#the fact that Crowley ran into a burning building of what he thought was probably hellfire and still took a book

[demonsandpieohmy]

Ok but how fucking devastated was Aziraphale when the Library of Alexandria burned down. How many centuries did it take for him to emotionally recover. And then how horrified he was when he thought his rare books had been destroyed at the church. How much it meant that Crowley saved them for him. And then for Crowley to have to tell him that his own little library of Alexandria had also burned to the ground during the apocawasn’t. But that he had managed to save one book (again).

[mordellestories]

Ineffable Timing

Chapter 1: A.J.

There are some stories we have heard, read, and told for thousands of years. In this case, about six thousand of them. Yes, the beginning of the world you know and almost lost due to a Divine Plan, started in a garden. However, that was that story and this is this one. This story does not begin and end in a garden. It begins and ends with a flaming sword. Well, and two unlikely, but actually very likely, companions.

In the other story, we shall call Story A (for Almost-armageddon, or Antichrist, whichever suits you best) an angel and a demon met in the garden of Eden, specifically at the Eastern Gate. Many scholars and theologians have pondered on the exact location of the most famous garden in all of history, and have come to several conclusions. Armenia, which is incorrect.  Present-day Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers run into the sea, which is also incorrect depending on how you look at it.

You see, the Garden is not technically on Earth. It never was. It was and has always been in Eden itself. A plain, as the origin of the name suggests, but maybe more accurately, a plane. A very specific place in time and space that subtly intermingles with all the other planes surrounding it. The gates that lead in and out of the Garden, however, are on Earth. One of those gates, the Eastern Gate, is at the head of the Persian Gulf, in modern-day Iraq, where the Tigris and Euphrates rivers run into the sea.

It was on this plane that our demon of this story not only tempted the first humans, but was also reacquainted with an Old Friend. This would set in motion a chain of events that would lead to the conclusion of Story A and this story alike, but let us not get ahead of ourselves. Or rather, let us jump ahead to the present. To where a certain A.J. Crowley, a former demon of Hell, former angel of Heaven, lurks.

It is not precisely common knowledge, more like a common guess, that creatures of the occult or the ethereal kind do not need to sleep. Only two people on almost-post-armageddon earth knew that a particular such being still enjoyed the leisure despite that fact. But Anthony J. Crowley had not slept a wink for three-hundred-sixty-one days, and he wasn't likely to for the rest of his uncertain existence.

"C'mon, Aziraphale, c'mon. Y' know you can't help yourself," the demon drawled bitterly behind a pair of binoculars.

Crowley was inconspicuously perched on a far off roof, peering into the angel's old bookshop, making his best impression of a gargoyle on duty. There was no moon out tonight, but he didn't need it. Crowley had memorized every local, their rituals, their nuanced behaviours. He knew their names, where they worked, what time they had dinner or went to the pub. He could even accurately divine the hour at which any of them might shuffle off to the privy for their astonishingly predictable bowel movements. Except for old Edgar, the poor man was a mess. Crowley almost miracled away the bloke's IBS. Almost.

He watched his best friend prepare his hot cocoa and pluck a book off a shelf.  The demon checked his watch and smiled mirthlessly. He peered into his spying tool again to find his friend peeking out his window, looking this way and that in a most suspicious fashion. Then he closed it, turned the latch very slowly, and drew the curtains.

"That's it. Do it. I dare you," Crowley growled with anticipation.

The glow of electric lights disappeared only to be replaced by a softer, flickering glow of--

--

Candles. White, vanilla-scented candles. Oh, how sweet the aroma was, how ethereal and romantic, thought Aziraphale as he sighed contentedly with hot cocoa in one hand and Hemmingway in the other. A book lover's dream come true that he rarely got the chance to do right these days because--

"ANGEL!" Roared Crowley, startling the living Hell out of Aziraphale.

The angel frowned mournfully at his cocoa-stained trousers. Not again, he thought woefully.

Crowley stalked toward the offensive candelabra and jutted an angry finger at it. "What have I told you about candles in this bookshop?" He popped the p and tapped his snake-skin shoes impatiently.

Aziraphale whined with child-like impatience. "I'm tired of this, Crowley! I like reading by candlelight. No, I love it. And I will not give it up just because--"

"Just because this entire bookshop burned to the bloody ground with you in it not, what, a year ago?! I mean, do you want to be discorporated again? Eh? 'S not like you could gavotte back up to your people and ask for a new body, now can you?"

The celestial could feel his invisible angel feathers ruffle with annoyance. He sighed and summoned all the patience he could muster, which was usually quite a lot, but right now was exceedingly difficult to get a grasp of. "I appreciate your concern, Crowley, I really do--"

The demon scoffed and tore the candles up off the reading table, plunging the entire room into darkness when he blew out them out entirely in one breath. There was an awkward, silent, and pitch-black moment before Aziraphale cleared his throat and snapped his fingers. The candles were on again.

Crowley turned them back off with a snap of his own digits.

Aziraphale lit them again only for Crowley to snuff them out once more. It was war. A series of loud snaps and flickering lights came back to back at a dizzying speed until Aziraphale groaned with frustration.

The electric lights came on, revealing the angel’s silent annoyance and twitching left eye. He took a deep, steadying breath through his nose and pursed his lips. Crowley was as stoic as ever, waiting patiently for Aziraphale to say whatever was obviously on the tip of his tongue. He expected the angel to adjust his waistcoat and change the subject, like he always did, then offer him a drink. Maybe some small talk. Maybe he’d sit next to him, and pretend to fall asleep, and accidentally let his head fall on to the angel’s shoulder.

“Out.” Was the only thing that Aziraphale uttered, his eyes closed.

“What?” He obviously didn’t hear right.

Aziraphale took slow steps toward his friend until he was almost nose to nose with him, the height difference making him look up with what seemed to be a hooded glare. He could try all he wanted to look menacing, but Crowley knew he didn’t have it in him. Not really. The little show was having the opposite effect of what the angel intended. Crowley was getting excited. He had not seen him this grave since they both stood with Adam Young in the plains of Eden. He could almost see Aziraphale’s wings stretched out and ready for battle. He was also so very close. Crowley was glad, once again, that his dark spectacles hid his eyes or his angel may have seen the need to kiss him at that very moment.

“Listen to me, you overbearing fiend,” Aziraphale lectured with steady, calm and crisp words, “you have been driving me up the ceiling--”

“Wall.” Crowley corrected.

“I’ve put up with it because I know your heart is in a good place--”

“Is not.” He drawled.

“Listen here!” The angel took another calming breath. “This is my bookshop. I will do as I please. If you don’t like it, you can sod off.”

Crowley gasped dramatically. “ Aziraphale. I’ve rubbed off on you a bit too much, haven’t I?” He chuckled at his friends blushing cheeks. “Fine. That’s fine by me. Do whatever you want.”

The angel narrowed his eyes with suspicion. “What I want is to light my candles and read.”

“What candles?” The demon asked innocently with a sway and a shrug.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he looked around. His candles were gone. His mouth dropped open and he ran to a certain pile of dusty books on a shelf, moved the stack, and found the area empty of his hidden supply. The angel sputtered and whirled around to face his friend. “I can’t believe you!”

“I can’t believe you! Think I wouldn’t find out about your secret stash of death sticks?!” Aziraphale ran to his other hiding place. “Those are gone, too, angel.”

The celestial stopped in his tracks and fumed. “You bastard.”

“Vulgarity becomes you, my a--” Crowley cleared his throat to cover the near slip-up, “friend. ” He could almost hear Aziraphale’s patience snap.

“Get. Out. Get-out-get-out-get-out!” He took long strides toward the demon and began dragging him toward the door.

Panic started to build as Crowley got closer to the exit. He wasn’t really going to toss him out, was he? Oh, but he was. He really was. His angel was surprisingly strong and very successfully pushed him up against the door as he began to unlock it. “Angel, wa-wait-wait-wait! I’m sorry!” He chuckled nervously. “I’ll replace them! With better ones!” The door was open. He was pleading now. “No-no! Hold on!” He braced himself, grasping the edges of the door frame while Azirphale pushed with all his might. Crowley was now desperate. He could not be cast out by his only friend, even if it was just a stupid thing he’d probably get over the following day. His mind reeled as his arms began to burn painfully from the exertion of keeping himself wedged there. “Remember the last time we parted on bad terms ‘round this time of year?!” He choked out frantically.

Aziraphale froze silently for a moment. They were both panting. “Damn you,” he breathed, shoulder still buried in Crowley’s back.

“Too late,” he croaked back.

Aziraphale finally relented and stepped back. A loud sigh of relief escaped his friend as he stumbled back into the bookshop and closed the door. The demon turned around and gave him an apologetic smile and raised his hands in surrender. “Replace them now, Crowley.” He demanded seriously.

“Let there be candles,” he squeaked with a wave of his hands.

The angel stalked to his hiding place and removed two large white candles with a frown. They felt wrong, and there was some kind of artificial flame on the wick. “What, pray tell, are these ?”

Crowley sauntered over to him and took one of the candles. “A fascinating human invention, angel. They’re LED candles!” He gave him a toothy grin and switched the thing on. “And look!” He pointed at the now lit flame. “The flame moves and everything! They’re scented even! Here, smell!” He shoved the contraption under his friend’s nose.

Aziraphale was still looking at Crowley with a bored expression as he caught a whiff of vanilla. He took the candle and looked at the demon’s concerned, expectant face. He shook his head slowly and sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I didn’t burn up in here? I accidentally--”

“I know, I know, but better to be safe than sorry, eh?” He clasped his hands under his own chin and grimaced. “Can’t we compromise, huh? For the safety of the bookshop?” His lower lip protruded pleadingly. “For my peace of mind? Hm?”

He was a pitiful sight. Aziraphale could hardly stand it. He sighed heavily and looked at the sorry excuses for candles. “Fine.”

“Yes!” Crowley clasped his hands on his friend's shoulders and gave him an encouraging shake. “They have a lovely glow. You won’t even notice the difference!” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulders reassuringly, revelling in the feeling of touching him. “Here!” He let go reluctantly and grabbed an arm full of LED’s. “Let’s try them out!” He made quick work of setting up the candles the way he knew his friend liked them, then ran to the switch on the wall and turned off the shop lights.

Aziraphale marvelled at the flickering glow from the modern inventions. “Well, would you look at that,” he uttered with awe. “It’s not the same, but…” he looked at Crowley who was hanging on his every word, clearly hoping for approval. He rolled his eyes. “It’s close. Close enough.” He scoffed when his friend gave him a smug smile. The angel adjusted his waistcoat and shrugged off the remainder of his annoyance. “Care for a drink? I made hot cocoa but,” he remembered his stained trousers but found the stain gone. He looked at the side table and found his cocoa sitting there, steam rising from the cup. Heat rushed to his cheeks when he met Crowley's satisfied grin again.

The two sat side by side, as was their fairly new tradition. Aziraphale read aloud while Crowley listened. The angel knew his friend would probably fall asleep; books never interested him, and maybe, hopefully, the demon’s head would roll onto his shoulder. It did. However, Aziraphale could not be too careful. He knew the demon could wake at any moment and so he resisted the burning urge to turn his head and bury his nose in his friend's hair. Almost resisted. The angel kept reading and, as subtle as possible, turned his head slightly, his chin grazing fiery red strands. He inhaled softly and sharply. The demon’s aftershave was pungent, but that was not the scent he searched for, though he quite liked it. He tried again. Some kind of hair wax. Another deeper but still quiet sniff brought the elusive aroma to the forefront; burnt matches. Crowley used to stink of sulfur back when they were still acquaintances. Aziraphale liked to think the smell faded along with some of his evilness over time, but maybe he just grew so used to the distasteful scent that he could hardly smell it now. The scent of burnt matches was tolerable though. More than tolerable, he liked it. Added to the illusion that his faux candles were real.

The angel nearly whacked Crowley over the head when he suddenly remembered his offence from earlier. Things had been dicey between them lately. After they thwarted the end of the world, it seemed like things were on the up-and-up where their friendship was concerned. Aziraphale even hoped that he would have the courage to voice his affection for his friend, though he knew that Crowley would most likely scorn him as he usually did whenever he tried, in little ways, to say how lovely he thought Crowley was. It would rip his heart to shreds if Crowley took his confession badly. The “honeymoon stage” of their freedom from their respective authorities was short-lived, however. With every passing day, the demon grew antsier, more boorish, and insufferable. He hovered over Aziraphale like a dark cloud, controlling and possessive. At first, it seemed rather sweet and considerate. The angel was now at his wit's end with the irritable serpent, but that was probably also due to his own growing anxiety. It was easy to feed off his friend’s concern when Aziraphale himself was fearful of when (because it had to be a matter of when not if) their offices would hunt them down and demand retribution once more.

Crowley stirred and hummed groggily. Aziraphale hadn’t realized he had stopped reading.

“Is it that time already?” Crowley slurred and righted himself. “Oh, erm, sorry. Must’ve nodded off,” he muttered.

Aziraphale felt the lack of Crowley’s weight on his shoulder as if it were a limb that was now missing. “I guess we can call it a night then, seeing as you’re so tired.”

Crowley sighed. “Right.” With a decisive slap to his knee, he pushed himself up to standing. “Night then.” He meandered toward the door slowly.

Aziraphale stood suddenly and called after him. “Crowley!”

His breath hitched at the sound of urgency in his angel’s voice. He turned to him and his heart filled with hope for who knows what to come tumbling out of that perfect mouth. “Yeah?” He asked softly.

The angel appeared torn but finally spoke. “Don’t forget we’re meeting the Pulsifer’s tomorrow for lunch,” he replied weakly.

Crowley’s heart dropped into his stomach. “Yeah. Right. See you then.” He opened the door and sauntered out.

He stood outside the bookshop until he heard the door lock behind him. Crowley hung his head and sighed. His Bentley followed him like a faithful hound as he walked the empty streets of SoHo. He would not wander far, however, not this close to the anniversary of his second revolt. Unintentionally, Crowley mused on the first time he rebelled. He did not try to push out the troubling memories that only grew foggier with time and distance. The war had sprung up so suddenly then. There was no time to prepare or plan. He wasn’t even called up to arms. The fighting broke out around him and he had no option but to defend himself. It had been chaos. Memories flashed in his mind. 

His white robes had been cumbersome, not great for fighting at all. His white wings being used, for the first time, to knock his fellow angels down. Aziraphale and his platoon flying down at them and demanding surrender. The fiery weapon about to cut him down.

Crowley shook off the painful images and stopped at his favourite wooden bench. He sat like his legs had been about to give way. The weight of the world, almost literally, on his shoulders. The demon grazed his hand over all the initials and respective hearts surrounding them until he found the one he was looking for. He smiled and caressed it lovingly, remembering the first time a young woman had etched it for him after he had woken from his depressive, century-long slumber. The epic nap he had taken after Azirphale had refused his request for Holy Water and turned his back on him.

