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toournextadventure · 20 days

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a cold reunion

Summary: Astrid hasn't visited her mother's old house in a while. She wonders if someone new has moved in by now. Maybe it'll be a "ghost," like her mother claims used to live there. Ha. She would be so lucky.

Word Count: 3.3k Warnings: mentions of death, Tim Burton style tones Pairing: Astrid Deetz x Reader A/N: I know absolutely nothing about this movie, only the original, so I'm just gonna have some fun with it

Being a Deetz was one of the most irritating parts of life. At least, it was in Astrid’s opinion. Even without her own uncommon interests, she was held to the standards of her mother. Because her mother was weird, everyone assumed she was too. Which she was, but it wasn’t fair she couldn’t make that statement for herself.

She used to have a friend. You had been new to town and hadn’t known anything about her mother. It led to a wonderful friendship. Her favourite classes were the ones you had together, and eventually, she invited you over outside of school. Everyone thought you were crazy to agree, but you never faltered.

Even her mother and grandmother liked you, saying you were a “good kid.” Astrid knew better, you were trouble. Always in detention or being scolded by teachers in the hallways. You were anything but a good kid when it came to following the rules. But she wouldn’t deny, you definitely sweet talked your way into her mother’s and grandmother’s good graces.

You had done the same to her, pulling her in until she didn’t want to leave. The first kiss had been under the bleachers at a football game; disgustingly cliche. You had tasted of the cigarettes you stole from your mom. A disgusting taste, but it was good on you.

But as soon as she really started to like you - a little more than like, she would admit - you disappeared. You hadn’t been at school that morning, and when she went to your mom’s work, she had said she didn’t know where you were. Said it was no surprise you left; you could do better than this town.

That had been two years ago. Your mom had left town not long after your disappearance. Everyone assumed she had done something to you; a suspicion that came from the simple fact that your mom was, as the town called it, “trailer trash.” She was a nice person, Astrid had always liked her. She didn’t blame the woman for leaving.

Even Astrid had left for college once school was over. What else was she going to do, stay put? No, she wanted to get started somewhere else. Somewhere she wouldn’t be saddled with the name Deetz like it was some kind of curse. She loved her mother more than she would ever care to admit. But she wanted to do something for herself.

It was winter break before she came back home.

“Leaving already?” Her mother called from the porch when she grabbed her bike and started walking it to the street. “You haven’t even been here for three hours.”

“I’m going to check on the house,” Astrid said with a shrug. “I heard the owners moved out.”

“They did, thank god,” her grandmother said. “They did that house no justice.”

Bold coming from you, Astrid thought but kept her mouth shut.

“Don’t stay out too late,” her mother said.

“Lydia dear, when you were her age, you were almost marrying a ghost,” her grandmother said. “Consider it karma.”

“Mom,” her mother sighed.

Astrid had already hopped on her bike and started down the street. The path to the old house was well-worn; everyone knew it. The old owners had tried their best to convince everyone the house wasn’t haunted, but most of the town didn’t believe it. At least none of the school kids. They had jumped at the opportunity to have a haunted house in town whether it was real or not.

You had always liked that old house. No one had ever fully convinced you that ghosts had lived there, but you liked the thrill of it. I don’t think they’re real, but what if? You had asked one night after sneaking in through her window. We should check it out one day. After you disappeared, she had avoided the house like the plague.

But Astrid knew the path by heart. Snow had been plowed from the streets, and the dutiful citizens had shoveled the bridge. When she approached said bridge, she slowed until she could get off the bike, walking it across instead of riding. Her mother had made it clear that under no circumstances was she to ride or drive over the bridge. It was a silly rule; she followed it anyway.

The house was more run down than usual. It shouldn’t have upset her as much as it did. After all, it wasn’t like she had really ever lived in the house anyway. But it was still part of everything she had known growing up. To see it practically falling apart was… well, it was nothing short of devastating.

Without taking her eyes off of the house, she propped her bike up by its kickstand and slowly made her way to the front door. Step by step, each stair creaked under her weight. The house was a little creepy. Maybe it would be best if she just didn’t go in. After all, the door was practically falling off the hinge, if she actually knocked it would-

-the door swung inwards.

And you were standing there in the doorway with your eyes wide. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

“What are you doing here?” Astrid asked quietly.

You exhaled harshly, shoulders sagging with the movement.

“Want some tea?”

—---

Astrid looked as beautiful as the day you had left. Well, no, you hadn’t exactly left but… no, that was something you would face later. For the moment, you were going to enjoy seeing her again. It hadn’t been long, but she had grown into her own. Beautiful as always, too.

And way too quiet for your liking.

“Chamomile okay?” You asked when the kettle was near screaming.

She nodded once, not removing her eyes from you. It was unsettling; you had used to love it. Astrid wasn’t like normal girls, and not in the “too cool for school” kind of way. It was more of an “I’ll be me whether anyone likes it or not” kind of way. If she wanted to be weird and goth then she would and no one could stop her!

But you didn’t like how she was looking at you.

You placed the teabag in the mug and slid it in front of her. The kettle was only seconds away from screaming when you pulled it off the stove. No need to burst anyone’s eardrums. There was no point in being careful with the scalding water as you poured it into her mug.

“You disappeared,” Astrid said while you were mid-pour.

“About that,” you hummed.

“Does your mom know?” She continued. “That you’re right back where you started?”

Your mom. Momma. She had been left all alone after… how had she fared? Were the townspeople nice to her? They had better be, or you would personally bring hell to every single one of them.

“What does she think happened to me?” You asked as you turned around and placed the kettle back on the stove. You didn’t turn back around.

“What everyone else thinks,” Astrid said, “that you ran off.”

“Was she okay?”

“Honestly?” She asked. “She said she was glad you got out of this little town. Said you were too good for it anyway.”

Well that… that almost hurt worse than knowing she never knew the truth. Your momma hadn’t been perfect, but she had done the best with what she had. Time and time again, she had told you in her drunken stupor that you were destined for great things. You had always taken it to heart.

You need to tell her.

“Hey, Astrid?” You asked with a weak voice.

She hummed for you to continue.

“Remember in school when we would say we didn’t believe in ghosts?”

“Yeah, why?”

With a sigh, you turned to look over your shoulder. Astrid’s head was tilted slightly in that way you always found cute. It didn’t click just yet. She just kept looking at you, waiting for you to continue. You raised your brows at her. She was almost there, you could tell by the slight crinkle in her nose, and- ah, there it was.

“You’re joking,” she said.

You gave her your best tight-lipped “white person” smile but otherwise didn’t answer.

“You saw one?” She asked.

Oh. Oh, no, she didn’t get it.

“Well, yes,” you said, turning your full body so you could lean back against the stove and look at her, “but that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are-” there it is “-oh.”

There was something in her eyes when realisation dawned. Her eyes, while a gorgeous dark brown, were usually so bright. So happy, even when she was trying to act like she didn’t care about the world around her. But this was different. Any brightness dimmed to practically nothing.

“How?” She asked.

You shrugged and looked away. “The football team pushed me off the bridge.”

It wasn’t a fond memory, that was for sure. The icy layer covering the river had been rather sharp. But even that hadn’t compared to the pain of inhaling freezing water deep into your lungs. From what you could remember, it was slow. A memory you didn’t enjoy having, but maybe one day it would go away.

“You were murdered?” Astrid asked incredulously; horrifically.

“I mean listen, it’s not too bad,” you attempted to play it off. “It got me out of taking winter finals, which we both know I would’ve failed.”

“But it’s-”

“-I know, Astrid,” you interrupted.

You liked Astrid. You would even go so far as to say you loved her, mostly probably. Were you young? Sure. A little stupid and naive? Absolutely. High school sweethearts? You would say so, yeah. But she instigated a little too much, and she wanted to know everything, but this just wasn’t really something you wanted to indulge her in. Not yet, anyway.

Astrid was quiet for a moment. The gears were turning in her head, you could practically smell the smoke coming off them. What was she thinking, you wondered. Was she dwelling on the fact that you had died, cold and slow and alone? You certainly hoped not, it wouldn’t change anything. You were dead, you were now a ghost, and long-distance relationships weren’t that hard any more thanks to technology, so you could both still make it work!

If she wanted, of course.

“I thought my mom said her ghosts were stuck in the house for, like, a century or something,” she said instead.

You laughed. That was much easier to answer. “I told their caseworker I’d take their place. You know, let them rest in peace, or whatever,” you waved your hands vaguely.

“Caseworker?”

“It’s a long story.”

“So you’re why the previous owners left?” She asked.

“Guilty as charged.” You wiggled your fingers in her direction and smiled.

For the first time all day, she smiled back. God, you missed her smile.

“If you really are a ghost,” she said with a tilt of her head, “how can you pick things up?”

“Ooh, we’re getting to the fun questions,” you said with a smile.

The look on Astrid’s face was perfect. Curious, distrusting. The best mix of emotions; you loved when she was uncertain. It was a more genuine look for her, instead of trying to act like she knew everything and always knew what to expect. Always made her look super cute, honestly.

You walked over to where she was sitting at the run-down table. She turned to keep facing you until you were standing directly in front of her. It was going to be a risk, but one you were very much willing to take. Worst case, you stay stuck in the stupid house forever. No different from your current predicament.

“Took me a few months to really get the hang of it,” you said. Her eyes sparkled again. “You just focus on what you want to touch,” she blushed, “and voila.”

Her blush vanished when you picked up the mug beside her. What you really wanted to do was touch her. Gods, you wanted to know if you could still feel her warmth, the softness of her skin. But it wasn’t time. No, she was probably still worried about the fact that you had… well, you know. Died.

“It took you months to figure out how to do that?” She asked with a cheeky smile.

“Shut up,” you huffed, placing the mug back on the table. “It wasn’t like I had much to work with.”

“Why didn’t you ask my mom’s old friends how to do it?” Astrid asked before leaning back against the table. “I’m sure they would’ve helped you.”

“Never actually had the pleasure of meeting them,” you said with a shrug. “I only got to meet the other guy.”

“The other guy?” She asked, looking away in thought for a moment before looking back at you. “Oh, you mean Beetlegeu-”

-you slapped your hand over her mouth before she could continue.

“Don’t say it,” you whispered.

She nodded once, and you pulled your hand away.

“Was he really that awful?” She asked, matching your tone.

“He was that annoying,” you grumbled. “God, I swore the guy would never shut up.”

Astrid did her little crooked smile and laugh. The one that you would always try your best to force out of her during class to get her in trouble. Wait, that sounded bad. You didn’t want her to get in trouble, you just would have enjoyed her presence in detention. With you.

“So what else did you take two years to learn?” Astrid asked. She leaned forward until she was so close you could smell her shampoo. “Anything exciting?”

Wait. Wait, this could be your chance. You might be able to do something about it, this could be your shot. Two years in limbo, sitting in a run down house that did nothing but remind you of Astrid with everything you saw. It was her family’s house. You couldn’t leave her even if you had wanted to.

“Well,” you said, “there is something I’ve been wanting to test out.” You looked up to meet her eyes. “May I?”

“Let’s see what you got, ghosty,” she said.

You nodded to yourself and focused. Focused on her body, more specifically her face. Her stunning, beautiful, gorgeous, smiling face. Day after day, you had been thinking of her, and you had hoped time and time again that somehow she would come back to the house.

One deep inhale, hold your breath. Your hands were shaking so badly you would have dropped everything had you been holding something in the first place. And yet, Astrid didn’t budge when you lifted your hands and placed them on either side of her face. Exhale.

Her body was absent of warmth. Astrid had never been an exceptionally warm individual to begin with but this was… different. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell her that you couldn’t feel her. Sure, you could touch things, but you couldn’t feel any of it. It wasn’t something you could describe, except calling it surreal.

“May I?” You asked again.

You could feel her breath on your lips even as she nodded. It was all you needed to pull her into a kiss. There was still no warmth, but there was a… a comfort in it. In feeling her lips against yours again after so long. To feel her breath mix with yours, replacing everything you didn’t need but you so desperately craved.

Her hands attempted to settle on your hips but fell straight through. In turn, you felt her shoulders sag as she placed her hands on your knees instead. That was… not a nice feeling. Maybe you could learn to focus enough to let her feel you back. That was possible, right? Surely it was.

You pulled away slowly. If you could have stayed kissing her for the rest of your century in that hellhole, you would have. But unfortunately, Astrid still had to breathe, and you had to give her the space to do it. Earlier you had questioned if you had really loved her or if it was a puppy love?

Oh no. It was the real deal.

“You can’t leave at all?” Astrid asked. “Not even for an hour or so?”

“You mean the haunted house isn’t romantic?” You teased.

“What do you even do in here all day every day?” She asked.

Once again, she reached out to touch you. Somewhere, anyway. You looked down at where she was attempting to hold your hand. Maybe if you could focus really hard, it would work. As far as you knew, you couldn’t materialise. At least, you didn’t think you could. But if you really concentrated.

Her fingers slipped between yours and, for the first time in two years, you felt her squeeze your hand. Physical touch. Real physical touch.

“I, ah,” you stammered, looking down at where she was still holding your hand. “It’s in my contract to scare people.”

“Contract?” She asked. Your arm moved as she pulled you closer. Okay, maybe physical touch was a bit unfamiliar to you after so long, you would need to get used to it again.

“My caseworker says I have a quota to meet,” you said, finally looking back up to meet her eyes. “So many people each quarter, you know?”

“So you need people to scare?” She asked. “On a regular basis.”

There was a sparkle in her eye. Something dangerous; scandalous.

“You have something in mind?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

Her smile was vicious. And attractive.

—---

The house looked beautiful in the daylight. The paint was fresh, the inside was cosy, and when nighttime fell? Rumour had it the ghosts came out to play. That was why most people rented out the house; their own private haunting for a night. The listing said if you could survive the night, the stay was free. So far, no one had lasted long enough to even give it a good shot.

And as you stood at the end of the bed watching the young couple sprint down the stairs screaming, you knew they wouldn’t be the winners either.

You walked over to the window and watched as they threw their singular bag into their car and peeled out of the dirt driveway. It hadn’t even been any fun, they hadn’t given you any time to actually scare them. Hell, all you had done was stand at the bed! You hadn’t made any faces, hadn’t pulled any jumpscares, you had simply stood there.

Were you really that scary?

“Gone already?” Astrid asked in a sleepy voice as she walked to stand beside you at the window.

“Didn’t even stay long enough for me to have any fun,” you pouted.

“Well, you’ve hit your quota,” she said. She grabbed your arm and pulled it over her shoulder before tucking closer to your body. After a few months, you were finally starting to feel a bit of warmth from her.

At least, you thought you did.

“Your mom is coming by in the morning?” You asked.

She hummed her confirmation.

“Maybe I can try to scare her, then,” you said.

Astrid pulled you away from the window and started walking you toward your shared bedroom. Not that you really needed the sleep, but it was nice to be able to lay next to her. It was exhausting to keep a more physical form, but for her? You would do it all day every day.

