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fangirl-dot-com · 5 months

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Charles Leclerc - Arthur, you are not French...yeah Charles, drag his ass!

I’ve been excited to write this chapter! I know that reader is a Red Bull driver, but I am a Tifosi through and through. Charles holds such a special place in my heart (but so does Max). I feel like one of those “breaking my silence – how I got into F1,” low and behold, I got into the sport from that one Ferrari thirst trap where Charles is lying on the couch. Yeah, you know, that one.

Anywho, I write these little things before I even get to writing the story and sometimes I don’t even know where I’m going with it. I know it's not Christmas yet, but the people spoke - SO HERE WE GO!

Sadly, the tag list is closed to do us reaching the 50 people mark! I never thought that I’d get there though with my story! So thank you to every one of you for making that happen!

Like always, comments, questions, concerns, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated! Love you all <;3

Your beanie had started to itch. You had needed it outside due to the cold weather, but now that you were in the car with the heat cranked, it was starting to get a little too warm. As you pulled up to the red light, your hand quickly yanked the hat off. Not to your surprise, your hair was sticking in all directions. That’s ok, you could fix it before you walked into the house. The light turned green, and you had to remind yourself that this was a regular car, on a regular street. Not a hybrid-engine-ran rocket ship that exceeded 300 kilometers per hour on sweet Grand Prix asphalt.

This year, you had finally accepted Arthur’s invitation for Christmas. Earlier, you had done Christmas morning and afternoon with Max, Kelly, and Penelope. It was everything you could have wished for. And now you were going to spend the rest of the evening with your best friend and his family. You were a tab bit nervous. Sure, you had met them on a handful of occasions, but you tried not to get too close. They were always at grand prixes for Arthur, not you.

You glanced at the presents that were stacked on the passenger side. The most important one, however, was placed in a bag on the floor. You were not about to let that fall over and possibly break. You knew it was made to be sturdy, but you couldn’t be sure. Arthur had given you the gate key. You pulled up to the little black box and pressed the numbers. You rolled your eyes as you realized that it was just Charles’s and Arthur’s racing numbers squished together.

Arthur had also reminded you that Lorenzo was not going to be joining due to him being at his wife’s family’s for the holiday. That was one less person to impress you had told yourself.

You pulled into their driveway and parked your car. It was not as impressive at Charles’s custom 488 Ferrari Pista Spider. It wasn’t as if you were almost drooling at the sight of it. Knowing yourself, you’d probably be too scared to drive it to actually enjoy it. Max also had a Ferrari, maybe he’d let you drive it.

In a parking lot and not exceeding 5 kph. You snorted. Yep, that was Max.

You did however, have your eye on two special cars. But you wanted to wait a bit before purchasing. You Pinterest board was full of different ideas, but you had to be careful. Maybe Christian could help you out with purchasing. You technically hadn’t bought this car, it was a gift from Lorenzo. You wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it might be nice to have more than one car. Besides, multiple drivers had multiple cars. You’d just join their ranks.

Juggling the presents, you walked to the front door and pressed the doorbell. Your face was hardly visible over the tops of the boxes. The door opened and a familiar voice sounded.

“Mon Dieu, let me help you.” Presents were being taken from the big stack.

“Thank you Charles.” You prided yourself on being one of the few people who could recognize the difference between Arthur’s and Charles’s voices. He didn’t reply as he took the presents farther into the house. You followed him through the door and toed off your shoes. Your eyes caught all the lights and decorations in the house. Growing up, you didn’t have such things. Your family always said that being in karting was always going to be your present. Nothing more, nothing less. There were no cookies for Santa and no tree to decorate.

As you walked more into the warm house, the decorations just kept getting better. Where Max’s house was decorated by Kelly who like a clean Christmas aesthetic, the Leclerc household leaned towards the warmer decorations. The lights didn’t necessarily match and flickered colorful light. The stockings weren’t the same color: they showed personality that matched their owner. Even the ornaments weren’t all from the same container. You found Charles staring down at the presents that he had taken from you.

