#oh and it was pouring rain when i got the motel and my paper food bag tore open

[speedlimit15]

i cannot believe i really waited in my passenger seat of my hot car at an extremely busy gas station for 6 and a half hours with my knee barely cracking it open bc of how wide the RVs filling up next to me were. felt fully unable to leave or move bc i was terrified i wouldn’t be able to get back in because my doors automatically lock themselves over and over

[superbadassnatural]

Mirth Motel

Summary: Y/N desperately needs her beauty sleep. After lots of begging and attempts at the perfect puppy-dog-eyes, she finally convinces Dean to stop at a motel. Square filled: only one bed Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: 2,188 Warnings: mostly fluff I guess, some funny bits, flirting, lots of eye rolls A/N: Surprisingly, I had never written this trope before! I’m not gonna lie, I had fun writing it. This fills my square for @spndeanbingo.

(x)

“Please,” you pouted, batting your eyelashes. Dean averted his eyes from the road to look at you. “Pretty please.”

“I'm gonna kill Sam for teaching the puppy-dog-eye thing,” he rolled his eyes.

“Is it working? Who does it better?” you wiggled your eyebrows excitedly.

“Sam’s been doing this his whole life; he had years of practice. Of course, he does it better,” he pointed out. “Sam looks like a kicked golden retriever puppy, and you-” he chuckled. “- you look like an angry chihuahua pretending to be sad, so you can go to the dog park and scare all the dogs away.”

“I've always wanted to be a chihuahua.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” it was your time to roll your eyes. “C’mon, Dean, there's a motel in a few miles. We can crash there. I'm tired. I desperately need my beauty sleep and my feet hurt and I need out of these uncomfortable clothes.”

“Well, my head hurts from hearing you ramble, but I'm not complaining, am I?” he glanced at you, pursing his lips.

“It's late and it's raining. Do you really want to put Baby through this rain? I bet she's cold.”

“Nah, she likes it when it rains. She thinks it's romantic,” his lips pulled up into an asymmetric grin. “If you want to, you can go into the backseat, change into your pjs and get some of your beauty sleep. I promise I won't look while you change. Unless you ask me to.”

“Dean, c’mon.”

“If I pull up at the motel and we crash there for the night, will you stop whining?”

“I'll never whine again for the rest of my life. Cross my heart.”

“Hey, careful there.”

“Please,” you batted your eyelashes. “Do it for me. I know that, deep down in that cold heart of yours, you love me.”

“Okay,” he sighed. “You won.”

“Have I mentioned you are the bestest friend in the world?” you grinned.

“Nope.”

“Well, you are the bestest friend in the world.”

Dean drove for a few more miles. The rain cracked on the hood of the Impala. The sound was relaxing and lulling. The neon sign greeted you, and Dean turned left to head into the parking lot.

“Really? Mirth Motel? What kind of name is that?” he grunted.

“I don’t know, Dean,” you said with a roll of your eyes. “At this point, I couldn't care less about the name of the motel. As long as it has beds and a shower, it's fine by me.”

Dean took a few turns in the parking lot, struggling to find a spot he could park his car.

“Oh for fucks sake, everyone decided to stay here tonight?”

“Stop complaining,” you nearly whined.

“There isn't a single spot where I can park Baby. There better be a room available for us.”

“Stop being so grumpy. There's a space available right there.”

“Where?”

“There!”

“Thanks,” he huffed.

“You're welcome,” you pouted.

Dean parked the car, cutting off the engine. He sighed and glanced at you.

“We’re far away from the entry,” he pointed out. “There's no way to get inside without getting ourselves wet.”

“Fine by me,” you shrugged. “As long as I get to take a shower as soon as I step foot in there, it's okay.”

“Okay.”

You and Dean climbed out of the car quickly with duffle bags over your shoulders. You made a beeline to the entrance of the building, the rain mercilessly pouring down on you. Dean immediately went to the front desk, some of his wet hair stuck to his forehead. You took a few steps back, grabbing your phone and deciding to text Sam to let him know you had made a stop at a motel.

“Two queens, please,” Dean smiled at the old lady behind the counter. She nodded and checked on the system.

“I’m sorry, dear, we don’t have any room available with two queen-sized beds,” she offered him a sympathetic smile. “But we do have a room that will settle you for the night just fine.”

“Okay,” Dean frowned as the woman handed him the keys with a smirk. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“You’re welcome, dear. It's on the second floor. Have fun,” she wiggled her eyebrows.

Dean turned to you with wide eyes. You glanced up from your phone.

“All good?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Got it.”

“Great. Shall we?”

Dean gave a short nod and led the way.

“Dude, we’ve been to a lot of crappy motels, but this one takes the cake,” he mumbled as you climbed up the stairs. “Why the hell couldn’t I just park the car and get in a room like every other motel?”

“I don’t know, Dean, but complaining won’t make any difference,” you chided. “And we’re gonna stay here for less than twelve hours. We’re gonna be on the road first thing in the morning, so please, just stop complaining, or I’ll smack your head in the wall.”

“Fine,” he rolled his eyes.

Dean twisted the key in the lock, swinging the door open. He stepped inside, flicking on the lights; you followed suit. Dean sighed and threw his head back with a roll of his eyes. You frowned with a tilt of your head before looking over his shoulder.

“Of course there’s only one bed,” you blew out a breath. “Are we in a movie? ‘Cause now it certainly feels like we’re in a movie.”

Dean placed his bag on the table; you did the same.

“I expected more from a place called Mirth Motel,” he said. “I am certainly feeling mirthless.”

“Very funny, Dean,” you rolled your eyes. “Look, I’m gonna take a shower now, and when I get out, you better not be in a sour mood.”

“Whatever. I’m gonna go get us some burgers. Call me if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Grabbing the keys, Dean walked out of the room. You picked up everything you needed and headed to the shower. The water pressure wasn’t nearly as good as the one you had in the bunker, but, right now, it was everything you needed.

By the time Dean got back, you were laying on the right side of the bed - knowing he’d rather sleep on the right -, reading your book. He held the paper bag in one hand and two beers in the other.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he said, placing the food on the table. “The burgers are still warm, but I think the beers might need to go in the fridge for a bit.”

“Want me to wait for you?”

“Nah, there’s no need to.”

“Okay, I’m waiting for you,” you said, and he chuckled. “What? There’s no fun in eating alone.”

“It’s gonna get cold.”

“We microwave it.”

“Right,” he smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

“Hmm, this delicious,” you nearly moaned, mouthful.

“Yeah, it is,” Dean smiled as he finished his burger, taking a long swig of his beer. “Look, if you want to, I can sleep in the backseat of Baby. I don’t mind. She’s comfy.”

“No, Dean, it’s okay,” you assured him, hand reaching out to his thick forearm. “The bed is big enough for both of us. It’s a king-sized bed, after all. We’d be in trouble if Sam had come with us.”

“Yeah, we would,” he chuckled. “He hogs all the blankets.”

“And all the space. That giant.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“One-hundred percent sure,” you smiled. “Unless you are the one who doesn’t want to sleep with me.”

“Huh? I- uh- of course, I wanna sleep with you,” he stumbled over his words, his voice trembling. You blurt out laughing. “No. I mean- I don’t mind sleeping with you on the same bed. Clothed and all. Not, uh, the other kind of sleeping with you. Like naked and, uh- yeah, not that.”

“Easy, tiger. No need to get all flustered,” you chuckled. The point of his ears turned pink as his cheeks blushed. He took a long gulp of his beer. “For the record, I wouldn’t mind sleeping with you. I mean, the other kind of sleeping with you. Like naked and all. I wouldn’t mind in the slightest.”

His wide green eyes lifted at you before averting your face again. Dean cleared his throat and shifted in his seat.

“Would you?” you asked.

“Would I what?”

“Mind sleeping with me butt-naked.”

“Oh. No, of course not,” he stammered, shaking his head nervously. “Not even a bit.”

“Good,” you nodded. “It’s good to know we’re on the same page.”

“Yeah. Yeah, uh- I’m gonna go to sleep then,” he announced, awkwardly standing to his feet. “I’m tired.”

“Okay, you do that. I’ll be right after you.”

“Okay, good. Great.”

Dean locked himself in the bathroom, doing who knows what. You chuckled to yourself with a shake of your head. You loved making him feel embarrassed. Dean would get all cute whenever he felt uncomfortable. His eyes would widen, and he would lose every ability to talk. When his cheeks turned into a bright pink along with the tip of his ears, then everything was chaotic. It was nice to make him blush.

You laid on your back. The mattress wasn’t that comfortable. You didn’t expect it to be memory foam, but you hoped it would be a little comfier than it actually was. Your eyes were glued on the ceiling, your hands over your stomach as your finger tapped the back of your right one. An awkward silence filled the atmosphere as Dean, too, laid on his back without saying a word. His green eyes stared up as he chewed on his lip.

“Penny for your thoughts?” you said quietly, glancing at him.

“The ceiling is moving.”

“What?” you looked up with wide eyes. The ceiling was perfectly still.“Are you high?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure I've been staring at it for too long, and now it’s moving.”

“You’re so weird.”

“Thanks, you too,” Dean turned on his side, glancing at you. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that shirt.”

“My shirt?” you bit your lip to keep yourself from bursting into laughter.

“No, my shirt. You stole it.”

“You don’t remember, do you? You gave it to me as a birthday present.”

“It isn’t your birthday for the next month and a half.”

“You said it was an early gift,” you said firmly.

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember if I had given it to you,” he said. “But what do I know, right?”

“What do you know,” you licked your lips, turning to him.

“It looks better on you anyway,” he shrugged.

“Yeah, it does.”

Dean’s gaze dropped to your lips, lingering there for a moment, then backed up to your eyes. You drew a sharp intake of breath. His emerald green orbs seemed to unravel all the mysteries of your soul. You swallowed thick, avoiding his gaze. Slowly, Dean’s hand reached to yours under the blankets, his thumb caressed your skin. You looked up at him, his eyes locked in yours. As a way to avoid the growing tension between the two of you, you gave him a playful smirk and placed your feet on his legs.

“Fuck,” he hissed, pulling away; his hand didn’t let go, though. “Why are your feet so cold?”

“I don’t know,” you smiled innocently “You’re always hot, so now you’re gonna warm my feet since the blanket isn’t doing its job.”

“Jesus, it’s like the feet of a corpse.”

“Hey!” you smacked his shoulder. “Don’t say that.”

“Well, maybe if you wore some pants instead of shorts and actually put on some socks, your feet wouldn't be this cold.”

“You’re not fun, ” you pouted.

“If I had my feet against your shins, you wouldn't be too happy about it either.”

“Just admit you love having me this close to you,” you teased, a playful smirk on your lips.

“G’night, Y/N,” he turned his back on you.

“My feet are still cold,” you whined. “What should I do?”

“I don’t know. Use my calves maybe. Just don’t put those dead feet on my back.”

“Can I put them on your ass? I bet it would get them warm pretty quick.”

“Good night, Y/N,” he mumbled, you could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Is that a yes or a no?” you insisted.

“That’s a no. Now shut it and go to sleep.”

“Fine,” you huffed. “Good night, Dean.”

Eventually, your feet got warm, and you pulled away from Dean. Some time, in the middle of the night, he found your back turned to him and decided to snuggle closer. His strong arm draped over your waist, knees tucked behind yours. Dean was laying on his back when the sun rose, and you rested your head on his chest, his arms once again securing you close. Of course, none of you would talk about waking up in each other's arms for the next four hours you’d be in the car. Perhaps you would only mention it once you were back at the bunker, forced to face what was said and done at the Mirth Motel.

What do you think of this one? Consider sharing your thoughts with me via reply, reblog, or ask!

Hunters: @hobby27​ @thewinchesterandreidwhore @tatted-trina6​ @doozywoozy​ @mogaruke​ @babypink224221​ @leah-winchester​

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[queen-of-deans-booty]

Hammer of the Gods: Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,484

Warnings: typical supernatural violence, language, angst, blood, you know the usual

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

The storm came out of nowhere. One minute it was perfect and everything was alright until the rain started pouring down like it was going out of style. Sam and Dean sat up front like always, but you’re in the back laying down. You’re trying to go to sleep, but it’s hard when you’re having a nightmare. Dean’s still giving you the ice-cold shoulder, and it’s reflecting onto your dreams. Most nights are dreamless, but then you’ll get the ones of your dead child asking you why you threw her away.

The only way you’re ever going to move on from this is if Dean forgives you. And he’s not exactly making it easy for you. You toss and turn as much as you can on the back seat and let out a soft moan.

“Dean,” Sam whispers.

“What?” he snaps, focusing his eyes on the road.

They both hear you suffering back there, and the younger brother took charge to speak about it first.

“It’s been weeks, Dean. When are you going to forgive her?”

“Never… Soon… I don’t know. I can’t forgive something like this so easily. We don’t work anymore. I want it to, but how can it when she’s keeping things from me now?”

“Okay, when are you going to talk to her about it? You’re still avoiding her like the plague.”

“Soon… I don’t know.”

“The only way you’ll move on is if you talk about it and work it out. Yeah, she made a mistake, but you two have been through so much together.”

“That’s the point, Sammy. We’ve been through too much, and she decides to hide it from me? What does that tell you? Am I not father material? Does she not want a kid with me?”

“You know that’s not it.”

“Then why’d she hide it?”

“She was scared.”

“Not good enough,” he shakes his head and ends the conversation. The rain pours harder, and Dean knows he has to get off the road unless he wants to crash. “Find somewhere to stay. We can’t keep driving.”

“Fine,” Sam sighs and takes out his phone.

Even with all the rain, the phone has great service, and he finds a four-star hotel out in the middle of nowhere. It’s suspicious, but Dean doesn’t question a bed and food for the night. It’s about two miles from where Dean is, and he rushes safely over to the hotel. He parks crookedly and gets out, not bothering to wake you. Sam sighs and looks back to see your eyes open.

“We’re stopping for the night.”

“Yeah, I heard,” you sighed and got up.

The rain is coming down so fast that by the time you three enter the hotel, you’re soaked to the bone. The inside of the place looks fancier than you’ve ever had it be. There are a lot of guests roaming around, some at the bar, and others in the dining hall where they’re eating. Two people are at the front desk ready to check in. Every chair is crisp white, chandeliers hang from the ceiling with style, and the colors match the vibe of the hotel: a mixture of light and dark purple and white.

“Whew. Nice digs, for once,” Dean scoffs and heads over to the front desk when the couple leave.

You and Sam follow behind closely, but the man named Chad doesn’t look up from the computer screen. He types fast on the keyboard, faster than you’ve ever seen anyone type. Your eyes narrow in suspicion, but the brothers don’t notice.

“Busy night,” Dean comments.

Chad promptly stops and looks at Dean with a smile.

“Any port in a storm, I guess,” he chuckles and pulls out a clipboard with papers attached to it. “If you could just fill this out, please.”

“Yeah,” he nods and takes the pen to sign.

“Sir, I think,” Chad trails off, motioning to his own neck while looking at Dean’s. He pulls out a tissue seemingly from nowhere and hands it to him. “Shaving nick there.”

“Oh, thanks,” he mumbles and dabs the area to see blood on the tissue.

That’s weird, Dean didn’t shave this morning or as of late. This place is skeevy. Why would such a nice place be out in the middle of nowhere?

“Your key.”

“Hey, you wouldn't happen to have a coffee shop, would you?” Dean asks after he takes the key.

“Buffet. All you can eat. Best pie in the tri-state area.”

“You don't say?” he grins and heads off.

You and Chad stare at each other long enough for Sam to tug at your arm. There is something not right about him, but it’s either too late or you’re too tired to figure it out. You and Sam follow Dean into the dining hall and take a seat. He comes back with a piece of pie and some coffee. Sam’s phone dings, and he checks it without looking at his brother. You sit with your arms crossed, obviously in no mood to eat. The nightmares you’ve been having are brutal, especially when you’ve been sleeping on the couch at every motel. Dean won’t let you sleep next to him anymore, and Sam is too big to fit two people on his bed.

“Sam, unpucker, man. Eat something.”

“We should hit the road, Dean.”

“In this storm?”

“He’s right, Dean. It’s biblical. It’s fucking Noah’s ark out there, and you’re eating pie.”

“How many hours of sleep did you two get this week? Three? Four? Bobby's got his feelers out, okay? We have talked with every hoodoo man and root woman in 12 states.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not giving up,” Sam declares.

“Nobody's giving up. Especially me. We're gonna find a way to beat the devil, okay? Soon. I can feel it. We will find Cas, and we'll find Adam. But you two are no good to me burnt out.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay,” Sam sighs and gets up to get something to eat.

“Eat something,” Dean orders.

“Not hungry,” you shrug.

“Grow the fuck up and eat something, okay? Otherwise, you’re not on the team anymore.”

“You’re kicking me off the team for not eating? Need I remind you that I’m the one with the fucking witch powers here. Uh, how many times have I saved your ass because of it?” you glare at him.

“Yeah, those same powers that took away our child.”

“Hi, Kettle?” you say with your hand up to your ear in the shape of a phone. “It’s Dean, you’re black.”

“Very mature,” he rolls his eyes.

“Will you two stop it?” Sam hisses when he comes back. “Y/N, he’s right, you need to eat something.”

