“Want another?” shouted Bee over the music pulsing around them.
(Y/N) shook their head, unfinished drink in their hand. They spun, and their flared black jeans rose to show deep red heeled boots that matched their vest. “I’m good!”
Bee shrugged, not at all upset. “More for me!” She threw the shot back.
(Y/N) laughed. Beside them, Loona moved to the beat of the song, nudging (Y/N). They grinned and spun Loona, the pair of friends enjoying themselves while Bee checked on the rest of her party. It was another move into Pride Ring with another Gluttony Party, and, even more than the first, Hellborns were breaking down doors to pack the space.
Of course, that wasn’t just because Bee threw amazing parties. Every few feet, a new guest would cheer (Y/N)’s name or title and ask when their next performance was. This prompted endless laughs from Loona while (Y/N) turned as red as the roses on their head. Despite always being involved in performances and being damn good at it, (Y/N) still wasn’t accustomed to the attention. Did they enjoy it? Yes. In a strange way, they were exhilarated by the pure, effortless presence that performances gave them. But autographs and constant praise? (Y/N) hadn’t exactly grown up on that, so they were a bit…awkward.
“Are you sure there won’t be a son tonight? Said Loona teasingly after (Y/N) gave out another autograph and took another selfie.
(Y/N) groaned. “I’m not a celebrity—”
“You do know the definition of that, right?”
“—and this is Bee’s party, I’m not going to hijack it.”
“Bitch,” said Loona affectionately, “She’d probably be super excited. She loved it last time.”
(Y/N) laughed and waved a hand. “Even if she did—” Loona gave them an incredulous look “—I just want to relax tonight. No show.”
Loona whined slightly. “Fine, fine, I won’t bother anymore, but you have to promise me something.”
(Y/N) tilted their head. “What?”
Loona grinned. “You’re singing at my birthday.”
“Oh, hell, you’re going to choose something ridiculous to theme it on, won’t you?” said (Y/N).
“If ‘ridiculous’ means something you’ll kill? You bet Satan’s ass yes,” said Loona cheerfully.
(Y/N) half-groaned, half-laughed.
“Hey, that’s the sound I like to hear!” Bee had returned. “Hey, kid, I’ve got someone—two someones—for you to meet!”
(Y/N) tilted their head (and everyone briefly thought “aww, like a little deer”). “Someone to meet?” They weren’t opposed to it—the last person they’d met was Bee, and Bee was cool—but they were quite curious.
“One of my kind-of siblings and his partner,” said Bee. “Don’t freak, he’s cool.”
“Oh, boy,” said Loona, realizing who these people would be. She grabbed her drink to down in case things went sideways. Bee didn’t quite know about some of Sprout’s feelings on some topics, particularly with their associations on some subjects.
“(Y/N), meet Asmodeus,” said Bee proudly as a tall being—currently just a bit taller than Alastor—stepped out of the crowd. He was dark blue with a multicolored suit, and flames and feathers hovered around his face, where piercing, glowing yellow eyes stared out.
(Y/N) went still. Asmodeus—the embodiment of Lust. Their throat closed up slightly. Lust—sex—men looking at them—it was hateful. It sent unpleasant shivers down their spine.
“And I’m the great and fantastic Fizzarolli!” A clown-like Hellborn imp bounced forward with electronic limbs, colorful in every way mangable and wearing a gian smile.
“And call the big guy Ozzie,” said Bee. She punched Asmodeus’s shoulder. “The big name’s so formal.” She stuck out her tongue.
“Uh, Bee…?” said Loona. “(Y/N) doesn’t—”
“It’s nice to meet you. Bee’s told me a lot about you,” said Asmodeus. He politely held out a hand, and (Y/N) watched it warily.
“Hey, they’re quiet,” said Fizzarolli. “Thought you said they knew how to have fun?” He bounced up and onto Asmodeus’s shoulder.
“Uh, yeah, kid, you good?” Bee wasn’t oblivious, she leaned in and looked at (Y/N) worriedly.
(Y/N) didn’t respond, still watching Asmodeus’s hand.
Asmodeus furrowed his brow before smiling. “Ah.” He chuckled and withdrew his hand. “You’re asexual, aren’t you?” And with a side of trauma, but Asmodeus had too much tact to say anything in public. It wouldn’t be kind.
(Y/N) blinked. “You can tell?” That threw them off.
Asmodeus chuckled. “People worry about meeting me when my sin isn’t something they’re particularly interested in, especially if they’re sex-averse. Let me make it clew now.” He grew somber. “I can’t affect how you feel.” He scoffed. “That would be disgusting and invasive.” He smiled. “Any lust I elicit?” He winked in a friendly manner. “Pure skill, no magic needed.”
Fizzarolli grinned. “Definitely no magic.” He cuddled on Asmoeus’s shoulder, and Asmodeus kissed his cheek.
Oh. (Y/N) straightened. “Oh.” They held out a hand to Ozzie. “Sorry. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ozzie shook their hand. “Don’t apologize.” He sneered. “I’ve seen some sinner shit over the years. And humans are so weird about sex sometimes.”
“Yeah!” agreed Fizzarolli. “Who cares who people bone or don’t bone? Makes no sense.”
(Y/N) started to smile. Loona relaxed, and Bee grinned.
“Yeah. It’s weird,” agreed (Y/N). They needed to stop judging people. Apparently, the embodiment of Lust was far more accommodating, accepting, and respectful of varying sexualities than some people.
“Aha, I know you’d all get along,” said Bee proudly. She patted (Y/N) on their shoulder. “I showed Ozzie your show, and he’s a performer himself.”
“I own a dinner club,” said Ozzie, nodding. “I appreciate good showmanship.”
(Y/N) smiled warmly. “Thanks. I don’t really know what I’m doing up there—”
“Stop being so humble,” said Loona. “You know your shit, and you looking fucking hot up there. Respectfully, of course.”
“Yeah! I’m a professional, and you’ve got star—” Fizzarolli jumped up and made himself look like a star “—written all over you.”
“Where did you learn to sing like that?” asked Ozzie curiously.
(Y/N) shrugged. “I did church choir when I was younger. But performing…I just do what feels natural.”
Ozzie glanced at Bee, who shrugged while something silent passed between them.
“I really, really, really want to see it in person, that star power,” said Fizzarolli excitedly. “Right, Ozzie? You showed me the video, and I said, ‘Wow, it’s got to be even cooler in person, where you really feel the show!’ ”
“Yes, you did, Foggy,” said Ozzie fondly.
(Y/N) smiled, albeit shyly. “Thanks, but uh, I’m really not a huge performer, it just happens when it happens—”
“Liar, you totally enjoy yourself,” snorted Loona.
“Traitor,” said (Y/N), and Loona grinned mischievously. “But I’m not hijacking Bee’s party a second time.”
Bee waved a hand. “Come on, we all know a ton of people came because you’re here. Do you know the amount of Sinner’s begging to be allowed into my party because you’re here?”
“And not because they want to be an except like you. Because they want to see you,” added Loona, passing a drink to Fizzaroli..
Bee snapped and fluttered in the air. “What can I say? I love it when people are jealous of the cool bitches I get to hang out with it.”
“Isn’t envy our sibling’s thing?” teased Ozzie.
Bee waved a hand.
Ozzie chuckled before smiling at (Y/N). “As much as my sister is right about being interested in seeing such…performance power—” Bee glanced at him slightly at the wording of it “—you don’t have to. I mean, you’re not an employee to get ordered around.”
(Y/N) smiled. They decided they liked Ozzie. “I think tonight is just for relaxing. But…” They smiled. “I wouldn’t be totally against it in the future. It’s Hell, it’s bound to happen.”
“And with a voice like yours, of course it happens,” said Loona.
“There we go, we got a confirmation!” cheered Bee.
“I look forward to it,” said Ozzie. “You know, most sinners…are the worst.” He smiled. “But Bee was right. You’re interesting.”
“What does that mean?” asked (Y/N) curiously.
Ozzie just smiled. “We’ll find out.”
(Y/N) tilted their head, but Fizzarolli jumped on Ozzie’s back and pinched his cheek. “Hey, hey, we’re here for a party! No more talking, I want to party!”
Ozzie laughed. “Okay, okay, Froggy.” He smiled. “Next rounds on me.”
Bee, Loona, and Fizzarolli cheered. (Y/N) laughed.
l
“You’re back late,” said Husk, watching (Y/N) arrive in the Hotel Lobby.
“I was at a party with Loona and Bee,” said (Y/N). Husk furrowed his brow, and (Y/N) waved a hand. “Relax, I was responsible.”
“Mm.” Husk narrowed his eyes. “As if I trust the teen going through their rebellious age in Hell.” (Y/N) stuck out their tongue. Husk chuckled. Okay, maybe the kid was good.
“Ah, another night of swinging entertainment?” said Alastor, appearing from the shadows. “More song and dance?”
“Not from me, but I met some new people,” said (Y/N). “They’re kind cool.”
“Who did you meet?” said Vaggie, looking up from her administration work.
“Asmodeus and his boyfriend Fizzarolli,” said (Y/N).
Lucifer spit out his drink. “He’s dating?”
“Yeah. Fizzarolli’s nice, too. He used to be a clown and now works in Ozzie’s business,” said (Y/N).
Vaggie stared. “Ozzie?”
“Yeah,” said (Y/N).
“First Bee, now Ozzie…” Lucifer looked at (Y/N) oddly. “Are you trying to meet all the Sins?”
(Y/N) shrugged. “They’re the ones who want to meet me.”
Lucifer blinked. Honestly, that made it weirder. The Sins famously disliked Sinners. Now two had decided to meet (Y/N) and decided they liked them? Lucifer could admit he liked the kid, but he was weird for a Sin, not entirely the same being as them. In any way he looked at it, this was weird.
(Y/N) yawned. “Anyways, I’m heading to bed. I’m exhausted.” They headed towards the stairs.
Vaggie glanced at Lucifer. “Should we be concerned?”
“It’s definitely odd,” said Lucifer. But he shrugged. “But Ozzie and Bee are the nicer of them. So (Y/N) is probably safe.”
Vaggie frowned, and Husk glanced at her. Neither of them bought the “not worrying” idea. Husk doubted Alastor would, either. He looked at Alastor.
Before anyone could say something, Alastor said, in his usual “bright” manner, “Well, it’s their life. Or, really, death.” He laughed heartily. “They can do what they please.”
Husk frowned. “As if I don’t notice you waiting to make sure they get back alright each night.”
Alastor went deathly still. Husk winced.
“What I do is none of your concern,” said Alastor, mild tone not hiding his displeasure. He disappeared into the shadows.
“Yeah, right, not worried at all,” scoffed Husk. It wasn’t fooling anyone.
Almost forgot to ask: How would Ryan or Soldier Boy react to Borealis’s art? I know Homelander doesn’t have any taste at all😆😆😆
Ryan would think it's cool. I feel like he would vibe with abstract art/impressionist art (sidenote: I think Borealis would be into fauvism? Just because that fits with the way they see things and energy, etc). (also, I think he'd be worried that his energy looks like Homelander's to them, but I think he'd actually be some sort of blue color, maybe even lilac? Gentler, like Becca)
Homelander wouldn't get it. He'd be confused and do the whole "but it's not realistic" thing since he was raised on that bs that only one type of art is good art (conservative talking points, people, let's remember that)
And, edit to add Soldier Boy because I hallucinated the wrong name, I think Soldier Boy would think the art's weird, but, just like with most things with them, he'll be like "yeah, they're a weird kid, but they're my weird kid"
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Twenty-Nine: Rabbit Hole
Summary: (Y/N) begins the Second Trial, one they have to face more alone than the First.
