#objectively the Wrong way to learn Latin but alas here we are

[essektheylyss]

super duolingo two week trial more like latin course speedrun

[supernaturalfreewill]

Words: 6,985 Sam x Reader Warnings: language (Umm, ya, I wrote it so obviously there's swearing... you should just take this warning as a given always for my fics), mentions of blood and injury, anxiety and fear Summary: Sam tries to get to Y/N and wake her while Dean, Cas, and Crowley wait for their showdown with Rowena. A/N: Alas, all good things must come to an end, and so it is with this story. I hope you enjoy reading this conclusion as much as I enjoyed writing it. This is the final part of our Mess Is Mine series. This is part of a series! Read the other parts here! 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

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Dean was watching the flames and smoke rise higher and higher beyond the point where Sam had disappeared into the tangled mass of thorns. He paced in his fiftieth frantic circle and stopped in front of Cas.

”I don’t like this,” he said. His green eyes were wide and frantic, and his stomach was twisting.

The angel nodded. “I know. But give him time.”

”How much time?” Dean asked. “There’s no way for us to know if something goes wrong. We can’t see shit in there!” Dean turned again to face the crumbling, smoking ruins feeling helpless and sick.

Suddenly, Crowley’s voice behind them snapped their attention elsewhere.

”We’re about to be otherwise engaged,” he said. “Hello, Mother.”

The angel and Dean whipped around to see Rowena standing just beyond Crowley, a fierce and wild light in her eyes, her red lips pressed together in a thin line. “Fergus,” she said through her teeth. “Have you not yet learned your lesson about meddling in things that don’t concern you?”

Rowena let out a reverberating yell in Latin and Crowley was caught off-guard, catapulting through the air and crashing down hard on the crumbling black-top, his head banging back against the rocky ground, momentarily jarring even the demon.

Dean withdrew his pistol, already loaded with witch-killing bullets, but Rowena was too fast. “Et furantur ignis!”

The grip of his gun suddenly burned red-hot, scorching his palm, and was ripped from his hands. Another flick of her hand a stinging gash ripped through Dean’s chest. Blood began to soak his shirt. He staggered backward under the radiating waves of pain. Cas appeared behind Rowena and extended a hand toward her. A blazing light began to grow around him and his eyes glowed cobalt. A few more seconds and Rowena would have been dead… but Crowley had pulled himself up and was instantly beside her. Cas hesitated long enough for the King of Hell to snap his fingers. Rowena was bound in chains tight enough to prohibit her from standing and she fell sideways to the ground hard, gagged, though that didn’t stop her from trying to scream.

Crowley stood over her and smiled down at her helpless form. Rage still brewed in her eyes. Dean came rushing over and also looked down at the witch, hatred burning furiously on his face. He retrieved his gun with his uninjured hand, pressing his other arm over the laceration in his chest, which was still bleeding freely. The blinding white light faded around Cas and his blue eyes no longer glowed so piercingly.

Dean pointed his gun squarely at Rowena’s head and cocked the hammer.

”I’m afraid I must object,” Crowley said, stepping in the way.

Dean’s jaw clenched and he gave the demon a warning look. “Crowley. I would suggest you move your ass if you’d like to keep those demon cuffs off your wrists.”

The next instant both he and Rowena were gone.

”Crowley! GODDAMMIT!” Dean roared. He uncocked his gun and doubled over from the pain in his chest, fat droplets of crimson blood falling to the ground.

Cas approached him swiftly and pressed two fingers to his forehead, instantly healing the burn on his palm and the gash across his torso.

Unexpectedly, a familiar gravelly voice spoke from nearby and Cas and Dean turned in surprise to see Crowley again standing a short distance away, though there was no sign of the witch. “No hard feelings,” he said. “Business is business. You can’t really say you expected me to wait around for you to get me right where you wanted me again, can you?”

Cas’s brow furrowed and he studied the demon. Dean’s jaw tensed.

”If Moose is successful in retrieving the prophet there is no way I’m leaving here a free demon, and certainly not with her in my possession. So for now, I’ll cut my losses, and I’ll see to it that my mother suffers immensely for all eternity while I plan my next hostile takeover. I do look forward to our next chess match. So long, boys,” he said. He gave a stiff bow and before Dean could even open his mouth to object, the demon was gone again.

Dean and Cas exchanged an aggravated look and Dean ran his hand over his face in frustration. He turned back toward the towering cloud of smoke and the burning hedge of thorns, many of which were now blackened or crumbling to charcoal.

