#go ruby I'm rooting for you

[hamletshoeratio]

Can y'all just be you know normal Marina Thompson for like 5 seconds? Because christ, the sheer Misogynoir that some of you spread about her character is insane and you don't even realise it.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

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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[kiddo-chester]

Meadow's Garden: episode 1

An agere-safe webtoon: check out @meadows-garden-webcomic to see what this is all about!

Check out episode 1 with no narrative

On an early summer afternoon, a little ginger kitten was up to some mischief in the garden. All of a sudden, his best friend Ruby bunny had run and tagged him with her wiggly little nose. You're it! Chester the kitten sprung into action on the narrow path through mama's crops, worn by years of running paws. I'm gonna catch you Ruby!

Sarge, the brave farm dog who they called papa, saw the little ones flash under the fence and into the vegetable beds. He kept a watchful eye. Look at my babies go!

Mama looked up from her watering with a start, clutching her sunhat as the animals rushed by in their game. She smiled in amusement. Be careful sweeties! Neenee duck, who never left her side, let out a quack of agreement.

I am, mama, Chester called, looking back for a moment as he bounded on. Here went Ruby through the flowerbeds! A few more steps and the first pick of the strawberry patch would be his. I'm gonna get you, Ru-! Just as he turned back to leap across the duck pond and to victory, a root caught his front paw, and it seemed he was completely up in the air... and bound for a swim! WHOA!

The birds on the oak tree startled, and Mr. Wiggles the bullfrog even croaked. Lamby, who had been playing in the tulips, sounded the alarm. Mama!

Before long, papa Sarge had swept over, helping the clumsy kitten out from the slippery rocks that lined the pond's edge. Again, again! Chester cheered, but spring had hardly lifted, and the water was still chilly in the morning shade of the oak and cypress.

Sarge thought it was hardly the right time for a dip in the pond, carrying his little one gently back to the house. Silly kitty. Watch next time, okay?

Yes papaaa. The kitty begrudgingly agreed, but that swim had been quite refreshing!

Ruby hopped alongside them. Sorry Chester!

The ginger kitty was unbothered. Hehe, I like swimmin'! But now he wouldn't get his strawberries! Of course, now the cold was getting to his fur, and now that he thought about it he was a little hungry...

Mama wrapped the kitty up in a fluffy towel just in time for his afternoon nap. The family settled down for a cuddle and a bottle on the rocking chair after such an eventful morning. My little swimmer, mama cooed. We'll get you all dry. Before long, Chester was fast asleep.

I'm so excited to share this with you all! As always, this is my art. Reblogs are welcome. I authorize no reposts even with credit. Episode 2 coming soon!

@chesters-kiddo-corner @meadows-garden-webcomic

[prythianpages]

Into the Dark | Eris

Eris x Chaos Witch Reader | Summary: You have a vow to uphold but time is clicking. The darkness that lurks within threatens to take over you but Eris uses the magic of your bargain and bond to bring you back to him.

Day 1 of @erisweekofficial for bargains/bonds

warnings: brief mentions of small injuries (cuts) and death

a/n: This was originally supposed to be posted along with my other witch series but 3K words is too long to be considered a drabble so I decided to post it on its own. I had hoped to post an intro/prologue for this series first but I really wanted to post something for Eris week so I hope this makes sense. If not, then I'm so sorry and hope this can be read as a stand alone for now.

Whispers in the wind stir violently among the Autumn trees, sending leaves spiraling to their fated downfall. A shiver runs up your spine as the wind’s cold fingers grip you, goosebumps rising in a wave over your skin, threatening to burrow into your very bones. The whispers are not just furious—they are vengeful.

A storm of voices lashing at you. 

Your heart hammers madly against your chest as your legs move on their own, driven by those whispers. The moon casts its silver light upon you but tonight, it offers no comfort. There’s something dark, something wicked awakening from somewhere deep inside.

Branches claw at your exposed arms and ankles, tearing into your flesh. But your feet keep moving. Relentless, unstoppable. Even as your vision blurs and your mind drowns in the chilling darkness. You don’t need to see where you’re going—you can feel it.

It’s like a pull deep within. You can feel the gloom looming ahead. The despair, the anguish. With each step, that pull grows stronger, the wind grows colder. It brushes against your skin, tangling in your hair. The trouble stirring in your chest harmonizes with the whispers carried in the howling wind, threatening to pull you down with them.

“Please.” You find yourself whispering–begging.

“We need you.” The wind whispers in protest.

Your steps falter, and as you blink to clear your vision, a cold dread settles in your chest. 

The sight before you is almost unrecognizable, a stark contrast to the place that once thrived with life and vibrant energy. Now, it lies shrouded in darkness, a harrowing shadow of its former self. The autumn flowers, once bright and full of life, wither on their stems, their colors drained. The trees nearby are twisted and gnarled, their ashen branches sagging under the weight of despair.

There were no fireflies fluttering about, no chirping of cricket or night birds. No sign of life. Only death.

It’s eerily silent for a moment until the wind picks up again and the mournful wail of the wind reaches your ears. It sings a song of fury, of vengeful mourning. A lament for what has been lost–what has been wrongfully taken.

At the heart of it all, where a great and magnificent tree once stood proudly, there is now only a void. This was no ordinary tree.

It was the tree of wisdom–the Mnemosyne. It bore magical apples that glowed softly, their surfaces a mesmerizing blend of ruby and gold. Your father had told you stories of it growing up and when you began to practice witchcraft, Deirdre showed it to you.

Deirdre had been your mentor. For many centuries, she had guarded the tree. Sworn to protect it with her life and she took that vow gravely, upheld it until her last breath…

And now, by a wicked strum of fate, it was your turn to protect the Mnemosyne.

But you found yourself in a more precarious situation than your predecessors. High Lord Beron, in a ruthless display of his power, had uprooted the tree and taken it from its sacred grove. Its roots, once intertwined with the ancient magics of the forest, had been severed. Where Beron had taken it, and what he planned to do with the Mnemosyne, was still unknown to you, but by the lengths he had gone to take it, you could only assume his intentions were far from pure.

Returning the Mnemosyne to its rightful home was of the utmost importance. The longer it remained away from the forest, the greater the risk that its memories, and the history it held, would wither and fade. Entire centuries of knowledge could be lost—forgotten forever. The thought chilled your blood, filling you with an overwhelming unease. 

You had to bring this tree back and restore peace to this forest. Even if it cost you the same price it cost Deirdre. Death was a stranger but not one you feared. It was oblivion you feared. To lose the very essence of yourself. It’s why you refused to let the wicked darkness that lives in you take over. You feared it’d consume you whole.

So Eris Vanserra it was. 

Desperate times had called for desperate measures. You found yourself striking a bargain with Eris Vanserra, Beron’s eldest son. Eris, with his sharp eyes and sharper tongue, had always been a figure of suspicion and intrigue. His loyalty to Beron was unclear, but his cunning and ambition were undeniable.  

Never had you imagined seeking his help. Caught in a delicate dance of mistrust and shared ambition, the bargain was the only way to ensure your safety. That was, until fate played a merciless hand and those strings of fate tethered your soul to his…

A mating bond.

It snapped into place like a steel trap, the golden threads appearing the moment your life teetered on the edge of danger. There had been no warning. Only a sudden, fierce tug that anchored your soul to his. One heartbeat you were fighting for survival, and in the next, you felt the bond latch onto you. Irrevocable and final.

You should thank The Cauldron—it did save your life, after all—but at what cost?

You’d worry about it later. At the very least, the invisible chain that bound your fates together strengthened the bargain you made. A mutual safety net. If you died, a part of him died too. Any loophole of betrayal the two of you had planned had been immediately forfeited the moment the bond snapped.

Because yes, he had promised to help you with the Mnemosyne tree and you had promised to help rid Autumn of Beron. A win-win situation for you both. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t coax him with one of your potions, poison his mind as you’ve done with his brothers to encourage him to do more of your bidding…

However, now it did. There were some things uncertain to you about mating bonds and you worried about potential consequences if you were to sneak one of your potions into his food.

Tears pricked your eyes as the whispers increased with the howling wind, a distant echo of sorrowful cries and anguished screams. It brought you back to the dire situation at hand. The very reason for your deal with Eris.

The forest wanted you to feel what it did. To feel the overwhelming grief, the melancholic heartache. It stirred the shadows sleeping in the pendant you wore around your neck–the ones that harmonize with the darkness that lives inside you now.

 “It’s a burden you must carry.” 

“No,” you cried, dropping to your knees, fingers clenching around the ruby pendant. It was a futile attempt to soothe the shadows kept inside back to sleep. “I can do it. I just need more time. Please.”

But it’s not the whispers carried by the wind that respond this time.

It’s that wicked darkness that has been lurking within you.

The forest grows angry. If you do not answer its call, we will.

That darkness writhes further into your chest. Your breath hitches as you feel it wrap itself around your heart, your body hunching forward.

You cannot keep us away. You are us now and we are you.

“No.” You repeat again but your voice is losing its resolve.

Let us out!

As if hearing that dark voice within, the wind picks up, whirling around you like the beginning of a storm. The whispers in the wind grow louder and so do the voices in your head until you can no longer discern which is which. With a pained cry, you clutch your pulsing and aching head.

You squeeze your eyes shut, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you try to push the looming darkness away. It’s another futile attempt. The darkness has a firm grip on you, awakened by the howling wind and strengthened by its screaming pleas…

**

Eris found you in the forest.

One glance at you and he knew what was happening. Your body was hunched over, trembling hands pressed tightly against your ears as the wind whirled around you violently, rustling through your hair. The three hounds he brought with him tensed and let out low growls, their keen eyes on the glowing pendant wrapped around your neck.

The hour was late and he had been about to succumb to the sleep his eyes had begged for when he felt a strange stirring in his chest. Until he recognized that it was coming from the bond–from you. The two of you often shut each other out. He did not want to project his emotions to you and he sensed you felt the same.

So for him to feel a tug against his ribcage from you…he knew something was wrong or about to be.

Eris turns to his hounds, the sharpest of his pack. He now realized why they had been insistent on coming with him. The others had tucked themselves into their beds after a goodnight pat on their heads. “Stay,” he says firmly and though their instincts sense danger, they heed his command. Albeit, reluctantly.

He approaches you with slow and cautious steps, despite the urge to run to you. He tells himself it’s the bond. As he gets closer, he can hear you murmuring something but it doesn’t sound like you. Your voice carries a venomous undertone, dripping with malice and ancient wisdom. 

“You are us now and we are you.” The voice repeats over and over again like a serpent hissing in the dark.

A lump forms in his throat but he wills himself to call out your name, hoping you hear him among the many voices swirling around you.

