A Hard Ten Masterlist, Wishverse Masterlist, Cave Quid Optes Masterlist
Author’s Note: Cave Quid Optes is part three of the series of series that started with A Hard Ten and a Soft Four. This is gonna hurt, y'all. I'm sorry. I am so sorry.
Summary: Dean takes Y/n to Carol's place.
Pairing: none really
Word count: 1891
Story Warnings: bad things. so bad. bad bad bad...mentions of suicide and infanticide, depression, PTSS...bad things and I'm so sorry, mentions of noncon,
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You were shaking as you waited in the alley. Every noise made you flinch. Your anxiety was as high as you could ever remember it being and even the thought that Dean was right upstairs in his apartment didn’t help you much. When the pickup truck came down the alley, you were too scared to come out from behind the dumpster until the passenger door opened and Dean called out, “Go time, honey!”. You sighed in relief and rushed to the truck.
Jo was behind the wheel, wearing a simple tank top and tight blue jeans. “Jo, this is Jeanne Gang, she’s one of my favorite clients.”
You blinked and looked over at Dean as Jo smiled and offered her hand. Jeanne Gang. You couldn’t remember ever mentioning Jeanne Gang to Dean...not this Dean, anyway. How the hell does he know about her? She’s only famous in architecture circles.
You took Jo’s hand and shook it. “Thank you for this. I literally owe you my life.”
“It’s no problem, hon. I’ve gotten into some pretty bad situations, myself.”
“Yeah, um, Jo is gonna drive to her place and then I’m gonna borrow her truck, get you safe,” Dean said as she drove out of the alleyway. “Fewer people know where you’re goin’ the better.”
Dean’s knee knocked into yours and stayed connected to you, like he was grounding himself, making sure you were really there. Jo drove to her apartment building and parallel parked in front. She turned to Dean and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Be safe, baby.”
“Yeah, I will. Thanks for this, sweetheart,” he whispered as she slid out of the truck and he moved to the driver’s seat. She waved as she walked into the building and Dean nodded at her before pulling off toward the highway.
“She’s really nice,” you said.
“She’s not you,” he said quietly. He swallowed and bit his bottom lip. “So...um...tell me about that other world Sam stole you from.”
You smiled. “Broad strokes? I picked you off of the website and made you fall in love with me. I knew you so well by then, it was easy. I..” You took a deep breath and sighed it out. “I got help for my Post Traumatic Stress...pills and support group meetings for victims. I...saved Adam from Ruby, used the foreknowledge I had to keep him from ever shooting up. He went to college, by the way. Med school at U of C.”
“Really? Adam’s a doctor?” he asked, proudly.
“Yeah. The whole family was so proud when he got in and we...were just celebrating his graduation when I got yanked.” You moved closer to him on the bench seat. “Ruby stabbed me. When I went to her place to rescue Adam, Ruby stabbed me. I was in a coma for a few weeks, but it wasn’t a big deal. A little while after I got out of the hospital, you and I ran off to Vegas with Cas and Charlie.”
“Got married by Elvis?” he guessed, smiling.
“Damn straight. Our wedding cake was pie...and our toast was an aged bourbon. It was so perfectly us.”
“Sounds awesome.”
“It was. Of course, our families demanded we have a ‘real’ wedding and so we renewed our vows a month later at Maw-maw’s house and told everyone at the reception that we were pregnant.”
“Yeah?” he whispered, barely a word.
“Yeah. Twins. Marty and Melody. They're wonderful. Marty is so much like you, such a goof."
"Marty and Melody. Sounds...wrong but right at the same time."
"I understand." Mary and Henry sounded just the same to you.
"What about Sam, huh?" Dean asked, reaching out to rest his hand on your thigh. "How'd he turn out in your timeline?"
"He turned out...amazing. He went to work for the Public Defenders office, met a paralegal named Madison. We were helping him pick out a ring."
"Sober?"
You nodded. "A decade. One of his proudest accomplishments."
There was silence in the truck for a minute before he said, "And my Sam? What'd he...what'd he do?"
