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Chapter 20 ~ The Supernatural Wars.

Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N

Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?

Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): touch-her-and-die trope, soulmates, fluff, language, gore, violence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name), mentions of human trafficking, mentions of sexual assault (not on the reader, and not graphic), marriage proposals, etc.

A/N: Merry Christmas, my lovely peeps! This chapter is the exact half of TSW - and it's so full of drama 😂😗. I'm not much of a Christmas person, lol - I've never celebrated it, so I don't really know what's the protocol here 😂🫠.

But! Something more Christmas-themed, and hopefully fluffier, is coming on the 31st - it's inspired by the lovely, @bettystonewell ❤️, and it would be my first time engaging with Christmas, so keeping my fingers crossed lol.

But anyway, this is the last post for TSW this year (see what I did there? 😂). So, see ya folks next year with the beginning of the next half of this series 🥰😘!

{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }

Chapter 20: Different Kinds Of Madness.

The phone trilled as your long nail extensions rhythmically clacked the polished oak wood desk of your Office. Your mother had worn you down to get manicures and pedicures; you drew the line on getting your hair blown out, though: it was bad enough you had to wear a ball gown today that was more expensive than Baz's new request of a Lamborghini.

Oh, but it gets worse.

Your lips were pursed, and your brows were slanted, your e/cs were flashing with controlled fury. It was four in the fucking morning here, and already everything seemed to be falling apart.

Your mother had barged into your room at two-thirty, cutting your regular four hours into a pathetic half hour since you'd stayed up late to sign off on paychecks for the labour and decorations that she had selected.

In an ideal world, this day would've been most special for you because, fucking finally, this woman is paying attention to you - and some inner child in you is a little pleased. But the adult in you wants to shoot her between the eyes. So you are choosing to find the balance - and by that, you mean you rolled out of your room as soon as the racks and racks of shoes rolled in. (Not before she managed to weasel you into a Hollywood wax which was worse than than the Brazilian wax, and mani-pedis - you didn't know if you'd been more mortified in your life.)

When you reached your Office, you saw Dean was already unusually in his - before you could greet him, though, you'd ended up eavesdropping on a conversation that was a cherry on top of your blown fuse.

The phone clicked, and you inhaled sharply to rain down hell on the poor receiver.

'How dare you, Mr Winchester?' your voice had a snarling edge. 'I respect your right to choose, but have no tact or decency!?'

'. . . Lady Y/N,' he sighed on the other end. 'This is not a good time.'

'Shall I hold my scold till you're free then?' you scoffed. 'You have to justify yourself - you broke his heart!'

There was a significant pause before Sam's small voice came through.

'. . . Will he be able to forgive me?'

There was a whip of guilt in his cadence.

Your anger melted like a puddle in the face of their tsunami of grief.

Your biggest problem that morning was that your private parts had been waxed clean, and it fucking hurt to sit. But the Winchesters were fighting about Sam's biggest hunt yet.

How could one compare?

'I don't know,' you said listlessly.

'You're his soulmate,' he said in a begging voice, implying that you must know. 'I just need to know that he'll forgive me.'

You pursed your lips, keeping the bitterness in. Just for today, it would be great if people stopped reminding you that you were trying to get your soulmate to hate you.

'Should you not have thought about his capacity of forgiveness before you uttered all that venom?' you snapped, reverting to your anger again.

This was a really tiring and confusing day for you.

'The fight got out of control,' he defended in the same pitch that Dean got when he was stressed. 'I didn't want to hurt him—'

'Your brother is one of the finest, most accomplished Hunters there is,' you seethed. 'You called him "useless"!'

'I am sorry—'

Your voice was climbing with every accusation. 'And you essentially blamed him for your parents' death by calling him a "distraction"!'

Sam had callously stated that their parents would have escaped Amara if they hadn't been distracted by worry for Dean.

'Y/N—'

'And don't you deny any of it because I heard it!'

'I'm not denying—'

You didn't let him complete. 'All he asked was to be there for you! You are lucky he is willing to leave his responsibilities and help you out without an ulterior motive. And you crush his offer so cruelly—!'

'What else did you want me to do!?' he roared on the other end, shutting you up. 'He shows up if you don't hurt him bad enough!' he yelled. 'Don't you remember your Debutant?' his voice faltered, to let the bleeding pain seep in.

You did. Vividly.

You would never forget Dean's face when Jessica died in front of him.

'When Amara attacked our parents,' Sam gritted out the words like they wouldn't leave his mouth if he didn't force them out, 'he was fucking there! And she killed them in front of him! RIPPED them apart! We found him bloody and crying, clutching their corp—'

Sam couldn't finish his sentence.

You couldn't even imagine that kind of pain. Or you could, but, it would be so impossible to bear that you didn't.

'I'm protecting him!' cried Sam.

His words rang something true in your heart. Weren't you trying to do the same thing for Dean?

'. . . He'll still find a way to blame himself,' you said.

It was one of the reasons why you refused to break up with him yourself - it would just be easier for him if he rejected you. If he hated you so much that he couldn't hate himself . . .

Sam was breathing heavily on the other end.

'At least he won't have another lived nightmare.'

Silence slithered into the conversation with emotions so loaded that they were palpable enough to feel like invisible fingers pressing on your throat.

'You have to understand . . . I have to do this,' Sam mumbled on the other end. 'I need to kill Lucifer. He's the one who brought the Leviathans on this Earth!'

You may not understand Sam's plight, but you could understand the loss of a soulmate; it was that heavy weight constantly slumping your shoulders and tearing your mind apart.

'Do you miss her?' you wondered, swallowing against the lump in your dry throat. 'Mrs Winchester?'

A low, humourless chuckle.

'Just every second of every fucking day.'

The answer shook your previously unshakeable resolve.

There weren't many things that scared you. But Sam's voice just had.

You obviously knew about the suicides back with the Love Buggers. But someone had told you that you could be distracted with your line of work to feel all that much.

Listening to Sam, it felt like this work didn't distract him; it just barely kept him alive.

Honestly?

That pain sounded too painful to test your heart's endurance.

You didn't even know what happened to a rejected soulmate because, guess what, there were no fucking real-life cases of it. Only theories.

Add that to the list of horrors.

And they say Dean should be better off if he rejects you - but who's gonna take care of him?

'Do you really think you'll die?' you worried your bottom lip. 'You're all that Dean's left of his family.' You didn't know at this point if you wanted Sam to stay alive out of selfishness or selflessness.

'He has you,' Sam gently reminded you. 'You'll take care of him when I'm gone, right?'

'If!' you forcefully corrected. But why did it feel like Sam was trying to convince himself of your presence in Dean's life, just like you were consoling yourself that Dean would have his brother?

'I have to go, Y/N,' Sam cleared his throat. 'We've almost reached India. Jack's meeting us there with the blade.'

'Good luck,' you wished. 'Please call Dean when you're safe.'

'And you take care of him,' he pleaded. Apparently, he hadn't missed the fact that you hadn't answered him yet.

'Sam, don't talk like tha—'

'Please just tell me you'll take care of him!'

The desperation in his words compelled you: 'I-I will.'

'Thank y—'

Some unknown need hypnotised you to say the next words: 'I-I don't think there's anything to forgive,' you said. 'Dean's, um, well, he's upset, but he never can hold a grudge against the people he loves.'

Which is a category I soon won't be a part of, you assured yourself. You had to - no, you needed him to hate you.

'That's comforting to know. . . . Thanks, Y/N.'

The line went dead.

Did you just lie to a walking dead man?

Dread coiled a noose around your heart.

Or have you been lying to yourself?

You heard Sam! He misses his dead soulmate every waking and possibly sleeping second. She might be the star of all his night terrors and hallucinations . . .

But breaking up was different. Dean would be alive, and you would see him from time to time.

Just as someone else's wife. Probably emotionally dead again (which has to be a plus).

. . . Yeah.

Rejecting a soulmate is totally different than death. It can't be as worse, right?

So there's nothing to fear . . .

You pulled your laptop to yourself, placing an emergency call as anxiety pushed tears into your eyes.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

He seemed to be on his phone, a stone wall behind his back, and an oil lamp hanging above his head that threw shady light on him. He deadpanned straight into the camera.

'Who's dead?'

It shocked you enough to make you splutter. 'Who—? W-What are you talking about?'

'You made an unscheduled video call,' Seth provided his logic. 'Is it Mom? Because I've been praying for that.'

'No one's dead!' you emphasized.

'Oh.'

Should you be amused or appalled that your brother seemed disappointed?

'So you're marrying someone else then?'

You blinked at him.

Was he a mind-reader suddenly?

'Is there a bug in my Office I don't know about?' you asked him seriously.

Seth sighed. 'Well, it's the day of your Suitor's Ball. And Dean's not sitting next to you, which means you didn't call me without notice for good news.'

You let a reluctant nod confirm his assumptions. 'How did you do it?' you asked quietly, voice thick and drooping.

'Do what?'

'Marry her,' you croaked.

He understood immediately. 'With our parents the way they are?'

'Yeah,' you scoff-laughed.

You braced yourself for him to say it had been easy for him, like most things in life were. It would just play into the image you had of him as the happy-go-lucky guy who became just a little strict when it came to his job and family. You'd only ever seen him fight with your parents because they were a little too shady for his bright life; they were the darkest corner of his world, while for years, they'd made up your entire dark world.

'I didn't want to,' he said, shattering all your expectations of him.

You stared at him like he'd started riverdancing.

'It was why we broke up,' he jogged your memory. Neither of them had told you what happened, you'd just known that Seth was in a horrible condition - found out when you went to meet him on one of your regular catch-ups. It was the first and last time you'd seen your brother cry as an adult.

'I didn't want you to know it was because of our parents,' Seth admitted. 'It would've played right into your no-marriage rule all too well. I didn't want to give you the power of knowing that you were right.'

You made a frown at him. 'Because that's mature.'

'Hey, I used to think that they had no power over me,' Seth said. 'I wanted it to be true. It wasn't until I had B/F that I realised how much of a hold they have on me. Because I spent all my life fighting them. I didn't have anything to do except fight them.'

You'd never thought of it that way. You didn't think that fighting them might've cost him the same energy that it had cost you to be devoted to them.

'That's the difference between you and me,' Seth continued. 'You knew they controlled you, and you gave up to make it easier. I refused to accept that they controlled me at all. It's the difference between love and hate for you and me. Except, they don't care. So we both lose the war.'