He watches with bated breath as your hands, still trembling, fall from where they had clutched at your ears. Slowly, your head lifts upwards. Your gaze meets his and he finds himself held captive.

Your eyes are glowing red, the way they always do when you call upon your magic. But it’s not that crimson gaze that had startled him. It’s the veins surrounding your eyes that do–they have darkened, giving you a more sinister appearance.

“Son of Autumn. Have you come to play?”

The hounds, who remained feet away, release another growl.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” Eris asks, his heart racing as his amber eyes search your face for any sign of you.

Something flickers in those crimson eyes of yours, a brief hesitation that makes the darkness falter. Eris noticed it instantly, his heart tightening with a sudden urgency that compels him to step closer. He can feel you now—the sharp chill emanating from your body, a coldness that bites at his cheeks. It sends a shiver down his spine as the breeze rustles through his hair.

His body instinctively warms in response, the fire in his veins flaring brighter as if to combat the icy dread that clings to you. You were trembling, and Eris kneels before you, his eyes never straying from yours. He reaches out tentatively to that bond but is met with a steel wall.

So he reaches out physically. You flinch at the warmth coming from him before he can actually touch you and fall back onto your hands. It seems the darkness within you is desperate to put distance between you both.

“She needs us. She can’t do this alone.”

“But you’re not alone,” Eris says softly, ignoring the darkness and speaking directly to you. He knew better than to acknowledge the voice, fearing it would only give it more power. “You have me.”

“The forest wants its beloved back.” The voice hisses and your head tilts slightly, gaze narrowing at him. “It grows more restless every night. Fear makes you hesitate but not us. We can do what you cannot bring yourself to do.”

“Y/n.” Eris calls your name again. This time, when he reaches for you, his hands find their mark, cupping your face with a tenderness that surprises even him. Your skin is frighteningly cold. It fills him with a deep unease, a desperate need to bring warmth back to you.

Your trembling begins to subside, and the wind that had howled around you starts to calm. Eris remains cautious but feels a glimmer of hope. He could do this. He could bring you back. “We made a bargain, remember?” he continued.

“A bargain…”

That glimmer of hope flares up as you sound like you again. Something he’d never thought he’d feel as he often complained about your voice–how it could grate on his nerves. But now, it was the only sound he longed to hear.

The mark of your bargain appears–a ring of fire around your wrist–at the mention of it. It burns faintly with embers like a delicate bracelet, reminding you of the promise you made. That very same ring of fire appears on his left wrist, reflecting in your eyes. It fades away after a moment but the burn of it lingers.

“Yes.” Eris almost smiles. “Y/n, are you with me?”

Your body gives a shudder, wanting to escape from him. His hold on you tightens. The red glow to your eyes slowly gives out, the veins that had darkened around your eyes disappearing. Color returns to your cheeks, coaxed back by the warmth Eris is pouring into you.

“I’m with you,” you breath, your eyes wide with lingering apprehension. Eris’s hands remain firm on your face, holding you steady as you eyes wander. When you look back at him, your eyes seem distant, unfocused.

His brows draw together in concern, casting shadows over his troubled eyes. But before he can say anything, you do, a trace of your usual scorn creeping into your voice. “Why are you looking at me as if I’ve grown two heads?”

There you are.

Relief washes over him, so warm and overwhelming that it brings back that tightness in his chest, strumming those golden threads. The urge to pull you into his arms, to hold you close and never let go, is almost overpowering. But Eris ignores it, instead leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours.

You were no longer cold. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding—a sound that was half-sigh, half-laugh. A mixture of relief and something else he wasn’t ready to name.

“Have you gone mad?”

“No,” Eris replies, reluctantly releasing his hold on you. The warmth of his touch lingering on your skin as he straightens up. He brushes at the leaves clinging to his pants, an attempt to regain his usual composure. “But you almost did.”

He extends his hand out to you and you stare at it for a moment, your gaze heavy with the weight of what had just transpired. “It happened again…” Your voice was barely a whisper, more to yourself than to him. Realization settled over you and your shoulders slump.

“Come on,” Eris says, motioning for you to take his hand. The sound of familiar whines catch your attention, and you look up to see three hounds, waiting anxiously a few feet away. “The hour is late and I’m already dreading dealing with a sleep-deprived version of you. Your usual self is enough of a bane in my existence.”

You shoot him a glare and he waits, watching you. He wonders if you’ll bite back. With a resigned sigh, you take his hand, allowing him to help you up. His gaze flickers to your arms, noticing the scratches that marred your skin and the bond in his chest rages with protectiveness.

“We can stop by the infirmary first.”

“I’ll be fine,” you huff out but that distant look on your face remains, betraying your words.

The hounds approach you with soft whines. They’re careful not to brush against the cuts on your arms, their noses nudging softly against your legs instead. Your hand remains in Eris’s and he takes a step forward, prompting you to let him guide you out of the forest.

A light breeze brushes against you, carrying with it the lingering chill of the mourning forest. You turn your head, your gaze falling on that vacant spot where the sacred tree once stood. Your features soften, a wave of sympathy washing over you. Your heart aches to fill the void, to restore what had been unjustly taken and bring life back to this part of the forest.

But you were running out of time.

The darkness within you was growing stronger with each passing day. If you didn’t return the sacred tree soon, the darkness would come for you again, more relentless, more determined…

“Eris?"

There’s a slight vulnerability to your voice that unsettles him. It has his body tensing. He can only muster a hum in response.

“What if–” Your throat seizes and you’re  grateful your head is turned away from Eris so he can’t see the fear that flashes in your eyes. “What if one day I don’t come back?”

Eris’s hand tightens around yours and a shaky breath escapes from you. His hand is strong and warm and for just this once, you allow the simple touch to ground you. When you finally turn to face him, you find his gaze was already on you, something strange and vulnerable swirling in those amber depths. 

That look in his eyes was enough to chase away the cold that had settled in your bones, kindling a warmth to your chest and tugging those golden threads that now reside there.

“Then, I’ll follow you into the dark.”

His words hung in the air, but a question arose. Would he still follow if it weren’t for the bond?

The thought hovered, restless, at the edge of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But you swallowed it down, unwilling to risk hearing an answer you already believed to be true.

You didn’t think you could bear it if you were right.

[eris x chaos witch masterlist]

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette

[decreare]

Dyed Blonde

Weiss: Oh My Oum! Yang: I can explain? Weiss: Well I didn't expect this when I when I needed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Tell me Xio-Long what ARE you doing then? Yang: Well I uh- Weiss: Because I can tell you what I THINK you are doing! It appears that you were never a natural blonde! Otherwise you wouldn't be in the tub touching up your raven-black roots! Yang: Tenses D-don't tell Ruby- Weiss: Your SISTER doesn't know?! How long have you been keeping up this farce Xio Long Yang: Before she was born... A choking silence falls between them Yang: My M-mom, Ruby's birth mom, showed me how... Weiss: Well then, I know how troublesome dying so much hair can be. Hand me that brush! Yang: What? Weiss: You owe me Xio Long After the process... Yang: I'm going to bed Weiss: Stop right there Xio Long! You still owe me! Yang: Listen Weiss I appreciate the help but I've been doing this for years- Weiss: Oh I'll help you alright! You big-titted cow! I just want to secure your end of the deal! Yang: Right... and what do I owe you hm? Weiss: I-uh cuddles? Yang: Weiss Cream wants cuddles? How do I know I won't melt you away~ Weiss: Oh shut it and get on my bed, I'll meet you there Yang: Oh? Who knew Snow Princess could be so forward! Well, what are you waiting for~ Weiss hugs the older girl, Yang couldn't help but pet her hair Yang: So this is what you wanted huh? Weiss: Yang I swear to Oum if you make fun- Yang: No, I get it Weiss: W-well good! And you shound't pet a Schnee! Yang: Want me to stop? Weiss: Gods no! They both soon fall asleep. With Yang's arms wrapped around Weiss's body while Weiss's head rested on top Yang's bosom Ruby: On one hand I'm jealous that Weiss is in my spot but on the other hand I'm happy my Sister and Bestie are getting along! Wah, I still want my morning cuddles dammit! Blake: I never could imagine a Schnee being affectionate... And who's to say we can't do the same? Ruby: Does that mean I get to touch your cute kitty ears!? Blake: ... If you are going to do that, you better not pull on them... Ruby: Oh relax Zwei never complained! Blake: ... Alright then... Later... Glynda: Where is team RWBY!?!? Nora: Renny why didn't we stay in bed! You love my hugs Pyrrha: I wish I could get Jaune to cuddle me... Jaune: What? Nora: Oh Jaune-Jaune gives the BEST hugs! You just gotta ask him! Pyrrha: R-really?

[howi99]

Prince of Vale 9

A less serious "chapter"

RWB__NPR: *looking as Jaune and Yang fight each other for practice*

Weiss: *Stunned by Jaune's performance* Whu...

Ruby: *looking at both of her flags, one with J and the other with Y* Gosh, who am i supposed to root for!?

Blake: *not focussing on the fight, texting to her parents instead*

Nora: *turning to Weiss* Yeah, turns out he's a lot better with a saber. He's also excellent with a rapier, like you!

Weiss: B-but his other fights!?

Pyrrha: *chuckle* He never learned to fight with a sword and shield. He was completely unbalanced.

Ren: *nod* His moves are more akin to a dance. A terrifyingly beautiful dance.

All the girls: *look at Ren*

Ren: *still focussing on the fight, not noticing the attention*

Weiss: I didn't think you'd swing that way.

Ren: *taking his eyes off the fight* What?

Nora: *drying a false tear* You are breaking my heart Ren, going for our leader.

Ren: ... What?

Pyrrha: *putting one hand on his shoulder* Don't worry Ren. I too find Jaune mesmerizing.

Ren: Wait, hold on-

Ruby: We support you Ren!

Ren: But i'm not-

Blake: *furiously writing a yaoi fanfic*

Ren: I just said he's fighting style was beautiful! I never said anything about him physically!

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Dream A Little Dream of Me | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings:

Word Count: 6433

A/N:: There’s a Sherlock reference in here… let me know if you find it!! Lol I did a “New Girl” quote scavenger hunt once, and they’re a lot of fun! So… part 2 to movie/TV quote scavenger hunt. 

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

Everything Ruby had told you was hitting you like a ton of bricks. You’d been smoking a lot more regularly over the past few days, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care that it was worrying Dean. The two of you were physically together, but you both knew your minds were elsewhere. 

The reality of the situation was that there was no way for you to save Dean. It completely shattered your heart, but you knew it was true. As much as you were trying to enjoy the last few months you had with him, it was incredibly difficult knowing what he would be facing very soon. 

