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jawritter · 3 years

Text

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 6,

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo

Square Field: Christmas Tree

Word Count: 2024

Warnings: Fluff, brief mention of past trauma, light angst.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 7 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST** **BECOME A PATREON**

Snow, you had seriously never seen this much snow in your life. You were starting to think it was never going to stop snowing. It snowed all night long, finally slowing to light dusting somewhere around daybreak, and by the time you and Dean had pulled yourselves out of bed, it was evident no one was going anywhere until the snowplows came through to clear the roads, which could take a few days.

You were totally fine with the idea of hanging around the cabin today. It had been a busy week already. Dean had gone above and beyond what anyone had ever done for you already, and if today was just a day where you hugged out and did nothing, that was okay. Not every day had to be some grand adventure for you.

Dean, on the other hand, had been eyeing the cluster of small Canaan Firs on the back corner of the property all day. They were just big and full enough to make a small Christmas tree for the two of you. So, without much explanation other than, “get your coat and boots,” you followed Dean towards the little cluster of trees. The small ax he’d found in Baby’s trunk was swung over his shoulder as he trudged ahead of you through the almost kneed deep snow, making a path for you to easier walk in as he paved the way forward to his destination.

From a few paces back you could see the white flurries land on his broad shoulders as well as the back of his jacket and sock hat as he went, his large silhouette standing out in stark contrast to the snow as he pushed on forward through the unforgiving cold.

You could hear him humming along to a tune that you didn’t recognize as he turned over his shoulder giving you a little smirk while he watched you struggle to keep up with him through the deep snow. Being short wasn’t exactly working in your favor at the moment, and he paused, turning to fully face you with the ax still slung lazily over his shoulder much like he did his vampire machetes after a hunt.

“Need me to carry you Y/N/N,” he called sarcastically, and you childishly stuck your tongue out at him before answering.

“I’m doing just fine on my own Winchester!”

“Okay, Sweetheart, I was just offering since the snow is almost as tall as you are. I was afraid you’d fall into a drift and I wouldn’t be able to find you until the snow melted,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes dramatically.

“You just worry about getting us a tree cut down and stop worrying about me,” you tell him, earning a deep chuckle from him as he turned and started to make his way toward the tree line again.

The sun was starting to go down, it was late but you and Dean both had been pretty lazy today. Doing nothing but watching Christmas movies, you pick this time, and eat as much artery-clogging food as you could manage since you didn’t have Sam the health nut breathing down your throat. The darkening sky overhead cast an almost postcard type feel to the scenery around you, but your gaze was on the back of Dean’s head as he hummed along his way.

He looked particularly smug with himself as he kept making his way towards his goal, still chuckling as your footsteps crunch along behind him. Your inner child was screaming at you to not let him get away with that. So reaching down as you went, you grabbed a handful of snow in your gloved hands and started to pound it into a ball.

Just as Dean turned to make another comment about you talking all day to catch up to him, you launched the snowball, hitting him squarely in his broad chest, laughing as he looked grumpily from you to the show that still clung to the outer layer of jacket that was on his body before a smile carved by the devil himself appeared on those pink, wind kissed lips of his.

“Oh Baby, it’s on now.”

Reaching down on the ground in front of him, Dean grabbed a handful of his own snow.

You turn to try and run back towards the house for safety, but it was no use, he was taller and faster than you were. Before you could even take three steps you were nailed in the back with a larger snowball, and Dean’s laugh echoed through the cold air around you as you staggered a little.

You quickly try to gather up another snowball, but Dean was faster, quickly launching another and barely missing you as you ducked lower to the ground.

Deciding to change your tactics a little, you charge at him, hurling two more snowballs in his directions. He rolled across the ground to escape them, laughing as you cursed and scrambled to gather up more snow.

“Oh, now you want to play dirty? Well, you shouldn’t write checks you can’t cash baby girl,” he growled playfully, looking up from his sprawled out position with his eyes almost glowing with a childlike excitement you had never seen in Dean before.

Without warning he jumped off the ground, running towards you at an impressive speed. The sudden change totally threw you, and all you could was stand there like an idiot for a moment before turning on your heels and bolting back in the opposite direction.

Unfortunately, your pause was going to be your demise. Dean’s long legs carried him to you faster than you would have guessed possible, one long arm wrapping around your torso as the other grabbed a handful of fresh powder, dumping it down the back of your shirt and jacket.

You twist and try to get away from the cold, screaming and laughing until your lungs hurt. If anyone was watching they were surely going to think he was killing you. Both of you were laughing so hard at this point that Dean lost his footing, falling down on his backside and pulling you down with him, both of you lying there in the snow as you tried to catch your breath from your little snowball fight.

“Okay, truce?” Dean asked breathlessly, still smiling widely. The dim light of the winter evening casting the most gorgeous glow over the exposed skin of his face that you suddenly realized was very, very close to yours, and that you were still sitting on top of him.

For just a moment you contemplated revenge, but decided better of it, knowing Dean could turn the tables on you in an instant and suddenly have the upper hand again.

“Truce,” you agreed, slowly climbing off of him and helping him stand to his feet.