Somewhere in all that chaos was Sam…

_ _ _ _ _ _

The smoke was becoming too thick and heavy for Sam to move through the path he was blazing upright. He had made it back into the ruins of Crowley’s underground fortress and the crumbling walls were trapping the smoke and heat. It stung his eyes and the back of his throat, but he was barely aware of it, just as he hardly felt the scrapes and scratches from the thorns he had blazed through, that seemed to grapple at him like the fingernails of some malevolent entity, cutting him like the blades of an endless forest of knives. Sam had no choice now but to proceed on his hands and knees to stay below the worst of the smoke. His sweat and blood was running into his eyes and he had to wipe his face with his shirt every so often as he slowly but steadily pushed forward.

He made it to the bottom of the stairs and had cleared enough of the hallway to make it to the room Crowley had held you in, the one he and Dean watched begin to crumble when the horrible nightmare of those vines had first erupted and started to pull the place apart. He crawled through the space he had just cleared in the hedge, oblivious to the bits of hot ash that fell and burned him as he moved through the skeleton of charred vines.

He was almost there. Though his lungs were burning, though the back of his throat felt scorched and cracked and dry, though every bit of him was bloodied or burned, he felt none of it and thought only of getting to you.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You stared in wonder as the blackness which had been so absolute, thick and heavy and suffocating like wet velvet, burned away before your eyes, catching the orange and red glow and spreading it like kindling.

Before you was now an expanse of warm, white light and you breathed it in, feeling a calm coming over you as it continued to consume the darkness that still held half the world you were in. You found with curiosity that as the radiance expanded and shone down on the several inches of water you were standing in, it was transformed.

It no longer appeared to you as some endless, threatening void, but now seemed a peaceful lake, responding to the movement of your feet with ever expanding ripples. This made you feel less helpless; you had some control over at least the smallest thing. The temperature of the water even seemed to lift, warming from a frigid basin that numbed your submerged feet and ankles to an almost comfortable temperature.

You didn’t know what this meant. Perhaps—maybe you were dying? People always talked of white lights and an overwhelming sense of peace when it came to the end… Maybe you were finally being released from the torment of that horrific dark place to move to a better one.

But the next moment you knew that this wasn’t so.

Beyond the blackness, within the now expanding light, you again heard a familiar voice—Sam’s voice. And he was saying your name.

You desperately wanted to call out to him, but you couldn’t find your voice.

You glanced behind you. There was only a thin ribbon of black left on the far horizon, and you raised a hand to shield your eyes from the overwhelming white glare. The light surrounded you and began to warm you up.

You felt like you could melt into it in contentment.

You heard Sam’s voice, though distant and echoing, call your name again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Sam pulled himself through a narrow space he had just made in the hedge, using the last drops of holy oil he had with him, and was amazed when he pulled himself through, and down over a large dislodged piece of concrete and twisted rebar that he was in an open area. All around was a tangled net of the horrible thorns and vines, forming an enclosing weave of nearly impenetrable wood, like a cave, but he had miraculously made it to the center.

And as he moved farther in, still ducking beneath the smoke and coughing from the ash in his mouth, he found you.

You were lying on a flat slab of concrete. Your body was bent slightly at your hips with your knees to one side and your legs partially bent. Your back was flat on the ground and your hands rested on your stomach. You looked as if you had lain down for a nap, and simply slept on while chaos grew and raged around you.

You looked fragile and small surrounded by such disorder. Your skin was pale and smudged with soot. Flecks of ash had drifted down to land on your cheeks, stuck to your eyelashes and settled in your hair.

Sam rushed to your side, nearly tripping over his own feet. He spoke your name involuntarily though he knew it wouldn’t rouse you.

His hands trembled and hesitated before they made contact with you—one resting down on top of yours, the other wiping snowflakes of ash from your cheek and gently cupping your face. Tears of relief burned in Sam’s eyes. Your skin was warm and your chest was moving steadily up and down.

Sam studied your face desperately. He brushed your hair away from your forehead and drank in the sight of you.

”Please…” Fear again gripped his heart and he tried to hold on to what Cas had told him back in the bunker—but being here now, that felt like a lifetime ago. What if you didn’t wake? “Please, Y/N,” he whispered again. Tears broke over his lower lids and spilled onto his stained cheeks, mixing with the soot and blood and sweat clinging to him. “Come back to me. Please.”

Sam grasped your hand in his, brushed his fingertips over your cheek and gently clasped your face, his thumb tracing your bottom lip before settling along your jaw. With his heart thundering in his chest, Sam leaned over you, wished and hoped with every bit of himself, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to yours, softly, gently.

He pulled away slowly and was afraid to open his eyes, afraid to even breathe. His heart stopped. His mind stopped and fear tightened its grip on his lungs and his throat. You weren’t stirring.

Tears began to pour more steadily from beneath his still closed eyelids, creating runs on his stained skin. He was about to heave a shuddering and desperate and defeated breath, about to break to pieces, when your hand suddenly tightened on his and gripped it strongly and you gasped in a hurried breath.

His eyes shot open and his heart leapt back into motion.

