked from behind Andrew, his words tinged with worry. Neil nearly gave him the automatic “I’m fine,” but the words stuck to the roof of his mouth as he swallowed and tasted whiskey, physical proof of his decision for honesty, of the trust he’d been given and finally returned.

Neil felt the beaming smile spread on his face as he placed his hand on top of Andrew’s on the back of his neck. A wet laugh escaped him, and he recognized the sound as genuine happiness.

He watched the team freeze in surprise and looked at all of them as he spoke.

“I can’t believe I get to see you all again.” Neil felt the tears stutter on their way down over his smiling face. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, but it was still startling to hear the truth in the air.

He’d held his self-directed grief for his future inside him for months, and the relief was washing over him in waves. He watched his team soften in front of him, watched the same smile cross their faces as they looked at each other and cheered him. Nicky and Matt had started crying openly, while Renee and Dan blinked at misty eyes. Allison grinned while she poured Neil another shot, and Andrew got up but didn’t leave his side.

The next shots went down smoothly, as Neil leaned into the conversations around him, Exy-related or not. His mind was pleasantly fuzzy, his tongue loose and his expression looser, as he savored the hum of the alcohol, because he could, now that there was nothing he had to hide.

He’d zoned out of a particular conversation about the actors both Nicky and Eric agreed were on the “list,” and found himself observing Andrew again. He studied his broad shoulders, that Andrew had let Neil collapse on after Christmas at Evermore, his hands and calloused fingers that would rake through Neil’s hair, that would wrap around Neil’s body while the cigarette smoke on the roof swirled around them, the lips that tasted like smoke and ice-cream and chocolate, and Neil hated all three things but treasured the taste that he’d come to associate with Andrew.

Andrew, with the soft tufts of blonde hair that glowed in the sunlight, that Neil loved to thread his hands through. Andrew, with the hazel green eyes that shone green in the center and faded to caramel brown near the edges, the eyes that offered him his demons, and the black armband covered arms that accepted his.

“...pretty,” Neil breathed and watched Andrew’s eyes widen in surprise by a millimeter. He savored the way Andrew’s hands stilled over the shot he was pouring, and the way the confusion squinted his eyes. Neil smiled, and let his cheek rest against his hand. “You’re so pretty, Andrew.”

A hiccup followed, and Neil ignored it.

He was vaguely aware of Nicky, choking on a high-pitched squeal behind him, while Allison smirked, snickering at Dan and Matt as they both beamed.

“You’re drunk,” Andrew responded in German, and his cheek twitched in a way Neil had learned to interpret as amusement. Neil blinked slowly, as if comprehending his words, before he switched to German after him, and counted off his thoughts on his fingers.

“I like your eyes,” Neil started, and a wave of fondness rushed through him at the way Andrew rolled them. “And your arms. And your hair. And the way you play Exy.”

“Junkie,” Andrew interjected.

Neil felt a surge of something in his chest, a warm feeling that settled in his heart and helped weigh him down, and the dopiest smile spread itself across his face. There was an inexplicable urge to convey the feeling to Andrew, but the words were stuck in the warm syrup in his chest.

Three words. He’d heard them before, in the panicked whispers of his mother right before he passed out from the pain of her beatings. He’d remembered them in his bruised wrists, his bleeding wounds, in the shape of his mother’s back as she dragged him behind her, protecting him from everything but herself.

He didn’t want to put those same three words to Andrew, who stood behind him, instead of in front, who told him to stop running, who promised to protect him and pressed warm keys into his hands. He had offered him trust, he had given him a home. It was unique, this thing they had, and so, the words that fell out, almost naturally, were just so.

“I hate you,” Neil let the words escape and heard the way they were covered with the syrup in his chest and studied the way Andrew almost smirked, wanting to burn the image into his head.

Nicky was translating his words to the upperclassmen in the background, while they murmured in bewildered excitement. Andrew flicked a cool gaze over them, non-threatening and observing, and they quieted out of habit.

“I want to touch your hair. Yes or no?” Neil made sure his words came out in a crisp and steady German, and Andrew’s responding nod got him out of his seat immediately, nearly tripping over the counter in his haste.

He buried his hands in Andrew’s silken blonde tufts and raked his fingers through the strands. Neil watched Andrew sigh, exasperated, and the surge of warmth engulfed him again, only encouraged by the whiskey in his veins.

Neil thought of Andrew, and the last game he’d seen him play; sweat glistening under the artificial light, slamming away every shot at goal the Bearcats made, focused gaze analyzing each player, perfectly matching them to memories of plays and strategies he’d watched weeks before. Neil remembered what he thought was his last look at Andrew, that he’d burned into his head, a panting, exhausted Andrew, beautiful even then, as he’d told him “Thank you,” and “You were amazing,” while imagining his kisses and his protection and his truths and Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.

“I can’t believe I get to look at you again,” Neil let the free token of honesty hang between them, and Andrew only stared at him blankly before replying.

“You already said that.”

“Not to you,” Neil countered, and let himself drink in Andrew’s hard edges that kept him grounded, and the glimpses of softness he’d catch in between.

“You’re staring,” Andrew repeated.

“You let me.”

