a happy place to dream about (slice of life horror, multi-chaptered)
Dean's rudderless when he limps ashore in West Cibola. 23, with nobody and nothing but a couple bucks and a broken-down old car to his name. It's October. Nothing's been right for a long time.
He turns 24 in a rundown long-stay motel room with an under the table turned actual job at an washed-up dive bar— the only place that'd take him without a real job history or a permanent address. It’s way off the tourist strip and the money’s terrible, but it’s steady.
Two years and some change later, just as the restlessness really starts to seep in, he meets Chuck Shurley for the first time.
That he knows of.
[Read on AO3]
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CHP 8 UP!
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April. The air’s humid, heavy on the skin, on and off rain thick enough to taste.
Dean's crouched down awkwardly at the lowest shelf behind the bar, clipboard under one arm and pen jammed between his teeth as he rustles at the back, counting and recounting bottles of triple sec and sour mix— he keeps losing track halfway, headache kneading at his skull. The dead out nap that’d eaten his lunch break between one blink and the next barely dented it.
Still, he feels the eyes on his back like a target.
He works his jaw, staying put. Makes a few purposeful-looking marks that don’t mean anything before he heaves up to his feet, tossing the clipboard on the shelf. He tilts against the counter, plastering on a smile at the vaguely familiar man across the bar — infrequent repeat customer, tall, intense, radiates cop in a way that makes Dean twitchy— but they get those sometimes, off-duty guys just after a drink.
Off-duty isn’t he’s clocking from him right now, though.
Alarm bells rattle his back molars but Dean keeps smiling, plastic. Wishes he’d held onto the clunky metal clipboard. There’s an empty beer bottle to his left. Mostly useless plastic trays of lime wedges and violent red maraschino cherries to his right. Capped marker in his pocket—
“What’s your poison?”
“I’m more interested in you, Dean Harrison,” the cop says, sliding a gleaming badge across the counter.
Dean–
not Dean Harrison, he hasn’t been Dean fucking Harrison in years–
stalls out.
And— no, not cop, agent. Federal agent. What the fuck?
Outwardly, Dean just raises a brow.
“I wasn’t gonna card you, but sure.” He makes a show of glancing over the badge, “Good news is, you’re legal for that drink you’re not after, but other than that…” Pressing two fingers against the badge, he slides it right back over to him crisply. “Kinda feel like you got the wrong idea here, Mister Henderson.”
“It’s Henriksen.”
“Oh, I figured getting your name wrong was part of the game.”
“I’m sure I got yours right— didn’t I, Harrison?”
“It’s Winchester,” Dean corrects shortly.
Henriksen just laughs, low and surprisingly real.
“Yeah, I heard that— it’s cute, ‘cause I’ve got Dean Winchester’s death certificate on my wall.” He leans forward on an elbow, waving a hand, “But hey— nobody’s looking for a kid that died way back in ‘95, right? Pretty clever for a corpse.”
Dean stares at him, flat. The fed crooks a smug grin at him. Dean’s not even sure either of them has blinked.
“So. John Winchester’s poor dead kid who ain’t dead. I’ve got the feeling you can fill in some blanks for me.”
SPN ELDRITCH REVERSEBANG 2026: Claims and Previews! This is how we're going to do it.
ARTISTS, THIS IS HOW TO TURN IN YOUR ART!
ALL art rough drafts are due on JANUARY 10. If I don’t have your art by January 11, I’ll assume that you dropped out. Clains are due on JANUARY 20. You can still keep fine-tuning your art until the posting date, but any substantial change has to be made in agreement with your author.
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as he felt the warmth of the autumn gold rays hit his face, he turned towards the light and shut his eyes. the inside of his eyelids glowed red from the blood pumping through his human veins. his vessel- no, body- was miraculous. his grace had faded but cas felt more at home in his skin than he had the last time humanity had settled over him.
a small sharp sound caught his attention and he opened his eyes to glance down the drive towards the road outside the bunker. he couldn't immediately see what the source of the noise was, so he walked a few steps down the road and heard the noise again coming from the ditch to his left.
mew?
"well, hello there." cas bent down and spoke softly to the small ginger kitten cowering in the weeds and soggy grass. the kitten cried again and cas looked up and down the road. "where's your mother?"
the kitten's cries grew sharper and cas reached out and scooped it up from the ground. it squirmed and wiggled, but he kept a firm gentle grasp, so that it wouldn't fall. "careful now." he let out a small laugh. "you're just like dean when i saved him from perdition."
he held the kitten to his chest and it looked up at him with big green eyes. mew?
"it's ok. you're alright." he glanced up and down the road once more, listening intently for any rustling in the grass but there was nothing except faint birdsong breaking through the misty dawn.
"do you not have a family?" he asked and the kitten mewed sadly. he felt tears prick at the corner of his eyes. it seemed everything made him cry lately. emotions were so much more overwhelming now.
-
dean heard the door open and he called out from where he was flipping bacon in a pan. "was it a good sunrise?"
there was no answer and he looked up in question, only to find cas standing in the doorway holding a bedraggled kitten, and staring at him with the wettest, most pleading eyes dean had ever seen.
"oh. no. cas, we're not keeping it. i have allergies remember?" he could feel his nose tingling and he knew it would start running any second.
cas stepped closer and tapped his forehead with two fingers. "now you don't anymore."
"i thought you didn't have any grace left?"