The fair-haired lady smiled and took his pocket knife. “You’re not supposed to make markings on public property.”

“Bah, what’s a little mark? No one will notice,” he tempted.

She laughed. “You’re so bad.”

“Damn right.” He smirked back. “Go on. Teach me.”

“All right then,” she rolled her eyes. Her pearly white teeth bit down on her lip as she brought the sharp edge of the knife to the wood. “I always do the heart first. Makes me feel like it’s a protected space for the initials.”

“Why just initials?”

She shrugged. “So that no one can guess who it is you’re in love with. Plus, it’s easier. You should always put your love’s initial first. Because you put them before you. Symbolism and all that. Go on then. What is it?”

Crowley’s eyes shifted with uncertainty. No one was watching but it still felt dangerous. “A.” He watched her chisel the letter in the heart.

“Now your’s.”

“C.”

“C? Your first name also starts with a C, Mr. Crowley?”

His first name? The first name he’d ever been given? No, but it should be that one. It was fitting, he thought woefully, the name he possessed when he was pure. As pure as Aziraphale. Only the pure angel he once was would ever be worthy of his friend’s love.

“J,” he finally breathed. His heart pounded against his chest as she etched it purposefully next to the letter A.

“There. A. and J. Forever.”

More like never, he thought bitterly.

Crowley ripped himself off the bench before he could cry. He shook his head vigorously, willing his tears back into their ducts. Even now, he knew he was no closer to deserving his angel. His initials in his name always a reminder of that fact.

Aziraphale seemed confused. “Anthony? What’s the J stand for?”

“It’s just a J, really,” he lied through his teeth.

The demon adjusted his jacket and sauntered to his Bently with extra swagger and bravado, squashing down the nostalgia. Locking the name outside his old reliable car. Speeding off to leave his name and who he once was behind him and always behind him. The name that would never be in his reach again. The former Protector of Wisdom. The once glorious and beautiful Arch Angel, armed with the one he called Old Friend; his flaming sword.

Jophiel.

----------

Ineffable Timing is a Good Omens fanfic on Ao3 & FF by mordelle.

Thank you Betas: Darkphilosophe13, Azeran, & Stealbeatingheart

[charmingpplincardigans]

Fic meme, POV!

KATIE. THANK YOU FOR THIS GIFT YOU HAVE GIVEN ME.

There is one particular scene in this fic where Aziraphale is confronted with the possibility that maybe the love he feels around Crowley is not simply a reflection of his own and because that scene (like the whole fic) is in Crowley’s point of view I am Really Concerned that no one else will know that’s what’s happening, because Crowley doesn’t know that’s what’s happening. SO. 

Here’s the relevant few (unedited) paragraphs of the fic (Florence 1510):

Crowley sat very still and watched Aziraphale bluster about the room for a few minutes. He struggled some with his overcoat in his haste. Once he’d finally gotten everything together he returned to the table to collect his books. Crowley stood, shook his hair out over his shoulder, and reached out to grab onto Aziraphale’s sleeve. 

Aziraphale looked down to where Crowley’s hand had a grasp of him. He did not move. He was holding his breath. 

“I hope you will forgive me,” Crowley began. He inhaled to steady himself. “For treading in the domain of angels.”

He leaned in to place a kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek, the way he had many times with human acquaintances recently, but Aziraphale turned his head at the last moment and Crowley’s lips landed softly against his. Aziraphale let out a surprised breath into Crowley’s mouth and a warmth blew into Crowley’s chest that he didn’t know what to do with. He let go of Aziraphale, stunned, and stepped away. 

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment, then he reached to cup Crowley’s cheek with his hand. “I can’t forgive you for Her,” he said. “But you do not need forgiveness from me.”

Some small part of Crowley hoped that Aziraphale would pull him in and kiss him back--they could make a pleasant evening of it like he had with humans from time to time--but the angel only rubbed his thumb across Crowley’s cheek and nose a few times before he let him go, took up his books, and head for the door. He let himself out. 

And here’s the bit from Aziraphale’s POV (also unedited, don’t judge me I had work-work to do!) that I have been thinking about for WEEKS. Maybe writing this will give me a way to fix my concern in edits.

Crowley stood up, skirts swishing as they fell to the floor. He ran his hands through his hair and swept it to the side so all of the curls tumbled over one shoulder. The sky out of the window behind him was deepening from red to purple. It backlit him in a nimbus of burning light. They hadn’t thought to light any candles as the day dimmed around them, so Crowley’s proximity to the window made him the brightest thing in the room.

That wasn’t a new experience for Aziraphale. For him Crowley was a mirror, sharp as glass and always reflecting a tangled-up version of his own emotions back at him. Crowley’s presence synthesized the grand cacophony of the space around him into brilliant points of light that simplified the overwhelming nature of the hum at the heart of the world. It was tempting to Aziraphale to hold on to that tightly, to not have to deal with the muddle and the chaos, to instead simply love his enemy as he wished his enemy could love him and let the rest of it fall away.

Crowley gently grasped at the hem of Aziraphale’s jacket sleeve and Aziraphale froze.

“I hope you will forgive me,” he said. “For treading in the domain of angels.”

The space between them was so quiet. The space within Aziraphale was a riot.

He thought about that moment a century and a half ago when Crowley had been surprised by the fact that Aziraphale loved the humans. He thought of the first angels to discover love, build it from the ground up, and how it had ultimately brought them down. How after that it had been divvied up into types that were acceptable and unacceptable for their kind, a neat line imposed between the proper and prurient that he now knew didn’t exist. It couldn’t exist. Love was a wonder and a disaster. He watched it happen to the humans around him all of the time. He felt the different shades of it in the air, moving across dimensions and time.

It had been common knowledge in Heaven for millennia that demons did not feel love, but now that he stopped to think about it he realized that there was a very important distinction between not doing something and not being capable of it. Probably demons could feel love, but didn’t out of self-preservation. If nothing else, some of the angels who had fallen had probably loved before they fell. Lucifer had loved before he fell. Had Crowley? What did Crowley look like on the inside—porcelain or pitch? Did Aziraphale have the strength of will to find out? What would happen to him if he knew for certain that, not only could Crowley love as he had just said, but that he loved Aziraphale?

This feeling had been buzzing through him for thousands of years and he had lived with it as one lives with family, because he had assumed it had originated in his own home. Now…. He wanted to ask. He didn’t want to ask.

Aziraphale turned his head to demur from the danger of these thoughts, to tell Crowley not to worry about it. Except that while Aziraphale had been fretting, Crowley had been moving, which honestly was a very neat way to encapsulate their entire relationship. He caught Crowley’s lips on his. Crowley’s golden eyes widened. Startled, Aziraphale exhaled like the breath had been beaten out of him.  

Crowley let go of his sleeve and took several quick steps backward, putting space between them. He looked as beaten as Aziraphale felt.

He knew that was not what Crowley had intended. To move forward as if it had been, to reach across the space either metaphysically or physically and try to coax out the warmth in Crowley, would be overstepping every boundary Aziraphale had spent the last five and a half thousand years creating. He needed to think about this. He needed to not be near Crowley while he was doing it. He also needed to not leave his friend in distress.

Aziraphale slid his hand between Crowley’s cheek and the tumble of his hair. Both were softer than he assumed they would be.  “I can’t forgive you for Her,” he said. “But you do not need forgiveness from me. 

Crowley closed his eyes and Aziraphale lightly stroked the round of his cheek with his thumb. There was a pure elation rising within him that he knew he could give himself over to easily. But giving in to that, to this, to the simultaneous soft and sharp in Crowley that so fascinated him, would not make tomorrow easy. It would make tomorrow very hard, and maybe a number of tomorrows after that. He had to do this deliberately if he was going to do it at all.

So he pulled his hand away. Crowley opened his eyes. There was a wary, haunted animal look in them that, in spite of him being a demon, Aziraphale rarely saw. He stood for a few moments trying to think of what to say that would make this better. He came up with nothing. He collected his books, gave Crowley a nod, and then let himself out.

[Send me one of these writing asks!]

[just-another-winchester]

When In Rome (8)

Chapter 8 - Dreaming In Color

Pairing: Dean x wife reader

Word Count: 2183

Warnings: angst, just... lots of angst.

Summary: Dean notices changes in Y/N after she’s brought back to life, slowly realizing she isn’t the same woman he fell in love with and that she’s gone bad. Will he be able to save her? Or is she lost to him?

Feedback is amazing and makes me happy.

It wasn’t hard to disable the warding in the bunker. After Sam had turned it back on once Crowley died you’d watched him, carefully studying. You didn’t even know why, it just felt like the thing to do. You liked making sure you got as much information as possible.

Once the warding was down Ruby snuck in easily and you headed straight for the garage to find out if the boys were home.

“Be quiet, if they’re home and one of them sees you we’re both in trouble,” You said as Ruby followed you along.

“You’re the one talking.” She said,

You rolled your eyes as you opened the door to the garage, seeing the Impala sitting in its place of honor.

You shut the door and turned to Ruby.

“They’re home, get out.” You said to Ruby, pushing her back along.

You hurried her back through the corridor and up the stairs, “You have the hex bags?”

“Yes, I have your damn hex bags now get lost!” You demanded, shoving her out the door and closing the heavy door. Letting out a sigh you headed back down the stairs, your first destination was your room.

You held your hands in your pockets where the forget me hex bags were, hoping that the boys were somewhere else in the large bunker, however you knew your husband, and the likelihood was he would either be in the library, studying, which he wasn’t, or in his room, listening to music.

You stepped lightly, trying hard not to be heard. You inched forward, finally approaching your door. It was ajar, and you peaked in to see Dean lying on the bed, fast asleep.

You let out a breath of relief, slowly pushing the door open as you walked in, the hex bag clutched in your fist as you walked towards the bed. You finally came to stand beside it, and it was then that you registered Dean’s face.

Dean was never one to show his emotions very clearly, you had to learn to decipher it, the way you and Sam had. You did take notice however, in the fact that they always seemed to come out when he slept.

Typically, he looked sort of peaceful when he slept. If he was in bed with you beside him, you took comfort in watching his face as he slept, he was calm, all was right when he was asleep. But today, right now, he looked like he was in pain, like someone was strangling him, or like he could cry.

The sight of him broke your heart, and you almost broke down. You forced yourself to move, kneeling beside him, studying his face further.

It took everything you had to walk away. All you had to do was place Sam’s hex bag before you could return to Dean, and that one took zero time or risk, Sam wasn’t in his room.

You entered your brother in laws room, the space was a bit neater than your room, to be fair your room held the belongings of two people, whereas Sam only had his own things.

You felt a pang in your chest. You could kill a kid, but lying was crossing the line? You didn’t understand what was going on in your head, you were angry and confused, very conflicted. You slipped the hex bag back into your pocket, deciding the hex bags weren’t needed.

You weren’t sure where Sam was, but it didn’t matter, now all that mattered was going to Dean.

You walked briskly through the corridor, heading straight back to your room and opening the door with ease as you looked at Dean. You knew that Ruby said the hex bags would need time, but they could forget another time, you wouldn’t mind answering questions if they ended up forgetting.

You kneeled down at the sight of the bed where Dean was, you reached out, your hand finding his cheek as you tried to ease the pained look from his face.

You focused in on him, on his face, on the man that you loved with all your heart.

You watched as the expression on his face changed, squinted sort of, until those beautiful green eyes opened and found you waiting for him.

“Y/N?” He asked, almost in a daze.

You nodded, a smile dressing your face, “Hey,” you said, “It’s me.”

Dean didn’t say another thing, he sprung from his position on the bed, his arms entrapping you, pulling you close to his chest and locking you in his embrace.

You’d never been so happy to be stuck.

Your arms wrapped around him, one arm around his neck, the other gripping his waist.

“I’m here.” You cooed, “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

Your hand gently rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. You could sense the emotion build up, Dean was rattled, of course you imagined he hadn’t expected you to just show up back in your room.

Dean readjusted, pulling you up and holding you in his lap. He held you in his arms, cradled in his embrace, he held you like it was everything he needed, like it was the only thing he needed. You rarely saw Dean that way, even behind closed doors Dean was rarely this emotional.

You sat for a moment, keeping him wrapped in your arms, your fingers slid through his hair and held him against you. He didn’t say anything, it was one of those situations where he really didn’t have to. You’d learned to read each other, and you could tell Dean just needed a moment, another moment to hold you, to remind himself that you were real, that you were there, that you were home.

You could almost feel the hex bag burning a hole in your jacket pocket, you didn’t want to do this, your mind told you it was deceptive, and you shouldn’t deceive the man you love.

Your mind swirled around, trying to figure out what to do, you had to get Jack out of there, but with what you were doing you just felt like someone would figure it out.

Dean finally loosened his hold on you, pulling back to look at you, his large, rough hands took your face gently, his eyes meeting yours.

“Where did you go? Where were you?”

Dean’s voice was weak, and tired, your heart felt like it had been stabbed.

Ever since you died, there was something different in him, about him. It was a change that you had never seen before, not when he lost Sam, or Cas, or Bobby, or anyone else. It was like he wasn’t all there, like part of him was hiding away for fear of being hurt.

You pursed your lips, looking away from him.

“Dean it doesn’t matter, I’m back okay?” You said softly

“I thought I lost you again, I keep losing you.” He said, almost just realizing his pain, that was when you recognized it.

He was you…

His actions, the way he looked, and spoke, that was what you did, every time you lost Dean.

You had been forced to live without Dean time and time again, it was almost funny how many times the man had died, or almost died, and each time, losing you took a chunk out of your heart, it was like you slowly wasted away. Dean was every part of your life, he was the man you loved, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him, being without him was torture, and it felt as though you were being suffocated.

Dean had gone through a lot recently, losing you, getting you back, you knew he could tell something was different about you, he probably thought he’d lost you again, all over again, just after finally accepting you had returned. You could understand how that would wreck a person.

“You didn’t, you’ll never lose me again. I promise,” You told him, “Go back to sleep okay, you look exhausted.”

Dean looked like he didn’t want to, but you insisted, pressing a kiss to his lips and lying beside him to encourage. You’d lost your nerve, you couldn’t lie to him, you couldn’t just hide a hex bag under his pillow.

It took Dean only moments to slip back into dreamland, you carefully squirmed away from him and climbed out of bed, hurrying from the room.

If Jack was what Ruby needed, then Jack is what Ruby would get. You hurried out the door, once you shut it completely you removed your shoes and ran to Jacks room, you had to be as quick and quiet as possible. It had been a little while since you’d seen Jack, you weren’t sure why but you hadn’t actually seen him since before you died.

You knocked on the door to his room before opening it slightly.

“Jack?” You said softly, finally spying the sweet nephilim, sitting cross legged on his bed, his eyes glued to the computer screen that displayed the death star. The sight made you smile as he looked up and muttered your name.