“I don’t ‘let’ you do anything.” Andrew sighed, his tone deceptively blank. Neil took the sentence as the rare admission it was, the little peek of softness in his roughness. Giddiness pumped through his veins.

“You want nothing.” The smile on Neil’s face threatened to tear his face in two, pulling on his burns and cuts, but he couldn’t stop it. “You really do. You want nothing.”

Neil caught the start of a small smile on Andrew’s face, followed by a derisive snort and a glance towards the Foxes, who were staring at them intently, varying degrees of excited surprise in their expressions. Nicky, particularly, looked close to tears, as he continued rambling translations to a hyperfocused Allison, Dan and Matt, while Renee looked towards them fondly.

“Yes or no?” Andrew leaned in closer.

“Always yes.”

Andrew pressed a chaste kiss to Neil’s lips, and the familiarity of it did nothing to contain the ripples of heat that spread through his chest in response. When Andrew pulled away, Neil unconsciously followed him, leaning further in. Neil was acutely aware of the tinge of amusement in Andrew’s face, and the high-pitched squeal of a drunk Nicky behind him.

Andrew walked towards the door, whispering a quick “Bedroom,” in Neil’s ear before leaving.

Neil turned to the Foxes and began a clumsy “Uh, I think I need to, Andrew’s gonna, I might just--”

“Neil. You are fooling literally no one. It might just be the alcohol, but you’re smiling so wide I think your stitches are gonna pop. Shoo,” Allison waggled a perfectly manicured hand at him.

Dan and Nicky were snickering to each other beside her, and Matt looked so happy for him that Neil felt a prickle of embarrassment seep into his cheeks. He looked towards Kevin, who was being held upright by an annoyed Aaron.

“Um,” Neil started eloquently.

Aaron got the message, shifting under Kevin to hold him more easily. He huffed out a despairing sigh and looked straight at Neil. I’ll take care of Kevin, his expression said. Neil was shocked into stillness for a second before Aaron snapped out a frustrated “ Go, you dolt.”

Neil went.

Andrew was waiting for Neil on the bed, already tucked under the covers with a book in his lap. He flicked a bored gaze over Neil and made no move towards him. The picture was startlingly domestic, a shot from passing glances at family magazines in convenience stores Neil had ducked in and out of growing up.

That idealistic image of a two-person bed, of having someone safe to fall asleep next to and someone to wake up to, was in reach for him now, just two steps away from him, in the form of Andrew bathed in moonlight reading a book, his eyes greener in the blue light, his hair softer.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Andrew said, after a long moment. Neil didn’t know what he looked like. “We’re not doing anything today.”

Neil finally made the two steps, changing into the comfortable pajamas he found in the closet before slipping in the bed beside Andrew. He hummed in response.

“I don’t mind,” Neil replied, and he meant it. Andrew’s presence beside him in the too-soft bed wrapped him in a feeling of safety he thought he’d forgotten, and his body gave off a pleasant heat. He felt the sleepiness settle into his bones, aided by alcohol, and vaguely wondered if Andrew didn’t want to do anything because it wouldn’t be the best for his recovery to immediately return from a rough place to another, albeit much safer, one. He wondered if Dr. Dobson had told him that.

“Not Bee,” Andrew spoke from beside him, and Neil knew he must’ve been murmuring his thoughts out loud. “Tonight was my call.”

Neil burrowed deeper in the blankets beside him, relishing the warmth inside him, the warmth beside him, and pressed his lips to Andrew’s neck gently before pulling away. It was barely a second, but, for once, Neil didn’t feel Andrew stiffen beneath him, and the triumph in his chest made him huff out a small laugh. It was the thank you that Neil didn’t need to say, and he knew Andrew understood.

“Let’s go to the beach next time,” Neil murmured into the pillow, and he knew Andrew would catch all the meanings hidden behind it.

Stuart could very well fail in the negotiations, and the chance of Neil being killed by the Moriyamas was still very real. The if there is a next time went unsaid.

Neil had told Andrew about his mother’s cremation on the beach, had known that Andrew caught the way he stiffened whenever the place was mentioned, but he also knew that Dr. Dobson had suggested to all the Foxes to try to overwrite their bad memories with good ones, ones worth remembering. The threat of the Moriyamas was still palpable, but Neil had decided to stop running months ago, had decided to ditch his future for the present.

In the room, beside Andrew, Neil went one step further, and let himself imagine a future. He imagined falling asleep beside Andrew for the rest of his life and blinked slowly, watching the way his eyes raked quickly through the blocks of text in the book. He imagined nights of Andrew finishing books and starting new ones, of nights of snuggling into his warmth and his safety.

He let himself fall asleep, feeling home, and hoped, like he had never hoped for anything before, that he could keep it.

#andreil #aftg #aftg fanfic #andreil fanfic #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #happy foxes #neil deserves the world he is my son and i love him #drunk neil josten #emotional neil josten #found family #domestic fluff #yes i know i finished writing this like 2 weeks ago lol i suck #i forget i have a tumblr sometimes #neil x andrew #andrew x neil

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of wildfire relief, @peromy-march donated $10 and requested Gabriel/Kevin, fluff & tickling. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

After a 'dinner' that had consisted of half a Reese's cheesecake, a shared pint of coffee Haagen-Dazs, and three vodka-soaked mudslides, Kevin wonders if it's possible to be drunk on sugar. There are a lot of chemicals working on his body right now; it seems like it could be a thing. Or he's just drunk. Or he's just having a sugar high. It's all very hard to tell.