"that was the last of it."
"cas." dean sighed. "you should've saved it for something important."
"this is important."
dean looked down into the kitten's face and it mewed softly, like it didn't want to be a bother. his heart melted.
TW: mentions of death, abuse, loss, sex (not delved into simply mentioned), analysis of Dean Winchester’s love life and childhood.
A/N: Please enjoy, and if you have any ideas regarding where to go with this fic— please leave them in my ask box!! I’m planning on turning it into a Destiel fic, but not set on anything yet!
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The life of a hunter was simple, was it not? Kill or be killed, face pain or bury it, and save those who needed it. It was pretty cut and dry in the thick-skulled mind of the elder Winchester. Not that he had ever seen the other side of things, not like Sam had. He had never learned the gentle side of love— that there was more to intimacy than sex and that there was more to love than loss. At first, it was John who kept those lessons hidden away from Dean— and then, in taking over the title of head of the Winchester family, he forbade himself from those lessons. To know gentleness was to know vulnerability and, in hunting, to know vulnerability was to know death. He made sure that wall was never quite broken— no matter how crumbled it got under the pressure of those who tried.
His first lesson in the loss that love is was the day of his mother’s death. “The angels are watching over you,” she had said— the gentle words whispered as a lie she didn’t quite understand.
The second time was raising Sammy. If anything went wrong, it was Dean who received the burden of his father’s scrutiny. This was a loss and burden Dean learned to carry through his life. The loss of his childhood weighed less on his heart than even the idea of fully losing his little brother. His self worth had been Sammy’s existence, and to lose him would be to lose himself— even if raising him had already taken parts of him.
Had it not been for the hell hounds, he would have learned true, romantic, love from Jo. Not that it would’ve been gentle love— she was just as fucked as he was. But it would’ve been love nonetheless. That was the third time that he was taught— or rather had it hand-engraved into his brain matter— to acknowledge love as a loss he couldn’t afford.
Jo was the first and last romantic love Dean Winchester had allowed himself to indulge in. After that, every woman was a night and nothing more.
Years later, there was Lisa. He loved her, but what he learned from Jo that to love a woman past mere physicality in ways he couldn’t describe was to kill not only the love but also that woman. To be loved was to be killed. So, he let her go.
EDIT:
Oops!! Forgot to tag the two people I still have as moots after making this acc and we’re on my tag list: @chxrrywines @ryvkkr
Title: The Angel Next Door (and the Zombie Squirrel)
Author: FriendofCarlotta (@friendofcarlotta)
Artist: jollyrolls (@jollyrolls)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No archive warnings apply
Tags: Modern AU, Angel Cas, Fluff and Crack, Romantic Comedy, Dead Squirrel (or is it?)
Word count: 9,264
Featured characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester
Featured relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Summary:
Dean’s life is fine. He might get a little lonely sometimes, but that’s to be expected when you’re a single guy in your forties. But then a new neighbor moves in next door — an extremely hot, blue-eyed neighbor who seems to be some kind of magnet for bizarre and miraculous events. (Listen, that squirrel was dead. Dean’s sure of it.)
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester
Word Count: 2630
Prompt: Cupid's Got A Shotgun by Carrie Underwoods
Summary: An encounter with Cupid forces you to face your feelings for the Winchester Brothers.
Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, unresolved romantic tension, fear of emotional vulnerability, self-doubt, internal conflict, unrequited love, intense emotional introspection, defensive behavior, discussion of emotional scars, mentions of past relationship trauma, slow burn, protective behavior, Cupid intervention, romantic frustration.
The bar’s dim, sputtering light casts a weak glow overhead, barely illuminating the worn wooden tables and the scuffed floor beneath your boots. Shadows cling to the walls like old memories, and you sink deeper into your chair, swirling the last of your whiskey in the glass before taking a slow sip. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, spreading a fleeting warmth through your chest, but it does nothing to calm the storm raging in your head. It never does.
It’s the same pattern every time, isn’t it? Men with honeyed words slip into your life, leaving behind promises as thin as smoke, promises they never intend to fulfill. Before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage of something that wasn’t even real, just a mirage of what could have been. All those "almosts" stack up like bricks, weighing heavy on your heart, and even though you’ve never had a real relationship, it feels like you've been left shattered more times than you can count.
The scars are there, even if no one else can see them. They linger in every moment a guy brushes you off, in the hollow smile you force when you know it's not real. You feel the sting in every glance that sizes you up like you’re a prize to be won rather than a person to know. So you’ve built your walls, layering them high and thick until nothing, no one, can break through. Not even him.
Or them.
Sam and Dean Winchester—they didn’t just walk into your life. No, they crashed into it, two forces of nature that bulldozed right through your carefully constructed defenses, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in a way you swore you’d never be again. At first, you tried to play it cool, act like they were just hunters, comrades in arms. But the months blurred together, and now you can’t even tell how long it’s been. And that scares you because losing track means losing control and losing control means letting them in.
And letting them in? That’s not an option.
Even now, you can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their presence lingering in the air like a storm cloud ready to break. Sam’s by the pool table, his lean, tall frame moving with practiced ease as he lines up shot after shot. There’s a calm to him, but it’s the kind that keeps you on edge, like he could switch in an instant and suddenly be dangerous. Then there’s Dean, perched at the bar with a half-empty beer in hand, his eyes flicking between the room and you, constantly scanning for threats, always watching.
