#Either way this is too close to the holidays to be doing lore this heavy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

enderr-rabies · 1 year

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HOLIDAY NIGHT’S.

Bob Velseb x Gn! reader

ohgoohohoho yes, hello tumblr i have decided i too, want to join the bob velseb x reader shenanigan's, this honestly was rushed, i have a headache and its a big owie but hey, whattya gonna do about it? also if you squint this could be lore idk

(also happy holidays:])

*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

It was the holiday season, store's and restaurant's rushed and busied themselves with holiday gifts and family meet ups, the expecting early closing of everything thru the nights so workers can go home to relax and enjoy themselves, except for a few. A man by the name of Bob Velseb who owned a small diner in a local town was one of the few people who were open for the holidays. It being his business, he can open and close his shop whenever he pleases, this holiday he had planned to close it like always, he has no family nor friends he plans on seeing.

But on your regular lunch breaks, you go visit and start chit chat with the man that runs the dinner, you spat out the idea of keeping the diner open during the holidays, there wasn't much thought to it, just an empty idea. Bob curious though, asked what you meant, you told him he might get more business with keeping the place open, some family's like to eat out as a holiday tradition and some cant afford a holiday meal so it could help out. Bob took that idea into consideration as he watch you take a bite of your burger that you would order regularly whenever you stop by.

Soon enough he eventually asked if you'd help him prep his restaurant for the holidays, that involved him buying a few decorations and you bringing a few of your own, you even brought your Christmas tree in which Bob helped you decorate, conveniently funny you had a little burger ordainment that had cartoonish eyes and a Santa hat that was chipped.

while thru the few days you both decorated, bob asked if you were going to stop by during the holiday, but like a sour note to his ear's you had said no. not exactly no, but just the case that you were busy, which either way made a pain in his chest, You were his top costumer, a favorite at that. so when you told him sadly you wouldn't be joining him for his holiday opening he was upset, though he hid it threw his hazed eyes and a forced toothy smile.

so when he saw you knocking and waving through the glass door to his business out in the winter wonderland, snowflakes barely grazing over your form, he was thoroughly surprised.

he dropped his rag onto the counter he was once cleaning and rushed over to unlock the door and ushered you inside, instantly noticing the redness on your cheeks and nose.

"Darlin' what are you doing here? i thought you said you were gonna be busy today-" Bob interrupted himself as you pulled out something from behind your back, your own smile plastered on your features, questioning himself if it warmed you just as much it warms his heart.

"I said toDAY, not toNIGHT, plus i physically couldn't hold myself back to give you your gift anymore." You handed Bob his gift, messily wrapped with snowmen littering across the paper, a red bow neatly tied in the middle, a card sticking out underneath it.

Bob took the gift hesitantly, like it was the most fragile thing in the world, his eyes were wide and his smile faltered for a second, fortunately you were occupied at looking at the clock.

"Not to mention its like 9:47." you stated, putting your hands in your pockets, poor thing you must be freezing, nothing but a heavy hoodie was keeping your body warm.

Bob snapped out of his trance at the motion, gift still held gently in his hands as his eyes met yours, his smile was now small but soft.

"Heh, didn't even realize, i've been working all day the time must've slipped my mind. time fly's when your havin' fun huh?" The large man asked, furrowing a playful brow at you as he watched you roll your eye's but couldn't stop the small giggle that slipped between your lips.

"Shut up old man." Bob just chuckled as he walked behind the front counter, placing your gift down next to his rag as you followed pursuit, sitting down on a stool, putting your elbows on the surface cupping your hands to your face as you tried to gain feeling back to your fingers.

"Would ya' like some coffee? just made a fresh pot not to long ago." Bob asked, already getting you a cup as you nodded, grabbing himself a cup as well as.

your leg bounced up and down excitedly as the larger man finished and stirred up both of your beverage's, you hoped he liked his gift, you put a lot of work into it but you still couldn't help but feel like it wasn't the best.

anxiety nipped away at your nerves as Bob placed your cup in front of you, you watched as it steamed, the heat of it barely hitting your face but it still proved some warmth.

Bob looked at your gift, his smile almost faltering again but stopped as he watches you pushed the present towards him, happily chanting for him to open it, but Bob didn't want to touch it. He didn't want to ruin it, even though it was still packaged he thought it was beautiful on its own, the idea that you had gone out of your way to even think about getting him something was filling enough to his heart, but the lively present in font of him felt like the most delicate thing on earth, the feeling that once its open it would lose its rarity.

"Y'know darlin' you didnt have to get me anything-"

"Of course I had too, you mean a lot to me and I needed to find a way to show you. Now shh and open your present."

you stuck your tongue out at the man in front of you as he laughed once more at your playful actions, ignoring the warm feeling that washed over him as you said that, he placed his hands on the silky bow, hesitant to open for a moment before taking the bow off only for the whole wrapping to come undone revealing a white box.

Bob snorted as he watched you bring your hands up over your face, a muffled scream met his ears before he covered his own mouth with the back of his hand to try to contain the laughter that was bubbling inside of him.

"It's the thought that counts sugar." he laughed at your deflated state before opening the box only to met with the vision of red.

"I hope you like it, it was my first time trying to crochet, so im sorry for some of the loose parts but over all I think it came out pretty good!" you squeaked out, hoping that the your friend agrees with you.

It took Bob a moment to register what he was looking at but in the moment you started talking it clicked, it was a red sweater. you had made him a red sweater. Pulling it out of the box to get a better look at it, his fingers were met with soft fabric that were knitted neatly together, the feeling lingered and danced on his fingertips as all he can do was just stares at the clothing.

At your view it look like he was staring blankly at it, did he not like it? did you mess something up? you can fix it if you have too! But sweet thing, the man that stood in front of you loved it, well, love wasn't even the right word to describe the feeling that weighed on his chest. It was overwhelming and it burned but it felt good, it felt golden a holy feeling is what he would say, if he were a holy man.

You sat quietly as you watch Bob put the sweater on, gently one arm through the hole and the same with the other, the skin on your lip falling to your lap as you picked nervously.

The sweater fit perfectly, in fact it was even a bit loose on the larger mans form, that made you feel a bit good about it, but maybe that's not what he likes. But you had to admit it did fit his aesthetics, his dark hair and messy stubble did fit well with the maroon color of the sweater.

You laughed nervously to yourself as voiced cracked underneath the weight of your nervousness.

"Heh.......D-do you like it?"

Bob looked at his signature smile and heavy lidded eyes were still on his face, but if you squint you swear you could see hearts pulsing in his eyes as he stared down at you.

"I love it, its very comfy, don't think im ever gonna be able to take it off." He said calmly ignoring the ravishing feeling that was chewing threw his nerves as he took at a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

you sighed in relief internally to yourself, as you went to now take a sip of your own coffee the dryness that coated your throat was now clear when Bobs voice interrupted you.

"But-" he placed his mug down and gave you a small smirk.

"You do realize im going to have to get you somethin' now right?" you let out a annoyed groan as you threw your head back, like that of an annoyed child.

"I told you, you don't have to get me anything." you said glaring at him, but all he did in return was lean his upper body against the counter top, his smirk never leaving his face as he used his elbows to prop himself up.

"I think I said the exact something to you and what did you do?" once again he furrowed his brow at you as if he was interrogating you.

You on the other hand just grumbled under your breath and furrowed your own brows as you took a sip of your now cold coffee, hearing Bob chuckle to himself next to you.

*̣̥☆·͙̥‧❄‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥˟͙☃˟͙‧̩̥·‧•̥̩̥͙‧·‧̩̥❄‧·͙̥̣☆*̣̥

(❅◕⌣◕) teehee

#bob velseb x reader #bob velseb #spooky month #spooky month bob velseb #enderr fic #sr pelo #spooky month x reader #shake bob like a ragdoll #also shake you like a ragdoll #tbh i kinda dissociate when writing fics #i let my mind take over but its like ratatouille #ALOS SORRY IF THIS IS BAD #also #idk how to tag

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alanntheeldritchhorror · 3 years

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I got overwhelmed and decided to type out an Eddsworld theory on Tom's voice, so here ya go-

So we don't know who is voicing Tom yet, and it's shitty cause so far in EWBeyond we haven't heard him talk, and the newest episode was just low-key bad and had nothing to do with the main gang and I'm hoping it was just they needed a sponsor but didn't want it on a main Eddisode so they just made a short thing for one and it's not the direction of the series but either way the teaser for the next one had a rabbit which makes me think it's gonna be an Easter special. And if it's a special I am assuming (and hoping) Tom has a part in it along with the rest of the main gang since they all have like voice actors except for Tom

But then the question comes in who will voice him?

Now I have a few therioes, and I'll go from least to most likely-

1: TomSka is returning to voice him. This is a small chance cause he has said and made it clear multiple times he is still hurting from Edds death and that he dosen't want any reminders of him. However in a few of his recent videos he actually said the name of the series and talked about it nonchalantly which could be a sign he is getting better and returning just with his voice

2: Tom will end up being mute. Now if this is the case it's probably gonna be more of a gag then him becoming mute because of something happening

We kinda saw how this would play out in casting call, he still has his personality, and can still be an active character, it's just everytime he needs to speak he just conveniently gets intrupted or tuned out. It would be a funny gag but who knows how long it gets old, plus heh Probably know he is a fan favourite so it's less likely

3: the knew episode is somewhat about this. Now we don't know for sure if it will be a holiday special, if it is that would be dope but the rabbit could actually have something to do with Tom. Everyone knows the theroy that Tom is a monster/possed/is a demon, and it was kinda sorta confirmed. In the new episode we might get a full blown confirmation. In the clip the bunny is Slimey and such, so it's possible it's an expiriment. We know from The End that Tord had blueprints of Tom's monster form, so he knows about it. It is possible that he is also the cause. There is a chance this rabbit as something to do with Tord and the adventure is them trying to find Tom a good voice (since he didn't get one in the casting call) but they instead find the rabbit and shit happens. Again not really likely cause it involves Tord who is controversial due to behind the scenes stuff, and I don't know if they wanna go that "lore heavy"

4: Finally, it might just be he has a voice from a voice actor who was just picked and has nothing to do with Eddsworld prior. This is the least Interesting, yes, but it is the most likely. It would suck since Matt is voiced by actually Matt and Edd is voiced by Edds brother, so it's kinda weird for someone random to do it, but none the less its a possibility. Another mini thing that might make this better but it's really just PURE speculation is that Eddache might voice him. He is close with TomSka, so he can probably get the personality, and he worked on The End and such too. He also did audition for Edd when Edd died, however again this is based on like no evidence

Some info might be wrong, some shit may be off, idk I wrote this in a haste and it's literally just a thought dump-

#eddsworld #ew tom #ew tord #ew matt #ew edd #eddsworld theory

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chibi-mushroom · 4 years

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Hey everyone! Here is day three! The story is based on a show on youtube called Monstrum, I highly suggest it. There will be a picture to go along with it when I get home from work. I figured with her wearing all white and him wearing all black, it would be cute.