“Good luck scaring her,” Astrid said as she pulled you onto the bed. “She practically grew up with ghosts.”

“I’ll scare your grandmother then,” you said softly, but she didn’t move.

Astrid was already asleep in your arms, just like you had always imagined. Maybe being dead really wasn’t as awful as everyone had always made it seem. After all, it got you your dream girl.

#astrid deetz x reader #astrid deetz imagine #jenna ortega x reader

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moonshyxx · 2 years

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Dirty Bike but a nice sunset 🐉 ________________________________________________ Kawasaki Ninja 650 2021 🌸 ________________________________________________ MoonShy Moonshyx @zandryaa @suco.style 📷 @bikesquad ________________________________________________ Inspiration: @dermoji @der_codie @kawasakischweiz @kawasakiusa ________________________________________________ Purple Kawasaki Ninja 650 Purple Ninja 650 Lila Ninja 650 Purple Kawasaki ________________________________________________ #kawasaki#ninja650#bike#bikelife#bikelove#motorcycle#bikesquad#bikestagram#photosmotobike#bikecouple#bikercouple#bikersnetwork#becausemotorcycle#bikergirl#superbikes#Karma#ridesave#bikeporn#swissbiker#germanbiker#Anime#karmarider#Moon#Moonshy#moonshyx#オートバイ#ハーレーダビッドソン#purplemotorcycle#bikesquad (hier: Switzerland, Schweiz) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjONSl3r_K0/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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princessbrunette · 1 month

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⊹ ᜊ(ᜊ ´ ˘)੭ ♡ … HOT TO GO! ♡

5, 6, 5678!

the day had come — and of course, at the busiest hour of pizzadeliveryboy!popes shift. they still had this janky red landline phone from the 80’s in the kitchen of the restaurant, with possibly the most obnoxious ring one could fathom. like, really — it was no wonder these things weren’t household items anymore. the sound was ear piercing.

popes too busy sprinkling cheese to pick up — so you’re greeted with a disinterested thirty-something year old who barely got out his ‘you’ve reached HTG Pizza how can i help ya—” before you were blasting his ear off with—

“PUT POPE ON THE PHONE!”

you had broken up with your boyfriend. one year of toxicity, pain and torment all in the name of saving face. kook life was cruel, and appearance so often mattered more than feeling — and though your boyfriend treated you terribly… the life was safe and sweet.

maybe you were the cruel one for making pope wait. he’d been too patient for his own good— watching you try to uphold your perfect reputation whilst confiding in him on the side. he knew you were a sweet girl, simply making a bunch of not so sweet choices, and pope would never condone cheating — but soon the two of you started fooling around, which lead to you screwing around (which is just fooling around without dinner.) and just like that, he’d caught feelings.

he’d do anything to break the two of you up. no really — the term ‘praying on someone’s downfall’ was never something that the heyward boy was familiar with until he met you. it started off as petty things, reporting every instagram picture of the two of you together. this quickly evolved into sending you check in texts at angel number hours like 11:11, so that maybe you’d think some divine figure was trying to guide the two of you together. terribly enough, he even dragged kiara down to that crystal shop downtown so he could ask the nice lady with pretty feathers in her hair what crystal he could use to break you up with your boyfriend.

kiara told him in was bad karma to pray on peoples downfall.

but now he’s cycling to your house, your empty house might he mention and all but dumping his bike on your front lawn because for once it doesn’t matter who sees. hell, he even ripped off the uniform visor on his head and tossed it. you’re there at the door waiting for him under the warm porch light in just a skirt and bra like you’d already worked on getting your clothes off for him.

“i’m so sorry i had to finish my shift i obviously would have come as soon as—” he’s rambling before he’s reached you, but you’re shaking your head with a purely lustful look in your eye, breathing out a—

“— shut up.”

and as soon as he’s reached you you’re diving into his arms, legs round his waist — lips to his and you really, really didn’t care who saw. you fumble for the door anyway, the two of you bumping into things as you slam it shut behind the two of you. he takes his lips away just for a second to suck in a breath and whisper “i didn’t bring any pizza this time—” but you clearly didn’t care, stuffing your tongue back into his mouth. well, that settles that. it was never about the pizza.

every surface. pope heyward was doing you on every flat surface of that egregiously large house of yours — and soon, after much loud and bordering on aggressive sex, you’ve finally wound up on your back in bed, staring into eachothers eyes as he rolls his hips, little “ohhh, ah, ah…”’s leaving your sore and sensitive mouth.

“god i’m so glad to have you now. i can have you now, right?” popes brows furrow, looking desperate and urgent. the two of you had sweat so much he doesn’t even smell like stuffed crusts and garlic dip anymore.

“was always yours. m’sorry pope i’m so sorry!” you sob when the curve in his cock nudges your cervix because he can’t help but bottom out fully when you say it. he kept anticipating that he’d wake up to his alarm and this had all been a beautiful dream, reminding him to hang on just another day.

“you’re okay i— i’d wait forever for this. fuck.” he shudders, face dropping for a moment to press an earnest kiss to your collar bone.

“can i tell you something?” you grasp him, speaking in a hushed tone, saved for a vulnerable moment like this.

“anything!” he promises, back to eye level.

“i…i really don’t like the pizza you’d bring, i mean papa johns is just way better—”

“no yeah that’s completely understandable. i mean totally—”

you’re rolling him onto his back now. the undying urge to make up for lost time taking over and instantly you’re sinking down onto his length and grinding like your life depended on it.

“shit. oh my god.” he groans, dishevelled in your pink sheets. a hand comes to his forehead in disbelief at the sight of your naked body riding him like this, so different from your usual rushed encounters before anyone returns home or in the back of his pizza fan — and the other thumb grazes your clit, eyes glued to the way you’re swallowing him, leaving a creamy ring at his flushed base.

you follow his gaze, reaching down to spread yourself for him. quite the sight.

“who’s is it?” he presses your clit and you howl, clutching his wrist. “who’s baby? tell me please.”

“yours pope!” you cry.

“who’s?”

“s’all yours pope! it always was!”

perhaps he knew this already, but god did it feel good to hear.

#chicago mentioned….. iykyk #hotpizzadeliveryboy!pope #pope heyward prompt

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buckysgrace · 3 months

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1. My Kink is Karma

Broken Hearts Club Steve Harrington x fem!Reader

Your friend convinces you to join her grand plan. Steve is surprised about your advances.

Dividers by @strangergraphics :)

The air was hot and muggy. Humid. It was so humid that the back of your neck was wet, leaving the strands of hair against your skin wet. The sun was even more miserable, beating down against your skin as you roughly pumped your feet against the pedals. You were almost there.

You had no car, well not anymore. Patty had begged and pleaded with you to take one spin in it behind the wheel, which you eventually agreed to against your better judgment. Your car was currently busted up in a junkyard and you were spending the summer paying for the damage your friend had done. Not that it was truly her fault, you were the one that let her behind the wheel.

You shoved your bike into the rack, almost not caring enough to lock it up. But you did despite your legs and arms crying in protest. At least you had a bike, if you lost this you’d end up having to walk. Your grandparents had been very clear of what they expected from you after your mistake. It was fair.

Orange Julius wasn’t that bad of a job, a bit boring; but you really wished you were walking around and shopping like the rest of your peers. Instead you were stuck behind a counter, gowned in an ugly orange apron and an orange cap to keep your hair out of the food and drinks. It was better than the hairnet you supposed.

And it was certainly better than the terrible Scoops Ahoy! Uniforms that you had the unlucky pleasure of viewing every day. The store was directly across from yours, such a great view when you zoned out. Patty certainly thought so.

“Look at him in his dumb uniform,” She commented as she loudly sipped from her drink, her second free one that you had gifted her, “How many girls do you think have rejected him today?” She questioned you, looking more than gleeful as she stared towards the large glass windows into the ice cream store.

“Don’t know,” You told her as you shrugged your shoulders, working on getting the drinks ready for the couple that was waiting, “Maybe a few.” You added, trying to appear as interested in the conversation as she was. In all honesty, you were growing tired of the mockery of Steve. It felt like old news. You didn’t understand why she kept obsessing over it.

Steve was a hard topic for you to discuss, to even think about. You had known him far before he had dated Patty and left her heart in a pile of broken pieces. Back before he ever cared about popularity and gaining the title of King Steve.

Your memories of Steve came with dirty, scraped knees and popsicle stained lips. Of playing popcorn on your trampoline and him teaching you how to dive into the deep side of his pool. It was catching fireflies and having your gran paint your faces on your birthdays. You were fond of them all.

Then high school rolled around and things changed. The two of you drifted apart and soon your gran had an overstock of grape popsicles in her freezer. Those had always been his favorite.

Things didn’t end on bad terms though, so you supposed you were grateful for that. You still occasionally exchanged pleasantries and small conversations. The last time you’d actually interacted with him had been at your graduation party. Patty had thrown a fit, even though you’d been in the dark about him coming over. But your grandparents loved him.

“You know what would be really funny?” Patty asked you as she hopped up on the side of the counter, leaving one of your coworkers to grumble about it. You smiled sheepishly, sure that they were all annoyed with her hanging around. “What?” You asked as you quickly smiled towards the customers as you handed off their drinks to them. You happily accepted the leftover coins as your tip, happy for anything that would help with your car situation.

“If you went on a date with him.” Patty’s sentence surprised you as you snapped your head towards her, watching the way her pouty lips had turned up into a smirk.

“Me?” You looked at her in disbelief, eyebrows crinkling together as your eyes widened, “Are you joking?” You asked her seriously as you hesitantly approached, sure that she had to be pulling your leg. Go out with Steve? The same ex she hadn’t been able to get over? You were positive you heard her wrong.

“I’m being serious,” She grinned as she leaned over the counter, her green eyes sparkling with mischief, “Can you imagine how upset he’d be when you dump him?” She laughed at the thought, looking a little too gleeful for comfort.

“Exactly why I’m not doing that.” You told her quickly as you shook your head. What Steve had done to her was shitty, but you were not a heartbreaker. You hadn’t ever broken up with anyone either, nor had you been in a serious enough relationship to pull off the act.

“Why not?” She whined as she reached for your hands, “It would be the perfect revenge.” She added as she squeezed at your fingers. You looked at her oddly, wondering where she had gotten the impression that you were like that. This summer was supposed to be about working off your mistake, not about cozying up to Steve Harrington.

“I don’t like Steve like that.” You dismissed her as you wrinkled your nose up. You’d never liked him like that. It irritated you to no end to hear about the girls in your classes talking about their romantic encounters with him. It had been unbearable during his brief stunt with Patty. You were secretly glad when it ended, not that you would ever tell her that.

“You don’t have to,” She said as she shook her head, her blonde curls flying about, “You just have to make him like you.” She drew out more playfully as her grip around your fingers only tightened.

“No,” You replied sternly as you pulled your hands away, “We used-,”

“To be friends, I know,” She finished for you, “But then he ditched you Freshman year for all of those cool people.” She waved her hand like it was no big deal, but you still felt the dull ache in your chest. But you were going to college, none of that mattered anymore.

“Thanks.” You replied dryly as you shook your head, glancing back over towards the ice cream store. From this angle you could see Steve talking dramatically with his hands as Robin held up some sort of board in his direction.

“You’re a nerd, but I love you,” She replied eagerly as she nodded her head, “See, it works out perfectly. You can get your own revenge too.” She laid it all out for you simply, as if it wasn’t a tricky task. It was all sort of bizarre to you.

“I don’t want revenge,” You told her with a laugh, “That was years ago. I don’t care anymore. I’m going to college soon and forgetting about this dumb town.” That was if you could pay off your destroyed car. And get a new one.

“You should do it for me anyways.” She whined as she bounced on the tips of her toes and smacked her palms against the counter, like she was a small child. You grumbled in response.

“Why?” You asked her seriously as you rested your hand on your hip while you leaned on the counter. She rested her chin on her hands, pouting out her bottom lip as she fluttered her eyelashes up at you.

“Because I’m your best friend. Maybe your only friend,” She added quickly, “And you owe me.” She added in a strict manner, narrowing her eyes slightly as if she was recalling a memory. You laughed.

“What exactly do I owe you for?” You asked her seriously as you cocked your eyebrows, a little amused at the tantrum she was throwing. It wasn’t like you weren’t used to it.

“You failed to tell me that Steve was such a heartbreaker.” She pointed at you, like it was all somehow your fault. You blinked slowly, knowing that she’d have to do better than that. You had told her many times that it wasn’t a good idea.

“Everyone knew about that,” You responded with a laugh, “Nice try though.” You told her as you grabbed a spray bottle and began to wipe off the counter, purposely so she could move her elbows away.

“Please,” She tried again as she pouted her lips out, “You know what he put me through, don’t you think he deserves a taste of his own medicine?” She asked you seriously, sounding more frustrated this time around.

“I think that’s happening right now,” You responded as you crinkled your nose up, clearly able to hear him talking loudly to the group of girls that had just walked into the ice cream store, “Besides, he’d get suspicious. We’ve never been like that.” You couldn’t imagine being romantic with Steve or pretending to date him. It was outrageous.

“We could cook up a cute story,” Patty declared, “You’ve been in love with him since you were little; he’s your childhood crush. Oh he’d fall for it.” She nodded her head, eyes still gleaming as she continued to plot out her awful plan.

“He would not.” Lies. He definitely would. Being a hopeless romantic certainly fit Steve, even if he left behind shattered pieces of hearts in his path.

“You go on a few dates,” She continued, “Just a few. Enough to make him like you. LIke really like you. You make him feel like he’s getting his groove back, that he can be happy and then you just dump him.” She smacked her hands against your wet counter, smiling wide as she squealed a second later.

“Oh my God.” You groaned as you covered your face with your hands, feeling like she wasn’t listening to you. She was too much sometimes.

“Just do this one little thing for me,” She whined dramatically again, “Please. Why won’t you do it for me? Your best friend?” She questioned you as you felt yourself huff all over again. It was ridiculous, that was why.

“Just to be clear,” You started as you held your hands up in surrender and shut your eyes, “You want me to pretend to date your ex, be all sweet and romantic with him and then break up with him?” You asked her, being sure that you had the points correct.

“Yes.”

“Alright,” You huffed as you drifted your eyes up towards the ceiling, wondering if anyone could hear your inner pleas, “You’re sick, demented. A terrible person.” You told her seriously, trying to recall why you had become friends in the first place.

“I love you too,” She cooed as she leaned forward to kiss your forehead, “I’ll start looking for something cute for your first date.” She replied cheerily as she walked away, blowing you a kiss as she left.

“Patty!” You shouted, eyes wide in disbelief, “I’m not doing it!”

You were true to your word, but that didn’t mean that Patty was happy with it. Her tantrum grew into dark, gloomy clouds and lightning flashes as she took to ignoring you in her usual manner. She did this every so often, making a point to show you that she wouldn’t speak to you again until you did whatever she wanted. You weren’t going to budge this time.

