Steve's favorite movie is, and always will be, The Muppet Movie (1979). No one knows this about him. Not Robin, not Dustin, not his parents or any of his Nannies.
But Eddie Munson, this rando at school he's never talked to in his life, apparently knows this about him. Eddie Munson feels the need to let everyone in a 10 mile radius know that, too.
"Here, for you." The puppet is a definetly supposed to be Kermit, given all the green, but it looks more like a run-over Gonzo. Wasn't Munson supposed to be an artsy guy? Ms. Abby seems to think the sun shines out of his ass, while giving him a C, a C, on his perfectly acceptable painting of the Beamer.
"What is this. Why are you giving this to me?" He asks, not trying at all to hide his disdain for whatever that is.
At least Munson has some sense of shame, his face going beet red at Steve's tone.
"Heyo, Kermit-dee-Frog Here!" He makes the little thing jiggle around, skinny legs flopping all over the place. At least he gets the voice right.
"Okay? Great. Why are you trying to give it to me?" People are staring. That's not new. Doesn't mean he likes it.
"Uhhh," Munson rocks back and forth on his heels, not caring at all about their audience. "Because it's your favorite movie, duh."
He is such a fucking idiot. He wished Tommy were here. No, Carol. They would get him to read the fucking room. He's never been good at shutting people up without them. Feels so...mean.
"No, it isn't." He grits through his teeth. Take the hint, Munson.
Eddie just looks at him like he's lost his marbles, which, maybe, he has. Maybe this is just some weird hallucination.
"Uh, yeah, it is. Here." And then he's just shoving the thing in his lap and running away. Like, out the door and out the classroom running away. He doesn't even grab his binder.
He looks down at the thing in his lap. Its eyes are uneven and its collar is the wrong color. Eddie has clearly never taken more than a glance at Kermit in his life, because the thing has a strange nose and is wearing clothes. A little T-Shirt with a Muppet version of that creepy logo Munson's band of freaks wear on Fridays.
And, well. Maybe it is kind of cute. In its own way.
Very loosely inspired by @morganbritton132 puppet posts
Gustave and Verso bond post Stone Wave Cliffs, Gustave waves his screw driver around to help emphasize his points in conversation while he fixes his arm. Verso simply stands and watches amused by beauty of the man sitting in front of him.
Deviating totally from the previous style. Why you may ask? I find a more simplified cartoon style hard! It's difficult to get it to look easy, it is not easy 😔 I would love to get better at it, find a more comic style but I don't have time to practice. I find this loose sketchy style so much more freeing and expressive and think I'm going to lean more this way of working as it's closer to my personal art style.
What does everyone think? Ineffable Husbands next?
After defeating Bill by erasing Stan’s memories, Stan’s body falls into a coma and won’t wake up. Could the key to Stan waking up be tied to the strange figure they keep seeing in their dreams and in the corner of their eyes… or will Stan be asleep forever
Anyway I thought this au might be a neat way to show Stan’s amnesia physically. since he had his whole life erased he’s basically a blank slate for a while and copies whatever he sees for a good bit before the family jogs some of his memories. If anyone has any questions or suggestions you’re welcome to ask me, I really want to flesh out this idea more!
Warnings: unprotected sex and all the good stuff that comes with it, dom!dean, bratty bradbury! reader, oral sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, enemies to fuck buddies? friends? more? who knows! cannon divergence
A/N: an actual demon possessed me while writing this monster of a chapter. time to take a little time off to celebrate my daughters first birthday! <3
part 1 // part 2 // part 4
masterlist
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The first month in the Men of Letters Bunker felt like stepping into a steel and concrete fairy tale that somehow combined a medieval fortress, mad scientist lab, and the world's most overprotective daycare.
You still weren't entirely sure how you'd let Dean Winchester talk you into this but everyone seemed to be happy… so far.
The Bunker was everything Sam had promised. It was endlessly warded, stocked with more lore than any library you'd ever seen, and surprisingly... homey. The kitchen actually worked. The showers had decent water pressure and the nursery Dean had claimed for Juniper- the room between yours and his- had been outfitted with every baby-proofing gadget known to man- plus a few that probably involved actual magic. Nothing was getting into that room.
Juniper was thriving in that terrifying way babies do when they're suddenly surrounded by three overprotective adults and one very enthusiastic aunt who treated her like a tiny princess in need of constant entertainment. There wasn't much else to do but wait for Kevin to call with any more information on the Demon Tablet- so Juni became the star of the show. She was rolling over now, babbling nonstop, and had developed a particular fondness for Dean's flannel shirts- which she liked to chew on while he carried her around the halls like she was made of glass- still nervous about her fragile form.
You, on the other hand, were still adjusting.
It was late afternoon- well, as late as afternoons got underground- and you were in the war room, nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee while watching Dean pace with Juniper perched on his hip. She had one grubby fist tangled in his hair and the other smacking happily at the anti-possession tattoo peeking out from his collar. Every few steps he'd bounce her gently, murmuring nonsense about "baby's first salt line" and "No, we don't chew on the demon blade, Juni-bug."
"She's not going to remember any of this, you know," you said, lips twitching despite yourself.
Dean shot you a look that was half offended, half fond. "She'll remember the important stuff. Like how her old man kept her safe." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, careful not to disturb the tiny crescent moon headband Charlie had insisted on. "Right, kiddo? Tell your mom I'm doing great at this dad thing."
Juniper responded by blowing a raspberry against his neck, which made him laugh- that deep, rumbling sound that still hit you somewhere vulnerable every single time. It was as irritatingly adorable as ever. The closer you were with Dean the more you let go of yourself- slowly giving him all the parts of you that you thought you locked away.
Sam wandered in from the library, laptop under one arm and a stack of ancient looking books under the other. "Hey, I think I found something on the next trial. It's in-" He stopped, eyes softening as he took in the scene. "Never mind. It can wait."
Charlie appeared right behind him, balancing a tray of snacks like she'd been born for bunker life. "No shop talk until after snack time! Juni needs her pureed strawberries and we all need to pretend we're normal for five minutes." She set the tray down and immediately made grabby hands at the baby. "C'mere, my favorite niece. Aunt Charlie's got a new story about elves that doesn't involve any actual stabbing this time."
You rolled your eyes at your sister and Dean reluctantly handed Juniper over, but not before stealing one last kiss to her cheek. "Traitor," he muttered at the baby, who just giggled and reached for Charlie's bright red hair.
You watched them all for a moment- the easy way they moved around each other now, the way Dean's shoulders had lost some of that permanent tension, the way Sam and Charlie bickered like siblings over who got to hold the baby next. It was... domestic. In the strangest, most dangerous way possible.
Later that evening, after Juniper was finally down for the night- a small miracle that involved Dean singing some butchered version of "Hey Jude" until she passed out on his chest- you found him in the garage. He was leaning against the Impala, beer in hand, staring at nothing with that faraway look he got sometimes when the weight of everything caught up to him.
You slipped in beside him, your shoulder brushing his. "Penny for your thoughts, Winchester."
He huffed a quiet laugh. "Just thinking about how weird this is. A month ago I was sleeping on your lumpy couch trying not to screw up a bottle warmer. Now we've got a whole underground fortress and I'm still terrified I'm gonna wake up and find out this was some djinn dream."
You leaned your head against his arm. "It's not. Though if it was- at least the djinn gave us decent Wi-Fi."
“You can blame Charlie for all that. Never saw the service down here actually work until she showed up.” Dean turned, setting the beer aside so he could pull you properly against him. His hands settled at your waist like they belonged there. "You doing okay with all this? The Bunker, the trials, me being... here. All the time."
You tilted your head up to meet his eyes. "It's an adjustment. I spent almost a year and a half thinking I'd never see you again, then suddenly you're in my kitchen, in my life, changing diapers and arguing with Sam about baby gates versus warding sigils." Your fingers traced the line of his jaw. "But yeah. I'm okay. Better than okay, most days."
His expression softened, that rare vulnerable look crossing his face. "Good. 'Cause I'm not going anywhere. Told you that an’ I meant it."
You smiled, rising up on your toes to kiss him- slow and lingering, the kind of kiss that still made your stomach flip even after everything. "I know. Just... try not to teach our daughter how to hotwire a car before she's three, okay?"
Dean grinned against your mouth, the cocky bastard. "No promises, Berry. She's got Winchester blood. Gotta start her education early."
From down the hall, you heard Charlie's dramatic groan. "If you two are making out in the garage again, I'm stealing the baby for a sleepover! Some of us are trying to maintain plausible deniability about how Juniper was conceived!"
Dean laughed into the kiss, pulling back just enough to call back, "Mind your own business, Bradbury!"
But his arms stayed around you, warm and steady, and for the first time in a long time, the underground bunker felt less like a fortress and more like home.
And then you hear Juniper's soft coos echoed faintly through the baby monitor clipped to your pocket- right on schedule for her nightly check-in.
Dean pressed his forehead to yours. "C'mon. Our girl's calling."
You took his hand, lacing your fingers together as you headed back inside.
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Most days went on bland and harmoniously. There was something different in the routine tonight though- the bunker felt like there was an extra current of electricity snaking through the air.
The soft glow of the nursery’s crescent moon nightlight bathed the room in gentle silver as you sat cross-legged on the thick play mat, watching Dean sprawl on his stomach like he was in some foxhole- except instead of a rifle, he had a bright yellow plastic duck in one hand and Juniper’s favorite stuffed elephant in the other.
“Alright, Juni-bug,” he murmured, voice low and playful in that way that made your chest tighten. “You ready for the epic battle of the century?”
