#SMFYaM Tag

[derelictheretic]

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 3k

read on ao3

This was insane.

It was more than insane, it couldn't be real—this couldn't be happening.

But it was. No matter how many times Dean Sinclaire blinked or shook his head the blue eyes staring back at him didn't go away. Jacob Seed, a name and a face he hadn't seen in a very long time, stood up on the church's stage with a similar look of shock on his marred face. Dean felt like a deer in headlights, staring down an impending doom he couldn't ever hope to comprehend.

The voices of his Sheriff and the outta town Marshal were like white noise, none of it made it through as Dean stared at his old friend in utter confusion. What the hell had happened to him? A lot by the looks of it. Dean ducks his head down, unable to handle the foreign yet so familiar face zoned in on him. He'd really been hoping the last name of this cult family had been a coincidence, that it was possibly more common than he thought. But now faced with the truth of it all Dean felt the weight of reality crushing him into the old, creaky floorboards.

This sucked. His breath caught in his throat and his ears rang, hands balling up into fists as the Marshal grabbed his shoulder.

"Cuff this guy Rook."

Dean lifted his head.

Joseph Seed stared back at him, a look in his eyes that unsettled Dean and rocked him to his core. It was an expectant look, like he had been waiting for him much longer than the short minutes his superiors had been talking for. He tried not to glance over his shoulder at Jacob but he felt his heavy stare as he cuffed the cult leader, hands shaking as he secured him.

"God will not let you take me." 

The words were sharp. They made Dean want to turn back time and crawl back into his bed and forget he ever got a call from the sheriff.

Dean felt his mouth fall open as Joseph leaned in closer to him, blue eyes glazed by the golden aviators and promising a fate none of them were ready for. He felt like he was going to be sick, the small church was even more suffocating than before. His brown eyes flickered to Jacob, an unconscious action he quickly regretted. There was no comfort to be gained from his face which had steeled, his eyes that had hardened and he looked like nothing but a stranger to Dean. An angry cultist ready to cut his hands off for even daring to put them on his brother.

He realises then he'd never been this close to Joseph, not even when they were kids. He'd only ever waved to him and John from the sidewalk before he and Jacob ran off to their spot. His hands hovered over Joseph's wrists, the little boy who so often had his shirt on inside out now covered in scars and tattoos, he was someone else entirely. His skin was clammy or maybe Dean's was. He tugged Joseph forward, stepping around him and placing his hand on his bare shoulder in a robotic motion. He had to focus, despite so many visions blurring together behind his eyelids and confusing his mind, he had to stay in the present.

He had a job to do and these people were dangerous criminals. The past was the past. He didn't really know them, despite what his mind said to him. Not any more, anyway.

The thoughts churned away in his stomach as he led Joseph out of the church, feeling Jacob and John's eyes burn into the back of his head. He followed his coworkers, almost deaf to the rioting Peggies, blind to their swarming bodies as he stared at the side of Joseph's face. He thought back to the video he'd watched in the chopper, glanced down at Joseph's hands and remembered how they were stained in another man's blood. He remembered a time they'd been covered in paint, did he still like to paint?

What? What the fuck was he thinking? That wasn't important—He sucked in a sharp breath as something knocked into his shoulder, Joey rushing back to him to shove away a Peggie that had apparently gotten too close without him realising.

"Fuck Rook, keep your eyes open! What are you doing?" She shouted at him. He uttered a quiet apology and tightened his grip on Joseph but he couldn't focus, everything felt wrong. This wasn't right. None of this was right. He caught Joseph's gaze and shoved him forward, fighting to get away from those haunted eyes as soon as humanly possible.

This would be over soon and he'd just fucking quit. Forget this ever happened and finally learn how to play the stupid guitar gathering dust in his room. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Sounded better than the possibility of having to face whatever this was.

He pushed Joseph into the helicopter, climbed into his seat and buckled himself in, off balance amidst the chaos. Peggies climb over the vehicle like ants, the shouts are like bullets and Dean focuses his gaze on the eyes staring him down. Joseph is singing, he can barely hear it but he can see his lips move as the words flow out. Amazing Grace. Dean swallowed thickly, feeling a hand wrap around his arm and nearly pull him out of the plane. As he kicked the Peggie off of him the chopper lifted off the ground and Joseph, he just kept singing.

Vaguely Dean can remember Jacob mentioning a school choir, the thought of Joseph being in it is soured by his current visage. Any warm feeling Dean could have felt about it is dust in the wind as the chopper went up and bodies dropped down. Bullets whizzed past his head, bounced off the metal and into the blades of the chopper. His coworkers' shouts finally registered in his ears but there was nothing he could do but sit and helplessly listen.

Dean's head knocked back against the headrest, the helicopter turning sideways and wind and smoke stole all the air from his lungs. The horrid feeling of falling filled his gut and the hand that grabbed hold of his flying hand brought not even an ounce of relief. Joseph was still singing even as they descended to the earth. They didn't even make it off the island, the wreckage lying just outside of the compound.

The world was white noise, Dean didn't want to open his eyes, even as he heard Nancy's pleading voice over the radio. He wanted to check on his fellow deputies, his sheriff, the Marshal…. But he had never wanted more for something to be a nightmare. He willed himself to wake up but his body already had and he was still hanging upside down in that fucking chopper. Pain bloomed in his neck as his senses came back to him fully, the sensations and aches all over his body bringing tears to his eyes and forcing them open.

The smoke from the flaming vehicle stung his eyes and he coughed as it snuck past his lips. He could see the Marshal and Joey, both unconscious and looking worse for wear. Dread washed over him at the empty seat in front of him, he twisted his neck to the side but immediately hissed and pulled it back. That hurt. That hurt real bad.

Nancy cried through the radio and Dean tried raising his arms, not to grab the dangling headset but to see if he could unbuckle himself. The faster he got out of here the better. But fate really wasn't on his side today and a hand grabbed his wrist halfway to its destination. Dean wanted to scream, yank his arm away and block him out like a bad memory. But he hadn't been, until now. He'd been a sweet one. 

Joseph crouched down in front of him, and Dean recalled a time he and John peaked down at him from their roof as he hid candy bars under their porch. That was just before they left… Dean squeezed his eyes shut and opened them, fighting away the memory and focusing on the dirtier, bloody image of the man in front of him now. Stay focused. He chided himself silently as Joseph leaned closer.

"I told you God wouldn't let you take me."

Dean wanted to bring his head forward and slam into his, knock him out and maybe give himself a moment to escape but he knew from where he was that would be almost impossible. Joseph grabbed the headset and brought it to his lips, keeping his eyes locked onto Dean as he did. He wanted to watch his expression, see the look in his eyes as he got out what he had to say next.

"Dispatch?"

Nancy gasped, Dean's jaw tensed.

"Everything is fine, no need to call anyone." Joseph's voice is monotone, deceptively soft to anyone not staring into his cold eyes at that moment. Dean tunes out Nancy, the assured tone in Joseph's voice told him all he needed to know about his sweet old coworker. Of course he'd had plants in the department, probably Jacob's idea. He was always the strategist. Dean felt his face twist involuntarily, his emotions clear as day on his face and for a moment it looked like Joseph's softened. Something deep in his eye as he let go of Dean's wrist and cupped his cheek in his hand.

"Jacob used to talk about you every night, when we were in that old barn… He missed you…" Joseph studied his face as he spoke quietly, gaze calculating and his touch anything but welcoming. Joseph nodded to himself after a moment, a silent thought he didn't voice lost on Dean as he finally turned and crawled out of the helicopter's decomposing carcass. Peggies rushed to him, shouting in rejoice of his safety and Dean brought his arms up again to grab at his seat belt.

That white noise returned as tears welled in Dean's eyes. What the fuck had been the point of telling him that? It would have been kinder to stab him.

He cursed as he fumbled with the belt, noticing Joey and the Marshal beginning to stir as Joseph spoke to his followers in a loud, booming voice. A voice that commanded attention yet failed to keep Dean's. He glanced at Joey, a fleeting thought to maybe reach over and help her out first fizzled away by the sight of familiar red hair once again. Jacob stood by the car his brother had taken to standing on, his blue eyes zeroed in on him with a look he could no longer read.

Panic filled him. It was odd. He'd never been scared of Jacob, not once. But right now… He felt a pang of fear at how he was looking at him.

"Begin the reaping!" Joseph's voice roared out into the night air and like a tape being put into fast forward everything started buzzing forward at an alarming rate. Anxiety built up in Dean as the Peggies descended on the helicopter, he shouted uselessly as they grabbed Joey, grabbed onto her and tried to yank her back into the helicopter as they dragged her out. He cried out in frustration as she slipped through his fingers and again as flames erupted and pushed back the oncoming Peggies.

The Marshal was out of there before he could blink, the Sheriff and Staci had been pulled out by the Peggies and Dean finally got his seat belt off in a messy motion. His neck ached as he hit the roof of the chopper and he almost cried from the anger he felt, flopping onto his side before he crawled out of the ticking time bomb. He fretted seeing Jacob waiting for him but as he pushed himself up and began to run nothing stopped him, no one grabbed him. Bullets whizzed past his head but he avoided the cascade of them as he sucked and swerved through the trees.

Dean skidded down the wet forest floor, jumped over a small trickle of water and stones, climbed up a steep hillside and past a bridge that looked far too out in the open to have crossed from the other side. He was running on adrenaline and he almost missed the radio call from the Marshal spouting off his vague location. He was still thinking about the haunting faces that refused to leave his mind.  What had gone so wrong, what could have led them here? He had so many questions, so many regrets and no way to get conciliation with any of them.

Somehow, almost by pure dumb luck, Dean stumbled upon the trailer the Marshal was hiding away in. He carefully made his way to the door, glancing over his shoulder as he turned the handle. Hands grabbed onto the front of his uniform and yanked him inside, he gasped from the swift movement and blindly grabbed at his attacker. The Marshal's face became clear in his vision and he threw his hands up in defense.

"Wait! It's me, it's me!" Dean squawked, twisting away and frantically waving his hands in an attempt to dissuade the Marshal's misguided attack on him. Relief and recognition washed over the Marshal's face and his shoulders slumped as he lowered his arm.

"Oh fuck Rook, you made it, thank God."

The Marshal patted his shoulders in a friendly way but Dean didn't lower his arms, he really just wanted to go home. He cautiously followed after the Marshal as he walked further into the trailer, pausing as he grabbed a mock family photo off the wall and smashed it to the ground with a promise to put them all away. Dean stared down at it, three faces he knew and one he'd never seen before. Well, they may as well all have been strangers to him, the three men nothing like the three boys seared into his memory.

"We're gonna get out of this Rookie, first things first, we gotta arm ourselves—Here." The Marshal pulled Dean from his frozen stance, tossing him a gun. Dean fumbled but caught it, watching as he grabbed another gun and checked it over. This was really happening. He was stuck on an island full of people who wanted him dead and his childhood friend and his siblings were at the forefront of it all. Fuck, how did he get here?

"Okay, here's what we're gonna do…"

Dean had never envisioned himself as a cop, never envisioned himself living in a County in Montana either. Of all places, why did he end up here? Of all places, why did they end up here? What sick and twisted turn of fate was this? This was not how movies showed reunions going down, one party turned into a cult and the other a cop meant to arrest them. This was so out of the realm of possibilities Dean had run over in his head, it was unfair. This was all un-fucking-fair.