Always watching you.
They’re protective. It should comfort you, but it drives you insane. Because the truth is, no matter how many monsters they face, no matter how many battles they fight, they can’t protect you from what matters most. They can’t protect you from yourself.
You think back to the last hunt, to the ridiculousness of it all—a damn Cupid, of all things. The little winged freak zeroed in on you from the moment you stepped into that abandoned church, those bright, beady eyes tracking you with unnerving precision. He wasn’t cute, not like the Valentine's Day cards would have you believe. No, this thing was more like a demented cherub, armed with arrows dipped in cosmic mischief, and he had you in his crosshairs. You could feel it in the air—the tug, the weight, as though Cupid himself was hell-bent on forcing you to confront feelings you’d buried so deep even you were beginning to forget they existed. Each arrow he loosed sent your heart racing, as if you could sense the emotional mess he was trying to weave. But you dodged them all, every last one, determined not to let some glorified matchmaker unravel everything you’d worked so hard to lock away.
You're not stupid. You know precisely what the little bastard was aiming for. It’s not like you’ve been blind to the way Sam’s gaze lingers on you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, soft and curious, like he’s trying to piece you together. Or the way Dean’s jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness in his green eyes, whenever some random guy at a bar edges too close, his whole demeanor shifting to silent warning. You’ve been dodging these unspoken glances for months now, sidestepping their care, their questions, like someone dancing around a minefield. Because you know that once you stop moving, it’ll all explode in your face.
And you’ve had enough explosions in your life.
But there’s only so much running you can do before the inevitable catches up.
“Hey.”
Dean’s gravelly voice slices through the whirlwind of your thoughts, rough but steady, anchoring you as he slides into the seat beside you. His presence is a weight that presses into the air, solid, almost suffocating in its certainty. The chair creaks beneath him, but all you hear is the pounding of your own heartbeat, thundering in your chest.
“Are you alright?” He’s asking, but it’s more than that. It’s the question beneath the question, the one you’ve been dodging for longer than you can remember.
Your heart skips a beat—a betraying thud that echoes in the hollowness you’ve tried to keep locked down. You’d never admit it, not even to yourself, but he makes it impossible to pretend. You glance at him, careful to keep your face neutral, masking the fluttering in your chest with a look you’ve perfected over years of pretending. It’s almost second nature by now—the practiced nonchalance. But with Dean, it’s always been different.
There’s something in the way his green eyes bore into yours, piercing through the walls you’ve built brick by brick, layer by layer. It’s as though he sees right past your armor, straight into that small, fragile part of you that still aches for something real. Something more. But you can’t let him see that. You won’t. So you shove it down, hard, pushing that flicker of vulnerability back into the shadows as you lean casually into your chair. Your body language distant, closed off.
“Yeah,” you shrug, the lie slipping from your lips as easily as breathing. “Just tired. Long day.”
Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just watches you with that familiar intensity, and you know—you know—he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. He’s seen you fight, seen you bleed, seen you crawl out of the wreckage of hunts that should’ve killed you. He’s seen you at your worst, and somehow, he still sticks around. He and Sam both do, and that’s the problem, isn’t it? They’ve gotten too close, wedged themselves into your life in ways that make it impossible for you to keep pretending.
Pretending that you don’t care.
Pretending that the way Dean looks at you doesn’t unravel something deep inside.
From across the room, you feel Sam’s eyes on you. His quiet gaze tracks the shift in the atmosphere as he casually leans his pool cue against the table and makes his way over, long strides slow but purposeful. His expression is calm and unreadable, but you see the concern in the tightness of his jaw and the subtle way his brow furrows as he joins Dean at your side.
“You’ve been quiet,” Sam says softly, folding his arms across his broad chest. There’s no judgment in his tone, just that frustrating gentleness, the kind that makes you feel seen when you’d rather stay hidden. “Is it… about earlier? With Cupid?”
The mention of Cupid sends a sharp twist through your stomach. You swallow, forcing down the surge of emotions that threatens to rise, burying it beneath layers of practiced indifference. You won’t let some stupid angel with a bow and arrow undo everything you’ve worked so hard to keep locked away. You won’t.
“I’m fine,” you snap, the words slipping out too fast, too harsh. The crack in your voice betrays you. “That was nothing. Just another hunt.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, and you can feel the weight of Sam’s stare, too, both of them pinning you with that all-too-familiar look. The one that says they’re not buying your crap, the one that makes your pulse quicken, and your chest tighten. You hate that look because it leaves you nowhere to hide.
“Bullshit.” Dean’s voice is low, steady, cutting through the silence with calm certainty. He takes a long sip from his beer, but his eyes never leave yours, and it feels like he’s peeling back every layer you’ve carefully put up to protect yourself. “You’ve been dodging that thing like it was the plague, and don’t think we didn’t notice.”
You clench your hands into fists in your lap, frustration bubbling up like a rising tide. “Look,” you say, your voice sharp, defensive. “I don’t need some magical arrow telling me how I’m supposed to feel. I’m fine the way I am.”
Sam shifts beside Dean, his arms still crossed, but you see the way the muscle in his jaw tenses, the way his hazel eyes soften as they search yours. “It’s not about what you’re supposed to feel,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but firm. “It’s about what you do feel.”
His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, it’s all too much. The weight of their concern, the intensity of their gaze, the truth that they’re trying to force you to admit—it presses down on you until you can’t breathe. You stand up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as you push it back. The sound is harsh, jarring in the quiet of the bar, but you barely notice.