However, you didn’t have much time to focus on your woes. Dean had gone out to find Sam who, to your surprise, was at a bar at two in the afternoon drowning in whiskey. You couldn’t blame him, really, given your similar condition. Dean was pacing and worried as soon as he got back to your motel room. His rampage at Sam’s poor decision making, though, was disrupted by a distressing phone call. 

***

It was Bobby. The maid had found him in his motel room unconscious, and she’d feared him dead. Thankfully, he was alive, but he was comatose. The doctors explained to you that he was physically perfectly healthy but just… sleeping. 

“Mr. Snyderson,” the doctor addressed Dean, “you're his emergency contact. Anything we should know? Any illnesses?”

Dean shook his head, looking a bit bewildered. “No, he- he never gets sick. I mean, he doesn't even catch cold.”

“Is there anything you can do?” you asked the doctor. 

“Look, I'm sorry, but we don't know what's causing it... so we don't know how to treat it. He just... went to sleep and didn't wake up.”

Your heart sank further into your stomach. 

***

You helped the brothers search Bobby’s perfectly clean motel room where you eventually found his research and newspaper clippings hiding behind his clothes in the closet. 

“Pittsburgh” was scrawled in big letters next to pictures of various foliage, maps, and newspaper clippings.

“Good ol’ Bobby, always covering up his tracks,” Dean chuckled, given the rack of clothes his research was hidden behind.

“You make heads or tails of any of this?” Sam questioned, looking over Bobby’s research. 

You plucked a piece of paper off the wall. “ ‘Silene capensis’,”you read. “Oh, god, I know that name.”

“Well, you keep workin’ on that, sweetheart. ‘Cause that means absolutely nothing to me,” Dean commented. 

“Here,” said Sam. “Obit.”

The two brothers read over the death of a doctor who’d fallen asleep and simply never woke up; just like Bobby.

You continued to think on the plant. Suddenly, you realized what it was. “Guys, African dream root. I couldn’t think of it immediately ‘cause it’s more commonly known as ‘silene undulata’. It’s supposed to induce lucid dreaming or something.”

“Alright, um…” Sam thought aloud. “So let's say Bobby was looking into the doc's death. You know, hunting after something that started hunting him.”

“Alright, stay here,” Dean instructed you and Sam. “See if you can make heads or tails of this.” He pointed to the closet. 

“And where are you going?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“I'm gonna look into the good doctor myself,” he smirked, referring to the first victim. 

***

You and Sam were silent for quite some time. Both of you were too drained to speak, it seemed. Your heart was hurting, and you knew Sam’s was, too. You tried your best to focus on researching the news clippings in front of you, but your mind would always pull you elsewhere. 

“You okay?”

You’d forgotten Sam was in the room with you if you were being honest. 

You nodded halfheartedly. 

Sam sighed. “Yeah, uh, I’m in the same boat.”

“I don’t even know what to do anymore, man,” you sighed, running a hand through your hair and throwing your notepad down. “I know there’s nothing we can do, and that almost makes it feel worse.”

“I get it,” Sam replied quietly. “And now, Bobby, and I just… why does everyone I love die, (Y/N)?” His voice cracked a bit and tears flooded his eyes.

“I wish I had the answer, man; I”m searching for it myself,” you said. “And it just… There’s nothing I can do to make this feel better. And I feel like I just got Dean, and now—” You dropped your head. “I’m sorry. Not trying to treat you like my therapist.”

Sam shook his head. “You’re not.”

“And I think the worst part is that Dean is terrified. And there’s nothing I can do or say to save him from that,” you continued. 

“Yeah, well, I wish he’d be a little more honest with me about that,” Sam remarked. 

“I’m his girlfriend, Sam,” you reminded him. “He’s not gonna wanna talk sob-story with his little brother.” You could see you weren’t getting through to him. “Take it from an older sister: we’d rather get our gums scraped than admit fear or stress to our baby siblings. Trust me, if Steven was still around, and I was in Dean’s shoes, I’d be doing the same thing.”

“Well, it’s crap,” Sam argued. “You don’t have to protect us.”

“It’s not about protecting you. It’s about being strong for you. It’s keeping our emotions at bay so that you have all the room in the world to express yours.”

Sam hung his head low. You could tell he was frustrated, but he understood what you were getting at. 

Then, your phone rang. “Hey, Dee. What’s up?”

“So,” he began, “Looks like our Doc was running freaky sleep experiments on his patients. Guy I talked to said it felt like an acid trip.”

“African dream root ‘ll do that to you,” you replied. 

“Yeah, sounds like he was putting it in a tea,” he explained.

“What’s the move now?” you asked. 

“Goin’ to see Bobby. Meet me there,” he instructed. 

***

You and Sam did as told. You found Dean sitting beside Bobby’s bed. 

“How is he?” you asked as you entered the room. 

Dean rubbed a hand over his chin as he turned to look at you. “No change. What you got?”

Sam held files in his hands that compiled your and his research. “Turns out, dream root isn’t just for lucid dreaming.”

“Let me guess. They dose up, bust out the didgeridoos, start kicking around the hackey,” Dean snarked. 

“No, jackass,” you deadpanned. “If you believe the legends, it's used for dreamwalking. Entering another person's dreams; poking around in their heads.”

“I take it we believe the legends,” Dean nodded. 

“When don't we?” Sam said. “But dreamwalking is just the tip of the iceberg. I mean, this dream root is some serious mojo. You take enough of it, with practice, you can become a regular Freddy Krueger. You can control anything. You could turn bad dreams good, you could turn good dreams bad.”

It was clear by the look on Dean’s face he understood what Sam was getting at. “And killing people in their sleep?” 

You and Sam nodded solemnly. 

Dean sighed. 

“So, let's say, uh— let's say, this doc was testing this stuff on his patients, Tim-Leary-style,” suggested the brunet. “Somebody gets pissed at him, decides to give him a little dream visit, he goes nighty-night.”

“But what about Bobby?” Dean questioned. “I mean, if the killer came after him, how come he's still alive?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know.” You stared down at the old man’s resting form. It was the only time you’d ever seen him without him seeming like he carried a tremendous weight on his shoulders. 

“So, how do we find our homicidal sandman?” Dean questioned. 

“Could be anyone,” Sam shrugged. 

“Anyone who knew the doctor; had access to his dream shrooms,” the older one nodded. 

“Maybe one of his test subjects or something?” you suggested. 

“Possible. But his research was pretty sketchy. I mean, I don't know how many subjects he had, or who all of them were,” Dean replied. 

Sam scoffed. 

“What?” you and Dean asked in unison. 

The brunet sighed. “In any other case, we'd be calling Bobby and asking him for help right now.”

Dean seemed to have a “eureka” moment, and a smirk crawled across his face. “You know what? You're right.”

“What?” you and Sam asked. 

“Let's go talk to him.”

“Uh, Dean, that conversation’s gonna be very one-sided,” you said, confused. 

“Not if we're tripping on some dream root,” he smirked down at you. 

Sam huffed. “What?”

“That’s actually not a bad idea, Sam,” you considered. 

“We have no idea what's crawling around in there,” Sam argued. 

“Well, how bad could it be?” Dean shrugged. 

“Bad.”

“Dude, it's Bobby.” 

The younger Winchester considered for a moment. “Yeah, you're right. One problem though. We're fresh out of African dream root, so unless you know someone who can score some…”

“We do, actually,” you said. “Not thrilled about it, though.”

“Who?” Sam asked. 

“Bela.”

“Crap,” both brothers groaned. 

Sam quirked a brow. “You're actually suggesting we ask her a favor?”

“I'm feeling dirty just thinking about it, but it’s our only shot,” Dean grimaced. 

You turned out of the hospital room and began clicking buttons on your phone. The brothers took the lead, and you began to follow them out to the Impala. 

“Hi, darling,” Bela said. The phone had barely rung once. 

“So good to hear your voice,” you sassed. 

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Bela replied. 

“Flirting’s over, though, angel, mommy’s had enough now,” you smirked, and Dean gave you a both bewildered and lascivious look over his shoulder. “I have a favor to ask.”

“Aw, and here I thought you were calling because you missed the sound of my voice,” the woman replied. 

“Promise I’ll check in more often,” you said. “Can you get your hands on some African dream root for me?” You sat down in the car, and Dean began to drive.

She sucked in some air through her teeth. “I think you know what’s coming next.”

“And here I thought you’d give me a freebie,” you sighed playfully. 

“You are a stunner, love, but a lady’s got to pay her bills. Dream root’s a tricky thing to get my hands on.”

“Well, I haven’t really got much to offer you,” you said, feeling dejected. “And it’s not just for me to trip balls on. It’s for a close friend. Bobby Singer. He’s sick.”

“I wish I could help, really, but I can’t just fork it over for free. I’ll see you around, then, (Y/N).” And the phone clicked off. 

You sighed. 

“Trouble in paradise?” Dean questioned sarcastically. 

“Fuck off,’ you replied. 

***

Back in Bobby’s motel room, Sam sat at the desk with his head in his hands. He’d likely fallen asleep about thirty minutes ago at this point, and you and Dean were reading through some of the doctor’s papers. 

“Dean, I’ve been wanting to ask,” you whispered, “were you okay with what I was saying to Bela earlier?”

He gave you a confused look. 

“I mean, we’ve never really had a conversation about exclusivity or anything, but my interest is solely in you. I love you, and I don’t want what I said to her to make you uncomfortable or anything,” you continued. 

Dean thought for a moment. “It really didn’t bother me. Thought it was hot, actually.”

You snorted. “Always thinkin’ with your dick, huh?” Just then, Sam let out a moan in his sleep. 

Dean gave you a surprised look and seemed like he was going to burst out laughing at any moment. “Looks like Sammy is, too.”

“Ew, gross,” you shuddered, scrunching up your nose.

“Sam,” Dean called over his brother’s broken moans. “Sam,” he called a little more forcefully. “Sam!” 

The younger brother’s head shot up, and he quickly brushed his cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Dude, you were out,” Dean snorted. “And making some serious happy noises.”

Sam looked incredibly uncomfortable, and he refused to look in the direction of you and his brother. 

The latter kept teasing poor Sam. “Who were you dreaming about?”

“What? No one. Nothing,” he stuttered. 

“C'mon, you can tell me. Angelina Jolie?” 

“No.”

Dean gave you a smirk before saying, “Brad Pitt?”

That got Sam to turn around. “No. No! Dude, it doesn't matter.”

“Whatever.” The older brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since Bela’s a no-go, we’ve been tryin’ to make heads or tails of the Doc’s notes. Unfortunately, he has worse handwriting than you do.”