"You hearin' me Rook?" The Marshal shoved his shoulder and he realized he hadn't heard a word he'd said to him.

"Man this is life or death right now are you really daydreaming on me?" The Marshal asked incredulously and Dean bowed his head bashfully.

"Sorry I… Fuck. I'm just—I don't know." Dean ran a hand down his face, a tightness building in his chest as he put himself into a ready position. He shook his head and forced his gaze back up to the window.

"Okay look, just—"

"Come around here! Check the trailer first!"

Dean's heart sank just as fast as the Marshal's face dropped. He shushed Dean as his mouth flew open to ask what the plan was and Dean nodded wordlessly, gripping his gun nervously. He'd never been in a firefight before, fuck he'd never used a gun before. The one the department gave him was more of a prop and he never even had it loaded. This was so fucked.

The Marshal nodded towards the other window and Dean crouched down and shuffled towards it, gasping as the Peggies began to shout and the glass in front of him exploded from a bullet breaking through. He ducked down and hid under the frame, heart hammering in his chest as he watched the Marshal shoot out the window with a confident aim Dean knew he didn't have in him. Still, he couldn't let him go at this alone so he sucked up his fear and pushed himself back up.

He fired warning shots, close to the Peggies but nowhere near landing on them. The Marshal hurried out of the trailer to make ground, firing away as Dean provided him cover. A bullet went right past Dean's cheek, the heat and sting searing his skin and forcing him back for a moment. Fighting the shock Dean messily reloaded his gun and followed the Marshal out of the trailer, ducking down behind the small cover they had.

"Keep 'em off me Rook I'm goin' for the truck!" The Marshal instructed him through a short yell, not giving him time to reply as he jumped up and started moving. Dean swirled to a kneeling position and raised his gun, firing a shot at a Peggie pointing their gun right at the Marshal. Time seemed to slow as his bullet made impact with their body, he hadn't meant to actually hit them. He froze, watching their body curl and face twist into one of pure agony. The world went quiet, white noise enveloping the shouting and gunfire. 

He watched as the Peggie fell out of sight and he felt his stomach drop. Had he just…? 

"Rook, cover me!"

A bullet clipped his hair, another skidded over his shoulder.

He moved in slow motion, firing more shots at the Peggies and making the ballsy ones duck for cover. His vision got blurry, his throat tightened and his hands shook as he heard the truck engines start. He kept glancing to where the Peggie he shot had fallen, praying to see their matted hair pop back up and an angry face glower at him again.

But they didn't.

"Rook, get in!" The Marshal stopped the truck and shouted at him and Dean didn't dawdle, he jumped up and into the truck, falling into the passenger seat and slamming the door closed. Everything felt like a bad trip, Dean felt like he was about to puke and he hung his head between his knees as the Marshal began to drive, bullets reverberating off the truck's shell.

"Fuck…" He whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head as he sucked in deep breaths. Panic spread out along all of his limbs and he rocked gently as he tried to keep his breathing even. He just killed someone, he just killed someone—

"We're not outta the woods yet Rookie, up ahead!" The Marshal yanked him back up, and he was right back in the seemingly never-ending nightmare.

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 3k

read on ao3

How did he end up agreeing to this again? Dean pondered that very thought as he clung to the all too high radio tower, hands shaking as he clung to the metal that swayed far too much in the wind for him to be comfortable. He remembered trying to shove the gun and map back at the old vet only to have them shoved right back. Dutch was not taking no for an answer and Dean didn't feel like hanging around in an underground bunker where he was overstaying his welcome. 

After Dutch had given him an additional backpack and handheld radio he took his leave. 

He'd followed Dutch's guidance, his hope of a plan miraculously coming to him dissipating as soon as he'd stepped foot out of the bunker and into the morning air. Everything had settled over him at once, the realisation all of this was really, truly happening and there was no turning back now. As he'd blindly gone down the path ahead of him Joseph's voice rang in his ears. As he helped free civilians, leaving the gun tucked into his waistband with the safety on, it felt like Jacob's steely blue eyes were always staring at him, searing into the back of his neck like a bullet wound.

He had to admit, choking people out didn't feel any better than shooting them. If anything it almost felt worse, feeling them thrash around in his grip as he squeezed around their necks like a python constricting its prey. Feeling them go limp was the worst part. His only comfort was the continued gentle rise and fall of their chest as he hid their bodies in bushes.

As he had been climbing this stupid tower he felt like screaming into the wind, no one would hear him anyway. Well, maybe the guy at the bottom of the tower would, Jim—Nice guy, Jim—from the dock who he'd brought along if only to be a possible witness if he plummeted to the ground below and met a grisly demise. It would be really pathetic if gravity was what took him down, he could just imagine the look on Jacob's face if he… 

Dean bit his tongue.

He really had to stop thinking about him like that. Like they were still friends. Like all these years apart hadn't done irreparable damage and the redhead hadn't turned into the one thing they both vowed they'd never let themselves be. As he clenched his teeth he felt his foot slip and a flush of panic went through his whole body as he went in the wrong direction for a split second. His hand shot out and he wrapped himself around the ladder he was climbing, pulling himself flush against it as his heart skipped a few beats before kicking into full gear.

He gasped out a ragged breath as he hooked his foot back onto one of the slats. He squeezed his eyes shut as nausea, fear and frustration all fused together to sit over his chest in a heavy cloud. Fuck, he hated the feeling of falling so much. And the knowledge that if the speck of a man at the bottom of the tower tried to catch him at this height they would both end up being pancakes on the ground did not help his failing confidence. Speaking of Jim he could barely hear him call up to him, probably asking if he was okay. If anything Dean appreciated the knowledge he was actually watching him instead of fucking off, good guy.

He sucked in a few deep breaths, really wishing he'd just tossed the gun and map away and headed back to the small cabin he'd snagged at a deal on the edge of Holland Valley and The Whitetail Mountains. How he missed his bed firmly planted safely on the ground. Maybe if he made it off this island he could go back there… But realistically he knew that was not an option. And he'd already dragged Jim all the way out here, he needed to get him somewhere safe before abandoning his new post.

"Okay, come on." He whispered to himself, breathing out in short huffs to rid the anxiety before he began climbing again. Once he made it to the final platform he gripped onto the metal column for dear life. He shimmied around to the side, pausing at the sight of an obnoxious looking switch. It couldn't be that fucking simple right? The cult hadn't cut the radio signal by sending their own dolt up here to flip this thing right? That just made him feel like a fuckin clown. He rested his forehead against the cool metal for a moment, taking a second to accept his ridiculous position.

He was really doing this huh?

Fuck, alright.

He reached up and grabbed hold of the handle, pulling it down and hearing a less than satisfying click followed by a low buzzing. After a moment that buzzing was joined in by radio static.

"Good job kid, I'm getting a real strong signal now!" Dutch's voice crackled through the radio as Dean glanced over the landscape below him. If it were any other day it would have been a view worth marvelling, maybe he would have stayed up there for an hour or two enjoying it. Securely tied to it though, maybe. He then spotted the zipline right in front of him, eyeing the blue rope with a bit of wonder and disdain. He'd always wanted to ride one of those things, but he also didn't know if he trusted his upper body strength to get him all the way to the ground.

Dutch began to spout off information, each Seeds name listed off with a new one added in; Faith Seed. The woman he'd seen in the church beside John, the photo pinned up on that map in Dutch's bunker. He wondered how he never ran into her if she'd been set up in the Henbane River, he guessed he hadn't been around long enough to have the opportunity. Maybe it was for the best, although her appearance had seemed soft there was something in the energy radiating off of her that told him she was just as dangerous as the men she stood beside. 

Dean shrugged the thought away, glanced down the ladder and sighed deeply. The thought of climbing back all the way down was just as daunting as the blue rope beside his head.

He weighed up his options, he remembered Dutch had shoved something into the backpack with the word 'zipline' tossed out with it. As carefully as he could Dean slid the backpack off one shoulder, swinging it around and opening it up and rummaging around in it. He pulled out something that looked like a frankenstein handlebar, two hand holds and a middle piece looking like it would fit nice and snug around the rope. Dean zipped up the backpack and secured it around his shoulder again, slowly moving the franken-handhold over the rope.

It sank into place like it was made for it and with Dutch's voice in his ear and the faint, faded memory of doing something like this when he was a kid—With Jacob's encouragement—swimming in his mind he pushed off of the platform.

He felt gravity drag him down, felt the strain on his muscles and the rope as he flew through the air. Air flew past his face, whipped his hair around wildly and flushed out all the old air in his lungs. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, he wasn't falling to his delight; he was flying. This felt fucking great. He laughed, kicking his legs forward and feeling weightless for the first time in a while. It felt like a reset, his system booting back up as he landed on the other end of the line. His boots dug into the ground and he let himself fall to his knees and dig his fingers into the damp grass beneath him.

His chest heaved as he sucked in breath through small bouts of laughter. He really needed that.

"I just got a transmission coming out of Holland Valley kid, you're gonna wanna see this."

And just like that, his small moment of reprieve was gone.

Dean left Jim at the ranger station, figuring it was as safe as anywhere right now, then headed back to Dutch's bunker. He paused at the entrance, his earlier sentiment of not wanting to back down there rang true but Dutch had been insistent he needed to see this broadcast from the younger Seed. Dean meandered, staring into the dark and damp space with a wavering gaze. Did he really need to see it? He wasn't sure how much of John Seed he wanted to see, how much of his memory he wanted to taint.

He took one step, and then another. Down he went, until he was face to face with Dutch again. Much sooner than he'd planned, which had been never. The static from the tv screen was obnoxious but what it switched over too was much worse. John turned and without the darkness of the church Dean could see him so much clearer. Something twisted within him at the sight of the jagged scar on his chest, an old anger blooming and directed at an old man long dead by now. But even that old ghost wouldn't have taken a knife to his skin, as much as the word was something he'd definitely agree with.

John spoke and he sounded like someone else, he didn't know who but it didn't sound like the boy he knew. But the boy he knew was also a lot of heads shorter and missing a few teeth. Dean found a familiar stinging in his eyes as the stranger did his sadistic dance and song on the screen, the cruel reality that he was twisted so far beyond who he'd ever had the chance to be even more depressing than the state of his old friend somehow. How old had he been when they left? He could barely remember now. A faded letter hidden in a box under his bed had the mention of a 6th birthday in a barn with a dry muffin as a cake.

Dean just hoped in the low light of the bunker Dutch wouldn't notice the added glassiness to his eyes, or put it down to sympathy for his colleague now on screen with a terrified and tear stained face.

It was jarring seeing her like that and a new wave of anger washed over him at how John put his hands on her in a silent threat. The smile on his face as she struggled against him was nothing kind. Dean knew Joey was a badass but she was also only human and John had all the power and numbers on her here. Dean's mind felt stretched, pulled thin as it tried to corral all the new information washing over him in a heavy wave. He had to help Joey. He had to know if Lola was alright. Where was Staci? Where had they taken the Marshal? Was Whitehorse okay? Was he okay?

"Kid…"

Dutch placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and he jumped away from it like he'd been burnt. He hadn't realised his chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly, his breathing had become uneven and his unfocused eyes had missed the end of the transmission altogether. It was probably for the best, it didn't seem like John had said anything he wanted to hear.

"Dep—"

"I gotta go." Dean gasped out, the words a rough and scratchy mixture as he stumbled out of the room. Dutch called after him but the blood rushing to his head made him deaf to the older man. He had to get out of his head, maybe another go down a zipline would help—if only.

