#hsquad write-a-thon

[quiet-onset]

Know Your Worth

Day 7: Freestyle

A/N: This is based on a pretty famous post about Bucky being about to lift Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir.

Word Count: 2,729

The first time was unintentional.

Bucky had just joined the Avengers. He thought the rest of the team was welcoming enough. Even Tony seemed to be warming up to Bucky. However, Bucky knew that he still had many things to atone for (if he still could). He spent most of his time doing one of three things: talking to Steve, going on missions, or simply avoiding the team.

It wasn’t until Thor and Dr. Banner arrived back on Earth that Bucky started to feel better.

They were in the middle of a mission when a ship similar to the quinjet landed in a nearby clearing. Thor leaped into the middle of the fight, taking on a slew of Hydra agents with his trusted hammer in hand. The team barely had time to greet him as they went for the information they were there for.

Bucky watched as Thor threw his hammer at a Hydra agent, sending him flying. While Thor continued fighting, Bucky did the same and used his metal arm to block the bullets being fired at him. Bucky watched the man fight and quickly realized that he was on their side. It wasn’t until Bucky saw a large group of agents headed towards Thor that he even thought of the hammer again.

Bucky dashed for the hammer, wrapping his flesh hand around the handle. He lifted it with ease and reared back before throwing it at Thor’s adversaries. “Watch out!” Bucky called.

Thor’s head snapped to the side when he saw his hammer fly past his line of vision. “What the..?”

When he looked back at Bucky, it was as if Bucky didn’t even understand the magnitude of his actions. Thor barely had time to register that someone else had, not only picked up Mjolnir but thrown it across such a distance. Thor made a mental note to speak to this man, whoever he was.

After that successful mission, Steve had told him that they were having a little party night; that attendance was mandatory. He knew the only way to get Bucky to come was to make it non-negotiable. He felt bad as Bucky’s shoulders slumped, so he added a caveat, “Hey if you’re not into it, like, an hour, you can go. I just think it’d be good for you, Buck.”

Bucky gave him the smallest of smiles, “Alright.”

When the time finally came, Bucky slipped on a pair of gray joggers and a sweatshirt. As he walked down the hall to meet the two men, he tugged on the sleeve of his shirt, trying desperately to hide as much of his metal arm as he could. Part of him knew it was inevitable that they’d see it, but he didn’t want to freak them out.

When Bucky entered the room, he found Tony hugging a tall, muscly man, his short brown hair seeming to be the main focus of the conversation. “I have to say, though, you’re rocking it, big guy.” Tony chuckled as he patted his bicep warmheartedly.

“I’m glad you think so, little man.” The man grinned.

Steve wrapped a friendly arm around the shorter man whose hair seemed to be going gray. Bucky took a deep breath and approached them, trying his hardest to seem friendly. Steve smiled and placed his free hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Bucky, this is Bruce Banner.”

“You probably know me as the Hulk.” Bruce quipped as he offered his hand.

“Right.” Bucky breathed nervously as he shook his hand. “The big green guy.”

The taller man sauntered over to the three with a kind grin as he laughed, “Of whom I’ve seen too much.”

“I’m so glad I don’t remember that,” Bruce mumbled.

“You must be Steve’s friend. Bucky Barnes, yes?”

Bucky nodded quietly, shaking his hand. “And you must be Thor.”

“The one and only.”

The rest of that night, Bucky was fairly quiet. He sat and ate his pizza while observing the rest of the Avengers joke with and tease each other. He noticed the small and shy glances Natasha shared with Bruce. He watched Tony’s eyes light up with amusement as Thor avidly told the story of his fight with the Hulk. Every once in a while, Sam would make a quiet playful jab at Bucky, but Bucky only snorted and kicked his shin.

Bucky wondered what it was like to really be a part of the team. Sure, he was officially a part of the team, but it wasn’t the same. It seemed to him that the team was like a family. Families had their fights, but at the end of the day, they’d still be there for each other. It wasn’t like that for Bucky. Sure, he played an integral part in missions, but he didn’t feel like he was home.

Bucky shook his head and reminded himself that this was supposed to help. He tried to push back his self-loathing thoughts as he tuned back into the conversation. “What happened to your hammer anyway?” Rhodey asked.

“Yeah, you usually carry that thing around like a baby.” Clint snorted.

“Oh, I still have it. It’s in my quarters, hold on.”

Bucky watched as Thor raised his hand above his head and waited. Suddenly, he could hear the wind whooshing through the hallway. Something crashed to the floor and shattered, causing Tony to groan, “Really?”

“Sorry.” Thor smiled.