Your eyes fluttered open and though it took a moment for you to see through the foggy veil the spell left you in, you soon saw familiar hazel eyes leaning over you. “S—Sam.”

”Y/N.”

The sight of him leaning over you and the sound of him saying your name was enough to break the last bit of strength you had in you and tears were now streaking down your face too. You threw your arms around his neck and held onto him as though your life depended on it—and it had. “Sam,” you said into the crook of his neck and his shoulder. “Sam.” His arms were around you, strong and tight, tighter than he had ever held you. You could feel him trembling. “I knew you’d find a way to get to me. I knew you would.” You tangled your fingers into his hair and clutched to him.

Sam could have stayed there with you for hours, but there came a deep rumble from beneath the both of you and he felt the ground shake. You pulled back, bewildered, though you didn’t break contact with him. You glanced at him with wide eyes. Sam realized again how pale and thin you were.

You finally took in his condition and wiped some beads of blood from his cheek. Every bit of him was raw and red and your heart ached. “Oh, Sam,” you said, searching his face. He never wanted to look away from you.

Just then there was another quake beneath the two of you and ash and crumbling concrete rained from above. You shielded your eyes and Sam grasped your hand tightly.

”We need to get out of here,” he yelled over the cracking and splitting noises. Fear tightened a bony hand around his throat again. “Come on!” Sam pulled you to your feet and you stumbled, but he didn’t let go of your hand. He wrapped his other arm around your back and guided you, bent over, through the smoke.

There was a crashing noise overhead and Sam pushed you to safety, shoving you out of the way of a falling chunk of stone, shielding your body with his. When the debris came to rest, Sam squeezed your hand. “Are you alright?”

You nodded. “I’m with you.”

Sam nodded, wishing he had time to wrap you up and give you a proper kiss, but the world was quite literally crumbling around the two of you. Clouds of smoke now mixed with dust and ash raining from above and around as he led you back the way he had come, through the trail he had burned with his blood and sweat and a hell of a lot of holy fire…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Dean was pacing along the length of the Impala, occasionally looking down at the slash and bloodstains on his shirt, wringing his hands endlessly. His eyes were drawn toward the mess of thorns, now wreathed in char and smoke and embers floating up toward the overcast sky.

Cas stood stoically in one spot, his hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, but his brow was dark and heavy, and he didn’t move his eyes from the fortress that held you and Sam.

But the first rumble beneath their feet threw them both off balance and they exchanged a terrified and desperate look. Dean’s head snapped around to watch some of the towering vines begin to crumble, dropping rubble the size of cars and raining crumbling concrete down on the ruined remains of the old baseball stadium, which was unrecognizable.

Dean’s stomach twisted. “Cas—“ he choked out, watching helplessly as another part of the thorny hedge crumbled away into ash. “Cas—what’s—what’s happening?” he yelled, trying to keep his footing on the shifting ground.

Cas only shook his head, his blue eyes focused intently on the changes taking place across the empty lot.

Another huge piece of rubble fell heavily and shook the elder Winchester and the angel.

Dean took off at a run. “SAM! Y/N!” he roared. Cas chased after him. Dean skidded to a stop at the edge of the hedge. He could see the path broken and burned by Sam ahead of him and he started to make his way inside. Cas was just behind him. “SAMMY!” Dean coughed from inhaling the soot and plaster and concrete dust. They coated his tongue and his throat. “SAMMY! Y/N!” Dean roared. He was straining his ears for any voice, for the sound of movement.

”Dean—“

”SAM!” Dean roared again. He couldn’t see through the smoke and debris clouding the air but he continued to press ahead.

”DEAN!” Cas’s voice was insistent this time and Dean looked around to determine what had him sounding so demanding. The angel’s eyes were turned upward toward the turret of smoke. Through the haze, Cas and Dean could see the outline of massive trunks of vines wound around pieces of what had once been the roof. The wood was scorched and starting to crumble beneath the weight of the stone and tile and steel.

Dean registered what was about to happen and made a movement to lunge forward down the path. But Cas grabbed his shoulder.

”We have to get back!” he demanded. His blue eyes flew up to the danger overhead. “Now! Dean!”

Dean pushed the angel off of his shoulders and turned to run forward again.

Cas caught up with him and placed a hand on him again, this time not trying to talk him down. Instantly they were back across the lot by the Impala. Dean spun around furiously and shook off the angel.

”They’re in there!” he yelled. He tried to run back across the lot but Cas blocked his path and held him back.

”DEAN!”

”SAM AND Y/N ARE IN THERE!”

”DEAN, STOP!” Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulders and even shook him, trying to get him to understand. “You can’t go in there. It’s going to—“ he broke off as something that sounded like several lightning strikes resonated across the empty space.

From their safety, Dean and Castiel watched the debris rain from the sky ripping and tearing and crumbling on its way down, and land in a cloud of smoke and dust and sparks. More rumblings rolled out and they stared in horror at the complete and total collapse of whatever had been remaining of the structure.