Juniper, now six months old and full of rolling energy, kicked her chubby legs excitedly on the mat, letting out a string of delighted babbles that sounded suspiciously like “Da-da-da.” She reached for the duck with both hands, nearly toppling sideways until Dean gently steadied her with one big palm against her back.
You smiled, leaning over to tickle her bare foot. “She’s going to beat you again. She’s got your stubborn streak.”
“Damn right she does,” Dean grinned without looking up, making the duck “quack” in an absurdly deep voice as he waddled it toward the elephant. “But I’ve got experience. Years of fighting monsters. This is nothing.”
Juniper squealed, lunging forward to grab the duck and promptly shoving its beak into her mouth. Dean fake gasped in betrayal. “Traitor! That’s my line of defense!”
You laughed softly, scooting closer so you could run your fingers through her soft, dirty blonde curls. She smelled like baby shampoo and the faint lavender lotion Charlie had insisted on buying in bulk. You took a peek at your phone to see the last time she was changed, three hours ago- shit. “Your turn to change her after this, Winchester. I handled the last blowout.”
“Deal,” he said easily, though his eyes sparkled with that familiar mix of pride and terror he got every time diaper duty came up. He rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand while Juniper rolled half onto his chest, gumming happily at the duck. “Look at her go. She’s already faster than half the things we’ve hunted.”
For a while, the three of you stayed like that- Dean making ridiculous sound effects for the toys, you handing Juniper new blocks when she got bored, the occasional coo or giggle filling the quiet bunker room. It felt almost normal. Almost like the monsters outside the heavy warded doors didn’t exist.
Eventually, Juniper’s energy started to dip. Her eyelids drooped as she nestled against Dean’s flannel, one tiny fist curled around his collar. You watched him carefully lift her, rocking her with that instinctive gentleness he’d developed over the past month, murmuring nonsense until her breathing evened out.
“Nap time already?” you whispered, helping him settle her into the crib.
“Kid’s got my metabolism but your nap schedule,” he teased quietly, pressing a feather light kiss to her forehead before straightening. “She’ll be out for at least an hour. Perfect timing.”
You both slipped out, grabbing the monitor and securing it to your belt. In the war room, Sam was already hunched over the big map table, ancient tablet fragments spread out beside a stack of lore books. Charlie lounged in one of the chairs, feet propped up, typing rapidly on her laptop.
“Perfect,” Sam said without looking up. “You two done with playtime?”
Dean dropped into a chair, pulling you onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Jealous, Sammy? Juniper kicked my ass at duck wars. Your turn next.”
Charlie snorted. “I already lost to her at peek-a-boo this morning. She’s ruthless.”
Sam’s expression turned serious as he slid a printed page across the table. “Kevin finally cracked the next part of the Demon Tablet. Second trial- rescue an innocent soul from Hell and deliver it to Heaven.”
The words landed heavy in the room. You felt Dean’s arm tighten around your waist.
“Hell,” you repeated flatly. “As in, actual Hell. With demons and torture and all the fun stuff.”
“Yeah,” Sam said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s not exactly a day trip. We’ll need to summon a crossroads demon for intel on getting in, then probably cut a deal with a reaper who knows the back doors. Last time something like this came up, it involved… well, risky navigation.”
Dean’s jaw ticked. “And who’s the innocent soul? We can’t just grab any random one. Has to count for the trial.”
Sam hesitated, glancing at you before continuing. “Kevin thinks we might be able to target someone specific.. someone Crowley personally screwed over. Makes it cleaner. But it’s still Hell. One wrong move…”
You shifted on Dean’s lap, turning to look at him. His green eyes were already distant, the weight of Purgatory and every other nightmare he’d survived flickering behind them. “You’re not going alone.” you said firmly.
“Berry-” Dean started, but you cut him off with a look. You know you can't go with him- it was an impossible suggestion- but fuck, you didn't want him and Sam going on their own.
Your mind wandered to the beautiful bundle of joy napping in the other room as you sat on Dean’s lap in the war room, the warmth of his body doing little to ease the sudden chill that settled in your chest at Sam’s words.
Your fingers dug into Dean’s flannel, grounding yourself against the familiar fabric. “You’re seriously talking about going back to Hell. After everything.”
Dean’s arm tightened around your waist, his thumb brushing slow circles against your hip like he could rub the fear away. “Berry, it’s not like I’m volunteering for a vacation. This is it. We finish the trials, we close the gates of Hell for good. No more demons crawling out of every crack. No more deals. No more kids like Juniper growing up in a world where there actually may be a monster under the bed.”
You twisted in his lap to face him fully, searching those deep green eyes that had seen too much. “And what if you don’t come back? What if this ‘rescue mission’ turns into another one-way ticket? You’ve already died more times than I can count, Dean. How many times do I have to watch you walk into the fire?”
Sam shifted uncomfortably, glancing between the two of you, while Charlie’s typing slowed to a stop, her usual smirk fading into quiet sympathy.
Dean cupped your cheek, his calloused thumb tracing your jaw. “I’m coming back. I always will. For you. For her.” His voice dropped lower, meant just for you. “Juniper needs her dad, not some ghost story Sam tells her when she’s older.”
Your throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes despite how hard you fought them. You fucking hated this- hated the way the bunker felt like home now- but hated the thought even more of it becoming a tomb if Dean didn’t return.
“You’re leaving us. Again. She’s only six months old, Dean. She just started saying ‘da-da’ like it’s her favorite word. What if she forgets your voice while you’re down there playing hero?”
The room went quiet. Charlie cleared her throat softly. “I'll be here with you and Juni. Girl power bunker duty. We’ll build blanket forts and throw slumber parties like we used to.”
You managed a watery laugh, but it didn’t make you feel any better. Dean pulled you closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “Hey. Look at me. I’m not going anywhere I can’t crawl back from. Not this time. Not with you and her waiting.”
You closed your eyes, breathing him in- the scent of leather and whiskey and that stupidly comforting aftershave he still wore even after all this time. The anger and fear churned inside you, a storm you couldn’t quite quiet. But beneath it, something steadier emerged. Juniper. Her chubby hands reaching for Dean’s duck, her sleepy weight against his chest, the way her whole little world lit up when he walked into a room.
She needed stability. She needed the bunker, it was the only safe place any of you had ever really known. The old house- our old life- was just a facade put on to appear normal. She needed her mom here, holding down the fort, keeping the nightlights on and the monsters at bay from the outside.
You pulled back just enough to look at him again, the fight draining from your shoulders even as your voice stayed firm. “Fine. You go. But you come back. Both of you.” Your gaze flicked to Sam, including him in the promise. “And when you do, you’re on diaper duty for a month straight. No complaining.”
Dean’s grin broke through, crooked and relieved, though the shadows in his eyes didn’t fully fade. “Deal. I’ll even sing ‘Hey Jude’ every night if that’s what it takes.”
Sam exhaled, nodding gratefully. “We’ll make it quick. In and out. Kevin’s narrowing down the soul now, someone Crowley personally-”
“Wait,” you interrupted, the idea hitting you suddenly. You sat up straighter on Dean’s lap, your mind racing back to old ghosts, specifically the one ghost who helped your sister out of the Leviathan mess. “What if… what if the innocent soul we rescue is Bobby?”
The name dropped into the room like a stone in still water. Dean stiffened beneath you. Sam’s head snapped up, eyes widening.
“Bobby Singer?” Charlie asked, leaning forward, her laptop forgotten. “The Bobby? As in, the cranky hunter who helped me when I first got sucked into all this? The one whose ghost stuck around long enough to save me from Dick?”
You nodded, the memories of that night were burned into your mind. How Bobby’s ghost had lingered after his death, helping Charlie escape with only a broken arm. How Dean had insisted on not telling her she had a damn ghost attached to the flask in her bag. It pissed you off at first but after you'd heard about everything you were relieved she had her own guardian ghost around. He’d been family. The kind of gruff, whiskey soaked family that held the Winchesters together when everything else fell apart. And Crowley had him caged down there with him.
“He’s innocent,” you said, voice gaining strength. “Trapped down there because of Crowley’s games. If anyone deserves a second chance at Heaven- or at least peace- it’s Bobby. And it fits the trial perfectly, rescuing a soul Crowley personally ruined. Kevin said it makes it cleaner, right? Targeted. Personal.”
Dean was quiet for a long moment, his hand still resting on your back. “Bobby…” he murmured, almost to himself. Then his eyes met yours, raw and grateful. “You sure about this? Dragging his soul out of Hell… it’s not exactly a reunion tour.”
“I’m sure,” you replied softly, threading your fingers through his. “He helped Charlie. He helped all of us, even from the grave. Juniper deserves to grow up hearing stories about her grandpa Bobby- the real ones, not just the hunter legends. And you… you need this, Dean. Closure. Or at least a chance to say a proper goodbye before he moves on.”
Sam rubbed his jaw, already flipping through pages on the tablet. “It could work. We’d still need the crossroads demon for entry intel, and a reaper for the extraction, but… yeah. It’s solid.”
Charlie’s eyes lit up with that familiar hacker-fire. “I’ll start digging into old contacts. See if there’s any residual ghost lore or secret ways in.”
Dean let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as he pulled you tighter against him. “Alright, Berry. Bobby it is. We’ll get him out. Give him the send-off he deserves- straight to Heaven, no detours.”
You leaned into him, the fear still there but tempered now by purpose. Juniper would have her home. You’d hold it down here with Charlie. Dean and Sam would go into the dark, but they’d come back. They had to.
Because family didn’t end with blood. And sometimes, even Hell had to give back what it took.
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The bunker felt too quiet after they left.
