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I just binge-read “Winchester Dreams”. ALL THE FEELS‼️It was funny, angsty even a little smutty. Kinda related with some of “your “ self doubt parts. Thanks once again for sharing your writing with me/us
Thank you, darling. <3 <3
This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart
This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart Series Masterlist
C1- Friday Evening
C2- Friday Night
C3- Saturday Morning
C4- Saturday Afternoon
C5- Sunday Morning
C6- Sunday Afternoon
C7- Sunday Evening
C8- Sunday Night
~Aknowledgements~
This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 2
SPN FanReality
~Let me tell you about my weekend…~
Beka ( @impala-dreamer ), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Steph ( @torn-and-frayed ), Bill (my hubs)
3,330 Words
Warnings: Nothing really. Language?, very mild show-type violence. Mentions of blood (crime scene).
A/N: Hope you’re enjoying the insanity. The weekend’s not nearly over yet. Hell, we didn’t even finish Friday yet…
Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight
Chapter Two: Friday Night…
The Impala. The fucking Impala was parked in my carport. My carport. The wide strip of cracked gray cement that separated my pale blue house from the one to its left. The place where my husband parked our used Honda Minivan every night. Dean Winchester’s beloved 1967 Chevy Impala was parked in my carport. I nearly squealed as I followed the boys down my front steps towards it. The rain glistened on the hood, illuminated by the streetlights, and my heart skipped wildly in my chest.
I ran my fingers gently over the hood. It was real, solid, shiny. “Baby,” I whispered in quiet reverence. This was the Holy Grail, the heart of the show, their home away from home, the most important object in the history of the universe. The Impala.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Dean stood next to me, his eyes sweeping over the car’s frame just as lovingly as mine did.
“She is.”
“Hop in,” he said, pulling open the back door for me. A moment of pure joy and panic swept over me, but I did just as he said. I hopped right in.
The feeling overwhelmed me. The soft, old leather under my fingers, the springy but firm seat beneath me. The smell of it, the look, every single detail was in place, and my mind reeled as Sam and Dean took their places up front. Dean turned the key and I nearly lost consciousness. The engine roared to life, filling my ears and my heart with amazement. Dean turned around, resting his arm on the back of the bench seat so that he could back out of the driveway, and he smiled at me.
“You OK?”
“No. But, yeah.” I managed a bewildered smile and looked away, trying to soak up every detail around me. Never in my wildest dreams had I thought I’d ever be sitting in the Impala. Meeting Jared and Jensen, sure, that was set to happen at my first con later this year, but the car? No way. I turned and ran my hand over the door, trying to memorize the feel of the change from leather to cold metal. Then I saw it. Peeking out from the ashtray was the thing I had always hoped to see: a tiny green plastic army man stuck in the empty metal hole. I touched it gingerly and lost my cool. Suddenly I was crying, tears filling my eyes and my chest heaving as they poured down my cheeks.
Sam heard my whimpers and turned. “Beka, what’s wrong?”
I swallowed hard and wiped at my face. “What’s wrong is… I wrote this. I wrote this whole thing!” Amazed tears gave way to creeping panic as I thought out loud, working my way through the scenario. “I wrote this as a fanfiction! A whole ten part series about this! You guys showed up at my door and I went on cases with you and Dean and I fell in love and then Cas.. but I was dead! The whole point of the story was I was in a coma dying! Am I dying? Is that what’s happening? I can’t do this! This is not OK! I’m not ready to die! I have kids and a husband and a life! I don’t want to die!” My voice was too high, too loud, it rang through the car and drowned out the engine as Dean drove down my street. The same street I walked every morning taking my kids to school. The same street they rode scooters on and played with the neighbor kids. My street, in my town, in my world.
“You are not dying.” Sam’s voice was calming, though his eyes were filled with concern. He twisted around in his seat, throwing his arm around to try and take my hand. I pulled away at first, but then let him take it, needing something to ground me to whatever this reality was. “You’re not in a coma. This is happening. I’m sorry. I know this is a lot to take in, but it is real.” His fingers closed around mine and I shut my eyes, taking a deep breath.
“Fine,” I said after a long while. “But if I’m dead, I’m gonna kill you.”
Sam laughed and nodded, releasing my hand once he was sure I was alright. “Deal.”
The crime scene was less than a mile from my house, just down past the park, off the back highway. Dean pulled into the empty lot and parked near the back. It was dark, but I could see the reflective police tape blocking off an area to our right.
We climbed out of the car, my ears enjoying the creak of the doors as they opened and closed, just like on the show. The rain had stopped, thankfully, and we walked through puddles towards the dumpster. I hung back, following slowly behind the guys, not knowing what the hell I was doing, or what was expected of me. Dean led the way, his head turning this way and that as he scoped the environment, making sure nothing was about to jump out at us. Sam pulled away the yellow caution tape and made his way to the dumpster where the bodies had been found. There was blood on the ground and splattered across the metal trash container. It was dark, but I could see the thick mess and my stomach flipped. I’d never seen a mess like that, never even been close to a crime scene. It wasn’t exactly on my bucket list to do so.
“Find anything?” Dean asked, circling back around to join us.
“Yeah, a claw.” Sam stood up, holding out his hand. Between his fingers he held a long, sharp claw that looked like it belonged to a jungle cat.
“The fuck is that?” I gasped as I squinted at the object.
Sam shook his head as he examined the piece. “No idea. Looks like it was ripped out of whatever did this.”
“Oh that’s just delightful.” I sulked and turned away, looking out across the highway. The guys chattered behind me, passing theories back and forth, but I wasn’t listening. My eyes caught a movement in the park across the way and I stepped forward, headed to the edge of the lot so I could see better. I’m half blind, and can barely see in the dark, but I didn’t need details. There was something moving over there, something slinking through the playground. Something that moved… unnaturally.
“Guys?” I looked closer and saw another figure moving, seeming to run away from the lurking shadow. “Guys!” I called to the Winchesters, pointing towards the park, but they didn’t look up. They were deep in conversation, Sam apparently going over the archive of his mind, figuring out what we were dealing with.
A scream ripped through the night, and they finally looked up, their eyes fixing on the location of the sound.
“I tried tellin’ ya! Something’s in the park!” I yelled and they ran past me, ready to save the day. I tried to stay back, but Sam grabbed my hand, pulling me along. I had no choice but to keep up; he was too strong, his huge hand was too tight around mine. My heart pounded as we crossed the deserted highway and headed towards the fight. When our feet hit grass, Sam let me go, putting his hands on my shoulders and demanding I stay put.
“You think I’m going in there, you’re out of your mind Winchester!” I told him firmly. He gave me a quick smile and took off to help Dean.
It was hard to see in the dark, but I watched on in awe as Dean fought with the creature. Sam managed to pull the victim away and led the mystery figure to safety. Dean grunted and shouted as he beat at the monster with bare hands, their silhouettes dancing around the playground.
“You’re right Sam!” he shouted as the younger man returned. “It’s a Feletsme!”
“Crap!” Sam yelled back as he ran into the fray. “We need a brass knife!”
“I don’t happen to have one on me, Sam! Plan B?”
“Definitely brass,” Sam hollered as he dodged a swipe of claws, “Or copper?”
“Or copper?” Dean shouted, picking himself up from the ground. “Now’s not a great time to not be sure.”
I listened on, feeling scared and useless until I realized where we were. I looked to my left and gave myself a mental high five. My office was right around the corner. We had brass. And copper! I took off, running through the park towards the garage that housed my office. “Keep it busy guys, I got you!”
If either man answered me, I didn’t hear it. Blood pounded in my ears as I pumped my legs, running as fast as I could to the white building on the corner. The metal gate was down, and the door locked, but there was always a key in the mailbox. My boss had a bad habit of forgetting his shop key at home, so I always hid an extra for him. Thanking his forgetfulness, I swiftly let myself in and flipped on the lights.
I work for a plumber. My office is basically a little hole in a garage that’s filled to the brim with scrap metal, pipes, spare parts, and discarded toilets awaiting disposal. Quite frankly, it’s a mess. And it smells bad. But tonight it would prove to be priceless.
I ran to a pile of metal at the far end of the shop and dug through it, quickly pulling out the longest and sharpest looking pieces of pipe I could. Sam hadn’t been sure which metal he needed, so I grabbed copper and brass and headed back out into the night.
The sounds of their fight scene floated over to me as I ran back; grunts and growls and thwacks echoed in the air and I wondered how no one in the surrounding houses heard it. They weren’t exactly quiet.
When I made it back, Dean was hanging upside down off of the jungle gym, his knees locked around the bright blue metal as his head dangled down towards the ground. The monster, whatever it was, was looming above him, his clawed hand raised high. Sam was crumbled in a heap underneath a tree, presumably knocked out during the fight as usual.
