#and oh boy could i use a bloodsucking little freak right about now

[bewilderedbunny]

Yesterday I started writing a fic about werewolf!reader struggling with the lack of control over her own body and the absolute misery of having it change over and over again, just to end up the same. Then today I got my period. Coincidence? 🤨

[foreverfangirlalways]

Who Does Virgil Really Like?

Based off this post by  @more-incorect-quotes and this comic by @illogicallyinclined

(Also, a huge thank you to @thefingergunsgirl for some of the plot points!!!)

Summery: After a 20 question game gone wrong, will Virgil be able to tell Logan who his crush really is?

Ships: Analogical, hinted at Dukexiety, hinted at Prinxiety, Moceit

Warning: Misunderstandings, weird flirting, lowkey stalking

-let me know if I need to add more warnings-(I hope you like it! )

—-

It was a relatively calm day in the Mind Palace. Patton is eating cookies, Roman and Logan are working on the final draft of a new song, and Virgil, Remus, and Janus are play 20 questions.

“Janus, how would describe your perfect date?” Virgil asked.

“Well, I definitely wouldn’t take my partner dancing after a nice dinner and then talk a stoll before walking them home.”

Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at Janus. “What? I’m a liar, not classless.” Janus said while winking at Patton.

Patton blush and accidentally crumbled one of his cookies. Remus laughed. “Alright, my turn before Dadceit and Daddy inspire me to make another fic!” Everyone groaned and rolled their eyes, and Janus gave Patton another cookie.

Remus clapped his hands, then eyed Virgil.

“So Tickle-Me-Emo, tell me, what’s your ideal boy?”

‘Shit! What do I say? I have to say the truth, but I don’t want to make it obvious... oh! I know!’ Virgil thought while chewing on his lips, then he hid a secret smile.

“Oh, he’s creative, knows how to handle weapons, and loves nicknaming.” Everyone acted all almost exactly how they did with Janus’s answer, except Patton wasn’t blushing.

“You just described me! Ha!” Remus yelled, looking gleeful. Janus, who knew the lies that Virgil told himself around a certain tie wearing aspect, just smirked and decided to “play along.”

“Or he could be talking about your brother.”

Virgil fought the urge to get up and go slap Deceit’s smug smirk off of his face. At Deceit’s words and Virgil’s glare, Roman made some dramatic princy noises.

Remus just blanched, not believing that HIS emo could have fallen for his dull brother. He looked at Roman’s delighted face and then at Virgil’s glare. “There is no way he likes that! Remus shouted, pointing to Virgil and then gesturing to all of Roman.

Roman then made some offended princy noises. “HOW DARE-!” Patton silenced Roman by throwing a piece of the popcorn that Janus had just summoned for them to share at him. “Now kiddo, you know the rules, no yelling in the famILY room.”

Virgil took a minute to wonder when Janus had gotten up, sat beside Patton, started cuddling Patton, and summoned popcorn, but he was interrupted by the look on Logan’s face.

He looked mildly interested, but Virgil has known him long enough to know that his feelings are hurt. Is it because Janus is not sharing the popcorn with him or...

Virgil had a realization. “Uhh, on an unrelated note, I have to be, not here.” Virgil gave a two finger salute and then sunk down to his room to freak out.

Both Remus and Roman got up at the same time, noticed that the other had gotten up, and then lunged at eachother. “How dare you think Virgil likes you, you’re just a stinky wannabe Mario!” Roman yelled at the same time Remus shrieked, “Virgil is my bloodsucking vampire bat, hands off!”

While they rolled around on the floor, laying claim on Virgil and insulting eachother, Janus kept Patton from interrupting their fight by kissing him on the check and whispering, “Come on darling, just let them work it out themselves.”

Patton was suddenly a speechless, blushing mess who was just mechanical eating popcorn and avoiding Janus’s teasing gaze.

Logan, who everyone had forgotten about, looked forlorn. He liked Virgil, but clearly it is one sided. He always knew that he never had a chance.

Logan just sighed and started to sink down to his own room, not noticing the knowing, glowing heterochromic eyes that were following his movements, and hearing his deceitful thoughts.

-_-_-_-

Over the following week, Roman and Remus have both tried to woo Virgil, oftentimes resulting in them fighting.

Janus has gone through about 15 bowls of popcorn, 11 of which were shared with a blushing Patton.

Logan has been getting more sad every time he notices one of the twins antics, and has gotten to the point where he almost can’t stand to look at them. He realizes that this is illogical, and who Virgil choses to give his affections to is none of his business, but he still gets jealous, despite himself.

And Virgil... well, Virgil is at his wits end. He’s sick of finding dead rats in his toilet and getting random, blood covered knives from Remus. He’s tired of shooing sing birds away and cutting the heads off of the roses that Roman gives him. Virgil HATES roses.

About 8 days after the whole 20 questions incident, Virgil and Logan were sitting on the couch in the famILY room. Virgil was scrolling threw tumblr and Logan was reading about constellations.

After about 20 minutes of silence, Virgil couldn’t take it anymore. He tossed his phone onto the loveseat, and groaned. When Logan question Virgil about what was wrong, Virgil took a daring move, and laid his head on Logan’s lap. Logan turned faintly red, and just stared at Virgil.

“Hey Lo? Can you give me some advice?” Once Logan nodded tensely, Virgil added, “Its relationship advice.”

Logan felt like crying. ‘Of course he needs relationship advice. He obviously likes Roman, and as his friend I am ok with that and will help him.’

Janus, summoned by Logan’s thoughts, was sitting against the wall with Patton on his lap. They were both eating popcorn, having already done this multiple times this week. They could both clearly see the two on the couch, but neither one seemed to notice the couple watching them. Not even when Janus had to muffle Patton’s squeal with his gloved hand upon Patton realizing Logan and Virgil’s position.

“What seems to be the problem?” Logan asked, trying and failing to keep the hurt out of his voice. Lucky for him, Virgil didn’t notice.

“Well, I have a crush on someone an-“ Virgil was cut off when he felt Logan put a comforting hand on his chest. Virgil looked up, and smiled faintly at a faintly smiling Logan.

“I’ve been trying to tell them for the past few months, but they haven’t seemed to notice at all.”

Logan side-eyed Virgil. ‘Is he serious? I think Roman knows, he gave you a bouquet of roses yesterday. Which is a little pointless, given that you hate roses, but... oh.’ Logan thought, coming to the conclusion that Virgil didn’t realize that Roman likes him back. Janus relayed what he was hearing from Logan thoughts to Patton, and they both rolled their eyes at the two oblivious sides.

“Really?” Logan asked, now full on looking at Virgil. “They don’t sound particularly observant.” Janus had to keep Patton from yelling out “he’s not!”

Virgil just smiled, and decided to try something. “See, that’s the thing. They’re actually really smart. Just...” Virgil took a breath and intertwined his fingers with Logan’s, “dense.”

Logan fought all the butterflies that were raging war in his stomach, and decided to record Virgil admitting his feelings, so that he can just send the recording to Roman and cry.

“Perhaps you just need to take the obvious route. You could try saying a simple...” Logan held back a gag and position his phone more directly over Virgil’s face. “I love you.”

Virgil considered. ‘Could it really be that easy?’ “You think that would work?”

Logan nodded, and put on a near perfect mask of nonchalant. “It’s at least worth a try.”

Virgil looked to the away and nodded. “I... guess you’re right.” Virgil took a deep breath and Logan shakily pressed the record button.

“Hey... Logan...” Virgil said, gripping his hand tighter. “I love you.”

Janus and Patton just stared, leaning forward. Logan blushed, and decided to never delete that recording, ever. “Yeah! Use that exact phrase!” Logan said in false cheerfulness.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Virgil yelled at the same time Janus and Patton facepalmed.

Logan regrettably let go of Virgil’s hand. “And if that doesn’t work, we can always try a different approach.”

“Oh my God.” Virgil said while covering his face with his hands, trying his hardest not to reach up and shake the denseness out of Logan.

Logan, not seeing Roman and Remus walk in the door way and be freezed and silenced by Janus, continued.

“Don’t worry Virgil, I’ll make sure Roman realizes how much you really like him.” Logan says.

Janus looked dumbfounded. ‘How dumb can Logic be?’

Patton looked disappointed and almost started laughing.

Roman looked triumphant and Remus looked pissed.

Virgil, however, just looked done. He quickly sat up, and turned to face Logan. “Wait, you mean to tell me that you think my crush is on ROMAN?!”

Logan gulped. “Umm yes. Was I wrong in that assumption?”

Virgil just started laughing. He laughed until his laughter turned to tears. Logan immediately became alarmed and took Virgil into his arms.

“Shhh, Virgil, sweetheart, I need you to calm down for me.” That just seemed to make Virgil cry harder so Logan grabbed Virgil hands and squeezed them in a 4-7-8 pattern. Virgil, knowing what Logan is doing, starts to follow the pattern. After about 5 minutes Virgil is calmed down.

“Virgil, can you tell me what is bothering you?” Logan asked gently. Virgil just nodded defeatedly. “You.”

Logan froze, not knowing how to respond to that. Virgil continued. “I have liked you for almost 2 years. I have tried to tell you about my crush for months. I admit, I could have been a bit more obvious in my clues to Remus, but I thought for sure you would know who I was talking about. You are creative when you come up with raps, you threw a computer at Thomas and knowledge is a weapon, and you called Roman a ‘Roman Scenturian.‘

Instead you avoided me for days, didn’t believe me when I said I love you, and think I have a crush on Roman? Can you see wh-“

Logan interrupted Virgil’s rant by kissing him. If he was totally honest, he barely heard a word after Virgil said, “I have liked you...”

The couple sprung apart as soon as they heard cheering. They both stared at Patton, who was sitting in Janus’s lap with popcorn all over and around him, and the biggest smile on his face.

Janus was also smiling, and looked over at Remus and Roman, who were looking fondly at both couples. Janus unfroze them.

“So...” Remus starts, “you like Logan, huh?” Everyone laughs. “That’s fine, I’m gonna go see if the Dragonwitch wants to go on a date.” Remus winked then sunk down, headed towards the imagination.

Virgil then looks at Roman. Roman takes a step forward, and Logan tightens his grip on Virgil. Roman just laughs.

“Don’t worry Lo, I was just wanting to give y’all my blessing! Also, do you think that O will want to go on a quest?”

Virgil giggled and nodded. “Yeah, I think ol’ Orange would love to go ‘rob people legally’ as he put it, with you.” Roman waved and then headed to find O.

The couple on the couch then turned to look at the couple by the wall. Patton looked ecstatic while Janus looked amused. “Well, that certainly didn’t take forever.” Janus said, breaking the silence.

They all just shook their heads, and Patton dragged Janus to the kitchen to start on dinner (and totally not eavesdrop).

Virgil looked at Logan. “So, if I say something do you promise to not be stupid this time?” Virgil asked teasingly. Logan smiled and nodded.

“Logan, I love you.” Logan kissed Virgil and smiled. “Virgil, I would love for you to be my boyfriend.” “I would love that too!” Virgil said before kissing Logan again.

-----

Note: Incase you are wondering, Roman and Remus were just really trying to make Virgil like one of them more than the other, and were actually surprised when Virgil described them and not Logan during the game. They did not just immediately move on after seeing there was not shot. They were coming to tell Virgil that they actually like other ‘people’ but kind of got stopped 😅

Taglist- (I went ahead and did my Analogical Taglist 😅)

@five-falseh00ds-ph0nated

@illogicallyinclined

@more-incorect-quotes

@thefingergunsgirl

@kawaiikat54

@yikesdodson

@sanders-sides-with-quinn

@aleiimm

@peachy-pidge

@nerdycupcake559

@softestvirgil

@dragonwithproblems

@teacupfulofstarshine

@lynxsans

@rainbowemonightmare

@impatentpending

@star-crossed-shipper

@falsehoodx

@007ardra

[willowaudreykeyes]

Red Stains On The Sun

Warnings: Self-harm, bullying mention, racism mention, blood, knife, injury, wing injury (non-permanent), facial scars, paralysis mention, swearing

Medusa-esque Remy, Dragon Janus, Indian Janus

@ladyedwinya​ @sparrowofsong​ @5am-the-foxing-hour​

-------------------------------------------

Remy

Despite the amount of coffee that I drink weekly, it’s surprising that I’m not as antsy and jittery as I am right now. The weapons stowed away behind my enchanted sunglasses dart between every person on the street despite my insistence to look between my phone and coffee cup. It’s a Medusa’s instinct I guess; but I don’t have the time to explain why forty people in the street are paralysed in place. I’m uncharacteristically worried and my coffee cup is both too full and too empty for my liking; so I’d only be grumpy and irritated to whatever copper that stopped me.

My best friend, a sarcastic but secretly loving bitch, is way too quiet after the last week of constant tears and comforting, so sue me for being worried about him. The very act of being weak in front of others is so unlike Janus already, and now he’s just silent instead of deflecting the topic by ranting about another or constantly denying the building tears in his eyes. 

It’s strange and I don’t like it.

It’s not normal for Janus to let his calls go to voice mail only an hour after he gets home from school ‒he’d prefer to pick up and tell whatever person who dared call him during his studying hour to fuck off– and even if he had left it to voice mail, he would call back within the hour. It’s been five since I last saw him quickly flying away from school grounds, ignoring me as I called his mobile as he flew away.

I make sure to adjust my glasses properly before rushing on into his apartment building and climbing the stairs, two at a time. I can feel the coffee slosh around in my hand, but that’s what the lid is for. Besides, the carpet is brown enough to not tell the difference between it and a coffee stain. 

The few drops of red just outside of Janus’ apartment door sure is visible against his mostly-yellow welcome mat though.

“Janus!? Jan, babe, open the door!”

After moments without a reply, I press my ear up to the door in the hopes of hearing… something that helps me. His parents haven’t been home in weeks because they’re business assholes who went to Fiji or something, so the light tapping sound that I have to strain to hear must be him. Or maybe a pipe in the wall.

“Jan! I know you’re home, babes! Let me in. Please!?” Nothing but that tapping sound replies back to the increasing franticness of my voice. I wordlessly thank the stupid adults who thought teaching a magic-born teenager how to pick a lock was a good idea and put down my coffee to take out the small bits of metal that live inside my jacket’s inner pocket.

With practiced hands, the door opens in under a minute, and I rush inside once I grab a hold of my cup in my now-shaking hands. The small blood drops lead me straight to the kitchen where a familiar pair of snake-themed socks peek out from behind a counter. 

My heart stops as I race over to them, seeing the dragon-boy attached to them curled up on the floor, knife in one blood covered hand as the other holds a scaled wing at a strange angle. The sun-dipped scales of his wing are hidden behind a smothering of bright blood, along with the scarred warm brown skin that the blood threatens to hide beneath its foulness.

Words trap themselves inside my throat as his brown eyes, the golden sparkles reflecting the red of his blood scarily well, sit unfocused in the wings’ direction while the knife slowly approaches it. He aims it towards a slight cut that’s as close to his shoulder as he can reach, the blood still flowing from it and hiding how deep it truly is.

My coffee is on the floor, and his eyes are on mine just as I realise what his goal is.

“Fuck- Remy, Y… You weren’t supposed to s-see me yet!” His stained red fingers shakily grip onto the knife tighter, yet sink away from the open cut slightly. The shake in his voice is almost like another person, as Janus doesn’t stutter. He doesn’t freak out and cuss freely. Those precise hands of his don’t shake.

But he does. And he is. Oh fuck, he’s really going to do this… 

“Wait, Rem, just… j-just give me… Give me a little longer. Just a b-bit longer...” 

“S-Stop…” The lump in my throat hardens and becomes painful as my legs give out, letting me fall to my knees by his side and take the bloodied knife away from his hand before he can react. He stutters in protest as I throw it over my shoulder, making a loud clang as it hits the bottom of the sink, and I take both his hands into mine. “I don’t want this, Jan.”

“L-Liar…” His throat bobs as he harshly swallows; avoiding my eyes as his wings twitch and try to fit him as they sit in dangerously bad positions. “No o-one wants them… Or me…”

“Those bullies are the fucking liars-”

“I’m a monster, Rem…” Jan sniffs as a few tears manage to shift a small trail of blood down a bit, with their only real achievement being that they’re turning his eyes bloodshot from crying. “You know that I’m adopted… Not even m-my real parents wanted me...”

“I do, dumbass.” 

I shift our hands so that I can hold them both with just one of mine; using the thumb of my free hand to gently turn his head by the chin to look back at me. I can see the small hairs that frame his face begin to fade back to a dark brown instead of the gorgeous gold that he loves to dye, getting stuck to his forehead with blood and sweat. The specks of gold in his eyes now reflect my dark sunglasses, causing his eyes to darken and make their bloodshot nature more prevalent. The slowly forming frown line that grows every time someone pisses him off and causes him to spout out line after line of insults sits behind the blood spatter that managed to cover the majority of it.

How anyone thought of Janus as a monster without getting to really know him, and how amazing of a friend he is behind the sass and self-defensive insults, is the real monster in the world.

“You may be a monster, but so am I. So are the twins… They’re bloodsuckers, babe. Apart from ghouls, they’re the only ones that have to drink actual blood to survive. And my ancestor was a bitch who killed people and made them into badly-posed lawn ornaments.”

“But you don’t have th… these wings! They’re wings of criminals!” Stupid, dragon racism can go fuck itself. “Th-The stupid, fucking scars are ugly and a headache to look at, too...” 

“Your dark scars are prettier than their tanned six-packs and stupid, jock faces could ever be. Plus…” I release his chin to lightly boop him on the nose, gaining a smile as I watch his face scrunch up and show off the dark freckles over his forehead and scarless cheek that manages to peek past the blood. “If your  bestie and close friends think that you’re cute and an amazing person, then who fucking cares about what some assholes say?”

His flustered hiss of reply draws out a short laugh from me. While the hint of a smile plays along his lips for the first time in a while, which is all I need from him for now.

“I-I… I apologi-”

“Uh uh. Shush your face, pretty scales.” I shift, quickly kissing the top of his head before grabbing the bandages and wet rag that sat on the bench behind him that he was probably going to use once the deed was done. The thought sends a shiver down my back, but I ignore it and show the wet rag to him. “I gotta patch and clean you up, carry you to the couch, let you pass out on me, then wake up to buy coffee for us both before I clean up the blood and coffee that would be dry by then– but fuck cleaning it today.”

Caffeine can wait; there’s always another cup of coffee tomorrow; Janus surviving this means more than a measly three dollars. Luckily enough, once the blood slows down I can see that he barely managed to cut through the scales and skin of his wing and that he had hardly gotten to the muscle and nerves. I wouldn’t have a clue on how to tell him that he’s fucked up any future late-night flights, so at least I wasn’t too late to stop him. Although, I’d much prefer it if I didn’t have to see any of his blood.

“If you want to try and cut off a limb again, come talk to me first? Please, Janus?”

“... I’ll try to.”

“That’s all I ask for, babe.” I doubt Janus will ever be open enough to tell us when he needs help, but I’m sure he can become a little better at it. The depressing look in his eyes shows how much he regrets doing this; it was probably a hurried thing from the looks of it. So giving him some cuddles to calm him down as soon as possible will hopefully bring back the sass that I know this snakey-dragon can dish out. “I promise that this won’t take too long, and then we can go have some water and crackers before having a nap.” 

And while we snack, I’m sure I can think of a few ideas on how a half a dozen kids can become ‘accidentally’ completely paralyzed just before their next big sports event...

[morganweir]

google-fu 

read it on ao3

“Just come in, Rory,” Ethan says, not looking away from the laptop he’s balancing on the edge of his desk strategically. He nearly laughs at the disappointed noise that Rory makes, but he still doesn’t look up from the computer until Rory wraps his arms around his shoulders, putting his pointy chin atop Ethan’s head. Everything in him knows that Rory has always been over-affectionate, knows that Rory just sees this as a platonic overture, but butterflies flutter in his stomach anyway, a flush coloring his cheeks. Everyone always thinks he’s gonna have a crush on Benny, or even a full blown thing with Benny, but… ever since what happened with Jesse, it’s been Rory. Being worried about him, spending more time with him since the shit hit the fan, it’s been a recipe for a bit of an unfortunate crush on his other best friend. 

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin?” Rory asks, flirting in that casual way that Ethan has a love-hate relationship with. Loves it, because it can make him almost believe that Rory feels the same way, but hates it for the same exact reason. He clears his throat, and jumps right in. 

“You know that I don’t want to leave Whitechapel. But… I want to learn something about my visions, and… I want to know more, and. There’s another camp. And they’re… they have other kinds of people there. Not just Greek kids. And not just demigods. I think they’d let you guys there,” he explains, picking at the bottom of his shirt. Despite the fact that Rory and Erica, at least, aren’t ashamed of their status as striges, they don’t really bring it up that often in a serious context. Sarah still has a hard time with it at all. Well, who can blame her? One day, you’re a semi-normal teen who just happens to be extremely beautiful, and the next, you’re a bloodsucking part time bird creature. Rory breaks him out of his reverie. 

“How’d you find out about this, dude?” the strix asks, turning his spinning chair around and breaking their body contact, which kinda sucks, but Ethan will live. 

“I googled Camp Halfblood, and found some genuine forums on it, and then found some people that were a little less enchanted with it, and found some people that went to another camp. I talked to them about what we… what happened last year, and about you, and me, and Benny and Erica and Sarah, though I didn’t use any of our names for internet safety reasons, but they think it could be a good idea. For us to visit. Yeah,” he trails off there, rubbing the back of his neck. Rory smiles at him, a really genuine smile that shows off his sharp teeth, and Ethan thinks he might have to do deep breaths if he thinks about it too long because Rory is cute, okay? He’s cute. 

He has a problem, alright? 

Anyway. 

“That’s an impressive showcase of google-fu, E-man. We could go visit this summer! You think Erica would let us take her car? Where is it? Is it close?” Rory asks, his excitement leaking out. Ethan’s magic wants to reach out and collect it, skim it off of the ground and keep it close to his chest, absorb the energy and keep it to himself. He’s only spoken to his mother - his real mother, not his adoptive mother - in his dreams, but she’s always warned him against taking other people’s energies. Hecate must not know how this feels, then. 

“It’s in Arizona, so it’s almost a day and a half straight driving, more if we take breaks,” Ethan explains, keeping his voice level to try and get Rory back on an even keel, “but I’m sure that if we invite Erica, she’ll want to take her car anyway. She’d never let us take Benny’s car 33 hours across the border.” He laughs at the idea, seeing as Erica really is that much of a control freak, and they’ll already have to do the most to get across the border in the first place. None of them have passports, except maybe Erica, and Ethan is probably going to use magic to get them past border security anyway. 

“What’s it called? Who goes? Are there actual people like us?” Rory peppers on some more questions, cute and curious, and Ethan smiles, standing. Oh gods and goddesses. He had miscalculated how close Rory was before he had stood up, and Rory, being Rory, hadn’t moved, so… they’re really close. Like. Way too close for two people to be if they don’t plan on being closer. Like they could probably fit the second Harry Potter book between the two of them, but probably not the third, you know? The lightbulb of Ethan’s lamp flickers for a second before deciding to stay on, Ethan’s magic apparently deciding that this moment of emotional crisis is not enough to blow a lightbulb over. 

“It’s uh. Camp Igneous. There are people from. Different cultures. Kids from different Gods. Demigods who are also turned into things. I don’t know if there are. uh. Striges. But definitely other creatures. Can you… can you back up, please?” he has to ask, because Rory still hasn’t backed up, and his chair is behind his thighs. Rory blinks at him owlishly, looking even more like a strix than he usually does in his human form, but he backs up, and clears his throat. 