He got off his bed instantly and hurried into your arms, where you hugged him tightly.

You felt bad for not having seen him this whole time, you’d been so busy trying to figure yourself out that you either ran off with Ruby or were hiding in your room. The feeling of being able to hug him and hold him close was nice, he was about as close as you would ever get to having a child.

“Dean and Sam told me you were back, but I never got to see you.” Jack said as he pulled back to look at you.

“I know,” You gave him a sad smile, “I’ve been working through some things and really haven’t been in a mood to deal with a lot of company.” It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t totally the truth either.

“So, I’ve been feeling better, and was just thinking how much I missed you. I was wondering if you’d like to go out? We could go to lunch, or get some ice cream.” You suggested,

Jack smiled, nodding his head at you.

“Sure!” He said, “Are Sam and Dean coming?”

You shook your head at him, “Nope, just us.” You promised, “How bout it?”

“I’ll get my shoes.” Jack smiled, grabbing his socks and shoes and sliding them onto his feet. You did the same, making sure you were absolutely ready to go.

Maybe if everything worked out, Sam and Dean would forgive you for this, maybe Jack would understand. But then, maybe not.

And if they didn’t understand, if they didn’t forgive you, then it still wouldn’t matter, because at least they would be safe. At least Dean could live a life, a good life, instead of this one straight from a horror story.

You walked with Jack, all the time your mind was on what you were doing.

Ruby was right, you didn’t care, about the kid you killed, about the fact that you were about to lead Jack to his doom.

It was something you didn’t want to admit, and even admitting it to yourself sort of hurt, but you felt nothing as you walked up the stairs to the door where Ruby waited. All you cared about at this point was Dean, making sure he was alive, and okay. You wanted him to have a good, safe, and happy life, and you didn’t care what it took to make that for him.

It had taken you too long to accept that fact that dying had changed you, or perhaps the coming back to life. It could be that Ruby had done something to you, but none of that mattered anymore, you had one goal now.

Dean.

And you didn’t care if he hated you for what you were about to do.

You opened the door and stepped out just in time to come face to chest with Sam holding a paper bag.

“Y/N!” He said with shock, almost dropping his bag, “How did you get back? Are you alright?”

You felt flustered, but nodded and faked a smile,

“Oh, I’m alright, I manage, you know that by now. I was just taking Jack out for ice cream since I haven’t seen him since before I died.” You rushed through your words, you face heating up as you tried to pass the large Winchester.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Sam asked, sensing something was off.

“Of course, I wouldn’t say what I don’t mean.” You pushed by Sam, but the hex bag fell out of your pocket. You felt yourself tense as Sam noticed it, bending down to set his bag down and pick up the hex bag,

“Y/N, what is this?” He asked suspiciously, Jack frowning in confusion.

You had no answers, you’d been caught.

Just then, Ruby stepped out from the shadows, Sam’s eyes found her and his gaze went steely,

“Ruby,” He muttered, hatred in his voice as she placed a hand on your shoulder before grabbing Jacks arm.

“Hiya Sam,” She smirked before the three of you vanished from the bunker.

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[tardy-bee]

Intimidating | 6

A/N: I know it’s been forever, I’ll try to be as quick as I can from now on.

Summary:Since first meeting Castiel, you’d been rather intimidated to say the least. From his bright eyes, to his confident posture; you were struggling to make friends with the angel. Despite your usual confidence and wit, you find yourself excusing yourself from the room each time he shows up, not thinking about the fact that possibly you were hurting him all the same. Unfortunately, the two of you get thrown into an undercover case that may complicate your relationship, or lack thereof.

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Warnings: Violence, Kidnapping, Torture-ish.

Words: 4493

Part 5  Masterlist

The brothers had insisted on taking the impala, arguing that if Castiel wasn’t there at the right time, the two of them would have no way to escape, forcing Cas to agree with much reluctance. He didn’t want to wait in a car while you were in danger when he knew he could teleport himself to said place even quicker. The longer they took, the higher the risk.

The fact that you hadn’t prayed to him had him practically shaking in his oversized trench coat. Of course there was the chance that you’d forgotten, or that you’d been too occupied with having escaped...but that was a fantasy...the chances of you escaping were extremely slim, if even possible without him and the Winchester’s help.

As Dean turned into a dirt passage, he furrowed his brows in anger, counting back the time it’d taken to get there. 3 hours. Anything could’ve happened to you in three hours! His jaw was clenched as he stewed angrily in the backseat.

Sam was talking about something to do with Crowley in the front seat, how he’d probably be expecting them, and that they should prepare for the worst. Sam would enter through the front with his demon knife, and Dean would go through the back with his angel blade, Castiel would poof in and search the house.

Unfortunately, as they winded up the path past fields of corn and wheat, Castiel could gradually begin to feel a pressure from around the building barricading him from entering, causing the Angel in the backseat to growl lowly as the warding grew brighter in his Celestial eyes.

Sam looked over his shoulder towards Castiel at the sound, confusion evident in his features,

“Cas?” He asked questiongly as the Angel stared past him, towards the slowly brightening symbols within the confines of the house with a more than annoyed glare,

“Buddy?” Dean voiced when Castiel didn’t answer his brother, “Everything okay?” he tried

“It’s sealed,” The angel grumbled in answer as the Impala came to a stop several yards from the home, not wanting to rouse suspicion from Crowley if he heard the engine. They wanted the element of surprised at least somewhat on their side, even if this was some kind of trap.

“Of course it is,” Dean rolled his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, “Okay, it’s fine, still the same plan just a few extra steps,” He said, pulling his angel blade out, “Me and Sammy will break as many seals as we can, meanwhile you sit tight, alright Cas?” Dean asked, looking to his friend for clarification the angel had heard after moments of silence,

“Alright,” Castiel grumbled, resembling a young child as Dean shot his brother an annoyed look and exited the car, heading towards the large house in a crouched position. It wasn’t necessary, as the two brother’s were sure they’d be seen due to the daylight, but it was a force of habit, and they knew from experience that you could never be too careful.

As Sam approached the front door, he looked to his brother, who was headed round the house near the back entrance before he took in a deep breath and tried the doorknob, his heart skipping with surprise when it opened without struggle. The hunter was wary as to why it hadn’t been locked, the thought not helping his unease.

The front door creaked as he pushed it open slowly, taking one step at a time into the house, his feet silenced on the carpet by the door. He pulled his blade from his jacket, holding it in stance, hoping to be as prepared as possible. As he stepped forward, his foot landed atop something hard, and he stepped back confusedly to look down, coming to see what appeared to be a fire-stick poker lying on the carpeted ground.

Furrowing his brows, Sam crouched to pick up the iron rod, peering around the room in mild curiosity, his hazel orbs landing upon a painted red symbol, resembling what he remembered from Angel seals, his hazel eyes hardening in recognition.

Approaching the wall with his head peeking over his shoulders occasionally in caution, he brought his knife up, scraping the red paint to break the seal, a small relieved sigh leaving him when he looked over his shoulder to see no one was there once more. As he continued to circle around the room, never failing to look over his shoulder, he stopped at the hallway, sighing in anticipation and slapping his face twice to work up the nerve before venturing on.

The hallway was much darker than the natural-lit main room due to the lack of lighting, but he could still see a bright red Angel seal on the wall. Breaking the seal, he continued on.

The house wasn’t too large, but it was like a maze, different twists and turns leading him down different...well, twists and turns. He ran into a few seals on the way, breaking them upon crossing, but he’d yet to find Crowley, or be ambushed, and it only caused his heart rate to increase.

Finally, arriving at what appeared to be a kitchen, he furrowed his brows once more, a brief thought of them sticking that way after all the times he’d been taken-aback by this house. He took notice of the bread bag and peanut butter and Jelly jars lying on the counter, before his hazel orbs landed on yet another seal. However, before he could begin approaching, the unmistakable sounds of footsteps voiced themselves behind him, making the brunette instinctively whip around, his blade lunging towards the figure and just barely missing the it as he leaned away, grabbing Sam’s wrist.

The chuckle coming from the figure was enough for Sam to realize it was his brother and he allowed himself to sigh in relief, calming slightly before ripping his wrist from Dean’s grasp, the latter smirking triumphantly.

“Dammit Dean,” He cursed, catching his breath slightly and leaning back as his brother chuckled once more,

“Nice reflexes Sammy,” The green eyed man scratched his scruff before he noticed the seal behind Sam, walking past his brother and using his blade to scrape a hole in the already chipped paint.

“You think that’s enough?” His brother asked as he turned around, shrugging and going to answer when the unmistakable voice of their dear celestial friend spoke,

“It’s enough,” Castiel said simply, furrowing his brows in concentration, giving the hunters the sense that he’d just noticed something, “Something’s wrong,” He grumbled, his powers unable to detect you, but knowing that it could just be due to the fact that there were still unbroken seals blocking his ‘mojo’. Dean however, took the Angel’s confusion and worry as an obvious statement,

“You’re just now noticing?” He scoffed with annoyance as Sam sneered his name, shaking his head at Dean scoldingly as if to say that this wasn’t the time.

Castiel, however, paid them no mind, moving past the two to march down the darkened hall, knowing exactly where the demon king was, his vessel buzzing. He pushed down the fear as he marched on with determination through every twist and turn, Sam and Dean following closely behind, the two wielding their blades close in caution.

He was close, the pressure was growing stronger.

Castiel stopped suddenly, his eyes narrowing as he entered the room, no source of light but the unlit fireplace, leaving the room shrouded in darkness. The Angel knew that with his Celestial vision, he could detect a lone speck of dust in a pitch dark room; Sam and Dean however, looked to be visibly concerned with the lack of lighting. Castiel barely took notice to their anxiousness, flicking on the fireplace with a wave of his hand distractedly as his eyes darted around the room, not searching for long as the cerulean blue landed on the unconscious form of the causer of his distress.

Almost immediately, Sam approached the unconscious figure, kicking the demon with his foot and offering a shrug towards his brother from the lack of response.

Holding in his anger for now, Castiel’s fists clenched at his sides as his eyebrows furrowed more and more with distress, said emotions growing stronger and stronger by each moment he couldn’t see you...why weren’t you here?

“Where the Hell is she?” Dean growled, his chest heaving as he stepped further into the room, approaching the suited Crowley, still holding his blade in defense lest he wake up. As Dean looked to his visibly troubled brother, the two sharing looks of concern, they turned to Cas, praying the Angel had the answers they so desperately were searching for.

Castiel however, was still scoping the room, his eyes darting wildly as his chest heaved, his control wavering more and more by the second. Finally giving it a rest, Castiel breathed out heavily, unmistakable bewilderment crawling across his features as he gulped, his mouth opening and closing in reiteration as he tried to find some words to string together, some explanation to ease their worries, but how could he ease theirs when he couldn’t even ease his own?

“I--” Castiel stuttered, a million unspeakable scenarios plaguing his thoughts, “I-I don’t know,” He breathed heavily, pulling at his hair as he paced the room, hoping to pull some kind of plan or reassurance from his brain by force, and grunting in frustration as his ‘methods’ helped nothing,

“I don’t know!” He he repeated with a strong enough exclamation to cause the brother’s to jump slightly in surprise. Sam and Dean shared looks once more as Castiel stopped suddenly, turning a burning glare towards the unconscious demon, his logic weaker than his emotions at this point as his chest heaved in anger, a million punishments he wanted to deal out to the demon running through his mine like a sick sadistic movie,

“Cas,” Dean spoke slowly, approaching his friend with concern, attempting to remain level-headed, “Hey buddy,” He repeated as Cas’ gaze snapped to Dean, the latter stopping in his tracks at the malice in the Seraph’s eye before the Angel’s glare softened slightly, causing Dean to breath out slowly, “I uh, I think it’s best if you stay outside,” Dean ordered, leaving no room for argument, “Get yourself some fresh air,”

Castiel snuck one last look towards Crowley before vanishing, knowing the elder hunter was right, leaving only the echo of his wings and the flickering of the fire in his departure. As Dean snuck a look towards his brother, he cleared his throat,

“What do you think happened?” He asked, approaching the unconscious demon as Sam shrugged, turning Crowley onto his back with his foot.

“Something powerful enough to take down the King of Hell,” he surmised, with a shrug.

“You think Y/N knocked him out?” Dean suggested with an almost proud smirk,

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sam chuckled slightly, “Either way, we don’t know where she is now,” He sighed, pinching his brow, “We gotta take him with us.” And just like that, Dean’s smirk fell as he groaned in exasperation at the thought.

“Dammit,” He growled, preparing the carry the demon out of the house.

It was a bit cloudy, your head. Each sound was an empty echo, as if you were hearing it underwater, you were light. You could feel sleep pulling you, taunting you so sweetly, and oh how you wanted to succumb to it’s ministrations, but just as your eyes closed once more, the sound of the cell door’s agonizing scream jerked you back into consciousness.

Cell...You were in a cell…

You could vaguely here the click of heels, a rattle of chains, and some kind of voices speaking, or...voice? You wanted to listen, somewhere in the back of your mind you were screaming, alarm bells ringing left and right, but your eyelids were too heavy, and your ears felt so light.

Suddenly, you could feel the soft cold touch of a hand gently laying itself upon your cheek, and like a bucket of cold water, all fatigue was gone and your eyes shot wide open, locking on the dark orbs filled with adoration, studying you like you were a God sent Angel.

Angel…

You wanted to pull away, you were sure you did, but some primal part of you craved whatever power her hand held against you, giving you the energy you longed for as you leaned into her palm,

“Ol Turebesa” She hummed sweetly, the language unrecognizable to your ears. Her eyes seemed so familiar, filled with such elation, causing a tick in the back of your brain, like you weren’t quite remembering something you should. The raven haired woman turned her head to the right behind her, seeming reluctant to take her eyes off you as she pulled a chain in her left hand, the response earning her what sounded like a muffled ‘mmph’, peaking your curiosity even as some part of your mind screamed in fear. The woman let out a deep low sound, similar to the growl of a lone beast, causing your blood to run cold as she tugged on the chain once more, a man stumbling forward at her unspoken order.

He was blonde, and looked rather young, his body looking drained and lacking nutrition. It wasn’t his figure that shocked you, but the vein like trails of deep black, the maze of noire seeming to be stemming from a large scar on his neck, distributing all over his body like roots of a tree, and you couldn’t help but wonder, what the Hell happened to him?

His posture resembled a kicked puppy, his head down in submission as he struggled to stay standing, like he’d be punished if he were to fall. You almost forgot about the woman’s hand on your face, before she rubber your face gently, all aches and pains in your body diminishing instantly.

“She’s still weak,” She sighed, her voice igniting another form of remembrance in you, but you didn’t care to think. She looked back at the man once more, and you could practically hear the smirk in her voice as she spoke, “Give her some of your blood.”