You did feel like a loser - no matter what you did for them, you always seemed to lose. And not in the same fun way when you lost gummy bear eating contests with Dean, or when he lost the card games for you, or how Dean always pushed you ahead in any gun competitions, or how you sneaked Dean answers during trivia night (although he was on a different team because he said he'd never won it before) . . . It felt like you were winning, too, when he was. And he was your biggest cheerleader every time you had an accomplishment to brag about. You felt like a team with him.

You could suddenly see it now. Both you and Seth had led extremely lonely lives - similar in the ways your insecurities and pains were built, and dissimilar in how each of you reacted to it, how you chose to deal with your parents.

Seth had to call your name to disrupt your reverie.

'Hmm? Oh, sorry. Um . . . how did, uh, B/F change your mind then?' you asked because you knew that she'd been the one to get them back together.

'She was pretty mad at me. She tried to move on, actually . . . and when she couldn't . . . She hired a psychic.'

'Wait a second,' you chuckled in disbelief. 'You're telling me a psychic told you that you're soulmates?'

It was the only conclusion, because it was after their talk that they announced in a press meeting that they were soulmates and soon to be wedded.

'She was legit,' Seth warned you.

In your world, magical humans were considered as phony as the other factions considered witches. Witches weren't magical enough for other factions to respect, and humans didn't respect the other humans who claimed to have the "sight of God". Prophets like the acclaimed Kevin Tran, who'd worked for Charlie, had faced the same mockery until his documentary had taken the world by storm.

You personally didn't have a problem with them all - you wouldn't consult a psychic yourself, but you didn't care if others did. What amused you now was that your brother, a core disbeliever in psychics, had believed one - it was your sisterly right to tease him about it.

'Oh, yeah, sure,' you snorted. 'Because we don't live in "an unpredictable world" at all, where "some humans try to profit off others' fears".'

'I hate your memory,' he groused. 'Besides, that just means the real ones are harder to find.'

'What was the fee again?'

'Very amusing.'

'Aw, look at you having emotional growth. Do you still consult her?'

'. . . Yes,' he sighed. When you hid your mouth behind a hand, he huffed, blushing in the video. 'Shut up!'

You raised your hands in surrender, giving it a minute until the seriousness came back to kidnap your smiles again.

'Well, you were right,' you said. 'To break up with her. The contract proves it, don't you think?'

Seth nodded grimly. 'B/F was pissed but . . . she told me it doesn't beat marrying me. We think it might not affect us in the long run,' he said with evident relief.

'Oh. Well . . . That's different,' you said, frustrated as you carded a hand through your bed-head. 'That's good,' you amended. 'But unrelatable to me.' There was a tingle of disappointment in you, like you had been hoping he could tell you with what mindset he was able to marry B/F, and if they were struggling as much with the contract, too.

'How?'

You swallowed: 'Dean won't marry me with the contract.'

Seth's face fell. 'He said that?'

You inhaled sharply. 'He said that he wants to retire one day,' you said, voice wobbling. 'Move to Asia, maybe, to be closer to his brother. Probably live out of a trailer.'

'So he rejected you?' Seth asked, baffled with a tinge of anger.

'Not yet,' you whispered. 'But he will.'

'Wait . . . have you told him yet?'

'Well, I know what he wants,' you explained. 'It's his dream - how can I make him choose between me and his dreams?'

'He's your soulmate-'

'And I'm his!' you cut him snappily. 'How much can I ask him to sacrifice for me? He's already done it once!'

'What? When?'

'Summer Solstice,' you shared. 'Sam was struggling with Asia, and Dean wished to move. But he stayed . . . For me.'

Guilt clogged Seth's heart.

He wondered if he had influenced Dean's decision when he told him to give you a chance . . .

'Look,' you gulped, keeping your most seering dilemma in front of him: 'Dean hates it here. He hates his life, he hates his work. And I can't ask him to commit to such hatred for the rest of his life!'

'That is . . . different,' Seth cleared his throat, reeling from all the information.

'Yeah.'

Seth took that pause to his advantage. He nodded like he was calculating something. 'But you didn't call me to hear that you're doing the right thing.' A statement, not a question.

'No, I—' Okay, yeah, you didn't know why you made the call. You knew your decision was right, you knew what you had to do - this was just like every decision you made: clean, precise, for the greater good. Then, what was the fucking hitch? 'Um.'

'You're scared,' Seth noted, bemused and triumphant. 'I've never seen you scared.'

You fought against your basic instincts to bristle under such accusations. You were here to ask for help, and you would need to be vulnerable about it - Dean'd lectured you about the process a million times already. Your tears of humiliation were on standby, though - you didn't know if you were going to be a laughing matter now.

'Good,' he said. 'Be scared. You can use that.'

Your brows tilted in. 'What?'

'Being scared isn't a weakness,' he said. 'That's the number one reason for fighting. Of why I have been fighting my entire life. Because I'm afraid of them controlling me. Of destroying me.'

'I'm not . . . afraid of them,' you said with difficulty.

'You're afraid of losing him,' Seth articulated. 'You can use that, too. Mine was just an example.'

'What are you saying?'

'Go to him!' Seth ordered. 'Don't let your idiotic selflessness come in the way. If you're afraid of losing him, do something about it!'

Nothing so simple had ever been so complicated. 'But-'

'No!' he cut you off. 'You're going to face your fears. You're going to talk to him right now.'

'Uh, oh, um, o-okay. I-I guess - I'll just sign off the-'

'Leave, you mororn! I'll hang up!'

An insane madness barged you through his door. Dean got startled, hand flying to his gun on his table; his other hand was slower to leave his tired and vacant face.

'What's going on?' he asked, voice coarse from suppressing his emotions.

'I have something important and crazy to say,' you delivered clunkily, unsure where your hands should be for your presentation.

His brows crowded the centre of his head. 'What?'

You were about to open your mouth and blab about the marriage contract when your eyes fell on Dean's desk of photos.

There was John and Mary from their wedding day; Sam and Jessica from a trip to Hawaii; the photo with Bobby, Jody, Charlie, Joana, and others from a bonding vacation his parents had taken him to. And there was a picture of Lisa and Ben from the time Dean was engaged to her.

You'd seen the collection a thousand times, but in that moment, three new things struck you.

First: Dean would be broken up about Sam's death. But if he saw it with his own eyes, every time he tried to move on, that searing image would set back his healing. Which meant Sam was right in keeping Dean from danger, not just the physical one but the emotional one, too. Especially if Dean ended up doing everything in his power to save Sam, and God forbid, lost his own life in the process.

Second: of all the photos, you were in none. That was his family and friends, and people he would agonise over. Seemingly, you didn't fall in that category because you were utterly rejectable.

Third: those were all pictures from his pre-Leadership era. Before you ever even existed in his life. It was the normal period of his life, the time from when he was the happiest. A time you could never give him again because of your wretched contract.

But I talked about this with Seth, you reminded yourself. You just needed to tell Dean that he couldn't leave the Leadership if he wanted to marry you - it was simple because he was your soulmate.

Just get the words out!

He called your name, derailing your thought process.

'T-Those photos,' you breathed out. 'You're, uh, so young in them.'

What am I doing?!

Your heart was racing when you stepped in, walking in like there were eggshells all around - stepping on one might be the end of your relationship with him.

'Yeah,' Dean scoffed. 'Honestly, they're the only pictures I have from the time my life was almost perfect.' He shook his head, expression collapsing into the same devastating hollow. 'Before everything went to shit.'

It was like you were in a trance, you were being drawn to your own destruction like a moth to a flame: 'Before your Leadership.'

Dean gritted his teeth, chewing his thoughts for a moment.

'This job feels like a punishment sometimes, you know? What I deserve for letting them all down?'

There it is.

An eerie mini-smile spread on your face as Dean blew a shaky breath and hid his face in his hands again. You let him have that because your eyes were getting blurry again.

Your heart had shattered and was lying in invisible pieces on the floor, next to the broken eggshells. You crossed your arms over your chest to stop them from shivering out of sheer chagrin.

You thought you would be more afraid of losing him, but there was a serenity in breaking yourself if it meant he would be happy.

Looking at him now, you could safely say you were more afraid of hurting him than you were of hurting yourself.

'I'm sorry,' Dean said, voice crackly. 'That's not what you came to talk about.'

'We, uh, we should ask the s-suitors to hunt,' you stammered, forcefully clearing your throat and blinking your misery back.

His brows furrowed, distracted now. 'You want to bring monsters across the safety measures.'

'No, like birds or deer,' you lifted a shoulder, straining your peaceful smile into a crooked one. 'If we keep crazy high standards, maybe half of them will just leave!' you joked.

That drove a pinched chuckle from him. 'Your parents are riding you to the bone, huh?'

You inwardly high-fived upon leading him astray. Your suggestion was, at least, crazy like your title sentence for this discussion had implied.

'I'm sorry,' you said, meaning it beyond belief. 'I'm sure you have bigger problems,' you said, stepping backwards. 'I guess I just needed a moment to . . . look at you.' To hear it from him once.

'Oh, darling, come here,' he opened his arms, inviting you to seat in his lap.

Reluctant, but desperate not to blow your cover, you rounded his desk and sank into his warm embrace.

It was exactly how you'd dreaded it would be: safe.

Your head perched on his shoulder, but your hands refused to come away from yourself - you were holding your chest cavity in place, keeping your mangled heart from his view.

Dean put his chin atop your head, and he sighed deeply, like he was relieved. 'I think I just needed to see you, too,' he murmured.

'I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted it to,' you diverted him.

Dean's frown deepened. 'How did you-?'

'I, um, overheard the call,' you came clean. 'I didn't mean to, but yeah . . . And I may have had a little chat with Sam before I came in.'

He raised your chin with two fingers, searching your defiant eyes - but you weren't going to apologise for defending him.

To your surprise, he smirked a little. 'You look really hot when you're trying to be stern, you know?'

A small huffy laugh left you. 'That's your takeaway?'

'Well.' His fingers went to trace up and down your arm, drawing senseless patterns. 'I have nothing to say . . . I mean, it wasn't totally his fault. I wasn't too kind with my allegations either . . .' Dean said, guilt-ridden. 'I guess I don't want to talk about it.'

He may have accused Sam of being a workaholic griever, as in the persons who run themselves into the ground simply because they refuse to feel.

You wondered how much that was a Winchester thing and how much it was a soulmate thing.

Because didn't Dean also accept Leadership in the aftermath of Amara?

Apparently, Sam was more life-loving until Jessica passed away. It sounded like the Winchester boys knew how to have fun from all the stories Dean had narrated for you - all of them from Dean's pre-Leadership era.

Dean lost his carefree attitude by the time Lisa left him, and the same thing happened with Sam.