“Who are these for?” he turned his head to look at you.

You snorted, “They’re for your family.” His eyes widened as he rubbed his chin.

“You didn’t have to.”

You only shrugged as you began to take off your coat, “I felt like I did. You all have been so kind to invite me here on a holiday that I couldn’t come empty handed.” Charles gestured for your jacket and you gave it to him.

“You can look around some more if you’d like to. Arthur and maman will be back from the store soon.” Your cheeks heated at the thought of him catching you ogling at his home. You shook the thought away and looked at everything a little bit closer.

Like all homes seemed to have, there was a wall filled with picture frames. Some were of each child; some had the full family. It was nice to see all 5 of them together in the center one. You cocked you head at one of them though. You all but tiptoed to get a closer look. It was one of Charles and Arthur, and then an unfamiliar but familiar man stood between them.

“That’s Jules. If you were wondering.”

You jumped in place, not noticed that he had snuck up behind you. You looked over and saw that a sad smile had graced his face. Arthur had told you little about him. Charles and Lorenzo would always have been much closer to him.

“I met him once. During karting,” you trailed off. Charles raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” It seemed as though the breath had been knocked out of him.

You gave him a comforting smile, “Yeah. My race was right after yours. I think it was back in 2010,” you looked back at the picture, “and you won that day. I watched him cheer for you like he was the proudest person there that day. He was in a racing suit and had a helmet. I thought that he had come straight from a race or something. But, I only remember wishing that I had someone there for me like you had.”

Charles now had a guess as to what day that was. He vaguely remembered finally beating Max and feeling so happy. But, he didn’t remember Jules having a helmet. He took the picture down so that the two of you could look closer. It was definitely not taken the day that you were talking about, but the way you talked about him intrigued Charles. He gave you a head nod, silently saying to continue.

“That day, I also won my race. It hadn’t been the easiest, but the boys were too busy pushing each other off that they didn’t even notice me. I was able to overtake and win. The boys though, weren’t the only ones who didn’t notice. My parents weren’t around when I looked for them. I must have turned around so many times, just trying to find them, but I never did. I had taken my kart back to my station when someone tapped me on the shoulder. He scared the ever-loving crap out of me, but he held my shoulder and told me that I did a great job.”

Your eyes were slightly watering at the confession. Charles just continued to look at you.

“I knew who he was. He was the man who always cheered for the Justin Bieber look-a-like who liked to push a certain Dutchman off the track, into a puddle, and claim it was just an inchident.” Charles snorted.

“I did not look like Justin Bieber.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” He gave you a look. “American expression. Anyway, after he said that he gave me a hug before my dad came stomping over, complaining about something, I don’t even remember. But all I know is that he made my entire day. My godfather wasn’t able to visit that much or come see me race. So, it was nice to have someone in my corner, even if they weren’t truly there for me.”

Charles hung the picture back on the wall. The two of you stood there for a quiet moment before Charles spoke up. “How’s your godfather?”

You inhaled sharply. “He died in 2020. Caught some illness in 2018 and wasn’t able to recover.”

It broke Charles’s heart to hear you talk about it so nonchalantly.

“Does Arthur know?”

You nodded your head. “He caught me crying the first year of his anniversary. Made me spill the beans about what happened. He thought he needed to go beat someone up.” You let out a wet chuckle. When did you even start crying? Looking at Charles, you saw that he was crying too. You continued, “Lorenzo, he, uh, died the day before I debuted in F2.”

Memories hit Charles like an 18-wheeler. That was you? He remembered that most of the F1 drivers had been invited since the F1 and F2 races were so close together. Hell, even Max was given the opportunity to give the winner the trophy. He remembers watching you dominate that race. He watched you offer that trophy to the sky. He saw a hunger that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

He finally spoke up, “You were incredible.”

“Thank you,” you paused before adding, “he’d be proud of you. Jules, I mean.” You looked back at the picture and how it seemed right at home amongst the others.

“Lorenzo would be proud of you as well.” You flashed him a grateful smile, full of teeth. He mirrored, dimples prominent.

