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godmadeaterribleerror · 19 days ago

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WELCOME BACK!!!!

and ooooooo smort smort 🩵🩵

LMAOO in your defense she is always getting into something

2. ehehehehhehheheh ✨secrets✨ (it's literally revealed this chapter)

3. thank you that was one of my favorite lines

4. THERE YOU GO IT'S HER!!! LET THEM BE HAPPY

5. heheheheh✨secrets✨ (i forgot what your god headcanon was plz remind me)

6. OH YEAH hehehehe ✨secrets✨

7. THAT WAS A WHOLE SEVERAL MONTHS OF HER LIFE!! he's gonna catch hands

8. fr She can be a PROBLEM when she wants to be

9. there WOULD be rumors you're so right. Dean Winchester is obsessed with the girl that killed his dad - AND? he's LUCKY she didn't , she would've made it hurt more

10. ........ the NDA

11. she IS really nice I love Eileen let Sam winchester be happy i swear to god.

12. one thing about Gabriel: He's silly

13. To be fair "death as a motivator" would not be my first guess either. And Princess IS a little freak. She and Dean are made for each other.

14. She's a feral animal i fear.

15. funniest girl alive (somewhere in the states, Dean came in his pants)

16. 😔i know

17. ehehheheheheh✨secrets✨

18. she doesn't (yet)

19. LMAO i'm obsessed with the idea that, when left alone, she's LITERALLY just an animal. Dean is the only thing standing between her and thunderstorms cause she's crying. love that for them

20. And Dean thinks she doesn't love him🙄

21. the most dramatic woman alive.

22. ehehehehehehhe✨secrets✨

23. ✨SECRETS✨ (i hate citing the NDA but i have to im sorry)

24. always gotta have smooches

25. Just wait until she gets to the American Men of Letters library. She's never gonna leaves.

26. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU'RE SO RIGHT

27. She is. Girlboss of all time.

28. Catch the besties committing crimes together. She's a fugitive fr

29. thank you they try🩵🩵

30. hehehehhe good. You should. they're adorable.

31. thank youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu🩵🩵🩵

32. hehehheheheeh✨secrets✨ (and yeah she's so silly and obsessed with Dean that it can be real easy to forget that she can kill angels and feel the whole universe)

33. LMAO she would be you're so right

34. here we GO

35. of yeah. Whole on massacre i fear.

36. I mean. ✨secrets✨ (i'm cooking)

37. HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEH (good)

38. you'll see :) (IM COOKING)

39. ...... try not to think about it

40. I know 🩵

41. She's a menace fr

42. Gotta have the dreamscape fluff!

43. he's RESPECTFUL (he wants to do ungodly things to her all the time)

44. Yeah that's a correct read.

45. Poor boy can't catch a break. She's always MISSING (he needs to put a tracker in her root beer or something)

46. i think he's earned it, putting up with their bs for so long

47. Bobby loves his crazy funny daughter and all her silly bullshit

48. 9.5 is one lower than the highest ever recorded :)

49. What's it gonna take for Dean to hit a girl (we'll see)

50. he's so obsessed it's not even funny anymore

51. Dean WON'T hit a girl (he'll hit Sam)

52. He's the most dramatic man alive. He was 100% ready to throw hands over the idea of being with anyone but Her

53. It's very important to him that people get it right. three times (more than anyone else, but he doesn't know that.)

54. Those are sorta my favorite scenes to write, seeing Her use the Silver from his perspective. So I'm glad you like them!!🩵🩵🩵

55. THEY DID IT!!!!!🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

56. heheheheheheheh

57. he just wants to make her feel comfortable :(

58. their so silly

59. isn't he always😔

60. they're so cute

61. ...... sorry (im not)

62. i mean. two things can be true

63. LMAOOOOOOOOO

64. thank youuuuuu Becky is lucky Princess was passed out when they met. Crimes WOULD have been committed. Eileen and Her already beating each other up like sisters. And bold of you to assume that Dean will LET her leave the bed for a whole day once he gets the chance.

65. thank youuuuuuu🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵!!!! see you there!

Chapter 22 - I'd Go Black And Blue

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I always hate saying "this is my favorite chapter so far" in case y'all hate it, but there's one scene in particular there that's a top 5 Babylon scene for me personally. If you guys can guess it, I'll... idk you can chose a bonus chapter theme. Enjoy!!

Chapter Title from Make You Feel My Love by Bob Dylan

Word Count: 18.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You make another friend, and Dean makes another enemy. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 21 - Chapter 23

Read on A03!

Your head fucking hurts. A dull pain in the back of your skull, like you’d been hit with a club and knocked out. Everything is fuzzy, and there’s a high ringing in your ears, but you’re not tied up.

The floor is cold under your body, and you can’t feel any wind. There’s no sense of danger, but there is something shuffling around near you. Nothing’s sliced or burned you, the only additional, foreign pain existing in the sting on the tip of your finger.

You need to open your eyes and figure out where you are. But every muscle feels like it’s been threaded with lead and iron, and your head fucking hurts, and you don’t even know how you got here.

All you can remember is a blur.

The Blue, in the church.

An archangel.

You’d called for Cas, and the Blue showed up instead. It had said you needed to get some sleep, but you don’t feel rested. Just a little fucking sick and dizzy, despite being frozen to the floor.

And if he’d shown up after the Blue left, you wouldn’t have been there, which means you aren’t home, which means-

Dean.

Something like electricity jolts through your body.

And when your eyes fly open—stinging from the sudden intrusion of light—you’re staring down the barrel of a fucking shotgun.

“God- Fucking-“ You scramble back against the wall, and the shotgun only follows you. “What the-“

“Don’t scream.” A strangely accented voice comes from the other side, and you lean to the side just enough to see its owner.

It's a woman. Pale, a little on the shorter side, with long brown hair and narrowed eyes that are never leaving your face. She's holding the gun like it's a second limb, rather than a tool. Relaxed, keeping it trained against your brow with her shoulders relax. The same way Dean and Sam do.

Like a hunter.

“Who-“

“Don’t speak.” The woman snaps, and you blink, but obey.

The Silver is starting to wake up, bristling from threat of the gun, but you can get out of this exact scenario before with only your knife-

Fuck.

Your jacket is gone. Which means your knife is gone. The knife Dean gave you is gone-

“My knife-“

“I said don’t speak.” Her voice is harsh, but the words are still oddly rounded. It’s really not your biggest concern.

You open your mouth—the Silver starting to build, because this woman made the smart choice not to tie you up, but she took your fucking knife—and she shakes her head, pressing the gun forward.

“I am going to lower the gun to hear you. If you move, I shoot you. Got it?”

You raise your brows, keeping your mouth closed, and the woman sighs.

“Just nod.”

You nod, and that seems to be enough. The gun lowers, and you and the women blink at each other.

She’s teal. A dark, pretty teal that starts near her eyes and spreads like fire out. She’s definitely a hunter—only hunters wear that much plaid—and there’s no blood stains or visible scarring, so she’s either a very good one or an incredibly bad one.

Your money is on the former, but it could go either way. The gun might look natural in her hands, but she also didn’t tie you up, and that’s a stupid move. She did take your knife—smarter move, you need to get back to Dean so you wouldn’t have pulled punches—but she’s still lowering the gun, which isn’t great survival instinct. She has no way of knowing that, if she makes one wrong move, the Silver will explode and rip that teal straight from her body.

But she said she’s lowering it to hear you.

You don’t know what that means.

“I’m sorry about the gun,” the woman shrugs, but still doesn’t put it away. “When I tried to tie your wrists, you seemed distressed. I think you were screaming.”

“You-“ Your eyes narrow, and the woman hasn’t looked away from you for a second. “You think I was screaming?”

“I’m deaf.”

Oh. That explains the accent. And you might have gotten that sooner if your head wasn’t on a loop of Dean, Dean, you said you’d get home to Dean

“You’re American.”

You blink at her, and nod slowly. “How’d you know?”

“You don’t seemed shocked by the shotgun.”

“Europe has shotguns.” You counter, and she shrugs.

“Not like this. This is for hunting.”

“You can hunt without a gun.”

The woman gives you a dry smile. “Not the things I hunt, no.”

“Monsters?”

She pauses. “You’re a hunter.”

“Yep.” You hum, and she frowns.

“You don’t look like you hunt.”

Huh. “Don’t I?”

“You weren’t armed.”

“I had a knife.” You sit up slightly, and the gun moves right back to your brow.

“I said don’t move-“

“I’m not moving.” You scan around the room—dark, a little damp, probably a basement, at least the Sky can’t see you—and glare back to the teal woman. “What the fuck did you do with my knife.”

“It’s back there.” She nods into the dark, and a light weight moves off your shoulders. Not gone. That one piece of Dean you always get to have, just back there. “So you are a hunter?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

Her head tilts slightly. “How do you hunt without a gun?”

“Talent.” You mutter, and the Spiderweb is straining and whining in your body. “Believe me, I’ve gotten the lecture.”

The woman lowers her gun again, frowning at you. “The lecture?”

“My-“ Dean. No proper word to call Dean that doesn’t make you sound insane. “Friend. He doesn’t like that I hunt without a gun. He’s really dramatic about it.”

“You have hunter friends?”

“Yeah. I, they’re actually waiting for me-“

“In America?”

“That’s where I left them, yeah.”

“How were you planning to return?” She’s watching you wearily, and she might think you’re lying.

For once, you’re not.

But you also don’t know her.

So you have to be careful what you say.

“Flight.”

“Without a passport?”

You shrug. “I’d work it out. Am I here to be questioned about my travel plans, or can I go?”

The woman shakes her head. “Not until you answer my questions.”

“All I’ve been doing is answering your questions-“

“Not the ones I want to ask.” She scans over you carefully, a small frown on her face. “Would you like some water? Or food?”

It’s only when she says it that you feel it. A little faint, your throat dry, and the room suddenly spinning like now that it’s been reminded of the situation, it’s realizing you’ve been knocked out for-

Fuck.

You don’t actually know how long you were out for. You can still only remember the Blue telling you to get some sleep, and then it’s all dreams. You might have been out for days, but you also still hadn’t been eating or drinking before, so it just might be catch up with you.

Everything still hurts. Everything always hurts. And the Silver is waxing and waning in your body, starting to coil before settling comfortably back down. It’s making you feel a little sick.

You’d try to just pray to Cas—to appear into the room and take you home right now—but the Blue said you were still interfering. An archangel had told you to stop interfering. And you want to. You don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of you. But you promised. You’d told Dean you would go home, and then you didn’t. You’d been knocked out, and taken here.

You still don’t know where here is.

Or how long Dean’s been waiting for you.

“I have some-“

“What happened?” You blurt, and the woman blinks at you.

“That was one of my questions for you.”

Shit.

“Do you want food?” The woman repeats her offer, and you swallow, but nod.

You’re starving. And you’d promised Jo you’d be okay, so you need to eat.

“If I walk away, are you going to run?”

You pause, then shake your head. If you need to get out, the Silver will explode, or you’ll try that prayer to Cas. Right now, you need a few answers yourself.

And food.

Your head is spinning, and food sounds really good.

The woman seems to decide you’re not lying, and she moves into the darkness for only a second before returning with a water bottle and sandwich. You’d be worried about poison, but if she wanted to kill you, she’d just fucking shoot you.

And she looks almost amused, as you chug the water bottle in seconds, turning your attention to the sandwich and all but shoving it in your face seconds later.

“You’re hungry.” She says, and you shrug, quickly chewing and swallowing before you answer.

“I was knocked out.”

“Only for three days.”

Three days.

That’s not bad. You can explain three days, when you get out. You just have to get out.

“Where did you find me?” You wipe at few crumbs from your face as you speak, and the woman—you should probably ask her name—gives you an odd look.

“I am not sure. It looked like a church.”

Something twists in your stomach. “Looked? Past tense?”