"Did you know you get very quiet when you're gestating a food baby?" Gabriel says.

"I don't think food babies gestate," Kevin says. He rolls his head to the side and Gabriel's watching him, clearly entertained. "They just, like… digest. You're not supposed to digest babies."

"Well, maybe you aren't," Gabriel says, and Kevin makes a face at him. He was probably supposed to make a face, judging by how much bigger Gabriel's grin gets. He walks into this stuff, all the time. It'd be more annoying if he hadn't just decided to give up. Gabriel's an archangel, and even if he seems to be an archangel of screwing around, he's just… always gonna win. Kevin's okay with it. Mostly. Except when his gut feels as sore as this.

"I think the ice cream was a bad idea," Kevin says.

"Now that is blasphemy," Gabriel says, sitting up. He executes a sloppy sign of the cross in the air above Kevin's prone body. "Say forty-two Hail Marys, get an exorcist. No, wait, don't get an exorcist, the ones you'd call are six foot twenty and absolutely no fun."

Kevin snorts, can't help it. Even that jostles his belly, though, and he groans, flopping over onto his side. "Seriously," he says, "I'm gonna pop."

Gabriel leans in, his chin on his hand. "Tell me before you do, sweetcheeks," he says, unrepentant and smiling. "I don't want any prophet goop in my hair."

Kevin sighs, cupping his sore tummy. Gabriel really ought to feel more guilty except that, according to Dean at least, archangels didn't understand the concept of guilt. That might be true—Sam hadn't rolled his eyes, like he usually did when Dean dropped an aphorism—but either way, Gabriel could at least fake it. All of this was his idea. It's not like it's Kevin's fault that he's lactose intolerant. When cheesecake came up, it wasn't Kevin's fault that he'd never had any. When Gabriel's eyes lit up and he said, strange harmonics in his voice, you haven't?, it wasn't Kevin's fault that he got whisked away on angel wings to some random grocery store, and saddled with a shopping basket, and ordered to follow an unimaginably powerful idiot around like a long-suffering servant. He'd been promised over and over that angel powers would somehow put the lactose intolerance at bay. It may have, but now he's got other problems.

A warm hand settles on his belly, above where he's protectively holding it. "Okay, kiddo, you gotta be straight with me," Gabriel says. Kevin squints at him with one eye. "Cheesecake. How did it measure up? In the scheme of things."

"It was good," Kevin admits. "But it's going to kill me. Then you guys are just going to have to find another prophet, okay. You can visit me in heaven but if I die because of dairy desserts, I quit."

Gabriel hums. "You know, that's fair," he says, and Kevin drops his eye closed again, and sinks into the bed.

He has no idea where they are. Sam and Dean are probably going nuts—well, mostly Dean. Kevin's meant to be working on the tablet, and Gabriel's supposed to be helping, and there are probably lives on the line. There are always lives on the line. Wherever Gabriel flew them to, it's cold outside, and the hotel they're in is kinda shabby but the bed's soft, and Kevin's warm, and tired, and… sore, but at least it's sore for this reason and not because he got the crap kicked out of him by demons, so. It could be worse.

The hand on his belly moves in a slow, soft circle. "Poor little guy," Gabriel says, quietly. "All tuckered out."

"I'm not a puppy," Kevin mumbles. The hand on his belly feels nice.

"Says the puppy," Gabriel says, and Kevin sighs but Gabriel's still petting his belly, and it's nice. Comforting. The bed shifts and then there's warmth at his back, and the hand starts a steady, oh-so-gentle massage. Soothing. He tips his head and there's a tiny tickle of breath at the back of his ear. A little laugh. The hand drags up to his chest, and down again, petting him practically through his t-shirt, and Kevin basically melts into the bed. All those mudslides, it feels easy to melt.

He's maneuvered, a little. He lets it happen. His head pillowed on a deceptively strong arm; his arms tucked up out of the way, in front of him. His shirt—disappeared?—but strange things happen around Gabriel and a disappearing shirt certainly wouldn't be the weirdest thing this week. Let alone today. Just means the warm, soothing tummy-rub he's getting feels all the more warm and soothing, and he tips his face into Gabriel's bicep, tangles his fingers into Gabriel's other hand. Soft squeeze, there, and then a squeeze low on his belly. He makes a little protesting sound and gets a tiny pinch, on his hip. "Be good," Gabriel says, and, duh, Kevin's always good.

He stays still, though. Doesn't object. Gabriel hums, some song Kevin doesn't know because he doesn't really know anything that's not in the Yo Yo Ma catalogue, and his hand slips from Kevin's belly to his back. Dexterous fingertips start tracing shapes over his bare skin and he shivers, at first, since it's so unexpected, but it feels—nice. A little ticklish, a little odd, but nice. Gabriel's voice is deeper than he would've thought, humming. The fingertips trace over his shoulderblades, his spine. His neck, bent forward, and that's sensitive, makes him shiver again. Gabriel's finger gets a little firmer—a poked dot, and another next to it, and then a dragged semi-circle below them—smiley face, traced into his back. He giggles.