“Dean!” I called to him and he raised his head best he could, giving me a hopeless look.
I raised the pipes in my hand and smiled. “Need some help?”
“Quit with the one-liners and toss ‘em!” he yelled, and I did as he asked, passing him the pipes in a show of hand-eye coordination that I didn’t think I had in me. Amazingly, he caught both pieces and gripped them tight, one in each hand. He swung himself upwards and jabbed the rusty pipes into the animal’s chest. It shrieked in pain, stumbling backwards and collapsing into a heap atop the jungle gym.
Dean sighed in relief and gripped the railing to pull himself up. I ran towards him and looked up “You OK?”
“Yeah, thanks,” he replied, kicking at the creature to make sure he was dead. “Where’d you get the pipes?”
“I have my sources,” I said with a laugh. “Just be happy I pay attention at work. I could have brought you PVC.”
“Well thank God for that.”
Clean up after a hunt wasn’t something I’d ever thought about, but there we were doing it. We couldn’t leave a monster on a playground, so Sam and Dean dragged the thing back across the street and dumped it into the metal dumpster, quickly setting it on fire. I stood by, paranoid that someone would come running towards the sudden blaze, but no one came. The street was dead quiet, not a single car even passed by.
“This has got to be the most insane night of my life,” I muttered to myself, watching as Dean slammed the dumpster lid shut, extinguishing the last of the fire.
“This? This is nothing. Kinda fun actually. I haven’t been on a playground in… well, probably ever.” Dean laughed and wiped the dirt from his pants as he walked towards the car.
“I’ll have to bring you back here in the daytime, that way you could get your swing on,” I said with a sarcastic chuckle. The adrenaline from the fight had long since worn away, and I yawned as we reached the car. “Well, it’s been… weird. I think you should take me home now.”
“Yeah, of course,” Sam smiled and opened my door for me.
Dean leaned against the hood and looked over at me. “I’m starving. Any place to get some grub around here?”
“Uh, yeah, there’s a diner right up the street, open all night.”
“Cool. Let’s go eat.”
“I really think you should just take me home…” I whined, exhausted and ready to wake up from this dream.
Sam smiled and rubbed my shoulder. “Come on Beka, let us buy you dinner.”
No matter how tired I was, no matter how insane and falling apart I thought I was, there was no way I could say no to those hazel eyes or that dimpled smile.
The Broadway Diner. Big, covered in neon and chrome, empty this time of night. Dean slid into the booth and took a menu from the waitress while flashing a sexy smile. I laughed at the sight and scooted into the booth across from him, Sam taking the place next to me.
“World’s best pancakes,” Dean read off the front of the menu. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
I shook my head. “Nah, you want the bacon cheeseburger, trust me.”
He grinned and nodded at Sam. “I like her.”
My phone chimed with a familiar swoosh noise and I pulled it out to see a message from Steph.
The food came quickly and we ate, enjoying the meal and talking about everything. I asked them all sorts of random questions and they answered best they could. “What was it like to be a demon?” “You do know the Men of Letters crap is gonna blow up in your faces, right?” “When you went to Purgatory, why did you bother shaving?” “How many bathrooms are in the Bunker?”
They laughed, taking my rambling inquiries in stride. Hell, if this was really happening, I was gonna get as much out of them as I possibly could.
“OK, but seriously,” I said, dropping my french fry back onto the plate and taking a deep breath. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Sam asked.
“It. Your life. How do you handle it? You guys are dying every other day, getting sent to hell and worse, always on the edge- sometimes falling off the edge- of sanity. How do you handle it? Fuck, some days I can barely get out of bed just to go to work, but you guys… I don’t know. I’d be in the looney bin.”
That killed the laughter and lighthearted conversation quickly. Sam dropped his head, his hands folding in his lap as he thought over my question. Dean let out a breath that wasn’t exactly a laugh as he smiled sadly and looked out of the window next to him.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, hating myself for being so forward. “You don’t have to answer that.”
Sam looked up and gave me a tiny half smile. Goddamn it, I’d given him sad puppy eyes. “It’s OK,” he nodded and cleared his throat. “It’s uh, it’s not easy. But we do what we have to do, ya know?” He squared his shoulders and sat up straight, trying to look tough, but failing miserably. He rested his arm on the table and looked back down. I could see the red in his eyes, and I kicked myself. I wanted to grab him and wrap my arms around him and sing him to sleep, but I couldn’t do that. He was real, not some Sam in my head that I had any rights to. So I simply placed my hand on his arm and squeezed gently.
“I’m so sorry Sam. I wish you guys didn’t have to go through what you do. It’s not fair.”
Dean piped up, pulled from his reverie by my words. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta do it.” He stole a fry from my plate and shoved it in his mouth with a smile. “Besides, it’s not all bad. We get to travel the country, see the sights, and meet strange people like you.”
“I’m strange?” I asked with a scoff. “You live in a bunker underground and hunt monsters. I think you’ve got the monopoly on strange, sir.”
“You’re not wrong.” He winked and scooted out of the booth. He winked at me. Dean Winchester winked at me. Check that off the list of things I never thought I’d live through.
Back in my carport, the Impala idled as we said our goodbyes. It was strange, I was getting the hugs I had always dreamed of, and yet… it felt odd to say goodbye. Like we weren’t quite finished.
“So, what are you going to do now?” I asked as Dean released me from a quick squeeze.
“Eh, probably find a motel and hit the hay. See what happens tomorrow.”
“Uh, yeah… there’s only one motel near here and it’s out by the expressway and it’s really disgusting.” I shivered at the thought.
Dean laughed it off. “We’ve stayed at some pretty nasty places.”
“No, like… I wouldn’t even park my car there. It’s… please don’t. Stay here.” I paused, my mouth was way ahead of my brain and I hadn’t meant to offer, but there it was.
“Really?” Sam asked, rounding the car to stand beside me. “You don’t even know us.”
I shrugged. “Well, I kinda do. More than you know me anyway, and, I mean… Cas sent you here for a reason and we’re still not sure what that is. So, listen, my family is away till Sunday, you guys can crash here and we’ll figure things out in the morning. I can make waffles.” I grinned and looked between the boys with hopeful enthusiasm, still amazed I was making the offer.
“That’d be great, thanks,” Sam said, full dimples on display for me.
“Great!” I said, spinning around and heading towards the house.
For the life of me, I could not believe what I was doing. Put aside the fact that I was palling around with fictional characters, I had just invited two absolutely gorgeous, single men to stay the night in my house. I’m married, happily! For damn near eleven years! Yet there I was, escorting Sam and Dean Winchester up the stairs and showing them each to a bedroom. I handed them clean towels, apologized for the mess, offered them anything they’d like to eat in the fridge like a good hostess, and excused myself for the night.
I locked my bedroom door. I never do that. I turned the little lock on my brushed nickel door knob and pressed my ear to the door, trying to listen to their movements. They seemed to shuffle around a bit, exchange a few words, and then there was silence.
I slept in my clothes just in case; afraid to even take my sneakers off. I climbed into bed and sent off a quick text to my husband.
I didn’t know how I could possibly fall asleep, but as soon as I turned off my phone, I was out.
To Be Continued… Chapter Three
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This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 3
SPN FanReality
~Let me tell you about my weekend…~
Beka ( @impala-dreamer ), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, April ( @frenchybell )
2,358 Words
Warnings: Still nothin’ bad. Slight panic(ish). Sweaty Sam. Waffles.
A/N: Hope you’re enjoying!! Let me know whatcha think ;) PS- there are 8 chapters total. I see some of you keep questioning (freaking out?) that there’s more. There’s a LOT more.
Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight
Chapter Three - Saturday Morning:
“Rise and shine, Sammy!”
Dean’s voice pierced my ears and I jumped up, quickly grabbing my phone from its perch on the nightstand and swiping my finger across the screen to silence the alarm. I missed the button somehow in my dreamy daze and the song blasted away, Heat of the Moment ringing loudly through the room.
“What the fuck!” I yelped and finally managed to shut off the alarm. Why was it on anyway? It was Saturday. Oh well, I thought, and went about my usual routine of lying in bed scrolling through Tumblr. I checked my activity, read a few quick messages, and then scoured the internet for my Good Morning photo. I picked a particularly adorable Jensen, one where he was half grinning at Jared, and typed in a quick motivational message. Just as I hit post, my Skype went off and my buddy was wishing me Good Morning.
I put my phone down and stumbled into the bathroom, not realizing I was still in my clothes until I turned the shower on and took a look in the mirror. “What the hell? How much did you drink last night Bek?” I asked my reflection and shrugged. “Gotta stop drinking and Netflixing. Leads to weird dreams.”