The man froze, the similarities between him and a stone statue practically uncanny, and you did the same, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion while looking back at him, finding consciousness away from the contentment her ministrations were doing to you. His eyes locked on yours as he dared to shake his head,

“Please,” His voice was scratchy, like an old radio, “Don’t--”

“I gave you one instruction, and even offered you a reward…not being killed. Just out of curiosity, what went wrong?” Her voice grew softer as she approached Crowley, but you knew not to let your guard down despite her demeanor.

Crowley swallowed, “I–” he began before she tsk’d him,

“Uh-uh,” she waved her finger, a smirk slithering across her features as said finger pointed to the ground, “I want you on your knees for this bit,”

The memories hit you like an oncoming train, including the headache as you almost winced, hiding it at the last second.

...Reawth.

You had to stop yourself from saying it outloud as she continued to stare the shaking man down, your blood running cold at the realization of just how utterly screwed you were.

“What was that?” She challenged, her words looking to slowly chip the resolve of the battered blonde man. He stumbled once more, almost falling down as she tugged on his chain again, his eyes ripping away from her’s as he spoke,

“I’m sorry you’re majesty,” He apologized, hardly above a whisper before she tugged on his chain again, the rawness on his wrists looking worse and worse as he approached you,

“Do as your told dog,” She chuckled, genuine amusement in her tone as he kneeled in front of you, the hand once on your face now on your arm, moving aside from the blonde man. Your brows were furrowed as you only now realized you were on a bed. It was uncomfortable as Hell but still a bed nonetheless.

Your eyebrows were furrowed in uncertainty and just a twinge of fear as the energy she was sending you attempted to ease your rapid heartbeat,

“What--” You spoke for the first time, your voice hardly there as your wondered how long you’d gone without your voice. You cleared your throat, “What are you doing?” You attempted to sound firm, using a demanding tone, but it came out more pitiful and weak than anything. The man avoided eye contact, as if he were ashamed of what he were about to do. Reawth smiled sweetly at you, but you knew better than to take it with caution,

“Don’t worry my dear,” Her eyes shone, “It will all be worth it,” She promised, a scalpel appearing in her hand, glaring at the man with warning before handing over the blade.

Your breathing picked up as your feared the worst, your back against the brick wall not grounding you in the slightest as the man raised the blade. You knew you couldn’t fight him off, not even if you used all of the small amount of energy you had, “Wait,” You tried frantically, looking between the two as you attempted to scurry back, finding nowhere to go, “Wait please!” You exclaimed, before the man surprised you, dragging the blade across his own wrist without so much as a wince. You furrowed your brows as Reawth hummed in satisfaction, nodding to the man as he stared at the wound with fear,

“Go on Angel,” She encouraged, although it sounded more like a warning.

Angel, she called him Angel. Why would she do that? This all powerful being didn’t seem too keen on kind names...unless...it wasn’t a compliment.

He looked beyond reluctant, raising his wrist toward you and ripping his gaze to the floor in utter horrification. You furrowed your brows at the dripping blood, looking to the dark eyed woman in question, Reawth sighing in annoyance,

“She won’t take it willingly,” She snapped, “You know I forget how stupid you Angels are.” Stepping forward, closer to the two of you, she removed her hand from your arm, your mind falling under the veil as everything became fuzzy once more.

You struggled to regain your consciousness, but it was like you were swimming against a current, every morsel of your body and mind urging your to fall into sleep.

Suddenly you were awake again, the taste of iron and coal on your lips as you grunted in confusion, your eyes slowly opening as you suckled on whatever was supplying the somehow disgusting and yet addicting liquid. It was as if the taste was once you’d been searching for your whole life, never truly satisfied until now.

It was then that you realized it was blood, the blonde man’s blood, and your eyes snapped open fully. You struggled to move away, but the hand on the back of your neck refused to let go. You whined and resisted until you realized she was not letting go. You shut your mouth in an attempt to black the blood, but she forced your mouth open. That was it, that was all you could do before you succumbed to the longing for the taste, ignoring the disgust and utter shame you felt for yourself as you fed.

You’d never felt like this before. You felt so...utterly sated, so physically strong. You could feel it, pumping through your veins, slowly replenishing each cell in your body. As the man finally pulled away, you automatically attempted to follow him, before a hand on your shoulder and a chuckled stopped you. That was all it took to snap you from your elation, but you could still feel it...the power.

You found yourself breathing rapidly, trying to inhale enough air as possible from the lack of said human requirement while you were drinking his blood. From the corner of your eye, you could see the now drained blonde stumbling to the corner and collapsing weakly against the wall.

You looked to Reawth once more, tears brimming in the corners of your eyes,

“What the Hell did you do to me?” You practically cried, your mind racing with fear as you looked towards your shaking hands.

Reawth didn’t seem to be affected by your emotions as she smiled, “For you, not to you,” She corrected with a smirk.

You ground your teeth, glaring in disgust towards the woman, spitting at her feet and taking to note the blood mixed in with your saliva, the thought causing your stomach to churn uncomfortably.

Again, she seemed unaffected as she approached you, placing her hand on your cheek gently as she shushed you for your broken sobs, “Don’t you see how blessed you are?” She smiled sweetly, “You are going to help me rule my dear, you are my source of power.”

You glared up at her once more, knowing it wasn’t a pretty sight for her. From your runny nose to the blood on your chin, you knew you were far from beautiful right now, and yet she looked at you as if you were the purest of all beings.

Smacking her hand away, you glared once more, the action causing her own face to harden, her gentle demeanor falling away instantly as she roughly grabbed your cheeks, ignoring your pained whimper at the action,

“Listen to me,” She ordered calmly, too calmly as you struggled against her to no avail, “You are going to do as I say, follow every command or--” She stopped herself short, looking to be searching through her memories before she smirked, “That piece of filth earlier mentioned that you were those boy’s ‘teammate?” She taunted as your stiffened, causing Reawth to smirk.

Dean, Sam and...C--

--She leaned down towards you, her face less than an inch from your own, “If you cause me any trouble, or step out of line even a hair,” She breathed softly, “You can count on each and every one of the people you care about will be annihilated.”

She pulled away quickly, turning towards the cowering man once more, “Round two,” She snapped, and he quickly stood, walking towards you once more with an sorrow and shame in his eye.

The boys were getting nowhere with Crowley. The demon was being even more difficult than usual, something they didn’t even think was possible.

Castiel had been stewing away in the corner, his powers threatening to burst with each snide comment or answer that didn’t help in anyway.

“Dammit you son of a bitch,” Dean growled, “Where the Hell is she?”

Crowley feigned an innocent look at Dean’s frustration, “I’ve already told you squirrel,” He raised what little he could of his hands through his restraints, “I haven’t the faintest--”

In a millisecond, the demon was on the wall, his neck being squeezed by none other than Castiel, the angelic rage evident in his eye, “Enough,” He ordered as Crowley’s eyes finally showed the fear Castiel had been craving to see, the same fear he’d seen in your eyes when the demon had held that dagger to your neck, the memory causing him to tighten his hold, “Where. Is. she.” Castiel demanded to know, pronouncing each syllable with a tight seraph-like command. He paid no mind to the brother’s surprised looks as he slammed the demon against the wall once more, “Where is she?!” He boomed, spit flying into Crowley’s face as the demon shook his head in plea, the motion doing nothing for him as Castiel lurched him across the room to slam against another wall.

As the demon coughed, rubbing his neck, he looked up at Castiel, the Angel approaching causing him to stand up from his knees and place his hands up in surrender, “Now feathers,” He tried to sound calm, but it came out as more of a plea as Castiel advanced, his blade slipping from his sleeve into his hand effortlessly, “Let’s think about this,” He attempted.

Castiel slammed him against the wall once more, the blade to the man’s neck as he glared even harsher than before, “Where is she?” He tried again calmly, before digging the blade in to draw blood, the demon wincing causing a satisfaction he didn’t know he needed, “Where is she?!” He boomed once more, pushing the blade harsher against the skin of Crowley’s neck.

“I don’t know!” Crowley exclaimed fearfully, “I don’t know, I don’t know,” He repeated, shaking his head, “I swear,” he panted, attempting to catch his breath as Castiel stood, unwavering,

…

…

“But I can help you find her,”

“Ol Turebesa” My Beauty.

Part 5 Masterlist

Tags:

Tags: @tolkienite23 @iamafishandigosplish @perseusandmedusa @fangirl-with-a-mission @maryartposts @losthallows @frackinawesomeninja @weirdoblogger69 @lisssays @mundane-cup-noodles

[waywardnerd67]

Back Home

Summary: Nikki moves back to her hometown after a bad break-up. Finally, after a year she is back on her feet and has a chance run in with fate. Characters: Dean Winchester, Nikki (OFC) Pairing: Dean and Nikki (OFC) Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 2515 (With lyrics) Louden Swain Song: “St. Louis” – Able-Legged Heroes (Lyrics Bold) A/N: This is for @mrswhozeewhatsis 2018 Louden Swain FanFic/FanArt Project. This will be the only story I ever name a character after myself. I only did that because this is about my hometown and also why not. Flashbacks are italicize. As always this is unbeta so all mistakes are mine. Likes, comments and reblogs are splendid and I will love you doubly for them! Enjoy! **Special Note**: I chose this song specifically because when I read the lyrics and listened to it I immediately began writing a story in my head. There is also the fact that I was born, raised and still live in St. Louis. For a song to inspire me to write a story about my hometown is truly something special. 

So I'm back home But what remains I watch the snow Drift off my windowpane

I sat back in my seat resting my head against the cold window as the world zoomed past me. The steady rhythm of the train helped my body to relax for the first time in days. Glancing to the left I saw a couple snuggled together bringing up hard memories for me. I turned my music up letting the rock tunes flush out the unwanted thoughts. I closed my eyes for just a moment and there was his perfect face. Short, spiky dirty blond hair that was always soft to the touch. Strong, chiseled jaw that was covered by stubble. Full red lips that sent chills down my body whenever they were pressed against my skin. His nose and cheeks dusted with freckles that were more noticeable in the summer sun. Finally, his eyes. Eyes that pierced through every wall I had built around me. Eyes that were like looking into a heavy forest on a bright spring day. Eyes filled with constant worry, guilt, love and protectiveness. I opened my eyes blurring from tears. I closed them again so they could fall.

Opening them slowly again a slow smile spread across my lips. The train was pulling into the St. Louis Amtrak station. I looked fondly at the skyline I grew up taking for granted. The tall buildings filled with regular people working nine to five. Hotels buzzing with guests here to see everything St. Louis could offer. Most of all, the centerpiece of my hometown, the Gateway to the West. The Arch. Standing six hundred and thirty feet into the low hanging clouds. The Arch grounds were covered in snow making it a picture perfect sight except for the aching in my chest as the train came to a stop. I grabbed my bag slinging it across my body and pulled my stocking cap down on my head as my long, wavy chocolate brown hair covered my ears protecting them from the frozen tundra that is St. Louis in December.

The breeze makes me choke And all the time the answers were in front of my face I try to think about tomorrow but I can't forget today

Walking off the train, I look to see if my best friend, Megan, is there yet. Pulling out my phone I dial her number anxiously awaiting her answer. “Nikki? What’s up?” she said obviously forgetting she was supposed to pick me up. “Hi Megalynz, you were supposed to come get me from the train station downtown. Remember?” Her apologies started flying as I could hear her frantically getting her things. I looked around and decided I could probably walk to Union Station making it easier for her to get me. I told her to meet me there and to take her time. I pulled my heavy coat tighter around me and put my earbuds back in to block out the city chaos all around. As I walked, I marveled at how small I was compared to everything around me. The buildings, the parking garages and even the people hurrying along the streets to their jobs or event. The ache in my chest was growing painfully choking me. Shaking my head, I pushed forward concentrating on the lyrics flowing into my ears.

When I finally reached Union Station, Megan is waiting for me with hot chocolate and an ‘I’m sorry for forgetting you’ donut. As she drives back to her house where I will be living until I get on feet she talks about everything going on in her life. I smile and nod at all the appropriate moments and silently grateful she never asks why I shipped all my stuff to her. We pull into her driveway that is freshly shoved by her boyfriend and she gives me the five-cent tour. “The basement is your domain. There is a living area, a bedroom and a full bathroom. You can stay with us for as long as you need.” She said to me as we walk down into the basement seeing all my boxes from Kansas. “Thank you Megalynz. I think for the rest of the evening I just want to rest down here by myself and get through some of my boxes.” She nodded as she left me be.

I'm back home I feel depressed I found your clothes

Unpacking my boxes was more traumatic than I was expecting. I found a few of his flannels I had stolen to wear with his scent on them still. Whiskey, leather and car grease. I picked up my favorite red and black one holding it to my face as a wave of fresh tears came down my cheeks. My chest was burning from me trying to hold in my emotions and finally I let them out screaming into the shirt. Rage bubbling up inside me as I threw the shirts in a corner and laid down on the small couch sobbing. Memories of better times flooding my head and overwhelming my soul. Why did he have to consume me? Why could he not just leave me in peace?

“Dean Winchester put me down!” I giggled as he spun me around from behind in the Bunker library. “No more research, Nerdy. Time to spend some time with me.” He said as I glanced back at him seeing him wiggling his eyebrows. I started laughing as he led me to our bedroom, “Sorry pretty boy, Sam and I have to finish looking for a lead on the First Blade since Crowley obviously dropped the ball. Now, if you’re a good boy and help us then I will spend all the time in the world with you.” I started to drag him back to the library where Sam was chuckling to himself. “Nope!” Dean said grabbing me around the waist again carrying me down the hallway. “Sam! Sam, help me!” I called out as I heard him laughing. “You’re on your own with him, Nikki.” He yelled as I sighed loudly in frustration. “Dean, you’re being a very bad boy right now.” I said placing my hands on my hips as he closed the door nodding, “Yes, but that’s why you love me.” Rolling my eyes, I nodded slowly as he closed the distance between us.

Why leave a note? Why leave a note? Your words are a joke

The memory felt so real in my mind that I could feel his strong arms around me. Holding me tightly giving a false sense of safety and comfort. I sat back up looking through the one box I knew had exactly what I needed in this moment. Safely contained in a wooden box and wrapped in bubble wrap was the bottle of Jim Beam bourbon I packed away. I preferred Bulleit whiskey, but it made me think of him too much so I was making the move to bourbon to drown my sorrows. I opened the bottle and tip the spout to my lips. The burn down my throat was comforting and warmed my body. After a few more swigs from the bottle I placed it on the small coffee table and spotted something in the shirt pocket of one of his flannels. I crawled over sitting in the middle of the shirt pile and pulled out the piece paper opening it.