You wondered who pushed the other brother away first today. You suspected that their fight had been simmering under the surface way before they lost their patience to hide it.

You could relate to it, in fact. It drew you to another time in your life, too - your pre-Leadership one.

'Are you listening to me?'

You nodded simply. 'Sorry. I was just thinking about Seth . . . And how I didn't get to wish my brother luck when he went to fight Raphael,' you said. 'I was on a case in another State. Washington, if my memory me serves right. I was upset, but under public surveillance. I remember paparazzi swarmed me for my comments, and I couldn't say a word because I didn't know any of it.'

He squeezed your hip with the arm that had curled around your waist. You melted more into his embrace and laced one of your hands with his free one in your lap.

He knew helplessness was as agonising to you as it was to him.

'B/F and my parents knew,' you said. 'I couldn't reach their phones, so I went to her first. She was too hysterical to get a proper word out. She paced all night, and I sat there in a corner, clueless.' You raised your eyes to meet his with a half-humorous smirk. 'At least your brother told you what was happening so you could worry about him.'

He pursed his lips at everything in between that was left unsaid. You might be indirectly hinting to him to appreciate what he did have.

'I've come to think of pain as a privilege,' you said. 'Not everyone has the luxury of having their pain acknowledged as existing.'

You had been equally relieved and disappointed the day Seth came home. The relief had been obvious, but the disappointment had uncentered you. After several restless days and nights, you'd concluded that you'd felt out of place.

After confronting Seth very diplomatically about it, he told you that Daniella had assured him you would know. That he had been hurt by you for not contacting him or helping him at all with Raphael.

You both later found out that your mother simply forgot to inform you. For months.

When you alone approached her because Seth didn't think she could validate herself, she told you that worry was a distraction and she hadn't wanted to break your hunting streak.

It had made perfect sense at the time. You'd even felt ashamed for the three days you "wasted" waiting with B/F for news on Seth. B/F had known because she was an up-and-coming Leader, and your parents were ex-Leaders, so they knew too. Your mother chose to exclude you because you weren't a bigwig like the rest of them, and you hadn't deserved the time off. She went against Seth's wishes of informing you, for your own good - as she put it.

'I can understand that,' he whispered, breaking your pity party. 'When all your love has nowhere to go? . . . When the other person ceases to exist, you just feel . . .'

'Useless?' you offered.

Dean's throat bobbed, and he nodded, breathing out a little when he met your eyes, tears in them. And it felt like looking in the mirror.

'I think we have the same problem, then,' you whispered. Neither of you had ever felt closer or felt so seen and understood.

It was one naked soul staring at the other. Both of you felt indescribably whole.

Dean leaned in to seal the moment with a kiss, and you couldn't stop him even if you wanted to for his sake.

Both your and Dean's rooms had the best views from the Palace. Both balconies were at the topmost level.

Dean was looking down on a gorgeous, picturesque city littered with equal parts treehouses and the forest that only got denser from the edge of the city line. There were farms, orchards, and greenhouses stretching between the Palace and the forest where the Offices were. The view of the Treexcel and the idyllic watering hole was on the West side, where your room was. So while Dean had the view of the greenery at sunrise, you got the lake at sunset.

I have seen parts of this memory through your eyes before, but it had been tampered with because I hadn't connected to you well.

Now, I can see.

This memory is old, evident in how yellow it is at the edges for me - like an ageing photograph. I didn't get the whole context of the scene until now. I didn't know this time had been so painful for you, but also so significant that you will remember it when you are dying.

Dean is the man of about six-foot-one, gazing down upon his kingdom, his sharp green eyes unbothered by my dreamwalking presence. His burly frame leans on the railing, eyes fixed on the men and women working downstairs, preparing to welcome your fucking wooers.

Most of the unmarried Governors had stayed back since the Doll-Slay wedding, finding accommodations nearby for a week to return today.

He'd just finished leaving a voice message on Sam's switched off phone - since you'd encouraged him to say that there indeed was nothing to forgive. That Dean loved him. That he was there for him, no matter what. I wish I could tell you Sam heard that while he was alive.

Anyway. Dean was waiting to see you.

You were supposed to be down at that gate to meet-and-greet; your parents were already on the steps, playing the part of gracious hosts . . . Dean ground his teeth whenever your mother's shrill, nasal laughter flowed up to his ears.

This Dean's dirty blond hair was on the lighter shade, paler than I'd seen on his doppelgangers; there were even traces of a golden hue if he turned his face just right, sunshine striking against his head and giving him a light halo.

Things had been so tense with him and Sam for a while that this Dean felt now like he'd been completely ignoring your needs. It wasn't until the weapon was delivered yesterday and Sam had gone off grid a few minutes ago that Dean had officially been done with the Lucifer hunt.

In the meantime, you'd kept him from everything he had to do with the Suitor's Ball, and seeing its last pieces fall into place made him feel alienated with the process - like he'd grossly neglected his responsibilities towards you as your soulmate.

And now, all he could do was wait while the two people closest to him were tried by fire.

'Dean!' a voice like mine, just thickly layered with a British accent, called.

Dean didn't turn - why should he see you wear a dress that was supposed to impress other gentlemen callers?

'Out here!'

My face-thief rushed in.

You had barely managed to squeeze this face time in with Dean between getting dressed and appearing at the gates below.

You looked breathtaking in your custom-made formal gown, adhering to you like a second skin (to be fair, you had to be sewn in, it was that tight), and you even carried it with the same ease.

The shade of the dress was a deep turquoise, decorated with real sapphires stitched into every inch of the soufflée silk. The dress had a sweetheart neckline, and a translucent net cape made out of gold and pearls that was pinned to the tops of your full-length sleeves; the cape slithered after you, sweeping the dust you left behind you. Your skin-tight bodice left only enough gap between the ground and the dress to display your strappy platinum six-inch pencil heels.

You were wearing a corsage made of a vibrant blue azalea, the national flower of Europe; there was also a badge tied around your other wrist with the same net from your cape that declared you as the Leader of this Continent.

Your hair was tied up in a very high pony that left not a single hair out of place, forced into an updo that allowed me to see where every hair started and where your forehead ended. It looked painful enough to give me a headache.

Your face was made up so intensely that I couldn't recognise it even if it is exactly like mine.

You weren't dressed up as a hunter because none of the materials you'd adorned would ever be useful, nor did you look like your everyday self. You were solely a commodity meant to be marketed to the highest bidder for this event.

'You aren't dressed,' you said, sounding exhausted.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, quickly looking away to avoid the tide of jealousy and rage.

'Why bother, darling?'

He had decided for your good and his own that he wouldn't attend the Ball. If he did, he was ninety-nine percent sure he would punch a person before nightfall.

His moodiness didn't deter you when you approached him with a scowl.

You ducked under one of his arms that were bracing him on the railing so that you were efficiently betwixt both his hands, against him and the balcony perimeter. You leaned back a bit so your heads wouldn't clang.

At that point, Dean was too busy being taken with you to avoid looking at you. If he were an animal, he would've growled with his basic need to possess you . . .

'Aren't you afraid someone'll spot you?' he snarked, swallowing his inhuman instincts.

You made a face at him that verged on hurt. 'Why won't you be there?' you demanded.

Dean sighed.

Because he was not going to be found dead in a Ball hosted by your foreign parents at his fucking home, to give what's his away. He wasn't known to be possessive with a lot of things, but once he decided a person or thing was a part of him, it was practically impossible to separate him from them.

Somehow, he didn't think that analogy would fly well with you, even if you are his soulmate - literally a part of him, his better half.

'Are you jealous?' your pout was too hopeful to succeed as playful.

But he would not tell you since he didn't want his insecurities to overcrowd your stress.

'Of?'

Oh, great. Both of you were pretending like this day wasn't going to be miserable. Healthy stuff.

'Other suitors coming to see me,' you said, hope dwindling.

I know you don't want him to be troubled, but you have been secretly wishing that he would be hurt by your leaving. It was cruel, but so is the fact that you've never had someone who could be hurt over your departure. You've exited a few lives, and no one has ever seemed to grieve your separation from them.

'I'm giving them a fighting chance,' Dean dipped his head challengingly. 'If I come, you won't give them the time of your day.'

Your heart withered deep in your chest; I could feel it as if it were my own. Bittersweet tears welled up in your eyes at his confirmation, but you rolled your eyes to try to lessen the intensity of the moment.

'Daydreaming, are we?'

A tad bit offended, Dean scoffed. He captured your lips punishingly, pressing your back into his balcony railing, not giving you a moment to think. His hand glided up to your jaw, tipping your head backwards so he could devour you to his heart's content. His other hand slipped around your waist and pressed you to his body fully, stroking a thumb over your lower back - he realised then that the dress was backless under your silly cape. His featherlight fingers moved up, tracing abhorrent promises into your skin until your skin rose to salute him with goosebumps.

You didn't even care that he was smearing your lipstick. All you could do was find purchase on his broad, dependable shoulders and hold on for dear fucking life.

When you two could part, Dean was happy with how you gasped like a fish out of water.

'Felt pretty real to me,' he winked cheekily, referring to your daydreaming comment.

You blushed hotly, out of embarrassment and fury.

'What if I find someone else tonight?' you desperately questioned, trying to conceal it with nonchalance. 'Handsomer, maybe? More charming?' His sure gait was just rubbing you the wrong way.

'Woman, please,' he curled a finger under your chin, locking eyes with you. 'You can't find someone handsomer,' he teased. 'And heck, even if you find someone with my exact face, you won't be able to pick them. Know why?'

'Why?'

'You're mine, darlin',' he shrugged. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 'Just mine. And I'm yours.'

That struck a chord in you. You'd never had anyone to call yours, or anyone else to call you theirs. This statement meant more to you than Dean could realise. It had an undercurrent of acceptance, a lifelong promise.

Too late, too late, too late! I could hear your mind scream.

You cannot run now - impossible with the Castle security.

And you couldn't make Dean choose between jail and marriage, could you? They were both life sentences . . .

What am I thinking!? I need to break his heart . . . Make him retract this statement.

'Prove it?' you held your breath.

It was a ploy to lure him into the Ball and disregard him publicly. . . a coward's way out. He would definitely reject you when he knew you'd betrayed him. He would get angry in his Dean-ist fashion and be mad at you for not standing up to your parents. It would be a scandal, and Dean would be safe.

His eyes narrowed like he couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong. 'At . . . the Ball,' he guessed. For a brief moment, he wondered if you wanted him to ask you to marry him.

'It's like one mind,' you whispered.