When the dust began to settle, there was nothing left but the lazily drifting clouds of smoke and a mountainous pile of rubble.

Dean’s green eyes were wide and fixed as he stared in abject horror. Cas finally dropped his hands from the elder Winchester, no longer able to fight off the sudden waves of disbelief and crushing loss that began to wash over him. He turned his eyes away and put his back to the ruined pile of debris, no longer able to stare at what had so quickly swallowed up you and Sam.

But Dean couldn’t look away. He was frozen and seeing everything in shades of grey and black, except for the shocking orange and red embers that floated up from the smoldering piles of splintered thorns to drift lazily, almost dancing on the currents of heat. Tears burned in his eyes but he didn’t blink, couldn’t tear himself away.

He didn’t believe. It couldn’t be.

Dean felt his whole body go numb and he could hear each heartbeat loudly in his ears. It sounded like it was barely limping along. His breathing was shallow, and there was a pain, sharp and distinct, up under his ribs, like someone had shoved a red-hot poker in through his side. He was about to close his eyes and give in to the weak feeling in his knees… but just then… there was something different.

Movement. A shadow. Dean’s jaw dropped partially open and he squinted, though it made little difference in aiding him to see through the fog. But another second and he was sure. Movement. Low on the ground, at the edge of broken building and smoldering ruin, there was movement.

”Cas.”

Dean’s tone caused the angel to turn eagerly. He followed Dean’s eye line and unmistakably saw two figures. The next moment Dean and Castiel took off streaking across the uneven ground toward the shadows. It felt like the parking lot kept growing and expanding before them. They couldn’t race fast enough. But finally, as they neared, their hearts leapt.

You and Sam.

”Sammy! Y/N!” Dean roared as they neared the two of you, and you both looked up at the sound of his deep voice. Cas was behind him, his coat and tie streaming as he ran to you.

You and Sam were bent over, coughing and sputtering, still hand in hand. You were out of breath and your lungs were stinging from inhaling so much soot and smoke and dust, but you were out. You were alive. There was a vast overcast sky overhead. There was Dean falling to his knees beside you and Sam, grabbing his brother by the shoulders and looking into his face with a pained but relieved expression. There was Cas sitting down next to you and then gripping you in a hug so tight you couldn’t breathe. Then the angel was grabbing your face, studying you for injuries and hurt.

And suddenly you weren’t coughing anymore—and Cas and Dean weren’t stern and worried—all of you were cracking smiles, relieved, jubilant, and then all of you were suddenly laughing, and happy tears were streaming down your cheeks.

Sam squeezed your hand again and you turned to look at him. He was beat up. He looked like he had crawled through hell, and you supposed that he had, but he was grinning at you now with a glistening light in his eyes and that warmth that you remembered and associated only with him—with safety and comfort and home.

Dean and Cas fell slightly back and you moved into Sam, again collapsing into him, tears once more breaking free and pouring down your cheeks. You cried into his chest and he surrounded you, his arms strong but gentle, and his hands smoothing your hair and tracing down your back. You felt him plant countless kisses on the top of your head and you grasped more tightly to him, smiling and crying at the same time.

At length you began to calm and the tears stopped, and you pulled slightly away to look up into his handsome face. His eyes were waiting to meet yours, searching your face for the answers to so many things he wanted to ask, but knowing that you would need time.

And what did those questions matter?

You had come back to him.

”Thank you,” you mouthed to him.

He lifted your chin gently and caressed your cheek, his other arm still wrapped around you, holding you to him. And he kissed you again. And you kissed him back desperately.

And for once Dean didn’t have any smartass comments or any desire to interrupt. He fell back to sit on the blacktop, leaning on his palms, and heaved a sigh that let out the knot in his stomach and the lump in his throat.

And Cas smiled and gazed at the two of you in wonder, his heart full and happy and fit to burst.

When you and Sam broke apart, you wished you could have just sat there pressed together, but you knew it was time to leave that broken place behind.

You turned and caught Dean’s eyes, which were crinkled at the corners the way they were when he was genuinely happy. Cas helped you to your feet, and Dean scrambled to his and offered a hand to pull Sam up, which he accepted, though he still winced whenever he moved.

Dean looked both of you up and down, Sam torn and bloody and covered in burns and ash, and you pale and fragile. “Don’t take this the wrong way but you two look like hell,” Dean said.

Sam scoffed at him and allowed his brother to prop him up, taking some of his weight. “Is there a right way to take that?” he asked.

You were unsteady and weak and Cas took your arm gently to help you over to the Impala. When you finally reached her, you pressed your palms against the hood and looked over at Dean. “It’s good to be home,” you said.

”You’re not home,” Dean retorted. “Not quite yet.” He nodded to the angel. “Cas, think you can patch them up a little?”