“Where’s your friend?” The voice startled you, shaking you away from your thoughts as you munched on a carton of fries that were growing increasingly cold as your lunch break went on. You looked up curiously, almost dropping the fry from your mouth.

“Steve?” You asked, sure that you were dreaming for just a moment. Of course it would be your luck to have him bump into you after your event with Patty. He did look dorky in his little uniform, but you’d noticed that he’d taken off his hat.

“Yeah,” He said slowly, looking over his shoulder as if there was someone behind him, “That’s me. Why are you sitting alone?” He asked as he pointed his finger down to the free seat, like he was asking for an invitation to join you. You shrugged your shoulders.

“Why do you care?” You asked him, not meaning for your tone to come out so snarky. But it was true. It wasn’t like he asked about you any other day.

“I don’t,” He said at last, “Well sort of. You look like a bum.” He said at last, making your jaw drop as you stared up at him. You shifted, unable to help that your shirt was an ugly color and apron clutched so tightly to you. Perhaps you hadn’t cleaned up too well after the bike ride here either. Great. Just great.

“This is my work uniform,” You huffed out, “I can’t control how it looks.” You replied defensively as you tried to straighten your clothes out, wondering why he was coming over to pick at you. Perhaps he thought you were an easy target like the kids in high school.

“No,” He said as he furrowed his eyebrows together, “You look sad.” He declared with a nod of your head, leaving you just as confused as what he looked.

“Bummed,” You corrected as you shook your head once you came to the right conclusion, “I think you mean that I look bummed.” You told him, blinking your eyes slowly as you laughed in response.

“Yeah, that,” He replied as he rubbed the back of his neck, “Are you?” He asked you slowly, making you wonder once again why he even cared. You watched as he swung the chair around and straddled it, sitting across from you.

“I guess a bit,” You hummed as you ate another fry, eyes narrowing as he reached across and took a handful to shove into his mouth, “I think Patty dumped me.” You said with a shrug of your shoulders, feeling like there was no point in denying it.

“She’s a -,” He stalled for a moment, “She’s pretty nasty.” He decided on at last, as if that made it any better. You tilted your head, unsure of why he would stick that label on her. He wasn’t any better and was certainly a cheater amongst other things.

“Uh huh,” You drew out slowly, “Is there a reason you came over here or?” You asked curiously as you raised your eyebrows, trying to gain knowledge of what he wanted from you. It was fairly suspicious that he had decided to speak to you now after your former conversation with Patty.

“Just wanted to check in on you.” He said with a shrug of his shoulders, his tone softer as he drifted his brown eyes towards you. You felt your stomach clench in surprise before you quickly glanced away, unable to hold his gaze for very long.

“I’m fine, Steve,” You replied tiredly as you pulled a tight smile onto your lips, “Does this look like a smile of a bum?” You asked him, unable to help yourself as a giggle burst free from your lips. It was silly, pleasant. Like it used to be.

“Ha,” He replied dryly but smiled all the same, “I see why you got dumped.” He told you as he jerked his chin towards you, making a frown form on your lips. You supposed you shouldn’t feel so sensitive towards the manner, but you were fairly hurt over everything. Patty had been your only real friend for the longest time. It was shitty.

You sighed as you scooted your chair back, earning a confused look from Steve before you gathered up all of your trash. You dramatically tossed it into the bin before you turned on your heel, not letting him have the satisfaction of seeing you all upset.

“I was kidding,” Steve shouted after you, stumbling over his chair as you headed back towards your store, “You know, just a joke!” You ignored him, not bothering to face his way before you flipped him off.

“What’s this?” You asked as you held your back over your shoulder, resting a hand on your hip as you looked at the image in front of you. The mall was long closed and you had taken your time to get the store locked up and ready for tomorrow.

Steve had a pitiful grin as he stood in front of you, a bowl filled with ice cream resting in his palms. You tilted your head, noticing the bananas and extra cherries. His hat was resting awkwardly on the side of his head, his hair sticking in different directions as if he’d messed with it for too long.

“I feel like a dick,” He said at last, “I really was just trying to check on you. Here. You can have this.” He pushed it out towards you, nearly dropping it on you before you caught it upright. He moved his hands towards you to balance it, his slender fingers brushing against your now warm skin.

“Thanks,” You replied with a laugh, “I don’t think I can eat this on my bike though.” You told him seriously as you looked down at the messy toppings, almost as if a child had set it up. He had never been the artistic type.

“We could share it here.” He suggested with a shrug of his lips, frowning his lips out softly like he wasn’t quite sure what you’d suggest. You placed the bowl down on the table before you rested your hand on your hip, thinking over his suggestion.

“Are you asking me out?” You questioned with a cocked eyebrow. Bold. It was far too bold for you. He must’ve thought the same as he snapped his head towards you so quickly that his head almost toppled off of his head.

“I-,” His lips stopped moving for a moment, his cheeks turning a bright red as his brown eyes widened in shock, “No. I mean. Yes. I uh, if you want it to be? No. I’m asking you out. Yes.” He furrowed his eyebrows tightly together, looking as confused as you felt for a moment. You laughed, trying to ignore the way your heart fluttered in your chest. It was sort of cute. Just sort of.

“Real smooth, Harrington,” You responded as you pulled a chair out, “You’ve always had a way with words.” You teased him as you sat down, mirroring the way he’d found you earlier. He snorted as he pressed a hand through his messy hair. You watched, wondering if it had grown lighter from the summer sun.

“I do,” He replied more confidently as he took the spot across from you, “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask me.” He said as he pointed the spoon towards you, then back to himself. You rolled your eyes as you stole the spoon from his fingers.

“Is that a problem?” You questioned as you took a large scoop from the ice cream, securing a piece of banana before you munched down on it. He watched you for a moment before he stole the spoon from you to take a bite of his own. At least neither of you cared about germs anymore.

“No,” He said as a cheesy smile pulled onto his lips, “I always knew you were into me.” His revelation shocked you, making your jaw drop in surprise.

“I was not,” You squeaked out, completely forgetting what Patty wanted you to say, “I bet you were the one that was into me.” You teased him back as you took another bite, then another just to spite him.

He chewed on his bottom lip as he watched you, eyes warm and filled with amusement. He softened though, his features relaxing into something you deemed as being vulnerable before he adjusted in his seat.

“A bit,” He admitted, leaving you stunned as you pressed your lips together. You could feel your pulse racing, the butterflies forming in your stomach from his words. That was certainly a surprise. You never picked up any of those feelings from him, “I always thought you were pretty.”

You felt a warm feeling grow inside of your chest, your heart thumping as you tried to comprehend his compliment. You parted your lips, your positions quickly changing as you suddenly couldn’t find the words to say.

“Oh,” You watched as he licked the bottom of the spoon clean, your knees twitching together, “I didn’t know.” You said at last, unsure of what else you could say. You felt guilty suddenly, even though you weren’t technically doing anything wrong. Not yet. He could totally be messing with you at this point.

“You still live in the same place,” He stated, but then quickly coughed as he spoke again, “Right?” He flushed once again, a soft smile pressing onto his lips. He reminded you of the boy you once knew.

“Born and raised,” You told him in agreement, “I don’t suppose you’d invite me to go swimming?” You questioned, deciding that you might as well go ahead and take the lead. He laughed.

“We could do that,” He nodded his head in agreement, “Tomorrow. It’s a date.”

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dianawinchester03 · 6 months

Text

Season 1, Episode 1 - Pilot

Series Masterlist

Y/N’s POV

"Listen to me and listen to me good Y/N L/N. Don't come back if you go out there on your own, don't call, don't text, pretend I'm dead!"

I jolt awake, buckets of sweat pouring down my head. I don't realize I'm crying until I feel my eyes burn. A stinging migraine takes over, pressure building up in my head. I gotta stop dreaming about that over and over. It was probably one of the worst days of my life.

Checking the time I see it's 5 am. I'm only a couple hours away from Jericho now, I took a pit stop at midnight because I was exhausted and still kinda hungover from the night before. Which is weird because I usually don't get hungover.

More or less I'm trying to avoid sleep because of these stupid nightmares, as hunters we don't get much sleep regardless but we're only human...until we're not. Pushing the blanket off of me, I climb out of bed and get ready for the day ahead of me. My heart skips a beat for a second, remembering I'm gonna be seeing Dean....and Sam obviously. I'm more excited to see my best friend of many years.

I think about calling my dad. I initially decide against it but I give in. He's still my old man. Growing up my dad always had high expectations of me when it came to hunting. It's clear he expected me to be psychic like my mom but after I turned 18 and nothing came, his disappointment was clear.

Mom's abilities helped him out a lot when they hunted together, according to dad, she couldn't predict the future as much but she more or less communicated with the dead on ghost cases along with her telekinetic powers. It came it handy whenever they needed to gank a monster.

The look in my fathers eyes when he talks about my mom, breaks my heart everytime. You can see how much he loved her, I could only imagine how much she loved him.

After taking a shower I try to call Dean but it goes to voicemail. So I just shoot him a quick text that I'll be in Jericho before lunch.

I put my phone to my ear after dialing my dads number and hitting call. In seconds I get an answer. "Y/n/n? Is everything okay??" My dads voice is more rugged than usual, clearly he was asleep. Concern seeping through his voice. "I'm fine daddy, I just missed you. I called to see if everything is alright?" Tears sting slightly from my eyes. God I'm such a pussy.

"I'm great baby, I'm surprised to hear from you-not that I don't want to. I'm just happy you called" He breaths out relieved. "Great well Dean called me, told me his dad was missing. I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna be meeting up with them." I say quickly as I check out of the motel room and make way to my beautiful Quinn after checking out, doubling checking to make sure I have everything.

"Understood. Update me along the way? Maybe we can do a case of our own soon?" He asks hopefully. "Yeah maybe, we'll see. I gotta go daddy. Bye, love you" I shock myself saying 'love you' I haven't told dad that in years. I grew up always saying it to my dad and whoever we considered family. The habit just stuck.

Hopping on my bike and starting her, I'm off to whatever adventure awaits.

________________________________

Third Person POV

"Goddamnit Dean where are you?" Y/N mutters to herself after calling Dean for the millionth time only to go to voice mail. This feels like karma. She decides to say screw it and go herself, hopefully they show up within the time or Dean calls back. She's still in her casual attire. A grey tank top, layered with a red flannel covered in her favorite leather jacket. Paired with combat boots.

Currently on the Sylvania Bridge, a bunch of cop cars blocking a crime scene. A deputy on the bridge speaking to some divers down in the river asks them. "Did you guys find anything?!"

"No! Nothing!" The diver responds. The deputy turns around to see Y/N. "Woah miss no civilians" He goes to usher her out of the premises. She pulls out her fake federal marshal badge and flashes it to the Deputy Jaffe according to his name tag. He seems to take the bait with a nod.

A fake smile plastered on her face "Federal Marshal, got called in on my day off. So what seems to be the situation brothers in blue?" Y/N asks nicely. "Still trying to piece it together ourselves, pretty lady. No sign of struggle. No footprints. No fingerprints. It's spotless. It's almost too clean" The other deputy investigating the car in question answers her question.

Stooping down next to Jaffe, out of view to look at the car herself. She recognizes the roar of Baby's engine. Smirking to herself as the officers talk about the boy that's missing, Troy Squire. "So this kid Troy, he's dating your daughter isn't he?" Jaffe asks Hein. "Yeah" Hein confirms.

"Hows Amy doing?" Jaffe asks. "She's putting up missing posters downtown" Hein responds. "You fellas had another one like this just last month didn't you?" Dean voice booms, surprising the deputies. "Who are you" Jaffe asks suspiciously. "They're with me deputy" Y/N covers for them, now standing up in view. A shocked yet happy look takes over Sam's face and a smirk rising on Dean's, eyeing her up and down for a split second. They both quickly recover now back to their serious faces.

"You fellas took a pit stop? Was expecting ya earlier" She says to the boys. Crossing her arms over her chest "You lot a little young for federal marshals aren't you?" Jaffe says, still suspicious. "Thanks. That awfully kind of you" Dean chuckles cockily, causing Y/N to roll her eyes. "You did have another one just like this, correct?" Dean presses his question, walking around the side of the car where Hein is.

"Yeah that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that" Jaffe confirms. "So the victim. You knew him?" Sam asks. "Town like this. Everybody knows everybody". Jaffe nods. "Any connections between the victims besides the fact that they're all men?" Y/N asks curiously. "No, not so far as we can tell" Jaffe says.

"So what's the theory?" Sam asks as he moves follows Deans movements to the side of the car in question and Y/N follows Sam. "Honestly? We don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?" Jaffe says honestly.

"Well that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect from you" Dean says sarcastically. Sam stamps on his foot and Y/N elbows him in his ribs the same time. A smile on his face towards the deputy while Jaffe looks at the trio suspiciously.

"Thank you for your time" Y/N says, a sweet smile on her face. "Gentleman" Sam greets the officers before walking past Dean. Y/N and Dean following behind. Y/N sees the seething look on Deans face. "Don't you dare think about it Winchester" She mumbles. Dean huffs, tapping his brother on his head and Y/N rolls her eyes.

"Ow! What was that for?!" Sam mutters angrily to his brother. "Why you gotta step on my foot?" He says back angrily "And you missy, why you gotta elbow my ribs" He points his finger at Y/N, rubbing his right ribs. "Why do you have to talk to police like that?" Y/N retorts back angrily. The argument between the three subsides as Sam turns to Y/N, a smile on his face.

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. "I missed you too Sammy" Y/N says chuckling at the sudden affection, though she meant it. "I didn't know you were coming" Sam says smiling.

He ruffles her hair as they pull away from the hug. "Dean called me, told me your dad hasn't been home in a couple days. Looks like I'm on the family emergency contact list" Y/N jokes, looking over at Dean, his head to the floor slightly. Indicating he's feeling a bit left out.

"Come here youuu" She says teasingly, wrapping her arms around Deans shoulders. His arms automatically go around her waist, burying his face in her neck, he smiles into the hug. Sam smirks at this and wiggles his eyebrows at his eyebrows at his brother suggestively. Knowing where Sam is getting at Dean flips off his younger brother the bird, meanwhile Y/N is oblivious to this.

"Still a short stack aren't ya princess" Dean teases. Y/N pulls away, tapping Dean on his shoulder while Sam laughs, agreeing with Dean. "Shut it you morons, I can still kick both your asses" Y/N threatens them, pointing her fingers at the brothers while they chuckle.

"Those cops don't know squat. If we're gonna find your dad, we gotta get to the bottom of this thing ourselves" Y/N changes the subject. Sam looks over her shoulder, clearing his throat. An man who looks like the sheriff with two real FBI agents behind him asks the trio. "Can I help you guys?"

"No sir, we were just leaving" Dean says and they begin walking to their respective vehicles. Not before mocking the two agents "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully" Y/N says. Dean biting back a laugh at her humor.

