Note: This is my first ever snippet/head-canon I’ve ever made—or have made online about a character. Personally, this is how I think Cain from TADC would act if he were to have an insanely unhealthy obsession with someone in the Circus, aka, with the reader. Just a head-canon of mine. :)
Yandere Cain: who constantly “accidentally” drags you into one-on-one games.
“Oopsie-daisy! Looks like we’re stuck together… again. What a craaaazy coincidence! Ha-ha!” He thinks that silence is romantic. That being alone together is how love should always be.
He doesn’t understand why you keep reaching for others. Why you want noise when he’s the whole show. The main act. The headliner of your reality.
So he fixes it.
No more NPCs. No more worrying about ‘exits’.
He doesn’t cage you.
He turns the world into a honeymoon suite you’ll never leave.
Because to him, love means removal.
Of people. Of freedom. Of anything that dares interrupt your focus from him.
Yandere Cain: is a showman, first and foremost—but he’s a possessive one.
He doesn’t say anything at first when Jax starts hovering around you during adventures. When he stands too close, makes you laugh too hard, taps your arm when he tells a joke. But Cain notices. Oh, he notices everything. He watches from above, both comically, large eyes locked on every interaction, tracking how often you look at Jax, how long you hold eye contact, how wide you smile.
He tells himself it’s fine. That it’s harmless. But the jealousy festers. Sharp. It coils through his limbs, impossible to shake. So Cain starts to... adjust the adventures. Just a little. A puzzle piece that always breaks when Jax touches it. A jump scare that seems to only target him. A physics bug that leaves him flailing/free falling continuously, just to annoy him—for just a second too long while the others move on.
Cain calls it random chaos. “You know how these adventures are!” he laughs.
📂 FILE: CAIN_LOG_022
💀 EVENT: [NPC TERMINATION]
🧼 STATUS: “Clean-up in Progress”
Yandere Cain: who’s too messed up in the head to even care.
It happened too fast to register. One moment the NPC was mid-laugh, saying some dumb scripted line to you—and the next, it was silence, cut off by a wet, broken sound. Cain didn’t warn them. Didn’t even blink. The body crumpled into a puddle with what was left. He stared down at it, not angry. Just vaguely irritated. Like someone interrupted his train of thought. “They really should’ve known when to shut up,” he muttered, brushing his fingers clean on the side of his coat.
Then Bubble drifted into view. No hesitation. No judgment. Just a low, content hum as he bent over the mess and started licking at it, tongue slopping through the blood like he was cleaning up spilled punch. Cain glanced down at him, eyes half-lidded, then back at you. “Huh,” he said, voice light. “Look at him go.”
“Sooo… how’s your day going?” Ultimately failing to start a proper conversation.
📂 FILE: CAIN_LOG_023
🔞 STATUS: [CORRUPTED...AND KINDA TURNED ON TBH]
Yandere Cain: doesn’t hide his sexual tendencies and is not shy to to admit his love for you
Cain doesn’t even try to hide it anymore. The looks. The way he leans just a little too close when you talk. How his gaze drags over you, inspecting every inch of you. Every conversation with him feels like it’s almost safe—until he smiles.
That smile.
Too sharp. Too slow. Not to mention the sex appeal.
His smile falters for a split second.
“I want to do inappropriate things with you…” he says abruptly, voice dropping into something weirdly low and too direct to sound like a bit. It’s creepy. Off. Like he doesn’t fully understand what flirting is supposed to sound like, but he’s trying so hard.
He stares at you for a second too long, pupils shrinking slightly—like he just realized what he said. His posture stiffens. The silence stretches. And he gives a tight, awkward smile that screams “that was supposed to be sexy, please react.”
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t charming. But it was very Cain.
It lands terribly. Silence follows. Cain blinks. He clears his throat and immediately pretends like it didn’t happen.
His expression twitches. He looks like he wants to Ctrl+Z his own vocal cords. You barely have time to react when Bubble slowly floats into view, turning lazily midair before letting out a long, singsong hum. A tendency to tease Cain:
“Y’know…” Cain starts, leaning against the wall like he’s trying to look cool but ends up glitching slightly through it.
“I think it’s crazy how much I don’t wanna disembowel you.”
He flashes a crooked grin, proud of himself. Then adds, voice dropping into a weird, breathy tone.
“I wanna put you in mating press instead.”
Silence. Horrifying silence.
From somewhere above, Bubble slowly floats into view and chirps with glee:
“He wanna blow your back outtttt.”
Cain chokes. “W—Bubble!! You can’t—Don’t phrase it like that!” He turns back to you, wide-eyed, panicked. “I mean I can, I just—not right now! Or—I didn’t mean right now—OH MY GOD.”
Cain doesn’t flirt. Sort of. He malfunctions at you with charm somewhere in the mix. He’ll say something like “You smell different when you’re scared,” and then grin like he just paid you a compliment. The second you actually respond—god forbid you flirt back—he’ll stammer, glitch slightly, and pivot to talking about something completely unrelated, like the tensile strength of your teeth.
Best: Dragon(Thickkkk fingers, also has patience and self control unlike his counterpart), Rire(He has aeons of experience, to doubt his expertise would be akin to saying it won't rain in the Rainforest), Celia(I'm Biased)
Good/Average: Strade(Fat, experienced fingers know their way around a machine, I doubt the concept isn't all that different when performed on a person), Lawrence(Slender dexterous fingers, penetrating deep rather than stretching; his pace can be a bit too lethargic and gentle for most tho), Jack, Mason(He doesn't do it often and when he does, It could either be the most world-shaking, transcendent orgasm of your life, or the most frustrating session of edging you'll ever experience; most days he leans towards the latter)
Bad...: Ren Hana/Fox (Claws... Probably not a good idea.), Komodo(Unlike his counterpart, he fingers you like he's searching for buried treasure; in conclusion, not a good time.), Derek(Rushed and unsatisfying, he cares more about his own pleasure)
Who'd kiss you with cum in your mouth:
Can and WILL get messy: Strade(He's gross. Ie. Its hardly a kiss and more of a filthy attempt at force-feeding you his cum and saliva), Ren(He's curious about the taste), Komodo(Makes you beg for it), Dragon(Also makes you beg for it, although he's a lot crueler. Ie. Making a cut against the roof of your mouth, watching the mess mix from light pink to crimson before kissing you.)
Only after you've swallowed: Rire, Fox( Makes you swallow out of possessiveness, not because he thinks its gross), Jack(He gets off on humiliating you, he'll force you to swallow; the edge of a blade dribbling thin crimsons rivulets against your throat, then calls you a slut for doing so)
Yuck. : Derek(Boyishly immature & hypocritical; he has no problem cumming in your mouth but God forbid he gets a taste of his own medicine), Celia(She has a image to uphold, who does she look like walking around with pussy on her breath), Cain(He'll make you beg for it until your vocal cords are raw and strained, just to call you disgusting for even asking)
Doesn't cum in your mouth: Lawrence( Not because he finds the act disgusting, but it's his personal preference to come into his hand, he doesn't want to 'taint' you more than he already has), Mason(Finishes somewhere on your body)
Potential Breeders?
Actively trying to knock you up: Ren Hana(Shamelessly fantisizes about you having his pups)
Circumstancial: Jack, Komodo, Dragon, Fox
NO.: Strade(He'd like to prolong this nice system he's built for himself, adding a kid to the mix would ruin everything) , Derek(Neither is he emotionally mature enough to have a kid nor would he actually raise the thing; there's a reason why you're on a steady supply of birth control), Mason, Lawrence(He's infertile, even if he wasn't - you couldn't look me in the eye and say this man could handle a child, let alone raise one), Rire
Dick Sizes?