Dean kept up with your pace this time as you made your way towards the tree line, looking at the trees there. While all of them were full and beautiful, they were all a little too big up close to bring into the cabin.

“You know, there’s a box out in the woodshop labeled Christmas Stuff, bet there’s an artificial tree out there too,” Dean said, looking towards the shed that felt like it was a thousand miles away from you in the dimming light that stretched across the snow-covered lawn.

“You know, I bet you’re right, cause even if we get one of these bad boys cut we’d have to drag it all the way back up there,” you point out in a huff of white fog, and Dean nodded in agreement.

“Come on, hop up on my back and I’ll carry you there,” he offered as you gave him a shocked look. “Come on don't be stubborn.”

“Okay,” you agreed reluctantly as Dean knelt down in front of you in the snow for you to wrap your arms around his neck while his gloved hands came to your thighs, hoisting you up as if you weighed nothing at all.

It didn’t take him nearly as long as it would have taken the both of you walking to reach the woodshop, and as you slipped down from his back and turned on the light, you noticed the welding torch Dean had been using when he planned on taking the “big splash” still laying on the workbench and froze.

Dean noticed your hesitation and followed your gaze with his own before pulling a heavy and on his shoulder.

“Come on baby girl, let’s not dwell on the past okay? That’s not why we’re here.”

You knew he was right, but the thought of him out in the middle of the ocean, buried in a metal coffin, trapped with Michael terrified you to this day. In fact, you still had nightmares about it even if you would never tell him that.

You let Dean guide you to the back of the shed, quickly finding boxes of decorations and Christmas lights of all sorts, and finally a tree.

“Got it!” Dean yelled excited, producing a box marked “Christmas Tree,” and adding it to the growing pile of decorations on the ground.

“Great, let’s get it to the cabin, I’m freezing,” you tell him. You weren’t really all that cold, but wanting to get away from this room where he’d almost literally created his sealed fate. Dean picked up on your hurry, and nodded, grabbing the boxes he could along with the Christmas tree and following you back into the warmth that awaited in the cabin. You didn’t really take a breath until you were back in its warm enclosure.

Dean dropped his boxes on the ground, coming up and taking yours from you before slipping his arms around your waist and hugging you tight into him.

“You okay Y/N,” he asked after you finally returned his hug, holding on to him like he might disappear in front of you if you let him go.

“I’m fine,” you lie, but Dean saw through it, he knew you all too well, he knew that seeing that had bothered you even though you were trying to hide it.

“Hey,” letting go of you he pulled a glove free of his hand with his teeth and placed it to the side of your face, making you look up into his astonishing green eyes. “I’m still here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon.”

You nod and lean your head into his chest as his fingers glide their way through your hair and calm your racing heart a little.

“Tell you what, that’s enough adventure for tonight. We can decorate tomorrow, right now I’m going to make you some Winchester Surprise for dinner and we can get drunk and prank call everyone that’s stone age enough to still have a number in the local phone book there.”

You hadn’t expected that, but the thought of Dean calling someone and asking them if their refrigerator was running had you cracking up in spite of yourself. Just like that, all the bad melted away as his lips pressed lightly to your forehead, and removed your jacket for you. Just like that, he chased away the bad memories again, leaving only a peace you had never felt until this moment in its wake.

Sure the two of you had both been through your share of hell, in Dean’s case literally, but you had never seen it until right then how much you needed him and how you weren’t willing to live without him. He was your person, and you just wished you could be his.

Even though the past tried to drag itself back up to haunt you, standing in the kitchen with Dean and helping him cook his favorite meal for the two of you felt so natural that you wouldn't have ended day 8 any other way. No matter what happened after Christmas was over, this memory would be your favorite of them all. Just you and Dean, being together in a rare slice of normal, what more could a hunter ask for?

Forever Tags:

@deandreamernp

@forgetthisbull

@miraclesoflove

@deanwanddamons

@rvgrsbrns

@chevyharvelle

@onethirstyunicorn

@i-love-superhero

@lyss-dw79

@magssteenkamp

@lemondropirwin

@squirrelnotsam

@hobby27

@spnbaby-67

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@defenderrosetyler

@screechingartisancashbailiff

@thecreatiivecorner

@vicmc624

@busy-bee-angel-misska

@justanotherwinchester

@brilovesdeanwinchester

@idksupernatural

@lyarr24

@amandamdiehl

@miraclesoflove

@emoryhemsworth

@dean-winchesters-gardian-angel

@softsebastian

@tatted-trina6

@anaelsbrunette

@hayleeharling

@flamencodiva

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@dirty-pan-goblin

@itmejado

@supernatural3002

@teresa-67

@thoughts-and-funnies

@hearteyes-j2

@miss-nerd95

@writers-whirlwind

@peaches007

@bobbie3939

@lunarmoon8

Jensen and Dean’s babes

@akshi8278

@love-jackles-37-blog

@supernatural-bellawinchester

@bobbie3939

Dean’s Babes

@forgetthisbull

Series Tag list:

@440mxs-wife

#dean winchester #spnchristmasbingo #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester series #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #dean x you #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn series #jawritter #twelve days of christmas

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

The Angel Maker

note: mentions of violence and sexual assault. please don’t read if triggering.