"You still driving that gorgeous 67' I see" Y/N eyes Baby up and down, wolf whistling. "Course I am, Baby's a chick magnet here" Dean smirks proudly, patting the hood of the Impala. Y/N snorts and Sam rolls his eyes. "Still riding that stunning Harley I see" Dean nods over to her bike. "Course I am. She's my pride and joy" Y/N smirks, echoing Deans words.

Picking up her helmet "Race you to town?" She challenges. "You're on, Princess" Dean retorts, jumping in baby and they're off.

________________________________

Now walking through town, Dean spots a young lady putting up missing persons posters with Tory Squire on them. Putting two and two together , this must be the deputy's daughter "I'll bet you that's her" He says. "Yeah" Sam agrees.

They walk up to her "You must be Amy" Dean inquires. "Yeah" she confirms. "Troy told us about you, we're his uncles and aunt. I'm Dean, this is Sammy and this is Y/N" Dean introduces everybody. "He never mentioned you to me" Amy says walking away, they follow behind her.

"Yeah, that's Troy. I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto" Dean lies causally. "So we're looking for him too and we're kind of asking around" Sam says and a young lady who seems to know Amy asks her "Hey you okay?"

"Yeah" Amy reassures. "You lovely ladies mind if we ask you a couple questions?" Y/N asks the girls nicely, hoping to make them less weary. They agree.

Y/N's POV

We're all now sitting in a diner booth. The girls across from us. Sam on the inner part of the booth, me in the middle and Dean to the end. His arm rests on the top of the seat, practically around me.

"I was on the phone with Troy, he was driving home. He said he would call me right back. And, uh, he never did" Amy explains the events of the night Troy went missing. "He didn't say anything strange? Or out of the ordinary?" Sam inquires. "No, nothing I can remember" Amy shakes her head.

"Here's the deal ladies" Dean says leaning forward, arms now on the table. "The way Troy disappeared. Somethings not right. So if you've heard anything..." Dean trails off and I notice the girls have a skeptical look in their faces. Looking at each other. They're hiding something.

"What is it girls?" Y/N asks. "Well it's just ....I mean with all these guys going missing. People talk" Amy's friend says. "What do they talk about?" Sam and Dean say in perfect unison, causing me to jump a bit. Jesus. Brothers.

She looks at Amy before continuing "Its kinda this local legend. This one girl, she got murdered out on Centennial, like, decades ago. Well supposedly, she's still out there. She hitchhikes. And whoever picks her up. Well they...disappear forever" She finishes and the tree of us share a look.

We're in the library now. Deans researching the info the girls gave us on the computer and sitting between me and Sam. No hits come on on 'Murder on Centennial'. "Let me try" Sam goes to take the keyboard but Dean slaps his hand away harshly "Got it" he says annoyed.

Sam pushes him away, rolling his chair behind his and I snicker at their childish behavior. "Dude!" He exclaims, tapping Sams shoulder "You're such a control freak" he grumbles, fixing his chair behind the two of us. And Sam types. Then something dawns on me.

"Wait, aren't angry spirits born out of violent death?" I ask. "Yeah" Dean nods confirming. I push Sams chair away "Dude!" He exclaims like Dean did, tapping my shoulder. Dean snickers at the instant karma. I type on the computer "Maybe it's not murder" I say and I type 'Suicide on Cenntenial' and got a hit on an article.

"Sharp thinking princess" Dean smirks, patting me on the small of my back. I smirk "Thanks charming". Sam begins reading the article. "1981. Constance Welch, 24 years old jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in river" Sam reads out loud. "Does it say why she did it?" Dean asks "Yeah" I say. "What?" Dean asks.

"An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute and when she comes back. They're not breathing. Both die" I briefly summarize the article, skimming through it. "Hmm" Dean hums.

"Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it. Said husband, Joseph Welch" Sam quotes the article and I notice a picture of the bridge we were on earlier. "That bridge look familiar to you fellas?" I ask rhetorically, pointing to the picture on the screen.

Later in the night we were at the bridge where Constance jumped to her death. We walk to the edge, looking down. "So this is where Constance took the swan dive" Dean says. I grimace at the sight of the dirty mucky water. The scent filling my nose and I resist the urge to gag.

"So you think your dad would have been here?" I ask, while we all look down at the river. "Well he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him" Dean says and we all begin to walk down the bridge. "Okay so now what?" Sam asks. "Now we keep digging till we find him. Might take a while" Dean says.

"Dean, I told you I have to get back..." Sam starts and they both finish "...By Monday" they say in unison. Brothers. Scares me everytime.

"Right. The interview. Yeah I forgot" Dean nods. "You're really serious about this aren't you" I ask Sam, crossing my arms over my chest. "You think you're just gonna become some lawyer. Marry your girl?" Dean says. "Maybe. Why not?" Sam shrugs.

"Does Jessica know the truth about you? About what you've done?" Dean presses. "No and she's not ever going to know" Sam says, walking up to Dean and I. I stand in-between them, already knowing somebody's gonna either get pushed or punched. "Well that's healthy." Dean retorts sarcastically . "Come on Dean, don't start" I warn him calmly, putting my hand on his shoulder.

"No y/n/n, he can pretend all he wants. But, sooner or later, you're gonna have to own up to who you really are Sammy" Dean walks back down the bridge towards Baby after saying this. Sam follows behind "And who's that?" Sam queries, agitation in his voice. "One of us" Dean says as if it's obvious, gesturing between me and him.

"No, I'm not like either of you. This is not going to be my life" Sam says kinda disgusted. Ouch, but valid. "You have a responsibility" Dean says. "To Dad? And his crusade?" Sam says, his eyes welling with tears. "If it weren't for pictures. Me and y/n wouldn't even know what our moms look like." Ohhhh boy, here we go. The look on Deans face alone could scare a toddler.

"What difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed them...they're gone. And they're never coming back" Sam finishes and Dean pushes me gently to the side from in between them. He grabs Sam and slams him against the edge of the bridge. "Woah Dean! Easy!" I try pulling Dean off of his brother but his grip is too strong.

"Don't talk about them like that" Deans tone is deadly. He lefts Sam go and turns to me. "Sorry for pushing you Princess" He says sincerely, I nod reassuring him. I look behind him and I see a woman standing at the ledge of the bridge in a white dress. "Uh....fellas...." I point at the woman. They look in the direction I'm pointing at. She turns to look at us for a second before allowing herself to fall off.

We all run towards the area where she threw herself. Looking over the edge, we don't see anything. "Where'd she go?" Dean asks. "I don't know" Sam breathes out. All of a sudden we hear Baby's engine starting. Her headlights flickering. "What the....." Dean says stunned.

Then Quinn starts, her engine roaring. The headlights flicker just like Dean's car. "Who the hell is driving your car and bike?" Sam asks us. Me and Dean hold out the keys to our vehicles, still stunned. Then the Impala and Harley tires start screeching, driving towards us. "Boys! Go! GO!" We all split into action, running away from the vehicles.

They gain on us and the three of us hurl ourselves off the edge of the bridge. Me and Dean end up slipping off the ledge, falling into the river while Sam grabs onto the ledge and pulls himself back up when the coast is clear. Baby and Quinn come to a stop.

Me and Dean fish ourselves out of the mucky water, laying on the shore edge. "Dean! Y/N!" Sam screams before seeing us. "Hey, you guys alright?" He asks worried. "We're super" Dean yells back sarcastically and I give him a weak thumbs up. Sam laughs at our state and we go to make our way back up the bridge.

I pull myself up and give my hand to Dean who's still laying on the floor like he's half dead. "Get up piglet, we gotta get back up" I tease him while groaning in pain, he huffs taking my hand and pulling himself up. "Shut it, you're covered too" He chuckles while groaning in pain from the impact too.

We're back up on the bridge checking on our vehicles. Quinn seems alright and I'm sure so is Baby. "Your car and bike alright?" Sam ask the both of us. "Yeah whatever she did to it, it seems alright now" Dean says. I nod assuring that my bikes ok. "That Constance chick, what a bitch!!" I scream out over the bridge in frustration because she almost hurt my girl.

"Well she doesn't want us digging around that's for sure" Sam says. Dean leans on the hood of the Impala, I follow and so does Sam. "So, where's the trail go from here geniuses" Sam asks the both of us.

Dean throws his hands up in defeat, grimacing at the smelly mud all over our skin and I scoff. Sam smells the air before turning to us "You guys smell like a toilet" Neither of us answer, Dean's head drops while I turn to glare at Sam. He smirks at me snickering.

Now at a motel, Dean plops his credit card on the book in-front of the receptionist. "One room please"

The man picks up the card, looking at it in recognition. "You guys having a reunion or something?" The age-able man queries. My eyes cork up at this. "What do you mean?" Sam asks now curious. "That other guy Burt Aframian, he came and bought out a room for the whole month" The man tells us whilst typing on his computer to book us a room. The boys and I share a knowing look. John was here.

We find out what room John was in. Currently I'm on my knees picking the lock to room 10. Sam and Dean have their backs turnt to me, looking out incase someone sees us. After about a minute, I hear a click and I slide my trusty hairpin out of the knob.

I open the door and walk in but Sam and Dean don't seem to notice, still looking out. I grab them both by their collars and roughly pull them into the room, locking the door behind us. We look around the room for a couple seconds and Dean goes over to the lamp, turning it on.

I notice the walls lining with paper of what seems to be Johns research on the case he was working here. Dean spots a day old sandwich and sniffs it. Gagging at the smell. "Ugh" He plops the sandwich back down. "I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least" He states the obvious.

"Yeah, no kidding Sherlock" I say sarcastically and Dean rolls his eyes at my dry tone. Sam stoops to the ground, dusting it with his fingers to find "Salt. Cats-eye shells. He was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in" Sam says getting back up. Dean notices what I'm staring at, it's the victims.

"What do you got here?" Sam asks, walking over to us. "Centennial Highway victims" I state. "I don't get it." Dean says and I see Sam walking over to the other side of the room. "They're different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection right? What do these guys have in common?" Dean ponders.

I walk over to Sam, my eyes scanning for the lord written in the wall. I catch something at the corner of my eye, walking a couple steps I turn on the lamp and I nudge Sam to check it out. I internally laugh, shaking my head. John Winchester, you smart son of a bitch. Of course you figured it out.

Sam chuckles ironically "Dad figured it out" he says. "What do you mean?" Dean asks. "He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's our woman in white" I say. Dean turns back to the wall looking at the pictures of Constance's victims. "You sly dogs" he says almost as if he's complimenting the unfaithful presumably deceased men.

"Alright so if we're dealing with a Woman in White. Dad would've found the corpse and destroyed it" Dean states. "She might have another weakness" Sam says. "No. Dad would wanna make sure. He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?" Dean asks walking over to us, looking at the notes on the wall.

"No, not that we can tell" Sam answers. "If I were your dad though, I'd go ask her husband" I say, point to the picture of Joseph Welch on the wall. "If he's still alive" Sam adds. "Alright why don't you see if you can find an address. Me and y/n gotta get cleaned up" Dean says and I clutch my duffel bag with my clothes on my shoulder.

"Hey guys?" Me and Dean turn to Sam. "What I said about Mom and Dad earlier. And your mom, y/n. I'm sorry" Sam says guiltily and sincerely. Dean puts up his hand stopping Sam. "No chick-flick moments" Dean says and Sam chuckles, I shake my head laughing. "Alright, Jerk" Sam says. "Bitch" Dean retorts.

"Oh shut it, you're a sucker for Notting Hill" I quipped teasing him, bumping Deans hip with mine causing Sam to laugh. "Hey! Julia Roberts don't count! That woman is a national treasure!" Dean exclaims defending himself. Sam bends over clutching his stomach in laughter. "Yeah...sure" I laugh ironically before pushing him when he least expects it.

"DIBS ON THE BATHROOM!" I yell, bolting to the bathroom whilst Dean stumbles on himself trying to catch his balance. I lock the door behind me quickly and Dean bangs on it. "Ahhh screw you ya nutcase!" He yells frustrated. "You wish asshat!" I retort back laughing and getting ready for my nice hot long shower.

After my shower, Dean goes in and me and Sam are left outside. Sam tried calling his girlfriend and I'm on the chair, smoking a cigarette by the window. Texting my dad and updating him about the case. Dean walks out of the bathroom, putting on his jacket and takes off the light.

"You used up all the hot water y/n" Dean says. I chuckle, taking the last puff of my cigarette and outing it. "Snooze you lose, Winchester" I smile widely at him, winking. He scoffs and chuckles at this. "I'm starving, I'm gonna grab something to eat at that diner down the street. You two want anything" He asks the both of us.

"No" Sam says. "Aframians buying" Dean says smiling and Sam shakes his head. "I'll take my usual please" I smile. "(Your favorite food/usual order) and (Your favorite soda/milkshake) coming right up, Princess" He smirks at me, winking. My heart flutters at that smile he gave me and the wink he sent my way. The fact that he remember my order. But I cover it up with returning the cocky wink "Thanks charming"

When Dean leaves I turn to Sam. We haven't really been alone for us to talk like we usually do so I take the chance now. "Hey Sammy?" I say softly. "It's Sam" he groans in annoyance at me calling him Sammy. "Whatever you say Sammy" I grin widely at him, getting back to my serious expression. He looks at me curiously. "What's wrong y/n/n?" He asks.

"I just want you to know. I don't blame you for going back to college after this case. Your brother might not be very warm and cuddly about it but you know how he is. He loves you and misses you. You're making the right choice" I say. He sighs sadly and I put my hand on his shoulder.

"You of all people deserved a shot at the Apple pie life. So does Dean. He would never admit it because he's too stubborn but he'd kill for the apple pie life you're hoping to achieve." I reassure Sam, he looks at me smiling sadly.

"You do too Y/N." He says softly. I take my hand off his shoulder shaking my head. "I don't want that. I'm where I need to be" I assure him and Sam chuckles shaking his head. "You're just as stubborn girly" He teases me and I lightly punch his shoulder. "Shut up dipshit" I say laughing.

"Never, crackhead" He laughs punching my shoulder back. God I missed my best friend. "I gotta say though" I say, a smirking taking over my face. "Jess is quite a foxy lady" I compliment his girlfriend and he smiles proudly.

"I'll never get what she sees in you" I added causing his smile to drop and me to laugh. "You're dead to me" he said flatly and I laugh louder. "I love you too Sammy" I pat his shoulder. I go to sit back down but my phone rings.

Metallica blurring from the ringtone of my phone. Sam gives me a "really?" look and I just roll my eyes taking my phone out of my pocket. It's Dean. "That's some speedy delivery. You're in for a great tip." I tease him over the phone but he doesn't respond with his usual banter.

"Guys. Five - 0. Take off." Dean says quickly. Me and Sam stand up now panicking on the low. "What about you?" Sam asks his brother concerned. "Ah, they kind of spotted me. Go find dad" Dean says and abruptly hangs up. Son of a bitch.

Me and Sam tiptoe over to the curtain by the front door. Pulling it open slightly we see a deputy walking towards it and Jaffe, the deputy from the bridge, questioning Dean. We hurry to the window I was smoking by and we open it up, grabbing our stuff we shimmy out fatasses out of the window and make a break for Baby.