Dean's stoic mask wavered. He let his confidence fizz into something more suitably vulnerable for this conversation. 'You know you'll be all right, right, baby? I'm right here. I'm not going to let some goddamn idiot whisk you away . . . I'll be the idiot then,' he poked your tummy playfully.

There came a ghost of a smile on your face. 'I am taking this veryrationally, Dean.' Maybe a little too rationally - I don't know if that was your thought or mine. 'I have thought this through.'

'I trust you,' Dean nodded.

You wanted the earth to open up and take you.

'Although - and I know you don't like marriages, and you're only doing this for your parents, but . . . I wish you'd let me throw my hat into the ring,' Dean confessed, shy and nervous.

'You don't want to marry me, Dean,' you whispered, wishing you could just yeet from this railing.

Dean chuckled like you were being silly. 'That's impossible. Who wouldn't want to marry you . . . You're everything,' Dean uttered with an achingly sweet smirk.

You wanted to eviscerate on the spot . . .

He was dipping his head to kiss you again, but you had to step out of his hold. If you kept allowing him to kiss you, you'd never be able to get this done.

'I . . . should redo my make-up,' you said, walking away before his hands could catch you again.

That left a pit in Dean's stomach - he wondered if he pushed you too hard, and too fast with that marriage talk. It hurt him as much as it worried him, but you were already gone.

From the floor to the railing and even the mini chandelier were made of gold. This balcony for the royalty was often ignored because neither Dean nor you believed in looking down upon your guests, but that's exactly where your parents were, comparing files with the real people who walked in, commenting on their deep pockets. The guests could barely see you all up there, hidden amidst all this opulence.

Your mother practically gushed when Sir Smiles-A-Lot entered, or as his name was, Governor Slander Sail. Or when the snake eyes, Governor Hart Hale descended down the central staircase onto the glorious ballroom floor. The person who surprised you the most was Governor Paul Ivan. He was notorious for avoiding balls and galas - he'd be the last person to be found at a party. But you'd figured he had been interested in you after he'd solved that dragon case with you.

You were only standing up here because you were waiting for Dean. You had no interest in what your Mother had to say anymore. Especially since she'd changed so much . . .

Okay, you knew she was overall heartless, but you weren't lying when you remembered those moments of your life when she placed an affectionate hand on you, or when she said that she cared about you, or when she hugged you. You couldn't dream those moments because they had been far and few, and you'd made a point to commit every second of those to your memory.

Although she did betray you. And you wouldn't be forgetting that either.

'Oh, this one comes with a hefty check,' she cooed, referring to a woman in an overly dramatic gown that took most people's breath away. 'Governor Grace Ray,' Daniella said. 'Are you sure you're not into women, dear?' she asked you earnestly.

'She's married,' you said curtly. You had been the maid of honour for her in Finland, for those who were wondering.

Oh, you missed those simple amusement park days . . .

'So!?' chuckled she. 'Grow up, child. This is the age of polymary.'

'No to poly,' you said in the same monotone. 'And no to women. Our deal is a heterosexual single guy.'

'Is it? Because that's not how I remember raising you.'

'I'm so tired of looking at these files,' groaned your father. 'Can't she just pick a guy - all of them are rich! Maybe find some who has a good hand,' he recommended, 'I could use a challenge at poker.'

'You'll marry her off to the first man who owns a goddamned stable,' your mother swatted your father's arm, slightly teasing.

'I always did want to own a few,' he grinned, reminiscing about his gambles on horse racing. Most of them during the Annual Derbies you'd liked so much . . .

The rose-coloured lens you'd been seeing them through all your life had scattered into a million pieces - you'd never been more appalled by your judgement of people.

Here, oxygen wasn't reaching your lungs, and your parents were unbelievably happy.

Isn't that what you'd always wanted, too? Their happiness. Then, what was so wrong about this scene . . . ?

'Oooh, la, la!' your mother giggled. 'Look who decided to show up. Me-ow!'

On cue, the Master of Ceremonies announced: 'Lord Dean Winchester of the European Continent!'

Your eyes were drawn to him immediately. Your breath hitched when you noticed his attire - you weren't the only one who could pull all the eyes to you that day.

Dean'd gone all out with a pair of skinny jeans, an undershirt, an awesome leather jacket, and dress shoes: all black. His hair was spikier than usual to give him a wild look that any respectable hunter should have. What got you, though, was the make-up - he wore eyeliner for you, and he knows you know that he feels like a "painted whore" with extensive make-up; he's complained about it to you a million times when his PR reps powdered and blushed him before his media appearances.

He scratched his neck with a shy, charming smile and descended the staircase, somewhat hurriedly. He hated being the center of attention, no matter how small the amount of time was. People had parted for him, which made him further awkward - he was the reason for the marvel in their stares after all. He made his way to a free corner of the wall where his contact with humanfolk would be minimal.

Unbeknownst to you, he was searching for you in the crowd.

'One day I'd like to know him better,' your mother said in a sultry voice.

It brought you from your comfy space in mind, back to earth, as if in a capsule that was hurtling to the ground, in which nausea and screaming went hand-in-hand. You'd heard that voice before.

'He'll never go for you,' you seethed uncharacteristically.

'Oh, child, you underestimate me,' she waved you off. 'How much would you like to bet that I can seduce him by the end of the night?'

'Father is sitting right here,' you hissed, but this wasn't new. They had an open relationship, as in they hated each other enough to give the other up the first chance they got.

Case in point: 'I could be a night without her,' he shrugged. 'Though be careful. Choose a person who can keep a secret. This is European Royalty here - if they don't sign a non-disclosure, you won't be able to get rid of them the traditional way.'

'Oh, trust me, they'll keep a secret,' she winked at him. 'Men like forbidden things.'

'You will not go near him,' you commanded, eyes flashing in warning. 'You are our guests here, and you will behave in a manner like so.'

'You have no right to take that tone with me, young lady,' Daniella said, sternly. 'You're talking to your mother!'

'Act like one first!' you snapped, disarming them both with shock.

'My, my, Miles, Leadership has given her some wings.'

'About time,' your father mused, tilting his head like he was observing a specimen at the zoo. 'I was beginning to think she'll be boring forever.'

'What is wrong with you two!' you hissed, your hands clenching into fists. 'You . . . You used to be a little warmer. And diplomatic!' Honestly, you missed her diplomacy and ill-placed jokes - they didn't hide her true colours, but at least you could convince yourself that they had a shred of humanity with that bare minimum effort they put in.

'Haven't you figured it out yet?' Daniella arched a brow, bemused by your innocence. 'You're a Leader now. We don't need to be your parents.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Honey,' Miles said, 'we raised you so that you could become a popular Leader, or marry a member of the royal faculty.'

'Surely, that's not the only reason—'

'That's what Leadership does,' explained Daniella. 'I thought you would've tasted the freedom by now! The freedom to let go.'

'Let go of what?'

'Love,' they said in practiced unison. They said it like it had been obvious.

Miles pitched information when the dumbfoundedness wouldn't leave your expression: 'Look, hunting only takes people from you. The one thing it gives you is the money. We "loved" you so that you'd become a Leader, and now you can pay us back.'

'Exactly. Concentrate your attachment on that,' Daniella said. 'And money's so easy to acquire as well. You can choose not to hunt as a Leader, and for your retirement, have a kid!'

They both chuckled at their inside joke.

'But . . . you took care of me when Grams died.' Why did it sound like you were choking?

'Yes, so we won't be in your debt,' Daniella waived it off. 'You know, we shower you with affection and care,' she said those words like they were as made-up as bedtime stories, 'for twenty-six years; you are grateful; you marry someone we choose for you.'

'Is that all I've been to you?' you whispered. 'An investment?'

'Of course,' Miles nodded. 'We paid so many guards to protect you. We paid for your education. Your training. We thought you would've been famous by now, though, so we're a little disappointed—'

'She's getting married, Miles,' chided your mother. 'No need for disappointment anymore. Oh, hell, we might even let you call us mom and dad when you give us our first grandchild.'

They laughed happily.

You blinked the sting in your eyes. 'But I-I loved you—'

'Oh, don't start with that again,' your mother said. 'Makes me want to pull my hair extensions out. We cared for your well-being, we never said we loved you, dear!'

'Yes, you did!' you cried out. 'Several times!'

'Never!' she seemed offended that you would think otherwise. 'Y/N, you've always assumed. It's a weakness of yours. I mean, just out of pity, I'd hug you every time you said you loved me,' she said that last line like she'd been doing a favour to you all along.

'This is why we prefer Seth,' nodded Miles. 'He knows we don't love. You have unnecessary expectations from us.'

'Why wouldn't I!?' you whisper-yelled, very alert to the fact that there were people downstairs who could hear you if you raised your voice. 'You're my parents. You are my mother! You carried me for nine months—'

'And ruin this figure?' she scoffed, putting a hand on her chest. 'I. Think. Not!'

The entire foundation of your life broke and fell into the abyss.

'What?' you gripped the railing to stop from falling over.

'Your mother hired a surrogate,' he said. 'We had to kill her, of course.' He put a finger to his lips, asking you to keep a secret. 'Both the surrogates.'

'Not before you had a little fun with them,' Daniella rolled her eyes.

'They were carrying my children,' defended Miles. 'Technically.'

'Do you remember what a bitch-fit your mother had?' Daniella said incredulously. 'No offense.'

'Some taken.'

'I mean, I'm sorry, but do I look like a cow to you? I'm not breaking my back over some silly children.'

'Let that go, will you?' sighed he.

'I would, but after my mother died, yours refused to help to take care of these brats! Then, who had to take care of them?'

'I helped you,' Miles crossed his arms, his eyes flickered to you for a split second. 'Oh, my God, she's crying,' he cringed.

Your body tensed, and you had to veer your eyes away from him out of sheer humiliation.

A hand gripped your bicep with force - you could barely feel your muscles working as she forced you to turn away from the crowd below, obliviously chattering away.

'Stop ruining this for us!' scolded Daniella. She smushed your cheeks between the fingers of her right hand and locked gazes with you, against your will. Your jaw clenched, a scream building in your throat because her proximity was intolerable.

'You need to take a long and hard look at what you're doing, young lady,' she gritted. 'Who'll want a woman with a ruined face - go fix yourself before a man sees you like this!'

A defiance grew in your eyes while your cowering heart blubbered for mercy behind your sky-high walls of defense.

'What?' A bit of spittle flew out from her lips. 'What are you looking at me like that for?'

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, encasing her wrist in your hand to twist it painfully away from you.

She gasped, 'What the-?'

She raised her free hand to her head, and then she fucking flicked you in retaliation.