Dean banged on the door of Kevin’s boat. “Kevin?” he called. “Open up.” He pounded on the door again. “Kevin!”
Kevin opened the door, a skillet raised as a weapon.
“Whoa, whoa!” said Dean, and (Y/N) raised a brow.
Huh, he’s really losing it, they observed.
“Geez.” Dean walked into the boat. “What’s going on? What’s with the SOS?”
“It’s him,” said Kevin, closing the door securely behind them.
“It’s who?” said Sam.
“Crowley,” said Kevin.
All three turned to him in alarm.
“What about him?” said Dean.
Kevin trembled and pointed at himself. “He’s in my head.”
“He’s…in your head,” repeated Sam slowly.
“Something’s in your head,” murmured (Y/N). It could be Crowley, it could be mental illness, it could be both.
“Do you know what that means?” said Kevin urgently.
“Yeah, it means we need to up your anxiety meds,” said Dean. “Look, if Crowley knew where you were, he’d do a hell of a lot more than mess with your head.”
“Where’s Garth?” asked Sam. The least they could do is get the most mentally stable hunter they knew—possibly most stable ever—to keep an eye on Kevin.
“On a case or-or the dentist. I don’t know,” said Kevin, shaking his head. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Okay, well, what did you want to tell us that you couldn’t say on the phone?” asked Dean. He glanced at Kevin’s skillet. “And would you put the frying pan down, please?”
Kevin obeyed with irritation. “I translated the second trial from the tablet.”
“You…crazy prophet, you!” said Dean, brightening. “Nice work!”
Kevin gave him a dark look. “And if Crowley’s in my head, he knows.”
“Okay, he’s definitely not in your head,” said Dean. Kevin was growing paranoid.
“He’s not in your head, Kevin,” assured Sam.
They looked at (Y/N), who shrugged. “It’s debatable.” Sam gave them a look. “Fine, fine. He’s probably not in your head.”
Sam grimaced. They were not very good at comforting people at times. “Okay, okay. Kevin, we know this is hard, but…stay with us, okay? What’s the second trial?”
“An innocent soul has to be rescued from Hell and delivered unto Heaven,” said Kevin.
“What?” said Dean.
“Very doable,” said (Y/N) under their breath sarcastically.
“Rescue a soul from Hell? Like…actually go to Hell?” repeated Sam. He looked at (Y/N), alarmed at the idea of sending them there intentionally. “And how do you get a soul into Heaven? I mean, how do you even get a soul out of Hell?”
“We’re gonna need an expert,” said Dean, already planning.
l
Dean placed the box of offerings into the ground. Around it, a red devil’s trap was painted onto the ground. The crossroads branched off in front of the small group.
“Winchesters.”
(Y/N) turned when they heard the demon speak. His eyes were red, and he wore a casual jean jacket as he stared at them darkly.
“What happen to the hot chicks?” said Dean.
“I’m out of here,” scoffed the demon. No one was going to mess with the Winchesters in a deal.” He tried to leave, but he found himself unable to move. He frowned.
“Maybe not,” said (Y/N).
The devil trap had been perfectly placed. The crossroad’s demon was stuck.
l
In an abandoned building, Dean tossed holy water onto the demon. On the ceiling, another devil’s trap kept him in place. The demon clenched his teeth and seethed against the sizzle of the water.
“I ain’t got nothing,” he spat through clenched teeth.
“Oh?” said Dean, not believing him. “Well, then, how about another owie?” He poured holt water over the demon’s bald head.
“You know, wouldn’t it be a lot easier just to tell us how to enter Hell uninvited?” said Sam.
“It’s a secret,” snapped the demon.
“No shit,” said (Y/N).
“We promise we won’t tell anyone,” said Dean.
The demon just glowered. Sam sighed and uncorked another flask of holy water.
“No!” said the demon. “Wait. I can’t. It’s forbidden, man. They’re gonna kill me.”
Sam poured the holy water over his head, and the demon shouted at the burn.
“Please…” he grimaced. “Alright, look. For a price, y’all can get smuggled across Hell’s border.”
“By who?” questioned (Y/N).
“Rogue reapers,” said the demon. “They got secret ways, in and out. Not just Hell—the Veil, Heaven.”
“Rogue reapers smuggling people?” repeated Sam.
“People, souls,” said the demon.
“So, what? They’re like Hell coyotes?” said Sam.
The demon nodded. “Now…kill me. Come on, man,” he said “Better death than Crowley.”
“Well, nothing’s happen until you tell us everything.” (Y/N) tilted their head. “So let’s start with where we can find one of these reapers.”
l
The rain pitter-pattered down on (Y/N) as they got out of the impala, and they wiped it back from their eyes. Their eyeliner was probably running a little, which was a shame, but at least they would look striking. Their entire look was too witchy to lose much from that. It fit (Y/N).
Sam looked across the street and nodded to a man leaning on a taxi. Dean led the way over to him.
“Ajay,” said Dean, testing the waters. “Need to talk to you for a sec.”
Ajay glanced at them and took his earpiece out. “You know my name.”
“And what you do,” said Sam. “We want to do business.”
“But you are mortal—flesh and blood,” said Ajay, blinking.
“But if we wanted to cross the border into Hell—”
“Visitor’s pass,” specified Dean.
“No one wants to get into Hell,” said Ajay.
“But could you do it?” said (Y/N).
Ajay looked at them. “It’s possible,” he admitted. “Your magic would make it smoother.”
(Y/N) touched their necklace. It was a comfort to have it, but, evidently, its presence and their protective herbs were no longer guarding against all of (Y/N)’s magical aura.
“But I have special skills. I have overhead. It will be pricy,” said Ajay, beginning negotiations.
“How pricey?” said Dean, narrowing his eyes.
Ajay glanced between the three. “You three are resourceful. One day, you will owe me a favor.”
“You say that like you know us,” said Sam.
“Of course,” said Ajax, frowning. “You’re the Winchester Brothers and Winchester Witch.”
Well, apparently (Y/N)’s necklace had no bearing on whether or not people knew what they were. They were known of.
“Sorry. Have we met?” said Dean, staring.
“I am the Reaper who took Bobby Singer to Hell,” said Ajay.
Dean stilled. The streetlights over (Y/N) flickered. Sam did a double-take.
“Bobby in Hell?” repeated Sam, indignant and angry and grieving all over again. “We burned his bones. Once we did that, it was over. End of story.”
“Not necessarily,” said Ajay, clinical. This was his job, not a personal affair. “
“No, no, no, ‘cause Bobby was on the good side of things, and good guys go to the penthouse,” snapped Dean.
“Usually. Mostly,” said Ajay. “Depends on who you know, what palms get greased. If you’re on the King of Hell’s no-fly list, no way you cruise the friendly skies.”
(Y/N) gritted their teeth in order to not curse—literally—the entirety of the street with their anger. Heaven’s fucked-up bureaucracy extended to Judgement. Their corruption apparently allowed for people to get to Heaven when they didn’t deserve it and sent people to Hell if they were on Heaven’s wrong side—not right or wrongs.
“Politics?” seethed (Y/N), managing to keep their words to that. “Crowley gets to make deals with Heaven? Unbelievable.” Their resolution to save an innocent soul from Hell redoubled. Bobby was there. He deserved more; he deserved better. They had to help him.
“(Y/N), take a breath,” said Sam. He was just as angry at them, but… “You’re going to take out the entire block.” The lights were flickering, and he didn’t want to see if (Y/N) was going to take out the streets power or the city’s.
(Y/N) took a sullen breath while Dean’s hands clenched and unclenched.
“Okay, let’s do this,” he said. “How much for three tickets down and four tickets back?”
“Dean,” said (Y/N), looking at him.
“What?” said Dean defensively.
(Y/N) grabbed Dean and Sam by the flannel sleeves. “Give us a moment.” Ajay shrugged, and (Y/N) dragged them a few steps away. “You are not going to Hell, Dean. Neither of you are.”
“We have to spring Bobby,” said Dean, frustrated.
“I have to do the trials solo,” said (Y/N).
“This is Bobby and Hell and you in Hell,” said Dean, faltering over the words. He looked at Sam. “Sam?”
Sam grimaced. “(Y/N), you’re still a kid—”
“I’m a witch and been dealing with the same shit as you guys for three years,” said (Y/N). “Not a kid.”
“Yes, you are!” said Dean. They were Dean and Sam’s little sibling. They should be the one getting protected. He or Sam should be the one doing the trials, not them. “I can’t just let you go to Hell and-and get hurt or worse—”
“We’ve got one shot at this!” said (Y/N). “And I am not missing.” They had to close the Gates of Hell. They had to make sure no one else suffered the way they had. They had to be more than someone capable of doing harm. They had to be more.
(Y/N) stepped around Dean and Sam, and when Sam tried to catch their arm, they pulled away. “I’m in,” they said to Ajay. “Just me.”
“Follow me,” said Ajay.
“Wait,” said Sam. He knew the stakes at risk, but he couldn’t let (Y/N) go without doing what he could. “How does this work?” Then he and Dean could monitor as much as they could from this side of life.
“Not to fret,” said Ajay. “They’ll be back in exactly twenty-four hours time. Return for them then.”
He nodded to (Y/N) and walked to an alley. (Y/N) walked with him, and Dean and Sam watched with heavy hearts. Twenty-four hours would feel like an eternity.
Ajay led (Y/N) behind the buildings to walls of graffiti. (Y/N) glanced around warily. They had the demon knife in case, and they would use it on whoever tried anything.
“Take my hand,” instructed Ajay.
(Y/N) sighed and did so. The world began to shake, and a rumble echoed through the alley. The graffiti-filled walls shifted and blurred. The streaks of colored bled together and melted towards a painted door. The door cracked apart, seams of bright white light breaking into reality. (Y/N) squinted as the light turned blinding. The door exploded outwards, and the white light swallowed them.
l
(Y/N) blinked rapidly to dispel the light. The world came back to focus, and they looked around themself. They were in a forest that stretched on forever, and the world felt greyer. The plants felt bland. Not vivid like (Y/N) was used to. The energy around them was different.
“Is this Hell?” they said. The magic in the air didn’t feel right.
“No. This is Purgatory,” said Ajay.
(Y/N) stared around them, instantly more on edge. They remembered what Dean had said about Purgatory. It was a free-for-all of danger. There were monsters everywhere tearing each other apart.
“So how do I get to Hell?” said (Y/N).
“This is Hell-adjacent,” said Ajay. He gestured to a stream winding through the woods. “Follow the stream to where three trees meet as one. Where they meet, there are rocks. Between the rocks is the portal.”
“A portal?”
“A backdoor to Hell. Trust me, it’ll work,” said Ajay.
“You’re getting a terrible review for your services since I’m getting into Hell on my own,” grumbled (Y/N).
Ajay scoffed. “Smuggling a mortal across the border is bad enough. But gate-crashing a Winchester into Hell seriously blows. No, I’m not getting any more involved than I must. I’ll be back in twenty-four hours precisely. Be here.”
(Y/N) knew he was doing all that any sane person would do, and they nodded. “Alright.” They took out the demon knife.
Ajay glanced at it. “It’s a good thing you brought that. It is not an easy place.”
“I’m not an easy person,” said (Y/N).
They wouldn’t let Purgatory take them out. Ajay shrugged and disappeared. (Y/N) looked at the stream. Alright. Time to go to Hell. They lived a very strange life.
(Y/N) headed down to the stream and walked alongside it. The babble of the water was familiar, and (Y/N) kept close by as each rustle of branches made them look around warily for an attacker. Danger could lurk behind any tree in this forest.