“Nikki, I know you’re mad at me. I know there is nothing I could ever do to get you to forgive me. Hell, I don’t forgive myself for what happened. I was trying to protect you and Sam from the Blade… from me. I hurt you both in ways I could never imagine but especially you. I wish you would just talk to me one last time. Let me try to make things right. Let me say I’m sorry in person. I love you, Nikki. I was never able to say that out loud to you and I don’t want to go through life without saying it at least once to you. All the women I have been with and none of them make me feel as you do. I’m the best version of me when you are around and I need you. I love you and I need you. Please come back to me. -Dean”

I ran my fingers over his handwriting that was distinctively beautiful in his own way just as he was. All this time waiting for him to man up and say those words. Three little words and it was in a damn letter. I fold it the letter up walked into my new bedroom placing it in the top drawer of my dresser. Standing there letting the anger from everything that had happened and reading his letter fueled me. There was no time for sulking, weeping or wallowing. No, it was time for me to get my life together and not think about the past. Look forward and move on.

I found my old records And all my books I found my old Bee-Gees But the turntable, you took I made a call into work I said I can't make it in today I'd sleep it off But I'm too awake And all the time the jokes that did not make any sense I finally figured out the punchline was at my expense, yeah My expense

Six months after leaving everything behind and moving back home I had found a job and was able to move out into my own apartment. Megan was on her way over for our weekly dinner and movie night. When I opened the door for her I was met with a large box being carried by her boyfriend. “Hi, you didn’t need to bring me a present.” She chuckled at me as she kissed her boyfriend goodbye. “It arrived for you this morning. It’s from Kansas so it must be from…” I held up my hand for her not to finish. “Well, it can wait until tomorrow after I’m off work. Right now, it is girls’ night and Captain Steve Rogers is waiting for us.” Megan laughed as we settled in with beer and pizza.

That night I tossed and turned thinking about the box. Not getting any sleep, I decided to call into work for the first time and tried to sleep off the funk that was stuck on me like a fungus. After lying in bed for what seemed forever I got up picking up the box and placing it on my bed. Cutting it open with the knife I kept at my bedside I looked inside to see a bunch of my things and another letter. I set the letter to the side and looked through my things. Quite a few of my books that Sam had borrowed throughout my time living in the Bunker. A few records I had bought to play on Dean’s turntable and now had no way of playing them for myself. Finally, my favorite band t-shirt of Dean’s It looked like it had been wadded up in the bottom of his closet which pissed me off.

“Nikki, is that my Led Zeppelin 1977 Tour shirt?” Dean asked as I nodded looking down at it. “You said I could grab any shirt from your bag to borrow since all my shirts are stained in Vamp gunk.” They had just finished a case in Nebraska taking out a nest of Vamps. Sam had been working a case in Sioux Falls with Jody and Claire. “You so know that is my favorite shirt, right?” I looked up nodding as if I did not know everything about him already. “If anyone were to mistreat that shirt in any way I would be heartbroken and upset.” When I focused on him I saw he was actually nervous about me wearing the shirt. “Do you want me to take it off?” There it was, his tell. The corner of his lip slowly rising into a smirk as he nodded. “You’re a jerk. You were just trying to Vulcan Mind Meld me into taking off my shirt!” I shouted as I threw a pillow at him. He caught laughing, “It almost worked too.” I huffed sitting on the bed brushing my long hair. “Awe, don’t be mad plus it looks better on you than it does on me. You should keep it.” I kept my shoulders straight and huffed. “You know I will keep because you were being a jerk.” I glanced over my shoulder to see him pouting as I looked back I smiled as I did a victory dance in my head.

I picked up the letter surprised to see Sam’s handwriting. “Hey Nikki, I hope you are well. I miss you a lot and have been tempted to find your new number to call you. I was cleaning Dean’s room out and found a few of your things in there. I also wanted you to have your books back. Things are… complicated here since you left, but I understand why you did. Sorry, the shirt looks like a giant ball of winkles. Dean has been sleeping with it every night since you left and now that he has left the Bunker I figured I would send it to you. He’s hunting hardcore now across the country by himself. I mainly stay in the Bunker to do research for him and take on local cases or work with Jody and the girls. He says he wants to be alone and it worries me but you know how stubborn he is. Anyway, I’ll stop blubbering. I hope to hear from you when you’re ready of course. Miss you. -Sam” I folded the letter putting it with the other one in my top dresser drawer. I missed Sam and Castiel a lot, but it was for the better to have a clean break.

I looked out my office window admiring the snow falling on the streets of downtown as my manager walked in. “Happy one year of putting up with me.” She said as I laughed. She sat down the small cupcake on my desk sitting in one of the chairs. “Thank you, Suzy. It’s hard to believe it’s been a year already.” She nodded as we chatted about upcoming events and meetings for the next hour. She got up to leave, “Why don’t you get out of here early. There is nothing that can’t wait until Monday. Have a great weekend.” I smiled thanking her and started packing up my laptop. As I walked out on to the busy sidewalk I had no idea I had a date with fate. Looking down as I grabbed my phone out of my pocket I ran into a sturdy body knocking me backwards. “I’m so sor…” I looked up into a familiar pair of forest green eyes, “Dean?” I whispered.

With nowhere to go And all the time the answers were in front of my face I try to think about tomorrow but I can't forget today I cannot forget today (Today) I'm back home

My Nerd Herd: @waywardbaby @waywardrose13 @carryonmywaywardcaptain @anotherwaywardsister @ladywinchester1967 @dwgrl1903 @akshi8278 @ericaprice2008 @mirandaaustin93 @spnbaby-67 @time-travel-bouqet @1967-essentialghoul @weirdoblogger69

[the-real-viva-la-snowbaz]

Feelings

Chapter 1: Tension

A/N: Everyone is genderswapped in this Carry On AU: because the world needs more fem!snowbaz. Mild smut below the cut ~

There she was, sitting across the classroom. Looking like the fucking sun.

Sophie Snow.

She looked bored, half asleep. Bronze curls bobbed as she nodded her head drowsily. Drooping lashes eclipsed the blue of her eyes. Her school jumper slid haphazardly across her shoulders.

Crowley. I wonder what she’d look like with that shirt off?

Intrusive though. Intrusive gay thought. Out. Out. Get out.

Basil Pitch flipped her hair to the other side of her face to shield it from the person sitting on other side of the room. She was vaguely aware of the Minotaur talking in monotone, occasionally nailing the kids in the front row with spit. Gliding her pencil absently across her notebook, she tried to focus on the columns of notes marching down the page.

She couldn’t.

When the period finally ended, Baz swept up her books and made a dramatic exit. Bumping past a certain obnoxious blonde in the doorway sent a shiver up her spine. Her confident, even stride nearly faltered. Scowling, she stood straighter and turned up her nose.

My life is academia, familial obligations, and a war on Sophie Snow. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time to fall in love.

“Hey, Baz!” Dana ran up to her and jogged her elbow, causing her textbooks to slide dangerously.

Baz gasped and caught them before they fell over entirely. “Don’t do that, you idiot. These are four hundred years old, at least. I shan’t allow them to be destroyed by your foolery.”

“Sod off.” Dana rolled her eyes. “Nothing a spell can’t fix, neh?”

“Can’t you leave me alone?”

“Nope.”

They walked across the lawn, shoes squelching in the fresh morning mud. Mummer’s tower rose like a beckoning finger above the newer, flat-roofed buildings huddled around it. The sun peeked out from behind the merciful blanket of cloud covering the sky, and Baz flinched.

“You alright?”

“Yeah.” Baz ignored the burning sensation in her skin and focused on each step she took, and the fact that every second brought her closer to the indoors, and the darkness.

Dana left after walking her to her room at the top floor (“I need to hear about the game, Baz! And possibly steal your Poli Sci notes off you from last week.”). Thank the gods, Snow wasn’t back yet. She was probably off somewhere with Bunce. Or at a meeting with the Mage.

The curtains were fluttering, and the window was open. Fuck. Baz ran over and  slammed it shut, heaving the old glass pane down with a grunt. It creaked loudly, but finally surrendered. The curtains drooped and blocked out the sun.

Baz plunked her books down on her desk with a sigh. Sitting down and opening her laptop, she started to type up her notes from her last class. It was horribly mechanical, so her mind began to wander--as usual.

She wondered what Sophie was up to.

The Mage was probably planning another offensive-- Fyonn had taken her aside the last time she was visiting at home to warn her.

“The Old Families need you to keep an eye on that Snow girl,” he’d said. He lit a fag and let the smoke curl around his face as he stared Baz down. “The usurper is gathering strength. She plans to put her Chosen One to good use--more than likely to erase all our magickal heritage and forcibly drag us into his grand new world. Well, we’ve got to show her that the Pitches, at least, will have none of it.”

The door to their room slammed open. Baz closed her eyes slowly and let out an even sigh. A long, annoyed exhale.

“Snow. You’re not twelve. When will you learn to enter a room discreetly?”

She turned her head to gaze disdainfully at her roommate. Snow was leaning against the doorframe, panting, and scowling.

“Did you just run up the entire flight of stairs? But why on earth would you ever put in effort? I bet you have mint Aero bars stashed away somewhere in here, and you just couldn’t wait to have at them.” Have at me. Please.

Snow’s face scrunched up in the most adorable pout I’ve ever seen. She huffed and tried to spit back something in response, but she couldn’t force the words out. Typical.

“Fuck you, Baz.” The Pitch heir knew she’d won. Sophie chewed her fingernail and glared at her for a mesmerizing second before stomping off to the bathroom and banging the door shut behind her.

Ordinary blue eyes. Bouncing bronze curls that flew around her face and refused to stay neat, no matter how Snow fussed or Bunce spelled. Flushed, smooth skin. Beautiful hips.

Aleister Crowley.

Baz grunted and pulled a book from the stack next to her. As she cracked it open, the odor of must and age floated up into her face. Oh, the lengths to which one must go for the sake of a grade. She coughed once and waved her hand to disperse the dust swirling around her.

Chapter 3: Syntax and Spellcraft of the early 12th Century…

Soon Baz had forced her brain into a studious, methodological beat, taking copious notes and putting together index cards in alphabetical order. This was her element--this was why she was at the top of their class. When Baz was studying, she never felt like a failure. She didn’t have to think about Snow or the war or the Old Families. All that existed for her was the text and her assignment, and the only goal in sight was mastery. Yes, Baz Pitch would keep her place at the top, despite simmering politics and her infuriating roommate.

She was just turning to Chapter 4 when a noise from the bathroom made her look up from the page and listen.

“Merlin!” a choked whisper, barely audible through the closed door. Sophie whimpered. Baz heard another nondescript thumping noise.

Looking across the room at the mirror hanging on one wall, Baz took the opportunity to practice her patented Arrogantly Irritated Look, complete with a signature eyebrow raise. What the hell was Snow even doing?

Wait.

No. Oh… Crowley.

All the blood that could be spared rose to Baz’s face as the realization sunk in. Crowley, fucking Crowley. Stevie Nicks and Gracie Slick.

Another moan--louder this time--confirmed Baz’s suspicions.

Sophie bloody Snow was… getting off just ten yards away, behind a closed door. She probably thought Baz couldn’t hear her; but she’d forgotten to factor in her roommate’s enhanced vampire senses.

Baz tried--in vain--not to imagine the scene on the other side of the bathroom door. Everything about Sophie Snow was a scene. Her magic was explosive. She had no sense of discretion or subtlety. She was the lead actress in the catastrophe that was the world of mages. As far as Baz was concerned, she was an angel sent from heaven… And fuck, to think of the unholy, unholy things she was probably doing at this very moment.

The moaning spiked, drawing a gasp from Baz. Her attention entirely diverted from her books, she dumbly blinked at the bathroom door. X-ray vision--what she wouldn’t give…

Baz, without thinking, cupped her breast in one hand and stretched her head as far back as she could manage, closing her eyes and drowning in the noise. A tiny sigh parted her lips.

“Snow…” she whispered, nearly inaudible even to herself. Baz’ lips worried the empty air. “Snow, fuck…”

She squirmed a little in her chair, completely dead to everything else but her thoughts of Sophie, mixed with the beautiful sounds echoing from the bathroom.

Baz was dancing on clouds--she was practically high. And when Sophie finally peaked with an ill-repressed shriek, Baz was dizzy. Dead gone.

When Sophie emerged with a red face and tangled curls, Baz sat up and quickly leaned back over her homework. Trying to pretend that she hadn’t just heard her roommate/arch-nemesis cum, and especially pretending that she hadn’t liked it.

Out of the corner of her eye, Baz saw Sophie give her a once-over, like she was vaguely suspicious that she might have heard. What an idiot. After a few seconds of complete silence from Baz, Sophie shrugged and walked over to her own desk. Good. Let it stay that way--keep that distance, Snow. Then maybe the day I kill you won’t be quite as exquisitely painful.

*******

We don’t speak about the Incident, Snow and I. She’s under the impression that she got away with stealth-wanking, and I’m absolutely not going to let on that I know better.

Coach Marci has upped our practice hours, so I’m not in my (our) room as frequently-- thank Crowley. I couldn’t handle the dead minutes just sitting across from Snow, trying not to think about what happened last week.

I come back late now. I’m barely getting any homework done, and I’m always tired from football and from hunting. I feel myself spiraling into a queer sort of insanity… an inexplicable, sucking void of distance and indifference. Dana and Nia noticed within a few days--good girls, those two--but were distinctly unhelpful.

“You alright, Baz?” Nia said one afternoon during lunch.

I rubbed my temples. “Other than a raging headache, I’m just fine.”

“That’s all tosh, and you know it,” Dana piped up. She took another sandwich from the tray between us. “There’s obviously something the matter. You usually have the your Potions assignments done at least a week before they’re due. And when I asked for help on mine, you said you hadn’t finished.”

“I haven’t.” I growled.

“Something’s up. Is it the Families? Or Snow?”

“Shut up, Daniella.” I hissed, wincing at how close to the truth she had come.

Oh, how close. And oh, how far.

Every time I think about her--the way she winds her fingers through her glorious bronze curls when she’s deep in thought, how she laughs when Penrose tells a particularly sordid joke, the noises she made behind the bathroom door, all of it--every memory twists the knife deeper.

There’ll be that final battle. We’ll have to kill each other. (No.) (I couldn’t kill her.) (Not ever.) Or she’d kill me.

That’s how it’ll end: death at the hands of the only girl I’ll ever love. Of course. How else?

Every day I fall harder. And every day, it drives me closer to the end.

[roxy-davenport]

Say Cheese And Die

Pairing: Sam x Reader (gasp! Sorry Crowley.)

Beta: @raspberrymama

Word Count: 3,257

A/N: @wideawakeandwriting Random Writing Challenge-100 Follower with the prompt, “Forget it. You fucking suck. Me and the boys will handle it.” Random Writing Challenge-100 follower

@impalaimagining Cheese Pick Up Line Challenge with the prompt,  “You give me premature ventricular contractions.”