Hotch was late in that he hadn’t shown up yet. It was strange, but they figured Rossi would take the lead in any new investigations. Piper finally had some time to get through the mountain of paperwork since they got back last night before she’d get called to the conference room. She almost yelled at Spencer who was about to place a hot cup of tea on her papers and almost made him spill his own cup of coffee. She gave him a brief apology and muttered a quick thanks as she resumed the work. Derek simply raised an eyebrow before pulling Spencer aside and asking him what was wrong. “Hotch hasn’t come in yet.” Spencer nodded. Unfortunately, he was under the assumption that Derek was a mind reader which, as cool as that would have been, would be untrue.

“So?”

“She figured he was getting his MRI today which has a 55% chance of him being rejected for active duty.”

“Only 55%?”

“Has Hotch ever failed to convince anyone of anything?” Catching a look from Derek, he quickly amended, “Professionally.”

“No.”

“So, she figures if he gets rejected, a) he’ll be a pain on everyone and ask for pending paperwork or b) she’ll be able to cheer him up with done paperwork.” Derek nodded and was about to return to his desk before he came up with an amazing idea.

“Wait, pretty boy, why don’t you offer to do some for her?”

“Because I value my head.” He laughed at Derek’s puzzled face. “Ask, you’ll see.” Spencer chuckled as he returned to his seat.

“Hey, angel face.”

“No.”

“C’mon, you don’t like any of my nicknames.”

“Because they’re all flirty and ridiculous.”

“That’s the point, snowflake.”

“Don’t make me give you a tracheotomy, Derek.”

“You’re breaking my heart, angel.”

“I’m gonna break something,” she murmured before slamming her pen down and meeting Derek’s eyes. “What do you want?”

“Can I help?”

“Why?” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing, I just want to help.”

“Last time you just wanted to help, you destroyed a pillow fort I spent 4 hours making.”

“Fiine. Let Spencer help you.” Piper’s eyes widened.

“Oh nooo. No. Nope. Nuh uh.”

“Wha- Why?”

“Because his handwriting’s like a dyslexic hobgoblin’s.” She winced at her own insult as she leaned back and whispered, “Sorry.”

“It’s true,” Spencer acknowledged.

“Now, go away into the land of hot women and gyms. Or Miami, up to you.” JJ flaunted past.

“We have a case.”

Delilah Grennan was bludgeoned and raped during the night at her home in lower Canaan, Ohio, a small town 40 miles outside of Cincinnati. Small puncture wounds on her stomach were inflicted post-mortem and her body was staged face-up with arms across her chest.

“Any other victims?” Piper asked JJ as Emily walked in behind Spencer, flipping his fringe as she walked past, smiling.

“Kind of. The victimology and signature match a serial killer from the same town 10 years ago--”

“The Angel Maker.” Rossi spoke solemnly. “He was put to death by lethal injection a year ago yesterday.”

“A copycat?” Piper raised her eyebrow. “I hate copycats,” she whispered. Piper wrinkled her nose as she flipped through the file. “It says here they found semen at the crime scene. Perhaps locals will get a DNA match when they run it through VICAP?”

“They did. Got a match too. That’s why we’re being called in. It matches Cortland Bryce Ryan’s DNA, popularly known as the Angel Maker.”

On the jet, Piper methodically studied the victim’s bodies as Spencer read out the previous file. “The Angel Maker's victims were beaten with the assailant's bare hands. Delilah Grennan was bludgeoned with a heavy instrument, maybe a hammer.”

“Ok, so this unsub's a weaker guy, but at least someone who perceives himself that way,” Derek figured, turning to Emily seated next to him.

“So he brought along the hammer to make certain his victim wouldn't fight back?”

“They have parachutes on-board, right?” Piper looked up at Rossi as he stood behind Emily.

“They should. It's standard on all federal air transport,” Spencer answered.

“Maybe we can give one to the elephant in the room, get him out of here?” Piper snorted.

“That would be the elephant with the dead man’s DNA,” Derek scoffed.

“Well, obviously somebody planted the semen on the victim,” Hotch spoke softly, perched on the desk beside the 4 agents.

“In the victim,” Piper corrected, more than a little horrified.

“That's one theory,” Spencer remarked.

“There's another?”

“Think about who shares the exact DNA makeup of another person.”

“Reid, you're not seriously floating around the idea of an evil twin, are you?” Derek scoffed.

“No, I'm not. I'm floating the idea of an eviler twin. Traditionally, the concept is a good twin and an evil twin. But in this case, it's evil twin, eviler twin.” Silence followed as Emily stared at him and Piper tried very, very, very hard not to laugh. Spencer turned back to the file in his hand and Hotch failed to imperceptibly soothe his temple as Rossi noticed it.

“Hotch, you have been cleared for duty right?” He was silent. That was not a good sign. Not good at all.

^-^

The team separated into pairs, Morgan and Bishop headed to the prison where Cortland Ryan was imprisoned, going through fan mail. “This one kid sent Ryan his demo tape and sheet music he wrote in his own blood,” Piper remarked.