'Oh,' a humourless sound left you, 'you did not just do that!' With a burst of energy, you spun her down the single step, out of the balcony, and slammed her into the pillar (at the entrance) - loud enough to hear a crack. Your fingers flexed powerfully on her neck. 'You, Daniella, just lost my love,' you told her, because in your opinion, that was a dangerous thing.

Miles laughed. 'Not that I don't want you to kill her, I do - but she doesn't care for your love, honey.'

'Don't call me "honey", Miles!' you growled. 'You don't deserve my love, either!'

'Stop making a fool of yourself,' Daniella strained out. 'Let me go and go fulfil your contract!'

You released her because their reaction to your apparent threat was underwhelming.

You were making a fool of yourself.

It was deeply disturbing to you: their lack of grief over losing your love.

'What crawled up her ass?' your fake mother grumbled as she sat back down inside the balcony.

'Let's just get this night over with,' groused Miles. 'Check this next file . . .'

A ringing began in your ears.

You'd always thought that your broken parents would only need your love to be better.

But your parents didn't need it, or want it. And giving it to Dean would destroy his dreams.

In conclusion, your love was hence proved worthless.

'What the hell, Y/N!?'

Your dabbing hand was startled, and you accidentally poked your own eye with your makeup tissue, making you grimace.

You turned about with one eye closed to see a livid Sebastian. You had to do a double-take because you had never seen the man angry.

'Hey,' you said, voice coarse from all the suppression of your pain. 'Did you get no traffic? You are back early—'

'Cut the fucking crap!' he demanded, jarring you. 'I told you to stay away from him if you were only going to string him along!' he roared, stopping a few feet in front of you.

Immediately, your dwindling composure flattened, and the tears pinched your eyeballs again. You looked to the floor, hoping there would be less guilt there.

'I thought you loved him!' he said. 'He's your fucking soulmate - or have you really, just truly been using him to get further in politics all this time?'

A certain measure of betrayal fixed your head straight, allowing you to meet his outrage head-on. 'What Dean and I have,' you said, wobbly and slow like a newborn fowl, '. . . Or had, is none of your concern.'

'Does he know that?' he challenged. 'Forget me, does Dean know that you're going to leave him for a stranger tonight?'

'How did you find out—'

'Oh, so you can do some damage control?' he raised his brows incredulously. 'Do you ever hear yourself talk?'

'Mr Slay, if we can be professional—'

'To hell with your formalities, Y/N!' he snapped. 'I don't know what goes on in your relationship with Dean, but I know that the man don't half-ass things. He's crazy about you, and here you are throwing it all away for—I don't even know what!'

'I'm doing this for him!' You'd meant to scream, but your voice could've been made of paper, the fresh batch of tears set in, and you started dabbing under your eyes again - worried that a tear would streak across your freshly applied make-up again.

'There you are!' a relieved Selina rushed in, her face falling when she saw you. 'I tried to stop him,' she shook her head, clutching Sebastian's shoulder, who was clearly resisting, shrugging her off - he was trying not to direct his anger on her. 'What's going on?' she asked, much gentler than her husband. 'Baz said—'

'Oh,' you scoffed. You told Baz not to tell anyone of "import"; so he chose to interpret it like your mother would've, where "servants" don't matter, so they can be part of rumours - the old man found a fucking loophole. He knew Sebastain and Selina wouldn't stay quiet as he and Boa had.

'What did you mean before?' demanded Sebastain, quieter, listening. 'How is this any good for Dean?'

You brushed your napkin under your eyes, harsher than before. 'I don't have to answer to you,' you squared your chest. 'I've already said too much.'

'Just because you don't know the meaning of loyalty, doesn't mean I'm just gonna give you a pass,' he gritted out. 'I will tell, Dean.'

'You can't,' you said. 'That's an order.'

'Let me tell you in a language you understand,' he said. 'I'm not under your fucking orders! You're a coward, if I've ever seen one. You are really going to let the show go on and select a man at the end of the day? Let Dean find out you cheated on him in public?!'

'I didn't cheat on him!' you hissed.

'Sure doesn't seem like it,' he argued. 'You just don't want to tell him because you don't have the guts to face him. Guess what: I do!'

While he turned his back on a hesitant Selina, you felt an abject fear dig its heels in your heart. The fear you'd been running from caught up, and the plea that left you was primal. You didn't even realise when you grabbed him.

The crumbling pieces of your world came to a standstill, looming above your head, paused by sheer denial.

'Please,' the word ripped free from your clenched teeth, feeble. 'I . . . I can't reject him,' you admitted.

And your denial lost its effect - your world came crashing down on you. It was just too damn much.

Sobs spilled free, and your hold loosened on him; your hands came to hold your face together instead, your makeup coming completely undone.

Never let the people see you without make-up, child, your mother had told you when you'd been five. A bare face is a woman's greatest weakness.

And you were supposed to be stepping out into a ballroom full of men, in a world without love.

With a wail you didn't even know came from you, you sank to your knees, shocking both your teammates into speechless indecision.

Their anger and apprehension melted, letting an empathetic grief force them into hurried forgiveness.

You put one hand on your chest as if to stop the bleeding, but the wound wouldn't be stemmed. With the other hand, you hid your eyes but still couldn't stop your tears. Your mouth opened, as wide as the chasm in your heart, but no more cries came out. Instead, your face froze like so, uttering your agony - as always, through a silent, hidden, and hideous scream; a scream that was so damaging that it shook you on its way out since it carried all the pain that tore you to pieces over and over again.

With a start, Selina realised you'd stopped breathing.

She kneeled next to you in an instant, soothing a hand over your back.

'Breathe,' she reminded you in her doctor's voice. 'You need to breathe, Y/N. It's okay, it'll be okay. Seb, bring her water. And call Dean.'

Jerkily, you shook your head - the first movement you'd made in the last few long torturous seconds.

'N-Not Dean,' Selina amended.

'Yeah,' he cleared his throat. His eyes were glassy because Selina's were, like a chain reaction.

You were still choking on nothing by the time Sebastian left.

'Y/N, you need to breathe,' Selina shook you out of your immobility. 'Follow my lead—see how I'm breathing? In and out,' she audibly inhaled and exhaled.

It took a lot more coaxing from Selina for your thoughts to divert from your painful existence. Selina was just relieved that you didn't faint from all that pain.

The sounds she was creating were soothing in the quiet room. It was a while till she got to break your pattern of suffocating, short breaths.

The cry you let loose after that was so ugly that you inwardly cringed, wishing you could go back to breathlessness—wondering if blacking out would be less embarrassing.

She held you as your entire life flashed by in front of your eyes, a sort of death occurred within you. The rawest end of that deal was that you felt like the only mourner. For the first time in your life, you wished someone—anyone—would cry for you besides yourself.

'What the fuck is going on here?' Sharp and demanding.

You had considerably calmed down by the time the door to your room opened again; the person who entered nearly sent you careening into another panic attack.

'I told you I didn't want him here!' you raged when a meek Sebastian peeked from behind Dean.

'Why not?' Dean said, deeply offended.

'We should give you some privacy,' piped up Selina. She squeezed your shoulders and left you on the ground; your legs were too tired to let you stand after her.

As the newlywedded couple filtered out (you planned to kill them soon enough), they left you and Dean in a tense, awkward silence. Dean didn't speak for a long minute after the door had shut softly to your room.

'The Ball's not all, is it?' Nail on the hammer. 'Your parents did something else.'

You could only nod, perching your head sideways onto your arm, which was supported by the soft edge of the bed. You were sitting with your back to your nightstand, your left side against your bed.

'H-How did you lie to me?' he asked, crossing the floor to tower above you on this side of the bed. He did have a glass of water in his hand at least.

'I didn't,' you whispered, extending a hand for the water, sipping on it animatedly as he slid to the floor in front of you, his back to your bed's side.

All you could think to notice in the moment was how well Dean carried his outfit; it was so perfectly tailored for him that Dean might as well have come stitched into it. You wished you could've danced with him tonight - if you'd had kept your composure, you could've handled the situation calmly, and you could've danced with him one last time.

What did crying get you anything but a waste of time?

'Do I want to know?' Dean finally asked, his red-rimmed eyes turning on you like he'd been wrestling with his anger towards you.

'Probably not,' you whispered again, too afraid your voice would give away the depths of your misery. 'Are you mad?'

'Yes,' he clenched his jaw. 'I'm very mad that my girlfriend had a breakdown and everyone knew before me.'

'People didn't know,' you insisted reflexively.

'Good,' he said sarcastically. 'Call me "people", estrange me - that helps.'

You pressed your lips tighter, stubbornly avoiding eye contact as Dean's gaze bore into you.

'What happened, Y/N?'

Silence.

You wished they would start the ball music downstairs so it could hide the sounds of your life vanishing into a blackhole of pain.

'Did I do something wrong?' Dean breathed out lowly.

Your eyes snapped up in time to see him swallow as he struggled with guilt.

'I'll make it right,' he promised. 'Just talk to me, please. I hate it when you don't talk to me.'

Your lips were pulled down by the gravity; in fact, you think your whole face fell. You were too exhausted to keep up with this charade anymore.

'I'm just so tired, Dean,' you murmured, putting away your glass on the nightstand behind you just so you could lay your head on the edge of the bed again.

Dean scooted closer so there was but a foot of space left between the two of you. Close enough that he could touch you if he wanted to . . . If you let him.

'Tired of what?' he prompted, his chest tightening with anxiety - he half-expected your answer to be him.

You shook your head. 'Loving people who can't love me back, I guess.'

Dean tensed. Should he say those words now?

'My parents told me that they don't love me,' you mumbled. 'Never did.'

Dean's heart broke for you even if he had known all along. 'I'm going to kill them,' he gritted out, fists clenching.

Of course, you shook your head negatively.

'Dean, it doesn't matter,' you said.

'Y/N—'

'Dean,' you said, sounding like you were begging. 'Please go. This doesn't concern you.'

That hurt as much as you revealing what was wrong.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he snapped. 'What's wrong with you? I'm not about to leave you here alone.'

'You want to start on what's wrong with me?' you arched a brow, getting a spark of fury back. 'Start a list, pal. First off, I'm unlovable.'

His lips curled into a snarl. 'Stop being so irrational, Y/N.'

'What's irrational about that?' you demanded, your voice dwindling as fresh tears coated your eyes. 'Let's call a spade . . . a spade, Dean. I've been a pawn too long in everyone's worlds—who would want me as their queen? No one cares!'

'I care,' he said. 'I want you.' Those were the easy sentences; he paused to gather courage for the last one, though: 'Y/N, I lo—'

'Stop,' you cried out. 'I won't come back from your lies.'