“Uh, sorry man, yeah. You want to… watch a movie or something? That’s what I came over here for. I brought Jupiter Ascending so we could make fun of it,” Rory says, effectively returning the atmosphere of the room to a normal environment in ten seconds or less, because he might be a bloodsucking bird boy, but he’s a puppy if Ethan’s ever met one. Ethan sighs, but he smiles, sitting on the bed. 

“Yeah, okay. But you have to put it in.” 

They’ll talk about Camp Igneous another time, and they’ll talk about that other thing another time too. For now, he’ll watch movies with his best friend, and they’ll make fun of the weird plot and the weird makeup and the weird effects and the weird acting and the weird acting and they’ll weirdly hold hands and never, ever talk about it, and that will be more than enough. That will always be more than enough. 

[darkforestimagines]

Hard as Rock

Emmett x shifter reader

It made it easier that your grandfather had been a shifter, and you had grown up with him. He recognized the tell-tale signs and wasn’t surprised when you shifted.

But you were. Oh boy, were you ever distraught. It took you three days (almost a pack record) for Sam to calm you down enough for you to turn back to human. And this was in the middle of the red-head lady crisis.

With the end of the school year came more time to learn how to be a shifter. You still delivered papers in the morning, the early morning, but you couldn’t get another summer job since you had to be able to drop everything to protect the rez. You couldn’t even go away with your friends, and you barely had time to hang out with them, anyway. They were moving on from you, holding a grudge ever since you “joined Sam’s cult”.

Now it was a Sunday morning, and after flying through your paper route, you couldn’t even go back to sleep. You had to walk into the forest behind your house and strip like a crazy person (clothes don’t grow on trees, you know) and shift so that you could meet up for the “training”. The “training” was more of a demonstration for the Pack, since the bloodsucking Cullen coven wouldn’t actually be touching any of you.

You’re gonna be late, Y/N! Embry teased as you shifted. He could hear your thoughts, hear you grumbling in your own mind about the damn Cullens and Bella Swan, the ‘vampire girl’ as Emily calls her. If it wasn’t for them, you wouldn’t even be in this position. It was cruel for them to move to the area, in your opinion, when they knew it would set off changes in the genes.

They don’t know that, Y/N Sam rumbled in your head.

And quit your whining, the rest of us are already here and the mind-reader can hear you Jared thought.

FUCK you thought to yourself.

You picked up speed, feeling embarrassed that everyone was waiting for you. Leah told you the shortcuts, watching you race through the woods in your mind.

Finally, you came to the clearing, stumbling over the last log to fall into the second line of the wolf audience.

“Is that everyone?” A blond, curly-haired man asked. The sight of him made your hair stand straight up. From your spot about fifty metres away, you could see bite scars all over his neck and forearms.

“Yes,” said the mind-reader.

“Perfect,” said the scarred man, turning between his wolf and vampire audiences. “Fighting newborns requires a different strategy than fighting aged vampires…”

As he began his lecture, your eyes wandered over the rest of the vampires. You had only seen some of them in your pack mates’ heads. Other than Mr. Scars and the mind reader, there was the doctor, Angry Barbie, Tinkerbell, Momma vamp, and

OH

…

OH GOD NO

NO NO NO NO NO

Your packmates knew what was happening, could hear your thoughts and feel your experience as your gaze met Emmett Cullen’s for the first time. Not that you knew his name at that moment, not until Jake supplied it a second later.

You were freaking out. It felt like someone had hog tied your soul and chained you to the monster of a man, at least 6ft 4 with muscles that would make anyone cower, supernatural or not.

Upon feeling the attachment, your instinct was to pull at the binds. You moved to turn and bolt but Sam’s orders stopped you.

“What’s happening?” you heard a voice in the distance, the human girl’s, Bella.

Your claws dug into the soft dirt and you ripped open the earth since you couldn’t move, whining and contorting your body. None of the others had reacted like you had—no one else had been in pain.

“Y/N imprinted.” The mind-reader said, his voice even. “On Emmett.”

“Me?”

His voice felt like thunder to you. Your paws pulled up the dirt and flung it away until you were digging yourself in.

LET ME OUT LET ME GO LET ME OUT SAM HELP ME PLEASE LET ME GO SAM HELP

The worried thoughts of your packmates layered on top of your own thoughts in a mess.

Go to your house and wait for me. Don’t tell your grandfather what has happened Sam instructed. No sooner did he finish his order before you were retreating, your joints protesting the hair-pin movements as you propelled yourself away from the disastrous situation.

Running was easy enough, but shifting back to human was proving to be a harder task. You wandered around the edge of your backyard, trying to calm yourself down. The pack had continued the ‘lesson’ with the vampires after a short conversation. Unfortunately, since you could not shift, you understood what was happening, and your pack mates continued to be bombarded with your fear. You could also hear Paul’s thoughts about you: obviously you had to be made wrong as a person to imprint on a vampire.

You trotted back and forth, occasionally whimpering out loud as much as you tried not to. You were a disgrace, your grandfather would kick you out, you would drop out of school, the Pack would disown you. What would you do? Join the bloodsuckers? Would Emmett drink your blood and kill you? You felt drawn to him. Would it make him happy to eat you? Maybe that would be easiest. What was wrong with you?

You didn’t think anymore— you needed to get away. You ran the perimeter, but it wasn’t enough. You kept running, running until your whole body hurt, your back leg sore from rolling your ankle too many times in gym class as a kid.

The running had worn you out. Whatever happened, it would be best to face it. Imprinting wasn’t under your control, even if your brain had decided Emmett was the ‘one’ all by its dumb self. If the Cullen’s moved and you stopped shifting, would you even still be attached?

You slowed down to a trot and tried to gather your senses. You were deep in the woods, the canopy of the trees making the area you were standing in even darker.

You curled up on the cold ground and tried to calm yourself down. If the Cullens were leaving town soon, maybe everyone would stop shifting. Things could go back to normal.

You tried a few breathing exercises. Your heart rate slowed for a minute, until you smell it.

A vampire. A scent you didn’t recognize.

You had a split second before you saw it in the distance.

RUN, Y/N! Sam shouted in your head. You turned, wincing from the pain in your leg, and took off. You were exhausted, but running for your life gave you an adrenaline boost.

You turned to look behind you and you let out a shriek of a howl—the vampire was only about ten feet away. You took a sharp left, jumped over a fallen tree and tumbled down a sharp hill until your body was stopped by slamming into a tree. You let out a sharp whine, your eyes darting to the vampire looking at the top of the hill.

You couldn’t help the yelps and the whines—your ribs were definitely cracked, if not broken on the one side, and your foot had to have a stress fracture.

MOVE Y/N! GET OUT OF THERE! C’MON, DON’T GIVE UP! Leah shouted in your head. WE’RE ON OUR WAY!

The vampire, with his red eyes, slid down the hill on his heels and grabbed you by the back of your neck, dragging your body back up the hill before launching you like a frisbee into some other trees. In a blink of an eye he was standing over you, contemplating his next move. Was he going to kill you quickly, or did he want to see you in pain a little longer?

Luckily for you, the vampire’s time was cut short as huge pale blur slammed into the vampire, sending the two of them flying into some trees. The trees snapped easily, and the thunderous noise of two boulders colliding made your ears ring.

GET UP Y/N! GET UP!

You tried to stand up, dizzy and in overwhelming pain.

Limbs flew by your face. Overwhelmed with fear and pain, your body finally gave up.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Before you fully became conscious, all you knew was that a sickeningly sweet smell, almost chemical in its sharpness, filled your nose and made your head pound.

A sharp pain in your ankle yanked you back into reality. You shot up straight, making Sam jump back. The vampire doctor had your foot in his hands.

“It’s just a stress fracture. I’ll tape it into the right position, it should be healed later tonight.”

“Thank you, Carlisle.” Sam said, his eyes on you.

Looking down, you realized you had been dressed in athletic shorts and a baggy t-shirt.

You unconsciously raised a hand to your nose to block the pungent odor.

“What happened?” you asked. You didn’t remember anything past the rogue vampire throwing you into the trees. You ran a hand down your sore ribs.

“Those should heal as quickly as your foot,” the doctor says, offering you an icepack, “granted that you don’t phase for the next 24 hours.”

“That can be arranged.” Sam said. You pressed the ice to your ribs and sighed with relief.

Everyone was quiet for a minute. Looking around, you realized you were in the living room of a very, very fancy house. Judging by the smell, it had to be the Cullen’s house.

“We should get you home, before your grandfather starts to worry.” Sam said, standing up. He tentatively reached a hand out to Carlisle, who took it for a shake. What a weird sight.

“Before you leave, I think Emmett wanted to have a word with Y/N.” Carlisle said as you stood up. You noticed the tall, muscular man standing over by the stairs.

“I will be outside,” Sam said to you. He nodded to Carlisle, then to Emmett, and then descended down the stairs, leaving you alone with the vampires.

When you turned to look to Carlisle, he was gone, and you were alone with your imprint and rescuer.

You stood very still, but it felt like you were in a storm, the winds pushing your towards him. You crossed your arms as he walked into the room, taking a seat on the arm of one of the couches across from you.

“So. Imprinting, huh? What’s that all about?”

You swallowed nervously. He waited for you to speak, golden eyes assessing your movements.

“Um, it’s like love at first sight, kinda.” You said quietly, looking to the ground before looking up again.

“Okay. Sounds good.” Emmett said. He stood up and stretched before extending his arms to you.

“What?”

“Don’t you want a hug? I thought you loved me.” He said with a grin.

“No offense, but you kind of smell.”

“So do you, but I wasn’t going to say anything,” he said, flopping back down onto the couch. You caught yourself letting out a sharp laugh, a release of tension, a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding.

“Well, I’m pretty sure it must be some sort of mistake. Shifters shouldn’t imprint on vampires.”

“It’s these guns, babe. I don’t know how anyone could resist,” Emmett said, theatrically kissing his biceps.

“Riiight,” you said, unable to force away the smile on your lips.

“C’mon, come feel them. Hard as rock,” he said, flexing with one arm and motioning to you with the other.

“I’ll pass,” you said. “Sam’s waiting for me.”

“But babe, it’ll just take a second.” Emmett whined, and this time you had to full-on laugh at the absurdity of situation you were in.

“Fine,” you said, lurching forward and placing a hand on his arm. You tried to squeeze, but it really was rock solid.

“That’s weird.” You said to yourself.

“Um, I think the word you’re looking for is cool.”

You tried to squeeze it again, out of curiosity. Emmett watched you, silent for a moment.

Sam’s trunk honking cut through the calm, and you remembered that you needed to go home and probably have a crappy talk with the elders.

“Can I have your phone number?” Emmett asked.

“Ummm,” you said, not really wanting to admit to anything, but his pout made your heart melt into a little puddle on the floor. “I don’t have a cell phone,” you said. “But you can have my home phone, if you want.”

“Okay!” He said, just smiling at you.

“Do… do you want to grab a pen or…?”

“Nope. I’ll remember it.” He said. “Just go ahead, when you’re reading.”

You sighed to yourself. Whatever, today had already been so freaking weird to begin with.

“Okay. 3-6-0…”

@waywardsisterstfw

[cherry3point14]

Hey Jealousy

Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: I mean idk. Jealousy. Kissing. Bets. Crushing pretty hard. Word Count:4,792 Summary: You’ve had a major crush on dean forever, and for the last couple of months, you’ve been dropping serious hints. Only Dean isn’t picking anything up. When Ketch shows up and shows interest, Dean’s jealousy makes an appearance. A/N: Another prompt by my girl @divadinag. I enjoyed writing Ketch more than I thought I would if I’m honest. He’s a fun asshat. This is kinda trash and I won’t apologize for it because it was fun to write. Although I have to be honest, I need to stop writing these things on the train.

Ao3 if you prefer.

You’re not blind. You’d noticed how goddamn attractive he was the moment you met him. You’d seen how well he filled out, well everything, his t-shirts must’ve been a size too small right? It’s the only explanation for the way his muscles stretch the fabric just so over his thick arms and the planes of his back. It’s probably why he wears those thick flannels over the top, he needs the extra layer. And god those legs. Strong bow legs outlined in denim. His whole body is just, ugh, a tree you wanted to climb. That’s without even beginning to describe his face; perfectly chiseled and home to the most interesting eyes and full lips you’ve ever seen.

He’s fucking handsome. We get it. He doesn’t need to be that head to toe beautiful. It’s borderline obnoxious.

But, sometimes you can’t always act on these things when you want to. You’re in the middle of a hunt when you first see him. A vampire nest outside of Aurora. It’s all pretty textbook. The idiot bloodsucker you’ve been tracking leads you from this dive bar to a closed down warehouse and it being the middle of the night the nearby businesses are empty. You scope the place out, sneak in, and you’ve taken out three of them, still holding a now decapitated head in your hand, when Sam and Dean Winchester bust in like they’re the heroes of this story. Normally you’d be annoyed by another hunter, or two, interrupting you while you’re in the middle of something but there’s still three vampires left so maybe there’s a small flutter of relief at their arrival. Then they’re all dead and the first time you meet Dean, really look at that perfect fucking face of his, is over a pile of dead vampires as you’re burning the evidence together. He’s not any less handsome but you’re not exactly feeling your most alluring. Not covered in blood stains and bumpy skin that’ll be bruised in the morning.

Not making a move that first night had been self-preservation. You'd been trying to save yourself the embarrassment of him turning your messy ass down. Although you convince yourself it’s good manners. You convince yourself it’d be rude to hit on him mid-hunt. It’d be a different story in a bar but you’re on the job, it’s no time to stare at him like a piece of meat.

Anyway, you’d been bleeding. You’d killed four vamps by the end, but one got a taste. The bite mark on your shoulder was deep and bleeding pretty substantially even with the rag you were holding on it. Honestly, you’re lucky the idiot couldn’t get a good shot at your neck or you wouldn’t be standing.

Sam had insisted on patching you up with promises that he stitched like a pro. Dean had promised you breakfast with a wink that made your stomach tighten. That’s all it had been. Medical attention and a suggestive promise of food. That’s how you ended up staying at the bunker for that first night.  

Well, really, that’s how you moved in. And moving in is how you became friends with them.

Now you’ve been there a few years. You’ve met their mother, a woman who was famously dead for decades. You’ve seen other realities and archangels and met God. It’s too much to list everything. Their lives are not that of normal hunters and by association, your grip on reality has loosened a bit as well. Even considering that your reality had already included monsters and demons.

It’s just that recently, maybe the last six months or so, there’s something that’s really been grinding your gears. Or should you say, nothing is grinding your gears and therein lies the problem. You haven’t got laid in a while and all because of Dean-freaking-Winchester.

You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even on the hunts where you do go off on your own, because sometimes you need a few days, you can’t just pick up some townie at a bar like you used to. They never come close to Dean and invariably seem like a waste of your time. Or like you’re cheating on your crush. There’s your hard place.

The rock is Dean himself. Because only an actual rock could be as obtuse as he is to the signals you are putting out there.

There are all these random moments. The hours, sometimes days, between the hunting crap where you live normal lives. Movie nights where you swan off to your room to slip into something more comfortable first. Something that showed off a little too much leg or was a little too tight around the chest and was, generally speaking, not always that comfortable. Or there were the touches you’d started laying on him. A hand that lingers too long on his arm or fingers that ghost over his when he hands you a coffee.

Between all the physical touches and the stares, the flirting, you’d been about as subtle as a bull in a china shop. The number of times you’d laughed at his lame jokes should have been enough, right?  It was finally starting to dawn on you that maybe Dean Winchester did not, like he suggested the first night he met you, want to share post sex breakfast with you. It was very possible he didn’t even want the sex part of that equation.

And then Ketch came to call.

The knock at the bunker door was out of the ordinary sure but nothing you didn’t think one of the boys could handle. You weren’t rushing to answer it yourself anyhow, not when you’ve read the same page of the book in your hands over and over again. Once again caught in your own heard thinking about him rather than whatever you were trying to read about. Maybe one more attempt and you’ll actually absorb the words this time.

When you still have no idea what you're reading after two more tries you finally give up, dog-ear the page and haul your ass off the bed to investigate.

“You think you can show up and we’re just going to let you stay? I don’t want you here while I sleep.” Dean’s voice is loud enough to hear before you step foot into the war room. You can tell he’s not really angry though, there’s a hint of amusement behind the gruffness, the kind of tone he reserves for people he doesn’t completely hate.

“What exactly are you worried about me doing?” The response is smooth, polished and decidedly British.

They both stop bickering when you enter. You should have known that it was Ketch but having only met him on a handful of occasions you hadn’t recognized his particular lilt without seeing his face. Before you get a chance to even say hello he smiles at you, “why Dean thinks anyone would be interested in bothering him when you’re in the room is beyond me. Y/N, always a pleasure.”

It’s not like you’re an Anglophile but yeah, sure, his accent is easy on ear. And when he’s complimenting you it’s all the better. Especially with how bruised your ego is from constantly being shut down by a certain Winchester for months on end. The heat rising up your neck as you step closer to them both, it’s just biological.

“Well, I’m not going to complain if you want to stay a few days.” You casually add to a conversation you weren’t a part of as you take a seat in the middle of the map table. Unconsciously an equal distance from them both.

“‘Course not when he’s nice to you!” There’s no hidden amusement behind his words this time. Dean is suddenly genuinely agitated and you have no idea why.

“Oh, because being nice to me is a crime now?” You shoot a glare at Dean, more annoyed than you should be. He doesn’t know the torture he’s been putting you through, it’s not really his fault that you’re so eager for a compliment.

Ketch watches you both with interest but is not swayed or distracted, “Y/N, as I was telling this ape-”

“See!”

“-before you got here. I’m working on a commission in the area and use of the library would be incredibly helpful. It would only be a few days and since I have previously helped him out of some particularly sticky situations, perhaps he would be so inclined to return the favor.”

You feel yourself involuntarily nodding along with him as he speaks. His lips aren’t as full as Dean’s but it’s still nice to watch his words fall from them. “It’s not like we don’t have the room,” you add helpfully.

Dean, from somewhere behind you and your now focus on Ketch, protests again, “he’s literally a goon for hire, for all we know he’s here to kill us.”

Ketch let's out this condescending chuckle that you can tell riles Dean up without even glancing in his direction, “Dean, if I wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. In any situation Y/N has nothing to worry about, I could never rid the world of something so lovely.”

You hadn’t liked the casual mention of killing Dean. Even as a joke the idea made a dull weight form in your stomach. It’s just, Ketch so easily switches back to complimenting you on the same breath. You don’t mean to smile like a sap at him, it just kind of happens.

“Fine, he wants to stay, he can stay. But when we all wake up dead...” Ketch opens his mouth but Dean doesn’t let him have the pleasure, “shut up.”

Then there’s the stomping of boots in the distance and you and Ketch are alone for the first time in all of your meetings.

“He’s always the charmer, isn’t he?”

“Are you really going to pretend that you didn’t do that on purpose?”

Ketch’s eyes twinkle mischievously which is so unlike any other time you’ve met him that it strikes you as odd how un-Ketch like it seems. He glides into the seat next to you with an unnatural agility and half cocks his head in your direction, “I am absolutely sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, even if I did what harm is there in ruffling his feathers?”

“He did just let agree to let you stay.”

Maybe it’s his stiff upper lip but Ketch delivers everything he says like his life is already scripted so it’s no surprise when he leans in an inch or two and whispers as smooth as silk, “well aren’t I the lucky one?”

You offer to help Ketch with some of his research because you’re a good host. It’s definitely not because he steals the occasional glance. And you’re definitely not intoxicated by the attention like a sixteen-year-old sneaking a wine cooler at prom.

Nothing would ever happen with Ketch. You’ve heard stories about him and bluntly put, he’s simply not the man Dean is. It’s just comforting to feel wanted again. It’s a confidence boost you didn’t know you needed and he’ll be gone in a few days anyway. Why can’t you enjoy being wanted for once?

“Y/N?” Dean clears his throat and you hide the widening of your eyes by staring intently at the page because honestly? You have no idea how long he’s been there watching you with Ketch.

“Yeah, Dean?” You try to stay nonchalant but with him standing there you’ve started doing that can’t read thing again.

“Thinking about going out for burgers, wanna come with?”

That catches your attention enough for you to look up. At first glance, he looks the same as ever and yet he’s different somehow. A suggestion of nerves in his voice and something else you can’t get a read on. That’s not to mention how out of character the question is in the first place. If he’s going out for food he hollers from wherever he is, saves him asking you and Sam separately. And he rarely asks for company, you always figured he liked some time to himself when he went out.

Just as you open your mouth to ask him if he’s ok Ketch speaks up, “hard luck, Y/N already agreed to accompany me to dinner.”

“I did?” you blurt out and catch Ketch wink fast enough that only you see. “Right, right. I did.”

Your compliance with Ketch sets Dean’s jaw for all of a second before he shakes it off and manages a cocky smile, “we’re all going out huh? I had no idea, I’ll go get Sammy. I don’t know about you but I am hungry.”

“At least wear something other than flannel!” Ketch calls out after Dean’s disappearing form.

You wait about a nanosecond before you turn to him, “I said yes to dinner when?”

He sits back in the high leather chair like he’s a Bond villain, the accent doesn’t help the image, “don’t get me wrong while I would have thoroughly enjoyed our tryst, I am strongly inclined to believe that I may not be welcomed back if I dally with something that does not belong to me.”

“You call this welcome?” You motion with a hand in the direction Dean disappeared to.

Why can’t he just spell out what he means without the intrigue? If he had you might have understood what he was trying to imply before Sam appeared, lurching forward as if he had been shoved into the room followed by Dean sporting a too wide smile.

“Where we eating then?”

Dinner is weird. The whole situation reeks of weird. If you didn’t know any better you’d think it was a hunt by the knot in your gut, the one that normally forms when something is about to go wrong.

It’s a goddamn Olive Garden for crying out loud but Ketch holds your chair out like it’s five-star fine dining. He’s British so you just write it off but then Dean watches you sit down like he might murder Ketch, or you, or both of you. Ketch orders the most expensive bottle of wine they have and it’s only like a hundred bucks, but still, it’s a sizeable amount more than the beer Dean is sucking down. Normally you’d be nursing a brown bottle too but Ketch insists on wine for the lady. You normally wouldn't give in but he hands you a glass with this reserved elegance and damn if it doesn't make you feel like a lady. Dean orders the same food as you because he says that you always order the best thing on the menu and then Ketch swoops to agree that you have excellent taste.

As the evening wears on you feel more and more like a toy that they both want to play with. Except Dean doesn’t want to play with you right? He’s your friend. He’s made that perfectly clear by the way he’s been ignoring your advances for months. He’s just being protective.

At some point, you look hopefully at Sam who shrugs as if it answers your question. You’re not even sure you know what the question was but you know Sam’s apathy wasn’t the answer you were looking for.

Then, once you’ve finished the pie that Dean ordered for your dessert, the check comes. Somewhere in your imagination, there’s the sound of a rattlesnake to signify the coming showdown. They both square their shoulders and for the first time that night they seem to have forgotten that you, or anyone else, exists. It’s just them and their dumb argument about who’s picking up the tab.

You’ve drunk too much wine by this point to care or be impressed by their pissing match.

“Eugh, can we just go home please?” You’re up out of your chair, frustrated and swaying your way to the door with Sam in your wake.

If you had stayed in your seat for even 30 seconds longer you might have seen the way Dean looks at you, or if you’d have turned your head back once you’d have noticed how distracted he is watching you walk away. Ketch has more than enough time to pay and get up out of his seat while he waits for Dean to come back to reality.

“She is something isn’t she?” Ketch is smug and proud even when complimenting someone else.

Dean stands up with the scrape of his chair on the floor, bringing himself to full height against his suited adversary. “When are you leaving again?”