She nods. “It was covered in vines and flower and water. Pretty. Not a church anymore.”

Fuck. “Oops.”

The woman frowns. “Did you do it?”

You don’t answer right away. You don’t know her. You don’t know who she works with—you doubt Ketch, but you’re in no position to lack vigilance—what she wants from you, or why she took you at all-

“The earth was grown around you.” She links her fingers together in a wide gesture, her shotgun resting at her side. “I had to rip it up to get to you.”

You lean back, narrowing your eyes. Nobody would just rip up the earth to get to you.

Dean might.

No one else.

“Why?” You ask, rubbing over your wrists. “Were you looking for me?”

“No. Was nearby. Felt the earth shake, went looking for the source. Found you.” Her hand moves back to the shotgun. You don’t let your face shift at all. “What are you?”

There it was.

That’s why you’re here.

“It’s complicated.”

She shakes her head. “Try.”

“I…” You take a long, slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Why not? I know you are something.” The gun’s back in her lap, and the Silver starts to go taut again. Readying itself to snap. “I thought you were a witch, when you reacted to the iron. But you didn’t have any books or tools-“

“I didn’t?” You blurt before you can stop yourself, and it’s not helping your case, but you don’t care. “What did I have?”

“Nothing.”

“No- Fuck.” The Silver is building, and all you can do is dig your nails into your palm to keep it down.

Everything. Gone. All your books and notes, fucking vanished, and what was it for. You left Dean, and now all you have to show for it is an ache in your chest and bags under your eyes.

And the Blue has told you not to go home. You’re betting he thought this would deter you, and you’d spend a lot of time scrambling to get everything back, or being so afraid of how you’re changing things that you’d crawl back to wherever you were made.

But he’s made a severe misjudgment about you.

First of all, you have most of that shit memorized. You’re not a fucking idiot, and you’re a good hunter. Everything you need to know lives in your head. The Blue took it, but now all that’s telling you is that, no matter what you do, Heaven isn’t going to be happy with you. That they won’t be happy until you’re safely chained and locked up in their care, whether you’re at Dean’s side or not.

And you’re sick. You’re exhausted and in pain and so fucking sick. You’ve always been sick, and you’ve always infected and interfered and destroyed.

But you’d rather be sick at Dean’s side—where he can hold you in the dead of night and you drown in the Gold of him all the time—then something docile and chained up without him. He won’t be safe anyway. Between what he’s told you and what the Blue mentioned in passing, Heaven’s got plans for him outside of the seals that have nothing to do with you. And Dean’s sat with you through everything you allowed him to. All your sickness and crying and trying to claw your way out of your own skin, only holding you tight until you could breathe, and letting you go because you asked. And you’ll crawl to him and hold him in Hell, if that’s what it takes for you to return the favor.

Second, you’re really fucking good at causing problems for people that try to control you. For people that hold you and try to pin you there, wanting you mounted high up on their wall.

John Winchester’s dead.

You don’t do checkups on your family, but they’re down one chosen, special, vile little girl forever.

Ketch has a slump in his back, and Anna’s gone.

It doesn’t never works out in their favor.

Finally, you always end up back at Dean. You run from everything, but when you have nowhere left to go, you always end up back at Dean. No matter how sick you are, you always end up back at Dean.

And it may be the worst fucking curse of your life, how you’ll never be able to tell Dean you love him, because the Sky will hear, and it might take him away. Because Dean will hear, and he doesn’t deserve that.

But he’d said he needs you. He waited for you, even when he shouldn’t have. You promised you’d stop running and then left, and you said all the way down and stayed away until he called you, and you looked back.

You always look back for Dean. You love him. And you’d do anything for him.

But the Blue took you away from him. Knocked you out and sent you-

He’d said he’d send you someone good.

Your eyes narrow on the woman. “You working with the angels?”

She stares at you. “The angels? What angels?”

“Heaven angels. God angels.” You’re still only met with a blank expression. “They’re hunting for me, you might have seen a blue-“ She won’t know its color. “A blond one. At the church.”

The woman mostly looks shocked. You can’t tell if that’s a positive or not. “Angels are hunting for you? Are you crazy?”

You let out a dry laugh. “Depends on how loose you’re playing with the term crazy.”

“Fucking-“ The woman shakes her head. “What about that note? I don’t think angels leave notes.”

You frown. “What note?”

She nods, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small, blue sticky note for you to see. Move Me! is written in glitter.

“Yeah,” You mutter, rubbing your thumb over your palm. “That’s an angel.”

“And you think they’re hunting you-“

“They are. It’s a long story, but I- I have to go.”

“No,” the shotgun is back. You don’t have time for this. “I am still asking questions-“

“Like what?” You challenge, raising your chin and moving to your knees. If she shoots you, she fucking shoots you. At least you’ll see Jo again. Maybe you’ll find out if the Sky actually cares enough to haul you back out.

And if it doesn’t, you’ve walked in and out of Hell for Dean before. Given how the Silver is starting to roll like a storm through your body, you don’t think it will be that big an issue, to claw up through the earth and return to Dean’s side. The earth might even part for you like the ocean, if you ask it right. If you scream that you have to get back to Dean, and that nothing is going to get in your way.

This lady isn’t working with the angels.

You still need her to get out of the way.

“Listen.” You keep your words slow, taking a firm step forward and swallowing bile as the gun aims for your head.

Bobby would kill you.

He can get in line.

“I am going to leave. I have a few things to do, but then I’m going back to America, because my- My family needs me. And you can try to shoot me, but historically, trying to kill me has never worked out in anyone’s favor.”

The woman’s eyes widen. “I- I will shoot you.”

“Do it.” You snap. “I-“

She doesn’t shoot you. She raises the blunt end of the gun and slams it into your chest, and sends you stumbling back as she shoots to her feet, cocking the gun and reaiming it for your foot.

This would be a great time for the Silver to snap. To burst through the room and rip the teal from the woman’s body, so you can shove it back in fast before fucking running. But she’s not grabbing at your wrists, she��s not a demon or angel, and the only threats she’s making are to you, and apparently, the Silver is over that.

So you have to do this the old-fashioned way.

You dodge the gunfire, but only barely. Springing to the side and slamming into the woman’s body, right as she whacks your shoulder with the barrel of the gun. You regain your balance a little faster, and it lets you dart in the corners of the room, grabbing through the dark for-

A hand wraps around your shoulder, and you turn with a swinging fist that collides with the woman’s jaw. Blood spits in your face as her knee hits you in the gut, and you are not in good shape for a fight. The pain rushes through you and somehow causes a throbbing in your head, the sandwich letting itself up too easy, and you vomit all over her face.

She recoils, wiping herself with a disgusted expression, and there’s your window.

The jacket had been folded fairly neat on a wooden crate, and it seems all the Blue left you was your knife and flask.

You can work with that.

The click of a safety comes from behind you, and you duck just in time. The rebound of the shotgun is working in your favor. The woman is occupied just long enough for you to roll under the barrel and-

She fucking kicks you again. A groan escapes you at the blunt pain, but you don’t give her the opportunity to reaim, sweeping her legs out from under her and knocking the shotgun out of her hands as she falls at your side.

Neither of you can get the upper hand. Your knife gets knocked across the floor seconds after the woman’s gun, and you might be a better hand-to-hand fighter overall, but your whole body is also made of pain. When you punch her it’s weaker, and when she knees you in the gut a little more bile spits out.

You don’t have the energy to go for as long as she can.

But you fight dirty.

This woman doesn’t seem to have a problem with the ethical questions of hunting—she was about to shoot you—but she also doesn’t seem to be on board with moves like biting and ripping hair.

And when you employ said tactics, she scrambles back as if you might be carrying rabies.

“What is wrong with you?!” Her voice is almost a screech, and you shrug, wiping your mouth with your palm.

“Lot of things. Jury’s still out on most of them.” You slump against the wall, wincing at the pain that shoots through your shoulder. “You up for a truce?”

She narrows her eyes. “Are you going to try and run again?”

“Probably.” You shrug. You’re too tired to lie. “Are you going to try and kill me again?”

She shrugs right back. “Maybe.”

“I think that’s a stalemate then.”

“Yeah.” The woman groans, glancing down at the bite mark on her arm. “Do you need any ice?”

“I’m good. Sorry about, uh- That.”

“It’s fine.” She gives you a small smile. “You did say people who try to kill you end up regretting it.”

That pulls a short laugh for your chest, and it hurts—she must have gotten a blow there too, somewhere in the fight—but you can’t bring yourself to hate it. Means you’re still alive. And that you can laugh, because unless you count phone calls with Dean—which even in the better moments, were always lined with tears—you haven’t laughed since you left.

You end up spitting up a little bit of blood.

You really fucking miss the Silver not just choosing when it came out. It’s amazing that Dean, Sam, and Bobby just exist with these bruises and cuts all the time. Dean’s voice in your head is humming slow breaths, but it’s barely helping. When you get home, you’re going to steal a whole Walgreens first-aid aisle.

But you need to get home first.

You look up at the woman, examining her own injuries, and wave for her attention. “What’s your name?”

“Eileen.” She tilts her head at you. “You?”

You answer her, running a hand up and down your calf, and you’re both just watching each other now. Your knife and Eileen’s shotgun still in the dark corners of the room, neither of you moving to try and grab them.

“What does your family need you for?” She asks, and you sigh.

“My dad’s injured, my brother fucked up and I’m worried about him, and my-“ No proper word. “Best friend asked me to come back.”

Eileen hums. “Did you leave?”

“Yeah.” A lump is forming back in your throat, and when your eyes flick down, your fingertips are frosted with pastel blue. “I- I lost my sister.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Eileen pauses, before adding. “My parents died. It’s not fun.”

You huff a soft laugh. “No, it’s really fucking not. Were they hunters?”

“No. My mother knew about it, though. Is your-“ She stops herself, shaking her head. “You already said they were hunters. Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You mumble. “Long day. How’d your mom know?”

“Her dad was part of a fancy group of them.”

Your head shoots up. “Fancy group? Was he British?”

“American immigrant to Ireland.” She stares at you. “Why?”

“I- How long have you been hunting?”

“My whole life.”

You nod slowly, frowning at the air. If she’s been hunting that long, in Europe, she must have an idea. Have a rumor. Just a fucking lead you can chase, to get what you need.

“How long have-“

“A while.” You lean forward, ignoring the aching protest through your whole body. “You heard of an asshole named Ketch?”

Her eyes narrow, her lips curling slightly into a sneer, and that’s a yes. “Arthur?”

You nod, and she scoffs.

“He’s a dick. Won’t work with me because I’m deaf, always whining about hunter pigs getting in the way.”

You grin. He is a dick. “Is he part of the big fancy group?”

“Sort of.” Eileen’s words are cautious, but she’s still not making a move to restart the fight. “Different branch, I think. They don’t like me enough to tell me technical things.”

“What do they like you enough to tell you?”

“Not much.” She gives you an odd look, her words still slow. “Why?”

“He stole my book. And tried to kidnap me like, twenty times.”

“Ah.” Eileen smiles slightly. “How did it work out for him?”

You snort. “Bad.”

That gets a laugh from Eileen, and it’s a little spluttered like yours, but it’s nice. Full and real and a little loud, echoing around the basement for several moments, and your own smile grows.

You haven’t talked to someone that’s not either trying to kill you—or the frustrating, insufferable, awesome love of your life over the phone—for so long.

It’s another thing that’s nice. And Eileen had just beat you up, but you both seem to be done with that. If you’re careful, you might even have an ally. She seems to hate Ketch. That alone is a hallmark of a good person. You just need to see if she’s committed to this not letting you leave thing.

“How are we feeling about the truce?” You ask carefully, and Eileen only shrugs.

“Are you going to tell me what you are?”

You pause. It’s not good to tell a lot of people. You’re not sure why, but the more people know about you in general, the worse things get. Openly sharing the fact that you’re a Magdalene, when that’s something even Heaven considers better as not known, seems unwise.