Not a moment later, a hammer came flying into Thor’s hand, and he tossed it in the air with a proud grin. “My sister, Hela, took it from me, but I managed to get it back before she was destroyed during Ragnarok.”

“So, what did you do without it?” Wanda asked. “Is it not the source of your power?”

“It is not. I thought it was, too, but it turns out it is simply a way to harness my power.” Thor answered. He demonstrated with a snap of his fingers, the team watching in awe as lighting bolts danced around his fingertips.

“What’s so special about it?”

The team turned to Bucky with wide eyes. They were taken aback. Bucky didn’t speak much in general, so they were shocked to hear his voice. Bucky felt his chest closing up a bit as the nerves started to gather in the pit of his stomach. “I mean, I know it’s powerful and all, but I just mean besides that.”

Thor realized that Bucky did not, in fact, understand that what he did was a feat to be proud of. He smiled widely,  “My hammer, Mjolnir, it is a judge of sorts. I am the only one who can lift it, supposedly. But the tales have always said that anyone who is worthy of ruling Asgard will be able to wield it.”

“We’ve all tried,” Steve told Bucky. “I was close.”

“You were not.” Thor retorted.

“I lifted it.” Vision said. “But then again, I am a being created to be as close to morally perfect as possible.”

“That, I will admit.” Thor started with a chuckle. He placed Mjolnir on the coffee table and gestured to it. “Would you like to try?”

As Bucky slowly started to register what he had done only hours ago, he felt a warm feeling in his stomach. However, being put on the spot like that made him nervous. Bucky quickly shook his head and raised his hands, “No, I was just wondering. I don’t want to, ya know, rule Asgard or anything.”

Thor didn’t respond as his gaze was stuck on Bucky’s left hand. He hadn’t noticed during the fight, but the sight of his metal hand caught Thor by surprise. To be truthful, Thor thought it was pretty amazing. However, Bucky noticed his gaze and quickly hid his hand.

Bucky stood up and pushed his hands deep into his pockets. He quietly said a goodnight before rushing off to his bedroom. The warm feeling he felt moments before had quickly disappeared and was replaced with the beginnings of a panic attack in the center of his chest. Steve glanced at the team before standing as well, “I should go make sure he’s okay.”

When Steve left, Thor looked to the others, concern in his eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Bucky is very sensitive about his metal arm,” Nat told him. “Reminds him of his past with Hydra. He just needs some time.”

“And some therapy; Hydra messed him up,” Tony admitted.

Sam joined in, his genuine care for the Winter Soldier kicking in, “He’s been refusing to see a professional since he got here.”

Thor nodded as he took in all the new information, but still felt bad for Bucky. That night, when Thor laid in his bed, he smiled to himself as he came up with a plan. He waited for hours before slipping out of his room with Mjolnir in hand. He didn’t know for sure that it would work, but he would be disappointed with himself if he didn’t try.

The second time was out of curiosity.

It was six in the morning when Bucky got up to work out. He found that was when the gym was empty. He didn’t like working out with people around; he didn’t want any attention drawn to his arm. So, he took his water bottle and cloth and practically tiptoed all the way to the gym.

He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the empty room, something he did every morning.

When he entered, he was immediately met with a reflection of himself. He looked at it intently, the small voice in the back of his head whispering to him in Russian. He took a deep breath as he reached towards his shoulder, where the metal met his flesh. He thought back to the day woke up as he ran his fingertips over the scars, remembering how he tried to claw off the new prosthetic arm. Finally, he ripped his gaze away when he noticed something else in the distance.

Mjolnir.

He turned and stared at the hammer as he wondering it got there. He was about to call for Thor before he remembered how early it was. The man just got back to Earth, Bucky thought, Let him sleep.

He remembered how he picked up the hammer easily during the fight. He hadn’t even known it was supposed to be impossible. He just saw a man who needed help and helped him. He took slow, long steps toward the hammer, eyeing like it would disappear if he took his eyes off of it.

When he stood in front of it, his head started to fill with doubts. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe Thor had called for the hammer, and Bucky just hadn’t seen. Maybe the hammer will realize who Bucky really is this time and won’t budge.

Bucky sank his teeth into his bottom lip as he wrapped his flesh hand around the handle once more, still too afraid to touch it with his metal hand. He closed his eyes and tensed his arm. Taking a deep breath, he pulled upward.

Lo and behold, the hammer came up, too.

Bucky let out a shallow breath, allowing a small, genuine smile to grace his lips. He still wasn’t sure that Mjolnir was right, but it had to mean something that he was able to pick it up again. That warm feeling from the night before spread through his stomach again as his smile grew just a bit wider, tossing the hammer in the air and catching it swiftly.