“I don’t feel anything, okay?” you snap, the words spilling out before you can stop them. “Not for you, not for him, not for anyone. And I won’t let some winged freak tell me otherwise.”
The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, hanging between the three of you like a storm cloud ready to break. Dean stands up slowly, his movements deliberate, his face carefully neutral, but there’s something in his eyes—something raw, something that cuts deeper than you want to admit. Hurt, maybe. Disappointment. You can’t think about it. You won’t.
“Y’know,” Dean says quietly, taking a step toward you, his voice low and steady, “you keep saying that, but you don’t believe it. Not really.” He’s close now, too close, the heat of his body radiating off him in waves, and it makes your pulse spike. “You’re just scared.”
Your heart slams against your ribs, your breath catching in your throat. Fear coils tightly around your chest, but not the fear of them. No, it’s the fear of what they’re asking you to do. To let them in. To trust them. To stop running.
And running is all you know how to do.
“I’m not scared,” you whisper, but the words feel weak and empty, even to you.
Dean’s lips twitch into a small, humorless smile, his eyes softening just a fraction as he watches you. “Yeah, you are,” he says, his voice gentler now but no less intense. “And that’s okay. But maybe it’s time you stopped running from it.”
Sam steps closer, his presence steady and calm, grounding you in a way that you don’t want to admit you need. His voice is soft, full of quiet understanding, but there’s an unshakable strength beneath it. “You don’t have to do this alone, y’know,” he says. “We’re here. We always have been.”
The words sink into you, settling deep into the cracks of your carefully guarded heart, and something inside you shifts. Just a little. It’s terrifying, the idea of trusting them, of letting yourself hope, but there’s also something achingly beautiful about it. About the possibility that maybe, for once, you don’t have to be the one to leave first. That maybe, you don’t have to protect yourself from the inevitable heartbreak.
But still, the fear—the bone-deep, soul-crushing fear of opening up, of letting someone in only to be left behind again—is overwhelming and paralyzing.
“I can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper now, trembling under the weight of the truth you’re too afraid to admit. “I can’t risk it.”
Dean’s hand reaches out slowly, cautiously, like he knows one wrong move could send you running. But he doesn’t stop. His fingers, calloused from years of hunting, gently find yours, and instead of just holding your wrist, he entwines his fingers with yours, locking them together with a quiet but unspoken promise. The touch is soft yet firm, his thumb grazing the back of your hand in slow, soothing strokes, as if he’s trying to reassure you with every heartbeat. The warmth of his skin against yours sends a shiver up your spine, igniting something deep inside you, something you’ve kept buried for so long you almost forgot it was there.
You feel the weight of his presence settle over you like a blanket, heavy with meaning, but there’s nothing suffocating about it. It’s grounding, steady—safe. And yet, that safety terrifies you because it’s the kind you’ve convinced yourself you don’t deserve. But Dean, he isn’t giving you a choice. Not this time.
His other hand comes up slowly, his movements deliberate and gentle, as if he’s afraid you might bolt at any second. His palm cups your cheek, warm and rough, but his touch is tender, almost reverent. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone, wiping away a tear you didn’t realize had fallen. The simple motion cracks something inside you, and for a moment, it feels like the walls you’ve built so carefully over the years are crumbling under the weight of his touch.
"Maybe you’re not the only one taking a risk here," Dean murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. His words hang between you, heavy and raw, filled with all the things he’s never said but has always felt. His eyes search yours, and in them, you see it—the longing, the fear, the desperate hope that you’ll stay, that you’ll finally let them in. That you’ll choose them.
You feel your breath catch in your throat as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around yours, anchoring you to the moment. His thumb continues its slow, tender sweep across your cheek, and the tenderness in his gaze is enough to break your heart. This man, this infuriating, stubborn, protective man, who has fought demons and monsters and everything in between, is standing here with his heart wide open, asking you to stop running. Asking you to be with him and his brother in a way that terrifies you more than any hunt ever could.
For the first time, you feel the weight of what’s at stake—not just for you, but for him, for Sam. This isn’t just about you being afraid of getting hurt. It’s about them too, about the risk they’re taking by loving you, by wanting you to be a part of their lives. And it hits you with such force that you almost can’t breathe. They aren’t asking for your walls to come down—they’re asking to stand beside them. To hold you through the fear, through the pain, through whatever comes next.
You stare up at Dean, his hand still cradling your face like you’re something precious, and for the first time, you allow yourself to wonder—really wonder—if maybe, just maybe, you’re not the only one with something to lose.
Because you can feel it now—the risk they’re taking, the way they’re holding their breath, waiting for your answer, waiting for you to finally say yes. And in that moment, you realize that they’ve already decided. They’ve already chosen you.
Summary: A new threat to the world brings the boys back in action. She is big and bad, very bad. But is everything as it seems or is there more to her story?
Pairing: Dean x reader
Trope: enemies to lovers
Word count: 2417
Chapter warnings: some violence, language
A/N: I know it has been AGES since I wrote, i'm trying to get back into it. I know nothing really exiting happens in this chapter but it is one of the most complicated stories I have done and it needs some building. I really hope you like it!
The Raven Masterlist
My Masterlist
Buy me a coffee
“The truth, Dean.”