Reid and Hotch went to the crime scene. “He’s most likely a fan who exhaustively studied the first killings and used them to form his own murder fantasies. He knows this case as well as us; better, maybe, if he had actual contact with Ryan while he was incarcerated.” Reid proposed to Hotch.

Prentiss and Rossi visited the medical examiner. “The groupings in the prior victims was always different in number and arrangement. But I also found traces of paper in the wounds. Like notebook paper,” The M.E. shifted his glasses haphazardly as he spoke.

Congregated in their workroom, they shared their findings as Piper kept flicking through the puncture wounds, something missing. Her head kept bumping against a wall, like a fish hitting the edge of a fishbowl, not knowing any better. She grabbed a notepad, quickly pinpointing each puncture mark, hoping to give her a fresh perspective. As she stared at the dots on the paper, Spencer was handed a letter from another officer, the letter claiming to be written by Ryan himself. Piper looked up. “Please tell me this case isn’t turning into Ghostbusters,” Emily scoffed.

“I call dibs on Bill Murray,” Derek smirked.

“Kill me before I see that day,” Piper smiled, swiping a Cheeto from JJ’s hand.

“That movie is surprisingly scientifically accurate,” Reid murmured, examining the handwriting.

“Well, what’s the verdict Doc?”

“They share some compelling characteristics. I'd obviously like to look at it under magnification with a better light.”

“Best guess, Reid?” Hotch prodded.

“Say it's authentic.”

“The guy’s been dead over a year, how is that possible?”

“Well, like I said, I’d prefer closer examination, but it seems--”

“Could have been written beforehand or a really compelling forgery. May I?” Piper stretched out her hand and Spencer passed it.

I give you a legacy, a breath of life from the angel maker himself. Those who prayed to forget me will one day see my face and shrink in fear.

“It talks about legacy, maybe the angel maker isn’t just about Ryan anymore. Maybe it’s a title, handed down to the rightful descendent,” she proposed, but quickly abandoned the letter as a young woman burst into the room.

“Tell me it’s not true. Tell me that’s not really--” she burst into tears. Piper watched her break down in the detective’s arms, her heart bursting with every racked sob.

“The letter's not from him, not the way people might be saying.”

“What does that mean?”

“It... It means we think he has someone on the outside, a friend.”

“What if you're wrong?What if--”

“There's no such thing as ghosts, Sela.”

“I'm not talking about a ghost. You know the rumours... I’m not the only one, look,” Sela pointed to the windows. Emily tossed Piper a bottle of water from the table and she rushed forward to give it to the woman. The detective looked at the crowd gathering outside the station, paralysed.

That evening, they gathered around the graveyard. Piper was only there because Emily dragged her along, ‘for curiosity’s sake’. She didn’t really see the need, not with Rossi and Hotch there too. “Will someone explain why we only do these things at dark? Has no-one seen horror movies?” Piper bugged Rossi.

“We have to do it at night. That’s when they feed.” Rossi turned to her, his hands imitating a mummy. Piper’s eyes widened and she took two big steps away from the grave.

“I hope he eats you first, Rossi.” Emily laughed. The detective joined them, Hotch alongside him. The machine started, emitting a grinding sound. It was some amalgamation of cymbals crashing, cats hurling fur-balls and nails scratching on chalkboards and if it was killing Piper’s eardrums, it was playing jazz for Hotch. Piper pulled Hotch away, as far as she could from the noise. “Are you okay?” she yelled over the noise, but her voice was noiseless. The sound finally stopped and she saw the detective peer into the casket and walk away, shrunken and empty. As the others walked away, Piper looked in. The casket was empty, the body missing.

The next morning, they asked for the doctor who had overseen the execution of the original Angel Maker, if only to close that avenue of thought. He assured the two agents that Ryan had died, even if it took an hour to do it. Piper and Rossi dismissed the doctor and updated Hotch. “What do you think about execution?” Piper posed, still gazing at the door through which the doctor had left.

“Don’t get that question a lot.” Piper hesitated, weighing her next words.

“I mean, do they deserve it? I know, theoretically, you...you could debate the issue back and forth about morality and retribution but in the end, if it was you in the room with that...knowing you could rid the world of him... could you?” Piper looked at Rossi who took a deep breath.

“He raped and killed 6 women in 10 months. I would.” Piper exhaled heavily, watching him leave, confused when he doubled back. “It’s okay if you wouldn’t, or couldn’t. Compassion is the basis of morality.” Piper snorted mirthlessly.

“Schopenhauer.” She jumped off the table she was perched on, handing him a quote of her own. “It is forbidden to kill; therefore all murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets.” When he stared blankly at her, she whispered. “Voltaire.” She smiled at him as she walked away. He shrugged, following, oblivious to the cloud of puzzlement engulfing her.

Spencer paced in front of Piper as Emily and Derek visited a distributor of Ryan’s memorabilia. Piper got up, walked over to him and, placing two hands on his shoulder, said, “You’re making me dizzy. Stop.” She sat him down. “Let’s walk through the crime together. I’d have robbed the grave before committing the murder, then murdered Grennan.”