Your refusal to hear it was a form of rejection itself. It stung Dean with a grave disappointment. 'I can't lie to you,' he ground out, however.

'It doesn't matter, Dean,' you said. 'I won't be a priority—and you have to let me be okay with that. I have to accept it—'

Dean felt a stab of guilt. 'Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know I was busy with Sam and the Devil, okay? I didn't mean to neglect you—'

'That's not what I'm talking about,' you said. 'I won't be your first choice. Ever.'

'That's untrue.'

'I won't be enough,' you hissed like a mad scientist. 'You will come to resent me because you want a normal life.'

'You're not making any sense.'

'My parents made me sign a marriage contract!' you burst in frustration. 'I didn't know what I was signing, but they made me sign it, and now I'm legally bound to marry a man who plans to stay in the upper-class for the rest of his life - so that my parents have an unabting current of income!'

Dean was stunned.

'And you don't even have my photo!' your voice cracked here.

Dean's brows furrowed. 'What photo?'

'On your desk,' your lips trembled. Your tears began their steady descent, promoting your spiral once more. 'You don't have a photo of me.'

'Because you didn't want us to be public,' he stated.

'Oh, fuck,' you huffed. 'My common sense died last week, didn't it?' You hid your face from him, feeling embarrassed that you didn't think of it before. 'It's my own fault,' you said into your palms. 'Everything's my fault . . . That's not the point. Look, Dean, you've already done so much for me. Let me set you free.' You lifted your head to meet his eyes so he could see how sincere you were. 'You don't owe me anything, okay? I'm not your responsibility. You can have a normal life without me.'

The void in his chest was more devastating than most things in his life. 'Are you breaking up with me?'

You shook your head quickly. 'I can't,' you whispered. 'But I'm urging you to do it. My options are marriage or life imprisonment. Or a life on the run. It'll destroy your dreams, Dean.'

He puckered his lips and reached into his pocket. He was surprised to find that there was a tremble in his hands when he fetched his wallet. He handed it to you, open to the photograph he had on there.

A pained smile flickered on your face. 'You made a sweet child.'

You were looking at his family photo from when Dean was ten with two tiny dimples.

'Look under,' he said with impatience.

You pulled another photo free, hidden under the first. Your jaw dropped slightly.

The second picture was from your first date with Dean. You both had climbed a tall tree - too tall, in your opinion - to get a view of the skyline.

'I'm going to fall,' you had squeaked when the branch creaked under your combined weight. Dean had pulled himself up, stationed himself in front of you, and then leaned back to pin you against the bark.

'You're so heavy,' you had giggled.

'I'm saving your life. Hush, woman,' he'd smirked. His head had fallen into the crook of your neck. No longer afraid of falling, you had slipped your arms around his waist to hold his back to your chest; he had grasped your hands to keep you just like that. Then, he'd shut his eyes when you pressed your lips to his forehead.

'I can stay like this forever,' he'd whispered.

'I want you to, selfishly, keep this photo forever,' you muttered. '. . . How'd you even get it?'

'Druid magic,' he said. 'And what I don't understand is why this argument is about photos.'

You handed him his property again, shooting him an apologetic smile. 'You only save the pictures of people you care about, Dean. At least I do. You can see them even after they're long gone.'

'You're not gone,' he sharply retorted. 'Is that why you want me to keep your photo? So, what, I can cry about it like some sissy every time I see it? Is that it?'

You grimaced. 'I suppose it is too much to ask. You don't have to keep caring about me after—'

'Do you honestly ever fucking hear yourself speak?' he asked, aggravated now.

'Astonishingly, you're not the first person to ask me that tonight.'

'Because you're talking like a crazy person!' he said. 'After what? You're not leaving, Y/N, and neither am I! I'm sorry, but you're a fool if you think I'm letting you go without a fight.'

Your nostrils flared. 'How else shall I explain to you that I'm not what you want—'

'I'll be the judge of that!'

'You are,' you exclaimed. 'You said you wanted a normal life. That's your dream! All your pictures are from the time you had the most normalcy - from before your Leadership!'

'Except the ones with you!'

'Dean, that picture from your wallet was taken on our most normal day!' you said. 'Hell, it wasn't even a full day before I was impaled by a fucking tree, and you goddamned walked into a flood. Do you really want that for the rest of your life!?'

Dean couldn't conjure an answer for a very long minute.

You set your jaw.

'That's what I thought. You said that your time before Leadership had been "almost perfect" for you. You said that this life is like a "punishment".'

Dean couldn't believe you were using his words against him like that. If you could just give him a fucking minute to think . . .

You gathered your courage and mustered the strength to stand up. 'You should leave,' you said. 'I'll have to redo my make-up, again, and apologise to everyone downstairs. I'd appreciate it if you didn't reject me until after the Ball, I don't think I can go on—'

'Shut up. Just . . .' he stopped you mid-sentence and mid-way, keeping you there while he stood up. Without your heels, he could easily look down into your eyes and see the depths of your soul. 'I said "almost",' he told you, like he hadn't heard a single word you'd just said. 'Almost perfect. Because you weren't there.'

'Dean—'

'No. Shut up and listen to me. All I know,' he said, slow and methodical, 'is that I can't let you walk down there into another fucking man's arms.'

'This is not the time to let your monkey brain take over,' you snapped. 'Think rationally—'

'Is that what you're doing?' he scoffed. 'That's what you said earlier, is it? That you're thinking rationally? Well, here's all I can think about right now: if I see you marry another man, it'll wreck me.'

'You'll be fine—'

'You don't know that.'

'If you marry me, you will definitely not be fine,' you said. That, you knew.

You tried to step away, but his fingerpads dug into your skin, keeping you to him.

'You're my soulmate, Y/N,' he said. 'Mine.'

'You keep saying that, but you don't even believe in God, Dean,' you countered. 'Why would you want anything that he left you?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'He works in mysterious ways. I don't care.' He slid his hands up to cup your face so you could see straight into him, to see the truth of his words, 'Look. Yeah, I wanted a normal life. But that was before you came along—'

'Dean—'

'Let me finish, dammit!' he urged.

You stared at him defiantly.

'I've thought about this,' he carefully put. 'I don't care about a normal life if I don't have you in it. Okay? You're better than all my dreams. You're better than anything my fucked brain could've made up,' he insisted. 'Do you get that?'

You swallowed the slick lump in your throat.

'My mind is a dark place,' he continued. 'And I need you to keep me sane. You're looking at it all wrong! I was in the Leadership before you came along, you were the only reason I could have that normal day in the first place.' He pulled you closer by slipping an arm around your waist, caressing your cheek with the other as he put his forehead against yours. 'I don't need a woman from the apple-pie life. I need one who can hammer me down in this world, anchor me when everything's in the air - you do that, and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.'

Tears sparkled in your eyes at his admission. 'Maybe that's true for you now, but you can change your mind.'

'So can you,' he insisted. 'We don't know what's going to happen.'

You chewed your bottom lip. 'I can't have you resent me,' you whispered after a few beats. 'I won't be able to take that,' your voice quivered, pulling your head away from his.

It damn near broke him.

'I won't,' he promised. 'I'm not your parents, Y/N. If the cost of being with you is the Leadership, I will pay it - and I'll still call myself lucky because you're the best goddamn thing that happened to me. And I'm too damn grateful to resent you.'

'I'm asking too much,' you cried out, as more tears came racing down your cheek, and Dean's hand was there to wipe them.

'You're not asking enough,' he firmly said.

'Think more about it—'

'Marry me.'

He could hear your breath hitch, your mouth fell open completely, and your eyes widened in utter shock.

'Did you hear me?' he shook you slightly. 'Marry me.'

When you tried to pull away fully this time, he let you go; although, that was not without bracing his heart for a removal from his chest.

'You're being impulsive,' you said harshly. 'You don't know what you're doing.'

'I'm scared, too, Y/N,' he steadily said. 'I'm scared because I don't know what's going to happen to us. But I'm more scared of losing you. So, you're wrong. I know exactly what I'm doing.'

'Dean,' you just about whined. 'Why are you putting me in such a hard position?'

The pounding in his chest was too much for the way his cavity was tightening.

'You wanted me to reject you; I'm not,' he said. 'Your turn now.'

'This is not good for you!'

'Not your call, Y/N.'

'Dean,' it was a warning and a plea all in one.

He could've been lightheaded from all the fear that was winding up in him tighter the longer you postponed answering.

'You're not thinking—'

It rubbed him the wrong way.

'You need to give me a chance, dammit!' he said. 'You cannot be right all the time!'

Your face crumbled, and you looked down in shame.

'Just give me a chance to prove you wrong, okay? Just give me one chance to show you that family can mean something else . . .'

You closed your eyes so more salt lines cut through your masks; you shook your head from side to side.

And Dean stilled. Everything in him stopped momentarily.

'Is that a no?'

'It's a yes,' you said it under your breath, so it was nearly inaudible.

Dean had to blink his stillness away . . .

'D-Did you just agree to marry me?'

'I can't say no to you,' you accused. 'Of course I want to marry you, of course I want to give you a chance. But—!'

He shut you up with a searing kiss.

It wiped your mind of thoughts, letting the regular electric high that invaded your senses whenever he kissed you take over again.

Between all the sleep deprivation, the crying, and the fights, this type of sudden exhilaration dizzied you. You found purchase on his chest and shoulders as your knees weakened.

Dean must have sensed it because he led you until the backs of your knees touched your mattress, then he bent you down until your back hit your mattress. It was easier to breathe horizontally as was bringing Dean in for a deeper taste in that position.

Dean had come down with you, letting the taste of your tears dissolve onto his tongue, only moving away a few times to let you breathe; whereupon he would kiss down your jaw and neck, until he was ready to steal your breath again.

His fingers started tugging at your skin-tight dress, and you breathlessly managed to say: 'Scissors are in the drawer of my nightstand.'

He got up quickly, fumbling for the stationery. But before he returned to you, he made a quick detour to lock the door of your room. When he'd rushed back to your side again, he met your eyes.

'Sure I can cut this?'

'Positive . . . Cut me free.'

'I can't believe I'm playing hooky at my own Ball,' you snorted as you donned a human sweater and human jeans with human boots. Your hair was wild and free now, and you'd removed all that elaborate make-up, keeping only the compact and ruse (you weren't a monster to go bare-faced). And most importantly, you wore Dean's heart-pendant necklace and all your regular jewellery that protected you.

'If you had talked to me earlier, we would've been engaged much sooner,' Dean pointed out. 'No one would've had to come.'