Those words keep coming back to me. What truth? About what she did or does Heaven know more than they let on?
We kept researching but it’s useless, aside from the codex we have nothing on her. But something about her bugs me. Not only that her smells seem to linger everywhere I go, but I think that I have been sleeping better because of her, how? I have no idea...
“I think we need to go to Heaven and see what is up there.” Sam interrupts my thoughts.
“I asked Cas to look into it. He’s been gone for days. You think he’s alright?” I start, “What if Heaven doesn’t want Cas to tell us and they kept him?”
“Wouldn’t be surprised if they did that.” Sam sighs, “We can summon him.”
“Let’s do that.”
While Sam and I prepare the summoning my mind keeps wandering to my dreams.
Tonight was different, normally it’s just me on my back floating and these phantom hands that gently touch my face and chest.
Tonight I could have sworn I felt lips too, gently pressing against my cheeks and neck, and there was this soft rain, I felt gentle drops falling on my face.
“Dean?” Sam pulls my head from the clouds.
“Huh what?” I look at him.
“Are you okay? You seem out of it.”
“I’m good, I was just thinking, do you…” I look up at him and wait for him to stop messing with the sigils for the summoning, “Do you smell jasmine too?”
“What? No I smell chalk.” He says while holding up the white piece of chalk.
“I don’t mean now, but just in general.”
“No? Why?”
“Nothing, just forget it and let’s get our angel back.” I sigh.
We do the summoning and Cas appears right in the circle we have drawn.
“Cas!” My eyes widen and I run to him when I see the state he is in.
He collapses to the floor just when I reach him, his nose is bleeding, his lip is split, he has numerous cuts on his cheek and his entire face is bruised.
“What the hell happened!” I demand when Sam and I help him sit up on a chair.
“H-Heaven” He grunts out, “I found out what happened and they didn’t want you to know, so they kept me. Until your summoning forced me out.”
“Why wouldn’t they want us to know! We’re trying to help them.” Sam grunts out while getting a first aid kit for Cas.
“They don’t want humans like you to interfere with their business.” Cas says.
“Assholes” I groan, “What did she do?”
“She created an anomaly in the time line.”
“What?”
“She went back in time and did something, I don’t know what. And Heaven wants to fix what she did but she is not letting them do it.”
“Do you know what she did?” I ask him.
He shakes his head, “I’m not even sure Heaven knows what happened. But it explains the world wide blast, messing with time line has a worldwide effect.”
I fall back in my chair, “can’t we ever catch a fucking break?”
“What now?” Sam starts “We can’t fix it, what are the consequences of what she did?”
“Heaven doesn’t want to wait and find out the consequences.” He grunts and stands up “I need to go back in time and see for myself.” He hoists himself up but he’s barely able to stand on his own.
“Woah woah take it easy.” I say as I help him sit back down, “You can barely stand, let alone time travel. Come just” I push him back in the chair and he lets himself sit with a rough exhaled breath “Rest for now. I’m sure her army isn’t ready yet.”
“We don’t know that.” Sam says.
“I think we would notice if an army of the death was walking the Earth.” I remark.
Sam is giving me a look, a dirty one. Like when we were younger and I was hiding an injury and got a heavy infection, he’s giving me that same look. Angry but worried.
“What.” I snap at him.
“Why do act like this when it comes to her?” he asks.
“What?” I frown “What the hell are you talking about!”
“I’m talking about how you tried to stop a freaking bullet for her!”
I knew this was coming, ever since I did that Sam had been giving me wary glances.
“It was just instinct! I reacted to the sound!” I walk closer to him and throw my hands up in frustration, “You’re being ridiculous.”
“You’ve been around guns your whole life! You have never had this instinct before so it’s bullshit, and what about your dreams? You really expect me to believe she miraculously backed off?” Sam half yelled.
“Yes! I have no control over them and I’m sure you would notice when I have nightmares again. Get off my back, Sam. We’re supposed to fight her. Not each other.” I quip back.
“I… yeah I’m sorry, nothing here just makes sense” Sam starts, “We need to know what she did in the past.”
“Once I regain my strength, I can find out.” Cas says from the chair he is slumped in.
I nod and go sit next to him and pat him on the shoulder “Rest first.”
“Why help us?” I wonder to Rowena.
“Because I care for Earth, you nimwit” Rowena says to me.
“And you’re sure this will work?” Sam is holding the list of ingredients with the spell to capture The Raven on it.
“I guess, you’ll have to just trust me, Samuel”
“What about ‘not risking’ your neck. This sounds exactly like that.” I look at Rowena.
She’s become an ally to us. Knowing the Queen of Hell definitely has it’s perks. Funny how she used to be our enemy. She and Sam get along well, despite the fact that Sam killed her.
“Raising an army of the dead will stop the souls from entering Hell, my kingdom is on the line here. I wouldn’t earn to be Queen if I didn’t protect it. And I will hide when she arrives.” She smirks, “She might be the Queen of Death but I am the Queen of Hell, I have some tricks up my sleeve.”
“Cas has enough power to find some of these ingredients, I will give him the list” Sam says, he leaves to bring the list to Cas’s room.
Rowena is looking at me, actually she’s been looking at me since she arrived.
“What?” I ask her.
“Are you feeling well, Winchester?” she comes closer and looks me over, frowning a little while doing so.
“Yes? Why?”
“I don’t know… there’s something different about you, something feels off.”