“What about the note?”

“Correspondence? Maybe he sent letters back to the unsub. They did have a year.”

“Why wait a year though? Why not kill right after the execution?”

“Grief? But that would only make the urge to continue his legacy stronger. We’re missing something.” As though her voice had reached some higher deity, Spencer’s cell buzzed.

“Yeah, Derek, you’re on speaker. I’m with Piper.”

“‘Course you are. Listen, the distributor turned out to be Sid Rutledge.”

“The prison guard?”

“That’s the one, sweet cheeks. Um.. slight problem though.” Piper grimaced, though whether it was at the nickname or the problem was unclear. Both, Spencer noted, definitely both.

“Morgan, what did you do?”

“He was shot, one to the head, one to the groin.”

“Derek!” Piper yelled. “Tell me you didn’t--”

“I didn’t shoot him. Jeez woman! Have some faith, honeybun.”

“Than--” Spencer started except Piper cut the line. “You really hate those nicknames huh?”

“Look, when it’s between Garcia and Derek, I’m fine with it. That’s their...thang as Derek would put it.”

“Never say that word again.”

“Never going to. It tasted weird. I just don’t like...overly affectionate things. Not at work and not with Derek.”

“So just explain it.”

“I can’t,” she murmured, trying to ignore his stare. “I..uh... I’ve never been called...it’s not...it’s like if... if Emily flirted with you every time you saw her. It feels weird and it’s so much weirder to...to talk it out.” Spencer nodded.

“Just a caveat; I’m not very good at advice, but I have found that if I ever need to drill something into Derek, call Garcia.” Piper smirked until her eyes fell upon the notepad, her hastily scribbled dots etched onto the paper.

“What did the M.E. say he found on the bodies?”

“Traces of paper, like a--”

“Notepad,” she mumbled, ripping the sheet out hastily. “Pencil,” she commanded. “I need something...squishy...aha.” She grabbed the dark cushion and laid the paper on it. She gripped the pencil, as though it were a knife and slammed it into each dot. She discarded the paper, and they stared at the cushion. They looked up at Rossi who had just entered the room, seeing Piper stabbing a cushion and Spencer watching intently.

“I have not had enough coffee to deal with this,” he muttered, hands up, walking away until Spencer pulled him back in and explained. “One thing I don’t get with the most recent murder. Unsub shoots the guard once execution style, then again in the groin. Why so different?”

“He’s male, the crime itself is personal but not as excessive as...” Piper trailed off. “We found Ryan’s semen, not someone else’s. What if it was because the unsub couldn’t...” She searched for the right word. “Excrete semen?”

“Impotent?”

“No. Female. We’re dealing with a female unsub. Look at the crime. It’s clean, swift, two bullets and the job’s done. A male wouldn’t do that. Leaving behind Ryan’s semen...”

“Stop doing that and spit it out!” Rossi exclaimed.

“Well, it could be a forensic countermeasure, but what if she’s finishing the job?” They stared blankly at her and she sighed. Hastily, and somewhat haphazardly, Piper laid out the puncture wounds. “To us, there’s no system, but to Ryan, there is. What if she knew about it? There has to be a pattern.” Rossi still just blinked at her. “Jesus, okay. What do we know about Ryan? What were his last words?”

“I will be born again. Today you make me a legend,” Spencer recited from memory.

“Exactly. His entire self-concept is based around being a legend, laying down a legacy. But if our unsub believes his legacy is incomplete...”

“She’ll do anything to finish it,” Rossi finished. “So, does that mean Greenan is the last victim?”

“She could be. Or our unsub’s waiting for the right moment to target the next one.”

“You said there has to be a pattern to the puncture wounds, do you--” Piper gazed at the paper she’d ripped out, thinking and pacing.

She stopped, abruptly, turning to the window. “Oh, I’m so thick.” Her forehead un-crinkled as she rapidly drew the blinds, motioning for Spencer and Rossi to help. Soon, it was mostly dark. She grabbed the torch Emily had left next to her backpack and told Reid to hold the paper straight and steady above the table. Carefully, she climbed up onto the table as Hotch, Derek and Emily entered. Before Hotch could utter a word, Rossi shushed him and Piper flicked on the torch.

“That look familiar?” Spencer made eye contact with Piper who was grinning with her new-found revelation.

“You’re a genius.”

“We’re not done yet. We don’t know what family this is from. You draw up half, I’ll do the others.” The rest of the team watched as the two chaotic doctors printed the dots out on the board and connecting them.

“Hold up, she’s been carving dot to dot puzzles this whole time?”

“We literally couldn’t connect the dots,” Piper smirked at Spencer, then she doubled over laughing at the stupid pun she’d just made as well as the sheer time it had taken her to realise it. “And they’re not dot-to-dots,”

“They’re constellations,” Emily realised. “Uh... may I?” She gazed at each one intently before scribbling the names under. “They’re all part of the Heavenly Waters family. Except...”

“What?”

“Two are missing. Carina and Columba.”

