I'm Tiny, a shorter-than-avarage fan of Snackles (or Jensen Ackles, as you might call him). To me, he's a snack: THE snack. Aaaaanyyyway:
I write stuff about Dean Winchester and Snackles, so here is my complete catalogue. Please feel free to comment!
SUPERNATURAL:
Longer fics, with chapters:
"The Happy Ranch"
Genre: Drama, Supernatural AU
Summary: Dean Winchester, in his 40s, works as an IT consultant after a rough breakup some years back. His workplace is invited to a team building ranch, where his feelings for Mariah (OFC) deepens. The office bully, Chuck, is not exactly fond of the newest HR hire. Something dramatic happens on the ranch.
Word Count: 14,500 words total, 9 chapters.
"Random Encounter"
Genre: Drama, RPF Jensen Ackles/Reader
Summary: Reader is an ambulatory wheelchair user with chronic pain and various other ailments. You are travelling to a convention, when you find yourself upgraded to business class and sitting next to the actor/singer you've been admiring for years. You and him start talking and find it difficult to stop.
Word Count: 63,618 words total, 22 chapters.
"Second Chances"
Genre: Drama, Canon divirgence
Summary: Sam and Dean clears out a nest of vampires and stumbles upon a woman in distress in a diner. She finds herself thrown into a world of monsters, but maybe there's hope there too?
Word Count: 15k total, 4 chapters + very sad epilogue (don't read that).
This is my entry to The Jensen Ackles Chronicles (TJAC) writing competition, which was launched in 2025 and was for writers aged 30 and above writing about Jensen or his characters - also 30+ years old.
SUPERNATURAL:
Shorter fics, oneshots:
"Dean Winchester's birthday treat"
Genre: Crackfic
Summary: Dean Winchester presents his girlfriend with the thing he wants her to wear for his own birthday.
Word count: 582 words
"Not all threats are supernatural"
Genre: Wump
Summary: This is based off a writing prompt from @spnfanficpond and features Sam in the bathroom, having a really bad time. Might be a witch? Might be a monster? Dean figures it out, though. Warning: Kinda disgusting descriptions, do not read while eating.
Word Count: 847
"Beach Monster"
Genre: Crackfic
A part of this Summer Snapshot Challenge. 1000 words or less.
Summary: Sam encounters an unexpected sea monster, Dean runs to the rescue.
Word count: 814
"The new camera"
Genre: Fluff
A part of this Summer Snapshot Challenge. 1000 words or less.
Summary: Dean makes sure Sam has a happy sixteenth birthday.
Word count: 946
"The unfazed shopworker"
Genre: Crackfic
Summary: Cara works in an antique store with Greg, a weird old guy with a vivid imagination. He claims a red cloud owes him money and that vampires are real... At least this isn't Walmart.
Word count: 4863 words
"Clever bird"
Genre: Crackfic
Summary: Sam and Dean arrive at a zoo to figure out where the missing janitor is, and why animals are being let out of their enclosures. The elder brother finds a terrifyingly blue monster.
Word count: 3931 words
"Quiet"
Genre: Fluff
A part of this Summer Snapshot Challenge. 1000 words or less.
Summary: Sam and Dean enjoy a rare quiet moment on the beach.
Word count: 858 words
"Missing Bones"
Genre: Drama
Summary: Sam and Dean Winchester are investigating a string of disappearances, which require the help of both Rowena and Bobby to solve. What on earth peels off skin and meat to eat the bones? And why is Rowena so eager to help?
Word count: 4863 words
Secret Santa Gift: "Birthday Girl"
Genre: Fluff
This is a part of @spnfanficpond's Secret Santa Gift exchange.
Prompt: "As someone with a birthday right near the holidays, I'd love to see someone making an effort to separate the birthday from the holidays, but certainly not necessary :)"
Word count: 3233 words
SPN Fanfic Pond Sprint: "Dashing Through the Snow"
Genre: Crackfic
Summary: Dean races through the snow because Sam forgot the ONE thing they needed.
Word count: 503 words.
"Happy Birthday, Dean"
Genre: Sad
Summary: Sam shares a drink and a talk with his brother, on the latter's birthday in 2026.
Word count: 330 words.
"Run!"
Genre: Thriller? Action? Might be scary, I dunno.
Summary: Sam is called to help Jody with a case, but finds himself surrounded by screaming voices - which leads him to his worst nightmare.
Word count: 5173 words
Non-Supernatural related fics:
The Third Guest
Summary: This story is based on Roald Dahl's short story "The Landlady", which you can read here. That link takes you to a PDF. My story offers a different view to the original story, so I highly suggest you read that first.
Word count: 1901 words
Stories from real life:
Wanna smash?
Summary: Actual video of me asking Jared Padalecki and Mark Sheppard whether they want to smash (or: a smash) at ComicCon in Brussels, 2024.
Wheelchair struggles
Summary: Just a little re-telling of when I encountered some badly accessible businesses in Stockholm.
Writers! Are you baking something delicious in your WIP folder? Share it with us under the following categories, then tag some fellow writers to keep that oven HOT!
There are 3 options:
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top: this WIP is nearly done and just needs some final touches before it's served.
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart): this WIP has either been sitting in your pantry a while, or lives somewhere between "I'm technically writing it" and "I stopped writing in the middle of it and don't remember the recipe plot"
🥚I forgot to buy eggs: this is a mere idea, a gleam in your eyes, an itch in your balls. You're not totally sure what it's gonna be when it grows up, but you're excited about it nonetheless.
Once you're done, tag some lovely mutuals! I'll start!
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top:
Smut piece one year on from the ending of I wish I'd known you in your wilder days, in which you and Dean have fun on the couch (again).
Cast Away (working title): Sam's arm is in a cast, and when you find out why he's in such a bad mood, you give him a hand (and a mouth, and a...) to cheer him up.
Scream if you wanna go faster: Butcher meets you in a Vegas hotel. No names, no promises. Just sin (and no sleep).
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart):
Office romance (working title): sequel to Late night call, in which Sam and you enter an affair with a strong dom/sub dynamic (and Sam gets subbed the hell out)
It wasn't forever: Pamela Barnes is haunted. When she goes out to escape the ghosts, she meets you and takes you home with her. -> This one's super sad lesbian yearning and internalized homophobia, so I can't always work on it a ton before needing a break.
Moth: Things aren't right. Dean keeps telling you they are. But why do you feel trapped? -> This one's dark as shit so I also need to be in the right mindset to write it.
🥚I forgot to buy eggs:
Demon!reader x Dean (inspired by an ask). Dean comes to you, all righteous anger. If you can't give him the information he wants, he'll take something else. -> Scenes of this keep swirling in my head and I'm taking notes, I just don't wanna fully start this while busy with so much other stuff.
Kidnap fic: two men break into your home and from one moment to the next, your life is changed forever. They tell you you've been kidnapped by demons, your memory erased, but as they take you with them and tie you up in their motel room, you realize they're not gonna let you go.
Modern western McCarthy Yellowstone thing: only specs of this exist, but it's you coming back to a small town rife with corruption, and back into the arms of the Winchesters, the reigning family (and at least a few of them are your ex-lovers). Dark and grimy and nihilistic.
There are many more but I will stop here and tag some lovelies! If you see this and want to participate, please do! ❤️ @kblognar @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @jollyhunter @aseafullofstars @thesundontshineontheseeyebrows @theedaythatnevercomes @reginaphalangelobster @raspberry-starship @spectralgalaxygauntlet @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @velvourne @aniresrene @ashlizshack @tinysnacklefan
Thank you @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth and @ambiguous-avery for the tags!
🎂Three-tier-cake with cherries on top:
Sorry, no three-tiered cakes here. I have completed a recent one (RUN!) and haven't really had time and calm enough house to sit down and write some more :(
🧁Cake mix (but it comes from the heart):
Transparent: Sam and Dean find a case where a several parents of teens are somehow turning invisible. One of them is a friend of Bobby's and seek the boys out in their motel. That's when they discover how to see the the disappearing parents, but hearing them and figuring out why it happened? Seems like they have some investigating to do.
🥚I forgot to buy eggs:
There are no big ideas in my notebook right now, but I have brought it with me to my vacation with mom. Been here for around a week and have two more weeks until I go home. That being said, if anyone have some fun memes: let me know because I love writing stories based on those (like RUN, The Unfazed Shopworker and Dean's Birthday Treat).
No-pressure tags for some of my other writer friends: @mrswhozeewhatsis, @leatafandom, @godmadeaterribleerror!
Snackles GIF that I found from @dean-ness 's Blogpost and then decided to loop and reverse it:
I always think that sport events, especially international ones, are primarily about fun and cultural exchange and hanging out together; it gets lost sometimes when people pay too much attention to keeping scores, but joy and building bridges should be more important. So glad this seems to be happening right now!
Jensen panel! Soldiers boy first Instagram post would be a blurry photo or a photo of his codpiece. It would get taken down and he’d immediately be banned. Then again, he’d not get the tech (Julie_Fleming)
Character or scene people would talk about? Dean’s death scene at the end of the show. Jared and I executed it well. It was saying goodbye to these characters. I was proud of that (Julie_Fleming)
If SPN was on prime, how unhinged would it be? SPN thriving within the restrictions of TV it made it even more special. Didn’t need foul language or sexual content. We told it within the guidelines and don’t need to see it that way now (Julie_Fleming)
How do you stay strong as a dad with your career? I wake up every day and feel like I’ve got a lot to live for. Proud of being a father and proud of the work I continue to do. I get a lot of strength from those around me (Julie_Fleming)
As an actor which version of Dean was the most challenging to play? Two answers: playing 5-year future Dean with present day Dean. Technically hard and hard as a character. The other was just playing Dean when Sam was soulless. I didn’t have my brother. (Julie_Fleming)
Besides Dean who is your fav character to play and why? Obvious choice is Soldier Boy. But! It was challenging to turn Dean off and play a new character. I was nervous. Guys on set, make sure my Dean isn’t showing (Julie_Fleming)
If you could pick anywhere else than Kansas, where would the Winchesters be from? Maybe Louisiana. They have good food and pie there. New Orleans has the best food in the US. Dean would love it there. Plus the voodoo (Julie_Fleming)
Jensen still has the Impala and he was driving it just the other day. (therednamy)
Choose between Batman role and DC entrance or big thing with Radio Co? I would choose Batman. Nothing better than that. And so would Steve (Julie_Fleming)
Improvised moment on set that was memorable? Many! But Eye of the Tiger. (Julie_Fleming)
Dude asked question dressed as Soldier Boy. Sorry for my bad English. Jensen: but you look GREAT! (Julie_Fleming)
Before being Soldier Boy Jensen would have loved to be Captain America. But now he’s put a stain on him (Julie_Fleming)
Jensen: I’ve scratched the itch I wanted to scratch when it comes to playing a superhero by playing soldier boy. The only other one is… well you know who (Julie_Fleming)
Has SPN made you more resilient? The time spent playing Dean did afford Jensen an education into how to deal with troubled times and bad days. He had bad days and had to go off and play Dean. Dean is a little bit responsible for the strength that he has now (Julie_Fleming)
If you could pick a country for Sam and Dean to travel to go to where would it be? Dean somewhere in the far east would be hilarious. So would Sam. Jared is oddly tall. The food would be a new thing for Dean (the lady asking the question is from China) (Julie_Fleming)
(x)
Q&A from Jensen's panel at Paris Convention, July 5, 2026
After my hysto, I was in *intense* abdominal pain that didn't feel like wound pain from the ablation but something different that I couldn't explain, until the gynecologist told me "yep, that'd be your intestines rearranging themselves into the gap left behind by your uterus."
So there's a mental picture for you. Slither slither. Slither slither.
After my hysto, I was in *intense* abdominal pain that didn't feel like wound pain from the ablation but something different that I couldn't explain, until the gynecologist told me "yep, that'd be your intestines rearranging themselves into the gap left behind by your uterus."
So there's a mental picture for you. Slither slither. Slither slither.
This is my entry to The Jensen Ackles Chronicles (TJAC) writing competition, which was launched last year and is for writers aged 30 and above writing about Jensen or his characters - also 30+ years old.
It was a really good concept and I signed up immediately, thinking this was definitely something I should participate in! Then life hit me hard: I broke up a 15 year long relationship and moved by myself - all while juggling life with chronic illness, our twelve year old daughter, part time work, playing trumpet in a bigband and a trying to heal a thoroughly broken heart.
I truly had every intention to complete this story in time, but I wasn't able to finish within the set deadline of June 13th.
I know this disqualifies me from any prizes and I've talked with the ones running the contest, so I don't have any hard feelings or writing this to try and convince anyone. I just want to be honest and transparent, and I'll still post the story throughout this week because I'm still proud of what I've made.
Thank you to @storytellers-contest-tjac and @storytellers-contest for this awesome project and opportunity to write something by and for us who are old enough to throw our backs out by sneezing wrong. 💕
Banner picture from Kissthemgoodbye, a great resource for screenshots. (Sorry, @kazsrm67! I didn't use the awesome one you made but I really loved it!)
Summary: Sam and Dean clears out a nest of vampires and stumbles upon a woman in distress in a diner. She finds herself thrown into a world of monsters, but maybe there's hope there too?
A/N: This story takes place mostly between the last two episodes of Supernatural’s final season. Cas is gone, Jack is running Heaven, and Sam and Dean Winchester are falling into a routine of hunting monsters again. It's written in both third and first perspective, but Reader is basically an Original Female Character since I added so much background to her. The story is a part of The Jensen Ackles Chronicles Story Contest, hosted by @storytellers-contest-tjac and @storytellers-contest.
Beta reader: @mysticdeliciouskitty - You are the best 💕💕
Bestie readers: @maybefanficting and @specialagentmonkey. Luv you 💕💕
Dividers by: @easytiger-xo , my go-to source for awesome ones.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, OFC, OMC
Relationships: Dean Winchester/OFC
Total word count: 15k
Warnings: Canon-level violence, blood, decapitation, reader is basically an OFC, cursing, fluff, angst, abusive ex, trauma from victim’s pov, slightly disabled reader, cane, Dean making bad jokes in serious situations, Sam's hair.
A string of missing persons in northern Ohio had drawn the Winchester boys and you to a small lakeshore town with a suspiciously extravagant hotel. Every other year, the hotel hosted a lavish gala. And every year it did, a couple in attendance vanished without a trace. So now you were shimmying into a too-tight dress in your hotel bathroom while Dean and Sam argued in the next room over who would be your “date” to the late-night party.
“Please, Sam, I have a hell of a lot more suave than you. And you don’t even know what we’re looking for,” Dean bickered loudly. You could imagine the frustrated yet cocky smirk he’d have on his face.