Well, if it’s monsters, I’m their match. (Y/N) was a witch, after all. Tentatively, they reached out for the energy in Purgatory’s air. It responded, wavering at a different “frequency” than the magic on Earth they usually encountered. (Y/N) pulled on it and lifted their hand. A small flickering flame appeared on the tip of their finger. At least Purgatory couldn’t take their magic. They had another weapon for whatever—
A branch cracked, and (Y/N) turned as a rabid man in tattered clothing lunged at them. (Y/N) ducked and rolled to the side. The vampire hissed at them, eyes wide and panting feverishly. His mouth was bloody, but they doubted the blood was human, meaning he was rabid. The vampire launched himself at (Y/N) again, and (Y/N) twisted their wrist. The vampire flew back and hit the tree. His strange, curved weapon fell to the ground, stained with crusted blood. (Y/N) swept it up and slashed through the air. The vampire’s head fell to the ground.
(Y/N) smirked. It seemed they were the more dangerous monster in the woods.
They continued on their hike, eventually arriving at the trees Ajay had spoken of. They peered around at the bushes and hills until several mossy stones revealed themselves beneath overgrown plants. A small gap opened into darkness. (Y/N) pocketed the knife, reached back, and pulled at the rock. It fell over, making a human-sized opening.
Wind rushed inwards, and the taste of more inhuman magic invaded the air. It wasn’t Purgatory or Earth’s magic. It was Hell’s.
“If only there was a white rabbit,” muttered (Y/N). “I suppose I’m mad enough already.” With that sentiment, (Y/N) proved they were mad and headed down the rabbit hole to Hell.
As (Y/N) pushed through the small earthen portal, the air began to heat. The world felt stale and dark. The walls hardened into cold stone. Two worlds were blending together and solidifying into Hell the farther (Y/N) went. They stepped out of the small stone tunnel into a dimly lit hallway. Screams echoed in the distance. Cackles and cries announced their arrival in Hell.
I just know that Homelander or anyone kn that tower will NOT have the decency to even toss Borealis a coloring book and some crayons. Even if they do, it’s the crappy type served at restaurant
They are not going to get proper enrichment. Poor thing
Also allow me this moment to tell everyone that everything gets worse before it gets better
See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Thirty-Three
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Platonic! Yandere! Homelander and Supe! Reader
(Platonic! Soldier Boy and Supe! Reader)
Chapter Thirty-Three: Family
Summary: Homelander takes control.
Chapter Warnings: Homelander, suicidal ideation
Mouse Note: Alright, here is the end of Book 2. Don't worry, we'll roll right into Book 3 ;). Enjoy~
Homelander paced his broken apartment. On the partially shattered TV screen, a woman was speaking hastily about the current political situation.
“They’re-They’re-They’re telling me it has been confirmed,” said the reporter. “The Vice President-Elect, Victoria Neuman, is dead.”
Homelander cursed his luck, wiping tears of foiled plans and ruined reunions from his face.
“Assassinated today only hours after revealing to the world that she is super-abled,” continued the reporter.
“Where’s Ryan?”
Homelander’s head jerked up as Sister Sage entered the room, bored.
“This was all for him after all,” said Sister Sage. “Him and (Y/N), right?”
“What are you doing here?” muttered Homelander. After she stormed out on him, all he wanted was to tear her apart, but first he needed to sulk in his misery.
“Celebrating. We won.” Sister Sage held out a balloon. “Here.” He didn’t take it, and it floated upwards.
“Everything’s turned to shit. Plan’s dead,” said Homelander.
“This is the plan,” said Sister Sage. “I mean, sure, a few curveballs, but we got there. Just had to keep a few bits to myself.” She shrugged. “You know, the bits you’d fuck up by, you know, being you.” She shook her head. “Neuman would have been a shit patsy. Stubborn, too many ideas. So I went another way.” She gestured to the screen.
“Bob Singer himself ordering the assassination,” said the reporter, and on the screen, pictures of the Boys—without Borealis, of course—appeared.
“If you’d killed Neuman like I’d ordered—” a video of Singer himself played “—we wouldn’t be stuck four stories underground playing pocket pool.”
“And now we go live,” said the reporter, changing to the screen to reveal “—And that’s President-Elect Robert Singer himself being taken into custody by federal agents.”
“She tried to kill me first!” shouted Singer.
Homelander began to look up, blinking in surprise.
“—in an unprecedent turn of events that is certain to go down as one of the darkest days—”
Sister Sage turned the TV off. Her phone rang. “Oh, it’s for you.” She held it out.
Homelander stared. “Who…is it?”
“Oh, Speaker of the House Calhoun,” said Sister Sage casually. “Once they invoke the 25th, he’s next in line to be president. He’d like to pledge his allegiance to you.”
Still with tears on his cheeks, Homelander forced himself to stand. “To me?”
“Just like I promised,” said Sister Sage. “We had a deal.”
“Yeah, well, I broke the deal,” said Homelander, confused.
“I didn’t,” responded Sister Sage plainly. “I told you, you could trust me, ‘boo.’ I got your back.” She held out the phone.
Homelander finally took it. “I-I threw you out like…like garbage. Why would you do this?”
Sister Sage looked at him like it was obvious. “To see if I could.” She smiled. “Thank you. This was so much fun. Just, you know, next time? Listen to me.”
Homelander frowned. “Next time?”
“Oh, hells yeah, blond ambition,” said Sister Sage. “Buckle up for phase two.”
Homelander stared. “Phase Two?”
“Take the call and you’ll find out.”
Homelander finally answered the call. “Homelander speaking.”
His power was solidified.
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“And that is why, as my first official act, under Article One, Section Nine, of the Constitution, I’m declaring martial law and deputizing hundreds of superheroes nationwide who will report directly to Homelander himself,” said President Calhoun. “To keep—”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Calhoun moved away from the podium obediently as Homelander spoke. He looked out at the crowd. “Victoria Neuman, she was a great American. And a dear, dear friend. Murdered in cold-blood by deep-state Starlighters embedded in our own government. Now that we have full legal authority, a veritable army of superheroes to rout these traitors from our government and from our streets. America will be safe again. And to the Starlighters, whatever rock you’re hiding under, we’re coming for you. I’m coming for you.”
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Walking back through V Tower, Homelander laced his hands behind his back. Most things were going according to plan. He trusted Sister Sage’s plans to work out, now, after all. There was just one thing that he needed that he hadn’t gotten yet…
“You’re ready for Phase Two,” said Sister Sage. “Good job on the speech.”
“I know what the people need,” said Homelander.
“And I know what they need to hear,” said Sister Sage. She paused. “And I know what you need.” She gestured for him to follow her, and Homelander frowned. He headed up to his rebuilt penthouse. The layout was adjusted, and Sister Sage carefully opened a new door. Inside was a room with a strange-looking tank within.
Homelander frowned. “What is that?”
“That is what’s going to get you Borealis,” said Sister Sage. “I found them months ago.”
Homelander stared at her. “And you didn’t—”
“Trust me, remember?” said Sister Sage. Homelander glared, and she knew to speed up her explanation. “Soldier Boy’s abilities affect the V in people’s systems, right? It literally breaks it down through accelerated particle decay.” Homelander frowned, and Sister Sage fought the urge to roll her eyes at the amount of idiots in the world. “He burns it out of them in an instant. That or they die instantly.” She lifted a finger. “Borealis survived it head-on, and from the reports of our chameleon, they still had their powers.”
Homelander frowned. “So what?”
“They’re unstable,” said Sister Sage. “Their powers relate to electromagnetic radiation, so they absorbed Soldier Boy’s explosion. But no one can take a nuclear blast and walk away unscathed. That would mean they were immortal or some shit.” She scoffed. “Point is, their cells are still decaying, the V breaking down in their system.”
“Does that mean they’re a…human?” Homelander almost sneered the word.
“It means they’re a tiny bomb,” said Sister Sage. “And as much as you wanted to steal them back, you had no sort of way of containing that sort of power.” She gestured to the strange tank. “So I made one.”
“What, I’m just supposed to-to lock up my sibling like a science experiment?” Homelander narrowed his eyes. He wanted them for a family, not a decoration.
“You keep them here while I make a solution,” said Sister Sage. “I’m a genius, remember?”
Homelander frowned. “And this can contain them?”
“Yeah,” said Sister Sage.
Homelander straightened. “I can save them from Starlight’s influence?” He could heal them, rebuild them, make them perfect. He could fix them, save them. They were his, after all. And if it took years? It didn’t matter. Homelander would have them. (Y/N) would be his, safe and contained from the pollution of those that would tear him down.
“You can do whatever you want,” said Sister Sage. She didn’t give a fuck about Homelander’s family, but Borealis was a liability—powerful and resistant. They needed to be contained. Reconditioned. Sister Sage watched Homelander’s grin widen. He was so blind to the way Borealis could tear everything apart.
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Frenchie solemnly handed out emergency passports. He hugged each person he gave them to, (Y/N) tighter than ever. Kimiko smiled at Hughie and MM and hugged (Y/N) and Annie. She was gently with (Y/N) as she felt sparks run up their arms. MM nodded to them all, and Hughie and Annie nodded back.
And with that, they all got into their respective cars and drove away. Hughie, Annie, and (Y/N) in one, MM in another, and Kimiko and Frenchie in another. They had to escape the United States, if they could. Homelander was coming for them.
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Frenchie and Kimiko hurried through a maze of ship storage containers, holding their backpacks tightly. They were nearly at the ship that would take them to something more akin to safety than what they had.
Bang! Kimiko’s body was thrown into a container.
“Kimiko!” shouted Frenchie.
A hand grabbed him from behind, and his eyes clouded over as a supe whispered into his ear. Obediently, he turned and followed her while a man grabbed Kimiko. She ran after him, but he threw her back.
“No.” Kimiko choked on the word as grief ripped through her. “No. No!” She screamed. “No!”
But Frenchie still entered the van, leaving her behind.
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MM washed his hands carefully in the rest stop bathroom. He let out a long breath, hoping that Janine and Monique had made it away safely when he sent them away days ago.
Someone tapped him on his shoulder. MM turned. A fist cracked across his cheek, and he hit the ground. Agents poured out of the other stalls, crowding around him and pinning him down.
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Hughie kept his foot on the gas while Annie tried to spark her hands to life, staring at the fritzing gold glow. She watched it grow and fade. She sighed. She wanted to be frustrated. She glanced back at the rearview mirror. (Y/N) sat in the back, staring out the window. She looked at the tiny lines that glowed on their body. Were they in pain? Could Annie do anything? She felt useless. They were suffering, dying, and Annie could do nothing but run.
Crash!
A boat landed on the road in front of them. Hughie slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. They crashed into the boat, and all of them jerked forward in their seats.
Annie blinked her eyes open, and she tried to move, metal pinning her down. The doors were torn open, and agents grabbed Hughie, dragging his half-conscious body out. Her eyes widened, and she croaked out a cry.
The backseat opened, and hands landed on (Y/N). Their eyes snapped open, wild and panicked. Green and purple exploded outwards at the invasive press of fingers. Annie was blown from the car, and she hit the ground outside. She lifted her head, and she choked on the smell of burning flesh. The agents who had attempted to grab (Y/N) lay in a heap of charred bones and unrecognizable lumps of flesh.
Hughie’s eyes were fully open, and he pulled against his restraints as agents shoved him towards a van, shouting words that echoed in the aftereffects of the crash. (Y/N) lay on the ground, cracks spreading over their arms like that of a patchwork doll.
Patchwork coming apart. “No!” cried Annie, struggling to stand.
The remaining agents approached (Y/N) warily, one lifting a cannister of halothane, another a syringe. (Y/N)’s eyes blinked open, and as their body jerked as the syringe implanted in their arm. They screamed, the sound piercing like a siren, and several agents froze, unable to move except for grabbing their heads. The halothane dropped to the ground, erupting in smoke.