*************

Today was the day. Riku had promised that he would take her to other worlds outside their own, and he intended to do it. Sora was safe and at home now, spending his days on the sands of the Destiny Islands with Kairi. However, life had other plans for Riku. He had decided to follow in Aqua’s footsteps and become a full-time keyblade master; protecting the worlds from any remaining darkness. He himself had learned that the darkness wasn’t the enemy they had always been told it was.

Not that he was never home anymore. His mother insisted that he be home as often as he could to visit. After they had lost him for so long, they weren’t intent on losing him again. His family had been so happy that he came home that they had forgiven him for plunging the world into darkness. Now they could ask Sora or Kairi for stories anytime they wanted to hear what kind of adventures their son was getting into. They also begged him to bring Namine home. She lived with the Wayfinder trio in the Land of Departure and kept it while they were away on patrols.

There she was in the courtyard of her new home when he arrived to pick her up. She wore clothes much different now than that she could wear something other than that white slip she had been created in. Now she had a blue plaid skirt and black v neck top that resembled the one he wore. Overtop was a long white jacket with blue plaid on the bottom and a mickey insignia in yellow on her arm. Her hair was tied up as well, which made it easier to keep out of her face while she was casting spells.

With a heavy blush, Riku accepted the soft peck on his cheek before he lead her into the gummi ship. It was such a new sensation to have her holding onto him and presenting him with varied kisses. He enjoyed and treasured each one, but was also glad that they were kept in private, when it was just the two of them and they didn’t need to worry what else anyone thought or said.

“So, where are we going?” Namine questioned as she buckled her seatbelt. Takeoff had been hard on her every other time she had gone through it, despite how much she wanted to sit with him.

“I was hoping you might have a world in mind. I’ll take you anywhere you’d like to go.”

Namine thought to herself for a moment. There were so many worlds in Sora’s memories and even more in the hearts of those tied to him. But one in particular had stuck out to her. She somehow knew the lore that went with the holiday; the spooks and the scares and the way the dead shambled back to life. It wasn’t her first choice of worlds, but the idea of going there with Riku by her side seemed a little easier to bear than dealing with the brunt of it by herself.

“Can we check out Halloween Town?”

“You want to go there?” Riku looked back at her.

“Yes. it might be a little scary, but Jack seemed really nice, and I want to experience the thrill of terror when I know I'm not in any danger. Terra always seemed to like it, so…”

Riku smiled. “Then Halloween town it is. I wonder what your form change will be?”

While neither said it, they were both thinking it. She was likely going to be a witch of some sort. That was what most of the organization had called her as well as DiZ and even herself on occasions, though she was usually repeating the words of others. As for Riku, he could be anything. Sora had seemed to be a vampire of some kind, so maybe the keyblade master would be, too.

When the ship touched down, Namine giggled at the bubbly feeling that always accompanied their form changes to other worlds. As they walked out of the ship together, they took a long look to evaluate the other's change.

Riku was wearing a dark suit and his usually tanned skin had paled to being much lighter than she had ever seen it. She noticed very small fangs in his mouth as well as the fact that his hair had been mussed up. The biggest change though was the addition of bat wings that had grown out of him. It was fitting all things considered.

Her change though was quite a bit different. She reached up to where the brim of a witch's hat should have been only to find none. Her skin had turned a deathly white and her hair had even lost its color as well. She was wearing a long white dress that may have had a couple of rips, but for the most part was quite lovely.

"Are you supposed to be some kind of ghost?" Riku asked simply.

"No, I think I would be a little more...floaty? I don't feel like a ghost." Namine responded.

"That's the thing about form changes. You yourself haven't changed, just your outward appearance."

"Like you did in Twilight town." She spoke and gave a gasp, clapping her hands over her mouth. "Sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"You never saw me like that. To you I was always Riku." He spoke softly.

Namine nodded and gently took one of his large hands in her two smaller ones. She squeezed them lovingly and caught his gaze. The past was the past and she told him so in those very words. He had moved so far forward from that time; there was no need to drag himself back, even if it had been partially her fault that he even thought about it.

He nodded back and turned to lead them into town. He faintly remembered parts of it when he had wandered through the memories in Castle Oblivion, but he had never gotten a chance to go there properly before now. For a moment he was worried they wouldn't have anything to light their way, as it was fairly dark around here in the forest. Thankfully the overly large full moon gave them plenty of light to see by.

Town was easy enough to find, and as they walked through the gates, they were greeted by a small ghostly dog with a little lit pumpkin on its nose. It gave a happy bark and flew close around them, causing a small breeze to ruffle their clothes and hair. Namine had wanted to pet it, but since it was a ghost, she settled for watching the way it observed them.

Coming behind the dog was an unusually tall skeleton in a dark suit and spider bow tie. He looked at them, sizing them up with a smirk on his face. Both recognized him as Jack, the pumpkin king, even though he had never actually met either of them.

"Welcome to Halloween town. And who might you two be?" He bent over to get a better look at them.

"I'm Riku and this is Namine. We're friends of Sora's."

At the mention of the boy's name, Jack's face lit up. "So you found him after all. Good for you. Tell him to stop by sometime if he wants a good scream. I'm Jack, by the way. I help make each Halloween more scary than the last."

"Will do. And nice to meet you, jack." Riku replied. "So, is there anything to do around here?"

"Sure! Lots. Why don't you and your banshee friend head over to Curly hill? It's just down the way, you can't miss it."

A banshee. So that was what Namine had transformed into. As they waved goodbye, something was tugging at the back of Riku's mind. He had heard about banshees from his time on the island. They were monsters with a horrible voice and came to attack from out of nowhere. Maybe the form changes really were random, because that wasn't anything like her. She was usually soft spoken and thoughtful of others.

She must have been thinking about it too, because the look on her face was deep in thought, and perhaps a little troubled. As they walked, he took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. That was enough to bring her out of her thoughts, as she forced a smile at Riku.

"Are you bothered by the form change?" He asked.

"I don't know. I know about the stories you, Sora and Kairi would tell whenever you went camping, but it's like what we said earlier, appearance doesn't equal the heart, right?"

"Yeah, but you should also be comfortable in your own skin. Maybe we could try another world?'

"No, I want to see Curly hill for myself. I've seen it in memory, but this will be different."

They continued to walk, leaves crunching under their feet and a faraway howl rising in the air. Despite what she had said, her brows were still knit close together and she made a face similar to what Kairi did when she was frustrated.

There was a thin gate to their right and it led into a pathway in line with their final destination. Far ahead of them was the iconic hill that they were looking for, the swirl high in the moonlight. As they got closer, they noticed someone walking among the tombstones and pumpkins. She was moving at a leisurely pace, humming softly to herself.

"Oh, that's Sally." Namine smiled. She had always liked the woman from what she had seen.

"Hello there, and who might you be?" Sally asked.

"I'm Namine and this is Riku. It's nice to meet you."

"Yes, I suppose it is. Have I met you before? There's something about you that seems familiar."

Namine shook her head. She must have sensed the small amount of Sora that had been imbued in her upon her creation. Sally really must have been able to sense things others couldn't necessarily see.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Sally. It's not often we get a banshee around here. Not to say your vampire friend isn't welcome, but banshees are just a sign of good luck."

Riku and Namine looked at each other in slight confusion. They had never heard that version of the story. It had always been death and destruction. Where did the good luck come from?

"Banshees are good luck because they usually arrive to let members of their family know that death is coming so they have a chance to prepare. Which family are you connected to?"

"I'm not sure." Namine admitted.

"That's alright." Sally smiled warmly in the cool moonlight.

From the gate came the same ghostly dog who had greeted them when they entered the town. He zoomed around Riku and Namine before licking Sally and barking at her. The woman bent down and patted the ghost dog on the head before watching him fly off towards the town.

"It looks like doctor Finkelstein needs me for something. I hope you two enjoy your stay!"

With Sally gone, Riku suggyest they head up the hill to get a better view of the area nearby. They sat together for a while, listening to the wind sighing and a small band of vampires playing in the distance. He could tell she was deep in thought again, but this time, she wasn't nearly as frustrated. A contemplative look filled her face.

"Munny for your thoughts?" Riku asked.

"Just thinking about what Sally said. I guess I just got so used to being referred to as a witch that I didn't think there could be any good in monsters outside of this world. To me, a witch was just as much as a monster as any of them."

He listened as she continued.

"But I think….I think that hearing what Sally had to say about the banshees really made me wonder about who I'm going to be and what I'm going to do. They may have called me a witch, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily bad, right?"

"No, it isn't. After all, witch, banshee, nobody; those don't make up who you are. Only you can decide what you're going to be."

"Yeah. Maybe that's the real reason why my heart led us here today. That way I could figure this out." She caught his gaze. "Riku, thank you."

#rikunami week 2020 #rikunami #namiku #halloweentown #day 3 #black and white

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

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The Castle on the Hill Chapter 1: Hyde

Genre: Smut, Romance, Fluff, Thriller, Werewolf AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Superstition is as powerful as religion, especially to those living in the countryside. Nevertheless, the sole outsider in town fully joins in the belief of the Last Warden of the North and is insistent on protecting the only girl who accepts him yet refutes the local lore.

However, there is something in the castle on the hill.

And it hungers for something in the village below.

Someone.

You.

Author’s Note: Hello,

Indeed, I am still very much alive but have been extremely busy with university and my job. However, now that the holidays are coming up and I am on my Christmas break, I have a wee bit o’ time to write leisurely again.