@andtheraincamefalling Bad Pick-Up Lines Challenge with the prompt,  “I was blinded by your beauty. I’m gonna need your name and number for insurance purposes.”

@huntingandwritingthings SPN Cluedo Writing Challenge- 500 Followers Celebration with the prompts, Kitchen and Analog Camera

@ravengirl94 1.5k Challenge with the prompt, “I’d kill for a coffee…literally.”

The name is inspired by a certain episode of “Goosebumps” and the idea is a rift on the camera in “The Omen.” It pays to watch horror. :) Sass, fluff, death of insignificant characters, humor. There will likely not be a Part 2. My muse is Crowley. It was tough writing Sam but the prompts called for it.

                                Also on AO3

  A woman with long flowing chestnut brown hair gasped as she looked at the forgotten item buried in a bin at a roadside antique sale. “OMG look, that’s the cutest vintage camera ever, isn’t it? I wonder if it still works.”

  Her boyfriend, Steve, chuckled at the look of surprise and delight on her face. “You should try it Emma, see if it works. We can take a picture together.”

  The woman selling her antique wares tensed and her eyes widened as she saw how the couple was with a camera, THE camera. She had to get the camera away from them. How did it get in the bin anyway? She could have sworn she threw it out. “That’s not for sale,” she barked at the couple.

  They in turn looked confused and slightly frustrated. Emma gave the woman an angry glare and shook her head, evading the woman's attempt to take the camera away from her. Now that Emma found it, she wasn’t going to let it go. She really had no idea why the woman was being so disagreeable.

   “I’m sorry but you can’t imagine how hard it is to find a vintage camera. I must have this analog camera. And it was in the bin. Nonsense that you’re not selling it. You just think we can’t go high enough. I’ll give $20 for it,” Emma said confidently ready to haggle.

  “I’m sorry I can’t -,” the woman pleaded with the couple.

  Emma frowned. “Hardball it is. OK. How about $50? $60?”

  The woman looked at the money. She needed it but she knew what she was doing wasn’t right, but it was $60 at the end of the day. With a heavy heart, she knew she couldn’t pass that up. Everything else she was selling wouldn’t even add up to $60. She looked down and accepted the payment.

  Emma giggled and pulled her boyfriend close, adamant on taking a selfie. She shook her hair out and pushed out her lips as if she were kissing the air. Steve had his arm around her smiling. “Ok, say cheese,” he said.

  “Wow that was a strong flash,” Emma said amid giggles.

  “I know. I think I’m blind,” Steve replied teasingly.

  “I can’t wait to see how the picture came out,” she said with a smile.

  Steve kissed Emma’s forehead. “We’re going to look so adorable, trust me.”

  She giggled and hopped into the car. Emma waited patiently for the camera to spit out an image and when it did, to their surprise, there was something wrong with it. She squinted at the photo. “Um…babe I think we got hustled. There’s something wrong with the film.”

  Her boyfriend parked on the side of the road and looked at it frowning. “Yeah there’s a large white bar under our necks but that doesn’t..”

   The couple never got to finish their conversation because out of nowhere a metal bar flew into their car decapitating both of them in seconds. The camera was dropped and fell into the woods by their car.

  You sighed heavily. “Really Dean? How very dramatic -- the saleswomen hungry for a sale, desperate for the money and a young couple not able to pass on a vintage camera, a rare find indeed. Sounds like a B rated horror movie. Trust me, I’d know.”

   Dean frowned at you.

   You smirked back at him. “What were the real facts? No editorializing this time,” you started with a pointed finger.

   Dean frowned. “You’re no fun, Y/N.”

   “Not without coffee. Don’t test me Winchester.”

   Dean threw his hands up. “Fine, there was an antique sale a five minute drive from the road where their car was parked. The creepy picture was on the lap of the victim, Emma. The car was smashed in and the camera wasn’t recovered. It probably rolled into the forest. The saleswoman vanished; like, literally ran from her stand when she heard the crash. Several witnesses saw it. The road they drove on was an isolated road, only tourists used it and it wasn’t tourist season so no big mack trucks with tons of building equipment like poles would have been on the road with them. So where did the pole come from? The road is a shortcut to the next town. Hardly anyone uses it.  Probably Siri suggested using that road. There was a mangled GPS system in the car. There were no witnesses to the crash. See, now that sounds boring.”

   Sam sauntered into the kitchen in his pajamas, plaid pajamas. He had no shirt on. Maybe he was tired and forgot? You unconsciously licked your lips as you looked at the rippling muscles on display. Coffee forgotten, temporarily. Your eyes rove down his figure. Sam was it for you, now if you could only open your mouth and tell him that. Sigh. Sam didn’t see you like that anyway.

   “Facts never sound boring Dean.” He placed his laptop on the table and started researching.  

   Adding onto Sam’s comment, “You could have led with you usual, “hey guys, I think I found a case” or Sam’s “check this out.” Now you’re giving us stories?”

   Dean shrugged at you. “What? I can’t branch out?”

   You sighed heavily. You closed your eyes as the smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. You beamed contentedly. It was then that you noticed that the cocky hunter was in the kitchen blocking your path to the coffee. “Oh hell no, Dean. You must be joking.” you thought.

   Sam looked up from his seat at the dining room table, wondering why everything was so silent. He took in your expression and followed your eyes to the problem, chuckling. “You have a deathwish, Dean? I’d move.”

   Sam’s long hair fell into his eyes. Such long, pullable hair. Hair a girl could use to position him right where you needed him, force him to stay right there and lick her clit….Coffee. You need coffee. You’re not Sam’s and he isn’t yours. You need coffee to regulate your wayward thoughts. The very coffee Dean was blocking. The anger returned.

  “I’d kill for a coffee…literally. I just sharpened my knives.” You took one of your pajamas. “Never leave bed without it. I got rousted out of bed, getting only four hours for a hunt and you block the coffee? I suggest you move lest I damage you in my furious fight to the holy grail behind you,” you said with a sweet smile.

   You looked out of the corner of your eye at Sam seeing a strange look pass over his face, pride was it? Happiness at the snark he’d come to love. A girl can hope.

  Dean smirked and moved away to give you access to your sustenance. Everything was better with coffee. Including a weird case of an evil camera.

   “You got a knack for story-telling Dean,” Sam said while surreptitiously looking at you while you poured your coffee. You were in your pajamas, looking adorable but definitely sleep deprived. A warm smile came across his face. You looked so content drinking coffee. You even closed your eyes relishing the bitter taste of it. He loved seeing you smile, you had a smile that lit up any room you were in.  

   “Thanks, Sammy. Someone appreciates my ‘editorializing.’”

  You rolled your eyes.

  “Can we get you without the sass?” Dean asked.

  “No,” you said smiling. Sam smiled as he moved around you both to grab himself a cup.

  “Could you be any more obvious?” Dean whispered to him.

  “Hmmm?” you asked as you blew on your cup of coffee. “You two say something?”

  “You look uh. Your hair…uh and you’re still in your pajamas. Tight pajamas.”

  “Since when are you the fashion police, Sammy? What girl doesn’t look like a hot mess when they wake up? Not all of us can look like Greek gods, you know,” you chuckled at Sam’s blush.

   Then the words “tight pajamas,” came into your mind. Huh. You looked down assessing your pajamas. Sam couldn’t help but look as well. They weren’t overly tight. You liked having fabric hug you while you slept. What of it? It wasn’t like Sam liked you? Right? Putting the thought out of your mind, you changed gears.

  “So what are we thinking?” you asked curious to see if the boy wonders were on the same page as you.

  “Ghost. They were killed near a antique sale. There might be an evil spirit attached to the camera. Salt and burn it.”

  “I don’t think it was a spirit, Dean; a metal bar came into existence and killed them. Wouldn’t a ghost just come right out and kill them? Why make a bar appear? The brief look I got when you woke me up excitedly and shoved a picture in my face, lead me to a cursed camera. Like, witchcraft cursed. Look closely at the symbols on the camera. They’re not scribbles, Dean. This is black magic clear as day.”

  “You got that all from a photo you looked at for a couple of seconds when you were groggy?”

  “Don’t take it personally, boys; I’m just wayyyy more awesome than you two. You just can’t compete. I got the first shower.”

  Sam couldn’t help but laugh at your sass. Dean just glared at him.

   Sam held his hands up. “Hey man go easy on her, she’s right after all. She is awesome and it’s not a ghost.”

   “Why do you say that?”

   “Because Dean, I looked into deaths on that road and while I found a few accidents there was nothing to warrant an angry ghost. Hardly anyone drives down that road, favoring far more populated, less creepy roads.

  On your way to the shower, a hunter called you. The very same hunter who had stolen your last two hunts and messed them up causing you to save him twice. You sighed heavily and clicked send.

  “You and me keep going on the same cases huh?”

  You could just imagine his eyebrows wiggling. Ew. “I’m in no mood for your poor attempt at flirting. I got my eyes on a tall, lanky hunter and you don’t fit the bill. “

  “Way to crush a guy’s spirit.”

  “You take a different girl home every night. You’ll survive. Which hunt are you on?”

  “A cursed camera! How awesome is -.”

  Before he could even finish you interjected rather frustrated. “Forget it. You fucking suck. Me and the boys will handle it. I’m being serious. I know all about witchcrafts and runes and symbols, etc. If there is anyone qualified to shut this shit down, it’s moi. I don’t want to have to rescue you again. It’s over your head, Pete. Listen to the girl with so many more years of experience under her belt.”

  “Harsh but true,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “Your ego is the size of the entire US.”

  “It is that big,” he added with a laugh.

  “I said ego, not cock; but good to know. I think there’s a vamp hunt in Missouri, a ghoul hunt in Texas and a werewolf hunt in Alabama. Pick one of those. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

  “Never do but okay,” he stated resigned.

  “Bye Pete,” you say slightly exasperated.

  “Bye Y/N,” he said happily.

  Your day was off to a good start.

  You didn’t think that anyone would believe that you were an FBI agent. Hell, you wouldn’t have believed you were one, so you decided to go with profiler. And as a profiler, there was no reason to not look good. You went with black tailored linen pants. No reason not to be in a breathable fabric if you had to throw down. Your hair was in soft curls that framed your face and you wore a black vintage lace top that looked professional but slightly edgy. You smiled as the boys stared at you. This time you noticed Sam’s lingering gaze on your body. Boy, did you hope you weren’t misreading his interest. You bit your lip and looked him up and down.

  “Not so bad yourself, Sammy.”

  Dean elbowed him to make a move but Sam just smiled; a ridiculously cute smile that showcased his dimples, before he blushed and left the motel. He slowly got into Baby happily sitting shotgun. The car ride was short and spent with you and Dean singing along to AC/DC. You got to the location in no time. The boys flashed their badges and instantly were allowed to speak to the medical examiner.

  “Who is this beautiful creature?” The man held out his hand but you only smiled at him, not wanting to shake his hand lest the poor man got the wrong idea.

  “I’m on official business, Sir. I’m a profiler here to assist these agents on the case due to the heinous way these people died. It speaks to a certain type of killer.”

  “You know it takes a lot of smarts to be in my position too.”

  “If you could just give us a few minutes to just look over your findings we would really appreciate it.” Sam said pulling you into his side. “My colleague and I are, as we said, on official business.”

  The medical examiner winked. “I wish I had a co-worker that looked like that. Sure guys. Come get me when you’re done. Always happy to help the feds.”

  The second the man left, you straightened up and moved away slightly from Sam. “Thanks for the bail out but I’m not the damsel in distress.”

  “Sometimes a guy likes to come to a girl’s assistance once in awhile,” Sam offered.

   The question of whether Sam was jealous was on the tip on your tongue, but you decided against it. Flirty banter was safer than claiming jealousy, especially if you weren’t sure he liked you back.

  “Oh I have no doubt you’re capable,” you said with a wink. That earned you a blush and a smirk.

   Dean rolled his eyes, “If you two are done flirting, we got two vics here decapitated. It looks clean, done in one go.”

  “A mysterious bar appears and cleanly takes off two heads at once?”

  “It looks like it yeah,” Dean responded.

   “Gives new definition to “heads will roll,” you added.

   “Hilarious Y/N,“ Dean sassed.

  “There are no injuries anywhere on the body, no marks, scratches, defense wounds, scrapes, nothing,” Sam added.

  “Let’s look for the camera,” all three of you say at the same time.

  You thank the medical examiner and hightail it out there to look for the camera. In no time you’re right by where their car stopped in the middle of nowhere.

  “Okay so she dies and she’s holding the camera right?”

   Sam nods. “Right and the impact would force the camera out of her hands and there’s a huge hill here.”

  “Exactly Sam, it’s in the forest but the velocity would have thrown it around there? I guessing.”

   After a minute of searching you had the camera in your hand. Sure enough, it had sigils on it.

  “Let’s burn it.”

  “No go, Dean. There’s only one way to kill it.”

  You threw the camera down and grabbed a crystal, chanting Latin until the crystal glowed brightly enough to blind you all. You placed the “charged” crystal on top of the camera and chanted, holding onto the crystal tightly as it vibrated and shook. In a matter of minutes, the camera melted into the ground.

  Dean gave you an incredulous look when you stood up proudly looking at the boys.

   “What? The camera was cursed with magic. Magic was the only way you could destroy it.”

   “Why do you know magic,” Dean inquired tentatively, slightly afraid of the answer.

  “Some hunters are not as close-minded as you are Dean. It pays to know witchcraft. Come on boys, I know I need a drink after this. You two coming?”

  Sam smirked and was only too happy to buy you a drink. You loved hunting with the boys and especially loved unwinding with them in bars. Of course Dean or Sam or both of them would eventually leave you alone to find a girl for the night but right now you were all just drinking, laughing and reminiscing. You loved nights like these.

  “I’m buying the next round, fellas.” You smiled at the boys and walked up to the bar, tapping your fingers on the counter, happy and totally buzzed. You rolled your eyes as several men at the bar turned to you. One was even ballsy enough to approach you.

  Ignoring him, you asked the bartender for three more beers. That should have been a clue to Mister Ballsy, but it wasn’t. He turned his bar stool around to check you out.

  “You give me premature ventricular contractions,” he said in a teasing tone.

  “You might want to get those checked out. Doesn’t sound so good. Wouldn’t want you to have a heart attack now.”

   The man scoffed but didn’t take the hint. He thought you were playing hard to get, not dissuading him entirely. Clearly he thought he was too awesome for any girl not to be interested in him.

  He tried again, this time his voice dripping with a playful tone. “I was blinded by your beauty. I’m gonna need your name and number for insurance purposes.”

  “Sure. 1-800-in-your-dreams.”

   “Oh, you will definitely be in those.”

   Okay this guy was starting to piss you off. “My name’s kiss my ass. K-I-S-”

  “Here are your beers,” the bartender stated, glaring at the man next to you. “She ordered three beers, dude. Take a hint,” he offered. Even he was getting pissed off.