“How...never mind. I know better than to ask. You three are officially scary,” Rossi mocked. Emily mock-curtseyed.

“I think we’re ready for the profile.”

“We are?” Piper asked, glancing at Spencer. They gathered in the bullpen, surrounded by other law enforcement officers.

“There have been some strange happenings in this case,” Hotch started, “but I urge you not to abandon reason in the search of the truth. This is not the work of a ghost, and it's not the work of a killer come back from the dead. This is the work of somebody who lives right here in lower Canaan, and this person is a woman.”

“Her last victim, Sid Rutledge - he was the angel maker's mule,” Derek explained. “He smuggled items out of Hawkesville Prison, including the semen that was planted at the first crime scene. She killed Rutledge because he knew she was the copycat, and also because he was blackmailing her.”

“We now know that Rutledge was transferred to Hawkesville from a female prison, in the wake of allegations that he was using his position to leverage sexual favours from inmates,” Emily continued. “And we think he did the same thing to our unsub; in exchange for his silence, he wanted sex.”

“Because she shot him in the junk, right?” An officer asked from the back.

“That, and the fact that he took a PDE-5 inhibitor shortly before his murder,” Spencer answered.

“A what?” Confusion radiated through the crowd.

“Viagra,” Morgan supplied, resulting in a small hum.

“We're looking for a white woman in her mid-30s and she's highly intelligent. And she's not just a fan, she's a groupie,” Rossi advised.

“Now, she's not what you would normally expect. More often than not, they're attractive, they're well-educated, They're successful; some are even married,” Derek elaborated.

“Generally, they fall into types. Some are reformers. They're on a mission to save or rescue these murderers. Often, this type of groupie has been raised in a repressive, religious environment and specifically have been exposed to the ideals of sexual repression and subjugation of women,” Spencer explained.

“Our unsub is a different type, one who suffers from hybristophilia. It's a sexual attraction to men who commit violent crimes,” Piper added. “They give her a power that she lacks, which stems from low self-esteem and a need for a father figure.”

“Well, the victims were raped,” an officer raised from the front. “How do you explain that?”

“She's using an instrument to simulate the sexual assault...” Emily answered. “This is something that she keeps in her rape kit, along with the weapon that she's using to bludgeon her victims.”

“This is a list of women who visited and wrote the angel maker while he was in prison,” JJ said as he motioned for Derek and Emily to hand the packages out. “We've started to track these leads, but the list is extensive, so we're gonna need your help.”

As darkness blanketed the town outside, Piper stared at the constellations inside and Spencer went through the evidence. “I don’t even know where to begin on narrowing these down.” Piper shrugged.

“You need help?”

“Please.” Piper grabbed three pieces, placing them in front of the other doctor.

“How do you organise uh... hard data? If I handed you a list of random numbers, how would you organise it?”

“Collate and identify the frequency of each variable.”

“I’m really hoping that means grouping, Doc, ‘cause I was gonna suggest grouping.” Spencer laughed. “Good. Here’s what we’re gonna do. We are going to organise these by frequency. The less frequent times a person contacts...” She caught his glassy eyes. She’d lost him too. And with all honesty, she’d lost herself. “An outlier that’s on the...” She searched for the scientific word and clicked her fingers, trying to speed up her brain. Why had she dropped statistics? “Tails!” She nearly shouted excitedly and Spencer laughed again.

“Are you talking about long tails?”

“Assuming that’s the thing where frequency decreases, then yes. Long tails go in here, fat tails go in the middle and...uh... screw it. The most repetitive one goes there.” Rossi was about to interrupt to ask if they wanted coffee, but thought better of it when Piper started smacking Spencer for making fun of her. He walked over to Hotch who was on the phone with Emily who had gone to chase a few leads with Morgan.

“Where’d you find Piper?”

“I didn’t. Gideon did. At a high school. Teaching history. Why?”

“She’s different. How old is she again?”

“27...You coming to a point?”

“Isn’t Gideon the one who discovered Reid? The guy’s like a water diviner.” Hotch scoffed.

“She makes connections we don’t, we can’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“None of us are exactly ordinary, Rossi. She is. I used to be an attorney, I look at these cases the same way. Morgan was in Chicago PD, worked in bomb squad too, expert on obsessional crimes. He’s seen the worst of people. Reid sees patterns from seemingly useless data. Prentiss is the daughter of a diplomat. She knows people, their behaviour, but Piper isn’t the same. She understands people, empathises. Sometimes I wonder how better she’d be with the same training as the rest of us.”

“It’s funny. Our first conversation was when she got shot. She tried to explain how the team is an asset. Said almost the same thing as you. Except...” He trailed off, glancing back at the young woman going through files. “When she described herself, didn’t mention her PhDs or her experience, she just said she looks pretty in a hospital gown, she’s a sucker for cookies and takes a bullet for someone.”

“Guess she thought all you needed to know was that she’s loyal.” They heard a yell and turned to see Spencer holding a piece of paper and Piper twirling him and laughing.

“Do not pull those eyes at me, Aaron. I do not have the strength nor the patience. It’s your turn.” Hotch smiled and walked over.