The ground under his feet felt like it was moving without him, sending him off balance. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a few deep breaths.

He had people to protect. Joey needed him, Staci too probably wherever he was. And that's all he could think about as he got outside, breaking into a desperate run as he gunned it for the bridge to Holland Valley. Heart thrumming in his ears as he fought to keep his mind clear. The reset to his system had definitely made him sure of one thing; he was in this. And if he was in he was going to give it his all, whatever that ended up meaning. Right now that meant getting his partners back.

He was sure Lola could hold out at the jail a little longer without him, if she was even still there. 

Getting into Holland Valley had been the easy part of this impulsive rescue mission.

Dean had failed to ask any question that would get him to Joey. He had no damn idea where John had taken her or how to get there and Dutch sure gave him an earful about just running off how he did. Not that he was someone who should be criticising anyone else's manners. He did tell him to head to Fall's End, supposedly the people there could help him. He was hoping they could, because as he dragged his feet across the grassy earth in an almost aimless direction he felt his rage simmering.

Now the problem was finding Falls End, he'd only visited Holland Valley once or twice in his short months in the County and that was mainly to check out Gardenview Orchard. It had been a good day, Lola had tagged along and dragged Staci with them too. That happy memory offered a moment of comfort that slowly faded off into mournful spite. When was the next time any of them would get a good day like that? Dean paused at the top of a hill, watching a deer and its fawn meander by the treeline.

He sighed and shrugged off the backpack again, pulling out the stupid map despite knowing it wouldn't help him any. The marked off spots meant nothing to him, the landmarks barely recognizable outside of the 2D planes of the paper. Dean squinted at the bridge he'd supposedly taken to get here, running a finger in the vague direction he'd walked. He twisted and turned as he looked around, trying to see if he could wrap his head around where he was. If only Dutch had given him a compass along with this thing.

If his guess was right he was south west of the town, if he could find a road he should be able to find it. He mutters under his breath in frustration, marching on with the map clenched in his fist. He went on like that for about a mile, his determined steps slowly losing steam as he felt himself veering further away from where he thought he was. He froze as a gunshot rebounded in the air, somewhere to the east of him hidden within the dense trees. He thought about grabbing the gun from his waistband but he just lowered himself to the ground instead.

He crouch-walked to the treeline, hiding in the bushes as he pushed forward cautiously. He wasn't getting anywhere anyway so this detour wasn't really a problem, if someone needed his help maybe they could help direct him afterwards.

He stuffed the map back into his backpack, not fully closing it as he continued parallel to a dirt path. Voices started coming into hearing range, a man chanting off some words in an angry tone and a woman sobbing and swearing at her captors. Dean felt sick realising he would probably be hearing a lot of this sort of thing now. He swallowed the lump in his throat as a group of three came into view, two peggies and one civilian; hands tied behind her back. One peggie was reading from a book while the other taunted and paced in front of their hostage.

Dean noted his rifle and the shotgun slung over the other one's shoulder. There were only two of them, no problem.

He got closer, careful to not make too much noise. They were both facing each other so he couldn't use the tactic he'd used on Dutch's island, he had to be a bit more direct. He steadied himself, formulating a plan in his head as he grabbed hold of two trees beside him. Once the Peggie with the rifle had done his fifth lap Dean threw himself forward, he knocked the Peggie to the ground with the forward force and scrambled to grab the one still left standing.

He was met with a struggle, that white book flying off to the side as the Peggie brought his hands up to wrestle Dean away. Dean managed to hook his hands around the shotgun, using the strap to pull the Peggie and toss him to the side. He fell onto his side and the shotgun stayed firmly in Dean's hands. A hand grabbed his ankle and he swung on instinct, cracking the butt of the shotgun into the other Peggies forehead with a hard smack.

He groaned in pain and recoiled, giving Dean a chance to land another hit to the back of his head. It felt dirty—it felt wrong. The crack of the gun against skull and the drop of his body left a foul taste in Dean's mouth. But he didn't have time to mull over how this act of violence made him feel, the other Peggie rammed into his legs and knocked him to the ground in a swift motion. He felt the air get knocked out of him and the shotgun slid out of reach. 

He coughed, groaning and raising his arm as the Peggie began climbing over him. A grime covered hand made contact with his ribs and Dean grunted at the blossom of pain—At least it was familiar. The ache of a punch was something he could take. He shoved away the Peggies arm as it drew in for another punch, lifting his leg and using his knee to knock the guy off of him. He uses the momentum to get on top of the Peggie, landing his own punch square in the middle of his face. 

He felt the cartilage of his nose under his knuckles, felt it bend close to snapping as the force of his punch spread through it. The Peggies head bounced off the ground beneath him, blood flew through the air and landed mainly on Dean's hand. The Peggie groaned and his eyes rolled back but Dean wasn't done, he drew his arm back and landed another punch, this time to his cheek. The bone is less forgiving and he knew he'd have a bruise after this, but so would the guy under him—As well as a killer headache so, fair was fair.

The Peggie goes limp under him and he sits back with a ragged breath, heart hammering against his ribcage as he drags his eyes over the two unconscious men. That could have gone smoother, but at least it was done.

"God, thank you, I thought I was going to die!" A broken sob pulls Dean out of his guarded stupor and he twists around to see the woman sobbing and looking straight at him. Her red hair was a mess, falling in her face and sticking to the liquids covering her face. He feels his expression soften and he turns back around, looking over the Peggies and taking a hunting knife from the thigh holster of the one laying face down. He pushes himself to his feet and walks behind the woman, kneeling down and cutting the zip tie around her wrist.

"You're okay now, can you stand?" He spoke softly, staying low and offering her his hand as she rubbed her wrists. She took it gladly and he helped hoist her to her feet, she was unsteady for a moment before she let out a shaky breath and offered Dean a grateful smile.

"Thank you, I was on my way to my friend Rae Rae's house when these psychos grabbed me! I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't come along." Her words spilled over like a waterfall with a hint of an accent and Dean could only nod and offer a strained smile. He never did like sticking around for the praise part of helping people, especially right now. It didn't feel like he'd done anything worth a 'thank you'.

"I'm glad I could help, I was actually trying to find Fall's End. Guess it's a good thing I have no sense of direction…" He muttered, lifting his hand to fix his hair only to pause at the sight of his bloody knuckles. It had been a while since they'd looked like that.

"Well—Fall's End is to the west of here… I'll tell you what, if you can take me to Rae Rae's we'll get you to Fall's End," Her brown eyes lit up as she pointed over his shoulder with a dainty hand.

Dean glanced up at her and over his shoulder in the supposed direction of Fall's End, it was a fair deal and given the circumstances he couldn't find a reason to turn down the offer.

"You got yourself a deal Ma'am."

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 4k

read on ao3

The air was heavy. Or maybe Dean's body was just being weighed down by the sight before him. The woman he'd helped, who he had still failed to ask the name of even now, was knelt in the mud sobbing over a corpse. Two spears with Eden's Gate's symbol on the end of them dug deep into the lifeless body. An Australian cattle dog with black and white fur, Boomer—he knew the dog's name at least—sat at his feet. His small head was bowed and he whined like he was mourning the loss just like the woman before them.

Arriving at the farm had felt like a dream, or a nightmare to be more accurate. His newly made guide had sprung into a blind rage before Dean had time to think, and that's how they'd ended up surrounded by multiple bodies littering the ground. The ones still breathing were his handiwork and the ones he refused to look at his companion's doing. He'd never been more intimidated by a four foot tall woman with a shovel in his life.

Dean didn't know what to do with himself now, he absently petted Boomers head, eyes focused on the deep red mixing in with the wet earth. He was no good at comforting people, what would he even say at a time like this? 'Sorry your friend was murdered by a religious cult, I'm sure it was long and painful'? Yeah, no. Dean glanced at her, watching her soft face contort as she clutched onto the stained and ripped shirt, shaking her head and mumbling curses through her cries.

Dutch's words couldn't help but creep into the edge of his mind, something about people wanting to help but needing direction… He sighed, shook his head and took a step forward. This was a real shitty way to get that direction. He placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder, nearly jumping as her other hand shot back to grab onto it like it was a life raft.

"We need to get these assholes—they can't get away with this." She snarled tearfully, anger ablaze in her bloodshot eyes as she looked back at him. Dean could only bring himself to nod, he agreed, obviously. He struggled on the wording, he forgot one of the most important things about this whole thing. Resistances barely ever ended with an arrest, people who were wronged would always want blood. And he wasn't about to stand in her way, as much as he wanted to minimise the life count here. Getting caught in the crossfire of that firefight would be more detrimental to him than anything.

The woman softened as Boomer nudged her arm, sneaking under her and whining. She let go of Dean to wrap her arms around the pup, leaning her head on his and sobbing a bit more quietly. She looked tired, the kind of tired years usually took out of you. Dean really wished Whitehorse were here—or Joey, she seemed to always have some kind of advice for him. Maybe once he got to her she could share some of that advice on how to fix this mess.

"Alright," She let out a long exhale and wiped her eyes, "I told you we'd take you to Fall's End…" She looked up at Dean and he almost felt like telling her to forget about it. He would stumble upon it eventually surely. But she held her hand out and he took it, helping her up once again. She cast another mournful look downward before walking away into the house. Dean stayed put, watching Boomer as he looked between his dead owners.

The sight reminded him of when an old widow passed away on his street, she had baked cookies for the neighbourhood kids every Sunday and had an old Basset hound almost as old as her. She'd passed away in summer—He and Jacob had found her in her living room with the hound on her lap, he had looked like he was crying just like Boomer did now…

The jingle of metal drew Dean's attention to the door and there the woman stood with car keys in one hand and a rifle in the other. Her cheeks were tear stained and her bottom lip still wobbled as she spoke.

"My name is Blair, forgot to introduce myself… Do you know how to use this?" She offered the rifle to Dean as she stepped off the porch and he took hold of it with a sigh and a nod.

"Yep." Technically he did. He did now anyway. He wished he still didn't.

"Okay, I'll drive and you make sure you gun down any peggie bastard you see." She instructed, walking past him to the car parked a bit away. Dean felt his blood run cold at the order, he wasn't sure he could do that. He wasn't sure he wanted to. He thought back to the panicked drive with the Marshal, the way he'd been so sure to shoot out tires and avoid hitting anyone. But even then a careless toss of dynamite and panicked screams echoed on and the ghosts tied to his ankles were only growing in number one by one.

Blair walked to the car and Dean was close to following after her but a particularly pitiful whine from Boomer made him pause. He glanced at Blair who shared a look with him as she hovered by the drivers side door. They couldn't leave him here, more peggies could show up and who knows what they'd do to the poor thing.

"C'mon boy," Dean pet the dog's side gently, guiding him to the car and opening up the back door for him. Boomer hopped in and curled up on the backseat, giving the heartiest sigh Dean had ever heard from a dog. He hopped into the passenger seat, put his seat belt on and rested the rifle in his lap. Blair put the key into the ignition with a fire in her eyes that made Dean want to grab onto the hand holds—He didn't, but maybe he should have. When she finally put her foot on the gas Dean felt himself fly back in his seat, the back of his head almost comically bouncing off the headrest. He braced himself on the center console as she swerved out of the driveway.