You spun around. 'You're not mad at me anymore, are you?'

Dean zipped up his jeans and moved on to wear his grey undershirt - he'd been keeping a spare in your room for a while, and he refused to go back into his skinny, leather jeans - said those had made him feel like a rich jerk.

'After three rounds of mind-blowing sex?' he grinned. 'Think we're even.'

You laughed, rounding the bed to meet him where he was dressing up. 'You make it sound like a favour or something.'

'Obviously, it wasn't,' he said, finally putting his blue flannel on, in time to receive you by the waist. 'But it helped.'

You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck. 'It's all so surreal. We're engaged! I really didn't think you would agree to marry me so quickly,' you admitted. 'Like, after you knew about the contract and all.'

He gave you a look.

Instead of replying, he reached for his wallet on the nightstand. This time, he brought out two ringshe kept where coins should be (neither of you used coins - it wasn't royal).

For the second time that night, he left you in abject shock.

'Wait . . . Are those—?'

'Soulmate rings,' he confirmed. 'Belonged to my parents. Sammy released them to me on the Summer Solstice last year.'

'You've known since then?' your eyeballs bulged. You knew he knew, but he hadn't told you since when.

'Yes, darlin'. I've been all in since then.'

'I-I don't know what to say,' you bit your lip, meeting his heated gaze - it was the one you'd only seen in the romcoms he liked, that intense one that a guy gave to his girl when he thought she was his entire world.

It gave you goosebumps.

'Want to put these on before we go deal with your parents?'

'Really?' you entire face lit up, although trepidation tried to slow you down. 'You want to give me your soulmate ring?'

'You are my soulmate,' he teased you.

'I know, I know,' you waved a hand around. 'I've just never had a soulmate before. I mean, if calling you my boyfriend was daunting - this would be our soulmate ring, and our engagement ring, and I've only had all this information for a few hour—'

He claimed your lips to stop your rambling. Your brain honestly turned to goo every time he did that - it was a good technique to shut you up. The sound of the smooch when he pulled away made your toes curl in your boots.

'You are adorable,' he pecked you once again, swiping his thumb under your lower lip, sending tingles everywhere in your body.

While your breathing evened out, you wordlessly offered him your left hand.

He picked the more feminine design and took your left hand in his, but he paused before he could slip it on, hesitating: 'Can I ask you nicely?'

You smirked shyly. '. . . If you want.'

His features softened, and his heartbeat accelerated again. 'Y/N,' he said, pausing after it for much too long.

'Yeah?' you had to prompt him.

He locked his eyes with you, and you were swept into a tsunami of emotions in there.

'To be honest, you make me really mad,' he said calmly. 'In general.'

'O-Oh?' But before you could apologise, he was talking.

'And it makes me fucking furious that you make me climb up the fucking walls and I still want to thank you for it,' he scoffed. 'I get mad at you because . . . to be honest, I didn't want to be in a relationship ever again. I didn't want to care about anyone else, but it's insane how much I want to take care of you.'

You quirked half a smile, 'You're off to a good start.'

He took a deep, stabilizing breath, 'Y/N M/N L/N.'

'Don't say my middle name,' your nose scrunched.

He smirked. 'I need your maddening presence to drive me - you are what drives me to do everything I do. And I promise that if you wear this ring, I'll be yours - someone who protects you, someone who cherishes you, someone you can always count on.' He wanted to add a sentence about love, but he wasn't sure if that was okay with you yet, so he wrapped things up. 'Would you do me the honour of making a husband out of me?'

You narrowed your eyes at his phrasing. 'Is that a feminist thing?'

'Yes. And I'm not apologising for it,' he grinned.

'Well, it isn't a dealbreaker so . . . I'd love to marry you,' you whispered, smiling beautifully. 'You're the only person I'd love to marry.'

You both shared beaming identical grins as he perched the ring on you.

You gasped when a scrawled cursive writing appeared on the smooth gold surface.

'That's your name,' you said. Goosebumps graced you once again when you traced the name with your finger. 'Is it glowing?' A faint golden light was emanating from the piece of jewelry.

'Your ring finger is said to be connected to your heart,' he explained. 'The name on your heart is the name on the ring.'

'That is so cool!' you noted earnestly.

He nodded. 'And the glow's just a reminder to cherish the golden bond we have.'

'It's wonderful,' you said, feeling another (this one happy) sting in your eyes.

'All right, now ring me,' he wiggled his fingers, making you laugh.

'You're so cheesy.' But you took the ring from him, kissing his palm before you flipped his hand over.

'Hey, only cheesy men can give awesome proposals.'

'You did scare me for a minute.'

'It's just an example that even if I'm mad at you, I'll be there for you,' he said smoothly.

You stared at your man fondly, emotional beyond speech. You strung his finger with the soulmate ring and watched with fascination as your name appeared on it.

Dean's free hand came to swipe your tears - you hadn't even known they'd slipped past your eyes.

'What's wrong now?'

'I've never been happier,' you chuckled.

Till the day you die, it will be a mystery as to you how today was the worst and the best day of your life. All you knew was that you'd never cried more in a day than that one in your entire life.

When the ballroom doors opened, you immediately tracked down a mike, your hand in Dean's. People were slow to move for you two because you two had entered from the servant doors and weren't wearing the most appropriate clothes.

The crowd parted once they recognised you both, then muted, shocked at the display of your dragging your fellow Leader.

You signaled to cut out the music and took the stage from the band, leaving Dean at the steps.

All the Governors and Hunters stood in the attention stance of soldiers upon your appearance on the stage.

'Good evening, Governors. You can relax,' you said, voice as sturdy as your decision. You couldn't stop smiling. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting. I had urgent business to attend to.'

'What's going on?' you heard a hiss in the background - your mother was asking it to Dean, who willfully ignored her.

'I will keep this short. No point in wasting more of your time and mine,' you said. 'I am no longer looking for a suitor.'

There was a huge response: gasps, whispers, protests, and the loudest question in the air: 'Are you outta your mind?'

'No, Mrs L/N,' you directly addressed the last one. 'I've never been more mentally healthier. No thanks to you. . . . Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado or drama, let me present to you,' dramatic pause, 'my soulmate.'

Another bout of responses, louder than the last time, as some camera flashes go off in the air.

And for the grand finale: 'If you can please welcome Leader Dean Winchester—' collective gasps, Dean walked up the two steps, '—my soulmate, and now, my fiancé.'

He laced his fingers with you, an anchor in the dam of chatter that flooded the room, along with a huge round of deafening applause and whoops—and someone tipped over the champagne tower by accident. Your mother's plate of cake had fallen to the floor, and your father had spilled a bite of cake on his shirt out of shock. But you and Dean showed off your soulmate rings to the crowd.

You muttered an unheard thank you into the mike, turning to face Dean and bringing him down, much to his surprise, for the first official royal kiss. The camera flashes became blinding then, and the noise could've just blasted your eardrums.

But Dean held you back, sharing his breath with you.

'We were brokering deals for you! We had already shortlisted seven candidates for you!' Daniella shouted as she strode into the Palace's conference room. 'Absolute disgrace, humiliated us in front of the crowds!'

'About time, don't you think?' Dean piped up, too happy with the plan he came up with to take down your parents' contract - you cannot believe you hadn't figured out the same idea.

Dean is such a genius, I swear, you eyed his side profile admirably. And he's all mine.

'Oh, you've always had it out for us, Mr Winchester,' she wagged her chubby finger at Dean.

'It's Lord Dean to you,' he corrected. 'Or Lord Winchester, since I'm getting married to Y/N soon.'

You tried not to let his attitude amuse you so greatly and failed when a smile splintered your face in half.

'I went over the contract, Daniella,' Dean said, having too much fun.

'You weren't supposed to show that to anyone!' she turned to you, an enlivened rage in her eyes.

'He's my soulmate and my soon-to-be husband,' you shrugged. 'You wouldn't want my legal marriage contract to interfere with the said marriage, would you? Imagine what the press would say if I told them you were interfering in my wedding that I apparently chose.'

'Oh, that would be so for your reputation,' Dean grinned.

'But we're making it worse, aren't we, darling?'

'Of course! You made such an elaborate clause, Daniella - one that can control your daughter in every way possible. But you know what variable you didn't count on?'

'Dean,' you answered for him. 'You didn't account for his unconventional methods. Like daughter, like mother, I guess,' you snorted.

Dean winked at you before delivering the punch line. 'I would have drum-rolls here for you, but you're not worth the effort, Daniella, so let me just say: Y/N and I agreed on a prenup.'

Identical Cheshire grins unfurled on you two's faces. 'That would be so bad for your greed, Mom.'

'You don't call me that!' she screeched, having the intended effect you wanted her to. 'Are you both out of your damn mind!? You think I won't contest this in court!?'

'Dean will just deny he knows about the contract,' you said. 'That way, prenup is his choice, and as it turns out, there's no clause for that in our contract.'

'That's because you didn't think anyone would refuse Y/N's money as a Temp Leader,' Dean laughed. 'And you also thought Y/N would never rebel. Can I just say that seeing you be defeated by yourself is one of the highlights of my day.'

'Speaking of things we're enjoying,' you added. 'We're banning you two from Europe.'

'That means no one's gonna trade with you from this Continent anymore,' Dean cackled. 'So say goodbye to your favourite fashion.'

'Not to mention, your old contacts from here, Mom,' you chirped.

'Oh, more than half your sponsors are Europeans, aren't they, Daniella?'

'You . . . You . . . Y/N, you've gone ROGUE—!'

Dean calmly tsked, disarming your mother's anger hilariously. 'Where are your manners, young lady?'

You were surprised with laughter. 'I swear, I did not ask him to say that,' you told her conversationally, like her anger wasn't affecting you at all (definitely a tit for tat thing).

'I'm just saying that Y/N is an esteemed Leader, Daniella,' Dean said, happy that he got you to laugh as he slipped a hand around you - and fuck, did it feel nice to flaunt your relationship to your parents. 'I don't think you want to add imprisonment for misbehaviour against the government to your banishment, right?'

'She's my daughter,' she snarled in self-righteousness. 'I can talk to her however I want!'

Dean checked you for cold feet, but he was proud to witness you squaring your shoulders.

'Mom, you are right,' you said. 'I am your daughter, so I will say it as plainly as you did. Dean and I are signing a special kind of contract - call it a prenup or what-have-you, but you will not drain Dean's resources. We can't retire, sure, but I will find a way to spend all my assets over time, which won't leave you a single dime because I will be bankrupt. And according to the prenup, Dean's entire legacy will be separate from mine. If he wishes to sponsor me, he can, but he will owe you nothing.'