“No, he’s not. What he is right about is us not working anymore,” you say with tears in your eyes. One leaks down your cheek as you get up. “I’m getting my own room for the night.”

“Y/N,” Sam sighs as you walk away. He looks at Dean with a bitch face because Dean is acting like a bitch now. It’s been weeks and he’s still treating you like you’ve killed his mother. “Dean.”

“What? She needs to eat.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he sighs.

“Why aren’t you bothering her? She’s the one who needs to apologize.”

“She has, Dean. Like a thousand times. You just don’t want to hear it,” he says and gets up.

“Oh, so now you’re siding with her?” he exclaims just a bit loudly.

A few heads turn, but the majority of the people in the room stick to their own business.

“I’m not siding with anyone, but right now, you’re not looking so good. What she did was wrong, yes, but she’s trying to make it right. You’re not even putting in the effort.”

“Whatever,” Dean scoffs and turns back around.

Sam joins you back at the front desk, and when you smell his cologne, you turn to face him.

“They don’t have any more rooms left,” you sigh.

“I’m sorry about him—”

“No offense, Sam, but it doesn’t mean shit coming from you. I don’t know what else to do.”

“You can take my bed tonight. I’ll take the couch,” he offers.

“No, you won’t fit. I’ll be fine,” you shrug.

Just then there is a small sting coming from your neck, and you wince at the pain. You put your finger to the spot and pull away to see blood.

“Oh my, you’re bleeding. Here, have a tissue,” Chad offers and hands you a tissue.

“Thanks,” you trail off, looking at him weirdly.

He chuckles nervously and turns around to help another customer. You dab the area with the tissue until no more blood comes out. Your magic heals up the wound quickly, and it’s gone just like that.

“Come on, let’s get to our rooms and settle in for the night.”

“Okay,” you whisper and follow Sam to the stairs.

Dean is trailing behind, but you don’t look at him once. You understand that what you did hurt him, but he’s taking this too far. It’s one thing to treat you this way, but it’s another to treat you this way without talking to you about it. If only you can get him to sit down and talk about this, then maybe you two can start the healing process.

You approach your room and hear giggling come from down the hall. There is the couple that was at the front desk before you and the brothers. They are kissing and undressing their jackets, showing off that they are very much in love. Seeing them only reminds you that you and Dean are not. You look away hastily and open the door, tossing your bag onto the couch. Sam enters, but Dean shoves his way in and marvels at the place.

It’s very nice, two beds with plush bedding, chocolates on the pillows, Casa Erotica 13 on demand, and everything else to make the place likeable. Is it just you or is this place trying too hard to keep their customers from leaving?

“Wow. Look at this. We're like Rockefellers,” Dean chuckles until he spots the chocolates. “Chocolates! You want yours?”

“Knock yourself out,” Sam answers with a scoff.

“What?”

“This place is the middle of nowhere!” you blurt. “Why would this place look this nice on a deserted highway?”

No one has a chance to answer because the woman next door moans pleasurably. Great, not only will you be sharing this room with Dean, you have two lovers next door. The bed starts to thump on the other side of it, and you and the brothers just stand there awkwardly and wait until either it’s done or something happens. The woman moans once more followed by a loud thump. This thump, however, is more than a bed thumping against a wall. It’s a big enough thump to cause the brick wall to shift and a few bricks to fall out of place. It’s a big enough thump to almost knock the LCD flat screen television off the wall.

“Well that’s not good,” you comment.

Looks are exchanged, and you waste no time rushing out of your room and to the other room with the brothers. The door is unlocked, so you wretch it open to find the room empty. The lights are off, there are no bags to indicate someone was here, and there is no mess. The only thing that is out of place is the bed because the sheets are messed up.

“What the hell?” you mutter and search the apartment.

“Hello?” Dean calls out, and his brother repeats him a few seconds later.

You walk closer to the bed, but you step on something hard. You wince at the sharp pain and move your foot to see a large engagement ring on the floor. You pick it up and show the brothers what you found.

“Something’s not right,” you sigh.

“The front desk should know what’s going on,” Sam declares and leads the way back to the front desk where Chad is.

“Hi, have you seen the couple that are joined at the lips? They are staying in the room next to ours,” you ask him.

He looks at his computer, clicks on a few things, and smiles at you.

“Mr. and Mrs. Logan—the honeymooners? They checked out. Is something the matter?”

“They checked out?” Sam repeats.

“Mm-hmm. Mm, just now.”

“Really? It sort of seemed like they were,” Sam chuckles, “in the middle of something.”

“It’s very weird for honeymooners to check out without this,” you say and hold up the ring.

“Oh, dear. I'll just put that right in the lost and found. Don't you worry,” Chad smiles and takes the ring. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“What’s going on here?” you glare at Chad.

“What do you mean?”

“That couple were in their room, and a loud thump occurs prior to their disappearance. A loud enough thump to knock some bricks out of the brick wall. Don’t tell me they checked out because I know that’s not true. Where are they?”

“I’m not sure I can answer that. They checked out,” Chad gulps.

“Come on, thank you for your time,” Sam smiles at Chad who smiles right back.

“I’m onto you,” you whisper just as Sam pulls you away from the front desk.

“Alright, well, I'll scope out the joint, and you two keep an eye on Norman Bates over here. I mean, one night off. Is that too much to ask?” Dean scoffs and leaves on his own.

Of course, he isn’t going to want you to come with him even though you used to do everything together.

“Something isn’t right,” you whisper to Sam as you leave.

You find a spot that allows you to watch Chad without him knowing you’re doing so.

“We’ll figure it out,” Sam says optimistically.

It seems like all night has passed before Chad is on the move. He leaves his spot at the front desk when there are no more customers left at his desk. There are others chatting about, but your eyes stay locked on Chad. You and Sam leave your post and follow Chad with enough distance to hide if he turns around and catches you. He walks through different hallways as if he’s trying to lose you two, and it’s working. You round a corner only to see vending machines and nothing else. Where did he go?

“Ow,” Sam hisses.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I’m bleeding,” he says and touches the spot with his finger. There is a small cut that you and Dean got earlier.

“How did that get there?” you ask and inspect it.

You heal the wound by swiping your thumb over it and letting your magic dip inside.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, Chad is gone. We should find Dean.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he nods.

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[unfortunate-stranger-losers]

All Those Things They Couldn’t Say - A Runaway Baudelaires AU

{ao3} {tumblr} {masterlist}

Chapter Fifteen - Violet at the Lake

Klaus was a bit skeptical. “It’s not gonna be pleasant to watch a man be eaten alive.” 

“It won’t be pleasant to be captured either.” Violet shrugged. She opened the snackbag, saying, “Obviously I won’t eat these, but a few drops in the water should attract their attention. I’m going to crawl under the house, where the lakeside is, and summon a couple. It should be easy to snag a few, and then once we have them, they’ll attack Olaf when I dump them in the water, as he’ll have just eaten.” 

“Can’t I come with you? It could be dangerous.” 

“It will be, which is why you need to stay here. Someone has to keep Olaf and Josephine in place until I return, and more people in the water will attract leech attention we don’t want.” 

“I just- don’t know if I want you out there alone.” 

Violet smiled and put a hand on his cheek. “Hey. I know. I’m not super into leaving you here, either. But if we don’t kill Olaf, he kills us. You know?” 

“Yeah…” Klaus nodded, and then moved to the bed, picking up Sunny. “What should we do?” 

“Keep Josephine here. And keep your bag with you, in case the plan goes wrong. I’ll be right back with our leeches.” Violet slung her bag over her shoulder, and said, “See you in a sec.” 

And with that, she was off. 

Klaus sat at the kitchen table, and he continued, “So, Lindley Murray developed his study in the nineteenth century of the role of language in European countries, concluding that Latin was distinguished from the Ancient Greek approach.” 

Josephine nodded, stirring the soup, as Sunny sat beside her and watched, cocking her head in interest. “Yes, good memorization, Klaus. And what were the two grammar books published in 1711-” 

“A Grammar of the English Tongue by John Brightland and Essay towards a Practical Grammar Usage by James Greenwood.” 

“Yes! You’ve been keeping up your studies.” 

Klaus sighed. Well, nothing else to do here. “Yeah.” he paused, and then said, “Josephine, when was the last time you talked to our parents?” 

Josephine shook her head. “Oh, it was long ago.” 

“Yeah, what happened?” 

“I’d rather not discuss the past.” 

Klaus shared an incredulous glance with Sunny, who crawled off the counter and onto the floor. “You know, sometimes talking about scary things can make them seem not so scary anymore.” 

“That’s not entirely true.” 

“Well, it works.” Klaus fiddled with his hands, bouncing his leg. “When I was five, I talked to my Dad about wild wolves, and I realized they’re only scary if you’re on their territory. There are plenty of people who work with wolves and find them to be quite friendly if you’re not a threat.” 

“Yes, but the second you’re seen as a threat, you’re in the middle of a pack of wolves.” Josephine sighed. She stirred the soup some more, and then said, “Where’s Violet?” 

“I-in her room.” Klaus said. “You know, resting. She… feels bad about being so rude.” 

“Yes, rudeness is quite…” 

“Rude?”   

“And where’s Sunny?” 

“Oh, she…” Klaus paused, looking down at the ground. 

Shit. 

“Hold on a moment.” Klaus got to his feet, and quickly left the room. He glanced up and down the hallway, his heart beating quite a bit faster. “Sunny?” 

He didn’t hear a response, and immediately everything that could go wrong jumped to the forefront of his head, along with the dark, haunting image of Sunny in a cage, pounding on the bars, screaming, while Klaus was held back, and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t get to her…

“Sunny!” he called, and ran to the nearest room, throwing open the door and peering in. No baby. “Sunny!” 

A panic rose in his chest, and he ran to the next room, and then the next, still shouting for his sister. He bust down every door, holding pulling the straps on his bag as tight as possible so it couldn’t fall and slow him down, every empty room increasing his fear. Is this how Josephine feels all the time? Fuckin hell… 

“Sunny!” 

He finally raced into a room, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his little sister sitting by the edge of a bed, gnawing on the wood. She looked up in surprise, and Klaus sighed, leaning against the doorway. “Don’t scare me like that, Sunny!” 

She mumbled an apology, and he moved forwards, kneeling beside her. “Why are you here, anyway? There’s plenty of things to teethe on in the kitchen, where we’re supposed to be.” 

“Sirrah,” Sunny shook her head, “I’m not teething at the moment; my teeth have come in fine.” 

“Well, then, why’d you run off?” 

She sighed, and then looked up at Klaus and said, “Letom.” “Do you remember when we were in that motel for a few weeks, and Mother and Father told us that if we had to hide, not to go under the bed?” 

“Because robbers will look for valuables there first,” Klaus nodded, “And when people don’t want to have something in plain sight, they put it-” 

“Seeka yit.” Sunny nodded, and she grabbed Josephine’s navy bedspread and lifted it, crawling under. 

“Sunny, she already has a safe, why would anything be under the-” Klaus began. 

“Found!” Sunny called. 

“What? Lemme see!” 

Sunny pushed a large book from beneath the blanket, and Klaus picked it up. An atlas of Lake Lachrymose. Sunny pushed another book out, and Klaus sighed as he lifted it. “A biography of Ivan Lachrymose, Lake Explorer.” he said. “It- hold on, I think there’s some papers stuffed in here-” he shook the book, and some typewritten sheets fell. But after looking over them a moment, he said, “Nevermind, this just seems to be a building committee transcript. Boring as the rest of the book.” 

“Found!” Sunny repeated, and then she crawled out and held out some kind of metal tube in her small hand. “Thing!” 

“Lemme see.” Klaus dropped the book, taking the tube, and flipped it over in his hands, seeing the VFD eye emblazoned on the cover. “Oh! It’s a spyglass.” 

“Pygla?” Sunny asked. 

“It’s like a telescope, but these dials can give you extra shit.” Klaus explained. He bit his lip, and said, “Mother and Father didn’t show me all of them- they’ve got one, probably still with them- but if you turn the dials this way- see, it heats up!”

The lid flipped open, and a red, warm light glowed out. Sunny ooed and held out a hand, feeling the heat. “Oose.” she said. 

“You’re right, that could be useful.” Klaus nodded, before shuffling the spyglass back to normal and closing it up. “Think we should steal it?” 

“Whyno?” 

“You’re right. Not like she’ll miss it. Was there anything else under there?” 

Sunny nodded, and crawled back under the bed. She returned, pushing a large, leather-bound book ahead of her. Klaus flipped it open, looking down at the loopy handwriting. “It’s Josephine’s.” 

“Wympi?” 

“Yeah, it does seem like a diary.” 

“Ree?” 

Klaus sighed, and glanced at the door. “Well, Josephine’s busy in the kitchen. Might as well see what secrets are in here, huh?” 

“Yee!” 

What they did not think of, as they were flipping open the diary, was that they were supposed to be in the kitchen distracting Josephine, and that if Josephine wandered into the library, looking for the children, her window would give her a great view of the beach. 

They also did not notice the storm brewing outside. 

Violet crept down to the water, trying to stifle her fear. She didn’t know much about these leeches, only what Josephine had told her, but she was able to decipher that they were quite dangerous and fast-acting. She hadn’t eaten in over an hour, though, so she would likely be safe, so long as she didn’t hold onto the snackbag too long. She knelt by the water, and tore open the bag, scattering some mix into the waves. Then she pulled out Klaus’s jar, filling it about halfway with water, then sprinkling a few bits of mix into it. Then she watched the waves, and she waited. 

It started raining a bit, but she didn’t mind. She quite liked the rain, actually. Even as it started pouring, and the wind picked up, she kept waiting in unbothered silence. She wondered, after a few quiet minutes, if the rain scared the leeches off, or if she was too close to the shore for the leeches to smell the food. Maybe she should’ve gone out a bit farther; she had a bit of mix left, she could do that. She waded into the waves, scattering food around before backing a bit farther, to keep a safe distance from the leech bait. The last thing she wanted was to be attacked by angry leeches while trying to get rid of Count Olaf. 

She paused, then, wondering where Count Olaf was now. Perhaps he was on his way over already, or at the house and being distracted by Klaus and Sunny. Or maybe, she shivered, he was with their parents, taunting them, harming them. “Don’t worry,” she whispered to no one, hugging herself a little as the droplets continued to pour onto her, “You’ll be free soon.” 

Violet shut her eyes, letting her imagination run off with her. She just wanted her parents back. For the last few days, she’d had little doubt they’d escape- they were Beatrice and Bertrand fucking Baudelaire, they could escape anything. But, well… it had been a while. Their parents hadn’t left them alone this long, and they had to know where the safehouses were. Surely they’d be here by now. 

Stop having doubts. They’ll be fine. She trusted them, she knew them, she knew that once Olaf was dead they’d come get them, and they’d be okay again- it didn’t matter if they had to go back on the run and back into hiding and never live a normal life again, because normal was just whenever they were together. She wanted to play cards with her parents and hug them and tell them she knew they’d get out and now they could protect her again and she wouldn’t have to be in charge of Klaus and Sunny and have to wade into an ocean, listening for dangerous leeches. 

Listening… for… 

Lost in her thoughts, she only just now started back to reality. There was something behind her, splashing as it came closer… but it didn’t sound like leeches, it was too big, too lumbering, almost like footsteps-  

She opened her eyes just as, quick as a whip, an arm wrapped around her chest and yanked her back. Violet let out a piercing shriek, but after only a second a filthy hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her voice. 

“I was starting to wonder if you brats ever separated.” Olaf hissed into her ear. 

Violet tried very hard to push back the frightened tears that sprang to the edge of her eyes, and she kicked back, trying to wrestle her way out of his reach. Instead, he tightened his grip on her, pulling her way too close. She started flailing, trying just to break his hold, to bite his hand, to get away. Think, Violet, how do you get out of this situation? 

“Now what are you doing all the way out here?” Olaf asked, seemingly not caring how hard she was struggling against him. “Trying to take a swim in the rain? Or are you escaping out this way? I thought you might try to run before I got Josephine out of the house, so it’s a good thing I arrived early, isn’t it?” 

Violet kept trying to scream through his mouth. She managed to stamp hard on his foot, but instead of releasing her, he snarled and moved quickly, pushing her down. Violet felt a hard, sharp jolt as her back hit the water and then the rocks beneath, and only barely managed to shut her eyes before her head went under the waves. 

She felt a rush around her, water pouring around her face and ears. It was incredibly hot, probably just due to the shock of it, but that didn’t stop her from feeling as if she was being boiled for a moment. Salt lapped across her face, up her nose, and the hand over her mouth released only for an instant, water rushing into that, too, as she instinctively tried to scream. It tasted bitter, sour, sick. 

When she was seven, they stayed in a town very near to the ocean. There was a rental beach house that Beatrice found out would be empty for a week, and they roomed there, with a great view of the sea from the bedroom window. On the first night, Violet, who did not yet realize the difference between saltwater and freshwater, thought they had hit the jackpot on a water source, and one night thought it would be a great idea to fill their empty water bottles while everyone was asleep. She snuck out, slinging water inside and giggling as the waves lapped at her feet. She filled up the bottles, putting them up on the counter before going back to bed. The next morning, she grabbed a bottle and took a swig, and realized her mistake right then, before spitting up in the sink. Klaus had come in just after and did the exact same thing. Violet, feeling like she’d done something wrong, started crying, which caused Beatrice and Bertrand to rush in, scared they were hurt. 