But you’re really tired. And you really want to go home.

Getting home means getting the Book and—ideally—the Blade back. The Silver has always responded to the Blade, so maybe that can kickstart it, and get you back to being dangerous, but useful. And the Book is in Enochian, and full of weird shit. There will have to be something useful to the whole apocalypse situation. And if not, nobody had died when you’d had the Book and the Blade.

That alone can be a false comfort.

You mostly just don’t want to be useless. Don’t want to return as just a sickness that Dean seems to be fine catching.

It’s better not to think about that. About how maybe you are infecting and hurting him, but he’s a fucking adorable idiot, so he just doesn’t care. You don’t know why he wouldn’t care.

He should care.

He shouldn’t be asking you to come home, because now you have no choice, and he really doesn’t understand exactly how much you love him. How willing you are to be sick if it’s what keeps him alive.

It hadn’t kept Jo alive. But fighting it hadn’t kept Dean alive before.

You won’t fail a third time.

You won’t.

So you need the Book and the Blade.

Eileen might be able to help with that. And you may not be able to tell her what you are, but you can also tell half-truths. It’s better than lies. Better than full truths.

The last person you told full truths was Jo.

You feel fucking sick again. Bile rises in your throat, bitter on the back of your tongue and making you choke on the air. The Silver isn’t rising, but it is shifting, and you’ve started to claw the skin of your arms.

Eileen says your name slowly, and you dig your nails in, forcing yourself to come back down. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter. “I- I’ll tell you what I am if,” you narrow your eyes. “You help me. To find what I’m looking for.”

Eileen only holds your gaze. “What are you looking for?”

“You know that book I mentioned?” You wait for her nod, then continue. “I want it back.”

“Your book?”

“Yeah. And my knife.”

Her gaze flicks to the floor. “Your-“

“Different knife.” You mutter. “This one’s a gift. The other one is… weird.”

“Huh.” Eileen raised her brows. “Weirder than you?”

You snort. “Same amount of weird, actually. You in?”

Eileen’s scanning over you, and if she says no, you’re going to be stuck in a loop of fighting and resting until she kills you, or your escape. And she has a lot of reasons to say no. You do sound insane, she found you with the earth growing around you and a sticky note from an—alleged—angel, and you’re not winning any awards for worth helping after fucking biting her-

“You are sure Ketch took your shit?”

You nod. “Him or Davis.”

Eileen blinks. “Mick?”

“Sure.”

“If it is Mick, I know where your stuff might be.” She gives you a weary look. “But you can’t be mad at me if it’s not there. And you have to tell me what you are.”

It’s not a bad deal.

That doesn’t stop you from pushing it, just a bit.

“Why do you care what I am?”

It earns you a flat look. “I pulled you from the earth and you talk about angels.”

“I could just be crazy, you know.”

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “I’ll judge that when you tell me.”

She’s not backing down.

You won’t either.

“Alright, then.”

Eileen grins at you. “Alright.”

There’s a second where you’re both staring at each other, and then you’re moving at the same time. Eileen grabs her shotgun and kicks your knife across the floor, and you shrug on your jacket with a grimace at her vomit-stained clothing.

“Do you- We can stop so you can shower-“

She waves you off. “I’ve been covered in worse. I’ll change, shower later.”

You nod thoughtlessly, feeling through your pockets one last time to check that the Blue really did take your phone. You need to call someone, just to tell them you’re alive and still trying to get home. And after how your last prayer went, you’re not jumping to make another one soon.

But your phone is gone. And when you ask Eileen to borrow hers, Bobby’s number goes straight to voicemail, and you’re a fucking idiot who never memorized anyone else’s. Not even Dean’s.

You’ll apologize when you get home. For vanishing like that, giving him another reason to worry when he’s already got so many. You’ll fall in front of him and wrap your arms around his legs, giving him even more weight and apologizing for it every second, until he picks you up and moves you to the bed. Not to rest.

You’ll rest when you know he understands. When he gets that—at the end of it—you’re always just his. That as long as you have hands that refuse to hurt him, you’ll drag yourself though mud and dirt to return to his side. To crawl into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck as you prove to him that you’ll never leave.

As you show him with a hand between your bodies, or your mouth kissing down his chest. Letting him guide you like he’d promised—or at least you’ve twisted his words into promising, just in your head where it can’t hurt anyone but you—and he understands-

“How old is your brother?”

You turn and blink at Eileen. The ride has been wholly silent save for the radio—she can’t hear you if she’s not looking at you—and you’d settled too quickly into fantasy.

“I thought we’d stop and eat.” She says, and the engine has indeed turned off.

You need to get it together. “I- That would be nice.” You mumble, rubbing your thumb over your palm. “I’m hungry.”

“I know. You threw up your lunch all over me.” She reaches into the back of her car, and pulls out a Tupperware. “BLT or PBJ?”

“PBJ,” You hum, grimacing to yourself as Eileen passes you the food. “I don’t like bacon.”

“You can take the bacon out.”

“I do.” You smile to yourself, a very wide, charming smile flashing over your vision. “I usually just sneak it onto my- De- My friend’s plate. He loves bacon.”

Eileen gives you a vague look, swallowing before she speaks. “The friend who wants you to come home?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you not tell him you hate bacon?”

You shrug. “Probably could, but he’d get really dramatic about it.” How do you not like bacon, Princess?! It’s- It’s bacon! “Plus he gets really excited when he has more bacon than he thought. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” She raises her brows. “Are you- Are there feelings?”

Fucking-

You must have a big, blaring sign on your forehead that says I love Dean Winchester.

Sure, Jo knows because she knows you, and Sam knows because he basically is your brother, just as Bobby is your dad, but they all have spent time around you. Listened to you talk about Dean, seen you turn back for him and flush at his voice and name, clinging to him like the sorry little girl he still can’t figure out you are. The one that’s going to be tosses aside and forgotten, when he finds better-

Not the time for that. You’ll have plenty of time to try and mark Dean somewhere visible so everyone knows that no matter what they do, you’ll always love him, and that should terrify them.

Right now, you need to work out how Eileen figured out that you love him from basically fucking nothing.

And you’re not saying anything. It’s not helping your case.

“I-“ You clear your throat. “It’s complicated.”

Eileen nods, and drops it just like that. “How about your brother?”

“My- What brother?”

Her eyes narrow. “You said you had a brother. Who fucked up.”

“Oh. Sam.” You shake your head, giving her an apologetic, close-lipped smile. “Sorry. Forgot I called him that.”

“Is he not your brother?”

“No- Ye- Sorta.”

Eileen tilts her head. “Family?”

“Yeah. He is. And he’s twenty-five.”

“Younger?”

You hum a conformation, taking a large bite of your sandwich, and Eileen’s remains neglected in her Tupperware.

“Do you have a big family?” You give her an odd look, and she sighs. “I grew up without one. A family. I’m… curious.”

“Well I- I sort of grew up without a family too.” You frown into the air, the bread of the sandwich smushing between your fingers. “I- I had my dad. And my uncle. But I only met the rest of them when I was an adult.” You shrug, looking fully back to Eileen. “What happened to your family? Parents die when you were young?”

“I was an infant. Killed by a banshee. I’ve been hunting it since, but-“

“Have you tried throwing a funeral?” You cut her off before you can stop yourself, and she frowns. “Shit, sorry, just- Banshee hunts go really well if you’re throwing funerals. All the emotion, it’s like a- uh-“ You sigh. “I can’t think of anything. But they’re good.”

Eileen nods slowly, giving you a tentative, small smile. “It’s okay. I haven’t tried that, but I also don’t know how to throw a funeral.”

“You can use my body, if this goes south and you have to kill me.”

Her smile grows. “I will.”

You tell Eileen a little more about your family, while she eats. About how Bobby thinks you don’t know about how he uses shea butter lotion, but you shared a desktop before you bought—stole—a laptop, and you’ve seen his shopping history. She hears about Dean less than most people—you’re trying to make up for the slip, but based on her amused expression as you talk about how you think he genuinely believes his car has a soul, it’s not working—but Sam plenty, with all his books but no fucking clue how to work a self-checkout machine.

You know that because you’d been standing right next to him, staring at it for three straight minutes until Dean gotten back and explained how.

Explained to you how. He’d guided you up with a hand on your lower back, and scanned two items before letting you scan the rest. Sam had craned over your shoulder, and spent the rest of the drive back to the motel grumbling about favoritism.

It had helped, though. When you’d chosen to sit with him and read instead of watching TV with Dean.

And Eileen listens, nodding along so you know she understands. You get to hear much about the hunter who raised her—it sounds like with less vigilance than John, but more urgency to join hunting than Bobby—and she mentions that she likes muscles cars too, as well as big, long books, because they give her a reason to ignore people waving for her attention.

When the ride starts again, there’s a little less wired air than before. You don’t feel better—you’re not sure you remember what better even could mean right now, when it’s not home—but Eileen’s not going to shoot you, and you’re not going to try and ditch her to do this alone. You could.

Right now—with pale blue stuck on your fingers and the Spiderweb howling for Dean so loud you have to ignore it, or you’ll go insane—you don’t want to.

The radio is low and soft, all the roading winding with the same scene of grass and trees and grass and trees, to the point that you’d think you were driving in circles if you didn’t know better. And the Sky isn’t flaring, over and over and over above you, but if you close your eyes you won’t be able to see it. And when you do—with the music and wind and hum of the engine—it’s bordering on peaceful, and if Eileen’s not going to kill you, there’s nothing to help you fight the sleep as it-

You’ve never been here before.

It looks like a camp. A military camp. All the buildings are low, and they don’t look to be all that well put together. Wooden doors and low, rotting foundations, the pavement below your feet cracked and the grass overgrown. There’s a strong, golden haze cast over everything—lit from the sun, suspended right above the horizon and never moving—and people who mill about like ghosts. Their bodies tensed and eyes heavy.

You don’t bother to try and talk to them.

You’re looking for Dean.

This is the type of dream you would have about him. The type of dream you’ve always had, that has only grown sharper over the years. Where everything is golden, and your mind is making up any excuse for him to be near you. This scenario seems to be an apocalypse.

If you believed in interpreting dreams, you’d think that your mind was trying to tell you something about how you feel like the world is ending because you’re not home.

The more likely case is that you’re simply stressed about the apocalypse.

And Dean. You can’t find him. You poke your head into buildings and down alleys, and there’s a very strange Cas that stares right through you, and a small, bearded man who’s eyes feel like they’re following you–even though you know better—but no-

There he is.

The whole world feels like it’s glowing. He’s sprinting up towards you with a wild expression, and it’s not real, but that doesn’t stop the small sound from leaving your throat.

He always looks so real. And when he crashes into you, his hands find you the same way Real Dean’s would. Grabbing your face between his hands and quickly scanning over you for injury, pressing you right up to his chest like there’s ever a chance you’d try to run away.

And this is the part that makes you certain it’s a dream.

Dean kisses you like he’s about to die. Like you’re about to die. Like more than the universe will crumble if he doesn’t kiss you, and hook his arm around your waist to pull you just a little bit closer. And you can’t feel it—not really, when it’s all in your head—but you can still melt into him. Curl your fingers on his shirt and open your mouth for Dean to take more.

It would be nice if he could take all of you. Pick you up and throw you over his shoulder, then take you out of the dream into the real world. And you’d wake up with the Real Dean asleep at your side, his arm thrown over your waist in his sleep.

You could pretend like you never left. You could pretend you’re allowed to take things from him, and climb over him, waking him up with soft kisses over his face and a smile when he blinks up at you.

For now you’ll settle for this. For this Dean hauling you fully up into his arms with barely a grunt, and burying his face in the crook of your neck when you pull apart.

The whole world smells like a phantom of cinnamon.

If you die, right here in your own mind, there would certainly be worse ways to go.