Sam remained seated in his chair with his back to you.

Dean looked at him expectantly. “You gonna come help us with this stuff?”

Sam looked around, down to his lap, and then shifted uncomfortably to a standing position. “Yeah, yeah. Just give me a sec.”

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

You looked to Dean suspiciously and grabbed your gun from beside you. Pressing the barrel to the back of the door, you opened it a crack. To your surprise, it was Bela. 

“Hello, darling,” she cooed. 

You opened the door for her to come in, confusion etched across your face. 

“You called me. Remember?” she said, raising a brow. 

“And I remember you turning me down,” you replied. 

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” she smiled. Bela turned to Sam, who awkwardly waved over his shoulder. 

“Hey, Bela. What's going on?” he said strangely. 

Suddenly, it hit you. ‘Oh, my fucking god. He was dreaming about Bela!’ You were definitely going to give him hell later. 

“I brought you your African dream root.” Bela handed a jar of it to you. “Nasty stuff and not easy to come by.” She dropped her purse next to the television and began to take off her coat which caused a hitch in Sam’s breath that you would have missed had you not been paying such close attention to him since your realization. 

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Dean asked her. 

“What? I can't do you a little favor every now and again?” the woman replied, slipping her coat off. 

“No. You can't,” was Dean’s gruff response. “Come on, I wanna know what the strings are before you attach them.” Bela turned to you. “You said this was for Bobby Singer, right?”

You nodded. 

“Well, I'm doing it for him. Not you.”

That piqued yours and Dean’s interest. “Bobby? Why?” Dean asked. 

“He saved my life once. In Flagstaff.” 

Dean looked down at you and you, up at him, but you ended up just shrugging at each other. 

“I screwed up, and he saved me, okay? You satisfied?” Bela huffed. 

“Maybe,” Dean replied. 

“So when do we go on this little magical mystery tour?” she questioned, looking down at the jar. 

“No offense, lovebug, but I don’t trust you enough to be in the same room with you for more than fifteen minutes, let alone Bobby’s head,” you told her. 

Dean took the jar from you and put it in the safe with the Colt. 

“And here I thought we were becoming such good friends,” she replied. “It's 2 AM. Where am I supposed to go?”

“Get a room,” Dean responded. “Ah, they got the Magic Fingers, a little Casa Erotica on pay-per-view. You'll love it.”

“You…” she trailed off, grabbed her bag and coat in a huff, and slammed the door behind herself despite Sam calling after her, “Nice to see— Seeing you… Bela.”

When the door shut behind the woman, you turned to Sam with a wide grin. “You dirty whore!”

“What? What?!” he asked. 

“Well? Does she give good head?” you smirked wickedly. 

Sam’s cheeks immediately flushed, and Dean just looked between you and his brother completely bewildered. 

***

Almost an hour later, you and the Winchesters were downing disgusting dream root teas with a strand of Bobby’s hair mixed in to enter the man’s head. 

“Feel anything?” Dean asked you. 

You shook your head. “Sam?”

“Nothing here.”

You looked down at your cup, a bit disappointed. 

“Maybe we got some bad shwag,” Dean suggested. 

Just then, thunder clapped and rain pattered the window. 

“When did it start raining?” you wondered aloud. 

Dean wandered over to the window, and you followed close behind. He opened the windows to find the rain not coming from the sky, but from the ground. “When did it start raining upside down?” he questioned. 

Then, you noticed your surroundings were changing. Next to Sam was no longer two beds, but a couch; an old-fashioned one at that. You turned back to Dean, and the window you’d been looking out of had turned into a fireplace. 

“What the fu—” you muttered. 

“Okay, I don't know what's weirder: the fact that we're in Bobby's head, or that he's dreaming of Better Homes and Gardens,” Dean snarked. 

“Wait. Wait a sec. Imagine the place, uh, without the paint job.” Sam started gesturing to the corners of the room. “More cluttered, dusty, books all over the place.”

“It’s Bobby’s house,” Dean realized. “Bobby?!” he called.

The hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up, and you felt as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around to the window above the kitchen table, but you couldn’t see anyone. Still, something didn’t feel right. You turned toward the stairs and whispered, “Bobby?”

Still, you were suspicious of what was happening outside. “Dean?” you called. “I'm gonna go look outside.”

Dean whispered, “No, no, no, stay close.”

“Dee, I’ll be fine,” you insisted, walking up to him to leave a kiss on his cheek. “Pinky promise.” 

He rolled his eyes, his face turning ever so slightly pink, and a smile played on his lips as he locked his pinky with yours. You loved that you could pull that reaction from the Dean Winchester with something so simple as a kiss on the cheek.

“Don't do anything stupid,” Dean told you. 

“C’mon, it’s me we’re talking about,” you smirked, walking backward toward the door and still facing Dean. 

“That’s what I’m worried about,” he remarked playfully.

You scoffed and headed outside. As soon as you opened the door, though, you found it was no longer raining. In fact, bright sunshine streamed down. 

You were confused to say the least. Walking down through what would be the junkyard if you were in the real world, you found Bobby’s station wagon. However, it looked much newer and cleaner than it would in your real life. The walkway was well-manicured, and beautiful flowers lined the path leading to Bobby’s front door. 

Suddenly, the door slammed shut behind you. You immediately spun around and tried to reopen it, but someone had locked it. 

“Dean!” you hollered. You headed over to the window that overlooked Bobby’s kitchen table and banged on it harshly. “Dean!”

Despite the fact that you could very clearly see him through the window, he didn’t react to you calling his name or hitting against the glass. Still confused, you headed down the porch. 

A beautiful little pond with flowers surrounding it came into view as you walked further into the backyard. You wished in that moment that you’d figured out a way to bring a gun or a knife into Bobby’s head before you drank the dream root tea. 

When you walked past a line of washed sheets hanging out to dry, you got that feeling again; as if someone was watching you. You wheeled around just to get hit with a bat across your chest. Winded, you fell to the ground, heaving painfully. “Motherfucker,” you wheezed. A hand to your shoulder, you pushed yourself up on your elbow to face the college-aged man who’d hit you. “Who are you?” you asked in as tough a voice as you could muster.

“Who are you? You don't belong here,” the man replied.

“You're one to talk,” you scoffed. “You're in my friend's head.”

“You got a poor choice in friends. This is self-defense. He came after me. He wanted to hurt me,” the man spat.

“Uh, if he was coming after you, it’s ‘cause you killed somebody,” you told him. 

“You should be nicer to me. In here... you're just an insect. I'm a god.”

“You’re overcompensating,” you responded dryly. “The ol' two-incher not workin’ how you want it to?”

The man’s face twisted, and he raised his bat again. “Sweet dreams.”

Before you could react, you woke up with a start back in your motel room bed next to Dean. You were actually still holding your empty cup.

The older Winchester turned to you as soon as he realized you were back in the real world. “You okay?”

You nodded. “You?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “We found Bobby.”

“You did?” you asked. 

“And his, uh, wife,” Sam added. “Looked like he had to kill her. I’m guessing it’s how he got into hunting.”

“Jesus,” you sighed. “Speaking of, we should probably go get him.”

***

With Bobby back in your motel room, he immediately began looking over the papers from the doctor’s research.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean said. “That, uh— That stuff, all that stuff with your wife? That actually happen?”

“Everybody got into hunting somehow,” he shrugged. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean replied. 

“Don't be sorry. If it weren't for you, I'd still be lost in there. Or dead.” He held Dean’s gaze with the most intensity and meaning you’d seen Bobby look at anyone. “Thank you.”

Dean’s lips twitched upward into a smile. 

Sam burst back into the room at that moment. “So, uh, stoner boy wasn't in his dorm. My guess is he's long gone by now.”

“He ain't much of a stoner.” Bobby picked up a picture of the guy who’d attacked you. 

“No?” You cocked your head to the side. 

“No,” Bobby replied. “His name's Jeremy Frost. Full-on genius. Hundred-and-sixty IQ. Which is sayin' some, considering his dad took a baseball bat to his head.” He picked up another piece of paper and handed it to Sam. “Here's Father of the Year. He died before Jeremy was ten.”

Sam grimaced at the photo. “Looks like a real sweetheart.”

“Injury gave him Charcot-Wilbrand. He hasn't dreamt since,” Bobby finished. 

“Till his whole Freddy Kruger thing,” you nodded. 

“How'd he know how to dig up your worst nightmare and throw it at you?” Dean questioned the older man. 

Bobby shrugged. “Hey, he was rooting around in my skull. God knows what he saw in there.”

“Yeah. How'd he get in there in the first place? Isn't he supposed to have some of your hair, your DNA, or something?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah,” Bobby sighed. “ 'Fore I knew it was him, he offered me a beer. I drank it. Dumbest fuckin’ thing.”

Dean laughed nervously. “Oh, I don't know. It wasn't that dumb.”

Your face dropped. “Babe, you didn’t.”

“I was thirsty?” he winced. 

Sam huffed angrily. “That's great. Now he can come after either one of you.”

“Well, now, we just have to find him first,” Dean tried. 

“We better work fast,” Bobby urged, “and coffee up. Because the one thing we cannot do is fall asleep.”

***

Two days later, Dean was losing his mind. “I mean, this Jeremy guy's not a fuckin’ ghost. Where the hell could he be?” He was sitting at the wheel of the Impala twitching a bit. 

“Dean, you sure you don't want me to drive? You seem a little…” Sam trailed off when his brother gave him a strong look. “...caffeinated.”

“Well, thanks for the news flash, Edison!” Dean grumbled. He tried to grab his ringing cell phone from his pocket, but his twitching hands fumbled. 

You took the phone from him gently and answered it. “Tell me you got something,” you pleaded.

“Strip club was a bust, huh?” Bobby asked. 

“Yeah,” you replied. 

“That was our last lead,” the old man sighed. 

“What the hell, man,” you wondered aloud. “What’s Bela got?”

“What do you got, Bela?” you heard him ask her. 

“Sorry,” you heard her say distantly. “Sometimes the spirit world is in a chatty mood, and sometimes, it isn't.”

“She's got nothing.” 

You repeated Bobby’s statement to the rest of the car. 

Dean threw his hands up in frustration. “Great! Well, I'm just gonna go blow my brains out now!” He angrily grabbed the phone from your hands, and you did your best not to scold him. Dean began speeding back toward the motel, but after a few minutes, he pulled off to the side of the road in the woods. “Alright, that's it. I'm done.”

“What are you doing?” Sam questioned. 

Dean slid down in his seat, resting his head on the back of it. “Taking myself a long-overdue nap.”