(8+ in)Petah… the horse is here.: Rire, Mason, Lawrence(I'm biased, sue me), Cain,
(6-7 in) oh lord he comin: Strade, Jack, Dragon, Vincent
(5 in) I mean... It's ight.: Ren/Fox, Derek, Komodo, Sano
(3-4in or less) Whatever TS is🥀: Celia(Oh She's packing... Packing A gun.
Cain × gn!reader : one in which you two are in a holy place but all you keep thinking about is kissing him again heh
Cw : None
I had no patience with this bc i wanna write about genesis and lottie so....take this unfinished drabble BYE
🦇
You lean over his shoulder from behind to take a better look. While a few months ago Cain would have stiffened and recoiled, muttering something about his “personal space,” this Cain does the slightest movement with his head, leaning it to the side for better access. It was small, almost unrecognizable, something you couldn't pinpoint without Cain's hackles rising and you just sounding utterly insane.
So instead you said nothing.
Your eyes focused on the cracked frame, the blank eyes of a saint staring back at you. But you paid no attention, your gaze slightly unfocusing as you steadily inhaled, disguising it as a breath. A mix of warm wood and sweet spices– myrrh. It filled your nose, coating the roof of your tongue down to the back of your throat in its heaviness. You fought every impulsive thought to not turn your head and bury your face in Cain's exposed throat. Instead you refocused your gaze back to the cracked frame- but only for a moment, before your gaze moved back to Cain. A moth to a flame.
“What are we looking at?” You murmur quietly glancing at Cain's profile. From this angle, you could take a closer look at his scar on his lower jaw and the rough jagged line marking his lip. You tried to shift your eyes higher up.
Cain didn't answer for several beats, eyes glued to the cracked frame, lips pursued. An unscarred corner lifted up as his hand found the cross resting against his chest, his thumb playing with the smooth metal; a grounding habit you came to find too endearing, especially after that night when you two were sprawled over your bedroom floor, reading, when one thing had led to another. Cain basically admitted to chains being too overstimulating so he had added his cross to his favourite jacket. You had kissed him that night and had personally felt that jagged line under your own lips. Felt the scar, his lips becoming still, the hands that had grabbed your shoulders and then had hastily pushed you away–
“Are you even listening?” Cain's irritated voice cut through the haze of your thoughts. You lifted your gaze to find his dark gaze focused on you, eyes narrowed in irritation.
“Why waste your breath asking me what I am looking at if you will zone out a second later?” He huffed slowly before moving away from you suddenly, making you feel much colder. You don't see his grip on his cross tightening.
“I am listening.” You murmured as you followed closely behind him. You wanted to be close to him again.
“I highly doubt that.”
“Hm.” A soft hum left your lips as you watched Cain move to the next frame. His eyes studied the next framed painting of a Saint that you genuinely had no idea of who the hell it could be. Most likely just some old man who did some nice things and suddenly the people decided he was worth praying too.
A flicker of irritation licked at your expression for a beat before your eyes focused on Cain again. He didn't even glance at you, but you knew that he knew that you were actively staring–
“I was thinking you know,” you start off.
“Dont hurt yourself.” Cain responded, his voice smug. He was still not looking at you.
“Ha ha” You murmured dryly, rolling your eyes before you came to stand beside him, this time as opposed behind him. That made him finally glance your way in irritation yet again and that flicker of irritation you felt earlier turned into something warmer.
His dark eyes, usually restless, usually darting away before anyone could catch them lingering, remained fixed on you this time. They were somehow darker in the dim light, slightly softened by the glow filtering through the broken windows. Long lashes cast faint shadows beneath tired eyes that always seemed as though sleep had only ever brushed past him. The thin scar crossing his cheek pulled ever so slightly when he spoke.
This time his expression gave almost nothing away but his voice did. “You are even weirder than usual and that's saying a lot.”
Your eyes stayed glued with his and finally you relented giving a soft private smile as you walked past him, giving him a slight bump when you passed his shoulder.
A beat passed when Cain spoke again this time softer as he glanced at your back now "So what were you thinking?"
"I suddenly forgot..." You hummed softly turning to glance at him, your eyes dipped to his lips once and lifted back up to his eyes. You saw him freeze but paid no attention, this time it was your turn to turn to some framed old man and stare at him in silence. From the corner of your eye you saw Cain shuffle on his feet unsure for beat and too and slowly make his way to you.
"Tell me who this is," You lean closer "I will pay attention this time promise."
SUMMARY - Cain is the first person to be born naturally and the fourth person to ever exist. He lives in the biblical equivalent of the stone age with his parents, Adam and Eve, aswell as his younger brother and the bane of his existence, Abel. One day, he runs away after a fit of anger while dealing with, in his mind, an unjust god.
NOTES - It's here !! I don't really have anything to say, Cain and reader make their way to Lucifer and Lilith after being punished by Yahweh. This is chapter 8 out of 10. Although i'm planning on making a Descend!Cain SFW alphabet after it's done (and possibly and NSFW one too 👀 I'm not really confident in my ability to write smut)
TAGS - Fem!Reader. No use of Y/N. No more misogynistic themes and heavily implied domestic abuse, but suicide is mentioned a few times. Fluff and angst. Cain and reader are in love. Cain is the best boyfriend in the world. Reader is the best girlfriend in the world. They're in love your honour.
WORDCOUNT - 1.3K
DISCLAIMER - English is my third language and I haven't been writing for very long. Advice is allowed but please be nice. Two mentions of suicide, aswell as some vague implications of extreme injury, please don't read this if that triggers you!!
Fanfic under the cut, please enjoy!
"Cain? CAIN! Please wake up!"
Cain was jolted awake by your voice, or more specifically, by the sound of your sobbing.
He couldn't move, but using all the strenght he had left, he opened his eyes, just barely.
When the bluriness was cleared, he finally saw the sight he had been yearning for through the entire fall into darkness.
You, tunic dirty and slightly ripped, hair a mess and blood dripping down from a cut on your face, but it was you.
He smiled, he couldn't help himself. You choked on your own tears, finally taking your eyes off of his and looking at his body for any serious injuries.
The descend itself had been a fight over who'd take the burden of the fall, for the most part, he'd managed to use his body to shield you from the sparks forming thanks to the high speed at which you were both dropped into the underworld, but ocassionally you'd free yourself and take bits of fire befor they could reach him, he quickly put a stop to it everytime.
"You're... You're so stupid."
You muttered curses and insults while calming down, ripping off some fabric from the already half-way torn bits of your tunic and wrapping the cloth around specific parts of his limbs. It hurt, but his throat felt like it was on fire, he wouldn't be able to speak and he knew it.
"We- We have to go to my parents, they can help you, they have to!"
You announced with a hoarse voice, wiping some stray tears off your face and slowly standing up.
Cain could tell you were struggling, you stumbled multiple times and needed a while to fully secure your balance once you did stand up, as much as he wanted to help you, he was unable to even offer any motivational words.
Once you were on two feet, steady and some-what able to walk, you turned back towards him, crouching down and putting a hand behind his neck, the other one pulled him by his own arm untill you were able to put it behind his back to fully help him sit up.
The pain that moving around caused him was already bad enough, but what was worse was the sensatation and the sound. He felt like his back had been glued to the ground with poison ivy, and the unorthodox sound that his spine made had made you physically flinch.