Twenty minutes later I was fresh and clean, dressed in my comfiest do-nothing jeans and t shirt, pulling my wet hair into a sloppy bun as I walked down the hallway. I didn’t notice the boys’ bedroom doors open, beds unmade, and strange clothing lying on top. I didn’t pick up the smell of fresh coffee that wafted towards me as I descended the stairs. I didn’t hear the clinking of utensils in the drawer in the kitchen. I did however catch a glimpse of a piece of metal as the sun hit it, sending a ray of light through the staircase window right into my eyes. I stopped on the landing and pulled back the sheer curtain to look into the carport. My mouth dropped, my forehead bunched, my breath stopped.
The Impala.
I didn’t even put shoes on. I ran to the front door, wrenching it open and running across my front porch. I hung over the white railing and stared in quiet panic at the absolutely perfect and impossible Chevy Impala that sat in my driveway.
Holy shit, I didn’t dream that? How is that even possible? My knees buckled and I sank into one of the chairs that adorned my porch, leaning forward and cupping my head in my hands. Not possible. Not. Possible.
“Beka?” Not possible that it was Sam’s voice calling to me from across the porch. Nope. “Beka, you OK?”
Out of curiosity I peeked between my fingers and saw that in fact, it was Sam calling to me from across the porch. A very sweaty, jogging pants and tight t shirt wearing Sam. He walked towards me slowly, as if he were approaching a strange dog, his palms out, a calm expression on his face. “Everything OK?”
I shot up out of my chair and stared at him. “You’re real?”
He laughed. “Yeah. I’m real. I thought we went over this last night.”
I stepped closer, squinting up at him. “You’re really real. Like, real. I’m not dreaming.”
“Really real,” he said with another lip pulling laugh.
I couldn’t believe it. Sam Winchester. I stopped in front of him and raised my right hand, placing it on his chest. It was solid, I did not fall through the hallucination. His visage did not waver by my touch. He was firm, emanating heat, and… covered in sweat. I cringed and withdrew my hand, wiping it on my jeans. “Eww.”
“Sorry,” he said, “Went for a run.”
“A run. Wow. OK.” I looked back at the car, and then to Sam, nodding as last night flowed back into my conscious brain. “Well, I think I promised you waffles, so… shall we?”
Dean was in the kitchen, making himself right at home. He sat at my butcher block topped island, a copy of the Community News laid out before him, and a mug of coffee in his hands. He looked completely relaxed and content.
“Good morning,” I said, walking in and grabbing a mug from the hanging rack above the sink.
“Mornin’!” He greeted me with a smile. “Hope you don’t mind,” he said, holding up the mug in his hand, “Been up for a while.”
“Not at all. Help yourself.” Dean Winchester drinking coffee out of my Mickey Mouse mug. Holy hell. What a sight.
I kept my word about breakfast and a half hour later the boys and I were chowing down on a dozen fluffy waffles and a pound of bacon. We sat at my grandmother's dining table under my great grandmother's mirror and enjoyed our meal.
I have hosted many a dinner party. It's what I like to do. I enjoy being a hostess, I enjoy people enjoying my food. But let me tell you… I have never been so happy, never felt such joy as when I saw my precious Winchesters eating a warm, made from scratch meal that I had cooked for them. The tiny little hums of satisfaction, the deep contented sighs, the fighting over the last few strips of bacon; it all had me beaming and feeling good. As I worked on my second cup of light and sweet joe, I watched Dean laughing with his mouth full, his elbows on the table, just cracking up over something Sam had said. I saw Sam break into that slow smile, the one that pulled from deep inside of him, the one he tried to stop but couldn't. Their eyes sparkled with life. Their lips moved as words spilled, their chests rose and fell in time with their breaths. These were real, flesh and blood people. And for whatever reason, the universe in all its strange and terrifying wisdom had chosen to send them to me.
“So, what’s on the docket for today? Anything strange turn up in the paper Dean?” I put down my mug and readied myself for the day.
Dean wiped at the corner of his mouth with a napkin and gave me a little nod. “I take it you believe us now?”
“I think I do, yeah. I mean, I didn’t eat all this food by myself.”
“Good. That’s good.” The brothers gave each other a knowing look, presumably happy that they didn’t have to deal with my disbelief any longer. “Well, there was a thing in the paper, little blurb I caught. Two dead women last night, early thirties, dark hair. Throats ripped out.”
I stared at him wide eyed, gawking at the description. “So… me. Fun. What are we thinking, vamps?”
“We?” Sam chuckled.
“Yeah, I’m all in.” I stood up and lifted my plate and coffee cup, turning towards the kitchen. “Let’s get suited up and go… or, whatever.”
I turned the corner into the kitchen and heard Dean laugh, “This should be fun.”
I rinsed our plates and left them in the sink. Sure, the dishwasher was right there and empty, but come on… the game was afoot! No time for housework. I ran up the stairs to go get dressed and I came across Dean in the hallway. He was standing still in front of the left wall, the one covered in our family portraits from the last nine years. They started with my oldest son as an infant and grew with us as the family grew.
“You have a beautiful family, Beka,” He said, looking at the most recent image. It was taken last Christmas; we were all wearing those ironic ugly sweaters and posing in front of a backdrop of a fireplace. Cheesy, but cute.
“Thanks. I like them.”
Dean pointed to the boys, “This dude looks just like you.”
I smiled. “Yeah, that’s Peter. He’s really cool. He’s a drummer, pretty awesome actually. And the little guy, Josh, I don’t know who Josh looks like. He’s our mystery kid.”
“Nah, he looks like your husband.” Dean smiled at me and then looked back at the picture, his smile fading into something a little less cheery. He had that far off look like he was lost in a memory, or maybe a daydream. “You’re very lucky.”
“Thanks,” I said, agreeing but feeling slightly bad about it. It wasn’t all peaches and cream, what the camera had captured was a good day; there were far more bad lately than good. But I could see what he meant. “You ever… I mean, you could have this too one day, maybe.”
He didn’t turn to look at me. He just shrugged and shook his head, “Not in the cards.”
I wanted to say more, but he walked away. I followed him to the end of the short hall, turning right when he turned left. Maybe things looked better from the outside. Sure, I had the ‘American Dream’, 2.5 kids, a mortgage, a yard with a pool, but still some days I wanted to run away screaming into the night. How many days had I prayed to hear the roar of the Impala outside, or the whomp whomp of the Tardis landing in my backyard? I wanted to run, I wanted an escape. Maybe Dean wanted in, but I wanted out; and it seemed as if I was actually going to get my chance.
I don’t have ‘fed threads’. I really don’t. I wear jeans and tees and hoodies every single day. Occasionally I’ll switch it up with a flannel, but mostly I dress like I’m still in high school in the late ‘90s. The closest I have to anything business like is a black dress from my sister in law’s wedding five years ago and a few old Easter dresses. There was no dressing the part today. And besides, this is a small town, everyone knew me. Well, maybe not knew me, but at least knew my face around here. I wasn’t gonna fool anyone.
Luckily, playing FBI wasn’t part of the plan. I was a little sorry that I wasn’t going to get to see the guys in their suits, but hey, I have Netflix and Google for that.
Sam was on my computer again when I finally made it down the steps. It looked so strange to me to see him sitting casually in my rolling office chair, hunched over the keyboard, typing away at the same keys I use everyday to describe him sitting over his own computer typing away at his own keys. My brain got twisted up at the thought and then I had a moment of panic, hoping beyond hope that he wasn’t perusing my smut folders again.
I played it cool though, slowly meandering over to him and leaning against the wall by the desk. He looked up when I settled and smiled.
“Hey, I was just getting some info on the case.”
I shrugged, “Research. I get it, do your thing Sammy.”
He sat back, pushing the chair away from the desk a little bit and stretching out his long legs.
“Nice sweatshirt,” he said, nodding at my Love hoodie.
“Huh?” I said with a laugh. “Thanks. It's from your last- I mean, Jared’s last campaign.”
“I like it,” Sam said with a quick flash of teeth. “You have a lot of… stuff, with our faces on it.” It almost sounded like a question, like he wasn't sure if the comment would offend me. It didn't; he was right. Besides the entire bookshelf full of figures, the fridge was covered in magnets, the computer held not much more than pictures of them, heck, even I was covered in Supernatural. I had put on my anti-possession earrings, yes, just to be safe, and my ever present Castiel necklace lay just beneath my sweatshirt. I was, in fact, covered in Winchester.
“Is that weird for you? That's gotta be weird. I'm not crazy. I'm not gonna kidnap you and seduce you with a love potion. I am nothing like Becky.” I laughed as I rambled, trying to reassure him. “I mean, we have the same name, and I write fanfic, and I'm a Sam!Girl, but I swear, I'm nothing like Becky. No need to worry about that.” I was talking too fast, I knew it, but I couldn't stop it. I suddenly felt the need to clarify myself and justify my obsession so as not to terrify the younger Winchester. After all, if I walked into a house full of my face and porn written about me, I'd probably be a little more than freaked out.