Bertrand picked up Klaus, who wasn’t crying but was looking very confused, and Beatrice knelt by Violet, trying to calm her down. As soon as Violet explained the situation, she burst into laughter and explained the concept of saltwater to her daughter, and that was that. Violet hadn’t thought about that day in years. 

She didn’t know why it came back to her then- well, she supposed swallowing saltwater was the main culprit. But she’d gone to the beach and accidentally inhaled the sharp liquid before, and it hadn’t happened then. 

Maybe it was because she was terrified, and she just wanted her mother to laugh at her daughter’s foolish error, telling her it was no big deal, and she wasn’t in trouble, and everything was going to be fine. 

Violet surfaced the water, and Olaf grabbed her shirt collar, yanking her up close to him. She struggled to breathe, blinking water out of her eyes, still wriggling to try and get away from him. 

“Still got some fight in you.” he hmmed, and then he pushed her under again. 

And then that sensation was all over her again, but worse. Hotter, scratchier. Water went up her nose and it hurt like hell, even though her eyes were shut she could feel the current press against them, her hair flew into her face and neck, feeling like it was strangling her. The rough hand against her collar flattened, pushing her down under the water, into the blackness and rushing, churning, hot waves. He pressed more against her, his other arm holding hers back so she couldn’t even use those to try to propel herself to the surface or fight him off. 

Then, in a minute, she had surfaced again. But this time she felt the grip on her tighten more, her body forced into a standing position as she coughed up water. 

She heard a distant call- “What is going on?” 

Violet blinked water from her eyes, the salt stinging and causing tears to start to flow. Her vision was blurry for a moment, as she heard Olaf call, in his false Captain Sham voice, “Ah! Good lady! Your sister ‘ere was takin a swim! Went a bit too deep, I reckon!” 

Her vision finally returned, and Violet saw Josephine standing at the edge of the beach. She glanced quickly down at the water, scuttling backwards to avoid the lapping waves, too fearful to go further. She had to shout in order to speak to the others. “Ah, Captain Sham! Thank you. Now please come back to shore…” 

“No!” Violet gasped, trying to stagger away, but Olaf still had a hold on her arms. “Josephine, please, help me!” 

“Violet, Captain Sham is getting you out of the water! Now, you know better than to go swimming in a hurricane- or even at all!” 

“He’s Count Olaf! He’s trying to hurt me, please, Josephine-” 

“Violet, I’ve had enough of this nonsense!” Josephine shouted, and Violet burst into tears as she saw Olaf’s smirk. 

“Please! Please fucking help us-” 

“Language, Violet! Now come ashore!” 

“Perhaps I could show her how to swim better.” Olaf said, and Violet was unsure if he said it loud enough for Josephine to hear. 

“Captain Sham!” Josephine hesitated, and then stepped a bit closer. “Please bring her asho…” 

Josephine’s voice trailed off, and Violet saw that her head had lowered, her gaze fixed on their legs. Violet looked down, and realized with a start, and a triumphant grin, that Olaf had discarded his peg leg for the swim. 

“Now, Josephine!” Olaf called, and he dropped his false voice. “Why don’t you be a dear and wait for me in the taxi?” 

Josephine’s eyes widened, and she stumbled back. “I- I suppose that might be best…” 

“Josephine!” Violet screamed. “Josephine, Klaus and Sunny- get them out! Klaus and Sunny-” 

“Shut up about your annoying siblings.” Olaf pulled his arm around her chest again and squeezed, causing her to gasp as her breath was cut off a moment. “We’ll take care of them soon enough.” 

Violet looked to see Josephine start to back farther away from the water, and an anger entered her. “Leave them alone! Leave them alone!” 

He leaned down closer to her, and she could smell his foul breath as he said, with a dark shine in his eye, “Make me.” 

Violet froze. 

He pulled her arms down, and released her chest so he could pull her hair along with it so that she would meet his eyes. She remained frozen a moment, panic paralyzing her just as it had before, rain pouring down in sheets and pelting her with cold water, the wind blowing against her as if it wanted her to fall right into Olaf’s trap. 

And then the thought of Klaus and Sunny entered her mind, and the thought of her parents, wherever they were. What would Mother do? 

Violet looked up at him, glared, and spat in his face. 

And within a moment, she was forced underwater again. 

It is very hard to describe the sound you hear when water goes into your ears, but the best Violet could think of at the moment was pressing. Pushing, prodding… if those things could be heard, that was what was happening to her, and it was deafening. 

She struggled for air, and a thought hit her. No. No, I can’t leave Klaus and Sunny like this. No- 

No… 

All of a sudden, the grip on her released. She heard a distant splash, something or someone falling into the water, but she didn’t pay attention, instead immediately throwing out her arms, pushing down as fast as she could, practically catapulting herself back up to the surface. As soon as her head popped out, she gasped, breathing as deeply as possible. She staggered to her feet, wiping water from her eyes, and then she let out a scream, hoping someone would hear her. 

Then she turned around and realized that someone was there. 

Josephine pushed Violet back as Olaf resurfaced, grabbing the older woman’s arm. She was sopping wet, and her hairnet had fallen, white hair spilling around her face. Waves lapped at her dress as she tugged against Olaf, and she shouted, “Violet! Run!” 

“Wh- Josephine?” 

“Go!” 

Violet stumbled back as Olaf got up, trying to drag Josephine down, and then she heard it. 

The low sound was almost like a quiet whispering, as if people were murmuring secrets in the water. But it was not people approaching. Whether they finally smelled Violet’s food, or if one of the adults had recently eaten, Violet didn’t know, but what she knew was the leeches were coming. 

Violet caught a glimpse of them as they swam forwards; small, black shapes, scarcely longer than a finger. There were hundreds, swarming, and coming very, very close. 

She turned to Josephine, but the woman had frozen in terror, and Olaf was able to thrust her into the water. Violet screamed as he did, and she raced backwards. She grabbed the glass jar she’d dropped, floating in the water, and, without thinking, threw it at Olaf. While it didn’t seem to hurt him much, it did manage to make him lose a bit of balance, which isn’t good when you’re in the ocean. Violet ran for Josephine, grabbing the older woman’s hand and dragging her along as she started racing back to shore. Josephine started screaming something about being terrified, but Violet wasn’t listening, just intent on getting them to safety before… 

Josephine’s hand slipped from hers, but Violet didn’t think much of it, just focusing on getting back to the beach. She skidded across the sand, and only then looked back and realized her mistake. 

Olaf had grabbed Josephine’s arm, and the two were fighting in the ocean. The leeches were drawing closer, and as Violet watched, Olaf threw Josephine farther into the water. 

She didn’t even think, she just started back into the water, racing for a moment, the only thought in her head that Josephine saved me, I have to save her, even if I have to strangle Olaf myself- 

Then she heard a creak above her. 

She stopped, only a few feet back into the ocean, and she looked up. She hadn’t noticed how horrible the storm had gotten, how fierce the winds were, sharp rain smashing against the rocks around her. 

And against the house. 

Josephine’s house was rocking, the stilts beneath starting to creak and moan. They wouldn’t last long. 

Klaus and Sunny. 

Violet looked back, to see Olaf kicking Josephine, splashing at her, drawing her farther from shore and closer to the leeches. She had no doubt that without help, their guardian would die. 

But she was the eldest Baudelaire sibling, and they were still in that house. 

So she blinked back more tears, and turned and ran. 

As she ran up the hill, she heard the screams begin, just as she started to scream, too. She screamed, not from pain, but from panic, as she caught sight of Josephine Anwhistle’s house falling into the ocean.

[irwintry]

Hallmark Movie Love Story

Warnings: swearing (he’s a potty mouth in this one folks)

Author’s Note: Christmas BABy!!! this was originally titled “the great snowmobile wreck of ‘18 and the hallmark christmas movie love story” lmao and there’s not even a snowmobile wreck in the story but that’s why i liked it

Word Count: 6.7k

Luke could read off all of the delayed or canceled flights by memory. He had seen them flash on every monitor he passed on the way to his terminal. Meanwhile, unhappy flyers were rushing by him to be the first at the information desk. Their holiday was ruined for sure, but his wasn’t, and that was all that mattered to him. He couldn’t figure out how his flight was one of the only ones on time, though he wasn’t complaining.

Even when boarding, he couldn’t believe his luck. The cruel part of him wanted to run off of the plane and rub the whole ordeal in the outraged flyers’ faces. His complimentary booze called his name, so he stayed put in the comfortable first-class cabin.

The skies didn’t look all that well, and turbulence had picked up right when they reached cruising altitude. If Luke didn’t know any better, he would say that the pilots miscalculated the possibility of the storm hitting their flight path. It didn’t matter to him now– he was up in the air, and everyone else was stuck in New York.

Luke had finished his first mimosa when the pilot announced over the intercom that the storm had pulled north, blocking the flight’s path and therefore preventing it from going farther west. His heart fell as he stared out of the frost-coated window, his eyes barely catching an inch of land below the clouds.

“Fuck,” he whispered and let out a breath. Luke believed he had a fairly strong intuition, and he trusted his gut. Right now, his gut was telling him that things were not going to go his way. If only it had told him that before.

The pilot informed them that they were landing in a town that started with S, but Luke didn’t care enough to register the information. He would buy a whole plane for himself if it meant getting home faster. The other passengers couldn’t say the same. If some of them were cute and desperate, he’d consider helping them, but certainly not the man beside him who reeked of B.O. and the burrito he chose to eat for breakfast.

Luke needed to get off of the plane in order to think coherent thoughts.

The plane touched down before noon, and already, the runway was slick and icy. The snow had started to fall only moments prior, and Luke knew that if it had been raining, it would be coming down in sheets. To his dismay, this was only the tip of the storm.

Karma was most likely going to fuck him up the ass.

There were no flights leaving from the tiny airport, and by the time he were to get onto the highway with the help of a taxi, it would be an hour into the storm. The roads would be closed by then. Luke had no choice but to go into whatever town was nearby and find a place to stay, and he was not happy about it in the slightest. He made sure everyone knew it by the look on his face.

All of his muscles were contorted in order to make a convincing irate frown. His mother would tell him his face would freeze like that, his cheeks all bitten in and eyebrows tightened together. He missed her, he really did, and he would love to see her if it weren’t for the lovely Winter Storm Dalton.

The ride into town was a nightmare– at least, it felt like it was to Luke. The taxi driver seemed content with the conditions, claiming that “not even an inch” had fallen, yet the occasional glance back through the plastic divider sent Luke into a minor panic. The radio station was a constant loop of Christmas oldies, and he wanted to reach up there and punch the off button, but he wasn’t that rude.

Luke didn’t hate Christmas, but if he couldn’t spend it with his family, he’d rather not have the holiday whatsoever.

There were only two motels within miles of the town, both with shiny new non-vacancy signs hung brightly in the office windows, and Luke wanted to tumble out of the cab and die. He tipped the driver a hundred before having them drop him off in the center of town. Before driving away, the driver told Luke about a few places to hit in the town before leaving tomorrow. This caused Luke to snort because he wasn’t even sure he would get out tomorrow, and he certainly wouldn’t be visiting any local art gallery.

He knew he looked fucking ridiculous. Everything on his body was designer, including his hat and coat. Even his luggage would cost most of the citizens of this town their arm and leg. Meanwhile, his shoulders pained him, and the tension had crawled its way up into his temples. He needed coffee.

Luke wandered for what felt like an hour, but it was really only two minutes when he stumbled upon a decent-looking coffee shop named The Coffee Pot. The windows were fogged, and it reminded him that warmth did exist, just not on his body at the moment. He could tell his cheeks and nose were bright red, and his ears were physically hurting his head even more.

The door chimed on his way in, and out of the many times Luke’s presence silenced a room, this had to be the most uncomfortable. All conversations ceased, and the only sound reverberating through the all-too wooden interior was the faint drone of Bing Crosby singing “White Christmas”. He clutched his suitcase and started towards the counter.

“The west coast too warm for ya, son?” an older man shouted from the back corner, and Luke didn’t hesitate to glare at anyone who chuckled. “This ain’t Malibu, sweetheart.”

“Give him a break, Darryl, he’s probably tired from travelin’.”

Luke’s head snapped over to the counter where the next voice came from. Instead of finding another grumpy local, he found you, a soft and smiley barista that clearly would get on his nerves if he spoke to you long enough.

You were leaned up against the counter as he approached you, and you were still smiling as you asked, “what can I get ya?”

Luke wanted solitude. He wanted no one to speak to him ever again. But he also wanted the richest cup of coffee he could get in Buttfuck, New York. “Small coffee,” he muttered, already digging into his wallet for a few dollars. “Darkest roast.”

“Cream ‘n sugar?”

“No.”

“Okie dokie,” you said. “You can put the fifty-cents in the tip jar.”

Luke quirked a heavy, wet (from the snow) brow. “Fifty-cents?”

You nodded. “The coffee’s fifty-cents.” You had already poured the coffee into a to-go cup, and now you were standing with your arms crossed. Maybe Luke wasn’t the only one with an attitude. “Can I get ya anythin’ else?” A sigh followed your question.

“No.”

“Ya sure?” You smirked at him, and he didn’t like that one bit. “We got food. Airplane food’s not quite as good as my world-famous pressed paninis!”

Luke nearly snorted. You were annoying, yet funny. World-famous... he’d had world-famous, and he was positive you hadn’t even come close to knowing what it tasted like. “Got any salads?”

“Um,” you mumbled. “No, I’m– I’m sorry, we don’t.”

Great. Poor service and no salads. Luke wanted to get the hell out of this town. “Fine. Gimme a world-famous panini, then.”

“Oh!” You grinned, your entire body jumping as you leaned your elbows back onto the counter. “Which one? We got– “

He didn’t listen as you listed off the sandwiches, so when you stopped talking, he played the lottery and said, “the last,” before setting down his cash and walking away with his coffee. Luke was normally nicer than this, but his day had been so fucked up already, and he wasn’t terribly in the mood for talking to a cute yet chatty barista. However, he did feel guilty for not saying thank you.

Luke took a seat at a table by the wall adjacent to the counter. Every single one of your customers stared at him as he did so, but just as he opened his mouth to retort a snarky comment, they returned back to their conversations. They were more interested in his rich, LA vibe, and they definitely wondered why he was here instead of there. He would rather be there than here any day.

He winced as he took a sip of his coffee. It was watery like he expected. No good coffee is fifty cents. The person to his right had been staring at his luggage for a good minute now, which for some reason, pissed Luke off to no end. Every little thing that bothered him was heightened due to the incredulous turn of events of the day. It wasn’t even two in the afternoon.

The coffee sat idle as he began to scribble down his thoughts into a random journal he picked up in Munich just the other month. His life was too extreme for the people of this town. They wouldn’t last a day in his boots, nor would he want them to even breathe near his boots. Someone could glance at them and he’d spit.

Luke wrote for a while, his thoughts pouring out onto the handmade paper without even realizing that a hot unknown panini had been placed down right in front of his nose. Also, a few of his crumpled bills had been strewn beside it.

“Few dollars too much,” you said, your face expressionless as you prepared to back away. “This is Spruce Creek, not LA. The world isn’t as shiny as it seems.” And then you were gone, and Luke wanted to laugh.

Everyone here thought they were so philosophical– it killed him. He shoved the few dollars into his pocket before staring at the steaming sandwich. A growl emitted from his stomach at the sight of the pesto running down the crusty sides, and Luke didn’t realize how truly hungry he had been until he reached for the sandwich and took a great big bite. He nearly moaned at the warmth spreading on his tongue. If only the coffee had lived up to his expectations, then maybe he would give this place a little more credit.

Luke pictured you in a city like New York, but he wasn’t sure you could handle the hustle and bustle. You certainly didn’t belong in LA– you seemed like the type that thrived off of snow and hot chocolate. Plus, you also seemed satisfied with the community you created with this coffee shop. Everyone was speaking to one another as if they were longtime friends... everyone but Luke. He didn’t want to be friends with any of them anyway.

Time ticked away faster than he assumed it would. Come mid-afternoon, the sun had set, and people were flooding into the coffee shop for food. They all looked the same to him, and they all knew each other’s’ names. Mid-afternoon slowly turned into early evening, and before Luke knew it, the whole place had cleared. His coffee remained untouched from earlier.

“Hey Curly, we’re closin’ up,” you called from the other end of the café. You were stacking chairs, your apron now thrown over your shoulder like a proper barista would. He had noticed you scrubbing down surfaces, but he hadn’t put two-and-two together.

“Fuck,” he muttered, eyes widening and pen slipping from his grip, though he made no effort to move. Luke had slept in cars and vans and buses, yet not once had he slept on the street. If he truly wanted to, he could go back to the airport and stay there, however, conditions were worsening outside.

The chair in your hands fell to the table with a spine-shuddering bang. Luke was just thankful he didn’t have all that much caffeine in him or else the sound would have sent his nerves flying.

“Where we ya headin’ to?” you asked, continuing your round about the floor.

“Does it matter?” he sighed as he rubbed his temples. “Got no fuckin’ place to stay.”

You didn’t answer as you stepped back behind the counter to shut off the lights to the kitchen.