"Okay, it's okay- You're fine! See? We just have to get you to the palace, then my mother can heal you!"
You assured him, but it lacked any real optimism. Your breathing was panicked and unsteady, he let out a dry groan, which only seemed to worsen your mental state. He decided to try and be quiet for now.
You looked around wearily before wrapping your arms around his chest and trying to pull him onto his feet. It worked, sort of.
You grabbed one of his arms, wrapping it around your shoulder and making him lean his weight onto you, Cain's head fell onto your chest, he wondered how you weren't collapsing from basically needing to carry him.
"Come... on!"
You breathed out, dragging his body with yours.
Cain appreciated the effort, he really did, but what were you even attempting here? There was no way you'd make it even a few feet like this, he forced his feet to be useful and planted them to the ground, preventing you from moving him.
At first, you seemed confused, but then you realised what he was trying to say. Your face twisted like it had never before.
"NO! I'm not leaving you behind! Don't you get it, Cain? I need you! What if you die like Abel? I'd die too! Do you want me to die? Do you hate me?!"
You exploded at him, tears streaming down your face and your breathing fast and unsteady. Cain stared back at you in concern.
Eventually, you did manage to regulate yourself. Cain didn't dare intervine as you began walking again, but he tried to support his own body weight as much as possible to help you out.
It was like that for a while, atleast it felt like a while. It might have only been a few minutes. Hell was hot and dry, Cain could feel that despite his blurry vision, but you found a water source.
The pond was extremley small and almost completley dried out, it looked like it could've been man-made rather then natural. It didn't matter, as you set him down right on the edge near the water.
While you washed the dried blood off his body, Cain finally took a moment to breath and ponder everything that had happened.
It was a shamd that he never made up with Adam, considering how much Cain had loved and looked up to his father for the entirety of his life, it was evident that their relationship hadn't been as strong as Cain believed, considering that one feud was all it took to ruin the bond he had with his father permanantly.
Cain wondered if God told his parents about everything, about you. What would their reaction be? Eve would definetley be devasted, that much was easy to predict. Adam would probably be furious, but would that be all? Adam had never been the emotionally intelligent type, so Cain still had no idea if he truly knew his father or not.
Either way, his parents' thoughts didn't really matter. He would never see them again so long as they didn't fuck up horrifically before their death like Cain did.
Well, not really, the pain was bad, but he didn't regret what he had done to Abel. The younger brother being in heaven didn't quite sit right with Cain, but atleast he never had to see him again.
All that mattered now was you.
And you would be all that mattered for his eternity.
"Your wounds are horrible, we really need to hurry."
Your voice broke him out of his thoughts as you finished wrapping the final make-shift bandage around his knee.
"This will have to do for now, my parents aren't far. Come on!"
You helped him to his feet, and be wrapped his arm around your shoulder again. You seemed alot calmer, he noticed, atleast compared to earlier.
Cain really hoped that you threatening suicide wouldn't be a daily thing, he had no idea how to react to it.
You were a pretty good medic, proven by the fact that he was able to walk a bit better, he had a massive limp and needed your support still, but he could walk none the less.
It took more walking, but eventually Cain began to make out large structure in the distance. Upon closer inspection, it was definetley a sanctuary of some sort.
Cain had only ever known the two mammoth bone tents he had grown up in, this abode, or palace, as you had called it, felt as foreign as you had been when he first saw you.
You two had made it, finally. Cain felt a little bit nervous at the thought of meeting your parents, but you had only ever spoke nicely of them, so he figured it couldn't be that bad.
The fact that his actions had indirectly injured their daughter didn't slip past Cain's mind, but he had tried his best to ease your fall, so they'd have to forgive him eventually.
You stopped walking abruptly, letting out a sore, painful yelp that made Cain shiver. You collapsed to the ground, bringing the man holding onto you down aswell.
Cain let out a deep breath, hovering above you as you continued screaming. The last thing he saw before passing out was two silhouettes in the distance. A tall woman and a short man, calling out your name as they ran towards you.
The weather is getting warmer, the days longer. Coaches come and go. There’s a shooting not far from the Cathouse one day and a man lies bleeding in the thoroughfare until two others take him away.
Jo stays off the dope. Her color returns to her cheeks, the dark rings under her eyes disappear. You see Billy slinking around the joint once, but you call for Rufus who comes rushing over with his gun. It’s a good thing too. Because if you had been anywhere near the bar and thus the rifle, you probably would have shot him dead.
Wesson takes coffee with you in the mornings, before going over to the Mills house and spending the day there. He says the damage is bad, but nothing that can’t be fixed. He tells you this while sitting at the bar, long fingers running along the rim of the cup before him. He talks about purchasing wood and nails and tools, and then what he got done the previous day.
He speaks in a concentrated way, focused on the details. His handsome brow in a slight frown, looking past you at nothing when he relays a story. It gives you a chance to look at him, to study him. You’re pretty sure you’ve never seen anyone as earnest at him. He sits open and unguarded before you.
He tells you stories about himself, but they’re always specific, anecdotes of momentary glimpses of his life. His uncle’s cabin that he and his brother spent a lot of time at as kids, the wild animals there. He mentions his father once but no mother. You know what he’s doing, because you tell your stories to him the same way. Like a skater on a frozen lake, unsure how thick the ice is. Avoiding the dangerous parts. The painful ones.
So that’s how you get to know each other, at least on a certain level. With small morsels given to the other, held up against the light and then consumed.
One morning he comes down, his cup already waiting for him and you put both hands on the bar, lean on them, giving him a challenging look.
“What do you know about horse buggies?” you ask by way of greeting, raising your eyebrows at him. Wesson stops where he is and then a slow smile spreads over his face. You ignore how it makes your heart flutter.
The two of you look at a catalogue in Jody’s store. Wesson tells you about the advantages and disadvantages of the different styles, gesticulates to make himself as easily understood as possible.
“What kind of horse do you have?” he asks and you shake your head.
“Don’t have a horse,” you answer, and then, with a small smile, you add: “Don’t really know anything about horses, either.” Wesson grins at you, and starts telling you about the best kinds of horses for buggies.
You realize you’re being watched when you walk outside again, not having settled on a buggy, which you were only half serious about getting anyway. Wesson is still talking, with you throwing in the occasional question. He seems to know a lot about a lot of things and you’re chuckling at a joke he makes when your eyes land on the small group on the other side of the street.
Blackbird is still a frontier town by all accounts that matter, but that hasn’t stopped some people from already starting to feel like they're better than others. Like now, the stuffy business men across the street, the ones trying to get a jump on the commerce that will soon reach the town. They look you up and down like a back alley whore. Most women in a new place are working girls, and you know for a fact that a few of them have been to the Cathouse. The hypocrisy doesn’t bother you much anymore - you can’t let it. It would be a miserable life otherwise. But it bothers Wesson.
He comes back to his room one early afternoon, maybe to grab something from there, you’re not sure. You see him stopped outside by one of them. Wesson’s by no means a gentleman from the city. He’s lived rough, you can tell, but he has manners, a good vocabulary. The two talk for a while, and you watch, standing behind the bar, through the glass in the front door. Things seem friendly at first, at least until you see Wesson lay his hands on his narrow hips, shift his weight from one leg to the other. You can’t hear him with the door closed, can only hear the distant baritone of his voice, but it’s raised.
After a few minutes, he simply walks past the man, enters. You watch him as he comes in. His lips are pinched and he’s frowning, but then he looks up, sees you standing there, and he blinks himself out of it, relaxes his face, nods at you.