“Neither do you!” Sam rebutted, “And suave? Really? You were just complaining about wearing a tux getting in here!”
“Because they suck. What’s your point?”
“Dean!”
Your eyes nearly rolled to the back of your head. The brothers were your closest friends, but their constant bickering got old fast. With a deep and resigned sigh, you unlocked and stepped out of the bathroom. “Can you two finish arguing so we can get going? The party starts in a few minutes,” you chimed in, the two men turning towards you.
Dean’s breath hitched. Being a hunter, you mostly dressed in casual and simple clothes that could be easily washed or replaced if a job got messy. Never had he seen you like this: completely dolled up, the dress hugging your form and accentuating your body in all the right places. He had already found you beautiful before, but this was a completely new level. “Well, now I really gotta be the one to go,” he whistled.
“Don’t be gross,” you sighed in exasperation, unconsciously running your fingers through your hair.
Sam rolled his eyes, shooting you an apologetic look, as he often had to on behalf of his brother. “Are you fine with him going?” he asked.
You nodded, smiling. “At the very least, he’ll be an entertaining date,” you mused, lightly elbowing Dean’s arm. He snorted, lightly nudging you back with his shoulder.
You bid Sam goodbye before the two of you headed down to the hotel’s lobby. Golden string lights hung over the venue, and high above them sat beautiful crystal chandeliers, emanating a warmth that made scarlet ribbons and carpeting stand out brilliantly against the tan wood floors and white walls. People in equally luxurious clothing chattered amongst each other, some by the hotel’s bar of complimentary drinks, others by a long table lined with fancy foods you couldn’t even begin to imagine the taste of. The walls were dotted with gothic paintings and old portraits of people likely long dead. You linked your arm with Dean’s as you descended downstairs. Without even looking at his face, you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Don’t be too clingy, sweetheart. We’re in public.”
“Dean, please,” you lightly nudged his side, earning a deep chuckle from him.
A man dressed in a doorman’s outfit waited at the bottom of the stairs and gave you a cheerful smile. “Hello, welcome to The Huron Hotel’s semi-annual gala! And you two are…?” he greeted charmingly, retrieving a notepad and pen from his coat.
“Name’s Marty Parker, this is my wife, Jennifer. From out of town, just stayin’ for the weekend,” Dean said, flashing his usual charming grin and shaking the man’s hand. The doorman returned the grin in earnest, writing your names down. “What’s all that for?” Dean asked casually.
“Just to keep a record of everyone in attendance. Standard policy. Sorry for any inconvenience, sir,” he replied, giving a polite nod of his head.
“Not a problem,” Dean nodded in return as you stepped past. He gave your arm a small squeeze against him, bringing you close to whisper in your ear. You could feel the heat of his breath as he murmured, “‘Hotel policy’? You’ve got to be joking.”
“Clearly the staff are somehow connected to this,” you hummed in reply, the two of you squeezing past bodies mingling and talking to get to the other side of the room. “And your wife? Really?”
“What? We have to be a couple, right?” Dean quirked an eyebrow, looking incredibly offended. “Or are you saying I’m a bad husband?”
“Just focus, please,” you sighed. Your eyes scanned the room, noting anything that seemed slightly odd or suspicious: A couple looking distressed talking to a waiter, a creepy-looking server handing out appetizers on a tray, an older couple sitting at one of the dining tables eyeing you and Dean. You were so focused, in fact, that you didn’t even realize where Dean was dragging you until you turned forward and faced the bar.
You pinched his arm, earning an indignant hey! from your partner. “Dean. Seriously?”
“What? It's a party, and drinks are free,” he said, flashing you a wink before waving down the bartender.
“Bartender, a Bourbon over ice, please. And for the lady?” Dean turned towards you, an overly suave and smug grin on his stupidly handsome face. You resisted the urge to punch him there.
“A water is just fine,” you bit, trying to keep your voice level and resist giving in to Dean’s antagonizations. The bartender nodded and turned away. You took the chance to slide your hand around Dean’s tie, tugging him down so he was eye level to you. “Dean, focus on the case. We’re here for a reason,” you reminded him pointedly.
He raised his hands in mock surrender, unable to resist smiling. “Okay, okay, I get it, honey.” His arm slid behind you, rubbing your back in the same way a long-time lover would his partner. “Let me at least have a little fun.”
“Are you two from around here?” You and Dean turned, taken off guard by the elderly couple you had seen earlier.
“Oh, no, we’re from out of state, just visiting for the week,” you replied calmly. Your arm wound back around Dean’s, portraying a happy, charming young couple. “And you might be…?”
“I’m Thomas, and this is my wife Elen. We own this hotel,” the old man replied, a too-sweet smile on his face. “It’s always nice to see a bright young couple thriving. How long have you been married?”
“Thank you, sir. We’ve been together three years,” Dean grinned brightly, pressing a casual kiss to the top of your head. You fought the blush that wanted to spread across your face. He was clearly trying to sell the act. “And, if I may, this is a nice place you got here,” Dean hummed, looking around dramatically. “How long have you been running it?”
“Thirty years. We inherited it from my father, who inherited it from his father too,” the wife, Elen, spoke in a soft, shaky, old voice, a smile plastered on her face. She reached out and took your hand, clasping hers around it. “My, aren’t you beautiful. Oh, I remember being just as pretty at your age,” she crooned.
Dean’s smile faltered for a moment, his arm sliding around your waist and tugging you closer. “She is, isn’t she? I’m a lucky man,” he said through gritted teeth. Distrust practically radiated from him.
The woman released your hand. “Oh, I didn’t mean to overstep. My apologies,” she smiled at Dean.
“It’s alright, really. Sometimes my husband is too protective and he forgets that I can handle myself,” you smiled, shooting Dean a look. His lip quirked, fighting a smile.
“Oh, but sweetheart, I just hate to think of anything ever hurting you,” he cooed dramatically, his hand sliding from your back up your side.
“Oh, you two are just the cutest! I remember when Tom and I were just like that. Oh, that was so long ago,” Elen beamed, chuckling.
You watched Dean reply, but his voice was suddenly fuzzy and distant to your ears. You carefully pressed your fingertips to your forehead, a soft groan leaving your lips. A wave of nausea was beginning to hit. Dean frowned, leaning over you in concern, his hands finding your shoulders to support you. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” you murmured, closing your eyes in an attempt to stop the dull ache in the back of your head, but to no avail.
“Oh, darling, you should sit down,” the old woman cooed, touching your arm. Another pulse of nausea hit your stomach. “There’s a quiet room a little down the hall. You can take a rest away from all this noise.”
“Come along, now,” the old man waved his arm, leading the way. Even in your ailing state, you could tell this was clearly a setup. Dean knew it too, his eyes sharp and colder than before.
Dean’s hand slid down your arm, the other pressing against your forehead, his eyes roving over your face. “Are you gonna be alright?” he asked carefully, his voice hushed so the owners wouldn’t hear.
“Yeah, I’ll be okay, Dean,” you tried to reassure him, but another pulse pounded through your head. You moaned in discomfort, pressing your forehead against his chest.
“Damn it… here, let me–” he crouched, and before you knew it, he had hoisted you into his arms, a weak gasp leaving your lips. “Don’t move too much. I’ve got you,” he murmured, his arms braced under your knees and back as he carried you away through the crowd. “It’s gonna be alright.”
The dizziness was beginning to catch up to you, your eyelids heavy. “Dean… Dean, be careful,” you whispered hoarsely, the crowd around you breaking up as you entered the quiet hallway, the older couple a few yards ahead, waiting outside a doorway.
Dean smirked, cocky yet reassuring all at once. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I’ll be just fine.”
And everything went black.
“... Dean?”
The name left your mouth before you were fully conscious, your eyes flitting open in a dimly lit room. Your head ached, but you didn’t feel sick anymore.
“Dean?”
You called out again, pushing yourself up to sit. You were on the floor. The room looked old, incredibly so. Dust covered nearly every surface. Or, it had. Old furniture was thrown about the room haphazardly, and the dust on the floor was disturbed in multiple places in an almost violent way.
Clearly, there had been a fight.
“Dean!” you yelled louder, rising to your feet. Dean was strong, yes, and an incredible hunter, but you couldn’t help worrying over him anyway. You didn’t even know what you were facing, and there were two of them. You dusted off your dress, which was somehow still clean save for a few stubborn smudges, and hurried to the exit.
You had barely reached the door when it swung open, Dean standing in all his glory, tux beat and torn up, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead and his nose. You gawked, automatically cupping his face, twisting it side to side to see his injuries. “Dean! What happened? I-I don’t remember anything, I must’ve–”
“Sweetheart, calm down. I’m fine,” he mused, grinning down at you. “They were wraiths. Nothing a little silver couldn’t fix.” He tilted his head, scanning you up and down. “You alright?”
“Me? You’re the one who’s bleeding everywhere!” you gawked, poking him hard in the stomach, earning a hurt grunt from Dean.
“Ouch. I liked when you were ‘worried about your husband’ wife,” he teased, smirking.
“Of course I was worried! Dean, if anything happened to you while I was–” you let out a long exhale, rubbing a hand over your face. “Dean, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.”
His expression immediately softened, his palm coming up to cup your cheek. “I’m alright. Really. It ain’t your fault you passed out. Last I checked, people usually react like that when they get their lifeforce drained a little.” His thumb swiped over the apple of your cheek, a small smile gracing his lips, making him all the more ruggedly handsome. “Besides, I like takin’ care of my wife.”
Despite yourself, you let out a weak laugh, touching his forearm. “You’re so annoying,” you murmured, but a warm flush was already climbing up your face. Why did this always happen around him? “Stop calling me that.”
“Sorry,” he grinned unapologetically.
He helped you to the hallway, guiding you to sit on a small bench. Once you were comfortable, he slumped down beside you, casually stretching his legs out. Police and hotel guests were walking up and down the hallway, and you were suddenly aware of the sirens outside. “So… what happened?” you asked.
“Hm. Long story short, the wraiths were feeding on a young couple every other year to stay strong,” he smiled at you, watching your reaction. “And get this: the staff weren’t in on it. They just went along with their weird ass policies. Crazy, huh?”
You shook your head, leaning your head against his shoulder. “I feel exhausted,” you admitted.
Dean frowned. “Woah, are you still sick? Do you need to lie down?”
You laughed, shaking your head. “No, Dean. Well, maybe. I don’t know. It’s been a long night.” Your hand found his in his lap. Dean’s eyes widened slightly, staring at your hand, then drifting up to your face. His fingers tentatively closed around yours.
“Hey, y'know, you’d make a good husband,” you murmured absentmindedly, feeling the exhaustion of the evening creeping up on you. He stiffened slightly against you, though you were too tired to notice.
“You mean that?” he murmured. But you were already gone.
Dean stared down at your sleeping form against his side. He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head, warmth crawling up the back of his neck and face. “Damn it.”
|| note: ugh can they just kiss already? Anyway, thank you for all the love on my first post ❤️! ill try to keep writing more fics, so feel free to let me know what people would be interested in or if you have any suggestions for stories! I do have a smut drabble I’m thinking on rn so may drop that tomorrow if people are interested 👀
Summary: Sam is called to help Jody with a case, but finds himself surrounded by screaming voices - which leads him to his worst nightmare.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jody and Claire. Mentions Alex, Bobby and Castiel. No pairings.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, canon-level violence, blood.
Genre: Thriller? Action? Might be scary, I dunno.
Word count: 5173
A/N: I am weird and I sometimes find memes that inspire me to write fanfics - like the one I put at the end of this story. I'm trying to finish the WIPs I have laying around, and this is one I am very excited to finally finish. Please let me know what you think of it. Have fun!
RUN!
Sam
The forest is eerily quiet. Too quiet. As if there’s a predator prowling somewhere and all the other animals know to hide. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. The monster must be onto them. He turns around to whisper just that, but his words never leave his mouth. Dean isn’t there.
He blinks, confused. “Dean?”
The eldest Winchester was right behind him, but now he’s gone. Something is wrong; He would never leave him like this.
“Dean?” Sam’s whisper grows more frantic as he searches the ground for footprints. There are only one set of prints: his own. The bushes rustle as he pushes them aside, looking around in the dusk. They are losing daylight fast, and Dean was carrying the torch that works.
“Quit messing around, Dean. It’s not fun anymore!” He didn’t mean for his voice to break, but the image of a wendigo sinking its claws into his brother and hanging him up in a cave somewhere for storage, went through his head like a nightmare.
“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”
Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.
Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.
Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”
Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.
“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.
The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.
“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.
“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.
Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.
Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.
14 hours earlier
Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.
“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”
“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.
Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”
Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.
“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.
Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.
Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.
“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”
Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”
“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”
“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”
“But what about the-” Dean starts.
“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”
“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”
Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.
A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”
Sam
The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.
“Dean?”
The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”
Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?
Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?
He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
He should get out of there.
Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.
No, not Nick: Him.
Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.
Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:
He is back.
Dean
“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”
Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.
“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.
He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”
“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”
“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.
“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.
“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”
Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”
“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.
“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.
“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.
“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”
She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”
“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.
“Owen? You okay?”
He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.
“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.
The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.
“RUN!” she shouts at him,
“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.
“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.
“Mommy? I’m scared.”
Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.
The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.
Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.
She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.
“Start, dammit. START!”
The window on her son’s side breaks.
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
An hour earlier
“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”
She shakes her head.
“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”
Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”
They turn towards it, seeing nothing.
Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.
“Run”
They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.
He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.
The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.
“Run. RUN. RUN!”
A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.
Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.
“JODY!”
His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.
A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.
Fucking crows.
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.
Run.
Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!
Run.
Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.
Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”
Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.
“NOOOOOOO!”
Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.
Grab the stick.
Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.
Car.
Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.
No…
The glass breaks.
No!
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
Dean
Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.
A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.
Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.
A shadow passes the light.
Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.
Sam
Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.
“Dean?”
The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.
Backpack.
Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.
Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.
Stay away from the clearing.
As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.
Not the rock.
He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.
Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.
“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”
Not real.
It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.
“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.
Not real.
Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.
“SAM!”
Dean? Is he here?
The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.
“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”
Is this another trick?
“Come on, man. I got you.”
Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.
No more…
“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”
Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.
He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.
Please stop…
Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…
Quiet.
Dean
“Goddammit, Sam!”
Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.
“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”
Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.
Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.
“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”
“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.
Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”
The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”
“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”
“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.
“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”
“Thank God.”
“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”
“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.
“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.
“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”
Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.
“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”
“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”
Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”
As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.
Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”
The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.
Claire
The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.
Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.
Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.
She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?
The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.
“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.
As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!
Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.
It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.
“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.
“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”
Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.
“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”
Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.
“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.
Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.
Sam
It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.
“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”
Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.
“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.
“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.
Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”
“So, crows huh?”
“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”
“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”
“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.
“Murder.”
“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”
Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”
Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”
Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.
“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”
Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”
A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”
A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.
Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!
Here's the meme I based it on:
Credit: I think the meme originates from @cyberstrikebeast and @crack--attack - but I couldn't find it on their blog. Tagging them just in case :)
Summary: Sam is called to help Jody with a case, but finds himself surrounded by screaming voices - which leads him to his worst nightmare.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jody and Claire. Mentions Alex, Bobby and Castiel. No pairings.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, canon-level violence, blood.
Genre: Thriller? Action? Might be scary, I dunno.
Word count: 5173
A/N: I am weird and I sometimes find memes that inspire me to write fanfics - like the one I put at the end of this story. I'm trying to finish the WIPs I have laying around, and this is one I am very excited to finally finish. Please let me know what you think of it. Have fun!
RUN!
Sam
The forest is eerily quiet. Too quiet. As if there’s a predator prowling somewhere and all the other animals know to hide. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. The monster must be onto them. He turns around to whisper just that, but his words never leave his mouth. Dean isn’t there.
He blinks, confused. “Dean?”
The eldest Winchester was right behind him, but now he’s gone. Something is wrong; He would never leave him like this.
“Dean?” Sam’s whisper grows more frantic as he searches the ground for footprints. There are only one set of prints: his own. The bushes rustle as he pushes them aside, looking around in the dusk. They are losing daylight fast, and Dean was carrying the torch that works.
“Quit messing around, Dean. It’s not fun anymore!” He didn’t mean for his voice to break, but the image of a wendigo sinking its claws into his brother and hanging him up in a cave somewhere for storage, went through his head like a nightmare.
“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”
Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.
Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.
Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”
Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.
“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.
The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.
“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.
“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.
Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.
Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.
14 hours earlier
Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.
“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”
“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.
Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”
Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.
“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.
Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.
Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.
“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”
Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”
“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”
“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”
“But what about the-” Dean starts.
“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”
“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”
Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.
A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”
Sam
The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.
“Dean?”
The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”
Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?
Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?
He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
He should get out of there.
Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.
No, not Nick: Him.
Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.
Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:
He is back.
Dean
“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”
Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.
“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.
He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”
“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”
“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.
“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.
“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”
Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”
“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.
“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.
“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.
“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”
She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”
“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.
“Owen? You okay?”
He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.
“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.
The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.
“RUN!” she shouts at him,
“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.
“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.
“Mommy? I’m scared.”
Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.
The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.
Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.
She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.
“Start, dammit. START!”
The window on her son’s side breaks.
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
An hour earlier
“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”
She shakes her head.
“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”
Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”
They turn towards it, seeing nothing.
Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.
“Run”
They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.
He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.
The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.
“Run. RUN. RUN!”
A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.
Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.
“JODY!”
His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.
A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.
Fucking crows.
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.
Run.
Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!
Run.
Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.
Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”
Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.
“NOOOOOOO!”
Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.
Grab the stick.
Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.
Car.
Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.
No…
The glass breaks.
No!
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
Dean
Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.
A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.
Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.
A shadow passes the light.
Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.
Sam
Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.
“Dean?”
The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.
Backpack.
Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.
Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.
Stay away from the clearing.
As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.
Not the rock.
He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.
Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.
“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”
Not real.
It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.
“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.
Not real.
Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.
“SAM!”
Dean? Is he here?
The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.
“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”
Is this another trick?
“Come on, man. I got you.”
Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.
No more…
“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”
Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.
He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.
Please stop…
Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…
Quiet.
Dean
“Goddammit, Sam!”
Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.
“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”
Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.
Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.
“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”
“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.
Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”
The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”
“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”
“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.
“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”
“Thank God.”
“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”
“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.
“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.
“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”
Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.
“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”
“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”
Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”
As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.
Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”
The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.
Claire
The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.
Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.
Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.
She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?
The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.
“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.
As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!
Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.
It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.
“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.
“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”
Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.
“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”
Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.
“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.
Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.
Sam
It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.
“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”
Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.
“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.
“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.
Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”
“So, crows huh?”
“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”
“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”
“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.
“Murder.”
“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”
Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”
Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”
Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.
“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”
Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”
A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”
A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.
Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!
Here's the meme I based it on:
Credit: I think the meme originates from @cyberstrikebeast and @crack--attack - but I couldn't find it on their blog. Tagging them just in case :)
Summary: Sam is called to help Jody with a case, but finds himself surrounded by screaming voices - which leads him to his worst nightmare.
Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jody and Claire. Mentions Alex, Bobby and Castiel. No pairings.
Warnings: Cursing, angst, canon-level violence, blood.
Genre: Thriller? Action? Might be scary, I dunno.
Word count: 5173
A/N: I am weird and I sometimes find memes that inspire me to write fanfics - like the one I put at the end of this story. I'm trying to finish the WIPs I have laying around, and this is one I am very excited to finally finish. Please let me know what you think of it. Have fun!
RUN!
Sam
The forest is eerily quiet. Too quiet. As if there’s a predator prowling somewhere and all the other animals know to hide. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. The monster must be onto them. He turns around to whisper just that, but his words never leave his mouth. Dean isn’t there.
He blinks, confused. “Dean?”
The eldest Winchester was right behind him, but now he’s gone. Something is wrong; He would never leave him like this.
“Dean?” Sam’s whisper grows more frantic as he searches the ground for footprints. There are only one set of prints: his own. The bushes rustle as he pushes them aside, looking around in the dusk. They are losing daylight fast, and Dean was carrying the torch that works.
“Quit messing around, Dean. It’s not fun anymore!” He didn’t mean for his voice to break, but the image of a wendigo sinking its claws into his brother and hanging him up in a cave somewhere for storage, went through his head like a nightmare.
“Seriously: If you’re just hiding, I’m gonna kick your ass!”
Sam prepares his gun, cocks it and starts fumbling around in his backpack for some of the flares they brought – but they’re all gone. Shit.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. The only thing he can hear now, though, is his own heavy breathing. He scans the area but still can’t see his brother or whatever the hell is hunting him now.
Leaves rustle behind him, he turns, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
“I’m right here, asshole! Come get me!” he finally shouts into the forest, aiming at every shadow he can see.
Then, the voice finally becomes clearer: “Run”
Sam spins towards it, but there’s still nothing there.
“Run,” it repeats – now to Sam’s left.
The hair on his neck stands up, as he realizes the wendigo must be messing with him by mimicking voices.
“Run. Run. Run,” the voice repeats itself over and over, seemingly from all around him now.
“RUN!” it shouts right next to his ear.
Sam’s body starts running before he can even think which direction is a good idea, he just speeds off away from the voice. Crashing through the low branches, splashing up mud and leaves in his trail, he barrels ahead until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” someone drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my dear bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s blood freezes: He knows that voice far too well.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
“N..n..no…” Sam stammers, watching helplessly as Lucifer’s red eyes bore into him. The rock and the clearing disappear with a snap, and he finds himself back where he never thought he would have to return. Iron bars surround them, with intricate carvings of ancient Enochian runes.
Eyes wide in fear, his pupils as small as pinpricks, Sam huddles against the cage as the devil approaches in his true, horrible form. Sulphur and scorching heat fill his senses, then the pain begins.
14 hours earlier
Sam’s phone buzzes and lights up from underneath the papers scattered on the motel bed. He carefully places the old book down with his pencil to mark the page he was on, picks up the phone and immediately smiles.
“It’s Jody!” he announces to Dean, currently at the small table with a half-eaten burger, before swiping and holding the screen up to his ear. “Hey Jody, how are you?” Dean raises a hand stained with BBQ-sauce at him. “Dean says hi.”
“Uh huh. Wow, really? Four hikers and no witnesses?” Sam sits up straighter on his bed, planting his feet on the floor, balancing his phone between his ear and shoulder as he begins shifting books and papers.
Dean frowns, sucking the sauce from his fingers. “What’s going on?”
Sam holds up a finger, as he listens to what Jody says on the other end, adding “mhm” every now and then.
“Dude: put it on speaker already!” Dean throws a balled-up wrapper at the younger one, who easily dodges it – his phone still precariously pressed to his cheek while his hands are busy stuffing papers into folders and books onto the nightstand. He does find time to flip his brother off, though.
“Yeah, I’ll be there in a few hours. Send me the files and I’ll look at it. Thanks. See ya soon.” Sam hangs up, tucking his phone in his pocket and already packing his bag.
Dean stuffs the rest of his burger into his mouth before looking expectantly at his brother. “Well?” Bits of food fall out on his shirt.
Sam frowns at him, halfway through putting on his jacket. “Your eating habits are disgusting, dude,” who continues chewing and waves his hand for him to keep talking.
“Jody has a case on a mountain trail: four missing hikers, no bodies and two witnesses say they heard someone shout ‘run’. No footprints, no blood – nothing.”
Dean sets down his beer bottle, having washed down the last of his meal with it. “So, not a cougar or bear either?” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“No, and their cell phones have all been turned off, so they can’t track them with that either. She’s sending me the case files, and I’ll look at it on the way over.”
“We still need to wrap up the case we have here and you’re already on another one? What, you’re just going to take Baby and leave me here?”
“Actually, I’m going to head over to the station and take a bus. Makes it easier to read on the way there.”
“But what about the-” Dean starts.
“We already know where the bones are and you just have to go burn’em.” Sam is already halfway to the door, but he stops and pats his brother on his shoulder a little too hard. “You got this.”
“You just don’t wanna dig up a grave, asshole!” Dean shrugs off the hand. “And now I gotta do it all on my own?”
Sam chuckles, offering a smug smile. “You’re strong, Dean. I believe in you.” Then he shuts the door and is gone. Dean flips off the door and shouts “Bitch!” after him.
A few seconds later he gets a text: “Jerk”
Sam
The forest is eerily silent: As if all the other animals know there’s a predator nearby. Sam is the first to notice and he holds up his hand, signalling his brother to stop. He turns around to whisper about the lack of sounds, but he stops dead. Dean is gone.
“Dean?”
The trees stay quiet and his brother stays hidden. “Dude, it’s not funny.”
Wait. This seems familiar, hasn’t he been here before?
Sam starts looking for footprints, but he somehow already knows Dean’s won’t be there. And Dean had the only working torch too. The backpack! They have some flares in there, right? Or…?
He empties it on the forest floor: no flares. Typical. Sam pulls out his gun, ain’t no way he’s going down without a fight. That wendigo is going to bleed.
A branch nearby snaps, and Sam quickly points his gun in that direction. He could have sworn he heard someone say something. Leaves then rustle behind him, he turns again, seeing nothing. Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from.
He should get out of there.
Before long, the voice seems to be all around him and he can finally make out what it says: “run, run, RUN, RUN!” He wastes no time in listening and thunders through the trees until he finds a clearing with a large rock in the middle. He throws himself behind it, lungs aching, his own pulse rushing through in his ears.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice drawls from above. “What have we here? Has my favourite bunk buddy come to visit little old me?”
Sam’s head jolts up: He knows that voice far too well. Hardly believing it, he watches as Nick effortlessly jumps down and lands in front of him, red eyes almost glowing.
No, not Nick: Him.
Fear races through Sam, gluing him to the spot, unable to move.
“Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea.”
A snap of fingers, then: Pain. Enochian carved into iron bars. Sulphur. Heat.
Every part of Sam’s mind screams that this shouldn’t be possible, but all his senses confirm what he fears:
He is back.
Dean
“Alright, Jody. Where’s Sam?”
Dean gently pats Jody on her back as he untangles himself from the hug and looks around above her head.
“He went jogging earlier this morning. Said he’d be gone for an hour or so, but that was over two hours ago.” She steps back to allow Dean inside.
He plops his duffel bag down and frowns at his phone. “No messages here. Did he tell you where he went?”
“Just his usual round up in the woods. The one he always takes when he’s out here.”
“The one he always… I ain’t seen him jogging when we’ve spent the night. Ever.” Dean huffs and shrugs off his jacket, making sure to use the hanger Jody hands him. He learned long ago not to just throw it on a chair when visiting her house.
“That’s because you sleep until noon, Dean. Sam has always gone for a run before crack of dawn,” she laughs, straightening the boots he left in the middle of the hall.
“Yeah, well… Your cooking always makes me sleepy,” Dean smiles, touching her shoulder as he makes his way towards the guest room. “You tried calling him?”
Jody nods, following him further into the house. “Yup. Straight to voicemail.”
“No ping on his phone either?” He has reached Sam’s backpack and starts rifling through some of the papers he left out on the bed: scattered notes and a map of the surrounding area with some red marks on it.
“Last location was on the parking lot before the trail.” Jody leans against the doorway as she watches him lift one thing after the other and toss it back on the bed.
“Shit.” Dean slides his hand down his face, sighing. “I gotta go after him. Did you guys figure out what it was? And did you try his backup phone?” He’s already looking through Sam’s backpack to see which weapons are missing. The angel blade and witch-killing bullets are gone.
“He has a backup phone? Should have said so sooner!” She disappears into her office and returns with her laptop, ready to search the number Dean tells her. “And no: we weren’t sure but have narrowed it down to a wendigo, ghoul or djinn. All of them are likely to keep their victims, since we couldn’t find any sign of them.”
She taps on her keyboard and smiles. “Yes! Found him!” She turns the screen towards him: “He’s way off the trail… The gps puts him around two miles into the forest, in the abandoned old sawmill from before all the machines took over.”
“Here, mark it on this. I’m heading out there in ten.” Dean hands her the map from the bed and looks around: “Where’s the damn lamb’s blood?”
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to her son, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles, leaning up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; can’t believe I haven’t been here before.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son again.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but something about the way he’s stood makes Jody frown.
“Owen? You okay?”
He doesn’t answer her, just keeps staring and pointing his stick at something in the forest. As she approaches him, she notices that his arm is shaking.
“Owen? What…” She is about to ask what’s wrong, before she spots what he’s pointing at: Around 50 feet from her son, there’s someone crouched on the ground. Their back is moving as if they are searching for something. Her hand reaches instinctively towards her gun, but she’s off-duty and the gun is locked into the safe back at their house.
The person crouching lifts their head and sniffs the air. Why would they sniff? Then it turns around and Jody almost screams. The man’s face is covered in red and the thing it was crouched over? That was a dead animal, probably a fawn. She grabs Owen by his hand and starts running towards her husband, who still haven’t seen the bloodied man that is now moving towards them.
“RUN!” she shouts at him,
“Honey? What’s going on…” and that’s all he’s able to say before another bloodied person rams into him from the side, knocking him over.
“No…” she gasps, still holding her son’s arm – both now rooted to the ground in shock as the sound of ripping flesh and gargled screams reach them.
“Mommy? I’m scared.”
Jody realizes she cannot save her husband, making a split-second decision to at least save her son. She spins around and sees that the first man is now only 20 feet away from them and approaching fast. Unnaturally fast, fresh blood covering the lower half of his face and all over his front.