The sound of heavy footsteps broke Bucky’s trance, his eyes widening as he placed Mjolnir back on the floor. He hurried over to his water bottle at the bench press. He sat and drank his water, hoping whoever was coming would believe he’d been sitting there the whole time.

Thor peeked his head into the gym, “Hello, Bucky. I was just wondering, have you seen — there you are.” He saw Mjolnir sitting on the floor, just where he left it. Thor bit back a smile as he turned back to Bucky. “Last night, you left before I could bring out the Asgardian mead. I’m not quite sure how Mjolnir got here. It was a crazy night.”

Bucky chuckled quietly, “Maybe I’ll join next time.”

“You should.” Thor pointed at him with the hammer. He smiled, “I trust you’re having a good workout?”

“Yeah, actually. I am.” Bucky nodded slowly.

“I’m glad. I will see you around, Mr. Barnes.”

Thor grinned as he left the gym with Mjolnir in hand, knowing Bucky had a small smile on his face.

The third and fourth times were quick, each time being as gratifying as the last. Once in the living room and once in the Quinjet. The hammer seemed to find it’s way back into Bucky’s flesh hand, a grin forming on his lips each time he lifted it.

Meanwhile, Bucky was getting better as time went on, and Steve could see that. He finally agreed to start seeing a psychiatrist, started to join in more conversations, and actually started hanging out with the team. Steve started to notice Bucky smiling more. Whenever Bucky felt a panic attack starting, he did the breathing exercises his psychiatrist recommended. He was truly starting to get to a better place. What Steve didn’t know was that Mjolnir had a huge part in that.

It isn’t until the fifth time that everyone started to notice that Thor was just leaving Mjolnir everywhere.

Especially in places that were super inconvenient for everyone else.

When Bucky walked into the kitchen, he saw the hammer sitting on top of the stove, alone and unattended. He stepped closer and looked around to make sure no one was around. He felt the familiar fear that he would suddenly not be able to lift it anymore. He pushed it aside, like he always did, and, for the first time, wrapped his metal hand around the handle.

And once again, Mjolnir rested in his head, a huge grin on Bucky’s face.

He wasn’t sure why, but this time it was different. His metal hand, the hand he loathed for so long, was worthy enough to lift the hammer of a god. He wasn’t sure what about him made him worthy, but if he could lift Mjolnir, there had to be something good in him. It was that revelation that kept Bucky hopeful every day.

Bucky heard footsteps coming towards the kitchen and quickly placed the hammer back on the stove. He made himself busy, digging in the fridge as Tony and Thor trudged into the kitchen. Thor immediately reached for the cabinet to retrieve his pop tarts. Tony opened his mouth to ask for the eggs, but Bucky was quicker and placed the carton in his hand. Tony chuckled, his voice thick from slumber, “I’m glad you know.”

Thor smiled as he looked back and forth from Bucky to Mjolnir, knowing that he must’ve picked it up again from the way it rested on its side. Bucky asked Thor if he needed milk, and Thor grinned widely, “Please.”

Bucky stood across from Thor with a bottle of water and the carton of milk. Thor grabbed the milk, noting that Bucky was still a bit hesitant about using his metal hand. Thor poured the milk into a glass while speaking nonchalantly, “You know, your metal arm is pretty cool.”

Bucky snorted, “Sure.”

“It is. I wish my sister had given me a metal arm rather than take my eye. Now I have terrible depth perception.” Thor joked.

Bucky laughed quietly. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

“I apologize, by the way. I left Mjolnir on the stove and—“

“It’s no problem.” Bucky smiled. “I didn’t need to use the stove anyway. Just grabbing this water before I go workout.”

Bucky left the room with a grin on his lips groaned loudly, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “Thor, you can’t just leave this thing everywhere. You used to carry this thing around like it was your offspring. Why do you leave it everywhere?”

Thor simply smiled and shrugged. “Because it helps where I cannot.”

Tony’s brow drew together in confusion, “You gotta stop talking in riddles, man.”

No one else would ever understand what he meant. It would be the God of Thunder’s and the Winter Soldier’s little secret.

[quiet-onset]

One Normal Case

Hsquad Write-a-Thon Day 2: Crossover Day - Psych x SPN (fight me, I dare you)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3,947

A/N: I know I missing day one, but my computer shut down in the middle of writing, so I have to write it all over again (insert rolling eye emoji here). If you’ve never watched Psych, I definitely suggest it; It’s hilarious! Don’t forget to tag me in your writing if you participate!