"Oh, not for a few days. Plenty of time to get to know her.”

“Well, well, well boys. Looks like this is my round.”

“I think it’s positively adorable that you don’t feel the need to have anything close to resembling a poker face.” Ketch catches your eye making you pout exaggeratedly from behind your cards.

Sam had been tired, or so he’d said, and he’d gone to bed but you were caught in that sweet spot after drinking where sleep was the last thing on your mind. And since Ketch had been so eager to stay up with you Dean had suggested poker with a fervent shout, like the idea was escaping his body without permission. Which is how you got here. Sitting around a table with both of them opposite you, Dean slightly to your left and Ketch slightly to your right. You’re losing miserably at this point and normally you’d be horrified about that except you're buzzed and don't really care.  

At least you’re having a good time. Dean, on the other hand, is not. Every time Ketch opens his mouth you'd swear you can hear him grind his teeth. It gets louder if Ketch is talking to you directly.

“Come on then Rainman, you gonna call?” Dean grumbles.

“Call?” you quip, pressing your cards to your chest to protect your secret. “Are you kidding me? I raise!”

Dean had got his chips out, the nice set you bought him the Christmas before last, and even though your pile is the smallest you wiggle in your chair in excitement with your decision. There’s a big song and dance, waggling eyebrows and a little chuckle as you push the pile to the center, “that’s right, I’m all in!”

“You sure, sweetheart?”

Being on the way to fully drunk it’s even harder to fight the blush when he calls you that. So, you don’t fight. You smile down at your cards and let the pink flush your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

You can feel Dean’s eyes on you. There’s no way to explain how you know he’s looking at you other than a tingling under your skin, but you just know. And you’re terrified to bring your gaze up to his because you have no idea what you might find there. It could be the final nail in the coffin, it could be an expression so far removed from lust that it finally ends your crush. God, he could be staring at you like you’re the little sister he never had, who shouldn’t be gambling so frivolously.

Your feelings for Dean are not always easy to deal with but they’re yours and you’re not ready to let them wither and die. You’re not ready to have your heart broken over a drunken game of poker, in front of Ketch of all people. So, you don’t look at him. You chicken out and take this deep, shuddering breath while you continue to study your cards, even though you know them by now.

“Ketch, your turn?”

“So it would seem.” He answers smoothly. Either unphased or unaware of what just happened. He calls, which isn’t all of his chips since you'd been losing. As he pushes his bet into the center of the table he adds an afterthought, “I like a woman who lives dangerously.”

Something snaps in Dean that you’d swear makes an actual sound in the relative quiet of the room. Like the crack of a twig underfoot. Without a beat or taking another look at his cards he growls, “I’m in.”

Ketch seems less and less oblivious to Dean’s anger and more like he’s actively ignoring it. Or he's simply much better at whatever game they’re playing. It’s certainly not about poker. “Care to reveal yourself Y/N?”  

You lay down your cards with a sloppy smirk on your face, “four of a kind.” You’re pretty pleased with yourself and turn to Dean playfully, “you’re up cowboy.”

“I can’t beat that,” he drawls, putting his cards on the table face down. There's a grin all for you at beating him but before you can get lost in a wordless moment with him Ketch steals your attention again.

“Looks like I win.” He turns over a goddamn royal flush and you resist making some lame joke about his monarchy. Instead, you crease your forehead at him and throw your hands up in the air.

“Really? This was supposed to be my round.”

“Would you have wanted me to let you win?”

Normally your answer is no but normally you don’t have the better half of two bottles of wine swirling around your stomach, “yes. That’s exactly what I wanted.”

Dean snorts and you throw a glare in his direction, “what are you laughing at? You’ve still gotta beat him, you know, for America!”

Ketch sees his opportunity and pounces, “what about for you?”

Even though everything, since he’s got here, has pointed to you being what they’re fighting over it’s still momentarily jarring to hear it out loud. You scoff, “I don’t know what you do in England but here…”

“I’m not suggesting anything more nefarious than a kiss.”

“A kiss?” You parrot back to him and he nods. You can’t look at Dean but suddenly he’s all you can think about. KIssing Dean would either put your crush to bed or push you to obsession. Either way, it’d be something real and tangible. Something yours, if only once.

Dean is noticeably silent as you sit back in your chair and Ketch, thankfully, doesn’t break eye contact with you. He’s daring you. Even sober you’re too competitive to walk away from his challenge.

“Done. Winner gets a kiss.”

Ketch smirks, “we have an accord then.”

Dean wins the next round but Ketch had a substantial haul from your ‘all in’ idiocy so it doesn’t wipe the Englishman out completely. The corner of his mouth does twitch ever so slightly as Ketch’s shoulder slump in defeat though.

You’re sitting opposite them both silent. Refusing to show anything more than a passing interest in the game. The ice that you’re swirling in your drink is far more interesting. At least, that’s what you try to convince yourself.

Ketch wins the next round but the ante hadn’t been as reckless. His victory probably puts them on more or less even footing now, both of them hoarding a fairly equal pile of chips.

That’s when you realize how equally matched they both seem to be. Offering a kiss to the winner hadn’t seemed weird until the third game starts. Fairly instantly this feels like the deciding game and now you’re sitting there as less of an observer and more of a prize. There’s not a crack in their poker faces and though neither of them looks at you it still feels like you're under the spotlight.

Dean downs his glass when he looks at his cards which you initially think is bad but then he bets big so was it a bluff? Ketch leans back confidently but then seems more reluctant to call, that is until the last round when predictably both of their pots, every last chip, ends up in the middle of the table.

“Y/N what’s that phrase I’m looking for?” Dean asks you without actually looking at you, he’s in a battle of eye contact with Ketch.

You’re startled out of your silence, “what?”

“Oh yeah, read ‘em and weep.” He turns to you now, “or in your case pucker up.”

There’s that heat creeping up the back of your neck again and you face is forcefully trying to stop a grin spreading out over it. If you didn't know any better your heart just pumped out of your chest like a cartoon.

“While I appreciate your confidence it would appear that for the second time today it’s your hard luck.” Ketch elegantly spreads his cards over the top of Deans as if he needed an extra illustration that his hand beats Dean’s.

You tear your eyes away from the cards to look at Dean who is mostly frozen in place. Ketch wastes not a second before he’s out of his chair and walking around the table, holding out a hand to you. “If you’d be so inclined I’ll take my winnings and get off to bed.”

A hand slams on the table behind you but Dean holds whatever he might have said inside as you slide your hand in Ketch’s and stand up. It’s just a kiss you think. You’re the one who should feel the most awkward considering your crush. Even so, it’s just a kiss.

Ketch is a man of style so a kiss is not just a kiss.

He pulls you to him with your hand and slides his other to the back of your neck. His hand at your neck, in your hair, is a means to support you while he dips you in his arm and presses his lips to yours. For all the showmanship and flourish he puts into it the kiss is relatively tame. It’s a chaste press of his lips on yours, he doesn’t try for anything more. But it’s a long moment in time and between that and the slight headrush as he pulls you upright again there’s still the ghost of a breathless giggle on your lips when he lets go of you.

“Goodnight Y/N, you’re welcome.” He whispers as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Good game Dean,” he adds in a bright, chipper voice as he leaves for his room.

You had no mind to follow him and ask for an explanation. At that point, you’re still under the impression that he means you’re welcome for the kiss because you still don’t understand what Ketch had meant all those hours ago in the library. You still don't understand what Ketch has been doing all day since he first saw you and Dean together.

“Erm, I’m going to- I think I should get to bed too.” You say looking everywhere but at Dean because if he saw the way you’re biting your lip to hide a smile he might get the wrong idea. You don’t want to sleep with Ketch, it’s just been a while since you were kissed is all.

The problem with your escape plan is Dean himself. You make it all of two steps down the corridor when calloused fingers wrap around your upper arm.

“Dean, what the…?” the surprise in your voice is knocked out of you by a few things happening at once. He boxes you in with your back pressed against the hard wall behind you. One of his hands is pressed against the wall beside your head and the other still on your arm, his thumb rubbing small circles into your skin. His head is slightly dipped in your direction and it might be the closest you've ever been to him while his focus is all on you. He’s making the absolute choice to invade your personal space.

“You’re not following him are you?”

For the first time, you notice there’s a hint of worry in his face and a knot in his brow. Though you don’t understand it you are quick to expel his fears.

“No! I told you I was going to bed.”

The switch is instant, worry turns into something deeper. His eyes darken in a stark contrast to the usual rich green and his tongue darts out over those fucking full lips. Which makes you stare at his mouth obviously, catching every syllable as he forms it.

“Good, good.”

“Why? You’re not jealous are you?”

“I don’t get jealous sweetheart.” His hand creeps up your body, his fingers nimble and soft over your shoulder and neck before his fingers settle over your cheek. You want to call him out on his complete and utter bullshit but it’s hard when just a simple touch leaves you struggling to breathe.

“So, you’re not about to tell me I’m yours or some macho jealous crap?”

He ducks a little lower, his lips barely brushing your as he answers, “Nah, I’ll show you instead.”

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278

[dangermousie]

This is epically long

One of the things I love about this drama is that everyone has shades of grey. Oldest brother is a monster of a sibling, but he is a loving husband and father. Honestly, a lot of the fault for his behavior lies with the awful father who, instead of ensuring the half-brothers got along and deal with the complexities of the half sibling relationship instead treated one as an angel and one as the devil and did nothing to stop those who kept pouring poison into the ears of the eldest about how Tingye and his mother were super evil (remember little eldest? He actually liked his stepmom.) Not to mention that the old Marquis himself shared the view that Tingye and his mom were satan so that probably entrenched eldest’ views. This show is magic - somehow I still felt sad when eldest died.

So the old monster had a deathbed repentance? That’s something at least, though still wholly inadequate. (But how unsurprising, the rest of the family stole it from Tingye.) But I think the old marquess always knew he was wrong and that probably made him even more angry and awful and only when he was dying was he able to admit it to himself. 

Oh God, Tingye. If this was modern times, I’d recommend so much therapy. And the fct that he always longed for his father’s love - so sad. 

Good Lord, that is the most shameless thing I have heard in a long time. 

And that is why he is different from the rest of his awful family. (Also, compare him with old marquess - the old man made Tingye’s life hell, because he hated his mom. But Tingye treats Ronghie as precious despite her horror of a mother.)

And that is why living back then sucks! In modern society, he could walk out and never see all the bloodsuckers and gaslighters and abusers ever again and never deal with them. But here he has to deal with them forever and be a part of them forever and to me that is horrible. 

Awwww and he so needed to hear that.

How does literally everyone else in the family, including the dim Third, understand Tingye better than the stepmother, who is cunning and raised him? I think she is just blinded by her loathing and her inability to imagine people can be different from her. 

oh my GOD!!!!!

I am not sure what I love more - her utter shock at getting a title or how he listens to the usual flowery praises of her awesomeness from the official and just swoons because he totally agrees with that for real.

Look at how adorably smug he is!

Ahahahahahahahaha I love you, Tingye. He is often straightforward, which is so refreshing in the world of hints and untruths. 

OMG can Third actually have brains despite his crazy mom?

That was the most adorable thing, him coaxing her to call him “darling Second” instead of the more formal wife. Whenever there are cracks in her propriety, I am almost as delighted as he is. And honestly, Minglan needs someone who would do it now and then. 

OK OMG MANNIANG IS BACK WTF!!!!

Hahahaha Minglan spiking evil stepmother and Manniang, using all the patriarchal structures and restrictions. And you can tell Tingye is so proud of his wifey. 

Oh Good God, Minglan! What sane woman, even back then, is all “it’s super easy for you to sleep with a woman you loathe” and mean it, even back then? Sure, she doesn’t realize he wants her to want him to be monogamous and not want him with other women. The society’s values are too ingrained in her. Despite him doing everything but waving a flag. But even back then, any woman who cares for her husband would normally be “I don’t love this and I don’t want you to do it, but I know you should for your kid.” But I can’t even blame Minglan because she is trying to be an ideal wife, precisely because he is so good to her and she cares for him, so she is trying to suppress her jealousy (you can tell she is filling it) because she thinks that is what he would want. Talk about crossed signals. 

Oh my God. I audibly gasped at this - not even as much at her murder attempt but at the relish she took in telling him his son is dead. My God. Can my favorite characters ever get a break? In modern world, they’d need to be in therap therapy forever.

This scene! This scene! Her freaking out he is hurt, his denial that his son is dead etc etc. My heart!

OK, this scene just gave me the creeps and shivers We have never seen Tingye losing it to this degree and Manniang is both terrifying and repulsive and pitiable. Also, her blaming him for their son’s death is very her - nobody made her take the kid, he wanted the boy left with him. She left and stole the child away and refused to be found. 

Awwwww. I love that her understated manner is such an ingrained part of her that even in insane situations she calms everything down by her mere presence. And that he is able to calm down and adore her even in the middle of all this insanity. It basically shows their relationship is the basic bedrock in their lives.

Oh, Tingye. The thing with his son hits him extra hard because of his own issues though frankly, his father was right there and so it was worse. 

One of the things I love the most about Tingye is how fundamentally decent he is, despite his upbringing. Because here he is with Manniang trying to kill him, taunting him, just a monster of a person who took his son away from him, and he still says not one bad word about her to their daughter. He grew up in a monstrous environment and instead of imitating it in his own life, it just made him more conscious of how damaging parents can be and how fragile a child is and look how well he has taken that lesson to heart - making up white lies about a woman who shortly before he was so insane with rage about he wanted to torture and murder on the spot. Because he has learned a lesson most characters on this drama have not - putting someone else above yourself. 

And what a contrast to her mother, who throws all that love and devotion in her face and is only fixated on herself and hurting people she hates and views her daughter as nothing in light of that. Only a tool. And then even less than that, as she tries to kill her.

Congratulations if you made it through this beast of a post!

[shirtlesssammy]

13x11: Breakdown

Then:

You Betcha, Donna is the best! And you betcha, Sam watching Dean getting turned into a vampire is the worst!

Now:

Cue creepy oldies music, jars of liquids of unknown origin, murder board, chains!, and one gnawed on tasty arm. What?

In Oshkosh, Nebraska (real place, they don’t make cute kids’ dungarees though) at Manny’s Truck Stop, a socially conscience young woman pulls up to get gas. Her card is declined so she heads into the diner to find out what’s what.

(omg, her card wasn’t really declined!) Creepy register guy wants Ms. Hanscum to smile more and we all want him to die more. (I am 1000% behind making creepy white men the ultimate villains this season. Who are you Supernatural?) Ms. Hanscum gets her gas, and notices a ‘Jesus Saves’ van and a semi-truck in the parking lot. She’s suddenly accosted by a window washer dude but declines his creepy offer and takes off in her car.

Breakdown!

Some time later, her car gets a flat tire. Boris is screaming for her to just change the tire herself (didn’t everyone’s father make them change their car’s tires for funsies when they first got a car?) She watches as a semi-truck barrels past and then is brutally attacked and kidnapped by an unknown assailant (cough MAN cough) in a mask.

Sam is Depressed and I Need all the Details and Meta and well Developed Storylines on This Situation

At the bunker, it’s 6:00 am and Sam is wide awake. It’s 8:22 am and Sam is STILL wide awake. Dean’s making pancakes but Sam ignores him. It’s 10:00 am and his phone rings. It’s Donna. He heads to the kitchen to take a bit of shit from Dean before they’re both informed by Donna that her niece is missing and she could really use their help. “Text us the address, we’re on our way.” DONNA. DEAN.

The boys meet up with Donna --and I LOVE how they visually show Donna’s headspace here. She’s waiting for the Winchesters and the camera pans over to the Impala pulling up, but we can’t hear the familiar rumble. SO great. She’s panicked, and in her head completely.

She fills the boys in on what’s happened. Dean heads into talk with the locals and Doug.

While looking over Donna’s niece’s car, Dean is accosted by FBI dude. He calls Dean “son” in the most condescending way. Dean’s too old to be “son” and Dean is confident in himself enough to not take that shit. Good job, Dean! Doug interrupts the potential smackdown and tells Agent Clegg that Dean is FBI too. He’s here on personal reasons though; relative to the missing woman. (Boris, and countless other people on Tumblr, called Agent Clegg as The Monster right here. Creepy White Man.) Doug is shocked to learn that Donna and Dean are related. “So you were in Sioux Falls a couple weeks ago, at the family reunion?” Yes. Yes they were. Family reunion. Yes.

Clegg fills the gang in on the case, and the series of connected cases he’s been working for 12 years. *Kill Bill Siren*

Depressed!Sam doesn’t want to help. Dean says, “We’re in.” Sam Bean!!!

At their motel, Dean puts out a call of local truckers for info on Donna’s niece, Wendy. Sam wants to back down. They are fugitives after all. Aggghhh. I’m SO HERE FOR SAM’S GRIEF. Like, I can’t articulate well enough what’s actually happening, but it’s so nice to FINALLY see him expressing the pain that he’s going through. He’s a perpetual fountain of optimism to Dean’s downer attitude. Or he’s just countering how Dean feels (see: Tombstone where he was meh towards Dean’s Very Enthusiastic Attitude to Cas’s return). He expresses this later but his hope is gone now. No Jack, no Kaia --no getting his mom back. As much as we wanted and needed (and got) a cathartic scene between Dean and Mary, we need Sam to come to terms with never having a mother at all. AGGGGHHHH. Dean tough talks his point of the situation before they get a lead from a CB radio trucker. Dean makes a date with ‘Felix’ to learn more about the case.

Cue oldies music, Wendy blindfolded and tied to a chair, and creepy masked man. He unmasks her and she begs “Why are you doing this?” while he sets up a camera.

At the police station, Agent Clegg fills Sam and Donna in on the ‘Butterfly’ case, and his main suspect: Pastor ‘Diamond’ Don Hankey. Creepo had Wendy’s bloodied t-shirt in his van.

Dean talks to the trucker about the night Wendy disappeared.

Felix remembers seeing Wendy, and really regrets not helping her, but she was running behind.

Sam and Agent Clegg interview the pastor. The smug fucker gives them nothing. Oh, and he’s an implied racist. Donna comes in to lend a hand.

At Manny’s Trunk Stop, Dean and Doug have a heart to heart. Dean’s giving relationship advice? Waaaahhhh.

Donna continues to lay the smackdown on dirty pastor man.

At the truck stop, window washer man fills Dean and Doug in on Marlon, the cashier, and how he closed up shop and followed Wendy that night.

Ugh, the pastor is married with two kids? Ugh. Donna breaks the pastor, but it turns out he’s just a regular creepy man. (So many layers of creepy men these days, ugh) Sam, Donna, and Agent Clegg wonder, if not the pastor, then who?

Cut to Dean entering the diner and asking Marlon where Wendy is.

Marlon’s being difficult, but Dean’s insistent. Marlon caves and shows them a website. A website where monsters bid on human body parts. Lovely!

A little while later the team's assembled to rewatch the video for clues. The creepy clerk shows Donna and Sam the recording of the feed and they try to twist their minds around what's happening. They realize that body parts are getting auctioned off to monsters. MONSTERS? Doug's taken aback by the theory – particularly the monsters part.

The clerk reveals that he flags people he thinks won't be missed, notifies the sellers, and then gets paid. While he's chatting a new bid flashes on screen. It's Wendy! She begs for help. Dean asks Sam if he can hack into the streaming server and find their location but Sam explains that the signal's bounced around the TOR network and he can't track it. However, the FBI can so they contact Clegg for help. We shed a silent tear thinking about Charlie, who could probably hack it with her eyes closed. They've got a timer, anyway. In 58 minutes Wendy dies.

Off to the side Donna has “The Talk” with Doug and he's...rattled. She explains that Sam and Dean are hunters...and so is she. Doug struggles to process the news. Their talk's interrupted by the news that Clegg's tracked the video feed.

They spread out to tackle the winding layout of the warehouse. Doug stays behind with the clerk while Dean and Donna advance. In the back, Sam gets surprised by Clegg who has shown up to investigate this tale of a body-parts-selling website.

Wendy's strung up with the feed still on her. The killer slowly sharpens his blade while she screams.

Dean and Donna hear music playing and track it to a room that's empty other than a radio on the floor. Uh oh. Back with Doug, the clerk asks him about monsters. “Fun fact,” he says. “I am one.” He vamps out, busts out of his cuffs, and starts to attack Doug. He tears open his wrist with his teeth and drips the blood into Doug's mouth.

Sam overhears the attack and signals to Clegg to advance on the room when... Clegg knocks him out! Boris was right, y'all. Boris was right all along. Clegg is evil.

Dean and Donna bust into the room where Doug's lying on the floor. He turns to Donna. He's feeling...kinda strange. He vamps out in front of her. “I'm so hungry,” he whimpers before trying to bite her. Dean pulls some dead man's blood from his duffle and injects Doug with it, knocking him out. Dean tells Donna that he'll be okay. There's a cure. “Huh?” Donna asks and I'm knocking my palm against my hand. The woman specializes in vampire kills and you never bothered to tell her about dead man's blood or the CURE? What the heck, Deano?

Anyway, “Mix up some sage, a little bit of garlic...” And the bloodsucker who turned Doug. The clerk swans in and brags about the attack and reveals that Clegg is behind the kidnapping!

Dean unsheaths his machete with a “bring it, Twilight” when Donna shoots the clerk in the knee. He collapses to the floor. Donna orders Dean to start mixing the cure for Doug and tells the clerk that she's gonna kill him no matter what. “You just gotta decide if you want it fast...or slow.” Donna <3 <3 <3

Sam wakes up tied to an operating table and realizes that Clegg's The Butterfly killer. Clegg tells Sam that there are monsters all over who take advantage of his people-chopping services. Clegg's of the mind that Sam should be grateful for his services...keeping monsters off the streets and all.

Sam's not buying it, but it's time for their next video feed. (Wendy's been put on hold in favor of their BIG catch.)

Dean, Donna, and Doug race to save Sam. Donna pours the vamp cure into Doug. Meanwhile, they start auctioning off Sam piece by piece. Clegg starts off the auction for Sam Winchester's heart in a not-at-all symbolic move.

Dean and Donna leave Doug behind in the car to infiltrate the warehouse. Donna finds Wendy still tied up. One of the killers attacks Donna from behind but Donna kicks his ass and kills him quickly. She frees Wendy.

Clegg's finished the auction for Sam's heart netting $500K (aw Sammy) for it so now it's time to chop him up. He points a gun at Sam to kill him quick since Dean's still in the wind. The camera pans away and there's a gunshot.

EEK

Red spreads along Clegg's chest. It's Dean here to save the day! He's killed Clegg and saved Sam. “Show's over.”

A little while later Dougie Bear wakes up. He's cured! Donna tells him that Wendy's safe...and so is Doug. But Doug's ultra freaked out about being a vampire. Donna smiles at him and tries to talk it down. Dean's been in Donna's shoes before and he recognizes the look on Doug's face. Doug tells Donna that she's a hero for killing monsters but he can't have any part of it. He walks out. (UGH don't mind me I'm just crying over here.)

Sam tells Donna that anyone who gets too close to a hunter gets hurt – or worse. Essentially, Donna should look at this as a good thing since Doug will be safer without her. Dean shoots Sam a LOOK.

Later in the car Dean tells Sam he was a little harsh. Sam explains that it’s just a fact that they get people killed. Kaia most recently, for one. Sam tells Dean he's not in “a mood” and that he's just being realistic. The hunting life ends one way for them – bloody.

You Betcha These Are Quotes:

I'm not your son.

And then you turn down pancakes!

This is how we do things in the FBI.

I'm not hurt but I don't think I'm okay.

There are many pieces of Sam Winchester, but only one heart. 