You stood in the war room long after the Impala’s engine had faded into the distance, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if that could hold everything together. Charlie had offered to make tea- some ridiculous herbal blend she swore calmed nerves during gaming marathons- but you’d barely touched the mug cooling on the map table. Instead, you drifted back to the nursery, where Juniper was finally down for her afternoon nap, her tiny chest rising and falling under the soft silver glow of the crescent moon nightlight.
Charlie leaned in the doorway, laptop tucked under one arm, red hair messy from running her hands through it. “She’s out like a light. Little warrior wore herself out trying to eat Dean’s flannel again. You okay over there, Berry? You look like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.”
You managed a weak smile, but it faltered. “They’ve been gone four hours. How long does it take to summon a crossroads demon and get intel on breaking into Hell?”
“Longer than an episode of the Bachelor, apparently.” Charlie stepped closer, bumping your shoulder gently. “But seriously, you gotta breathe. I can practically hear your worry from across the bunker.”
You nodded, but your mind kept replaying the last moments before they drove off.
Dean had kissed Juniper’s forehead so carefully, whispering something that made her grab at his collar with a sleepy whine. Then he’d pulled you in, forehead to forehead again, green eyes steady despite the storm behind them.
“Keep the light on for us, Berry,” he’d murmured. “We’ll be back before she needs another diaper change. Promise.”
You’d wanted to beg him not to go. To let Sam handle it, or find another way. But you’d swallowed it down, because Juniper needed her home. Needed the safety of these warded walls and someone who wouldn’t vanish into the dark. So you’d kissed him hard and watched the taillights disappear.
Now the worry gnawed at you like a living thing.
Every creak in the bunker made your heart jump. Every static burst from the baby monitor had you bolting to the crib to check that Juniper was still breathing. You paced the halls with her in a carrier against your chest when she woke fussy, humming Dean’s off-key version of “Hey Jude” until your voice cracked.
Charlie found you in the hallway on one of those walks, arms full of snacks she’d raided from the kitchen. “Okay, operation ‘distract the worried mom’ is now in effect. Takeout? Sleepover? Braid each other’s hair? I’m not above breaking out the nail polish if it keeps you from wearing a hole in the floor.”
You let out a shaky laugh, adjusting Juniper’s weight. “I don’t think I could sit still long enough for braids. What if something goes wrong? They’re in actual Hell, Charlie. Demons, torture…”
“Hey, none of that.” Charlie set the snacks down and fell into step beside you, her voice softening even as her usual energy peeked through. “From everything the boys have told me, Bobby was the ultimate grumpy dad figure. Stubborn as hell- literally, I guess- and he stuck around as a ghost long enough to help people when they needed it most. The stories make him sound like the guy who’d shoot anything that looked at his boys wrong. If anyone deserves to get yanked out of Crowley’s mess and sent to Heaven, it’s him. You gave them a good target. A personal one.”
You swallowed hard, rocking Juniper gently as she fussed. “What if they can’t find him down there? What if the reaper double-crosses them? What if Crowley figures it out and turns the whole thing into a trap?”
Charlie squeezed your free hand, her grip warm and steady. “Then they’ll improvise like they always do. They're resourceful and they've survived worse. I think they've stopped like five apocalypses already. And this time they’ve got a reason bigger than saving the world. They’ve got her.” She nodded at Juniper, who chose that moment to blow a spit bubble and giggle. “See? Even the baby knows her dad and Uncle are coming back. Also, if they don’t, I’m hacking into every demonic frequency I can find and yelling at them myself. ‘Ding-dong, bitches! Get your asses home.’”
That pulled a real laugh out of you. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Guilty. But it works, right?” Charlie grinned, then grew more serious as you reached the nursery. “Look, I know this life sucks sometimes. Mostly ends in Sophie’s choices, death, or tears. Usually all of the above. But you’re doing the hardest part- holding down the fort. Keeping this place a home for Juniper so when they crawl back out, it’s still waiting for them. That’s badass, Berry. Nerd-level support squad activated.”
The nights were the hardest though.
You barely slept, curled up on Dean’s side of the bed with one of his flannel shirts clutched to your chest, the faint scent of him doing nothing to quiet the what-ifs screaming in your head. The baby monitor stayed on your pillow, turned up loud enough that Juniper’s smallest sigh had you wide awake. Twice you thought you heard the Impala’s rumble in the garage and nearly tripped rushing down the hall, only to find empty silence.
Charlie stayed up with you more than once, the two of you camped out in the war room with the map table glowing under low lights and a half-eaten bag of popcorn between you. She’d queue up some light-hearted show, but your eyes kept drifting to the empty chairs where Dean and Sam should have been.
“Talk to me,” she said during one of those long nights, nudging your foot with hers. “What’s the worst-case scenario running through your head right now?”
You stared at the table, voice small. “That they don’t come back at all. Or they do, but… changed. Like Purgatory changed Dean. Juniper’s already starting to reach for him every time she hears a deep voice. What if she forgets?”
“She won’t,” Charlie said firmly. “And Dean? That man is made of stubborn. He’ll crawl through every circle of Hell screaming her name if it means getting back to you two. Plus, I’ve seen the way he looks at Juniper, like she’s the one thing that makes all the monster crap worth it. He’s coming home.”
On the third day, Juniper started refusing her bottle, fussing in a way that twisted your heart. You walked her for hours, singing, bouncing, whispering promises. “Daddy’s coming home soon, Juni-bug. He promised. He always comes back.”
Your voice broke on the last word, and Charlie appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and a sympathetic hug from behind. “She misses him too. Here, give her to me for a minute. You need to eat something that isn’t just snacks.”
You handed Juniper over, watching as Charlie made ridiculous faces until the baby giggled. “You’re good with her.”
“Practice from raiding video game conventions with zero sleep,” Charlie quipped.
The phone's tinny ring breaks through the tension in the room.
Kevin called in with another update- they’d made contact with the crossroads demon. Dean had handled the summoning with his usual arrogance, but the demon had driven a hard bargain for the reaper’s name. Sam had negotiated the rest. They were going in that night- through a rift that would only stay open for a narrow window.
You clutched the phone tighter. “Tell them… tell Dean to be careful. And to make sure Bobby gets where he belongs. Tell him Juniper misses him.”
Kevin’s voice softened. “I will. They’re strong. They’ll make it.”
But the waiting stretched on.
You spent the night in the nursery rocker, Juniper asleep against your chest, her warm weight the only thing keeping you anchored. The worry wrapped around you like chains- visions of Dean trapped in some fiery pit, Sam bargaining with a reaper who changed the rules, Bobby’s soul lost forever in the darkness. You whispered into her soft curls, “We’re holding down the fort, baby girl. Just like Mommy promised.”
Charlie checked on you at dawn, eyes tired but kind, sliding onto the floor beside the rocker with two mugs. “Any word?”
“Nothing yet.”
She rested her head against your knee. “They’ll call. Or burst through the door. You know how they are. In the meantime, want me to read you some terrible fanfic? Nothing like bad romance to make real life feel less terrifying.”
You smiled despite everything. “Maybe later. Right now… just stay?”
Hours blurred. You fed Juniper, changed her, played the same duck-and-elephant game Dean had started, making the absurd quacking noises until she laughed- Charlie joining in with increasingly dramatic sound effects. Every giggle felt like a small victory against the dread. The bunker’s lights seemed dimmer without Dean’s laugh echoing off the concrete, without Sam’s quiet research hum, without the familiar clink of beer bottles.
Then, late on the fourth day, the bunker door creaked open.
You were in the kitchen with Juniper on your hip when the sound hit- heavy boots, low voices.
Your heart stopped, then slammed forward.
Charlie bolted past you with a hopeful grin while you followed on shaky legs.
There they were in the war room, Sam looking exhausted, Dean with a fresh cut above his eyebrow and a mysterious stain on his jacket. Just the two of them, shoulders heavy with whatever they’d carried out of Hell.
Dean’s eyes found yours immediately, the exhaustion cracking into that crooked grin that made your knees weak. “Told you we’d be back before diaper duty got too bad.”
You crossed the room in three strides, careful not to jostle Juniper, and crashed into his chest. He wrapped both arms around the two of you, burying his face in your hair as Juniper let out a delighted squeal and reached for his collar again.
“Dada!”
“Yeah, baby girl,” Dean whispered, his voice rough despite trying to play it off that everything was alright. “Daddy’s home.”
Sam gave a tired smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Trial’s done. Second one completed. We found Bobby’s soul… got him through the reaper. He’s in Heaven. Finally at peace where he belongs. No more lingering, no more unfinished business. He- he said to tell you thanks for thinking of him. Called you ‘that smart girl with the kid’ and grumbled something about not raising idjits for nothing.”
You laughed through the tears that finally spilled over, still clinging to Dean. The relief was so sharp it hurt. Bobby was truly free.
Dean pressed a kiss to your temple, then another to Juniper’s head. “It was rough. Hellhounds, deals that almost went sideways, the usual. But we did it. Old man deserves some sort of peace.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, searching his face. “You’re both okay? Really?”
“Bit banged up, but nothing a beer and some food won't fix.” Sam said, already heading toward the kitchen like the weight of Hell was already sliding off his shoulders.
Later, after showers and food and Juniper being passed around like the precious cargo she was, you found yourself back in the nursery with Dean. He rocked her slowly, humming “Hey Jude” properly for once, while you leaned against the crib watching them.
“You were worried sick, weren’t you?” he asked quietly, not looking up.
“Every second. Charlie kept me from completely losing it, though.”
He met your eyes, the green depths full of apology and love. “I know. But we did it. Bobby’s at peace. Trial’s done. One step closer to ending this nightmare for good.”
You stepped closer, resting your hand over his on Juniper’s back. “Just… next time, maybe let me worry a little less by coming back faster.”