“Shawn.”

“Gus.”

“Shawn.”

Shawn sucked his teeth loudly, “Come on! You really don’t want this case?”

“No, Shawn, I don’t want this case. I didn’t want the last case. Or the one before that. Or the one before that.”

“What about the one before that one?”

“No!”

You chuckled at the pair from behind your newspaper, growing accustomed to their bickering. You hadn’t been a part of Psych Investigations for more than a year, but they were already like the big brothers you never had. You’d join the team as their brains; you were the best when it came to technology. Phones, computers, security systems, you name it.

“Don’t laugh at us.” Shawn teased. “You haven’t even given us your thoughts.”

Gus looked at you pointedly, “Yes, let’s hear what the other sane person thinks.”

You parted your lips to speak, but Shawn spoke up, his brow furrowed and his hands up defensively, “I already said what I think.”

“I think,” You started. “That the rent is almost due, and we’re broke, so sorry, Gus.”

“I am the winner. Suck it.” Shawn sang in a ridiculous voice.

“You suck it!” Gus retorted.

“You suck it!”

“Both of you suck it!” You interjected. “Now, let’s go.”

It was a matter of time before the three of you were in Gus’s blueberry of a car. The two decided that a pit stop for food was necessary, so you arrived at the station ready, bellies full of chicken tacos. Shawn stepped through doors, calling for the attention of the tall detective, “Lassie, sound the trumpets and roll out the red carpet! The master is here!”

“Spencer. Guster.” Lassiter nodded. “You.”

You rolled your eyes as you looked up at him playfully, walking towards the interrogation room. “You know, just because you don’t know how to use Microsoft Word doesn’t mean you have to take it out on me.”

He followed quickly behind, “I know Word! It’s Excel I don’t know.”

“Ouch, self-burn!” Shawn said from the rear.

Gus snickered, “Those are rare.”

“Shut up!” Lassiter said quietly. “You all need to tone it down today — Spencer, I swear to God if the next word you say is in a deep voice, I will strangle you myself.”

Shawn looked at Gus, then to you and Lassie before clearing his throat, “Point taken. Continue.”

When you arrived in the spectator area of the interrogation room, you looked through the glass with confusion. There were two men in suits you didn’t recognize, questioning the suspect that had been apprehended.

To say they were attractive would be an understatement. They were a pair of Adonises. They were clearly very tall, and their suits formed to their bodies well. One had short brown hair, a stern look on his face as he pointed down to the picture and back at the suspect. The other leaned back in his chair, observing the suspect as he pushed a strand of his long, shiny hair away from his face.

“Jesus, Y/N, close your mouth.” Shawn chuckled.

“What?” You defended. “They’re attractive. And one of them might have better hair than you.”

“You take that back.”

“Who are they?” Gus interrupted with the obvious question.

Lassiter glared at the two, “FBI. They say they’re laying claim to the case.”

“No, we need this case, Lassie.” You said urgently.

“Captain says we’re only supposed to help if asked. Otherwise, I don’t want to see any of you anywhere near this.”

You huffed as Gus and Shawn answered with a yes that obviously meant no. Looking back into the interrogation room, you saw the two men stand from the table. You watched the man with the long hair pull his suit jacket closed with one hand as he followed the other. In a matter of seconds, they were standing in front of you and the rest of the gang.

The one with short hair spoke up, his voice gruff as he directed Lassiter, “You keep him locked up until further notice.”

“We’ve got some leads we’re gonna follow up on, but we’ll be back. So call us if you find anything.” The taller man nodded.

The other looked at you, Shawn, and Gus, a look of boredom mixed with confusion in his eyes. “Who are you?”

Shawn stepped up first, as usual. “I am psychic detective, Shawn Spencer.” He pointed to Gus. “This is my partner, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” Then to you, “And our assistant, John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

“His name is my name, too.” You added with a smile.

The one with long hair let out a quiet chuckle, while the other deadpanned Lassiter. “What the hell is this?”

“These are a bunch of dimwits who were just leaving.”

“I was not and I shall not. I shan’t.” Shawn started simply. He turned to the FBI agents, scanning them quickly. He noticed that the stern one had bruised knuckles and placed his fingers to his head; his signature psychic move. “I sense that you’ve been in a fight recently.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s what he does.” You told him. “He’s a psychic.”

“Then what does he need you two for?”

Gus shrugged, “Sometimes we help. But most times, we’re his self-control.”

“Also!” Shawn said loudly. He pointed to the tall one and looked back at you, “That one is single, so you might wanna hop on that saddle.”