"Jesus," he muttered, Blair huffing out a small apology as she gunned it down the road. Dean glanced in the backseat, finding Boomer now on the floor behind Blair's seat, a similar surprise in his big brown eyes. Dean laughed, he couldn't help it, and he saw Blair crack half a smile as he ran a hand down his face. After righting himself he wound down the window, the wind blowing by sending his hair flying in his face. He reared back, hurriedly pushing the dark brown strands out of his eyes. 

"There's a cap in the back, probably wanna put it on."

Dean nodded at the suggestion and twisted around, being met with Boomer holding the faded blue cap between his teeth. He held it out to Dean and gave the deputy pause, this was one smart dog. That could come in handy. He took it, ruffling his head with a small thanks before tugging the cap onto his head. Now with his hair out of his eyes Dean settled back in the seat and kept his eyes on the side of the road. He was hoping they wouldn't pass by any peggies at all but luck hadn't been on his side so far. It felt like it hadn't been on his side in a while.

They sped down quite a large stretch of road without seeing anything, it almost let Dean forget about what led him to being in the car with Blair and Boomer. The wind was refreshing against his face and the hum of the engine under his feet would have been enough to lull him to sleep had he been more relaxed. It had been a while since he'd been in the passenger seat, once he'd gotten his licence he barely ever let anyone else drive him around. He forgot how nice it could be. Not having to think and just enjoying the views that went by.

A scream interrupted that fragile peace all too soon.

Boomer let out a startled bark, jumping back onto the seat and sticking his head out of the back window as he searched for the source of the pained cry. Dean tightened his grip on the rifle in his hand, putting the barrel up on the window frame as he readied himself to fire warning shots. The anxiety in his stomach resurfaced as they rounded a bend, another small group of peggies stood along the side of the road, two corpses crumpled at their feet on the asphalt. The car jolted forward, Blair putting her foot further down on the gas as she hunched forward.

The car swerved and Dean fell back in his seat before he knew what was happening. The peggies up ahead turned as the sound of the car veering towards them finally registered and Dean locked eyes with all three as Blair aimed for them. That hadn't been part of the plan, but he wasn't about to offer the pissed off redhead next to him any criticism. The peggies attempted to move, their bodies twisting and bending but they didn't make it very far before the bonnet rammed into them. One after the other they rolled, their bodies flying with the impact and disappearing behind the car before Dean could even blink.

He tried to ignore the way the car rocked as whatever under them got under the tires and made for a short, bumpy surface. He also tried to ignore the new splatters of red on the cracked windshield as Blair continued down the road. He clutched the rifle in his hands, now aimed at the roof of the car as he sat unaligned in his chair. Blair let out a ragged breath, her short fingers stretched out before wrapping around the steering wheel again, her shoulders sagging a small fraction.

Silence fell over them, the road clear and smooth and the Valley all too quiet.

"Sorry." Blair muttered out after a moment, glancing at him through the rear view mirror. He nodded, finally readjusting in his seat and shaking his head, clearing his throat as he dared a glance in the rearview himself. Blair's expression was a mix of anger and shock, as if she couldn't believe what she'd just done but couldn't bring herself to regret it. He could understand that, kind of.

"S'fine. Let's just… Keep to the road, yeah?" He offered a lousy, weak smile and Blair nodded with her own tight lipped excuse of a smile.

Boomer whined from the backseat and Dean reached back to offer a small pat of comfort, poor boy probably wasn't used to the high action of a… Hit and run? That's kinda what they just did wasn't it? Fuck. He felt more sure than ever of his choice to leave his badge behind, carrying that around would be more ironic than anything now.

Luckily for Dean and perhaps Blair too, the rest of the way to Fall's End was clear. Unfortunately however, as they neared the town Dean picked up a transmission from Mary May Fairgrave and the tone of it was less than optimistic. The first thing they spotted when coming up to the town was the burnt remains of a building, which made the small sparks of hope in Dean truly flake out. Blair cursed under her breath and turned off road again, slowing down and rolling the car a ways behind the burnt building.

She killed the engine and sat back with another huff of breath, brown eyes flicking around wildly as she muttered a bit under her breath and chewed on her thumb nail. Dean let her be, unbuckling himself and scooting out of the car carefully, keeping his eyes out for any peggies that may have been wandering. They were just outside of Fall's End, he could see the small stretch of town and blurry figures walking around with a hell of a lot more guns than they currently had. Boomer hopped out of the car and settled beside him, growling lowly at the invaders ahead of them.

"I dunno if we'll be able to take these guys out on our own, I know a couple up a ways. The Rye's, they've got a plane and might be able to help us out here." Blair leant over the centre console, talking in a hushed tone as she gestured behind her shoulder. Dean shuffled back to the car, tugging his backpack off and pulling the map out of it once more. He spread it out on the seat and Blair looked it over, trailing her hand around Holland Valley before pointing at a big piece of land with what looked like an airstrip. 

That was pretty far from here.

"I'll stay, if they start getting too rowdy I'll…" He trailed off, not really wanting to say what he knew was ultimately unavoidable. Blair nodded, reaching over to pat his hand firmly.

"Mary May and Jerome are important to this community, if you think they're in trouble for even a second you rain hell down on those fuckers. We can't lose 'em." The conviction in Blair's words steeled Dean's fraying nerves and he squeezed the hand that had wrapped around his. This felt solid, like something he could actually do compared to the mammoth of a task Dutch wanted to push onto his shoulders. He could keep these people safe, he could help them, he just needed to stay calm and keep his hands steady. He could do that.

He took the map and leaned back, closing the car door and giving the frame a firm pat. Blair started the car again, sharing one last nod with Dean before she turned and rolled back down the road they'd come from. He stayed in that spot and watched her disappear down the road, becoming nothing but a hazy mirage on the horizon. He glanced down at the dog beside him, glad he at least had a little company left. He didn't feel as alone. Not that, that eased any of the dread in his stomach.

He got as close as he was willing to the town, hiding behind a broken down and rusted car and keeping Boomer close to him. He hoped they wouldn't hurt him but considering how freely they gunned down people he didn't have high hopes for how they treated animals. He ran his hand through Boomer's short fur, really more for himself than the pooch. It brought a comfort one could only get from petting a dog. Occasionally he'd hear the peggies get riled up, talking louder and ranting and raving at their captives.

None of them were making any move to harm the captives, that was until the woman Dean assumed was Mary May headbutted a peggie that had been getting in her face. He jumped to a crouched position, panic flying through him as the peggie kicked her square in the chest and knocked her onto the dirt road. 

That seemed like trouble.

He cleared his throat and readied his rifle, jumping up and rushing to the back of another building, Boomer hot on his heels. He'd had time to count the peggies littered around, from what he'd spotted there were about ten. Not too bad, not ideal but he could handle it. He didn't have much of a choice. He snuck into one of the buildings, keeping low and avoiding making too much noise. He pushed himself up against one of the walls beside the front window of the house, peeking out and spotting the main ground group.

It would be stupid to hit any of them out in the open, starting a firefight would mostly end in dead captives and a few bullets for him and Boomer too. 

He tried to call upon his older brother in his mind, all the war stories and battle tactics he'd gone over a faded memory in his mind. Dean had never had that strategic brain, he always went headfirst into something and hoped for the best. But that was only when his safety was on the line, other people were depending on him here. He glanced down at Boomer, who seemed ready to follow Dean into whatever he set off. It gave him some confidence, oddly. He just hoped Blair and her friends wouldn't take too long to reach them.

Dean gave Boomer another hearty pat, shuffling off and sneaking out of a side door to the side yard. He crouched beside some bushes, waiting for a peggie to come around into the yard and out of view of the rest. If he could pick them off one by one without them catching onto him he'd have a good chance of getting everyone out of here alive. He really hoped he could get everyone out of here alive.

He sucked in a deep breath at the sound of footfalls on gravel, hearing the crunch and breathing of another person alongside the mechanical scraping of a rifle against a belt. The peggie walked past him blissfully unaware, only spotting him when it was too late and Dean had thrown himself out of the bush to wrap his arm around the guy's neck. He pulled him back to the bush, locking his elbow and covering the guy's mouth with his hand. His lean body thrashed around and his hands clawed at Dean arms, his boots dug into the dirt; kicking up grass and jolting his body around even more.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut, if he knew any prayers he'd have been muttering one now.

Dean squeezed harder, willing the man to stop moving and eventually he did. His body was heavy and Dean tried to be careful as he laid his head down on the grassy ground. He tugged him further into the bush, making sure he'd be hard to spot. He took the handgun from his belt and the bullets from his rifle, it felt odd looting the guy after knocking him out but he's sure he wouldn't hold it against him. He'd probably have happily looted him if the roles were reversed, that thought made it a little easier.

"Tell your precious Father he can go fuck himself!"

A woman's voice shouted in the distance and peeking around the fence Dean spotted the same woman from before back on her knees, glaring up at the Peggie that had kicked her. He sucked in a deep breath and used the distraction to shuffle across the road, his sight set on the Pastor. He caught said man's eye on his way and tried to motion for him to be quiet, ungracefully nearly knocking the handgun into his teeth as he did. He made it to cover, listened to the building commotion with his blood rushing in his ears and waited for another stray peggie to wander to him.

He did the same dance and song, hiding the body he brought down and making his way inside the church, he took down the peggies in there and snuck back to the fence just behind Jerome.

"You came just in the knick of time friend." Jerome whispered, keeping his eyes forward as Dean watched the nearest peggie walk back to them. His head was turned to watch his buddy having a shouting match with Mary May and as soon as he was close enough Dean pulled him over the fence. The angle didn't allow for the choke out so he rammed his elbow into the guy's temple, throwing him to the side and landing another punch to his cheek for good measure. The Peggie fell with a thud and he didn't wait to check if he was okay, the shouts were getting louder and he could feel himself getting antsy.

He did have time to take the hunting knife from his thigh, using it to cut the zip ties around Jerome's wrist. Jerome shuffled back, crouching beside him and breathing out a sigh of relief as he rubbed his wrists.

"I'm gonna try and get the guy up on that roof, can you help your friend?" Dean didn't bother with polite formalities, at the moment they didn't seem too important. Jerome nodded and Dean gave him the handgun, he didn't know if he'd use it but it was protection nonetheless. He didn't wait for any verbal response from the Pastor, barely catching it as he went to the side and hopped over the fence. Behind the buildings now he spotted a ladder, which he tried to climb quickly and quietly—two things very hard to do with an old rusty ladder.

He spotted the sniper, leering over the edge and scoping out the edge of the buildings. Dean had been lucky he hadn't spotted him when he was sneaking around. Carefully Dean kept to a crouch, moving slowly behind the peggie and making as little noise as he could. As the peggie stepped back and began to turn Dean grabbed his sniper and knocked him over. Just as he did a range of gunshots and shouts resounded down below, Jerome's name tossed around with the title of sinner in the midst of it all. Either they noticed he was gone or he'd been spotted.

Stealth was out, so he guessed it was back to headfirst diving in. That was bound to happen eventually but now a small job was gonna be a big one, especially if any of the peggies got off distress calls for backup which Dean was guessing they would. The peggie in front of him kicked his legs out, trying to knock Dean over but he managed to jump over them. He kicked the guy's gun away and attempted to hit him with the butt of his rifle, the peggie rolled away just in time and jumped back up onto his feet.