I came up with this tale when I was in Cardiff in November, strolling around Bute Park and thinking of ‘Castle on the Hill’ by Ed Sheeran. And, let us be honest, I was thinking of Chan as well (though that should not come as a surprise at this point).

Regardless, hopefully you will enjoy this wee trilogy.

Forever yours,

The Red Raven

Hyde / The Marriage of Man and Beast / Jekyll

Masterlist

Religion is a form of superstition, but just as powerful as the latter for it has ruled mankind in equal amounts, co-existing yet often the cause for war as well. In contemporary times, however, the belief in all folkloric creatures seems to have faded into a case for a good laugh rather than truly believing death will come at hearing the wail of a banshee or swearing the ghost of the black nun continues to haunt the ruins of the friary at which entrance she is buried. Withal, the faith in a particular mythological being has been altered time and again thanks to pop culture but, perhaps fortunately so, the origins of the legend remain remembered vividly by the people who inhabit the area the tale stems from.

The golden sunlight outlines the ruins of the majestic castle that once graced the hill outside the park, mustard and amber leaves littering the pathways frequented by strollers while the weather still permits it. Soon, winter shall conquer autumn and the rains increase in frequency. Henceforth, the days running a small café in the middle of the park is enjoyed the most when all is grand, the world frozen in a perfect seasonal frame.

‘You’re either immensely stupid or incredibly brave to run this establishment, lass.’ A cup of steaming black coffee is served to the wise old man living around the corner of the recreational ground, the white brick worker’s house providing a view on the scenery that everyone seems to fear even in the twenty-first century. Always up for conversation, Paidraigh has helped a novice independent entrepreneur almost flawlessly continue the business formerly run by one of the local women who had to stop due to health issues. He might look like a grumpy soul despising the world, but the stout figure with wise wrinkles and bushy pale beard is actually one of the kindest people residing in the wee village.

‘How do you mean that, sir?’

‘Have ye nay heard o’ the wolf inhabiting the castle?’

‘I have heard the whispers of strange sounds coming from the ruins at night, aye, but I am sure it’s nothing to worry about.’

‘The word’s it’s a wolf, the spirit of the fierce Last Warden of the North to whom the castle once belonged. It’s said that once he entered the battlefield, all that would be left o’ the enemies were bloody carcasses. As if eaten by, ye guessed it, a wolf.’ Kind stone irises gain a wary glint once they wander to the edge of the sandstone terrace, noticing the heavy boot fall of the town’s most recent inhabitant. ‘Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.’

‘Paddy, don’t be mean. Drink your coffee and leave the lad be, alright?’ A palm amiably pats a broad shoulder before tucking the serving plate under the armpit and heading back to the counter to take a new order.

And likely do more than that, knowing the newcomer.

‘Alright, fine. Just watch yersel’ around him. One wolf is more than enough for this village.’

‘Hiya, how are you?’ Before the habitual order can be placed with as few words as possible, attention is called to the deep scarlet scar running over the bridge of a big nose. ‘What did you do to get that?’

‘Bar fight.’ A soft smile is laboriously carved onto roseate lips, likely albeit clearly suppressing the memory of the scene causing the physical damage. Nevertheless, once gazes lock, the hatred is actively tried to be kept to a bare minimum and show a friendly side the reclusive does not always reveal to anyone. ‘An americano, please.’

Without speaking further, the beverage is prepared. However, as the coffee machine is buzzing while freshly grinding beans to create a perfectly brewed medium roast, the first-aid supplies stored in a cupboard beneath the counter are sought out and taken alongside the drink to the outside of the little booth. Of course, it could have been slid to the customer immediately through the window but it simply happened to unnecessarily be carried as well.

‘Here’s your americano.’ Sitting down on the empty stool across from the silent force looking on in surprise while maintaining a friendly though slightly tired tone, fingers search among the medical care items for the disinfectant and a cotton pad. The frustration wants to be kept to a minimum but it is hard to do so when this very same scene keeps repeating itself and fuels the bad image the villagers have of, in their eyes, a stranger.

Bruises and open wounds thanks to fights that were either started by one’s own volition or after provocation.

Cuts thanks to carving the wooden pillars dotting the grand park, curiously staying close to the little café and helping out at times by remaining on the grand lawn regardless of how many meters need to be bridged to get the new piece of art where it belongs.

‘I’m fine.’ The remark is clearly meant to dismiss the caregiving yet results in all but that since physical damage, no matter of what nature and source, do ignite a genuine worry for the local woodcarver.

Although the habitual resorting to sarcasm protects sincere emotions from showing. Nonetheless, it is helpful in chastising, never failing to eventually get Christopher to look like a guilty puppy while patching him up. ‘And I’m the Queen of Sheba. You strained yer knuckles too much and now they’re bleeding again.’

‘It’s but a scratch.’

‘Is what the Black Knight said before he got annihilated by King Arthur. Give me your hand, you eejit.’

‘Y/N, it’s fine.’

‘No, it’s fecking not.’ A deep sigh lowers tense shoulders admitting that stubbornness will lead nowhere and thus take a soft-spoken yet still genuine approach. ‘I just want to help. Please, give me your hand.’

Howbeit reluctant, the damaged calloused palm nevertheless reaches out and comes to rest in a concerned lap as small digits wrap lightly around the wrist to keep it in place. ‘Thank you.’

The bystanders are ignored as the fresh ugly patches of broken skin are taken care of, taking great care to clean the wounds properly before bandaging them up. Withal, what cannot be ignored is the low threatening growl rolling from plush lips with every touch of disinfecting cotton. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Sorry. It’s just that, grm, it really fucking hurts.’ Teeth grit, snarls and hisses alternating with the light dabs as irises shoot invisible daggers. The free hand which has yet to be treated moulds into a trembling fist trying to remain static despite the agony.

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t get into fights in the first place. What even was it about?’ The damage has been cleaned enough to apply an ointment and bandage the harmed knuckles, gaining the same feral reaction as before.

Notwithstanding, the silence is filled by wordlessness and primal noises, igniting an irritation at the deduction the chastisement is ignored in stubbornness. However, the assumption is counteracted when a whisper provides a muttered surprising answer that fuels a novel sort of annoyance in the mocha locks sitting on the stool. ‘Someone insulted you.’

No, it is not irritation.

Rage.

Pure fury, barely contained.

‘Me? Why?’ Puzzled by the confusing display of hatred against an absent party, locks tilt in patient curiosity waiting for the story.

‘It wasn’t really an insult. Just men drunkenly talking about how they’d show up here to surprise you and you’d be the girlfriend of one of theirs and how lucky you’d be with one of them.’ The split bottom lip is caught between pearly teeth, nibbling while trying to regain a calmer composure even though it is hard when the second set of broken skin is about to be treated. ‘I couldn’t- couldn’t, fuck, that stings! I couldn’t stand the arrogant, hrm, tone and nonsense so I... I just lost it. Snapped.’

‘Christopher-’ The imminent correcting in spite of secretly being flattered by the reason that likely holds no meaning whatsoever since there is more of a patient-nurse relationship is cut short by a low snigger. ‘Hey, why are you smiling like that?’

‘I just like the way you say my name.’ Bright earthly irises set above a big nose marred by a scar likely inflicted by a knife blade are humoured, the sentiment filtering through in the gentle curve of plush lips. The playful aura makes the woodcarver appear quite boyish, a stark contrast with the pub brawler the village has cast out from the beginning.

‘Well, it’s yours, aye?’ Heated cheeks faking casualness return to the task of taking care of the other damaged hand, trying badly to ignore the sweet smile now vividly engraved into memory.

Keep it together. It means nothing. You’re more his nurse than anything else. You’re just friends, if there is any friendship at all. He simply trusts you.

‘Yeah, but-’

‘And I’m sure I don’t say it any differently than any other person.’

‘Still, I like- fuck!’ A giggle flows over into a curse when the bandage is tugged perhaps a bit too tightly to nevertheless teach the lesson of not getting into fights as often as one does. A pleased little grin cannot be suppressed, hiding the delight at the hopefully effective teaching method that will lessen the scene which is exhaustingly re-enacted over and over.

‘If you didn’t get into fights, I wouldn’t have to keep patching you up and you wouldn’t have to deal with the pain.’ A new cotton pad is soaked in disinfectant while throwing a cautious glance in Paddy’s direction, the old man’s lips tightly sealed as grey whiskers move ever so slightly in discomfort.

‘He doesn’t like me.’ A sombre self-aware tone sneaks into lowered defeated shoulders turned towards the old cod, gaze softening in powerlessness.

‘That’s not true.’ The seemingly misplaced remark pulls the young man’s attention, head slightly tilting to the side while irises remain strangely heart-wrenchingly grave.

If only they could know you the way I do.

‘Y/N,’ the powerful mere word is spoken as if surrender is not an option, that the truth of being disliked has to be admitted even though it does not want to be, ‘It’s obvious. Everyone’s afraid of me.’

‘The only thing they’re really scared of is the wolf up in the castle.’ Mocking local superstition, a sigh rolls from the lips setting to work on the carmine single cut running over the nose. There is no resistance this time, Christopher moving, in fact, to the edge of the stool for better access and to make cleaning the scar easier. ‘Guess I’ll hear the same uselessly worried whispers again from the customers tomorrow.’

A hand rests leisurely on the thigh for support, but is taken to come to rest on the brawler’s cheek and kept there, a content hum filling the air scented by coffee and cologne. Lashes flutter shut as mocha locks lean into the touch, almost as if falling asleep right here and now. It would be a lie to say the display does not spread an odd fuzzy warmth throughout, especially when memories of healing up close, observing wood being carved from a distance or problems with difficult people were solved in the same proximity as now resurface.

Unfortunately, the delightful image is disrupted a second later for the jaw clenches as a low beastly rumble rises from a broad chest trying hard to remain casual as the disinfectant once again stings in the stupidly acquired cut. Irises light up in an amber flash, bearing a terrifying violent hatred that calms down immediately upon establishing a bit of distance that nullifies the intimacy. A confused heart does not know what to make of it, only that the rage that surfaced as rapidly as it disappeared never wants to be directed towards oneself.