Cas pressed a finger to Sam’s forehead and all the angry crimson burns and cuts and scrapes were gone, leaving behind only the stains on his skin and the tears in his clothes.

Next Cas wandered over to you and gave you a small smile. “Your turn,” he said kindly. You shut your eyes as he placed a hand on your head. The stinging cuts on your legs and arms disappeared and the heat from the burns you had sustained on the fight out also vanished. Though you felt a little steadier, the fatigue and ache hadn’t gone away completely.

”It will take some time to heal you fully,” Cas said. “I wish I could do more for you now.” His brow was knit with concern as he withdrew his hand from you.

”Thank you,” you said. You grabbed the angel into a tight hug, catching him off-guard at first before he sank into it sweetly. “Thank you for everything.”

”Y/N,” Cas said, holding you at arm’s length and looking earnestly into your face. “You never have to thank me for anything.”

Dean was leaning on the open passenger door now smiling at you and Cas. “Alright, kids. We may have just snatched you from a whole pile of shit, but Heaven and Hell are still looking for you. Let’s get you home.”

You responded only with a tired smile. Sam opened the rear door for you and you climbed into the back seat, sighing as you sank into the leather seats. Sam slid in beside you and tucked you under his arm. You rested your head against his shoulder and entwined your fingers with his.

There was a beat of silence, where each of you was turning things over in your mind, but you finally broke it. “I’m sorry.”

Sam looked at you, puzzled. “For what?”

”For running away.” Your voice was quiet. You felt ashamed. “I thought I was doing the right thing—I didn’t want to pull you and Dean and Cas into my whole—mess. But I made everything so much worse.”

”To be fair, my life has pretty much always been a mess,” Sam said. “I’m just glad now that I have someone to share it with.” He kissed the top of your head and left you thinking that you didn’t deserve him.

You found yourself looking at the blood and soot stains on his hand and yours, your fingers intertwined.

”We are a mess,” you said. “In more ways than one,” you joked, managing a half-smile.

Sam followed your gaze and nodded. “But you’re mine.”

”And you’re mine,” you repeated, listening to his steady heartbeat, shutting your eyes and trying to breathe him in.

Sam couldn’t take his eyes off you. ”Are you alright?” he asked, quietly, only for your ears.

You nodded. “Yeah. I am now.” You could read the questions in his eyes and nodded again. “I’ll tell you everything. But not now.”

Sam only leaned in to capture you in another sweet kiss.

”Alright, lovebirds,” came Dean’s gruff voice from the front seat. You could hear the smile in it. “Buckle up. We’re gonna burn rubber here. Let’s go home.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

”Where do you think you’re going?” Sam rolled over and draped an arm over you, pulling you back into bed from where you sat on the edge, about to climb out.

”Umm—nowhere?” you smiled and moved in closer to him, trailing your fingers up his bare arm and shoulder to slip them into his hair.

”Good,” Sam said, closing his eyes again at your touch. He flattened his hand against your back, still feeling the edges of your shoulder blades sharply through your skin. You still hadn’t gained back all the weight you had lost through your ordeal.

Sam’s fingers were sending goose bumps rising on your skin and you bit your lip as you looked at him, tracing his strong jaw line with your eyes and letting them wander over his bare chest and shoulders. You wrapped a leg over him and giggled as his eyes shot open. He gave you a fiery look, eliciting another giggle from you as you bit your bottom lip.

”Now you’re definitely not going anywhere,” he said with a smile. He grabbed your hips and tugged you farther down on the bed so your head hit the pillow, eliciting a small noise of surprise and more laughter from you. Sam moved over you and swept the hair away from your face. The next moment his lips were crashing into yours, his teeth biting at your bottom lip. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him tighter against you, both of you smiling through the kisses, starting to feel the heat kindle and grow between you, your breaths becoming more hurried.

But it was all interrupted when there was a loud banging on the bedroom door.

”Hey! Quit with the hanky-panky and get your asses out here! Cas is back!” Dean’s voice was strong through the door.

Sam froze and let out a heavy sigh as he pressed his forehead gently against yours, his eyes closed in annoyance at the interruption. “Screw you!”

You heard Dean’s gruff laugh through the door and smiled, planting another kiss on Sam’s lips.

”Oh, yeah, and your cat has been out here mewing all morning, Y/N,” Dean’s voice came again. The doorknob turned and the door started to open.

”Dude! What the hell?” Sam yelled, but the door only opened a few inches and a streak of fur shot into the room.

”Keep your bra on, Sam. I sure as shit do not want to see your ass, so relax. And get out here!” he yelled. This time you could hear his footsteps retreating down the hall.

”Jest! What’s the matter, buddy? Were you worried about me?” you cooed as Jest jumped up onto the bed next to you. Sam flopped down beside you and let out another sigh.