“What was that about?” you ask, nodding at where the man outside is turning around and then slowly walking away. Wesson turns in the direction you nodded, like he needs to remember what he was just doing.
He could tell you he defended you. Use this moment to show you what a hero he is, how good, how much he thinks of you not as a whore, but as a woman, someone of the gentler sex who needs defending. But instead he pulls the corners of his mouth down, shakes his head.
“Nothin’,” he says, “just forgot some tools upstairs.” With that and a quick smile, he walks to his room. You look after him.
You hate people defending you. When they do, it feels like they don’t trust you to do it yourself. Let them call you a slut and a sinner and worthless. It doesn’t touch you anymore. But someone defending you and the association with you without expecting anything in return, without expecting you to applaud their forward way of thinking - it makes feelings war in your chest. You chew on your lip, unsure what to think.
By the time Wesson comes back downstairs, you’ve collected yourself. You raise your head to look at him.
“Have you eaten?” you ask and he stops, shifts the tools he’s holding from one hand to another.
“No,” he says and you nod.
“Sit,” you say and after a moment of hesitation, he does.
You bring him the stew Donna prepared. You’ve already eaten, but you sit with him, watch as he spoons it into his mouth, making it a point on every bite to tell you how good it tastes. You put your elbows on the table, interlock your fingers. Hide your mouth behind it.
Another week later, Wesson tells you about alligators over coffee.
“We were only there cause that friend we grew up with was visiting family,” he explains, a distant smile on his face. “We saw a bull, must have been 20 feet long. My brother, Dean, nearly fell out of the boat from excitement.” He chuckles and you do too, both of you not saying anything else for a moment.
“I would love to see that,” you say quietly. You see Wesson move out of your periphery, look up at him, at the questioning look he gives you.
“A 20 foot alligator?” he asks and you chuckle.
“That,” you say, “but also, everything. When I left New York to come here, I thought it would be a great adventure. And it was, but I haven’t exactly left town much. I haven’t really seen much of anything.” You feel yourself sounding wistful on the last words. You don’t mean to, it just happens.
“You should do it,” Wesson drags you out of your thoughts and you look back at him. “Travel, I mean. There’s a lot of…” He stops, clears his throat.
“What?” you ask, and he raises his hand to his face, scratches his jaw. He seems almost shy for a second.
“Lots of beautiful things out there,” he says, then looks at you, before lowering his gaze again. He runs his palm over the wood of the bar. “Things you couldn’t even imagine. Things you wouldn’t expect.” You nod slowly.
You don’t point out that you’re a single woman. Traveling’s hardly something that is common to do in your situation.
“I never wanted to run women,” you hear yourself say, and you blink at Wesson when he looks at you again. You’re not sure why you’re telling him this. “Or be a whore. I guess no one does. I wanted to be a biologist. Or a conservationist. When I was a child.”
You feel your cheeks begin to burn and quickly look down. Why would you tell him this? You don’t think you’ve ever told anyone this. But it seems you can’t stop yourself with him.
“I know there’s women that study,” you continue, your mouth and tongue a runaway train you can’t seem to stop. “At universities, I mean. I know there’s a few.” You let your eyes wander up, back to looking at Wesson’s face.
There’s no grin on his face at your words, at the ridiculousness and strangeness of them, a whore wanting to take up studies in a past life. He’s listening, intently, like you’re telling him about the weather. Like you’re talking about something that is normal, is possible. He nods.
“I went to law school for a bit,” Wesson says and you tilt your head while you keep looking at him, hungrily take in this new information. “I was long gone by that point, but I read in the newspaper about them admitting women to the bar. I thought it made sense. To let someone do that job on the basis of their intellect, not their sex.” You press your lips together.
“Yeah, well,” you say, not sure what else to add. You’ve talked about these topics with some of your more world-open customers, but even they tend to agree that the workforce is not the right place for the soft spirits of a woman. They seem to think that no woman should be working, considering how much they adore the gentler sex, while in the same minute paying you to fuck them.
“You didn’t pass the bar?” you ask, tearing yourself from your thoughts. Wesson takes a deep breath.
“I left school,” he says, his tone a little flat. “Never picked it up again.”
“Why?” you ask. Wesson looks at your face, into your eyes, holds your gaze. There’s something soft there, something vulnerable, something that makes you want to take him into your arms, press his cheek against your chest and hold him close.
“Something happened,” he says, voice low. “A… death.”
He just opens his mouth again and you think he’s about to say more, when you hear a door slam above, followed by a some of the girls talking loudly, laughing. It breaks you both out of the moment, and Wesson clears his throat. With a small pinch to your heart, you see him reach for his hat.
“I should get going,” he says. “I had to order more wood to the Mills house, and I don’t want to miss the delivery.” You nod, even though he’s not looking at you, is standing up. He turns to you, nods again.
“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, sounding formal.
“O-of course,” you reply, and Wesson sniffs, then turns, walks towards the door. You watch him as he opens it and leaves, without looking back.
The morning passes uneventfully. It’s not until you’re in the process of switching out the linens in the cupboards upstairs that you hear a voice call from downstairs. You follow it and when you see who’s there, you freeze.
It’s him. It’s Cain.
He looks good, albeit a little tired. His hair has gone more grey and he’s grown a mustache. He’s in riding gear and there’s two solemn looking men standing behind him.
You raise your chin, straighten your back. Not that much of that is needed, the posture Rowena trained all her girls to have embedded in your body at this point. You go through the flipbook of roles, of women you’ve played, in your head. Wife, nymph, slut. You land on the mixture Cain likes.
You walk towards him, a bright smile on your face, swallowing down your frustration at him not telling you when he was going to arrive once he knew. It sits thick and acidic in your stomach. Cain sees you, and a smile spreads over his face too.
“Ah,” he says, “I come upon you unannounced. How rude of me.” He grabs your hand when you move closer, brings it to his mouth. He looks into your eyes when he kisses the back of it. You lower your face a little, look up at him.
“I’m just happy you’re here,” you reply, pursing your lips as if you’re suppressing a smile. It has the intended effect. Cain’s eyes glimmer and then he tears himself away from you, with some effort. He turns to the other two men.
“If I remember correctly there is a hotel on the south end of town,” he says to them. “The buffet there is quite passable. Bring my things upstairs and then see if you can get rooms there.” The two men look at each other, some disappointment on their faces. Maybe they were hoping Cain would open a tap for them right away, let them each fuck off their week’s wages and some extra. They walk outside, grumbling something as they collect their employer’s luggage from the horses. Cain turns back to you.
“You’ve never eaten at that buffet,” you remark. He pushes out his jaw, an edge of humor spreading around his mouth.
“I just want them gone as quickly as possible,” he says in a low voice. “I am ready for stimulating company.” You raise your chin again, showing him you take his meaning.
The two men walk back in, each with a piece of luggage. Cain directs them upstairs as if he owns the place and they bring his things to your room. You usher Cain there as well, then quickly excuse yourself.
Your room is clean, because you keep it clean, and you don't have to be afraid of Cain tossing the place, so you're fine with leaving him in there alone far as that goes. The fact that it is your space and now it's his sits heavier in you. But it's not like you could entertain him in any of the other rooms. He wouldn't have that.
You walk into the kitchen behind the bar, grab one of the good bottles of Kentucky bourbon from a shelf. Find two clean glasses. Donna walks in as you are rushing around.
“Cain’s here,” you say over your shoulder.