Your mouth dropped open as you punched Shawn in the arm. He groaned loudly, holding his arm as you looked back at the FBI agent, who was simply smiling and laughing. The other one shook his head and walked past you toward the exit, “I don’t want these clowns near this case, Lassiter.”

“Noted,” Lassie answered.

You watched as the remaining agent pulled out a card and handed it to you, “You’re not supposed to be actively working on the case, but if you happen to come across something, give us a call.” He trailed off, asking for your name.

“Y/N.” You felt the heat creep up through your neck as he smiled.

“Y/N.” He repeated, a kind smile on his lips.

He was gone moments later, and Lassie took the suspect to lockup. Shawn and Gus began to tease you, singing about how you now had a boyfriend in the FBI. Before the two could start their ridiculous attempts at belting, you punched them both in the arm, “I hate you both.”

“I didn’t even do anything,” Gus whined.

Shawn rubbed at the spot, “Now, my flawless skin is gonna have a bruise. I hope you’re happy.”

As you looked down at the business card, reading over the name and phone number, you smiled, “Actually, I am.”

“John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt?”

“It was a joke, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes as they got into his car, preparing to go for the first lead. He huffed as Sam settled into his seat. “This was supposed to be a break from crazy, Sam.”

“I know, and it will be. Just relax.”

Dean let out another annoyed sigh as he drove toward their first lead in downtown Santa Barbara. After everything the brothers had been through, they just wanted a simple case. Open and close, like they used to do. Call it the Winchester way of getting back to normal. But, of course, every case had a catch.

This catch seemed to be a wanna-be psychic, Tweedle-Dee, and Tweedle-Dum.

“Maybe he really is psychic,” Sam said. “You don’t know.”

“If he was really a psychic, he would’ve turned and run at the sight of us.” Dean scoffed.

“That other guy and the girl vouched for him though.”

Dean side-eyed his brother, rolling his eyes at Sam’s naïvete. “Is this about the girl?”

Sam returned the favor, “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I know it’s been awhile since you got some, but are you really gonna go for the girl who is the assistant to a quote, physic detective?”

“So you think she’s crazy?” Sam asked with a light chuckle.

“Batshit. All of ‘em.”

Sam thought back to the way you punched Shawn in the arm and the way you tried to hide your smile when he handed you his card. He bit his lip to keep Dean from noticing his smile, “Well, if they’re working for the Santa Barbara PD, they’ve gotta be doing something right.”

“Sure, whatever.” Dean waved him off as he pulled into the parking lot of a commercial building. “All I know is that I’m not gonna be responsible for them getting killed, so they need to stay away from this.”

The brothers went into the building to follow up their first lead. Based on the autopsy report, they were fairly sure they were dealing with a wraith. The suspect in question was a janitor in the building where the victims saw their therapists. So, all that was really left was to find out which of the therapists was the wraith.

As the two approached the doors to a group therapy session, Dean heard a familiar voice. “No, the guy is Yin and the girl is Yang, but they work together to outsmart me when I solve crimes. Did I not introduce myself? I’m psychic detective Shawn Spencer, and this is my partner, Michael ‘Mailman’ Wobbles.”

“My legs are uneven.”

Dean groaned and ran a hand over his face, “You’ve gotta be kidding.”

“I’m gonna check out reception.” Sam chuckled, leaving Dean to deal with the two men.

When Sam arrived at the reception desk, he saw you once again. You were sitting behind the smooth wooden desk with an earpiece in your right ear, typing away on the computer as if you belonged there. He chuckled to himself; to any other person, you’d be the perfect picture of a cute receptionist. He, however, knew better.

When he walked up to the desk, you didn’t look at him. The sound of the pads of your fingers hitting the keys on the keyboard filled the silence. Same cleared his throat, and you finally looked up. You smiled at him, “Oh hey, what’s up?”

“So you’re a receptionist now?”

“I’m basically a receptionist at Psych anyway. Shawn and Gus never let me do the fun stuff.”

“Gus?” Sam asked.

“The other John Jacob…”

“Gotcha.” Sam nodded, a small smirk tugging the corner of his mouth upwards. “So, Psych must be where you really work.”

You looked back at him with the same face. “Yep. Mind telling me where you really work?”

Sam was taken aback, “Excuse me?”

“I’m really good with computers and hacking and stuff. Shawn had a premonition of sorts, so I did some digging.”

“You hacked into the FBI?”

You shrugged at his surprised face, “You say that like it’s hard.”

Sam couldn’t believe that they’re cover had been blown so quickly. That combined with the fact that you technically worked with the SBPD had him on edge. He and Dean could not get caught again. They had too much to worry about without having to figure out how to escape the police again.