“’m stuck in this fuckin’ town with all you fuckin’ people,” he said, “and Spice Crete is so fuckin’ small that your tiny ass motels turned me away. Me. I coulda given ‘em triple their nightly rates! So fuckin’ stupid. I’d rather’ve stayed in fuckin’ New York City with everyone else whose flight was canceled.”

“Spruce Creek.”

“What?” Luke snapped. He imagined that his face looked awfully crude.

“The town,” you giggled, shutting off the lights that were behind the camera. You walked over to him and placed your hand on the leg of an overturned chair. “’s Spruce Creek. Although, I wouldn’t mind the Spruce changing t’Spice. Sounds festive.”

He rolled his eyes.

There was another moment of silence as you stared at him, and he was about to say something about it before you said, “so, stay at my place.”

Luke knotted his brows together. Every line in his face deepened with confusion. “What?”

“I’ve got a couch,” you replied with a smile. “It’s not a California king-sized, but it’s some cushion until the conditions clear up. Free of charge.”

He was about to snort. He was about to say no. But he had no other options. Luke was forced to nod and accept your kind invitation. He hated that you seemed so happy about it.

-

Luke was grateful (truly, he was), but he could not handle your constant chatter. Were all small-town people the same? Did they all talk about nothing that mattered to him just to get under his skin? After you had taken him down the road to the tiny apartment building you resided in, Luke decided he was going to lock himself in the bathroom for thirty minutes of peace. The idea of brushing his teeth and scrubbing off the airplane and coffee shop grime tempted him, though the jingling of a collar snapped him out of his thought process.

A stout and slightly chubby Pitbull waddled over to greet the two of you as you entered through the (god awfully creaky) door. It went right to you, but it soon cowered back into the hallway right when it noticed Luke.

“That’s Grape!” you exclaimed, meanwhile making baby sounds to summon the dog back. “She’s shy when it comes to men. The vet thinks it might be because of her past owner, or something.”

Luke felt the disappointed come and go. Memories of Petunia hit him like a freight train, and it only reminded him further that he wanted nothing more than to be home with her. His eyes fell on the tree in the corner of the living room, and fuck, what a pathetic thing that was. Had you only gotten it yesterday? You didn’t seem like the type of person that had to settle for the runts. The apartment was decked out top-to-bottom for the holiday, so it didn’t make sense that the tree appeared to be seconds away from catching flame.

Whatever. It didn’t matter to him anyway. He was going to be here for a day or two at tops. And, if it had to be any longer, Luke would rather walk home.

And then the tree kept bothering him. “What’s– why’s your tree like...”

You huffed, but you laughed along with it. “Sad?” You shrugged and plopped down onto the hardwood floor as Grape came ambling over. “Couldn’t afford the price of a pretty tree.”

Luke frowned. Now that was unacceptable. “Where’s the nearest tree farm?” he asked you, eyes narrowing on you and the tubby pup that refused to look at him. It truly crushed him that he was not getting attention by that dog. If anything was keeping him back, it would be Grape.

“Um, there’s one behind Martha’s candle shop, so just like a five-minute walk,” you said. “Why?”

“I can’t sleep on a couch facing that fuckin’ thing,” Luke grumbled as he hugged himself with his arms.

“But I can’t– “

“Think of it as me leaving my mark.” He shrugged. The closer he got to closing himself off I the bathroom, the happier he would be. “Buying a tree will hardly put a dent in my wallet.”

You nodded, your lips pulling into a small frown as you lifted yourself off of the floor to stand. “You know,” you mumbled, “you’re gonna find some of the nicest people here in this town. They’ll treat ya like family if you let them. The storm will be over soon, and you’ll go back to your sports cars and model girlfriends. But there’s a warmth you’ll get here that you’ll never get anywhere else. Don’t flaunt things in their faces. People may not be rich here, but they have more worth than you will ever know.” You grabbed your coat from the small hook beside you. “Let’s go.”

-

Luke didn’t like receiving the cold shoulder from anyone, and for some reason, he hated it coming from you. You, the cute, chatty barista who somehow knew exactly how to piss him off. Yet, now that you were upset with him, the entire town would be on his ass. How could he hurt the sweetheart who owned The Coffee Pot? How dare he? Luke hardly expected to come out of this alive.

He didn’t know how to pick out a Christmas tree– he just saw them in movies and always dreamt of the day he could cut one down and decorate it himself. You, however, knew exactly where to go as you stalked off to the way back. Sure, he was right about there being a lot of runts, but there were good ones too. You certainly had experience in shopping for trees. You handled the saw with ease on the walk through the trees while he stumbled over stumps while the tree wagon nicked his shins.

Luke hadn’t made a snarky comment since you snapped at him, which honestly, he deserved. He was being a bit cruel to the folks around town. They had no say in his matters– it was not their fault that he was stuck in this god-awful place.

“If this fuckin’ thing hits my fuckin’– “

“This one,” you said, pointing to a great Fraser fir standing a whopping six feet (he guessed considering he was slightly taller than it).

Luke’s forehead scrunched. “It’s so– “

“Short?” you wondered aloud. “Mhm. I’ll name her Patrice. Who’s cutting? You, or me?”

He stuttered out a pitiful, “uh, I– uh– I-I don’t– “ before you sighed and kneeled on the snow-covered ground.

His eyes widened at your audacious action, and he wondered if you cared about your pants at all. Luke, on the other hand, was freezing his butt off. He was lucky he had a hat to keep his delicate ears warm, but his hands were numb in his coat pockets. The snow was falling in fat, chunky flakes that greatly affected his vision. The two of you looked kind of hilarious, all covered in snow and such, and you were somehow already well into your sawing. You definitely did have experience.

The word “wait” uttered from his lips a moment later.

“What?”

“I-I wanna try.”

You chuckled and sat up. Your arms were coated in needles, and your entire front side was caked in snow. “Give it a go, then,” you said, handing him the saw.

Luke knelt on the ground as he did his best not to wince at the fact that his few-hundred-dollar pair of pants was now soaked in snow, mud, sap, and many other things he didn’t want to think about. He laid down, just like you had, and shit, he wanted to whine about it so badly.

The floodlights overhead hardly shed a speck of light through the needles, which meant he couldn’t see a single thing of what he was about to cut. You had sawed a little already, so he searched and searched for the itsy divot you created.

“I look fuckin’– how the hell do you do this?” he asked, somehow already frustrated. His arms were cramping, and they hadn’t even moved.

You chuckled from above. When he glanced up (as best as he could through the lower boughs), you had grabbed ahold of the top to balance it out for when he began sawing. “Back ‘n forth.” You motioned it with your hands, and honestly, it looked more like–

“A handjob?”

This made you burst into a fit of unforeseen laughter, and that actually caused him to smile, too.

“Like a handjob, yup,” you said.

He nodded and returned his gaze back to the dark underbelly of the fir. Here goes nothing.

It took a bit of time, coercion, and tears, but Luke finally managed to cut down the small fir. He insisted on lifting it into the little wagon too, but the blunt end of the trunk fell on his toe, so you ended up helping out with that one. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure the experience had been worth it, but he promised you a better tree, and hell, you were getting a better tree.

“Cool beans,” you muttered, out of breath. A few snowflakes had stuck to your eyelashes, and that made him smile a bit. You were really pretty. Brushing off your hat, you huffed out, “now, let’s go get Patricia straightened.”

“I thought it was Patrice.”

You pouted. “Oh. Yeah. Patrice.”

Luke had no idea how he remembered that over you, but he knew that in due time, he would hopefully forget Patrice and this entire experience.

-

Luke awoke to a slobbery grin by his nose, and before he could register the puppy’s stare, he was being attacked with big, wet kisses. He had almost forgotten where he was as he laughed at the dog’s sudden friendliness, and then he smelled the burning from the kitchen. The half-open French doors separating the living room from the kitchen only hid so much, so the dancing mess that you were could easily be seen. He recognized the song playing softly through your phone as some song from “10 Things I Hate About You”. Honestly, his life at the moment could have been so much worse.

The spatula flew from your hands, and you yelped, causing poor Grape to waddle off in fear.

“Shit, Y/N,” you muttered to yourself, clambering across the bench surrounding the table to fetch the fallen soldier, “that’s not how you make eggs.”

Luke snickered, but he hadn’t meant it to be as loud as it was. You slipped onto the floor, and he heard your dog’s collar jingle from down the hall.

“Mornin’,” you huffed, kicking your legs out and accepting your defeat. “Like eggs?”

“Got ketchup?”

You groaned. “You disgust me.”

Luke cracked a grin.

“But no, sorry,” you mumbled with a shrug. “’m not a big ketchup fan.”

“You disgust me.”

You leaned forward to peer through the glass of one of the open doors so you could view Patrice in her bare glory. “Thanks, again. For Patty.”

He nodded. “Thanks for giving me a place to stay.”

You nodded, too.

“Need any help in the kitchen?”

Luke found out that you burned some toast, and you were about to serve him watery eggs, which didn’t make much sense to him considering the masterpiece sandwich you crafted for him yesterday. Now it was his turn to show you his skills, although they weren’t all that great. He just wanted things to go faster so he could get the hell out of Spice Girl Creek. The weather didn’t appear all that better just from his observations, but maybe it would be okay by the afternoon.

He had plated your breakfast when you said to him,

“Roads are still closed. We’re only in the middle of Dalton.”

Luke nearly dropped your plate. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He set the two plates down and began to pace a bit.

You shook your head. “But you’re more than welcome to– “

“Leave me alone,” he snapped and raced in the direction of the bathroom. Grape followed after him, and she soon began whining after he closed the door in her face.

Luke wanted to scream or cry or something in between. He was stuck in this town with you and all of those other weird old people that only saw him as a fake movie prop. He was real, and he was so mad that everyone looked at him as if he were the oddest frickin’ man who walked the face of the earth. Sure, he was pricey, and sure, one of his outfits cost more than your monthly rent, but that didn’t give them the right to stare. Just because he was untouchable didn’t mean he had zero feelings completely.

Maybe he was being unreasonable. He wasn’t a fucking god. All of Luke’s feelings stemmed from the fact that he couldn’t get home, and he really had no right to take it out on them. He had no right to take it on you, the pretty stranger that was being too fucking nice to him and his ugly temper.

With a sigh, Luke rinsed his face and walked out to join you for breakfast.

You were sat at the table when he walked back in the kitchen, your one hand petting a snorting Grape, the other struggling to pick up a few bites of egg onto a fork. “I’m sorry,” you said to him as he walked in.

Luke shook his head. That was the last thing you needed to say to him. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I really don’t want you to think I’m this rude.”

“No, I get it,” you said. “Ya just wanna go home. I get it.”

He sighed and took his spot on the bench across from you. From what he could remember, his grandmother had a table and bench set like this at her old home. They were nestled between three walls just like yours, but in your case, the kitchen was within arm’s reach.

A thought popped into Luke’s mind. “Do you– do you really run The Coffee Pot by yourself?”

You nodded happily. “Well, sort of. My friend Charlie co-owns it, but he moved away last spring. It’s been me and a few other pals for months now.”

“Jesus,” he said, taking a bite of his bland eggs. Ketchup would have been great, and he wasn’t sure he could ever forgive you for not having ketchup.

“So, I work ten to close,” you said as you poured a bit of salt onto your eggs. Not much better than ketchup. “You’re free to sit in the seating area with the regulars. Darryl might give ya a hard time again. Or, you could see all that Spruce Creek has to offer! Although you might not wanna become an abominable snowman, so it’s up t’ya.”

“Hm, I might,” Luke mumbled. He truly did need a head-clearing walk.

“Waterman’s Bridge is pretty in the winter,” you said, “especially when the river is frozen over. It’s just a ten-minute walk east. The local art gallery is nice. I actually have a few works in there myself. And– “

Luke began zoning out when you mentioned the art gallery. He didn’t know it then, but he had been caught up in the movement of your lips as you spoke. That was the first sign, and after that, he lost track.

-

He dropped by Waterman’s Bridge briefly, but his cheeks were too chapped to withstand the brisk cold of Winter Storm Dalton’s fury. Unfortunately, though he did bring a few beanies and a singular pair of gloves, none of them were thick or warm enough to brace the harsh winter. The next stop was the art gallery like you said. He swore he wasn’t going to visit it, but after you mentioned you had a few pieces hung up, his brain convinced him to drop by.

The building was about the size of your one-bedroom apartment, and the artworks were all cramped and snuggled together like your vintage furniture. This made it easy to spot your creations, and when he did, he found himself going back to examine them. The curator of the place recognized him, but to his luck, they only bothered him for a moment before leaving him be.

Your work wasn’t the worst he’d seen, nor was it the best. Truth be told, he didn’t know what to think about it. He spent a good twenty minutes analyzing the film photographs only to realize there was nothing significant to be analyzed. All Luke knew was that he couldn’t tear his eyes away from your art, and that troubled him. They were special because you made them.

He pictured you stretched out on the floor of your living room, couch pushed against the wall as you painted whatever damn thing that came to your mind. You probably carried your film camera with you everywhere, but he suspected that, since it was a literal blizzard outside, your creative eye was being restricted.

Luke quickly shuffled out of the gallery in order to avoid the gaze of the curator. He started in the direction of your coffee shop, but then he remembered the candle store, and oh, did he love candles. Maybe he would pick one up for his mother. Maybe he would pick one up for you.

“Luke, what a pleasant surprise,” you said as he walked in.

The heat hit him like a sudden gust of wind, and he had to shake the snow off of his coat and boats before walking off of the carpet and onto the hardwood. “Need a coffee fix,” he muttered, glaring at a few strangers (or regulars as you would call them) that happened to stare a bit too long.

“Small coffee?” you asked.

He bit his lip and leaned towards you. “Gotta be honest, your regular coffee is more water than coffee,” he whispered. A part of him wished he hadn’t said that, but then you giggled.

“I told Emily that her coffee isn’t nearly as strong as Charlie’s was.” You took a mug from the rack by the espresso machine and faced him. “All right. Prepare yourself for the best coffee you’ve ever tasted.”

Luke raised an eyebrow. “Bet?”

“Oh, I don’t need to!” you exclaimed. “I already know it’ll be the best coffee. If I’m wrong, then you can have Grape.”

“What?” Luke’s voice escaped him at a higher octave than he had hoped for. “You wouldn’t bet your dog on coffee.”

“Just you wait!”

Luke waited, and truly, he had to admit that you were right. The coffee was damn fantastic, but he wasn’t sure if it was the best he’d had. He would have to try every single cup of coffee he’d tried from around the world to put yours up to the test. But in the meantime, yes, your coffee was the best coffee, and he needed two more cups.

He stayed until close again, his stomach now stuffed with the same turkey pesto panini from yesterday. For the few hours he sat there, half of them were spent admiring you from afar, whether he wanted to admit it or not. Even the stranger next to him elbowed and teased him about it. Luke’s face fell, and he returned back to journaling.

Before exiting into the marshmallow world outside, Luke handed you a heavy brown paper bag.

“What’s this?” you asked, looking inside and fishing out a dark green candle.

“A candle.”

You knotted your brows together in confusion.

“For gratitude,” he continued. “’m not sure what scents ya like– “ He scratched the back of his neck, “–but I figured balsam and cedar was the best– “

Your arms were around his neck before he knew it, and he easily relaxed into your hug. Luke felt himself melt against you, his senses taking in your warmth and your scent purely for a memory stamp. He was slowing starting to realize that he did not want to forget about this experience or you.

“T-thanks,” you said, backing away as a great big smile grew on your cheeks. “This– this is the best thing you could have done for me. Thank you.”

“Course,” he replied. Luke began to smile as well.

Back at your place, you dug out boxes of ornaments. You had only just put them away yesterday once you got rid of your previous tree. A moment later, you invited Luke to help you decorate Patrice, and he jumped at the opportunity.

“What Christmas songs do you prefer?” you asked, stretching your arm out far so you could reach for your phone on the coffee table. The two of you had been untangling the metal hooks from the big ball they had forced themselves into. You let out a soft sound as you bent over, causing something to spark in Luke’s heart. “Traditional or gross modern?”

“I take it you got an opinion,” he muttered mockingly. “Traditional. Gimme that Bing Crosby shit.”

You grinned. “Man of my dreams.”

Luke wasn’t sure if you meant him or Bing Crosby. Whatever it was, it made Luke blush.

-

“Luke,” you whispered in his ear.

He groaned, rolling over and pulling the blanket higher on his bare torso to keep the chills from hearing your voice at bay. The shutter had already traveled halfway up his spine. In his dream, your fingers were tracing along his bicep as the other massaged his scalp. Your chests were pressed together, and the skin-to-skin contact was making his mind reel with pleasure and intimacy. God, you were so beautiful. How had he not noticed before?

“Luke,” you whispered again. Shit, did your voice get sexier?

Luke hummed, but it came out more like a moan as he imagined your lips sucking and biting–

“Luke!” you shouted, hitting his head hard with a couch pillow. “Wake up.”

His eyes snapped open to find you not in bed with him, but in fact, kneeling beside him fully clothed. Fuck.

“The roads are open,” you said. “Snow’s stopped.”

He jumped up, a grin spreading far on his cheeks. Before he knew it, he was lifting you up by the waist and holding you against him, his hand finding its way into your hair so he could press your head onto his chest.