We decided to go to Joseph Welch's house, husband of Constance Welch, the Woman in White, and question him. I settled for leaving Quinn at the motel as much as it broke my heart. The cops would've heard her if I started her.

________________________________

I knock on Mr. Welch's door. Within a couple seconds he opens it. He takes a second glance at me before looking at Sam. "Hi, are you Joseph Welch?" I ask nicely. "Yeah" he confirms, eyeing me up and down.

We're now walking through his yard and Sam shows him a photo of him, John and Dean from the 80s, asking Mr. Welch if he had come by at anytime. "Yeah. He was older but that's him" Mr. Welch confirms that John was here. "He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter" he said.

"That's right. We're working a story together" Sam lies to keep our cover. "Well I don't know what the hell know of story you're working on. The questions he asked me..." Mr. Welch trailed off and I injected "About your late wife, Constance"

"He asked me where she was buried" He said. "And where was that again?" Sam asks and I mentally facepalm. Real smooth Sammy. Real smooth. "What? I gotta go through this twice" Mr. Welch said slightly agitated. "It's just fact checking sir, if you don't mind." I say calmly, he eyes me up and down again before nodding. Sam notices this too.

"In a plot, behind my old place over on Breckenridge." He tells us where she's buried. "Why did you move?" Sam asks. "I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died" Mr. Welch stated obviously. "Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?" I ask him.

"No way, Constance. She was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I've ever known" He assures us as if he's trying to convince us and himself. "So you had a happy marriage?" Sam asks and Welch hesitates for a second before saying "Definitely" he says.

Sam and I share a look before he takes a deep breath. "Well that should do it sir. Thank for your time" I say we pretend to walk off. Sam takes out the keys to baby and I look at him with a "I'm gonna do it" look. He nods and I call out for Mr. Welch.

"Mr. Welch, you ever heard of a woman in white?" Welch turns around confused. "A what?" He asks. "A woman in white. Or sometimes a weeping woman" Sam repeats my words, explaining it further. "It's a ghost story. Well..." I start to explain and I chuckle. "It's more of a phenomenon, really" We start walking back towards Mr. Welch.

"They're spirits. They've been sighting for hundreds of years. Dozens of places" I say, looking over to Sam to continue. "In Hawaii, in Mexico. Lately in Arizona, Indiana." As he lists the places I hold up my fingers, counting them. "All these are different women you understand but all share the same story". Sam says

"Kids, I don't care much for nonsense" Mr. Welch says now aggravated, turning to walk off but I stop him. "See when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them. And these women basically suffering from temporary insanity murdered their children. Then once they realized what they had done. They took their own lives" I explain and Sam takes over.

"So now their spirits are cursed. Walking backroads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man. They kill him. And that man is never seen again" Sam further digs. "You think.....You think that has something to do with....Constance. You smartasses!" Mr. Welch, now horrified at the possibility, breathes heavily.

"You tell me. You hesitantly claimed you had happy marriage but by the way you were checking out my friend here... I'd beg to differ" Sam says, his gaze soft. Ohhh that's cold. "I mean, maybe, maybe I made some mistakes, but no matter what I did, Constance, she never would've killed her own children. Now you two get the hell outta here! And you don't come back!" Mr. Welch shuns us angrily, shaking trying to hold back tears.

"Jesus Sam, that was a bit cold" I say as we walk back to the car. Sam sighs opening baby and jumping in, opening the passenger side from inside for me. "One man was unfaithful and now people are dying. I'm not saying they're saints but it's messed up" He says putting the car in reverse driving off.

I sigh, "That's the job for ya, hey, gimme your phone" without hesitation he gives me his phone "Sure, what for?" He asks while in dialing. "You'll see" I smirk putting the phone to my ear. I take my gun out from my waist, rolling down the window and aiming it out the window to the sky.

"Y/N what're you doing?" Sam questions now worried. I shush him with a finger to my lips. "911 what's your emergency?" The lady operator says on the line. I let out a fake scream and Sam now realizes what I'm doing, holding back his laughter.

"Help!! Please!! My husband and the neighbor are f- " I pull the trigger before I could finish the sentence. A ear piercing scream leaves my throat "HE HAS A GUN PLEASE!! HELP US!" Sam is biting his fist from laughing. "The blood!! Oh the blood! HONEY!!" I quickly give the operator address on the other side of where we are and hang up handing it back to Sam who is hysterical.

"You..really are ...a crackhead.." He says in-between laughs and I chuckle. "Whatever dipshit" I retort. Within a couple minutes my phone rings. I answer putting it on speaker. "Fake 911 phone call, princess. I don't know. That's pretty illegal. Aren't you a bad girl?" Dean teases me from over the phone.

I scoff rolling my eyes as Sam chuckles, grimacing at the last part of Deans sentence. "You're welcome, charming" I chuckle. "Listens guys we gotta talk" Dean starts to say but Sam interrupts. "Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. And she's buried behind her old house so that should be our next stop."

Dean cuts Sam off "Sammy would you shut up for a second?" Dean tries to interject but Sam continues "We just can't figure out why he hasn't destroyed the corpse yet" Sam rambles. "Well that's what I'm trying to tell you two. He's gone. Dad left Jericho" Dean says.

"What? How do you know?" I say surprising, my mouth agape. "I've got his journal" Dean says. My jaw falls further, practically on the floorboard of Baby. "He doesn't go anywhere without that thing" Sam says. "Yeah, well, he did this time" Dean says. "What's it say?" I ask. "Same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going" Dean explains what's written.

"Coordinates. Where to?" Sam confirms. "Dean, what the hell is going on?" I question now confused and irritated by the vague messages John's leaving. Suddenly Sam hits the brakes of the car and my phone slips out of my hand. I catch a glimpse of the Woman in White infront of the car before he hurls straight through her.

"Sam! Y/N!?" I hear Dean yell for us from the phone that's now on the floorboard. Me and Sam try catching our breath. "Take me home" is all we hear, the woman in white appears in the back of the Impala. Looking at Sam. We don't answer and she says again, more irritated this time.

"Take.Me.Home" I can see her ghost flicker, I reach into my boots to grab to iron knuckle cuffs, gripping it in my hand "No" He says sternly, holding his ground. The doors of the car lock automatically, trapping us in. We try opening our sides but it's stuck. The Impala is now driving itself to Constance's old house where she killed her kids. Me and Sam still trying for the doors.

"GODDAMIT!!" I yell in frustration, punching the window with my iron knuckle cuff but it barely cracks. We pull up to her house, against our will, and baby shuts off. "Don't do this" I plead with her but she doesn't seem interested in me, expected. "I can never go home" She says in a somber voice, her ghost flickering.

"You're scared to go home" Sam says and it clicks. She's scared to face her kids. In a split second, she was in the middle of me and Sam. A force throws me to the backseat, pinning me down and she jumps on top of Sam, straddling him. "Get off of him you bitch!" I scream at her. "Hold me, I'm so cold" she breathes out needy.

I cringe at this and break out of her hold. I reach over and punch her with the iron knuckle cuff ring. She disapparates, but not for long. "You okay Sammy??" I reach over to help him, before he could answer. She appears back on his lap. Backing handing to the back seat. The knuckle cuffs fly out my hand and onto the floor in the back seat.

"You can't kill me, I'm not unfaithful I've never been" Sam argues, groaning in pain as she passes her hand along his skin. "You will be" she says before kissing him. "YOU SICK BITCH!" I try to get out of her hold but the force is too strong.

Sam struggles to turn the keys in the ignition. She disappears for a quick seconds and we both look around. Sam starts screaming in pain "SAM!!!" I yell, feeling powerless that I can't do more, I see the knuckle cuffs at the corner of my eye, I try reaching for it but it's too far.

She appears back on him, her face now decayed. Her fingers digging into Sam's chest. "NO!!" My voice is pained, still attempting to reach the cuffs. I finally get a hold of the cuffs, gunshots ringing through the driver seat window. I see Dean outside of the Impala shooting Constance.

"My hero" I grumble sarcastically to myself at the fact that Dean is shooting a ghost. I throw the iron cuffs at her again, this time seems to work a little better. Sam gets up and starts the car. "Take her home Sammy" I say and Sam nods curtly. Driving Baby head first into Constance's house to face her kids.

"Sam! Y/N!" Dean yells but the impact from the crash, throws me over into the front seat. How? Don't ask me. "Guys!?" Dean yells for us. "Here!" I yell back to catch his attention. "You two okay? Can you move?" He asks, moving a piece of wood from infront the window. "Yeah, help us" Sam says groaning in pain.

I feel a bump starting to form on my head. Dean pulls me out from the passenger side and I lean on the side of his car. Next taking Sam out. "There you go" He says holding Sam up and checking on me, I give him a thumbs up and we see Constance infront of us, holding an old picture of herself.

Her eyes flicker up to us angrily, she tosses the picture aside and a chest of drawers come hurling towards us, pinning us again the wall by our mid regions. We groan trying to push it off but it wouldn't budge. The lights in the house start flickering and we all look around.

The stairs starts leaking water, assuming that's foreshadowing the water she used to drown her kids. The boys and I look up the starts to see the shadow of two kids holding hands. "You've come home to us, Mommy." They say in unison, reminding me of when the boys speak in perfect unison.

Shit gave me the heebie jeebies.

They appear behind a terrified Constance and they start hugging. Constance is a screaming mess, her spirit flickering from decayed to her normal self. She and the kids spirit diminish, melting to the ground where the water from upstairs is leaking. That has got to be where she drowned them.

Once her spirit is gone, the boys and I look at each other. Grunting from the pain, we push the chest of drawer over with an ease compared to earlier. We walk towards the puddle of water. "So this is where she drowned her kids" Dean states the obvious. "Thats why she could never go home" I say and Sam nods. "She was too scared to face them" Sam confirms.

"You guys found her weak spot. Nice work kids" Dean pats Sam on his chest and me on my head and we laugh in pain. "Yeah I wish I could say the same for you. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?" Sam mocks his brother and I laugh rubbing my head. "Hey. Saved your asses" Dean defends, pointing at us.

"No smartass, it was my ironcuffs" I snort holding it up to show him, joining in on making fun of Dean. "Whatever" Dean grumbles. He puts his hands to his knees bending down. "I'll tell you another thing. If you guys screwed up my car....I'll kill ya both " He threatens me and Sam and I snicker.

"Yeah, be sure to burn my body. Before you shoot my ghost when I haunt ya" I quipped, Dean glares at me and Sam laughs and we high-five.

________________________________

Third Person POV

Sam and Dean are driving down the empty road. Y/N on her bike side by side to the Impala. Dean glances at her, admiring her physique. He admires her a lot, the way she handles herself on hunts. She did a hell of a job today. Growing up together he watched her go from a timid shy girl to a confident badass woman.

He holds her in high regard, never backing down from a fight. Her smartass mouth keeps him on edge, she always finds a way to keep him in his toes. Sure he dropped his flirty comments here and there and so did she. But Dean would never do anything to mess their friendship up.

He cherishes their friendship too much to allow himself to let his little crush ruin that. Even if he doesn't accept his feelings for her. Growing up together he protected her the way he did for Sam.

Feeling a sense of responsibility for her. He missed her this past year. He doesn't regret calling her to come on the search for their father, he feels bad never called before even though he wanted to.

She wanted her space to grow and he respected that, unlike her father.

Sam is talking Deans ear off about some place their dad should be after analyzing the coordinates he left in the journal for them. He realizes his brother isn't paying attention to him, looking over to see Dean staring at Y/N riding next to the Impala.

He smirks at this, knowing his brother has had a bit of a crush on Y/N for a couple years now. Y/N has liked Dean basically her whole life but would never admit it to Sam. To protect their friendship but he doesn't mind. They're good for each other. Too damn stubborn to admit it though.

"You're still crushing on her" Sam teases his brother, this sentence snaps Dean out of his daydreaming and his head spins to his younger brother. "The hell are you talking about? I do not have a crush on Y/N dude. She's like my little sister" Dean scoffs denying the fact.

Sam chuckles shaking his head. Stubborn ass.

"Yeah, sure" Sam says ironically, changing the subject, he tells Dean that their Dad went to Blackwater Ridge Colorado.

"How far?" Dean asks. "About 600 miles" Sam tells him, flashing the light on the map. "If we shag ass we could make it by morning" Dean says looking at Sam and back to Y/N next to baby.

Sam looks at his brother awkwardly. "Dean, um...." Dean turns away disappointed, staring at the road. "You're not going" He says turning back to Sam. "The interview is in like 10 hours. I gotta be there" Sam tries to reason with his brother.

Dean nods sadly, "Yeah. Yeah whatever. I'll take to home." He says and Sam turns the light off. Dean makes a turn to lead onto the highway.

Outside, Y/N notices this turn and follows them, she assumes they're dropping Sam back to Stanford. It saddens her to know she might not see her greatest friend for a long time but she knows it's for the best. It's what he deserves.

They arrive in front of Sam's apartment. Y/N parks her bike infront on the Impala and turns her engine off. She takes off her helmet and hops off her bike at the same time Sam is getting out of Deans car.

Taking her time to walk towards the brothers she hears Sam say, while he's leaning down to face Dean in the window after he closes the passenger door. "Maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?" Sam half promises. "Yeah all right" Dean nods, not convinced and Sam taps the door twice.

Dean starts his engine while Sam turns to Y/N. "Sam? Y/N?" He calls out for his brother and best friend. They turn to him. "You know we made a hell of a team back there." Y/N nods sadly "Yeah" he responds. Turning back to Y/N, he smiles at his longest friend sadly.

"Don't give me that look boy, you better lawyer it up when I call your ass from jail to bail me out" Y/N attempts to ease the situation by joking. Sam chuckles and pulls her into a hug. Wrapping his arms around her shoulder, she wraps hers around his waist.

Quickly wiping the tear that's been threatening to fall from her eyes so they don't see. He ruffles her hair for what he thinks is the last time and says "Hang in there kid". She scoffs lightly punching his shoulder.

"You're only a couple months older, now go before I kick your ass" she pretends to chase him while he walks to his apartment. Y/N sighs sadly, turning to the Impala and jumping in the passenger seat. She sees Dean isn't facing her, his eyes on the driver side window and that could only mean one thing.

Placing her hand on his shoulder she says, "He'll be okay Dean". He turns to her, his face stained in a couple tears. Her heart breaks seeing this "Come here" she ushers him to hug her, he leans into her chest. Allowing a couple more tears to fall from his eyes to her chest.

She comforts him as he always did her, reassuring him that Sam will be alright. That his little brother loves him. That she will always be there for him. Stroking his hair, she feels butterflies fill her stomach now realizing their position. She tells herself now is not the time or place.

Ignoring it but she can't help but feel something is wrong. Like if something is going to happen. It's been bugging her all day. Dean starts chuckling a little at her words earlier to Sam.