Still, a normal question is raised in an odd undefinable manner that rises from the fearsome wolfish attitude, voice sounding apologetical and clearly wanting to move past something as digits vaguely reach out but drop restlessly in ignorance of what to do. ‘Are you staying open much longer?’

The throat is cleared to regain composure, hardy succeeding yet enough to answer as if nothing happened. ‘Till six, as usual.’ The resumed dabbing briefly stops at the notice of an uneasy shift in weight, a panic without direct cause causing the action. ‘Why do you ask?’

Bandaged hands awkwardly occupy one another in futile twirling of cared-for fingers as the tongue staring at the sandstone is hesitant to voice what suddenly has become urgent. ‘Can you close earlier?’

‘I could but why would I?’ Feigning not having taken notice in the change of demeanour, the last straws are laid in nursing the bloody scar. The palm leaning on the knee of mocha locks, put there in an unconscious move after pulling up the unresisting chin for better access, does seem to calm the nerves somewhat as the regulation of breathing suggests.

When applying the ointment, it is entirely regular and a sigh is relieved with the company.

Only to speed up again when worriedly mentioning the legend that has the entire village spooked even in the twenty-first century. ‘The wolf.’

‘Christopher, don’t you get started as well. There’s no wolf in the castle, no spirit of the Last Warden of the North.’ Shuffling to the edge of the stool, something is attempted to be done about the split lip which has started bleeding again. ‘Your lip is bleeding. Sit still for a wee bit, will ye?’

Calloused fingers wrap firmly around the wrist reaching out after soaking a new dot of cotton in disinfectant, earthly irises ablaze with superstitious concern flowing over in pleading speech. ‘Please close the café before it gets dark.’

‘Look, it’s my business so I decide the opening hours.’ Budging results in nothing but a firmer, even painful grip. Withal, knowing the novel local woodcarver, panic does not set in as it would have had it been anyone else. Still, a meaningless glance sideways is picked up by Paddy as something which does hold significance, the stout old man already rising from his seat when a quick denying nod assures all is well. The command is tranquil yet effectively fierce. ‘Chris, let me go. You’re hurting me.’

As swift as lightning, digits unravel upon hearing the response and move away to create a distance filled by curious emotions that would hint at an intimacy going beyond what is truly present. ‘I’m sorry, he- we didn’t mean to... I- I mean, I didn’t mean to… to...’ A shivering sigh precedes a steadier repeated request, trying to move past the incident while remaining clearly doubtfully calculating of words and actions. ‘Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.’

We? He? Why are you talking like this?

‘I’ll be regardless because there’s no ghost or monster that will slink down the hill to devour me.’ The remark tries to be amusingly sarcastic but it has no effect on the outcast whose grave expression does not change, continuing to stare remorsefully at the red band around the wrists.

The shaking fingers holding soft cotton meant for healing.

Yet ends up hurting.

‘Even if you don’t believe my reason nor the villagers’, close early.’ Lashes are brave enough to look up, keep up the pleading despite being refused over and over.

Maybe I should... no, what am I getting at. It’s just a story, a myth.

‘Can we stop talking about this?’ A palm finds the courage to rise and endeavour to nurse the split lip anew. ‘Sit still and let me help you.’

But soon retracts in heart-pounding concern when unspoken consent flinches as bodies come a wee bit closer to make it easier. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yeah. Yeah, I am. Ehm,’ mocha locks confusedly and haphazardly glance around the terrace, questioning eyes flitting over the customers as a quite adorable big nose sniffs the air before leaning in to take a whiff, ‘Are you wearing perfume?’

‘No, why?’ The head buzzes with what to think of the weird gesture and unanswered inquiries about how the sudden change of topic has come about alongside the earlier talk in the third person. Brows furrow in wonder of the easiest topic for contemplation since perfume is fairly ineffective if unnecessary for the scent of coffee replaces the function on a daily basis.

‘Oh. Well- You- Never mind.’ A shadow movement forward remains just that, a hallucination without certainty. What is real, however, is the rapidity to get up and turn halfway away yet having the politeness to end the conversation by an unsettling awkward look over the shoulder. ‘I should go finish that pillar.’

‘But... your coffee?’ Christoper is already gone before the sentence can be finished, a gobsmacked offended finger pointing to the cooled cup on the counter containing liquid cold. In an instant, likely due to the great offence taken at letting such a precious gift to mankind waste away, the confusion of the chaotic farewell turns into a barista’s rage directed towards the woodcarver who has fled the scene. ‘The bastard just left the coffee to cool? That barbarian!’

The key turns in the lock, definitely closing business for the day. The moonlight falls in through the autumn leaves, casting moving shadows enhancing the dark of the dusk which has overtaken the quiet town. In the slightly clouded sky, the moon shines bright and illuminates the ruined haunted castle on the hill.

Y/N, please. Please close before it gets dark. We don’t- I want you to be safe.

‘I am completely fine. There’s nothing out here to get me. Also, who is ‘’we’’?’ Jeering strands shake in partial self-mockery at the brief spark of fear quickly running through veins at the recollection of the wish spoken in an oddly worried tone, foolishly spooked by mere folklore. ‘And here I thought you and I were the only sane people around, Chris. Guess it’s just me.’

After a final tug on the doorknob to ensure the place is neatly closed off until the dawn, sneakers start their wading path among the fallen mustard and ruby leaves that have been shaded a hue of onyx, tiger’s eye or plum in the twilight. The wind has calmed from its fierce mannerisms, now only softly blowing among the trees densely planted in the great park.

Carrying the sound of a low rumble as it smoothes over branches.

A snarl.

In the twilight silence another disconcerting noise resonates between carved pillars and trunks.

Padding.

A faint tinkling.

Of iron.

Shackles.

No, I must be hearing things. His and Paddy’s words are just getting to my head. There’s nothing. Nothing.

Withal, the bright amber lights are no will-o’-the-wisps and the appearing fur does not appear in the adorable shape of a squirrel. There is not the faintest trace of innocence to be found in the extraordinary meeting between a gigantic wolf cuffed by a firm iron collar around its neck, the broken chain clinking loudly as it drags over the ground and creates a hideous symphony in combination with the violent low growls of the beast.

‘That’s not possible. There’s no Warden, no wolf. This isn’t real.’ Even as the words are spoken in the futile hope of regaining a sense of logic, the conviction is hardly there. In fact, it is entirely absent. ‘This isn’t happening.’

Nevertheless, the snarled warning tone is too near, the impact too tangible in nerves standing on edge in alarm to dismiss the current situation as mental trickery. Especially because the silver light reflecting off of dagger-sharp canines comes too close for comfort, sending raggedly breathing feet fleeing to the wee café a few meters away while silently praying to reach it alive.

However, every rush forwards paradoxically yields nothing to a panicked mind who can feel warm predatory breath heat the back of the brown leather jacket and slowly rise to the back of the neck. Mortified tears start to brim in the corners of the eyes, damnably obscuring vision at a time when errors cannot be made for one, be it stumbling over a fallen branch or temporarily slowing down, will mean the end.

Christopher, Paddy, I’m sorry I didn’t listen. Youse were right and I’m a feckin eejit. I’m sorry. Chris, I’m sorry.

Growling grows ever closer, whispering of there being no escape because paws shall at one point do more than brush against ankles.

Rampant fingers search the pockets of jeans, cursing while feeling around the fabric for the damned key to open the lock to the safe haven.

Sneakers halt in front of the inaccessible door, still searching.

The wolf has slowed down, no longer running yet not giving up the chase now that the helpless prey has been forced into a corner. Big paws as black as a starless sky in winter pad languidly, bright eyes the colour of the pumpkin spice latte that forms the seasonal special obviously finding joy in the hunting game.

In toying with a hopeless target.

One step forwards.

One step back.

To and fro.

I can’t turn my back on it. Still, I have to if I want to get into the damned café. What do I do? What the fuck do I do?

The shivering spine is frozen in place thanks to paralysis due to pure horror, though digits carefully and hopefully unnoticeable continue rummaging through pockets as they keep a close watch on the impending beastly enemy.

Where the fu- By Jaysus, there it is!

Tense shoulders lower slightly in relief when the key is found on the bottom of the right pocket, the brief second of peace of mind carrying over in an unconscious sweetly delighted sigh.

Which evidently triggers the haste to attack because the sadistic game of threats is cut short as the wolf lunges forwards at the speed of lightning.

Fortunately, sharp-fanged jaws are evaded just in time when the key is rammed into the lock, opening the blasted barrier before slamming the door shut and sealing it off once again. All the while cursing Heaven and Hell together.

Hastily, steps lead around the tiny kitchen in search of anything to barricade the door with. An effort which proves fairly futile as basically all equipment is installed in such a manner it cannot be moved and all tables and chairs are kept outside since thieves do not tend to take furniture when on a heist around here.

Or such is the sentiment with which they are stored outside.

Why, of all the times, did I store them outside? Why couldn’t I at least put one table and chair inside? There has to be something around here, there’s got to be.

The fierce longing finds a wonderful answer in the old yet glistening iron chain lock that the former owner of the establishment used before getting proper locks installed and which has been stored away in the back of one of the counters. Sneaking glances to the amber-eyed predatory shadow roaming the terrace through the window of the main counter, horrified palms reach for the sole barrier between life and death.

Flinching back while hardly suppressing mortified screaming, allowing a meek gasp to escape, when the door leading to the hunting dark rattles as if a great weight has been thrown against it in an attempt to force it open. Blood rushing in the ears of accelerated breathing on the edge of breaking down backs away from the tightly sealed entrance, putting the key that was kept inside the lock into the pocket, shivering thanks to the ice veins have turned into.

Finding safety in the corner of the kitchen, wrapping arms around the knees that have fallen to the ground without muscles and pressing tears knowing this is the end of the line into stony grey denim.

Paddy... Christopher... Chris, I’m so sorry. I wish you were here. Fuck, I should’ve listened to ye instead of being such a gobshite.