Sam stood up and, noticing my wide eyes and quickening breath, placed his hand on my arm, just above my elbow. He bent his head, coaxing my eyes up to his with a gentle smile. “Hey, it's OK. I'm not worried. You seem… mostly stable.” He gave me a laugh and I relaxed, taking a deep breath and nodding.
“Thanks Sam. So what's the plan? Kick down some doors? Summon some demons and make ‘em talk?”
Sam laughed, “Nothing so interesting. Not yet anyway.”
To Be Continued...Chapter Four
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This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 4
SPN FanReality
~Let me tell you about my weekend…~
Beka ( @impala-dreamer ), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, April ( @frenchybell ), Hazel ( @idreamofhazel ), Couple of Bad Guys...
3,642 Words
Warnings: Smelly Boys. Boredom. Physical Attack. Blood. Show-type Violence and Action. Excessive Drinking. Possible Oops...
A/N: Man, Saturday was nuts. Hope you enjoy...
Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight
Chapter Four - Saturday Afternoon:
Boy, he wasn't kidding. If I learned anything from my weekend with the Winchesters, it's that most of their day ends up on the cutting room floor. The endless hours of sitting in the car staring at houses gets chopped away by the editors. The hundred interviews before you get any useful information get lost between commercial breaks. Unfortunately for me, I had to live those lost moments.
Being stuck in the car was less than awesome. Especially when the boys started acting like boys and gassing up the interior. I live in a house full of males, but damn it if it those two didn't burn my eyes.
Oh and then there was the constant bickering. Dean picked on every little thing Sam did or said until Sam snapped at him and a full on fight ensued. Twice I had to use my Mom Voice to silence them.
Sam let me join him on a few of the interviews, and I ditched my hoodie just in case anyone made the connection. No one seemed to notice or care, but I was prepared with a quick mention of a reality game show. “Yeah, this is Jared Padelecki. We're bringing back ‘Candid Camera’, smile!” Luckily, my lies were not needed.
After what felt like ten hours but only ended up being seven, we had a rough idea of what we were dealing with and where they were hiding out. We were looking for a pair of vamps holed up down by the water. Classic.
Did I mention that I live on a peninsula? My town is totally surrounded by water on its longest three sides. So, when I say “down by the water”, I could mean any number of places. In this instance, I meant one of the nicer areas of town. Uptown, in fact.
The bodies had been found in Hendricks Street Park, and all of our legwork had led us back there. Hendricks is a huge, city-run green area up off of 40th Street and Kennedy Boulevard. The park spanned about eight blocks in length and had different areas: picnic tables in the east, three playgrounds to the west, and ballfields and a running track down along the water. It was beautiful. And huge. And empty. And did I mention huge?
The plan was simple, and while not altogether safe for me, I had volunteered as tribute and it was decided that I would go walk around in the darker parts of the park and act as bait. Hey, I always had a thing for vampires, thanks to my teen years reading Anne Rice and swooning over Tom Cruise. Yes, I know, Supernatural vamps are anything but romantic, but still it gave me a jolt of excitement to be coming so close to seeing one.
Dean had insisted I carry a blade, which thankfully fit nicely in my hoodie pocket. I didn’t really think I would be able to use it, but it was more for peace of mind than anything else. I’m more of a lover than a fighter, a runner-awayer than a swing-a-machete-er. Truth be told, there was no way in hell I was going to decapitate anything, and much to my joy, Sam seemed to realize that. He gave me a reassuring shoulder squeeze and told me he’d only be a few yards behind me. Great.
Into the chilly April night I walked, trying to look innocent and like I was just going for a stroll. Easier said than done when every shadow, every leaf blowing in the wind, every bird that flew by made me jump ten feet in the air. I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself and keep it together as I meandered down the pathways that wound through the park. There was a spot where the road dipped and the paths split, one leading up over a hill, and another through it. The tunnel loomed in the distance, dark and full of the promise of danger. In an effort to look like I wasn’t hiding a deadly weapon in my kangaroo pouch, I pulled out my phone and shot a message to my darling Hazel; both to calm my anxiety and to up the validity of my cover.
She didn’t respond right away, but that was fine. The tunnel approached. I wanted so badly to slow my pace, but I kept going, forcing myself to continue. After all, what could go wrong? I had Sam and Dean Winchester on my side.
At last I could avoid it no longer and into the tunnel I walked. My sneakers made no sound but for the tiny crunch of gravel under my feet. Around me was darkness, the faint light at the tunnel’s end pulling me forward. I focused on it, trying to keep my mind off of the shadows and the chill that raised the hairs on my neck.
“Hey there honey, you're out awful late.”
His voice bounced around me, filling me with utter dread as his shadowed figure blocked my exit. The image was tall and thin, but smaller than either Winchester, and despite the knot that twisted deep inside of me, I thought I could take him. I reached inside my pocket and quickly withdrew the blade, raising it high above my head, ready to strike should my attacker come near enough.
He didn't move, he laughed.
I froze and tilted my head in confusion. I hadn't expected a cocky chuckle to accompany my death.
“You may as well drop the knife Beka, it won't harm me anyway.”
“What the-”
Before I could register my shock at the fiend using my name, my eyes were forced shut by an explosion of purple light. It filled the tunnel around me, wrapping me in searing hot pain. I know I screamed, tried to force out a warning or a plea to Sam, but I don't know if he heard me. My own ears were ringing with the roaring purple light, and the only thing I heard was the sound of my own head as it cracked against the pavement.
The first time I lost consciousness I was about thirteen. I had just had blood drawn at the lab and I stood up from the seat to leave. I felt fine, maybe a little dizzy. I walked out of the back room into a staging/seating area picked up my coat from a chair by the door. The next thing I knew I was lying on the floor in the back room, my mother and the lab technician hovering over me. Apparently I stood up from the chair and fainted. I never made it out to get my coat. No one can convince me that it wasn't an out of body experience.
They took me to the emergency room, and to find out why I fainted, they drew more blood. I fainted again.
Diagnosis: vasovagal syncope. Which is a fancy pants way of saying your blood pressure drops after certain triggers, mine being needles invading my vascular system.
In truth it took almost twenty years before anyone gave me a name for what was happening. Any time I have blood drawn or someone grabs my arm just right, hitting a vein… it's lights out. I can feel it coming. The corners of my vision glow bright white and a prickly sweat breaks out on the back of my neck. It is the most unpleasant feeling, made even worse by the fact that I can't stop it. And waking up from it… creepy and disorienting.
I couldn't move my arms. The first thing I wanted to do was scratch my nose and whisk away the bit of hair that was doing the offending, but I could not move either arm. I struggled to lift my hand and realized that I was tethered to a hard surface. My ankles seemed to be bound as well. I pressed my head back and opened my eyes slowly, just a little dizzy and out of it. I lifted my head and looked down. Yup; tied to a table. Wonderful.
I took a deep breath before looking around me, ready to be faced with dank walls and creepy crawlies in the basement I was surely trapped in. My eyes however, were met with much more pleasant surroundings. I wasn’t in a basement. I was in a living room, and from the looks of it, a formal living room at that. There was expensive floral wallpaper covering the walls, opulent plush white furniture, gilded picture frames above a marble mantel, and window treatments straight out of House and Garden Magazine. To say I was surprised would be an understatement, but honestly I was more happy that I wasn’t surrounded by spiders and dust.
“Good morning Rebekah.” Again, my name flowed from my attacker’s lips and I narrowed my eyes, mostly out of annoyance, but also from curiosity. What the hell? How did he know me?
His face came into view as he stepped into the room. He was handsome, dirty blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and dressed to the nines. For a murdering bastard, I had to give him credit, he took pride in his appearance. Something was off, though…
“Who are you?” I croaked, my arms tensing against the ropes holding me as he stepped forward. “What do you want?” So cheesy Bek, really? You’re gonna play damsel in distress now?
“Oh, you’ll see,” he teased and stopped next to me. His fingers brushed against my hand and ran up my bare arm, sending a chill through me. I cringed in revulsion.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” I seethed, trying to sound tough while shaking inside. This was… fucked up. But, Sam had been right behind me. There was no way they weren’t close by, ready to bust in and save me. I just had to keep this guy talking and keep my blood inside where it belonged.
“Marcus, don’t play with our food.” A woman’s voice sounded behind me and Marcus looked up, giving her a quick smile. I couldn’t see anything; she was directly behind me and I couldn’t twist my neck in that direction.
“Sorry, my love.”