“I take it you’re happy?” you mumbled against his hot skin.

“So fuckin’– “ His mind interrupted his tongue. That meant he could leave. That meant he had to leave. He had to leave you. Luke frowned and pulled away from you.

“What?” you wondered as you examined his suddenly worried expression.

His hands moved onto your cheeks, his thumbs grazing the soft skin underneath your eyes while he thought about what he was going to say.

“What?” you chuckled out lightly, but you soon lost your smile.

“Jus’ thinking about kissing you,” he said, “before I go.”

You were silent for a moment.

“’m sor– “

“I won’t want you to leave if you do,” you whispered, your hands reaching up to gently wrap around his wrists.

Luke nearly let out a breath, but he hadn’t brushed his teeth. “I gotta shower.”

You nodded, dropping your grip on his wrists as he dropped his on your cheeks. “Course.”

His heart was thumping loudly in his chest as he scurried around the small bathroom. He tossed his clothes to the floor, the toothbrush in his mouth nearly sliding back down his throat before he caught it with a gag. The water of the shower was hot enough by the time he had rinsed all of the toothpaste from his mouth, and then you knocked on the door.

“’m– I’m naked!” he shouted hurriedly.

“Yeah, um– I-I figured,” you stuttered out. He could picture you clutching your arms close against your chest like he knew you did when you were nervous.

Luke walked over to the door and opened it slightly so he could peak his head out. You were standing just how he imagined you would be, except he hadn’t expected to face the thick tension that he knew all too well. Your lips were pulled into a pathetic little pout, and it took every ounce of him not to tug you into the bathroom with him.

“I’m just– I’m– I’m gonna miss you,” you said. “I-I don’t– shit, I– “

Luke reached out and grabbed the back of your neck, pulling you in so he could press his lips against yours in a heated kiss. Maybe it was the steam from the shower, but every single nerve in his body ignited. You were kissing him back with as much fervency as he, and he couldn’t help but let himself taste what he had been missing these past three days.

“I’ll miss you,” he murmured breathlessly, nudging your nose and slowly kissing down your cheeks and onto your neck. “So much.”

You unexpectedly pulled away, your eyes frantic, and your lips tugged into a deep frown. “No, you won’t,” you said.

Luke rested his face against the door. “What d’ya mean?”

“Y-you won’t miss me.” You cracked a smile. “You’ll go back to LA– see your friends and family, and you won’t miss me. You won’t miss this town– you won’t even remember it. It’ll be like some dream to you.”

“No,” he said, “that’s not true.”

“Are you sure?” you laughed somewhat maniacally. “You’re famous, Luke. Famous people don’t belong in a town like Spruce Creek. This is for people who have no other choice.”

He shook his head, but you had already walked into your bedroom and closed the door.

-

You offered to drive Luke to the airport, but neither of you spoke the entire time. He wanted to say so much to you, though none of the words that popped into his brain seemed right. Nothing seemed right. Leaving you, despite knowing you for the few days he had, felt like the worst decision he was about to face. He trusted his intuition, and it was telling him to stay.

It continued to tell him to stay as he waited three hours for security to open. It told him to stay as he waited with the other five people at the wrong gate before realizing there was only one other gate to wait by. It told him to stay as he sat on his phone for another three hours, looking at all of the pictures he managed to take through the blustery snowfall. It told him to stay as he gathered his belongings and waited for his ticket to be scanned.

And lastly, it told him to stay as he turned around and rushed out of the airport, his belongings banging around on the pavement behind him as he hailed for a taxi.

His forehead had broken out into a dripping sweat by the time he made it to The Coffee Pot. It was minutes away from closing– he knew. Luke tipped the driver before clambering out onto the slushy road. He hoped you wouldn’t see him just yet.

What was he doing? He had a whole life waiting for him back home. What was he doing?

The door chimed as he stepped in, that familiar gust of hot air hitting him as Darryl shouted, “Ay! Malibu’s back! Give ‘em a kiss for me Stan.”

Stan made a disgusted face as every head turned to Luke. Every head including yours.

“Luke?” you gasped.

“My legs hurt,” he said, “so c’mere.” He nodded you over and watched you walk out from behind the counter. Your steps were wary as you neared. “’m done missing out on other chances. Who says I can’t fall for someone I just met? Who says I can’t drop a few things just to be with you for a bit? Who says it won’t work out?” He chuckled. “I just know I’m crazy about ya, and I don’t really know what else to do but stay.”

You grinned, pulling him down by the neck as you pecked his lips over and over. “See?” you mused. “Small towns ain’t so bad.”

He hummed, a lazily smile finding its way onto his lips. “With you, never.”

tags!

@lilhemmo @oh-annaa @youngbloodstyles @tommyswolves @lukeofmine @crystalisinfinite  @dammitbands

[ibangtanthings]

For You, A House of Cards

It was 5:30 AM. A loud crack of thunder had woken you up.

You didn’t jump awake but a tiny nervousness began to build inside your stomach. It had been meaning to rain for a few days now. The thunder rolled for hours each day but eventually it calmed and now, during your sleep, it decided to come back roaring.

Within seconds lighting flashed across the sky and the rain began to pour. You watched through the blinds for a moment and then rolled around in bed wondering how it was possible for him to stay asleep.

He wasn’t.

Yoongi wasn’t even in bed. You yawned and got up, then turned on the flashlight from your phone to walk through the dark house in search of him.

Now you were really scared because if the thunder were to crack suddenly and loudly again, it would most likely take you by surprise.

As you walked down the stairs, the lightning provided some creepy visibility to the house. You just hoped that the thunder would remain quiet for just a moment. Until you could find him.

He was in the kitchen, hovering over the counter and making coffee. He saw you come in and your eyes met.

“I was making tea so in case you woke up. It should calm down your nerves.” He took a sip from his mug. It probably cost ten dollars more than you would have paid for.

“I’m not scared, the storm just woke me up. I never heard thunder so loud before.”

Suddenly the thunder and lighting roared through the sky again simultaneously, making you take quick steps towards him but you didn’t touch him as you looked towards the windows much too large for your liking.

You didn’t want to be too clingy and lose your dignity. 

Instead, he pulled you towards him as he turned his attention back towards the brewing tea but he lazily wrapped your arms around him.

“I’m not scared.” You repeated, hugging him from behind.

“The entire day you were nervous about the thunder. Now it really hits and you don’t want to admit that you’re scared? I kind of wanted to hold you until you weren’t scared anymore.” He surprisingly admitted.

“I’m scared Yoongi.” You said quietly.

He took your hand and pulled you back upstairs towards the bedroom.

You tucked yourself into him and he kissed your forehead, letting his arm serve as your pillow.

“Go to sleep. This is just one of many storms we’ll have to go through.” He said, taking a deep breath.

You held onto his hand and closed your eyes. It felt so good being in his arms.

 There was something crazy about feeling this happy. Especially since this wasn’t your house, your room, your bed...or his.

“I love you Yoongi.” You smiled for the first time since arriving yesterday. You stifled a laugh as he smothered you with kisses anywhere he could.

Sleep came naturally and quickly. He said you always pouted in your sleep and that it was funny, but it was one of the things he loved about you. He didn’t know that he did the same.

Sometimes you wondered how you could sleep so peacefully in someone else’s home.

Maybe because he always did…….but it didn’t last long, it never did.

“They’re back, we have to go.” He half yelled, shaking you awake.

You jumped up and got dressed quickly, looking for his shoes before you even thought about putting yours on.

“Grab anything.” He said stuffing his bag with jewelry, shoes a different size but worth a pretty penny, cash from underneath the mattress. You grabbed necessities like medicine, shampoo, toothpaste but you didn't forget the heels with the red bottoms.

“Let’s go.” He ordered, and you both ran down the stairs as quickly as possible. The front door opening but the back door closing as you both slipped away and ran towards the car two blocks away.

Breathless and with a massive headache, you started to feel carsick as he sped down the highway swerving through cars left and right.

After a few minutes he slowed down and the nausea began to fade quickly.

As you recalled the last few hours in that beautiful house, you smiled and wondered when you had gotten so soft. When did he get so soft? Living like this, always on the road, you weren’t meant to be soft.

It was tough but at the same time exhilarating. It had been months since you two ran away together. Things had been going fairly well considering you only had a pair of shoes, some clothes and a few hundred dollars every so often for food, gas and liquor stores along the freeway.

Anything else you needed you stole. He was good at it and you were just as good. It was a pleasant surprise how easy it was to find vacant houses, ridiculously cheap motels, quiet neighborhoods with open garage doors, and most of all, easy victims to steal from.

Since you guys weren’t staying in one area, no one would ever catch you. You guys were lovers on the run, taking care of each other and somehow making this life work. It was fun.

“Look what I found.” He said pulling out a handgun from his pocket.

“Shit Yoongi. We don’t need a gun. What if it’s registered?”

“It’s fine. It’s just a precaution.” He handed it over and you placed it inside the glove compartment.

There was a comfortable silence in the car as the traffic began to build and the sun began to rise.

The temperature began to rise as well and suddenly you were sweating.

“Can we get cold water? I’m hot. I don’t want to drink the stupid warm water we have in the back.”

“I’ll pull over at the next place I see. Are you feeling sick?” He asked worriedly.

You opened the window. “I don’t know. I just feel really hot.” You wiped the sweat off your forehead.

He pulled over at a dollar store and usually you were overjoyed knowing that you could buy anything, but right now you needed food and ice cold water.

When you stepped into the store he looked at you with a confused expression on his face.

“Y/N, your cheeks are red hot.” He said taking hold of your hand before walking over to the mirrors in the beauty isle.

Your cheeks looked so red, as if it was winter and the temperature outside had been below freezing.

You touched them and the skin burned underneath your fingertips. “That’s weird. Maybe I am getting sick.”

“Let’s see what kind of medicine they have here. The other night it was cold and you didn’t put on socks like I told you.”

He scanned the labels carefully, all his focus on the words and it bored you just standing there. It didn’t seem necessary to get any medication, much less from a dollar store. From what you saw, there were only painkillers and they probably didn’t even work.

“Let’s just get these, cold and flu aid.” He picked out a small packet of pills.

“Some band-aids might be useful.” You fiddled with the boxes of band-aids that had characters printed on them.

“Yeah. You never know when you’ll get a paper cut.” He teased.

“Haha. So funny Yoongi. Your use of sarcasm is amazing.”

He threw the pills at you and they bounced off your head. You both laughed and he pushed you away when you got closer for payback.

“Go look around. I’ll see what food they have.”

You shook your head and decided to be stubborn. “Not until you kiss me first.”

He turned his attention back to the medications. “You’re sick. I’m not getting sick too.”

“Put a condom in your mouth, you won’t get infected.” You retorted, pretending to be mad but he knew you so well.

He just gave you a gummy smile and threw his arm around you and kissed your cheek. He understood why you didn't want to leave his side. It just felt wrong being apart.

“Put this on.” You took a black snapback off the hook and placed it on his head.

It matched the black of his hoodie and he check himself out in the mirror before turning it around so that it was backwards now.

“You look good.” You smiled, loving the way he looked in all black.

Dressed up or dressed down, if he was in all black you felt your heart flutter for him as if you had just met.

“I think I should buy socks not a snapback.”

“We just stole a bunch of jewelry and stuff. A dollar won’t kill us. Plus you look hot.”

“I’m more than just your eye candy.” He scoffed but he put the hat into the shopping cart anyways.

“Yeah I know, you have feelings apparently.”

Within a few minutes you were walking through the snack isles and he stopped in front of the ‘healthy’ options. You found it cute how he worried about your health to this extent. Surely he would make you eat something as soon as you returned to the car.

“Want to try these dried fruits?” He inspected the ingredients.

“Sugar? Yes please.” You grabbed the bag out of his hands and dunked it into the cart. “Oh and I’m kinda craving some cheese puffs.”

“Cheese puffs? You don’t like cheese flavored chips.”

“I don’t know I just have the appetite for them today. Must be nearing my period.”

He sighed and grabbed a bag of cheese puffs. After looking around some more, you found yourself with a cart full of items that just made you feel normal again.

But he sighed again, taking out the cake mix, the picture frame and the candle you wanted.

“What did we talk about? Don’t get things like this when you know you don’t have a house to place them in. Where exactly are you going to bake a cake?”

“It can wait until we find another place. It’s holiday season after all. Everyone’s on vacation and there’s hundreds of houses just waiting for me to bake a cake in them.” You clutched the box in your hands.

“No. I’ll just buy you a slice of cake okay babe? Come on let’s hurry up. Get some orange juice with pulp, you’ll need some vitamin C if your feeling sick.”

Honestly you didn’t care much for the cake mix or the candle, it was the picture frame that you wanted to keep but you let it go. He was right, you didn’t have a home, not even a camera to take photos with.

When you walked out the doors you felt the cold breeze immediately and it was strange how you didn’t feel it before. Now you really took his suspicions seriously. The reason he was so worried was because your flu and colds lasted four weeks minimum.

When you were in pain he felt just as miserable being unable to help, but a part of you wouldn’t mind getting sick because that’s when he baby’s you the most.

Before, you guys never really showed much affection. You didn’t need to. After going on the road, things changed. The fear of having him taken away from you made you want to be close to him all the time. 

He reached for your hand more often.

Like now. You were just looking out the window enjoying your orange juice when you felt his fingers find yours.

You looked over at him but his eyes never met yours. He just continued driving with one hand and playing with your fingers in the other.

The day went by quickly. The pawn shop that accepted the jewelry gave you guys five hundred dollars which is less than it was worth but you guys were in no position to haggle.

Thankfully it didn’t seem like you were going to get sick. That was until next week, when things started to seem strange.

You called it a new skill, being sensitive to smell. Yoongi thought you caught a bug and you did too. 

It was embarrassing having to vomit almost everyday.

Every time you barfed, it sucked the energy out of you and it made you weak.

Instead of whining about it, you always made sure to walk out of the bathroom as normal as possible so that he wouldn’t worry or notice.

But that was harder to do each time. Today in particular you threw up a second time and as you hung over the toilet seat, tears streamed down your cheeks as you had no more energy left. Your entire body wanted to shut down, to pass out right there on the floor.

After a few ragged breaths you took the toothbrush and toothpaste out from your back pocket, and somehow got up to brush your teeth.

As you turned the faucet off, you leaned against the sink and cried silently. The last thing you wanted to do was cry because you felt bad for yourself. 

You kept telling yourself to stop being such a baby and to hurry it up because Yoongi was waiting.

But then you told yourself he was waiting for nothing in particular. You guys had no place to be.

“Y/N. Are you taking a dump?” He knocked on the door.

You were taking too long and he was nervous about the cameras. Plus this was Walmart, and you were in the family bathroom alone. Some lady could come sooner or later with three kids in tow.

With tired steps to the door, you unlocked it and you couldn’t open the heavy door. He pushed it open you slumped against the wall. He caught you before you could slump down.

“Tell me. Are you hurt?” He touched your cheeks and then your neck to look for your pulse.

“No. I’m exhausted. I just threw up again.” You whimpered.

“Stand up. Come on. I’ll carry you.” He said helping you up.

You latched on him as he carried you away like a child. He didn’t give a damn that everyone was staring. You just closed your eyes and buried your face into his neck.

Laying down in the back seat, you gave him the okay to drive with a small nod. He was going a little past the speed limit from what you could tell but the exhaustion quickly took over. Within a couple of minutes you were dreaming of Neverland.

“How much?”……..“I’ll give you five hundred.”

You opened your eyes to a small room. A motel with a small TV across from you. It was turned on but muted, and the only thing illuminating the room right now. You rolled around to see him on the phone, watching you with concern.

“I’ll give you the address tomorrow.” He said hanging up. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” You stretched and he placed his hand on your forehead, checking for a fever.

“You should eat. Get your strength back.”

“Who was it on the phone?” You looked at the landline and felt an urge to call someone but who? All you had was Yoongi and he was right here.

“A doctor.”

You sat up and looked at him wearily. “Five hundred for a doctor to keep silent? I’m fine.”

“He could give us medication we can’t buy. It will be good to have some in stock in case of an emergency, and you’re not fine. Something’s wrong.”

“If I have the stomach flu then it’s just a matter of time before it goes away. Go heat up the food, I’ll take a quick shower.”

“You want me to leave you, in your condition? What if you faint and die?” He said annoyed.

“Then there’s something less for you to worry about.” You smiled, pinching his cheek but he wasn’t amused.

He grabbed wrist and glared. “I always worry about you. If there’s something wrong you need to tell me, don’t try to be strong for my sake.”

You held onto his hand and reassured him.

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” You asked him softly.

He took a deep breath and nodded.

“What did you think about that house Y/N?” He said brushing some hair away from your face with his fingers.

“It was nice. We should have scoped around the place a little earlier to get more stuff to sell. Maybe fuck around in the bathroom a little. Why?” You giggled.

He finally smirked. “No reason. I’ll go heat up the food, leave the bathroom door unlocked.”

“Always.” You smiled as he shook his head and walked away.

As you looked through your bag, you got your shampoo and conditioner only to do a double take when you saw your pads.

For a moment you forgot what week it was so you looked around for a calendar and found one on the nightstand.

It had been four weeks and nothing. Maybe you were just late.