You threw your head back and laughed. Charles cocked his head.

“What’s the matter?” he barely got out as he began to laugh as well.

You poked his cheeks, “You and Thur have the same dimples.” Charles rolled his eyes and ruffled your hair. You pouted. “Rude.”

He was about to reciprocate but the sound of the door opening caught the two of yours attention. Charles quickly pushed you into a dark room. You gave him a confused look before he put a finger to his lips. You smirked back and stayed silent.

Pascale walked in first followed by Arthur. Charles greeted his mother and then brother.

“I saw Y/n’s car in the driveway. Where is she?” Arthur looked around the house.

“She went to the bathroom, but hasn’t come back. I think I scared her off,” Charles faked a sad look.

Arthur flashed a comforting smile to his brother. “I’ll go find her. Hopefully she didn’t fall in or something.” That almost made you laugh.

Arthur flipped on the lights to the hallway. This was your chance. He barely got past the doorframe before you jumped out onto him.

His squeal echoed through the room, laughter following it. In your grand scheme, you had accidentally fallen on top of him. Your giggles continued as Arthur tried to push you off. He finally gave up after a few moments. You knew you probably looked ridiculous, but honestly you didn’t care. You swear you heard a click of a camera, but you disregarded it.

“Are you done?” Arthur sarcastically asked.

“No, I’m actually quite comfortable. Thank you for asking though,” you smirked. After a few more moments later, Arthur quickly rolled you off and got up. You let out a huff before making grabby hands at him. He rolled his eyes and pulled you up.

You were finally able to greet Pascale. She brought you into a hug and did the two kisses. You reciprocated. It came naturally after being teammates with Arthur for so long. You smiled at the memory of him doing it to you for the first time. He was so embarrassed after until you calmed him down enough to say that you didn’t mind. You knew it was a part of his culture and that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed to do so.

“Thank you for inviting me.” You shot her a shy smile. She rubbed your back before exiting the hug.

“There is no need for thanks. Arthur has been begging for years.” A noise of protest rang through the air.

“I have not.”

“Non, it’s true. He has.” Charles looked at his brother. Arthur had a look of betrayal that sent you spiraling into another laughing fit.

By the time you were finished, Arthur gave you a look.

“Where’s you Christmas sweater?” You looked down at the one you were wearing. You thought it looked just fine. It was a nice dark green and Kelly had complimented you many times.

“I thought this looked nice?” You were beginning to doubt. Maybe you couldn’t do this Christmas thing.

Arthur shook his head before disappearing down a hallway.

You glanced at Charles and whispered, “I ruined it didn’t I?” You looked down at your feet.

“Non gosse, you didn’t ruin anything. Just look.” You looked back up and saw that Arthur now had another sweater in his hands. (translation : no kid)

“I can’t believe I forgot to give you this. Sorry Y/n, we normally wear ‘ugly’ Christmas sweaters to celebrate. The one you have on is fine, but this is the Leclerc celebration now.” He all but shoved you towards a bathroom so that you could change. You slipped the other dark green sweater on after you took off your first one.

The front made you laugh. It wasn’t ugly per say, Arthur must have toned it down for you. On the front was the Grinch. It was actually kind of cute if you thought about it. You folded your first sweater and walked out. Now you noticed that Charles’s had a bright orange sweater with a gamer Santa on it; Arthur’s actually lit up; and Pascale had a cute one with a reindeer on it.

When he noticed your return, Arthur’s arms shot up. “Now you look festive!”

“How long did it take you to find that one TurTur?” You motioned your finger up and down, pointed at his sweater.

His arms crossed protectively around it as he let his jaw hang. “I’ll have you know that this is imported.”

You gave him a bombastic side eye. “Sure.”

Pascale clapped her hands, “Picture time by the tree!”

You kind of awkwardly stood there as she took pictures of the two boys. You warmly smiled as she gushed over the two of them. You made your way to the kitchen and picked up two bottles. Were these alcoholic? You squinted at the label.

“Y/n!” You froze and looked at the family of three. Arthur was snickering.