Annie shoved herself to her feet. A woman with a shaved head moved in front of Annie, metal crushing itself as she moved. Cindy stared at Annie, gaze dark and emotionless. She raised her hand, and Annie felt a pressure on her chest. Her eyes widened. She was going to die. Hughie was taken. (Y/N) was going to split apart. This was the end.
Cindy’s hand stilled. It dropped. Her eyes clouded with green.
Annie’s eyes snapped to the cloud of halothane. In the middle of it, needle in their arm, lungs filling with gas, (Y/N)’s eyes glowed, bright as ever.
“Annie. Go.”
The words filled Annie’s mind, and she found herself unable to disobey, as much as she wanted to. Her hands lit up with the urgency of the words. She leapt into the air, flying higher than the smoke or bullets could ever get. She looked down as the light of (Y/N)’s powers grew small and smaller. But Annie couldn’t go back. Not when (Y/N) had taken control.
(Y/N) let out a breath, eyes slipping closed. They felt the press of hands and cuffs. They pulled on their powers. They would die before they were taken. They would kill themself. Another prick sent shivers up their arm, the sensation of sedation like molasses on their mind. (Y/N) wanted to scream, trying to tear their body apart from the inside out. At least they had protected Annie. Their sister.
They remembered.
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In the safety of the night, Butcher held up the small vial of the virus, precious and deadly. In the rearview mirror of the car, he saw Kessler nod to him proudly. Buther’s gaze hardened and went back to the road. Whatever it takes. Whosever death it took.
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“How long have you known?” said Homelander, following Calhoun to the deep, deep basement of the remote government weapon facility, top secret and protected from all entrance and exit.
“Only since this morning’s classified briefing,” assured Calhoun. “You were my first call.” He was loyal to Homelander after all. Terrified of him. When Homelander glanced at him to check his truthfulness, Calhoun swallowed. “Hand to God.” He gestured for Homelander to continue into a room of scientific monitoring equipment.
Homelander stepped down. He gazed at the white tank in the center of the room, glass clouded with the effects of the gas within. IVs dripped in, sedatives and nutrients alike pumped in.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” said Homelander. “This whole time.” He peered down at the glass. Soldier Boy’s comatose face was calm and placid beneath the glass, unchanged by time. Homelander exhaled, tears gathering in his eyes. He had his son. He had his sibling. He had his father.
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Angel Tablet
Summary: A demon is helpful, an angel is dangerous, and black is white.
(Y/N) watched Meg with more wariness than sympathy. She had definitely suffered at Crowley’s hands, but she was still Meg. She had gotten Ellen and Jo killed. She worked for Lucifer. She wasn’t exactly a good person. (They weren’t, either). However, with her mangled hair, bloody and cut up features, and myriad of bruises, Meg didn’t appear to be a threat at the current moment.
“So I got to ask, what’s up with the air?” Dean, on the other hand, was staring at the blond Meg wore. Sam and Dean stared at Dean incredulously, who put up his hands. “What?”
“Aw, thanks for noticing, Dean,” said Meg sarcastically. “But this wasn’t my idea. It was Crowley’s. And it’s just another reason I want to stab him in the face.”
“Wait a second,” said Sam. “You’ve been telling Crowley the location of Lucifer’s crypts.”
“What can I say? I needed a break from the constant torture,” snarked Meg. “And I did visit them all during my time with Yellow-Eyes. But don’t worry, I haven’t exactly been giving them glengarry leads.”
“You mean you’ve been lying to them?” said Castiel, arms crossed.
“I just get them in the ballpark,” said Meg with a half shrug. “Enough time’s passed and enough’s changed that they bought it.”
“Why lie?” said Dean.
“Buy myself some time, dummy,” said Meg as if he was stupid. “Try to find a way to get free.”
“Wait—so…a bunch of innocent people died so you could buy yourself some time?” said Sam, scoffing with incredulity.
“Hi. I’m Meg. I’m a demon,” said Meg.
“So, what have they found?” said Castiel.
“Bupkis,” said Meg.
That’s good, thought (Y/N).
“Every crypt’s been one Al Capone’s vault after another,” said Meg. “And on top of that, someone kept picking up on the trail and icing demons. I’m guessing that was you, Castiel. But Crowley keeps sending more. He’s hellbent on finding that angel tablet.”
(Y/N) straightened. “Angel tablet?” they repeated with a sharp look at Castiel, who looked away. His lie was confirmed, and an unsettled feeling of suspicion wound into them.
“Yes, Angel Tablet,” said Meg while Dean and Sam stared. “Crowley found out that Lucifer had it, figures it’s stashed in a crypt.”
“Well, this is news to me, as well,” said Castiel. He was a terrible liar. “Demons I interrogated, they must have been lying about their true intentions.”
(Y/N) narrowed their eyes. They didn’t believe him. They couldn’t. They had to remain wary. (It hurt to distrust someone who was like family, but what other choice did they have?)
“Really?” said Dean, the same note of sarcastic disbelief in his words as in (Y/N)’s gaze. “Cause I saw you ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ that demon. You were more than persuasive.”
“You’re both missing the point,” said Meg. “I lied to them, which means they’re digging in the wrong place. But not for long. They’ll be back here soon. So who’s up for fleeing?”
“She’s right. We need to find those crypts before they do,” said Sam. “Meg, you’re the only one who’s been there.”
Castiel nodded. “We need your help.”
Meg glanced at each of them. She chuckled wryly. “Any of you dummies got a map?”
“We have something better,” said (Y/N).
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In Ann Morton’s basement, Sam, Dean, (Y/N), and Castiel watched as Meg examined Ann’s recreation of the town. She gazed at each building before nodding and pointing.
“There. That’s where the crypt is,” she said.
“What’s there now?” wondered Sam.
“Do I look like google to you?” said Meg sarcastically. “None of these buildings were here way back in the day. Figure it out, genius. Is there any booze in this dump?” Without an answer, she headed upstairs to raid any wine cabinet or bourbon in the house.
“Cas,” said (Y/N). “You should go and fix her up. We might have to fight, and she’s useless all banged up.”
Castiel paused and nodded. “Very well.” He followed Meg upstairs.
(Y/N) watched him until the door swung closed and then looked at Dean and Sam. “He lied to us.”
“Yeah, maybe,” said Sam, taking his computer out. “I can kind of understand why. I mean, an Angel Tablet? If the Demon Tablet can shut the Gates of Hell, what can the Angel Tablet do?”
“That’s exactly my point,” said (Y/N). “Cas…doesn’t he normally trust us not to abuse this sort of stuff?”
“Maybe he’s just worried about other people finding out,” said Sam.
“I don’t know,” said (Y/N), frowning. “Something’s wrong.”
“He’s acting weirder and weirder,” said Dean. He crossed his arms with discomfort. “I don’t like it. Cas, the lies, the Angel Tablet—this whole thing is off.” (Y/N) nodded in agreement.
“Well, we can’t do anything until we get closer to the tablet,” said Sam. On cue, his computer beeped, and a picture of the town appeared. The map zoomed in on the location where Meg had pointed, corresponding to the model city perfectly. “Here goes. According to this, the crypt has to be below an abandoned building.”
“Good times,” said Dean.
“Those things must have some sort of aura that make people avoid them. They’re always abandoned,” said (Y/N). “Never, like, under an apartment building.”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if they were spelled to repel people,” said Sam, and (Y/N) nodded at the idea.
Dean glanced up at the door to the main floor. He crossed his arms tighter. “You really think we can trust Meg-stiel?” he grumbled the final word with a tone that edged into jealousy, but (Y/N) politely didn’t tease him about it. It wasn’t the time, and they weren’t sure that Dean was really aware of the feelings as much as he should be. They weren’t about to out him to himself.
“No,” said Sam. “Even if I understand why he could lie, we have to be careful. But what choice do we have other than listening to them?”
Dean and (Y/N) grimaced. Sam closed his computer and packed it up. They grabbed their stuff and headed back up the stairs. Castiel sat with Meg, bandaging her arm. Dean watched the soft movement and swallowed. Hard.
“Alright. Let’s roll, campers,” he said, more sarcasm than necessary in his voice. He headed out of the room.
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The group got out of the impala and headed towards the abandoned building. The moon hung low in the sky, and the mist from the nearby river floated up over the street, ghostly silver as it dampened (Y/N)’s skin.
“So, this is it,” said Meg. “Basement?”
“Alright, Cas, (Y/N), and I will head in and get out Indiana Jones on,” said Dean. He ordinarily would opt to keep (Y/N) farther from the danger, even if they were capable of handling it, but with the option of trusting Meg or Castiel, he would choose Castiel. Even with whatever was going on with Castiel, Dean believed he could count on him to not hurt the kid. “Sam, you stay outside with Meg.”
“Are you sure?” said Sam, glancing from Dean to (Y/N).
“I am,” said Dean, nodding. Between two dangers, he chose Castiel over Meg. Plus, someone had to watch Meg. Sam was the best option.
“Hey, I got you this far,” said Meg, knowing they were keeping an eye on her.
“Shut up, Meg,” said Sam, Dean, and (Y/N), and she grumbled under her breath.
“Okay, are we gonna do this?” said (Y/N).
The group nodded—Sam a bit reluctantly—and they split up. Sam and Meg stood outside, waiting for any demons Crowley could send their way. Dean, (Y/N), and Castiel headed into the dark building. They crept through the halls and down into the basement. Their flashlights followed each corridor and shone into each doorway as they went.
“Wait,” said Castiel, pausing beside a wall. “There’s a draft.” Dean turned his flashlight onto the stone wall. “There’s something behind here.” He felt the wall carefully. “Stand back,” he advised, flattening his palms against the stone.
Energy whined, and (Y/N) felt the hair on their arms lift with the static energy of magic flying through the air. The wall cracked and splintered underneath Castiel’s hand, and he focused. The stones crumbled inwards with a bang. Castiel drew his hands back and ducked through the opening. (Y/N) stepped through next, and Dean followed. They stood in a small, cramped, but once their flashlights lit it up, they found frescoes painted on the walls. A table stood in the center with a strange box atop, and shelves of little artifacts lined the walls. Dust and cobwebs covered every item, but (Y/N) could taste the magic and power within them from beneath the layers of the years that had passed since someone last entered the crypt.
“Dean. (Y/N).” Castiel spoke. His heart, somewhere beneath all of Naomi’s reminders of his loyalty and duty, ached. His voice came out mechanically. “That’s it.” He pointed at the small box in the corner of the room under a painting.
“How do you know?” said (Y/N), keeping a careful eye on him.
“It’s the only thing in here warded against angels,” said Castiel.
Dean and (Y/N) approached the box, and (Y/N) touched the lid. They nodded, feeling the warding, and Dean lifted the box so they could examine it on the table in the center of the room. (Y/N) pulled out a knife and inserted it into the seam of the lid, the entire thing stuck together after decades of neglect. (Y/N) forced the blade in and wiggled it until the lid popped. Dean carefully opened the box. Within was a slab of rock, reminiscent of the Demon Tablet, inscribed with words Dean and (Y/N) could not begin to comprehend.
“Winner winner, chicken dinner,” said Dean. He took the tablet out of the box.
“Good,” said Castiel, moving closer. “Hand it to me, and I’ll take it Heaven.”
Dean and (Y/N) exchanged a look, and (Y/N) carefully shook their head.
“No. We’ll take it to Kevin, and he can translate,” said (Y/N). Even if they did nothing with the information, they should know it at the very least. It was better to understand the world than leave themselves in the dark.
“Right. Of course,” said Castiel, words stilted. “I’ll take it to him right away.” His eyes didn’t leave the tablet. “No time to waste.”