“Different? Like what? Am I dying? Is it my soul?” I get worried, I have felt a little off recently, nothing bad, actually, it felt even good, very good. The ‘too good to be true’ kind of thing.
“I can’t put my finger on it… it started when you met the Raven? How do you feel?” she asks me.
“Yes, around that time, I feel… good. Really good.” I answer.
“Well, if it is good, there is nothing to worry about.” She shrugs.
Sam and Cas come back, carrying all the ingredients. Boxes and bottles of weird fluids and dust and even some bones.
Man, I hate withes.
“Oh you have everything already?” I say.
“Yes, so let’s do this.” Sam starts, “I don’t want to wait any longer, she needs to be dealt with, now.”
He sounds so determined to end her. I don’t think trapping her here is the smartest idea. She could bring this whole place down. Our home… I don’t want to lose it.
And the warning she gave me keeps haunting me, what truth, what is she hiding?
“Everyone ready?” Sam announces.
“I guess” I say a little unsure.
Rowena preforms the spell and disappears, the whole bunker starts shaking. The circle made of German forest herbs starts to burn wildly.
“Sam! End it!” I scream over the chaos.
“No! she’s almost here!” Cas yells back.
With a big blast, she arrives. Hunched in the middle of the circle. Her sleek long black hair is shielding her face. Her pale skin looks even more white against the concrete floor of the bunker.
I hear Sam draw in a sharp breath, and I realize, he never saw her in the flesh. He takes a step back when she rises and aims her empty eye sockets at us.
“You fools” her seethes at us, her voice sounds like a thousand voices in one. My entire body shivers at the sound of it.
“I am done warning you” she walks, no floats, to the edge of the circle, easily going over the herbs and going straight towards Sam.
Sam staggers back and he’s paler than I have ever seen him before. She reaches for him, but I push her sideways before she can.
“Don’t touch him, bitch” I stand in front of my little brother.
“Always protecting Sammy, daddy really beat that into your head, huh?” she mocks.
How does she know that… I told no one about the abusive behavior of my dad, not even Sam.
“Get the fuck back” I warn her, no one touches Sammy, especially not witches.
“Or what? You’re powerless against me, so is your angel and don’t think I can’t smell that Hell bitch Rowena.” She looks behind me at Sam “besides, Sam’s the only one I haven’t met yet. The vessel of Satan, how does it feel to be made for evil, Sammy?”
I push her, she doesn’t move one inch, but she does step back, in shock.
“DON’T touch me!” she spits at me.
“Don’t get near my brother and I won’t have to. Now can we act like adults or are you going to keep acting like a bitch?” I cross my arms over my chest and try to look not intimidated, but I am. She’s terrifying as fuck.
She straightens fully and looks me in the eyes with her empty sockets. Shivers spread over every inch of my skin. Where is her other body? The pretty one.
“Why summon me, knowing you have no way of protecting yourself.” she begins, “I warned you enough, feel my consequences.”
She clenches her fist and all three of us, even Cas, fall on our knees. The pain is like nothing I’ve felt before, it’s burning and stabbing at the same time.
“Stop!” Rowena appears with her hands raised, purple magic lifting the pain in our intestines slightly. But it is still unbearable.
“Let them go.” Rowena says, “Stop this now.”
“Or what?” she tilts her head at Rowena while dropping her fist. The pain evaporates and I can breathe again.
“You’ll hurt me? You’re no match for me Rowena. Stay out of this or I’ll take Hell down too.”
“What did you do to the timeline” Cas grunts out.
Her head snaps towards Cas, she briskly walks over to him and lifts him up in the air by his shirt. She’s extremely strong.
“How do you know that.” She snaps at him.
“Because you did a sloppy job, bitch.” I say. “What did you do? Made yourself powerful? Stole something or killed someone?”
She drops Cas and looks at all of us. “The smart move is to back off,” she looks at me, “You won’t like what you find.”
“The truth? And what is that exactly?” I say.
She’s looking at me, but I can’t read her expression. The eyes tell so much about a person. I often use the eyes of people to read them, to see if they’re lying or afraid. But with her, It is impossible.
“None of you wants to know. Trust me”
“Trust you?” Sam scoffs “You’re raising an army of the dead to march against Heaven. How is that in our interest?”
“Heaven is a liar and evil. You all have enough experience to know that!” she screams in frustration, “I am wasting my time here.”
“If Heaven is the bad guy here, why not let us help you?” maybe allying with her could prevent a war.
From the look Sam is giving me he thinks I am crazy, and maybe I am a little. She could be speaking the truth, Heaven has betrayed us many times. What makes it different this time?
“You help me?” she starts laughing “You hunters are nothing but ants underneath my feet.”
She looks each of us down, ending on me “I hate all of you.”
“Then why not kill us? You keep warning us, all bark but no bite.” I step closer to her, because I noticed that in fact, she doesn’t kill us. Hurt, yes. But never kill.
Her mask of horror witch slips and I see her clenching her jaw in frustration. A first sight of real emotion on her side. Meaning, she won’t kill us.
“You need us witch bitch?” I lean closer to her and that jasmine smell is wrapping around my body, making me smile.
“I do not.”
“But you can’t kill us.” I grin “So your threats are empty.”
My first mistake was laughing at her, my second was standing so close to her.