  You chuckled and fired back a response you were sure would get the message across. “Looks like that’s all the time we have before I go back to my voracious lovers. One man was never enough for me. Those two keep me occupied. More than a girl could ever imagine and they’re brothers. So thanks, but no thanks. I’m good. Bye now.”

  Sam glared at the man as he stared over at your table in shock. You walked over and put the three beers down at the table and slid into the booth with Sam. Sam pulled you to him and crammed his mouth on yours. The shock quickly faded and you wound your arms around Sam’s neck pulling him closer. The man definitely got the message and left the bar frustrated. When you disconnected from Sam, you fought to get some air in. He literally took your breath away. You stared into his eyes and this time found all the reassurance you needed. All the lingering glances, all those smiles and smirks he gave you, you weren’t imagining it. He wanted you. The lust in his eyes was clearly there. You gulped at the intensity, desperate to make up for lost time. You bit your lip and watched Sam's expression darken as his hand wound around your back tighter.

  “What the fuck took so long?” you questioned.

  Dean smirked. “Told you, man.”

   Sam growled into your ear, “Mine.”

   You whispered back into his ear, leaning across him, giving him a good view of your breasts. You felt his hard cock against your thigh. Oh my god, was he huge. You could only imagine how it’d feel inside you, the right mixture of thick and long. “All yours, Sam,” you mewled. “Show me what you got,” you teased.

“It looks like I’m not going to be the one sleeping in Baby tonight,” Sam said with a smirk.

Forevers  @purgatoan, @killerofthesouth, @charliebradbury1104, @chaos-and-the-calm67, @chelsea072498, @everyday-supernatural-af, @neversatisfiedgirl, @toogardenenthusiast, @winchesterprincessbride, @one-shots-supernatural, @take-me-tonirvana, @hellsmother, @ellen-reincarnated1967, @faegal04, @deals-with-demons, @mamaredd123, @atc74, @hamartiamacguffin, @donnaintx, @love-kittykat21, @impala-dreamer, @evansrogerskitten, @lucifer-in-leather, @hiswickedkitty, @riversong-sam, @rosie-winchester

Sam: @faith-in-dean, @ruprecht0420  @jesspfly, @donnaintx @nothin-after-79 @faegal04,  @faith-in-dean, @kdfrqqg, 

 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @manawhaat @mrswhozeewhatsis,  @theficlibrarium, @thinkwritexpress-official, @blushingsamgirl @beriala @bowtiesandapplepie, @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @thegreatficmaster, @notnaturalanahi,  @faith-in-dean, @writingbeautifulmen @winchestersprincess @whispersandwhiskerburn, @samsgoddess, @scorpiongirl1, @for-the-love-of-dean, @mysupernaturalfics, @jelly-beans-and-gstrings, @fiveleaf, @frenchybell, @deansleather, @deandoesthingstome, @curliesallovertheplace, @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname, @waywardjoy, @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious, @hellbentcrowley @kayteonline, @wevegotworktodo, @ilovedean-spn2 ,  @babypieandwhiskey,  @wi-deangirl77, @deantbh, @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @revwinchester, @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell, @taste-of-dean, @clueless-gold,  @winchester-family-buisness, @hexparker, @alangel1895, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen. @supernaturalismylife, @pinknerdpanda, @deandoesthingstome, @fandommaniacx, @meganwinchester1999, @winchesterfiesta, @babypieandwhiskey, @wayward-mirage , @shelovesallthethings, @revwinchester, @klaineaholic, @deanwinchesterforpromqueen, @castieltrash1, @supernaturallyobsessed, @memariana91, @writingbeautifulmen,  @idreamofhazel, @revwinchester, @supermoonpanda,  @vintagevalentinexx, @ohwritever, @ruined-by-destiel, @winchester-writes, @sammit-janet @bowtiesandapplepie, @itsemmyb, @ezauraemmaline, @matteson-crazed, @castielspahdehrah, @charliesbackbitches, @crzcorgi, @gryffindorable713, @deerlululucy, @walkingencyclopediaoffandom, @mrsjohnsmith, @manawhaat, @growleytria, @thegleegeneration, @samtomydeanwinchester, @i-never-said-a-pilot, @supermoonpanda, @sis-tafics, @amaranthinecastiel, @kittenofdoomage, @samanddeanwinchester67, @ferferelli @lilyoflothlorien,  @ackleslaugh @noisilyyoungpuppy, @fangirling-instead-of-working, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @chrisatplay, @kayteonline, @spnsimpleman, @faith-in-dean @for-the-love-of-dean, @mamaimpala, @zanthiasplace, @sleep-silent-angel, @pada-ackles-reads, @gadreelsforbiddenfruit, @trenchcoats-and-bees, @curliesallovertheplace, @jencharlan, @not-so-natural-spn, @skybinx-blog, @thebunkerismyhome, @feelmyroarrrr, @beachy2014, @fandom-book-nerd, @tia58, @sams-little-toy, @sunriserose1023, @jotink78, @babypieandwhiskey, @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave, @marasficrecs @mysaintsasinner, @chelsea-winchester, @wheresthekillswitch, @maraisabellegrey, @notnaturalanahi,  @mysaintsasinner  @winchester-family-business, @melbelle45, @winchester-writes, @sis-tafics, @shelovesallthethings, @idreamofhazel

[cass-trash]

Badass But Broken

Castiel x Angel!Reader

A/N: I’m not good at song fics, so I didn’t really include the song, I apologise. I’m also sorry if this one seems a bit messy and all over the place, I’m pretty distracted and had to force myself to write today.

Request:  How about a fic where the reader is a fallen angel and is super kickass and super confident in what she does and she's just got These HUUUUUUUGE black wings and (wurk it girl) she meets the boys + Castiel on a hunt and for Cas it's just love at first sight and they all see her as confident and cocky but on the inside she's just breaking? Maybe to the song of Caribbean Blue by Enya? (Beautiful song you should really check it out.) Thanks so much darling!❤️

Warnings: blood, fluff

Word count: 2252

Stretching out your wings, you groaned at the sore muscle you had pulled during your fight with a demon. The black eyed bastard better not have lied to you about Crowley’s location. The old abandoned asylum definitely looked like a place the king of hell would station himself, but he was pretty good at deceiving people.

Your wings folded against your back once again as you walked to the entrance of the asylum, your angel blade clutched in your right hand. You froze in spot once your hand touched the metal door. There was something strong inside. You could feel Crowley’s presence, but that wasn’t all.

Opening the door carefully, you stepped inside of the large building, looking down at the abundance of dead bodies on the ground. There were some with stab wounds others had their eyes completely burned out, which only meant there was an angel in here somewhere.

Your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the blade to the point they were turning white. You continued walking down the hall, doing your best to avoid all of the bodies. You had only managed to reach halfway down the hallway before somebody emerged from one of the side rooms, a demon blade clutched in his hand tightly. 

“Who are you?” He said, his voice loud and stable. You narrowed your eyes at him, noting to yourself that he was in fact human, most likely a hunter. 

“I’m not here for you.” You sighed, shaking your head. You made an unspoken promise to yourself that you don’t hurt humans, unless you really needed to, and you weren’t in the mood to deal with this guy right now. You needed to get to Crowley.

He huffed a breath and inched closer to you. “Well I’m the only one here, Princess.” 

“You’re not as good as a liar as you think you are.” 

“I ain’t lying.”

Your eyebrows furrowed at the hunter, frustration quickly coming across your face. “I can feel Crowley here, an angel, too. So I suggest you move before I knock you on your ass.”

“You got quite the mouth on you,” He said. 

Now you were really infuriated with the man, by the time you got passed him without leaving a scratch on him Crowley probably would have fled. The lights above your head began flickering with your anger, the man’s eyes suddenly becoming less confident. You stretched out your wings as far as you could in the cramped hallway, the projection displaying on the wall behind you. His green eyes looked over your wing’s shadow, noting that you were missing a few feathers and they looked fairly broken. “You’re missing a few feathers there, sweetheart.”

You strode to him, having no intention to hurt him, but he quickly swapped his demon blade for an angel blade hidden in his jacket and stabbed you in the abdomen. It wasn’t enough to kill you, but it was going to be difficult to fight with a wound like that. Since your fall you had lost a few of your abilities, one of them including healing, but you didn’t let him know that. 

You lifted up your angel blade and managed to slice his shoulder the slightest, causing him to drop his knife. You used a fragment of your grace to fling the blade to your hand, giving you two weapons instead of one. He watched you uneasily, unsure of what your intention was. 

The two of you weren’t alone for very long before another tall man appeared from the door at the end of the hall, he immediately began jogging to the other human upon seeing him holding his bloodied shoulder. “Dean, who is this?”

“Angel,” The green eyed man, who you’ve come to know as Dean, said. “A broken one.” He hissed at you.

“Where’s your blade?” 

“She took it.” Dean growled. “I dunno what’s with her, she’s not attacking back.”

“Well it looks like she got a hit on you.”

“Just a scratch.”

“I am right here.” You said, glaring at the two men. “Look, I’m not here for you guys. Where is Crowley?”

“What do angels want with Crowley?” The taller man with medium brown hair said.

“What don’t angels want with Crowley? He’s the bloody king of hell! I’m not here on heaven’s behalf, I thought you would’ve noticed by my wings.” 

The hunter’s heads snapped towards the end door when loud crashes came echoed throughout the halls. Each of them immediately ran down towards the door, completely forgetting about you. You carefully followed them, a frown appearing on your face at the thought of Crowley escaping. You had been tracking him for over a week and a half, you couldn’t lose him because of these guys.

Once you stepped foot into the room, you grimaced at the horrific smell of sulphur. The room was completely trashed with cracked pieces of wood everywhere, along with a couple of chairs tossed around the room. Your eyes fell to the devil’s trap on the floor, frowning at the smeared paint. Crowley was gone.

Dean was crouched down besides somebody leaning against a pillar, blood spilling out of his mouth. Looking closer, you could see the angel grace swirling inside of him and flowing through his vessel’s veins. A few of his feathers were peeking out from behind him, the dark raven colour almost as dark as your own. He must’ve been the angel that killed all those demons back there.

He stood up and dusted himself off before healing any injuries he had received from the fight. “Why did you guys have to go and lose him?” You growled under your breath, glaring at the three of them.

The angel looked up at you, his eyes softening at the sight of you. “Y/n.” He said, catching your attention. You certainly didn’t know who he was, but you had heard in your early stages of your fall that the angels up in heaven had made countless rumours about you. 

The two hunters looked at the angel. “You know her?” The taller one said.

“I know of her.” He said. “She rebelled against heaven and for that she was banished.” 

As you listened to him give your story out to the humans, you observed his wings. They weren’t broken like yours, and they seemed to be much shinier. He must really look after them, you envied him. By the end of it they seemed to actually trust you the slightest, which you didn’t expect from hunters. You were confused on why they haven’t killed you yet, they were supposed to hate angels.

“Would you like to help us locate Crowley once again?” The angel offered, his friends giving him a weird look but he completely ignored it. “I know how skilled you are, and it would be helpful to have you on our side, and I understand you have some personal issues with Crowley.”

You huffed a breath and agreed, it should be faster to find the king of hell when you were working with three other people, including an angel. 

---

Once you had arrived at the motel that Sam, Dean and Castiel were staying at, the two hunters had immediately left to apparently go get food. You knew they didn’t trust you one hundred percent, and you didn’t blame them. Castiel decided to stay with you, even though you had insisted he went with his friends. You needed to be alone so you could fix yourself up. You didn’t want to do it in front of a healthy angel and listen to the mocking.

You knew he wouldn’t leave and decided to just go into the bathroom so you could fix yourself up. Shrugging out of your jacket, you hissed at the slightest movement. Quickly peeling your shirt off yourself, you moved closer to the basin and turned the water onto warm so you could wet a hand towel. Once you had the towel and the needle and thread laid out in front of you, you started cleaning up the stab wound on your abdomen, flinching at the pressure. It had already begun to bruise that was going to make it harder to stitch yourself up.

Your hand shakily gripped onto the needle that and threaded in the stitching, immediately pushing the needle through your flesh and trying your best to hold in the screams, but it was just too painful. An unwanted scream echoed through the tiny bathroom and Castiel immediately used his grace to unlock the door. “Y/n, are you o-” He cut himself off at the sight of your trembling hands trying to stitch yourself. “What are you doing?”

“Can’t h-heal,” You whispered, pushing the needle in even further. The feeling alone was enough to make you want to vomit.

He fell to his knees beside you and swatted your hands away. You tried leaning yourself against the bath but a sharp pain immediately ran to your wing, causing you to twitch forwards. Castiel gently pulled the needle out of your wound, his fingers quickly becoming covered with your vessel’s blood. You felt utterly useless and you couldn’t believe that an angel, of all things, had to see you like this. “This might sting.” He mumbled, placing his hand on top of your abdomen as a bright white light appeared from the palm of his hand, your wound slowly closing inch by inch, the blood had disappeared along with it. “Are you okay now?”

“Y-yeah.” You lied. He stood back up and held his hand out for you to grab onto. “I might stay in here for a while, y’know, have a shower.”

His eyes narrowed at you. “Fallen angel or not, you do not need a shower.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.” 

“You’re injured.” He said, realisation settling on his face.

“No, I’m not.”

“You can’t even stand up, can you?” Castiel asked, his face full of concern. Why was he so concerned for you?

“Of course I can.”

He stared at you, waiting for you to move to show you could stand on your own. You placed your hands on the bath behind you and tried to push yourself up but it was no use, it was like you had the worst back pain of your life, and you couldn’t even fix it. The pain was running through every bit of your wings, and you couldn’t properly massage them without being in an awkward position.

Castiel sighed slightly and bent back down beside you, wrapping his arm around your lower back and helping you stand. You let out an involuntary whimper, the pain rippling through you. “It’s your wings, isn’t it?” He said, his eyes dancing over your back and precariously touching your wing with his spare hand. 

“It doesn’t matter.” You groaned, pulling away from him and basically limping your way to one of the beds. “It’ll be fine, they just need some time to heal.”

“You need to massage them otherwise they’ll become stiff and much worse.”

“I can’t!” You yelled, sitting down on the bed. “I’m broken! I’m useless. I can’t freaking reach, hell I can barely even extend them to their full length.”

Castiel’s expression softened. “I can help you.” 

That’s just what you needed, an angel here to help. They were the ones who banished you in the first place. “I’m fine.”

“Y/n, I know you’re hurting. Please let me help you.” You didn’t want his help, you didn’t want anybody’s help. But you were in pain, and it was only going to get worse. You laid yourself on your stomach and pressed your face into the pillow, getting ready to scream into them from the pain.

He reluctantly sat above you, his hands hovering over your wings before he finally touched them. There was a sting, but he was being extremely careful so it didn’t hurt as much as you expected. Every now and then he’d hit a spot that made you squirm or muffle a scream into the pillows, but for an angel he was being fairly clement. 