(Y/N) felt a shiver run down their spine, and they touched their necklace, their telltale nervous tick.
“Well, he’s not that far,” said Dean “casually.” He didn’t like Castiel’s strange gaze. “I’ve been meaning to…go check on him, bring him some supplies.”
Castiel’s gaze flicked to Dean and (Y/N). Naomi needed him to protect Heaven from destruction at the hands of demons. He had to reason with Dean and (Y/N), otherwise his training would be put to use.
“I can resupply the prophet,” said Castiel.
“Well, you can come with us, how about that?” said (Y/N), watching Castiel circle the tablet.
“And you can keep working on your mission. Finding the other half to the Demon Tablet—that is your priority, isn’t it?” said Dean. He was beginning to think he should have insisted (Y/N) stay outside. Castiel was starting to act stranger and stranger. But Dean wanted to believe in his…in Castiel. He wanted to believe Castiel was their friend and wouldn’t harm him or (Y/N).
“I can’t let you take that, Dean,” said Castiel, voice growing more mechanical by the moment.
“Can’t or won’t?” said (Y/N), stomach curling with dread. They had a bad feeling that they weren’t fully speaking to Castiel but a product of Heaven.
“Both,” said Castiel, voice darkening somberly.
Dean stepped back and in front of (Y/N). “How did you get out of Purgatory, Cas?”
Castiel had begged with Naomi to let him do this another way. But no matter how long passed in Heaven, he was still back in the crypt and staring at (Y/N) and Dean coldly. His training was supposed to help him, but Castiel didn’t want to hurt them.
“Just…tell me how you got out of Purgatory.” Dean had a sickening feeling it would explain everything.
Kill them. Naomi’s order echoed in Castiel’s mind.
“Be honest with us—for the first time since you’ve been back—and this is yours.” Dean held the tablet tightly.
But Castiel just stared, the words not registering any more. He flexed his hand, and his angel blade dropped from his sleeve.
(Y/N)’s blood ran cold. “Cas? Cas—hold on.” But it was like there was nothing in his eyes, no recognition of who they were. “Cas, we don’t know what’s wrong, but, please, just tell us, and we can handle it together. Okay? Remember? Like I said last time—” so long ago, before the Leviathans and opening a door Purgatory “—we’re friends. You can ask us for help, and we can work together. Please, Cas. Don’t make the same mistake.”
Castiel stepped forward, the grip on his blade tightening.
“Cas, I don’t know if you can hear me, but you don’t have to do this,” said Dean. “Cas!”
Castiel swung with the knife, and Dean blocked with the tablet. Thunder rumbled as it was struck, and electricity burst outwards. (Y/N) felt the energy, grabbed it, and threw it back at Castiel. He jerked as the lightning burst through him. But he kept coming. He was no longer anything but a vessel for Heaven—Naomi’s—will.
“Cas, fight this!” said (Y/N). “It isn’t you!”
“Fight it!” said Dean, and Castiel struck again.
“Incussus fulminis!”
Castiel’s body jolted as (Y/N) struck again, eyes burning indigo in the darkness. He gasped, jerked slightly back to his own mind, and he grabbed his head.
“Naomi, what have you done to me?!” he cried in pain.
Dean’s eyes widened. “Who’s Naomi?”
“Cas?” (Y/N) gently reached out and touched his shoulder.
Castiel’s cold gaze snapped onto them, and he slashed at them. (Y/N) jumped back, and Dean let the tablet drop to grab them and pull them back. Castiel threw out a hand, and the pair flew into the wall. Dean groaned, and (Y/N) rolled over, grabbing the tablet. Dean got up and pulled them to their feet to run. Castiel stepped in between them. Dean tried to punch him, and Castiel grabbed his hand, twisting until a sickening crack echoed.
In a single moment, Castiel was thrown into the wall. (Y/N)’s eyes blaze in the darkness. They didn’t care that the stone shattered until the tablet itself was freed from its embedding. All they cared about was protecting Dean. Thunder rumbled as the words were freed more to the world.
Castiel launched back at them, and (Y/N) dodged. Castiel slashed, and they hissed as their arm was cut open. Dean tackled Castiel, and Castiel stumbled, punching him. Blood and bruises blossomed across his cheek, and Dean stumbled. Castiel’s gaze went to the slim tablet.
“You want it?” spat Dean. “Take it. But you’re going to have to kill me first.”
“And me,” panted (Y/N), holding their bleeding arm.
Each drip stained their fingers darker, and they narrowed their eyes, pulling on their offering to the world’s magic. Their fingers twitched, and Castiel raised a hand, pinning them to the wall with an invisible force. Their neck twisted uncomfortable, and they cried out, voice strangled. They couldn’t breathe. (Y/N) tried to focus—the drip of blood, the warmth of their magic, the call of it—focus, focus, focus.
Dean tried to curl his hand into a fist, and Castiel raised his blade.
“Come on, you coward,” said Dean. “Do it!”
Castiel struck him again, and Dean gasped. (Y/N)’s vision blurred. The flicker of their magic roared to life, and they felt themself sinking into it, eyes rolling back.
“Cas, this isn’t you,” groaned Dean, bleeding. He clutched Castiel’s arm. “This isn’t you.” Please, Cas. Listen to me. “I know you’re in there…”
Power exploded in the chamber, and Castiel stumbled. (Y/N) fell to the ground, panting with eyes wide in panic. They were on autopilot, and they looked up, eyes more inhuman than ever. Every instinct in them roared for them to fight and kill him for hurting them, but (Y/N) pulled it back, forced it down.
“Cas. You can hear us. I know it,” they said, voice raw.
Castiel held his blade aloft, gazing at the two people on their knees, injured and unwilling to hurt him, begging fro him to listen.
“It’s us.” Dean’s voice broke. “It-It’s me, Cas. We’re…We need you.” He swallowed, and he opened his heart to the air. It burned, raw and vulnerable. “I need you.” I need you because I—
“You have to choose, Castiel—” said Naomi. Castiel stood in the space between seconds in Heaven “—us or them.”
--I love you, Castiel. Dean gazed up at Castiel, begging him to understand. To see them. To hear him.
“Cas,” whispered (Y/N), reaching their hand out.
“Cas,” said Dean softly, hand on his trenchcoat.
Castiel stared down. His hand opened. The knife clattered to the floor. He leaned down to the tablet.
“Cas, no, listen—” (Y/N) grabbed his arm as he touched the tablet.
The tablet and its words turned golden as an angel touched it. A spark of purple energy swirled to life between (Y/N) and Castiel as they touched his arm. The two colors spiraled upwards into fireworks of energy. It blinded them all. Dean stumbled back, covered his eyes. (Y/N)’s head jerked up, breath catching at the divine magic they could feel. It was different than their own. Whereas theirs was the heat of a fire, scorching like the wind on their skin, angelic magic was like the sun warming their back.
The light died, and (Y/N)’s hand dropped as all the energy ran from them. They caught their breath, utterly overwhelmed by the power while simultaneously exhilarated by it. (Y/N) looked up to Castiel, who stared at the tablet. He turned to Dean and (Y/N) again. Slowly, he reached out to Dean.
“Cas?” said Dean uncertainly. Castiel reached for his face. “Cas, no, no—” He held onto Castiel’s arm as Castiel cradled his face.
His wounds melted away. Dean’s hand dropped. His stared at Castiel. His breath came in gasps. Castiel looked to (Y/N), who stared back with wide eyes. He reached out and touched their forehead gently, like a blessing. The bruises and cut to their arm healed in a single blossom of divine warmth. Castiel’s hand dropped.
“I’m so sorry, Dean, (Y/N),” he murmured, voice raw with true emotions. All the cold, robotic words had melted to Castiel’s true warmth.
“What-What the hell just happened?” breathed Dean. He had no words for what had happened. He just knew that Castiel was looking at him like he was Cas again. Like the angel Dean loved. Oh. Oh, God. I— The word reverberated in Dean’s mind, and he swallowed.
“I—” Castiel swallowed. “I have been lost.”
(Y/N) got to their feet and looked at Castiel with compassion. “Tell us.”
Castiel looked away. “I am ashamed.”
“Tell us anyways,” said (Y/N) softly.
And Castiel did. He spoke of returning to Earth and how Naomi had approached him. How she had convinced him—programmed him—to obey and protect Heaven in order to make up for the harm he’d done. How he had no choice in killing Alfie or the demons or nearly killing them. Castiel spoke with shame and guilt, but a sense of relief washed through him at being truthful to two of the people who meant the most to him in this world.
Dean stared. “So this ‘Naomi’ has been controlling since she got you out of Purgatory?” he clarified.
“Yeah,” said Castiel. There was no other word to say.
“W-Well, what broke the connection?” asked Dean uncertainly.
“I don’t know,” murmured Castiel. He suspected, though. Dean’s words. (Y/N)’s magic. The tablet’s purity. All of it, the love care between the three. “I just know that I have to protect this tablet now.”
“From Naomi?” asked (Y/N).
Castiel nodded solemnly. “Yes.” He swallowed. “And…from you.”
“From us? What are you talking about?” said Dean.
Castiel gazed at them for a long moment and then disappeared.
“Cas?” said Dean.
(Y/N)’s heart sunk. It seemed that the strangeness wasn’t gone. Nothing was solved. But he’s not controlled anymore, hoped (Y/N).
“Why did he—”
“Because he’s trying to do the right thing,” said (Y/N). “And something is telling him that’s the best thing.” They shook their head. “We’ll have to see if he’s right or not.”
Dean’s heart sank. He swallowed, the loss of Castiel after his realization hitting harder than it ever had. But he couldn’t dwell on it. It would hurt too much. So, Dean cleared his throat and focused on (Y/N). “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” said (Y/N). “Castiel healed me.” Even if they felt a slight ache, they were alright. “You?”
“Yeah. Fine,” lied Dean.
(Y/N) looked at him, and Dean knew they saw right through him. But they didn’t say anything. It was a mercy after all that his heart had already been through.
“Dean! (Y/N)!” Sam ran into the crypt. He looked around in alarm. “Where’s Cas?”
“He’s gone,” said Dean.
“We’ll explain,” said (Y/N). “Later.” They could tell something was going on.
“Meg?” asked Dean.
Sam swallowed. “We got to go—now. Crowley’s here.”
Dean and (Y/N) saw his urgency and moved instantly. They all ran for the exit, and Dean opened the impala doors. (Y/N) and Sam dove in.
“Where’s Meg?” said (Y/N).
“She’s stopping Crowley,” said Sam.
“She’ll die,” said (Y/N), staring at him.
“She knows,” said Sam.
(Y/N) turned around in their seat while Dean pressed on the gas. They watched as Meg stabbed Crowley through the arm. He shouted, twisted the blade around, and struck Meg. She cried out as the blade sunk into her chest. She fell.
The impala tore off down the street. (Y/N)’s gaze didn’t leave Meg’s body. They would never be able to like her. She had done too much harm. But…(Y/N) could respect her honorable, kind choice at the end of her life. They could give her memory that.
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“So…what happened?” said Sam, looking at Dean. Dean had explained everything—not his realization, though, that was too much for even Dean—and Sam could barely believe it. “I mean, Cas touched the tablet, and it reset him to his factory setting or something?”
“I don’t know. That or (Y/N)’s magic did something.” Dean glanced in the rearview mirror at (Y/N), and they shrugged. They had no idea, either. “But I don’t care. All I know is that he is off the reservation with a heavenly WMD.” He shook his head. “I can’t take anymore lies. From anyone.” He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
“Yeah,” said Sam.
“Yeah,” murmured (Y/N).
Cas, wherever you are…I hope you’re okay. They looked out the window and prayed for him. We’re here if you need us.