The memorized phantom of lush lips take a shivering figure soon to meet death into sturdy woodcarving arms dusted over with soft thin black hair, head resting against the secure chest that has been healed from sickly bruises, bleeding bullet wounds, fresh deep dagger scars or a combination of all. Because, despite the chastisements each time the curious artists shows up at the café in a worsened condition, there remains the recalled moments of mocha locks helping in dealing with difficult customers and men trying their futile luck by going too far. Christopher had been there at an oddly fascinated barista’s side, leaving as little distance between bodies as possible while snarling in warning of touching the boundaries of patience so desperate men would see their chances ruined and people complaining about the pettiest things would know the customer is not always king.

Day in, day out. From the moment the café opens until it closes, staying close by while creating the gorgeously engraved pillars dotting the landscape.

Sometimes even walking homewards together, wordlessly refusing to part ways before having made sure the sole girl in town not distrustful towards an “outsider” has arrived safely and only then cracking on to the personal roof. When not doing so, it is towards working places set in nature, enjoying the hush of the morning as the sun rises in the golden sky.

Hands used to meaninglessly brush against each other.

At some point, it has become a habit to hold his pinky from the moment of being picked up without an explicit arrangement until the destination is reached.

In blissful small talk or a comfortable silence.

I wish you were here. See you one last time.

But death is lonesome in the growling silence of the lush park.

#ksmutclub #Werewolf AU #Bangchan smut #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Chris Bang #Stray Kids #SKZ

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fanfictionisliteraturetoo · 4 years

Text

A Supernatural Christmas Carol (Chapter 1)

Series Summary: After a rough year, the reader is having a hard time doing anything besides work. When Dean encourages the reader to celebrate Christmas with Sam and him, the reader declines. After their disagreement, the reader retreats to her room. Throughout the night the reader is visited by four unexpected visitors. Will these visitors be able to help her have a change of heart before it’s too late?

Chapter One Summary: The reader is trying to find a new case, when Dean reminds her it’s Christmas Eve. The reader and Dean have a disagreement about whether or not they should take a break from hunting for the holidays. After their disagreement she returns to her room where she is visited by someone from her past.

Pairings: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Angst and character death (an OC, no main characters).

Word Count: 2,160+

A/N: This is loosely based on A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. I will be writing five chapters to follow the format of the book. This first part doesn’t have much Dean x Reader but the following four parts will. I’m hoping this series will be completed on Christmas Day. Wish me luck. Merry Christmas and Enjoy!

I sat in the war room on my laptop searching for a case, completely unaware that today was Christmas Eve. Earlier this year, I severely injured my left leg which didn’t allow me to do much hunting. On top of my physical injury, my heart was also injured. My sister joined a sinister coven of witches who used their magic for riches, success, and power. After months and months of not hearing from her, she finally reached out to me and asked to meet up. I immediately packed up and headed for Oklahoma where she claimed to be. Once I arrived the situation quickly turned south, and literally went up in flames. My sister was where she said she would be but she wasn’t who I thought she would be. Before I stopped hearing from her, we talked at least once a week. I attempted to keep her distant from my hunting life, to protect her. When she went missing I wasn’t sure if she was dead or alive. As soon as I saw her in that diner I knew something was off. The situation ended with her lighting the diner on fire in an attempt to throw me off her track, but in doing so she almost killed me. That’s when I knew my sister was gone.

These injuries made it difficult to leave the bunker. I often felt stir crazy as I watched Sam and Dean come and go. In an attempt to be helpful, I crafted myself into the bunker’s personal caretaker. With my leg still on the mend I couldn’t do a lot of the heavy lifting but I did manage to do some basic chores along with lots of organizing. Between all the things the Men of Letters had collected, combined with things brought in by the Winchester’s, the bunker needed some serious assistance. However, most of my time was spent in the war room or the library, surrounded by lore books, my laptop, and my journal. I was now the team’s main case finder and researcher. I missed hunting and for now this was as close as I could get. I couldn’t help my sister, but I could help plenty of other people by helping the boys catch monsters.

Today felt no different than any other day. I got up early, made the boys’ breakfast, and started searching for cases. I was coming up dry and had been for days. I was just getting into some weird, but promising, internet pockets when Dean came in.

“Merry Christmas Eve (Y/N)!” Dean cheerfully greeted me as he entered the room.

“Eh it’s just another day” I muttered, as I continued to scroll through tabloids

“It’s just another day? (Y/N) it’s Christmas Eve! You can’t be serious?” He teased.

I had honestly forgotten about Christmas, and even with Dean reminding me I didn’t really care. Working was helping me feel like I was in control. After the year I had, what little control I could gain over my life I quickly took.

“I am Dean. We’re hunters, we don’t really have time for that sort of thing.” I replied, closing my laptop in defeat. I wasn’t going to get anything done at the moment.

“Exactly my point sweetheart,” Dean pulled up a chair beside me and sat down. “We’re hunters. Sometimes we need a little bit of normalcy to balance us out. Plus the holidays are a great excuse for pie!” He laughed.

I simply replied “You can have pie any day,” and stood up to collect my things. Perhaps I could find another spot to do my research.

“Why are you so tense?” Dean questioned, standing up with me.

“What else can I be, when I live in a world full of monsters?” I retorted. “Sure it’s Christmas Eve but people are still dying Dean. People are losing their sanity, their homes, and their family because of the evil that’s out there. The longer we sit here and play house, the more likely it is someone falls victim to another untimely death.” With that I grabbed my things, held them close to my chest, and headed for the exit.

“(Y/N)!” Dean grabbed my shoulder, turning me to face him. I could see his eyes glittering from the tears he was holding back. I knew I had hurt him, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I was not going to change my mind. There was too much at stake for me to worry about the holidays.

“Dean! You can celebrate Christmas if you want to, just leave me out of it.” I curtly replied, causing Dean’s hand to drop off my shoulder. I wanted to run to my room while I had the chance but I could tell he wasn’t done with this conversation yet.

“Listen, this job is hard (Y/N), but a lot of good comes from it. Every time we gank some douchebag the world is a slightly better place. I know that sometimes it feels like a never-ending battle, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. However, I also know how important it is to rest up occasionally so you don’t burn out. And on top of that I know that it’s important to open up to others, so that the darkness you fight daily doesn’t get bottled up, until you can’t handle it anymore,” He paused. “(Y/N) I know you’re trying to make up for the terrible year you’ve had, but you’re turning into someone I don’t recognize. I’m worried about you, hell we’re all worried about you! There’s no way for me to understand everything you’re going through, but I do know what it’s like to lose people. Please let me help you?” Dean’s words made my heart wrench. I couldn’t open up to him. It wouldn’t solve anything and it would cause me to lose focus.

Before Dean finished speaking, I heard Sam enter the room behind me. He must have been standing there for a while, unsure whether or not he should come in and join the conversation. Sam went immediately to Dean’s side and crossed his arms. Once Dean was finished, Sam spoke up.

“Dean’s right (Y/N), we are worried about you. We just want to help.” Sam delicately declared.

For some reason what Sam said struck my nerves. Perhaps it was due to the thoughts of my sister plaguing my mind or perhaps it was due to something else. Deep down I knew both of them were trying to help. I knew that I shouldn’t lash out at them. Unfortunately for them, my anger and sadness overcame my logical thoughts.

“I didn’t ask either of you to be worried about me,” was all I could say. I turned around and briskly headed towards my room. I could feel Sam and Dean’s eyes on my back. The whole ordeal made my heart feel like it was in my throat. Breathing became difficult, and upon arriving to my room I quickly closed and locked my door. To my despair, I put my studies aside and dropped onto my bed. Of course I was disappointed in that interaction with the boys, but I couldn’t let that get in the way of my work. Once I caught my breath I sat up, went over to my desk, and dove back in.

Eventually, I came across a blog that claimed to be a dedicated witch tracking blog. Thoughts of my sister continued to consume me. I tried to read through the blog, but my mind would not focus. I turned off my laptop and set it aside, then bent down and picked up the Celtic legends book on my floor. Hoping that reading would pull my mind somewhere else, I opened the book to where I left off. For a few moments I was able to read without any problems but the words quickly became difficult to understand, just as the webpage had done. I reread the page in front of me a few times with no luck.

“Whatever,” I grumbled, placing the book down. I rubbed my temples in the hopes that I could get myself to focus on the task at hand. When I picked up the book again I was shocked by what I saw. The golden design on the cover had completely shifted its shape. I threw it down and scooted away, trying to observe it from afar. I blinked a few times but the image remained the same. The golden spirals now curled elegantly to form a portrait of my sister. I had used this book plenty of times before and it had never changed like this.

Even though she was made of golden swirls, she looked the same. Beautiful tresses of hair framing her face, full lips, and eyes that pierced the soul of whoever looked into them. I decided to scoot closer to investigate, my eyes fixed on the book, when suddenly the design was normal again.

To say I wasn’t frightened would be a lie. But I sat down anyway and tried to get back to work. I picked up the book and inspected it, half expecting the cover to change again. But there was nothing on either side. No image of my sister remained. The stress from fighting with Sam and Dean combined with the overall stress from this year was getting to me. I read for a while longer and somewhere along the way fell asleep at my desk. I started to wake up as a chill filled my room.

When I sat up to move to my bed, I could see my breath. This was not normal for the bunker and I started to get nervous. I shoved my hands under my mattress in search of my rock salt gun, but it was nowhere to be found. Just as I was about to call out for Dean, a figure appeared before me.

To my shock and horror, it was my sister. She looked similar to how I had seen her last, but instead of looking angry she looked sad and instead of being tangible she was transparent. I felt sick to my stomach and even though I wanted to scream, I couldn’t bring myself to say or do anything. I was paralyzed with fear and confusion.

“I really am here, in case you’re wondering. And yes, I am dead” She said while we observed each other from across the room.

“Um…sit down…sit down” I motioned towards my desk chair. She sat down across from me while I sat on my bed. “What happened? Why are you here?” I asked, still unsure if I was awake or if I was having another nightmare.

“What happened? Basically everything you said would happen.” She laughed. “The other witches felt threatened by me, then they plotted against me. Not only did they kill me, but they tethered my spirit to roam the earth. A spiritual ball and chain if you will. I haven’t been able to figure out how to get rid of it yet.” She explained. “But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to apologize to you and help you before I turn into a vengeful spirit. I know now that everything you did was to protect me, I just couldn’t see it at the time. I am so sorry (Y/N). I threw my life away. I don’t want you to secure the same fate as me.” I began to cry as she spoke. My sister had been dead to me for months, but now she was actually a spirit sitting across from me. What was I supposed to do with that?