Her hand snaps out and grips my neck, her nails digging into my skin, drawing blood. She lifts me up in the air. My hands grasp her hand, trying to lessen the pressure and pulling myself up so I can breathe. In the corner of my eye I see Sam and Cas moving towards me.
“One more move and I snap his neck like a twig, I’ll deal with the consequences” she says to them but keeps her face on me.
She brings my face so close that her nose is touching mine, and I have a feeling she wants to pull me even closer.
Probably to feel me choke and see the fear in my eyes better.
“You are not stopping me from ripping that place out of the sky and burning it down. I don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire. They deserve to burn for what they took from me.” Her eyebrows lift up a little at that last sentence, as if she didn’t mean to let that information slip.
She drops me to the floor and when I catch my breath to look at her, she’s gone.
She stood before me with her arms crossed. There was a look on her face that reminded me of the one that Mom used when I snuck back into the house. The look dropped when Emily took another moment to look me over.
“What happened?” Concern in her voice.
“A rabid animal attacked and ...”
Emily started moving and turned me around to face the door.
I resisted her attempts and turned back around. “What the hell?”
“Rabid animal means you need to get tested. Come on, we’re going to the hospital.”
“I’m fine, seriously, Em. I don’t need the hospital. The animal didn’t bite me.”
“That injury...”
“It’s not that bad.” I winced as I moved my left arm in the attempt to lift it up. “See?” I got it up level with the floor before stopping due to the pain.
“Not that bad, huh? Come on, let me see it.”
I didn’t fight when Emily stepped up to look at the wounds. A hiss escaped when she pressed on the intact skin.
“What the fuck happened? And don’t pull an animal attack.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.” I side stepped around her into our room. I wanted to shed the torn shirt and change into comfortable clothing for the night. “You remember those so called animal attacks? It was a werewolf.”
Emily huffed. “You’re right. I don’t believe you.” She crossed her arms. “But say I believe you for the moment. The werewolf did that to you? How?”
I flopped on my bed and struggled through the pain to free my pants. After a couple minutes, the pain won out and I fell back. I didn’t fight Emily when she lifted up a leg to help.
“I fought it,” I answered. “Don’t ask me why I trusted these guys. They were here hunting the werewolf.” I lifted my head. “The thing that’s tripping me up is that the werewolf was a person. He was in one of my classes today. He looked horrible, like whatever he was going through was driving him into the ground.”
My legs fell with dead weight once free of the pants.
“And these two guys let you fight a werewolf on your own? Chivalry is dead.”
“The werewolf had my scent. I may have...” I pushed myself up to sit. “Stumbled upon him the other night when he was feeding. There was no way the Hunters were going to get close to the monster.”
Emily gestured for me to lift my arms. “And it fell to you to kill the monster? Convenient.” She lifted the tee shirt up and off before tossing it into the trash. “You know people are gonna talk.”
A sigh escaped as I eased my lounge pants on. “Yeah. They can talk. No one is going to believe the real thing anyway. You don’t.” I sat there for a few moments as my mind replayed the events.
The nerves that twisted my stomach as I stared at Jordan. The meager conversation we had before he caught my scent and gave chase. Barely getting the machete and getting backhanded. My life flashing before my eyes as the claws came down.
“Aeryn. Hey, Aeryn.” Emily’s voice cut into the spiral my mind was going. “You’re not okay. Maybe take the day tomorrow and relax. Tell your professors and work that you saw the monster kill and need the day.”
“I can’t afford either of those. I’m not a trust fund student here on mommy and daddy’s dime.”
I had gotten lucky with getting scholarships and worked hard to ensure that I got accepted and stayed on top of everything. Small town girl attempting to do better in her life and all that.
The nightmares kept me on the edge of falling completely asleep, yet I woke to the sun just creeping into the windows. My shoulder stiffened during the night. Which made changing for the day harder, yet I managed to dress and headed out for the day.
I dared to walk past the area where I took down the werewolf. For as much as John and Dean helped with taking the creature down, they didn’t do much in helping me get back into normal life. Maybe there was no getting back to normal life. There was no forgetting that the things went bump in the night were real.
Emily was right that people were going to talk. I hadn’t realized that there had been a couple students that had managed to take pictures of the fight between me and the werewolf. “Hey, Morgan,” a male voice spoke just as the owner sat down. “You hear about this fight last night?”
I shook my head, playing dumb. “What fight, Ryan?”
“Someone got brave and faced off against the monster.” He pulled out his cell and showed me pictures someone had sent him. The pictures were grainy and didn’t show me or the werewolf in great detail. Which worked in my favor since I did not want attention for facing the monster.
I adjusted my text book and notebook in an attempt to play off my nerves. “It’s gotta be staged.”
“From what I heard, the person in the pictures screamed when the monster swiped at them. One claimed that the person managed to behead the thing. There’s no way that happened.”
“Well, there’s pictures,” I offered up. “Isn’t that enough proof?”
“Not well enough. If this person did manage to behead the monster, they had good luck.”
I wondered how long it would hold out for me. The students settled in for the lesson as the teacher started talking. The thought of looking into news articles that seemed to be out of place passed through my mind.
After facing off with the werewolf, I should have stayed well away from hunting. I didn’t. School and work came first. There were a few cases that I was able to work in the area. Emily helped with getting a driver’s license. She didn’t fully believe me about what happened that night. She believed me that I fought something dangerous and that I was going to find more like it. Having a license would help with that. It was up to me in getting a car.