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

[clown-bait]

Apologies (Monster Roommate AU)

So to continue my holiday mini fics for the AU heres the next one in the series! Pennywise gets in trouble and gets the silent treatment. He doesn't handle it well. On a side note I had a BLAST writing this especially the second part and Leech’s temper tantrum at work. I’ve been wanting to show her at the bar for some time now and get more of the Sawyer brothers in there! Also Penny making missing posters with sad faces drawn all over them in an attempt to be an adorable little shit. 

Pennywise Sucks at Apologies

“Who ever is playing as “trashpire” is losing badly.” Penny plopped on the couch between Freddy and Leech.

“Wow thanks for the encouragement.” Leech grumbled as Freddy stabbed her character again. The demon was himself in the game of course, playing it somehow on the stupid Nintendo power glove. Leech put the controller down and packed another bowl in a huff.

“Aww giving up so soon bloodsucker?”

“You know its not fair when you use demon magic to win. Hey Penny sweetie, help me out here do that thing you do with the tv.” she picked the controller up after taking a hit from the colorful pipe.

Pennywise growled “I am a timeless ancient evil not something you can use to cheat on video games.”

“It's not cheating if Freddy’s cheating too.”

Penny playfully covered her face with his hand causing Leech to lose once again. The clown cackled at her protest continuing to mess with her vision. Leech finally got fed up and bit down on his thumb. Pennywise growled with mock anger and the vampire released him peppering little kisses on the wound.

“Ugh can you guys take a break today? I don't want to deal with Vorhees trying to break in” Freddy scooted over as far away from the couple as possible.

“Is he at it again? Man I bet that asshole was way better when he didn't talk” Leech remembered the first time she had run into Jason and how obnoxious he was.

“Nah, He was still an asshole” Freddy grumbled taking a hit from the pipe.

“Speaking of silent giant assholes, you know who absolutely freaks me out?”

“Me?” Penny grinned proudly

“Haha you wish. You're a giant asshole for sure but you aint quiet love. No its Michael Myers, I ran into him in the store the other night and the guy just stood there silently in the middle of the aisle like he was trying to decide he wanted to stab me in the throat or not.”

Penny's face twisted into that of pure offense. HOW DARE she think someone else was scarier than HIM. HIM the eater of worlds! The master of FEAR ITSELF. Pennywise felt his eye twitch and drift apart.

“Mikey is a total jerk man, he has this high and mighty attitude. Just because you don't say anything doesn't make you the scarier monster.” Freddy let out a puff of smoke while handing the pipe to the vampire who took a long hit.

“Pfft you're the opposite end of the spectrum Fred, maybe take a page out of Myers book sometime and shut up” she passed the pipe back across Penny’s lap, who was eerily still, to the dream demon.

“Nonsense, the ladies love a chatty killer! Right clown?…Clown?…Earth to Jingles?”

Penny's eyes had rolled completely to opposite sides of his face.

“You ok Pen?” Leech waved a hand in front of his face. The clown snapped to life with a roar and his jaws extended like a goblin shark biting onto her wrist. “OW HEY WHAT THE HELL” she slapped him on the back of the head. Pennywise let go, quickly grabbing her shoulders and sniffing frantically. “Were you scared???” he asked still sniffing her “NO I'm fucking pissed off what the shit Penny!?”

“Y-you weren't scared? Not even a little?” wait was he worried?

“Looks like you're losing your edge clown! Mikey is the one who scares your girl now!” Freddy laughed and Leech threw a dusty old pillow at him.

“Kruger!!” she hissed.

Penny got up and made his way towards the well his face expressionless.

“Oooooh boy I can already tell this is going to become a thing with him.”

“Shouldn’t have said that Ol’ Mikey is the one who really gets the adrenaline pumping then!”

“Ugh don't say it like that. I don't even think he's that attractive. He wears a William Shatner mask for fucks sake”

“I'm going to tell him you said that next time I see him!”

“DONT”

“Awwww whats the matter? S-s-s-scared Mike’s gonna come get ya?!” Freddy cackled

“I will pay you not to Fred, I'm dead serious”

“Now I know what to put in your nightmares tonight!”

“You wouldn’t”

“The clown’s off having an existential crisis you're fair game bloodsucker!”

“Are you just being a sore loser because I beat you in guitar hero? I won fair and square its not my fault you don't know all the songs.”

Freddy got up and tipped his hat to her “See you in your dreams scaredy cat”

like an evil Santa he was gone.

Leech sat alone in her room trying her hardest not to fall asleep knowing that Freddy would continue to mess with her more. She suddenly wished she could lucid dream so she could just punch him in the face next time he popped up. The vampire rolled over onto her back. “Maybe if I ate something?” she thought aloud but that would require getting up and going out. She settled on reading pulling out a book she had got from the library on Derry’s history. She liked knowing about Penny’s past exploits since he was always so cryptic with her when she asked. Plus morbid stuff was interesting.

She was on a bit about an Easter explosion, over 100 children dead at the old iron works. She chuckled to herself “Man this must have been like Christmas come early for him” she kept reading recognizing his circus cart in one picture and she started wondering to herself how the hell did Penny get that down into the sewer. Her light began to flicker and Leech groaned knowing she’d have to get up and change the bulb. Stupid old house with its stupid shotty wiring. The light completely fizzed out without warning “Just my luck” she snarled grabbing a flashlight. When she turned it on she noticed something at the foot of her bed. No, someone. She brought the light up and saw the bloody stain on the figures shirt then finally to its face. It was a child. A dead one. The child spoke softly “Hello Leech wont you come play with us!” her face slowly began to decay. Leech sat back and continued to watch the show. The ghost girl floated up and landed so she was standing on Leech’s stomach. It crouched down so it was in her face.

“Come play with us!!” It roared.

“Spooky, Like the decay it’s a nice touch.”

The ghost frowned and then opened its jaws showing millions of teeth. Its tongue snaked out holding a small silver crucifix. Leech hissed at it in anger and the charm melted, sliver splashing onto her chest causing smoke to rise from her skin. She screamed in pain and the ghost realizing it messed up began frantically trying to wipe it off her. Leech’s skin began to burn and suddenly her tank top had caught fire from the heat. The ghost became the clown, who tore the burning fabric off of his mate stomping out the flames with his large boots. Penny noticing her skin was lighting on fire now, scooped her up and ran to the bathroom tossing her in the shower and turning it on.

She was soaked her favorite sleeping shirt was ruined and there was awkward burns on her boobs. Pennywise was in DEEP trouble.

“Penny…… why the FUCK did you use an actual silver crucifix to try to scare me?!”

“I-I..um did it work?”

“WHAT DO YOU THINK DO I LOOK SCARED TO YOU?”

“Maybe the fire did alit-”

“SHUT UP. I HAVE FUCKING HAD IT UP TO HER WITH YOU TONIGHT! get me a FUCKING towel and get the FUCK out” she screamed she had never gotten this mad at him before.

“You cant kick me out I own this house.”

“OUT”

The clown vanished quickly reappearing on the couch down stairs. Where he placed his giant gloved hands over his face. She’ll be back she always calls for him to come back. Any minute now….

————

A few hours had passed and Penny was messing with Freddy and Leech’s video game trying to scare kids up way too late through their screens. She hadn't called for him back.

“Someone’s been banished to the cooouuucchh!” Chucky sang from the doorway.

“I swear if you say any more words doll…”

“Heard the screaming awhile ago what did you do? It has to be good to get kicked out of the bedroom”

The clown sighed. “I tried to scare her and I accidentally set her on fire.”

“Holy shit!” Chucky cackled “thats amazing! I cant believe you fucked up that bad Jingles!”

“Wonderful.” Penny grumbled

“Don’t sweat it clown, she’ll be begging for you back in no time. You just have to be real nice for a few days, which I know is hard for you…”

“Whats the use, my mate hates me and I'm not scary anymore.” the clown moped his head sinking low.

“Pfft yeah Kruger told me she had a freaky run in with Meyers. Whats the matter losing your edge?”

“I’m not talking about this.”

“Cheer up Jingles like I said she’ll be begging for you back eventually. Bring her some gifts or somethin. Fancy chocolate chicks like that.”

“She cant eat chocolate she’s a vampire.”

“Uuuhh one of those silver charm bracelets? I stole Tiff one last week when I was in trouble for leaving that stiff on the new rug.”

“Just found out silver lights her on- wait….that was you?”

“I cleaned it up!”

“Barely.” the clown crossed his arms and rolled over on the couch.

“Look that girls crazy about you, she’ll be hollering your name again soon Jingles. I'm telling ya makeup sex is the best!”

Penny rubbed his temples. He was not in the mood to talk about this.

“Did you at least say you were sorry?”

“No. When have I ever had to say that. I don't grovel at her feet and beg like a dog.”

“HAHAHAHA oh man your funeral buddy.”

Pennywise rolled onto his back and dramatically sunk into a crack in the couch. The last thing he heard was the doll shouting some useless romantic advice about dishes before he was back in his nest in the sewer.

————

It had been a full morning with no Pennywise breathing down Leech’s neck. Usually he’d play his own little games with her. Trying to distract her while she poured her breakfast in her favorite mug, leaving dirty suggestive things on her morning crosswords. His favorite game was trying to convince her not to go to work. He was very persuasive. This morning though the clown was completely absent, it was almost nice actually to finally have some space. Leech was able to go through her whole morning routine with no interruptions. It was going to be such a relaxing day. The vampire was thankful she had taken the day shift it was always slower and easier she was able to mingle with the customers more and pick better tasting victims for later. She’d forgive Penny tomorrow. Leech was going to enjoy her day off from him.

Today two young men walked into the bar they looked rugged and well built the type that would spend a lot of time outdoors. Chop-Top elbowed the newest waitress when he caught Leech staring at the lean body of one of the guys, the cannibal whispered something to the new girl and laughed. Penny would be pissed if he saw her right now and Leech smiled at the thought spinning a glass a bit just to show off. Oh he would be seething mad, but he deserves it after the way he'd been acting. The men left her a nice tip and the one she’d been eyeing gave her a grin as he left. He'd make a nice snack later. Chop-Top leaned against the bar “You're going to be in so much trouble” he laughed knowing how jealous his coworkers lover tended to get.

“I'm allowed to look, besides he deserves a kick in the ass. Penny’s been a huge jerk lately.”

Chop-Top scratched the metal plate under his 60s era wig as Leatherface came out of the kitchen “Hey big guy it’s a slow day mind if I take off early? We got plenty of burgers stored up from that last big weekend” Leech asked. Leatherface nodded and patted the vampires head Leech grinned “Thanks boss!” the giant leaned down and placed a hand on her shoulder looking at where the two men sat in concern “Don't worry Bubba, Pen and I are solid I'm just messing with him for setting me on fire last night”

“What happened unfortunate juggling accident?” Leatherface’s eccentric brother twirled on a bar stool with laughter and the pretty new girl came over to the bar. She was one of the local werewolves and the only one Leech tolerated…..Tolerated is a strong word it was more she was contractually obligated to not start any more fights. “You got set on fire?”

“Yes Sandy I got set on fire. You didn't notice the burns on my cleavage?” Leech rolled her eyes. this bitch talks too much.

“What cleavage?” Chop-Top joked and Leech pushed him off the stool hard.

“My new boyfriend would never do that to me! He’s such a great guy!! Don't know why you put up with that kind of behavior that clown has”

“Gee Sandy! Maybe its because I actually love him and don't plan on dumping him in two weeks. You ever try that? I know its hard for you dogs to not hump the leg of everything you see” Leech muttered after turning away from the werewolf.

“What was that?” Sandy asked.

Leatherface and Chop-Top both began pointing frantically at the employee rules behind the bar. There was a new one scribbled in red marker at the bottom saying “NO MORE BLOOD-FEUDS” the vampire groaned.

“I mean um he’s an acquired taste. You get used to it.”

“I’ll say, must be so obnoxious with all that circus shit all the time. What a fucking weirdo…Oh and those bells and that shakey high pitched voice ugh”

“I. Like. The. Circus. Shit.” the nosferatu spat her fake smile beginning to crack. No one puts Penny down but her.

“it'd drive me crazy to date a guy who wore more make up than me.”

“HIS MAKEUP IS PERFECT AND HIS VOICE IS LIKE HONEY! Shut your whore mouth! I love my clown!!” the vampire roared claws scraping into the bar.

Leatherface practically threw the rule board at Leech. “She started it!”

“Your shifts over Leech, go home and no fighting” Chop-Top pushed the vampire out the door.

“FINE!” she got on her bike and rode off.

————-

It didn't help that everything reminded her of him. Leech wanted to head straight into the nearest storm drain after that incident and forgive him just so she could feel those long arms wrap around her. She was still mad at him though, and like a child he wouldn't learn his lesson unless she stuck to her guns and gave him the silent treatment. What made it hard was the clown’s presence seemed to be EVERYWHERE today. He was probably doing this on purpose so she’d forgive him faster.”That little shit.” Leech thought to herself when she saw a missing poster with her face on it. She pulled it off the wall and read it

Missing: you

24 years old

Last seen yelling at a sweet innocent clown

description: big ears, sharp teeth and bald. Cutest vampire you'll ever see!

If found please return to the nearest sewer opening or sad lonely clown. :o(

Leech rolled her eyes at the sad faced balloon crudely drawn in the corner. “You think you can win me over by being cute you need to try harder Penny” fuck he's making this difficult for her.

She folded the paper and put it in her bag. Leech tried her best to avoid every red balloon tied to almost all the street signs she came across. Somehow she ended up in the park and the vampire decided to sit in the shadiest area she could find to avoid dealing with her clown problem at home. Leech felt the familiar cramp of hunger begin to build, tearing at her insides till she could no longer ignore it. She decided to look around the crowd for someone who wouldn't be missed.

Her sensitive hearing picked up the sound of a couple local bullies shoving a kid against a tree off in the woods. This will work. The nosferatu crept into some bushes and waited for the boys to stop their tormenting. As she waited the smell of cotton candy and blood drifted into her nose. Oh great. She looked over and Pennywise was crouched in hunting mode diagonal from her. Of course he was here, that poor boy being pushed into the tree was terrified. “I’ll just take my food and go don't even talk to him…he’s probably after the kid anyway not the teens.” she thought to herself. The vampire moved closer and a twig snapped under her knee. “SHIT” she whispered then quickly covered her mouth, the poor nosferatu was still making all kinds of rookie mistakes. The teens let go of the boy who ran out of the woods and she saw the mess of orange hair snap in her direction. “Fantastic now were both mad at each other.” she rolled her eyes.

“W-whos there?” one of the boys asked. Leech sighed and shot a claw out from her bush to drag him back into it with horrifying speed while he screamed. The other boy jumped back shrieking and fell against the tree he had pinned his own victim to only a few moments before. Sickening crunching sounds could be heard from the bush the boy’s friend had just disappeared into. The surviving bully picked up a sharp branch in an attempt to save his friend and using it like a spear he stabbed into the bush Leech was feasting in. Something caught it before it made contact with her and the vampire froze turning to see Pennywise towering over the other boy. “Its rude to disturb a girl while she's enjoying her meal.” he snarled Leech had fallen back against her snack and stared up at him both in shock and relief to see Penny decided to help her out. The clown looked over at her and gave her a cocky smirk. If he thinks he's out of the dog house for saving my ass he's so wrong. Leech stood up and sarcastically smiled back at him. “What the fuck! What the fuck is that!” the bully screamed. The boys eyes were wide with tears of sheer terror from seeing his friends blood covering the vampire’s chin and the now six foot circus demon towering over him.

“Time to float kiddo” Pennywise lunged forward and delivered a perfect killing blow, dropping the body with a thud on the dirt. He turned to his vampire and gave a cocky grin. “SoooOOO….whats a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

“Cute. You use that line on all the flesh eating women you meet?” Leech rolled her eyes.

“Just the pretty ones like yourself my dear….. you going to finish that?” he pointed at the body next to her.

“I’m not giving you my meal and I'm still not talking to you” Leech crossed her arms and turned her head away from Pennywise trying not to get stuck in his golden stare.

“You’re talking to me right now though!” the clown strolled over to her and tilted her chin up to meet his gaze with a single gloved finger.

“Yeah well…. only cause you saved my ass….so thanks…asshole.” Leech glared at him. Penny sensed her beginning to break.

“My my little firecracker, is that any way to treat your rescuer? I think I deserve more thanks than that” he pulled her closer to him so she could feel his hot breath on her cold lips.

“You’re not getting any. You’ve been a dick lately” Leech looked away from him trying her best to hide the creeping blush on her hollow cheeks

“Then why aren't you trying to get away?” he was inches away from her now. Shit

“I hate you” Leech snarled and closed her eyes “Mmmmm I hate you more” his soft lips pressed against hers. Stupid clown. The vampire ran a claw through his hair pulling him into her to deepen the kiss Pennywise purred with victory. Leech unceremoniously pushed him off her with a huff facing away from him to hide the fact she was about to start grinning like a school girl. Pennywise snickered.

“You know, you're lucky I didn't punish you for chasing off my initial meal with your stupid mistakes.”

“Not everyone can be as perfect as you, I'm still learning. Give me a break.”

“Aww you're right I am perfect!” he smirked at his on lame joke.

“You're a narcissist is what you are.” Leech grumbled.

“I thought you weren't talking to me.”

“You’re right I'm not…I’m… you just….fuck….you’re so fucking frustrating you know that?” pennywise snarled and pinned her against the tree.

“Likewise bloodsucker. You have no idea how much you torment me.”

“At least I don't light you on fire when my ego’s bruised”

“At least I have an ego. Pitiful little thing, if you spent half the time you spend moping around on practice you wouldn't need me to save you from these situations.”

“I don’t need you to come save me I can take care of myself” Leech snarled back.

“That boy nearly impaled you. If I hadn't shown up you'd be one step away from losing that pretty head of yours. You're lucky I like you so much.”

Leech shoved him back “Yeah but you didn’t do it for me did you! I know you too well. You did it because you thought I’d stop being mad at you.” she took a bold step forward. Too bold. “Selfish prick… you know perfectly well I would have been fine. Stop trying to scare me with that you “would have died” bullshit I'm not in the mood.”

The clown slammed her into a tree with a growl fully pissed off now.

“Stupid girl. Do I need to show you how much I care again?” Pennywise roared his claws splintering into the tree behind her. “Go ahead” she grinned  “but you still wont be man enough to ever say you're sorry to my face.” What a brat. She was completely right of course, but still her attitude was definitely in need of adjusting. He hated when she was right.

The clown placed a knee between her legs and grabbed her neck bringing her close to him again. Leech whimpered a bit when he licked her neck and chin with greed. He groped her body possessively touching her in any way that he wanted to and the vampire glared at him trying everything she could to hide the flush of ichor under the skin of her cheeks. He was being an ass but she loved it when he got worked up like this. Stupid clown. When he kissed her again Leech moaned into his mouth pulling his waist so his hips pressed against hers. Penny had the hem of her pants in his claws prepared to rip them off until he sniffed the air and paused more humans.

“Hello? Miss you ok?” a mans voice rang out in the woods. He couldn't see the clown or the bodies Penny had hidden them, but he left Leech. Lets see how she does without him there to save her now.

Leech's eyes widened oh shit it's the guy from the bar. Shit, shit, shit!!! Penny glanced over at her and sneered “Friend of your’s darling?”

“Hey! Its you! What’s a pretty little bartender doing way out here in these woods?”

Pennywise bared his fangs in jealousy. Oh she did know him. “Yeah what are you doing out here Leech” he turned to her with an evil grin

“Oh um nothing really”

“Just fucking my lover in the woods.” Pennywise mocked her. Leech wanted to die at this point.

“JUST GOING ON A HIKE” she yelled over the clown.

“You uh seem a bit roughed up you ok?” walked over to touch her arm and she pulled back.

“Fine! I'm fine! Tripped on a rock silly me! I must have weak knees!”

“Yeah clowns seem to make them shake like a leaf” Pennywise smirked enjoying his little test.

“Want me to take a look at it?” the man asked,

“I’ll..I’ll be ok” thats a lie, she was far from ok right now especially since Penny was now running a gloved hand down the small of her back and attempting to stuff said hand down the back of her pants.

“Well in that case forgive me if I'm being too forward but my friend and I are here for a couple days while we prep for a backpacking trip. I’d love to get your number so we could hang out sometime.”

This poor boy just signed his own death certificate. He was nice too, if Leech wasn't involved with Penny she might have even said yes. He’ll make a nice meal though, she didn't get to finish her’s after all. Pennywise walked behind the man and bared his fangs snapping his jaws near his head to show Leech what he planned on doing with him after she was gone. She gave the clown a look that said Not today Pennywise. “I’m actually already seeing someone-“ she paused an evil thought entering her mind and the vampire grinned at the clown wickedly “sorta… we’re having a big fight right now really.” Penny’s playful expression dropped. She wouldn't dare.

“Oh thats a shame you're more than welcome to talk about it, I'm Brad by the way”

“Lee-Lucy! I’m Lucy”

“You're mine is what you are.” Penny walked over to her and ran his fingers roughy along his mark on her neck. Leech swatted him away.

“So tell me dear Lucy, why would this guy of your’s ever want to make you upset? If you were my girl I would treat you like a princess”

Leech shot Penny another look that said “See? A princess!” Pennywise glared at her more.

“Well, it started as a practical joke gone wrong. Now its more about how he's being a selfish  asshole”

“Well you're very cute a girl like you shouldn't have to put up with that”

“You think I'm attractive?” Leech laughed in surprise. Pennywise was fuming. “Huh I rarely ever hear that these days.” Leech looked directly into the clowns eyes.

“Absolutely, I have a thing for girls like yourself.” he chuckled and took a step closer to her. Wrong move buddy.

“Well um thanks…..don't think you'd like the real me though”

“What are you getting at Leech” Penny snarled.

Brad took her hand and Leech saw the clown twitch. “Nonsense. That guy of your’s doesn't know how lucky he is to have you.” this poor sweet boy is a walking corpse at this point. Brad leaned in while stared at Leech’s lips as if asking to kiss her.

“Dont even think about it” Pennywise’s eyes were blood red.

“Well thank you for the kind words” Leech turned away. Maybe she took this too far. She saw Penny struggling to hold his clown form together his face beginning to split. The human grabbed her chin to turn her face back to him and she glared. Ok buddy you've overstayed your welcome.  Leech looked over to Penny and winked the clown narrowed his eyes. Suddenly Brad began to kiss her and the vampire snarled with rage, she bit clear through his lip sucking in the sweet blood. Brad screamed and staggered back. Leech laughed removing her wig to free her large bat like ears, she let her front fangs extend and brought her long red tongue out to lick up the blood on her chin. Pennywise hid the small half smile that threatened to break through his scowl. He did love to watch her work after all. Brad screamed in terror and disgust “Whats the matter baby? Thought you said I was beautiful.” she laughed as Pennywise made him self visible behind her the clown was still twitching a bit. “Hiya Brad!”

“What the fuck is that! What the fuck are you?”

“This is that boyfriend I was talking about dear. He’s not very happy about what you did. Neither am I.”

“That thing? You're dating that thing?”

Pennywise grunted.

“He's a clown not a thing Brad, and yes I love him… even when he's being a jerk” she elbowed Penny hard and he elbowed her back with a huff.

“You're still not letting that go are you?” the clown side eyed her.

“No Penny I’m not, you can either swallow your pride and apologize or let me eat this guy and leave”

“Wait eat me?!”

Pennywise growled at his vampire “Don't interrupt Brad. And I have nothing to be sorry for, you're the one letting some filthy human touch you.”

“For the record I didn't want the kiss that was our friend taking it a bit too far. But you deserve it anyway after the way you’ve been acting. Biting me, lighting me on fire, all because I said someone else scared me one time? You have some serious jealousy issues.”