The adrenaline in her makes the world almost slow down as she spots the stick her son is still holding, her only weapon now. She grabs it, quickly shielding her child behind her and jabs it into the attacker the only place she can think of: his neck.
Blood squirts, the attacker falters – but not for long. With the stick still embedded into his jugular vein, he gargles a roar and continues to grab after Owen. Jody kicks him away with a scream so feral it sounds like a lioness defending her cubs. Filled with inhumane strength she lifts her son and runs towards their car.
She jumps into the driver’s seat, Owen on her lap and slams the door shut. He scrambles to the passenger seat just as the bloody man starts pounding on the window. “Hurry mom! HURRY!” The damn car stalls, oil lamp blinking and alerts going off about proximity alerts.
“Start, dammit. START!”
The window on her son’s side breaks.
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
An hour earlier
“Stay close,” Dean whispers behind him and Jody picks up her pace. “Do you hear that?”
She shakes her head.
“Exactly. Not a sound. There’s a hunter out here.” Dean points his gun on one shadow after the other. “And it’s not us.”
Leaves rustle and a word is carried through the forest: “run”
They turn towards it, seeing nothing.
Jody looks to Dean, who shakes his head. Don’t move, he mouths.
“Run”
They turn as one towards the sound, now behind them and closer. Jody almost takes off but is held back by a firm hand. “Stay still,” Dean whispers more intently. He knows this game: whatever is hunting them is trying to herd them into a trap. Gun in one hand, machete in the other, they stand back-to-back, ready for whatever is approaching.
He senses more than hears a flutter of wings before more voices appear and he can feel Jody trembling behind him, her breath fast and shallow.
The word is repeated all around them, louder and louder.
“Run. RUN. RUN!”
A branch breaks and a big shadow moves in their direction. Jody screams, fires her gun and takes off before Dean can hold her back. A high pitched, metallic sound pierces the quiet, and Dean realizes it belongs to a large elk barrelling towards him. The gunshot spooked it even more than the voices and Dean has no choice but to dive to the side, avoiding its antlers as it races after his colleague.
Surrounded by faceless voices, Dean follows the trail of broken twigs until he’s out of breath and alone. No Jody, no voices, no damn elk and worst of all: no more trail.
“JODY!”
His shout echoes in the forest and a flock of dark birds takes off from a nearby tree. As they pass above him, he catches their un-natural chatter – almost like they are talking.
A chill rushes down his back as the realization hits: Crows.
Fucking crows.
Jody
“Hey, sweetie? Don’t go too far from the path, okay?” Jody shouts ahead to Owen, who is currently holding an L-shaped stick like a gun and pretending to shoot zombies. The 8-year-old smiles back at her. “I won’t, mom!”
“He’s just having fun, honey.” Sean grabs his wife’s hand and kisses it. “I’m glad you could get out of work for a while.”
Jody smiles and reaches up to kiss him properly. “I’m glad too. This trail is wonderful; It feels like I’ve been here before, I just can’t remember when.” She cups his face in her hand and gives him a final peck on his nose before turning her attention to her son.
The boy is pointing at an invisible enemy again, but the way he’s shaking makes Jody frown.
Run.
Something is wrong. Terribly wrong. She should have brought her gun!
Run.
Her body reacts on instinct, rushing towards her son and lifts him up as the person he was pointing at reveals his blood-covered face.
Running towards her husband, she screams louder than she ever has before as if expecting him to be the next target: “Run, Sean! RUN!”
Time seems to slow down as another person, covered in blood, crashes into him and rips off his skin. The noises are nightmarish: gargling screams as his throat is opened, thick drops of blood splashing on the ground.
“NOOOOOOO!”
Jody turns towards the first person, the one chasing her and Owen, and he is too close. Closer than he should be.
Grab the stick.
Owen’s stick is ripped from him by his mother and finds its new spot in their attacker’s neck. He barely slows down, but Jody is already running away.
Car.
Yes: the car! She lunges into it, Owen scuttling over to the passenger seat as more bloody people surround them.
No…
The glass breaks.
No!
“MOM!”
“OWEN!”
Dean
Having followed the crows until he found his position on the map and ensuring he wasn’t hunted, Dean arrives at the derelict sawmill: Grey walls of worn, old sidings, barely standing up on their own. Rust-coloured trails under every nail, serving as witnesses of the time passed. Moss-covered logs lay scattered amongst trees of different sizes, a fir tree poking out of a hole in the sunken roof. Nature has claimed it back.
A faint glow of moving light falls from one of the broken windows as dusk settles over the forest: Fire.
Dean inches closer, the stake soaked in lamb’s blood in his pocket, his machete in one hand and his gun with witch-killing bullets in the other.
A shadow passes the light.
Someone is there. Sam and Jody better damn well be alive.
Sam
Sam is the first to notice how quiet the forest is, and he signals his brother to stop before turning around.
“Dean?”
The silence around him is deafening now. No brother, no birds, no movements. He’s all alone and he knows it. Somehow, he just knows that Dean was never there. A quick look at the ground confirms it: the only footprints are his own large ones.
Backpack.
Sam cocks his gun and searches his backpack for the flares he already knows aren’t there. It feels like a sick kind of déjà vu when a branch nearby snaps, Sam quickly pointing his gun in that direction.
Sam hears what seems to be a voice approaching, repeating a single word – but he can’t make out which word and where or who it’s coming from. He just knows he should move, and fast. As the word “run” approaches him, he leaves the backpack and tries to put as much distance between the voice and himself.
Stay away from the clearing.
As the voice surrounds him like a nightmare, he sees a giant rock in a clearing and runs towards it, hoping it will provide some shelter.
Not the rock.
He stops as the idea hits him. Something is wrong. He should stay away from the rock, but the adrenaline pushes him onward as “RUN! RUN! RUN!” surround him.
Then: A snap of fingers. Everything changes: Sulphur. Heat. Enochian covered bars.
“Well, well, well: Sam Winchester. My favourite bunk buddy.”
Not real.
It can’t be real. He can’t be back. His aching lungs are filled with the stench of decay, ash, rotting flesh. No. No, no, no.
“Welcome back,” the vessel Nick laughs, eyes glowing red.
Not real.
Sam backs up against the cage as Lucifer approaches, changing into his true, horrible form before him. Then the pain begins.
“SAM!”
Dean? Is he here?
The devil is punching Sam’s face, making his head loll uselessly into the iron bars with each hit. The pain is unbearable and Sam’s eyes are already swollen shut.
“Sam, wake up buddy. Wake up!”
Is this another trick?
“Come on, man. I got you.”
Sam’s arms fall from their shackles above him, making his entire body rest on Lucifer’s thorny shoulders, biting into his chest.
No more…
“That’s it, little brother. Breathe.”
Dean never says little brother. It’s not real. It’s still Lucifer with his tricks.
He’s thrown to the ground, knocking the air out of him. Sam barely manages to shrink into fetal position, hiding his head as the devil scratches at his arms and legs. The smell of thick smoke filling his nostrils.
Please stop…
Darkness envelops Sam’s mind as his brother’s voice shouts his name in the background. No more pain. Just…
Quiet.
Dean
“Goddammit, Sam!”
Dean slaps his brother’s face again, just to get any reaction from him. Sam’s giant limbs wrap around himself, shielding whatever he can before he suddenly goes limp.
“No, no… Stay with me, Sam. SAM!”
Dean looks desperately around the now burning old sawmill. The flames are spreading faster than he thought they would, from where he dumped the Djinn’s corpse into its own campfire.
Jody is too injured to help carry Sam, but she still manages to throw some of the victims’ personal effects into a backpack she found: Wallets, wristwatches, pieces of clothing, a few phones.
“Dean, this is a death trap! We gotta go,” she shouts at him as the flames reach the ceiling – spurred on by the dried wood and old sawdust. “Now!”
“Yeah, no shit!” he shouts back as a big beam falls from the ceiling onto the campfire, spreading sparks and burning debris everywhere.
Dean opens his brother’s limbs and manoeuvres the unconscious giant up into a fireman carry style; one arm over his left shoulder, one giant leg over the other. The weight makes him groan: “Why do you have to be so damn heavy, man?”
The heat grows dangerously close, but Dean manages to get them both out before it collapses in a sea of sparks and smoke behind them. Jody, nursing her arm, leans on a nearby pine tree. “That… Was a little too close for comfort.”
“You’re telling me…” Dean shrugs his brother carefully to the ground. “I thought I was literal toast there for a second.”
“How’s he doing?” She nods at Sam.
“Hard to tell.” Dean crouches down to check the pulse. “He’s alive at least. That’s good.”
“Thank God.”
“Well… Thank something, at least.” Dean starts checking his brother for more injuries. “Seems like the djinn only hurt him before he strung him up, at least.”
“Yeah, I don’t recommend hanging by a broken arm,” Jody’s laugh is hollow as she indicates her own arm.
“Oh, shit! Lemme see that.” Dean makes sure his brother is lying somewhat comfortable before he tends to Jody’s arm.
“Yeah, that’s broken. At least it’s not an open break. Want me to set it now?”
Jody nods, gritting her teeth and looks the other way. Dean deftly pulls the bone in place and starts wrapping it up with strips from his own shirt. He tears off the rest of his flannel to do a make-shift sling for her.
“There,” he says, admiring his work. “That should do until we get to a hospital.”
“Speaking of,” Jody grimaces. “How the hell do we get back?”
Dean nods, looking over at his still unconscious brother. “Good question.”
As if on cue, they hear the low rumble of a car in the distance.
Jody looks from the unconscious dead weight that is Sam to Dean. “You go flag them down, maybe they saw the smoke?”
The eldest Winchester nods and sets off towards the sound, thankfully away from the burning sawmill.
Claire
The map Jody had left on the dining table is haphazardly spread out on the truck’s dashboard. Claire stops on a hilltop to compare the little she can see of the forest in the dark to the map and then to her phone’s app. The sawmill should be maybe half a mile further up the old road, but it’s impossible to know for sure.
Jody’s note said where they went and why: Sam was in trouble. Technically, the note ALSO said not to come alone and send backup – but Claire’s never been good at following orders like that.
Besides, they were supposed to be back at 6 pm, and it is way past that by now. There’s no point calling the Sheriff about a missing person when the missing person is the Sheriff herself, so Claire figured she might as well drive over there to check it out. After calling Bobby, of course.
She sighs, looking out of her the windscreen. This was a dumb idea. What the hell does she really know about hunting, if even Sam got caught? And Dean and Jody too?
The truck sputters and jerks ahead a little, engine choking itself off.
“Argh… stupid clutch!” She pounds the steering wheel, blaming it for the betrayal of the entire car.
As the lights turn off inside the vehicle, she spots a low and golden glow in the distance. Above the glow there’s a low cloud. No… Smoke. Fire!
Without hesitating, Claire slams down on the clutch and starts the engine again, confident that setting stuff on fire is on par with what Dean would do to either call for help or cause a distraction. He might be old and a menace, but at least he’s a predictable one.
It doesn’t take long until the boomer himself is in the middle of the road, waving a flashlight to stop her.
“You have no idea how glad I am to see you, kiddo!” he grins, soot-covered face and all.
“You the one starting forest fires out here?” she shoots back, nodding in the direction of the glow.
“More like staking and barbequing a damn djinn, actually.” He’s out of breath but still manages to make a smug face, which quickly change into his serious one. “Jody and Sam are hurt, and you got here just in time. Come on.”
Together, they bring some water and a blanket from the truck to where Jody and Sam are huddled together. Jody’s arm is in a makeshift sling and Sam… Sam is passed out and horribly pale.
“You help Jody, I got Sasquatch.”
Claire stares at the man on the ground. He doesn’t even look like himself, like it’s like it’s just Sam’s shell there. The real Sam always smiles whenever he sees her.
“Claire!” Dean’s shout snaps her out of it, and she wraps one arm around Jody, helping her back towards the road.
Dean grunts as he heaves his brother up on his shoulders. He might be old, but the guy sure is strong.
Sam
It takes him two days to get out of bed, after following Alex’s strict regime of iron supplements, red meat diet and lots of broccoli and orange juice. She had stitched up his cuts too, and he had to admit that her sewing skills were a lot better than Dean’s – especially since she used actual medical equipment and not whatever needle and dental floss that was lying around.
“Well, well: Look who’s finally up. Good morning, Sleeping Beauty!”
Sam flips off his brother and sinks into the kitchen chair with hiss. Bruised ribs aren’t fun this time around either.
“Ha ha, Dean. That stopped being fun yesterday,” he grunts, but accepts the cup of coffee anyway. Dean might be all mouthy and rude, but he still makes sure that Sam eats and heals properly. Castiel can’t get here fast enough, in Sam’s opinion.
“You heading out again today?” Sam jerks his head towards the hunting rifle leaning next to the kitchen door.
Dean empties his cup and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “Yup, I think there’s at least three or four more of those winged assholes out there.”
“So, crows huh?”
“Crows,” Dean nods. “Those damn birds were herding people like sheep to slaughter.”
“Can’t believe the djinn actually managed to train them to do that.”
“They’re smart as hell too! Once they see me coming, they scatter. At least after I took down half their flock.” Dean mimics shooting into the air a few times, then moves towards the actual weapon.
“Murder.”
“Fine: Murdered half their flock.”
Sam sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “No, Dean. A flock of crows is called a murder. Pride of lions, school of fish, murder of crows.”
Dean waves him off “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, nerd.” He picks up the rifle and checks the chamber. “They’re about to be dead murdering crows soon, anyway.”
Sam frowns, setting his cup down. “Hey, there’s one thing I don’t get.”
“Hm?” His brother is kneeling to tie up his boots, rifle slung onto his back.
“Djinns usually give people happy dreams, right? To keep them calm? So, why did Jody and I have those nightmares?”
Dean shrugs, standing up. “I dunno. How many nightmares did you have?”
A chill runs down Sam’s spine as images from his ordeal flash before his eyes: “All of them.”
A/N: So, what do you think? Let me know in the comments or as a reblog. I hope the different perspectives and dreams weren't too confusing.
Check out my other stories over at my Masterlist!
Here's the meme I based it on:
Credit: I think the meme originates from @cyberstrikebeast and @crack--attack - but I couldn't find it on their blog. Tagging them just in case :)
Written for @storytellers-contest-tjac . Beta-read by @zepskies - thank you so much, Alex! And thank you to my bestie, @jensensgotyoudean - for your advice and ever-present support! Love you, mah Liz! 💖 Quotes on the header and at the end of the fic are lyrics from Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac. Dividers by @firefly-graphics.
Reenie Green is a close friend, and when you end up in a dangerous situation through no fault of your own, she calls the Shaw brothers, Colter and Russell, for help. Russell has always worked under the self-imposed rule that you do the job, then walk away. But since he met you, he's having a hard time letting this one go.