Dean deigned to toss his rifle to the side, not wanting the peggie to copy his earlier move and possibly knock him down. The peggie came at him first, throwing a weak left hook that Dean knocked away with his forearm, bringing his left arm and landing a firm punch to the peggies nose. The peggie stumbled back but steadied himself and threw himself at Dean again, this time he ducked down and hooked around Dean's middle. Dean took a few unbalanced steps back, stopping just short of the edge of the roof. He dug his heels in and rammed his elbow down on the back of the peggies neck.

The guy grunted in pain but held on, his grip only loosening on the third blow Dean landed. Dean took the opportunity to grab the guy's shoulders and ram his knee up into his sternum, tossing him off of him. Dean followed up with another punch to the gut and then his left cheek, finally kicking the guy in the stomach and sending him onto his back again. The peggie rolled onto his side and as Dean got closer he flung his arm through the air, the glint of a blade making Dean rear back.

He felt a sting across the bridge of his nose but he ignored it in favour of grabbing the guy's wrist, bringing his forearm down on Dean's now bent knee. The knife clattered to the ground and Dean punched the guy again, really beginning to feel that familiar ache in his knuckles and exertion in his lungs.

To his good fortune the peggie finally stopped moving and fell flat against the roof, chest very barely moving and wheezing breaths escaping his open, bloody mouth. Dean pushed himself back onto his feet, stumbled to the edge and looked over the chaos unfurling on the ground. Mary May was now free as well as any other captives that the peggies had been holding, which had unavoidably started an intense firefight.

He pushed himself back, racing back to the ladder and sliding down it. He landed less than gracefully and stumbled as he caught his footing. He began to run between two buildings, almost making it to the end before a peggie ran in from the way he was headed. He was facing behind him, looking at whoever had made him run in the first place and Dean took that opportunity to surprise him. 

As they ran into each other Dean did his usual trick of grabbing his gun. He tossed him into the side of one of the buildings, ramming his shoulder into his chest as he tried to pry the gun from his hands. The peggie recovered from the shock quicker than Dean appreciated, launching the gun upward and the sting of the metal hitting his forehead came quickly, followed soon after by an ache and a surprised grunt.

Dean stumbled back, arms flailing as he tried to find purchase on the peggie with dots blurring his vision. Another hard blow knocked into his gut and he felt his ass make contact with the concrete and then his elbows. Pain bloomed through his arms in both directions and he rolled to his side to alleviate some of the pain, groaning as he tried to focus his bleary eyes. He caught the shine of something and looking up he was met with the barrel of the gun pointed at him. Well shit.

Everything moved slowly, he lifted his hand—To what? Block a bullet? God he was an idiot. A shot went off and Dean tensed, but no pain came. No skin was torn and the only blood coming out of him was leaking from his nose and lips. The peggie in front of him however dropped to the ground in a heap, gun clattering and skull loudly cracking against the ground. Dean caught the blurry figure of Jerome rushing forward, picking him off the ground and asking if he was alright as he leaned against him.

He nodded, coughing when he attempted to speak. Jerome didn't push him further as more gunshots rebounded through the air, he tucked him against the wall and gave his shoulder a firm squeeze before seemingly going back into the fight. Dean took a second to collect himself and shake the ringing from his ears. That ringing turned into whirring and Dean furrowed his brows, covering his ears in confusion before the force of something large going overhead far too close nearly knocked him over. His head shot up and he caught sight of the tail of a white plane.

Oh great, they had air support.

Dean nearly fell over as another plane shot past, bright yellow this time. That couldn't be a peggie plane as well, surely. He ducked down to grab the peggies gun, only half deterred by his locked grip and fish eyed stare. He raced back into the main street, looking up and watching as the yellow plane let loose a rain of bullets onto the peggie plane. He felt like cheering, he was relieved he wouldn't have to deal with that. He wouldn't have had a clue on how to take out a plane from the ground.

A bullet whizzed past his head and he remembered he was in an active fight, he dropped to a crouch and spun on his heels. The peggie that had shot at him began to move back behind their cover but he let off a shot and clipped their shoulder before they managed to hide. As they bent over in pain a flicker of a thought passed him by, he could have easily landed a head shot in that moment.

The thought made him feel ill, the fact he'd even thought about it made him feel even worse and he turned and ran to take his own cover instead. He spotted Blair, Boomer at her side as she hit a peggie over the head with a metal pipe. The act was raw and angry, a big contrast to her soft appearance, if he hadn't seen her do a similar thing with a shovel earlier it would have been much more jarring. The planes flew back overhead, causing another gust of strong wind.

The cacophony of sounds was almost peaceful for a moment, everything merging together in a loud hum in Dean's head. And then it was messy and grating again, too many bullets and voices—Even his own breathing was too much. Bullets ricocheted off of his cover and he tried to duck down lower and slow his breathing, his self soothing was interrupted by a quiet bark. Boomer stood in front of him with the bloody pipe Blair had been holding now in his mouth, tail wagging behind him.

He took it and nudged his forehead against his furry one, the comfort from the dog enough to get him back on track in his head. They were doing this, they were pushing back the peggies and had a guy in the sky to top it off. They could do this.

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 4k

read on ao3!

Fall's End was lost.

Mary May Fairgrave and Jerome Jeffries were 'free'.

Jacob shut off his radio, leaned back in his chair as he let the words of his chosen sink in. He had a feeling John would struggle with a task that big, If he had more time to chip away at them with legal loopholes and harassment he could have had a better chance at holding them down. But thanks to the sudden beginning of the reaping he was way in over his head, he wasn't prepared. He hadn't stationed enough project members in the town and however they had been holding the two captive had obviously been lackluster. It was sloppy. John was usually smarter than that.

He had expected this to a degree, what he hadn't expected was for Dean to be at the forefront of this little revolt. Leadership had never been his thing and fighting in a group even less so. It was a surprise but nothing that would shake their current trajectory too much. John might have been sloppy the first time around due to the short notice but he could clean up his messes pretty well. Jacob just had to wait for Dean to step foot into the Whitetails, as soon as he did Jacob's chosen would pounce and bring him to St. Francis. Then they could really have their reunion.

John would want to have a few words with him first, his little brother was no doubt throwing a fit over the loss of the town and damning the junior deputy over the radio. If he tuned in now he was sure he'd hear his melodramatic ranting and threats. He wondered when John had gotten such a hot temper, sometime during his stay with the Duncan's no doubt. He hadn't been that angry when he was small, all the anger was left to Jacob. Now it felt more evenly shared, which he didn't know how he felt about. If he felt anything about it at all. John had grown up and the reality of their fucked up world had hardened him, sharpened his edges—Which was good. Those edges kept him safe, to a degree. His pride and show-off attitude put him at risk even despite that.

Jacob wasn't about to reign him in though, lessons had to be learnt the hard way and the way he was going John needed a reality check. No amount of money would make him untouchable in a war zone, he was as vulnerable as the people that put their lives on the line for him. And besides, if all he had to worry about was Dean the worse he'd get was an ass kicking and a tearful rant—maybe a cold damp cell for a bit if it got that far. He'd be fine.

Jacob heaved a sigh and stood, pushing his chair back before he meandered to the heavy doors of his office. If he needed to he'd send John some extra man power, but right now he had fresh meat to deal with and he had some faith in his brother. Staci Pratt, one of the deputies they'd plucked out of the helicopter now sat waiting for the beginning of his trials and conditioning. Jacob didn't get the feeling he'd be much of a fighter, he was too weak. He didn't have it in him, it didn't take much to see that. There was heat in his gaze but it had no direction, no clear target.

He would make a good message at least, once Jacob had broken him down and built him into something more obedient and well trained. Once he had Dean here and he saw the state of his senior officer he'd know Jacob wasn't going to play nice. This was war and the faster he figured that out the better. For both of them. He still found the title junior deputy for Dean amusing, being near Joseph's age yet still looking and acting like his younger coworkers. Part of him also found it annoying.

Jacob made his way to the temporary holding cell for Pratt, steely blue eyes catching sight of the pathetic lump through the small window on the door. One of the project members unlocked the door and opened it for him, Pratt's head snapping up and eyes locking onto his. All Jacob could see was fear, in his eyes, in his body language, even in the way he breathed. Despite the bravado he put on and the slightly puffed chest as he tried not to cower Jacob could smell it in the air. It was such a familiar smell. He was sure Hudson had more of a backbone than the man before him, she would have actually had a chance at becoming a half decent soldier.

Pity. Maybe after John had finished her atonement Jacob could put her through some trials, having her and Dean in the ranks together would make up for the damage he'd caused so far. Maybe that other rowdy deputy would make a nice soldier too, she'd be harder to break for sure but he could tell she'd be a beast on the battlefield and he'd prefer to have her on his side rather than against. Once they secured the jail and had her captive he could get to work on her too.

He had quite the army waiting for him, he just had to put the pieces in place.

He stepped inside the small room and Pratt scuttled back like a rat, watching Jacob's every move like he was about to strike him like a snake. It was almost funny how jumpy he was. Jacob sat on the creaky cot, resting his elbows on his knees as he let the silence and one-sided tension build. The door was left wide open, the project member stood right beside it with her hand on a rifle and eyes trained on the quivering deputy.

"One of your partners is sure causing a fuss for my brother right now," Jacob drawled, reaching a hand up to drag through his beard as he spoke. He glanced at Pratt and saw the expected spark of hope at the news. He'd crush that in no time flat, it wouldn't take much.

"John's gonna reign him in soon enough… And while he's doin' that you and I are gonna see what you're made of." Jacob watched Pratt's eyes as they filled with apprehension, glancing between him and the woman at the door.

"What the fuck do—"

"Shh. Wasn't askin' a question peaches, you don't talk unless I tell you too." Jacob cut off the stammering deputy shortly, holding up his index finger to his lips before pointing at him. There was a flash of insult—anger—in Pratt's eyes but he didn't push it, shutting his mouth with a resounding clack of his teeth. Smart. He wasn't in the position to talk back and he had enough brain to realise it. That told Jacob all he needed to know, he'd break easy. Jacob motioned for the project member to grab him, standing leisurely as she walked past him with a chosen behind her. Pratt fought their hands as they grabbed onto him, he shouted profanities and insults as they dragged him out of the room.

Jacob followed after at a slower pace, he had all the time in the world, no need to rush. He was getting quite the show too, Pratt writhed like a worm, trying desperately to get free like a deer in a bear trap. The chosen rammed an elbow into his nose, which stopped his aggressive movements as he let out a pained groan. He shuffled along, nearly tripping as he stopped fighting—Too focused on the pain to think about putting one foot in front of the other.

As they rounded a corner another of his chosen stood waiting, Simon Dallas, head of Judge production and one of his best men. He was twice Jacob's size and his dark skin was free of the scars and grime that he himself was littered in. He held onto a manilla folder, offering a determined smile to his commander as he held it out to him. He ignored Pratt and the two other chosen as they passed, solely focused on him and Jacob took the folder with a small nod.

Simon fell into step with him as Jacob flipped open the folder. A polaroid of Dean caught his attention first, it was cut off at the shoulder and he looked to be in motion; a panicked look on his face. The text on the page under it held information he already knew. Birthday, hometown, blood type. He skimmed over it, stopping as he spotted some notes near the bottom. He'd moved out of Georgia a year after they had—huh, what do you know. He read on, different states and towns listed off and he wondered if they'd been living in a caravan with how many were listed. He wouldn't put it past the idiots he had for parents.