“Sis…I am going to everything I can to find those witches….and I will find a way to unchain you,” I sobbed.

“Don’t worry about that right now. Like I said, that’s not why I came here (Y/N). I am not the only visitor you will have tonight. Three more spirits will come to you. They each have a message for you. If you do not listen to them, you will never be able to overcome the challenges that lie ahead. Starting at midnight and following one hour after the next, they will come to give you their messages.”

“Why can’t they come all at once? Who are they?” My heart was racing. Usually when I interacted with ghosts they were already at the vengeful stage. It was worrisome to me to deal with spirits in this way.

“Remember what I’ve said already. Don’t throw your life away. And Sis, I love you. Good luck.” And with that she stood up and backed away. I shot up and tried to chase after her, but I wasn’t fast enough. She was gone.

Whether if it was due to the fatigues of the day or the interaction with my ghostly sister, or how late it was, or most likely a combination of all of these things, I went straight to bed. I felt greatly disturbed but sleep overcame me quickly.

#dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural christmas #spn christmas #a christmas carol #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #christmas #A Supernatural Christmas Carol

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crispychrissy · 6 years

Text

Holiday Heroes

Summary: After being injured on a hunt and being stuck in one of Bobby’s cabins for the holidays, the Winchesters show up and you’re lucky they did in more ways than one. Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, other minor characters mentioned Word Count: 3495 Warnings: SPN canon injury to reader, Dean being Dean, drinking, language, fluff. A/N: This was originally going to be for a challenge fic but it took a mind of it’s own and ended up exceeding the word limit by quite a bit. I liked how it turned out and I wanted to share it anyways. This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are mine.

If you would like to be added to any tag lists, please send me an ask!

You stared out the window of the cabin, watching the snow gently fall, coating the trees and ground with a light and fluffy dusting of white. You let out a heavy sigh, wincing slightly when the stitches on your stomach pulled on your skin. What a way to spend the holidays, cooped up in one of the old hunter cabins in the middle of nowhere while you heal from the werewolf gashes on your abdomen.

There was no way you were going to be able to do your family tradition of getting a Christmas tree and decorating it. Ever since you could remember, your family had a Christmas tradition of going out in the woods and chopping down a Christmas tree, dragging it back into the house, and spending the entire day decorating it while drinking heavily spiked eggnog. The first person who either fell, broke an ornament, or passed out lost the tradition challenge, and they were forced to dress up at Santa on Christmas. It was humiliating, the itchy costume was so old it smelled like cigarette smoke and body odor, and everyone made sure they took plenty of pictures to add to the holiday photo album to document your embarrassment.

It was some of the fondest memories you had growing up, and the disappointment of breaking tradition made your heart ache, rivaling the pain of the claw marks. You were headed to your mom and step-dad’s house when you caught wind of a werewolf hunt, and being the new but adept hunter you are, you decided to stop and take care of it.

That was your first mistake.

You went at it solo, and one werewolf turned into three, forcing you to think on your feet to finish off the pack. You managed to kill them all, but one got a pretty good swipe across your stomach, leaving you unable to continue the rest of the way to your mom’s house without the possibility of bleeding out. Even if you made it, the last thing you needed was your mom wondering why you were holding your stomach and bleeding profusely.

You were close to a guy named Bobby’s old cabin based on the notes you had, so you decided to stop and patch yourself up, only realizing just how deep the gashes were once you began to stitch the wound closed. Several feet of dental floss and almost a whole bottle of whiskey later, you were finished, immediately passing out from either the whiskey or the pain; you weren’t quite sure which one you succumbed to first.

You woke up, cleaned yourself and the wound, and made some breakfast. You were slow and sluggish on your feet and felt lightheaded at the slightest movement. The stitches were pretty sloppy thanks to your inebriation, but they seemed to be holding, so you didn’t worry. You were luckily able to find some instant coffee and were currently laying on the couch sipping the hot and bitter liquid. You had a plush blanket around your lower half and with the fireplace in the cabin going full blast, you quickly fell asleep again surrounded by warmth.

You were startled out of your slumber by the door to the cabin opening quickly, followed by a cold blast of air and two loud voices. You immediately opened your eyes and reached for your pistol in its spot on the coffee table. You blinked the sleep away from your eyes as you aimed your gun at the two intruders, clicking the safety off.

“Whoa, who the hell are you?” One of the men asked. He was shorter of the two, which didn’t mean much since they were both giants.

“Who are you?” You demanded, your finger resting shakily on the trigger, ready to pull if they tried anything.

“I asked you first sweetheart,” he smirked, staring at your chest. In your panic, you forgot you were just in a tank top with no bra, giving him a clear view of your cleavage.

You pulled the blanket up under your arms and scowled at his leering. “I’m the one with the gun, asshole. So stop staring at my tits and tell me who the fuck you are.”

The taller man to his right held up his hands and smiled. “I’m Sam, this is my brother Dean. Are you a hunter?”

“Winchester?” You asked and he nodded. You clicked the safety back on your pistol again and set it back down on the coffee table. Figures the Winchester boys would be your holiday companions. Just God’s way of piling onto the shit sundae that has been your week. “Yeah, I’m a hunter, my name is Y/N. Got hurt on a hunt yesterday and made it here to recover.” You groaned as you shifted into a sitting position.

“Mind if I take a look?” Sam asked, gesturing to your stomach. “We’ve been doing this for a really long time and you look pretty young. Did you stitch yourself up?”

Sam seemed genuine in his request, unlike his brother who was still eyeing you like a piece of meat, so you trusted him. You nodded and he came over to the side of the couch, kneeling down to get a better look at your injury. You had bled through the bandages again, leaving your tank top soaked in blood. Sam gently lifted up the bottom of your shirt and hissed through his teeth when he saw the condition of your wound.

“Dean, she’s got an infection. Go get the first aid kit out of the trunk and the prescription stash,” he commanded.

Dean nodded, switching from a smitten school boy to a serious and hardened hunter in a split second, leaving the cabin and heading to his car. You had assumed the warmth you were feeling was from the fireplace and blanket, but now that Sam had mentioned an infection, you realized you were sweating and dizzy. It was a fever.

You looked up at him and tears began to burn your eyes. If they hadn’t showed up, you probably would have died within a few days. Sam must have noticed the tears in the corner of your eyes and your pale complexion, as he scooped up your hand in his own.

“Hey, you’re gonna be okay, Y/N. How long have you been hunting?”

You swallowed thickly and took a deep and shaky breath. “About seven months. My college roommate was killed by a vampire and I helped the hunter that came to my town kill the nest. He gave me some lore books, some phone numbers of other hunters, and the locations of all the hunter cabins.”

“College? How old are you?”

“I’m only nineteen,” you shrugged. “Had to start somewhere, I guess.”

Sam nodded as Dean opened the door, a worn leather bag in one hand and a clear Ziploc bag filled with prescription bottles in the other. He handed the items to Sam, who unzipped the first aid kit, removing some rubber gloves and scissors.

“I have to remove your stitches and clean the cuts before I can reclose it, okay? You want something to bite down on? This isn’t going to be pleasant.” Sam pulled on the rubber gloves and you folded your tank top up, tucking it under your breasts.

“I’m okay. I was a… a klutz when I was a kid. Constantly breaking bones and stuff, so I’m used to pain.” You awkwardly smiled, trying to cover your lie and Sam nodded, not pushing the explanation any further.

“If you feel the urge to pass out, don’t fight it. Having you knocked out while I’m cleaning and stitching it back up will be easier… for both of us.” Sam picked up the scissors and took a deep breath. “Here we go.”

The moment Sam began to start cutting and removing your botched dental floss stitches, you groaned squeezed your eyes shut. The skin around the cuts was sensitive enough, but with the infection there, it was almost unbearable. Dean was at your side immediately and grabbed your hand, allowing you to squeeze his to deal with the pain. You looked up at him and tried to glare, but you growled and screamed out in pain.

You felt lightheaded and your breathing began to speed up, making Sam stop his cuts and look up at you as your chest heaved. You whimpered as your eyes fluttered shut, and the last thing you heard was Sam saying your name before you slipped into darkness.

The first thing you felt was a sharp stinging sensation on your stomach like someone was stabbing you. Your eyes shot open and you tried to scream, but it came out as a choked gurgle. There was something cold and wet across your forehead and you looked around, eyeing Sam as he quickly stood from the chair in the corner of the room and crouched down next to you.

You were laying in a bed in one of the rooms of the cabin with a cold washcloth over your forehead. Sam smiled when he saw you look at him.

“Hey, welcome back. We weren’t sure when you were going to wake up. Or if you were going to wake up,” he placed his hand on your arm. “You’re safe, try to relax and not move.”

You took a deep breath and nodded, but when you tried to speak, but it came out as a raspy squeak. Sam held up a finger and left the room, returning a few seconds later with a bottle of water. He uncapped it and held it for you while you drank so you didn’t chug it down so quickly that you choked and ripped your stitches.

“Thank you,” you said, wiping away the water that dribbled onto your chin with the back of your hand. “How long was I out?”

“Almost three days.” He dropped the empty water bottle into the trash. “Your fever broke late last night thanks to the antibiotics. You were lucky the snowstorm wasn’t too bad when we found you. Dean had to run and get an IV for you at the hospital since you wouldn’t wake up to take the pills.”

You looked down at your arm and eyed the small needle mark with some light bruising around it. “You did all this?”

Sam nodded. “You can learn to do pretty much anything on the internet.”

You laughed, but quickly stopped and groaned, feeling the stitches tug. “Oww. Don’t make me laugh, Winchester.”

Sam smiled. “Well, we’re snowed in for the foreseeable future, so you might as well get comfortable and let your body heal. I hope you don’t mind some company for the holidays.”

You pouted and looked down, picking at your fingernails. You were definitely not going home for the holidays and now you were going to miss the hunt for the tree and the eggnog decoration challenge. Sam noticed your change in demeanor and tapped your leg, making you look up at him with tears welling up in your eyes.

He frowned when he saw you were about to cry. “I swear, we’re not that bad of company.”