"Hey, there he is," Gabriel says, and Kevin presses his smile into Gabriel's arm. Gabriel draws more shapes, featherlight, but Kevin can't tell what most of them are meant to be. One's a cat, he thinks, but for the rest, they could be enochian script or norse runes or penis drawings. Most likely the last, considering who he's with, but then every once in a while Gabriel shows depths. Well. One depth. At least a shallow ditch, sometimes.

"Hey, puppy," Gabriel whispers, against the back of his ear.

That's sensitive, too. Kevin huffs, sleepy. "What?"

"How's that tummy feeling?"

Oh. He kind of forgot, in how nice his back is feeling. He stretches out and sighs, feeling liquid. "Better," he says, and Gabriel says, "Good," and tangles his fingers around Kevin's, and then pinches his side, hard.

"Ah!" Kevin yelps. All those nerves jump and yelp with him. "Oh—you dick!"

"No idea what you're talking about," Gabriel says, and locks Kevin's hands in his unnaturally strong grip and then flutters the fingers of his other hand over the soft skin on Kevin's ribs, setting everything to twitching, making Kevin laugh helplessly.

"Stop it," he hiccups, but Gabriel hooks his leg over Kevin's too, trapping him completely on his side, and sets to work: tickling his ribs, his hip, goosing his butt, making Kevin jump and yelp and make just the dorkiest dumbest noises.

"You want me to stop?" Gabriel says, still pinching and tweaking and flickering his nails torturously light, and Kevin's shuddering but he chatters out, "If you d-don't I'm gonna pee the bed," and Gabriel says, completely delighted, "Oh, puppy," and in a quick flip Kevin's on his back, his hands pinned above his head and Gabriel straddling his hips, and Kevin's got tears in his eyes from laughing but he can still see the grin on Gabriel's face.

"You suck," Kevin manages, trying to catch his breath.

"Only my favorites," Gabriel says, and Kevin's probably flushed already but he knows he gets redder, because that's—jeez.

He's getting more of that steady amusement. He has no idea why Gabriel finds him—he doesn't even know if interesting is the word. He feels like a toy, a little bit. Something Gabriel like playing with. A puppy, he thinks, and he really is red, now, feels like his face is flaming from forehead to chest.

Fingers tap down the middle of his chest to his belly. He tenses, expecting more tickles, but Gabriel just flattens his hand there, where Kevin's still a little swollen from all the sugar but at least doesn't hurt. His eyes are so strange. Pretty, kind of. That strange color, like the bourbon Dean's always drinking, but in the lamplight in here they're basically gold. Kevin tugs his hands, asking, and Gabriel lets go, watching his face. Kevin licks his lips and touches Gabriel's thighs, carefully. He's still all dressed—jeans, and a t-shirt advertising something called Wally World, and a dark brown overshirt that Kevin wishes he'd take off. It's hard, though, to ask for that. Kevin doesn't even know what he wants, when it comes to that. But—Gabriel's weirdly entertained by him, and weirdly indulgent, and so he says, trying to sound confident, "Do that thing to my back again," and when Gabriel raises his eyebrows: "It—felt nice."

"Oh, he's demanding now, is he?" Gabriel says, and Kevin shrugs. He gets a sort of bow—hard to bow, when you're straddling someone, but Gabriel manages it—and a florid, goofy, "The prophet's wish is my command," and while he's still rolling his eyes Gabriel lifts higher, on his knees, and sets his hands on Kevin's waist. He gets flipped shockingly fast, right there so he's flat on his front, and his belly presses a little uncomfortably against the bed, but a pillow appears beneath him and he folds his arms around it, pressing his cheek down with a sigh. That's better. That's—perfect.

Gabriel resettles, his thighs on either side of Kevin's hips and his weight settled right on Kevin's ass. It feels… good. Kevin tries not think about it any more detail than that.

Light fingers settle on his shoulderblades, gently tickling, lighting the nerves under his skin. "Okay," Gabriel says, quietly, tracing unknown shapes across his back. "Operation cheesecake was a success, I'd say. Next time I kidnap you, we'll go cheese tasting."

Kevin's melting again, but he frowns at that, and turns his head to peek over his shoulder. "People go cheese-tasting?" he says, dubious. There's an affronted sound, and a mad light appears in Gabriel's eye. Kevin bites his tongue, too late. Well, shit. He's going to have to call Sam, somehow. Apparently work on the tablet won't be starting up again, right away.

#fffr #gabriel/kevin #kevriel #apparently #in addition to the tickling #there's like--the fluffiest powerplay #a hint of d/s #a soupcon of feeder kink #but mainly fluff

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queenofgoats · 3 years

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Shadows & Fears | Imagine having a date with Crowley

Summary: You’re the lucky human being who dived deep into the SPN Universe. Unfortunately you fell in royal demonic hands. So let’s see how you will get out.

Characters | !no pairs! : Crowley x Reader (gender not mentioned)

Word Count: 2.708

Warning: angst, alcohol, flirtations and words = just spn ;), no cheesy romance stuff

A/N: So. It's been a long, long time since I wrote a FF at all. And it’s my very first in english - so please be gentle. ;) I had a lot of fun while writing and hope whoever is gonna read it enjoys it at least a little bit. Feedback is very welcome.