There was no way that your symptoms pointed to…that….

No way.

The last time….you used protection. This wasn’t possible.

It’s 99.9% effective.

Just your luck that you would be in that tiny margin in which it failed right?

You pregnant? With his baby?

Now?

“What happened there’s no water running?” He said as he walked through the door again.

You had been sitting there the whole time and you quickly got up as your heart raced just hearing his voice.

“No, I was just looking at this calendar. I’ll be quick I promise.” You hurried off to the bathroom.

You didn’t dare look at yourself in the mirror. This wasn’t something to worry about. It was silly. It wasn’t true.

But it was the only thing you could think about now. 

Inside, you already hardened yourself....just in case he reacted badly.

How else could he react?

You didn’t even want this to be true.

“Gourmet pizza, fresh out the microwave.” He placed a slice on a plastic plate and passed it over.

“Smells amazing.” You took a bite.

“We’ll go into the city tomorrow. Is that okay?”

You nodded. “Are we going to do laundry?”

“Yeah.”

It was on of your favorite things to do. It was relaxing, just being at a laundromat silently watching the clothes spin in suds. It was peaceful almost. Who knew it took going into the city to find a peaceful and quiet place. Who knew laundromats would be your favorite place?

After enjoying some quality television for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you guys went to bed. He fell asleep quickly but you had to count sheep.

Nothing could make you stop counting. If you did stop then only one thing would be on your mind. The child that threatened everything you had with Yoongi.

_______________

The clothes were in their spin cycle and Yoongi had jar full of quarters for the vending machines.

Two bags of chocolate covered peanuts later, you got up to return to the vending machine but Yoongi grabbed your arm.

“Enough candy. Too much sugar. You need real food.”

“Yeah like frozen pizza?” You retorted. “This one’s for the road.” You lied.

He sighed and got up to accompany you.

Now he either wanted to pick something better out for you or he was going to get some junk food too.

“Mommy, I want candy.” A little boy about three years old pointed at the snacks behind the shiny glass.

His mother ignored him but it just made him whine.

“Mommy, I want candy. I need some.” He pulled on her shirt.

“Give me a minute.” She said sternly.

He began to cry and stomp his little feet on the floor. “'Mommy!”

Yoongi’s selection of chips and sour gummies dropped to the opening of the vending machine and it was your turn.

But the child kept crying and you tried really hard not to look at him. Punching in the code, your new bag of chocolates dropped down and you bent down to take them out.

The cries turned into screams as he told his mother that he wanted candy now. She continued to ignore him. 

“Hey. You can have mine. If that’s okay?” You held the small bag out.

The child ran up to you and smiled as he took the candy from your hands and quickly hid behind his mother.

“That wasn’t necessary. Next time mind your own business please.” His mother snapped.

“Next time pay attention to your fucking kid.” Yoongi replied, pulling you away.

She stood there, stunned, and you would have giggled but Yoongi was mad.

“Who the hell does she think she is talking to you like that? You shouldn’t have given that kid anything, he was acting like a brat. He’s just like his mother.”

“He’s just a kid. I felt bad for him.” You shrugged.

“And when did you get so fucking soft? Over a kid? I only feel bad that he has a mother like that. I’m more worried about us.” He said putting the clothes in the dry machine.

“You’re selfish Yoongi. Maybe you just forgot what it means to feel bad for someone.” You opened his treats and sat down on the folding table.

He stood between your legs and narrowed his eyes at you. “How can you can me selfish when I just stood up for you?”

“You didn’t have to, you know that.” You ran a hand through his hair.

“Exactly. I love you, I’m not selfish.” He said taking the candy form your hands.

You got down to get the last load of wet clothes and put them to dry, then sat down next to him and stared at the muted television.

“Why are you worried about us?” You asked, resisting the urge to rest your head on his shoulder.

“I don’t know. I just feel like we’re not going anywhere.”

“Wasn’t that the plan?”

He turned to look at you. “You saw those pictures in that house, that couple with everything. A family, vacations in the summers, golf weekends, don’t you want that?”

“Do you? I like being on the road with you. It feels like one big extended vacation. We weren’t born with luck Yoongi, I doubt we can ever live like that. I don’t mind either, I just need you. If you feel bad because we can’t have that then you’re the one going soft.”

“So if a good looking guy offers that kind of life to you right now, you won’t take it?”

You smirked and looked back at the television. “Shut up Yoongi. Do you want me to leave is that it? Is this one of your twisted plans to get me to leave you?”

He suddenly turned your face back towards him, placing a a quick kiss on your lips. “I’d kill before I let anyone take you.”

“I would kill for you too.” You said kissing him again.

You liked it when he was a little rough but he loved it when you were gentle. It was almost like teasing him.

“We’re in a laundromat Y/N. There’s kids here.” He said pulling away with a kiss on your cheek.

Kids….you remembered your pending worry.

“I’m glad you’re not sick anymore. I was worried.” He said returning his attention to the muted screen.

You wrapped your arms around him and leaned into his body.

“I know. I hate being sick for weeks. It just slows us down.”

“Yeah and you never want to fuck.”

You gasped and smacked his chest, giggling and hoping no one else heard his complains.

But the more you thought about it you realized that you didn’t want to have sex……just as precaution.

And the way he reacted to that incident with the kid, it wasn’t a good sign either.

You feared that he would be furious now.

Would he be?

He was talking about that couple and their family. They had pictures everywhere, all around that stupid house. Was Yoongi envious? It was hard to believe. Maybe it was just a moment of insecurity. It wasn’t like him to worry about the future.

There was no point to all this struggling but you and Yoongi made a pact to live life carelessly, passionately, without regrets and now he was starting to sound regretful.

“Yoongi do you think going on the road was a bad idea?….Do you think we made a mistake?”

He threw the towel he was folding at you. “Don’t worry about it Y/N. I just want you to be happy. Whether we ride or die, or not. I want to give you everything. So if you want something, you’ll tell me. Right?”

“I want some more chocolate.”

“For fucks sake, here.” He laughed as he handed over some quarters. You felt thrilled hearing him laugh out loud.

“Thanks babe, I love you.” You yelled as you walked towards the vending machine once again, making sure everyone heard.

Even if it embarrassed him, you wanted to make sure he knew.

If your worries were true, you hoped he remembered that. This wasn’t something you expected.

______

Part 2

[supernaturallymarvellous]

Nightmare Come True: SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge 2017

Summary: Taking on a hunt in an abandoned hospital shouldn’t have been as difficult as this, nor as frightening. But when your greatest fear is that which you’re hunting, can your skills as a hunter overcome your terror?

A/N: This is my entry for Week 8 of the SPN Hiatus Writing Challenge 2017 being hosted by @thing-you-do-with-that-thing.  The prompt given is in bold and the gif is in there as well. Oh and the description of why the reader is scared of clowns is the true story of how I came to have such a fear!

Word Count: 1500

Characters: Dean Winchester x Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: Clowns (yep, that’s a huge warning), descriptions of being chased.

________________________________________________________________

You should have listened to your gut. It was never wrong but you had ignored all the warnings and had pressed on anyway. After everything that had happened, there was no way this hunt could have turned out well and now you were trapped inside a nightmare!

Things had started to go wrong as soon as you had left the bunker. Barely twenty miles away from home, one of the tyres burst so you were delayed while Dean fixed that. Continuing to drive through the night to reach your destination, disaster struck again as the car radiator overheated, leaving you and Sam to walk the handful of miles back to the last service station you’d passed while Dean stayed with the car. The final straw was reaching Duleth, Minnesota in the middle of the day, almost 14 hours after you’d first set out, and finding that there were no vacancies in any of the half decent motels, meaning that once again you were stuck in a place with barely functioning heating and a hot water system that hadn’t been updated since it was installed in the 70s!

******************************************************************************************* Tired, hungry, disheveled, cranky…..all of these words were more than an accurate description of you and the Winchesters when you emerged from your room as the sun began to set. Despite being exhausted, the lumpy, uncomfortable mattress and flimsy thin curtains had ensured that you’d barely slept. Because it was so late, the only place that was still open and serving food was one of the local bars so dinner had consisted of fries, chicken wings and a poor excuse for a burger.

The job should have been an easy one; you were on the trail of a supposed homicidal spirit who had apparently taken up residence in what had once been the town’s sanatorium. Locals and tourists alike had been going missing so the three of you had been called in to deal with the problem. It just hadn’t been anticipated that the problem would end up forcing both you and Sam to face your greatest fear.

******************************************************************************************* Hours passed and you were still traipsing around the empty building. Nothing out of the ordinary was causing you any concern and, truth be told, it was starting to drive you crazy. Walking down corridor after corridor, trying to avoid broken treads on half-collapsed stairwells….the whole trip looked to be a bust and it was taking more energy than you were willing to admit not to just throw in the towel, call it a bad job and head home.

Noticing a room that you hadn’t checked off on the floor plan you were carrying around, Dean pushed open the double doors and walked into what seemed to be a day room, somewhere the patients could have come to relax and socialise with others under the hospital’s care. Nothing seemed strange as you wandered about the room, taking in the furniture and possessions that had been left when the building closed its doors for the last time - a medication trolley with a handful of pill bottles, newspapers and magazines from many years ago, a piano with sheet music propped up on top of it.

As you and Sam flicked through one of the newspapers, the sound of piano keys being tapped flooded your ears. 

Spinning on your heel, you had to admit that you were relieved to see that it was just Dean messing about. Letting out the breath you hadn’t even realised you’d been holding, you made a decision.

“Ok, I’m calling an end to this. We’ve been here for hours and we’ve come up with nothing. No findings, no sightings, nothing weird at………”

You were cut off by the sudden and alarming fast beeping that was now coming from the EMF meter that was being held by Sam. Phenomena started to come thick and fast; the air began to chill, papers began to swirl around the room, and the set of double doors directly in front of you slammed open heavily thanks to a gust of wind so strong that knocked all three of you off your feet.

Scrabbling back upright and desperately searching for the gun that had fallen from your hands, you looked around to male sure that Sam and Dean were ok……only to be confronted instead by another presence in the room, standing just feet away from you, its dark eyes trained directly on you.

Letting out an almighty shriek, you practically flung yourself behind an upturned table, too scared to do anything else.

“Where the fuck did that clown come from? Sam? Dean? Guys, I need some help here.”

Sam was the first to make his way to you although you weren’t exactly sure as to whether it was to help you or to hide himself. You both shared a fear greater than any you had ever experienced before. For you, it all stemmed from a horrific birthday party when you were six years old; thunder and lightning smashing in the sky while rain poured down, a childrens’ entertainer who arrived with white make-up dripping off his face and juggling knives in hand…..enough to scar a small child and instill a lifelong fear which you still carried with you to this day!

It was Dean that finally brought you to your senses. His face appeared just inches away from yours and Sam’s.

“I’ve got an idea but I’m gonna need you two to get up and move.”

Seeing the terror etched across his brother’s face, not to mention the similar look you were sporting, Dean snapped his fingers to focus you both.

“I know you’re scared but I need you to trust me. You can both run, you’re damn good at it. So you run. You treat this like one of those crazy early morning races you two like to have. Run and draw him away and I’ll light a fire under his ass so hot that he’ll be toast in no time at all.”

Dean cocked his head to the left, indicating that you should head through the door that led into the service corridors. Grabbing Sam’s hand, you allowed yourself a second to take a breath and then ran for the door.

It seemed like you had barely gotten out of the room before you could hear the spirit making its way towards you. Running around an abandoned lunatic asylum in the dead of night was bad enough but having a psychotic clown chasing you at the same time was downright terrifying. Your heart was pounding as you turned one corner, swiftly followed by another then another, all the time gripping tightly to Sam’s hand.

Until your feet fell away underneath you and you crashed to the ground taking Sam down with you. You tried to stand but your legs refused to let you do so. The spirit was almost upon you and your hunting instincts had left you, the all-encompassing fear taking over and leaving you a helpless sobbing mess on the floor. Panic swept through you as the figure advanced towards you, soon giving way to hysteria - after everything you had been though, after every monster you had ever fought, this was how you were going to die, at the hands of a psychotic ghost who looked like he’d escaped from a demented circus.

As tears rolled down your face, you closed your eyes, all but ready to accept your fate. But that fate never came. Only the sound of screaming filled your ears. Forcing yourself to look to the source of the noise, you saw the clown disappearing into itself, before it faded into oblivion.

Relief flooding your senses, you crawled closer to Sam and allowed yourself to be pulled into his arms and held tightly there. After a few minutes, you heard Dean’s voice shouting your names. Seconds later, he appeared in front of you, dropping to his knees to check how you and Sam were, whether you were hurt in any way.

“Nice one there, Dean. Any longer and we’d have been goners.”

“That was never gonna happen, princess. Can’t let anything happen to my best girl now, can I? Come on, let’s get you two outta here before you have a heart attack.”

Dean pulled you up from the floor then reached down to help his brother up too. Walking out through one of the hospital’s many exits, you lent into him, letting his warmth and familiar touch push some much needed calmness back into your body. He took the opportunity to explain that he figured the piano was the one thing keeping the spirit connected to this realm as the clown hadn’t appeared until he’d touched the keys. So when you had ran out and the spirit had followed you, ecstatic at the prospects of not one but two terrified potential victims, Dean had set the whole thing ablaze.

It wasn’t until you reached the Impala that Sam finally spoke up.

“Hey Dean? You did put the fire out, didn’t you?”

“Oh crap!”

_______________________________________________________________ 

Tagging: @waywardimpalawriter   @eileenlikesyou-maybe   @hexparker   @purgatoan   @zepppie   @helvonasche   @mysteriouslyme81   @mamaredd123    @madamelibrarian   @chainez-8   @babypieandwhiskey   @supernatural-jackles   @wheresthekillswitch   @jensen-jarpad   @deathtonormalcy56   @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel   @notnaturalanahi   @just-another-busy-fangirl    @casbabydontgoineedyou    @redlipstickandplaid    @jayankles    @autopistaaningunaparte   @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid    @katymacsupernatural    @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms  @jared-padaloveme     

[cass-trash]

Honey and Rain (Part One)

A/N: I had to post it twice since the Continue reading button wasn’t working for mobile, but hopefully it’s up and running by now. 

Warnings: Mild swearing, blood

Next Chapter: Part Two

You had never asked for this to happen to you.

You weren't a believer of God or angels and demons and that sort of stuff. You thought it was all crap. That is, until you were rudely awoken by a pair of muscular arms holding you down, another hand keeping your mouth open while somebody brought a container holding some sort of bright white light towards your face.

The pastoral fragrance filled your nose, practically hitting you in the face with a mixture of honey, pine needles and rain. Was that from the light? No, that's impossible.  

You kicked and thrashed against the men's holds, but it was as if they had you tied down. Your arms could barely move an inch. Screaming out for help only seemed to make them angrier, causing one of them to get a few punches into your stomach.

The men shoved the light into your mouth, finally releasing your struggling limbs once you had swallowed it. The light had left a lingering taste of honey behind. Maybe it is possible? Soon after, they vanished into thin air. Did they really vanish into thin air or were you going insane?

Seconds after they had left you could feel a sharp pain running from your head all the way to the bottom of your spine, as if somebody was running a blade deep into your flesh and pouring some sort of burning substance into the wound. Running to the joint bathroom, you stared into the mirror and watched as something black and feathery sprouted from your back. You screamed in pain, wishing your roommate was here to help you, but she had left to Hawaii a week ago. "What the hell!?" You growled.

You fell to the floor on your knees, the cold tiles sending chills up your legs. Your arms being the only limps cooperating with you, keeping you from falling face first into the floor. "Those ba-" You screamed out again, watching something that looked like a wing stretch out from your back. "Bastards!" You yelled.

Ever since that night, you hated angels. You couldn't explain what happened to you and your friends only thought you were insane. After three days of constant talking about wings and weird abilities, they sent you to a physiatric ward. That's when you figured out how to teleport.

A day later, you had orders from angels to protect and watch over a child named Liam. That didn't go as planned. You were supposed to make sure nothing happened to him, he was important. A prophet.

You had found Liam's body hanging from his living room's ceiling fan, his neck purple and bruised from the tight rope and his eyes open with tears. His parents were out on a family business trip to Texas and the babysitter had chosen to not do her job. You remember the horrible smell of expired Chinese food filling the house, the soda cans littered everywhere, but you remembered the look on Liam's lifeless face the most. Complete and utter sadness.

After that, you had enough. You hated angels with a passion. You killed any angel you found, whether they tried to persuade you they "weren't like the others" or not. You hated angels for making you into this monster and forcing you to go through the pain of watching a child's body hang from his own ceiling.

Within days, you killed nearly a decade worth of angels. They had tried to boss you around, giving you complicated orders on who to follow or who to protect, but you eventually blocked them out of your head. Until today.

"Y/n." You heard the familiar voice of the angel that was bossing you around from day one. You still didn't know his name but you decided one for him. Bastard. He never showed his face to you, but that never stopped him from talking to you in your head.

Scowling at his voice, you gripped tighter to the blade in your hands. "What do you want, Bastard?"

He chuckled. "Still have that silly name for me? Anyways...I have your next human's name for you."

"No." You growled. You swore.

"Yes."

"NO." You shouted, placing the blade into the back of your pants and punching the closest wall towards you.