“Wow I’ll say”

“Shut up Brad!” Leech hissed “You could at least start with an apology Pen, but instead you just act like what you did was perfectly justified. PLUS at least the human can give me a compliment every now and then you selfish prick!”

Penny turned to growl at her more but the frantic shuffling of fleeing feet drew his attention away. He snarled at the direction of the running human and turned to Leech “I’ll be back for you.”

“Go ahead I'm still not going to talk to you until you say you're sorry though!” The nosferatu yelled.

The clown glared and vanished. When she was finally alone Leech let out a roar in frustration. Fucking egotistical inter-dimensional clown. She cried by herself for a bit the weather becoming dark and stormy as a result. The vampire left her tears in the dirt and started to head home unaware of her clown watching her silently from the shadows. He hated seeing her upset and he knew was the one who caused it. He held up Brads detached head “Ok maybe you're both right I’ve been a bit of a “jerk” lately.” he made the head nod in agreement. “Shall I try getting her back then, my way?” the head nodded no. “You would say that Brad….you stole your taste and look where that got you hmm? I'm not giving in to her little apology game.” he turned the head to look at him “Yes I know I miss her terribly. Is that what you want to hear? You're dead I don't have to listen to you” Penny tossed the head behind him and ended his macabre one sided puppet show. The clown sunk into the shadows to plan.

--------------------------------------------

I headcannon Penny talking to his victims when he’s bored. Just having weird one sided convos with corpses. Also fun fact one of the horror movies that messed me up when I was a youth was Halloween. It didn't fuck me up as bad as Nightmare on Elm ST did but it fucked me up pretty good. Ironically Nightmare became one of my all time favorites but Halloween never really caught on for me. Just not a big fan of the silent killers beyond Leatherface I guess. Next chapter is gonna get FUN.

[prettyfunkyunorganized]

Daughter Series - Monster Hunter McCree AU

Maybe it’s rather silly of me to write an AU with a character I’ve only recently introduced, but this was a lot of fun to write! No regrets :) 

This is inspired by McCree and Reaper’s Halloween skins from this year that I loved. Ended up being 3,600ish words. Put a break in the middle. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

More Daughter Series:  Hanzo, McCree, Reaper, Soldier 76, Genji, Roadhog

Halloween Daughter Series: Roadhog, McCree, Genji, Reaper

After years of trailing, searching, and tracking, McCree felt as if he was finally closing in on his prey. Or perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Again. He had this feeling back in Liverpool and before that in New York, but nothing had come of it. Reaper continued to elude him, over and over.

“Damn vampire piece of shit,” the hunter hissed, rolling another cigarette. “I chased him all the way back home to the US just to turn right around and head back to this rainy shit hole.” London always made him cranky. He took a long drag and rubbed his temple. “There was another drained body here this morning,” McCree assured himself, “he must be close. He must be.”

He pulled his long coat tighter around his cold shoulders with a sigh, watching and listening. It was dark, but his highly trained eyes had no trouble scanning the streets. All he needed was a flash of movement, something darting by too fast, a rustle in the darkness – any sort of sign. He was getting restless. He needed a chase. Some action.

“Come on,” he growled after an hour of roaming with eyes peeled, “where are you?!”

There was a rustling sound behind him, and McCree grinned. He whipped out his gun, swiveled on his heels, and fired a bevy of shots at the figure. Then he realized the silhouette was too small to be Reaper’s. His stomach dropped as the body fell to the ground with a whimper. He’d always been too hasty, his mentors had told him that a thousand times. “One of these days you’re going to put a bullet in something that doesn’t deserve one!” He’d finally done it - to something in a tattered blue dress and a thin cloak.

“Oh God,” he sputtered kneeling beside her. “Miss? Miss?! Are you alright? Ah shit, please don’t be dead! Imma get you some help, ya hear? Just hold on!”

She grabbed his arm as he tried to stand up, pulling him back. She was strong. Too strong. There was another one of his bad habits biting him in the ass: he was too gullible when it came to women. “One of these days you’re going to let something bat a pair of pretty lashes at you and slit your throat.” His mentors were right again. Mostly. He saw her sickly red eyes and pointed teeth just before she lunged.

Much to McCree’s surprise, he awoke. Sore and confused, but alive. Wherever he was, it was dark and musty, making his nose crinkle at the mildewy smell. Dust coated his cheek as he sat up from the cold wooden floor.

“Son of a bitch,” he whined quietly, rubbing the bump on his head, “where did that little monster drag me? And where the hell is my hat?”

A low, sneering chuckle hit his ears as his hat drifted into the light, swaying back and forth teasingly. He recognized that pitch black glove and the elegant red cuff surrounding it.

“Reaper,” the hunter snarled, “not like you to let a little girl do your dirty work.”

The vampire laughed again, sauntering into the light. “What can I say – I wanted to test my new fledgling. And my, my did she impress! Pretty thing hauled your unconscious body back here less than an hour after I sent her out.” He sat down on a fraying velvet couch in front of McCree, lounging as if he didn’t have a care in the world after tossing the hunter’s hat flippantly to the side. “I will have to give her quite the reward.”  

“You gonna feed her a baby or something,” grumbled McCree as he traced his fingers across his belt. His gun was gone, his crossbow was gone, the sharpened stakes were gone. Even the dagger in his boot had been taken.  

“A baby,” Reaper scoffed, “that’s hardly a meal for a growing girl. I was thinking something a little more . . . personal.” His voice was suddenly sultry, and McCree instantly recoiled in disgust.

“That was very rude,” his captor scolded, “you’ll damage the girl’s pride! The way I hear it, you’re quite the Don Juan, but just rumors I suppose.”

“Oh I do just fine with the ladies, and I don’t even have to kill ‘em or hypnotize ‘em to do it,” McCree barked back. “Probably has something to do with the fact that I don’t wear a menacing mask or eat people.”

“Says the man with spurs and silver-tipped spikes on his metal arm. Glad you found a replacement, by the way – makes you a much more worthy adversary. More fun to toy with.”

“Or you could have not torn it off in the first place,” McCree fumed.

“Where’s the fun in that,” Reaper said swinging his legs onto the floor. The satin lining of his long overcoat glimmered in the candlelight – red and smooth and somehow ominous. His blood would glint like that when the beast finally got around to killing him.

“You are having fun, aren’t you,” the hunter asked sarcastically. “How much longer are you going to drag this out? There’s a lot of other shit I could be getting done right now.”

Reaper snorted. “Like what? For over a decade all you’ve been doing, day in and day out, is searching for me.” He stood and walked to McCree, stopping inches away from him. The hunter tried to lean away, but the vampire grabbed his chin and pulled him closer. “I am all you care about. I am all you think of. I am all you want, aren’t I?”

“No,” McCree automatically objected, but he could feel his face go hot. The truth in those words stung.

“Tell me the truth,” Reaper’s voice boomed. McCree’s vision went bleary as the overwhelming power of the elder vampire crawled its way into his mind. He had to obey, despite all the training he’d endured. Reaper was too old, too skilled.

“Yes,” the hunter admitted breathlessly.

“Say it,” Reaper demanded smugly.

“All I want is to kill you.” His own voice echoed in his head, bouncing about and rattling all the shame out of its hiding spots.

“You don’t even care about your order’s mission anymore, do you? ‘To seek all evil, to destroy all beasts, to protect all humanity.’ You could have killed a hundred of my kind in the past ten odd years, but no, you always come scampering back to me. Isn’t that right, Master Hunter?”

“Yes.” He hadn’t checked in with his superiors in ages. When they didn’t support his obsession, McCree branched out on his own.

“Tell me, boy, are you happy, chasing me all over the world always one step behind?”

“No.”

“Does anything make you happy?”

“The thought of killing you.”

“But of course,” Reaper sighed. “How predictable. You haven’t thought this through, though, my American friend.” The vampire kneeled down, the pointed edges of his mask much too close to the hunter’s face. “If you kill me,” he continued, “you’ll have nothing left! No prey, no purpose, nothing.”

The realization hit him like a punch in the gut. Damned bloodsucker was right, completely and utterly right.

“Judging by the paleness of your skin and the thumping of your heart, you know I’m correct, don’t you, McCree?” His kidnapper sounded so smug it hurt, but at least he was pleased enough to release his captive from the mind control.

The hunter was left reeling. It felt like some sort of awful combination of a hangover and a migraine was hammering into his skull. He sat there on the floor, curled over and panting as Reaper’s words seeped into his bones, filling him with dread and humiliation. He’d let this thing take over his life. He used to be a man – maybe not a good man – but a man with his own goals and desires and ambitions. Now? Now he was a plaything. A puppet for a fanged freak.

“Aw, poor little hunter,” Reaper cooed cruelly, “someone tear down your whole world?”

McCree glared up at him. “Fuck you.”

The vampire burst out laughing, his entire figure shaking with twisted joy. “You are a delight! All full of useless bluster and pathetic angst. And I’m not even finished yet! I’ve one more surprise for you ‘partner.’”

Hearing the old, undead man fake a Southern accent was strangely unsettling. A shiver ran up the hunter’s spine. “Oh goodie,” McCree mumbled, trying to be tough. He sure didn’t’ feel that way.

“One more question, then your treat,” Reaper promised like he was talking to a dog. “Answer me this: do you have any hope left? Any at all? You’ve failed to kill me, even after all this time, and now you know if you kill me, your life is pointless. Seems rather hopeless to me.”

“What does it matter,” McCree said with an angry huff.

“I told you to answer me.” Reaper rose from his bended knee, undoubtedly glaring down at his captive. “Do you want me to put you under again?”

He did not want that. Christ almighty he didn’t want that! His head was still throbbing.

Before he could come up with a witty reply, McCree was buckling over and writhing in pain. Evidently, Reaper had no patience. As the kidnapper man screamed and twitched on the ground, the question blared in his ears. “Do you have any hope? Any at all?” It was like a massive gong, sending agonizing vibrations into every fiber of his being.

“For fuck’s sake, no! I don’t have any hope,” McCree all but sobbed. “None! I don’t have a single fucking thing to live for anymore! Nothing!”

And the pain was gone, leaving the hunter in a panting, sweaty pile. He’d given in so fast. He disgusted himself.

“Not a ‘single fucking thing to live for,’ you say,” Reaper mused. “Wonderful!”

McCree wanted to smack the smarmy vampire right out of his fancy boots, but what good would it do? Reaper would probably just laugh at him, call him ‘cute,’ or some shit. The hunter had been defeated, once and for all. He was empty and ready to die, even if it was at the hands of this monstrosity.

“Chin up, cowboy,” Reaper sang, “time for your reward! A little something to perk you back up, now that you’re at your lowest.” He picked McCree up by his neck effortlessly, forcing the man to his feet. “My lovely little fledgling, time to come out!”

The girl that had attacked him tentatively stepped into view, head bowed and hands trembling. She looked disheveled, especially next to her master. Her clothing was torn in a number of places and her shawl was hanging on by threads. The shoes covering her feet had visible holes, and dirt smears were splattered all over her body. It would have been depressing if not for the blood on her chest and arms. McCree scowled at her. Her fingers were still stained red from her last sloppy feeding.

“Eyes forward, my dear, you are a fearsome creature of the night! Act like it,” Reaper said waving the young woman closer.

She tilted her head up when told revealing high cheekbones and deep-set eyes. Her hair was matted with dried sinew and what seemed like weeks of inattention. McCree should have found her repulsive, sickening, but she looked so . . . scared. Her red eyes darted between the hunter and Reaper as her slender figure twitched erratically. Something was wrong with her.

Reaper wrapped his arm around his prisoner as if they were longtime friends, speaking in a chipper tone unbefitting of someone who burned villages out of boredom. “Master Hunter Jesse McCree, venerated member of the murderous Van Helsing Order, I would like you to meet your daughter, Juniper.”

McCree’s head flinched back, shooting Reaper a confused look. The vampire just laughed. “Don’t believe me,” he asked smugly. “Just picture the little dear with brown eyes the same color as yours, and that long brown hair tied back in a ribbon, just like yours. Not seeing it yet?”

He could see the resemblance, but the denial was still holding on tightly.

The vampire let out an exasperated moan, “Fine then, look at the freckles. Remind you of anyone? Perhaps a certain redheaded innkeeper’s daughter? From your homeland? One who liked to tell tales about the local history and ‘The Great Werewolf Hoard?’ Ringing any bells?”

“Ho fuck,” the hunter gulped before he could stop himself. He remembered that woman – her stories, her kind smile, her nose. This frightened newborn vampire had that same nose.

With an almost deafening laugh, Reaper shook the hunter’s shoulders like he’d just delivered a hilarious punchline. “You should see the look on your unshaven mug! All of a sudden all the work I’ve put into this reunion is worth all the trouble,” the masked man sighed contentedly. “She’s a cute little beastie, isn’t she?”

“She’s a monster,” McCree said quietly, trying to convince himself as much as Reaper. “Whatever she was before, now she’s just one more creature I gotta put down.”

“Oh,” the elder vampire said finally removing his arm from McCree, “is that so?” His mischievous tone made the other’s man’s stomach flop. “You don’t feel anything for her? No regret? No sympathy? No tenderness?”

“No,” the hunter grunted uncomfortably.

Reaper hummed curiously before shrugging and grabbing the young woman’s wrist. The girl’s eyes widened and she let out a pitiful noise as her master pulled her into a headlock. “I suppose if I can’t torture you with her, Juniper here has no use.” With an overly dramatic flourish, the undead man produced a wooden stake and threw his arm back, ready to strike. His fist came barreling toward her chest.

“Don’t!” McCree’s hands grabbed Reaper’s a fraction of a second before the mahogany pierced Juniper’s heart. The hunter had never been so terrified in all his life. He didn’t want to watch her die. He should have wanted to kill her, but he didn’t. Couldn’t.

“That’s what I thought,” Reaper crooned in a voice so low it could rattle a man’s innards. “We’ve been doing this dance a long time, master hunter, and I believe I’ve come to know you quite well. You’re a simple man with simple desires – so simple it’s a bit sad. You want love, McCree, plain and simple. That’s why you’re always so good to women you woo, why you always give your last few coppers to the gutter-rat children in the streets, why you spend your evenings happily listening to old men in bars blather about their past. And here’s your chance!” He let Juniper out from under his grasp, instead holding her by the waist, their bodies pressed together at the hip. “You have a child, McCree! A girl, at that! Someone to dote upon and dress in frills. Someone who will look up to you and hold you tight. Your very own family, small, but pure.”

The vampire’s gloved fingers began to snake up Juniper’s torso, massaging her tender flesh. She stood there, letting him do it, but stared at the hunter, desperately. Rage began to boil in the hunter’s core. Reaper’s hand groped the young woman’s breasts.

“You have a daughter, McCree, and she’s all mine!”

“You fucking – ” He lunged at the creature, knowing it was futile, but he didn’t care. If it meant the bastard stopped touching Juniper, it was worth it, but the hunter’s stolen gun was suddenly pointed right between his eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah, my boy! Not so fast.” Reaper turned the gun to press against the young woman’s ear. “Violence begets violence, you know.”

McCree took a step back, arms in the air. “What do you want from me,” he spat.

“There is only one more thing you can give me, old friend,” the vampire said nuzzling Juniper’s neck. “I’ve broken you down until you were all but begging for death, and now I’ve given you something to live for – all that’s left is letting your precious daughter feast on your blood. I’ve hardly fed the poor dear since I turned her, so she’s famished!” He smacked her ass, pushing her toward McCree. “Kill him, my dear. Feast on him! Sink those pointy fangs into his neck and drink your fill!”

She slowly closed the distance between them and fell to her knees in front of McCree. Her body was shaking more violently now. He wanted to hold her close and wrap his coat around her. Even with her teeth bared, the hunter didn’t feel an ounce of fear.

“It’s going to be okay,” he whispered to her, “I promise.” Reaper chuckled.

Juniper moved closer, her nose nearing his jugular. She was a young vampire, but plenty fast. He didn’t see her hand as it moved to his neck.

“Don’t look down,” she mouthed at him and he frowned for just a moment, then he felt her slip something into his hand. He knew that shape, that smoothed edge. A silver-tipped stake.

“Help me,” she whimpered almost inaudibly, “I can’t keep resistin’ much longer. He’s – he’s in my head!” Tears spilled down her cheeks, filling McCree with a determination he’d never known the likes of.

“What’s the holdup, Juniper? I know you’re a ‘hick’, but surely someone taught you to not to play with your food,” Reaper joked.

McCree looked at him and scowled. “I need your help, baby girl,” he murmured back to his daughter.

“What was that,” the elder creature hissed, flying to McCree’s side, grabbing him by his long hair and yanking his head back. “Enough sniveling, Juniper, kill him, now!”

She cringed and gripped her forehead, yelping and quivering in pain, but she was strong, like her father. With an inhuman snarl, Juniper tackled Reaper to the ground, pinning him in place before he could react. McCree scrambled to his feet, weapon at the ready. With one practiced movement, he stabbed Reaper in her chest, making the vampire screech and squirm.

He was hurt, but far from dead. He whipped his arm from under Juniper and punched her in the throat, making her crumble to the floor. McCree clenched his silver metal fist and pummeled Reaper again and again and again. Until his mask broke and the hunter hesitated at the sight of the mangled face below him – all gnashing teeth and ashen skin and a too long tongue that lashed out like a spear.

McCree may not have been frozen in place for long, but it was long enough. Reaper pounced, stake still stuck insinde of him, but this time he was on top, grinning and dripping saliva on the hunter’s stunned face.

“I’m going to bleed you dry, feed the meat from your corpse to my dogs, and grind your bones with my bare hands!” He leaned in closer, licking the sweat from McCree’s brow. “Then I’m going to chain up your ‘baby girl’ and do every filthy thing I can think of to her supple little – ”

There was a blast and Reaper was tossed off of the hunter. The vampire’s body was still. McCree was panting, waiting for the beast to get up and chuckle, but he didn’t.

“Is,” Juniper rasped shakily, “is he dead?”

The hunter turned to Juniper, who was still holding his pistol in her shaking hands. It was covered in silver adornments, and McCree could smell his daughter’s burning skin. He jumped to his feet and started to pry the gun from her hands.

“No,” he said frantically. “I’ve shot him before – it just slows him down.” He began to wrap up her hands with a bandage from his pocket. “We have to get you away from him. We’ll get on a ship and just keep sailing, okay? I’ll keep you safe, alright?”

When he looked back to Juniper, he saw her staring at him with a dazed look. “You’re bleeding,” she said, swallowing hard. “From yer head. I can smell it. I can feel it.” Her chest heaved as her eyes dilated. “I’m so hungry,” she wailed.

He grabbed her wrists as they approached him. “Easy there, sweetpea, I can’t help ya if I’m dead.” She whined, but nodded. “Can you, uh,” he said eyeing Reaper, “feed on him?”

She leaned over and bit her lip. “Maybe.”

In the time it took him to blink, Juniper was crawling over her master’s body, mouth affixed to his wrist. She made a disgusted face, but didn’t stop until her body stopped shaking.

“Better,” McCree asked as she stood.

“You ever vomit in your mouth and have to gulp it back down,” she grumbled. “It was like that.”

He grimaced. “I’m sorry, hun. We’ll figure something out for next time.”

“Next time,” she said wrapping her arms around herself. “There’s gonna to be a next time.”

“We’ll find a way,” McCree said blocking her view of Reaper’s mangled form. “I dunno how, but I’m gonna take care of you, ya hear?”

��I didn’t want to be like this,” she sputtered at him, “he just found me and dragged me away and – ” Her hands clamped over her trembling lips.

“I believe you,” he said grabbing her arms. So damn cold. “It’s not your fault.”

She looked up to him with teary eyes and slowly leaned into his chest, crying softly into him. He held her close and rubbed her back.

“I’ve got ya, baby girl, I’ve got ya.” He didn’t know how, but he was going to protect his daughter, no matter what she was. She was scared and hurt and confused, but she wouldn’t be alone. Neither of them would be anymore.  

[ursafilms]

Jedi Knight and Homicide

In 1996, LucasArts and Steve Dauterman called again. Did I have any interest in producing Jedi Knight? A more complex videogame requiring a lot more actors and ones that would actually have to be able to act and not just ensconce themselves in a rib-crushing costume or rocket seat the size of basic coach as they had in Rebel Assault II, my previous effort for George Lucas.

Me: "Uh, yes?"

Steve: "How soon can you get here?"

I arrived at LucasArts, just as Dauterman hung up the phone. 

He handed me the cut-scene storyboards. They showed Aliens requiring original design, set pieces needing original construction, and wardrobe not currently in the Lucasfilm Museum. We had cannibalized the company’s museum for its stock of costumes from the Star Wars canon for Rebel Assault II. That first game also needed no Aliens.

All these tasks in the previous paragraph translates to a real job. At Lucas this meant I’d have to be blessed by George since a lot of the art direction, costumes, and other visuals would be original and not stock. This would entail me meeting George . . . at Skywalker Ranch . . . in his office.

And more than the time I’d spent in the business being embarrassed in public by the topflight commercial directors of the 80’s, or my own personal Nightmare Before Christmas with Tim Burton and the coffee maker, or even having to ‘handle’ the likes of Carol Channing, Sammy Davis Jr., and Bill Cosby (Jell-O pudding. Mmm. Mmm. Good.) nothing could have prepared me for actually sitting down to get vetted by George Lucas.

The closest experience to professional fear I could remember was being cut right away, more than once, by Michael Bennett during auditions for Chorus Line. Or, having to sing ‘Blue Skies’ acapella for Bob Fosse. Or, maybe it was the time one of the ensemble dancers in Hello Dolly picked up a napkin as opposed to a tablecloth during the waiter’s ballet. But that’s another book.

After a coin flip, I’d have to say the knee-knocking of my illustrious dance career came closest.And like most things in life, the anticipation exceeded the actual event. Not the part about meeting the man who changed filmmaking forever, but the fear factor. George Lucas could not have been nicer. I don’t recall a lot of the conversation. He did ask me about my work on Nightmare and, of course, on Rebel Assault II. 

George impressed upon me the same things he probably imparted to everyone who worked on Star Wars franchise projects. Consistency with the mythology (For lack of a better term) was most important. The archetypes of bad guys. Wardrobe choices for good guys, particularly those of the Rebellion. Color palettes for certain planets depending on their ‘role’ in the video. Found him to be soft-spoken and genuine. And, again, though I don’t remember much, I will never, ever forget that meeting, which took place at Skywalker Ranch in West Marin. I walked into the antebellum house that served as his office and sat with him and looked out over the beautifully manicured landscape through the bay window in front of the house.If not for the fact that he looked like an Ewok during this Heavy-Facial-Hair-Period of his life, I’d have passed out. I just kept imagining him as a little furball, per Harrison Ford. It made me exhale enough to not hyperventilate.

****

Jedi Knight inflicted one of the most dreaded departments in the history of filmmaking on me.Wardrobe, which is part of the Vanities Department. If I could have dressed and made up actors all by myself, I would have. Nothing gave me more understanding of serial killers than having to deal with the collection of Macy’s make-up floor rejects that passed themselves off as hair stylists, two-legged cosmetic applicators, and the worst of them, costume or wardrobe designers.

I’d much rather deal with Directors of Photography on their overloading of lens orders than have to discuss fabric textures with these recent escapees from the Lord & Taylor couture department. 

We cast a very trim and beautiful woman for the female bad guy on Jedi Knight. As I sat in the costume shop at Lucas, cleaning my .38, I was subjected to the following from some Coco Chanel wannabe as she did her level best to hide the actress’ well-toned figure.

Coco: “I think it should have a soft drape. Perhaps tulle?

Me: “Something used for ballerinas ain’t a great idea for an evil FEMALE Sith Lord.”