Dean’s grin returned, tired but real. “Deal. Though I gotta say, having you and Juni here now? Best damn reason to crawl out of Hell I’ve ever had.”
Juniper sighed contentedly in his arms, one tiny fist curled in his shirt.
The soft glow of the crescent moon nightlight bathed the room once more, and for the first time in days, the bunker felt like home again-
At least until the next trial called. But tonight, they were here. Both of them.
And that was enough.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The next month slipped by in a fragile kind of normal that felt almost stolen.
Mornings started with Juniper’s delighted shrieks as Dean made ridiculous faces over her high chair, airplane-spooning mashed bananas while you pretended not to notice how his green eyes kept drifting to you with that soft, searching look. Afternoons meant play mat battles- always duck versus elephant, with Sam occasionally roped in as referee. Evenings found the five of you- six when Dean finally introduced you to Cas- gathered around the war room table for dinner that didn’t involve takeout or expired bunker rations.
You told yourself it was just the relief of having them home. The way your chest warmed when Dean’s hand brushed yours reaching for the same salt shaker, the quiet pride in his voice when he bragged to Sam about Juniper’s latest “victory” over the toys… it didn’t mean anything deeper. You were stubborn about that. Falling in love with Dean Winchester? After everything? No way. You’d already survived enough heartbreak in this life without handing your heart over on a silver platter to a man who flirted with death like it was Tuesday.
But the feeling kept creeping in anyway, stubborn as you were.
Castiel started dropping by more often, materializing in the nursery with the faint rustle of unseen wings and that slightly tilted head stare that somehow managed to always be endearingly awkward.
One afternoon you walked in to find him sitting cross legged on the play mat, Juniper balanced carefully on his knee while he held up a bright red block like it contained the secrets of the universe.
“Fascinating,” Cas murmured, watching her gum at the corner. “Her grip strength has improved significantly since last week. She will make an excellent hunter one day” He pauses to observe her further. “Or perhaps a scholar. Humans continue to surprise me.”
You leaned against the doorframe, smiling despite yourself. “Cas, she’s six months old. Right now her greatest achievement is not spitting up on your trench coat.”
The angel looked up, blue eyes solemn. “She has already exceeded expectations. Children are… miracles. Fragile, yet resilient.” He gently passed Juniper to you when she started fussing, his touch impossibly careful. “I find myself returning here more than necessary. It is… peaceful. A rare thing. She is going to do great things in this life.”
Dean appeared behind you, arms sliding around your waist from behind as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “Yeah, well, Uncle Cas has official baby sitting privileges now. Consider it payment for all the times you’ve pulled our asses out of the fire.”
Cas tilted his head. “I do not require payment. However… I would like to try the duck voice again. Juniper seemed amused last time.”
You laughed softly, the sound mixing with Dean’s low chuckle against your ear. That warmth in your chest flared brighter, and you stubbornly shoved it down. Just family. Just relief. Nothing more.
Charlie caught you staring at Dean one evening while he rocked Juniper to sleep in the nursery.
“You’ve got it bad,” she whispered, nudging you with her elbow as you both lingered in the doorway.
“I do not,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “He’s… Dean. Annoying, reckless, idiodic Dean. I’m not falling for him. That would be stupid.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m not a lesbian who’s totally into fictional girls in video games.” Charlie grinned. “You light up when he walks in the room, Berry. And the way he looks at you? Like you hung the moon. It’s disgustingly cute. Just admit it already.”
You elbowed her back, cheeks warm. “Shut up. We’ve got a baby and a bunker full of apocalypse leftovers. Love is… complicated. I’m fine with how things are.”
Charlie just hummed skeptically and wandered off to go back to her game, leaving you alone with the stubborn knot in your chest.
The normalcy held for a few more weeks- lazy mornings, shared research sessions where Sam tried his best to keep everyone focused, Castiel popping in and out with random gifts like a strangely accurate mobile of constellations for the crib or quiet stories about stars that made Juniper stare in wonder. Dean kept finding excuses to pull you close- adjusting your stance during impromptu training, stealing kisses when Juniper napped, murmuring “Missed this” against your hair like it was the simplest truth in the world.
You refused to name the feeling. Not yet.
Then one night the fragile peace shattered.
You were in the kitchen with Juniper on your hip, stirring something that smelled suspiciously like Dean’s attempt at “real food,” when Sam and Dean stormed in from the war room, faces grim but determined. Castiel appeared in a flutter of wings a second later, expression unreadable.
“Kevin finally cracked the last part of the tablet,” Sam said without preamble, spreading out notes on the counter. “Third trial, cure a demon.”
Dean’s jaw tightened. “As in, actually cure one. Turn it human again. And it has to stick for the gates to close.”
Your stomach dropped. “Cure a demon? That sounds… impossible? And dangerous.”
“It is,” Cas confirmed quietly, reaching out to let Juniper grab his finger. “The ritual is ancient and taxing. On the one performing it especially.”
Charlie wandered in, laptop in hand. “Wait, cure? Like, full-on redemption arc? Who’s the lucky demon?”
Dean’s eyes met yours, something fierce and protective flashing there. “We’re bringing the King of Hell himself to the party.”
Sam nodded. “Crowley. He’s the strongest, most connected demon out there. If we cure him- force the trial to completion- it ends this. No more demons. No more deals. Juniper grows up without any of this hanging over her head.”
You shifted Juniper higher on your hip, heart hammering. “You’re going to kidnap the King of Hell? Just like that?”
Dean stepped closer, brushing a loose hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness. “We’ve got a lead on where he’s laying low. Cas can help with the transport. In and out, Berry. Then we lock him down in the dungeon, do the ritual, and finish this once and for all.”
Cas inclined his head. “I will assist. For the child’s future.”
You swallowed hard, the stubborn denial in your chest warring with fresh worry. Another dangerous mission. Another chance they might not come back whole. But the way Dean looked at Juniper- at you- made it clear. He wasn't going to back down until the trials were over. Until he rid the world of anything he felt unsafe for our daughters future.
“Fine,” you said, voice steadier than you felt. “But you bring him back here alive. And you come back in one piece. Both of you. Cas, you're in charge of watching their backs.”
The angel nodded solemnly. “Of course.”
Charlie clapped her hands once. “Alright! Kidnapping prep time. I didn't even know we had a dungeon.”
“Leave that all to us. I don't want any of you near that cocky fucker.” Dean shot Charlie a look to back down and you watched as her shoulders deflated. You knew she wanted to help but this was beyond her expertise.
Dean pulled you and Juniper into a quick, fierce hug, his lips brushing your temple. “We’ll be careful. Promise. Got too much waiting for me here to screw it up.”
You leaned into him for a moment, letting yourself feel the solid warmth of him, the way your stubborn heart stuttered at his closeness. Not love. Not yet. Just… important.
But as Sam, Dean, and Castiel prepared to leave again- maps checked, weapons gathered, Cas already vanishing to scout- you watched them go with the same tight knot in your chest as before.
Juniper babbled “dada” softly against your shoulder.
You pressed a kiss to her curls and whispered, “They’ll be back, Juni-bug. And when they are… maybe Mommy will stop being so stubborn about a few things.”
Charlie appeared at your side, offering a supportive bump of her shoulder. “One kidnapping at a time, right? Come on. Let’s go build the world’s most fortified blanket fort while we wait. Uncle Cas will probably pop in later to judge our structural integrity.”
You laughed despite everything, the sound echoing softly through the bunker as the heavy door clanged shut behind the boys.
Another wait. Another trial.
But this time, the pull in your chest toward Dean felt a little less like something you could ignore.
And somewhere out there, the King of Hell was about to have a very bad day.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The bunker door shut with heavy finality a little after midnight, the sound echoing through the concrete halls like a warning.
Sam and Dean hauled a snarling, bound Crowley between them, his wrists and ankles wrapped in devil’s trap cuffs and his mouth temporarily silenced by a gag Dean had improvised from an old bandana. Castiel followed close behind, angel blade at the ready, his expression grim and watchful.
“Easy,” Sam grunted as Crowley tried to twist free. “You’re not going anywhere until this is over.”
Dean’s jaw was set, eyes hard. “Welcome home, Your Majesty. Hope you like the accommodations. Dungeon’s been redecorated just for you.”
Crowley’s eyes narrowed above the gag, dark with fury and something sharper, calculation. They dragged him down the stairs to the reinforced dungeon cell. You stayed upstairs with Juniper clutched tight against your chest, Charlie hovering protectively at your side.
“No way she gets anywhere near him,” Dean had said before they left, pressing a quick kiss to both your forehead and Juniper’s. “You two keep her upstairs until this is all over, yeah? Whole floor if you have to.”
You’d nodded, throat tight. The relief of having them back safely from the kidnapping was already fading into fresh worry. The third trial had begun the moment they started the ritual on Crowley- slow, painful, and draining. Sam had been down there with him, slowly injecting him with human blood while Cas stood guard and oversaw the process. Now it was Dean’s turn to stand guard, and the exhaustion was already showing in the tight lines around his eyes.
For the next several days the bunker operated under strict rules: Juniper stayed in the upper levels- nursery, kitchen, war room- with you, Charlie, and occasional pop-in visits from Castiel, who treated her like a tiny, breakable miracle and kept her entertained with soft stories about the stars or gentle demonstrations of harmless grace.
“Uncle Cas is on duty,” he’d say solemnly whenever he appeared in a flutter of wings, offering Juniper a single glowing finger to grab. “She will not be exposed to that… creature.”
You appreciated it more than you could say. The sight of Crowley being dragged in had sent ice through your veins. Even bound and weakened, he radiated menace.