Have fun! :)

You were led through endless corridors. Which was hardly lighted up or even heated. Only in the last room at the end of the hall you could just guess a warm, flickering light. The thought of what was behind door 3 made you freeze. “Hey, what is the... OH COME ON!” you were shouted at. You didn’t dare to move. Like a deer in the face of the light at a highway. A rough grib on the upper arm forced you to go on. Your breath became heavier. Faltering. Would the brothers come and save you? At the door frame you stuck again. You couldn’t, no, you didn't want to go in there. This would be your end.

And you were so careful. No involvement in the cases, at most some background research. Even to Sam and Dean you didn’t mention a word about their fate, however difficult it was. And damn it, it did! Still, you knew that it was only a matter of time before the bubble burst. You just wanted a coke from the vending machine at the motel. As if out of nowhere they suddenly stood behind you. Two middle-aged men, really nondescript-looking and before your lips could even form a “help”, you found yourself in the back of a minivan. They were fast, strong and scary quiet. You didn’t know what happened to you until you saw these deep pitch black eyes in the rearview mirror. This couldn’t be true! Your thoughts circled around wildly, blurred and sheer panic ran through you like a poison, which slowly spreads in your nervous system. You knew these creatures very well. How they worked, what they drove or what they were capable of. And you knew him. So far from stories from Winchester or television. That alone was enough to make your blood run cold just imagine what's ahead of you. Various breakdowns later, you were already standing in this old freezer - probably an old slaughterhouse. He loved the atmosphere.

Again the grib at your arm. But this time you stucked. Everything in you resisted. The demon right next you groaned. Apparently babysitting wasn't in his payroll. His face reflected disgust and a certain… overwhelming? “Finally, we meet. Birdie.” This voice. This damn, damn voice. Your eyes squeezed tight, you hoped it was just an imagination. Or maybe you weren't meant. Footsteps echoed down the hall. Slowly he came closer. His presence crushed you, while your body wouldn’t stop shaking. You have never faced anything so dark and threatening. A hand on your back made you wince. It barely touched the fabric of your top and yet it resembled an iron grip. You blinked open your eyes, the gaze fixed on the floor. A pair of very elegant lace-ups with fine lyra perforations caught your attention. You swallowed.

The king of hell pushed you into the room surprisingly gently and yet firmly. Closing the door made you flinch. You were terrified. So incredibly terrified. “Please, sit down. Don't be shy, my dear. " Breathing heavily, you complied with his request. It was a miracle that you could even hear his words over your hard pounding heartbeat. Crowley was one of your favorite baddies. You hated how he left the show. But you never wanted to meet him. For obvious reasons. The demon took a seat next to you at a large table. Out of the corner of your eye you could see that one of his peasants stood by the door. The fire in the fireplace slowly thawed you again, but you still shivered. If not at the hand of this monster, you would probably die of pneumonia. You couldn't decide which was better. “Soo...” Crowley started smoothly voiced and as if caught you looked up at him. “We both know why you are here, it’s up to you if we stay in this chilly atmosphere or...” He smirked slightly.

His hazel eyes drilled through yours, you felt like he was looking straight into your heart. While his voice was so calming and gentle. In fact, if it weren't Crowley himself, you'd find some pleasure in it. You became disturbed by your own thoughts. Focus! For the first time in your suddenly short life you looked at him. Or more at his absolute charming vessel. You got a feel for why he was called the King of Crossroads. A sigh escaped your lips. You took a quick look at the second demon on the door and leaned slightly towards Crowley. Breathe in. Exhale.

“Fine. I’m talking. But! Just under one condition.” you tried to sound professional and acted businesslike. You had a plan. Kind of. But you weren't allowed to show any weaknesses for that. You also saw these kinds of conversations so often in tv shows. You could do it! A twitch of the corner of his mouth indicated that you hit a point. Crowley didn't like arguing. Let alone from a simple human being like you. And yet he looked as if he had expected it. “Of course you have.” he mumbled almost bored. He grabbed himself a glass of whiskey and took a sip without leaving his eyes on you. “That would be? Let me guess y...” “I want a date!” you interrupted him hectically. Crowley spat the drink across the desk: “A what?!” He didn’t even bother to hide his surprise. “With whom?” “You.” There was silence for a short moment. The king of hell looked at you in disbelief. He really didn't expect that: “Why? What for?" You first took a look at the demon at the door, who didn't twist a mine, and then back to Crowley. “When I have told you everything, you kill me afterwards. That's ... okay I guess. But I don't want to die here in this hole. I want to shower, look good, and... be alone with you. A one-to-one conversation. Then you will find out everything you want to know.” You tried to smile triumphantly. “A good deal. For both, right?”

Actually you didn’t lie here. There will be no way to survive this. You’re not strong as the Winchesters, or smart like Kevin. So why not make the best of it? Maybe you can avoid having him face his destiny? Maybe Lucifer won't be released from his cage? Nobody except Crowley is allowed to hear this. Especially not one of the other demons. They would instant throw a welcome party for Abbadon. The king of hell stayed silent. Presumably he was wondering which part of your body to tear out first with his bare hands. He wasn’t exactly known for his patience. "I can tell you how you are going to die.“ you continued. For a brief moment he raised his eyebrows, but then he finally agreed: “Good. I choose the location."