His ‘love’ walked around the table and I could finally check her out. She was gorgeous. Long, flowing black hair that bounced as she moved, her face was pale and painted perfectly. She wore a tight purple dress and looked like a queen. She ignored my gaze, not even pausing to look down at me, and walked over to the coffee table in the middle of the room. Looking at the table and the things scattered across it, I realized our mistake.
“You’re not vampires,” I said with a slight gasp.
The woman laughed, “No. Of course not.” She lifted a jar full of some kind of herb and dropped a pinch of it into the brass bowl before her.
I looked back and forth between the two, trying to figure out how to talk my way out of this. I knew I was doomed. I’m clever with a joke, witty when I need to be, but this…
“So what do witches need with blood? You killed two women last night. Made it look like a vamp attack. Why?”
Marcus grinned at me and grasped my hand tighter, turning it until my wrist was exposed to him. “We draw our power from it,” he said, pulling a short handled blade from his jacket pocket. “Blood magic needs blood sacrifice.” Slowly he dragged the tip of the knife up my forearm, tracing the blue vein that stood out to greet him. “We also like the taste.” He licked his lips menacingly and drew the knife across my arm, right underneath my elbow. I cried out as a bolt of pain shot through me and the blood started to flow. It wasn’t too deep, just enough to get things moving. Marcus bent down and ran his tongue over the cut. My stomach turned as I watched him lap at the oozing crimson, whimpering in fear as his warm tongue ran across my skin.
“Get away from me!” I screamed, panic taking over any sense of calm I thought I had. This shit was real, and it was not OK.
The witches laughed and Marcus pulled the knife across my arm once more, cutting me even deeper. That’s when I felt it. My stomach took a quick flip, my head began to buzz, and my vision clouded. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, no!” I could barely hear myself over the ringing in my ears, and as soon as I felt the wetness dot my neck, I knew it was too late. I was headed for an unwanted nap.
It’s hard to focus when your eyes are rolling up, hard to notice anything around you when you brain has decided to take a leave of absence, but a faint smile spread over my face when I heard a loud bang followed by Dean’s voice. I knew they wouldn’t let me down.
Green eyes. A splash of brown freckles. Strong hands on my face. I floated for a second, grinning as I looked up into Dean Winchester’s handsome face. How could anyone be so handsome and be real? His hand patted my cheek and I lifted my neck, my lips pursed, ready to kiss him good morning.
“Beka!”
His voice snapped me fully awake and I shook as a shiver ran down my spine. “What the fuck?”
Dean pulled back a bit, his hands releasing my face. “Did you just try to kiss me?”
Oh crap. “No, no- I- that wasn’t…” I stammered, wanting to laugh it off, but I had, in fact just tried to kiss him. Granted, I wasn’t fully aware of myself in that moment, but the intent had been there. And why not? Didn’t the hero always get the girl? As I tried to find a way out of the awkwardness, I suddenly remembered what had happened. “Witches!” I yelled, a bit too loud given he was only inches away from me.
Dean laughed, “I know. We got them. Can you sit up?”
With his help I sat, my head still a little fuzzy. “They were gonna drink me,” I whined and took a peek at my arm. The cut was hidden beneath a tightly tied black bandanna. It stung, but the pain was bearable and it seemed as if the flow had already ceased.
“Yeah, sorry about that. I was so sure it was vamps. This is a new one, though.”
“Didja kill ‘em?” I asked, craning my neck to look for the bodies.
“We did. Sam’s a great shot.” Dean rubbed his hand down my back as I breathed deeply, trying to clear my head.
“Good. Fuck them. You ever heard of witches drinking blood?”
He laughed and stood up from the table. “Nope. I feel like they need a name though.”
I hopped to my feet and shook my head as I looked up at him. “No. Don’t say it.”
“Something snappy…”
“Please don’t.”
“Witchpire.” He grinned and nodded at me, proud of himself.
My eyes rolled again, this time on my command. “He said it.”
My neighborhood is full of bars. No joke. There is one at the very end of my street that is dirty and I avoid at all costs, another one catty corner to that across the street that I love and hang out in occasionally. And one more two blocks north that is usually occupied by older drunks and I never go to. Since I was feeling better and I figured we should celebrate another victory, it was to this bar, Rye, that I took the Winchesters. What, I wasn’t gonna go to the place I usually went where everyone knew me. How would that look? Me, hanging out with two guys while my husband was out of town? Uh, no thanks.
Besides, there was less of a chance that anyone would recognize them and the beers were cheaper.
The jukebox blared a strange mix of Classic Rock that Dean approved of and quote, “Hair Band Nonsense” that he did not. I was feeling good, relaxed and a little loopy, having a great time hanging out with Sam and Dean Winchester. Boy, could they drink.
Maybe it was the blood loss, the mental exhaustion, the four beers, or the countless number of shots I had imbibed, but after awhile, my memory stopped recording. I honestly don’t remember much. I do remember laughing a lot, listening as the guys told me stories of adventures not shown on television; things I’d never heard before, that I sadly cannot recall now. I remember scooting closer to Sam until our knees touched underneath the high table. I remember the shy look he gave me when I blurted out compliments. I know for a fact, more than once I told him how pretty he was, which earned a classic neck rub and a red cheeked grin. At one point my head was on his shoulder and my arm wrapped around his. I cannot, honestly say that I remember him fighting me, but I did see a lot of disapproving looks from Dean. Whatever, I was enjoying myself.
Not only did Sam have to help me get my key into the front door, but he had to practically carry me to my room. Not for nothing, there’s a ton of stairs in my house and on a good day I could use an assist. Anyway, like a perfect gentleman, Sam escorted me to bed, helping me shed my shoes before collapsing onto my high, pillowtop mattress. I settled back against my mountain of pillows and Sam leaned down, pulling the thick blue comforter across me.
The lamp by my bed was on and it cast a perfect pale light across his face. His eyes were kind and they seemed almost blue, playing off of the gray plaid shirt he wore. He smiled down at me, ready to bid me goodnight, and his hair fell down into his eyes. Without thinking I reached up and rescued it, tucking the wayward locks gently behind his ear. He didn’t flinch or pull away, and I couldn’t seem to remove my hand. I held it there, my fingers tucked around his ear, my palm against his scratchy cheek.
I don’t know what I was thinking, or if I had even been capable of rational thought in that moment, but everything inside me wanted him. A picture of my husband and I sat to my right and I didn’t even care. I wanted Sam Winchester. I wanted him in my bed, in my arms, in me. I held fast to his face and shot up, kissing him before he even realized what was happening. It was firm and needy, and my heart leapt when he responded. His lips pressed back and his hand cupped my cheek. My pulse raced and my mind reeled at the thought of this actually happening. I tilted my head, parting my lips, ready to taste him, but instead of pulling me closer, he pushed away gently and pressed his forehead to mine, keeping his lips from my reach.
“Beka…”
My heart sank, my lungs froze, my stomach flipped. “Sam, I’m so sorry. I just…”
He shook his head, “It’s OK.” He smiled and kissed my forehead before turning and walking out. I wanted to scream, to beat my fists into the wall, but I lay back and watched him go, silent and embarrassed by my actions. He gave me a tiny smile before he closed the door and I listened to his footfalls as they faded away down the hall.
What the fuck was I doing? I scolded myself, staring up at the giant ceiling fan above me. This entire weekend was insane. Here I am running around with fictional characters, almost getting myself killed and then what? I try and cheat on my husband? Absolutely unacceptable. Winchester or no, that was not OK.
I drifted off to sleep, hating myself and wondering if I would tell Bill when he got home. Not that he’d believe me. Who would? I was slowly going insane; of that, I was sure.
To Be Continued... Chapter Five
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This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 5
SPN FanReality
~Let me tell you about my weekend…~
Beka ( @impala-dreamer ), Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Hazel ( @idreamofhazel )
3,139 Words
Warnings: Awkwardness. Show type violence/creepiness. Monster Attack. Donuts.
A/N: Ah Sunday... get ready for drama, that’s all I’m sayin’
Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight
Chapter Five - Sunday Morning:
Before we were married, Bill and I lived in midtown, in a fourth floor walk up with four little rooms. It was old and falling apart, with crooked floors and a pink toilet. The bedroom was tiny, with textured wallpaper, and barely fit our creaky queen sized bed. It was cheap and it was drafty and it was ours.
Our building sat in the middle of 20th Street, dead center in a triangle made by church steeples. The view was quite lovely, but the wake up call was fierce.
Being young and unencumbered by tiny humans, Bill and I would often spend Saturday nights out with friends, jamming with his bandmates, or generally drinking and having fun. We could do as we pleased knowing Sundays were for sleeping. We would linger in bed, drifting in and out of sleep or enjoying the warm touches that came with sharing a bed. Hours would tick by until the church bells forced us awake.