You noticed the worried look on his face as you returned to typing. “Don’t worry, we haven’t told anyone. Shawn and Gus are actually kind of in awe.”

Sam let out a nervous breath, “You say anything confident enough, and people will believe you.”

“Apparently so.” You snorted.

Sam leaned in closer to you, lowering his voice to a whisper, “There are things going on here that you don’t understand.”

You’d have been lost in his eyes if you weren’t so prideful, “And you do, Agent?”

“Yes, I do, and—“

Suddenly, Sam's eyes were locked on the security camera feed behind you. He saw not one, but two wraiths. Their true faces showed on camera, their rotting flesh pulling apart at the seams. But when Sam turned around, they seemed like two normal therapists having a conversation. “Do you know who they are?” Sam asked, nodding in their direction.

“No, but I can find out.” You said slowly, your brow furrowed in confusion.

“I need names and addresses.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s something I have to deal with. Just,” He paused when you handed him the printed sheet of paper, two names and addresses listed on it. He sighed as he looked back up at you, sensing the all too familiar weakness of emotion building up in his chest. “Just stay away. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You sensed a level of sincerity in his eyes and nodded, “Whatever you say, Sam.”

Sam thanked you and turned to leave before doing a double take. With a small smile on his lips, he asked, “You know my name?”

“The internet is a vast place. Tell Dean I say hi.”

You watched as Sam laughed quietly and turned to leave again. It wasn’t until he was out of sight that you pulled the information back up on the computer. You opted to scribble it down instead of waiting for the printer. You got up from the receptionist’s desk and quickly made your way to the entrance where Dean had just finished scolding Shawn and Gus. “2554 Cobalt. 6243 Brentwood.” Shawn whispered.

“What the hell are you talking about, Shawn?” Gus asked.

“The enormous tree of a man with the hair of a wild stallion. The paper in his hand had two addresses on them.”

You jogged up to them, “You were right. They’re not FBI.”

“Well, we gotta tell Lassie,” Shawn said, reaching for his phone. You smacked his hand away and rolled your eyes when he whined.

“I think they’re doing something dangerous. We gotta go after them.”

Shawn gasped, a grin slowly appearing, “An adventure, you say?”

You both looked to Gus, who folded his arms, “No. Nuh-uh. No way. You can’t keep dragging me into this white nonsense, Shawn.”

“Normally, I’d be with you, Gus. But whatever these guys are into, I don’t think the police can help.” You offered.

“Besides, I need you, Gus.” Shawn threw his arm around his best friend. “Who else would keep me from doing too much white nonsense? Otherwise, I’d just spiral into the pool that is White Nonsense, trademark, and you know I can’t swim.”

“Yes, you can, Shawn.” Gus glared at him.

Shawn sucked his teeth, “Oh, come on!”

You and Shawn stared at Gus until you could feel him breaking down. He rolled his eyes before roughly digging his car keys out of his pocket, “I swear, if I die, I’m haunting both of you.”

You chuckled as you followed them to the Blueberry, “Gus, you’ve literally had a gun pointed at your face before. What could be worse than that?”

It could, apparently, be worse than that.

The three of you had been sitting in the Blueberry for a few hours down the street from the first address when one of the therapists arrived. You recognized Dean’s old Impala parked across the street from the house and hoped they hadn’t noticed you. You watched as the therapist pulled into her garage. Before the garage door could close, you saw her walk to the trunk of the car. She hit the trunk with the palm of her hand just the garage door closed completely.

“I think someone’s in there,” Shawn noted.

“What do we do?” Gus asked.

Just then, you saw Sam get out of the car and lean over to speak to his brother. “Guys, look.”

You all watched as Sam pulled out a gun from the back of his pants and headed toward the house. Gus leaned back in surprise, “So, we’re just gonna watch a fake FBI Agent break into this lady’s house?”

“Don’t be such a wuss, Gus.” You teased.

“Yeah, Gus.” Shawn snorted.

“So I don’t wanna be an accessory to murder, and, all of a sudden, I’m a wuss,” Gus muttered.

“If you were an accessory, it’d be sunglasses. Maybe a sleek watch, but that’s a bit overboard.”

“Um, I’d make a sexy-ass watch, Shawn.”

“Can we focus here?” You clapped loudly, gaining their attention. “Because the other therapist just got here.”

It dawned on you then that Sam had gone by himself. His brother had driven off to God knows where, so Sam was outnumbered. You unlocked the door and slid out, “I’m going inside.”