“No, not that,” you shook your head and sighed, “I’m gonna miss going home for the holidays. Miss out on my family’s tradition.”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “What tradition?”

You explained to him how you would all go out in the woods as a family and find the fullest and tallest tree that would fit in the house and take turns cutting it down. Once it was down, you would drag it back to the house and break out the eggnog. You told him how your Uncle Mark would add almost a half-bottle of extra rum to the eggnog and everyone would drink while the tree was decorated, and the first one to break something, fall down, or pass out had to play Santa and be humiliated on Christmas.

Sam watched you explain the tradition and saw how your eyes lit up as you remembered the memories of past Christmases with your family. He felt guilty that you weren’t able to spend the holiday with them, and it made him realize how many normal family traditions he missed out on when he was growing up. He began to hatch a plan in his mind that would require Dean’s help, but he wanted to give you something to brighten your Christmas.

“Your family sounds fun,” Sam smiled. “Most hunters don’t really have any family left, so it’s pretty rare to see a hunter that heads home for the holidays.”

“Well, this is one hunter that won’t be heading home for the holidays this year,” you gestured at your bandaged stomach. “Would you mind grabbing my phone so I can let my mom and step-dad know where I am and that I won’t be making it?” You yawned, suddenly overcome with fatigue and Sam stood up, nodding.

“You get some rest, I’ll grab your phone and text them for you. Are they under ‘Mom and Stepdad’ in your phone?”

You shook your head. “No, my mom is under ‘Mom’ but my stepdad is under ‘Ducky’.” Sam raised an eyebrow at your nickname and you smiled. “Long story. Just tell them that I got stuck at work and wouldn’t be able to make it through the snowstorm in time for Christmas.”

“Okay,” Sam pulled the blanket up around your chest, “you’re definitely going to have to explain his nickname when you wake up… but for now, get some sleep.” He walked around the bed and walked toward the doorway to shut off the light.

You wiggled down so you were lying flat and sighed happily at the warmth of the blankets. “Thank you for taking care of me, Sam,” you quietly murmured.

Sam turned around to tell you that you were welcome, but you were already fast asleep, your eyes closed and lips parted. He smiled, flipped off the light, and quietly shut the door behind him.

He and Dean had a busy day ahead of them.

You woke the following morning after a very fitful twenty hours of sleep. Your stomach was considerably less painful than it was yesterday and you were able to shuffle, albeit slowly, to the bathroom to pee without any help. You heard muffled voices coming from the living room, but before you were able to leave the bedroom to investigate, the door opened to reveal Sam carrying a steaming plate of eggs and bacon.

“Hey, you’re up and moving around!” He exclaimed, walking over and putting the plate on the night stand beside the bed. “Lay down really quick so I can take that bandage off and you can shower. You slept for a while. Do you feel any better?”

“Much, thanks to you and Dean,” you said, moving back over to the bed and laying down. You lifted up your shirt and Sam gingerly removed the current bandage, trying to be as careful as possible to not hurt you when the scabs were stuck in the gauze.

“You think you can shower by yourself?” He asked, throwing the soiled gauze in the trash can and looking at the wound to make sure there was no more infection.

You blushed, but nodded your head. “I think I can handle it. I’ll yell if I need some help,” you looked up at him, “and if I do need help, I only want you to come. I didn’t like the way Dean was ogling me the other day.”

“You and me both. He knows you’re nineteen now and was completely disgusted with his behavior. He thought you were a lot older than that. I did, too. But,” he pointed to the plate of food, “eat up and take a shower, then meet us in the living room. I grabbed your bag from your car, it’s next to the dresser.”

“Thanks, Sam.” You grabbed his arm before he walked away and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him close in a hug, being mindful of your stomach.

He rubbed his hand up and down your back and smiled down at you. “You’re welcome. Now go take a shower, you smell.”

You playfully pushed him away and giggled. He smiled back at you and shut the door behind himself. You quickly ate, showered, and changed into a pair of baggy flannel pants and a faded band t-shirt. You felt so much better than you have in the past week, and once you replaced the bandage on your stomach, you opened the door to the bedroom and walked out into the living room to meet the Winchesters.

You were about to announce your presence when your eyes landed on the gorgeous and full pine tree planted smack in the middle of the small living room. There was a few boxes at the base of the tree which seemed to hold silver bullets hanging from strings, several hex bags, and ninja stars that you assumed would be acting as ornaments.

“Surprise! Merry Christmas!” You jumped a little as Dean and Sam both stepped out from behind the counter of the kitchen, a cup of eggnog in each of their hands.

You smiled and laughed, ignoring the pain in your stomach, as you took in the sight of the two Winchesters before you. Sam had a pair of antlers on his head while Dean was sporting a bright red Santa hat. The former handed you a cup of eggnog and you couldn’t help but tear up.

“Guys,” your voice broke as tears fell from your eyes, “you didn’t have to do this! I… I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to say anything, sweetheart,” Dean grinned. “Just drink, be merry, and don’t be the first one to pass out when we’re decorating this bad boy.” Dean nudged his elbow toward the pine tree.

Sam stepped forward. “We know you weren’t going to make it home, so I, we, wanted to do something for you. You told me about your Christmas tradition with your family and we decided to improvise while you were asleep. Dean and I never had a traditional Christmas when we were growing up and we were hoping you would share your tradition with us.”

“Of course!” You took a sip of eggnog and groaned at the delicious burn of the extra kick of rum that was in it. “Just like Uncle Mark’s,” you nodded your approval. “Let’s get started.”

You were correct in your assumption as to what the substitute ornaments were. There were dozens of silver bullets dangling from strings, a few hex bags, and some shiny ninja stars. You each took turns decorating the tree over the next few hours. The eggnog was flowing pretty steadily and to your surprise, Sam was the first one to trip and fall over in a fit of giggles, effectively losing the challenge.

Dean patted his brother on the back once he helped him to his feet and replaced the antlers on his head with the Santa hat. Sam let out a booming “Ho, ho, ho” before breaking into a fit of laughter again. Dean glanced at the top of the tree and, after a moment of what you assumed to be deep thought, he grinned a devilish smirk. He quickly sprinted out of the cabin to his car.

He returned a few minutes later with something behind his back. He quickly walked over to the tree and wiggled the item he retrieved from his car onto the top branch of the tree. He adjusted it a few more times to make sure it was going to stay and then stepped back, admiring his makeshift star.

“Is that a grenade launcher?” You asked, trying and failing to suppress your laughter.

“You bet your ass it is. One day I’ll be able to use her… but until now, I think she makes a wonderful star.” He sighed happily. “She’s a star in my heart, that’s for sure.”

You looked to Sam who just shrugged and smiled before he finished off his cup of eggnog. He pulled you against his side and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the hair on the side of your head and sighed.

“Thank you for letting us in on your family tradition,” he said softly. “It might not be perfect, but we wanted to make you feel as close to home as we could.”

You looked up at him and stood on your tiptoes, leaning in and kissing him on his cheek, making him blush. “I loved it, Sam. Thank you for saving me and saving my Christmas.”

Sam nodded in acknowledgement and squeezed his arm around you as you watched the silver bullets shimmer in the light of the fire. You may have missed Christmas with your family, but who says you can’t enjoy some new traditions along the way?

Tags: @katymacsupernatural @queen-of-deans-booty @your-modern-shakespeare @wh1sp3r1ng-impala @wheresthekillswitch @holyfuckloueh @just-another-busy-fangirl @growningupgeek @ididntasktogetmadedidi @trashimaginezblog @jensen-gal @spnbaby-67 @feelmyroarrrr @donnaintx @potterhead1265 @mizzezm @saxxxology @there-must-be-a-lock @atc74 @mereka18 @pilaxia @supernatural-jackles @squirrel-moose-winchester @impala-dreamer @bambi95-blog @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @kittenofdoomage @wonderfulworldofwinchester @batmmgray @brooke-supernatural16 @dwgrl1903 @hey-bxtch @turnttover @leanbeankeane

#reader insert #sam x reader #dean x reader #general pairing #injured reader #spnfanfic #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #fluff #holiday fluff #christmas fic

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squirrel-moose-winchester · 7 years

Text

Trick or Trick

Title: Trick or Trick

Pairing: Dean x Reader x Sam x Charlie (Platonic)

Word count: 2403

Summary: Dean and the Reader play a little trick with the help of a good friend.

Warning: Humor, Pranks, Paranoia, Fear, Clowns, Harmless fun

A/N: Since it’s October, why not do a festive Halloween themed fanfic, right? Anyways, I tried to make it funny, but writing humor is definitely not my strong suit, so forgive me at my failed attempt.

It was finally October which meant one thing: Halloween. As much as Sam hated the holiday, Y/N and Dean relished in the festivities of dressing up, tricks, and the chocolatey goodness of treats. This year Y/N and Dean had decided to team up and pull a scare prank on Sam. Halloween was a perfect excuse to let the clowns come out to play.

The day started out normally for Sam. He got up early, took his morning jog, ate a healthy breakfast, took a shower, then headed towards the library to read or do some research. Everyone was still asleep when he entered the library even though it was already 10am.

As he typed away, eyes glued to the laptop screen, something caught his eye. He looked up and at the opposite end of the table stood a blue balloon animal shaped as a dog. Sam slowly sat up straight looking at the balloon animal cautiously.

“What the hell?” He muttered to himself. He scanned the room looking to see if Dean, Y/N, or anyone for that matter, was around playing one of their dumb jokes.

Sam looked behind him to see nothing there and turned back around with a sigh, relieved to know that he was alone, but then he noticed it… the balloon dog was gone. Sam grasped tightly onto the arms of the chair he was sitting on, but before he could fully react, Dean and Y/N walked into the room, much to his relief. Dean looked like he had just gotten out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, and Y/N looked as if she literally rolled out of bed. Her hair in disarray and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Hey Sammy,” she yawned.

Y/N took a seat next to Sam folding her arms on the table before laying her head on them. Dean made his way to the kitchen most likely to get some coffee. Sam stared at Y/N in search for any indication that she had something to do with the harmless prank, regardless of the fact that she had just woken up, or so it seemed.

“What?” She mumbled. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No, nothing. You… you just look tired.”