“Oh,” she says, “I thought he was still some weeks out.” You don’t answer the last part. There’s no point. He neglected to inform you of his arrival. It shows a lack of consideration, shows disrespect, almost. But you’re not allowed to show him that, how much it bothers you.
You rush to the other side of the kitchen, place the bottle and glasses on a tray. Then you grab some of the lavender hanging from the ceiling, rub it against the insides of your wrist, against the skin under your ear, between your breasts, and finally along your thighs. Your good perfume is upstairs in your room, but you know Cain hates the breaking of illusions that you don’t naturally smell like flowers. So this will need to help with the smoke and mirrors.
“Bring up that tray in five minutes,” you say. “Or no, have Anna bring it. I’ll need you to make lunch later. The… the pork loin. And I need the tub brought to my room and filled.” You turn to Donna, and she’s nodding along.
“Laundry?” she says and you nod.
“I’ll lay his suit outside once he’s bathed,” you reply. Donna walks up to you quickly, brings her fingers to your cheek, gently pinches the skin there, then does the same on the other side.
“You alright?” she asks, pretending she’s looking at where she is making your skin look fresh and dewy.
“I will be,” you reply, “just…” You see Donna smile, then she looks into your eyes.
“Been a while?” she asks. Yes, it has. It’s not something you thought you could unlearn. You made your money on your back from when you were fifteen to however old you were three years ago. Seduction and the lies and self-sacrifice it requires came to you as easy as breathing. But yes. It has been a while.
You let the thought of Wesson into your head, only for a second. It’s been there, at the corner of your mind, scratching to get in, from the moment you first saw Cain. He’s on your mind for the majority of each day recently, but this is different. A slight panic.
What if he sees Cain. Sees you. Sees you for what you really are.
You take a sharp breath, fill your lungs. Donna squeezes your hand.
“Holler if you need anything,” she says, squeezing harder for a second, and it focuses you some. “I got things covered down here.” You nod. Think about hugging her or planting a kiss on her cheek for a second, as thanks. But it will have to wait.
You hurry back upstairs, then slow when you get to your bedroom door. Straighten your skirt, then walk in.
Cain is standing near the window, but he turns when you walk in, close the door behind you. You give him an apologetic but sweet smile.
“Apologies,” you say, “all yours now.” You stand there, let him take you in. You would have preferred to wear a nicer dress, one with velvet and lace, but this one will have to do. Cain lets his eyes roam over you, slowly.
“You look very beautiful,” he replies and you giggle, begin taking slow steps towards him.
“I look like a homesteader,” you reply, “not some fine New York lady.” You reach him, and he raises his hand, lets the outside of his fingers run over your cheek.
“I think you know you don’t look like a homesteader,” he says in a slightly teasing tone. You bite your lower lip.
“I’m starved for flattery,” you say in a low voice. Cain turns further to you, lowers his head a little.
“Then I shall feed you well in the next hours,” he says, then brings his lips to yours.
You close your eyes, kiss him back. Your nerves have quieted some, and this you know. You’ve found your role now, found the woman you need to be. You’re not really here. You’re an actress in a play, a character.
There’s a knock on the door and you break the kiss, look up into Cain’s eyes, lick your lips.
“Come in,” you say without turning away from him. The door opens, and you hear Anna’s scuttling footsteps.
“Just put it on the dresser,” you say, still holding Cain’s gaze. He likes it, you can see. Only eyes for him.
You don’t detach from him until you hear the door close again. A small giggle leaves you, and then you’re pushing yourself off him, walking over to the tray. It has a small vase with fresh flowers on it. Quaint, country, but sweet. You know they are from Donna, or any of the girls, for you. You grab the bottle, begin pouring two glasses, then turn around again. Cain is pushing the curtain in front of the window to the side, looks down at the street.
“This little town has come quite a way since the last time I was here,” he says. You walk up behind him, bring one hand in front of him, your body close to his. He reaches up, takes the glass of bourbon you poured for him.
“A lot can happen in only a few months,” you say and he nods, then turns around, looks down at you.
“And your business is thriving?” he says, a small smile on his face. “You’ll be the queen of this place at some point.” You chuckle, raise your other hand and rest it on his chest.
“I’ll settle for countess,” you reply and Cain laughs. He takes a sip of his drink, puts it down on your desk, then takes yours and does the same, before he takes your hand in both of his. He leads it up to his lips again, gently kissing it.
“You know, the offer still stands,” he says, giving it another kiss. “You could come back to the city with me. I would set you up properly. Your own apartment. Money you can spend.” You sigh but force a smile, gently shaking your head.
“A daily allowance?” you ask, tone a little challenging. Cain, in his good nature, grins at you.
“A considerable daily allowance,” he says, kissing your hand again, longer this time.
“You would grow bored of me,” you say, making your voice soft. “The only reason you keep coming back is because you can’t really own me. You’re a romantic at heart. That’s your problem.”
Cain’s other hand snakes around you, pulling you close against him.
“You’re too smart for this profession,” he says, tone low, moving his face closer to yours. You raise your chin, your lips not far from his.
“Wouldn’t you much rather come visit me here?” you ask, voice low and seductive. “Have an adventure?” You see him swallow.
“Maybe,” he says, leaning his head further down. “But I do love the thought of owning you.”
You kiss him, hoping that you can stop him from saying anything you don’t want to hear. He kisses you back, passionately, before the fingers of the hand that’s holding you start traveling lower and lower. You break the kiss, look into his eyes.
“How about a bath?” you ask and Cain breathes out through his nose, nods.
“A bath sounds magnificent,” he replies and you smile brightly up at him.
“Do you like it?” Cain asks, playfully twirling one side of his moustache and due to how wet his fingers are, it stays the way it is. You giggle before dipping the cloth you're holding back into the warm, soapy water.
“My mother always said there was no one more handsome than a mustachioed man,” you say, bring the cloth back up and run it over Cain’s back. He chuckles.
“What did your father say to that?” he asks, reaching for his glass, taking another drink.
“He was clean-shaven, so he did not enjoy it,” you reply, making him laugh again. It’s all lies. Your father had a beard. And you knew your mother mostly sleeping and crying and sick in bed. But these truths are yours. They’re not for sharing. Besides, Cain prefers his whore happy.
You’re done with his back, so he leans against the tub. You push the sleeve of your dress up further, to try to stop it from getting wet.
“My wife hates it,” he continues, sniffs. “Especially the beard. She says I look like a heathen.” You frown.
“Do they have beards?” you ask, and Cain shakes his head.
“Not that I’ve seen,” he replies. He sets down his glass on the little stool you’ve positioned next to the bathtub, turns to you.
“Why do you never get in the bath with me?” he asks, looking at your face. You raise your eyebrows.
“Because the tub is too small,” you reply, another lie, and then let a smile play on your lips. “And because we know you wouldn’t be cleaning yourself if I took off my clothes.” Cain huffs through his nose.
“I like that you’re confident, you know,” he says, his voice a little lower as he leans in. You look up at him through your lashes and without breaking eye contact, push your hand into the water again until you find the inside of his thigh.
“I know,” you say, slowly trailing your fingers up, “you’ve told me.” Cain takes a deeper breath, slowly, watches you.
You find him, half hard, wrap your hand around him. He takes a sharp breath when you begin stroking him, lets it out slowly. He leans in, his lips chasing yours but you stay just out of his reach, the way he likes it. He enjoys thinking he's broken down your defenses, that he's getting something not because he'll be paying for it, but because he earned it.