You lurched forward putting your face next to his. “Are you out of your mind?!” “Dean, Jeremy can come after you,” Sam reminded his brother. 

“That's the idea,” the older man replied nonchalantly. “Come on, guys, we can't find him, so let him come to me.”

“On his own turf? Where he's basically a god?” you mimicked Jeremy’s words from when he beat you.

“I can handle it,” he shrugged. 

“Not alone, you can’t,” you stated firmly. 

Sam reached over and pulled out some of Dean’s hair.

“Ow!” His hand flew up to rub where Sam had plucked from. “What are you doing?”

“We’re comin' in with you,” Sam said plainly. 

“No, you’re not,” the other Winchester scoffed. 

“Why not?” you asked him. “At least, then, it’ll be three against one.”

“ 'Cause I don't want you digging around in my head.”

“Dean, what am I gonna find up there you don’t want me to see?” you asked. You’d always trusted him, but you were worried about what his response would be. 

“Not you, (Y/N). Sam. There’s some things my kid brother shouldn’t know about me,” Dean grumbled. 

To say you were relieved was an understatement. 

“Too bad,” Sam responded. He had already mixed the teas and handed you a cup. 

You took it and chugged the whole thing; desperately trying to ignore the foul taste. However, nothing changed. 

“Dean,” Sam said, hitting his brother on the arm forcefully. 

Dean jerked up. “For the love of god.” He looked extremely tired and confused. “What are we still doing here?”

“No idea,” you answered. 

Suddenly, you heard a sound outside the car. 

“There's someone out there,” Sam said, on high alert. 

You walked around to the front of the car, and to your surprise, you were sitting on a little blanket with a picnic basket. She— well, you— smiled at Dean, not seeming to notice you or Sam. 

“Hey. You gonna sit down?” the dream version of you asked Dean. 

He didn’t move, he just gawked. 

“Come on,” Dean’s dream-you said. “You know how I feel about you keeping me waiting.”

Dean turned to the real you, a bit embarrassed. 

You smiled up at him as his dream-version of you said, “Dean. I love you.”

Suddenly, the whole scene began to shake. Everything disappeared. 

“Where'd she— you— go?” Dean asked. 

Just then, you spotted Jeremy coming out from behind a tree. Sam took off after him, and you and Dean soon got separated from him. The two of you called out to Sam, but it was no use. You turned back to see that the woods you’d run through had disappeared. Instead, the hallway of an unkempt motel laid before you. 

“Stay close,” Dean instructed you, beginning to walk down the hallway. The door at the end of it opened just before you and Dean reached it. An equally gloomy room appeared behind the scratched-up door. 

You could hear a clicking sound coming from within the room, and then, you saw the light on the desk clicking on and off. “Jeremy?” you asked. 

The clicking stopped, the light remaining on, and you finally got a good idea of who you were looking at. “Dean,” you breathed out. 

“Hey, Dean,” the dream version of your partner said. 

“Well, aren't you a handsome son of a gun,” your Dean smiled. 

“We need to talk,” said dream Dean. 

The two began to circle each other, and you remained in the corner. 

The real Dean nodded. “I get it. I'm my own worst nightmare, is that it? Huh? Kind of like the Superman III junkyard scene? A little mano y mano with myself?”

“Joke all you want, smart-ass. But you can't lie to me. I know the truth.”

The real Dean stopped by the desk, and the dream version stood by the door closest to you. 

“I know how dead you are inside,” the dream version sneered. “How worthless you feel. I know how you look into a mirror and hate what you see.”

“(Y/N), don’t listen. It’s not true,” your Dean assured you when he saw how your heart broke for him. However, you knew that the dream version wasn’t lying; how could he? After all, this was Dean’s imagination you were in. 

“Why do you think I’ve got her here?” the dream Dean spat. “She’s gonna get to watch the show.”

“Sorry, pal. It's not gonna work.” Despite how visibly shaken the real Dean was, he tried to smile through it. “You're not real.”

“Sure I am. I'm you.”

“I don't think so. 'Cause see, this is my siesta. Not yours.” The real Dean raised his arm. “All I gotta do is snap my fingers and you go bye-bye.” He tried it once. Then, a second time, and then, a third, and still, nothing happened. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Neither are you. Neither is she,” the dream version smirked wickedly. The door slammed shut and locked behind him.

The real Dean’s face hardened into sincerity. “Let her go,” he commanded.

“No, Dean,” the other version said. “She deserves to know the truth. She deserves to know what kind of monster she’s involved with. Like I said, we need to talk.” He raised his hand to reveal a sawed-off shotgun. “I mean, you're going to Hell, and you won't lift a finger to stop it.”

The two began to circle each other again, and you stayed frozen in place. 

“Talk about low self-esteem,” the other Dean continued to taunt, chuckling. “Then again, I guess it's not much of a life worth saving, now is it?”

Your Dean muttered to himself, “Wake up, Dean. Come on, wake up.”

“I mean, after all, you've got nothing outside of Sam and pretty little (Y/N) here.” The other version of Dean stopped walking by the desk, and your Dean stopped next to you. Your version gave you a pleading look, although you weren’t sure what he was asking you to do in this situation. 

The dream version continued his assault. “You are nothing. You're as mindless and obedient as an attack dog.”

The real one tried to smile through it, and you knew the brave face he was putting on was mostly for your sake. “That— That's not true.”

“No? What are the things that you want? What are the things that you dream? I mean, your car? That's Dad's,” the dream Dean stated. “Your favorite leather jacket? Dad's. Your music? Dad's. Do you even have an original thought?”

The real version scoffed. 

“No. No, all there is is, ‘Watch out for Sammy. Look out for your little brother, boy!’ You can still hear your dad's voice in your head, can't you?” the dream version pressed. He motioned with the gun toward his head. “Clear as a bell.”

“Just shut up,” the real Dean gritted through his teeth.

The dream one lowered the gun. “I mean, think about it.” He stalked toward your Dean, and you were still frozen in place; undoubtedly by the dream version’s doing. “All he ever did is train you, boss you around. But Sam? Sam, he doted on. Sam, he loved.”

“I mean it. I'm getting angry,” your Dean growled. 

The other version of himself refused to stop, though. “Dad knew who you really were. A good soldier and nothing else. Daddy's blunt little instrument.” His voice had gotten hard and angry now. “Your own father didn't care whether you lived or died. Why should you?”

“Son of a bitch!” the real Dean shouted angrily, shoving the other version into the wall above the desk. “My father was an obsessed bastard!”

The dream Dean tried to get up, but the real one knocked him down again. Your Dean picked up the weapon and hit the other with the barrel across the face before pinning him to the wall with it. 

“All that crap he dumped on me, about protecting Sam! That was his crap. He's the one who couldn't protect his family. He—” the real Dean had gotten so choked up, and you wanted nothing more than to run to him. “He's the one who let Mom die— who wasn't there for Sam. I always was! He wasn't fair! I didn't deserve what he put on me. And I don't deserve to go to Hell!” the real Dean had beaten the other so hard, it looked as though he was dead. Blood was splattered across his face, and his eyes were closed. 

Suddenly, the dream version awoke again. His eyes were completely black upon reopening them. “You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this? This is what you're gonna become!” He stood up and began to stalk toward the real Dean, but just like that, you woke up. 

You shot up from your seat in the Impala frantically searching for Dean; demon or otherwise. You were relieved to find him in the front seat.

The sun had begun to come up some time while you slept. Dean was completely silent for the drive back to the motel while Sam informed you and Dean what he’d done to stop Jeremy. 

“How’d you do that, Sammy?” you questioned. 

“I don’t know, I just sort of concentrated, and it happened, y’know?” he replied. 

“What happened?” you pressed.

“I made him see his dad. And, uh, some kind of way, one hit from his dad was enough to kill him.”

“Damn,” you breathed out as Dean rolled the Impala to a stop in front of the motel. 

Sam walked ahead of you and Dean toward Bobby.

You hung back with Dean. 

“(Y/N), I don’t wanna talk about what you saw in there,” he said as soon as the two of you were alone. 

“We don’t have to,” you replied. “But when you’re ready— if you ever are— I’m here. And I still love you. No matter what.” You smiled up at him lopsidedly with your hands in the front pockets of your jeans. 

To show you he loved you, too, he pulled you forward and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. You responded by leaning up and kissing his cheek. And then, he pulled you into a kiss on your lips. Your arms wound around his neck almost like a reflex, and Dean’s arms went around your lower back, holding you tightly to him. 

Sam then interrupted your kiss by asking, “Uh, guys? Come see.” When you entered the motel room, Bobby was pacing angrily.

“What’s going on?” you asked. 

“Bela’s not in her room. She’s not answering her phone,” Sam responded. “She must’ve taken off or something.”

“Just like that? It's a little weird,” Dean said, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Yeah, well, if you ask me, what's weird is why she helped us in the first place,” Bobby replied. 

“I thought you saved her life,” you said. You had a sinking feeling in your stomach suddenly. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bobby questioned. 

“The thing in Flagstaff,” Dean continued. 

Bobby turned to look at you and Dean, who were still idling by the door. “That thing in Flagstaff was an amulet. I gave her a good deal, that's all.”

Dean’s face dropped, and the panic you were feeling was beginning to set in for him as well. 

“You kids better check your pockets,” Bobby said, an edge in his voice. 

All three of you began to feel around your jackets and pants. 

“Not literally.”

You then followed Dean’s gaze toward the safe in the closet. Dean immediately headed over, muttering, “No, no, no, no.” He opened it, and it was empty. 

“The Colt,” Sam breathed out. “Bela stole the Colt.”

Dean slammed the safe shut angrily. 

“Damn it, kids!” Bobby huffed. 

“Pack your crap,” Dean asserted, stomping over to his bag on the couch.

“Why? Where are we going?” Sam asked. 

“We're gonna go hunt the bitch down,” Dean said. 

Your anger was simmering just below the surface. You were angry at yourself for beginning to build a friendship with her and for not thinking she’d find a way to get something over on you. 

You followed Dean out to the Impala where Sam was putting his bag in the trunk. 

“Hey, Sam. I was wondering. When you were in my head, what did you see?” Dean asked. 

“Uh, just Jeremy. He kept me separated from you. Easier to beat my brains out that way, I guess.”

Dean scoffed. 

“What about you?” Sam asked. “You never said.”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing. I was looking for you the whole time.” Sam looked to you as you began to put your bag in the trunk, and Dean moved around to the driver’s seat. Despite not enjoying lying to Sam, you just shrugged and smiled lopsidedly. 

When you got down into the car, Dean looked thoughtful. You were expecting him to take off immediately, but he hesitated. 

“Sam,” he began. 

“Yeah?”

You were intrigued as to where this was going. 