“You’re okay.” Dean mutters against your skin, a hand combing through your hair, and it sounds more like he’s trying to convince yourself. “Son of a bitch, Princess, I kept saying shit about you missing, and you are, and- Fuck-“

You lean back, just enough to see Dean’s eyes a little glossy. You don’t know how he deals with you crying all the time.

Just the sight is making you feel like your heart is being crushed into millions of pieces that you can’t figure out how to offer him, to patch up the pain.

Instead you just wrapped your arms fully around his neck, drop your face onto his shoulder, and stay wherever he wants to move you.

“I miss you.” He mutters. “Miss you so freakin’ much. Everything’s a mess, and Cas said he couldn’t find you, the angels are fucking douchebags, and I- I need you here, baby. Can’t do this if you’re not here.”

Baby.

You know I love you, baby.

You swallow, turning your head to press a light kiss to his neck. You’ve always wanted to do that.

He makes a small sound, and that’s going to haunt you louder than ‘baby’ is.

“I miss you too.” You whisper, and Dean sighs.

“You wouldn’t happened to know where you are, sweetheart?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. Worth a shot. Stranger things.”

You hum, propping your chin up to scan around the ruined camp around you. “Do you know where we are?”

“Uh-“ He sighs, holding you a little tighter. “Just a nightmare, about the end."

"The-"

"End of the world. If Lucifer wins."

“Oh.” Your fingers are digging into his skin. It’s a good thing he can’t feel it. “That… fucking sucks.”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, it does. Whole thing really fucking sucks. Lose Sam and Bobby, Cas' fine, but human, and you- you're-“

He cuts himself off, and you lean back to scan over him with a frown. “De-“

You let out a soft yelp as you're crushed back against his body, his grip tight enough to suffocate you, like he's trying to mold himself to you until it's impossible to tear you away.

It's already impossible for someone to tear you away. Even when Dean's not with you, he's there. Removing him would be like trying to take your shadow. Just simply fucking impossible.

"It's fine, now." Dean presses his face into the side of your head, his breathing is deep, as if he's trying to inhale you. "You're here."

You flush. It's fine. Dean's fine.

Right now, it's all fine, because you're here.

"I- I miss you, De. A lot."

"I know, Princess. I-"

"You don't." You shake your head, grabbing his face between your hands and running over every deep line and small scar. It's all still Golden. And in here, it's yours. "You- I miss you so much. I want to come home, and I miss you, and I- I said all the way down but I don't want to go there if it's not with you- and-"

Dean mutters your name, tracing his thumb down the bridge of your nose until you're leaning into his touch, your voice evening out once more.

"I wanna come home." Your voice is almost a childish whine, and Dean's lips twitch slightly.

"I do know, baby. I promise I- I'd give goddamn anything just to know where you are." He sighs, his thumb dropping down to trace over your lips, and you think you'd be happy melting into the depth of him and never bothering to climb back out.

"Dean- I-"

"I know." He mutters, pressing his thumb on your lower lip, and you can only sit in him and pray to absolutely nothing that this, somehow, could become real. Tangible.

Permanent.

He’s kissing you again. Slower, carefully, as if you might shatter or dissipate if he’s not careful.

You really wish you could feel it.

And then the Sky starts to split open, and it’s all gone.

Someone’s saying your name, and it’s not Dean.

You’re still not home. Not in a bed, but in a seat, that’s made of leather and sticking your skin, just like the glass near your face. You’d be bothered by it, but there’s still too much of your mind trying to grab the idea of Dean kissing you, being happy you’re there, missing you half as much as you miss him, and you don’t want to move.

The voice is close to your ear now. Round and oddly accented-

Eileen.

“We’re at the place.” She’s saying, and you appreciate that she’s not trying to jostle you awake. That could have ended poorly for everyone. “If you want to get home, you should probably get up.”

That’s the right thing to say. Your eyes shoot open, and you push yourself off where you’d slump on the door.

“You fell asleep fast.” Eileen offers as you rub your face, watching you with the same amusement from before. “Seemed like you could use it. But we’re here.”

“Where’s-“

“They have a big, important, secret library.” She nods out the window, and you follow the direction to see-

It’s not a castle. You’ve never seen a castle, but you’re pretty sure that’s too small to be a castle. But it’s got all the fancy architecture and surrounding gardens and a fucking iron fence to keep people out—that’s going to be annoying—and the scream of I think I’m more important than you are all over it.

“Secret.” You repeat, your tone dry, and Eileen shrugs.

“They think it is. It’s where they keep artifacts they gather on their travels.”

“You mean steal, don’t you.”

She nods, and you let out a heavy sigh, dropping your voice under your breath.

“Fucking- It’s not fun when it’s real.”

“Wha-“

“Movie I like that’s not great with morals. Don’t worry about it.” You reach into your jacket, shifting around the flask and pulling out your knife. “Is it warded?”

“Against what?”

“Uh…” You. “Witches?”

“I think so.” She says, watching you as you take a few, long breaths, trying to test where the Silver is in your body.

It’s not set to explode, but it’s also not entirely down. There’s a slight edge to it, that’s bumping up against the Spiderweb and making it ripple and throw light all over your body.

Something might be off with this. Something will go wrong, even if Eileen doesn’t intended it to.

You’ll get through it.

You have to.

“Are you a witch?”

You sigh, and shake your head. “Sort of. I’m made of the things witches use.”

You won’t tell her the name. If you tell her the name, she might look into it more, and the Sky is beating above you. It won’t like that.

Half-truths.

Only the pastel blue on your fingers—running with you wherever you go and never trying to do anything will help—will know full truths. Jo might be the only non-angel or demon who understands just what you could do, with the Silver. She’s the only one who knows you’re a virgin, too. Who knows just how much you love Dean.

She’s the only one who really knows you love Dean. You all but broke that last rule and told her.

And she’s the only one who will ever know.

Because she’s the only one who gets the whole truth, forever, all the time.

But she made you promise you’d be okay. And okay means talking to people that aren’t the sky, demons and archangels come to taunt you, and Dean.

So you tell Eileen the half-truth, and it doesn’t itch on your tongue. She doesn’t react too much, either. You think she knows it’s not everything, but just like about Dean, she doesn’t push it.

“Do you want help in there?”

You pause, the Silver rolling once more, and shake your head. “I’m good. Thanks, though.”

“No problem. I’ll try that funeral thing, too. Might work.”

“Will work.” You correct, spinning your knife in your hands. “Trust me.”

Eileen gives you another amused look. “Alright, crazy. Heist safe.”

“I will.” You offer her a smile in return, and it’s not full, but it’s not strained either. “If you’re ever in the states, call my dad. His number should be in your phone. Say you’re looking for Sam, then tell him you’re looking for me. He’ll pass it on.”

Bobby and Dean wouldn’t. They’d snap that they’ve never heard that name in their life, then hang up the phone.

Sam will.

Eileen nods, and neither of you are all that interested in long goodbyes. She seems like a practical person, and you’re really fucking sick of goodbyes all together. Given your luck and odd habit of meeting people then never being able to avoid them, you’ll see her again.

And now, you have a job to do.

The Silver is starting to build. You hop the fence—biting on the inside of your cheek as blister form on your skin from the iron—and get into the library without a hitch, but the Silver still builds. Nothing is happening as you wander down the hallways, but the Silver just keeps building.

Maybe it’s because this is too easy. Because you’re just walking inside, and there’s nothing and no one stopping you.

There should be someone stopping you. Ketch and his people don’t seem like the lax security types, and Davis was better, but he did seem to love his lore.

You’d think there’d a least be a guard, but there’s no one.

Not even a librarian.

And the blur kicks in.

If you were smarter, you’d turn around and run. Damn it and pray to Cas now, them get the fuck out of here. The Silver is already winding too tight, and you might tear through more than the building when it snaps.

But you’ve come this far. And you’re not smarter.

It doesn’t help that you know they’re here. The Blade and the Book. They’re calling you forward, reminding you that they’re made for you. Made for the Magdalene to have, as a gift. Promised to you, just as you’re promised to Him. Take them, because they’re yours.

The Silver is glowing. Starting to fall out of you without destruction—until you’re the wisdom of all the books on the shelves and the grief of the spaces between the Sun and the earth, and very, very far away, something perfect and Golden and your more than anything else—all while continuing to wind up inside of you. It feels a little like being a galaxy, consumed in the black hole but still everywhere. Still everything.

You still can’t figure out what’s wrong. There’s not a bloodstain on the floor or a dent on the wall, no alarms or cries for help making it through the blur.

Only the Book and the Blade, calling you forward.

And it’s in a glass case, when you stumble into the room.

Just the Blade.

They might be separated, and you’re not stupid enough to leave the Blade until you find the Book. You only pause to read the small placard they’ve added, noting that it’s a witch-blade that causes insanity, marked with Latin, Hebrew, Arabic, and Enochian.

They know about Enochian.

That’s going to have to be a problem for later.

Right now you’re scanning over the rest of the placard, lingering on how most of the Blade has been translated, save for one word, that they’ve reprinted on the metal.

Magdalene.

They think it means either whore or bride, which is a fascinating dual stance to have.

Not the time.

You glance around, and rip a curtain down from the wall to wrap around your knuckles, and—before you can think twice—slam your knuckles into the glass.

Nothing slices your hand open. No one screams at you for destruction of property.

Something is really fucking wrong, and you need to move.

But it happens in a flash.

You grab the Blade—it still fits perfectly in your hand, it still belongs to you—and just like the first time, you’re lost.

It’s quicker this time. The moment where you’re everything from the hope of the soil, buried under the too fancy building to the blinding fury of the loneliest stars, wishing for something to orbit around them.

And then you crash back down, and you feel it.

Shadows, creeping towards you before curling away.

Fuck.

“Finally.” A voice sighs from behind you, and your grip on the Blade tightens. “I’ve been waiting forever. Almost thought I missed you, but nope.” It laughs, and your skin crawls. “That’s a fun little trick you’ve got there. Well, fun for me. For you I’d bet it’s a bit of a problem.”

You turn, and there he is.

The Red. Slammed and violent inside his vessel of some poor asshole that’s already gone.

Grinning at you like you’re all he’s ever wanted to see.

“I knew you’d come for that.” He nods to the Blade in your hand. “Even took care of the whole building for you. And don’t make that face.” He rolls his eyes, dismissing you with a hand. “There were like, only forty people in here. And most of them were boring, and mundane, and really? Kind of stupid. Seven of the men were rapists! So you’re welcome.”

You swallow, and still don’t speak. Just like with the Blue, the Silver is being frustratingly uncooperative. Growing up before shrinking down again, like it can’t decide if it should attack the Red.

The Red is vile, but it’s not here to hurt you. The Silver doesn’t seem to believe it’s here to hurt you. Which is fucking insane, because this is-

“Do I need to introduce myself? That song says I do. But you,” it frowns at you, tilting its head. “You should know. Do you know?”

You nod, dragging your voice from your chest. “Lucifer.”

“There we go!” He claps his hands together, his grin growing. “I’d offer you a prize, but y’know. For you, it would be pointless.”

You don’t know. Before you can ask, he’s moving on.

“Here’s the deal, doll. Can I call you doll?”

“N-“

“Well I’m going to. It’ll grow on you, trust me.”

“I-“

“Shh.” Lucifer hold a thousand fingers up to his lips, shaking his head. “You don’t get to tell me what to do yet. And I’ve had no one to talk to for so long. Listen, or I track down that new friend of yours and stab her just like the Angel stabbed that sweet girl that followed you like a fucking puppy. Got it?”

The Silver still doesn’t react. All you can do is nod, and swallow your vomit when Lucifer grins.

“Okay. Like I was trying to say, here’s the deal. You and me?” He gestures between your bodies, raising his brows. “We should be friends. And I know, being friends with Satan, spooky. But if you help me, I help you.”

You open your mouth, and he shakes his head.