He flipped the page and took pause at what he saw. A torn picture on glossy paper similar to a magazine showed a somewhat younger Dean, flipping off the supposed cameraman. Classy. Jacob almost snorted, remembering how flustered the brunette would get over just him swearing let alone any crude hand gestures. He didn't let himself though, keeping a neutral expression as he read over the words beside the picture. Seemed like the boy who hid under the playground from bullies got into cage fighting, not something Jacob had ever considered him getting into.

That would come in handy during his trials, he'd have to make sure he got some worthy opponents to fight. See if he still had it in him. If the quick takeover of Fall's End had anything to say about it he had to have something there, the instincts never went away—the muscle memory lingered. Jacob knew that all too well.

"Good job Dallas, very good job." Jacob praised, shutting the folder and deigning to read the rest when he was in private. He had a bit to catch up on it seemed. Simon grinned at his words and nodded, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder.

"Do you need me for anything else boss?" The title only Simon ever used for him brought a hint of a smile to the corner of Jacob's lips and he eyed Pratt as they made it to one of the lower rooms of the centre. A projector and five other chairs were set up with unwilling occupants strapped to them. 

"That'll be all for now, keep me updated." Jacob gave his shoulder a hearty pat before walking into the room, just as Pratt was strapped down and secured.

"Will do." Simon said dutifully before turning on his heel and marching off, purpose in his stride. The project member and chosen hustled around the room, turning on the projector and double checking all the restraints on their 'audience'. Jacob rested his hand on Pratt's shoulder, digging his fingers in just enough to be uncomfortable.

"Comfy? Doesn't matter, you'll be here for a while so get used to it." Jacob offered a cruel half smile, patting his shoulder much more harshly than necessary.

"Fuck you." Pratt ground out weakly, his anger obviously bubbling but still withheld by the thick layer of uncertainty and fear. Jacob chuckled, stepping into the middle of the group as his chosen brought over his music box. He wouldn't be talking like that for long, he'd learn to hold his tongue. Jacob was going to make sure of it.

The last body dropped, it had to be the last one. 

Dean watched the life seep from the woman's eyes, hollow and grey as they stared back at him with blame and hatred. They were almost the same grey as Lola's, just a bit darker—well they were, now glossing over and turning dull. Guilt and anger bit away at Dean's resolve, they'd done it, but at the cost of a dozen lives. Fuck if they weren't bad people and maybe he could convince himself they truly deserved it but that didn't wash the blood off his hands. It wouldn't scrub their dying faces from behind his eyelids. Dean held onto the woman's bloodied shirt, that damn symbol staring back at him and mocking him as he tried not to cry.

Did it really take so little to throw all his morals and ideals away? Just a tiny shove and he was running around murdering people? That was the trail he would leave behind, broken bodies and broken vows. Nevermind the woman thanking him for saving her from the very woman he'd just killed, the grateful tears and gentle squeeze of his arm did nothing but make him tired. He was so fucking tired.

"You're the new junior deputy aren't you?"

A smooth voice cut through Dean's inner turmoil and he turned, shame running down his back as he felt tears trail down his cheeks. Jerome stood not too far behind him, his eyes were kind as he looked down at him, full of understanding. Dean hadn't ever been religious, even when his parents dragged him to church and he'd recite passages a few rows behind the Seeds. He'd spend most of the long hour watching the back of Jacob's head, thinking he looked so out of place in churches. He still did.

Right now he felt like crawling to Jerome's feet and repenting, for more than just the lifeless body on the ground. Not that he even knew how to go about that. He just wanted to say that he was sorry, to anyone that would listen. But this was not really the time.

He shook the thought away, clarity crashing down on him unceremoniously and weighing down on him. He was crying over the corpse of a peggie covered in blood with two people watching him. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, trying to pull himself together and standing on shaky legs. He hadn't cried in front of anyone in a long time and he didn't feel like starting now. As welcoming as Jerome's gentle gaze was and as shitty as he felt right now. Dean wiped his grime and blood covered hands on his jeans, turning fully to the other man and keeping his gaze steady as he met his eyes.

"Yup. Was, anyway." Dean offers a small defeated shrug, glancing down at the carnage around him before his eyes fell on the gun in Jerome's hand. He was more comfortable with it in his hand than Dean was it seemed, he didn't think pastors were the firearms owning kind, if he did indeed have his own. But then again he didn't think preachers were the religious cult having kind either. Ironic as in hindsight both things made a lot of sense.

Jerome tucked the gun away in his waistband, stepping forward and offering Dean his hand. He felt his shoulder sag at the gesture, but took it to be polite. He wasn't about to leave a pastor hanging, especially not one that had stopped his brains from mixing with the asphalt earlier. The handshake was firm and Jerome's eyes took on an intense shine as he nodded earnestly to Dean.

"Can't thank you enough for helping us out there deputy, could have gone a lot worse if you hadn't shown up when you did." Jerome thanked him and the handshake lingered as a hand hold, something that left Dean wondering when was appropriate for him to let go and missing half of what Jerome had even said. A half nod and quiet 'mhm' was all Dean offered in turn, a small wave of relief washing over him as his hand was freed. He couldn't remember a time he'd been thanked this much, especially not for… Well. Murder. He could sweeten it up and call it self defense but it wouldn't make him feel any better about it.

People weren't going home to their families tonight and that was on him. But some others were and he was responsible for that too. He guessed it was up to him on which one he wanted to focus on more. The one that'd eat away at him or the one that'd make it a little easier to sleep at night.

A bark pulled him from his wandering mind and he and Jerome turned to spot Boomer racing around the side of the building with Blair right behind him. Blair grinned and took Dean by the shoulders, shaking him as she let out a rambunctious laugh.

"You fucking did it! That was insane!" She cheered, as if the insanity that just occurred was something worth celebrating and not something that made Dean want to crawl into a ball and not get back up for a while. He offered a weak smile, more of a grimace, as she then turned to Jerome and pulled the man into a hug. The other woman he hadn't gotten the name of squeezed his shoulder before rushing off herself, lots to do around here now he guessed.

"I'm so glad you're okay Pastor, I was worried we were gonna be down one man of god around here. It'd be hell without you." Blair ranted on, so full of energy despite the fight they'd all just endured. Leftover adrenaline maybe. Jerome hugged her back, patting her back and chuckling lightly. 

"The cult will have to try harder than that if they want to kill me, I'm glad you're alright. I haven't been able to reach folks and I was starting to think the worst." Jerome let her go, tone melancholy as he looked down at her. Dean walked past the two as Blair shook her head and squeezed his hands. He spotted Mary May walking back into the Spread Eagle, watched the few civilians hug and rejoice their freedom while others began trying to clean up the 'mess'.

That had been a total shit show. But it could have gone much worse.

"Deputy," Dean turned back to Jerome as he called out to him, "I'm going to check in with everyone and make sure they're okay. Come see me in the church after you've taken a moment to yourself alright? We have a lot of things to discuss." He spoke so calmly, so steady even now after everything. Dean nodded, unable to muster up the energy for words, and watched him and Blair walk to the Church. He really didn't want any more to do with churches right now if he was being honest with himself. He just wanted somewhere to rest.

He stood there for a moment, just watching and steeping in the moment. Something told him this should feel a lot better than it did. He just helped free a lot of people, which was a good thing. But the drying red substance on his skin and clothes made him nauseous. He let out a ragged sigh and walked toward the large bus parked in front of the Church, walking behind it and lowering himself down onto the asphalt. Boomer joined him, sitting beside him and resting his head in Dean's lap once they were both comfortable.

This was just the beginning of all of this, he could feel it. There would be much worse to come and he had to get out of his head if he wanted to survive this. Feeling queasy every time he picked up a gun and had to shoot it at somebody was not going to help him here. Stopping it would be easier said than done, he knew that. He was just going to have to fight through it, how he used to. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and imagined the old cage rink.

It had been humid and dark, two spotlights that were blinding always somehow casting into his eyes. The ground under him was cold—cruel and hard, the metal bars of the cage sharp and stinging. Dean flexed his hands, remembering the feeling of the bandages wrapped around them, in between his digits and over his knuckles and palm. He just had to go back there, where it was survival of the fittest. 

He had to unlock the animal in that cage, He just didn't know how. He didn't want to but what he wanted would be on the backburner for a while. The situation called for ruthlessness so that's what he'd have to be, he'd just have to fake it till he made it.

Time got away from him, as it often did, and he ended up sitting behind that bus for hours mulling over everything. Boomer stayed with him until the sun started to set and footsteps approached from the side. Dean tilted his head up and caught Blair's eyes, she offered a small smile. It was almost comforting.

"We got some food whipped up if you're hungry… N' Mary May offered you to stay in the room up top of the bar for the night, as a thank you." She motioned over her shoulder and Dean nodded, hoisting himself up with some effort after gently nudging Boomer off his thigh. His legs felt numb and he leant against the bus, stretching them out and heaving out a small sigh.

"You did a good thing today deputy." Blair's words were firm as she spoke, as if she could see into his head and all the things bogging him down. He didn't know what to say, he knew she was right but words just weren't going to make him feel any better.

"I appreciate you saying that." He got out after a moment, straightening his shirt and clearing his throat as he avoided her eyes. He knew he was easy to see through and he just wanted to eat some grub and hit the hay—if he could find it in him to sleep. His body was exhausted but his mind was wide awake and racing uncontrollably. Blair wrapped her hand around his bicep, gently tugging him in the direction of the bar. He would talk to Jerome another time, he was sure he wouldn't mind too much. It had been a big day for all of them.

"All the folks here would be dead or worse if it weren't for you, just remember that. Laws mean fuck all in the middle of a hostile takeover, you do what you can to help people and don't waste a tear on those monsters, they wouldn't shed any for you." She continued on, patting his forearm as they reached the Spread Eagle. She made a good point and she was definitely right about that last bit. He couldn't imagine a peggie crying over his corpse after they killed him. 

Blair opened the door to the bar and pulled him inside, the air was warm and the smell of freshly cooked food was heavenly. Mary May and Jerome sat at the bar, stopping their conversation as the two walked in. Blair let go of Dean and made her way back into the kitchen, leaving Dean to awkwardly stand before the other two strangers with Boomer at his feet.

"You saved our asses back there, we really owe you one." Mary May tossed a grateful smile his way and he nodded, grabbing the brim of his cap and tugging it down a bit and shoving his other hand in his pocket.

"Just doin' my job… I think." He tossed the last two words out with a faltering smile, feeling so unsure of where he stood right now.

"You're doing what you can given the circumstances, just like the rest of us. Come sit, have a drink—You earned it." Jerome gestured to the empty seat to his right and Dean wandered over. He didn't feel like drinking but maybe letting his mind go fuzzy and blank was just what he needed. As he sat down Blair returned from the kitchen, shuffling to the other side of the bar and setting down a plate of wings.

"It's a good thing they didn't ransack the kitchen," She hummed and Dean had to admit the moment the smell of the cooked chicken met his nose he felt his stomach grumble loudly. He'd gone all day without eating, it had been a while since he'd done that. Damn.

A beer slid in front of him and he took it, dipping his head in thanks to Jerome before he took a large swig of it. The bitter liquid was cold and as it slid down his dry throat he felt muscles he didn't know he had relax. He exhaled deeply and smacked the beer back onto the counter, earning chuckles from Mary May and Jerome.