”Of course he was. You know he doesn’t like it when he can’t see you,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed. Sam got up and walked to the dresser to pull on some boxers.

You whistled at him as he did so and giggled at the look he shot you over his shoulder.

”Come on. Let’s go see what Cas found out,” Sam urged.

A short while later you and Sam emerged into to library with Jest trailing behind you, his tail twitching jauntily. You grabbed the mug of coffee right out of Dean’s hands and ruffled his hair as he tried to object. “Thanks,” you said, shooting him a grin.

”Look, just because you were kidnapped by the King of Hell and his bitch of a mother, and put into some crazy fairy tale nightmare, and trapped in a fortress of thorns in a magic coma does not mean you have the run of the place now that you’re back,” Dean joked.

”I’m pretty sure that is exactly what it means,” you said, taking a sip from the stolen mug. Sam shook his head and smiled at the two of you.

”Cas, welcome back. You got something for us?” Sam asked the angel.

Cas was looking earnestly at you and you finally seemed to realized the steadiness of his gaze. You felt a flicker of nerves. “Cas? What is it?” The angel shifted his weight a little nervously. “You found something out?”

He nodded. “More than something. I was able to find someone who knows exactly what happened when you were a baby, and what happened to your biological parents.”

Your stomach clenched. You’d been waiting so long to get any scrap of information about your earliest history, it was hard to believe that Cas was standing here now and telling you he knew everything. You sat down hard on the arm of the couch and Sam looked at you with gentle concern and wrapped an arm around you.

You stared at the angel expectantly and he seemed to be asking you if he should continue. You took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

Cas nodded in return. “From the beginning, we knew that you were hidden from angels and demons, most likely in the same way that I hid Sam and Dean with the sigils I carved on their ribs. It’s very powerful, and I guessed that it had to be done by an angel. I suspected that whoever had hidden you must know the truth about your past, and that there was a reason it was done.” Cas stopped and took a breath, trying to read your expression and reaction so far. “Obviously, I couldn’t just go around asking about it. You’re still wanted by some in heaven and I’m still under suspicion… so I had to find out through some underground channels and utilize many indirect networks of information—that’s why it took me so long to find anything out.” Cas gave you an apologetic look and you only smiled at him.

”Eventually, I found out who had hidden you. His name is Zadkiel. He is often called the angel of mercy. He is an archangel and for some time he travelled often between heaven and earth.”

”An archangel? But—why? I mean, how did he get involved?”

”Your parents, the ones who gave you your birth name, the name all angels have memorized on their list of prophets, were hunters,” Cas said

”Whoa,” Dean said. You, Sam, and Cas all turned to look at him. He shrugged. “Sorry. That’s just—I wasn’t expecting that.”

Sam grabbed your hand and gave you a concerned look. You laced your fingers with his but turned your eyes back to Cas.

”From what I learned, your parents had once helped Zadkiel and he never forgot it. When they gave birth to you and your name matched the name of a prophet, he knew how dangerous it would be for you to grow up entrenched in the life of a hunter. He returned to earth one final time to tell your parents what you were to become.”

”So, they gave me up to keep me safe,” you said. “This archangel—Zadkiel—he hid me and my parents gave me up.”

Cas nodded, sadness easily seen in his blue eyes. “I believe that very night. The only thing I know for certain is that shortly after Zadkiel warded you and placed you on the doorstep of a church, your parents—were—they were killed. They didn’t reveal anything about you before they died, or you surely would have been harmed or taken.”

You felt your stomach twist at his words, which was puzzling—you didn’t know your biological parents. You couldn’t remember them—but here you were being told that they had given you up and given their lives up to save you, and you were having a deep, visceral reaction. You mind was somewhat spinning and Sam squeezed your hand.

”Do you need to take a break?” he asked. Across the room, Dean’s face was dark with worry.

You shook your head. “No. No, just keep going. I’m okay,” you said, nodding to Cas.

”I’m afraid that’s about as much as I know. After Zadkiel left you at the church, you were put up for adoption and adopted by a very wonderful couple, who raised you as their own. You know the rest,” he finished, giving you a somewhat sad smile.

A long silence stretched and you moved only to pet Jest who rubbed between your ankles and mewed.

”I know it’s a lot to be told,” Cas said. “But I thought that you would want to know as much as you could.”

You looked up at the angel and nodded. “Yes. Thank you. I know that it was probably difficult and—and dangerous for you to find all that out. Thank you, Cas,” you said.

”Of course.”

There was another long silence where both of the Winchester brothers were studying your face, waiting for whatever was going to come next. “I guess hunting is as much in my blood as it is in yours,” you said vaguely. “Not that I’m planning to run off to chase after werewolves but—my whole life I thought I was ordinary,” you said, looking up at Sam and finding his eyes already on you. “I thought I would just go to work, maybe meet someone and settle down someday, retire, move to the mountains… Just live a normal life. But it turns out that from the very first moment of my existence I’ve been marked as something else entirely.”