See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Thirty-Two
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Platonic! Yandere! Homelander and Supe! Reader
(Platonic! Soldier Boy and Supe! Reader)
Chapter Thirty-Two: Instability
Summary: Everyone pulls a Hail Mary, and things fall apart.
Chapter Warnings: Mental instability
Annie sat beside (Y/N) in silence. What else was she supposed to do? The world was going to hell. (Y/N) was dying. Annie was weak and useless. She looked at (Y/N). (Y/N) had taken a nuclear blast to the chest, and this was the consequence. Annie hadn’t saved them. She hadn’t been a good enough hero to protect them.
“Annie,” said Hughie, approaching them with the others on his heel. “How are they?”
Annie grimaced and looked at (Y/N). They opened their eyes, the eyes that hadn’t stopped glowing green and purple for hours, almost completely inhuman.
“I can hear you,” said (Y/N) matter-of-factly.
“I—Right. Sorry,” said Hughie.
“Petit (Y/N), for you,” said Frenchie, holding out a bottle.
“You are not giving them motherfuckin’ drugs,” said MM, taking it away.
“For the pain,” said Frenchie. “Subatomic decay must be painful.”
“Subatomic—What?” said Hughie.
“They put their atoms together. They are falling apart. It is subatomic decay,” said Frenchie succinctly.
“So, what, if we find a nuclear physicist, we could help them?” said Annie.
“Quantum physics,” corrected Frenchie. He might be a drug addict, but he was also a genius.
Annie looked at (Y/N) worriedly.
“I can feel it,” said (Y/N) absently. “Fragmenting.” They blinked and looked at the others fully. “I wonder if I’ll remember before it ends.”
“Stop—Stop talking like that,” said Annie. “Please. We’re going to help you.”
(Y/N) tilted their head. “You can’t even help yourself.” It wasn’t a cruel statement. It was a simple truth.
“Actually…maybe we can,” said Hughie, hesitating slightly. “I have—I got a call from Neuman. She wants to flip.”
Annie glared at Hughie. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Look, if we flip Neuman, as powerful as she is, with everything that she has on Vought, I mean—” Hughie held up his hands to defend himself “—if there’s even a five percent chance.” He didn’t trust it, but what other option did they have? What other option did Neuman have?
“Alors, what, just forget that Neuman is a monster?” said Frenchie incredulously.
“I’m not saying that. I’m saying—Look, we’ve all done bad shit,” said Hughie. “What if she’s just fucked-up like the rest of us, just trying to do right by her kid?”
“It’s insane that we’re even discussing this,” said Annie.
“What’s insane is that our solution to every problem is murder,” said Hughie. “I used to freak out whenever I saw blood. Now I barely blink at it. It shouldn’t be that way. This isn’t some fucking Vought movie. Violence isn’t brave. Neither is hating my mom or A-Train or anyone. But forgiveness, letting go, a little fucking mercy—that’s brave. It’s crazy. But it’s brave.” He swallowed and shook his head. “It’s about the last thing my dad ever taught me, and I just think…if we’re ever gonna win against monsters, I think we need to start acting human.”
Human. (Y/N) tilted their head. They couldn’t remember feeling that way. Before or after. The Child. The White Coats. No name. A product. Their head pounded, and (Y/N) closed their eyes as the world became bright and buzzing and breakable.
“Fuck it,” said MM.
Annie stared at him. “Really? That’s it?” She looked around incredulously. “Just…fuck it?”
“Annie, we’re probably dead either way,” said MM. “Might as well go out with our heads held high. So…fuck it.”
“Oh. Great,” scoffed Annie.
“Look, taking a chance with A-Train, that shit was crazy,” said MM. “But look how it turned out.”
“He was trying to change.”
Everyone looked at (Y/N) after another vague pronouncement. They were staring into space again, gaze on something they couldn’t see.
“He wanted to be better…” murmured (Y/N). Someone had told them they were sorry. Before.
No one knew who the fuck (Y/N) was talking about, and at the point they were with (Y/N)’s mind, they had to move on.
Annie let out a long, long breath. “Shit.” She squared her shoulders. “Fuck it.” They had nothing to lose. They were all dying or dead.
“Petit Hughie,” said Frenchie, “If you’re wrong…”
“Trust but verify,” said MM. “But, Frenchie, can you get that virus into Neuman’s system?”
“With a carbon metamaterial tip to a dart gun and I aim for soft tissue…” Frenchie considered. “Perhaps.”
“Then do it,” said MM. “Cause if this is a trap, at least we ain’t walking in blind.” He looked at Hughie. “And Hughie, if Neuman even blinks funny, Frenchie’s dropping her.”
“Fair. Got it,” said Hughie, nodding.
They had made their decision. They’d go out with a bang, if nothing else.
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Ryan sighed while he placed another marker in the connect four square. “You know I can hear you, right?”
Mallory and Butcher stopped whispering. They looked at Ryan.
“ ‘Marvin said there was an attempt on Singer’s life,’ ” repeated Ryan. “ ‘He survived.’ ”
“We know,” said Butcher. “There’s just some things you don’t got to worry about. That’s all.”
“They’re gonna try again, and that virus is a Hail Mary at best,” said Mallory. She looked at Butcher. “Marvin also said that someone was ‘off their rocker and heading for the moon.’ ”
Butcher blinked and frowned. Something was wrong with (Y/N). That was the message.
“They’re going to fall apart, and they’ll hurt people,” said Kessler. “I warned you.”
“We are out of time for better options,” said Butcher, ignoring Kessler.
“Do you want to tell me what the other message is about?” said Mallory.
“You don’t got to worry about it,” said Butcher. (Y/N) and their situation wasn’t exactly something that needed to be exposed.
“Like I don’t have to?” muttered Ryan.
Mallory looked at Butcher. “Ryan needs to know the truth. I need the truth.”
“And we’ll get there,” said Butcher evasively.
“What truth?” said Ryan, looking between them.
“The assassination attempt…it was on your father’s orders,” said Mallory.
Butcher glared at Mallory for being so curt, and Ryan stared at her.
“What?” he said.
“And Flight 37—” Mallory sat down “—Homelander killed every soul on board.”
“Grace,” said Butcher as Ryan sucked in a breath, eyes wide.
“You’re lying,” said Ryan.
“We have it on video,” said Mallory. “And he’s murdered countless more.”
Ryan shook his head, trying not to hear it, not to believe it.
“Borealis? He tortured them. Nearly killed them because they didn’t want to be his family,” said Mallory.
“He-No—What—” Ryan pushed back.
“Your father isn’t who he says he is,” said Mallory.
“Just stop,” said Butcher.
“And he wasn’t having an affair with your mother,” said Mallory.
“Grace!”
“He raped her.”
Butcher let out a breath as the truth came out.
Ryan went still and silent. He looked at Butcher. Butcher gazed back. Neither spoke, but a heaviness rested in the air at the revelation.
“I’m…sorry, son,” said Butcher finally, softly.
“And?” said Ryan. He swallowed. “Your heart’s pounding. There’s something you’re not telling me.” He needed to know it all.
“And you’re—you’re the only one who can stop him,” said Butcher. He paused. “You and—” He looked at Mallory and then back to Ryan “—(Y/N).”
Ryan’s eyes widened, and Mallory jerked up.
“Borealis?” said Mallory. “They’re—”
“Not dead, just off their rocker,” said Butcher.
“They’re alive?” said Ryan.
“Yes, and you two—you’re our only hope,” said Butcher. “To stop Homelander.”
“Stop—You mean kill him?” Ryan shook his head. “No, I-I can’t.”
“Ryan, you’re strong,” said Butcher. And (Y/N), no matter what condition they were in, was clearly powerful. They were just…a little out of control.
“He’s stronger,” said Ryan. “If-If (Y/N)’s alive, they’d do better, I can’t—”
“They’re still hurt, Ryan,” said Butcher.
“We’ll train you, you’ll get stronger, you’ll—”
Ryan snapped as Mallory spoke, “So this is why you want me to go with you? So you can teach me how to kill my dad?” He shook his head. “I have to go.”
“No, just stay,” said Mallory imploringly, moving between him and the door. “We’ll talk it out together.”
“I don’t want to talk,” said Ryan. “I’ll be back, I just need to think.” He had learned more of the monster his father was. He had learned (Y/N) was alive. He had learned he was wanted as a weapon.
“Listen, Ryan, there ain’t gonna be another time for you and me,” said Butcher. “Alright? Let’s just take a breather, yeah?” Ryan hesitated.
“You can’t leave,” said Mallory.
Instantly, Ryan’s walls went back up. He paused. “Wait…these walls are six feet thick.”
“This is the CIA’s Hazlet safe house,” admitted Mallory. “Designed to…hold people like you.”
Ryan’s eyes widened in betrayal.
“I could seal us in here, flood the place with halothane,” said Mallory. “And we all take a nice long nap. But I don’t want to do that, kiddo.”
“You planned this,” said Ryan. “All along. You-You brought me here to trap me.” He’d thought he’d found a place to be safe.
“No, we brought you here to help you,” said Butcher softly.
“You’re locking me in a cage unless I agree to be your weapon!” retorted Ryan.
Butcher flinched. So long ago, (Y/N) had accused him of trying to use them, too. “That ain’t the way it is, honest.”
“Let me go,” snapped Ryan.
“Ryan,” said Mallory. “When I lost my grandparents, it left this big empty black hole inside me. Then the greatest miracle came along.” She smiled sadly. “You. I love you, kiddo.”
Ryan sniffled. “Please.” Tears began to run down his cheeks. “Aunt Grace…I want to leave.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mallory softly.
“Get out of my way,” said Ryan.
“Grace,” warned Butcher.
“I’m sorry,” repeated Mallory, reaching for a button.
“No!”
Ryan panicked and shoved her away from the button that would release the halothane. Mallory flew back. A sickening crack echoed through the air. She crumpled to the ground. Ryan stared, silent. Butcher let out a breath. Ryan turned to look at Butcher, then back at Mallory. He stopped forward. He escaped the room, leaving everything behind—the pain and the new grief.
Butcher stumbled forward. He knelt. Mallory remained still. Tears burned his eyes. He felt a gaze on his back. Butcher turned. Kessler looked down at him. He had warned Butcher. Butcher hadn’t listened.
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Frenchie carefully placed the virus-filled syringe into his dart gun. MM nodded and crossed his arms. Kimiko sat with her legs swinging off a table, and (Y/N) sat beside her. Annie paced.
“Hello, hello,” called Hughie awkwardly, entering the room. Behind him, Zoe and Neuman walked in with a bodyguard.
“You took your braces off since the last time we saw you,” said Frenchie in a friendly manner to Zoe.
“Let’s not do that,” said Neuman.
“Uh-huh,” said Frenchie.
“How’s this gonna work, Neuman?” said MM, taking charge.
“Simple,” said Neuman. “You help me get clear of Homelander and Singer’s people in the CIA. And I go quietly.”
“Mhm,” said MM. “And you’ll owe us one.”
“A lot more than one,” said Neuman. “I will owe you many.”
“Great. So you’re gonna help us take down Vought and Homelander,” said Hughie.
Neuman nodded.
“Oi.”
Everyone turned when they heard Butcher. He rounded a corner, back in his trench coat, face hardened with anger.
“Butcher?” said Hughie, shocked.
“No deals,” said Butcher darkly.
“I can explain, alright? It’s all good,” said Hughie. “I know what this looks like, but with everything that we’ve been through together, I’ve never once asked you to trust me. I’m asking now.” He hesitated. “Like the way you used to trust Kenny. Please, Butcher.”