You felt a painful sense of surprise and relief.

Just a few hours later your time had come. You stood visibly nervous in front of the entrance of a big old cinema. The fingers kept pulling your clothes into place. Shortly after your deal, a servant brought you to Berlin. There you were allowed to freshen up and get dressed. Everything under the demon's watchful eye, of course. Crowley himself should receive you later in front of the location, it was said. And now you’re here. Oh damn what were you thinking? Sighing heavily, you looked over your shoulder. Maybe you should dare and just run away? Was it worth trying? Did you really want to be led to the slaughter like a pig? A thousand questions buzzed through your head. Yesterday was just a moment of panic. Not really thought out. Somehow. You turned on your heel and were just about to start a run when you heard his voice behind you again: “Birdie! You shouldn’t even think about that. We had an appointment.”

His words sounded so soft and smooth like a good red wine. Crowley knew exactly how to use his british charme. You took another deep breath before turning to face him. A gentleman who would try, but couldn’t find his equals, Crowley smiled warmly and sweet. Yeah. Like good red wine. Soft and smooth. And poisoned. With an inviting gesture, he waved you over to him: “Let's have a drink, my dear. You look gorgeous by the way, really." He was different from when you first met him. Apparently he took his deals very seriously. You felt a bit like a prostitute's customer. You swallowed hard, but accepted his invitation.

First you entered a large reception room with sparse lighting.The ceiling was completely covered with small lamps that looked almost like a starry sky. While the old wood paneling made everything look a bit old and seedy. "The Kino International was built in the 1960s, right after they pulled up the big wall." Crowley broke the silence. There was a slight smile on his lips. “Oh well... I spent so many years in Germany,” he reminisced. As far as it was at all possible, you felt even more queasy.

A staircase took you to a large foyer in typical East German chic. Even if the brown dominated, it looked surprisingly classy. The chandeliers emitted pleasantly dimmed light, so that you could catch an overwhelming view of Berlin's landmark - the television tower - through the huge panorama windows. You are stunned.

~*~ Possession is the motivation ~*~ ~*~ That is hanging' up the God-damn nation ~*~

~*~ Looks like we always end up in a rut ~*~ ~*~ Tryin' to make it real, compared to what? ~*~

Roberta Flack's voice came to you calmly from the loudspeaker near the bar. If the initial situation were different, you would feel quite comfortable. Still astonished, you looked around as Crowley moved behind the counter. "What would you like to drink, my dear?" he broke your thoughts. “Erm... well... surprise me.” You sat down on one of the bar stools. The demon then rattled off all the barriers and drawers. Your eyes followed his movements until you blurted out: "I can't do this! Sorry!" Crowley furrowed his forehead: "What do you mean?" Desperately you threw your hands over your head. “This!” You bumped. "It’s ridiculous!"

You sighed. Hardly. “Are we really among ourselves here? Just you and me?" "Sure. As agreed." He said dryly as he handed you a freshly made cosmopolitan. You snatched the glass from him and drank the cocktail. In one sip. "Fine. Let’s do this." Then it literally gushed out of you. A long monologue about Abbadon, the darkness and everything that could be of interest to the king of hell. You only left out Chuck. Cause you already had Crowley on your neck and certainly didn't want to provoke God then.

The demon said nothing, just listened and at the same time seemed to be thinking about your words. When you were just finishing up, he put a new cocktail in front of you. Which you also emptied in one go. The nervousness just didn't want to be drunk away. "Mmh." he made. "Do the Winchesters know about it?" You shook your head. “Oleg and Bolek? Of course not." Knowing full well that they would only make it worse. As much as you loved the brothers, you knew that they were a danger to everyone around them. The confusion was written on Crowley's face: “But ... Why me? Don't get me wrong, Birdie, I'm honored and yet ... ” Inevitably you had to smile. "Let's be honest. You're probably the smartest being here. And you have the least interest of anybody else in seeing Lucifer free again. "Not untrue." he muttered. You tapped your finger on the edge of your glass: “Could I possibly get another one? Or wait! Better just the vodka. " Lost in thought, Crowley compiled while you listened to the well-chosen music.

With two glasses in hand, the king of hell stepped around the counter and sat down on one of the stools next to you. You knew you wouldn't leave this place alive. Nevertheless, a faint smile crept onto your lips. “You know Crowley, I like you. Somehow. You're practically my favorite baddie. " you started and held your glass out to him to toast," That's why I know what's in store for me. Still ... one more thing... or more a question." "Which would be? ... and cheers. ”, he checked. His gaze was on you. You couldn't help yourself because you suddenly felt comfortable around him. Safe. It was completely insane.

The vodka burned your throat. You shook yourself briefly and turned to face him. “Crowley, what if I die here? I mean I don't belong here. No more than a disruptive factor in an intact universe. Am I, my soul, going somewhere or ... am I stuck? " The thought has plagued you since you (unintentionally) set foot in this cursed universe. You knew you didn't belong here. Every fiber of your body lets you feel it. All the time. So far you haven't really been able to grasp the fear, but rather suppressed it. But now it was sitting in a heavy weight on your shoulders. A deep sadness took you. Tears welled up in your eyes. You leaned against the demon next to you. The head was put on his shoulder. You didn't want him to see you cry. Apparently you still have a bit of your pride left.