You looked down and away. “He wanted me to replace the family he lost when the other me drove off the bridge.” Dean’s hand tightened on your thigh as you continued. “He kept me tied up for a few days. He kept the apartment on lockdown all month, though. He didn’t win, though. I taught myself to pick locks...and I know he didn’t get what he wanted because I had my period.”
“He raped you again. I can’t believe he raped you again,” Dean growled.
“Really? ‘Cause I can.” You took a deep breath and licked your lips. “This Sam is like...all the fears I had about him. All the nightmares I had about him. All the things my PTSS told me were possible for him...he’s all that and worse. I can’t...I had to act like I liked it, like he had broken me and I...I just wanna go home.”
Dean nodded. “We’ll figure out a way to get you home, princess.”
“How?!” you squeaked. “I don’t even know how he got me here! He just said someone...some all-powerful man that knew what I wished for and what my timeline was like pulled me out and sent us back in time! He didn’t tell me who or how or any of that! He refused! He didn’t want me to unwish it.”
“Calm down, baby, we’ll fix it. We’ll figure out how to fix it, I promise.”
You nodded, battling the fear and anger. Dean was going to help you get home.
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You stood to the side with the hood of your sweater over your head as Dean walked up to the door of your sister’s townhouse. It took a few minutes, but eventually the door creaked open. “Winchester. What are you doing here?” Carol spat out. Dean rolled his eyes and turned to look at you as you stepped out of your hiding spot. Your sister’s eyes went wide and she gasped. “Y/n? How are-”
“I’m kinda exposed out here. Can we come in?” you asked, not waiting for her to respond before you grabbed Dean’s hand and pushed past her into her living room.
“You’re dead! Aren’t you? We went to your funeral, we-” Carol shut the door behind you and you pulled your hood off.
“I faked it. I faked my death to get away from Sam. Can I borrow your computer, please?” you responded, shortly.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Carol exclaimed, getting closer to you and poking your chest. “You get in with this piece of shit and his family, you end up pregnant and have some shotgun wedding, marry that abusive junkie asshole and fake your own death and that’s the first thing you wanna say to your sister? You want to borrow my fucking computer?”
Your right fist zipped out and slammed into her jaw. You couldn’t handle her being in your face, being loud, being accusatory, being Carol. “I have no time for this bullshit, Carol. I know that deep down this maliciousness is coming from a place of love because I’ve seen the woman you can be when you let go of all of this shit, but I don’t have time to get through to Good Carol. I have been hurt and raped and treated like a fucking baby-factory by that junkie asshole and I can’t stay around in this darkness for the rest of my life when I know what light feels like. So shut the fuck up, Carol, and get your fucking laptop.”
Carol gasped and took a step back from you, her hand over the red mark on her chin. “He raped you?” she asked, barely louder than a whisper.
“So many times I lost count,” you answered as Dean looked away from you, rage in the way he was standing. “And a lot more...all very horrible things...because he’s lost his mind.” You took a deep breath and straightened your posture. “I need to find a way to get away from this monster...permanently. So I need your laptop.”
“But...why didn’t you use his?” she asked, looking at Dean.
“Because the monster broke into my apartment looking for her and we couldn’t trust he’d respect my privacy long enough for us to find what we need and he’s never gonna look for her here when he knows you hate her.”
“I don’t-” Carol scoffed indignantly. “I don’t hate my sister. I love her!”
“Then go get your damn laptop,” Dean prompted.
She sighed heavily and stomped toward her bedroom. Only after she was out of the room did you examine your knuckles. Dean walked over and took your hand, pressing lightly on your knuckles. “You didn’t break anything. Where’d you learn to punch like that?”
You rubbed at the back of your neck and looked at the rug under your sister’s coffee table. “Marty got really interested in martial arts a couple years ago, so we started taking a family tai kwon do class. Melody hated it...we had to start doing a weekly gymnastics class to make up for it. I hated that one.”
Dean smiled, softly. “Damn. I can just imagine you tumbling around on those blue mats.”
“Yeah, imagine this body, but ten years older and about twenty pounds fatter...tumbling on those mats.”