Dean couldn’t look at his brother. “I've been doing some thinking, and... Well, the thing is... I don't wanna die.”

You closed your eyes, your heart saddening. 

“I don't wanna go to Hell,” Dean continued. 

“Alright. Yeah. We'll find a way to save you,” Sam said softly. 

Dean looked up at him, and you searched his expression. It was another one of those confusing looks you couldn’t quite read; somewhere between pensive and saddened, frustrated and resigned. “Okay, good.” His voice was shaky, and you weren’t sure what you could do to make him feel better; if anything. 

All you could hear was what the dream version of himself had said; “And this?” he’d spat, eyes black. “This is what you’re gonna become!”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Plotdale 30 May 2025

[The Village with Aaron and Robert]

ROBERT: So...what's it gonna be? #AreWeBackTogetherYet

AARON: *Deep sigh of regret* Sorry, I have to marry John. It's what the Plot wants.

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Right...so the Plot still hates me. Great. But hey wait...you walked out of your wedding and kissed me back! #WhyAreWeNotGettingBackTogether

AARON: *Got me there Face* Yeah well that was a mistake #AndIWillKeepMakingThem

ROBERT: So why didn't you go with him just then?

AARON: Because I don't know when you'll be back again and I wanted to try and get all the face time I could before the Plot separates us again. And also #ForTheFans ...That's why I can't want you yet Robert. We thrive on angst and slow burns and the fans need to see the yearning. It's for maximum drama okay. Plus I'm Plot!Dumb. I don't know quite how yet but I am. #SeeYouSoon

--- AARON walks off ---

ROBERT: *Rejected Face*

PLOT: *Whispers* Look at the PARALLELS!

[The Village Hall with all those irrelevant people]

FAUXBERT: I should tell everyone the wedding's off. I can see the writing on the wall. Plus I know it will give the fans who hate me some hope.

PLOT: No no it's not time yet, here I brought him back.

PLOTRON: Hey hey I'm here, ready for the wedding of the year. #IMissRobertAlready #ButIAmStubborn #SoIPersist #ForTheDrama

REGISTRAR: *Over it Face* Damn I was really hoping to finally go home. #TheseGaysTheyAreTryingToKillMe

FAUXBERT: *Surprised Face* Oh good, cause I really thought you were going to choose Robert there for a sec-

PLOTRON: Oh I tried mate but I'm not allowed to yet. #ForTheDrama

REGISTRAR: Can we get this over with for the love of god? #MaybeICanOfficiateWedding3.0

--- The Most Dull Wedding of the Year Commences ---

REGISTRAR: Do you so and so take blah blah blah #GodIAmBored

FAUXBERT: *Attempts Smugden Face* I do! #NothingCanGoWrongNow

PLOTRON: *Through a fake smile* I do...I guess...at least this is practice for Wedding 3.0 #ForTheDrama #AreWeBackTogetherYet

[The Bus Stop with Robert and Swirling]

ROBERT: *Head in hands* *Moody mode activated*

SWIRLING: *Fond admiration Face* Was it worth it? Risking prison for #TrueLove ?

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Apparently not. The Plot has it out for me. #IMissAaron

SWIRLING: Yeah it really does. I have to arrest you now because a currently unknown informant snitched on you. I'm as sorry as you are. I was rooting for you. For what it's worth, I won't cuff you. Does that get me an invite to the inevitable Wedding 3.0? *Helps Robert into the back of the car*

ROBERT: *Brushes Swirling's helping hand away* Yeah yeah...I might need a new best person since my own sister keeps selling me out.

[The Woolpack with PLOTRON, Mack, Ruby, Caleb, Kerry and some other irrelevant people]

VICTIM: *Plot!Dumb Face* *Gives the most uninspired speech unable to be summarized because it's already been forgotten*

MACK: *Interrupts the speech* #ThankGod Hey sorry I'm late I was locked in a weed attic. #MyPlotsAreWeird

PLOTRON: *Confused Face* Yeah it's uh...fine...you'll make it up to me later...probably when I become less Plot!Dumb. Plus, I had uh...other things going on. #IMissRobert #ForTheDrama

VICTIM: Oh...now I forgot what I was saying #NoOneCares

SOMEONE IRRELEVANT: Time for your first dance!

PLOTRON: Do I have to Plot? You know how I feel about dancing. #TechnicallyItsJustStanding

PLOT: Sorry you're Plot!Dumb right now. All previous characterization goes out this window. You're completely fine with this now. Anything else would be too direct of a reference to your superior weddings.

--- PLOTRON AND FAUXBERT dance ---

FAUXBERT: This is the best day of my life. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Really I think we might be cursed. #Foreshadowing

FAUXBERT: *Sickly Creepy Smile Face* No this is how we were meant to be, together forever, I'm never letting you go. #Foreshadowing #RedFlag #RunAaronRun

IRRELEVANT PEOPLE: *Plot!Dumb Ignorantly Happy Faces*

--- CALEB AND RUBY arrive ---

CALEB: Sorry we missed the wedding of the year. I brought you interior design vouchers because everyone hates your flat. #ForTheFans

RUBY: You deserve happiness Aaron.

KERRY: Have you heard of Robert Sugden?

RUBY: Who?

PLOTRON: #GodIMissRobert

[Prison Phone Call with Robert and VICTIM]

ROBERT: Hey Vic, so I'm in prison again. Crimes of passion and all that. #IHateThePlot

VICTIM: *Shocked Face* Again? But I wasn't done choosing John over you right in front of your face. Makes no matter, I can do it over the phone. Aaron chose John forever and ever till death do them part #Foreshadowing They made a promise in front of everyone.

ROBERT: So did we...twice. Why does everyone forget that? #TrueWeddingsOfTheYear

VICTIM: I forget everything that isn't immediately important to the Plot at hand. So anyway you just need to use this time to move on. *Hangs up*

ROBERT: *Rejected Face* Move on? Has she met me? *Operation get Aaron back 2.0 Commences* #AreWeBackTogetherYet

[Outside the Woolpack with PLOTRON, Mack and some other irrelevant people]

MACK: Look I decorated the hideous van to make up for missing your wedding. I put in as much effort as this union deserves! #IHateJohnClub #DemotedToVicePresidentBecauseRobertIsNowPresident

PLOTRON: Uhh...yep, sounds about right. You can make it up to me at Wedding 3.0 to Robert.

--- FAUXBERT AND PLOTRON get into the hideous van ---

FAUXBERT: Right, lets turn our phones off the Plot can't reach us. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Sounds great! Although usually I like to take my Plotless time to think about Robert and now I've got new material. Soz. Anyway...here's my totally inappropriate wedding song pick for our road tunes.

--- FAUXBERT AND PLOTRON drive off in the hideous van ---

KYLE: Hi! I've brought the Plot! There's a body being pulled out of the lake. Swirling is having the busiest day!

RUBY: Oh no I'm going to prison. #PrisonIsntSoBadRobertIsThere

IRRELEVANT PERSON: So much for being Team Fauxbert #Foreshadowing

[The Hideous Van with PLOTRON and FAUXBERT]

FAUXBERT: *Stops the van* *Soppy Face* I just want to savor this moment before the Plot hits the fan. #Foreshadowing

PLOTRON: Soppy Git *Derogatory*

FAUXBERT: *Soppy Face* We've made it. We're unbeatable.

PLOTRON: *He doesn't understand that Robert and I are inevitable Face*

FAUXBERT: Our lives are just going to keep getting better and better #HeavyForeshadowing #PlotKlaxon #TimeToGoFullVillainJohnnyBoy #BeOurHero #BringRobertAndAaronBackTogetherWithYourCrimes

--- PLOTRON AND FAUXBERT kiss ---

PLOT: Sorry sorry. I promise I'll make it up to you! #TeamRobert

[chaikachi]

The shattered glass and the ripple ooooo I’m so jazzed about your choice of artistic symbolism. It’s delicious! Ruby’s kintsugi. Oscar’s drowning. It’s poignant, simple, and devastating. Excellent work.

Eheheh thank you <3

The shattered glass is supposed to be a riff off the broken weapon case we see Ruby's reflection on in V9.

But if I think about kintsugi with her when that case had swirly vines that look similar to the pattern on Oscar's cane, while gold is a colour constantly attributed to him, I will ramble about it for an hour :D

As for Oscar, the original idea was a nod to The Little Prince in Vacuo. The "what makes the desert beautiful, is that somewhere it hides a well" quote. But also that kid has... a very surprising amount of water symbolism if you know where to look?

The first chore he does in his debut scene is pulling water from a well. Then, his emblem at first glance is two clock gears, at second glance is two sun wheels, and at third glance is two water wheels. The word "merge" being from the Latin root mergere: to dip, plunge, or drown; to immerse oneself. Oscar as a name also is a type of fish.

And there's more if you start looking at it through the "foil to Ruby" lens with the subtle pattern of fire symbolism they keep giving her.

Idk where I'm going with this but I am forever rotating these two in my mind.

also idk if it still notifies that ur ask has been answered if I saved it as a draft before posting, so I am going to tag you, @st-whalefall, just in case.

[hexedwinchester]

Supernatural S05E04 The End

Warning: this is going to be borderline Dean critical

Goshhhh Jared's voice is so soft as Sam. I can't.. his voicemail voice can put me to sleep.. I'm not kidding

It hurts me to see that Sam called Dean with a huge news that he is the Devil's vessel and Dean goes droning on about his idgaf attitude

this is also the second episode where Dean goes time traveling without Sam

when present Dean wakes up in future verse and looks outside the window, the camera pans to scene and you can see a theatre is playing Route 666

In the next scene there's a bar that's missing the letter K so instead of Lucky's bar it reads Luc y's bar! That's clever

another Ben Edlund episode focused on Dean

Future Dean bothers me. He says Sam didn't make it knowing full well Sam was trapped in his body post possession. So he did nothing to save him? And he is just going to off him?

Dean doesn't trust Dean..why am I not surprised

lol Dean is so bossy he is bossing himself 😂

present Dean getting the same treatment from future Dean that he gave to Sam.. how lovely..

Anyone else feel present Dean would love to have a threesome with future Dean and some hippie chick?? 😂😂😂

im actually curious to know under what circumstances Sam said yes to Lucifer in this future verse. It can't be the same as canon. Shame they never answered that..

it's also the second time we see Dean talking to Dean. The first one was in that episode where they get stuck in a dream because of the dream root. The 'you are going to die and this, this is what you're going to become"

omg.. Dean is abusive to himself too..