You could hear the pair calling after you, but you kept jogging towards the house. You snuck around the side to get to the back, trying your best to stay quiet. You noticed that back door was open, so you slipped inside.

You pressed your back against the wall of the kitchen, leaning over slightly to get a glimpse of the living room. That’s when you saw a heinous sight.

A young girl, probably no older than twenty-five, was tied to a chair and gagged as tears ran down her face. You could hear her trying to say, “I’m not crazy! I’m not!” As she sobbed into the gag. She saw you then, and her eyes widened. You gestured for her to stay quiet as the two therapists smiled at each other, saying something about sharing her. You looked around the room to try and come up with a plan when you saw it.

In the mirror, you saw their faces of rotting flesh and almost gasped. It was like they were dead, but only in their reflection. The moment you parted your lips to gasp, you felt a hand over your mouth and an arm around your waist.

You were pulled back against the wall, the confusion never leaving your face. When you looked up, it was Sam’s eyes that were boring into your own. He placed a finger to his lips and gave you a pointed look that definitely meant you’d talk about that later.

“What was that?” One of the therapists, Dr. Franklin, asked.

“I’ll check it out.” The other, Dr. Hanley, said.

Sam quietly handed you the gun which trembled in your hands. He went into his suit jacket and pulled out a long metal blade. Your mouth fell opened when he reared back, grunting as he sent the blade through the heart of Dr. Hanley.

You felt the urge to scream as blood started to flow from the wound, but someone else had beaten you to it.

When your head turned, you saw Gus shrieking at the sight, Shawn stoic next to him. “What the hell?” Shawn shouted.

“Look at his reflection!” You called to them.

You watched their expression change slowly from surprise to fear when they caught sight of Dr. Franklin’s rotting flesh. “Oh my god. Oh my god!” Gus screamed.

“Get the girl and get out! Now!” Sam ordered as he began to fight Dr. Franklin.

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Gus said, already headed out the door. Shawn grabbed him by the collar and gave him a disapproving look when the first gunshot sounded. They scrambled for the wall, pressing their backs against as another gunshot sounded.

“Sam!”

Suddenly, the front door was kicked open, Dean on the other side. He quickly saw the wraith and aimed his gun, shooting three times. The wraith turned, unharmed by the bullets. “The one time I don’t use silver bullets,” Dean grumbled.

You peeked back out to see the wraith headed towards Dean. Sam was on the floor, cradling his head with blood pouring out of his shoulder. Dr. Franklin must’ve shot him, you thought.

You turned to Shawn and Gus, “Get the girl out.”

“Are you crazy?” Gus asked. “We’re not leaving you here!”

“Just do it!” You demanded.

They gave each other reluctant looks before heading into the living room and untying the girl, leading her out fairly easily since Dr. Franklin was preoccupied with Dean.

With Sam nearly incapacitated and Dean unable to kill the wraith, you knew there was only one option. You scrunched your face in disgust as you leaned over and yanked the long silver blade out of Dr. Hanley’s body. Slowly, you walked over to Dr. Franklin with the blade in your hand, your presence undetected. You watched in fear as a long needle started to protrude from Dr. Franklin’s wrist. Then, after taking a deep breath, you raise your arms over your head and forcefully brought the blade down through Dr. Franklin’s chest.

His body fell over to the side as you offered Dean one of your bloody hands. He cleared his throat before quietly thanking you, taking your hand. You both went over to Sam and helped him up, his groan of pain rumbling through his chest.

When you arrived outside, Shawn and Gus were comforting the girl as the sound of sirens became evident. Dean looked at all of you with sincerity, “Thanks. You were actually a big help.”

“So what are we gonna tell the police?” Gus asked.

“That rotting flesh people were trying to kill this girl.” Shawn started. “Obviously.”

Dean tried not to deadpan the two but patted them on the shoulder anyway. “Just let us do the talking.”

“I leave town for one day, and you’re in a fight with kidnapping therapists.” Jules hugged him tight as he chuckled. “Shawn, promise me you’ll stop doing stupid stuff.”

“You know I can’t promise that. Stupid is in my nature.” He told her, kissing her forehead.

She turned to Gus who patted her on the back. “You know I’m looking out for him.”

“Sadly, I am, too.” You told her. You quickly found yourself looking past Jules at Sam who had just finished wrapping up his gunshot wound. He was with his brother, a smile on both their faces as he sat in the back of the ambulance. Jules followed your eyes, and she gasped.

“Which one?” She asked.

“Long hair,” Shawn said.

“Y/N!” She grinned, slapping your arm.

“And he’s single.” Gus teased.