“No, I know what you’re thinking. How could I help you. Well, doll.” His mouth pulls into a wide, horrible grin, and he has teeth. Sticking out of him and his wings like horns, tinted with red like he’d been eating himself.

It’s fucking disgusting. And he just keeps talking.

“All I’d ask for you to help me get little Sammy Winchester to say yes to me playing puppet with him, and that’s it.”

“I-“ You blink at him. “What?”

Lucifer sighs. “There’s a whole game being played here, doll, you don’t have to understand it. What’s important is that you know I will not hurt you. Michael’s a little pussy, if he wins he’s going to lock you up to keep you safe. All wrapped up and ready, a perfect, sweet present. But I’ll let you roam however you want! I’ll free you from all the stupid fucking plans! You can stay with me, just to fuck with him, or I- I’ll even make you a deal! That’s a classic, right? Deal with the Devil? That’s what killed Dean, too, it’s artful-“

The Silver flashes. Quick, spurred by the Spiderweb, whipping out until glass shatters, and Lucifer cuts himself off with an amused look.

“Alright. Touchy about Dean, got it. Hey,” he grins at you again. “Good thing that’s the deal, right? Heaven wins with Dean, he’s gone. And Mikey is way too much of Daddy’s boy to try and touch you. If I win,” he spreads his arms in a wide gesture, grin widening. “I’ll let you keep Dean around, as a pet! All you have to do is get Sam to say yes-“

“Sam won’t listen to me.” You whisper, because it’s all you can fucking think to say, but Lucifer just shakes his head.

“Wrong. Oh, that’s- It’s actually kind of sad, how wrong you are-“

“I’m-“

“I’m sure Gabe told you, but Sammy adores you. You made him hold on so long.” Lucifer pouts at you, and the Silver rushes through you, right under the surface, making no effort to break out. “I mean, if Heaven hadn’t been such dicks, and you’d toughed it out, Sammy might have stopped drinking demon blood all together. You made him like Ruby less. Want to be around Dean more.” Lucifer laughs, and every time is worse than the last. “You know, out of everyone, you shook him the most. He didn’t want to disappoint you, maybe even more than his strong big brother. You chose to stick with them. You never treated him like less because of what he was, and he’s only ever seen the best things in you. How happy you make Dean, how you’ll talk to him about anything, how you always saw right through John’s lies and big man shit. If you said it was a good idea, he’d do it. Dean trained him well. You’re never wrong.”

But you’re always wrong. You so fucking wrong, all the time.

You’re not sure you’re breathing, and if you aren’t, you’re only being kept awake by the Silver.

You need to go home.

“I-“

“No!” Lucifer cuts you off with a tsk. “Don’t answer now! Take some time and think about it, because you and me together? We could do great work. But if I were you, I’d make a choice fast. Before it’s too late for the Dean part of our deal to go through.”

“The-“ You’re choking on the Silver. It’s trying to burst out of your throat, or your fingers, or your back. You can’t even really tell. “What do you-“

“Nothing.” Lucifer shrugs, taking a step back, his expression on your unreadable. Tense. “But I can’t control all my demons. Just like Heaven couldn’t control all their angels, and Dean? He’s prime hunting meet right now-“

That’s it.

That’s what the Silver explodes for.

And just before it does, you realize what the expression on Lucifer’s face is.

Fear.

Real, pure fear.

But then he’s gone, and the Silver doesn’t care. It just wants something to hurt. Something to change.

And it’s not coming back down. Not fully. So you still can’t really think. Whatever you’ve turned the library into, whatever awful beauty you’ve created, you can’t really see it, either. It’s all just fucking Silver.

You have to run.

Home.

To Dean.

——————

“I’m not goin’ crazy! There’s some weird fuckin’ shit happening here, Rufus!”

Dean frowned, Bobby’s voice echoing up the stairs of the house. The paint on the walls was different—a darker color, a little more chipped—and the carpet was brand-new.

He remembered when Bobby got that new carpet. Dad had dropped them off, Sammy had liked how soft it was, and Dad had mocked Bobby for his new girly obsession with interior design. Bobby had waved it off then, and only scowled when Dean asked if he had a new girlfriend, because Dad said men only did stuff like that for their girlfriends.

Now, Dean could know he’d been an idiot. Dad probably never would’ve done stuff like that for a girlfriend, Sammy had been right—the carpet was soft—and Bobby had done it for Her. Because someone would have to be insane to not try to make everything as nice as possible, for Her.

Even in a dream, Dean couldn’t stop missing Her. And Dean would bet a lot this was a dream, because Bobby wasn’t in any position to buy a new carpet right now, out in the waking world.

Son of a bitch, She was going to be pissed about that.

“Bobby, you’re sayin’ the plate exploded-“

“Yeah, I am!” Bobby sounded like he was arguing with someone. It was probably Rufus. “I’m sayin’ I didn’t sleep, got pissed she didn’t do the dishes-“

“Got pissed-“

“Yelled, Rufus. I fuckin’ yelled, and I know that wasn’t right, so save it. Went to walk it off and get her somethin’ to apologize, but when I got back the dishes were broken.”

There was a loud sigh, and Dean started slowly down the hall. Whatever fight was happening, he kind of wanted to see it.

“Don’t gimme that face, asshole-“

“You’re bein’ paranoid, Bob. Maybe she just smashed the dishes-“

“No. You ain’t listenin’. She broke all of them. Even the ones in the cabinets she can’t reach. It was like they’d just burst on freakin’ the spot.”

Dean turned to the top of stairs, and froze.

There She was.

It was a smaller version of Her, with hair in complex braids and little fingers, grabbing at the bannisters of the staircase. She was wearing a dress, and fuzzy socks, and Dean was pretty sure that if Dad had dropped them here all those years ago and She hadn’t hidden, he still would’ve crashed down into Her. Still would’ve worshipped the ground She walked on. He might have gone insane about it, trailing after Her like the shadow he was. Back when he couldn’t even properly shoot or fight yet, and she could probably still have made the tides bend to Her will.

Then She turned and looked at him, and whatever fight Bobby and Rufus were having wasn’t important anymore.

It was all just Her.

It was always just Her.

She waved him over, and Dean obeyed without a thought. Scrambling down the steps until he was pressed right at Her side, crowding all Her space because in here, he was allowed to. He didn’t have to worry about failing Her or pushing Her away. He could just wrap his arms around Her and kiss all over her neck, before resting his chin on the top of Her head. He was punishing no one but himself, with how She giggled in his ear and held his arms against Her.

And God, it was the best torture there could ever be. It made Dean feel like he was being ripped in half and fused back together all at once. Made him feel useful, when She leaned back into him with a hum, then like the lowest piece of shit in the mud when it hit him again that this wasn’t real, and he was making Her something she might not want to be.

Sammy called it lucid dreaming.

“What’s lucid mean,” he murmured Her name in her ear, She twisted to smile at him, and he might as well have been hit by a damn truck.

“In full control of your own actions or thoughts.” She said, still peering through the banister at what was probably the kitchen. “Like when you sign a will, you have to be lucid.”

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes fixed on Her in his arms. He was a little worried that if he let go of Her, and all the light in Her body, She’d turn into nothing, and Dean would wake up in the dark. Alone.

So he held on tight, and buried his face in the crook of Her neck. Even in his dreams he could smell that fucking fruit. It was becoming a little like an anesthetic.

“What happenin’ out there?”

She hummed, a hand moving up to comb through Dean’s hair as She spoke, and he held Her a little tighter. “This is when Bobby started to figure out I wasn’t just a little crazy. He’s going to fight with Rufus for ten more minutes, then I’m going to have an episode because I think he’s going to kick me out.”

Dean froze. “He doesn’t-“

“No. Never.” She sighed, leaning Her head against his. “He calms me down, makes me hot chocolate, and tells me that we’re going to figure it out. Tomorrow he’s going to take me to a Psychic friend of Rufus’, and I’m going to- Uh-“ She swallowed, Her grip on Dean tightening as Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She loses all her senses. Literally. I think she lives in a facility in Chicago now, because she can’t hear, or smell, or feel anything but pressure-“

“Hey.” Dean let his lips ghost over her neck, and she let out a soft, breathy sound that was going to make his hard rule of ‘no sex in dreams, because She was still his best friend, and he had to respect that’ real fucking difficult to follow. “I get it. Don’t hurt yourself.”

She laughed softy. “Don’t tell me what to do, Winchester.”

“Sorry, Princess.” He leaned back, pressing a kiss to Her cheek and trying not to feel too proud when She giggled. “Can’t boss me around all the time.”

“Try me-“

“I’d love to.” He smirked, carefully grabbing Her chin to tip it back. “You have no idea how much I’d love to boss you around for once, baby.”

Flush. Hitched breath. Parted lip.

He was the luckiest son of a bitch alive, just to even know Her. To have seen Her enough to have her memorized, even if it wasn’t in every way he wanted. Hair tangled, but still glossy. Eyes brighter than the fucking universe, skin smooth against Dean’s.

But he paused. There was a cut on Her lower lip, and a few visible bruises on Her face, and while Her features had been growing gaunt in his head—a lot of tension in his body seemed to exist from the worry that she wasn’t eating or sleeping, lately—She’d looked like this.

“What’s-“

“Nothing.” He grunted. Just a dream. She wasn’t actually hurt. He was pretty sure She wasn’t actually hurt. And he wanted to think about Her, here. In this dream, where She wanted him.

“Dean-“

“I just miss you, sweetheart. Never gonna stop missing you.” He brushed a little hair from Her face, and Her face split into a wide grin.

“You miss me?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Course I freakin’ miss you, you know that-“

“How much?”

“More than fuckin’ oxygen-“

“But you have oxygen right now-“

Dean moved his hand lightly to Her neck, keeping her gaze fixed on him, and She let out a soft squeak that was going to drive him insane. “Princess?”

“De?” She whispered, bright eyes doing that flutter thing that always made Dean’s cock twitch, and he groaned.

“I miss you more than anything, baby.” He lowered his mouth to ghost over Her’s, and this was pushing it right to the line. “You’re never gonna be able to understand how much I fuckin’ miss you, but I do. I’d rip out my heart, if it made you come back to me.”

She swallowed and nodded, almost fully melted into Dean’s body, and it didn’t matter what Heaven offered him to take Michael in. Nothing could ever be better than this.

And then something shook the world, and it was all gone.

“Dean, wake up, dude-“

“Fuck off.” He rolled over, moving the pillow to block over his ears. He didn’t want to hear Sammy right now. He just wanted to pass out and go back to Her siren voice, haunting him just as it always had.

“C’mon, Chuck texted me-“

“Don’t care. Let the angels have him, Sammy, what’s the asshole ever done for us anyway.”

Sam sighed from somewhere off to the side. “He did help me escape Lilith. And I know you don’t mean that, Dean.”

“You don’t-“

“I miss her too,” Sam’s voice had dropped to being impossibly soft, and Dean’s gut started to twist. “And we’ll find her. But we have to keep going, Dean.”

No, they didn’t.

They needed to be looking for Her. She’d said she was going to pray to Cas, but Cas said it never came through. She was fucking missing, again, and when Dean tried to call Her it just went to fucking voicemail. He didn’t give a shit about Chuck and his life-or-death situation.

He just wanted his fucking girl home, so he could snap at Her about being insane and then hold Her until everything in the world was finally okay again.

“Dean. We gotta go.”

Dean let out a long, slow groan, and forced himself up. The morning was so fucking bright. And not Her bright, guiding Dean down, down, down and making the pit feel like it was full. Painful bright, that made him squint and rub his eyes.

Sam was, annoyingly, right.

With all the angels running around, if Chuck was in danger, that was going to be a problem.

But that didn’t stop Dean from scowling and stewing into, for the entirety of the ride. Wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

The trail on Her was all but dead. When She hadn’t appeared with Cas, after the last phone call, Dean had called for him instead. Just to check.

Then, it had been just to check.