Between food, schooling not covered by my scholarships, and other items, a car was the last thing on my list. Yet I squirreled away what I could. In a couple years I managed to save up enough for a car that was reliable enough for local travel. It got me around well enough in the city and to the few cases I managed to work between classes and work.
Two years had passed since the night I took down the werewolf. Despite an investigation by the police and university, no one was able to find his body. Guilt tore at me while I kept quiet. His family would never get closure for what happened to him. Yet it was better knowing that he had to lose his life than another being killed for his hunger.
That guilt did not help with the early morning traffic I was battling. I was pushing late to my commencement ceremony. It was a stupid decision to take on the case so close to the ceremony. I had to drive through the night from the Lansing area to make it. The case took a turn when the spirit refused to move on. I still had grave dirt on me. There was no time to shower.
I got lucky in finding a parking spot near the stadium and darted inside with my clothes, cap, and gown. Finding a restroom, I washed off the dirt at a sink before speed changing in a stall. I hopped out of the stall and restroom in the attempt to get the second dress shoe. I found the area where I was to walk with my graduating class gathered before the walk just in time. I managed to slip into an spot between a couple people close to my height just before stepping into a tent.
Each of the students were having their pictures taken before we stepped out. My stomach twisted from anxiety and hope that I did not look as bad as I thought I did from the hunt. With the picture taken, I stepped out onto the football field and the collective cheers of families and friends. I had called my own family about the ceremony back in January. Mother had answered and congratulated me on graduating. She said that she, Father, and Taylor would be at the ceremony.
The relationship between our parents had been strange for a number of years. Neither of them fully explained what brought them to that point. Sure, they love each other. Yet there was something under the surface. I have vague memories of their relationship changing after Taylor was born. Our parents had shown both of us love despite whatever was between them.
There was little chance I would be able to pick out three people in a crowd of a hundred thousand people. All there to support their own graduates. It was nice to know my parents and brother were there. Eventually we all got to our seats and I half slumped in mine from exhaustion. My brain was on the edge of unconsciousness throughout the five or six speeches, just aware enough to come around when it came time for receiving our diplomas. My eyes blinked a little as I fully woke up and stood.
“Aeryn Malone,” one of the academic staff members spoke; their voice echoing slightly in the sound system thanks to the microphone.
I willed myself to not trip up the stairs as I climbed to the stage. I paused long enough to shake the hand of another staff member while accepting the diploma cover for a picture. Finishing crossing the stage and down the other side and stairs, I returned to the row my chair was in. Another half hour past before the rest of the students sitting behind me. I used that time to snooze, my mind aware enough of my surroundings.
Eventually the last student sat down and the dean stood and made his last remarks. At some cue, we the student body stood and began our walk from the field. One of the students next to me nudged me awake. Half jumping to my feet, I closed the gap and followed the person in front of me. The walk off the field seemed to take longer, yet we made it inside the stadium.
It took me longer than expected to make my way through the crowds to where me and my family agreed to meet up after the ceremony.
“Aeryn!” Tyler’s voice called over the noise of the other families and students.
I turned at his voice as my lips pulled into a smile. He wore a nice polo styled shirt, denim jeans, and tennis shoes. Our parents were a few steps behind him as they worked through the crowd. My lips pulled into a smile as I stepped into the hug Tyler offered as we closed the gap between us. We pulled apart a minute later before I hugged my parents one by one.
“We’re so proud of you,” Mom said as she pulled away.
“Do you know where you want to start looking for jobs?” Dad asked. There was something in his voice that told me that he was expecting to be paid all the money he spent on my four year college career.
“I just graduated, dad,” I countered. “Allow me time to start searching.”
“You had weeks before now. What have you been doing?”
“Gary, enough,” Mom chimed in. “Today’s about celebrating Aeryn’s success.”
“Success at bleeding me...”
“Knock it off, Dad,” Tyler cut in. “You didn’t have to be here.”
Dad turned to Tyler. “You don’t belong...”
Anger rose up as I stepped between them. The past couple years of hunting and the scars on my shoulder gave me the courage to face down dad. “Stop it. This day is meant to be a celebration. I’m not going to stand here and let you put the both of us down. Now, you can leave or be quiet and go to lunch with us.”
Dad went silent even as he glared at me. I matched his gaze and dared him to do something. Eventually he broke our silent battle and walked away. Tyler and Mom stood there in silence for a moment or two.
“Well,” Mom started. “Let’s go have lunch.” She turned and started for an exit.
“He’s gotten worse,” Tyler said low enough for me to hear as we followed. “I honestly don’t get it. There’s something between our parents that’s changed. More than before.”
Lunch was tense. Tyler attempted to keep the conversation going despite Dad still being quiet from earlier. Mom chimed in when she had a question or a comment, though generally kept quiet. Lunch was over within an hour and we headed back to my apartment. I had been smart in packing all my things save a change of clothes and a few other things before going on the hunt.
I had gone back up to double check nothing was being left when Emily walked in. She stopped when she noticed me.
“So, this is it,” she said.
“I guess so,” I agreed. “Thank you for helping me the past couple years. I doubt I’d make it to this point if it wasn’t for you.”
“I hope when I call for help facing off a ghost, you’ll come.” Emily gave a nervous chuckle.
I smiled. “I will do my best.” I moved toward her as I raised my arms in the attempt of a hug.
She stepped in and returned the hug. Something told me that my life has changed again.