You heard Crowley sigh. “Birdie, I can't tell you that. I don't know." His hand landed on your knee. It was surprisingly soft and warm, but nevertheless you twitched. “I've never heard of anything like you before. I'm sorry, and it really is, I can't help you.” Was it really Crowley who offered you comfort? Crowley? With a heavy heart you straightened up again. The alcohol slowly got into your head. Finally You leaned towards him, very close to his face. His breath brushed your cheek. The hairs stand up on the back of your neck which leads to goosebumps. You were mildly aroused and then grimaced as soon as you noticed.

The demon looked irritated: “What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” You felt stupid. “I just... I thought. You’re far far out of my league. Forget it. Please.” You wrapped the arms around you and blushed. “I understand.” Crowley grinned. “Oh my sweet, sweet summer child.” He leaned back and studied you intently. “I don’t give a damn fuck about human current body preferences. It’s constantly changing anyway.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m a demon, as you may remember, and all I desire is to spoil a pure soul beyond any recognition.” Embarrassed you thought about his words.

“Crowley...”, you began almost in a whisper, “would ... would you take my soul?” Hell didn't scare you nearly as much as the thought of your ghost going full vengeful in that old movie theater. He laughed. Loud. It was cold, arrogant and left you freezing. You felt it right down to the bones. "What should I do with it?" For the first time that evening, the demon came through him so clearly. You were afraid of him. More than ever before. You let him fool you. He leaned back in amusement and studied your shocked face. "Babe, your soul is useless." he said, still smirking and slid off his bar stool. "Another one?" he waved the glass. Ashamed you just nodded. You'd already got rejected dozent of times, but this was by far the worst.

Crowley prepared two glasses on the counter for you. The look he gave you was almost pityingly: "Oh Birdie, don't be like that now." Just slowly he moved back to you until he was right in front of you. "You are already useful." he whispered. You looked at him wondering. And didn’t understand anything.

“Oleg and Bolek, as you called them so beautifully, still have the lost part of my demon tablet. And my prophet. ”He paused and took a long swig from his glass. "I would be crazy if I got rid of my pretty, little bait now, huh?" While he was speaking the last sentence in a haughty tone , his lips barely touched your ear. Tenderly he brushed a lost strand of hair from your face and patted your cheek.

His demonic smile indicated that he was definitely the legitimate king of hell.

#supernatural #supernaturalff #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural oneshot #spnfandom #crowley #crowley fanfiction #crowley x reader #Crowley Resurrection Year 2021

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jemej3m · 5 years

Text

incarnate

neil is just your friendly neighbourhood demon. andrew is just a curious witch. shenanigans ensues.

“Look,” Kevin said, waving his hands in front of Andrew’s face. “I get it. You want to know what’s after death, we all do. You want to bring Aaron back - we all wish we could bring our loved ones back. But this is going too far, Andrew.”

Kevin really was an idiot sometimes. Aaron had died a long time ago: Andrew had long since healed, and wasn’t stupid enough to go disturbing the create-destroy balance. Also, Andrew couldn’t give less of a shit about what happened after death.

The only reason Kevin was here was to make sure Andrew didn’t hallucinate whatever results he was about to happen across. Kevin didn’t actually know what Andrew was planning. He’d been working on this a good year, deciphering the code and glyphs within the Wesninski journal, which was a spellbook all about demons and their alternate realms. Andrew was sure he had it right this time: if he kept the circle intact, there would be nothing dangerous about this at all.

Unless he fucked it up. But he wouldn’t. He’d never fucked up a ritual before, and he wasn’t about to start.

That is, if Kevin stopped blabbering.

“Kevin,” Andrew managed. “Will you shut the fuck up?”

The man glared, fiddling anxiously with the small raven brooch that his brother had gifted to him years ago. Andrew turned away now that Kevin was somewhat quiet, ignoring the “Wymack’s going to kill us.” whispered under Kevin’s breath.

Andrew poked his palm with the tip of his knife and watched the droplet of blood slide from his hand, dropping into the centre of the circle. It sizzled, like Andrew was doing this ritual on an enormous hotplate, and dissolved into the pile of pure salt crystals beneath it. The glyphs all glowed a vibrant blue as the ground shook. Andrew could feel the energy being drawn from the clearing, summoned to the ritual circle. He shielded his eyes as the light grew too bright to look at and took a step back.

There was a strange and obscenely loud noise that tore through the silence, almost like someone was shredding a piece of paper into a microphone. The air shook around Andrew, quivering anxiously, and all Andrew could think was:

Fuck.

He needn’t have worried. Within a few moments, the noise, the vibrations, the light - it all vanished. He slowly opened his eyes and glanced to Kevin, who was curled into a tiny ball on the ground.

“Oh, Hell.” Came an unfamiliar voice, very out of breath and very relieved. “You saved my life.”