Did anyone else notice, that future Dean dies in 2014 and if you do the math, Season 9 came out in 2013, add the one year Sam spent as Soulless and guess what? Dean really did die in 2014

enter Lucifer!Sam. And the crowd goes wild! I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed Jared Padalecki in that all white suit! People responsible for his wardrobe and hair and makeup in that scene, I love you guys!!

that head tilt!!!!!!! It does things to me! Y'all don't understand, if I ever get a chance to meet Jared IRL I'd ask him to do the head tilt 😍😍😍

like oh my god Lucifer!Sam doesn't even smile the same as OG Sam..

wait what? How did I not notice this before? In the end when Sam meets up with present Dean, Dean pulls out Ruby's knife and Sam steals himself away! Did he think Dean would kill him now that he knows he is Lucifer's vessel??? Please tell me someone else caught this too!

Does Dean ever tell Sam about his trip to the future? I don't remember it but if he does I'll put it on the review

Can you tell i love Lucifer!Sam?

[verysanebsdfan]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 𝟷𝟷: ɴᴇᴡ ғᴀᴄᴇ?

The Perfect Equation: New face?

Ishigami Senku x fem!reader

masterlist tpe masterlist

<previous・・・・・ next>

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It did not take long for us to build a traditional ramen stand, equipped with a heating system for the broth and noodles, and enough space for all the toppings and preparations. Chrome was pulling the stand behind him, and stopped right in front of the bridge leading to the village.

"Just like how wars have been started over pepper, food has always been at the root of civilization." Senku crossed his arms and smirked, then took his position beside me, right behind the stand.

"Never thought I'd stand behind a traditional stand." I chuckle and Senku nods.

"With the power of ramen, this village will be mine to command!" Senku murmurs under his breath, it does not go unnoticed by Kohaku though.

"From your actions, it just seems like you're a nice guy sharing this tasty food with everyone, but every word out of your mouth sounds downright evil." She sweatdroped.

Suika caught the attention of the villagers with the tunes she made with the instrument. What even is it? Never mind that. I take a bowl and put in some noodles, then pour in the broth and then I hand it to Senku, who adds in all the meat. All villagers that gathered here were in awe at the rich smell of the stone world ramen.

Everyone is hesitant to try it, but then the village glutton, Ganen, takes a big slurp of noodles and his expression immediately brightens up, which motivates the other villagers to give it a try. "So springy and amazing! Just... Incredible!" He yelled while stuffing his mouth full of noodles with even more noodles.

I continue preparing the bowls and bowls of ramen, until a girl approaches Senku, from what Kohaku told me, this is Ruby. "You're the man who whipped up this delicious meal?" She asked in a love-struck way, and my chest tightened up a little. "Senku, was it? When it comes to girls, what's your type?" She asked while leaning over, I averted my gaze from them and returned to preparing ramen. Then I hear Senku's response. "Girls who can pump tons of oxygen into an iron forge." He said and I chuckled at that, the weird feeling in my chest disappearing.

"Hey, Kinro, Ginro. You guys should have some too!" Chrome approaches the two guards. "This ramen stuff is baaad, I'm telling ya!" He shouted and put the bowls right in front of their faces.

Ginro was just reaching for the bowl but Kinro held his shirt, stopping him. "We would never consume your dubious sorcerer's fare! Sentries have no business accepting food in the first place. Rules are rules." Kinro said sternly, and I was saddened. Seriously? Lame.

Kohaku walks closer to them and chuckles. "Oh? Then why do you still have that spear? Food is unacceptable but treasures are just fine?" She smirked and Kinro panicked.

I turn back to my work, pouring the broth in while listening to the conversations of other people. "Makes a man thirsty. What I wouldn't give for a cola right now." Someone said and I stopped. Not only did the person mention cola, but the voice is also awfully familiar.

"Cola?" Both Senku and I muttered in confusion.

"A friend of yours?" Kohaku asked and we shook our heads. "That's enough squabbling, Kinro, Ginro. In short, we have an enemy." She said with a deadly look in her eyes, eek- scary! Then the three of them cornered the intruder., pointing their blades at him.

It was a man with half black half-white hair and a scar running down his left cheek. He wore a lavender-pink Japanese-style overcoat over a wheat-colored yukata, tied with an unhemmed and jagged brick-orange obi under a thin rope, tied at the front.

"Is that..." I pause. "Gen Asagiri?" My eyes sparkle. I was his fan back in the modern world, even though it annoyed Senku since he found his books trashy. But let's be honest. He is a fine-looking man, so...

"Explain yourself. Unless you want your throat sliced open! Do you serve the long-haired man?!" Kohaku questioned him-

"Oh dear. Not that I don't like getting interrogated by such a cutie, but I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else." He turned around and looked at us with a pathetically fake confused expression. "I don't know any long-haired man. Ever since breaking out of the stone, I've been all by myself."

"I could recognize that face anywhere," Senku grumbled while side-eyeing me, clearly recalling all the times I mentioned the mentalist before the certification. "thanks to this idiot, right? (Name)?" He sighs.

"So you know him?" Kohaku lowered her blades and turned to us.

"Nope. Not even one millimeter. He's just some magician who wrote a trashy book on psychology." He said and I lightly smacked his back. "This idiot is a fan of his, though." He said and pointed to me. My cheeks tinted with pink and I crossed my arms.

"Way to expose me..." I grumbled.

"You've read my work?" He turned to Senku, "How wonderful. Calling it trashy is a bit cruel, though, especially in front of my fan." He said and smiled at me. "And please, call me a mentalist." He shows us a, quite fake, scared expression. "I suppose I should apologize for sneaking a bowl of ramen. So why don't you all just lower your weapons? I'm so scared my hands are shaking. Wouldn't want to spill even a drop of this precious ramen." He said, that even though it was clear his hands were not shaking at all, he did bait Ginro who tried to take it. Only for himself of course.

I take a look at Kinro and Kohaku, who seem to not believe him, unlike Ginro. "There I was, searching for today's meal, so imagine my surprise! That nostalgic aroma of ramen nearly had me reeling."

"Heh, heh, heh..." I hear Senku laugh a little. "I guess I'll buy your story. But there's no free lunch in this world, y'know? Plenty of work to be done by everyone who's enjoyed this ramen!"

And that is how everyone who had ramen ended up here, pumping air into the blast furnace, all of them sweating more than Olympic athletes. Then, I hear Senku approach Gen, who is pumping right beside me.

"Gen Asagiri. How are Taiju and Yuzuriha doing these days?" He asked and Gen let out a dry chuckle.

"Ah, so that's your game? Pull one over on me while I'm distracted and slaving away? You're a brave man. To challenge a mentalist to that sort of battle, but don't worry. They're doing just fine. Especially Taiju, with his bottomless stamina! But you know all about that, Senku" Gen said and showed us his evil grin. "Hear me out."

Kohaku then appeared behind Gen, her blade already out. "So he is working for long-hair! Should I kill him?" She asked.

"Wait, you fool." Senku stopped Kohaku, and continued, "Gen Asagiri, you were ten billion percent onto us from the start. So why just let it slip so easily that you're Tsukasa's pal?"

"Because the dynamic changed when I saw all of this."

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist: @thelonestarinthesky

[thirddoctor]

that was an episode for sure

I actually liked it a lot more than the previous season's finale in spite of how messy it was, because it felt more like the RTD I know from his first era, where he'd write the stupidest thing you'd ever seen in your life but somehow make it very engaging with a strong emotional hook.

The Doctor-Poppy relationship is definitely what carries the episode and I really, really liked it. Helps that Poppy is the cutest kid ever and the child actor does an amazing job.

I liked the Rani better in this episode. Didn't care about the Omega stuff one way or another.

Ruby was great here, but poor Belinda's main contribution was literally to take herself out of the plot so she could go and stand in a room.

Prediction for the next big DW twitter discourse: people will argue about whether or not Fifteen leaving Poppy with Belinda and running off feeds into negative stereotypes about black fathers.

I knew from the leaks that it was going to happen but I still have no idea why Thirteen was there. I kinda liked her characterisation here at least, though I don't buy her ever even contemplating saying I love you to Yaz lol

Genuinely really upset Ncuti's gone. I assume it was his choice to leave, and it makes sense since his career's blowing up and he probably didn't want to put everything on hold while the BBC waits to see if the Disney deal is renewed, but it sucks to lose him. He was so good in the role and it still feels like he just got here.

I'm also, uh, very dubious about the casting choice for Sixteen. I knew this was coming from the leaks too, and hey, I'm all for another female Doctor, but... Billie Piper??? I have nothing against her personally, but idk how I feel about bringing a companion actor in as the Doctor, and I especially have no interest in any kind of Rose nostalgia.

Also I was really rooting for a woman of colour in the role, but it seems the best we can do continues to be brief Jo Martin cameos........ :/

Not even a mention of Susan in this ep which was weird, but I assume she'll appear next season? Right?? I was convinced Poppy was going to turn out to be Susan's mom, which I'm kinda glad didn't happen, though I guess it still might.

Very funny that they canonised Time Lord sterility but not looms.

Anyway, massive issues with the ep but it had a really solid emotional core so I did enjoy it!

[buggyboba]

I have a lot of feelings about the season finale of Doctor who. Like...why though? Spoilers under cut.

They did the Rani so fucking dirty.

All that with Poppy?? Sidelining Belinda like that, making her a mom at the end to poppy....

I loved Ruby, but why was she the focal point when Belinda was this seasons companion? Everything felt so off.

Also do you ever haunt the narrative so hard you become the doctor?

I love Billie Piper, thrilled to see her again, but also like????

I used to really like RTD, now I'm like 🙃🤔

Also I saw a thing where they had confirmed a third season with ncuti gatwa, so like that was just a full blown lie then. Oh buggy it was a misdirect, so the new doctor....shhh I'm not going to hold your hand when I say this, we needed more with Ncuti, to let him thrive in the role, build more than what 16.5 episodes?

Like, with the 8 episode seasons everything is so rushed and things felt too unconnected and unfinished.

I dunno, that and all the people crying about woke and that doctor who 'needs to go back to its roots' fuck you for that by the way.

I guess the short version of this finale was "no what why?"

[gavinparished]

Gavin Parished x $alem - The Beats Inside My Head

So, here it is! My second project all together is also a first in a way, my first collaboration project. For context, this is an updated cover for DSPs, it has all the original pieces but since then we've both had name changes. I was going by Gavin Burtscher at the time, yes simply my legal name. I decided to change it to Gavin Parished a while later, because I don't want to know what it'd be like being a white-passing person named Burtscher trying to be an underground rapper. However, at this time it was even worse. My name was GBX, thank God I didn't keep that one. It was taken actually which is what motivated me to switch. $alem is a great name for that style of production honestly but at the time she was going by 2can. I honestly don't remember why she changed it but I prefer the newer name as well.