“Dean, you know I am busy looking for-“

“God, yeah, I know.” Dean had been white knuckling his guns as he cleaned them, scowling at the air, and Cas had paused.

“Something is troubling you.” He’d said Her name slowly, and Dean might have almost broken his jaw. “I have told you, Raphael was likely just trying to provoke you-“

“Well, it fuckin’ worked.” It had. After they’d summoned the feathered asshole, Raphael had hummed that She’d make a good motivator, when it came down to it. Dean had almost shot him, and only managed not to because of Cas physically stopping him. But that wasn’t the goddamn point. “Cas, she-“

“I am not going to betray her trust and-“

“No, it’s-“ Dean had run a hand over his face, shaking his head. “She said she’d call you, man. I asked her to come back, and she said she’d call you.”

Cas had blinked, a small frown of his face, and Dean had felt something to the right of his heart clench.

Cas hadn’t needed to confirm it with words. Dean had understood.

She was missing.

Fucking again.

And Cas couldn’t find Her. It had been damn near a week, and they hadn’t heard one word. When Dean pushed him, Cas said he’d lost the scent—whatever the hell that meant—so how She couldn’t be tracked unless she wanted to be.

But She wasn’t avoiding them. She’d promised She’d come back home, that She wasn’t running. That She’d return to Dean, and everything could be okay again, so She wasn’t running.

Dean was pretty sure She wasn’t running. He hadn’t done anything to drive Her away that he could think of. He’d been just as careful with Her as always, and She’d been calling him, and She’d- She’d fucking promised. Pinky promised. Dean owed Her a dance, and She wasn’t running from him anymore, and they’d said all the way down. She had to come back to him. That was how this was supposed to work.

And if She was missing, it couldn’t be anything good. Lucifer was out and running around. Heaven clearly knew things about Her they weren’t sharing.

She was in danger. They needed to be looking for Her, not saving Chuck. He had a whole douchebag archangel to do that.

The only thing that kept Dean from turning the car around was Sammy. He needed a win, and saving Chuck would be one.

And Dean was a little worried Sammy was blaming himself. For Her being gone.

“I don’t know, Sammy.” Dean had muttered a few days ago, frowning at his burger in the diner booth. “I just got a bad feeling. I can’t stop thinking about her-“

“Which is,” Sam had raised his brows. “Different than normal?”

“Shut up, bitch. I’m being serious. Last time she went MIA like this I found her with a fuckin’ stab wound on the Mexican border-“

“Dean, I- I know.” Sam had sighed, a strange shadow crossing over his face. “But you told her everything, didn’t you. Maybe she- I mean- If she knows-“

Dean had frowned. “Knows what?”

“Lucifer. And me. How- That she was right.” Sam had bowed his head, his voice dropping. “About Ruby.”

“She knew she was right about Ruby-“

“Yeah, but- I don’t know. Never mind.”

In the moment, Dean had spiraled. Moved around thoughts of maybe She didn’t want to come home. To deal with their shit, with the burden that just being near Dean brought. Why would She let Dean, of all fucking people, even stay in Her orbit when he’d failed Her, and Jo, and Sam.

Because he had. He hadn’t fought harder to keep Her next to him, and now She was missing.

He hadn’t been faster with Jo. Pushed harder for how he didn’t like the plan, gotten away from the demons to trade himself in her place. Jo was gone gone. If Anna had taken Dean instead, the angels would just pull him right back up. They needed him. But Dean had failed, and how he’d lost Her and the closest thing he’d had to a sister.

And Sammy.

He’d failed Sammy.

He hadn’t saved him from Ruby’s clutches. Hadn’t gotten him to listen. The only victory Dean could claim was not letting the kid wander off on his own after the cage opened, and even that was failing.

Because he’d missed what Sam meant, in the diner. How She might not come back, because of Sam.

It was an insane thought. She never ran because Sam pushed Her away. Sam had only ever been loyal to Her, keeping her secret and going with Her plans, and treating Her well, even when She and Dean were fighting. Just like She’d always treated Sammy well, when he and Dean were fighting.

Dean was the common factor there. The one who fucked up, and lost Her.

And he lay awake at night about it. When he was afraid to close his eyes, because it didn’t matter if he had a nightmare or dream, the worst thing in the world would be not dreaming of Her. Not waking up with the smell of Her fruit still lingering in the air and his hand bruised from Her phantom touch. There was always a chance that this night would be the night She wasn’t there.

So he’d stare at the ceiling, and try and work out where he’d gone wrong. But he could never fucking find it. Whenever he thought of when She’d vanished before, Dean could pin a reason to it. Dean left first. Dad drove Her away. Dean drove Her away. Dad used Azazel to drive Her away. Dean’s death drove Her away.

But Dad was dead, and couldn’t touch Her anymore.

And Dean had been so fucking careful with Her. Tried to hold Her right and be Her shadow, even when holding Her meant through the phone—choking on the lump in his throat when he listened to Her cry, but never hanging up—and being Her shadow meant waiting for Her to return.

He’d gotten up in the dead of night, two days after the phone call. Shuffled into the kitchen just for water, and gotten a heart attack when Bobby grunted his name from the doorway.

“Son of a bitch-“

“Stop being a dramatic baby.” Bobby had rolled his eyes, glaring at Dean from his wheelchair. “It’s my house, ya idjit. I’m gonna be in it.”

“It’s 2 in the damn morning-“

“And we’re both up. So stick it.” Bobby had paused, giving Dean an odd look. “I’m guessin’ it ain’t thirst keeping you up.”

In a way, it was.

Dean wasn’t stupid enough to say that, though.

He’d sighed, leaning against the counter, and taken the risk. He’d needed to talk about it with someone.

Bobby might be the only person who really understood.

“I miss her.” He’d muttered, his voice already going hoarse, staring at the water in his glass. “Shit, Bobby, I- I miss her so much. And I keep thinking about how she might be on the floor somewhere, and I won’t be able to get to her.”

Bobby had sighed, and rolled further into the kitchen. Until he was right in front of Dean. “I know. I do. And I- Fucking hell, I miss her too. House is always too big without her, and you two dumbasses aren’t half as funny as she is. But, he’d reached up, grabbing Dean’s forearm until he looked up from the glass. “Listen to me, Dean. Since she was fourteen, there have been months at a time where she don’t come home. Where I get a phone call a week and then she’s showin’ up covered in blood with another stolen car for me to scrap. But she always shows up. Always comes home.”

Dean had shaken his head. “But-“

“I know you wanna look for her. And if you think you can find ‘er, trust your gut and go. But wherever she is, don’t think she’s not tryin’ to get back.” Bobby’s voice had dropped, and in the dim light of the kitchen, Dean could’ve fucking sworn he saw something like pain all over Bobby’s face. “She’s a fighter more than a runner, when she’s pushed to it. And if she wants to come back, I don’t think God himself would do well standin’ in her way."

Dean could agree with that.

And he tried to replay it, whenever he wanted to jump out of the car and rip up the world until he found Her.

She always came back.

And She’d promised, so She would.

She had to.

“There was an Earthquake in France.” Sam said, jerking Dean’s attention back from his thoughts. “9.5. Bobby thinks it’s another omen.”

Dean grunted, glaring out at the road. “Omen for what, this time? Just more freakin’ death?”

Sam shrugged. “Don’t know yet. There’s still damage assessment happening, and the press is saying that the earthquake might have been a result of something else.”

“Something like what? Lucifer?”

“Still don’t know, Dean-“

“Then why are we talking about it?”

Dean could feel Sam’s flat look. “Because we need to be paying attention to his stuff. And you brooding isn’t going to help anyone.”

“I’m not brooding-“

“Yeah, you are.” Sam said Her name, and Dean was going to strangle him. “She’d say it’s brooding.”

“Shut up.”

“Dean-“

“No. Shut up, and listen to the music.”

Sam sighed, and listened. Dean wouldn’t strangle him. He was trying to help, even if he was being a little fucking bitch about it.

But Dean was going to strangle someone.

Chuck wasn’t in danger. He was using those stupid books to throw a costume party that exploited their lives, and not even the good parts. Fucking Becky—Chuck’s messenger girl, the one that was obsessed with Sammy—had tricked them into coming here, and now they were losing valuable time to look for Her-

“Dude, you gotta relax.” Sam muttered, scanning around the room of nerds, and Dean scowled.

“This is fuckin’ stupid, we should just go-“

“It’s not gonna help her, Dean-“

“You don’t know that-“

“Yes, I do.” Sam gave him a firm look. “If Cas finds her, he’ll call us, and if she ends up back at Bobby’s he’ll make sure she’s fine-“

“Who are you talking about?” Becky appeared between them, looking back and forth with wide eyes. “Is it Anna? Are you looking for Anna?”

Dean shouldn’t hit a girl. His fist still curled to punch this chick’s face in.

It was good Sam answered first. “It’s not Anna. Anna’s dead.”

Becky frowned. “No, she’s not-“

“How the hell do you even know about Anna?” Dean snapped, and Becky just shrugged.

“Chuck told me. And she’s not dead, she escaped Castiel and Uriel-“

“Then she turned around and sided with heaven again.” Sam muttered. “Anna might not be dead in Chuck’s version, but she’s dead in our lives."

“In your- Are things different than in the books?” Becky’s eyes widened, and Dean gave Sam a flat look.

“Nice going, dumbass.”

Sam sighed. “She’d probably find out anyway, Dean-“

“Well, she did, because you fuckin’ told her-“

“Wow.” Becky was looking between them, shaking her head. “You guys swear a lot more than in the books.”

Dean scowled. “There’s a lot more to swear about in real life, lady.”

“Like the mysterious she that you lost?” Becky was smiling again. Punching her was quickly becoming a very real option. “Is it Lisa? Bela? No, Bela’s dead too. Jo?” Dean felt his chest ache and twist, and he must have visibly tensed, because Becky’s smile widened. “Oh my gosh, it’s Jo, isn’t it! Did you go back to Jo, Dean-“

“Jo’s dead too.” Sam grunted. “Anna killed her.”

Dean got a very firm don’t shoot the crazy lady look. He rolled his eyes, and moved his hand off his gun.

“But- Anna killed Jo? Then who killed Anna? Was it Dean?” Her voice dropped to a whisper as a few more idiots dressed in leather jackets and open button ups moved past them. Dean wasn’t allowed to shoot her. “Did Dean kill her in revenge- Murdering one lover in the name of another-“

“One lover?” Dean spat, and Sam let out a long sigh. “What the fuck are you talking about-“

“You and Jo had a thing.” Becky stood her ground, although her voice was suddenly a lot smaller. Good. “And- And Chuck said you slept with Anna-“

“With Anna-“

“Dean.” Sam grabbed his shoulder, shaking his head. “Not worth it. It’s- It’s probably better nobody knows.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s pretty fucking easy for you to say, Sammy-“

“It is.” Sam held his gaze, keeping his words steady, even though fucking Becky was still listening. “If she was in the books, her family could find them. Chuck might not have used last names, but- I don’t know, dude, they could connect the dots and track her down. She’s safer not being a part of this, Dean, and you know it.”

Sam was right. God fucking damnit, that was a good point. And if She had been in the books, all of Dean’s thought about Her would be available to the public. There would be people dressed up with glossy hair and jackets and knives, trying to imitate her bright eyes and siren voice, like a crude, faded knockoff of one of those fancy statues in museums. It was bad enough to look around the room and see all the reminders of the worst parts of Dean’s life—there were three yellow-eyes, and Dean wanted to march over and rip out their stupid contacts—so he didn’t need people fucking up the best part.

He already had to put up with Becky.

He really wished he was allowed to shoot her.

“Is there… a secret person?” Becky pried in a hushed whisper as some guy with a clipboard rambled into the microphone. “Who’s not in the books? Who Dean’s sleeping with instead of Anna and Jo?”

“Yes.”

“Sam-“

The bitch just shrugged, smirking slightly as Becky turned to Dean.

“You have a girlfriend?”