Bastard's voice got deeper. "Yes. You will protect this human, otherwise I will kill your brothers. Do you hear me? I have them in my sights right now, and don't even try to warn them." Fearing you'd never be able to see your brothers again, you agreed.

"Fine." Your voice was strained. Great, just great. Typical, threats from an angel.

"His name is Castiel. His last location was Sunshine Road motel, hurry."

With that, you flew to the motel, forgetting about the angel you were hunting down at the warehouse. They'd probably manage to find you anyways.

Angels only ever asked you to protect humans that were important, or ones they could eventually use for powerful vessels, so what was up with this Castiel guy? Was he supposed to be a vessel?

You glanced around the run-down motel, noticing water stains in the corners of the ceiling. This only has a few years left. Taking a step towards the desk, you stepped on a newspaper lying on the brown patterned carpet. Picking it up, you saw the headline read "Two females dead, hearts missing." You would do anything to go back before you knew what that meant. Warewolfs.

With an uninterested stance, you threw the paper back to the ground and walked to the cream coloured front desk. "Excuse me, has somebody named Castiel checked in here lately?" You walked up to the lady at the front desk. Violet, her name tag read.

She rolled her eyes. "I can't give that information out." Violet loudly chewed on a piece of gum, wishing you could just smite her for being annoying.

"I'm the boss's niece." You sassed back, you didn't have time for this rubbish. "He needs it."

She gave you a questioning look and reached for the phone. "My boss is a woman,"

Without hesitating, you pressed two fingers to her forehead and knocked her unconscious, listening to the satisfying sound of her body falling to the floor. You wiped her memory of this encounter while she was out, before moving behind the desk and looking over the security tapes.

There had been three people that came in last night. Two were obviously a couple, that probably couldn't afford a better motel.

But the third had caught your attention. A scruffy looking man wearing a dark blue hoodie was clutching onto his side. You zoomed in, barely able to recognise the red liquid from the pixelated image on the screen. His knuckles looked as red and bloody as his clothes, you were unsure whether he was the attacker or the victim. In this line of work, he was probably both.

Following the man through the cameras, you found his room. Retracing his steps, you tried to think of a way to introduced yourself to him. Finally reaching the eleventh door on the left, you knocked on the wood and listened closely. Nothing.

You flew yourself inside of his room, too impatient to try the handle. You were being hurried, after all. Bed sheets were messily placed, hanging off the near side towards the window. Looking even closer, a trail of items lead to the window.

A chilly breeze flew into the room, causing the thin fabric hanging above the window to sway back and forth before finally resting once again. Stepping in front of the open window, you placed your hand on the sill, leaning out and taking a look around. He was no where to be found. As your hand retreated back to your side, you felt something different. Exposing your palm upwards, you saw blood smeared across your palm to your fingertips.

"In a rush?" You asked yourself, looking back to the window sill. Blood was smeared across the wood but you could make out a hand print, the white paint peaked out underneath telling you it was beginning to dry.

This was definitely Castiel. You just had to find him now, and fast. If any of the angels find out you've already lost him, you're dead. Luckily for you, you learnt how to find locations of people by thinking of their name.

Castiel.

Nothing. It was as if he vanished from the face of earth. You prayed- no. Hoped. You hoped he wasn't dead, for yours and his own sake.

Whoever this Castiel guy was, he must be important so you had to make sure he stayed alive unlike Liam. You couldn't see another one of your humans die because of you or your actions.

Thinking hard, you managed to remember a witches name you met a while ago.

"Circe," you whispered to yourself. Flying yourself to her apartment complex, you were met with a strong familiar scent. Herbs, a lot of them, too.

"What the fuck?!" She yelled, crossing her arms. "Fuck sake, Y/n!"

"Sorry," You mumbled, trying to neaten up the paper stack you had blown all over the place. "Uhm- I'll just...place these here..." You said, placing a heavy box full of animal bones on a shelf, only for it to fall to the floor along with even more herbs.

"Oh my-" She frustratingly growled, slapping you in the back of the head. "Just leave it alone you damn angel."

Rubbing the back of your head, you took a step away from the mess and awkwardly sat at the table with bowls full of blood and other witch stuff. "I uhm- I should have called." You mumbled, finally looking into her brown eyes.

"Yeah, you should have." She growled, crossing her arms like a mother. "What do you need this time?" She asked, tilting her head slightly, allowing her brown curls to cover one eye.

For a witch, Circe wasn't that bad. She only used her spells on people who deserve them. Criminals. "Uhh, I need a guys location, names Castiel." You said, gnawing on your finger nervously. Sure, you were an angel and probably could smite her with a flick of the wrist, but Circe scared you. She was more human than witch, at least her personality was, and that scared you. After you had swallowed that light, you basically lost all humanity that was ever inside of you. Who wouldn't be afraid of Circe after everything she's done, she can still act and feel like a human?

Circe understood your panic and hurry and removed the bowls from the table immediately, replacing it with a map of Kansas. You watched impatiently, listening to her chant something and light the map on fire. Within seconds, the map had burnt to ashes besides a spot in the left hand corner. "He's there," She said, tapping on the street name. "Most likely in that motel," She tapped on the closest motel.

Smiling gratefully, you nodded your head as a thank you and quickly flew to the motel she had mentioned. Just like the other, this motel was on its few last years. Wallpaper looked as if it had been slowly torn day by day, while the furniture's mould was bent in and looked incredibly unclean.

Without bothering to check-in at the front desk, you went from door to door trying to find this dang human. After the fifth door, you finally saw the face from the video cameras. "Hello?" He asked wearily, hiding behind the door.

You squinted at his behaviour, wondering what he was hiding behind the panel of wood separating the two of you. Remembering you had strict orders from heaven, you came up with a lame excuse. "I'm Y/n. I saw you outside earlier and was wondering if you'd like to go out for drinks later tonight?" You smiled, pretending to act as normal as possible.

He smiled warmly and moved something around behind his back before stepping away from the door. "I'd really like that, Y/n,"

"Can I uhm- know your name?" Like you needed it.

"Steve,"

Ooh, he is important isn't he?

"Nice to meet you Steve,"

"You too," He shifted on his feet and glanced around before finally opening his mouth to speak once again. "What time do we leave?"

Perfect.

[woods2006gal]

Chapter 08 - Citizen Fang

Addison walks up to where Dean was waiting for their to go order in the Fifties themed drive thru diner. She wraps an arm around his waist and presses her forehead against his bicep. “We need a weekend to ourselves,” she tells him. “A weekend where we barely leave the room or bed.”

Dean drapes his arm around her shoulders and tugs her against his side. “I second that. I’ll get two rooms when we stop for the night.”

A waitress brings up a box of food and Dean quickly pays for their meals. He grabs the box and they walk out to the Impala where they find Sam on the phone. “Yeah. And you’re certain? You sure? Okay. Great. Just, uh, just hang tight till you hear from me, okay?”

They climb into the Impala. “Who is it,” Dean loudly whispers.

Sam holds up a finger. Dean shrugs and digs into his cheeseburger. “No, listen to me. I said hang tight.” He hangs up. “We got to get.”

“Can I at least finish my burger,” Dean asks.

“We got a vamp kill, Dean. Carencro, Louisiana.”

“Huh. It’s been a while since I’ve had some étouffée. Who’s the source?”

“Martin Creaser.”

Addison frowns and leans forward. “Did I just hear you say that Martin Creaser is your source,” she disbelievingly asks. Sam stares at her. “Crazy Martin from the crazy house?”

“Glendale Springs discharged him last month,” Sam defends.

“What is he doing back on the job, Sam? Shouldn’t he be finger painting his emotions or something.”

“I asked him.”

“What,” Addison shouts. Dean had an alarmed look on his face. “Are you fucking crazy now, Sam?”

“Look, he called me when he got out, okay, asked if I had anything for him that might help him ease back into the game. He seemed okay - mostly - so I said yes. I’ve had him tracking Benny for the past week.”

“You put ‘mostly okay’ Martin on Benny,” Dean disbelievingly asks. He sees Addison about to start arguing, but holds up a hand. “What is ‘mostly okay’ doing hunting at all?”

“Not hunting, Dean, tracking. Observe and report only. I was crystal clear about that.”

“Wow. I can’t believe that.”

“Really, Dean? You don’t believe that? Because Benny’s a vampire. And any hunter worth his salt isn’t gonna let one just walk around freely. So I had Martin keep tabs on him. And right now, it’s looking like I made the right call.”

“So Martin is saying that Benny killed someone,” Addison softly asks.

“Yeah.”

Dean remains silent for a moment. “Okay.”

Now it’s Sam turn to be surprised. “Okay?”

“If Benny’s in Louisiana draining folks...we should look into it.”

~*~

Addison follows the boys down the hallway of the Beaudelaire Motel. They stop in front of a door with a number ‘2’ on it. Before Sam has a chance to knock, the door opens to reveal Martin. “You said look for an eruption. How’s Mount Vesuvius,” Martin greets, moving to the side to allow them to enter. He looked better than the last time they saw him. “I got into town about a week ago. Up until last night, nothing. He’s been clean.”

“Doing what,” Dean asks.

“Just minding his own business. Working at the gumbo shack.”

Addison raises an eyebrow. “Benny’s work at a gumbo shack?”

“Yeah. Slinging hash, pouring coffee - the whole bit. And he may be Benny to you two. Folks around here call him Roy.”

“Martin, you sure you’re running on a full charge,” Dean questions. 

“Yeah. Little shock therapy in the morning and I’m…” Martin snaps his fingers. “Good to go.”

“Tell us what happened last night,” Sam says.

“So, I followed him home, just like every night. He turned up a path. I hear a scream. I catch up. Then boom - there he is. The old coot that Roy was eyeballing at the joint - vamped.”

“Hold up. Did you actually see Benny kill this guy,” Addison questions. 

Martin glares. “I saw enough.”

“Then how can you be sure that it was Benny? Maybe there was another vampire that you didn’t see.”

“B-b-because I saw Benny turn up the path and then two seconds later, I trip over a body with its throat ripped. Look, sweetheart, you - you ever hear of Occam’s Razor? ‘Keep it simple, stupid?’ It’s not that complicated.”

“There’s more holes in your story than there are in that Shia LaBeouf movie called Holes.”

“Holes? The only holes we should be looking at are in the vic’s neck.”

Addison turns to the boys. “Does this sound like Benny to either of you?”

“I don’t know Benny,” Sam coldly reminds her. Dean stays unusually quiet. He was one Addison’s side. He didn’t think Benny was the one who killed someone. 

“The Benny you know? Say what? Why am I getting the distinct impression that your girl is vouching for a vampire,” Martin angrily says, looking between the brothers.

“Guys, let’s not argue,” Sam says.

Dean steps forward. “Nobody’s arguing, but if this is Benny — and that’s a big if—”

“Oh, it’s him,” Martin quickly adds.

“We got history with the guy, okay? We’re not signing up for a witch hunt.” Dean turns to Sam. “We owe him more than that.”

“What in God’s great creation could a Winchester possibly owe a vampire? Am I hearing this right?”

“Look, until we get the facts, we stow the bloodlust and we work this case right or we work it separately.”

“Doing it right would be separating his head from his shoulders.”

Addison shakes her head. “Look we just need some time.”

“Oh, yeah. Let the fang take another life? I don’t think so.”

“How much time do you need,” Sam asks, looking between Dean and Addison.

Martin looks at Sam with an incredulous look. “You’re not actually considering this?”

“A few hours,” Addison answers.

“And what if turns out to be Benny?”

“Then it’s Benny and I’ll deal with it,” Dean snaps. He knew in his gut that it wasn’t Benny. Hell, he needed it to not be Benny, if not for his sake but for Addison. He knew that she would beat herself up if it turned out to be Benny.

“Couple hours, Dean,” Sam tells them. “No more.”

“We’ll be in touch.”

Addison walks out of the motel room with Dean right behind her. Neither of them say a word until the Impala pulls away from the motel parking lot. “This isn’t Benny,” she softly says, gazing out the window.

“I know,” Dean quietly replies.

~*~

Guidry’s Cajun Cafe was a small building off the side of a two lane highway somewhere in the middle of the bayou. Dean parks the Impala and they climb out. The restaurant was pretty busy when they enter. A few people glance at them, but then go back to their meals. They sit down at the counter and a pretty brunette woman places a couple of menus in front of them. “Actually, I already know what I want,” Dean says, smiling at the woman.

“Let me guess,” the woman replies, smiling back. “Gumbo?”

Dean chuckles. “Was gonna be the gumbo till I saw pie.”

“Well, the special’s pecan.”

“Course it is. Let’s do that.”

Addison shakes her head as the waitress walks away. “You are unbelievable,” she amusedly tells him.

“Hey, if she was a he you would be doing the same thing,” Dean quietly defends. “You got to butter ‘em up before you question.”

“Well, while you were buttering her up, did you notice the photos?” Addison points to the photos pinned up on the cash register. 

“Bad news,” the waitress says, walking back over to them.

“You’re out of pecan,” Dean finishes. The waitress shoots him an apologetic look. “Story of my life. Uh, that’s all right. Maybe you can make it up to me. We’re actually looking for an old friend of ours. We heard he’s kicking around these parts. His name’s Roy.”

“Well, Roy works the night shift here. I mean, if we’re talking about the same Roy.”

“He drives a beat up camper. It looks like a death trap on wheels,” Addison explains.

The waitress laughs. “Yeah, I thought I was the only one who gave him trouble over that piece of junk.”

Dean chuckles. “You wouldn’t happen to know where he’s parking that thing these days, would you?”

“Well, he, uh, was parking it out back but just called to tell me he’s gone up the road to Mill Creek for a few days.”

Addison frowns. “Did he say why?”

“Oh, fishing. I think. He really deserves a break. He’s been working doubles for the last two weeks straight.”

“Um, listen, I, uh, I tell you what.” Dean grabs a napkin and pulls a pen out his pocket. “If he pops up before we can find him, you do us a favor and just have him give me a buzz.”

The waitress takes the paper. “Sure thing…Dean.”

“And, uh, you are…” Dean trails off, standing up.

“Elizabeth.”

“Elizabeth. All right. Take a rain check on that pie.”

“Definitely.”

Dean and Addison walk out of the cafe. Addison pulls out her cell phone and dials Benny’s number. “Leave a message at the beep,” Benny’s voicemail greets.

Dean grabs the phone out of her hand. “Dean,” Addison snaps.

“Benny. We got a body here in Carencro with two holes in it and I just found out you went fishing. Do I need to tell you what this looks like?”

~*~

It doesn’t take but a few hours for them to track down where Benny had gone. Through when they arrive, Addison frowns seeing Benny finishing burins a body in the woods. Dean had grabbed a machete from the trunk and was hiding it behind his back. They walk over to where Benny was washing off his hands in a tub. “It’s not me,” the vampire tells them.

“Now, which ‘me’ are we talking about,” Dean begins. He tightens his grip on the machete. “Benny or Roy?”

Benny turns around to face them. “I’m just trying to blend in.”

“Blend in? Who’d you plant, Benny?”

“Victim number two. If you’re concerned about the missed calls, I didn’t want to get you two involved. Now…want to safety that thing.” Benny motions to the machete that Dean was hiding. “Talk a little bit or what?”

Dean takes the machete out and lets it hang at his side. “We’re all ears.”

“Rouge vamp. Came into the cafe a couple nights ago. Youngster goes by the name of Desmond. He, uh, he remembers me from the good old days.”

Addison raises an eyebrow. “The good old days?”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I haven’t always been this cute and cuddly. He’s chasing a memory, Dean. That’s all. He’s crewing up a new nest. He’s hoping I can give him some cred. I told him no.”

Dean nods. “All right. So far, so go. Let’s get to the part about the blood.”

“Didn’t want to take no for an answer. He’s trying to roust me out, leaving dead bodies in my wake till I sign up. Two bodies in two days. No amateur is gonna kick me out of my hometown. Not this time.”

“You grew up here,” Addison softly asks.

“Born and bred. With Andrea and you two hunting again, seemed like the right time for a homecoming - you three being the only ones who keep all my ducks in a row. Went back to my old job at the cafe. I even found someone to hold myself accountable to. Best kind of someone, Dean. Family.”

“Elizabeth,” Dean states.

“My great granddaughter.”

Dean turns away from Benny as he sheathes his machete. “Really?” Addison shakes her head.

Benny frowns. “Now, hold it, now. You didn’t—”

“He just flirted for info,” Addison defends. “Does Elizabeth know that you’re her great-grandfather.”

“No. No, as far as she’s concerned, I was just another drifter. I’d like to keep it that way. It’s been tough walking the line here after all those years in Purgatory not having to deal with the hunger. But Elizabeth...she keeps me honest. I finally feel like I got a handle on this thing.”

Addison sighs. “Benny, you have two dead bodies on your doorstep and two hunters looking for you.”

“Oh, please. The half-wit who found me at the cafe? I’ll take my chances with him.”

“That half-wit was sent by my brother and trust me - my brother’s not someone you want to mess with,” Dean tells him.

“I don’t have time to worry about them, Dean. I don’t think Desmond had an ounce of steel in his spine, but I was wrong about that,” Benny says. “So, now I’m gonna do what I should have done two days ago, which is put him back where he belongs.”