Russell helped himself to another beer, plopping down next to the small table in Colter’s trailer. He leaned back against the wall, stretching his long legs out on the bench seat with a sigh. Personally, he didn’t know how his brother spent so much time in this tin can, but to each his own.
Colter’s phone began to ring, and Russell craned his neck to peer over at the screen. Reenie. He grinned to himself and grabbed the phone, swiping to put her on speaker. “Reenie! How’s it going?”
“Russell? Why are you answering Colter’s phone?”
“Well, he happens to be in the shower at the moment, and I saw it was you, so – figured you’d want to say hi, anyway, right?”
Reenie could picture the cocky smirk on his face clearly, but she didn’t have time for their usual back and forth. “This is serious, Russell.”
He sat up straight, his demeanor immediately shifting. “Okay, got it. What do you need?”
“My client is in big trouble. Well, my friend – haven’t convinced her yet to be my client. Not the point.” She took a deep breath to calm herself before she went on. “The point is, she’s been kidnapped. Her brother called me a few minutes ago. He’s a computer whiz – a former hacker, actually – and some very bad people have been trying to recruit him. He’s been staying clear of them, but last night they took his sister, and they’re threatening to hurt her or kill her if he doesn’t do what they want him to do.”
“Does he know where they’re keeping her?”
“They’re holding her at his house. He’s afraid if he shows up there, they’ll force him into doing what they want and kill them both.”
Russell nodded, teeth worrying at his lower lip. “He’s probably not wrong. Can you send us the address?” Colter was out of the shower now, listening with a concerned frown as he stood there, towel around his waist.
“I will. Can you help?”
Colter looked at his brother, then nodded. “Yeah. Send us whatever info you’ve got. We’re on our way.”
Your eyes opened reluctantly, drifting closed again a few times before you managed to keep them open. Your head was pounding, your body ached, and – you were cold. Awareness slowly seeped in, and you managed to hold your head up, taking in your surroundings. Your pulse began to race as you realized you had no idea where you were.
You tried to move, but your arms were bound behind you, around the pole that you were propped against. It felt like a zip tie, and it dug painfully into your wrists as you tested it. The light was dim, but you could see that you were in a large, mostly empty room with a concrete floor. It was chilly against your legs, and you realized you were wearing the camisole and shorts that you had gone to bed in. No wonder you were cold.
The thought of shouting for help crossed your mind, but you quickly discarded it. The foggy memory of rough hands dragging you from your bed and covering your face with a rag told you the response wouldn’t be a friendly one. You could faintly hear male voices upstairs, and the sound of a TV. You bit your lips together, fighting panic and the tears that threatened. You needed to try to stay calm, be observant, and do what you had to do to make it through whatever was happening.
As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you made out the shape of a bike against the far wall. Back in the corner was an old foosball table, a baseball bat leaning against it. It seemed familiar – and your eyes widened as you realized where you were – in your brother’s basement. You rested your head back against the pole and closed your eyes, a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. So Grant was in trouble, and you were obviously bait – or leverage.
You sat there for what seemed like forever, no indication of the hour, no windows to give a hint of what time of day it was. You had tried to work your hands free, but your wrists were rubbed raw and you had finally given up. No one had even bothered to come down and offer you water, or to take you to the bathroom. You had an awful feeling that they weren’t planning on keeping you alive.
A loud knock from the floor above startled you from the doze you had slipped into, and a loud, cheerful voice joined the other male voices you had heard previously. “Hey, is Grant around? Thought he might wanna join me and my brother to watch the game and have a few beers. Hi, I’m Russell, I was Grant’s roomie in college. I could tell you some stories.”
Your head hit the pole behind you with a dull thud, disappointment sinking the hope that it had been a rescuer knocking at the front door. A tear slipped down your cheek as you closed your eyes. Maybe Grant was already hurt, or dead. Maybe…
Your eyes flew open wide with panic as a large hand covered your mouth, and you began to struggle, terrified. “Shhhhh!” A whisper next to your ear made you freeze, your body trembling with fear. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay? My name’s Colter. I’m here to help you. But you have to stay quiet. If they hear us…” You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as his hand moved slowly away. “I’m gonna cut you loose.”
You felt the tension loosen on the zip tie around your wrists, and Colter moved around in front of you. “Do you think you can walk?” You nodded again, reaching for his hand as he pulled you to your feet, letting you stand for a moment to get your bearings. “We’re going up the back stairs and out the door. You get in the back seat of the pickup and lie down so no one can see you.” He gave your hand a squeeze. “Jesus, you’re freezing.” He stopped, taking off his jacket and helping you slip your arms into the sleeves. It was huge on you, but the warmth felt like heaven.
“Thank you,” you whispered hoarsely.
“Okay, here we go. Whatever happens, you go straight to that truck and get inside, right?” You nodded in reply, and he took hold of your hand again, leading you through the room with the help of a tiny flashlight. You recognized the short flight of steps up to the back door, and you followed him out, the grass cool on your bare feet as the two of you made your way to a large black truck. He opened the back door and helped you inside, and you laid down on the seat as he had directed, nervously waiting for what would come next. After all, as much as you appreciated the rescue, you didn’t know this man any better than the ones who had abducted you in the first place.
He climbed into the driver’s seat, sending a couple blasts of the horn into the otherwise still night, making you jump. “Russell, come on – we’re gonna miss kickoff!” he shouted out his window, then lowered his voice to speak to you again. “My brother is inside, he was our distraction. We’re friends of Reenie’s, she sent us to help you.” The mention of Reenie’s name sent a wave of relief through you, and you began to breathe a little easier.
A couple of minutes later, another man climbed into the pickup, turning his head to glance into the back seat as he closed his door. Colter spoke your name quietly. “This is my brother, Russell. We’re gonna take you to the motel, your brother’s there waiting for us.”
“Yes – okay – thank you,” you managed to say as the truck started up, and you headed down the road.
After a few minutes, Russell turned around to peer into the back seat. “You can sit up now if you want. We’re clear.” You raised yourself up slowly, wrapping the borrowed jacket tighter around you with a shiver. Russell looked at his brother, his voice a little impatient. “Turn up the heat, man – she’s freezing back there.” Then he turned his attention your way again, reaching across the back of his seat to hand you a bottle of water. “Here.” He flashed you a quick smile when you thanked him, and he watched as you drank, your eyes closing in relief as the cool liquid soothed your parched throat. “Better?”
You nodded, putting the lid back on the bottle. “Thank you. Thank you both.”
“Are you injured? Did they hurt you?” He asked softly, and you shook your head. His eyes never left you as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but notice how attractive he was, even in the dim light – dark hair, a neatly trimmed beard, beautiful eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I promise you’re gonna be okay. The police will meet us at the motel, and they said they’d contact your husband, let him know where you’ll be.”
His brows drew together at the expression on your face, the expression you were too tired and traumatized to disguise. “Everything okay?”
You took a shaky breath. “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. It’s just – he’s going to be so angry.”
Russell studied your expression, taking a beat before he responded. “I’m sure he is, but you’re safe and I’m sure that’s the most important thing to him, right?”
You let your gaze slide away from his, staring out the window as you gave a vague nod in answer. Russell shot a perceptive glance over to his brother, silent communication between the two of them.
You had just dozed off in the back seat of the pickup when it pulled up in front of the motel. You yawned, letting Russell help you out of the truck. “Where are we?” you asked, still disoriented as he escorted you to the door with a gentle hand on your back, pulling keys from his pocket.
“My motel room. Your brother is inside.” He let you into the room, fairly large with a worn hide-a-bed couch on one wall, a king-size bed and the usual tiny table with two chairs next to a counter with a coffee maker and mini fridge.
As soon as you stepped inside, Grant jumped up from the couch and grabbed you in a hug. “Are you okay?” Grant was shaking as he held you, his voice breaking as he spoke. “This was because of me, I’m so sorry. They were trying to force me to hack into some company’s financials, I… I never thought they’d involve you. I’m so...” Russell draped a blanket around your shoulders as you moved back from your brother’s embrace, wiping tears from your cheeks as you interrupted.
“Not your fault, Grant.” You sat down next to your brother, pulling your legs up underneath you and pulling the blanket tighter around you as he put an arm around your shoulders. Russell left the two of you to talk quietly, heading over to make a pot of coffee.
A couple of hours later, you headed back to the couch after being questioned by the local police. You let your head drop back, your eyes squeezed shut as you wished for the ordeal to be over. Reliving everything for the police was bad enough, and Vince, your husband, hadn’t even gotten there yet. You were dreading that, already knowing what his mood would be when he arrived.
“You doing okay?” Russell’s voice made you open your eyes and sit up straight, inhaling and expelling a deep breath. He was hunkered down in front of you, his eyes watching you closely.
“Hanging in there. Just wish this was all over.”
He gave you a kind smile. “Yeah, I get that, you’ve had a rough day. Your husband should be here shortly, and once the cops talk to him, he can take you home.” Russell watched as you tried to control your expression. “Listen – none of my business, but I noticed you haven’t been too excited at the thought of your husband showing up. If you need help – just say the word. We can get you somewhere safe.”
You looked into his eyes, yours welling with tears that you managed to keep from spilling over. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Just really tired, and not looking forward to his temper when he hears about all this. I didn’t mean to make you think…”
Russell shook his head. “No problem, I get it. But if you ever do need help – call Reenie and let her know. She knows how to find me.” He put a warm hand over yours in your lap and gave it a squeeze, then rose to his feet and walked away. And the next moment, the hurricane that was your husband blew through the door.
“You!” Vince pointed an accusing finger at Grant, who was sitting at the table with an officer. “This is all your fault!” He stormed directly over towards his brother-in-law, who rose to his feet.
The police officer stood up as well, stepping forward with a hand out. “Sir! I’m gonna have to ask you to calm down and stop where you are.”
Vince glared at him defiantly. “This piece of shit got himself in a bind, and got my wife kidnapped. Lucky she wasn’t injured! Or killed! You stay the hell away from us from now on. Stay away from her, you understand me?” He turned on his heel and came towards where you now stood near the sofa, shoving a bag at you. “Here, get some clothes on. I’m taking you home.”
You took the bag and headed into the bathroom to change, your gaze never leaving the floor. Russell took a couple of long strides forward, his eyes narrowed in anger. “Hey – Vince, is it? You might want to take it easy on her. She’s been through hell in the last 24 hours.”
Vince turned to look at him, his jaw raised as he stared back at Russell with contempt. “And just who the fuck are you?”
“My brother and I are the ones who found her and got her away from her kidnappers,” Russell said quietly, crossing his arms across his chest.
Vince sighed. “Oh. I see. So how much?”
“How much? We weren’t working for you. Grant hired us to find his sister.”
Vince let out a derisive snort. “Yeah, like he has any money. What’s the bill, I’ll pay it.”
Russell sighed. “No thanks – we’re good.”
Your husband took a step closer, an insolent expression on his face. “Well, then, Mr. Weekend Merc, maybe you shouldn’t try to tell me how to take care of my wife.”
Russell’s eyes went cold, a humorless smirk curving his lips that would have sent a chill up the spine of any man with half a brain. Colter moved forward, putting a hand on his brother’s shoulder. After a second, Russell gave a barely perceptible nod, sucking his teeth as he turned and walked back towards the coffee pot. Colter looked impassively at Vince, then turned away and joined Russell.
A moment later, you walked back into the room, dressed and with Colter’s jacket folded over your arm. Vince grabbed your arm, growling, “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Just a minute,” you said softly, pulling away.
“Time to go home,” he argued, and you looked at him, snapping a reply.
“Give me one minute!” He glared after you as you walked towards the Shaws, handing Colter his jacket. “Thank you.” Colter nodded with a smile, and you turned your attention to Russell. His expression softened as he looked back at you. “Thank you both.”
Russell looked steadily into your eyes. “Remember what I told you.” You bit at your lip with a nod, finally pulling your gaze from his as you turned to join your fuming husband at the door. He practically shoved you out, the door closing hard behind you.
Russell turned to look at Colter, his jaw working. “That guy is twelve kinds of wrong.”
Colter nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. But there’s nothing we can do unless she wants help, Russell. And you always tell me, when the job’s done, walk away.”
“Yeah. I know.” Russell grabbed the coffee and filled his cup. He could still see the look in her eyes – the attempt at courage failing to completely mask her apprehension. She was afraid, trying to pretend that everything was fine. And in spite of his usual self-imposed rules, he was going to have a hard time walking away from this one.
Russell sat next to his campfire, enjoying the warmth of the sun, a bottle of his home-brew in his hand. He stared into the fire, his inner voice reading him the riot act for still sticking around. It had been three weeks, and you hadn’t reached out to Reenie for help. Colter had given him a hard time as well, and he knew he had it coming, but he couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. There was still the nagging feeling in his gut that you were in trouble, and that his particular set of skills might come in handy.
And then there were the dreams. The first time, he dreamed he was back in the motel room the night they’d rescued you. Only this time he was comforting you, sitting with his arms around you, and you were crying softly on his shoulder. After that, there had been another, starting the same way. Only this time it changed – his lips on yours, his hands roaming, your skin soft and warm under his touch. He woke up breathing hard, his heart pounding, his cock hard and throbbing, and he had jacked off imagining sinking deep inside you and making you come, hearing you cry out his name.
His phone rang, Reenie’s name flashing across the screen, and he shook his head to clear it before answering. She barely gave him time to say hello before she blurted out, “Russell – she just called. She overheard – never mind. She ran, she’s in trouble, you need to pick her up. South of you, mile marker 132 on Highway 39, she’s hiding in the trees. Go pick her up, I’ll meet you back at your campsite with some clothes and things.”
“On my way,” he responded, ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket. He tossed water over the fire, ditching his beer in the trash can on the way to the car, sending gravel spitting from the tires as he took off.
There had been nothing but trees for a couple of miles when he reached the spot Reenie had indicated, and he pulled over, stepping out of the car, eyes scanning the area. He called your name softly, watching. “It’s Russell Shaw. Reenie sent me.”
You peered carefully from behind a tree, then ran towards the car, looking over your shoulder as you reached it. “Get in,” Russell said, “we’ll talk later.” You nodded, climbing inside, and he looked around carefully for signs that you’d been followed before getting behind the wheel. He looked over at you, his brows drawn together in concern. “You okay? You’re not hurt?”
You glanced his way, clasping your hands nervously in your lap. “I’m okay.” He nodded, turning to make sure the way was clear and making a wide turn to head back to his campsite.
Russell pulled to a stop and got out of the car without a word, heading straight to his tent to break it down and pack up his belongings. By the time Reenie pulled in, he was loading everything into his trunk, still without saying a word, and you were wondering if you’d done the right thing calling for his help.