“If you don’t go over there right now, I will be disappointed in you forever,” Jules warned as she tucked into Shawn’s side.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You laughed.

You approached the Winchesters with a shy look on your face, immediately catching Sam’s attention. When you stood in front of the two, Dean rolled his eyes with a small, endearing smile on his lips. “I’m gonna go fill Lassiter in.” He said, letting his hand rest on your forearm as a gesture of thanks before leaving you to speak with Sam.

“Wraiths?” You asked.

“One of the many supernatural creatures we hunt.” He nodded. “Hey, I really just want to say thank you. I’m not sure what would’ve happened if you weren’t there.”

“Well,” You grinned bashfully, “If you really want to thank me, I can think of a way or two.”

“Really?” He smiled, his dimples indenting deep in his cheeks. When you nodded, he laughed and offered you his hand. “C’mere.”

He pulled you closer until you were practically standing between his legs. You leaned down instinctively as he tilted his chin up, brushing his nose against yours. It was only when Sam heard your quiet, cute laugh that he pressed his lips to yours. You cupped his jaw, reveling in the scruff that tickled your palm as your lips moved languidly together. When you both pulled away to breathe, you heard Shawn’s voice rise over the murmur of police officers.

“I saw that in a vision! I predicted that!”

Your forehead resting against Sam’s, you both laughed breathlessly.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “Is he really psychic?”

“Not at all, no.” You chuckled, pecking his lips once more. “But don’t tell anyone that.”

“I would never.”

[quiet-onset]

2k Followers Celebration!

Hello all!

Firstly, I just recently hit 2,000 followers, and I wanted to let you all know how thankful I am. Never in a million years did I think that people would actually like my writing, so hear me when I say I love all of you and am beyond grateful for your support! You guys mean the world to me; the ones that like, the ones that reblog, the ones that leave comments, I see you all and love you all with every fiber of my being.

So, in celebration, I was cheesy and decided on a write-a-thon. (Let’s hope this works out lol.) I encourage everyone to participate if you like. Tag me in anything and everything you write, I’d love to read it! There’s no specific fandom you have to write about. Marvel, Supernatural, Hamilton, In the Heights, The Flash, Vikings, their respective actors, it doesn’t matter! (Y’all know I will write about almost anything lol, so you should, too!) Each day has a different prompt, so there’s a variety to choose from. Don’t stress yourself out about it, but I’ll definitely read whatever you write.

The write-a-thon will take place from April 1st to April 7th, and I’ll tag everything pertaining to this write-a-thon under #hsquad write-a-thon. Reblog and spread the word! If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to send me an ask or a message.

Day One: Fake Relationship AU - 4/1/18

Everyone’s guilty pleasure! Write about your characters/actors, for whatever reason, having to have and/or maintain a fake relationship.

Day Two: Crossovers - 4/2/18

Ever wondered how Dean would act in West Wide Story? Or how Usnavi would survive in Hell’s Kitchen? Write about your characters/actors in another fictional universe. Be aware, there are many routes you can take with this (e.g. time travel, teleportation, evil scientist idk).

Day Three: Song Inspiration - 4/3/18

We’ve all heard that one song that reminds us of our OTP. It can be by any artist; even if it’s by that guy you think nobody has heard of. Write a fic that is based on the lyrics of that song, cute, sad, bittersweet, whatever!

Day Four: Picture Day - 4/4/18

Have you ever seen a picture that just inspires you? Pick a piece of art, a painting, a drawing, a photograph, a statue, and write fic based on it. It could be about how they got to be in the picture or what the art means to your character. Just build your story around a piece of art. 

Day Five: Holiday Day - 4/5/18

Some poeple love holidays and others hate them. Write a story about your characters/actors experiencing a holiday. It doesn’t have to be one of the big ones, like Christmas or Thanksgiving. It can be Labor Day, Mardi Gras, even Barack Obama day! (It’s a holiday in Illinois, I checked.)

Day Six: POC Representation - 4/6/18

I’m sure that we’ve all noticed there aren’t as many fics that cater to people of colors, like yours truly. Take this day to make your reader and/or OC a person of color. And just so you know, THIS DOES NOT JUST MEAN BLACK! I’m obviously gonna support my sisters and brothers, but I wanna see Latinx, Asian, Pacific Islander, just fill it up with all different cultures!

Day Seven: Freestyle - 4/7/18

Did literally none of the other prompts inspire you? No need to fret! Just because I didn’t give you the idea doesn’t mean you can’t participate. Write about whatever you want, bro. You can write about another planet, the second coming. You can write a poem if you want. Just write!