“You know you’re not allowed to drink yet.” You rolled your eyes.

Charles shot you a mischievous smile. “Gosse, come, we’ll send a picture to old Maxy. Maybe give him a heart attack.”

You smirked back as you walked with the two bottles. You posed in front of the tree with the glasses on either side of you. The four of you laughed as you set them down. You wanted to make a run for it, as to not ruin the pictures, but Pascale insisted that she wanted one of the three of you.

Your heart swelled as she took a picture of you in the middle of Arthur and Charles. She also insisted to get one of just you and Arthur. Your cheeks heated as you caught her muttering about a picture to show your kids one day. You only hoped that Arthur hadn’t heard.

He did and his heart soared at the thought.

Once the pictures were done, everyone was able to have a few snacks and drinks, yours of course being non-alcoholic.

Then it was time for the presents. The thing you were worried about the most. You soon found yourself seated on the floor in a half circle. Pascale was the only one in a chair, but you didn’t blame her. The boys were the ones to pass out the presents. To your surprise, you had received three presents. Your eyes wanted to water, but you blinked the tears away.

They all opened the ones from you first.

Arthur lit up like a Christmas tree (pun intended) when he saw what you had gotten him. The two of you had been shopping earlier in the year, when you had come across a watch shop. Arthur had wanted to buy a specific one, but was heartbroken when they said that they were sold out. But, while Arthur was having a crisis about it, you secretly asked to be put on the waitlist. They had said that they couldn’t be 100 percent that you’d get one, but there was no harm in asking.

Surprisingly, when you got back for a small break, there was a package from the store waiting for you. You had also taken it to another watch store to have something added.

“Turn it over,” you whispered, scared of his next reaction. He inhaled sharply at what the engraving read.

January 25, 2020 – Best Friends for the Rest of Our Live, Keep at it TurTur!

Arthur quickly clamored over to you and wrapped you in a deep hug. Again, you heard the sound of a camera, but dismissed it.

Next Charles opened his. It wasn’t as sentimental as Arthur’s but you tried your best. Before hand, you had asked what type of jewelry Charles likes. You knew he was a ring and bracelet guy, but had rarely seen him with a necklace. So, you got him a simple one that he could wear with any outfit.

He thanked you with a warm smile.

Pascale was very happy with hers. Knowing that she had a hair salon, you googled many gift ideas for her. But every sing one of them to come up was always a pair of scissors. Wanting to do better, you did some more digging. Finally, you decided on one of those fancy circle vacuums that moves by itself. You knew how your back hurt after sweeping up a floor. You couldn’t imagine how her’s might feel. She also gave you a hug.

Now it was your turn.

The first present was from Arthur and it had you in tears. There in a rectangular box was a new pair of Lightning McQueen crocs.

“You know this is like my third pair right?”

He only nodded, “Yes, but are those pairs signed by Lightning McQueen himself?” Your eyes bulged as you turned them over.

You were expecting Owen Wilson’s signature, but when you read it, you laughed even harder. There on the bottom, in fancy script, was Charles’s signature. You looked over at Charles as you wiped your eyes.

“I’m honored sir.”

Charles rolled his eyes, and touched his heart, as to accept the thanks. His present wasn’t as funny, but it was appreciated. You guessed that Arthur had told him what your favorite restaurant was because his gift was a hefty gift card. Your eyes widened when you saw the total.

Pascale’s was very sentimental though. In her present were multiple pictures in frames. Some you noticed that she must have gotten from the internet or had Arthur reach out to Vito. The one that made you tear up was one of the last pictures taken of you and Lorenzo. Your smile was so bright as you held you trophy. You were looking into the camera, but Lorenzo was looking and smiling down at you. Your fingers traced his face.

You placed the pictures down and brought her into a giant hug. After you were done, you wiped your eyes, overcome with emotion. Arthur clapped his hands to bring everyone’s attention to him. You almost jumped out of your skin.

“All right, party time!” He raised his arms and started to walk toward the kitchen.

Your eyes widened as you remembered something. “Wait!”

The three of them stared at you. You inhaled.