Butcher slowly reached out and placed a hand on Hughie’s shoulder. Hughie brightened hopefully. (Y/N) felt the air ripple. Butcher’s grip on Hughie tightened, and he threw him to the side. Neuman’s eyes widened, and she moved in front of Zoe.
Strange, wrinkled tendrils darted out from Butcher’s coat and grabbed Neuman. Zoe screamed, and the others gasped. Butcher slammed Neuman down on a table, and Zoe hissed, her own abilities flaring as she charged Butcher. Another of his tendrils hit her, and she flew into a wall, falling to the ground unconscious. The bodyguard grabbed his gun and fired. Butcher slammed him through glass in response.
Annie moved forward, but more tendrils rose and lashed at the others. MM, Kimiko, and Frenchie drew back warily. (Y/N) felt sparks run up their arm, and they rose.
“Stop!” cried Hughie from behind Butcher, watching as his friends were held back.
Butcher dragged Neuman into the air, her eyes blindfolded as she kicked against the tendrils.
“No, no, no, no!” Hughie looked between Neuman and Butcher.
The tendrils pulled, and Neuman’s body split in half. Blood and guts rained down. Hughie screamed as he was splashed. Neuman’s butchered body fell to the ground with a squelch.
The tendrils retreated into Butcher’s chest, and he stared down at the corpse with no emotion. The air around him buzzed, and (Y/N)’s fingers twitched. Slowly, Hughie looked at Butcher, blood dripping down his face. Butcher’s gaze was cold as he met Hughie’s eyes.
Butcher took a step towards Frenchie, who flinched. Kimiko lunged, and Hughie held up a hand.
Butcher took a step towards Frenchie, who flinched. Kimiko lunged, and Hughie held up a hand.
“Stop.”
Kimiko froze at the word and looked at (Y/N), who had spoken. They were staring at Butcher, brow furrowed. He feels similar to— The next words made their head pound and sparks reverberate up their arm, fingers twitching.
All the same, Frenchie held up the gun with the supe killing virus within. Butcher approached, and Frenchie squared his shoulders. Butcher just grinned.
“I’ll be taking that virus now, thanks, Frenchie,” said Butcher.
“Ain’t no fucking way,” retorted MM.
“You took V?” said Frenchie, finger on the trigger. “It will work on you, too.”
Butcher stepped towards Frenchie. (Y/N) could feel their powers seething beneath the surface, threatening to break their skin apart, to hasten the end. But they would let it tear them to pieces if it meant protecting their family.
Family. They hadn’t called them that since the After. Since the Before?
Frenchie stared at Butcher. He couldn’t pull the trigger. He just couldn’t.
Butcher pulled the gun from Frenchie’s hands forcefully. “If I were you lot, I wouldn’t hang about.” He headed towards the door. “Oh, by the way…You’re all fucking welcome.” He opened the door with a proud smirk.
(Y/N) watched him go. The air around him shivered. They narrowed their eyes. He felt like…like someone they had tried very hard to forget.
Saying the insane MV is canon, do you think alastor gets deja Vu 😆
In a bad way, yes. I mean, we're starting to see that he knows that he messed up because he really cares about Sprout but Sprout is rejecting that idea. So he probably remembers how easy it was to hurt people like them in the past and then thinks of how easily they think he could still hurt them
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Crypts
Summary: Demons and humans are dying: the Winchesters have to admit that's strange by their standards.
“What the hell is this?” said Dean, unearthing another strange-looking blade.
The old storerooms of the Bunker held a ridiculous amount of boxes and books, and despite spending hours combing through them, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) were no closer to seeing everything preserved by the Men of Letters. Besides, they barely knew what some of the artifacts were.
Dean lifted the box up and read the label. “Spear of Destiny? What is this, God’s toothpick?”
“They really should have made better labels for these boxes,” said (Y/N), putting aside another box that was filled with strange coins. They weren’t interested in being cursed. Dean opened a box and lifted a Fabergé egg out. He almost opened it, and (Y/N) gave him a look. “Don’t be stupid.”
Dean grumbled and put it back. He glanced at Sam, who sat at the table with his computer out. “You finding anything?”
“Uh, yeah,” said Sam. “Dead bodies showing up all over the Midwest last week. Benton, Indiana; Downers Grove, Illinois; Novi, Michigan; and then again last night in Lincoln Springs, Missouri.”
“And it’s for us?” said (Y/N).
“Yeah. Each of the victims had severe burns around their eyes, hands, and feet, puncture wounds through the backs of their hands, eyes and internal organs liquified,” said Sam.
“That sounds like us,” agreed Dean.
“Also, no link between any of the victims,” said Sam. “One was a real-estate agent, another was a local historian, woman killed last night was a teacher.”
“So chupacabra,” said Dean. Sam chuckled. “What do we got? Power tools gone rogue? Are we talking a ‘Maximum Overdrive’ situation here?”
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “Worth a shot, though.”
“Let’s gear up, then,” said (Y/N), stretching. They coughed and grabbed a glass of water. They took a long sip.
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“We just have a few routine follow-up questions about your wife, sir,” said Sam politely. “Did she have any enemies?”
“Ann?” said the grieving husband. “Honestly, I can’t think of a soul who’d want to hurt her, even after everything that happened.”
“Everything that happened?” prompted (Y/N), adjusting their tie.
“About a week ago, something changed in Ann,” admitted her husband. “She was out of sorts, not herself at all.”
Interesting, thought (Y/N).
“Out of sorts how?” asked Sam.
“It’d be better if I show you,” said her husband, gesturing for them to follow him. He led them towards the basement. “She stopped sleeping. She stopped eating.” He flicked on the lights. “She went out in the middle of the night, going God-knows-where. I tried to talk to her, but, uh, she would just mutter to herself.” He gestured to a large table where clay replicas of the town were set up, incredibly detailed.
“About what?” said Sam.
“Something…about an orchard?” The husband tried to remember. “Finally, I just followed her one night, and she went to the playground.” He pointed at the model. “Over here—the elementary school. And she started digging. She would leave with these little bags of dirt. Hung them here.” He gestured to the tiny bags hanging from the lights above the model table. “All these bags represent holes she dug in the ground.”
“Were these holes, uh, I don’t know—six feet deep?” asked Dean.
Subtle, thought (Y/N).
“No,” said the husband. “She dug for hours. She never broke a sweat. Straight down ten, maybe fifteen, feet.”
Huh. “Did you notice anything else?”
The husband shifted, and the hunters and witch noted it.
“I didn’t say anything to the cops ‘cause I didn’t want them to think I was crazy,” he said. “After Ann came home, I came down here to confront her, and she was on the phone.”
“Any idea who she was talking to?” asked Dean.
“No.” The husband shook his head. “But I know what I saw. And it wasn’t my Annie. After I called her out, her eyes…they turned black.” He shivered at the memory. “Now, I-I know I must have imagined it. I know I did. But I-I left. I went to the bar, probably had to much to drink, and by the time I came back—” he sighed despondently “—my Annie was, uh…I should have stayed. I should have protected her. I’m moving into my sister’s place today. I can’t be here anymore.”
“Sure,” said Dean.
“Well, thank you for your time,” said Sam. “We’re all very sorry for your loss.”
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“So, somebody’s killing demons. Well, that’s awesome,” said Dean as they left the house. “I feel like we should send a card or flowers. What kind of flower says ‘thanks for killing demons?’ ”
“Yeah, but who’s killing demons? And why?” wondered Sam.
“And what was the demon up to?” said (Y/N). “Digging in the dirt and building model houses isn’t the usual trouble they get up to. Usually it’s bloodier.” Theys hook their head. “Something is going on.”
“You just have to take the joy out of demons dying, don’t you?” said Dean.
“When it’s this suspicious? Absolutely,” said (Y/N).
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The impala pulled up next to another suburban house just as Sam was finishing a conversation on the phone.
“Sure. Of course. Well, thank you very much for your help,” said Sam. “I really appreciate the time.” He ended the phone call and got out of the impala. “So, real-estate guy’s wife said he was acting weird. Historian’s hubby said the same—just got all obsessive and then weird. No one saw any black eyes, but, still, where there’s smoke—”
“There’s fire,” finished (Y/N). “I wonder what they’re looking for.”
“Well, Wendy Rice here was the last person to speak to Ann, so let’s see if she can tell us,” said Dean, leading the way up to Wendy’s door. He knocked.
A woman in a bright blue shirt and ever brighter hair curlers opened the door. She regarded them curiously, and the hunters and witch took out their “IDs.”
“Special Agent Lynne,” said Sam. “These are my partners Special Agent Tandy and Special Agent Bellamy. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Ann Morton.”
“Oh,” said Wendy nervously, intimidated by the agents, especially in just her house clothes and rollers. “Of course. Um, please come in.”
They walked in, and Wendy escorted them to the living room. They sat, and she bustled around to grab cups of coffee for them all. She set a tray of steaming mugs down and smiled at them nervously.
“I had never met her before she called the other night,” said Wendy.
“Now, why was she calling you?” asked Sam.
“She was looking to find an original map of the city,” said Wendy.
“Did she say what for?” asked Sam.
“Well, she-she didn’t, but she did mention an-an old orchard that had gone missing,” said Wendy.
“Missing?” questioned Dean.
“This-this town was wiped from the earth by one of the river’s one-hundred-year floods,” explained Wendy. “It was rebuilt. But all the original records were lost.” She chuckled, embarrassed. “I’m a PhD candidate. And this-this is my research.” She hurried to her computer and grabbed a large folder of papers beside it. “My dissertation is-is on the history of this town and it’s connection to the Underground Railroad and-and-and whatnot.” She chuckled and unfolded a map. “I’ve been working to recreate a map for years as part of my research, and this—” she pointed at a section of the map “—this is the Old Jakubiak Orchard there. I found out yesterday it’s where Downey meets Bond Street.”
“Did Ann say anything about what she was working on? Something about why she was trying to find an orchard? Anything,” said (Y/N).
“No. We set a time to meet, and she never showed,” said Wendy. “Then I read about her in the paper.” She shivered. “It’s just tragic. Ann’s assistant called this morning, though, asking if I still had the map.”
“Assistant?” Sam furrowed his brow.
A knock sounded at the door, and Wendy brightened. “That’s probably him. Maybe he can help.” She stood and headed to the door.
She opened it to find three suspicious-looking men ((Y/N) narrowed their eyes as they saw the aggressive body-language). All the men’s eyes turned black. Wendy screamed. The demons lunged. One grabbed for Wendy, and two others lunged for Sam and Dean. Sam blocked a punch and hit back, and Dean ducked one attack. Wendy was thrown through the coffee table, and (Y/N) moved between her and the third demon. They blocked his attack while Sam tackled the demon through a glass door. (Y/N) shoved the demon back, and he stumbled, hitting the ground. He grabbed the map with one hand, scrambling up. (Y/N) threw him into the wall, and he hit the ground. The demon fighting Dean lunged, and (Y/N) dodged while Dean tackled him again. The demon with the map fled the house, and Dean cursed, grabbing the demon knife to stab the demon he was fighting.
The demon opened his body’s mouth, and black smoke poured out. It circled through the air, flying into Wendy’s prone body. She screamed until the demon took over her mind, and then she sat up, eyes black. She ran for the door, and (Y/N) and Dean thundered after her while Sam continued to wrestle with another demon on the ground.
(Y/N) shoved through the broken glass door and drew up short. Their eyes widened, and Dean jolted. While Sam lay underneath the demon attacking him, a knife stabbed through the demon’s head. His eyes burnt out, and the body slumped down. Castiel stood in place of the demon, angel blade in hand. In his other hand, he held the demon within Wendy by the curlers.
Dean faltered. “Cas?”
“Hello, Dean. (Y/N),” greeted Castiel. He looked down. “And Sam.”