”Welcome to the club,” Dean said. His face was serious and still touched with concern, but his eyes crinkled at the corners as he stood up. “You belong here. And you’re not going anywhere.”

You watched Dean go, and Cas followed suite, giving you and Sam some space.

”Are you alright?” he asked, rubbing a hand gently over your back. Jest purred and jumped up next to you.

You nodded. “I think I am. I just wish I could have gotten a chance to know them, ya know?”

Sam nodded and his eyes grew a little distant. “Yeah. I do.”

You gave him a sad smile. “I guess you do.”

_ _ _ _ _ _

As the weeks passed you continued to regain your strength thanks to Cas’s continued healing, Sam’s attentive care, and a whole lot of Dean’s self-proclaimed “miracle meals.”

But one afternoon, as you and Sam were reclined on the big couch in the library, just enjoying being together, you weren’t feeling quite right… and you were suddenly struck with a familiar pain behind your eyes that started to grow and press outward. You winced and squeezed your eyes shut, putting a hand to your head.

Sam was alert and worried instantly.

”Y/N? Are you alright?”

You sat up on the edge of the couch and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, it’s just—just a headache,” you said. Sam gave you a knowing but agitated look.

”So, still no fairy tales, right?” he asked warily.

”No. No fairy tales. Not since that day, when you woke me up,” you said. “I think Rowena is probably a little preoccupied at the moment. Besides, I’m safe here,” you added.

Sam breathed a small inward sigh of relief, but the worry lines on his forehead did not east. “I’ll make you some tea. Why don’t you go lay down? I’ll be right in.”

You nodded and made your way to you and Sam’s bedroom, Jest following as your ever-present shadow. You had just pushed open the door and were making your way to the bed when the room began to swim and fade. You lost your balance, unsure of where you or your feet were in the space you could no longer see, and fell to the ground, hitting your knees hard.

Images began to flash before your eyes, at first just a swirl of faces and voices you couldn’t distinguish. But then it started to clear.

Sam. You and Sam. And you were both tucked in close together peering down at a small pink bundle, tears glistening in your eyes and Sam absolutely beaming, kissing every part of you he could. Another moment and a small child bounced up onto the bed and crawled up beside you, calling you Mommy, snuggling in under your arm, straining to look at the little swaddled baby.

Next, Dean burst into the scene, scooping up the little boy and tossing him in the air playfully, grinning as brightly as you had ever seen him. Dean came to sit beside you on the edge of the bed, the little boy on his lap, and looked with wonder over at you and Sam, and what must be your newborn baby girl.

That scene faded into a fog, but when the images crystallized again Cas sat stiffly in a chair and Sam was placing the baby girl in his arms. Cas looked like a proud uncle, the light sparkling in his eyes bright and tender as he peered down at the miracle in his arms. Sam grinned down at him.

Another swirl of colors and sounds and a mist overtook the vision, fading into a familiar voice calling out to you.

”Y/N! Y/N! Are you alright?” Sam was frantic, gripping your shoulders, trying to pull you out of wherever you had gone. Your eyes were wide and unseeing as you kneeled in the middle of the floor. But you snapped out of it all at once. “Hey! Hey, can you hear me?”

”I’m okay. I’m okay,” you said, and you could feel that tears were glistening in your eyes, but you smiled at Sam’s warm eyes fixated on you, narrowed in concern, and maybe a little fear. You threw your arms around him and he hugged you tight, worried and perplexed.

”What is it?” he asked. “You saw something?”

You sniffled and laughed. “Yeah. I did.”

He tilted his head in confusion at your laughter. “What was it?”

You clasped his face and kissed him, surprising him, your heart racing in your chest, skipping beats every so often. When you broke apart, there was still confusion on Sam’s face and you smiled at him again. “I love you,” you said.

”And I love you,” he returned. His eyes flitted between yours. “What did you see?”

You bit your bottom lip. “Us.” He puzzled over this response again. “But I don’t want to ruin the story.”

[hollywoodrefugee]

Commence Reality Check

Now that we have social networks and personalized news which reinforce our tastes and inclinations in an endless feedback loop, the concept of reality bubbles has been bantered about quite a bit; people suddenly realizing that we all do not live in the same subjective world. It’s like that twitter ‘controversy’ about the picture of the dress. Was it blue and black or white and gold? Individual perception is highly variable, and that en masse party conversation was a good illustration of this truth. And yet we continue to run the world under the premise that there is one objective reality. The lessons we learn are often so wrong-headed. Take what happened in Germany during World War II, the atrocities and mass extermination. Psychological studies like Milgram’s electrocution simulations and Zimbardo’s prison study show that, under the color of authority, most individuals will comply with heinous commands, even if they believe their actions may cause harm or death to another. Moreover, we know that genocide is not a phenomenon isolated to a particular period of time or culture. So why is it such a commonly expressed belief, to proclaim that you would never do such a thing, to wag one’s finger and exclaim, “Shame!” Or how people tend to vilify their previous stage of development. Once they’ve ascended to the next level, they’ll look down on those still stuck in that phase – as if they had never been there themselves. We keep playing this simplistic, dichotomous game of us versus them, relegating our own progress to a mere re-drawing of the line in the sand between “good” and “bad.” When will we realize the game is rigged?