“I have one more thing. For all three of you.” They looked at you with a puzzled look. You walked over to the counter where you had placed the black bag that you came with. You gestured for them to come over.

Arthur cocked his head, “Y/n, why’d you bring a helmet bag? We swapped helmets already.” His accent got thicker as he got more confused.

You shook your head slightly as you let out a shaky exhale. You carefully started to unzip the bag. It was true, what Arthur said. The contents were a helmet.

“Gosse, is this your new helmet for next year? It’s very outdated and I don’t think this is safe, ” Charles questioned, confused as to why you’d bring a helmet to Christmas.

However, Pascale let out a gasp as her eyes danced over the helmet, now in your hands. She put her hands to her mouth. She had recognized it immediately.

“Is this?” The rest of the question went unsaid, but you knew what she was going to say. You nodded you head and handed it to her. She turned it around, expecting all the angles. She let out a wet laugh as she carefully and slowly handed it over to Charles. Arthur stood close, looking at it as well.

“Arthur, before you got here, I was telling Charles of how I was able to meet your godfather,” you started. “And I wanted to tell you how thankful I was for his encouragement. I knew that he had come straight from a race, because he was still wearing his suit and he carried a helmet.”

Charles made a confused face, “But he didn’t have a helmet. His hands were both empty, because he caught Arthur when he ran over to him after he showed up.” You could tell that his mind was trying to connect the dots.

“Well. He wouldn’t have had the helmet,” you trailed off. Arthur’s head shot up.

“Because he gave it to you,” Arthur finished. Charles inhaled sharply as he looked over the protective gear in his hands.

Pascale had come close to you, a hand around your shoulder that rubbed up and down, trying to give some comfort.

The two boys looked as if they were going to cry. Charles let Arthur hold it.

“How? Why?” Charles questioned, tears threatening to fall.

“Well, I thought it had gotten destroyed or thrown away. I left it at my parent’s house, and when I told them I was moving out for reasons, they didn’t react well.” You didn’t want to give too much away. “I was sure that they were going to burn all of my things. But, I went back to see just in case. I was mostly correct; except they didn’t touch my closet. It was hiding in the back behind some clothes.” You remembered crying when you found it, holding it close for comfort. It had been one of the few things that you took from the house back to your apartment in Nice.

“I also wanted to bring it back, where it belongs.”

Charles glanced at you and then the helmet between Arthur’s fingers. “But, he gave it to you. You need to keep it.”

You shook your head. “Jules told me to keep it safe and to hold onto it for safe keeping. I always thought that I’d be able to give it back to him one day. I guess this is the closest thing I can do.”

Arthur gave the helmet back to his brother and walked over to you. You looked into his big blue eyes, filled with tears. Unable to hold back, he tucked his face into your neck, holding you tight. You squeezed your eyes closed, tears falling down your cheeks.

You knew that Arthur always felt bad about not being as close to his godfather, like Charles and Lorenzo had been. He had been 15 when Jules died, and you always wished that the family had had more time with him. Pressure was added on your other side. Looking over slightly, your eyes caught sight of Charles’s brown hair. You managed to put your other arm around him. You held the two brothers close, your heart melting.

Is this what a family is supposed to feel like?

Max’s family was a different dynamic. Yes, they enjoyed hugs and being close, but it wasn’t like this where you could hold each other for hours. Well, maybe Max would let you, he was so overdue for a giant group hug.

Arthur couldn’t get over the fact that you were so close. He hoped that you didn’t hear his heart racing. He’s waited this long; he can wait a little longer. His tears had dried up, but he never wanted to let you go. Your heart was too big and too fragile for anyone else to have it. But here you were, opening it up to his family. He couldn’t have asked for someone better to hold your place in his heart. He could only dream that you held him close to your heart, as he did with you to his.

You would never tell him, but you did.