Coco: “Really? And what did you have in mind, Mister Producer?”

Me: “Given her figure and her role, how about Vampire chic?”

At this time the use of the bloodsuckers for reference in films and TV shows was not a microwaved concept. True Blood hadn’t arrived to tantalize us with its brilliant dialogue and ridiculous concept of somewhat benign predators purchasing a house in a quiet suburban neighborhood.

Dimbulb Neighbor Wife: “Honey, look there’s a new family of vampires moving in next door. I should take something over.”

Dimbulb Neighbor Husband: “That’s nice. There’s still some type O in the freezer from the last vampire family. Where did they move to by the way?”

Dimbulb Neighbor Wife: “The Arteri clan? I think they went back to Italy.”

Dimbulb Neighbor Husband: “Okay. Take the leftovers, and if you never come back, I’ll wait for your metamorphosis and then you can come home and feed off me for an eternity.”

Dimbulb Neighbor Wife: “Oh that would be lovely.”

As an aside, when my good friend, Dan Ogawa, got hitched I attended the wedding. He put me at a table of production professionals, but since they all worked for public television, it put me in the difficult position of carrying on a conversation, especially after the wife of one of the guests postulated DIVERSITY as the overarching concept of True Blood.

Me: “Is that right? From what I can tell, the cast had just finished a series of L’Oreal commercials. So does the diversity of True Blood lay in the difference between a nine and a ten?”

If not for the presence of a justice of the peace and Dan’s elderly parents, a wedding cake food fight might have ensued. After Lee kicked me under the table several hundred times, I relegated my comments to oohing and aahing over the DIVERSITY of True Blood. 

However, had I known that Dan would be divorced within two years I’d have stood on my chair and castigated the politically correct twit for daring to virtue signal at my table.

****

But back to the Coco Clone, the head of the Vanities Department for Jedi Knight. She had drawn a line in the sand over her wardrobe choice for evil female Sith Lord.

Coco: “I think the actress playing Sariss will be able to perform admirably in tulle.”

Me: “I’m sure, but I’ve got a market of teenage boys whose hormone levels are in the red zone 24 hours a day. If I put her in tulle, sales will drop by millions. I guarantee it.”

Coco: “I don’t think we should get hung up on stereotypes.”

Me: “No one is stereotyping Sariss. The actress is a workout freak. She’s cultivated that body for jobs like this. So, let’s get to work on spray-painting some black spandex on her shapely behind and move onto one of the guys.”

Coco was about to accuse me of some heinously stupid crime of sexism, but before she could the marketing department of LucasArts lined up behind me, as did the director, and Steve Dauterman. The marketing department and Steve had financial success and hormone clanging male customers motivating them. The director would have preferred that Sariss perform the entire game naked, but spandex provided the next best glimpse.

All I wanted to do was move onto the rest of the 14 leads that required specialty wardrobe, which we did after agreeing that Sariss needed to having nothing between her and her catsuit.The other attractive female in the cast played the Princess Leia knockoff role, so that limited the controversy to what shade of white battle ensemble we needed to squeeze her into. The male parts, a collection of good and bad guys occupied the rest of the meeting.

Coco, however, kept gravitating towards her Marin County roots, which consisted of channeling ideas germinated from Woodstock. If she hadn’t been a Lucas employee, I’d have bounced her right off of Skywalker Ranch.

Me: “No. Tie-dye is a bad fit, unless we’re in Mos Eisley, which we are not.”

Coco: “Mos’ what?”

Me: “Are you f$#king kidding me? How did you get his job?” 

Coco: “I’ll have you know—”

Me: “Don’t want to hear about it. It probably involves a wet—”

Dauterman: “Okay, let’s move on.”

So I did.

Me: “Colors in a darker palette for the bad guys. Lighter palette for the good guys. Don’t know how much clearer I can be. I can’t put Sariss’ consort in hippie-wear. This game is about a war between these two factions. The concept is military. I need form-fitting outfits that are just loose enough to allow for quick movements. The fight choreographer is on this job for every shoot day for good reason.”

I got my way, but discussions like this, now a regular occurrence on any job with a Vanities Department exhausted me. More than most, I appreciated a well-developed POV on creative matters. Missing the concept, or letting your ego sidetrack a project is crippling.

****

Jedi Knight needed so many stellar resources that I opted to shoot in Los Angeles. Kooktown, USA (That’s San Francisco, for those of you reading this as your first excerpt.) just doesn’t have the talent level to pull it off. On many levels, a great call on my part. On just a handful, a stomach acid producing one. 

First up for indigestion, studio space. While an abundance of it occupied much of southern California, stage owners and managers have a tendency to look at out of town productions as a way of boosting their profit margins from 1% to 50%. 

The local production manager, Beth, toured dozens of stages before taking me out to look at three prime candidates, and after a negotiation that consisted of lowering expectations of the rapacious owners, we settled on Hayvenhurst Studios, a home to early TV and film westerns. It still had the sheriff’s office building, replete with hitching post and horse trough, which it used as an office. Beth and I moseyed on inside the office. First order of business? Getting the deal in writing to avoid any surprises on the back end. Guaranteed, if a stage contract doesn’t include everything down to paper products, the invoice will have a charge for toilet paper higher than the entire Lighting and Grip cost.

Beth: “$1200 for load-in. $1500 for Pre-Light and Shoot. $1200 for strike.”

Sheriff Hayvenhurst: “Rate card is $1750 for—”

Beth: “Don’t care what rate card is. $1200 for load-in. $1500 for Pre-Light and Shoot. $1200 for strike.”

Deputy Hayvenhurst: “Next item.”

Beth: “Grip and Electric package as listed in the stage’s package is $500/Day flat. Items not listed are a la carte, but must be approved prior to use by me or George.”

Sheriff: “Rate card is $800—”

Beth: “Don’t care what rate card is. Grip and Electric package as listed in the stage’s package is $500/Day flat. Items not listed are a la carte, but must be approved prior to use by me or George.”

This went on for another hour. By the time we had moseyed out of the Sheriff’s office, Beth had a signed contract that fit within the confines of our budget. Eternal vigilance would be required for the duration of the job, since any crack of fiscal daylight a vendor in the film industry can find would be exploited to the point of financial ruin for producers. 

We moved into the studio on a Monday for the build and pre-light day. 

This is what greeted us on the main wall of the cyc. (See Below)

Here’s the view of the left and right side walls of the cyc. (See Below)

And here’s the floor. (See Below)

Beth George stopped everyone just inside the studio. She had a look on her face that would have scared the Gestapo out of Poland.

Beth: “Nobody f$%king move.”

We all froze, including Jason Chin, the game supervisor from Lucas, who had a thousand pound desktop computer under each arm. Nick No Last Name, the prop department intern who talked me into working on the project, started giggling like a fourteen-year-old at a Jon Bon Jovi concert, didn’t stop walking and found himself face down on the floor. Beth had him in a hammer lock.

Beth: “No one walks on that floor without these.”

She stuffed a pair of the dreaded clean room booties into Nick’s mouth. The poor guy, so traumatized by his first encounter with an experienced P.M., did not wear regular shoes for a month after the job finished. I went back to visit him at his regular job at Kinko’s and when I heard the shuffling noise emanating from the supply closet, I knew he still wore the accursed footwear.

I hate booties. I also hate clean room masks, coats, gloves, and pants. Add hardhats to the list, along with steel-toed boots. Over the years the enthusiastic Safety Overlords, have trussed film crews up in every capability killer imaginable. It only took one job in one high-tech chip manufacturing facility to make me swear off entering any similar business. 

Oh, I’d take the job, but only at the point of gun would I ever slide one of those dopey white jumpsuits over my clothes. Not after seeing the employees walk in to these supposed sterile environments carrying a Sloppy Joe lunch and smoking black cigarettes.

But Beth would not be denied. We all changed our shoes. Oddly, production and folks on flat rates put them on so quickly we went back in time. The hourly hires took most of the morning to do the same thing which neutralized any positive use of the clock. 

And there we stood, surrounded by . . . (See Below)

Me: “I really like what we’ve done with the place.”

****

For two weeks, I lived at the Van Nuys Best Western. I endured about a dozen shooting days of one way conversations with my deaf DP, but the absolute soul-crushing interactions continued with the, ahem, Vanities Department. See the short list to follow.

1. Coco and her colleague, Igor, both of whom were forced hires because they were Lucas employees, delivered a grand total of Zero of the 14 principal wardrobe pieces on time, which was the aforementioned Monday build and pre-light. We were supposed to do the fitting that day as well. More on that to come. 

Early on I clearly told them I would NOT be taking them to southern California for the shoot and was assured everything would be finished in time for me to ship and/or drive said wardrobe for the first shoot day. The first people that greeted me at the hotel? Coco and Igor. They had just finished dinner and wanted to know about per diem. Me: “F$%K off.” 2. The efficiencies of Coco and Igor necessitated the hiring of a full-time seamstress to both finish and adjust the wardrobe. I had just added a seamstress and her assistant to my Vanities Department, in addition to the two incompetent Lucas employees who decided NOT to deliver the wardrobe when they said they would. With Prosthetics, I now had ten people in Vanities.

And I needed two fittings. Not one. Two. And in the interest of elucidation, I had ONE WARDROBE PER ACTOR. Not two. ONE. 

And why did I need more than one fitting? 

I’ll tell ya.

Despite the theoretical calculus employed by the Vanities Department our lead bad guy looked like someone had taken half of Siegfried’s costume and half of Roy’s and sewn them together in an ugly Yin/Yang combination the size of Totie Fields. His henchman, a part-time bouncer for the southern California mob, took a gander at his getup in the mirror after his fitting. He called Billy Barty and joined The Lollipop Guild. Coco and Igor looked the two actors over.

Coco: “Looks like we were slightly off in our measurements.”

Me: “If you try and put Sariss in tulle, you’re leaving Southern California in a body bag.”

The last time I heard someone say they were slightly off in their measurements, an actor took a joy ride through Central Park while tethered to a medieval catapult launcher, also called a flying rig. Images of Coco and Igor landing in the Loeb Boathouse Lake, as the aforementioned performer had, drifted delightfully through my head. Also, holding them underwater for several hours made me giddy.

Me: “Would you like another fitting? My current record is two unnecessary fittings per outfit, and there is a personal best is in my future. I can feel it.”

Coco: “I don’t see any other way.”

In order to avoid raiding petty cash for bail money, Beth and the director carried me out of the fitting room while I screamed, if memory serves, “I’ll tell you what else we could do. I could go back in time, and abso-f$&king-lutely refuse to hire any of the slugs that draw a paycheck signed by George Lucas.”

The job finished on-time, only $10,000 over budget, and without homicide.

[graysonpuzzle]

New Beginnings

Note: So this is something I wrote a long time ago and just edited. There is violence, bad language, mention of death, and some possibly upsetting things. If you choose to read it I hope you enjoy it! I also would really love some feed back! Thanks!

The Puzzle

CHAPTER ONE

__________________________

July 28th, 2000

“YOU ARE NOT LEAVING THIS HOUSE YOUNG LADY!” my grandfather yells from the end of the hallway.

“THE HELL I’M STAYING HERE!” I yell, packing my duffel with clothes and some of my favorite items.

I zip up the bag and throw on my brown leather jacket. My grandfather is too controlling, living and hunting wise. I throw the bag over my shoulder and speed walk down the hall. I’m 17 and I’ve been trapped hunting with this old man. Never having a good night sleep, rarely being home, having no friends and god, only ever talking to my grandpa and his creepy friends.

“Grayson Amorita, I’ll be damned if I let you out of my sight, especially after promising your mother and father-”

“Don’t you dare play that card, old man.” By now I can feel my cheeks heating up and my heart pumping faster. “Whenever I do something you don’t like, you bring them into it!”

“Grayson, I’m trying to do what they would have wanted” he says

“Oh yeah, I’m sure they wanted me out risking my life everyday hunting creatures that hide under kids beds!” I argue.

“Grayson I-”

“I’m sick and tired of this life! I want to be normal! For christs sake I’ve never even been to public school! I’ve never had any friends and forbid I even look at a boy!” I shout.

I march straight past him to the door and I swing it open a little too hard.

“Bye grandpa” I say, leaving him speechless and I walk out the front door.

November 2006

“So this is the part where you kill me?” the shapeshifter I’ve been hunting for the past 4 days asks.

“I’m afraid so,” I say. I lift my gun, finger on the trigger when he starts rambling.

“Haven’t you ever felt like a freak? I know I’m a monster in your eyes, but is it so bad that I want to try and be normal?” he asks.

“Well, for starters, normal people don’t shift their appearance and then murder families, ya know, because that’s sick,” I retort.

“Come on, that’s not as bad as what other people do,” he says.

“Well, here’s the thing, you’re not a person,” I say and shoot him, hitting him directly in the heart.

If only my grandpa could see me now, hunting by myself, HA! And he thought I wouldn’t be able to survive on my own. Just because he’s the master vampire slayer he thinks he’s the only one who can handle these supernatural sons of bitches. I mean sure, telling other hunters that I’m Daniel Elkins’ granddaughter does have a few perks, like they almost automatically are willing to help me. But, there’s always the downside. People will expect me to be as great as him. I’m still working on getting out of that shadow.

I pack everything up into the trunk of my giant scrap metal car. I don’t even know what kind of car this is, all I know is I got it from my grandpa’s friend out of his junkyard who said I could have it for free. I drive myself back to the motel I’ve been staying in and immediately throw myself on the bed.

I wake up the next morning with all my clothes on from last night. The clock on the nightstand says 1:00pm, great. I jump into the motel shower and get dressed for the day. I get my computer out and look for any possible hunts near by. One in particular stands out: “Four Teens Found Dead.” I read the whole article and it screams supernatural- vampires to be specific- all the kids were missing most of their blood, enough to kill them slowly. Well, if there’s one thing I know how to hunt, its bloodsuckers. Maybe my grandpa has worn off on me, but I think it might just be in my genes because I’ve loved hunting them since I can remember. Maybe because they’re sneaky bastards who kill people despite being people themselves once. I get my stuff together and drive to the town where the article originated, only a 45 minute drive.

I already have a plan: pretend to be a relative of one of the kids, get into the morgue and see the bodies, go to the scene where they were found, find a trail, follow it and kill the bitches.

I go to the only hospital in town and go straight to the morgue. I stop one of the doctors and give him my excuse.

“Well, I’m her cousin but I won’t be able to make it to the funeral.” I say

“Alright, just follow me, miss,” the doctor says. He takes me to the morgue and pulls out ‘my cousin's’ body.

“Do you mind if I have a moment alone with her?” I ask, faking borderline tears.

“Of course.” and he’s gone. I immediately pull the cover down to reveal her neck and there it is: two puncture wounds. I check the other three bodies and all the signs point to vampires.

I put on the best sad face I can muster up and walk out of the morgue and out of the hospital. I get in my car and the radio is blasting Kelly Clarkson’s Because of You. Not that it’s really a favorite, but I mean how can I not know the words? I sit in my car in the parking lot singing along.

“MY HEART CAN’T POSSIBLY BREAK WHEN IT WASN’T EVEN WHOLE TO START WITH!” I sing at the top of my lungs, well until two handsome fellows knock on my window, both trying to hold back smiles. Shit. Why are two guys knocking on my car in the first place?

I roll my window down and immediately put on a serious face, “can I help you?” I ask as if nothing happened 20 seconds ago.

“Yeah, we were wondering if you know anything about those four teenagers that died last night,” the one with long hair asks.

“No, not more than the news provided” I lie.

“Oh, ok thanks anyways” He says and they both walk into the hospital. Why do they care what happened? Hunters…nah.

I start the engine and make my way to the road the teenagers were found on. When I get there, the cops are blocking it off. ‘Don’t worry, Gray, just get in and get out’ I mentally prepare myself. The roads around here are surrounded by woods, so I adjust my gun in my belt and take off into the woods, far enough so I won’t be spotted, but close enough to see what’s going on. I make my way through to get close enough to the car, all windows are shattered and there’s no other evidence of vampires-at least not from here. I come out of the brush and hide behind the car, away from the cops who are by the caution tape about 20 feet away. I get in the backseat of the car and search for anything, then I spot it, a tooth, or a fang, or whatever the right term for a vampire’s second set of teeth is. I open the car door and dash back into the woods as fast as I can.

So, I don’t think the vampires would’ve followed the road, trying to be sneaky and all, so I double back down the road and go down one that parallels the one the cops are on. I pull over to the shoulder of the road, by some metal railings that block a slope down to the woods. I slide down that slope to find any tracks. I search for almost 30 minutes and find shit. No really, I stepped in deer poop. I decide to go to my car. I get back to the slope and I have to dig the toes of my shoes into the dirt so I can make it back up. As I climb over the railing I notice another set of holes in the dirt similar to mine. So they did go this way. I search the other side and there’s nothing. Guess they did use a road, but why walk through the woods then drive a car after a meal? A getaway plan or something? I get back in my car and get out the map of the town that I got earlier today. If I keep going down this road, it leads to a giant and abandoned farm. I guess I’m going there.

As I start my car, a sleek, black car pulls to the shoulder behind me. Damn. That really is a nice car. Chevelle? I guess I’ll ask when these two guys…these two guys, the same guys who knocked on my window at the hospital. Damn it, maybe the vamps found out I was following them and decided to switch it around. It’s so hard to find attractive guys that don’t have anything severely wrong with them. I get out of my car to meet them outside, gun ready in my belt.

I get out of my car and meet them halfway, and lean on the back of my car, “are you two following me?” I ask.

“No, we were heading this way and saw your car and didn’t know if you were having trouble” the one with short hair says.

“Well as sweet and creepy it is that you ‘happened’ to see me and offer me help, my car is perfectly fine, and no offense but I wouldn’t take car help from two sketchy guys who appear to be stalking me,” I say and rest my hands on my hips, closer to my gun.

“You know what’s funny is that we think you’re the sketchy one here” the tall one argues.

“Alright fine, let’s agree that we’re all sketchy and call it a night, huh?” I say and turn back to my car, then I heard a gun click. I turn back around to them to see both holding guns at me. I immediately pull out my gun and hold it to them in response.

“I didn’t know vampires were into carrying guns, did you Sammy?” the short one asks.

“Wait, what?” I ask, completely confused.

“We went to the hospital, they said a girl with your exact description went into the morgue, and you lied about knowing anything,” the short one explains.

I lower my gun, realizing instantly, “Oh god, I’m such an idiot. I’m a hunter, and apparently so are you two,” I say, “I’m working on the case with the four teenagers.”

They lower their guns as well and put them away. “So what do you have so far?” the short one asks.

“There’s tracks over there, but no sign of them on the other side of the road, so I think they took the road- it leads to a farm that nobody owns,” I say.

“Well, we’re going to look around in case you missed anything,” The short one says.

“Ok, good luck with that, I’ll be killing them while you search” I say.

“What? No, we should do this together, you can’t take out a whole nest by yourself” the big one says.

“I’m going to take your doubt in me as a challenge” I say and walk.

“Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed,” the short one argues.

“If you want me to stay with you, just say so,” I say folding my arms across my chest, looking at them with raised eyebrows and a little smirk.

“Let us look for a few minutes and we can go, together,” the tall one says.

“So, do either of you have names or will I have to call you ‘big one’ and ‘little one’?” I ask sarcastically.

“I’m Sam, and this is my brother, Dean” Sam says.

“Grayson,” I reply.

10 minutes later they come up with nothing.

“I told you,” I tease.

“Are you always this cocky?” Dean asks.

“No, only when people think I can’t do as well as them, and they end up being wrong” I say with a fake grin, referring to them having to ‘check’ if I got everything.

“Well aren’t you sweet,” Dean replies, a fake smile on his face.

“Alright, let’s go” Sam directs and we head towards the farm. There’s barely any light because the sun is setting behind all the trees.

When we get to the farm we all get out and I walk to them, “Maybe we should wait until tomorrow when we have daylight,” I suggest.

“Were already here, were armed, it can’t hurt to check,” Dean says.

“I don’t know Dean, she has a point, they have the advantage,” Sam adds.

“Oh, c’mon, nothing three hunters can’t handle,” Dean says and it’s the last thing I hear before my lights go out.

I wake up on the floor with my hands chained behind my back, in what looks like a basement. Those nasty bloodsuckers. I knew we should’ve waited. Sam and Dean are also chained, but both still out cold. Sam is closest to me so I kick his leg and he stirs a little.

“Sam! Sam wake up!” I whisper yell.

“What-what the”

“They got us while we were distracted,” I say, “But don’t worry, I have a plan.”

“What?”

“Well since were not chained to anything,” I start and feel for my gun-HA they didn’t take it- “I’m going to get up, walk up the stairs to the door and kill all of them, which will give you two some time to find our weapons and free anyone they might be keeping” I say, literally thinking of the plan as it came out of my mouth.

“Maybe Dean was right,” Sam says.

“About what?”

“You being crazy.”

“I’m not crazy, I’m ambitious,” I say and I get a small laugh out of him.

“Well, usually people’s ambitions don’t include risking your life when you don’t know what you’re up against”

“Well, how will I figure out what I’m up against if I don’t go up there and see?” I ask and Dean starts to wake up.

“Oh good, you’re up!” I say and proceed to tell him the plan I told Sam.

“Are you crazy?” He asks, again with the crazy.

“God, why do you both think I’m crazy? Wouldn’t you be willing to do the same thing?”

“Yeah, but going straight at them?” Dean asks.

“Go big or go home, right?” I say.

I stand up and lower my arms so I can step between them to get my hands to the front of my body. I walk up the basement stairs and knock on the door with a happy rhythm. The door opens and a rather small vampire is there giving me a puzzled expression.

“Hi there,” I say and yank him by the shirt, throwing him down the stairs. He fell all the way to the bottom. I shoot him with my gun and he just laughs.

“So stupid, guns dont hurt me!” He laughs.

“Yeah, but I heard dead man’s blood is poison to you, and that’s what I soaked my bullets in this morning.” I say and head back up the stairs.

The door is barely open, I peek through seeing no more vampires. Sam and Dean are coming up the stairs.

“I’ll shoot all of them, don’t move until I say so,” I order.

I walk through the door and I’m immediately tacked to the ground. I fall on my stomach but I manage to get on my back and kick the vampire back and shoot her right in the stomach. “Dead man’s blood,” I say, answering the question before it’s asked. I stand up and another one jumps on my back. I slam her into a wall, leaving a huge dent. I can’t shake her off, so I feel for her stomach and shoot her there. 3 down. No more come at me, so I go get Sam and Dean in the stairwell.

“Sam, go look for any people, Dean, go look for weapons, I can hold off anymore that come, If they follow you, lead them to me,” I direct and they go. It feels nice to have somebody trust me.

They both go the same way, leaving me in the hallway by myself. I look around, and I feel arms wrap around my body, squeezing the air out of me. Two more vampires come at me at once and I flail my legs in attempt to keep them away. I kick both of them in the stomach, sending them back a few feet. I shoot at both, one hit in the chest, the other in the lower stomach. The one holding me doesn’t like this so he throws me to the ground, a mistake on his part, because I shoot him in the chest immediately. 6 down, hopefully not many more to go. I walk around the house, and I get towed down by a big vampire, I look and it’s just Dean.

“Here.” He says and cuts my chains with my machete, then hands it to me.

“thanks” I say, “where’s Sam?”

“Upstairs, looking for anyone”

“What? I haven’t checked upstairs yet!” I say loudly and run up the stairs as fast as I can, with Dean following behind me.

“I think I can get used to hunting with you” I barely hear him say from behind me. Wait, was that a reference to my ass? Did he just compliment my ass in the middle of a hunt? Screw it, I have shit to do.