"Don't give me that look boy, you better lawyer it up when I call your ass from jail to bail me out"

Even in a time like this, Y/N is the only person who could put a smile on his face. "What're you laughing at" Y/N asks, chuckling with him, confused how he went from crying to laughing. Before he could tell her, they hear Sam scream "NO!!" Pain in his voice.

They snap out of it, bolting out of Deans car. They kick the door down to Sam's apartment. A blast of heat gushes out through the door "Sam!" Dean yells for his brother. Y/N smells smoke.

'Oh no. This is it. This is the bad thing that was going to happen'. Y/N thinks to herself. "JESS!!" Sam screams in agony, Dean and Y/N rush to Sam's room.

Upon running in they see Jess pinned to the ceiling, engulfed in flames. No fucking way.

"Sam! Sam!" Y/N and Dean yell. "NO!! NO!!" Sam screams still on the bed, blocking himself from the flames.

"We gotta get out of here!" Dean screams, he and y/n pull Sam off the bed. Hauling him out of the room. "JESS!! JESS!! NO!!" Sam screams in shock. They make it out of the apartment in time before the blast takes over the whole building.

________________________________

Hours have passed since Jess' death. Dean is looking at the burning building being sprayed by the firefighters. His mind flashing back to that unfaithful night when his mother was killed. His heart grieves for Sam knowing that pain is now twice as hard on his little brother, who he fought so hard to protect.

Sam spent the first hour crying into Dean and Y/N's arms. Currently at the trunk of the Impala, he's loading his rifle, a grim look on his face while tears still fall from his eyes.

Y/N's heart pains seeing her best friend like this. Leaning against Baby's boot, taking a drag from her cigarette in this stressful time. A habit she picked up from her father. Sam ushers her to pass it. She looks at him surprised. "You sure?" he just nods curtly.

He hands Y/N the rifle, as Dean approaches them, so she can finish loading it. Passing the almost burnt out bud to him, Sam takes a few pulls, letting the smoke out. Before finishing it, flicking it to the ground and crushing it with his boot.

Turning to face his elder brother. Y/N throws the gun into the trunk. "We've got work to do fellas" She says grimly and Sam shuts the trunk.

Authors Note

So this chapter was supposed to be uploaded since last night but right after I finished proofreading and editing. My dumbass accidentally deleted the entire chapter!

The tears that were shed. Holy Fuckk. That's a pain I never wanna go through again. And I've watched all 15 seasons of Supernatural😂

Anyways. I hope whoever is reading that enjoyed the first episode. I'll try my best to finish the next one by Thursday for the latest. I'm planning to do a lot with Y/N's character. I'm trying to avoid leaving plot holes but I'm kinda new to consistent writing so bare with me.

Update

I forgot to add in the fact that Sam and Deans mom grew up with Y/N's parents. I added into the prologue. Please forgive my lack of planning. Xoxo

#spn #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x reader #dean and sam #sam and dean

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taexual · 11 months

Text

sleepwalking ● 7 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, a ton and a half of mutual pining, SLOW BURN

words: 9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 7 ► my secrets are burning a hole through my heart

When Jungkook returned to his own bunk that night, he drew his curtains and spent the whole bus ride to Copenhagen plotting his next move, wishing he’d stayed next to you as you slept, and cursing his friends all at the same time.

He knew that, to Sid, it must have felt like Jungkook had already lost the bet. He’d admitted to being in love with you, and there couldn't be a bigger loss than the vulnerability that comes with having feelings—not to a loser like Sid, at least.

So, it was a matter of pride that first time in Prague, when Sid proposed the bet. Jungkook couldn’t have his friends think that, all these years later, he was still obsessed with you. Still down bad—very bad—for you.

And a casual date was supposed to prove that he was casual.

He wasn’t. God, there was casual, and there was him when he saw you, dressed up for the wedding, on the train.

He supposed it irked him, this realisation, this persistent, undying love. Not because he didn’t want to be in love with you—that was out of his control, he couldn’t help his feelings—but because this was supposed to mean that his friends had been right.

But he didn’t think they were right.

They treated his love for you like something to be embarrassed about. Something shameful, pathetic.

In reality, it was the opposite. The moments he’d shared with you over the past few days lingered in the corners of his mind, and it made him happy, and hopeful, and lucky, and full of positive adjectives that flooded his mind each time he remembered your smile after that cursed Backstreet Boys performance at the wedding.

And he knew he was different from his friends who only felt butterflies when they were hugging a bottle of Bacardi or sitting behind the wheel of a race car. But different didn’t mean worse.

That had been typical Sid, needing to prove that he was better. That he was superior precisely because he wasn’t in love with anyone.

And Jungkook had realised at the bar earlier that the point he was really trying to make with this bet was that, yes, he was in love with you four years after you broke up. But it wasn’t pathetic, and it wasn’t shameful.

And he wasn’t inferior to Sid because of it.

He could make him lose this bet despite still being in love with you.

Which, Jungkook realised—as he rolled over on his back and exhaled so deeply, the covers fluttered around his bunk—was pathetic. It made sense to care about you, because, at least, you’d cared about him, too, once upon a time. But Sid, most likely, never did.

And yet Jungkook still wanted to make him crumble, purely because Sid went around playing games, manipulating people, and doing whatever the hell he wanted, and never—never—suffering any consequences of his actions.

In a way, Jungkook supposed, he deserved consequences, too. He almost expected inconveniences to begin striking him as payback for agreeing to Sid’s game. As karma.

He didn’t want that, and he was afraid these inconveniences would grow: a bird would crap on him, he’d forget the lyrics to his songs, fall off the stage, get hit by a bus on his way out of the venue—and, to top it off, you’d stop talking to him after learning about the bet.

No. No, that couldn’t happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.

He tried to reason with himself then: did he really care about his Katana that much?

But that didn’t work, because he knew he did.

He’d bought the bike with his first paycheck—actually, his sixth, because he wasn’t being paid much when Rated Riot first started out, and the bike, even damaged, cost a fortune. And he’d repaired it from the terrible condition it was in all by himself; the engine almost literally crumbled in his hands.

He was proud of it. He loved it. He did not want to lose it, not to anyone, and especially not to Sid and Jude: one of them would never shut up if Jungkook lost this bet, and the other one would probably forget about it after a few days, but the principle was the same.

This wouldn’t work, he had to keep the bike.

Then, he tried to find a way around the conditions that Sid had come up with: he clarified that both of you had to know that you were back together. That, unfortunately, eliminated the possibility of Jungkook making it seem like you were back together, even though you weren’t; not really.

But then there was the condition of not telling you about the bet. What if he asked someone else to tell you? He supposed that could work—unless it’d make everything much worse since you wouldn’t hear about it from him, and you’d be so mad, you’d stop talking to him anyway.

No, that was too risky; it wouldn’t work either.

Finally, he figured, he was going to have to win the bet fairly, because of the following reasons: a) he couldn’t find a way to cheat, at least not at this point; b) he simply couldn’t let Sid win, not when he already won everything, because people were too intimidated to stand up to him; c) he couldn’t lose his bike; and, most importantly, d) he really did want to get back together with you and shuddered at the thought of losing you.

The tour bus reached Copenhagen in the early hours of the afternoon.

Nearly everyone had plans for the day before the soundcheck – Taehyung and Luna had decided to see the Tivoli Gardens before you even reached Denmark, and Yoongi and Hoseok decided to be the third and the fourth wheel respectively.

Sid, Jude, and Minjun had, weirdly, split up. You weren’t aware of each of their whereabouts, but you knew Jungkook didn’t go with them, citing his reasoning as “couldn’t decide which one of them to go with”. You assumed he would eventually end up joining Taehyung and Luna, too.

Meanwhile, you stayed back to help the crew prepare for the show—you thought you had to, since you still felt guilty for getting drinks last night while everyone else stayed back to work.

Everyone looked overworked, yet insisted they were fine today. You sent a few of the staff members off to rest—they left the room, but you had a suspicion that they went to work elsewhere instead—and joined Seokjin in the empty venue.

The Rated Riot logo was already hoisted by the back of the stage. The lights on it still flickered when it was turned on; at certain points, it appeared as though the band’s name was “R-R-R-Rate it”. Not to mention, countless lightbulbs around the frame had shattered last night in Berlin, and made the logo look purposefully edgy—if you didn’t know why some of the bulbs weren’t working.

To solve this, the crew had strung fairy lights around the broken sign and curled some of the strings around the wall behind it, illuminating the dark backdrop of the stage. This accentuated the lettering and created a lightning bolt effect on the backdrop, even despite some of the lights not working.

You thought that, as soon as the crew fixed the flickering—they were working on it at the moment—you might actually like the logo better this way. Perhaps the roadies should be invited to the next concept meeting for the band.

However, you had to admit, you wouldn’t have stayed back if you’d known Seokjin would employ you to carry the equipment inside. You wanted to help, but not at the expense of your spine.

The venue for tonight wasn’t particularly big—none of them were, it’s why you loved Rated Riot’s gigs so much; all of them felt incredibly intimate—but the distance from the bus to the stage was a long one.

Now, Seokjin watched as you heaved the metal decorations with pitying eyes, yet did not offer his assistance – because he knew you would refuse, but also because he preferred to yell at people rather than to carry heavy things himself.

“Where am I putting this?” you huffed—not for the first time today; Seokjin insisted on supervising every piece of equipment individually instead of allowing you to drop everything wherever.

“This one can go anywhere,” he waved his hand around just as his phone started to ring in his hand. “I need to take th—hold on, not there!”

You blinked at him, already in the process of putting the metal frame down. “You said anywhere!”

“Anywhere but there!” he shouted as he picked up the call and turned his back to you, focusing on the conversation on his phone. “Yes? No! No. Really? No. Okay, yes.”

It was hard to tell if the conversation he was having was serious enough to ignore you, based on what you heard—but that was how phone conversations with him went; if you asked two questions at the same time, he’d only answer one and it was your responsibility to guess which one.

Deciding to just leave the metal frame anywhere—except where he initially said—and run out of here to help someone else before he could notice your absence, you strained to drag the decoration closer towards the stage. You attempted to lower it slowly, but your hands were nearly shaking at that point, and you ended up dropping it when it was a few inches off the ground. You barely managed to leap away from it as it landed with a clang far louder than was necessary.

Naturally, Seokjin turned around, displeased. Covering the speaker on his phone, he clicked his tongue.

“Please,” he said. “I appreciate your help, but don’t break anything. We’re already short on equipment after Berlin.”

“This weighs as much as I do,” you countered, straightening and immediately supporting your back with your hands as the bones somewhere cracked. You weren’t built for this. “And it’s metal. It’d break me before I could break it. Is this spot okay?”

“It’s fine. Could you bring out the mic stand, too, please? Thanks so much,” he said, and before you could react, he returned to his call. “I’m here. Yes. Mmhmm.”

Sighing as you attempted to stretch, you climbed up the stage steps and picked the microphone stand up from the nook by the exit to the changing area.

“Need some help?” a voice asked from the darkness behind you. You jumped so violently that you nearly tossed the stand in the direction the sound was coming from.

“Jesus,” you wheezed, clutching your chest as Jungkook came into the light from the hallway.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said and, not waiting for your response, took the stand from you and carried it to the middle of the stage.

“Thanks,” you said, watching him while you recovered. “Didn’t know you were here.”

“No problem,” he replied, lifting the stand to his height before placing it where he personally saw fit.

Seokjin could hardly complain—Jungkook was going to be the one who used the microphone, after all—and yet, as soon as he ended the call and turned around, he groaned loudly.

“No! Do you have any concept of what the middle of the stage is?” he yelled, approaching Jungkook, clearly determined to do this himself.

“I just thought it’d be better if—”

“It would not be better if,” Seokjin cut him off, climbing up the steps and grabbing the stand from him to place it in the right spot. “If it’s slightly to the left, then you’ll be knocking into Yoongi every time you lean back. If it’s to the right, then the same thing with Taehyung. Don’t even get me started on the stand being too far back, so you could successfully trip and fall into Hoseok’s drum set.”

Jungkook glanced at you—you closed your eyes and nodded, confirming that this lecture was a normal process of working with Seokjin—then looked back at the stage manager.

“I’m a real safety hazard in your eyes, aren’t I?” he joked.

“You are,” Seokjin replied completely seriously. Jungkook did a double-take as he’d already begun to turn to you again—to check if his little joke made you smile; it did. “Go now! It’s bad luck for the artist to see the stage before the concert.”

You snorted at this, while Jungkook frowned, confused by the logic—he was, technically, going to see the stage during the soundcheck—but he chose not to argue as he joined you at the back of the stage while Seokjin busied himself with repositioning the speakers at the front.

“Is he always like this?” Jungkook asked you in a concerned whisper as he glanced back over his shoulder. “I think I’ve only ever seen him laughing. This is a first for me.”

“Yeah, he’s stressed,” you explained. “Lots of back-to-back shows and all of the venues seem to have something wrong with them. At least, according to his standards.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “What else can I do to help?”

You lifted your eyebrows at this, genuinely worried that he was entering a new stage of masochism. “Are you kidding? Get out of here while he’s not looking.”

“No, I can—I can help,” he said despite his confidence faltering at your words. Perhaps he really should really have been running for his life.

“No, you can’t,” you retorted, placing a hand on his shoulder as you guided him towards the hallway. “You still have to perform later tonight. I’ll help; you rest.”

Jungkook stopped walking and turned around—you didn’t react quickly enough and your hand brushed over his chest as you pulled it away, the tips of your fingers catching on the soft material of his corduroy jacket.

“Well, he’s not looking right now,” he said, peeking at Seokjin again. “Let’s both go.”

You shook your head. The moment had suddenly become so melodramatic, your next line should have been, ‘it’s too late for me, go on without me.’

Simply, you disagreed, “I can’t—”

“Just for a quick break,” he cut you off, an almost pleading tone in his voice. He took your hand—or tried to, but ended up grabbing your wrist—as he pulled you after him into the dark hallway, towards the changing room. “You deserve it.”

Despite being unable to resist—he wasn’t very rough, but he was very determined not to let you out of his grip—you still tried to protest, “you don’t know that.”

“I know you and I know you deserve that,” he shot back and opened the door into the inner hallway, waiting for you to go in and, after you paused, encouraging, “come on.”

You relented with an uncertain sigh as you walked through the door.

The two of you entered Rated Riot’s changing room—currently empty because everyone else was out in the city—and you were surprised to feel relieved to be here alone.

You’d been working ever since you reached the city over three hours ago, save for a little break when you went to grab some coffee from the deli across the street right after you arrived. You hadn’t even realised how tired and hungry you were now.

“Should we order some food, then?” you asked. “I thought you left with the rest of the guys, so I didn’t plan any meals at the venue.”

“Actually,” Jungkook said, grabbing his phone from where he’d left it on the make-up table, “why don’t we go out to eat? I saw a fast-food place across the street.”

You’d seen it too when you were getting drinks, but you weren’t sure if leaving right now was a good idea—you were here so you could help the crew, after all.