Reenie pulled a large suitcase out of the back seat of her BMW, pulling it behind her to Russell’s car. “Brought you some clothes and essentials to get you by. Russell, you keep her safe.”
Russell closed his trunk, coming around to take the suitcase and shove it into his back seat. “You know I will.” He climbed back behind the wheel and gave Reenie a nod. “I’ll be in touch.” You hugged her, whispering your thanks, and got in the passenger side, trying to stay calm in spite of not knowing what was coming next. Russell waited for Reenie to head down the drive, then followed behind, turning in the opposite direction on the highway. “Okay,” he said, glancing over your direction, “tell me what happened.”
Several miles and two small towns later, Russell reached for a remote and pulled into a small garage attached to a modest-looking ranch-style house, the door smoothly lowering behind you to hide you from the world.
You had told him about the phone call you had overheard, Vince on the phone with someone, you didn’t know who. “Yeah, the kidnapping should have worked, but I guess Grant’s more stubborn than I gave him credit for. Stop worrying, I found somebody else. We’ll have that money by the end of next week. No, she has no idea I was behind it, don’t worry about her. She believes what I tell her, and she does what she’s told. I already took care of those two fuck-ups, they won’t be talking to anybody.”
Russell had listened intently to everything you said, nodding quietly once in a while as you told your story. You had overheard that conversation and you knew you had to get away. You had sneaked back upstairs, put on your shoes and a jacket, grabbed the burner phone Reenie had given you for emergencies, and gone down the back staircase and out the back door. It was a couple of miles through the woods to get to the highway, and you ran until you were out of breath, then slowed to a hurried walk, determined to escape the man you thought you knew.
“He’s not the man I married, I know that. But I never thought he was…”
“An abusive murdering asshole?” You had shot Russell a sideways glance, and he had cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s true.” Tears stung your eyes as you looked down at your hands. “I feel like such an idiot. Reenie has been trying to convince me for months that I needed to leave him, but I just...”
“None of this is your fault. You know that, right?”
You hadn’t answered him, just stared out the window for the rest of the ride. Russell was quiet after that, his focus on the job ahead. And this was a job, he reminded himself – he needed to keep his head on straight. The last thing she needed right now was to get involved with someone like him, so whatever feelings were invading his subconscious, he needed to ignore them.
Russell led the way into the house, dropping your borrowed suitcase near the couch and doing a quick walk-through before coming back to the room. You looked at him, confused, and he let out a rather sheepish little chuckle. “Sorry, it’s a habit to make sure the house is clear. Which it is. So, get settled in – I’m heading out to get some supplies, but I’ll be right back.”
You nodded, and he headed back to the garage. You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do. Your whole life had been turned upside down in the space of a few hours, and you had no idea what was coming next.
You finally took a deep breath and ventured into the next room. You explored the small house – a bedroom, bathroom, cute little kitchen with a breakfast nook, living room with a huge sofa, recliner on one end and chaise lounge on the other. There was a medium-sized flat-screen TV, a few DVDs on a shelf below.
You took the suitcase Reenie had brought into the bedroom and opened it – she had been very generous. It was bulging with clothes and lingerie, along with some toiletries, a few mystery/thriller novels, a deck of cards – everything you would need to get you by until you could get your own things. Whenever that would be. You felt a clutch of panic at the thought of your unknown future, closing your eyes to fight it back. You were safe for the moment, that’s all that mattered.
A little later, your phone pinged with a message from Russell that he was back with the groceries. You met him at the kitchen door, relieving him of one of the bags in his arms. He thanked you with a smile, and the two of you unpacked and put away the food he had purchased. “This is – a lot. I mean, how long do you think we’ll be here?”
He glanced your way, then went back to putting milk and eggs in the fridge. “Hard to say for sure. It depends on how long it takes the cops to finish getting the evidence they need to put Vince away.”
You stopped what you were doing and braced your hands on the counter, your eyes filling with tears as the weight of everything that was happening suddenly hit you like a blow to the chest. Russell closed the fridge and put a hand on your shoulder, speaking softly. “Hey.”
You looked up into his eyes, a tear overflowing and trailing down your cheek. “I can’t pay you. I – I don’t have anything. Everything belongs to him. I don’t know how I’ll pay for you for all of this,” you said, sweeping your hand, thinking of the house, the groceries, Russell’s time.
He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Didn’t ask to be paid. I told you if you needed help to call. I’m just here to help.” He was really looking at you now, not the barely glancing, distant contact you’d had with him since he picked you up. The kind look in his eyes made you suddenly feel not so alone. “So are we good?”
You took a breath and blew it out slowly, finally nodding. “Yeah. We’re good. Thank you, Russell.”
His lips curved in a soft smile. “Good. So, I’m starved, and I got us one of those giant frozen pizzas with cheese in the crust – sound okay?” You nodded with a slightly watery smile and went back to unpacking the groceries as he turned on the oven.
You spent the rest of the evening mostly in companionable silence, eating pizza in front of the TV with a How I Met Your Mother marathon serving as background noise. Russell thumbed through the old magazines you had found in a drawer of the TV stand, and you started in on one of the books Reenie had included in the collection of treasures she had sent.
When you were yawning and reading the same paragraph over and over again, you finally gave in and headed for bed. You said a quiet goodnight and walked to the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You didn’t think you’d be able to sleep, but you dozed off almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.
You woke suddenly, a feeling of dread in the pit of your stomach. The room was pitch black, so you grabbed your phone, the screen lighting up the space, your heart lurching in your chest as you spotted a figure standing near the foot of the bed. You lit the flashlight on your phone and aimed it that direction, then screamed in terror. Vince was standing there, a sneer on his face, a gun in his hand.
“Hey, hey!!” The light went on and a hand grabbed your shoulder, shaking you. Russell’s voice was calling your name as you scooted yourself up as close to the headboard as you could, your feet scrambling to try and push you farther, your eyes wide with fear. “You’re okay, it was a nightmare.” You stared at him, shaking, whimpering and pointing.
“He was right there! He was going to kill me!”
“I promise you, there’s nobody here but you and me. You were having a nightmare. You’re safe, I promise you.” He reached out take hold of your hand. “There’s no way in hell he will ever get close to you. I won’t let him, trust me. You trust me, right?”
You nodded, trying to calm yourself, still trembling and your heart still trying to escape your chest. Russell sat there with you until your quaking subsided, and you looked up at him as he ducked his head to peer into your eyes. “You okay?”
You nodded again with a sigh of exhausted relief. “I’m sorry. It was so real.”
“Nothing to be sorry for.”
You looked at him again, feeling embarrassed as you spoke again. “I feel like a child, but I don’t think I can sleep in here. I don’t want to be alone.”
Russell smiled as he looked down at you. “I get it. Why don’t we grab your pillow and you can sleep on the sofa. I’m sleeping in the recliner, so I’ll be right there in case you get spooked. Sound okay?”
He helped you gather what you needed, and soon your bed was all set up on the couch. You settled yourself on your pillow, wrapping yourself in the blankets and yawning as your body finally calmed itself. “I usually leave the TV on with the sound real low, will that bother you?” he asked as he took his seat in the recliner again.
“No, it might actually help me sleep,” you said. “Thank you, Russell.”
“Any time.”
The next morning you woke to the smell of fresh coffee brewing and bacon frying. Apparently Russell was an early riser. You got up from the couch and gathered your bedding, heading for the bedroom to get dressed. A pair of leggings and a big sweater seemed cozy, and after hitting the bathroom and combing through your hair, you made a beeline for the kitchen and the coffee pot.
“Mornin’,” Russell greeted you as you filled a mug with the steaming brew, holding it to your nose appreciatively.
“Good morning. Thank you for making coffee. And breakfast, I guess – do you want some help?”
He shot a smile over his shoulder. “Got it covered here, but you could make some toast, if you want. Scrambled or fried?”
The two of you sat in the breakfast nook to eat, Russell scrolling on his phone and you back to your paperback mystery. When you were finished, you chased him out of the kitchen, refusing to let him help with the dishes. “You cooked, I’ll clean up.”
“I’m used to doing both, ya know,” he protested, but finally gave in and left you to it. You heard his phone ring as you finished up, and you were drying your hands as he walked back into the room.
“That was – uh – the FBI.”
Your eyes widened in surprise. “The FBI?”
“Yeah. Apparently they’ve been investigating Vince for a while now for shady investment practices. They want to send an agent to talk to you, about the phone call you overheard and anything else you might have seen or heard that might help their case. Are you okay with that?”
You bit at your lip, but nodded in agreement. “I guess so – I don’t know that I’ll be much help, but if it helps put him away…”
“Colter’s in the area, said he’d bring her here this afternoon. I don’t want you out in public if we can avoid it, not until he’s locked up.” You glanced at him nervously, and he put a calming hand on your shoulder. “I’m not trying to scare you – I just want you safe.”
“I know. Thanks.”
When the doorbell rang that afternoon, you watched nervously as Russell motioned you to stand back, then grabbed his gun from the end table and went to answer it. He peered through the peephole, then lowered his weapon and unlocked the door, opening it and stepping back to allow Colter and a woman in a dark pantsuit to enter. Colter spoke up to introduce you and Russell to the woman, who held out a hand to shake both of yours in turn.
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” she said, aiming her comment at you.
Russell stepped forward. “Can I get a minute before you do your thing?” The agent nodded, following him into the next room. Even though he kept his voice low, you could hear him, insisting that she keep in mind that you were innocent and that you not be treated like a criminal just because you were married to one.
You glanced over at Colter, blushing a little. “He’s been very protective,” you said softly, and Colter smiled.
“Yeah – that’s no surprise. He’s been doing it since we were kids. He stood between our dad and me – or dad and our little sister, Dory – so many times. Dad had – well, he had some mental issues. Russ took the brunt of a lot of his crap.”
Russell came through the door just then, giving you a quick smile and nodding towards the kitchen. “She’s ready for you. If you need me…”
You gave him a grateful smile in return. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.” He moved to the side to let you walk by, watching until you took your seat across from the agent.
“How’s she doing?” Colter asked quietly as his brother turned to face him.
“She’s scared.” Russell gnawed at his lip a little, glancing over at Colter as he took a breath and exhaled with a short nod. “But she’ll be all right.”
A couple of hours later the interview was over, and you said your goodbyes to Colter and the agent shortly after. You dropped down on the sofa with a sigh of relief, and Russell sat down nearby.
“So – how’d it go?”
“She asked about the phone call I overheard, wanted word for word as well as I could remember. Then she asked about people I’d seen at Vince’s parties, anything I might have heard in passing about specific things that maybe didn’t mean anything to me but might help their case.” You took a deep breath. “She said when they arrest him, they’ll seize all of his assets. But she said they found one account that was started in my name before we were married that he hadn’t touched, and she said that will come to me. I remember right before we got married, I pulled my 401K from my job at the bank and had him invest it for me – he must have forgotten all about it. It’s been sitting there for the last 10 years, slowly growing. So maybe I’ll be able to repay you for all of this after all.”
He sighed sharply. “I told you, I didn’t ask to be paid. You’ll need that money to start over.” He lowered his head and looked at you from under raised brows. “I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not hurtin’ for cash. So I don’t wanna hear another word about you paying me, okay?”
“Russell, I just…”
“I mean it. Vince gets put away and you get a clean start. That’s payment enough for me.” You looked up into those captivating green eyes, his expression dead serious.
“Okay, okay, subject dropped,” you answered, and he allowed himself to smile.
“Good. Goddamn, you’re stubborn.”
You laughed softly, rising to your feet. “You have no idea. Okay, I’m going to go take a shower – if that’s allowed?” you teased, laughing again as he blew out a disdainful breath.
“Smartass.”
The rest of that night was spent much as the first, eating in front of the TV, and Russell borrowed one of Reenie’s mystery thrillers to keep himself occupied. If he was being honest, he just wanted a distraction to keep his eyes from constantly wandering over to you as you read, occasionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth as you got engrossed in a passage. He started to read, but found his eyes drawn back again to the wisps of hair curling against the gentle slope of your neck. Luckily you were an avid reader and didn’t notice his staring, but he mentally shook himself. This was a job, he was there to protect you, and that was all. He forced his eyes to the pages in front of him, determined to keep focused there, even though he would occasionally make sarcastic comments about how unrealistic it was.
Yawning, you finally laid your book aside and laid down, saying a soft “Good night” to Russell as you settled in. You slept well that night, the sound of the TV in the background and the knowledge that Russell was close giving you the peace of mind you needed to rest.
The next day you were going a little stir-crazy, feeling cooped-up and bored. You aimlessly wandered around the house, looking through closets and cupboards, letting out a happy cheer when you found an abandoned crossword puzzle book in a drawer in the kitchen. You settled on the couch, your legs crossed underneath you, glad to have found a distraction. “Who played Angel Eyes in The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly?” you asked, a thoughtful frown on your face as you chewed at your pen.
“Lee Van Cleef,” he answered. “How do you not know that?”
“You’re the old movie buff. I only know the big ones – Casablanca, stuff like that.”
“So you don’t like westerns.”
You looked at him, an offended expression on your face. “I like westerns! I love John Wayne.” You filled in the answer and read another clue. “Clint Eastwood western?”
Russell let out a mock impatient sigh. “Obviously you need help.” He moved to plop down beside you, looking down at the page. “Where does it go? Ok, got it – A Fistful of Dollars.”
The two of you worked your way through the apparently western-themed puzzle together, Russell teasing you about your lack of knowledge on the subject and laughing when you excitedly shouted the answer to an actual clue involving John Wayne. You finished putting the last answer in place and grinned up at him, your smile slowly fading as you looked into his eyes. The air suddenly seemed charged around you, your gaze traveling down to his lips as his tongue swept over them. Before you had time to think, he pushed up from the sofa and stood. His abrupt movement away from you broke the spell, and you swallowed hard, your heart pounding.
“I’m gonna go grab us some take-out. Chicken sound good?” He asked, not looking back as he headed for the door. You agreed, taking a relieved breath as he closed the door behind him, leaving you alone.
You took a shaky breath as you put a hand to your face, your fingers cool against your flushed cheek. “What the hell was that?” you asked yourself out loud. Whatever it felt like, it couldn’t be, that was for sure, you told yourself sternly. Tossing the book on the end table, you determinedly marched to the kitchen to mix up some brownies. Chocolate. You just needed some chocolate.
After lunch, Russell spent most of the afternoon out in the garage, saying he needed to do some work on the car, and you were honestly a little relieved. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself with the man who was protecting you. It was probably just a reaction to him saving you, a rescue crush. And it didn’t help that he was so aggressively good-looking. He was tall and lean, broad-shouldered, handsome as hell. That dark beard made his smile seem that much brighter, enough that it made it hard to breathe normally. And those mesmerizing green eyes – looking into them was just downright dangerous.