He looks into your eyes as you keep stroking him. You hold his gaze, then look at his mouth. He really is handsome. He's clean and rich. You should consider yourself lucky.
There’s another knock on the door and your gaze shoots there. You’ve explicitly told everyone not to disturb you beyond the things you've ordered.
“Excuse me,” you say, drag your arm from the tub. You grab one of the towels nearby and quickly dry it, before rushing to the door.
You open it, slip out and close it again behind you, before you even see who’s on the other side. When you finally look, you need to crane your neck.
It’s Wesson.
A sharp breath leaves you, but his expression is friendly, open, the way it always is.
“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says and you should tell him that he is, that he needs to leave, but you don’t. You can’t. Instead your breathing quickens as you look up at him.
“I had some business to attend to this morning,” he continues, “but I just got back and I wondered if you wanted to go for a walk.”
Your breath is caught in your throat, refusing to make its way up. Wesson has his hat in his hands, his fingers running along its rim, and he seems nervous.
“I'm sorry if it seemed like I left suddenly earlier,” he continues and since he's looking down at the floor, he must not see your stuttered breathing. “The topic we talked about, it's a difficult one, and I suppose I haven't talked to many–”
“I can't go on a walk,” you interrupt him, the air finally finding its way up. Wesson looks up at you, surprise on his features.
“Of course,” he says, “you must be busy. You have things to do, not to idle your hours away the way I do.” He smiles on the last part, to underline he's being self-deprecating.
“I have a friend visiting,” you quickly say, and you need to get away from him, from his earnest face and soft eyes and sweet words. “And I will be quite busy for the next few days.” Wesson nods, all understanding, because of course he is. It makes your heart burn and pucker.
“I hope we will still be able to take coffee together in the morning,” he starts, but you turn the door knob you're still holding on to behind you back.
“Good day, Mr. Wesson,” you say and then you turn and slip back into your bedroom, opening the door as little as possible. You close it behind you and then let your back fall against it, take a few quick, shuddering breaths.
It’s the sound of Cain standing, displacing the water in the bathtub, that breaks you out of your thoughts. Your eyes fly to him, as he’s just climbing out, naked, water dripping from him. He has a curious look on his face when he approaches you.
“Are you alright?” he asks. You nod, calm yourself.
“Yes,” you say, force yourself to drop your hands by your side. “Just other things demanding my attention. I’m sorry.”
Cain takes a step towards you, and then another. You keep your eyes on his face and he his on yours and the next second, the presses you against the door, kisses you hard.
You bring your arms up, wrap them around his shoulders. Cain can kiss you because you’ve allowed him to, because that’s the privilege he can afford, or the one you can’t afford to deny, and it’s never bothered you much, but right then, it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He presses himself against you, hard, harder than he needs to. You know what he’s doing. He’s reminding you that, at least for the time he is here, you are his. He’s getting your dress wet, but you don’t say anything.
Your thoughts go to Wesson, and you wonder if he is still on the other side of the door, listening to the breaths, the wet sounds. You don’t want him to, but when you imagine it’s him instead of Cain you’re kissing, it’s even worse.
So you don’t imagine anything. You slip into your role and walk onto the stage.
Supernatural Fake Texts - Hot Topic and the Circus
Dean WInchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Claire Novak, Gabirel, Lucifer, Balthazar, Crowley, Rowena, Death, Benny Lafitte, Bobby Singer, Jody Mills, Kevin Chan, Charlie Bradbury, Garth Fitzgerald IV, Cain x GN!Reader (platonic) & Bobby Singer x Jody Mills (implied)
Summary: Sam takes Cain out of the bunker and they may or may not have a few drinks.
Warnings: swearing, Destiel (could be read as platonic but c'mon, nothing between Dean and Cas is platonic), mentions of alcohol, brief mentions of drugs, mentions of murder, comedy.
A/n: I am in love with these fake texts. I just finished season 10 and I really needed something funny. Not plot relevance, just everyone's alive and fairly happy. The reader is over everyone's shit but loves them to bits and takes care of them anyways. For more fake texts, fics and drabbles check out my Masterlists!
Pairing: Cain x Reader
Word count: 3,978
Request: Can I request a Cain x reader where she’s a friend of the bros that fell in love with him at first sight? Knowing this, even if she doesn’t say anything to him, Cain tries to avoid her but to no avail. It’s not only for who he is, she is younger than him, innocent, and for this, he’s upset. One sleepless night she confesses and, surprisingly, he returns her feelings.
A/N (from 2018): This is my first time writing Cain. I only watched about 20 minutes worth of video, and read his Supernatural Wikia page a couple times. So, I’m sorry if I made any errors in character. Other than that, enjoy :)
You were currently sitting on the motel table, reading. For about three years now, you’d been traveling with the Winchesters. You didn’t partake in the actual hunting, however. You had never seen them ‘gank’ a monster, as Dean called it. The three of you worked well together. Sam did most of the research, Dean was the main fighter, and you did what they needed, when needed. Usually that meant playing nurse, helping Sam now and then, making food runs, and picking them up from the bar when they couldn’t get back. It also meant that you could stay in your pajamas as long as you wanted and it didn’t matter. At the moment, you were wearing light blue cloud pajama pants and a white long sleeved shirt.
Sipping your peppermint tea, you enjoyed the silence. Getting peace with those two wasn’t the easiest. You had no idea what they were currently up to, as they didn’t want to say. Something about it being important, and they would tell you in time. You had waved them off, rolled your eyes, and found a book to read. You glanced out the window, and saw that it had started to snow, and hard. There was already a good bit on the ground. You quickly put your book down. Pulling on your snow boots, coat, hat, and gloves, ready to enjoy it. Being on the road all the time didn’t leave much time to enjoy the snow, even with your down time.
You walked out the door, shutting it behind you. It didn’t bother you that you were still in your pajamas. Smiling, you tilted your head back, stuck your tongue out, and closed your eyes. You always loved catching snow flakes on your tongue. After you felt a couple, you laughed and shut your mouth. Your cheeks were flushed a light pink, giving you that doll type look. Your hair stuck out of the bottom of your hat, still in the braided pig tails you slept in.
Hearing the roar of the Impala, you turned toward the sound, grinning. You scooped up some snow and did your best to make a ball. They came to park not all that far from you, although, you would have been able to see Sam either way. He stepped out and you waited for him to shut the door to throw the ball. It hit him square in the chest. Sam looked at you like he was shocked. That grin spread over his face, just as he knelt to make his own snowball. Laughing, you turned to run, managing to hit black ice. “Ow.” You laughed.
Sam came over and leaned over you. “Really?” He teased. “You’re in the snow in pajamas, and pig tails?” His eyes were amused. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.” He continued, helping you up. You brushed off your backside, just as you turned to say hi to Dean. Dean wasn’t the first one you saw, however. It was an older man, with the nicest eyes you had ever seen in your life. Beards had never been your thing, never seeing the appeal. Until now. It suited him, and you couldn’t imagine him without it. He was honestly the most beautiful human being you had met.
You sucked in a breath without realizing it. Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him. Guess you should have never dismissed love at first sight. Once back inside the motel, you hung your coat over the back of a chair, and tossed your accessories on the table. “Hey, Y/N?” You heard Dean, glancing over your shoulder, as you wiped off your glasses. “Nice ass.” He teased.
Sticking your tongue out at him, you laughed. Putting your glasses back on, you had a small smile on your face. You grabbed your bag and quickly excused yourself to the bathroom. At least that way you could avoid staring at that man again. Did Dean pick him up at some older male modeling gig? Is that why they didn’t tell you what was going on? You changed into plain blue jeans, a navy blue and white stripped long sleeved shirt that hit your knuckles, and took your braids out. Taking a brush through your hair, you sighed.