By eleven, bells would peal from each point of the triangle, sending a holy symphony through our windows, ripping us from sleep. I used to hate it, wanting to stay in bed all day reading or napping. Little did I realize sleeping until eleven was a luxury I would sorely miss.
I like to start my morning stories with a rolling bit of prose...ie: a golden ray of sun trickled through the curtain, gently pulling you from sleep.
Fuck that. The sun whacked me in the face, making me groan like an old man, and I rolled the wrong way on the bed, knocking my own head into the nightstand. Rolling prose - get it?
Goddamnit. I felt like I was still drunk. I had barely slept. My brain going over and over that damn kiss with Sam. Not that I wanted to forget it, but it would be nice to be able to sleep again.
Thank Chuck for showers. I stood under the hot spray for a good ten minutes before I was able to really open my eyes. And then, ya know, I got dressed, towel dried my hair, dug around for socks, put on my necklace, walked into the hallway and… there he was.
Sam was stepping out of the boys’ bathroom, clearly fresh from a shower. His hair was slicked down and back, his skin a little damp still. He looked delicious.
“Morning,” he smiled as he left the room, shutting the light behind him.
“Good morning.” Say something clever Bek… “Did you like the shower?” Facepalm.
Sam gave a little laugh. “It's a good shower, thanks. I especially liked the Ninja Turtle shampoo.”
“Oh crap, I'm sorry. You should have said something. I have like...grown up stuff.” Facepalm again.
“It's fine. I kinda smell like blueberries now. Nice change.” There was that smile again, all bright eyes and dimples.
I took a deep breath and addressed the elephant, even though it was the last thing I really wanted to do. “I think we should talk about last night I'm kind of feeling…”
“Still drunk?”
“Ha! Well yeah but no. I meant, about me… kissing you. I’m so sorry Sam.” I bit my lip and looked up, hoping to see… I don’t even know what I was hoping to see.
He looked away shyly. How could a man so giant and gorgeous ever be shy? “It's OK,” he assured me, though I didn’t really believe him.
“No, it’s not. I mean, it was- OK. It was more than OK, but it wasn’t OK… ya know what I mean? Anyway, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
He looked as if he were debating something and then settled on the obviously answer. “Beka, we can’t…”
“I know. I know. But...is it because you don't like me, or because of the whole alternate dimensions thing?” I gave him a little laugh, hoping for one in return. I didn’t get one.
“Your husband.” He answered simply.
Ouch. I nodded, “Right. You’re right, obviously.” He was right. And every bit of me knew that. And yet… “But if I wasn't married?” My entire body paused, waiting, hoping for something. It was the worst thing I could have said, the worst thing I could have thought, but there it was; out in the open. A question. A plea.
Sam didn’t answer. His face was blank for a moment. I could almost see the wheels turning behind his hazel eyes. He gave me a tiny smile and his hand raised slowly towards my face. I closed my eyes as he brushed back a bit of my hair, his fingertips dragging gently across my forehead and cheek. Message received.
“OK then. ‘Nuff said.” He pulled away and I opened my eyes, deciding to let it go. There was nothing else to say, nothing I could do to make this better. All I could do was carry that little touch with me. It wasn’t much, but it was all I was going to get. “Now,” I said, clearing my throat and plastering on my carefree attitude. “If I don’t get some coffee and some type of pancake-like thing in me, I might puke.”
He nodded and extended his hand, gesturing for me to lead the way. Sam Winchester, a true gentleman if I had ever met one. Just my luck.
We walked down the stairs, a little closer than would have normally been comfortable, but I didn’t mind so much when we bumped into each other on the first landing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward, and flirting never hurt anyone, right?
“Hey, just curious, you didn't read any of that smut you found, did you?”
He gave a clipped laugh as we turned to finish our descent. “Maybe.”
Oh God. “And what did you think?”
“Some of it seemed… accurate.”
“Really?” I stopped and turned towards him with a smirk.
He shrugged, “Yeah, but I'm never that rough during sex.”
Oh, break my heart Sammy. “Oh, no?”
Sam turned and bent his neck a bit so he could look me right in the eyes. He smirked, the little pull of his lips and the gleam in his eye making him look deliciously evil. He leaned in even closer, making my heart stop for the hundredth time that weekend. “No,” he whispered. “I’m usually rougher.”
And that’s when I died. I fell down the rest of the stairs, slamming head first into the window, breaking through it and crashing onto the hood of the Impala, snapping my neck.
Ha, I wish. What actually happened was I let out a noise that was neither ladylike nor Bekalike. Something between a gasp and a giggle that can only be described as embarrassing. At least it made Sam laugh; the bastard.
Dean heard our exchange, or at least my giggle-gasp and called up from the living room. “What are we talking about?”
I scurried down the rest of the steps, leaving my heart’s desire on the landing where he’d attempted to murder me. “Pancakes mostly,” I answered the elder brother, finding him looking relaxed and happy, lounging in the big brown recliner, flipping through the television.
“Good. You making pancakes Beka?” He lifted his eyes to me and gave an excited smile. “Man, I love it here.”
I shook my head, “Heck no, I don't cook on Sundays. Sundays are for diners or bagels. And since my bagel fetcher is up in the mountains… we’re going to the diner.”
On the way, I checked my phone, shocked with myself that I hadn’t even looked yet. I’m obsessed with my blog, as you might be aware, and the fact that I hadn’t even checked in made me feel a little funny.
There were over 167 notifications, 27 Asks, and 7 messages. There was no way I was going to be able to sort through it all on the short drive to breakfast, so I simply posted what I hoped would be a reassuring message for everyone.
Two cups of coffee and a short stack later, my tummy was happy once again.
“So… what fun are we having today?” I asked, adding another splash of milk to the dregs of coffee in my mug.
Dean shoved a piece of bacon in his mouth and sat back. “Do u know what the yearly suicide statistics are in this area?”
Well that’s an odd question. “No. Why would I know that?”
Dean laughed at me, “You don't really pay attention to your surroundings do you?”
“Nope. I don't even watch the news anymore. Makes me nervous. I mostly watch...well… you guys.”
“Well, if you had to guess, how many suicides do you think there are per year in this town?”
“No clue. A few?”
“Pick a number.”
I tossed my head back dramatically, wishing he would get to the point. “Dean…”
He didn’t let up. “Just guess.”
“Forty two?”
Again he laughed, “Ha! Seventy eight. Now guess how many happened since Friday night?” I glared at him, pursing my lips into a bitchface. I felt Sam chuckle silently next to me. “Eight,” Dean answered for me. “That's 10.25% of the total yearly suicides for your county. Seem a little off to you?”
“Dude, I can’t do math. Especially percentages. But I’m amazed you can.”
He scoffed, “I can do math.”
Sam spoke up with a laugh, “No, he can’t. I read him all those stats this morning,” he told me.
“Shut up Sam!”
I held up my hand, hoping to forgo the bickering. “Wait, are you telling me that eight people committed suicide this weekend? Like… really?”
“Yeah. It was all over the papers this morning,” Sam explained. “The Jersey Journal seemed to finally piece them together as being strange.”
I hummed as I considered the intel. “That’s weird in itself, they usually aren’t so quick to pick up on things. Anyway...so, this smells like you guys. What would be doing this? A demon? Some kind of curse? I’m assuming not a witch because we just dealt with that and when do we ever repeat ourselves?”
Sam turned to look at me, “We?”
“Yeah,” I continued, not catching his meaning. “I mean, it’s never the same thing over and over. Then again, it’s not usually three things back to back to back like this.”
“No, I mean, you said ‘we’.”
“Huh, I did.” I shrugged. “Is that… I mean, is that OK? I kinda feel like we’re all in this together right now, ya know? We still don’t even know why you’re here or what the hell is going on, so… band of brothers, right? Well, band of brothers and a Beka.”
Dean shook his head. “You’re really strange.”
“Thank you. I do try,” I sassed him. “So, demons? That’d be awesome. I can draw a devil’s trap. And I don’t wanna brag, but I kinda have the exorcism memorized.”
“Oh, really?” Dean laughed.
I cleared my throat dramatically and squared my shoulders, sitting up straight to prepare for my recitation. “Extorciamus te. Omnis immundus spiritus-”
“Exorcizamus,” Sam interrupted me.
“That’s what I said. Extorciamus.”
Sam shook his head and sighed, “It’s ex-ore-zee. Not ex-tore-see. You just ordered a pizza.”
“Son of a bitch! This whole time...”
“It’s OK,” Sam told me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “It doesn’t really look like demons anyway. We’ll just have to go make the rounds and see if anyone’s noticed anything weird.”
“Great!” I grinned. “Lemme go get my Deerstalker and we can head out.” Sam laughed and Dean scrunched his eyebrows together, confused.
“Sherlock.” Sam and I explained in tandem.
“You two are a match made in nerd heaven,” Dean sighed and slapped a few bills on the table.