Charles on the other hand could not stop the tears. He wondered how long you had waited. Shy, quiet you. Before this, he had seen you a couple of times before with Max at the beginning of the break. He’d often run into the two of you shopping or getting groceries. You’d always find a way to give a small wave, before turning to do something else while Max talked to him. He wondered what was so special about you. Max, in all his life, had never looked at something as he looked at you. It was different than the way he looked at Kelly. Heck, he even looked a Penelope differently. Charles had rolled his eyes a few more times than he’d like to admit whenever Arthur would bring you up in conversation. But now, as you tried to comfort him and his brother, he finally understood. You were the family that they were missing.

Pascale watched as the three of you broke your little hug. Smiles adorned your faces as you held the other close. She wished Lorenzo would have been here to meet you. She had a feeling that he and Charlotte would like you, as her other two sons did.

Their little celebration started moments after, the helmet at the center. Your smile never left your face for the rest of the night. You were sad that they didn’t let you sneak in one sip of the bottled drink.

“It’s probably not even good,” you told them as you took a sip of your drink.

“Y/n it is good. We French know what good alcohol is,” he took a sip. You raised an eyebrow and smirked as you saw Charles gawk at him.

“Arthur, you are not French,” you watched as Charles put an arm around Arthur’s neck. You were quick to grab his drink so it wouldn’t stain the carpet. “Yeah Charles, drag his ass!”

Arthur held out a hand, dramatically going down. “My best friend betraying me for my brother. Could this day get any worse?”

“Charles, you should have heard all the times he said that he was French when we would do videos.” You smirked evilly at the two.

“Y/n! You weren’t supposed to tell him!”

“Arthur, how many times to I have to tell you? WE ARE NOT FRENCH, WE ARE MONAGUESQE!!

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kryptid-writes · 10 months

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Chapter 7 - Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Coping with the new development of wings, Y/N must hide her secret from the Winchesters, but the veil falls during training when things get heated with Dean.

(2.2k)

TW: This chapter has to do with binding wings that may be viewed as similar to chest binding. If you practice chest binding, please do so safely my friends. <3

Call (1 - 866 - 488 - 7386) or visit TheTrevorProject.org for more resources.

“Disgusting.” I mutter under my breath, gazing at my back, topless in the mirror.

The little protrusions between my shoulder blades have doubled in size since the morning light just hours ago. Reaching nearly 6 inches in length, they adorn sporadic white feathers with a golden glamor sprouting from the bone. They look frail and weak, like the feathers of a baby bird, but without a doubt, they were undeniably the early stages of wing growth.

A single tear rolls down my cheek as I'm unable to control the rush of emotions, frustration, sadness, disgust tearing me apart from the inside out.

This is wrong. This is all so wrong! Why me? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS!

My thoughts run a thousand miles per hour, clattering around in my brain. However, the sound of knocking on the bathroom door quickly pulls me out of my head.

“Hey, Y/N?” Sam’s sweet muffled voice comes through the other side of the door.

“Yeah, uh, just a minute,” I reply in a panicked tone, picking up my flannel from the floor and wrapping it around my body. Unsurprisingly, the flannel did little to disguise the problem, the fabric stretching and poking out awkwardly around the appendages.

Great. The last thing I need right now is the Winchesters to see the freak show that is my newly sprouted wings.

“Dean and I wanna talk to you when you have a minute.”

“Sure thing!” I put on a fake chirpy voice, immediately cringing at how fake it sounds. I can practically feel Sam purse his lips and furrow his brow in reaction to my odd tone on the other side of the door.

“Right,” Sam clears his throat. His footsteps fade in the distance as he walks away.

I let out a sigh of relief that doesn’t last long as I remember the problem at hand. There must be something in this bathroom I can use to conceal my little problem. I stumble over to the white cabinet on the wall that hangs just above the sink and fling the door open. The cabinet is practically barren with the exception of a half empty bottle of over the counter pain medication and a small plastic container with the words, FIRST AID, scribbled on it in sharpie.

“Of course.” I say through gritted teeth, swiping the kit and slamming the cabinet shut. The flimsy white plastic cracks open under my touch, the contents spilling on the floor with a clatter. I drop to my knees, paying little mind to the bruise that will likely form from the impact, and rummage through the supplies around me. Gause, scissors, bandaids, needle, thread, and, “Hah!” I proudly exclaim as I grab the medical wrap from the pile.