Nights were the hardest. Dean would stumble upstairs after his shifts, smelling of sweat and sulfur and holy water, collapsing into bed beside you with a tired groan and pulling you close. You’d run your fingers through his hair, heart aching with all the things you still refused to name.
“You’re doing good,” you’d whisper praises into his soft hair.
“Doing it for my girls.” he’d murmur against your neck, his eyes fluttering shut as pure exhaustion dragged him to sleep.
But the pull in your chest kept growing, stubborn as you were. You caught yourself watching him with Juniper- tender, patient, exhausted but present- and the word love would hover dangerously close before you shoved it away. Not yet. Not when everything still felt so precarious.
One night, midway through the trial, sleep wouldn’t come.
Juniper had finally settled after a fussy evening, Charlie was crashed out in the library after too many hours monitoring wards, and Dean was downstairs taking his shift with Crowley. The bunker was silent except for the low hum of the generators.
You slipped out of bed, pulled on one of Dean’s flannels over your sleep shirt, and padded barefoot down the corridors. Your feet carried you toward the dungeon almost without thinking, curiosity and worry tangling together. You told yourself you just wanted to check on Dean, make sure he wasn’t pushing himself too hard. But some part of you needed to see the demon who’d caused so much pain, the one whose “cure” might finally end the nightmare.
The dungeon door was cracked. You hesitated, then pushed it open quietly.
Crowley sat chained to a chair inside the painted devil’s trap, looking pale and drawn, sweat beading on his forehead from the ongoing ritual. The air smelled thick with incense and holy water. Dean wasn’t in the room, he probably stepped out for a minute to grab more supplies or catch a breath.
Crowley’s head lifted slowly, a tired but vicious smirk curling his lips when he saw you. “Well, well. If it isn’t the little domestic Winchester accessory. Berry, was it? Come to gloat over the King in his chains?”
You stayed just outside the trap, arms crossed. “I came to see how the trial was going. Not to chat.”
“Oh, but chatting is so much more fun.” His voice was weaker than usual, threaded with pain, but the taunting edge remained. “Especially when I can smell the tension rolling off you and your precious Dean. All that unspoken pining. It’s delicious.”
Your stomach twisted. “You don’t know anything about us.”
Crowley chuckled lowly, the sound raspy. “Don’t I? I’ve watched you lot since your genuine sister helped with that pesky leviathan problem. The way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention, it's like you’re the only light left in his miserable little life. The way that miserable scowl leaves your face when he walks into a room, even while pretending you’re not utterly gone for him. It’s pathetic, really. Two idiots dancing around the obvious while the world burns. He loves you, darling. And you love him. Deny it all you want, but I can taste it in the air. Sweet, stupid, human love. Makes me almost nostalgic for when I still had a soul to lose.”
You felt heat rise in your cheeks, stubborn denial surging. “You’re wrong. It’s not like that. We’re just… family. Co-parenting our daughter. That’s all.”
“Keep telling yourself that, pet.” Crowley’s eyes gleamed with malicious amusement. “But I’ve seen love destroy better men than Dean Winchester. When this trial finally strips the last of my demonic nature away- if it does- you’ll still be here, lying to yourself while he risks everything for you and that squalling brat upstairs. How long until you admit it? Or will you wait until he's dead again?”
The words hit harder than you wanted. You opened your mouth to snap back when heavy footsteps sounded behind you.
“Berry?”
Dean’s voice was sharp with surprise and concern. He stepped into the dungeon carrying a fresh syringe of human blood, his face darkening the moment he saw you standing there talking to Crowley.
“What the hell are you doing down here?” He set the syringe down hard and moved quickly to your side, one hand landing protectively on your lower back as he glared at the demon. “You were supposed to stay upstairs. Far away from this son of a bitch.”
Crowley’s smirk widened, even as pain flickered across his features from the ritual’s toll. “Ah, perfect timing. Speak of the lovesick hunter. Tell her, Dean. Tell her how you-”
“Shut your mouth,” Dean growled, stepping half in front of you, his body a solid wall between you and the demon. His green eyes flicked to yours, worry and something deeper shining there. “You okay? He say anything to you?”
You swallowed, heart pounding from the taunt and from Dean’s closeness. The stubborn knot in your chest tightened. “I’m fine. I just… couldn’t sleep. Wanted to check on you.”
Dean’s jaw ticked, but his hand stayed gentle on your back. He guided you toward the door, shooting one last venomous look at Crowley. “We’re done here. Trial’s moving forward whether he likes it or not. You don’t need to listen to his crap.”
As he led you out into the hallway, the dungeon door shutting firmly behind you, Crowley’s low, mocking laugh followed.
“Denial is a beautiful thing, children! Enjoy it while it lasts!”
Dean didn’t stop until you were halfway up the stairs. Then he turned, cupping your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks. His voice dropped, rough and earnest. “Hey. Whatever he said, just ignore it. He’s just trying to get under your skin. That’s what he does.”
You met his eyes, the warmth you’d been fighting flooding through you again. Love. That stupid word dangling from the tip of your tongue- threatening to spill everything to him without a second thought.
Instead, you leaned into his touch, voice soft. “I know. Just… be careful down there. Come back upstairs when your shift ends. Juniper and I… we need you.”
Dean searched your face for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his expression. He pressed his forehead to yours, breath mingling. “I will. Always.”
He kissed you then, slow, deep, and full of everything neither of you had named yet, before pulling back with a tired but genuine smile.
“Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.”
You let him lead you upstairs, Crowley’s taunts echoing in your mind even as Dean’s hand stayed warm in yours.
You weren’t ready to admit it.
Not tonight.
But as Juniper slept peacefully in her crib and Dean pulled you close under the covers, the feeling refused to be ignored any longer.
Maybe soon.
Maybe when the trials were finally over and the world felt a little less like it was ending.
For now, you held onto the stubborn silence… and the quiet hope that Dean felt it too.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The final days of the trial dragged like a slow burn through the bunker.
Sam and Dean took turns in the dungeon, performing the ancient ritual step by step. Injecting Crowley with purified blood, reciting the incantations, watching the King of Hell unravel. The demon fought it at first with every ounce of venom and sarcasm he had left, but gradually his taunts grew weaker, his eyes softer around the edges, his accent slipping into something almost… human.
You stayed strictly upstairs with Juniper and Charlie, you couldn't bear another moment around Crowley. Castiel popped in and out more frequently than ever, acting as both guardian and occasional babysitter. He’d sit with Juniper on the play mat, letting her tug at his tie while he explained constellations in that solemn, wondering tone.
“She is growing so quickly,” he observed one afternoon, Juniper balanced on his knee. “Her soul is bright. Unmarred by the darkness below.”
You smiled tiredly from the doorway. “That’s the plan. Keep it that way.”
Dean emerged from the dungeon each night looking more drained. Shadows under his eyes and his clothes stained with blood and sweat- but he always found you and Juniper first. He’d carefully lean into her crib and give her the softest of kisses on her temple before scooping you into his arms and placing a mirrored kiss on yours.
You’d hold him a little tighter, the stupid knot in your chest twisting harder. Crowley’s words from that night in the dungeon still echoed sometimes in the quiet hours- He loves you. And you love him. You refused to say it aloud. What if he was wrong? What if he just wanted to mess with your head like it was all part of his sadistic little games?
The night the ritual reached its climax, the bunker felt electric with tension.
Sam took the final shift. You heard the raised voices drifting up from below- Crowley’s broken pleas, Sam’s steady chanting. Then a sudden, guttural cry.
Charlie grabbed your arm when the lights flickered. “That didn’t sound good.”
You handed Juniper to her and raced downstairs with Castiel materializing at your side in a flutter of wings.
The dungeon was a mess. Sam lay crumpled on the floor just outside the devil’s trap, blood trickling from his nose and ears, his body glowing faintly with an unnatural light as the trial’s power ravaged him. Crowley sat slumped in the chair, no longer demonic. His skin was pale and his haunted eyes were wide with shock with tears streaking his face. The ritual had worked. He was human. Fully, painfully human.
Dean was already kneeling beside his brother, voice cracking. “Sammy? Hey! Son of a bitch- talk to me!”
Cas moved fast, pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead. Grace flared bright and steady. The glow around Sam faded, the blood stopped, and color slowly returned to his face as the angel healed the worst of the damage.
“He will live,” Castiel said quietly, voice tight with effort. “The trials exacted a heavy toll, but… he is stable now.”
Sam groaned, blinking up at them. “Did it… work?”
Dean helped him sit up, relief flooding his features. “Yeah. Crowley’s human. Trial’s done.” He glanced at the former King of Hell, who looked small and broken in the chair. “Gates of Hell are closing. We'll deal with what's already here but… it's over Sammy.”
Crowley- human, vulnerable, and suddenly very mortal- lifted his head. His voice came out hoarse, stripped of its usual smugness. “Well… isn’t this poetic. The great Winchester triumph. I suppose you’ll kill me now, like the good little hunters you are.”
Dean’s expression hardened. He stood, pulling an angel blade from his jacket. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ blood on your hands, Crowley. Even as a human, that doesn’t just disappear.”
You stepped forward, “Dean…”
He met your eyes, the weight of every loss, every deal, every soul Crowley had twisted heavy between you. Then he turned back.
“For all the people you hurt. For Bobby. For every family you destroyed.” Dean’s voice was low, final. “This ends tonight.”
The strike was quick. Crowley didn’t beg, not really. He just closed his eyes, a faint, bitter smile on his newly human lips as the blade found its mark. The former King of Hell slumped forward, gone.
Silence fell, thick and heavy.
Sam exhaled shakily, still leaning on Cas. “It’s finally over.”