Dean ignored her, and shot Sam a very firm I am going to murder you later look.

Sam didn’t seem as worried about it as he should be.

Becky still wouldn’t shut the fuck up.

And Chuck was taking Q&As. But as much as Sammy was right, a lot of the questions were pretty fucking simply answered by Her.

Everything was better with Her.

A guy dressed as Bobby asked why Sam didn’t explore witchcraft as an option to save Dean. Chuck shot Dean a nervous look, and mumbled that Sam had been too stressed to think of everything.

Becky gasped, moving herself right into Dean’s view. “Did your secret girlfriend do the witchcraft? Did you not die in real life-“

“No, uh,” Sam swallowed, his voice dropping slightly. “He died.”

“Oh no.” Becky gave Sam a sympathetic look—not Dean, which was pretty fucking rude, cause Sammy hadn’t died—and placed a hand on his chest. “That must have been so hard for you, Sam.”

“Yeah, uh,” Sam coughed. “It was rough. Think it was worse on-“

“Sam.” Dean grunted, shooting him a firm glare, and Sam nodded.

“Right. Sorry.”

It continued all afternoon. Through the Q&A—someone asked if Dean would ever settle down with Lisa, and Sam had to shove Dean outside to walk it off—and their conversation with Chuck. Becky kept fucking pushing about it, and Chuck didn’t seem all that happy about the situation either.

“I- I didn’t include her for a reason, Becky.” Chuck gave Dean another nervous glance, and Dean just narrowed his eyes. “There’s a lot of complicated things going on, and I don’t fully understand them, so I wanted to just focus on making the books enjoyable-“

“And I’ve enjoyed them! But I want to know everything, Chuck, please.” Becky pouted again, and all Dean wasn’t sure how the expression could look mind-blowingly perfect on Her, and constipated on Becky. “Haven’t I earned it-“

“No.” Dean grunted, and Becky rolled her eyes.

“You just want to keep your secret girlfriend all to yourself-“

“Girlfriend?” Chuck cut in, gaping slightly at Dean. “I- I didn’t know you guys were dating-“

“We’re- It’s complicated-“

“No, it’s not.” Sam rolled his eyes. “They’ve made out. Twice.”

Dean scowled, and he should punch Sammy right in the jaw—what the fuck happened to better as a secret—but before he could, the words fell right out of his mouth. “Three times.”

“Three- When did the third time happen?”

“None of your fuckin’ business.”

“Why didn’t you tell me-“

“Because of this,” Dean gestured to the shocked faces of Chuck and Becky, and Sam sighed.

“Yeah, but- Alright. That’s fair.”

There was a second of silence, and Becky broke it with a cough.

“Is she pretty?”

Sam snorted. “She’s way out of Dean’s league, if that’s what you’re asking.”

She was. Son of a bitch, She was out of everyone’s league. She was playing a wholly different game, and it was made of being the brightest thing in to every exist. Playing in Her league would probably mean killing God or something.

And She’d still been kissing Dean.

Chuck gave Dean an odd look. “But she- likes him?”

Dean opened his mouth to snap something—he wasn’t sure what, but it would be made of didn’t matter, because Dean was the only one who got to be Her shadow and he’d rather jump headfirst into Hell than be anything else—but Sam laughed first.

“You have no idea-“

Dean stood up, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’m going for a walk.”

He wasn’t telling anyone in particular. And a walk meant going outside and pacing around the lawn, glaring at the dirt under his feet and breathing slowly until he wanted to kill someone less.

Sam was such a fucking shit. Dean was going to put hot sauce in his underwear again, or shave half his head in his sleep, or throw him off a cliff.

But it was less the snitching, that was fueling the fury in his body.

It was the ache. Missing Her. Just fucking wishing She was here, because if She told Sammy to shut up, he’d listen. He never teased Her about anything. And if She was here, Sam wouldn’t try to stop Her from killing Becky. She’s spin Her knife in her hand and give Becky a firm glare when she got to close to Sammy, and the bitch would back the hell off, Dean could even put a hand on Her lower back and she might lean into him, smiling up at him as they traded whispered jokes about how fucking stupid this whole thing was.

She wouldn’t put up with it. Any of it. At the end of the day She was Bobby’s daughter, so She didn’t put up with any of this fucking bullshit.

And maybe when Chuck asked if She liked Dean, he’d get to watch Her flush, and her breath hitch with parted lips, and he’d get to know. That She felt some of it. That She would still give Dean those pretty, fluttering eyes when he teased Her. That there was a chance—if he grabbed Her chin and smirked down at Her like he’d done in so many dreams—that She’d whisper his name, and Dean would get to kiss Her in front of everyone. And they could all know that Dean was Her shadow. That there was no one who would touch Her or protect Her like he could.

Fuck, he missed Her.

And it didn’t matter how much he called for Her in his head—looking up at the sky like it might take his plea for her, and throw it across the universe—nobody was listening.

Then something to the right of Dean’s heart pounded. Strained. Echoed around his rib cage in a way that way borderline painful, growing and growing and growing as it only got worse. All the world was Technicolor, and air was shifting into that sticky warmth that came before a storm, and Dean could fucking swear he could smell Her on the rushing wind, could see the sparkling glass in the pavement growing brighter and all the flowers on the edge of the forest start to bloom in seconds.

Something was coming. Dean knew something was coming. And he should run back inside and tell Sammy, but his legs wouldn’t move. He didn’t want to move. Every single fiber of his being was keeping him rooted in place, like he was anchored there by that pain in his chest, and then-

He almost fell to his knees.

She was there.

Here.

In front of Dean, blinking at him with slightly glazed eyes and silver pupils, but here.

It wasn’t a trick, or a replica. Dean should probably be more vigilant of that, but he knew. Nothing else made the world look like this. Made every color brighter and every edge sharper. Nothing could ever duplicate the sheer beauty of Her, as if all the stars and waterfalls and gardens and storms and fireplaces had been shoved in one woman.

It was all Her.

Dean whispered Her name, and she just stared at him.

Not speaking to him. Not moving for him. But not moving away, either. Just looking at him as Her hair seemed to float around Her face, and when Dean took a slow step forward—the pain in his chest easing slightly as he moved to Her, and it was the only place he could ever think to go—She didn’t flinch.

Her pupils were still sheer silver, and Dean felt a little like he was looking at something he shouldn’t be. It should be hurting his eyes, how bright She was.

But it was more like looking at a lighthouse, or the North Star. There was nothing to do but follow it.

Nowhere to go but home.

Dean reach out a hand to touch Her, to trace over Her face and She was real. Soft and warm under his fingers. Leaning into his touch.

And the silver in Her eyes flared, when he tried to move away. Her hand darted up to hold Dean against Her, lip parting as she shook her head.

“Princess, are you-“

She took an unsteady step forward, until She was pressed right into Dean’s chest. Fingers tracing over his face so gently as he just stared at Her, and looked perfect, but still a little gaunt, and there were bags under Her eyes, and she still wasn’t speaking-

Dean muttered Her name, catching her hand in his, and Her eyes fluttered as she looked up to him. .

“It’s okay.” He whispered, squeezing Her hand three times, over and over and she leaned a little further forward. “I’ve got you, but- Shit- Wait-“

The beauty of the world was only growing brighter, as Her eyes grew glossier. More and more silver.

Dean moved his hands to hold Her face—there were not visible injuries, but it was only a small comfort—and did the one thing he’d only ever done right.

Calmed Her down. Running his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and mutters low words about how he was here, and She was fine, holding Her until she came back down to him.

“You’re gonna be okay,” He muttered Her name, keeping his gaze fixed on Her’s, even as Her eyes fluttered closed. “I’m here. I’ve got you. All the way down, Princess. Come back down for me.” His voice was a rasp. He didn’t try to fight it. “Please come back down.”

She let out a shaky breath, and when She blinked Her eyes open, her pupils were blown out and glazed, but black.

She was back. She could see him. And slightly swollen lips parted as She scanned over his face, Her voice barely a breath when she spoke.

“Dean?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, offering a small smile. “It’s me. I’ve got you, Princess.”

“Are- Are you-“

“I’m okay.”

She made a sound like a whimper, and suddenly Her face was buried in into him, Her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

She was shaking as another choked sound was muffled against his chest.

Dean felt like he was being split in half by lighting. Like he’d stepped into the middle of an electric storm, and everything was moving too fast and too slow all at once. She smelled like fruit and fit so well against him, and She wasn’t vanishing, but She was sobbing, and it was making Dean’s heart split and fracture.

But he just kept holding Her, combing his finger through Her shiny hair, right up until the sounds stopped, and Her breaths became even.

She’d passed out.

Good.

He could just carry Her home.

Dean hooked his arms under Her knees and hauled Her up his chest, glancing around the yard one last time to check that this really was just it. That he’d asked Her to come home and She had, without demons or angels on Her tail.

And it would be so easy to miss it. To mistake the way the air seemed to be shimmering as a trick of the light, or decided that the way the flowers and moss seemed to be bursting out of the trees was just a natural phenomenon. Yet there was no mistaking how—growing out the walls on the inn, like an odd limb—there were branches hanging with iridescent apples that glowed.

But it was all Her.

No trap.

Just Her, fit perfectly into Dean’s arms, and knocked the hell out.

Dean said Her name as he turned back to the inn. Just to make sure She really was down. She didn’t even shift or stir, and he sighed, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Her head.

She moved further into him at that. But Her eyes barely even fluttered, and Her grip didn’t tighten. She just squirmed until Dean could feel how fucking warm She was—too warm, bordering on a fever with the way sweat was clinging to Her brow—and keep his cheek pressed to Her’s as he marched back inside.

“You’re gonna be alright, baby.” He muttered, turning to let his lips ghost over Her skin. “You’re home. It’s gonna be okay.”

She didn’t so much as hum.

And She was still so fucking warm.

The smart thing to do would be put Her in the car, then go find Sammy and tell him what was going on. But every time Dean so much as shifted Her, She’d make that whimpering sound, and something to the right of his heart would ache. It would be easier to just show Sam. Easier to just keep holding Her, because she wanted him to, and Dean couldn’t deny Her anything if he tried.

“Dean!” Sam called from behind him, somewhere in another freakin’ hallway. “Look, dude, I think there might be a case here, and I’m sorry for teasing you about-“

Dean turned, and Sam’s voice trailed off as he said Her name, his eyes growing almost comically wide.

“I- You-“ Sammy’s eyes were fixed on Her sleeping form in Dean’s arms, his voice almost a whisper. “How?”

“Don’t know.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s eyes shot back up to him.

“What do you mean, you don’t know-“

“I mean I was standing outside, thinking, and then she was fuckin’ there-“

“Thinking about what-“

“That’s not important-“

“It seems pretty important, Dean! People don’t just fucking teleport-“

“Shut up.” Dean hissed through his teeth, and Sam snapped his mouth shut as She twisted slightly in Dean’s arms, settling down after a few, long moments.

“Fuck.” Sam whispered, looking back to Her, sleeping peacefully once more. “That’s- Are we sure it’s not a trap-“

“Yes.” He grunted. “And if you wanna hear the truth, I don’t really give a fuck if it is.”

Sam let out a long breath, then nodded slowly. “I’ll stay and take care of this. Probably just a salt and burn, and with all the fake us’s around here, one of them has to end up being useful.”

“Thanks.” Dean started his walk back to the car, and Sam quickly fell into pace. “I can have Bobby send someone-“

“I think Bobby’s gonna be occupied, dude.”

Dean huffed a dry laugh, glancing back down, because even though he could feel Her, he still had to check She was real. “Yeah, I’d bet that too.”

“You gonna call him?”

“I’ll do it on the road.” Dean ducked through the door as Sam held it open, giving a short nod. “Text him if you need something, though, I-“

“I know. I-“ Sam took a deep breath, and Dean glanced at him with a frown. His face was turned down, his eyes still fixed on Her. A little like he was trying to will Her to wake up.