“You know there’s only one way to do that, right,” Dean begins. “And that is for you to sit on the sideline while I convince Sam and Martin to go after Desmond. They see you out there, they don’t care if you’re be collecting for the March of Dimes. They are gonna slice first and ask questions later. You know that.”

Benny looks between the two hunters. “You really think they’ll go for that?”

~*~

Addison winkles her nose. She had been trying to beat the Candy Crush level she had been stuck on for days. She had elected to stay in the Impala while Dean went up to talk to Sam and Martin. She didn’t think there was anything she could add to change Sam’s or Martin’s minds. Addison looks up when she once against loses the level. There had been no parking close to the motel entrance. Sam and Martin walk to the beat up car that Martin was driving and drive off. “Shit,” Addison mutters, shoving her phone in her pocket.

Addison quickly climbs out of the Impala and quickly makes her way up to the room Martin was renting. “Dean,” she calls out, pushing open the motel room door. She finds him unconscious and handcuffed to the heater. She rushes over to him. “Dean, wake up. Come on, Dean, wake up.” Blood was slowly streaming from a small cut on his forehead. He lets out a groan and slowly opens his eyes. 

“Fucking Martin,” Dean groans. Addison pulls a bobby-pin from her hair and easily picks the lock on the handcuffs. Once he’s freed, she runs into the bathroom and grabs a towel.

Addison lightly dabs at the cut, slowly cleaning the blood off his face. She holds up two fingers. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Dean pushes her hand out of the way. “I’m fine,” he mutters, digging out his cell. He quickly dials Benny’s number.

“What’d they say,” Benny answers.

“They didn’t go for it,” Dean informs him. “They’re on their way to you. I’d get scarce.”

“No offense, Dean, but your little brother doesn’t exactly put chills up my spine.”

“Benny, listen to me. Do not underestimate my little brother, okay. He can and will kill you given the chance.”

“All right. So what now?”

“Dean and I will go find Desmond,” Addison says, throwing the towel towards the bathroom.

“You guys take me with.”

Addison sighs. “Benny, the best thing you can do right now is to lay low. Trust me when I say you do not want to go up against Sam.”

“That ain’t gonna work this time. You guys take me with or I don’t tell you where he is.”

Addison and Dean exchange a surprised look. “You know where he is,” Dean angrily asks.

“He said he’s not gonna stop the killing till I join his little nest. Two bodies is enough. I told him I’m in.”

“Benny...”

“Dean, this is my fight. Are you in or are you out?”

~*~

The Impala pulls up to a boat dock that night. They could see Benny standing by his truck with the beat up camper sitting on the back of it. “What is with vampire and shitty docks,” Addison mutters, starting to climb out of the Impala.

“Hey,” Dean says, grabbing her wrist. She looks at him, waiting. He pulls her into a deep kiss. Addison is so wrapped up in the kiss, that she doesn’t notice Dean handcuffing her to the steering wheel. He pulls back and climbs out of the Impala.

Addison goes to slide out of the Impala. It’s then that she realizes what Dean had done. “Dean,” she shouts. He doesn’t turn around and walks off with Benny. “Fucking asshole.”

It’s hours later, when the Impala is speeding down the dark highway. Dean and Benny had easily taken care of Desmond. Addison had not spoken to Dean since he and Benny had finished the job. She glances over to see Dean fish out his cell phone. “Look I’m just calling to let you know that the situation is resolved,” Dean says. “Benny was not lying. There was another vamp and we yanked him - together. Yeah, shut up and listen to me. Benny’s long gone and he won’t be coming back, ever. So for your own sake, do not follow him. Are we clear? Oh, and, Martin? Find a new line of work?” Dean hangs up his cell and tosses it on the seat next to him. “You gonna speak anytime soon?”

“You handcuffed me to the fucking steering wheel,” Addison snaps. “Why the hell would you do that?”

“I was trying to protect you,” Dean argues. “You’re a fucking Kobe beef steak to vampires, Ads. I’m not gonna lose you because a vampire decided to have you as a last meal.”

Addison stares at him, then shakes her head. “Just...don’t handcuff me to the steering wheel, okay. Next time you decide to handcuff me to something at least make it a bed or something.”

Dean smirks. “You want me to handcuff you to a bed?”

“Any idea where we were heading to next?”

“To find a bed to handcuff you too.”

Addison looks around at the dark scenery. She places a hand on his inner thigh. “You know, we could pull over for a few minutes. Take care of a few things.”

Dean pulls the Impala over to the side of the road and shuts it off. “Don’t gotta tell me twice,” he mutters, pressing his lips against Addison’s. Her arm wraps around him. Her back hits the seat. His hands slide under her Henley.

A vibration startles Addison. “Phone,” she breathes. Dean reaches under her and grabs his cell phone. “Ignore it.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers. Addison lets out a frustrated sigh. “Elizabeth? What do you mean? Roy? Is - is he there right now? Elizabeth, what’s going on?”

Dean sits up and quickly starts the Impala. Addison doesn’t say anything. Given how Dean had reacted to Elizabeth’s phone call, she doesn’t say anything. It doesn’t take them long to reach Guidry’s Cajun Cafe. The lights were off. Elizabeth was sitting on the steps outside of the main door. They each grab their guns and climb out of the Impala. The waitress was covered in blood. Elizabeth looks up at them. Her hands are shaking. Addison grabs a towel out of his back pocket and sits down next to her. She motions for him to enter the cafe and places a comforting hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.

A few minutes after Dean enters the cafe, he walks out. He shakes his head. The words didn’t need to be said about Martin’s fate. And Addison, while she was never a big fan of Martin, had felt sorry that the hunter had died.

~*~

A cell phone ringing cuts through the silence of the Impala. Dean glances at Addison and finds her still asleep, her soft snoring had been filling the air. He reaches over her and fishes through the glove compartment, finding the ringing cell. He finds the phone and sees Sam’s name on the screen. “Sammy,” Dean greets.

“‘Sam, I need your help. Come quick,’” Sam angrily greets. Dean tenses. “Nice one. Swapping Amelia’s phone out with a burner, sending a distress signal…You got me good. When did you do that?”

“Benny is the only reason that I’m alive Dean,” Addison argues, not looking up from Sam’s cell phone as she changes the number in his phone. “This is nothing more than an insurance policy to make him back off if it comes to that.”

“You know he’s gonna be pissed,” Dean reminds her. He didn’t know if he was referring more to Addison being over protective of the vampire or her changing Amelia’s number to one of the burner phones.

“Then Sam should’ve looked for us when we were in Purgatory.”

“While back,” Dean lies. “In case I needed it. Looks like I made the right call. So, did you see her?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I saw her. And she’s doing just fine. But, of course, you know that.”

“Actually, I didn’t. I did know it was the only way to get you to lay off.”

“So? Is it done?”

“Yeah, it’s done.”

“Any casualties?”

“Martin.”

“Was it Benny?”

“He had it coming, Sam. I’ll tell you what happened.”

“I-I know what happened, Dean.”

“Okay, you want to listen to me or not,” Dean snaps. Sam hangs up the phone. “Damnit."

[cringalicioustrashcandiety-blog]

Dean Winchester X Markiplier fanfic

Okay so in case you forgot- this is a Dean Winchester X Mark Fischbach fanfiction. So… sorry. P.S. this is very cringalicious.

   Sam and Dean sat in the crackling leather seats of the Impala that nighttime- the cool and crisp air flooded through the cracked windows and rustled the hair on their heads. The monster hunts had been slow as of late and they had been aimlessly searching for whatever popped up when they heard wind of a possible demon possession around California. The brothers were eager for anything they could get their hands on no matter how slim the chances. The two were begging to get aggravated in the cramped quarters. So at the first motel, they saw once the sun dipped below the horizon they ran like mad.    Going through all their current supplies Dean grumbled disapprovingly. “Sam, did you eat the rest of our protein bars?” The taller brother shrugged from his place at the small kitchenette table- researching the area on his laptop.    “Dean- I don’t know, maybe you did. Don’t we have those carrots I packed?” Dean huffed. “I threw out that carrot food- needed my pie.” Sam rubbed a hand over his face exasperatedly.    “Then you have to go and get some food if you’re hungry.” He stood and began packing his laptop away. “I’m going to find the closest bar to this place to try and get some information. You hang back.” Sam pulled on his leather coat over his already warm flannel and left their shared motel room. Dean rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh and rummaged through the motel mini-fridge to find it empty. He stood and grabbed his coat from the place on his bed- pulling it on and shoving the keys in his pocket after holstering his gun on his hip out of view. But as he stepped outside the older Winchester found that his baby was gone.    “Dammit, Sammy!” Looking around the parking lot he spotted a few cars strewn about- but one in the far corner had a window cracked open. It was one of the shabbier looking ones but he’d rather not break a window to steal one at the moment. Dean climbed in after unlocking the car through the open slot in the window and turned on the car- it idled for a moment before starting with a sputter. Although unsure of whether the car would make it or not he began on his drive to the closest quick-e-mart in the area.

   Almost as soon as he hit the road it began to rain. Then it poured. Then it was an onslaught of rain and wind and Dean could barely see the road in front of him. He was considering turning back around as the car began to sputter breathlessly- the lights flickered as Dean’s eyes widened in terror. “No, no, no- dammit! Don’t you do this!” But the car refused to abide by his rules and slowed to a crawl- then died on the side of the road in the rain. The droplets hissed from the head of the hood of the car. Dean pressed his head to the wheel, damning his luck. Just then there was a knock on the driver side window.    Dean jumped in his seat and turned to see a man with an umbrella and a thick coat- he had one hand cupped around his eyes and the other with a death grip on the umbrella to keep it from getting torn from his grasp. Dean turned the crank and lowered the window as the man leaned forward to shield the gap and speak to him.    “Hey there!” Although it was hard to hear over the roar of the winds Dean could pick up his deep voice. “I saw your car on the side and wanted to ask if you need a lift. With this storm there’s next to no service and this downhill area gets flooded really fast.” Dean had to through his plans of hunkering down in the car and waiting for Sam to come get him out of the window into the rain because of those facts. He considered the offer- staying in the car wouldn’t be safe- but he had no idea if this guy was a demon or not and had a knife hot and ready in his pocket. But staring out of the thin glass of the window into this stranger’s dark brown eyes he felt a strange bubble in his stomach. He nodded his head with conviction. The stranger smiled and stepped back for Dean to open the door. As soon as the door opened the rain almost shut it right back- but with the strong grip of the man with the umbrella he was steadied and shielded from the rain as much as possible.

   The stranger’s car was warm from the heating and it soaked into his sodden and stressed bones. He fought back the urge to slump in relief as the kind man closed his own door and tossed the umbrella into the back. Shrugging off his thick coat Dean against got a good look at the other. Almond shaped brown eyes and shortcut stark black hair- Dean guessed Chinese, maybe half. And he looked a good seven or eight years younger than himself. He turned to Dean with a smile in his kind eyes and held out his hand. “Hey, I’m Mark! Glad I found you out here before the water got too high.” Dean shook it with some indecision. “Dean, and uh thanks.”    Mark pulled his hand back to twist the key which made the engine purr and drove away- leaving the shit car Dean stole on its own. “Haven’t seen you before, new to town?” Dean nodded. “Yeah, me and my brother and doing some traveling.” Mark smiled at him. “That’s nice- where are you staying? I can drop you off.” Dean unintentionally tightened his grip on the hidden holster just in case.    “No it’s fine- just drop me off at any old bus stop, I'll find my way.” Mark shook his head and sighed. “Buses won’t drive in weather like this- basically a hurricane out there. Most everywhere is closed by now.” Dean groaned, he was running out of options. Mark looked over at him with concern. “You know I have a spare room at my house- You’re welcome to stay for a night.”    Dean was shaking his head before Mark even finished. “No man I don’t want to bother you- seriously, just drop me wherever.” Mark was already shaking his head back as his eyes caught Dean’s and Dean was stuck there, staring. “Look I can’t just leave you in this weather- I don’t know you yet but I wouldn’t leave anyone in this situation. Just let me lend you a little help.” The Winchester just gave a nod of his head- unable to argue with his deep resounding voice and concerned tone, and Mark changed directions.

   After rushing through the rain once again the front door of the two-story house was slammed shut as the younger of the two males leaned against it. “Wow, it’s only getting stronger huh?” Mark asked. Dean nodded as he looked around the inside of the house, “Nice place you got here.” Mark smiled and walked up to the other man- who he noted was probably five or six years older than him and roughly the same height.    “I can lend you something while I dry our clothes and wait out the storm if you want.” The Asian man offered- Dean nodded with a smile- “Yeah sure man.” Mark led him upstairs where he handed him a shirt and a pair of sweatpants- then a bit more awkwardly a pair of boxers. Dean tried to smile even though this whole situation was very awkward for the both of them. The younger pointed the older in the direction of the bathroom. Once the Winchester came out of the tiled restroom Mark was already there reaching for his dirty laundry. With his jacket and clothes tumbling in the dryer Dean was forced to improvise with where he placed his gun and holster. The T-shirt and lose sweatpants would expose the outline of the handgun if he wasn’t careful- even though at this point he was mostly sure that Mark was not a demon or monster out to kill him. Dean took a moment to roam his eyes on the other’s figure. Mark seemed rather fit and with a build nearly similar to his own which he could appreciate. He was as tall as- if not truthfully taller than Dean. He didn’t seem to be seedy or even suspicious- the Winchester could feel himself relax unintentionally around this man.    Mark turned to him in a sweeping motion- but his eyes stopped at Dean’s feet and an eyebrow rose confusedly. “Dude, why do you still have your shoes on?” Dean felt a small flame in his cheeks. “Shit man- let me clean it up.” Not fully realizing, he had tracked mud from the restroom because of his boots. It was such habit to keep them on he didn’t think. Dean immediately grabbed a handful of toilet paper and wiped up the watery brown streaks before begrudgingly popping off his shoes and standing back up. This time he was two inches shorter. Mark’s eyes widened at the accountable difference and held in a snicker. Dean felt the hair on his neck rise as he refused to cuss at the younger of the two. Mark smiled and nodded his head to the stairs- “I have some beer downstairs if you want a drink.” The older Winchester grinned at the offer.    Dean was already three beers in as Mark finished his first- the Asian affliction to alcohol slowing him down. As the conversation grew dull and resulted in small talk, Mark asked Dean about what he did for a living.    “A car mechanic.” He said, easy and partially true. “My dad was one too- my brother though, he’s the smart one. Sammy went to Harvard.” Dean smiled and snapped the lid of another bottle. “What about you? This is a nice place.” Mark laughed.    “You do look like a hands-on kind of guy, I'm a Youtuber.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “I’m sorry but what the hell is a Youtuber?” Mark couldn’t contain his bubbling laughter and rubbed his face. He replied giggling. “Wow, I've never heard that before! I do dumb stuff on the internet for money.” He offered as a vague explanation.

   Dean raised a brow and thought of his only experience with online entertainment- of people doing things for money. Dean hid his embarrassment with a long sip of his beer. “So uh- that must be an interesting line of work.” Mark was confused for a second before the thought set into his alcohol addled brain. Mark groaned and covered his face with his hands. “No not that! Oh my god I don’t do porn!” Dean laughed until his stomach was clenching in pain. Mark huffed and threw a pillow at the Winchester half-heartedly. “No man, a Youtuber makes videos- like entertainment. It seems pretty easy but really with the editing and hours of planning and effects and social upkeep- it can get hard.” Mark smiles around the lip of his bottle when taking a sip. “But making people happy and being able to do what I do for charity is what makes it worthwhile.”

Dean had looked over the Korean as he talked, taking in his soft brown eyes and his winning smile framed by those two biteable-ly soft lips and his thick black hair. This kid seemed honestly kind and generous, those were rare traits in the people Dean had met. And Dean could admit- at least in his own head- that Mark was fairly attractive. He wasn’t gay, and he plenty of evidence to prove that- but maybe he wanted a man about… one out of ten times. He was willing to bet Mark wasn’t strictly 'into' women as well. As Mark finished talking and Dean had to stop eyeing him like a piece of candy he took another swig- maybe too much beer wasn’t a good thing right now- and found this bottle to be empty. Dean sighed and pushed off the couch only to find his feet had fallen asleep and weren't responding to his commands he shuffled as he tried to catch his balance but then a strong hand clenched his forearm and pulled him back into the couch again.

The older Winchester crashed heavily on top of the Asian man.

Mark saw that Dean was falling before the man had even started to react- his hand shoot out and pulled him back to his seat before momentum carried him forward- but it seemed that a different momentum took place and Mark found himself with a lap full of drunken, flushed, Winchester. Mark’s eyes roamed over Dean. His clouded green eyes, his dirty blond locks that looked like heaven to weave his fingers through and yank his head back, and his parted lips separated from a small gasp of air when falling into Mark’s lap. The alcohol had made Mark’s face flush bright red but if it hadn’t, surely the thought of how tastily fuckable Dean looked sure would have done him in. As his thoughts came back to him he felt something hard pressing against him- from Dean's pants. Mark couldn't help but raise his brows at the impressive size he could interpret from its pressing into his thigh. Mark's hands- which were both empty due to him dropping his beer to grab Dean- moved up and settled on Dean's hips.

So there ya go... Chapter 1...