"Amen deputy." Mary May dipped her own bottle in cheers before throwing it back as well, Jerome and Blair each grabbing a wing from the plate. Dean joined them, grabbing the sauce-covered chicken and biting into greedily—it tasted like spicy bbq heaven.He groaned, leaning back and closing his eyes in appreciation. For a moment he almost felt normal, sharing food and drinks in a bar with new friends. It was almost pleasant. 

Before he knew it the wings were gone, their bellies were full and he was more than tipsy. His face and body was warm and he nearly felt like resting his head on the counter and dozing off right there. Jerome clapped him on the back, bidding him a goodnight as he walked out of the bar, heading to the Church no doubt. Mary May ran a hand down her face, looking over at Blair who had taken to sitting on the stage with Boomer, nearly dozing off herself.

"The room up top s'all yours dep, i'm gonna go out, see who's takin' watch. You get some rest." She pulled herself up from the stool, patting Dean's shoulder before she also left. Dean mumbled nonsense back at her, his attempt at a thank you lost within his drunken haze. It took him a moment to get on his feet, having a few false starts before he made it and began stumbling toward the stairs. Blair giggled at him in her own drunken haze and he pulled his lips into a tight line to avoid laughing. Once he started he wouldn't stop and then he'd just fall asleep on the stairs.

"G'night." He mumbled as he climbed the stairs, using both hands to steady himself and hold onto the wall.

"Night dep, see you tomorrow." She called after him. Once he made it to the top of the stairs and into the room he flopped onto the single bed with a long groan, his cap falling off and freeing his thick hair. The pillow his face was buried in was soft and he would have passed out right there had his nose not been slightly uncomfortable. He lazily kicked off his boots, rolling onto his side and curling into a ball, one arm under the pillow and the other tucked under his chin. He was warm and the pit of anxiety was no longer weighing down on his stomach. His head was light and he couldn't hold onto a coherent line of thought for very long.

It didn't take him long to doze off, no guilt ridden thoughts or stress driven insomnia to be found.

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Summary: Dean Sinclaire used to consider Jacob Seed his best friend, the only person in the world he could rely on. Now, he was the only person he couldn't run from fast enough. In their years apart the little boy who had promised to take him to the stars had become a living nightmare hellbent on making him the same, would he succumb to his trials or was there a chance he could bring his old friend back to the surface?

Wordcount: 4k

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It was like seeing a ghost.

Those brown eyes had matured, his gentle jawline squared out just a bit. It had taken Jacob a second to realise who he was looking at, his hair was longer and he looked like a grown man in his uniform instead of the fuzzy visions of the little kid Jacob had barely held onto all these years. It was Dean, right down to the button nose and expressive face that gave way to every miniscule feeling that coursed through him.

It was a shock to the system, having that painfully familiar pleading look shot at him with a mix of confusion and helplessness. He looked like a lost puppy when he put those cuffs on Joseph, freshly kicked and limping out of those heavy wooden doors with his tail between his legs. John cursed under his breath as soon as the three men and their brother were out of sight, agitation clear in his tone.

"If that Marshal calls that a legitimate reading of your rights he is about to have a very rude awakening." He ground out shortly, stepping off the stage and digging his radio out of his jacket. Faith glanced over at Jacob, catching his eye and smiling serenely as if the situation at hand was nothing to worry about. Her eyes crinkled with her smile and it looked like she was in on a joke Jacob had missed.

"What now?" She asked and Jacob let out a small grunt, turning his gaze back to John as he raved into his radio at his chosen. They had plenty of plans on what to do in case of an arrest but the air felt off, the world unbalanced. Jacob couldn't find his footing, still shaken by the blast from the past he thought he'd never see again. The ruckus outside grew louder just as he thought of what to possibly say, the three heralds froze at the sound of gunfire. Jacob couldn't say he was surprised by the quick escalation, if anything he was glad.

Everything had grown stagnant and he'd been wondering if this prophecy of Joseph's was ever going to come to fruition. Maybe this would kick start things, get it into action. Finally.

Ironic how Dean was at the lead of it all, he really had a way of falling neck deep into trouble no matter where he went—Even now.

Jacob walked out the church, John and Faith hot on his heels and John quickly overtaking him. They watched the helicopter lift into the air, bodies of their project members falling from the steel beast like leaves on an autumn day. Jacob could just see Dean and Joseph, his brother calm and the junior deputy visibly panicked. He never did too well under pressure. If Jacob recalled he didn't particularly like great heights either, despite always climbing to the highest branches on any tree they raced up.

His arm could still feel the ghostly grip of the brunette as he swore he wasn't scared and that he just didn't want him to fall.

He'd always been a bad liar.

"Fuck!" John shouted as the chopper started plummeting to the ground, racing away and barking orders at all the nearby followers. Faith clasped her hands in front of her and pressed her lips together in a straight line, humming disdainfully as she too stepped away. Jacob had no time to deal with either of them, pushing into action himself and making his way to his truck. He hopped in and flipped down the visor, catching the keys as they fell. Once the engine came to life he put the truck in drive and sped down the road.

Once at the final bend to the entrance of the compound he went off-road, narrowly missing the compacting trees and eventually screeching to a halt when he could no longer fit through. The smoke in the sky led him to his destination, the sight he was met with being the helicopter's remains slowly being engulfed by flames and his brother climbing out of it and into the awaiting arms of his flock. Jacob slowed, eyes zoned in on the chopper as he heard Joseph start a small speech. 

He didn't listen, he was too preoccupied. Once by the car Joseph was standing on he could clearly see Dean, hanging upside down and messing with his seat belt. Something had been stirring in Jacob, from the moment Dean had walked through those doors following behind Whitehorse like an anxious chihuahua. He put it down to anger. Anger at what? He couldn't quite tell. But looking at Dean, who looked like he had barely changed over the years, still soft around the edges and so… Weak… It made him fucking furious.

And he got the feeling, once Dean locked eyes with him, that it came across loud and clear.

For a split second the anger fizzled, seeing the flash of fear in those chocolate brown eyes knocked him out of sync with everything else. He'd seen Dean scared plenty, but it had never been because of him. He shook it off, there weren't many people not scared of him nowadays. Dean hadn't met Jacob Seed; war veteran now herald of Eden's Gate. And just like everyone else he was going to regret that he had, he was on enemy lines and he'd made himself a target. 

"Begin the reaping!"

And he was going to be Jacob's target and his alone.

Jacob stepped back, turning to help his brother off of the rusted car as their followers flocked to the helicopter. Joseph grabbed onto his forearm and the back of his neck, pulling him in closer with an unreadable look in his eyes as soon as they were on equal footing.

"It's him, Jacob." Joseph's tone is haunting, the one he remembered from the first time he spoke to him about The Voice. Once again the words he uttered gave him pause.

What?

"Take him to your gate, put him through his trials... He'll need you to show him the way, show him how to be strong so he may help us when the Collapse comes." Joseph mutters with no further explanation, Jacob can only nod. He'd gotten this far by trusting his brother's word and now would be no different. If Joseph said they needed him, they needed him. Dean could handle his trials, deep down Jacob knew he could. They were cut from the same cloth after all, he just hadn't gone through what Jacob had. Hadn't been through his own test. Once he had, once he was stronger, maybe looking at him wouldn't make Jacob bristle like a wolf met with a pathetic excuse for a rival.

Joseph gave his neck a firm squeeze before letting him go, turning to greet the newly captured deputies and sheriff who glared up at him with grime-covered faces.

Fire burst into the air, sending their members flying away from the chopper. Jacob watched as the Marshal fled the plane, with Dean emerging soon after. He could have stopped him there but he decided to let him run. He'd catch him, like he always did—Except this time it wouldn't end in a playful tussle on the ground.

Dean's body ached, everywhere hurt. His skin was damp and his clothes stuck to him, his slowly returning senses told him he was drenched and freezing. Luckily there was no breeze to make the low temperature of his body any more painful. He blinked open his eyes experimentally, groaning and letting his head roll forward as he shut them again. His movements were sluggish and as he pushed himself forward he felt his wrists get caught on something.

His eyes blearily opened again and he was met with the sight of a zip tie biting into his wrists. Confusion flooded him as he tried to gather his thoughts, where was he? How did he get here? Why was he restrained to a shitty cot in some kind of fucking basement—

He paused at the sight of an older man, clad in camo and fidgeting with what looked like a radio. Dean let out a ragged breath as he shifted into an upright position, yanking on the zip tie and alerting the stranger to his waking. Dean tried to wrack his brain for memories of the last hour or so as the voice from the radio crackled around the room.

He'd been in the truck with the Marshal, the Peggies had chased them all the way to a bridge and then…

Dean felt like he had to puke again, memories of his lungs filling up with water seizing his body and making him curl in on himself. He swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes shut, he'd always had a fear of drowning. Or at least, he developed it after a few boys had held him under the water for longer than comfortable at the local pool. He shivered, the memory mixing in with the new one and clogging up his throat. He was glad he wasn't dead but he wasn't sure if his current position was better or worse.

"D'ya know what that means?"

Dean looked up at his supposed saviour as he spoke, walking over to him and dragging a metal chair over to take a seat in front of him. Dean blinked at him, face blank as he glanced between him and the radio he'd been listening to. He gave the smallest shake of his head and the stranger scoffed quietly, readjusting in his seat. He looked like a veteran. A very patriotic one if the flag on the wall behind him had anything to say about it. Not surprising—There was a surplus of proud Americans in Hope County.

"Means the roads have all been closed, means the phone lines have been cut—It means there's no signals getting in or out of this Valley." The man explained, expression sour as he adjusted in his chair, the metal creaking under his weight as he shook his head. Dean's gaze fell to his faded boots, twisting his wrists experimentally as he listened. How the hell did they get all of that done so fast? Surely he hadn't been unconscious for that fucking long. 

"But mostly it means we're all fucked."

Ha.

Well, yeah, Dean could have told him that.

This whole situation was fucked. From the second Dean heard the word cult he should have split. Hightailed it outta there before any roots had time to dig into his soles. But he felt like he had been building something here, a life maybe. Fucked if he knew anymore, all of that seemed so far away right now.

"They've been waiting for this damn—'Collapse'. For years, waiting for someone to come and fulfil their prophecy and kick off their goddamn Holy War…" He paused, staring Dean down with something akin to blame in his eyes, "Well kid you sure as shit kicked." He grunted. Dean frowned. He was far more unimpressed than the gruff vet in front of him right now. This wasn't his fault, how the fuck could this guy try to pin this all on him? He was just doing his job, his stupid job he was seriously regretting ever taking right now. 

He really should have just gone to art school.

Or maybe he should have just gone home, where his older siblings were no doubt cosy in their beds right now. The thought was bittersweet and it made his shoulders tense, fuck he'd forgotten to call them last night. Of course the one time he forgot the phone lines got cut, what great luck he had. At least they were nowhere near this shitfest, that was one solace he had.

"The smartest thing for me to do right now would be to just hand you over." The stranger continued and Dean's eyes snapped back to him, mouth falling open as if to ask him if he was serious. Hand him over? What kind of person would consider handing over one of their last standing deputies to the cultists terrorising their County? The same guy who would save him from drowning only to tie him to the frame of a bed he guessed. Dean's bewildered expression isn't lost on him however and he leaned back with a short exhale and a sharp 'fuck' muttered under his breath.

He turned away from Dean, looking off to the side as he seemed to mull over his options. While he did that Dean weighed his own. Surely he could take this guy if need be, he'd been working out with Hudson every week and she really kept him on his toes. He was in the best shape he'd ever been, if he had to take this guy out to save himself… He told himself would. He couldn't just lie down and accept getting handed over like dirty money under a table.