Clearing his throat, Spencer explained his discovery. “There’s been an ongoing conversation between Ryan and this woman called ‘his dove’. Look.”

Weather is good here.

Out in the garden all day.

Birds land on the fence.

The moon is full now.

“You’d have to try to write that bad,” Hotch murmured. “Even I...” He trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck as he thought of Haley. “It's a code.”

“This steganographic method would allow him to write letters that don't appear enciphered. The real message would be hiding in plain sight.”

“What do you need to crack it?”

“The ability to clone myself and a year's supply of Adderall,” Reid joked.

“I’ll uh... put on the coffee,” Piper offered, slightly scared of Spencer.

Piper collapsed on the couch as Spencer pored over the poem. “You should go back to the hotel, get some sleep.” She was silent, staring at the ceiling. “Pipes, how long has it been?”

“A week. I think. I get snatches.”

“Pipe-”

“There’ll be time after you crack that pattern, Doc. Besides, my body has to shut down at some point right?” she joked softly. A few hours pass and finally, her eyes flutter shut. Spencer stretches in his chair, glancing back at his best friend, smiling at how peacefully she slept. He didn’t know the anguish she was living behind closed eyes. Soon enough, he was fast asleep too, his face squished on paper. Rossi walked back in to see Piper sprawled on the floor and Spencer using a serial killer’s love letters as a pillow. He slammed his fresh cup of coffee on the table and Piper was up, gun pointed straight at him.

“Don’t shoot!” Piper closed her eyes, dropping her arms.

“Jeez, Rossi, don’t scare me like that.” She rubbed at her eyes, feeling dried tears again.

“What do we do about him?” He gestured to the snoring Spencer. Piper silently walked up to Rossi, opening the lid to his coffee and gently placing it near the sleeping agent’s nose. Spencer rose, eyes still closed, hand reaching for the coffee, except she handed it over to Rossi.

“Hmm?”

“Be happy I didn’t make you smell my shoe,” Piper grumbled. After 3 and a half cups of coffee, the last half being snatched by Piper, Spencer stood in front of the team, explaining his findings.

“They weren't just close. They were in love.”

“How'd you crack it?” Hotch asked.

“I profiled the author. Cortland Ryan was on death row with several high-ranking members of the Aryan Brotherhood.”

“He got the code from the Aryans?”

“Either that or he read a lot of 16th-century literature. The Aryans liked to use a cipher based on a 400-year-old code written by Sir Francis Bacon.”

“So it's a binary code.”

“Yeah. Bacon used a 21-letter alphabet. This one's 24. Each letter is assigned a bit string of 5 binary digits. This combination yields 32 possible encodings. Normally you'd use a computer to run all these combinations, But it was quicker just to do it longhand until I found the right one.” Emily slowly raised a finger to touch his cheek.

“He’s so lifelike.” JJ laughed as Spencer moved on.

“Now we don't have a complete record of their correspondence, but I was able to make a chronology. The woman he calls ‘dove’ established contact shortly after the trial.”

“We think she was a member of the jury during the trial,” Piper added, yawning. Spencer frowned, but agreed.

“What do you think she meant by that last line: I will bring a part of you back?” Emily

“The murders? She brought him back to life,” Derek suggested.

“What if she was talking about his child?” JJ asked.

“Of course. The rebirth, the legacy...” Piper trailed off. “It all fits. JJ, you genius.” JJ smiled at Piper. “Death comes to all, but great achievements build a monument which shall endure until the sun grows cold,” she quoted to herself quietly.

“Ralph Waldo Emerson,” Spencer muttered back to her and she smiled softly.

“Well, if she actually had his kid, we might be able to track her through birth records,” Morgan pointed out.

“Wait, Spencer, what about that one about the future taking root?” Piper asked. “That sounds like a conception.”

“Yeah, gimme a sec.” He rummaged through his piles. “Here,” he said, holding up the letter. “Dated January 7, 2007. So we just fast forward 9 months.” Spencer shrugged, smiling. Derek got Garcia on the line.

“Actually, it’s 10 months.” JJ caught Piper’s eyebrow. “Yeah, it was news to me too.” Piper slapped a hand to her forehead.

“That’s why she waited a year. She was pregnant during the execution. She couldn’t have killed anyone.”

“Garcia found 9 names, she’s sending them over for us to cross off.”

Spencer and Derek started crossing off names with the lead detective and Piper yawned as she organised the room. “So, you uh... almost shot me this morning,” Rossi said.

“Yeah, and I might shoot you for real if you keep prodding, Rossi.” Piper barked as she dropped a pile of files in his hands. “Back off.” Rossi stood silently, unsure of what to do with the files in his hands.

They finally found her. Chloe Kelcher. She was on the jury during his trial where she fell in love with Cortland Ryan. She’d impregnated herself with Ryan’s semen, but lost her child in the hospital due to microvesicular steatosis. She then resorted to the only way she could think of to keep Ryan alive: continuing what he started. The team stormed her house, finding it empty, save for the rotting corpse of Cortland Ryan and an appointment book, the most recent name being Faye Landreaux.