Dean wiped the blade clean, then crossed the room in two strides and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your hair. You clung back just as fiercely, the relief crashing over you in waves. No more demons. No more deals. Juniper could grow up without that shadow.
“You did it,” you whispered against his chest. “Both of you.”
“We did it,” he corrected, voice rough. His hand cupped the back of your neck, thumb stroking gently. “Couldn’t have without you holding us down. Without… this.” He pulled back enough to look at you, green eyes searching.
Your stubborn heart stuttered. The words hovered on your tongue- I love you Dean Winchester- but you swallowed them down again. Not tonight. Not when everything still felt so raw.
Castiel helped Sam to his feet. “You will need rest. All of you.”
Charlie appeared at the top of the stairs, Juniper on her hip, eyes wide. “Is it…?”
Dean turned, a tired but genuine grin breaking through. “It’s done, Red. Hell’s closed for business.”
Charlie let out a whoop that echoed through the bunker. Juniper startled, then giggled at the noise, reaching down towards her dad.
Later, after showers, food, and Cas healing the last of everyone’s bruises, the war room felt lighter than it had in months. Sam was propped up in a chair, still pale but alive and smiling faintly. Castiel sat nearby, observing us humans with quiet fascination. You held Juniper while Dean leaned against the map table beside you, his arm draped casually around your shoulders.
Charlie clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling with that irrepressible energy. “Okay, listen. We just closed the freaking gates of Hell. Permanently. No more demon deals, no more possessions, no more Crowley-level headaches. This calls for a party. A real one. Not just beer and leftovers.”
You raised an eyebrow, bouncing Juniper gently. “A party? In the bunker?”
“Exactly!” Charlie grinned. “I’m talking about music, junk food, disco balls, maybe even a piñata shaped like a devil’s trap. Uncle Cas can be the designated… whatever angels are. Juniper gets her first official celebration. Berry, you in? We deserve this.”
Sam chuckled tiredly. “I’m not sure my body’s up for dancing, but… yeah. Counting me in for at least one beer.”
Dean’s hand squeezed your shoulder, his voice low and warm against your ear. “What do you say, Berry? One night of normal. Real normal. Before we have to clean up the rest of the mess?.”
You looked around the room- at your makeshift family, at Juniper’s sleepy, content face, at Dean’s hopeful green eyes- and felt the stubborn walls crack just a little more.
“Yeah,” you said softly, leaning into him. “Let’s throw a party.”
Charlie pumped her fist. “Yes! Party is a go. I’ll handle decorations. Cas, you’re on snack duty. Try not to smite the microwave.”
Castiel tilted his head. “I will… endeavor not to.”
Dean laughed, the sound rich and real, and pressed a kiss to your temple. “See? Even the angel’s on board. This is gonna be good.”
As the planning buzzed around you, Charlie already listing playlists, Sam arguing against her questionable choice in music- you let yourself savor the moment. The trials were over. Crowley was gone. Hell was locked away.
And somewhere in the warmth of Dean’s arm around you, the feeling you’d been denying refused to stay buried any longer.
You still weren’t ready to say it out loud.
But as Juniper reached for Dean’s flannel with a happy “dada,” and he grinned down at her like she was the whole damn universe, you knew the truth in your bones.
You were falling- had already fallen- hard.
And maybe, just maybe, after the party… you’d stop being so stubborn about it.
For tonight, though, there were playlists to make, lights to find, and a hard-won victory to celebrate.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The bunker had never felt so alive.
Charlie had outdone herself. The war had been transformed into something warm and wonderfully ridiculous. Strands of multicolored fairy lights were strung in looping arcs across the concrete walls and draped over the iron balcony railing, casting a soft, twinkling glow that made the whole space feel almost enchanted. A massive banner made of crudely taped together printer paper stretched across the far wall in bold, glittery marker letters- GATES CLOSED, BITCHES. Beneath it, someone she had added a doodle of Crowley getting kicked in the ass by a cartoon devil’s fork.
The map table had been cleared and draped with old Christmas themed tablecloths Sam had dug out from one of the many storage rooms. Atop it was Jody’s famous three-cheese casserole, a mountain of chips and salsa, store bought cupcakes, a vegetable tray that no one had touched, and an entire arsenal of alcohol. Enough to get a small army drunk.
Music pulsed through the PA system- classic rock sliding into 80s hits and pop anthems that made Dean groan theatrically every few songs. Right now, Don't Stop Believing was blasting, and Sam was half singing along with a beer in hand, looking more relaxed than he had in months.
Sam had invited a small group of people to the bunker. Kevin, Jody, and Garth had made the journey over to celebrate the new normal. Meg had somehow been on the surface when the gates closed and despite her being a demon- Sam and Dean trusted her- so she ended up here as well. Juni ruled the night from her bouncer seat like a tiny, glitter covered queen. Charlie had dressed her in a black onesie and hastily bedazzled the front with “Future Hunter” in sparkling letters. Juniper was the center of attention- the future of a monster free world. When she wasn't in the bouncer she was passed gently from lap to lap with the kind of reverence usually reserved for the most fragile of relics.
Kevin sat at one end of the table nursing a beer, trying to remain the responsible one. Sam laughed freely beside him, cheeks flushed, occasionally stealing glances at Juni while Jody hogged her. She took on the role of Grandma Jody with ease- swaying her gently in her arms until she fell asleep despite the chaos around her.
Meg leaned against the wall with a glass of whiskey in hand, flirting with Castiel, who watched the entire scene with wide eyed angelic fascination. Every so often Cas would ask genuinely baffled questions about human customs. You heard him ask Garth, “Why does this song repeatedly insist we ‘shake it off’? Is there an affliction I should be concerned about?”, which only made everyone laugh harder.
Charlie was a whirlwind- bouncing between refilling drinks, queuing the next song on her laptop, and taking shots of vodka like it was her job. She was attempting to be the best host while slowly falling into the clutches of the liquor she continuously drank.
And Dean… Dean had been hungrily eyeing you down all night.
From the moment the drinks started flowing, his hands rarely left you. He kept pulling you close, whispering filthy compliments against your ear, stealing kisses that grew longer and deeper as the whiskey loosened his grip on restraint. Every time you moved across the room he tracked you with dark, heated eyes, biting his lip like he was already imagining dragging you off somewhere private. It was shameless, open, and deliciously distracting.
By the time the fairy lights had begun to blur softly at the edges of your vision, you were both well and truly drunk.
Dean pulled you onto his lap on one of the old couches, his arm heavy and warm around your waist. His cheeks were flushed, green eyes glassy and bright as he grinned up at you like you were the best thing he’d seen in his entire life.
“Berry,” he slurred, voice low and rough, “have I told you tonight how fuckin’ pretty you are? ‘Cause you are. Stupid pretty. Like… the kind of pretty that'll get me in trouble again one day.”
You laughed, the sound giggly and unrestrained, and poked his chest. “You’ve told me that like four times already, Winchester.”
“Doesn’t make it less true,” he insisted. His hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, calloused fingers tracing lazy circles against your lower back. “And you know what else?
Look at you. Been staring at that mouth all night. Keep thinking about how it feels wrapped around-”
“Dean!” you laughed, pressing a hand over his mouth, cheeks burning even as heat pooled low in your stomach. He just licked your palm, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Your heart stuttered. Even when he's being a horny drunk idiot you could feel yourself cracking under the weight of alcohol and the softness in his voice. You cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his stubbled cheeks.
Then Charlie appeared out of seemingly nowhere- stumbling over to the two of you and yelling over the music about how she wanted to dance- how could you say no?
While you were laughing and dancing with Charlie and Meg, Dean wandered over to refill his drink. That’s when Jody pounced.
She cornered him near the bar cart, voice low and serious. “Dean Winchester, you listen to me. I don't know how this life found you, but you need to tell her how you really feel. Tell her you love her. Tonight. She deserves to hear it out loud.”
Dean flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Jody, c’mon-”
“Don’t ‘Jody’ me,” she cut him off, pointing a finger in his face. “I’ve buried too many good people who waited too long. You tell her. Tonight. Or I’ll do it for you, I plan to keep the title of Grandma so you better not fuck this up.” She softened a little and patted his shoulder before heading back toward the group, you and Charlie attempting to get her to join your dance circle.
Later, while you were catching your breath near the snack table, Meg sidled up to you alone. Her usual sarcasm was tempered with something almost sincere.
“He’s been eye-fucking you all night. It’s almost embarrassing how whipped he is.”
“Excuse me?” You whipped around to face her, a light hearted smirk plastering across her face.
“Look, sugar,” she said quietly. “Dean’s never been great with the big feelings talk. Usually just spits out some form of a joke to cover everything up. Daddy issues.” She rolls her eyes dramatically, “Don’t let him chicken out. Make him say it. You both deserve that after everything.”
Despite feeling like you were going to explode with your own emotions, the party continued on. Across the room, Garth and Charlie had formed a chaotic duo dedicated to annoying Sam. They were both plastered and twice as loud, taking turns singing off-key harmonies to whatever song was playing and bombarding him with ridiculous questions.
“Sam! Sammy! Samuel!” Garth slurred, throwing an arm around Sam’s shoulders. “How did you get so tall? I mean seriously- you're like a tree. I could climb you!”
Charlie cackled, leaning heavily against Sam’s other side. “Better question- does your flannel collection have names? I'd name the red one ‘Big Plaid Energy.’”
Sam groaned, trying and failing to look annoyed while clearly fighting a smile. “You two are the worst.”
“You love us!” they chorused, dissolving into laughter as they attempted to get him to dance with them. Kevin watched from the sidelines, shaking his head and occasionally snapping photos with a grin.