So, how did this record come about? If I remember corerctly, this album came out in 2018 so my memory is a bit foggy on it, $alem messaged me because she liked the songs I had out at the time. All I had released by then was a now lost single titled Sometimes and my first album, The Beats Inside My Head. After a lot of talking about how we'd do this we decided, after creating 2 of the 3 collab tracks, to just take our own songs and mix them in. So the project would become a rule of 3: 3 of her songs, 3 of mine and 3 collaboration songs. We both thought it seemed like a cool project so she attached 3 of her previously released songs, one of the most recent at the time, and I attached 2 I had made during the summer with Don't Go serving as the album outro. During the summer the two songs I made for this were Lost In Space and Unknown Temptation (along with my own single "i hate me, and you should too" which I'll get back to later).

Lost In Space was a very large song. I spent weeks on it. It was inspired by my electronic and dubstep roots in the music creation field along with the trap music I was currently into. It's the most complex song on the album, switching up every few bars so the beat is always unique sounding.

Unknown Temptation was my tribute to XXXTENTACION, as it had been finished a few weeks after he had passed away. It was finished before Lost In Space but came out after, I saved it to release with the album. This is the more "me" sounding song of my songs on the project. The weird synths, hard hitting drums, freaky loops. This is the DNA I kept as I grew. I made this song as a tribute to him because he inspired me a lot as an artist, despite all the rotten things he did as a person. I remember when he passed away, I was sitting in my room on vacation in Austria, visiting my family with my dad. His and Chester Bennington's deaths were, at the time, the only celebrity deaths that really effected me and honestly? Without X, there wouldn't be the same Gp standing here today. But you'll hear a lot more of that in my next album.

Before I get to Ruby's contributions I want to add that currently only our collab songs and my singles are up on DSPs, but this post inspired me to message her about getting her songs up and making it a whole again. However, if you'd like to hear it in it's original form, you can listen to the whole thing on SoundCloud, with links to both our profiles, below.

So, as far as her contributions go. The intro track, 10 kills g, was new at the time and I knew it had to be the intro. It got a rerelease and slight edit as the album dropped. Cocaine and Xaxax were her already released editions. We decided on those 2 after just talking about what the album is and what I'm doing creatively. They fit so we went with them. There's sadly not much more to tell here.

But now we have it, the 3 collaboration tracks. How'd they happen? Well, we made coffin first, which samples some Lil Peep interview clips. After making that beat around it we decided to go with that concept for all the tracks and sample artists we're inspired by. Ruby chose the artists and I did a lot of the lifting on the producion side. She was the lead on the first listed collaboration, Let Me Elevate Your Mind. She picked out the song and the voice clips while I did minimal editing. However, I did my best to work with what we had for graveyard robbers with the BONE$ and $UICIDEBOY$ clips. It fits her sound a lot more and honestly you can tell we were both amatuers at the time but that's part of the charm of these old projects, right? It was fun putting these together and eventually this lead to something a lot bigger that I'll get to down the road. You can listen to these tracks, as well as my 3, on Spotify. Here's the link to the 3 collaboration tracks.

So, the album is done! 10 kills g, Unknown Temptation, Let Me Elevate Your Mind and graveyard robbers were here, fresh to the public. And people liked it. It was nice. Honestly it was the last time for a long time that people in my life actually liked my music which felt great. Another album done, on to the next. During the creation of this record I was creating my debut hiphop mixtape, this time with vocals! This tape inspired how I went about producing a lot on there and my history wouldn't be the same without this cool project. Thank you to Ruby for reaching out for me and making The Wandering Minds happen. Sadly she doesn't produce much anymore but hey, maybe I can get her out and about again to do a lil sequel to this. I'll leave with this, show her SoundCloud some love! She's a really nice person and deserves it all.

[blottyink]

My August Reads Ranked

1. One Dark Window by Rachel Gillig: This was by far my favorite read this month. I love this book. I love it more than I love The Folk of the Air. More than the Dark Rise series. More than Captive Prince. Because it has EVERYTHING. The plot, the magic system, the characters, the writing, all of it is as equally good as the rest. Even though at the ending there’s a twist that’s sad, I was still EXCITED to see what happens next (more hype than sad). I root for the Nightmare too. “Long live the King.” The writing is show don’t tell and I fucking LOVE IT. I FUCKING LOVE IT. I am so tired of seeing a lot of telling in story books, and all my favs serve show.

2. Bunny by Mona Awad: This wasn’t as dark as I thought it was going to be, but it won me over with the writing. It’s clever, dark and hilarious. Samantha’s dilemma with the bunnies was relatable for me, especially the first smut salon she attends. It was a fun ride, and I enjoyed this book for reasons I wasn’t expecting to. The way Awad describes feelings is spectacular.

3. The Prisoner’s Throne by Holly Black: It was good to be back in Elfhame. I liked Prisoner’s Throne more than Stolen Heir because, of course, Jude and Cardan. I thought Wren and Oak’s story was cute and I had a fun time reading it, but I’m not over Jude and Cardan yet and that’s all I want.

4. The Stolen Heir by Holly Black: At first, I was a bit put off by how Jude-like Wren was, and how Cardan-like Oak was, but I had a good time. If Black wants to go back and write scenes showcasing Jude and Cardan falling in love, I’m all for that. Would love to see the two of them snuggling by a fire.

5. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King: I knew I’d like this because every time I watch King speak, he’s fun. He’s fun to listen to, he’s fun to read. He’s at his best when he’s shooting the shit. This was a good time.

6. The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde: I love the dialogue in this, it can be interpreted in different ways and it’s exciting to think about. I’ve never read anything as quotable as this book. I lived for every time Dorian threw himself on a couch in a fit of angst.

7. The Corsair’s Captive by Ruby Dixon: Dixon never lets me down. It’s another cozy, fun sci-fi romance with the big blue dudes. I have to read her shifter smut; it’s going to be everything.  

8. The Science of Storytelling by Will Storr: I appreciated how blunt this book was, and the information provided was interesting. If you’re looking for a book about why humans tell stories as well as scientific reasons why you should have an existential crisis. This is the one.

9. Victor by Brianna West: The most egregious offense to me was the smut. Because. How are you screwing an Angel, and it’s vanilla? No mention of where his wings are? Nothing special about his equipment? Only fucks in missionary? They could fuck in the air, but we’re going to sidestep that? Other than that the world-building wasn’t there for me, and the writing was a whole lot of telling. The adverb intense descriptions didn’t land for me, and I didn’t care about any of the characters. The fmc was annoying.

10. Haunting Adeline by H.D. Carlton: Zade is so Neil Breen coded. Like, if I found out Breen wrote this character for Carlton, it would make a lot of sense. I hate this book. I don’t know why I do this to myself.  

The books I'm most stoked to read in September are: Monstrilio by Gerardo Samano Cordova, Emily Wilde's Encyclopaedia of Faeries by Heather Fawcett and Two Twisted Crowns by Rachel Gillig.

[zablife]

Hi lovin the sleepover. Can I please request a spicy fic for Mr Solomons if I'm not to late. Preferably with a shy lady🫣 maybe is maid or secretary or whatever you think. And I do love some dirty talk if your up for it. 💗💗

Hi lovely, I hope you see this reply despite the fact that it's quite belated! Ty for your patience!

Morning Chores

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, abuse of power, degradation, blowjob

Your heels clicked loudly against the cement floor of the distillery, hand gripping at your skirts to keep them from impeding your frantic movements. You were late again and Mr. Solomons had warned you what was to come if you continued to displease him. There were no second chances with a man like him. That much was clear the moment you rounded the corner to find him standing with arms crossed and jaw clenched in disapproval.

"M-mr. Solomons," you huffed out in one terrified breath. "Good morning, sir," you added quickly with a sharp nod of your head.

"Yeah, it is, innit?" he remarked without pleasure, considering the cane he held in his palm. A long pause lingered in the air between you before he added, "Except for one thing pet...I ain't had my tea yet."

You gulped, remembering that was your first duty of the day. "I'll see to it right away," you assured him, attempting to walk past him. However, a large hand gripped you in the darkened corridor ceasing any movement.

You struggled momentarily, Alfie's grasp only tightening, fingers curling in a menacing snare. "I didn't dismiss you," he growled lowly, hot breath ghosting over your face.

"Wh-what else did you need?" you asked in confusion.

Alfie turned you to face him and you took note of the storm brewing in his hazel eyes, a look that both intrigued and terrified you. Your chest rose and fell quickly before him, garnering his attention suddenly, eyes falling to your bosom hungrily before he spoke.

"I think an apology is in order," he finally stated.

You were held captive by the swirl of green in his irises and the strong pout present upon his ruby lips. There was little you wouldn't have done in that moment even if your job hadn't been at stake. "I'm...so sorry, Mr. Solomons," you whispered as you held eye contact with him.

The air between you became charged with electricity, the hum of the machinery behind you thrumming in your pulse as you waited to see what he might do next. To your surprise, he stepped closer, leaving no distance between you as his cane came to rest upon the backs of your thighs.

He struck your backside roughly as he hummed to himself, the whimpers you tried to suppress only making him breath more heavily against you. Just when you thought you might cry out in protest, he stilled, leaning in to brush the shell of your ear. "You're sorry, eh?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

You nodded fiercely, the heat radiating between you enough to make you lose control of yourself. There was no need to speak when he tangled a ringed hand in your hair, forcing you to your knees suddenly.

"You're going to show me, little dove," he murmured, opposite hand flying to his belt buckle.

You scrambled before him, hands clawing at his thighs as he jerked at your roots possessively. "Behave!" he gritted out through clenched teeth before feeding you his cock, a low groan escaping as he entered your warm mouth.

Tears pricked your eyes instantly at the intrusion, his hips flush with your lips before you could register another thought. The curls of his pubic hair brushing your nose, you huffed, attempting to control your breathing, but it was useless amidst his relentless pursuit of pleasure.

You tried tapping at his broad thigh but he only scoffed, "Good girls don't need air, do they? Only need to serve. To please," he mumbled, already losing himself to the intense feeling.

Lungs burning and heart thundering, you accepted his challenge, working your tongue along his shaft like your life depended on it, gagging slightly every so often. "That's it, choke for me," he goaded. You could tell by his trembling thighs and labored breaths he was close and soon enough he was spilling down your throat.

You pulled off with a gasp, a trail of thick saliva connecting you to his dick. Alfie panted as he stumbled forward, hand stroking your head in a patronizing show of affection. "Such a good whore for me..." he praised. "Add that to your list of morning chores, treacle. Before the tea," he clarified with a smirk.

Zablife Sleepover

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