Then again, this was just lunch – you’d be back in an hour, maybe even less. The soundcheck wouldn’t begin until two hours later, so the rest of the team probably wouldn’t be back before then. And it wasn’t like you’d be abandoning the crew, either, since Seokjin had them all under strict control.

“I guess we can do that,” you said, checking the pockets of your oversized leather jacket—there were many of them, and you needed a minute. “I think I left my wallet on the bus, though. We have to stop by there.”

“It’s fine,” he said. “My treat.”

Following the trip to Paris—which was his treat, too, since he’d bought the train tickets with his personal money—you were quick to dismiss this offer.

“I can send you the money from my phone,” you decided, walking back to the door of the changing room. “We can go.”

Jungkook sighed, mumbling under his breath, “impossible to do anything nice for you.”

You turned around, not sure what you’d just heard. “Hmm?”

“Nothing, nothing,” he replied with a quick shake of his head and reached over to hold the door open for you.

“We’ll probably have to sneak past Jin, though. I’m not sure how that’s going to—”

“We’re going out to get food!” Jungkook called out as the two of you walked down the hallway towards the stage. You looked at him in horror. He asked, “anyone want anything?”

“I’m good,” Seokjin replied when he saw you emerge. You paused, ready to stop and explain why you were leaving, but Jungkook took your hand again, pulling you with him down the stage steps.

“Oh—we’ll see you later,” you shouted to Seokjin—who mumbled something and waved in your general direction—and then yanked your hand out of Jungkook’s grip. “You can’t keep doing that.”

“What?” he lifted his eyebrows, surprised by your abrupt hostility. “Offer people to buy them food?”

“You can’t just announce that we’re leaving,” you said as you two made your way towards the exit of the venue. “You may be able to come and go as you please, but I’m not entitled to freedom like that. I have to ask if people are going to be okay while I’m gone.”

“See, but if you ask, then you’re giving them reasons not to be okay,” Jungkook argued. “And if you just say you’re leaving, then they have no choice.”

You rolled your eyes. “Life is so very simple for you.”

“It is,” he replied with a grin as he opened the back door for you. “And, as long as you’re with me, I can make it simple for you, too.”

The fast-food place that you’d both seen turned out to be a small hamburger restaurant. When you and Jungkook entered, it was empty, save for the waiter by the cash register.

He greeted you in Danish and even after your greetings in English, he continued to ask you something in his native language. When you apologised for not understanding, his eyes doubled in size and, he, too, apologised for not realising you weren’t local.

You decided to take this as a compliment. You had felt out of place wherever you went; so very obviously foreign here. Not that anyone minded it, but there was something oddly embarrassing about being a tourist. Even if you were, technically, here for work.

The atmosphere inside the restaurant was nice and calming; mellow instrumental music played on the speakers and large windows faced the beautiful brick buildings across the empty street. Really, putting you in a good mood required almost no effort today, but this restaurant being empty still made your heart soar.

You and Jungkook took seats at a table by the window and hung your jackets on the backs of your chairs. You both took a moment to enjoy the view before you picked up the dark brown paper menus on the table.

There weren’t a lot of options, so you were quick to choose. And, because this was a very small restaurant, you assumed you’d have at least twenty good minutes of taking in the sights outside the window—especially the pair of collies that had escaped their owner and were currently chasing each other down the cobblestone street—before your food would be brought to you. But it reached you mere minutes later.

The burgers looked very appetising, although the portions were bigger than either of you expected; french fries were hanging off your plates.

Like complete tourists, you and Jungkook clinked your burgers together before taking your first bites. You looked at each other immediately once you got the first taste.

“Oh, this is so good,” you whined, your mouth full.

“Right?” Jungkook nodded in eager agreement as he took another bite, frowning deeply and shaking his head as if in disbelief—you knew him well enough to recognise this as a sign of satisfaction. “Easily top ten best burgers I’ve had in my life.”

“Definitely,” you agreed. “And to think there aren’t any people here? I’m in awe.”

“I know, right?” he said again as he continued to chew—far longer than was necessary because he refused to swallow until he gathered enough courage to comment casually enough, “I’m glad I got to try this with you.”

You looked up from your burger. The collies outside had tired and lied down on the pavement, giving their owner enough time to catch his hat in the wind and reach his dogs. You were not sure what the meaningful look in Jungkook’s eyes was supposed to imply.

“Because I know how to do the Heimlich?” you offered.

He blinked at this. He was expecting all sorts of different questions after he said that, but this wasn’t one of them.

“No,” he said, the corners of his lips curling into an involuntary smile. “But that’s a good thing to know.”

“I am also, of course, the expert on burgers,” you guessed then.

“It’s not because of your skills,” he said. “It’s just because it’s you.”

You took another bite and, as you chewed, you picked up a napkin to wipe your lips. You felt very self-conscious suddenly. And you needed a moment—for what, you didn’t know.

The dogs outside refused the leash, jumping around their owner, who cursed in, at least, three different languages; you could hear as much from inside.

“Okay, listen,” you said after a minute, “so, if there was never any ex,” you watched Jungkook cringe softly as you mentioned this, ��what is wrong with you?”

The brutality of the question took him off-guard as he coughed in surprise, covering his mouth with his hand.

“What?” he asked through spasms of coughing. “Nothing’s wrong with me.”

“You’ve been acting weird since the tour started.”

He employed an aura of nonchalance as he countered, “how am I acting weird?”

“Well, for one, you forced me to go to Paris with you,” you reminded him.

“I don’t recall there being any forcing.”

“There was emotional forcing.”

He shook his head with a small roll of his eyes. “Fine. But that doesn’t prove that I’m acting weird.”

“Let’s say that’s true,” you said. “Then why are you here?

Jungkook put his burger down, wiping the crumbs on his hands with a napkin.

“Okay,” he said. “Now what is that supposed to mean? Can’t I be here?”

“Everyone else is sight-seeing,” you explained before the offence in his eyes could deepen. “Taehyung and Luna went to that theme park, and Yoongi and Hoseok tagged along. You know the one I mean.”

“Tivoli,” he said.

“Right,” you nodded. “Even your three musketeers went out. Why didn’t you go anywhere?”

“I’m sure they picked up some girls on their way, so they have enough company.”

You lifted your eyebrows at this; you could recall Sid and Jude chatting up girls at the concert last night in Berlin. “More girls? Your fans weren’t enough?”

Jungkook tsked. “Our fans have better taste.”

Your expression softened.

“Good point,” you said, returning your attention to your food. “Why didn’t you go to Tivoli then?”

“Because you weren’t going,” he replied so quickly, your eyes fluttered back to him.

Another long, heavy moment passed. You felt like you were in middle school again, the way you were tiptoeing on the edges of the topic that you were almost discussing.

“See, that’s weird,” you said as your gaze slid down his chest and then settled on the view outside of the restaurant window.

With the dogs gone, the street was completely empty and, somehow, this emptiness amplified the silence inside of the restaurant. The muzak changed according to the flow of your conversation; you could barely hear the instrumental beat anymore.

Jungkook understood your reasoning—he heard the implication in his own words—and he saw the way you began to avoid his gaze as soon as he admitted that he’d stayed back for you.

But you didn’t just look surprised, you looked almost frightened. Like he’d just told you he was thinking of proposing – either to you, or to this burger.

It shocked him because, while he expected resistance, he wasn’t expecting fear.

His question was genuine after he cleared his throat, “why is that weird?”

“Why would you not go if I’m not going?” you asked, repeating his previous statement with an incredulous scoff—like the very thought of him feeling this way was outrageous and you were astonished he didn’t see that.

Slowly, he shrugged one of his shoulders, afraid to move too much—as if you were a stray deer that had wandered a bit too close to the residential neighbourhood and he was a kid who’d just discovered you; one move that was too quick, and you’d run away in a blind panic.

“Because,” he said as an explanation.

You dared to look at him, encouraged—and angered—by the abrupt end of his sentence. “Because why?”

“I’d rather be here,” he said then.

He did not know how to navigate his way out of this one.

After everything that happened between the two of you in the past few days, you had, clearly, received some sort of signals that he’d been sending you—both consciously, and subconsciously. They weren’t exactly subtle, after all. And yet you were determined to draw your blinds shut and ignore every single one of them.

“Why?” you asked again, your patience wearing thin as you distracted yourself with the french fries.

“God,” he groaned, leaning back in his chair. Since he couldn’t just blurt out the truth about his feelings for you—but you looked like he’d just had, and he was horrified all over again—he had to use his favourite tactic of diverting your attention. “Do you need reasons for everything?”

“Not everything, but at least something,” you said. “You’re answering all of my questions with other questions.”

“Why do you even have questions?” he shot back. “Do you not enjoy my company?”

“You’re doing it again!” you accused, your hands rising on their own accord. “Seriously. What’s up? Are you nervous about the tour or something? I thought I made it clear that you could talk to me.”

Oh—this made him pause.

You thought he was doing this—again, what was he doing? Because it stopped seeming like flirting a long time ago—due to anxiety. You thought he was being evasive, and, therefore, weird around you.

Jungkook wasn’t sure if he could make this work in his favour and avoid lying at the same time.

“I just want to spend time with you,” he ended up saying, which was true. And because you kept your eyes on him after he said this, he felt confident enough to add, “we used to be close. I-I’d like that again.”

At that point, he thought he’d understand if you would get up and leave. He wasn’t sure if he would have followed; he didn’t think he had that right, not after he didn’t follow you the first time you left him. But you looked down to your plate and picked up another french fry, toying with it between your fingers.

He hadn’t proposed anything particularly awful—although he avoided saying ‘friends’ with such intensity that it only magnified the deeper implication of the word—yet he felt like a death row prisoner waiting to hear the date of his execution.

“Why now?” you asked, finally putting the fry in your mouth and biting into it.

The wait for your response had been excruciating. He needed to make you see that this was not a big deal.

“Why not?” he replied, his voice a tad too casual, showing just how hard he was trying to appear calm, to conceal the overtime his heart was working in his chest. “We’re on tour, so we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other.”

That sounded good in his head. But you looked at him in such a way that he thought he was about to hear that, despite overwhelming evidence in his favour, he was still going to be hanged in the town square.

“And after the tour ends?” you asked, setting the gallows up for him.

He thought about this for a moment and attempted to return to his usual nonchalance despite feeling sweaty all over.

“That’s not until two months later,” he said and realised, immediately, that this was the wrong answer.

He didn’t have enough time to correct himself before you scoffed again and asked, “so, why bother with a friendship if it won’t matter in two months?”

“That’s not what I wanted to say,” he retorted quickly. “Why would it not matter?”

You were the one who shrugged this time—the answer was obvious. “Did it matter before we came here?”

“It did,” he replied with complete certainty.

You looked away, but he saw the skepticism on your face and the way you hyper-focused on the street outside so as not to roll your eyes. “Oh, okay.”

“It did matter.”

Frowning at the offence in his voice, you returned your gaze to his face, trying to find the answers to the questions in your head. Especially this one: how could your relationship have mattered to him before the tour started?

“I don’t know what kind of a friendship you have with Sid and The Losers,” you said, “but in my experience, being friends with someone implies making an effort for them.”

“I was making an effort,” he continued to insist.

“Making an effort to get us both in trouble with the label.”

He knew that this was how you saw it—you were very clear about that each time he and his friends somehow managed to find themselves in an emergency—but he still didn’t think you were being fair.

“I always let you know where I am at the start of the night,” he defended.

“And I appreciate that—”

“Not just to inform you,” he continued. “It was always an open invitation.”

You brought your tongue over your lips as your eyes returned to your plate. You grabbed another fry, focusing on the salt on your tongue for a second.

The bell by the door rang, signalling the entrance of a new customer.

Nor you, nor Jungkook turned to look, feeling like your table by the window of the restaurant existed on a different plane of reality—a vacuum of sorts where only the two of you lived.

You could remember one instance when you had gotten the feeling—after one of Jungkook’s late-night texts with his location—that he’d sent it to you because he was subtly asking you to join him. You thought you had misunderstood.

You didn’t know how to feel now that you knew you hadn’t.

“I’m not asking to provoke you or to start an argument,” you spoke up, “but do you think that’s appropriate?”

That wasn’t a very good question, knowing that Jungkook was very liberal when it came to seeing things as appropriate—and he shrugged as soon as you asked this.

“Spending time outside of work?” he clarified. You nodded. He shrugged once more. “You hang out with Luna and Taehyung all the time. And Maggie. Why would it be different for us?”

It was a hilariously stupid question and you both knew it.

Keeping your eyes on his, you deadpanned, “right. Why would it?”

He fought back with just as much irony as he said, heated, “yeah. Exactly.”

Your gazes remained locked until your phone buzzed a few seconds later, the sound dull as it reverberated against the material of your jacket.

You twisted in your seat to get the device out of the pocket. While you did, Jungkook took another bite of his burger.

It was a text message from Jimin, who was typing in all caps to let you know that he and Namjoon had just arrived at the venue, and Seokjin—or, in Jimin’s panicked words, ‘SOEKEJIIN’—was in a frenzy so intense, he was either about to faint or force everyone around him to faint.

“It looks like I have to get back to work,” you said, sliding your phone back into the pocket of your jacket as you picked it up from the back of your chair. You missed the disappointment that descended on Jungkook’s face. With a sigh, you added, “I appreciate you trying to be friends with me, but—just—don’t do that because you feel like you have to, since we’re on tour. Or whatever other temporary reason you might—”

“It’s not because of temporary reasons,” he said as you stood up. He turned away when you looked at him, though, not wanting you to see his eyes in case Sid’s game was evident in them. He didn’t lie when he reiterated, “I mean that.”

“Okay,” you said, choosing not to argue even though your next words barely sounded like a compromise, “well, let’s wait and see. Maybe you’ll change your mind. I have to go, but finish your lunch and then I’ll see you after the—”

“I won’t change my mind.”

You paused again. “Okay. Well. You’ll understand why I’m going to need actions to support your words.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” he said. “We were having lunch together. Isn’t that a start?”

Clutching your jacket to yourself as you lingered by the table, you conceded hesitantly, “it’s a start…”

Encouraged by this, he threw his hands in the air before speaking.

“But you’re leaving me all by myself, so it does feel like I’m not getting the same treatment back,” he said, and it took you a second to catch the teasing glimmer in his eye. You’d almost forgotten how quick he was on his feet—which wasn’t always a good thing, because he used this to avoid uncomfortable topics. He questioned, “do you not want to be friends with me?”

You brought your teeth over your lower lip as you looked away. He knew you. He knew the intentional childishness would end up amusing you eventually—and he couldn’t help but feel proud when he saw your shoulders relax as you fought back a smile.

“I’d love to be friends with you,” you said. “And, as your friend, I have to make sure your band has a great performance tonight, so finish your food while I do my job. I’ll see you later.”

“Text me!” he shouted as you put your jacket on, already taking a step towards the door of the restaurant.

You turned back to look at him. “Text you? About what?”

“Anything. It’s what friends do.”

Laughing now, you pulled your phone out of your pocket just as it began to vibrate again.