Castiel, ever the calm center of the storm, sat beside Juniper’s bouncer when Jody wasn’t holding her. He solemnly blew bubbles for the baby and explained their physics in great detail, smiling faintly whenever she squealed and reached for them. He eventually ended up soothing her to sleep, singing to her in Enochian until her eyelids grew heavy and she peacefully drifted off to dreamland. Cas had declared he was taking her off to bed and stayed by her side so you and Dean could have an actual night off.
Every chance he got, Dean kept pulling you back against him- hands on your hips, lips at your neck, murmuring low promises about what he wanted to do to you the second you were alone. The almost-confessions kept coming too, soft and whiskey-soaked between the flirting. Dean nuzzled into your neck on the couch, his breath warm against your skin.
“Scared I’d lose you two,” he mumbled against your skin. “Every time I went downstairs… all I could think about was getting back to you. You make me want to be a better man. You’re everything, Berry. I think I-”
A loud crash- Meg knocking over cups for the second time- interrupted him, followed by everyone’s laughter. You just smiled and kissed him slow and deep, tasting the words he couldn’t quite say yet.
“Enough sharing you with everyone,” he growled softly, standing on unsteady legs and tugging you with him. “C’mon, sweetheart.”
Hand in hand and giggling, you slipped out of the war room while Charlie queued one last song behind you. Dean kept stopping you in the hallway- pressing you against the cool concrete, kissing you like he was starving, hands roaming with drunk, affectionate need.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The door barely latched before Dean shoved you up against it, his body pressing hard into yours, mouth claiming you in a bruising, whiskey-soaked kiss. His hands were greedy- rough palms shoving under your shirt to squeeze your breasts, fingers pinching your nipples until you gasped into his mouth.
“Been hard for you all fucking night,” he growled against your lips, grinding his thick cock against your hip. “Watching you laugh, sitting on my lap like you own me… You have no idea what you do to me, Berry.”
You bit his bottom lip, tugging it between your teeth. “Then show me, Dean. Stop fuckin’ talking and fuck me like you mean it.”
He snarled, low and filthy, and spun you around so fast you almost caught the spins. In seconds he had your pants and panties ripped down your legs. He dropped to his knees behind you, yanking your hips back and burying his face between your thighs without warning.
“Fuck! Dean!” you cried out as his tongue dragged hot and wet through your folds. He ate you like a man possessed. His stubble scraped your sensitive skin while his tongue flicked rapidly over your clit, two thick fingers plunging deep inside you, curling viciously against your g-spot.
“That’s it baby girl. Make those pretty noises for me,” he groaned against your pussy, the vibration shooting straight to your core. “So fucking wet already. You been thinking about my mouth on you all night too, huh? Greedy little bitch.”
You moaned loudly, pushing back against his face, one hand braced on the door while the other reached back to tangle in his hair. He sucked your clit hard, fingers pumping faster, the wet, obscene sounds of him devouring you filling the room.
“Dean- oh god- right there- don’t fucking stop- fuck!” Your thighs trembled violently as the orgasm built fast and brutal. He growled encouragement, sucking harder, fingers curling relentlessly until you shattered.
You came with a sharp, loud cry, hips jerking as pleasure ripped through you. Dean didn’t let up, licking you through every pulse until your legs nearly gave out.
Before you could recover, he stood, spun you again, and shoved you toward the bed. “On your back. Now.”
You barely hit the mattress before he was on you, shoving his jeans down just enough to free his cock. Your mouth still waters every time you see it. He crawled up your body, kissing and biting a path from your stomach to your breasts, sucking one nipple into his mouth hard enough to make you arch.
“Gonna fuck your mouth first,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “Want to feel that pretty throat taking me.”
He straddled your chest, guiding his cock to your lips. You opened eagerly, taking him deep in one smooth motion, tongue swirling around the head before hollowing your cheeks and sucking hard.
“Fuck- Mmm yes. Good girl,” Dean groaned, one hand fisting your hair as he started thrusting shallowly into your mouth. “Look at you… taking my cock so well. So fucking sloppy and perfect. You love this, don’t you? Love choking on me. So desperate and needy, hmm?”
You moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length. He pushed deeper, hitting the back of your throat, eyes dark and wild as he watched you take him. Saliva dripped down your chin as he fucked your mouth with increasing urgency, curses spilling from his lips.
“Shit- your mouth is gonna kill me- fuck, Sweetheart I-”
He pulled out with a wet pop before he could come, breathing hard. “Not yet. Turn over. Ass up.”
You scrambled onto all fours, arching your back and spreading your knees. Dean knelt behind you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. He rubbed the thick head of his cock through your soaked folds, teasing your clit before lining up.
“Gonna fuck you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow,” he growled, then slammed in with one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
You both moaned loudly- raw, broken sounds that echoed off the concrete walls.
“Fuck baby- so tight,” Dean groaned, pulling almost all the way out before snapping his hips forward again, setting a punishing rhythm. The sound of skin slapping skin was loud, the headboard banging against the wall with every powerful thrust. “This pussy was made for me. Hear how wet you are? Soaking my cock like a good little slut.”
“Harder. Dean- please- fuck me harder. Need you.” You begged, pushing back to meet every thrust, the angle letting him hit deep and perfect inside you.
He obliged, gripping your hips tighter and pounding into you relentlessly. One hand slid around to rub fast, rough circles over your swollen clit.
“You gonna come for me again?” he panted, voice strained and filthy. “Want you to squirt all over my cock this time. Make a mess, baby. Show me how hard I make you come.”
The overwhelming pressure built back up fast. Every brutal snap of his hips, every dirty word, every swipe of his fingers pushed you closer to the edge.
“Dean- I’m gonna- fuck- please don't stop- please please please-” you screamed, body seizing as the orgasm slammed into you.
Your walls clenched violently around him as you squirted- hot, wet pulses soaking his cock, his thighs, and the sheets beneath you. The sensation was blinding, your cries loud and shameless. If Charlie wasn't still playing music the whole bunker would've heard you.
“Fuck- yes- that’s it- good fucking girl,” Dean snarled, his rhythm turning erratic as he fucked you through it, the wet squelching sounds even louder now. “Squirting all over me- shit- pussy fuckin’ milking my cock. Fuck! Baby I'm gonna- ”
He thrust deep one last time, burying himself as far as he could go and came with a loud, guttural groan, pulsing hot and thick inside you. His hips stuttered through the aftershocks, grinding against you as he rode it out.
You both collapsed forward onto the bed in a sweaty, trembling heap, his chest pressed to your back, cock still buried deep as the last spasms faded.
Dean pressed open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck, breathing ragged. “Fuck… love this. Love you so fucking much, Berry. Don’t ever doubt it.”
You turned your head just enough to catch his mouth in a lazy, exhausted kiss, the words slipping out in a slurred whisper against his lips. “Love you too… Dean. So much.”
He hummed contentedly, finally pulling out with a soft groan before tugging you into his arms. The room still spun from the whiskey and the intensity of it all.
Within minutes, tangled together in the ruined sheets, naked and utterly spent, you both passed out- bodies pressed close, hearts still racing, the distant sounds of the party completely forgotten.
Tomorrow would bring hangovers, sore muscles, and the sobering reality of the words you both finally spoke out loud.
But tonight, with Hell sealed away and Dean’s arms locked tight around you, nothing else mattered.
⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘
The morning light filtering through the bunker’s dim lamps felt like an assault.
You woke slowly, head throbbing with a vicious hangover that made every heartbeat feel like a hammer against your skull. Your body ached all over. Dean seems to have kept his drunken promise. Your thighs were sore, hips tender, the faint sting between your legs a vivid reminder of how rough and desperate last night had been. The sheets were a wreck, tangled and still carrying the unmistakable scent of sweat, whiskey, and sex.
Dean was wrapped around you like a lifeline, one heavy arm slung across your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck. His breathing was slow and warm against your skin, but you could already feel the tension in his body as consciousness crept in.
A soft, insistent babble crackled over the baby monitor- Juniper was awake, demanding her parents with cheerful little “dada's” and happy squeals.
You groaned, pressing the palm of your hand against your forehead. “Never drinking that much again.”
Dean made a low, miserable sound, nuzzling closer for a second before reality hit. “Fuck… my head feels like someone slammed me with a baseball bat.” He cracked one eye open, green gaze bleary and bloodshot, but the moment it landed on you, something softer flickered through the pain. “Morning, Berry.”
“Morning,” you whispered, voice rough. You both dragged yourselves upright, moving like you were ninety years old. Clothes were scattered across the floor from last night's activities. You pulled on his oversized flannel and a pair of sweatpants while Dean yanked on boxers and a worn t-shirt, wincing with every movement.
The walk to the nursery was slow and careful. Juniper lit up the second she saw you both, tiny hands gripping the crib rails as she bounced excitedly. “Dada! Dada!”
Dean’s entire face softened, hangover be damned. He lifted her gently into his arms, pressing a tender kiss to her messy curls even as he grimaced. “Hey, Juni-bug. Daddy’s here… even if he feels like death warmed over.” His voice cracked just a little. “God, kiddo. You have no idea how much I needed to see that smile this morning.”
You took her next, holding her close against your chest and breathing in her clean baby scent. “Hi, sweet girl. Mommy and Daddy had a rough night, but we’re here. We’re always gonna be here.”
Feeding and changing her turned into a clumsy, affectionate disaster. Dean nearly dropped the bottle twice, muttering quiet curses before catching himself and laughing weakly. You kept bumping hips and elbows, passing Juniper back and forth like a precious jewel while trying not to throw up from the smell of mashed banana. When she decided it was the perfect time to smear her breakfast across both your shirts, you both ended up chuckling through the pain.