Neither of you had seen Daniella's face twitch as much as you had that day. From the background, where Miles had faded, he prompted her: 'What about grandchildren?'

'Yes!' Daniella recovered. 'Yes! Our grandchildren will . . . will aid us. That was in the deal.'

'Aw, cute,' Dean sniggered. 'But who's seen the future, Daniella? What if we never have children?'

In tandem, 'What if we get divorced and Dean gets the custody?'

'Or my personal favourite: you die,' Dean winked at her.

'Is that a threat?' she sneered.

'Was that a threat, darlin'?' you arched a playful brow.

'Aw, not at all, princess,' Dean said, his eyes flashing darkly at them. 'A threat would be to say that if you upset Y/N ever again - or hell, if you contacted her in any shape or form, we will erase your existence from this planet.'

Daniella surged forward with a battle cry in her desperate insanity. She was too slow for you and Dean. Dean let you go to grab his two guns from his jeans while you let her push you into the nearest wall with a feeble bang.

'If you think you're going to get away with this, you don't know me!' she shrieked.

You signaled Dean to hold fire because he had a gun pointed at each of your parents.

You rescued yourself from her hold and shoved her away, hard, making her stumble and fall into Dean's gun, which made her shriek in fright and scramble towards your father.

'First off, say it,' you said. 'Don't fucking spray it.' You held two fingers up, 'Secondly, no one knows you better than I do. Now that my naive hopes are out of the way . . . well,' you let your easy grin slip back on your face. 'You did see how we crumbled your little plans in a day, right?'

'Seb?' Dean called, putting his guns down, but not out of sight. 'B2?'

Your team marched in with two files, all of them holding guns. Sebastian placed the first file on the table. Dean offered you a pen he'd fished out after putting one gun in as you joined his side.

'Your banishment,' you smiled.

Together, you and Dean put your signatures on the paper.

Baz placed the second file on the table.

'Don't do that!' she said, tears of embarrassment gathered in her eyes. 'If you do that, you will regret it! I will make you regret it!'

'Hmm, do you feel like regretting, Dean?'

'I could use a challenge,' he shrugged.

'Awesome. After you, then!'

He signed the papers before you did, both of you watching with trepidation as Daniella's dreams and dignity crushed in front of you.

'You will pay for this,' she hissed, more upset about her bruised ego than the loss of income. 'You will-' Like a child who didn't get a point, she lunged for the gun in Dean's hand.

Dean had been so occupied shielding you that she stole the gun from him.

Your team raised their own guns at her.

'I didn't think you get stupider, Mrs L/N,' Baz said, fairly amused.

'Give me those files, or I'll shoot you!' she warned, gun trained on you.

Dean knew your phenomenal aiming skills came from your mother. He calmly stepped in front of you. Your brows crunched, and you tried to step up next to him, but an arm of his curled backward, keeping you behind him - no matter how much you strained, as subtly as you could, he was stronger.

'Put the gun down, or you'll leave Europe in a body bag,' Sebastian claimed.

'Not without those files!'

'Uh,' Miles said, hands in the air, wanting no part of this. 'I don't think money is worth our lives-'

'There is no life without money!' she snapped, eyes brimming. 'Just burn those contracts, and no one has to get hurt.'

'Will you shoot your own daughter for money, Mom?' you scoffed, trying to look her in the eyes over Dean's shoulder, but it was hard in just your boots. 'Have you no humanity left?'

'Humanity is a fable!' she exclaimed. 'Where was their humanity when I was kidnapped!?'

'You're pushing your children away for something your parents did to you,' Dean said. 'How are you better than them?'

'JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN FILES!' she squawked on the top of her lungs, shooting the ground Dean was on, making your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

Sebastain, the nearest one to her, pounced on her. The gun pointed towards the air and misfired once. The young Hunter clocked your out-of-practice mother in the jaw, and the gun clattered to the ground. The Griffith brothers leaped out of the way upon the second missfire, and Miles had let out a long girly scream before promptly ducking under the conference table. Dean had thrown himself back, so you both had tumbled to the ground with groans, Dean on top of you, still trying to cover you.

'All right, you're fucking done!' Sebastian growled, pulling her to her feet and handcuffing her.

'Is everyone okay?' you asked, a tad winded.

'I'm good!' huffed Miles, climbing out of his hidey-hole. 'I'm safe. It's okay!'

'Not you, Miles,' Dean snapped, straightening himself before helping you up. 'Are you okay, darling?' he asked you.

You nodded, but you were utterly shocked - you'd never seen your father in a dangerous situation before, and how he went from a stoic lion to a mewling cat made you wonder how he was chosen for Permanent Leader in the first place - his fear had been appalling to you as a Hunter.

'We're all good, Lead,' Baz gave you both thumbs-up.

'Bulletproof jackets,' grunted Boa, tapping his chest.

Which means only you and Dean had been without jackets, and you had a bone to pick with your fiancé . . .

'This isn't over!' Daniella said.

'Bring it on, bitch,' Dean's lips curled menacingly - you wondered how long he'd been wanting to say that to her.

'Boa, Baz, would you like to escort her out? You have our permission to be rough if she resists,' you said, secretly disheartened by this whole fiasco.

'Would be our pleasure,' Baz saluted.

'Yep,' Boa said.

The twins took her by the elbows and dragged her out.

'Whoo! She's cuckoo, huh?' said Miles, panting a bit.

'Sebastian, throw him out,' Dean requested.

'Happily,' Sebastian said.

'I'm going! I'm going!' Miles said.

'Good. By the way, I have a dish I'd like you to try,' quipped Sebastian.

'Oh,' Miles said, slowly putting his milder gait back on now that the guns were away. 'I love food.'

'Good because I'm gonna make you eat dirt. That's for wanting me to cook, you racist fuckers . . .'

Their voices faded as Sebastian trailed after him to ensure that they both got to their cars downstairs, where their entourages waited to take them to the port and out of this Continent, per the newly-enforced ban.

Dean's arms snaked around your waist. 'You okay?'

You scoffed, turning in his arms. 'What the fuck was that?'

'What?' he asked like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about.

'You could've been shot, Dean!'

'Oh, come on! It was reflexive,' Dean protested, tucking an errant strand behind your ear. 'I'm sorry.'

You sighed instead of swatting his hand away like you wanted to. It was understandable if his reflexes kicked in . . . 'Okay, but don't do it again - I can take care of myself.'

'Yeah, you can,' Dean said with half a smirk. 'Besides, I think I can make it up to you.'

It prompted an amused smile from you, too. You didn't know how to be angry, and Dean was too goddamn adorable to be mad at.

'Fine. But I need a drink first.'

'Coming right up, princess,' he said, steering you towards the door.

Your eyes strayed to the Conference Room window for a second.

The Palace's garden surveillance just below this Room had a blind spot - and it was the only blind spot of the entire Palace CCTV system. This room's window was the only window in the entire place that nullified this blind spot as long as someone was standing at the window and in time to prevent a breach.

It was a random fact for you to know, but you thought about it every time you visited this room, which wasn't often, which was why you kept forgetting to ask someone to fix it. But you weren't worried - only European Leaders knew about it since they were the only ones who used the room.

In your shared fatigue, you two forget that Daniella was an ex-European Leader, too . . .

'You think they saw through me?' you wondered, walking up the stairs towards your room with Dean after giving the Ballroom another visit and celebrating your engagement with Dean for a few hours with the guests. You hadn't wanted to, but you felt bad about calling them so far for technically nothing - you figured a party wouldn't hurt anyone.

But you just wanted to sleep at this point.

You hadn't actually signed a prenup. Dean ideated the whole plan, but he refused to sign a real one even when you said you didn't mind. It was just to rile Daniella enough so she would never bother you again.

In the meantime, Dean would get his best lawyers to collaborate with Seth's lawyers on this to nullify the contract that did exist. You had complicated it by signing it again a week ago, but Dean thought there was hope. And if not, he said he would happily live the Leadership life with you.

He interlaced your hand with his. 'I don't think they have the parental instincts to see through you,' he rolled their eyes, for he couldn't help himself when it came to Daniella and Miles. 'But are you okay? With how it went down, I mean. The guns weren't exactly choreographed into our plan.'

You swallowed compulsively.

You never got the chance to speak, however, when Dean's pager went off.

He checked the caller ID and cursed under his breath.

'Sammy,' he told you, apologetic in his demeanor. 'Can you give me a minute?'

'Of course,' you said. 'In fact, put your phone on speaker!'

Dean patted himself down. 'Um, wait, I-I can't find my phone.'

You frowned. 'Did you leave it at the Ball?'

'No, I didn't remove it from my pocket-' Then, the realisation struck him. 'It must have fallen out of my pocket in the Conference Room when we fell down!'

'Let's go get it, then,' you urged.

'Maybe you should go freshen up,' Dean suggested. 'You're exhausted-'

'No, I want to hear this,' you insisted. 'I want to talk to Sam, too.'

So, there you went, hand-in-hand, back to the scene of the crime. Dean found his device quickly and dialled his brother. You held his hand on the table where you two had taken a seat.

'Heya, Sammy,' Dean said to the phone in between you, nervous and excited. 'How was the hunt?'

'Dean.'

It was distinctly Donna.

Your heart sank in sync with Dean's - you could see it in the way his hand tightened reflexively around yours, and his lips parted to tremble.

'No . . . No, no-'

'Is—?'

'I'm so sorry, Dean. We're so sorry for your loss—'

But the rest of her sentence was drowned by the Palace-wide alarm.

'What the-?'

Your words died on your tongue when your eyes met with a horrible scene.

The alarm - one that's usually heard for tornadoes in alternate universes - sets off only in the event of breach. And the only place that breach could've happened because the cameras would've caught it too late was-

The ground vibrated as the last of the trees that made up your perimeter were blasted.

'DUCK!' you screamed, tackling Dean to the floor with you as literally every window and object made of glass shattered from the proximity.

The lights tripped into an emergency red.

Screams filled the air.

The night sky was ablaze from the bomb blast.

When you could peek up, the forest fire allowed you to see the soldiers crawling out of hiding.

'Oh, my God—'

A/N: Whoo! What an emotional rollercoaster 🫠. So much happened in this chapter, lol

Do comment which part affected you the most, happy and/or sad! (For me, I cried during the scene where he was asking her to marry him 🥹, and also the one where she breaks down crying 😭)

Anyway - * just swiftly proceeds to hide until the next week so you don't throw me off the cliffhanger I left you at . . . 👀🫣*

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