We started our inquiries downtown by my house, which was good and bad. I kept looking over my shoulder for my friend Julie, not quite sure what I’d say if she saw me; but she was at church all day, I would be in the clear. A few neighbors waved, but I didn’t stop to make chitchat. We were on a mission. Beka and The Winchesters, on a whirlwind adventure. Kickin’ ass and takin’ names. Keeping New Jersey safe from the things that lurked in the shadows.
OK, it was more like going around and asking random people if they’d seen anything creepy in the last few days. Inquiring about cold spots or the smell of rotten eggs. Boy, did we get some strange looks. More than once Sam turned a lady’s eye and I couldn’t help but feel a tiny sting of jealousy. Go hit on Dean, I thought, and then made sure to pull Sam’s attention back to me. I didn’t know what kind of game I was playing, but I couldn’t help myself. Good or bad, he didn’t seem to mind.
After grilling the owner of the Dunkin Donuts, I bounced back to the car happily and tossed a bag at Dean as I slid my place in the backseat. Huh, “my place.” I could get used to the backseat. I could get used to this whole setup.
“For me?” he asked, sticking his nose in the bag.
“Yes sir. Couldn’t walk out without a little snack. Oh, also… the dude said one of the vics was in there last night, literally crying over spilled milk. Add that to the last two clues and I say we head over to the docks.” I grinned at him in the mirror and sat back against the cool leather seat.
Dean excavated a powdered donut from the bag and shoved half of it in his mouth. He nodded at Sam. “She’s good.”
Sam nodded and looked out the window. “She is.”
“The Docks” aren’t docks exactly I guess, but I don’t know what else to call them. The east coast of town is very industrial. There are warehouses, a few little factories, a windmill, huge oil holding sphere things, and docks. Shipping containers are piled high, accessed by giant cranes and quite frankly, I don’t know what goes on back there. There’s always a ton of truck traffic and I don’t go over there much, but three of the suicides had ties to this one area, so it seemed like a place to start snooping.
I followed the guys through the sea of containers, bright orange and red metal trailers that were a hell of a lot bigger than they seemed from the highway. It was like a labyrinth, wide aisles between stacks that turned through the complex, always leading to another row of metal. A few minutes in, I had lost sight of Dean, and trying to find him, turned the wrong way and lost Sam as well. Just great. Good job Bek, getting lost in the world’s largest corn maze. With an unidentified monster on the loose. Great work.
Finally, I decided to turn around, hoping the guys were somewhere near by. I spun on my heels and froze as I turned. At the end of the row was a dark, cloaked figure. It was tall and gray, its face hidden beneath a heavy hood. Well hell. You found it.
I opened my mouth to call for backup, but before I could, the thing lunged at me. Well, not really lunged, as it was pretty far away. More like it swiftly flew in my direction so fast it was in my face within two point three seconds. In the time it took for me to register what I was looking at, it was looking at me. Close up. Nose to nose. I stiffened, my body going into panic mode, and I watched as the thing dissipated into a thick charcoal smoke. It seemed to explode and become steam, to shatter its form and take on another. The smoke wrapped around me, blocking out the sunlight until I could see nothing but darkness. I shut my eyes to it, sealing my mouth shut for good measure, but I felt it touch me. It seeped into my skin, filling each pore as it whirled around me like a wind tunnel. The touch stung like so many tiny pinpricks against my arms and face, and then it was gone.
The light returned to the sky, my eyes fluttered open, blinking against the light, and I breathed again, normally. It was totally gone. No more smoke, no more monster. I was alone again in the lane of shipping containers.
“Uh, guys!” I yelled finally, my voice echoing around me. “Sam!” No reply. I turned a corner and took off in a run. “Dean!” Again I was met with my own voice as a response. “Come on!”
“Beka?” Dean seemed to manifest at the next corner, his eyes wide as he saw my panicked expression. “What happened?”
“I don’t know, there was a thing and it was gray and then it smoked me and I couldn’t see and then I was running.” My words spilled from me in an unintelligible ramble that probably made his head spin. But he was good, and he followed my shivering face with concerned eyes as I looked around me in a rush. He grabbed my shoulder and I shut up, looking up into his face, silently begging for help. “What the fuck?”
“You OK?”
“I- I guess?”
“Good.” He pulled me to him, crushing me quickly against his warm chest as he wrapped me up in a tight hug. “You’re alright Beka.”
“Of course. Just, ya know, found a smoke monster. ‘Cause, that’s a thing.”
Dean pulled back and pushed at my shoulder in a quick motion that made me wobble backwards, but he held me firmly. He looked down at me and said with all confidence, “It’s OK. Whatever it was, we’ll figure it out.”
“I know,” I sighed, managing a small smile. He was right. They’d figure it out. They always did. They weren’t the Losechesters, after all.
To Be Continued...Chapter Six
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This Ain’t No Joke, Sweetheart - Chapter 6
SPN FanReality
~Let me tell you about my weekend…~
Beka, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester
2,665 Words
Warnings: Angst. Teeny bit o’smut. Major Oops.
A/N: I just... there’s nothing I can say about this that’s gonna make it OK...
Go To Chapter: One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight
Chapter Six - Sunday Afternoon:
Everything hurt. My head, my legs, my arms, my skin; everything. I guessed it was the crash after the adrenaline rush, but I had to pull myself up the eight front steps leading to my house and then groaned at the next three up to the porch, clinging to the white railing for support. Sam rushed up behind me and put his hand on my back, patting gently.
“Are you alright?” he asked softly.
I rolled my eyes at him and continued on my way. “Yeah, just perfect.”
Once inside, I collapsed onto my little red couch and dragged a pillow underneath my head. A nap would be perfection. The boys filed in, Sam shutting the door quietly behind him before heading over to the computer. He had no idea what we were dealing with, but based on my description, he had a few hunches.
Dean plopped down into the recliner and pressed the button, lifting the legs as he settled back. He put his arms behind his head and sighed happily. “We should get one of these for the Bunker.”
“Do you guys have a living room?” I asked, peeking at him from between my arms. “They never show any of the other rooms, but I mean, the place is huge, right? We’ve all just assumed there was a living room.”
“Yeah. We do. It’s not fancy or anything, but Sam rigged up a set and I put a turntable in there. We rarely go in there though.”
“No time to chill?”
“No,” he shrugged, “It just smells weird in there.”
“That’s because you left a sandwich under the sofa Dean,” Sam said, sticking his head around the corner.
Dean pursed his lips and shook his head at Sam. “I can’t be responsible for where I leave sandwiches Sammy.”
“You need a maid,” I said with a chuckle. “Who cleans in there anyway? The floors are always so shiny.” Dean raised an eyebrow and jerked his thumb towards his brother. “Yeah, that’s what I figured.”
The room fell silent, well, more silent than I was used to. There were no children running amuck, no screaming about who hit who or when dinner was, no banging or electronic toys screeching at me. Dean found some junk to watch on TV, and Sam was clicking away on the keyboard, occasionally issuing a ‘huh’ or a ‘hmm’ that no one responded to. It was nice, peaceful almost, and before I realized I had relaxed, my eyes closed and I was drifting off to sleep.
I used to remember my dreams. Every morning I would wake up with memories of adventures both exciting and sometimes terrifying. Often times my dreams took place in the mall near where I grew up, but it was never quite right. The stores were different, the passages were longer, things were just a little off, but we always ended up or started from there.
Usually, good or bad, I would wake up and nod in approval at my active imagination, impressed by my own mind’s storytelling skills. But I would quickly forget and move on with my day, letting the dream pass into a distant memory, locking it away in a dusty filing cabinet in my head.
Sometimes the dreams would stick with me all day, never leaving me alone. Visions of the pain and fear would hover around me, poking at me when my mind was idle. Those were the worst dreams. Dreams that felt real. Dreams that woke me in a cold sweat as tears rolled down my cheeks. Memories of those scenes would haunt me all day long, causing me to break down at the very thought of them, crying like a child at a nightmare. They were the worst.
Lately I don’t remember my dreams. I know I have them, everyone does, but they don’t hang around long enough to make an impression.
I don’t remember what I dreamt, but it must have been bad because I woke myself up with a scream. It must have shaken the boys pretty well too. Dean had his hands on me before I even opened my eyes.
“Hey! Beka! You’re OK. I got you.” His worried voice and shaking hands pulled me awake once again. I blinked a few times and smiled up at him.
“You gotta stop being so close when I wake up dude, I might try and kiss you again.”
“What?” Sam stood over us, clearly curious and a little hurt by my joke.
“Huh?” I shook myself and sat up. “Nothing. Never mind.” Great. Go ahead and break his heart why don’t you.
“Hell of a dream there kid. What was it?” Dean asked, stepping back and crossing his arms.