Dean jumped as the stranger stood suddenly, reaching back and pulling out a small knife. At that moment Dean felt like a cornered animal and his instinct told him to kick his legs out from under him and go for the nearest vital organ with his teeth—but he didn't. He had already killed someone today and he didn't really want to add to that body count just because he was feeling skittish. Two hands reached down between them and in a quick motion the plastic of the zip tie snapped apart and fell to the ground in quick succession.

He stood back up and Dean's arms stayed hovering in front of him, staring up at him with a thousand questions swimming in his eyes. What was the catch here?

"Get outta that uniform, we need to burn it."

"What?" Dean finally spoke, voice raspy and throat tight as he hesitantly rubbed his sore wrists. It hurt to push the syllables out and it hurt his neck to follow the man's gesturing hand as he pointed to the small closet beside the bed.

"The cult's gonna be lookin' for a deputy—There are some fresh clothes there, when you get changed, you come and see me." He explained curtly, stepping back and nodding down at him sternly. It reminded Dean of when a teacher would scold him during detention, the same gruff tone and sharp gaze making him feel small.

"Okay." Dean muttered, complacent enough to go along with this for a moment. Once he got out of here he would be out for good and he wouldn't be coming back. As appreciative as he was for the 'hospitality' he didn't trust this guy as far as he could throw him. And he wasn't doing himself any favours with the hostile attitude.

"Good. We'll see if we can, un-fuck this situation." The stranger drawled out, turning and walking out and leaving Dean staring after him with ruffled feathers. He did not want to help with any damn situation. He didn't want to be in this situation. But, he was… And he guessed all he could do right now was get dressed. 

One step at a time. Just take it one step at a time.

He stood, grabbing onto the metal frame of the bed as his legs shook, almost giving out. His body was exhausted from the stress it had been put under and he drew in a deep breath as he willed his limbs to hold on just a bit longer. He wasn't out of the woods yet, just a little bit longer. He could figure out his game plan when he was out of here.

Dean shuffled to the closet, rummaging through the clothes and grabbing out whatever looked like it would warm him up the fastest. He shrugged off his uniform, getting into the casual jean, t-shirt and leather jacket combo as quick as he could manage. He bundled up his dirty uniform, pausing as his thumb nudged against his badge. He tugged it from the shirt, holding it in front of his face and inspecting it.

He'd felt somewhat happy when got it, it was like a welcome to the family kind of thing. Something that tied him to the people he shared a majority of his days with now. But now it was scuffed and dull, a sore reminder he couldn't pull off one arrest. Even worse, he'd already done the opposite of serve and protect. A pain-filled face flashed across his vision as he once again recalled the life he'd taken all too fast and all too carelessly. He put the badge back onto the dark green shirt, setting the messy bundle onto the bed and stepping back.

He remembered the first time he'd splayed the uniform across his bed, freshly ironed and unworn. He'd picked every piece of lint off of it, nervous about making a good first impression. He'd had nothing to worry about, Sheriff Whitehorse had patted his back and led him through the department with a warm hand on his shoulder. Nancy had greeted him warmly at the front desk—Fucking Nancy—Dean's jaw tensed and then relaxed. She'd get whatever was coming to her, no need to lose his mind over her betrayal right now.

Another deep breath.

He remembered Joey and Lola welcoming him with smiles, the thought of the blonde brought on a wave of warmth before it was followed with a frightening chill. What had happened to Lola? Fuck. Had they gone after her too? Dean walked out of the small room with an increasing panic, he had to get to the Jail, she'd been there last time he heard—Getting ready for Joseph to be detained until they could get proper transport out of the County. What if Nancy… No, she may have been a traitor but Dean couldn't see her committing any violence herself.

That didn't mean she couldn't open the gates for the wolves to march inside however.

He could hear the other man as he entered a narrow hallway, speaking into a radio and calling out names he didn't recognize.

"Can anyone hear me, this is Dutch, over."

Dean followed the voice, spotting the man he now knew was Dutch, hunched over another radio with a mic. Dean didn't really understand how radios like that worked but he guessed if phone lines were down they would be too. He stayed by the door, casting his gaze over the room and taking everything in. From what he could see here and from a quick glance back down the hall he was in fact, not in a basement but a bunker. This guy had to be a doomsday prepper or something—something Dean had only ever seen on TV.

It was weird now, how reasonable it felt to have one. Up against a cult Dean would definitely want to have a bunker to hide away in, but glancing over the large map on the wall and the pictures of the family in charge of this mess he knew he wouldn't be getting such a pleasure. His eyes stilled over the photo of Jacob for a moment longer than the others and he felt almost ashamed, turning his attention back to Dutch as he kept uselessly calling out names over the radio.

Dean cleared his throat and stepped further into the room, stuffing his hands into the pocket of the jacket a size too big for him. Dutch turned and sized him up, nodding at the new attire and turning to fully face him.

"Good you found somethin'... Look, didn't introduce myself properly back there. Most people call me Dutch." His tone is less aggressive than before and Dean spotted a smidge of remorse in his eyes. A sliver of bashfulness as he crossed his arms over his chest in that guarded way so many vets had the habit of doing. Maybe he wasn't a total unforgivable rude asshole then, just socially inept and stressed. Dean could relate to that.

"Dean," He offers his name back with a small nod, keeping his hands secure in his pockets. He never liked handshakes, they always felt like something adults made him do to show how well he was trained when he was younger. They were always messy and he never had a firm enough grip, he hated the fumbling feeling and spiral it left him in for minutes afterwards. Luckily Dutch didn't seem to want to initiate one either. It was for the best.

"Right well, I'd say nice it's to meet you but…" Dutch trailed off with a shrug and Dean gave a sigh of understanding, "I've been tryin' to work out what's goin' on up top and frankly, it's nothin' good." He carried on while shaking his head and Dean nodded slowly. He figured that much as well, he couldn't imagine something called 'the reaping' would be very fun. He may have expunged most of the religious knowledge drilled into him as a kid but he remembered enough to know a reaping of any kind was not going to be a fun picnic.

"From what I can tell your partners are alive, for now. Sounds like they got split up between the Heralds," Dutch motions to the map with the photos strung up and Dean barely glanced at it before dropping his gaze back to the floor. He wondered who got carded off to Jacob. He wondered if it would have been him had he not been lucky enough to get away. He mulled over the thought, his mind blanking on what that could possibly mean. He couldn't picture Jacob hurting him, but he'd seen him break plenty of noses and twist plenty of arms to the point of dislocation. He could only imagine that hadn't left him all these years, that willingness to leave his mark.

What were they going to do with his colleagues then? It had to be something to show the civilians there was no hope left, strip them down so they put up no fight for whatever Joseph had planned next.

Dean hoped it wouldn't be the gruesome hypothetical his mind assaulted him with.

"I'm sorry—What. What does that even mean?" He asked after a moment through a short, humourless laugh. All of this was surreal. And his list of unanswered questions just kept getting longer.

"It means they got your friend's, kid, and I get if you wanna go help 'em, I do. I got friends that have been taken too, problem for us is there ain't no help comin'." Dutch ranted passionately, waving a hand in a circular motion to gesture around the two of them. What a fucking optimist he was stuck with huh? Dean stepped back and turned to the map, feeling his irritation bite at his tongue. He didn't want to snap at the guy, now wasn't the time as much as this whole thing was getting to him. 

If this was meant to be a motivational call to action though he fucking sucked at it.

It just made Dean want to crawl into the bed he'd been tied to and turn to mould under the scratchy blanket.

"Listen, there's an equal amount of us as there are of them. I know there are folks out there willin' to fight they just gotta have someone point them in the right direction." Dutch stepped closer to Dean and he took a step back instinctively, furrowing his brows and shaking his head lightly as the words settled on him.

"Why are you telling me that?" He asked as if he didn't know the answer. He knew exactly what Dutch was getting at, he just didn't want to think about it. Dutch didn't seem to miss that much to his dismay.

"You vowed to serve and protect the people when you put that uniform on didn't ya? So this is how you fuckin' do it. You put together a resistance and you take those fuckers down." Dutch stands firm, pointing an almost accusing finger at Dean. That sounded fucking stupid. Build a resistance and fight the cult? This wasn't a movie, that would never work. He didn't say so out loud, worried about the reaction he'd get from shooting down the idea so harshly. But he had to know it sounds nuts, right?

The fire in the older man's eyes convinced him for a moment he really believed they could do it. Dean sure as shit didn't. He was a shitty leader, he could coordinate maybe three people at a time but it was more a case of doing his own thing and expecting them to follow and not waiting to see if they did. Last time he checked that wasn't a valid way to lead a whole group of people—especially not in a civil war type scenario but maybe desperate times called for… An unqualified junior deputy to become a pseudo resistance leader? Fuck, no, it just kept sounding stupider.

"We gotta take control of this island kid, get us some breathing room. Then we can figure out what to do from there." Dutch's tone softened but the fire in his eyes didn't die down. He really thought he could do this. But what the hell did he know? He didn't know Dean for shit, didn't even know his name until a few minutes ago. If he was putting all his chips on him he was in for a bad roll of the dice. Dean stayed put as Dutch walked over to a small safe, opening it up and grabbing the contents of it in quick movements.

In seconds a map and a gun were shoved into both of Dean's hands.

"You ready?"

No. No he absolutely was not.

[musings-of-a-lovesick-fool]

Chapter Six and Chapter Seven of SMFYaM are up on ao3, I just haven't been able to find where I put the banner so I haven't uploaded them here !

[derelictheretic]

wip round up

Tagged by the lovely @englass !!

Tagging @adelaidedrubman @henbased @megraen @deputyash @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @alexxmason @carlosoliveiraa @shallow-gravy and anyone else who wants to!!

It's been a bit since I did a tag game, finally got time and active wips for once so here we go :D

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! Tag as many people as you have WIPS or how many you want

▪︎ SMFYaM Lola Jail Scene

▪︎ Road trip

▪︎ And There Was Only One Bed (x reader)

▪︎ From Summer To Spring / When The Leaves Fell

▪︎ Zombie Messiah's Are Too Much Trouble Part 2 (x reader)

▪︎ Stuffy

▪︎ SMFYaM CH?

▪︎ Dean tears a dudes throat out

▪︎ Joseph staring at Dean like a creep. again

▪︎ In The Wreckage of the Wicked World

▪︎ In The Woods Somewhere (x reader)

▪︎ When I First Saw You Honey

[derelictheretic]

MUSIC MONDAY (in spirit)

Tagged by @v0idbuggy & @cassietrn ty!! <333

Sending tags out too @clicheantagonist @kyber-infinitygems @afarcryfrommymain @bluemojave @deputyash @aceghosts @adelaidedrubman @florbelles @detectivelokis @river-ward @henbased @shallow-gravy @shellibisshe

rules: Post a song that is relevant to your WIP or inspires it.

dug around through the Dean/Jacob playlist and pulled one out that i'm sure we've all listened to a ton but still relevant to the current wip so

"Oh, my love, my darling

I've hungered for your touch

A long, lonely time...

And time goes by so slowly

And time can do so much

Are you still mine?"

This could be either Dean or Jacob pov at this point tbh maybe leaning more so to Jacob 🤔 I'm planning on putting together a playlist just for SMFYaM because I love everyone else's fic playlists sm (I listen to the wildfire playlist more than my own lmao)