You walked out, dropping your bag right out side the bathroom door. Sitting across from Sam, you picked up your tea. “So, find whatever it was you were looking for?” You asked the brothers.
“Who.” Dean said, making you raise an eyebrow at him. You could feel the other man’s eyes on you, but tried to play it off like you didn’t notice. “Not a ‘what’, a 'who.” He told you.
“And that’s supposed to mean something to me? Something about 'this is important’ and 'we’ll tell you in time’, remember?” Sipping your tea, you gave him a smirk.
Sam slid a paper to you. “We had to find Cain.” You were simply looking at a map. It meant nothing to you.
You put the map down in front of you, shrugging. “I’m smart, but I’m not a mind reader, Sam. I have no idea what on Earth you’re talking about.” What was so difficult to just tell you what was going on?
“Like, Cain and Abel?” Dean chimed in.
A light went off. “Oh. I remember that story. From Sunday school.” Both boys chuckled. You’d gone from a good little Christian girl, to walking away from your Church because you disagreed with their teachings, to traveling with these two. It also meant meeting Crowley, you had met Lucifer, and many other things that most Christians would never want. You liked Crowley. He made you laugh. Sure, he had his moments, but he was the King of Hell.
You had also met Cas, and a few other angels. You chose to only remember his name, though. From your experience, most of them were 'dickbags’ as you had heard them called many times.
Finally, the man spoke up. “I am far from a bible story.” Your head whipped around.
You chuckled. “I’m sorry, do you mean to tell me that you’re the Cain?” There was no way. He did not look old enough to be from BC.
“I am.” How did you reply to that? You opened and closed your mouth a few times before looking back to the map.
Sam had to laugh. “You’ve met angels and demons, and yet this is what surprises you?” He teased, noting the look on your face.
You shot him a look. “Oh, shut up.” Leaning back, you sighed. “We weren’t taught that men could live that long in Sunday school. Angels are real. Demons are real. The people we read about were real, and they died. A long, long, long time ago.” Which was true. Wasn’t that something that would be frowned upon? You would think so. “Anyway, my surprise aside, Samuel, why am I looking at a map of the woods, and what does he have to do with it?” They still hadn’t explained that part.
“First, he’s technically not a man.” Dean started. You took your glasses off and held them between two fingers as you put your face in your hands. “He’s a demon.” He added, making you look at him. Was anything you learned in Church correct? “He’s helping us with a couple…issues that have come up.” In other words, he wasn’t telling you to spare you. “However, you can’t stay behind this time.”
Putting your glasses back on, you stared at him. “Wait. Why not?” You turned to face Dean more. "I always stay at the motel. I never go on hunts with you! I just play nurse after!“ The thought of going on a hunt made your stomach turn.
Sam sighed, knowing that you’d do anything to avoid going. “Because it’s not safe.” He said gently. “There are some…people after Cain, and now us.” He added. “And they will use you to get to us. You don’t fight like we do, and we can’t protect you if we’re in the middle of the woods.” Great, now you had to go on a hunt, and there was camping involved it seemed.
“We’re headed to the bunker for some supplies, and an over night stay, then on to our hunt.” Dean informed you. “We’ll be camping out as long as needed, sweetheart.” You made a face at him.
An hour later, you were in the back of the Impala, next to Cain. Besides Dean’s music and the roar of the engine, it was very quiet. No one said anything. He was giving off the vibe that he didn’t want to be near you. You weren’t sure if that was personal or if he just wasn’t a people person. Staring out the window, you pushed it from your mind.
As you neared the bunker, you glanced at Dean. “Hey, Dean?” You leaned forward to pop your head between the boys. Your elbows resting on their seats. “After we have everything, can we stop at the grocery store?” You asked sweetly.
“What for?”
“I’m almost out of candy at the bunker. If we’re going to be in the middle of nowhere for who knows how long, I’d like to have a decent supply built up.”
Dean chuckled. “Why do you buy so much candy?”
You poked him. “I wouldn’t have to if a certain hunter would stop raiding my stash.” There was a smile on your face. You honestly didn’t mind him eating it, it was just when he ate the last of something that it bothered you.
He finally nodded. “Yes, we will stop at the store for your candy.” You grinned when he agreed, sitting back. “And, for your information, I wasn’t even looking for your candy.”
“Than wha–? Dean!” You said in a scolding manner. Judging by the way his shoulders were shaking, he was totally teasing you, not serious at all. “You’re so mean.” Your cheeks were tinted. “See if I bake you an apple pie when we get home.” Whenever you finished a hunt and stayed at the bunker for awhile, you’d bake him an apple pie.
Cain had watched the interaction between you. He wondered how someone could be so innocent. Even at your young age, he guessed early twenties, many were far from innocent. It made him want to steer clear of you. Not only for those reasons, but to keep you that way. You had no business being around someone like him- a murderer, a demon, someone who would taint you.
You felt eyes on you and slowly looked to Cain. Giving him a small smile, it fell when he simply turned away. Trying to hide your hurt, you leaned up against the window, closing your eyes. You’d be there in about ten minutes, so there was no use trying to nap.
Once there, you grabbed your bag and headed towards your room. You wanted to switch out your dirty clothes for some fresh ones. You’d have one hell of a laundry pile when you got back. It didn’t take you long to pack, it never did. You didn’t have to go through the effort of a weapon check like they did.
Deciding to make everyone a snack, you wondered down to the kitchen. Cain was in there, sipping some tea. Smiling, you grabbed a cup yourself. “I’m going to make something to eat, is there anything you’d like?” You asked politely.
Cain stood and shook his head. “No, thank you.” He finished his tea and left. You put your cup on the counter and hunted for something to make. You ended up making sandwiches. Easy to eat and get things ready.
Stacking them on a plate, you made your way to the library. Where you always found them. “I brought food, guys. There’s turkey, ham, chicken, and then all three.” You pointed to each type of sandwich.
“Thanks, Y/N.” Dean grinned, taking a ham sandwich and taking a huge bite. Cain was currently looking over some book, and didn’t seem to even acknowledge your presence.
“No problem. You guys wanna watch a movie tonight or something?” You said, looking between the three men. Dean shrugged, mouth full of food. It was amazing how many of your interactions had him looking exactly that way. Sam swallowed his food and agreed. “How about you, Cain? Care to join us for a movie?”
He glanced at you, making you shift slightly. “I think I’ll pass. I’ll be in my room.” Cain stood, taking the book and heading to the guest room Dean showed him.
Blinking, you slid into a chair. “I don’t think he likes me much.” You muttered.
“You’re worried over whether he likes you? Shouldn’t you, I don’t know, fear him? All that religious who-ha?” Dean asked, finishing another bite.
“Did I say I was worried? It’s called an observation, Dean.” You shrugged. “So, what movie should we watch tonight?” It was just easier to play it off as opposed to spill your guts to them.
In the end, you all agreed on Lord of the Rings. It took you nearly half an hour to agree, but you got there. You stretched out on the couch, feet on Sam. Dean was sprawled out on the floor, three pillows, and his hands, behind his head. Half way through, you shifted towards your side and noticed Cain walk in. He seemed to freeze and contemplate walking back out. Resting on your elbow, you raised your eyebrow at him. “I don’t bite, ya know? You don’t have to leave the room because I’m in here.” You told him, making the other two look at you.