I rubbed my forehead and frowned. “I have no idea.” You suck. Something made you scream and you can’t remember what it is? Pathetic. Probably dreamt of a papercut, you pussy.
Their eyes were glued to me, making me extremely uncomfortable suddenly. I wiped at my eyes, pushing up my glasses, and sighed. “So’d ya find our monster?”
Sam nodded and moved back towards the computer. “I think so. It’s hard not having my books, or access to the archives…”
“Wifi doesn’t connect over dimensions, huh?” I said with a scoff.
“I guess not.” He held out a picture he’d printed. It was hand drawn and old, but it looked like my smoke monster. I took the paper from him and stared at it. Yup. Same hood, same grayness.
“This is it. That’s what poofed all over me. What is it?”
Sam scratched at his jaw. “It doesn’t really have a name that I’ve found, but the Latin texts refer to it over and over as ‘Fumus ex eo morte.’”
I cringed. “I know my exorcism pronunciation was off, but I know what ‘morte’ means…”
“Smoke of Death.” Sam took the paper from me and walked it back to the desk.
“Well fuckin’ great!” I threw my hands up and let my head fall back. “Smoke of Death Monster just got his shit all up on me. Now what? Now I die?”
“No,” Dean said firmly. “Now we work the problem. Nobody’s dying today.”
He’s full of shit. He’s scared. Look at him. “Yeah right. What are you gonna do?”
“Hey, don’t forget who you’re talking to. We do this stuff everyday.”
Sam sighed loudly, letting his shoulders drop as he looked at me with a pathetic attempt at reassurance. “He’s right Beka. We’ll figure this out.”
“Sure you will. And I’ll just…” Just wait to die. “Goddamnit, I don’t know!” I stood up and turned towards the door, but there was nowhere to go. I was safest with them. They were the experts. Yeah, but you said it yourself, every woman on the show dies. Bloody. I huffed and headed to the stairs.
“Where are you going?” Dean asked, ready to follow me.
I turned around and snapped at him. “Gonna go do some laundry. Is that OK with you Mr. Winchester? Do I need to ask permission in my own house?” I hadn’t meant to yell, but that’s what happened. He shook his head, shocked. “I’m sorry,” I softened, lowering my voice. “I can’t just sit here. You want me to wash your jeans or something?”
“No, I'm good, thanks.”
I did anyway. I rummaged through his duffel and pulled out more dirty socks than I'd ever seen in one place before. He'll thank me later as he's wiping his tears away over my dead body.
The dryer was full, so I pulled out the mix of clothes and carried them down the hall to my bed. It seemed ridiculous to be doing housework at that moment, but I had to do something or I’d go nuts. As I started to fold, my mind wandered. Usually, at times like these, I would write in my head. Most of my stories are written in the shower, or over a sink full of dishes, or while trying to match socks. My imagination wanders off on its own and I talk to myself, or to the boys, creating scenarios and acting them out, sometimes out loud. Many times I’d have long rambling conversations that had nothing to do with anything, and Sam was always there to answer me the way I needed.
Right then, I had nothing to say. Nothing to figure out. No story I was waiting to reveal to myself. Fuck it all. You can’t write anyway. Who are you kidding? No one reads your stuff, and if they do, it’s just for the smut. They just want Dean to fuck them and call them “Sweetheart.” They wouldn’t care if you deleted your entire blog.
My brain was pulsing, pushing nastiness through to the foreground. Sadly, nothing I wasn’t used to already, but it seemed just a little louder than usual, just a little more insistent.
Onto my third pair of Peter sweatpants, I started humming just to break the silence, to clear my head. And once I realized what song I had chosen, I began singing aloud instead.
“Won’t you take me away… oh gimme the beat boys and free my soul, I wanna get lost in your rock and roll and drift away…”
“I always thought it was ‘give me the Beach Boys’ when I was a kid.”
Sam stood in my doorway, leaning against the wooden frame as he watched me work and sing. I spun around and gave him a little smile.
“So did I actually. Makes sense,” I sang it again, “Gimme the Beach Boys and free my soul…”
Sam stepped into the room, coming towards me slowly. “You have a beautiful voice.”
I shrugged and continued folding my son’s shirts. “Thanks. I used to be a singer. Or, tried to be anyway.”
He was close. I could feel him but I refused to turn around. My focus was on the bed, or at least I pretended it was. Truthfully it was all on him. On the way he stopped just inches from me, the way I felt his heat suddenly against my back, the way this breath moved the air around me, the way his hand fell onto my shoulder and brushed the hair from my neck. My heart was racing and he was silent. His fingers closed softly around the base of my neck and I tilted my head to the side, just waiting. Could he feel my pulse race? Could he see my chest rising and falling with each quickened breath?
Sam bent down to me, sinking the few inches that separated us to press his lips below my ear. It was timid yet firm, his warm lips begging for permission while his fingers seemed to assume my answer. His hand slipped around my throat and cupped my other ear, effectively locking me to him, but I knew he'd release me if I wanted. I knew with a simple word Sam would back away, walk out of my room and he'd never touch me again.
As much as I had promised myself I wouldn't give in to him, I wanted it. I wanted him. I wanted his hands on me, his lips on mine, his weight pressing me down onto the bed. I wanted to see his face when I let him in, see the light glint in his eyes as he hovered above me. My decision was made.
I spun around and clasped my hands behind his neck. After one final second of hesitation, Sam captured my waiting mouth, our lips pressing together in our first real kiss. His hands flew over my face and shoulders as our tongues met in a hungry dance. He lifted me up effortlessly, his strong arms encircling my waist and placing me on the high bed. I scooted back and spread my legs, giving him a place to settle.
It was like a dream, like any scene I’d ever written. Sam crawled to me, one hand pressed by my head, holding him up, while the other closed around my breast. Our lips met again and again and I let myself go. I tuned out everything else, every scrap of guilt, every hesitation fell away as my hands traveled his body. He was solid and warm. He pressed his hips against mine, rocking his denim covered erection against my core until we were both whimpering and sizzling with desire. I clawed at his shoulders, digging into the soft flannel while his mouth trailed down my neck. I ran my hands through his long hair, desperate to hold him to me, wanting every bit of him to stay right where he was, pressed hard against me.
Finally I couldn’t take it any longer, his lips and hands and rolling hips were making me wild. I sat up, pushing him away until I could take control and flip him over. He let me guide him, falling onto his back against the piles of clothes that still scattered the bed. I straddled his hips, pressing myself down on him and slid my hands up underneath his shirt. My fingers danced along the hard lines of his chest and stomach, everything just as I had imagined. I lowered myself down, kissing him hard before nipping and sucking my way across his jaw. A faint splattering of stubble had begun to pepper his cheek and I shivered as it scratched my lips. Down his thick neck I slid, my tongue lapping at his pulse, feeling his racing heart, tasting the salt that covered him. He moaned into my ear, a wordless plea that I was more than happy to answer.
I sat up again, my hands gripping the hem of my shirt. I lifted it quickly, stripping the cotton away and tossing it across the room. I smiled down at him and then froze when I saw the look on his face. It was no longer a lust filled gaze; the hungry gleam in his eyes had died away, replaced with a somewhat panicked and guilty stare. I turned my head, following his gaze, and found him staring at the photo on my wall. It was an old snapshot, taken maybe fifteen years ago; I was playing guitar and Bill was hovering next to me, singing along. The camera had captured a moment, one blissful second where each of us looked up and smiled. It was my favorite picture, more treasured than any other, more looked at and fawned over than even our wedding portrait. It was the moment we had truly fallen in love.
Fuck. “Sam…” I leaned back down, my hand cupping his cheek, trying to turn him away from the photo, but it was too late, I knew that. “Hey, don’t worry about that. I want you.” I kissed him, but he turned away, my lips landing on the side of his mouth.
“Beka, we can’t. I’m sorry.”
“Sam, come on.” I kissed him again, trying to pull him back, stoke the fire once more, but he was gone. He placed his hands on my hips and lifted me off of him. I rolled to the side and grit my teeth as a wave of sick flowed through my stomach. It pinched and burned, clawing it’s way up through my chest. “Sam…”
He stood and hurried to the door. “I’m sorry.”
He ran out and I sank back onto the bed, hurt and screaming inside. I rolled onto my stomach and pressed my wet eyes into the fresh laundry where his head had been. Josh’s Star Wars shirt smelled like blueberries and I clawed at it as I began to cry. You fucked up big time Bek. This is going to ruin your marriage. This is going to ruin your life. And for what? Ten minutes of dry humping? And on your kid’s clothes. In Bill’s bed. You’re sick. You’re a horrible mother and a piece of shit wife. Of course Sam pushed you away.
To Be Continued... Chapter Seven
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Sam is so pretty, ya know? Like a golden god.