“Perfect timing, kid,” Dean said, wiping banana off his chest with a rag, his voice quieter now.
Halfway through cleanup, Castiel appeared in a soft flutter of wings, took one look at your wrecked appearances and the banana covered chaos, and tilted his head with quiet understanding.
“You are both… still impaired,” he observed gently. “I will care for Juniper. She is safe with me. The two of you need rest. And you smell like bananas and liquor.”
Dean hesitated, glancing at you, then at his daughter. “You sure, Cas? You had her last night- we don't mind-.”
“I am certain,” Cas replied, carefully taking Juniper from your arms. She immediately reached for his tie, babbling happily. “Children are remarkably forgiving. Go. Heal. Clean up. I have faced far worse than a six-month-old.”
You and Dean didn’t argue. You retreated to your room with mugs of strong black coffee, a bottle of water, painkillers, and the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. The still messy bed called out to you. You both collapsed against the headboard, sipping in silence for a long moment.
Dean set his mug aside first. He turned toward you, green eyes serious despite the hangover haze, vulnerability etched into every line of his face.
“Last night…” His voice was low. “I meant every word I said. Every single one. I’ve been carrying it around for weeks- hell, months- too scared to say it sober because once I do, it’s real. And real things… they tend to get taken away from me.” He swallowed hard, reaching over to take your hand, his thumb tracing slow, grounding circles over your knuckles. “But I can’t keep pretending anymore. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not with Juniper looking at us like we’re her whole world.”
He paused, eyes searching yours, raw emotion cracking through the usual bravado. “I love you. Not the easy kind of love. The terrifying kind. The kind that makes me want to burn the world down to keep you safe, but also makes me want to be better so I don’t have to. You came back when I was a mess. You gave me a daughter. You held this bunker together for this entire fucked up family. You see every ugly, broken part of me and you still choose me every damn day. I love you so much it scares the hell out of me, because if I lost you now…”
His voice caught. He squeezed your hand tighter, green eyes glistening. “I don’t know how I’d survive it.”
Tears burned behind your eyes, the hangover making everything feel sharper, more honest. You shifted closer, cupping his stubbled jaw with your free hand, thumb brushing his cheek.
“Dean…” Your voice trembled. “I’ve been so stubborn. So scared. Every time you walked out of that door to face Hell again, I told myself it was just co-parenting, just surviving together. But it was never just that. Watching you with Juniper- how gentle you are with her, how you sing her to sleep even when you’re exhausted, how you look at her like she’s the one good thing you managed to do right in this damn world—it broke every wall I had left. Kinda annoying actually.”
You took a shaky breath, letting the tears spill over. “I love you. The stupid kind of love that kept me awake every night you were gone, terrified but still praying you’d come back to us. I love every part of you. I knew you were going to be a problem from the moment I met you. I love the man who steals my coffee and makes terrible jokes just to hear me laugh. I love the father who’s terrified of failing but shows up anyway. I’m done running from it. I love you, Dean Winchester. All of you. And I’m not letting go either.”
For a heartbeat, the room was silent except for your shared breathing.
Then Dean’s face crumpled with relief and something deeper- something like wonder. He pulled you into his chest, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurt, his face buried in your hair.
“God, Berry,” he whispered, voice thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve it, but I’m gonna spend every damn day trying to. You and Juniper. You’re my reason. The only reason that’s ever fucking mattered. I love you. So fucking much.”
You clung to him just as fiercely, tears soaking into his shirt as the last of the stubborn fear finally melted away. The hangover still pulsed behind your eyes, but the warmth in your chest was stronger- steady, real, undeniable.
Dean pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple, then your forehead, then your lips- soft and reverent this time, full of promise instead of drunken heat.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, green eyes locked on yours with quiet intensity. “No more almosts. No more hiding. We do this right- for her, and for us. Whatever normal looks like now that Hell’s locked away… we’re building it together.”
You nodded, smiling through the tears. “Together.”
From down the hall came the distant sound of Juniper’s happy giggles and Castiel’s voice patiently explaining something about stars to an utterly delighted baby.
You and Dean stayed tangled together in bed a while longer, sipping coffee, trading soft kisses and quieter words, letting the awkward, painful, beautiful morning wrap around you both like a blanket.
Hangovers and all, it was the clearest, most honest start you’d ever had.
And for the first time since Juniper was born, the future didn’t feel like something you had to survive.
In a tournament against the knight to whom he had given a favor, he saw you.
His knight in shining armor, from some backwater village.
You defeated his champion in two effortless moves. He watched in fascination as you dismounted your horse and retrieved the handkerchief he had given to Ser Vance of Gor.
Then, catching him in the act of staring, you turned toward him. Pressing a kiss to the handkerchief, you made his heart shudder.
"Favors are to be won, not trodden on," you reasoned with the guards as they dragged you from the arena for stealing the royal favor.
From winning the tournament, to spending a night in prison, to kneeling before him in an oath. Xavier did not know when you became his dark knight.
Not until he realized you had stolen more than just a favor.
Rafayel:
He heard you first, the clash of swords and daggers, the thud of bodies hitting cold, hard ground.
And then he was blinded. After days of darkness, light flooded in, making him recoil into himself.
It had been weeks since you left for the campaign. Weeks since he had been captured from the shallow shores and thrown into the unlit cells that stank of death and fear.
Fighting the stinging pain in his eyes, he looked up, and there you stood. In all your glory. In your kingdom's armor, holding your sword- eyes wide with battle's fury.
He reached for you, though his tail, torn and raw, stung against the floor. They had not allowed him to shift. Still, with a thousand grievances, he reached toward you.
"Rafayel," you whispered, kneeling beside him and pulling him into your arms. "I am here." You murmured as your sword shattered his chains.
Your words made the bond thrum with joy despite the pain in his body.
"I am sorry it took so long," you said, wiping the gash above his brow. "But I’m here."
And that was when he cried. Shedding pearls his captors would have killed to possess.
Never before had waiting been so painful. But in every lifetime, a union with you was worth the suffering.
Zayne:
He had been an apprentice in Astra's halls when he first saw you, the herald to the God of Time itself. You stood proud at your lord’s side.
How you shone brighter than Astra himself was beyond Zayne. How could a mere herald possess such light?
But you were beloved. Rescuing disciples from Astra's wrath, smoothing over mistakes, appeasing Astra's tantrums. You were the calm in his halls.
Yet, you were also his sword, leading sparring sessions with the students of fate.
Zayne learned the way of the bow from you. Steadying his hands, you taught him the exact points to strike while he spoke to you of anatomy and healing.
He had always been a thorn in Astra’s side, a healer who fought to give life where there was none. Perhaps that was why he had been barred from battle.
Forced to tend to the wounded, far from the battlefield, so that his kindness would not extend to the dying on the other side.
On the eve of battle, you handed him your bow. "This is for your defense, and for the people around you." You fixed the quiver around him, the head of the healing halls.
As the herald leading the assault, your presence was a surprise to many, especially next to Zayne, the one who had angered Astra.
"And this," you said, handing him a satchel, "is for anyone who needs help. Friend or foe. We deny no one aid." You smiled.
And then you walked into the battle of time. Your armor burning bright as any star even as you fell.
Sylus (Angel x Demon au):
You were chaos. The bloodthirsty bane of heaven. He found you in the battles of men, the brothels of night, the tears of mothers.
You prowled the fields with plague and ruin dripping from your fingertips. Your crimson eyes burned with madness as you swept through the carnage with a scimitar. Blood clung to you, from your hair to your eyes, flowing like a river.
A terrible sight to many. Damning to him.
He had been sent to capture you, to deliver justice for the humans who prayed for help. He who had once beheld your unmarred form.
And when he pressed his sword to your throat, you had only laughed. A low, broken sound.
"We meet again," you had grinned, guiding his sword to your chest. Wrapping your hand over his. "This time, I shall have you forever."
You steadied the sword and pulled it into your heart.
Your breath ghosted over his ear as you whispered the prophecy of your shared fate. "Let this be a debt we shall settle for eons."
Your curse settled upon him. Dragging him down. Twisting him into a reflection of you in his soul, in his crimson eyes, and last of all, in his heart.
Unleashing upon him the wrath of unending time. Truly making him yours forever. Stealing him from the heavens, you won.
Caleb:
He hadn't seen you in your gear until the end. Not until you stood before him, pointing your gun at his chest.
"Colonel Caleb, you are under arrest for working with EVER. You will be detained until the trial." Your voice was devoid of emotion.
"Drop your weapons and step back."
You turned him around, folding his hands behind his back. The handcuffs snapped shut with cold finality.
"You have the right to remain silent." Your touch did not linger.
Your uniform was not unlike his. But he had never known. Not until now. There, on your lapel, was the badge of intelligence.
All these years, you had both managed to keep the most dangerous of secrets.
Despite himself, he smiled.
It vanished when your knee struck the back of his legs, forcing him to kneel.
Leaning down, you yanked him back by his hair. "Expect no mercy," you snarled before leaving him kneeling on the cold floor, surrounded by your officers.
I KNEW Y'ALL WOULD UNDERSTAND!!!! @scunthotter and @probablily understood the assignment IMMEDIATELY:
AND
OHHHHH ITS SOOOOO GOOOD PLEASE!!!!! I love the idea that Ilya is riding the high of thinking he's just effectively confirmed their mutual desires to each other so when Shane starts to squirm he at first thinks "Oh we're playing THIS game again" and holds him down and kind of does his condescending little laugh,,, but then the struggle is like,,, Actually Real and Ilya pivots to trying to soothe Shane,,, but,,, he's still,,, holding shane down,,, OuuGHHHhH 😵💫🔥😵💫🔥😵💫