I run to the first door and kick it open, empty. “SAM!” I yell and kick open two more doors.

He’s kneeling over vampire victims, but he doesn’t know there’s two vampires sneaking behind him. I lunge instantly, cutting of the man’s head, then everyone notices me and I stab the girl in her stomach, surprising her. Using the seconds she took to react, I behead her.

“Thanks,” Sam says.

“No problem, I think that’s all of them,” I say.

“There was 9 of them, I counted,” A woman on the floor says.

“Shit,” I say under my breath.

“What?” Sam asks.

“I missed one,” I say and take off to find Dean.

I don’t have to run far, because he’s being pinned to the wall by a male vampire.

“Aw are you sad were going to kill your family?” I mock and he comes straight at me. He jumps to tackle me, but I duck, letting him fall behind me. I turn around and chop his neck while he’s getting up.

“Thanks,” Dean says.

“Don’t mention it” I say and run down the stairs to finish off the vamps I poisoned. Theres three in the living room, two in the hallway and one in the basement. Just have to kill them while they’re down and you can leave, Grayson.

I get to the living room, and just as I remembered, there’s 3 bodies on the ground. I decapitate every one of them and head to the hallway. The two there are just starting to wake up, but are still weak. One is crawling and I do a low swing of the arm to get her, the other one is laying on his back, as if waiting for me. The only one I’m a little worried about is the one in the basement, he was the first one to get poisoned. I open the door and walk down, he’s nowhere in sight. I hear Sam and Dean in the hallway, “Grayson!” Sam yells, “Are you down there?”

“Yeah, I can’t find the-” I get cut off by the vampire putting me in a chokehold.

“Grayson?” Dean asks, and I hear a set of footsteps coming down the stairs.

“I can still kill her, let us go, and I won’t” He tries to bargain.

“They’re all dead, Elektra over there got every single member of your family,” Dean says, obviously trying to get the vamp to go after him, like I did earlier.

“You killed them?” He growls in my ear, “You killed my family?”

“Let her go,” Sam says, taking a step towards us.

“Don’t move, or I’ll bite her,” He threatens, “I guess that if you killed my family, you can start making up for it by joining me.” He puts his mouth to my neck. I try to wiggle away but he moves my head closer to him. It’s like in Charlie’s Angels when Madison Lee was almost kissing Natalie while putting a gun to her head, in other words, disgusting.

Dean tries to move closer and the vampire freaks out. “PUT THE BLADES DOWN!” he yells, “AND SLIDE THEM OVER HERE” at first Sam and Dean refuse but then I get an idea. I nod, telling them to agree with him. They slide the machetes to our feet and step back.

I take the machete that’s in my hand, and stab him in the stomach and reach down for Sam and Dean’s, picking one up in each hand. The vamp comes at me and I swing the machetes towards each other, cutting his neck from both sides fatally.

“Damn.” Dean says. I turn around and give each of them their machetes back with a huff of breath from the struggle.

“Where are the people?” I ask.

“I told them to wait outside by the cars,” Sam says.

We got the people to the hospital and made sure they didn’t mention us. One thing I never liked about this job, you rarely get credit. It’s 1 am when we drive to the nearest motel. I get out of my car, and they get out of theirs at the same time.

“Nice car, by the way,” I say and head to the office to buy a room.

“Thanks, she’s my pride and joy,” Dean says”

I get to the desk and ask for a one bedded room. She hands me the key and walk out the door and hear Sam and Dean asking for the closest two bedded room next to mine.

I unlock my door and go straight to the shower. I can smell my own sweat. I get out and go to my bag on the bed to look for clothes when there’s a knock at my door. Perfect timing, what if I have to fight some monster naked? I open the door to see Sam and Dean waiting.

“Uh, can I help you?” I ask as both of them try to pretend I’m not in only a towel.

“We just thought you might want to celebrate with us,” Dean says, holding up a pack of beer.

“Well, I don’t feel like drinking, but I’ll be happy to watch you two” I say “Just give me 5 to get dressed and I’ll be right over.”  I close my door and get dressed. I knock on the door and Sam answers, his arm gesturing for me to come in.

“So do you two celebrate after every hunt?” I ask.

“No, just the good ones.” Sam says.

“I see.”

“So,” Dean says.

“So, what?” I ask.

“How’d you learn to hunt like that?” He asks.

“I learned from my grandpa,” I say.

“Whos your grandpa?” Sam asks.

“You might not have heard of him, Daniel Elkins, he lives in Colorado,” I say and their faces kind of fall. “What? did I say something?”

“We knew your grandpa” Dean says, “well we knew who he was, we’re sorry”

“Sorry for what? I’m confused,” I say. What the hell is up with them?

“When was the last time you heard anything from your grandpa?” Sam asks.

“I talked to him a few months ago on the phone,” I say.

They exchange a glance.

“We were in Manning a month ago, your grandpa was in the news, he was attacked in his house and was killed,” Sam says, “I’m so sorry”

I sit there in silence, thinking about it. What? there’s no way, he knew how to defend himself. This is just a sick joke. Just a sick joke.

“Grayson?” Dean asks.

“You think thats funny?”

“What?”

“Telling me he’s dead, you think thats funny, cause its not,” I say.

“Were not joking, he was killed by vampires,” Sam says.

How ironic, the thing he hunted best came to hunt him. “Excuse me, I need to go,” I say and walk out the door. It usually takes a while for things to sink in. When a hunt went wrong and one of my friends died, it took me a while to actually process it. How could he do that? He didn’t even call me. He didn’t call for help. I could’ve helped him.

I could’ve helped him. I could’ve been there. I could’ve kept him alive. I turn out the lights and fall asleep.

In my nightmare my grandpa keeps dying in front of me, a different way each time. Stabbed in the chest, shot in the head, each time screaming for my help, but I just sit there and watch. In some I’m even the one doing the killing. I try to stop myself, but I can’t move my body and all I can do is yell “I’M SORRY” millions of times. I scream myself awake and I feel the need to let off steam.

I throw all my stuff against the walls, break anything that I can. “I’M SORRY” I yell, throwing the lamp on the nightstand at the wall. I barely notice it, but I’m crying while screaming. I step on some of the glass from the lamp, and my foot bleeds out. I get on my knees and just cry to myself, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” There’s a knock on my door, but I ignore it, still repeating the same words over and over again. I lay my hands on the ground, which cuts them too, so now my hands are also bleeding. I just look at my hands for a while. “Im sorry, Im sorry for everything” My door is slammed open and the water in my eyes makes everything blurry, but I can make out the figures of two people. They pull me out of the glass and put me on the bed. ” I didn’t mean to do it!” I say, “It should’ve been me!”

“GRAYSON, SNAP OUT OF IT!” I recognize Dean yelling.

“He shouldn’t have died, it should’ve been me, I’m the one that left him alone!” I cry.

“It’s not your fault, things happen,” Sam says and wraps his arm around my shoulders.

“Get off me!” I yell, “I don’t need your help, I never needed help, I should’ve been helping him!”

“Just calm down!” Dean yells.

“HOW ABOUT HAVING YOUR ONLY FAMILY DIE AND SEE HOW YOU FEEL!!” I scream.

“I DID!” he screams back.

“BUT YOU’RE NOT THE ONE THAT KILLED HIM!”

“HEY!” Sam shouts, “both of you yelling won’t help anyone.”

“I could’ve saved him” I whisper, “I left him alone, he needed me and I left him”

The next morning I wake up in a bed, it’s not mine because the room has two beds in it. The last thing I remember from last night was yelling at Sam and Dean. I look at my hands and they’re wrapped up, I move the covers to look at my feet and they’re wrapped up too. They’re worse than I remember them being, there’s blood soaking through the wraps.

“You wouldn’t let us stitch you up last night, so we just wrapped them up for the night” Sam says, walking in from the bathroom.

“Sorry” I say.

“Please, don’t say that, you’ve said it enough since last night,” he replies.

I look down at my hands in my lap. I let myself get out of control, and hurt myself, I don’t even know what I did to the boys.

“Did I hurt either of you?” I ask.

“No,” Dean answers, walking through the room door with bags of food in his hands, “Thank god, because after seeing you kill that nest, I was glad you kept the machete in the car.”

“Yeah…"

“I got you a burger” he says and tosses is to me. My hands sting a little and catching it burns even more.

“Dean, last night I told you to have your only family die, and you said you did, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” I start.

“Our dad. He almost a month after your grandpa died,” he says, his tone kind of irritated.

“I’m so sorry.”

“We should stitch you up now, the cuts are pretty bad,” Sam interrupts.

“Alright.”

We all sit in silence as Sam works on my hands. How the hell am I going to hunt if both my hands and feet have stitches. Sam finishes my hands and I ask for the supplies to stitch my feet but he refuses and stitches those up too.

“Thank you” I say, “well I guess I should get going”

“Do you have somewhere to stay?” Sam asks.

“No, but I want to go back to Manning, just see the house and everything” I answer.

“Want us to give you a ride there?” Dean asks.

“No, I’m fine” I say and get up, “where’s my stuff?”

“Over there” Dean says and points to the table across the room. I sling it over my shoulder and take it to the bathroom to get dressed.

Trying to get dressed was difficult, but I managed to do it in 10 minutes. I walked back into the room, “Well, bye guys” I say.

“Hey, what’s your number?” Sam asks.

“Why, think you’re going to need my help sometime?” I joke.

“Something like that” Dean replies, smirking. I give them my number and head for Manning.

[crimsonlyre]

Every Day Life of a Bloodsucker, Chapter 1: Coffee and Nerves

How many eons had it been? How many thousands of years since the joy of playing at mortality had left me? I can scarce recall the last time that a genuine smile had played across my lips — let alone the last time I had taken joy in the beauty of the rising moon. It had all become…

Routine.

When existence becomes routine- you have already perished- as my kind say. Many of us at this phase begin seeking a way out. That is to say, we take various stabs- literally and figuratively- at taking our own immortal lives. Of course, time and time again these attempts are met with little more than the cruel reminder that this is our fate; that through no fault of ours the spark of life had left us derelict. But as with all manner of beings, there are those among us who are the outliers. Outliers such as myself.

Never once had I made an attempt on my own immortal existence. Frankly- the mere fact that I was immortal was plenty enough to keep me sound in my contentedness. But contentedness, as all people know, is hardly the equal of true happiness. So for eons I searched. I hopped all of the dive bars, met all of the celebrities, tried all of the extreme sports… For a time, I even dove into politics! Funny, how even creating a New World Order loses its mystique after a few renditions. Really, it was uninspired of me.

But, enough of this nihilism. This is not a story of my continued boredom, oh no! This is a story of the end of that boredom. The day that I met the being that would change my existence for- not forever- but certainly for the foreseeable future. As was always the case with these Boy meets Girl scenarios, or rather Girl meets Girl, I had not planned for this. I had not gone out that day with the intent of meeting some profound change. In fact, today was nothing more than routine. A visit to an inconsequential coffee shop in an inconsequential place, which resulted in an  incredibly  consequential shift in my perceptions.

Now, before I continue, now may well be a good time to express the sheer unlikelihood of this situation. I am Camilla Antoinelle. At least, that’s who I was before I was given the gift of immortality at the expense of other’s blood… Yes, vampirism. What, did you think I was just some lucky girl who struck big on the slot machine of life? Hardly. No, I was and still am- for all intents and purposes- a monster. A monster who had long since foregone that portion of her existence in which that fact held constant sway over her actions, of course. One who really didn’t mind the sun so much as her kin, but a monster nonetheless. I had gone out this day to have a nice cup of coffee- maybe find a nice target from whom to feed…

But the sight of someone like her out in a place like this… She caught my attention far more than may well have been proper from a woman of my apparent standing. What was more? That scent— I hadn’t encountered a scent quite so potent in… Well,  ever.  So naturally I deigned to investigate! What was more, that hair was simply enchanting, a color I had always favored- and by the scents I was picking up, wholly natural. For the first time in my unlife, I had no control over my actions. Latte in hand, I strode over to her table and asked…

“Is this seat taken?”

-----------------------------------------------

“Only if you're the one who takes it.”

The words slipped out of my lips as easy as breathing. Who was she? Did she know me or something? Did she 'want' to? I let out a breath I hadn't realized was held in as she sank into the seat opposite me. Beneath the table, I could feel the movement of her legs crossing one over the other as her eyes drank me in. Honestly, I was pretty weirded out by it. I mean, I'd been in a ton of situations like this before, so it wasn't as though it was anything new. Just pay as little mind as possible. But... For some reason, I was drawn in.

I live in a shell. My life has been defense after defense against siege after siege of unfortunate incidents. One after another, they've never stopped. I don't expect they will even still. This shell is something that I come out of only rarely, usually with close friends or real family. But this woman... Whose name I didn't even know- wait, I don't know her name. I haven't asked! Girl what the Hell! “U-uhm... Anyway, I'm-” It trailed off there. I couldn't finish the sentence... Like all of that confidence her approach had built in me just melted away. “My name is Camilla. You needn't be afraid, cheri.” Her voice broke the silence before I even had a chance to panic. Her head tilted ever so slightly as her cherry red lips wrapped around the straw of her latte... A sight that I, admittedly, was way too fixated on. “...Cheri?” I asked- my face blank, “I... Uhm, you're French?” “Partially. I like to consider myself a multicultural woman.” Her head tilted, like she was expecting something. The way that her eyes forced mine to keep held on them only reinforced that idea. So I decided then that I needed to just... Take the dive.

“My name is uhm... Lyra.” Just like that, I felt better. It was nothing more than an introduction but even still it gave me some sense of relief that it was over with. “I'm... Mostly European. My ancestors were all celts. I know Gaelic, but I don't really speak any other languages. Uhm...” My words trailed off again... I was rambling. “Oh? Celtic? Why- cheri- I could hardly tell given your appearance. More Yukionna than Boudicca, wouldn't you say?~” Her free hand moved to cover her lips as she stifled a light laugh. “My family is from all over, really. I have relatives in Prague. Relatives in Paris. Relatives here, in the States. But... My family is really quite boring, you see.” Camilla watched me carefully. Gauging my movements to see how I would react, most likely. I couldn't afford to lash out like I wanted to... She was rich. That much I could tell at a glance by those designer clothes and the obvious preening she did to look that good.

“It's... Just something I was born with. White hair, red eyes... The medical term is albino. That's why I'm out at a coffee shop at 10 pm, you know. T-the sun and I... Don't really get along. Plus, people just kind've... Stare. Sort've like you.” It came out sharper than I wanted it to. But even with it, Camilla's expression didn't falter. She 'was' staring. In fact, she hadn't looked away once since she sat down.

“Why do you think that is, I wonder?” Her musing tone was light and airy, and her lips curled into a mischievous smile. “Really. I'm quite interested in your view here, cheri. Tell me why I'm staring.” “Because I'm a freak, obviously. You can say it. You keep staring like you want to.” “Or perhaps I'd like to call you beautiful?”

I shouldn't have been so taken aback by it. It wasn't as though it was particularly inspired. An easy line at an easy moment- but nonetheless, I could feel the crimson flush coming to my cheeks as I averted my gaze. Even still, Camilla didn't look away. In fact her smile grew only more resplendent until it split apart in a genuine laugh with a touch of pleasant surprise. Was she that type? The type to be amused at other people's suffering? “Why are you laughing..? I mean, how am I supposed to respond when someone like you walks up and just... 'Says' that?” “Well, usually one responds in kind if they are so inclined. Alternatively you say that you are not interested in accepting the compliment, oui?” She laughed. A laugh as beautiful as anything. “

So Lyra? Are you interested in accepting my little compliment?” Her  voice was frustrating. That tone was like something out of my dreams... Airy, sultry, a pleasing alto to contradict my own meek soprano. I couldn't respond. Frankly, I was hypnotized by sound alone. “Perhaps organize a time in the future where we might exchange compliments with one another in greater intimacy?~”

I thought about it. I turned my gaze down to the table as soon as the question as posed, my right hand lightly grasping the small straw of my macchiato as I swirled the concoction about.

“...No.” I finally said, my voice terse. I didn't know who she thought she was. I really didn't. But all I knew was that I just could not allow myself to be pulled in. I wasn't interested in anything like that... And certainly, not any one. “It's not really my thing to uhm... Let random women do as they please with me. Besides, you're... Y-you're cute and all, but I'm not interested in starting anything. Nothing. With anyone. Ever. No.” I was panicking. I knew that even then. But she looked me right in the eye, and said...

“Then I can wait.”

She handed me a napkin, Her number already noted down.

“Think about it, ma cheri. I'll be going... But do get in touch!”

[cherry3point14]

Dean Winchester definitely isn't in love, so don't ask him about it    

DESCRIPTION: All the times that Dean definitely didn’t have any feelings for you and totally wasn’t pining away like a lovesick puppy, so if everyone could shut up about it that’d be great.

THIS IS A ONESHOT AS PART OF THE ALONE SERIES, WHICH YOU CAN READ HERE OR HERE (AO3), I HIGHLY RECOMMEND YOU READ THIS AFTER THAT FIC AS THIS IS AS ADD ON TO THAT STORY.

[A collection of Dean POV drabbles glued together to make a oneshot of how Dean fell in love with you (in the multi-chap fic Alone). Ranging from S9 E5 up to S10 E12. Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader. Warnings: MOC!Dean and mentions of Demon!Dean. 14 Year old Dean cannot control his body.]

AO3 link here if you would prefer.

The first time he sees you

The first time Dean sees you he thinks you're dead. He gets that familiar churn in his chest, guilt at having lost another one. You make three. They'd already found two dead girls downstairs so you, hanging there lifeless, makes three dead girls.

If only they'd have got here sooner but they weren't exactly scouring missing person reports while the Wicked Witch of the West was loose in the bunker. He knows sometimes they miss some, but it doesn't make it any easier and like every other time, he's still taking it personally. Three dead girls because of one bloodsucking Djinn, and him not getting there fast enough. The Djinn he can kill, it's harder to forgive himself.

Suddenly he wishes he'd twisted that knife into the son of a bitches heart a little deeper.

Course, that is before they actually get to you and your eyes flutter open. You look like you don't have blood left in you but somehow, you're still kicking. And just like that, he thinks he's going to get to save one as he tells Sam to cut you down. That'll do for today, just let him save one of you and maybe he'll be able to sleep tonight.

Then you talk. He's about to tell you not too, you're weak right now and you shouldn't be talking but you ask about the other one. Dean prepares to tell you about monsters being real and these ones in particular. Djinn are lonely cave dwellers. They live alone.

He never gets a chance before you grab the knife from Sam and shove Dean out of the way, with strength you shouldn't have after being drained of your blood for God knows how long. He doesn't even finish blinking and you've killed the Djinn who'd been lurking behind him and saved his ass instead.

And when he asks if you're a hunter you basically call him an idiot.

Somehow, Dean knows you'll be ok.

The first time you leave

Dean hadn't liked the idea of leaving you with Kevin at first. Sam had been insistent since you were in pretty bad shape after the Djinn and Dean could admit you did kind of save their lives right after they saved yours. But Kevin was family, Dean was just being careful.

You making fun of him down the phone hadn't really improved his opinion of you, he'd been really excited to see the squirrel.

It's when they get back to the bunker, and Dean still swears he's got an itch behind his ear, that he changes his mind about you.

Because Kevin—won't take breaks because he wants everything to be over and still mourning his mother—is running around the bunker playing hide and seek. Dean doesn't think he's ever seen the kid look like he's having so much fun. When Sam clears his throat to get Kevin's attention he looks embarrassed, but he still animatedly talks about the afternoon you've both spent playing cards and board games. He claims he only started because you were annoying him while you were bored, but then he's talking about his strategy in Monopoly that should have worked so maybe you'd cheated.

Damn. Dean kind of super fucking appreciates you making this kid take the day off because Kevin suddenly reminds him of the kid they first picked up all that time ago. The innocent kid from advanced placement before heaven and hell were after him. 

Although with his track record Dean should have known that the fun was never going to last.

He's never really heard something as loud as your scream and he's heard angels talk. He knows that might be a slight exaggeration, but it is goddam frightening when you're screaming so loud about finding Crowley.

Somehow, it's even worse when you leave quietly.

He takes you back to your car because he's not a dick. If you want to leave he's not going to try and stop you. Doing the sensitive thing is Sam's gig.

He's just glad when you stop crying on the journey because crying chicks are definitely not his rodeo. Not unless he's saving them anyway.

And despite your freak out, you don't seem like you need saving.

He's horrified when he sees what you consider a car. It's one of those things that's more computer than engine and you try to sell him on the heated seats. Of course, he can't show you that he's actually intrigued by that, not with Baby right there. His hand rests on her hood while he watches you get in your truck and spend a moment appreciating it before you come back. 

He doesn’t understand what there is to appreciate but he doesn’t say anything more about it. 

He makes you leave with his number and a promise to check-in, not before you insist he checks in with you.

Maybe he can manage that.

The first time you text

He's sitting in the car after having watched Cas go into his date when his phone goes off.

Breaking News. Bieber has been arrested. How are the pretty boys of America dealing with this crisis?

Dean can't help but smile at the screen. He hasn't heard from you since he drove away leaving you with your transformer truck and this is the first thing you text him?

No comment. And you've gotta keep my membership a secret.

He throws his phone down on the seat next to him and drives off hearing it buzz while he's on the road. He's smirking at the sound when the Sheriff calls and he changes direction to head to the station instead.

It's not until Cas is sliding out of the passenger seat the next morning, after his adventures in babysitting and Dean's own continuing adventures in angel killing, that he looks at the message you'd sent back the previous night.

A secret? Oh, you poor pretty dummy. It's true what they say, brains or brawn. Can't have it all.

Dean doesn't type back and instead opts to drive back to the bunker first. When he gets there Sam is, as ever, reading something that looks like the most boring book they own. And they have a whole library of boring.

He snaps a picture of Sam and sends it back with a caption.

This is what brains look like in its natural habitat. There's no case, he is choosing to do this for fun.

He sits down opposite Sam waiting for the reply, which only takes a minute.

What a nerd. I'll take a pretty face any day of the week.

He only realizes how much he's grinning when he hears Sam's voice, "what are you so happy about? How did it go with Cas?"

The first time he doesn't tell you something

He doesn't like watching Crowley walk up the stairs and out of sight. It makes his shoulders tense and his fingers twitch like they're missing a weapon. Too many times has he fallen into a pattern of working with Crowley and usually the outcome is the same, bad. But really what the hell is he supposed to do? He needs to find Sam and the angel currently taking his brother for a joy ride. He needs to focus on the person he can still save.

His brain is about to dwell on Kevin again when his phone vibrates in his pocket, like an electric shock, and your name flashes on the screen.

When he opens it there's a picture. You're holding your phone up for a selfie that encompasses your face and the table in front of you. Your free hand is lifting a fry from the plate of chili fries below, but it's still attached by stringy cheese and blobs of meat while your face is frozen in some over the top look of pleasure. Eyes rolling in the back of your head and tongue hanging out of your mouth. Underneath is a caption.

Better than sex.

He really tried to resist but the corners of his lips curl upwards for the briefest of seconds. It's a momentary reminder that everything isn't fire and brimstone and dick angels. But it's also a reminder he doesn't deserve. He slips his phone back into his pocket without replying and flushes that small spark of joy from his system.

The one thing he's grateful for is neither of you talks about the deep shit because he doesn't think he can bear to tell another person about Kevin. Even the idea of telling you, who only knew him for all of a few days, is too much anguish for Dean to consider. He buries that shit. He tells himself it's not something you do over text anyway and he can't call you from a CIA outpost either.

Then when Crowley returns with news of Baby he's back behind the wheel of the pimpmobile. He's got a brother to save and a mission.