Pushing myself up onto my feet and in front of the bathroom mirror, I unravel the tape and begin wrapping it around my wings. I struggle as they resist and flutter against the fabric. If they would just hold still, the process would go alot faster, and time is certainly of the essence. I bite my lip, swallowing down the pain from my sensitive wings crunching under the tape, painfully immobilized. After several wraps, I was finally satisfied and tore off the end of the bandage with my teeth, tucking it securely away. Although it wasn’t perfect, they were successfully binded flat against my back.

I pull my flannel back on, buttoning it all the way up and turn to the side to admire my work in the mirror. It’s still rather lumpy in the back, but not very noticeable unless you really squint.

I take a deep breath, regulating my emotions, wiping away the tears, and putting on my best poker face. I exit the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a quiet click.

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Sam and Dean sit in the library, each lost in their own worlds.

Sam, lounging in a chair, thumbing through the pages of an old biblical book.

Dean sits on the table, a leg resting on the arm of Sam's chair as he repeatedly sharpens a long silver blade.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” I ask, grabbing their attention. I fold my hands behind my back, slowly rocking back and forth from the pads to the heels of my feet, trying to calm my nerves.

“Well, we’ve been talking it over and we think it’s best to give you some training. You need to be prepared for what’s to come.” Sam gives a reassuring smile.

“Kick the devil's ass and send him back to his maker,” Dean chuckles, playfully pointing the blade in my direction.

“Oh.” I scratch the back of my neck, conflicted at the idea of assassinating the man I have developed mixed feelings for, but also excited to learn some self defense. “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, Sammy here can teach you how to exorcize demons. You can bet your ass there will be dozens guarding Lucifer. And me? I’m gonna teach you how to gank that feathery son of a bitch.” He turns the blade in his hand and plunges it into the wood of the table. It wobbles slightly before falling perfectly still.

“Okay...” Is all I can say as I struggle to process the information.

I have no problem with exorcizing demons, the less that crawls this earth, the better. But Lucifer? Sure, I hate his guts for completely uprooting my life and turning me into some hybrid angel freak, but do I really want him dead?

The brothers give me an odd look, clearly expecting a different kind of response.

“So, where do we start?” I smile, trying to save the awkward interaction.

“I figure we start with some simple exorcism incantations.” Sam jumps up from his seat, rummaging in his jeans pocket for a folded piece of scrap paper. “This is your study guide.” He hands the slip to me.

I unfold it and written in neat handwriting is a series of Latin words. Beneath each word is the phonetic pronunciation, which is quite helpful considering I don’t know the first thing about reading Latin. I stare at the hefty paragraph, feeling rather intimidated.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna help you,” he reassures me.

I give him a polite nod and a quick smile, trying my best to stow away my doubt.

“Repeat after me, Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” he says, slow and clear, making sure to over pronounce each syllable.

“Exorcizamu… Exorcizamus te omnis immu… Immundus spiritus,” I repeat, butchering almost every word. I stare at the paper, replaying each word over and over in my head til it sticks. “ Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus,” I say with confidence, smiling at my correct pronunciation.

“Excellent!” He smiles, squeezing my arm with pride.

For nearly 2 hours, Sam and I read through the incantation over a dozen times until I have the pronunciation of every word down to a T. Although my brain feels fried, I can’t help but glow with pride at my improvement and Sam's relentless praises.

“Alright, I think you deserve a break for today, but I want you to practice this as much as you can. This is very important,” Sam says, clasping his hands together.

“You got it big guy,” I reply playfully.

He gives me a disapproving look at the nickname, but smiles as he turns his head and walks away.

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

“Alright sweetheart, you ready for some real training?” Dean says gleefully, raising his eyebrows in question.

“Born ready,” I reply with a grin, looking around the training room he had led me to.

The walls and floor are covered in thick black padding, the fabric worn and torn in certain places. Scattered throughout the room are half a dozen training dummies, many of them riddled with stab wounds and bullet holes. An array of weights and weapons are displayed along benches and tables in an orderly fashion.