With the inauguration of Trump imminent, I am reminded of the reality bubble of my youth. It was the ‘80s, the Reagan years. Preppy fashion was all the rage, with clean lines, simple prints and a highly tailored and homogenous overall look. I remember looking at pictures from the ‘70s. Pointy-collared leather trench coats, indigenous-inspired textiles, a hodgepodge of textures and patterns. And curiously, more brown people prominent. To my young eyes steeped in the ether of a more conservative era, these images disturbed me. “Why does everyone look so greasy?” I wondered to myself. The dissonance from one decade to another was sharp. In hindsight, I can see that this was because the latter period emerged in direct opposition to the former. Maybe this is a necessary part of transition, since when we are in the midst of a reality bubble, whatever fits into the current paradigm is assimilated, whereas information that doesn’t jibe is ignored or otherwise discarded. Under such a mechanism, the only way to move into a different model of reality is to disqualify the foundations of the previous era.

Is it a coincidence then, that the decade that is currently being rehashed in pop culture is the ‘80s and that we are now about to enter another period of authoritarian-leaning, “strong father” rule? During the ‘80s, we waxed nostalgic for another conservative era, the ‘50s, with movies like Back To The Future and Peggy Sue Got Married. I remember coveting a poodle skirt as the coolest costume. Whereas in the liberal ‘90s, we rediscovered the funky ‘70s, with its endless diversity and anarchic fashion rules. It speaks to me that this latest political shift has much more behind it than we are able to fathom, that the forces of this transition are part of the waves of change that are as inevitable as the turning of the seasons. I look at the Trump scions in all their Nazi-esque perfection and see the writing on the wall, how children growing up today may inhabit this new reality bubble, seeing the world from the perspective of golden thrones and coiffed hair. Whatever world we land into, at first we do not question its assumptions, for it is like the air we breathe. Leave that to the elders, who know better because they have lived through different times. But for the young, there will be no context for comparison.

I had two experiences with millennial Lyft drivers that have stayed with me. In the first ride, I was sharing with the young man my impression that society no longer feels a need to imbue creative content with values, and that by taking a valueless stance, we are not only wasting an opportunity to illustrate important life lessons, but also going down a slippery slope from amorality to nihilistic decline.

“I don’t know. What you’re talking about, that’s religion. We can’t have that in, like, movies, you know?” the young man said to me.

He has been programmed, like many in the progressive half of American society, to see any discussion of values and the need to represent ethical behavior in our fictions as a stance of the religious right. This has been the attitude of Hollywood for so long. Any time someone tries to bring up the entertainment industry’s responsibility in this regard, they typically have been dismissed as fundamentalist freaks. This has created a dead end in place of where there should be a vital debate. Hence, my driver with his thought-stopping having been triggered, surmised that the topic was outside the realm of valid discussion.

Before the election, I rode with another millennial driver. The presidential campaign seemed to be on everyone’s mind, so we got to talking about it.

“They’re all the same. It doesn’t matter. I don’t even think I’ll vote,” he said.

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it,” I said, nonplussed by this bizarre but common refrain.

“You know who I think must have been the greatest leader? Reagan," he said.  "Really. Why do you say that?" I asked, trying to keep my shock in check.  "I mean, the ‘80s were such a cool decade. He must have had a hand in that,” he said. I believe he was being serious.

The young man looked progressive, like the majority of people one runs into in San Francisco. And here he was talking about the Reagan, a man who removed the solar panels Carter had previously installed in the white house. A man who crushed unions, demoralizing worker solidarity and pushing the everyman into even greater economic insecurity. A man who cut funding for social services, flooding the streets with  homeless. A man who escalated the war on drugs, to the disproportionate devastation of ethnic communities. A man who was in office during the emergence of the AIDS crisis, but who never once uttered the word “AIDS” or acknowledged the epidemic’s tragic impact on the gay community.

I wish I had had the mental dexterity and swiftness to relate all this to my young driver. Alas, I stayed silent. The conservatives had done such a good job at holding onto this shiny picture of Reagan, made easier by the fact that the former actor was always photogenic and striking a pose of singular authority. So now even those who undoubtedly would disagree with his most basic policies are taken in by the revisionist history. Something feels like it’s missing from the equation right now. And here we find ourselves, on the cusp of a huge reality check.

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