“I couldn’t sleep last night. Maybe I’m just being paranoid, but I thought I heard noises. I checked yours and Dean’s room but you both were sound asleep. I even did a sweep of the place but there was nothing,” she explained, taking a deep breath as she sat up stretching her arms above her head. Dean walked in with two cups of coffee in hand. He set one in front of Y/N who flashed him a thankful smile before taking a seat across from her.

“So, anything?” Dean asked Sam, sipping his hot drink.

“No, I’m just reading up some lore online,” Sam admitted.

“Again? God, you’re a nerd,” Dean shook his head earning a giggle from Y/N. If they had anything to do with that cheap balloon trick, they weren’t showing it.

Dean and Y/N had gone out on a supply run. Sam had opted out to do more research. As he was walking down the hall from his room he noticed a red golf ball-sized ball bouncing around before settling down and rolling towards him. He eyed the small material as it came to a stop at his feet. Curious, he picked it up and noticed that it was soft and made of foam. His eyes went wide, dropping the ball. It was a clown nose. A freaking clown nose!

“Very funny jerks! Dean, Y/N, I know it’s either one of you or both of you. You’ve been caught so come on out!” Sam shouted, his voice holding a slight tremor.

When no one showed up, Sam eyed the red nose on the floor with his jaw clench. He quickly grabbed it and rushed towards the kitchen to throw it away. He was sure one of them had stayed back to mess with him and he was determined to find out who the culprit was. As he turned there was a horn on the table. Sam swallowed nervously as he eyed the shiny item.

A honk filled the room causing Sam to yell in fear, his body flinching like those inflatable car dealership dancing things. As he attempted to turn and run out of the kitchen, he ran into the wall instead. Sam didn’t even care that his nose was bleeding, wanting nothing more than to get the hell out of there. His heart was pounding in his chest, paranoia completely taking over him.

He searched frantically through the bunker, uncaring that he was dripping blood on his shirt or the floor. He was just hoping to find Dean or Y/N hiding somewhere. While he was rifling through the garage, Dean and Y/N finally returned to the bunker, but their shouts fell on deaf ears. He was too focused to notice.

“What are you doing in here?” Dean’s voice made Sam jump and turn with haste, assuming a karate pose. Dean’s eyes zeroing in on Sam’s bloody nose.

“Dean!” A frazzled Sam shouted, relaxing his body as he swiped the blood off his face with his flannel sleeve.

“Dude! What the hell happened to you?” Dean asked. Before Sam could reply, he was quickly cut off.

“Did you find him?” Y/N suddenly appeared next to Dean. “Sam, we bought a few bags of chocolate, want to eat some with us?” She chirped running over to Sam’s side about to tangle her arms with one of his when she realized the blood stains on the light fabric. “What happened here?” She asked.

“Uh, nothing. I got a bloody nose. But yeah, chocolate sounds good.” At this point, Sam didn’t know what to think. All he wanted was to forget everything that happened, and he figured it wouldn’t be impossible now that Dean and Y/N were back.

“Yay!” Y/N cheered, always the chocoholic.

Sam looked over at Dean and stumbled backwards, Y/N being the only thing that kept him from falling back. “C-clown!” Sam shrieked, pointing behind Dean blinking his eyes to make sure he wasn’t seeing things, but when Dean turned to look behind him, nothing was there. Sam was losing it, wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N in terror.

“Can’t – breathe” you strangled out.

“Sam, let go of her you big freak! What the hell is up with you?” Dean scolded. Sam released you, apologizing. You rubbed his arm in assurance that you were okay.

Back in the library, the three of them were eating their fill of chocolate while Sam explained what had been happening in the bunker. He mentioned the balloon animal, the clown nose, the horn, and the clown, that he was sure, was standing behind Dean for a split second.

“Did you watch a clown film recently or something?” Y/N questioned, shoving a reece’s mini into her mouth.

“No. I don’t know what it is. I thought you guys, or at least one of you, were messing with me,” Sam sighed.

“So you think we could be dealing with a witch that casted some sort of hallucination spell on you?” Dean asked, trying to come up with a reason.

“I don’t know, Dean,” Sam let out an exasperated breath.

Sam had just popped a mini Snickers in his mouth when a creepy laugh sounded in the distance. Sam jumped in his seat, practically choking on the chocolate. His eyes immediately snapped towards Dean then at Y/N. They were looking at Sam like he was a lunatic.

“What in the world? You okay there buddy?” Y/N tilted her head.

“Tell me you heard that.”

“Heard what?” Dean asked.

“The laughing.” Sam stood up this time, holding his hands out as if he was about to run.

“Oh, c’mon Sam. Stop messing around. We’re not afraid of stupid Happy the Clown!” Dean hissed, obviously fed up with his brother’s charade.

Sam was about to say something again when the creepy laugh echoed through the room once more, this time a little louder. “That!” Sam flinched, spinning his body around, causing Y/N to jump in her seat.

“Dude!” Dean spat.

“You don’t hear that?” Sam continued to twist and turn, scanning around the library.

“Sam, we don’t hear anything.” Y/N gave him a worried look.

Unexpectedly, the laugh blared in the room making Sam jump in the air, his arm waving rapidly above his head. Dean and Y/N just sat there looking up at him with concerned and amused expressions, but unfazed by the spine-chilling cackle.

“Don’t tell me you didn’t hear that!” Sam ran to the library entrance, peering around the war room. “It was one of those creepy clown laughs!” He sputtered.

“Sammy, relax. What are you talking about?” Sam glared at Dean.

“You guys are unbelievable. This prank has gone long enough. I’m done.” Dean and Y/N just stared at each other in confusion as Sam stormed out of the room.

“Sam!” Dean shouted.

When Sam made it to the hallway heading towards his room, his body froze. He specifically remembered closing his bedroom door but now it was wide open. He cautiously approached the door, peeking inside. His heartbeat quickening as he saw a pair of large red clown shoes at the foot of his bed, followed by jingling noises. He ungracefully stumbled backwards, falling on his butt before shutting his door with a slam and running back to the library where he found Dean and Y/N in their same spot, this time with more chocolate wrappers on the table. Y/N was first to notice him.

“Sam?” He did nothing but stare with wide eyes, his chest heaving unevenly and noticeably. “You alright Winchester?” She gave him another concerned look, the same expression splayed across Dean’s features.

“Y-yeah, fine.” Sam left feeling helpless and defeated. He reluctantly returned to his room. He opened the door carefully instantly noticing that the shoes were gone. He was beginning to think that this had to be either supernatural or he was going crazy. He let out a frustrated breath falling onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey Sam, you okay?” Y/N popped in his doorway. He flinched wildly, arms and legs springing in the air as he sat up. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Dean wants to know if you have any preferences for dinner, otherwise he’s gonna make cheeseburgers.”

“Cheeseburgers sounds great,” Sam sent her a shy smile watching her enter his room and sitting at the edge of his bed.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Sam shook his head at her question.

“I don’t know,” Sam confessed. “I swear I’m not –” Sam didn’t finish his sentence when a loud bang came from somewhere in the bunker. This time Sam and Y/N jumped.

“What the hell?” Y/N hissed. She got up to go check, but Sam stopped her by grabbing on to her hand.

“Y/N, d-don’t leave!” He begged, stuttering at the same time. She glanced over at him noticing the genuine fear in his face.

“What was that?! What happened?!” Dean appeared at the door way. Sam screamed, scurrying further into his bed, grabbing his blanket. He was a grown man acting like a damn fool.

“Clowns are attacking!” Sam bellowed, not even caring at how ridiculous he sounded.

“Crap, sorry,” you giggled nervously. “I think I forgot to close the bunker door good. Wind must have closed it shut,” she admitted meekly.

“Seriously? What if some monster or demon came waltzing in?” Dean reprimanded.

“I’m sorry, okay! My hands were full.”

“Yeah, shoving your cake hole with chocolate!”

After Dean’s and Y/N’s small argument, they left Sam alone in his room. A few minutes had passed when Sam decided that he was just being ridiculous and letting the spirit of Halloween paranoia get the best of him. He made his way down the hall and into the war room when he noticed a single red balloon attached to a string floating on the table. His entire body tensed at the sight, his eye practically bulging out of its sockets. Almost lost in a trance of fear, the balloon popped. He flinched unattractively flailing his arms over his head and legs bent low squatting.

“Hiya Sammy” a voice came from behind him. It held an eerie tone which he knew couldn’t be good. Sam turned around slowly, coming directly face to face with a clown. Eyes dark, smile wide, and just downright terrifying. Sam rushed back colliding with the table behind him in utter fear. The clown followed suit, making it’s way closer to Sam. “Let’s be best friends,” the clown chuckled darkly.

Just then something in Sam snapped. Screaming with blind devotion, he lunged at the clown, tackling it to the ground as he punched it mercilessly. His screams alerting Dean and Y/N as they came running through the kitchen entrance.

“Sam!” Dean yelled trying to get Sam’s attention but to no avail. Sam was on a mission to destroy his biggest fears while Dean and Y/N just stood there watching, wondering how long it would take Sam to notice.

Seconds turned to minutes when Sam heard Dean and Y/N laughing at the doorway. Dean was hunched over with his hands on his knees while Y/N had her arms wrapped around her stomach and head flung back with laughter. Sam stared down at the clown finally realizing that it wasn’t real. Just a life sized plushy clown doll with a horrifying clown mask.

“I think you got’em Sam!” Dean bellowed, tears streaming down his face.

“Yeah, his clowning days are over.” A familiar voice chimed in out of nowhere. Sam whipped his head around to see Charlie standing besides him with an accomplished grin.

“Ch-Charlie?!” He gawked.

“The one and only,” she curtsied.

“It was you the whole time?” Sam gasped.

“Well, yes and no. Dean and Y/N called me about their plan. and I just executed it, with flying colors might I add.” Charlie pointed.

“It was Dean’s idea!” Y/N defended struggling through her fit of laughter. “Although I wished I had thought of it first!”

“You guys are jerks!” Sam grumbled before giving Charlie a chaste hug and storming back into his room.

“C’mon Sammy, don’t be such a bitch!” Dean called out.

This was just another reason to add to why Sam’s list of why he hated Halloween.

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