Andrew slowly looked to the ritual circle: Within it was the figure of a young man, barely taller than Andrew was. He looked normal for the most part, dressed in a billowing white blouse and trousers, except for the scars across his skin and his eyes. The cuts and burns seemed to be laced shut with golden thread, glittering in the moonlight, whilst his eyes were the most piercing shade of blue Andrew had ever seen. They glowed, really glowed, like those glyphs had during the ritual. The strangest part were his pupils, like two little voids but shaped into inverted pentagrams. Combined with fire-licks of gorgeous red hair and the curvature of his cheekbones, Andrew seemed to have summoned the most attractive monster possible.

A monster of whom looked extremely exhausted, bewildered, and injured.

“What?” Andrew remarked, clutching the book to his chest.

“You saved my life by summoning me.” He stepped closer to the edge of the circle. “You pulled me out of my father’s realm and into this one. Speaking of which,” He looked around. “Where in Lucifer’s name am I? And how did you manage to get ahold of that?” He pointed to the Wesninski journal in Andrew’s grasp.

“Found it.” He said.

“Of course.” The demon threw his hands up into the air. “She said she’d hidden it, but I knew she’d lost it. ‘It’s safe with your uncle, Nathaniel. I never lose anything, Nathaniel. Don’t accuse me of causing us such a terrible fate, Nathaniel.’ If you’re listening, Mary, just know I know you were full of shit!”

“You are the demon Nathaniel?” Andrew tried not to act shocked. He’d hoped that the ritual would pull a demon. He didn’t expect to pull the demon. Or, more accurately, the Wesninski demon’s son.

“You had to have known who you were summoning when you perfected the ritual,” Nathaniel frowned. “Didn’t you?”

“I wasn’t 100% sure on the translations.” Andrew admitted. “Kinda went on a whim.”

“Well,” The demon remarked. “Congratulations. You’ve snagged yourself a demon.”

“Now what?” Andrew demanded. “It didn’t exactly tell me what to do once I’d brought you here.”

“No wishes?” Nathaniel hedged. “No insatiable desires? No memories you wish to have removed or altered? No enemies you want smited down? I owe you big time, little witch. I’d have a knife in my throat if it weren’t for you.”

“It’s Andrew, not little witch. Also, that’s rich, coming from you.”

“I’m aware.” The demon said breezily. “But for what I lack in height I make up in attitude. It’s what my father was trying to knife me down for: Being such a nuisance. I think your friend has gone into shock, by the way. He can’t seem to stop looking at me like a concussed goldfish.”

Andrew had completely forgotten about Kevin in the midst of his success and looked to where the man was curled into a ball on the floor, jaw hanging and eyes peeled wide open. He kicked Kevin’s leg. “The ritual worked.”

“No shit!” Kevin snapped, scrambling to his feet. “Are you insane? Summoning demons? Everything has its cost, you know!”

“He’s not wrong.” Nathaniel offered. “What you get is what you give.”

“I saved your life.” Andrew pointed out.

“That was fate. You didn’t do it on purpose.” Nathaniel reprimanded.

“Well?” Andrew spread his hands wide. “What do you want?”

The demon frowned. “Aren’t I meant to ask you that?”

“Because I totally care about semantics. What do you want, demon?”

Nathaniel narrowed his gaze at the journal in Andrew’s hands. “I need that book back.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “I asked you what you want, not what you need.”

He looked to his feet, lacing his fingers behind his back as he chewed on his bottom lip. All his teeth were just slightly pointed. “Well - I suppose I would...no. That’s ludicrous.”

“Spit it out.” Andrew crossed his arms. Kevin made a weak noise of distress behind him.

The demon looked up from under his lashes. “I’d do anything for my freedom.”

“Anything?” Andrew prompted.

“Anything.” Nathaniel confirmed.

“Alright.” He walked over to the circle of glyphs that kept Nathaniel ensnared. Just as Kevin cried out “Andrew, no!” his shoe scuffed the engravings in the dirt, and whatever invisible leash that bound Nathaniel to the centre of the circle snapped: Andrew could hear it.

The demon looked at Andrew like he’d lost his damned mind.

“You’ll still have to uphold your end of the agreement.” Andrew reminded him.

“Right.” Nathaniel said. “Right. Okay. Are you crazy? You just unleashed a demon into your home realm.”

“Yes, he is!” Kevin cried out, holding up his hands as Nathaniel stepped outside of the ritual circle. “Oh, fate, don’t hurt me.”

“Not insane.” Andrew said, cocking his head. “Just intrigued.”

“Well.” Nathaniel said, appraisingly. “I’m sure we’ll cross paths again soon, Andrew Minyard.” With that, he tapped two fingers to his forehead in a mocking salute before promptly vanishing into thin air. He left behind a distinct smell of smoldering ash and ocean spray.

Kevin covered his face with his hands and moaned “We’re all going to die!”

Andrew ignored him. He still had the book in his possession and Nathaniel owed him. It was an asset that no other witch would’ve had before, and that made Andrew very powerful.

Andrew found that he didn’t mind the idea of having a demon in his pocket. No, Andrew didn’t mind at all.

yeehaw *kicks writers block to the curb*

#andrew minyard #witch!andrew #demon!neil #neil josten #andreil #magic au #fantasy au #all for the game #this should be fluffy #someone kick me if it starts getting dark #kevin day #the foxhole court #jem writes

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