You spent the afternoon channel-surfing, did another puzzle and read your book for a while. Russell was in and out, keeping himself busy with something, you didn’t know what, but you were sure he was avoiding you. Towards evening you headed for the kitchen, thoughts of searching for what to make for dinner on your mind. The blinds on the patio door were open, and you could see Russell adding wood to the fire pit, the flames already started. You watched him for a moment, completely unaware of the fond smile on your face. He looked up as you stood there, motioning for you to come out and join him.
You went to the closet and grabbed your jacket. Surely there was enough space outside that it would be safe to be around him, you thought to yourself, then slipped out the patio door, sliding it closed behind you. “Missing the great outdoors?” you asked and he grinned.
“I do love a good campfire and some fresh air.” He reached into the cooler sitting beside him. “And a cold beer – want one?”
“Ooh, yes, please.” You breathed in, then searched for where the delicious aroma tickling your nose was coming from. “What smells so good?”
“Oh, I threw a couple of steaks on the grill, and some potatoes. Hope that sounds okay.”
“Sounds great – smells wonderful.”
His shoulders shook with a silent little laugh. “Reminds me of that time my brother and I tried to cook over the campfire when we were kids. Almost burned the damn forest down.” He launched into the story, and before you knew it, you were both talking and laughing, relaxed with each other again. Russell was a great storyteller, and the time passed pleasantly as you ate together.
When you finished eating, you set your plate beside you on the bench with a satisfied sigh. “That was delicious. Maybe you should be a chef when you retire from working security – or whatever it is that you do when you’re not being my guardian.”
He huffed out a laugh. “A chef - that was never on my list of things I wanted to do when I grew up. More like astronaut, firefighter, rock star, pitcher… the usual. Now – I’m still searching. I thought about opening a craft brewery, sell my beer and have barbecue, so I guess that’s close. But now? I don’t know. After working with Colter, I’m kind of thinking of going more that direction. Helping people. Who knows?” He took a swig from his beer and looked at you. “So what do you want to do when you get back to your life?”
A log cracked in the fire, and you watched thoughtfully as a spray of sparks floated upwards into the darkening sky. “I used to dream about opening a book store and gift shop, with a coffee counter in the front. A couple of tables, and a few little reading nooks tucked in here and there. That would be nice.” You glanced back at him, then looked off into the distance. “But what I really want – I just want to be able to go for a long walk without my paranoid husband sending security guys after me. I want to be able to eat a meal without someone criticizing me because I might gain weight. I want to be able to wear what I want when I want, and not hear a lecture about how I’m ‘representing’ him. I want to dance because I like the music, not because I’m bait for lecherous old men who might be potential clients.” You stopped your tirade, letting out a deep breath. “Sorry. I guess that’s been bottled up inside me for a while.”
Russell’s eyes were warm and supportive as he responded. “No need to apologize.”
You nodded, unable to continue looking at him, a little embarrassed. Russell watched you for a moment, then pulled his phone from his pocket. A fast country beat filled the air, and he set the phone down on the bench beside him, standing up and reaching out a hand. “Okay, let’s go – you wanna dance? Let’s dance.”
You looked up at him, unable to keep the shy smile from your face as you saw the grin on his. “You dance?”
He scoffed with a little laugh. “Do I dance? Get up here.”
You never would have guessed it, but the man could dance. Before long he was swinging you around the patio, twirling you out and back, both of you smiling and laughing together. You danced your way through that song and the next, but then the music shifted to a slow ballad, and you both came to a stop, looking hesitantly at each other. Russell’s eyebrow lifted, his expression asking without words, and you gave a little shrug. He smirked, shrugging in reply, and pulled you closer, taking your hand in his and holding it close to his chest as his other hand rested warm on your lower back. You draped your arm over his shoulder, your hand resting at the back of his neck as you swayed together to the music.
The song began to fade away, and you realized you were resting your head on his shoulder, your fingers fidgeting with the soft hair that fell over his collar, and your face grew warm with a blush as you both stopped moving. You took a step back, grateful that it was evening and he hopefully wouldn’t notice the color in your cheeks. “I – um – guess I should take these dishes inside,” you mumbled. You stepped away from him, gathering the dishes and turning to walk towards the patio door.
“Yeah, I gotta take care of this fire, I’ll be inside in a minute,” he answered, his voice sounding just as strained as yours was. Maybe he was just as affected as you were? You chased that thought away with denial as you stepped inside, turning to close the door behind you. He had been polite and kind to you from the beginning, but never more than that. You watched him for a moment as he stuffed his phone into his pocket, then grabbed the bucket of water he had set nearby to put the fire out, his back facing towards you the whole time, and you finally turned away.
You headed for the living room, then turned back, going to the fridge for a bottle of water, your mind reeling with conflicting thoughts. You were attracted to him, you had been from the first moment he looked into your eyes and asked if you needed help. But that was just the trauma, right? You had gone through hell and he was being kind to you, that’s all it was.
You were completely in your own head as you finally closed the door to the fridge and turned, rushing towards the living room, focused on your own thoughts. As you neared the doorway, you ran into a solid wall of man, the bottle of water in your hands flying to the floor and rolling away.
Russell grabbed your arms to steady you as you both spoke at the same time. “Shit, I’m sorry!” and “Are you okay?” and you wished you could just disappear from view.
He was close – so close. He smelled like wood smoke and cinnamon gum, beer and something masculine and warm that was just him and had your skin tingling. He looked down at you, his tongue darting out over his lips, his eyes steadily searching yours. He raised his hand, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw gently before he slipped them into your hair, and he leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to push him away – but you had no desire to do that. His well-trimmed beard brushed against your cheek, softer than you expected, but you didn’t have time to think about that because when his lips connected with yours, your brain ceased to function. You could focus on nothing but your heart pounding, your nerves buzzing, you could barely breathe. There was a throbbing between your thighs that made your knees weak, made you want him to throw you down and take you right there on the floor.
It all happened in a matter of seconds, and when he stopped suddenly, his hands dropping to his sides, your head was spinning at the sudden lack of his touch. His breathing was labored, his arms flexed as though they were fighting him to reach for you. He stared at the floor, taking a few breaths before he spoke, his voice husky and quiet. “This is – I shouldn’t have done that. It’s a bad idea.” He tilted his head, a rueful little smirk flitting over his lips. “Actually great idea for me. Very bad idea for you.”
You stared back at him, still stunned and silent. He stepped away, going to retrieve your bottle of water and bringing it back to you. You took it from him with a whispered “Thank you,” and he gave a short, quick nod before turning to walk away.
You heard the bathroom door close, and finally started breathing again. So he was feeling it, too. He had slammed the brakes pretty hard, but he had said it was a bad idea for you. Unanswered questions filled your head – was he really just holding back because he thought you’d get hurt? Or was there something in his past he was worried about you finding out? He seemed like a good man, but you had a feeling there was a history there that he couldn’t easily share. In spite of how you were feeling, you needed to try to get past it and get back to normal, or as normal as things could be for you at the moment. You glanced into the living room, making sure he was still out of sight, and headed quickly for the bedroom, closing the door. You’d just get ready for bed, try to put it out of your mind, and move on. It wasn’t going to be easy, since you could still feel his lips on yours, his fingers twining through your hair.
You changed into a t-shirt and shorts to sleep in, and after a few minutes battling with yourself, you finally grabbed your pillow and blanket and headed out to the couch. Russell was already settled in the recliner, searching for the classic movie channel he liked to leave on at night. You wrapped your blanket around you, snuggling down in your pillow. “Ready for lights out?” Russell asked softly, and you mumbled a “Yeah” in reply. He turned off the lamp next to him and left you both in the flickering light of the TV.
You laid there, staring at the glowing images on the screen, pretending to be trying to go to sleep. You were wide awake, unable to stop thinking about that kiss, craving more. It was infuriating, really, that Russell had just walked away like it was nothing and you were left wanting something he was apparently not willing to give, whatever his reasons.
You fought the urge to toss and turn, acutely aware of how close he was, probably watching whatever it was that was on the screen. But your imagination was merciless, showing you the possibilities, teasing you with images and thoughts of erotic touches, of his lips on your skin, of his calloused hands in places that ached for him.
He cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in his seat, and your resolve to act as if everything was fine crumbled. You threw back the blanket, your heart pounding as you crawled down the length of the sofa and straddled Russell’s lap. His eyes went wide, your fingers on his lips cutting off his startled “What…?”
You stared down at him, slowly removing your hand and resting it on his chest, your voice hushed as you spoke. “I don’t care if it’s a bad idea.” You could feel his heart rate rising beneath your hand, his eyes fluttering shut just before yours did as you leaned down into him, your lips landing on his in a soft kiss.
His hands drifted up to rest on your back, his cock steadily swelling underneath you. You moaned softly, grinding down into him, and he drew back, panting for air as he looked up at you. You kept your eyes on his, sliding back off his lap as he raised the recliner upright, and you took hold of his hand to lead him with you back to the couch. You spread the blanket out as Russell came up behind you, his hands moving to your hips as you straightened back up. “Told myself I wasn’t gonna do this,” he said softly as you leaned back into his chest. “You’re making me a liar.”
You couldn’t help smiling a little before you turned to face him. “You need to know – I don’t have any expectations. I know, when this is all over, that you’re going to leave, move on to your next job, and I’ll be going back and try to start my life over again. But I’m not asking…” For some reason your eyes began to sting with tears, and you blinked hard to chase them away. “I’m not asking for anything more than you want to give.”
Russell stared down at you for a second before his arms wrapped around you, the last shreds of his resistance evaporating as he pulled you close. His lips landed soft but decisive on yours, his tongue teasing at your lips, and you opened to him, a whimper in your throat as you slipped your arms around his neck.
After a moment or two, he parted from you one more time, one hand rising to drag a thumb across his mouth as he cleared his throat. “I – uh – don’t have a condom.”
You reached for his hand. “It’s okay. We’re good.”
“You sure? Because if you’d rather not...” The tip of his tongue peeked out, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. “I’d be more than happy to take care of you some other way.” His thumb brushed over the top of your hand, his words invoking images in your mind that sent a flash of heat through your body.
You finally found your voice, although it was a little breathless and stammering. “I promise we’re good – but… Well, that sounds – umm – amazing, too.” His lips curved in a one-sided smirk as he stared into your eyes. He reached for the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, then did the same with his before he pulled you back into his arms and kissed you again. You buried your fingers in his hair as you leaned into him, breasts crushed to his chest, your pulse racing.
He moved you backwards until your legs ran into the couch, then slid his hands down your sides to your hips, pushing your shorts down until they fell to the floor. You stepped out of them and let him lower you down to the sofa, stretching out with your head on your pillow. He put a knee down between your legs, sliding his palm up the outside of your thigh and guiding it up to his hip as he lowered himself down over you.
He kissed you, deep and hungry, rutting his still-clothed erection gently against your thigh, and the combination was driving you insane in the best possible way. He propped himself up on one elbow, his other hand beginning to roam, and he moaned in appreciation as he brushed a palm over your breast. He gave each one a little attention as he moved his lips across your jaw to your pulse point, then steadily moved down your body, his destination clear.
Your stomach muscles quivered as his lips traveled over your soft skin. Your entire body tensed, frozen in anticipation of what was about to happen. He splayed his fingers over your hips, his thumbs pulling gently at your mound to give him easier access to your swollen clit. He leaned in close to place soft, lingering kisses over your pussy before exploring you thoroughly with his tongue, finally dipping it inside you and then dragging it up and over your clit.
He teased you that way until you were rearing your head back into your pillow, one hand behind your head gripping the arm of the couch and the other clutching at his hair. Then he pulled your clit between his lips, his tongue brushing over it as he worked two fingers inside you, curling them to rub against your walls. When you gasped, he hummed his approval, stroking over that sweet spot he’d been searching for, your grip on his hair tightening as he gave your clit a hard suck.
He raised his eyes to look at you, your eyes half closed in bliss, your other hand now tugging and twisting at your nipples. “Jesus,” he swore, watching you for a moment longer before he nuzzled his face against you and sucked hard, pulsing his tongue with the movement of his fingers. Your back arched as you let out a cry, your cunt clutching at his fingers as you came undone, your hips bucking into his thrusts as you rode out your climax.
You watched him through half-lidded eyes as he slowly pulled his fingers free, making you shiver. He sucked them clean, then grabbed a corner of the blanket and scrubbed it over his face before moving up to nibble at your lips. “Told you I’d take care of you,” he teased, and he grinned as you blinked slowly and gave him a faint smile.
“Mmmm-hmmmm,” you agreed between his soft kisses.
“This doesn’t have to go any further if you don’t want it to,” he said quietly, and you opened your eyes to stare up at him.
“Don’t tell me you’re quitting on me.” The corner of his mouth quirked a little, those green eyes shining down at you even in the dim light.
“Only if you want me to,” he answered, pausing as he waited for your response.
“I don’t,” you said, pulling him down with a hand on the back of his neck to kiss him, a nip to his bottom lip making him grunt a little. “So stop teasing already.”
His chest vibrated against you as he chuckled, then raised up to his knees, shoving his clothes down to free himself. He slipped one arm beneath your knee, lifting it to open you up further for him as he settled back between your thighs. He took his time, pushing inside you slow and steady, giving you time, watching your face closely. Your breath was frozen in your lungs as you adjusted to his generous size, finally able to exhale when your bodies were flush and he stopped moving, bending to nuzzle his face into your neck. “Mmmm, you feel amazing,” he rumbled, his lips roaming over the soft skin there.
“God, so do you,” you managed before he began to move, melting your words into a moan. The slick drag of him inside you lit every nerve on fire, and you clutched your arms around his middle, digging your fingers into his back. He took his time, in and out slowly, barely inching out at first and building up until he was pulling almost all the way out before gliding smoothly back in to the limit. When you finally relaxed, adjusted to him, he began to ramp up his speed and drove into you faster, harder, until your nails were digging into his back and you wrapped your leg tight around him.
He shifted his hold on your other knee, tilting you back a little farther, your sweet spot now a bullseye with every stroke. He let out a low groan as your cunt began to clench around him, letting go completely and fucking into you hard, wanton sounds forced from you with every thrust. He let out a soft growl, a sound that sent you careening over the edge, your back arching up beneath him as you came with an unearthly howl of his name.
He joined you with a loud groan, cursing under his breath as he fucked you through your orgasm and his, finally collapsing on top of your quivering body. You breathed helpless little whimpers into his shoulder, your arms going limp as he slipped his arm out from under your knee and hugged your thigh to his side. It was some time before either of you moved, spent and contented to stay right where you were.