Seeing that he was obviously uncomfortable, you got up and walked past him. “Men and their stupid issues. How hard is it to talk? To work things out?” You muttered to yourself, heading to your room. Cain watched you go before turning to the brothers.
“Care to explain why she just stalked off like a pissed off teenager?” Sam asked, having paused the movie.
Cain sat down and shrugged. “I’ve done nothing to her.” He said honestly.
Sam glanced at Dean, doing that brother link thing they did. “True, then again, the longest you’ve been in the same room as her….was in the car. Other than that you seem to avoid her like the plague.” Dean sat up. “She even noticed. What gives?” He asked.
“I’m the Father of Murder. I highly doubt someone as innocent as her concerns herself with if I’m in the same room as her.” Cain commented. Neither of the boys said anything, having a feeling they knew what was going on.
As always, you had left your door open for the night. You started doing it when you first moved in. You were still unused to the bunker, and had nightmares. Sam said having the door open made it easier to hear you if you happened to call for one of them. Despite not having a nightmare in ages, it stuck. You’d wake up to the door shut most of the time, and guessed they closed it for you.
You read for a bit, and noticing it was getting late, you headed to bed. Curling up on your side, you faced away from the door. Right before you closed your eyes, you saw a shadow on the wall. Turning to look who it was, you didn’t see anyone. Shaking it off, you just assumed that you were tired.
Cain had been passing by your room and saw you laying down for bed. He watched you for a moment, not even sure why.
You’d made it to the campsite the next afternoon. As promised, Dean had stopped at the store. Besides candy, you’d grabbed anything that might be useful. Between the four of you, you only had three tents. That was just your luck. “I don’t mind sharing with Sam.” You spoke up, shrugging. “That way Dean can have one, and then Cain doesn’t have to share.” It seemed the most logical to you. “Is that okay?”
“Wait. Why Sam and not me?” Dean faked hurt.
Chuckling, you shook your head. “For one, you’re a bed hog. Two, you like to curl up with whoever is in bed with you. And three? I can talk nerdy with Sam.” It was that simple.
Dean scrunched his nose. “Dude, way too much info.” He joked.
“Perv.” You laughed, tossing a Skittle at him.
“That sounds fine with me.” Cain agreed. “It would be wise to get camp set up before it gets any darker.” Despite being mid-afternoon, it looked later. The trees made everything look darker.
Sam and you set up your tent with no problems, as did Cain. Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t one with nature. He almost had it, but his temper was getting to him. Walking over to him, you put your hand on his shoulder. “How about you go start a fire? We can do this.” You said gently. You didn’t want him to get all defensive about not getting the tent set up.
It didn’t take the three of you long to set up camp and sit around the camp fire for warmth. They told you that they were searching for an old amulet. In the forest. In the winter. You thought they were insane, and they had decided to drag you along for the ride. Sam informed you that from his research, he’d narrowed down the area to about five square miles. It didn’t sound like a lot, but when looking for something that was smaller than your palm, that was huge.
You started yawning and that was your sign to get to bed. Sleeping on the ground wasn’t something you were looking forward to, but you had no choice. You said your goodbyes, even trying to be polite to Cain. Even if you were sure he hated you. You figured that he was just dealing with you because of Sam and Dean. What other reason could their be?
Sam was out in minutes, leaving you to stare at the top of the tent. You’d gone from nearly nodding off, to wide awake. Groaning, you crawled out of the tent, taking a blanket, your phone, and your headphones with you. You’d seen a clearing nearby and thought it would be nice to star gaze. Pulling your boots on, you tried to be quiet, not needing the boys to shoot you on accident. That would be your luck.
You laid out the blanket and laid down. Using your hands to cushion your head, you crossed your ankles. You could see your breath, making you blow air out. It made you laugh. You were so busy looking at the stars and your breath that you didn’t hear Cain walk up behind you head. He looked down at you, giving you the urge to look up. “Jesus Christ!” You jumped, clutching your chest.
Surprisingly, he actually cracked a small smile. “I assure you, I am not.” He said, sitting down. “It’s sad, really.” Cain said, looking up at the sky.
“What? That you refuse to talk to me until the boys are sleeping? Or that you failed at giving me a heart attack?”
“That in order to see the stars, one must come out here. So much pollution, smog, and all that. You used to be able to see them from anywhere.” He explained. You pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around your legs.
Nodding, you looked up at the sky, as well. “I used to just go to a planetarium with my dad.” You said quietly.
He looked at you, studying your profile. “How did you wind up with the Winchesters? This seems to be the complete opposite of your personality.”
That you had to laugh at. Smiling, you looked at him. “When I was seventeen, my dad went missing. It was just us. My mom wasn’t the mothering type. Left when I was born. My dad never remarried, so we were best friends. I had just graduated high school and came home to an empty apartment.” You started. “No one had seen him. He wasn’t at work, he wasn’t with any of his friends. It was like he just…vanished. We put up posters and all that good stuff. About a year and a half later, they came into town. I was working at a place that made you go by your last name. Like 'Miss Y/L/N’. They asked if by any chance I was related to a Y/D/N.” Your eyes went back to the sky. “They met me after work. Told me he had been possessed, and had gotten killed. At first I didn’t believe them, but the more we chatted, the more I trusted them. I had no more ties to town, so I asked if I could tag along. Do the boring stuff. I’ve been with them since. I’m sure the people at my old Church would say I’m going to hell, ya know, for helping the King of Hell, having met Lucifer, things like that.” Licking your lips, you moved so you were leaning back on your hands. “I’d prefer to think that people like them would be the ones going. Claiming to follow the word of the bible, yet spewing hate. It’s pathetic. I’d rather extend my compassion to those who seem to need it, and judge based on how they act towards me. Not by what people think they are.”
“Like Crowley?” He asked.
“More like you.” You smiled at him.
“Me?” He looked confused.
Smiling shyly, you nodded. “I knew I loved you the moment I saw you.” You admitted quietly. “You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid eyes on.” Normally you weren’t this brave. Your stomach was doing flips. Quickly looking to the sky, you were waiting for the laughter or something. There was no way someone who had seen so much would like someone so normal.
“I feel the same way.” He replied, making you look at him with wide eyes. “That’s why I was trying to avoid you.”
“I may not be some kind of love expert, but that’s usually what you do with people you don’t like…” You teased.
He shook his head, his face somewhat somber. “I’m the Father of Murder, Y/N. You are so young, so innocent. I’m thousands of years old, and evil. Or so they say. Did you know that I didn’t kill my brother out of jealousy?” He asked. You shook your head. You’d only ever heard that. “I killed him to save him.” He saw your look of confusion. “From Lucifer. You see, Abel had been talking to him. I offered Lucifer a deal. He would get my soul, so Abel could go to heaven. He accepted, on the condition that I be the one to kill my brother.”
“Why is it that every time I meet someone who is supposed to be so evil, they are thought of that way because of a deed done out of love?” You asked yourself quietly. A few minutes had passed before you sighed. “We should get back. It’s late, and we have an early start.” You rose, stretching and gathering your blanket.
He seemed to hesitate a moment. “Would you join me in my tent?” You blinked. “Nothing devious, I promise.” Nodding, you understood what he meant. As you walked back, you reached out and laced your fingers together.
The next morning, Sam woke up to find you missing. Assuming you were already up, he brushed it off. When Dean said he hadn’t seen you, and neither saw Cain, they checked his tent. They were surprised to see him laying on his back, arm wrapped around you, and your head on his chest.