Dean understood the feeling.

His keys were in his jacket, and he couldn’t hold Her and get the car started. Passing Her into Sam’s arms felt a little like his heart was trying to move out of his chest to go with Her, but he’d survive. He’d managed this long not touching Her at all. Managed longer. And She didn’t fold into Sam the same way She had with Dean, but she didn’t wake up or fight it.

And Dean didn’t miss the way Sammy’s shoulders relaxed, when he realized She wasn’t going to try and push him away.

“I’ll call you when I’m back,” Dean muttered, unlocking the Impala as Sam swayed Her slightly, like he was cradling a baby.

She’d be pissed about that, if Dean told Her. She’d pout and scowl and mutter that She wasn’t a fucking baby.

Dean just found it kind of adorable. Like some weird, twisted image of a kid singing their parent a messy lullaby.

“Okay.” Sammy nodded, still swaying Her as Dean opened the door. “If I’m done before then I’ll call around and see who’s nearby-“

“Sam!” Becky’s shrill voice echoed through the parking lot, and Dean really wished Sam had let him shoot her. “Oh my gosh, Chuck told me that you think there’s a real case, did you find- Who is that?”

Dean didn’t fucking appreciate the venom is Becky’s voice. The lady was lucky to even be in Her presence.

“It’s- Uh-“ Sam looked to Dean with almost a desperation, and Dean sighed, reaching out to take Her back.

She fit right back into him.

The real struggle might be getting Her into the car.

“Sam, you have to tell me if you’re with someone else-“

“I- Why?”

“Because it’s not fair-“

“To who?” Sammy was spluttering as Dean maneuvered Her onto the bench, Her grip impressively tight for a woman who was passed out.

“To me!” Becky whined, not seeming to give a fuck that Sammy wasn’t even touching Her anymore. “It’s stringing me along, Sam, and that’s not very nice-“

“Becky?” Awesome. Chuck here too, now, and Dean still couldn’t get Her in the damn car.

“You gotta work with me, Princess.” He muttered, drawing back up to his full height. “I can’t drive you home in my lap-“

That wasn’t actually a shit idea. Dean had done more without being pulled over-

“Becky?” Chuck was still walking over. Dean was really leaning towards the lap plan. “Oh, shit, there you are. You know, I told you that so you wouldn’t run off- Are you guys leaving?”

“No, uh-“ Sam cleared his throat. “Just Dean. He’s got some other stuff to attend to-“

“Really?” Becky scoffed. “Listen, Dean, I know you’re too cool for all this stuff, but a lot of people worked really hard-“

“No, Becky, it’s not that-“

“Then what is it- Is it that slut-“

Dean had been ignoring most of the conversation.

That got through.

“Hey.” He whipped around, still holding Her tight against him, and narrowed his eyes at Becky. “You talk about her like that, I put a bullet in your fucking brain, you got that?”

Becky nodded, her face a little pale, and Dean let out a breath.

“Good. Sammy, how illegal is driving with someone in your lap?”

Sam frowned. “Are we talking normal people illegal, or us illegal?”

“Us illegal.”

“Then I’d say like, 45%-“

Chuck cut Sam off with a breath of Her name, and they both froze to find him staring, mouth open, face a little pale. “Is- Is that her?”

“Yeah.” Dean grunted, his fingers curling slightly against Her body, and Becky frowned.

“Who’s-“

“Don’t worry about it, Becky.” Chuck said, his eyes still fixed on Her, and Becky let out a dramatic huff.

Chuck seemed done talking, though. He just kept staring as Sam helped Dean move into the car—he figured out a strategy where he rolled Her to the side once he was sat down—and Becky tried to ask more questions that were wholly ignored. It was pretty easily chalked up to how She was the only person in Sam and Dean’s lives the prophet couldn’t read.

It was still pretty fucking creepy.

And Chuck was still staring in the rearview mirrors, as Dean pulled the Impala away. He seemed almost in a trace, shaking his head right before they drove out of view.

Dean had bigger worried though.

He had to get Her home.

She remained down, the first four hours of the drive. Dean allowed himself to press a carefully kiss to Her temple every few miles—to check Her temperature, and no other selfish reasons—and Her possible fever wasn’t growing, but it wasn’t going down, either. Likely not a side effect of doing whatever the hell that had been, but probably not a sickness, either. A sickness would mean She was vomiting, shivering, coughing slightly in Her sleep, doing something else besides burning like the freaking sun.

But She wasn’t. She was just settled against Dean, breathing without a single hitch, even when Dean fucked up and hit a bump.

She seemed fine, visibly. On the surface, where Dean would find cuts and bruises if someone had hurt Her.

But maybe being in that borderline catatonic state had healed Her. And someone had been hurting Her, and when She woke up, she’d start screaming and crying and scrambling away from Dean’s touch.

He could deal with the first two. When She screamed and cried, Dean just had to stay with Her, and sooth Her however he was allowed. But if She scrambled away, Dean didn’t know what he would do. If he had Her back, just for Her to not want him anymore.

That was a lie. Dean knew exactly what he’d do.

He’d wait, and follow Her wherever She asked him to go.

All the way down.

He called Bobby, around hour five. When She was staring to roll a little, readjusting Her face and wiggling closer into Dean’s side.

It took two tries. Dean should’ve used Her phone. The old fucker would’ve picked up right away.

“Dean, I’m in the middle of damn dinner, and Sam said it was just a salt and burn-“

“Bobby.” Dean muttered, glancing down at Her as he spoke. “She’s back.”

There was a long silence, and Bobby’s voice was hoarse as he said Her name. “You found her?”

“Kinda. More like she found me.” Dean let out a long breath, and She hummed slightly. “It’s- Has she ever gotten a fever? Using her thing?”

Bobby sighed through the speak. “Only for a few years, when she was real little. She used to make the floors form black mold after I cleaned ‘em, and one time the trees all started growin’ some weird glass-lookin’ fruit, then she’d get a fever. But it stopped when she started usin’ her… methods. She warm when you touch ‘er?”

“Yeah.”

“Then she’s fine. She gets cold when she’s sick. Sorta like touchin’ a dead body.”

“Alright.” Dean let out a long, slow breath, shaking that image from his head. “We’re heading back now, but Sammy stayed behind, he’s gonna work the case himself-“

“Dean-“

“Maybe send someone, just so he has extra hands-“

“Dean.” Bobby’s voice was firmer, and Dean swallowed. “Stop drivin’.”

“I-“ Dean must have misheard him. “What? I’m driving her home-“

“From Oregon, ya idjit. That’s a fuckin’ day.”

“I’ve driven longer-“

“I know, but she needs you.”

Dean swallowed. “Bobby, I-“

“Don’t play humble and stupid with me, Dean. You ain’t good at either. She needs you, and you’re already fuckin’ there. Movin’ Her around is only gonna distress her when she wakes up.”

“But-“

“No but. Trust me, I wish you could just teleport her right back to me, but ya can’t. And you ain’t been sleepin’ well, Dean. One more night without her home ain’t gonna kill me, but findin’ out your dumbass passed out at the wheel and drove off a bridge will. Rest.”

Dean opened his mouth to tell Bobby that—actually—teleporting did seem to be an option on the table, but the line clicked dead, the conversation forcibly over.

The motel they pulled off to was nicer than Dean usually opted for. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure why. The credit cards were stolen anyway, but Dad had always insisted they sleep in the cheapest place available.

And She used to steal all those fancy cars, before Dean bought Her the Firebird.

Dean had a feeling She did it for the same reason She always gave about all Her skincare and makeup and hair shit. Made Her feel a little more normal.

This did feel a little more normal. They had air conditioning that didn’t rattle, and a door where Dean trusted the lock, and they were sleeping in a bed that didn’t have lumps in it.

Together.

Dean had tried to move away. Just for his own peace of mind, he’d made an effort to pry himself away, and then She’d let out that whimper and he’d given up. She’d let him know if She didn’t want him there, when She woke up. Dean didn’t doubt that for a second. But for now She let him wrap around Her—their shoes resting near the door and their jackets folded together on a chair—and kept sleeping peacefully as Dean just watched Her.

He couldn’t sleep. Bobby had been right, he needed to, but he couldn’t. He needed to keep watching Her, in case an angel swooped down and tried to take Her away. Dean needed to keep looking to make sure She was real, and this wasn’t just an impossibly cruel dream.

And he’d been here before. Holding Her through the night and just staring at Her like a creep. But he’d never allowed himself this close. Where his chest was all but pressed against Her’s, and Her breath fanned over his neck, and their legs were tangled together under the sheets.

Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever been this close to anyone. He’d cuddled, after sex, but this felt different. Softer. She was still trying to bury Herself into him. Dean was keeping his hands over Her shirt, but he’d allowed himself to rest his face against Her hair, and breathe in the fruit until his body fully relaxed.

She was here. Holding him. Her fever slowly dropping and Her soft, humming noises becoming more frequent as she only burrowed in closer.

Bobby had said She needed him.

If this was being needed felt like, Dean never wanted to be anything else again.

And when She woke up, there wasn’t any panic. Her eyes just fluttered open and landed on Dean’s, neither of them making any move to pull away.

They didn’t speak for a long moment. There didn’t seem to be a damn point to it. Her hand reached up between their bodies to trace over Dean’s face with an impossibly light touch, and Dean just let himself fall into Her eyes. Fixed on him. Looking so fucking tired, but still bright. Always bright. There were lights from passing cars dancing through the windows, but She was brighter. More beautiful. And a few tears were rolling down her face as She met Dean’s eyes once more, features a little puffy from sleep, but no less ethereal.

And Sammy used to be obsessed with mythology, when he was a kid. And Dad had been sure to let him know what was danger and what was fantasy, but Dean had sat next to the kid and let him explain all the different gods until he fell asleep, and Dean moved him into the bed.

There had been a lot of gods. The biggest thing Dean remembered thinking was that, for all of history, people had spent too much time worshipping things that didn’t fucking exist.

He knew he’d been right, now.

Because in all of human history, nobody had ever seemed to work out what the closest thing to God actually looked like.

Her.

It was—always had been—that fucking simple.

It was just Her.

“Dean.” She whispered, and he gave Her a small grin.

“Hey, Princess. I-“ He had to keep it together. For Her.

But that didn’t stop his voice from dropping to a rasp.

“I missed you.”

“I-“ Her lips tightened, wobbling slightly, and Her hand was lingering against his jaw.

Dean wished he had a good reason to turn it, and kiss Her palm.

“I missed you too.”

He nodded slowly, holding his voice as he forced the words out. He had to ask.

He had to know.

“Are you staying?”

Her breath hitched slightly. “Do you want me to stay?”

Dean nodded, because there was nothing else to do. “All the way down.” And before he could stop himself- “Please.”

“Okay.” Her voice was so soft. “All the way down.”

And that was it. They fought and screamed about this before, but it had ended the same way every time.

They’d both stay.

All the way down.

She cleared Her throat, scanning over his face. “Are you hungry?”

He’d never been hungrier. He’d never craved anything like he wanted to roll Her over right here, and claim his place fully as Her shadow. As he wanted to make Her feel good, take full care of Her, show Her how much he’d missed Her with his hands and tongue and-

“Dean?” She whispered, and he sighed.

Not now. Not when the tears were still dry on Her face, and Dean was a little afraid She’d grow wings and fly away if he didn’t give Her enough of a reason to stay here in the mud, with him.

He’d show Her later. When things were easier, and She could pass out peacefully against him, after.

“I could eat. Saw a gas station a mile or two back.” He offered Her a small grin. “You wanna drive, Princess?”

Her smile might have been bright enough to wipe the sun out of existence.

Dean wouldn’t care if it did.

At least She’d still be here, at his side.

Right where they both belonged.

End Note: Becky I hope you know that you are now in danger. Eileen you've never done anything wrong in your life ever. Princess, you need like a nap and maybe some dick.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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