You had actually started dozing off when Russell moved, and you shivered as he slipped free from you and stood up. He tossed his sweats over his shoulder, shuffling his way to the bathroom, and you let out a sleepy sigh and sat up, reaching down to the floor for a shirt. It happened to be his, but you didn’t mind. When he came back, you stood up to head to the bathroom, but he put his arms around you and kissed you softly, pausing your trip for a few welcome minutes.
You cleaned up and went back out into the living room, smiling as you saw him spreading a clean blanket on the couch. You grabbed your shorts from the floor and slipped them on as you waited, and he turned to look at you with a faint smile as he finished. “Want me to go back to the recliner?” he asked quietly, and you shook your head.
“No. Stay with me – I mean, if you want.”
His smile broadened, and he plopped down, his back to the back of the couch. “C’mere, you.”
You laid down beside him, and he pulled the blanket from the back of the couch to cover you both before he slipped one arm underneath your neck, the other around your waist to hold you close as he curled himself around you. Warm and happy, you fell asleep in his arms, the most peaceful you’d felt in years.
You woke up the next morning, reluctant to let yourself drift into full consciousness. But the tempting aroma of brewing coffee finally prompted your eyes to open, breathing deep as the sleepy daze cleared from your brain. Russell was humming a little off-key as he worked on whatever breakfast he was concocting that morning, and you smiled to yourself.
You stretched, feeling the ache of muscles you hadn’t used in a while, but it was a good feeling. However, before you went to the kitchen to join Russell, you definitely wanted to take a shower. You threw the blanket off and headed for the bathroom. The mirror was still a little foggy, so Russell had obviously already been in there. Happily, you found a scrunchie in Reenie’s bag of toiletries, and you put your hair up before climbing into a hot shower.
You dried off, refreshed and fully awake, wrapping a towel around yourself so you could make your way to the bedroom and get dressed. You stepped out into the hallway, a cloud of vanilla and jasmine steam billowing out behind you. Russell’s voice calling your name stopped you in your tracks, and he stepped through the kitchen doorway into the living room, still talking.
“I made breakfast, sausage and stuff, if you’re…” he stopped in mid-sentence, his mouth open as he stared at you. “Hungry,” he finished, then snapped his mouth shut, his lips pursing and brows bunching in a contemplative expression before he dropped the spatula he was holding to the floor. “Yeah, it can wait.”
Before you could react, he had you pinned between the hallway wall and his body, his lips crashing down on yours in a ravenous kiss. You blinked up at him, stunned, as he raised his head, his eyes burning into yours. “I told you this was a bad idea,” he rasped, closing his eyes for a beat before he went on. “You are playing hell with my impulse control.”
You kept your eyes on his as you reached for the snap on his jeans, popping it loose before pulling his zipper down. “Losing control once in a while isn’t such a bad thing,” you said, watching his upper lip twitch as you shoved his clothing out of the way and wrapped your hand around his hard cock. He grabbed a handful of your towel and tugged hard, pulling it free where you had it tucked in between your breasts. He tossed it to the side and scooped you up, his hands under your thighs, lifting you to his waist. You gasped as his hot length was trapped between his stomach and your already leaking pussy, your arms wrapped around his neck as he rutted against you, coating himself in your juices. Then he lifted you a little, holding you with one arm while he positioned himself at your entrance.
“You ready?” he rumbled, his eyes on your face as he waited.
You nodded, clinging tight to his neck as he lowered your body, impaling you fully, a breathless, silent moment before he began to move. Then his fingers dug into your hips as he fucked into you, forcing sounds from you with every powerful thrust as your bodies slammed together. His forehead rested on your shoulder as he focused everything on driving you both over the edge, hard and fast.
He came first, and you followed close behind, resting your cheek on the top of his head as you both panted like you had run a marathon. He finally straightened up, then bent his head to kiss you, slow and deep, before lifting you up and lowering you to the floor. You still clung to him, your legs a little shaky, for a long moment, then gave him a coy smile. “Now I need another shower,” you said, and he grinned.
“Me, too – so how about we go clean up, and then we can eat. Don’t know about you, but I’m starved.”
“Sorry you went to all that work, and now it’s probably all cold.” You reached up to stroke his cheek with your fingertips, and you smiled as he leaned into your touch.
“Nope. I stuck it all in the oven to stay warm.”
“Smart man!”
“I’ve been known to have an occasional flash of brilliance. Until you come walking out dressed in nothing but a little towel, and all the blood leaves my brain,” he teased, and you laughed as he herded you into the bathroom for yet another shower.
The next couple of days were amazing. The freedom of being able to be yourself without a filter, without judgment or disapproval – it was like you had been set free from years of confinement. The common sense part of your brain knew that this was all temporary, that it would be gone in the blink of an eye when the time came, but you chose to ignore that nagging voice and live for the day.
Russell had lightened up considerably since you had first met him, too. Maybe it was good for him to have a little time away from gunfire and commando tactics. You talked, and laughed, watched movies together, cooked and ate, drank beer by the fire outside, and even danced again.
And you had sex that you knew you’d never equal with anyone else. He stopped you in the middle of cooking dinner once, plopping you up on the counter top and stripping your pants off so he could go down on one knee and make you his appetizer.
He pulled you over onto his lap during a movie, taking off your shirt and bra and leaning you back against his chest, teasing and tugging at your nipples. He whispered in your ear in that sinful voice, sweet and dirty, until you were a whining mess, begging him to fuck you.
He kissed you awake in the early morning, the two of you making out like teenagers, the sex slow and lazy and perfect.
But late that evening, his phone rang, and you felt your stomach drop. It was over.
He hung up and turned towards you, teeth denting his lower lip before he met your eyes. “They just arrested Vince. He’s being charged with murder and your kidnapping, along with all the financial shit. They found the bodies of the two that grabbed you buried in the woods north of your brother’s house. He’s never getting out.” He sighed, watching your face. “You’re free. You can finally live your own life.”
You dropped down onto the sofa, nodding, your voice barely audible. “Yeah. I guess so.”
He sat down beside you, reaching for your hand, which was trembling a little. “You okay?”
You blew out a breath, still afraid to look at him again, your emotions too close to the surface. “I will be.”
“We’re supposed to meet Reenie and that FBI agent at the house tomorrow at nine. Your brother’s coming, too. They’ll help you get your stuff together before the FBI seizes Vince’s property.”
You nodded, then sighed, raising your head to look up at him. “Okay. Back to reality.”
He pulled his hand away, putting it to his chest in mock offense. “Like I’m not real?” he scoffed, and you smiled in spite of yourself.
“Russell, you’re the realest thing that’s happened to me in the last few years, trust me.”
He grinned, standing up. “Want a beer before we crash for the night?”
“Yeah. I could use one.”
You watched him walk to the kitchen, an ache blooming in your chest. He was right. It had been a bad idea. But it was too late, and this was going to hurt like hell.
Russell came back with beer for the two of you, and you did your best to act like everything was fine as you talked and laughed half-heartedly at the sitcom on the TV. It was already late, and you wished you could just start the day over again. You took the empty bottles and carried them to the trash in the kitchen, stopping to stare out the patio door for a moment.
You felt Russell’s presence behind you before he spoke. “Should have had a fire tonight, huh? Didn’t know…”
“That we wouldn’t have another night.” You sighed, and he put a hand on your shoulder.
“Do you want me to sleep in the recliner tonight? I mean, making a clean break might…”
“Make it easier?” You looked up at him. “Or maybe we should just enjoy the one night we have left.”
His eyes were shining, soft in the dim light as he looked down at you. “Not gonna lie, I was hoping you’d say that.” His arms surrounded you, pulling you close as he bent to kiss you, your hands clenching fistfuls of his t-shirt as you leaned into him.
At least you’d have one more memory to take with you.
You woke early the next morning, reluctant to open your eyes and face the day. Russell, of course, was already awake and had coffee going, so you forced yourself to get up, grab your clothes, and take a shower. Every task was an effort of will – all you really wanted to do was roll up in your blankets and refuse to move.
You stood beneath the hot spray, eyes closed as you washed your body, remembering every moment of the night before. You had taken things slow, exploring each other as if you were sharing secrets no one else would ever know. You had memorized every tattoo, every scar on Russell’s body, reveled in the sensation of the muscles in his back rolling and straining beneath your fingertips as he fucked into you, riding the waves of pleasure he invoked with his touch. He had sent jolts of white hot fire through your veins as he marked you, sharp teeth and soothing tongue, on your breasts, the soft flesh of your lower belly, and the one he made on your inner thigh right next to your pussy had almost made you come. You hung up your towel and ran your fingers over the bruises as you stood in front of the mirror, wishing you could make them stay forever.
When you walked into the kitchen, Russell mumbled a “Mornin’” from the breakfast nook, and you answered him softly. He was quiet, scrolling on his phone, not chatty as he had been the last few days. He was distancing himself, you could tell, and it felt like the first day you had been here all over again.
You drank your coffee and stood to go and pack. “Don’t bother with the blankets or anything,” he said, “Colter and I are coming back later to clean out the house.”
“Okay. Thanks,” you answered, leaving the room, suddenly needing to be as far away from him as possible. This didn’t seem to be bothering him one bit.
By the time you got packed, it was time to hit the road. Russell took the suitcase from you and opened the door, and you started out. “Oh, wait,” you said, turning back and going to the end table next to the sofa. You opened the drawer and grabbed the crossword puzzle book. You didn’t look at him as you headed back to the door – he didn’t need to know you wanted it because working that puzzle was the first time there had been sparks between you. He probably wouldn’t understand, anyway.
You climbed into the passenger seat, he got behind the wheel, and you left the house behind, watching out your window as you passed it by. You had barely spoken to or looked at each other, and the silence in the car was oppressive. Several miles went by that way until you couldn’t keep your hurt contained any longer.
“I should have listened to you. You were right. It was a fucking bad idea.” You took a shaky breath. “It must be nice.”
“What?”
There was a bitter edge to your words as you answered him. “The way you’re able to shut off your feelings. It’s so easy for you, like flipping a fucking switch.”
Your resentment hung thick in the air, and after a few seconds, you assumed he wasn’t going to respond. Then Russell spoke softly, his voice taut. “What makes you think it’s easy?”
There was a note of hurt in his words, and you wished you could just take everything you’d said back, but it was too late. None of this was his fault. You had pushed the issue even after he had tried to take a step back, and you had no right to attack him for it. But you couldn’t find the right thing to say, so you just finished the ride to town in yet more silence.
When you pulled up in front of your former home, Reenie, your brother, and the FBI agent who had interviewed you were standing near the front steps talking. “I’ll grab your bag,” Russell said, and you said a quiet “Thank you” as you got out of the car.
Grant met you halfway, hugging you with a smile. Russell brought your bag over, and Grant took it from him. “Thanks, I’ll put this in the trunk.”
Reenie’s observant eyes shifted from Russell to you and back again, Russell’s gaze sliding away from hers to the ground near his feet. Colter was leaning on his truck, parked out on the street, and lifted a hand in greeting. “Well, I guess I should get going. Colter will bring me back to pick up my car after we finish up at the house.” He looked at you, but you barely glanced his direction. “Take care of yourself,” he said quietly, and you nodded in reply. He bit at his lip, then gave a little nod and turned to walk away.
You finally raised your eyes, watching him until he was halfway out to the street, your heart finally forcing you to call out to him. “Russell! Wait.”
He stopped, turning slowly as you rushed out to meet him. “Russell – I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things, I didn’t mean any of it.”
“Don’t worry about it. I get it.”
You shook your head, your eyes stinging with tears. “No, you didn’t deserve any of it. In fact, I need to thank you.” He started to shake his head, and you grabbed his hand. “No, listen. I need to thank you. Not just for the rescue. Russell, you saved me. You made me feel again after years of being numb. You made me feel like myself again. I needed someone, and you were there for me. I’ll never forget it.”
He looked into your eyes, his jaw ticking as he stared at you for a moment. Then he cradled your face in both hands, bending to kiss you, his lips clinging to yours for a long, bittersweet moment before he let you go, brushing a tear from your cheek before he dropped his hands to his sides.
“I’m gonna miss you,” you said in a wavering voice, watching his face as he held his emotions in check.
A brief, sad little smile flitted over his lips, and he dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Me too, sweetheart.” He reached out to give your hand one more squeeze before he turned and walked away.
You watched as he and Colter got into the truck, raised a hand to wave as they did the same, then drove away. You finally turned and walked back to the house, walking straight into your brother’s arms. You shed a few tears on his shoulder, then raised your head with a heavy sigh. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”
A few miles down the road, Colter glanced over at his brother, who was staring silently out the window, dragging his fingers absently through his beard. “Wanna talk about it?”
Several moments passed before Russell took a deep breath, exhaling hard before he spoke, his voice subdued. “Did you ever meet somebody who makes you wish like hell you could be what they deserve?”
Colter cleared his throat as he looked steadily at the road. “Yeah.”
Colter never mentioned you when he and Russell called each other or got together. He figured he probably came closer to understanding his brother than just about anyone, and he knew Russell wouldn’t – or couldn’t – talk about it anyway.
Yeah, Colter understood Russell, as well as anyone probably did – except maybe Reenie Green. Russell stayed in touch with her, like he always had, the two of them exchanging banter and joking insults. But when the conversation slowed, when that moment of silence sat heavy between them, Reenie would speak softly. “She’s safe, Russell. She’s happy.” No details, which was good, because Russell didn’t want details. He probably couldn’t handle details. And then they’d end the conversation, like they always did, until the next time.
He still dreamed about you. He could still hear your voice, your laugh. He still woke up some nights feeling the softness of your skin on his fingertips, the scent of your hair and the taste of your lips lingering. And he still told himself your life was good, was better without his past, his baggage weighing you down.
You deserved a fresh start, a new life. He could handle being haunted by your memory. He was used to being haunted by his past.
Time cast a spell on you but you won't forget me
I know I could have loved you but you would not let me
SNEAK PEEK FROM HILLYWOOD'S CAST & CREW PRE-SCREENING FOR THE NEXT GALACTIC PARODY! 🌟
Richard Speight, Jr., Matt Cohen and Tessa Netting joined Hilly Hindi on the Hillywood Red Carpet! Hosted by the amazing THIRD Street Arts & Media Incubator! Stay tuned for more coverage from this magical night, soon...🎬
Watch Hillywood's upcoming galactic Parody this Force of July (7•4•26) on YouTube.com/Hillywood
A DREAM OF A NIGHT!✨ The love I have for the cast & crew, who helped me make this vision a reality, is indescribable! We all cheered, screamed and cried seeing the Parody on the big screen. 🥹🌟 Can’t WAIT for you all to see it too! More coverage coming soon! 🥂❤️
Here, please find the incredible stories written by the talented contestants braving this Storytellers Contest. Please read, enjoy, and give them all the love and interactions they rightly deserve!