Sam sat up and got to his feet. He massaged his shoulder. “Cas, what are you doing here?”
“I must track down the other demon,” he said, starting to set up a trap for the Wendy-demon.
“Already escaped,” said (Y/N), shaking their head.
“Then I should start to interrogate this one,” said Castiel.
“Wait a second, Cas,” said Sam. “Can we…talk first?”
“I have to—”
“Yeah, no,” said (Y/N), grabbing Castiel by the trenchcoat and dragging him into the living room so the demon couldn’t overhear anything. Dean and Sam glared at the trapped demon before following. “Where the hell have you been?”
Castiel looked away from (Y/N). He didn’t pull away. He knew what needed to be done, but he didn’t—he couldn’t—
“You heard me, didn’t you?” said Dean.
Castiel’s heart ached further. He tried to ignore it. He had been trained to. But when Dean looked at him like that, Castiel felt more than an angel ever should in a way he knew was forbidden for him.
Sam looked at Dean in surprise. “You prayed to him?”
Dean shifted, not answering. He didn’t have to. The look on his face—simultaneously relieved to see Castiel but also betrayed at having lost him for so long—said it all.
“Yes, I heard you,” said Castiel, keeping his expression emotionless—just as his heart should be. “But that’s not why I’m here.” He sat down in an armchair. “I’ve been hunting demons.”
“So this is you,” realized Sam. Castiel nodded.
“Why?” (Y/N) tilted their head.
Castiel paused before speaking. “I’ve been searching for the other half of the demon tablet.”
“Without us?” said Dean sharply, frustrated.
Castiel leaned forward and spoke curtly. “I’ve been trying to help, Dean. And in my search, I uncovered that Crowley has sent out demons to find Lucifer’s crypts.”
“Lucifer had crypts?” said Dean incredulously.
“Dozens of them, apparently,” said Castiel.
“What is he looking for?” asked (Y/N). “I mean, he must be desperate, judging by all the demon-power being put into this.”
Castiel hesitated again. He wanted to tell them all. He could not. “They’re looking for a parchment that would allow them to decipher Crowley’s half of the demon tablet without a prophet.”
“A demonic decoder ring?” said Dean. “In Crowley’s hands?”
“No thanks,” said (Y/N), making a face.
“The crypts were lost over time,” continued Castiel. “Only those closest to Lucifer knew their whereabouts.”
“Then how did Crowley find them?” asked Sam.
“His demons have been possessing locals who may have some special knowledge,” said Castiel.
“Like Ms. PhD Candidate,” said (Y/N), nodding.
“And it would explain the crazy room at Ann’s house,” said Sam in agreement. “But how did they know where to start looking in the first place?”
“I don’t know,” said Castiel. “I’m hoping the strange-haired demon in the kitchen is more knowledgeable than the others I interrogated.” He got up and headed into the kitchen.
Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged looks.
“Well, he puts the ‘ass’ in ‘Cas,’ doesn’t he?” remarked Dean dryly.
“He’s definitely off,” said Sam.
“Bland,” said (Y/N), frowning. Castiel had been rough when they first met him, but it was a clever mask for a man who cared deeply about the world. A man who was soft. This was an angel emptied of all that.
“He hasn’t been right since he got back from Purgatory,” said Dean. “We still don’t know how he got out of there.”
“I don’t know, Dean. If he’s so sketchy, then why were you praying to him?” said Sam.
(Y/N) glanced at Dean. They suspected why. It was deeper than what was right and wrong. It was the pure fact that it was Castiel. That’s what mattered to Dean: Castiel.
“You know, I can hear you all,” said Castiel within the kitchen. “I am a Celestial Being.”
The hunters and witch grimaced, shrugged, and got up. They might as well get involved. This was their case, now, too, and if Castiel was off, then it was up to them to handle it properly.
They entered the kitchen, and the demon glared at them from where she was forced to sit at the table.
“Sam and Dean Winchester. The little witch (Y/N),” said the demon. She chuckled. “Looking a little lost. You really shouldn’t have interfere—” Castiel drove his blade down through her hand, and she screamed.
Dean jerked as he remembered Hell, Sam winced with flashes of the Cage, and (Y/N) jolted at memories of their own cries. Castiel callously ripped the blade out and circled the demon.
“Who told you about the crypts?” he demanded.
“I thought angels were supposed to be the good cops,” sneered the demon.
What angels have you been meeting? scoffed (Y/N). They were rarely good at all.
As if asserting (Y/N)’s thoughts and snuffing out his own goodness, Castiel drove the blade through the demon’s other hand, and she gritted her teeth against an agonized scream. Just like he had done with all the other victims, he tortured one piece of the demon at a time.
“Wait! Stop!” she cried. “Stop!” She gritted her teeth. “We have a hostage!”
Castiel pulled the blade out. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exchanged looks. A hostage?
“It’s one of Crowley’s pets,” spat the demon. “She’s at the Murray Hotel, down by the interstate. She knows the towns where all the crypts are buried. She saw them all back in the day.”
“And she told you about the parchment?” asked Sam.
“What parchment?” spat the demon.
(Y/N) saw Castiel’s eyes flick towards them all warily. They narrowed their eyes, and Castiel lowered his gaze. Is he lying to us? Would Castiel betray them like that?
“Hey. Hey.” Dean glared at the demon. “Think he’s the only bad cop in this room? Stop lying. We know what you’re really looking for.”
“No,” scoffed the demon. “I’m telling you, we’re looking for—”
Castiel stabbed her through the chest. She screamed as her spirit was burned away, and the body of Wendy slumped over, dead.
“Cas!” shouted Sam.
Castiel pulled the blade out, face robotically expressionless.
“What the hell was that?!” demanded Sam.
“It told us what we needed,” said Castiel.
“No, she didn’t,” said (Y/N). “Are you hiding something?”
Castiel’s unnaturally cold gaze turned on them, but, unflinching, (Y/N) stared back. “I started this hunt without you because I didn’t want anything to slow me down. We have to get to the motel now.”
“Hold on a second—”
Castiel flew away before Sam could speak.
“Cas? Cas?!” shouted Dean to empty air. “Damn it. Go, go, go!” They would never beat him to the motel, but they could get there as fast they could all the same.
l
The tires of the Impala screeched as Dean slammed on the breaks. (Y/N) basically threw themself out of the car before they were fully stopped, looking up at the Murray Hotel. A flash of light illuminated a room—a demon was dying.
“There!” alerted (Y/N), leading the charge into the hotel and up the stairs.
They sprinted down the hall, Dean pulled out the demon knife, and Sam kicked the door down. The door flew open as a second demon fell onto the corpse of the first. Castiel stood over them in the second of the room. Broken chairs, shattered tables, and torn papers covered the rest of the floor, abandoned just like the bodies.
“Thanks for waiting,” bit out Sam.
Castiel didn’t respond and instead nodded to a closet door. “The hostage is in there.”
Dean brushed past Castiel and pushed the closet door open. (Y/N) peered around him. Their eyes widened. It was Meg.
Since you did ones for Vox and Lucifer I was wondering if you had any ideas for what a world where Miss Carmilla Carmine was Sprout's mother figure would look like?
Ooh, interesting! So, I'm actually interested in doing more with Carmilla and Sprout interacting in the future since them as a potential Overlord creates a cool dynamic, but if they had arrived in Hell and encountered her first, here's what I think
She would definitely be a little suspicious at first since she does not trust other sinners and prioritizes her family
But I think seeing a young sinner so scared, confused, and alone would remind her of what would happen to her daughters, one of whom is also on the younger side (in terms of the human age before she died), if she wasn't there, and that would soften her up
She'd probably stick to giving them protection in exchange for a job
And then, inevitably, she'd grow fond
Her daughters would get along well with Sprout, too, since they're a good kid and not out to manipulate people
Then, of course, Carmilla would be very protective
When the Overlords have a meeting? She'd keep Sprout far away
When she realizes they have strong magic? She stays very careful with who finds out and tells them to keep it quiet since it can be very dangerous for others to find out
She knows what other Overlords (Vox, Valentino, Alastor) would do if they saw that power in someone so hopelessly good in Hell
Obviously, Zestial is an exception
Father figure (even grandpa figure) Zestial sounds so fun to me
He would be so good with Sprout
He's definitely dangerous, he's an overlord, but I think that with a kid he'd be surprisingly nice, and with someone so non-manipulative like Sprout, he'd become respectful
So that would be another aspect of Sprout's support group in this AU
As for Sprout themself, they would gain confidence pretty quickly
100% gets trained to fight with and without their magic by Carmilla (they're actually probably a better overall fighter in this AU than in Canon haha)
Overall, I think the security of Sprout's feeling of family comes quicker in this AU because Carmilla is a mother
Oh, and if their parents come around in this AU? Carmilla is having none of it
The fight is spectacular, from Carmilla and Sprout (and Odette and Clara) it's a tough one
Screw their parents
(Also guys I am going to work on a special for this series, I really am, I hopefully will get one out semi-soon, like next weekend if I can get my shit together)
Based on Poppy’s Playtime Chapter 5 so slight spoilers for it: I think the only time Homelander takes any “accountability” for his treatment toward Borealis is when realizing that that they won’t come to their “senses” on their own.
“I see now that this is my fault. You act like a child because a child is what they made you.”
Oooh, yes. Homelander's version of accountability is literally always just like "Oh, let me try something else to prove that this is for the best." And believing the next time will be different
Indigo familiar idea cerberus Hellhound, a hellcat ,Weasel (joke on Crowley's nicknamefor them), Ferret, or some sort of snake. The point is whatever familiar they have HAS to be exotic
They will not get a familiar, as they said it's not something they're interested in or need, but if it was something, it would definitely be interesting, maybe some sort of mink or slinky creature (cats are definitely up there since they're so cat-coded)
Genuinely wondering, but out of all your series, which was your favorite to write?
Also I love love love lovvveee your writing!! <3
As a genuine answer: I don’t know. Different series and MCs have been fun for different reasons.
Adolescent Antichrist was. Really early story of mine so I got to see my writing improve and that makes it special
Nobody’s Soldier is something I love writing for because I have a clear picture of where I’m going and a really big love for the series (and I’ve really come to love the MC)
See Yourself Become the Villain is fun because I write for a maturer level of audience that was new for me and I like stretching new muscles when writing
So, yeah, I don’t really have an answer, it’s always fun for different reasons, and, of course, the newest stuff/what I’m writing for at the moment is always very exciting
Hi mouse! I'm starting to get out of a writers block and I really struggle with forming a coherent plot that fits in with the show I'm writing for. How do you plan what's happening to your characters and not make them too involved in all events that it seems unrealistic? You're writings so good that the characters feel natural in the plot and I struggle with that 😭 thank you!! Have a nice day <3
Here’s the trick: if you want them in a certain scene, ask “why would they be there.” When you have that answer, then you can write a scenario where it’s plausible that they’re there. That’s how I do it :)
However, sometimes there isn’t a good answer so you have to admit that it’s not possible and move on. When that happens I figure out what exactly in that scene I wanted the character to experience/learn/etc and try to build that same feeling into another scene.
I hope this helps! Good luck writing, practice is what matters at the end of the day
Hello! How are you? your writing is so cool and fun to read it really motivated me to write my own stories as well!! 🫶 Have you ever thought of writing for adventure time? There aren’t as much stories here than I thought and i love the show! seeing all your stories just gave me this random thought lmao 😂 Your genuinely so cool though you inspired me so much, so i also wanted to say thank you 🫶
First of all, thank you for enjoying, and I’m so glad you’ve been inspired! As for your question about Adventure Time, I actually have never watched it, so I’m afraid that I don’t really have the connection to it to write for it