The heels of his hands massaged over your wings, some of his grace even flowed through your feathers. It was actually kind of soothing.

But you still felt completely useless. You were an angel, that’s all you’ve ever known to be, but even then you were horrible at it. You had rebelled for humans, you thought it was the right thing to do, and your father had even said that humans are far more superior to angels. So why did the angels banish you for only doing what you were made for?

“It’s not your fault.” Castiel mumbled, his hands never stopping. “You did what was necessary, you opened up angel’s minds to other options.”

“And in return they took away most of my abilities.”

He frowned. “If it makes you feel any better, there are angels out there that are still fighting for you. There are angels up there that believe you were correct, myself included.”

“Not many. They’re all brainwashed.”

Castiel looked into your eyes once you turned your head. “We can change their opinions.” He whispered, inching closer to your face. “Together.”

You rolled your eyes at how cliché that sounded but pressed your lips to his anyways, your heart suddenly picking up pace from the contact. His hands moved from your back to the sides of your face before deepening the kiss.

Maybe you could stay with them for just a little while longer.

Castiel tags:

@castiel-savvy18, @hey-um-misha, @kitkatgaming, @cryiner, @magnificent-mantle, @impractical-impala, @stori-teller

Everything tags:

@1-more-internet-kid, @disappointeddinosaur, @unknown-chronicles, @marisayouass, @greenappleeyes, @nina-winchester4life, @fanboyswhereare-you, @yes-this-is-snek, @kdfrqqg, @buttercup337, @super-river-walker

[magicalthoughtsendinterriblefics]

Carry On

This is for @mamaredd123 and @atc74‘s Fabulous 300 Challenge. My prompts are:  In a dungeon, death, carry on wayward son.

Summary: Reader was kidnapped at the same time the brothers get arrested.

Pairing: Dean x reader.

Word count: 2,832

Warnings: Torture, violence, gore, pain, mayor character’s death, season 12 spoilers, language.

A/N: This was morbid and I’m perplex at my own writting.

It had been easy – too easy.

Lucifer was back in Hell, trapped, and the president was safe. Sam had finally gotten the inner peace he had craved for so long, and his was eager, smiling widely to his brother. Dean, on the other hand, was serious. There was something in his mind that was creating a conflict in him.

It was something Lucifer said, almost like a secret, about his beloved (Y/N). Something about her being trapped.

“I’m sure he only said it so we’d stop.” Sam assured his brother, “She’ll be at the bunker, with a home-made pie when we come back.”

“I hope so.” Spoke Dean listlessly.

Their victory didn’t last long, they were arrested and accused of attempting to murder the President of the United States, which got them to a maximum security prison that, to the eyes of the exterior world, didn’t exist.

-

The cold tile floor froze her limbs, making her wounds burn as if ice was being rubbed against them. The lightbulb over her head flickered every few seconds, which was not only annoying but also a clear sign that there was a supernatural creature above that dungeon.

She forced her paralyzed body to move. It was stiff and numb for a second but then a massive wave of pain overflowed her senses, ripping a whimper from her dry lips. She had been stabbed, scratched, punched and tortured in every possible way for two weeks.

Where were they?

Maybe they had forgotten about her, or maybe even considered her dead. Maybe they had been caught too, or killed… She didn’t know, but she prayed every day and night for a miracle; for them to storm through the door and save her, or at least for her to find strength to run away.

“I will always be there.”

“What if you’re not?”

“Consider me dead.”

“But what if….?”

“I will always be there, and if I’m not, you have to get up and kick ass like usual.”

“And then?”

“And then come and find me, and kick my ass too for not being for you when you needed me.”

(Y/N) forced herself once more, trying to get up, trying to move. She was weak, and the leather bands holding her tightly against the chair weren’t of much help. She needed to untie herself, and run away and find Dean.

“Carry on, carry on, carry on…” She whispered to herself as her fingers started moving to the knot holding her prisoner.

It was painful and her only motivation to fight against her pain was the thought of going back to Dean. The last thing he told her before she was kidnapped was that they were going after Lucifer, who had taken the President of the United States’ body as a vessel. She was afraid to escape and find out he was long dead, but then again, Dean was never truly dead.

-

Dean was sitting at that awful bed of his. The four walls worked as his one and only company. They were so thick he couldn’t even hear Sam at the other side of the wall. He had scratched his day count with his nails on the wall.

“Where are you, sweetheart?” Dean asked out loud once again, hoping dumbly that she’d reply eventually. Maybe he was losing his mind, or maybe he was too confident that she’d find him… But even so, Lucifer’s words kept invading her mind like a plague.

What if she was trapped as well? What if Mary and Cas didn’t find her on time? What if there was no time left at all?

-

(Y/N) managed to stand up and so she started analysing the room with her eyes before actually trying to walk. It had four walls, one door, no windows and just one lightbulb that were probably turned on from the outside.

She stood quiet, trying to listen to any kind of sound that would give her a clue about the monster that had kidnapped her. Yes, there was a big chance that it was a demon, but why?

Not that they didn’t have loads of enemies, but it had been a while since demons tried to capture them, less to say Crowley was starting to get his “kingdom” back… And if Lucifer had been trapped once more, then there wasn’t a reason to keep her captive.

Unless of course Sam and Dean hadn’t succeeded. (Y/N) cried at the thought, which gave her even more motivation to start walking and try to escape. She had to find him, and bring him back from the dead if necessary. Even if it meant killing herself in exchange of Dean’s life.

-

“Carry on my wayward son…” Dean whispered to himself, “There’ll be peace when you are done… Lay your weary head to rest…” He was carving another day, completing the three weeks in prison. “Don’t you cry no more…”

He missed her. (Y/N), Castiel, Mary… Even Sam. He missed his freedom, and driving his Impala and making love to (Y/N) literally and metaphorically speaking. He missed listening to the radio out loud and singing along with Sam and (Y/N). He missed the awkward and strange conversations with Castiel. He missed texting Mary and playing online games with her… He missed his life.

“Once I rose above the noise and confusion…” Dean continued as he went back to his bed, “Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion…” He lulled himself as he drifted slowly to sleep. “I was soaring ever higher…”

In his dreams, all he would see was them. Castiel making odd questions and (Y/N) laughing at him before explaining to him, and Sam adding witty facts about the subject, and Mary observing from afar lovingly… He felt fulfilled only on his dreams, he needed to escape.

-

Three weeks had passed. (Y/N) couldn’t leave the room, the dungeon, and would only survive because once ever few days a pale hand would slide her dull food in the middle of the night. However had kidnapped her had no idea she had untied herself, mostly because said monster didn’t even enter the room.

She was dehydrating, she was hungry, she was tired and she needed to go out. She was becoming paler than the hand that fed her due to the lack of sun light, and her limbs were starting to her numb because of the minimal physical activity she did – in such a small space, all she could do was walk in circles and exercising wasn’t exactly on her plans because, with the amount of food she received, she had to keep her energy.

After a few days, a hand fed her once more. It was a different hand, smaller and darker. (Y/N) took it as her opportunity to escape. She held said hand tightly and pulled however that was towards the small room, giving her the opportunity to knock the monster and open the door.

It was a human.

“Humans are the worse kind of monsters.” (Y/N) whispered as she walked past the unconscious woman.

She ran upstairs and found herself to be at a bucolic cottage in the middle of nowhere. There were no landlines, no TV, no radio, no cars… Her only escape was to run as far as she could and find the nearest town and ask for help. After all, those were humans, not regular monsters.

She got out of the house and ran as far as she could. Her wounds had been healed almost completely but she was still weak. She could see the town from afar, only the tallest buildings, but it didn’t matter because it was her chance to get back to the bunker… To Dean.

She walked slowly, trying to recover the last bits of energy she had. It started raining, and (Y/N) couldn’t help but to try and catch a few of the water droplets, trying to satisfy her thirst. It wasn’t exactly ideal but her survival instinct begged her to do all kinds of weird things in order to stay alive.

(Y/N) walked once more, feeling the mud under her bare feet. She was no longer in pain, the need to get to a safe place was a lot bigger.

A few cars had passed by, but nobody offered her a ride. Perhaps she looked like a serial killer-hobo or maybe people in that part of the world weren’t nice. (Y/N) couldn’t really think of a proper reason for their behaviour, but she didn’t have to analyse it for very much longer because, just when a few miles were left, a red pick-up van parked by her side.

The window lowered, revealing the face of a kind-looking man. His blond hair and deep blue eyes segregated a peaceful sensation, making (Y/N) and anyone who met him to trust him instantly.

“You’ll get sick if you keep going.” The man said with a stressed British accent.

“I need a ride.” She explained.

The man nodded and gestured at her to get up. (Y/N) didn’t hesitate; she got in, thanking the man for being so nice.

“You have no idea how much I appreciate it… I really need to get to town.” She said.

“And I really need you to get back to the dungeon.” He mumbled. (Y/N) looked at him in shock as his friendly smirk turned into a psychotic one. She tried to get out of the car but he had locked every door and window and was now asphyxiating her.

-

Four weeks.

Dean was starting to get desperate. He needed to at least know that Sam was all right. He had tried asking the soldier that delivered his food, but the man didn’t even flinch at the sound of his voice, less to say reply to him.

The only thing keeping Dean alive was the memory of (Y/N)’s soft voice in the mornings, trying to get him to wake up after a long night. But even his memories were starting to fade. Dean could barely remember her face by then, and part of it was the isolation’s fault.

He had to hold onto the few vivid memories he had left in order to stay sane.

-

She had woken up at the dungeon once again. That time she had bruises all over her neck and was far too painful to try and move it. The leather bands had been replaced with iron cuffs that not only tied her wrists and ankles to the chair, but also her torso. A big iron ring was around her waist, keeping her still.

“HELP!” She begged. (Y/N) knew it was ridiculous to try, but she might as well let her captors know that she was still alive and ready to kick ass.

Heavy foot-steps could be heard at the other side of the door. She knew it was the man that had driven her back to the dungeon. She squealed in anger, trying to show off her inner rage.

He entered the small room, laughing loudly at her, mocking her attempts to get free.

“Don’t waste your screams in that.” He suggested as he walked to the other side of the room.

If (Y/N) had been strong enough to bear the pain and turn around, she would’ve seen a table full of torture weapons, ready to be used. The man took a lash and walked back to her, standing right in front so she saw him and what he had in hands.

“You were a very bad girl.” He said.

“And you’re a kinky perverted that I will end up killing.” She hissed, he chuckled. “What’s so funny?”

“Mina, the woman you knocked, said I was the psychopath… If she heard what comes out of your mind…” He clicked his tongue.

“Bring her; maybe we can have a nice chat together.” She winked. The man laughed again and, in a matter of seconds, the lash impacted over (Y/N)’s skin.

She suppressed the whimper that begged to leave her lips. “Tough one.” He complimented, “Did Sammy boy taught you his tricks?”

“Don’t dare to talk about Sam.” She fumed.

“Fine, no talking.” Another lash impact.

(Y/N) remained still, focusing on not crying or showing any sort of weakness in front of him. The man got bored of the lash, because she wasn’t reacting, so he walked back to the table and grabbed a similar one.

It had more than one string, and it wasn’t leather but metal. Each string had small balls with sharp needles attached. He used it against (Y/N), and though she whined a little after a few impacts, he got bored as well.

“You have an amazing resistance, I must admit.” He spoke cheerfully as he picked his next weapon. “But you’re human.”

(Y/N) didn’t reply. He was right. The pain she was feeling by then was the last she would bear without crying or begging for mercy, and she would definitely end up surrendering. She wasn’t Sam, and if she didn’t cooperate, she would probably end up dying.

The man ended up picking his own fists as weapons. He punched her over and over again, sometimes even knocking the chair down, and he was enjoying it so badly… (Y/N) couldn’t believe a person, a human, could be so much into other’s pain, to enjoy bathing their knuckles in blood…

He finally stopped, tilting his head to admire his work. “I don’t think that Winchester lad will recognize your ugly face after this.” He said.

“Maybe, but he will come and he’ll kill you.” She mumbled.

“I thought you were going to kill me… Giving up already?” (Y/N) looked down. He tisked his tongue mockingly. “Such a shame, I was only starting to have fun.”

“Fuck you.”

He laughed again as he placed another chair in front of (Y/N). He put a brick over it to make it taller and then untied her ankles, dodged (Y/N)’s kicks and placed them over the brick, quickly tying her ankles together and to the chair.

She could see how damaged her feet were from there.

“I know it makes no sense now, but wait a few hours.” He winked at her and left, locking the door behind him.

Because of the position, (Y/N)’s feet started to lose blood. Her pressure wasn’t good enough to reach up to her feet and it was very painful, but it still couldn’t be compared to the metal lash.

The next day, first time in the morning, he was back.

He had a metal stick that had little sticks around it. He started hitting her with it, and (Y/N) was confident she would be able to hold it, but then he stabbed her thigh with it and twisted it inside of her flesh, ripping a loud scream from her lips.

He stabbed her a bit more in different areas of her body, avoiding the important ones because he wanted to keep his “toy” alive for longer.

(Y/N) prayed every night that Dean found her and rescued her. She would hold on to his memory in order to keep fighting.  She remembered him singing whenever he was nervous, afraid, stressed…

“… On a stormy sea of emotion, tossed about I’m like a ship in the ocean, I set a course for winds of fortune, but I hear the voices say…” She sang to herself, trying to keep her mind from focusing in her injuries. The man hadn’t only stabbed her, but he had burned her skin and the open wounds were begging for medical attention. “…Carry on my wayward son, there’ll be peace when you are done… Lay your weary head to rest.

She needed him, and she needed to be saved. She wasn’t sure how much longer she would be able to hold on.

(Y/N) didn’t know how much time had passed, but he was back and needing more of her blood. She gave in, unafraid to scream or cry if needed, but not feeling strong enough to express her pain. She was losing her life; it was getting out of her hands.

Flashbacks of Dean collapsed in her mind, playing over and over like a movie. As a background, (Y/N) could hear the last song she had thought of, Carry On Wayward Son by Kansas, but she somehow managed to imagine Dean’s voice singing it for her rather than the original. It was her last memory. Dean singing to her after she woke up from a nightmare; that small moments of peace and intimacy, when she felt truly loved and save.

And when Billie appeared behind the man torturing her, (Y/N) felt a relief she hadn’t felt in many years. Heaven was waiting for her… She was finally free.

Carry on, you will always remember Carry on, nothing equals the splendor Now your life's no longer empty Surely heaven waits for you.

When Dean went out of his isolation it was too late. Her body was past saving, and her soul was finally resting in Heaven.

Sorry about this...

*Requestes are ALWAYS open.*

Masterlist.

*Not tagging anyone here because this was supposed to be posted before the tag list was created.*