The first time you don't text back

Dean is consumed by a lot of things. Guilt is probably the main one but, in fairness, he has a lot to feel guilty about. Anger is another. Before the mark, he could focus his anger, use it to sharpen his senses, make him a better hunter but now? With the mark slowly draining the things that make him Dean it's only the anger that remains. An unrestricted fury that swallows him whole sometimes.

Since he touched the first blade though, since he took a life with it, something else lights him up like the sky on 4th July. Need. Hunger. To hold the blade again and never let go. To kill with it. 

It's getting harder to fight the more he tries to. Every minute that passes he can feel the power surge up his arm like he's still holding it.

So, it's a relief to be distracted. He's mostly been distracting himself with his faithful friend, drink. She's comforting and safe and takes the edge off, if only temporarily.

The last few days there's been another, not necessarily good distraction, that he's been clinging to so tightly he's becoming stalker level obsessive but screw it, he's worried.

Sometimes you've made him wait a day for a reply, he assumes you're on a hunt, but it's been three days now with nothing. He's tried starting one of your casual arguments or sending you a joke about Sam being too tall to tie his own shoes, but nothing. Radio silence.

The concern is enough for him to break down and finally send you a message that straight up tells you he's worried.

Not heard from you in a few days, check-in at some point, ok?

He'd hoped it would be enough to force a reply if you knew he was serious. But he finds himself swirling his scotch in one hand and thumbing through his unanswered message history in the other. Which is looking one-sided and excessive on his part.

Then Crowley shows up. Dean barely resists punching the demon in the face and he only manages that since the bottom feeder has the blade and that's the only way to kill Abaddon. Dean does allow himself a huff and eye roll combo though, "you're like a bad case of the clap, every time I think you're gone you pop up again."

"Always the charmer." Is all the king of hell replies as Dean escapes to the pool table.

What follows is a few hours of annoyance. Trying to ignore the demon who is so intent on not being ignored, until finally Dean is saving Crowley from a low-level wannabe bad guy and burying all thoughts of you in favor of the thing he really needs to do. Kill Abaddon.

He guesses putting aside his worry is just one more thing to feel guilty about.

The second time you almost die on him

He hadn't realized how bothered he was about not hearing from you, now for four weeks and six days, until he's leaving the penthouse where he's just killed carrot top.

There's a lot of things he's repressed. It's a damn hobby of his. Dean Winchester hasn't had a good day if he hasn't swallowed a complicated emotion and washed it down with a whiskey chaser. Some come back to haunt him, some stay where he keeps them, mostly.

Not often do they come back as quickly as his concern for you.

He swears he tried to sleep when they got back to the bunker, but it was pointless. He had a case to work, the case just happened to be you.

One plus side of the mark of Cain? Better than any caffeine buzz when he needed to be focused. It's just that increasingly the focus becomes violent or murder-y.  

He checks the GPS on your car but it's static at some motel in Columbus. The address gets written down anyway, just in case, but if something happened to you he doubts they took you in your own truck. Then he checks in with a few hunters that he figures might be mutual acquaintances and the ones that are haven't heard from you either. It's when Sam wanders in that he tracks your phone and sees it hasn't had a ping in over a month.

Or about four weeks and six days, give or take.

It's a few miles from the motel your ridiculous red truck is sitting at and it's as good a place as any to start.

He's only half-aware he's been having a conversation with Sam the whole time.

Dean can feel the tension in his body as he drives, accompanied by that heavy, sickly feeling of anticipation he gets when he's on a hunt. The one that sits in his gut when he's trying to save someone.

Who knows, maybe you're fine. Maybe you've shacked up with a Townie and you've spent the last four weeks living carefree.

He knows that's not what's happened.

From the outside, the building looks like a piss poor version of every bad guy's lair ever. It's a few miles out of town against a lonely highway and looks about ten minutes away from crumbling under its own weight.

Sam tries to suggest scoping out the place before going in hot, but Dean shakes his head to end that train of thought before it starts. He doesn't care what's in there. With the blade tucked in the back of his jeans, he feels invincible but it's more than that. It's the familiar anger emanating from the mark. The vengeful fury that he can't control when his emotions are already running so high.

After all, he's already wasted four weeks and six days, give or take.

They kick down the main doors together, guns raised, but only his door splinters away from its hinges. His boots pound the concrete and he's ready for a fight, he needs a fight.

Except there are only two other people in the room. There's a woman standing over a table with something sharp in her hand and there's this other person. Chained to said table and as he gets closer, shouting for the stranger to get back, he sees the prisoners face.

Your face.

He's about to shoot the woman standing a few feet in front of him, with utter boredom on her face, but she flashes black eyes. It'd be easy to say that he's doing it for you, that shooting isn't good enough for this bitch who's been keeping you here. But as his fingers wrap around the hilt of the first blade forging a connection between the mark and the blade and his unfettered bloodlust, it's not about anything except the pure joy that he gets as he drives it into her chest.

Her death flashes in his eyes as he stands steadfast, watching the demon become nothing but an empty, dead shell. 

It's the voice he hasn't heard in months that pulls him back from the murderous haze. A quiet and broken whisper and then sobs. He turns his whole body in the direction of those sounds and takes in the sight of you. Mangled and bleeding. Some parts of you so bruised that he can't imagine what was done to cause it. The blade slips from his hand like he's scared the sight of it is going to frighten you.

The same hand that had held it, the same hand that had killed this Demon, curls into the ends of your hair while you cry. He wants to hold you, but he doesn't want to break you any more than you already are so this is all he can think to do. Shushing noises and his fingers tangled in the knots on your head.

This time he's not so sure you're going to be ok.

The first time he doesn't text you back

He sent the message before he summoned Crowley. It does nothing to ease how shitty he feels about this to you.

He can feel his phone buzzing continuously in his back pocket, you must be calling, when Crowley arrives with a complaint on his lips. 

All throughout the conversation, while Crowley spouts out his knowledge of the mark, that it's controlling him now and he'll die if he doesn't kill, the image of you bloody and broken is in the back of his head.

"And you're gonna help me."

Crowley actually looks interested, "and why am I going to do that?"

"Because I haven't killed you yet for what you did to her."

Crowley isn't stupid enough to laugh in Deans's face like he normally would, but he doesn't hold back the bite in his retort. "Oh squirrel. So sensitive still. Y/N got what was coming to her. Besides, what's to stop you killing me once you've got the blade and a full dose from the mark?"

Dean lets out a sigh. He's fighting the part of him that's still telling him not to do this.

"Because I want to gut Metatron more than I want you dead."

Crowley smiles. After a brief reprieve, Dean’s phone starts buzzing again. He takes it out only to turn it off before he nods and escapes with Crowley in tow.

The first time you don't say goodbye

He hasn't left his room since Cas left. He's been clawing at the inside of his head trying to piece things together but it's all half stories and half actual memories. And somehow karaoke remains.

So, Dean does what he does best. His reflex. He goes to grab a beer.

"Hunting felt like the thing I'd always been missing but my sister was going to have a career and kids and everything she ever wanted. I was going to make sure of it."

Your voice is quiet but not so quiet that it doesn't fill the library, the room acting like a huge echo chamber. He stops dead. Neither Cas or Sam had mentioned you were here but hearing your voice brings back bits and pieces. Enough that he can still remember what your neck felt like in his hand and the look in your eyes as you passed out after he'd smashed your head into a wall.

He stands there listening to you pour your heart out to Sam. You sister had been one of Azazel's, you'd burned them all and you couldn't find a way to bring your sister back.

Something flashes in his head. What you'd cried out in that warehouse. He'd never thought to ask you about it before they'd left you at that hospital but now it makes sense. Your sister had been a demon, a demon who tortured you, and he'd killed her.

Dean wants to jump out of the shadow he's hiding in when you blame yourself again. He doesn't. He's stopped in place when you say his name. Apparently, he knows something. What did he know?  

He's trying to remember when he hears Sam.

"So, you're not even going to say goodbye to him? You're just going to run away?"

A lump forms in Dean's throat. You were leaving because of something he knew but he couldn't remember. Maybe he could stop you.

He doesn't.

Because the thing he does know is that you deserve a chance to get away and go back to your old life. Hunting monsters without the big bad and without him. Dean's life has too many complications and you deserve to get out of that.

He nearly killed you and he nearly killed his brother. Sam wouldn't give up that easy but you? He could let you go.

The first time you come back

The rain is battering the outside of the bunker but it's quiet inside. Sam is gone and Dean is buried in a book looking for a thread of hope and finding none.

It's been quiet in the bunker for days. Since Charlie. Since what he did to Charlie.

But rain isn't loud enough to hide the pounding on the door, or the voice he hears as he's climbing the stairs.

"Strippergram, open up!"

He almost falters, almost trips over his own feet but somehow, he rights himself. His heart beating faster than necessary and his palms a little sweaty for his liking.

You're alive and, more than that, you're here.

As soon as he sees you it's like you haven't spent two months off the map. You're soaked, your clothes cling to every curve of your body in the rain, making you look fucking beautiful. Even if your loose hair is stuck to your forehead and you shiver in the cold.

For a while, it's like none of it happened. Him becoming a demon and running off with Crowley. You leaving without a goodbye. All erased while you stand there being idiots and trading jokes. For a few minutes even, the things he's done because of the mark get cast into the back of his mind.

Then you limp.

He's in the middle of explaining why 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' is one of the top three stripper songs of all time when his words stop. You're leaning on your right leg, right arm on the banister with an iron grip and you're dragging your left leg the rest of the way, down each step. While you don't seem to be about to immediately drop dead he's still concerned.

Of course, he had no idea what kind of injury you were going to admit to.

He shouldn't laugh. You got shot. But worrying takes a backseat when you tell him where you got shot. He's even grinning to himself as he gets the supplies needed to patch you up.

It's only when he opens the door to find you casually lying on the bed, ass up, that he doesn't find it so funny anymore. In fact, he tells you as much when you decide to slap your good ass cheek and make another joke.

He has to bite back a groan watching that.

He sinks into a comfortable position once he's concentrating on getting the bullet out of you. Then he can focus on the task in front of him and forget about your shapely, bare legs that look endless from this angle. It's not your ass he's touching with careful grazes and patient fingers, it's just a wound that he's fixing. Doesn't matter where it is.

That works fine until he puts a fresh bandage on and you immediately start trying to roll off the bed in your half-naked state.

He doesn't need to be told twice when you tell him to leave. He's just grateful that he manages to do it, honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if he'd been unable to move because of the situation in his pants. 

Thankfully you take a while to catch up with him, now in clean and dry clothes. And for some reason, he remembers what you said to Sam, not him, the day you left. About that always being your room and there's a warmth in his chest that you were actually telling the truth. You left clothes there, in your room.

His smile only gets wider when you ask about Sam. You've been here as long as you have and not noticed Sam is missing. He tells himself that it doesn’t mean anything but, what if it did?

He hadn't even thought about going back to his room and trying to read more lore. It hadn't crossed his mind once. Instead, he'd venomously defended his TV choices and made you a grilled cheese so that you could both drink the hard stuff. He wasn't sure when you last ate.

It's when you've both finally agreed to watch an old movie, although he doesn't remember which one, that you start drifting. He watches it out the corner of his eyes.

Your eyelids start getting too heavy for you to keep them open although you desperately try. You curl onto your side to get more comfortable and stretch your legs out before you realize your feet land in his lap and you quickly retract them. Not that he'd mind but he's past the point of using words as he watches you like a nature documentary.

Finally, when your eyes close this big, deep breath falls out of you and it seems to take away the last of your resistance because then your chest starts that gentle up and down of sleep. It only takes a few minutes before he decides to put you in bed since you start fidgeting for not having enough space and it bugs him.

That's definitely the reason he scoops you into his arms as gently as possible and takes his time slowly carrying you to your room.

Although when he gets you there it presents another problem. You keep trying to roll onto your back, which causes you to disturb your bullet wound, which makes you whimper and almost wake up. So, he stands there for a few minutes nudging you back onto your front, not because the noise you make when you almost wake up is the most helpless thing he's ever heard, but because you probably need your sleep.

It's how he ends up sitting in the chair and watching you. Not in a creepy sparkly vampire way but to make sure you don't rollover.

When you finally seem settled, by the fact that you're now sprawled out on your stomach making happy mumble sounds into your pillow, his own eyes get too heavy to keep open.

He definitely didn't wait till you were comfortable before he lets himself fall asleep. He wasn't tired until now is all. 

The first time you wake him up

He doesn't know what time it is or how long he was out but he does know that your hand is on his shoulder when he wakes up.

Dean cracks his eyes open and looks up at you, noticing how you smile when you call him 'dummy' and the way your eyes seem to sparkle when you mention pancakes. The happiness is so obvious that it's all he can manage to repeat it back, to make sure he was hearing you properly.

"Pancakes?"

You tell him to lie down and that's when he notices the ache in his back from sleeping propped up in this chair. He doesn't have time to tell you that you were right about it though because you wander off, presumably for the love of pancakes.

He stands up and stretches. It takes care of his back enough that he doesn't feel the need to lie down like he was told to and, with the promise of breakfast, he's done with sleep now. He notices the practically empty whiskey bottle as he slowly trudges his way to the kitchen and groans to himself.

Then he hears Sam in the kitchen. Dean hadn't realized he was back but he sure as shit could hear him talking to you. Sam was telling you about the mark, how it had gotten worse and Dean didn't need to see your face to hear the concern in your voice.

It's too early for him to control the anger in his veins as he asks to speak to Sam privately.

"Dean, what the hell? I can't get you out of your room, but Y/N shows up and you're watching TV and hanging out?" If Dean didn't know any better he'd think his little brother was jealous.

"What are you doing telling her how bad I've been?"

Sam's eyes appear to bug out of his head momentarily, "what like it's a secret now? She knows you have the mark, what's the problem telling her that you've been struggling? You have!"

Dean runs a hand down his face but it doesn't stop the words tumbling out, "because I don't want her to be afraid of me."

He doesn't know why but Sam stares dumbly like he's trying to work something out and in true annoying little brother fashion he steamrolls ahead with his assumptions once they are made. "If you feel like that about her why don't you… I mean I'd be ok with you asking her to stay, especially if it helps."

Dean feels warm on the back of his neck, but he furiously ignores it, "I don't know what you're talking about Sammy."

"What you mean the fact that last night was the first time in forever that you've slept more than an hour or hung out without some lore? Dude why don't you just ask her, as a friend even?"

This time his fist clenches and he struggles to release it. His voice is louder and more frustrated than he intended, "would you shut up I'm not asking."

Sam is doing his dumb puppy dog eyes now in an attempt to be convincing and understanding all at once, "But what if it makes a difference Dean. I mean she clearly-"

Dean pushes his index finger into Sam's chest, cutting him off with a glare, "You keep your mouth shut."

He has to walk away after that and not just because he can feel the pink on his ears. It's probably anger anyway, at Sam for butting in.

And then he trudges into the kitchen and you're flipping pancakes with a little sway in your hips as you do like there's a song in your head that he can't hear.

It's not weird that he wants to know what the song is.

The first time he fights with you

You somehow sneak into the room without him noticing. Maybe it's the fact that he's retreated back into his favorite new hobby, looking up mark lore, or maybe you're just sneaky.

When you ask about that text message he wishes he had more time. Even though he's been expecting this question since he sent it. There were so many things he's sorry for. He's sorry for calling Crowley in the first place, he's sorry for getting himself killed by Metatron, and turned into a demon. He's really fucking sorry about what he did as a demon but mostly he's sorry for what happened to you in the first place. He goes with his practiced answer though.

"That was when I started working with Crowley. He had the first blade and it was the only way I could kill Metatron. But after what he did to you, I thought…"

"You thought you owed me an apology for trying to save the world?"

How were you so understanding about this? He saw what had been done to you, or at least the after effects, the rest he can only imagine. And yet you were so quick to forgive him that he wonders if you were even mad at him for his adventures with the king of hell.

Then you have to go and ask about his argument with Sam at breakfast.

You keep asking and asking, a question for every answer that comes out of his mouth. And he jumps away from you because you're too close, but you follow him anyway. 

He doesn't want to talk about it, if he was going to ask you to stay he wants it to be different. He doesn't want it to be because of the mark or his screwed-up life.

Except translating those emotions to the mark is something different entirely. All it knows is that he's getting agitated, which leads to violence, which leads to the resentments he buried down deep about you leaving flying from his mouth before he can stop them.

He knows he's already too far gone but it's so easy to push your buttons, you haven't seen him at his worst, so you don't know what he's capable of, so you fight back. You argue. You challenge him until he says it.

"No worries honey. I didn't cry myself to sleep or anything. With your track record, I think I dodged a bullet."

When you answer him with, "go fuck yourself, Dean," he wants to stop. He wants to pull back and apologize. Just the way you say his name is enough to make his chest constrict.

But that's not what the mark wants. The mark wants him to have the last word, so he follows you as you leave.

He should have just let you go.

Sam shows up at the worst possible time and you tell him that you’re staying. Dean knows it's only to spite him for everything he's said but in some twisted way he's got exactly what he wanted. He can calm down now, right?

"LIKE HELL ARE YOU STAYING, I WANT YOU OUT!"

He roars it against her own battle cry but both of you end the same way. Trying to stare at each other until one of you spontaneously combusts.

Neither of you do.

Dean has no idea how but eventually he tears himself away. He shoots daggers at you one more time before he retreats to his room, and with a slam of the door, he hears you do the same.

So much for that.

The second time he goes through puberty

He's sitting on a bus. A goddamn bus.

He had to leave Tina there alone and he is sitting on a bus. In a hoodie. Looking like Bieber.

Dean really didn't want to play into the teenage stereotype, but this seemed totally unfair.

He's about ten minutes into the journey when he closes his eyes. Just for a minute. He hasn't slept in what feels like days and the rumble of the bloated bus engine lulls him to sleep.

It's been a while since Dean had a dream, in fact, he hasn't since well before he got the mark. Maybe not being able to dream another side effect nobody writes in the lore books.

But he's in his teenage body now so with no mark it's Dreamtown USA, population Dean Winchester.

At first, the weirdest thing about the dream is that he's an adult, like he had been a few hours ago. It's simple enough. He's in the bunker, cleaning his gun except he's butt naked. Feet crossed on the table while he leans back in his chair but naked. And he thinks it's hilarious, he's laughing and making a plan to get Sam to sit in his chair for dinner. This goes on for a while until the bunker door opens and closes and he looks up to see you there. Dressed like a pizza delivery girl. But in roller-skates that you somehow use to get down the stairs without breaking your neck.

Dream Dean seems to have no issues with the fact that he's naked, or that the pizza delivery girl, you, let yourself in. He's mainly concerned about the pizza.

"Delivery for Mr. Dick Hertz," your voice is a sultry tone as if you're trying to be a porn star. He laughs at the name thinking his joke hilarious, but your mouth falls open in shock when you realize what you just said. "Oh no, is it true? Does your dick… hurt?"

You're moving towards him now like you're floating, although, it's probably the skates, and you toss the pizza box to the table carelessly. As you reach him the baseball cap on your head is thrown away too and your hair falls around your face in bouncy pornstar curls. "Because if it does hurt, I'm sure I can help with that."

Dean sits forward now, the front legs of his chair slamming against the floor and he sits up straight. His hands reach out for you and pull you forward so you're straddling him on the chair, while he's still naked. "I'm sure you can, sweetheart," he says smiling up at you as his fingers skin the hem of your tee, dragging it up your body. You bend your arms and duck your head letting him throw the offending item over his shoulder, leaving you topless because, of course, you're not wearing a bra.

He grins as he leans himself forward, pressing his lips to the skin of your chest, while you giggle. It's only a moment later that you push him back and lean into his face, your lips so close to his he can almost taste them.

"If I'm going to help you, I'm going to need to finish getting out of these clothes first," you whisper before you close the gap, crashing your mouth into his.

"Hey kid, wake up!"

Dean sits up abruptly. A teenager again, on a bus, in a hoodie. He blinks to adjust his eyes to the light when he sees some old guy shouting at him, "the driver said this is your stop kid."

It's only as he stands up that he feels something wet. It's a strange experience because it's a feeling he remembers only consciously having twice before in his life. And both times he was, shockingly, a teenager.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me."

The first time he kisses you

Dean is enjoying the ride home like any other time he's been kept apart from Baby. His full focus is on how she's driving and if that's a smudge on her hood or an actual dent.

He's so engrossed with the sound of her engine that he doesn't really listen to Sam much. Dean will tell him later and Sam will get annoyed, but Dean knows he'll repeat all of it anyway.

Or at least he wasn't listening until Sam said it.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, I spoke to Y/N this morning and told her we're on our way back. She asked about us grabbing some dinner because, and I quote, 'she's not our maid'."

"What?" Dean asked suddenly very interested in every word his brother said.

"Well ok there was more than that, she went on about if we wanted a maid then we'd need to find a non-kinky one online, but I don't remember the whole thing word for word."

He can't believe his brother is as smart as he is and thinks the part that Dean wanted repeating was the maid thing. "Wait, so you're saying she's still at the bunker?"

Sam seems to catch on because he twists in his seat to look at Dean better with a smirk on his dumb face, "yes Dean, I'm saying she's still there. Like she said she would be."

Baby was used to sudden increases in speed but even this one made her jolt a little as Dean's foot hits the floor.

"Dean, what the hell? Is this about your, ahem, dream?"

He already regrets telling Sam about that but when he'd had to rush to the bathroom after arriving at the motel, Sam had forced the information out of him.

"Shut up Sammy," was Dean's eloquent response when, in fact, it was about the dream.

He'd been so sure that you would have left. After the fight, the way you'd both screamed at each other, more importantly, the things he'd said. You'd left before for a lot less. So, yeah, he'd been sure. He'd been expecting to come home to an empty bunker if he was lucky a note that didn't directly blame him even if it was his fault.

But you were still there. You'd stayed. He had no idea why you'd stayed but you had, and he wanted to be there ten minutes ago already, but Baby can only go so fast.

Denial was getting harder to maintain with the way he needed to be there already, the way his heart thumped in his chest or the fucking butterflies in his stomach. A man with the mark of Cain on his arm shouldn't be feeling butterflies in his gut, but here Dean is anyway. Maybe he wasn't ready to put words onto his feelings but fuck, if all he wanted to do was kiss you.

Sam wisely doesn't interrupt his daydreams for the rest of the way, he doesn't even mention that they haven't stopped for food.

When the bunker is in sight you're outside and Dean still doesn't believe it. 

You’re really there. You really stayed. 

You're in this outfit, God help him, it's cut-off jeans and t-shirt that is sticking to your skin on account of you cleaning your truck. He pulls up and throws Baby into park—he'll apologize for being so rough with her later—and as he slams the door you're offering to clean Baby later to make amends for raiding his car supplies.

Surely you couldn't have been this perfect the whole goddamn time.

Well, not perfect, considering your choice of wheels. 

He's by your side before you really finish the question. He's close enough that you have to stand up to full height and he can't help taking a second to look at you. Your hair is pulled onto the top of your head and there's a smudge of something on your cheek, your eyes are wide with oblivious innocence right until the last second before he kisses you.

In his dumb teenage dream, kissing you made him jizz in his pants, but this is even better. This is real. Plus he manages to control himself.

Your lips are full and soft and frozen for a split second until he runs his tongue over them. You taste like syrup and coffee and your mouth is warmer than his somehow. When you kiss him back his thumb rubs encouraging circles over your cheek, not that you need encouraging because you kiss him fiercely. You kiss him like you argue, with your entire soul.

When you can't breathe anymore, and you pull back, he tells you you're staying. And when you try to start a lecture, which he knows will be about not telling you what to do, he kisses you again.

Only partly to shut you up, mostly because once he's started he doesn't know how to stop.