“I can imagine it,” he whispered, leaning down and pressing his lips to your forehead.
“Here,” Carol said, handing you the laptop.
“Thank you,” you said, sitting on the couch and opening the laptop. “I’m sorry I punched you.”
She didn’t respond, just crossing her arms over her chest while you pulled up the browser and searched for Anyanka. It was eerie how the page looked exactly the way it looked in the other timeline and the summoning spell was still at the bottom. “Where are you gonna get all that?” Dean asked.
“Well, I’d feel more comfortable staying here, but I know that you can get all this stuff at the New Age store on Bachman Drive.”
Dean nodded. “Okay. Lemme write down that list.” He typed the list into his phone and pocketed it. “I’ll be back as soon as possible, okay?” You nodded as you set the laptop aside. “No more punching, huh?”
You nodded and he smiled as he walked out of the house. You looked up at your older sister, who was staring at you. “What?” you asked.
“You just...you’ve never hit me before. Even when I used to rag on you all the time, you never hit back.”
You sighed. “I didn’t mean to lash out. I’ve got Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome and it...it ramps up my fight or flight and I guess...I guess I’m in Fight mode these days.”
“You look…” Carol sat on the couch next to you and gestured at you. “You look okay.” You could tell that she was trying to segue into your trauma but didn’t know how to approach it.
“Do you wanna talk about it, Carol? Do you really wanna know?” you asked, giving her an out.
She licked her lips and nodded, leaning forward. “Yeah. I want to know.”
Tangled in a soft pink sheet, Bellamy's hair stuck to her flushed cheeks as she tossed this way and that. Her heart beat furiously in her chest as she her hands were balled into fists tight enough to leave crescent indents in her palms from her nails. Even those that were usually left with the evidence of grease and dirt were now chewed to nothing and left without the usual powder blue polish. She cried for help in her sleep, the words a low murmur as she flipped onto her right side again. His face was a vivid picture, looming and haunting. He was smirking as he drove the knife into her thigh and a scream was torn from her throat.
Bellamy sat up in bed, legs still stuck in the sheet she messed up and a strand of hair across her face. Trying to catch her breath she had a hand over her chest as she had backed herself up against the headboard as if she was scrambling away from the monster that had been haunting her. She could feel the panic still rising. Suffocating and pulling her under as her head swam. She squeezed her eyes shut for a few minutes until it passed, but the sudden churn of her stomach had her scrambling out of her bed and straight for the adjacent bathroom.
On her knees on the cool tile, she lost the little food she had for dinner. Rocking back she sat with her back to the wall, sweat broke out across her forehead as she smoothed her hair back with a sigh. It hadn't stopped. Not the nightmares, not the panic attacks. This wasn't better, she thought miserably, pulling her knees to her chest tightly. She focused on evening out her breathing, taking each one slowly. She didn't want to wake her friend-she had already rescued her from several horrid nightmares in the last few weeks. Bellamy would have hated to bother her further.
Her leg ached in protest at her position, but she didn't care. The pain gave her something tangible to hold onto. She grasped at it as she simply held her arms around her knees and squeezed tighter; receiving a jolt of pain from the wound on her thigh that was still healing. Tears burned at the edges of her eyes as she finally let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding and let herself stretch out her legs. It was foolish, but there had to be something. Anything. It will get better they kept saying, but they weren't tortured in her own former bedroom. They hadn't told her grandmother to go back downstairs while the torment went on.
Bellamy grabbed the edge of the sink and pulled herself to her feet. Splashing water on her face, she finally lifted her eyes to the reflection in the mirror. The cut on her cheek had nearly healed but she still had a colorful display of various bruises on her body. The person in the mirror was a mere stranger. Circles under her eyes like purple bruises, and the way she couldn't see a light in her eyes anymore.
With a frustrated groan she shut off the water and went back into her new room. Instead of her bed, Bellamy grabbed wrapped herself in one of her grandmother's quilt and sat at the window bench seat to gaze out into the night. It wasn't ok, she thought bitterly. It wouldn't ever be alright. Nothing would be the same, and the fragile human she was was in fact scared.