He picks up the largest blade from the table and strolls over til he’s about a foot from in front of me.

“This here is an angel blade.” He turns the long dagger in his hands, the light dazzling off the reflective metal. “This is the only thing that can kill an angel.” He looks me in the eyes, very serious this time.

My eyes fall from his to the angel blade in his calloused hands. Anxiety and doubt plague my mind, but I swallow down my emotions and nod in understanding.

He flips the blade with ease, passing it to me with the handle end exposed.

I take it from his grasp, the metal still warm from his body heat. It feels heavy and powerful in my hand. I’ve carried a pocket knife with me for years in self defense, having only had to use it once when some drunk guy at a bar followed me to my car, but nothing compared to a weapon like this.

He steps behind me and wraps his hand around mine, moving my fingers to the correct placement. “Your grip on the handle is very important.” He gives my hand a light squeeze. “These fingers need to be wrapped around one side of the handle and your thumb should be pressed against the other side,” he explains. “Grip it tight.”

I do as I'm told, feeling my grip strengthen, pleasantly surprised at the difference.

“Good,” he praises.

I can feel his warm breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. He guides me to the dummy in front of us, stopping when we're all but 6 inches away.

“Now, I’m gonna teach you how to wield it, okay?” He says in a deep voice.

“Yes, Dean,” I reply in a hushed tone. Butterflies flutter around my stomach.

He steps closer, til he’s barely an inch behind me. He wraps his warm hands around mine and I can’t help but close my eyes and relish the feeling.

“Okay, you’re gonna bring your arm back to your side, bending the elbow,” he says, pulling my arm back.

We stay there for a minute, just savoring the moment. The tension in the room is thick, but far from unpleasant.

“Now you’re gonna use the momentum of your body to push it forward.”

Following his directions, I force the blade forward in one swift movement.

“Straighten your elbow sweetheart,” he purrs in my ear.

I briefly close my eyes, trying to fight the heat rising in my body, and do as he says. The sound of the blade cutting through the air breaks the silence.

“Good job,” he praises. “Okay, when you’re attacking, you’re going to want to aim right here.” He points his finger to a spot on the dummy just below the sternum, where the vital organs are most exposed.

I nod, focusing on each of his words.

He guides my hand back, then up, just as we practiced, plunging the blade right under the rib cage until it’s buried deep inside.

I can’t hold back the gasp that falls from my lips.

“Good, very good!” He spins me around to face him. “See you’re a natural,” he chuckles. “A little more practice with me and you’ll be a pro,” Dean winks.

“What can I say? I learn from the best.” I blush with a smile.

He thoughtfully tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes flicking back and forth between my own adoring eyes and my lips.

I can’t help but return his interest.

He leans in close, pressing his forehead to mine.

My heart swells, as my pulse quickens. I hold my breath, waiting for his next move.

He leans in and ever so slightly presses his lips to mine, silently asking for my permission.

I close my eyes and lean in, claiming his lips with mine.

Our lips move together in harmony like they are made for eachother. The kiss is soft and loving, as if we are just testing the waters, and my god it just feels so right.

I sigh with content into his mouth as he places his hand on the small of my back, pulling our bodies together. I feel lost in the moment, wishing it would never end as his hands slowly travel up further until it reaches my bandaged wings poorly disguised under my flannel.

He pulls back slightly, now looking at me with a mix of confusion and concern.

My eyes shoot open and my breath hitches in my throat as I realize what’s happening. The euphoric high of finally kissing Dean fades and the horror of his discovery, sits in my stomach like a ball of lead.

“Wha-,” he starts to ask.

Before he can utter the word, I forcefully push him away and rush out of the room. The world becomes muddy as my eyes blur with hot tears. I run and run until I reach my quarters and throw myself into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I toss the angel blade aside, not even registering the loud clatter of metal meeting tiles and sink to the ground, pulling my knees into my chest, not even bothering to fight the sobs that rack my body.

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