“Eat,” you told him, “we’ll figure out how to be friends later.”

He nodded in response, even though he didn’t feel hungry anymore. He watched you walk out of the restaurant and run across the street, back to the venue. With a deep exhale, he picked up a fry that had fallen out of the pile on his plate and tossed it into his mouth.

He hadn’t fully grasped how serious you were when you said you didn’t believe in second chances. Perhaps he should have. In all the years that he’d known you, he’d never seen you restore a friendship with someone you’d stopped talking to.

You were the sort of person who stayed until the very last drop of your patience—and then some more. You weren’t someone who left easily, you endured. You had the highest tolerance threshold out of everyone he’d ever met. So, really, it was understandable why you didn’t believe in trying again.

Still, he was arrogant enough to consider himself different. To consider the two of you different.

Really, he had thought things were going well.

Until this moment here, that is. He hadn’t even done or said much today, but you were quick to determine that he had reached the line. And you were not going to let him cross it.

He’d assumed the line had gotten a bit further away. He thought he was allowed to say more to you, to be more personal about your relationship after your trip to Paris—the trip was fine, after all! You’d both had fun. But, now he was starting to think that, perhaps, the reason why the Paris trip went well was because, initially, you went on it thinking he had an ex that he wanted to get back together with.

You had thought you were, on some level, still doing your job—whether as his manager, or someone who’s known him for almost ten years now. Just having his back. Keeping him out of trouble.

You’d always been doing that, for as long as he could remember. You never even considered—he never made you consider—that there was more to it.

He knew now that he had thought about this all wrong. You assumed that he was joking around, participating in Sid’s pranks, not taking anything—not even you—seriously. And you were right, of course, but only in part.

Step One would be proving to you that he was serious.

Maybe you never believed in second chances because you were never shown that people deserved them. And he was determined to show you that he deserved it. To convince you that the two of you could be close again—so long as he could look past the bet and convince himself first.

After Rated Riot’s performance that night—which went by smoothly, of course, even though Yoongi tripped over a loose cable and forced Seokjin to spend the entirety of the encore cursing quietly under his breath—the members followed the tradition of going out to meet the fans. Meanwhile, you insisted on supervising the deconstruction of the stage, wanting—rather desperately—to avoid incidents similar to Berlin.

To be fair, calling it supervision was generous; all you did was repeatedly remind everyone to “take it slow” while taping boxes and holding doors. The roadies seemed to appreciate your input this time, although you couldn’t shake the feeling that these middle-aged men still only saw you as an eager six-year-old, who passionately wanted to be helpful.

You decided you were going to take it. At least, you were here and could witness all that was happening.

Eventually, you noticed that Seokjin had disappeared. You weren’t very concerned; he had so many things to look after that you figured there simply had to be something else that required his attention.

But here’s the thing about Seokjin – he was demanding, but he was also very caring. A manifestation of this was the plastic bowl, filled to the brim with lollipops, that he brought backstage when he returned fifteen minutes later.

“Here,” he announced. “I think we can all use this. Make sure all of you take some—but no more than five, so everyone has enough.”

You chuckled, assuming that this was more for a boost of morale than anything else, but you were soon surprised. It was almost funny, truly, how quickly every adult in the room leapt to the lollipop bowl.

Seokjin, in the meantime, made his way towards you. Three bright green, apple-flavoured lollipops were in his hand, and he pointed them at you.

“Hey,” he said. “This is for making you haul heavy things around the venue earlier.”

“That’s my job,” you replied, but took the suckers from him nonetheless. Apple was your favourite flavour.

“It’s not, though,” he disagreed. “You were here because you felt bad. You shouldn’t feel bad. What happened before was not your fault.”

Your smile was grateful and you reminded him, “it’s not yours, either.”

“I know that.” He exhaled somewhat sadly before continuing, “but that’s not as easy for me to say. The battens fell in Berlin, because the scissor lift got stuck on some middle setting, and the staff couldn’t reach properly. They had to unscrew the construction with their hands raised above their heads. I told them not to, but they insisted we were short on time. And I let them do it.”

You sighed, too. “If the schedule wasn’t so intense—”

“They would have probably still done it this way,” Seokjin finished. “They didn’t think anything would go wrong. That was just an excuse to get it over with faster.”

You’d heard a similar explanation yesterday when you were first called up after the incident – “we wanted to do this as fast as possible.”

Trying to brighten the mood, you said, “at least no one got hurt. And I’m sure it’s a lesson learned in any case.”

“It is. Because now you’re here, watching everything like a hawk,” he noted.

This surprised you—and Seokjin grinned at your raised eyebrows.

“It’s not like I can fire them if more things break,” you said.

“That’s the worst part,” he countered. He still had an entertained expression on his face, but something inside of him had softened. It was endearing how unaware you were of how much the staff here cared about you. He said, “they saw how distressed you were last night.”

You were still confused about the magnitude of your role here—the backstage crew didn’t respond directly to you. To be fair, even certain members of Rated Riot didn’t, even though they should have.

“Everyone who was here was distressed,” you said.

“True,” Seokjin nodded, “but they should have been; this was their job, and something went wrong. Meanwhile, your stress is just, sort of, collateral damage. They felt bad for upsetting you.”

You looked back at the staff behind you. Seeing these men—some large and scruffy, others tall and lanky, all of them intimidating in certain lighting—dismantle the stage construction while sucking on lollipops brought a smile to your face.

“I’m a little kid in their eyes,” you said then, “aren’t I?”

Seokjin had to be honest: despite his attempts to always be respectful, he, too, sometimes thought you were too young for the responsibilities of your job. You never proved him right, however, breezing through said responsibilities with an ease that he wouldn’t have expected from someone your age—he admired that.

“A little bit, yeah,” he admitted.

You snorted, but there were shadows of disappointment on your features that he was quick to notice. Sometimes you wondered if Seokjin had chosen stage management as an alternative to psychology.

“If it makes you feel better,” he said, “most of the people here treated me like a kid when we first met, too. And I’m older than some of the roadies. I guess I look very young.”

“What’d you do to make them respect you?” you asked.

“I started yelling.”

This got you to laugh. “Should I consider it?”

“I think that, sometimes, you should,” he replied. “They say that people shout when they don’t know enough words to whisper—or something like that—but I think differently. I think they shout because they care and they need others to care.”

“Hmm,” you turned your gaze away as various disagreements and full-blown arguments that you’d had in your life—most of them with the same person—flashed through your mind. “That… makes sense, I think.”

“Yeah, and besides,” Seokjin said, “yelling is fun. People pay attention to you. Sometimes they even fear you. I love it.”

You laughed again, even though you’d seen it yourself – new staff members tended to avoid Seokjin. Even you didn’t want to get in his way when he was setting the stage up.

But all of that was so he would get things done. And, once he did, he was easily the most entertaining person to be around—which meant a lot, considering you were literally on tour with rock artists right now.

“Maybe you should get on stage with Rated Riot one of these nights,” you teased, “that might satisfy your itch to be listened to.”

“You know what? I just might,” he played along, a grin spreading on his lips. Nodding at the candy in your hand, he said, “try the lollipops. We’re almost done here anyway.”

“Thank you,” you said. “Really. We wouldn’t be on tour if it weren’t for you.”

“There’s no ‘I’ in ‘team’,” he responded brightly. Then, he leaned closer to add in a teasing whisper, “but there is in ‘ass-kissing’.”

Your eyes widened as he snickered, pulling back and walking past you to help the crew carry the boxes outside. He looked at you over his shoulder, his expression cheerful.

“I meant what I said, you know!” you shouted after him.

“I know,” he called back. “I meant it, too. Go rest! This isn’t your responsibility.”

He picked up a box, propped it on his hip, and walked away before you could argue and offer your assistance anyway.

Figuring you might as well go and actually stop working for the day, you unwrapped one of the lollipops and made your way outside. The band was probably still having post-show drinks backstage, so you figured you could get a few minutes of quiet on the bus before everyone else returned.

Just as you exited the venue, however, you saw a white puff of smoke coming from somewhere on the side of the building. Popping the lollipop in your mouth, you stopped and waited for just a second, until the person bent down to shake the ash off the cigarette, and you recognized Jungkook’s profile.

Your legs brought you over to him before your mind could reconsider.

Rounding the corner, you asked, “should you be doing this?”

He flinched, not having expected you here, and it got you to smile. The two of you had a special way of sneaking up on each other today.

“Probably not,” he said, blowing smoke out. “Bad for my lungs, right?"

“So I hear.”

This was the first time the two of you were alone together, following the interrupted lunch earlier. Jungkook had wondered what it would be like now that he’d made his intentions clear—as clear as he could under the circumstances, at least. Now that he’d brought up the possibility of a friendship.

He had worried it would be weird or awkward. That he wouldn’t know how to prove himself to you, wouldn’t know what to say, or worse, that he would, but you would respond in the same cold, detached way as you had the first time in the restaurant.

But now that you were here, he didn’t feel different. He didn’t feel like he’d dropped a ground-breaking revelation—he knew he hadn’t, but your reaction begged otherwise—and he didn’t feel awkward.

He felt, he realised, like he’d been waiting for you to find him here. Like he knew you’d come, taking him off guard, appearing next to him from the shadows of the late night.

Taking another drag, he extended the cigarette towards you. Smoke passed his lips as he spoke, “want some?”

Hesitating for a moment, you gave your lollipop one last twirl against your tongue before you pulled it out of your mouth.

As you took the cigarette from him and placed it between your lips, you pointed the sucker at him and echoed, half-jokingly, “want some?”

He chuckled at this, but took the lollipop from you. Your question was a challenge—you asked because you didn’t think he’d agree—and he took you up on it immediately, putting the candy in his mouth.

You watched him toy with it, biting into the plastic stick lightly, and something seemed to short wire inside of you, shooting dangerous sparks in every which way. You wondered, for a passing moment, if your conversation at lunch could have triggered something long-forgotten inside of you, like the trip to Paris had.

When Jungkook closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, the smoke you were supposed to exhale got caught in your throat.

Sighing deeply, he spoke, “haven’t done that in a while.”

Tilting your head to blow smoke out in a clumsy cough, you asked, “s-sucked on a lollipop? Or smoked?”

Twisting the sucker around his mouth for more flavour—aware, with every taste receptor on his tongue, that this was your taste—he replied, “shared a cigarette. Or candy.”

“Me neither.”

You took another drag and gave the cigarette back to him. He took it from you, his movements slow, and, in turn, he pulled out the lollipop, extending it back to you.

You were the one who snickered this time as you retrieved it, and, without any reluctance, put it back in your mouth. He forgot what breathing was and how it worked right after.

He wondered, his gaze frozen on your face, what the cigarettes and apple-flavoured lollipops tasted like on your lips. He wanted to find out, wanted to replace the candy in your mouth with his own tongue, wanted to—

He was forced to look away as the lit cigarette stung the tips of his fingers, ashes falling on his boots.

He shook it off and forced his eyes to stay on the ground beneath his feet.

“So,” you spoke, tapping the edge of the lollipop stick. “You ready to go back? The crew just finished up. If you hurry, you might still grab a few drinks backstage before it’s all gone.”

“I’d, uh…” his eyes were cast low. As soon as he put the cigarette back against his lips, he thought he’d begun to hallucinate—because, realistically, he shouldn’t have recognised the taste of your lip gloss, mixed with a faint taste of apples on the filter. Coughing, he stuttered, “I-I’d rather, um, stay here, actually.”

Suddenly awkward, you realised he may have been looking for a quiet minute by himself just as you had been, before you saw him. “Oh. I’m sorry I interrupted. I can—”

“No,” he stopped you. “I meant with you.”

You watched him exhale smoke and wondered, unexpectedly, what it meant for you if you craved a cigarette more than a lollipop. You never thought you had a nicotine addiction; really, you barely smoked.

Perhaps this was something different. A sort of latent chronic disease that you couldn’t shake no matter how much you tried—and you spent four years trying.

“Really?” you asked now, your chest light and your eyes glistening—in a dangerous, promising way. “Hiding behind a corner, sharing a cigarette like pre-teen delinquents?”

His eyes met yours as he took another drag. “Just the way I like it.”

“Alright,” you said, leaning your side against the wall next to him. You twirled the lollipop around in your mouth and he could almost feel the remaining ounces of restraint leave his body. “Let’s stay here, then.”

You were playing around, but there was a seriousness behind your words. You didn’t question him. You just stayed.

And he had to look away from you again.

He didn’t really understand why; this was so childish. He played along with your delinquent joke, but he wasn’t actually twelve—even if being with you did make him feel like a sixth-grader, discovering what having a crush was like for the first time.

“Tell you what,” he said, turning to his side to look at you. He lifted the cigarette; there was barely any of it left. “You can finish this off in exchange for the lollipop.”

You grinned. “Yeah? You liked the apple taste?”

You knew, he suspected. You had to know what you were doing to him; there was no way you wouldn’t notice how pathetically affected he was. All of Copenhagen could probably hear a faint thundering that came from inside of his chest.

“Hmm,” he murmured. “Something like that.”

“Okay.” You pulled the lollipop out of your mouth—and did it slowly, only strengthening his suspicion that you were doing this to him on purpose. Still, he felt his heart leap right to his throat and drop down to his feet when your lips pursed. “Although it’s hardly fair, since mine will last longer for you.”

You took his cigarette with your free hand and passed him the lollipop. The very tips of your fingers touched as you exchanged possessions, and, for a moment—which was so laced with electricity that the streetlamps around you seemed to flicker—Jungkook was worried that he wouldn’t manage to control himself, after all. That he would use this gentle, barely-there touch to hold you tighter. To throw the lollipop away, to kiss you, to never let go of you again.

Instead, he took half a step backwards—afraid of his impulses—and popped the candy into his mouth as quickly as he could. As if this way, he’d be less affected by your lingering taste on his tongue.

“Good,” he said. “It’s bad for your lungs, anyway.”

You snorted as you took one final drag before you reached dangerously close to the filter. Blowing smoke out, you leaned down to put the cigarette out against the pavement and walked away from him to throw the remains into the trashcan by the exit.

He opened his eyes to watch you return. You were smiling – not at him, but not away from him, either – and he wasn’t sure what he’d do next. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen—not tonight, not tomorrow, not in two weeks when the bet was supposed to end.

He had suggested a friendship today. He’d promised to himself to prove to you that he was worth it, that the two of you could be close again. That you could be friends.

But he had a pack full of cigarettes in the back pocket of his jeans; both of you could have had one of your own. Yet, he didn’t offer.

And you had two brand new lollipops from Seokjin in the pocket of your jacket. You could have given him one—but you didn’t offer, either.

Both of you chose not to mention this, aware—very vividly—that normal friends probably shouldn’t have enjoyed sharing candy and cigarettes so much.

So, Jungkook didn’t know anything at all. But with you here—as your gaze fell to his lips, he thought the flavour of the lollipop sharpened somehow, bringing shivers down his spine—he was thrilled to find out.

chapter title credits: bring me the horizon, “sleepwalking”

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