Piper, Derek, Hotch and Rossi stood in front of Faye Landreaux’s house. The red Volkswagen outside was still warm and the windows were all closed. Derek sneaked around to find an open window around back as Hotch ordered the police cars to move to the front of the house, sirens blaring. Piper knew that Hotch knew he would go through unbearable pain but she also knew nothing she said would change his actions or decisions. But maybe Rossi could. “Hotch, I don't think you can get through to her.”

“No, but maybe she can,” he offered Piper the megaphone. She grasped it firmly. “What do you need?”

“I need the juiciest, most romantic thing Ryan wrote to a woman. Reid knows what to bring.” In a matter of minutes, he was there, beside her, hand inches apart as she held the prose Ryan had written. “I’m ready.” Hotch ordered the officers to hit the lights and Piper started.

“Ms Chloe Kechler, this is the FBI. We know you're in there, and we know what you're trying to do. I get it. You fell in love with someone you couldn’t have, Chloe. But you should know what kind of man he was. I know you thought you were special, but the truth is, he wrote to many other women the same things he wrote to you. I've seen the letters. Dozens read the same lines: without the flesh, there is only the soul. You don't need to touch me to feel the love I have for you. Does that sound familiar?”

Piper took a deep breath. “Cortland wasn't who you thought he was. He--he was a narcissist, Chloe. He wasn't capable of loving anyone but himself. He thrived on attention, he didn’t care who it was from.

Carla Kettinger. Ever since your visit, I am crazed with thoughts of you... Already you have entered my dreams. Each time you appear to me...I am embraced by a feeling of trust and belief, as if I've known you all my life.

Susan Carmichael. It's clear to me now that you are my fate. We are destined to be together. And when I am gone, that will not change. I will live on in you. In death, our union will be eternal.

Doesn’t that sound familiar to you? Doesn’t that anger you, Chloe? Doesn’t it make you question? Why are you so loyal to a man that simply doesn’t care?” Piper emphasised each syllable, trying to cast doubt on her emotions. She breathed in relief as Derek returned with Faye. “I’m begging you, Chloe. Don’t ruin the life you could still have for the life you’ll never have.” Piper’s hand slipped into Spencer’s. “Aren’t you tired of fighting, Chloe? We can turn this around.” She pleaded through the megaphone. “Let us help you, Chloe. Let me help you.” They waited and Piper held her breath as the front door creaked open. Spencer stood in front of Piper instantly as she kept pleading with the woman. “Don’t do this, Chloe. There’s so much left for you.” But it was too late. Chloe raised her gun and they fired. The sounds of gunshots made both Piper and Hotch step back. Hotch clutched his eardrums and Piper froze, trembling.

She couldn’t breathe. Panic filled her bloodstream as she staggered away from the shootings, collapsing at the end of the barricade, her chest constricting on itself. Her heart was pounding, wanting to run away, but her legs wouldn’t work. Wanting to cry out but barely making a whisper. The guns had stopped firing a long while ago but the sound of gunshots ricocheted in her ears. Her shoulder was throbbing and she collapsed onto the ground, staring at the sky above. breathe...1...2...3...hold...2...3...4...exhale...1...2...3... She got up on her bad elbow, crying out until she felt his arms lifting her up. He wrapped her in a hug and her chest was relieved of a large boulder. “I tried,” she whispered.

“I know.” They stood there for a few minutes as the rest of the team sidestepped them. “I know.”

“I don’t wan... leave. I can’t...need...escape..” she murmured. Finally, her breathing was deeper, less shallow and she exhaled into his chest, closing her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She pushed herself off. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have...I’m sorry. I...I...I’m gonna um... gonna go...” Piper backtracked away from him, confused and embarrassed. She waved awkwardly and got onto her bike.

At the precinct, she pulled off her helmet when her cell buzzed. Drew. “Hey. Sorry, I’ve been busy.”

“Really, with what?”

“A murderer. Sorry for not calling. By the way, I have a message for you. I’m done.”

“Done?”

“Yeah. I’m done. Screw you, Andrew. That ultimatum you gave me. Toxic. You really expect me to abandon my job at the FBI for a menial job not even worth two cents in Florida? I’m done being the only one fighting for us. I’m done looking for water in a barren well. Bye, Detective Lisbon. Don’t call me.” Piper sniffed, then cut the call. She’d expected sadness or grief, but she just felt tired. She walked into the precinct, feeling weariness in her feet. She found Rossi cleaning up in the conference room. She approached him, heart in hand. “Rossi--”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve gone through my share of sleepless nights.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Hey, you need a ride to the hotel?” Piper tried to give him her best smile, which wasn’t much, and nodded gratefully.

The next morning, they started packing up. Spencer shot glances at Piper, pretending to have caught his gaze outside when she looked back. They loaded the SUVs and Emily asked if they had any directions to the airstrip.

“Town’s only got one road, we’ll find it,” Derek said, juggling the keys.

“Didn’t you know, Emily, Derek doesn’t like directions? He like to vibe it.” Piper chuckled quietly at Spencer.

“Okay, smartass, why don’t you drive?”

“Jesus, JJ, you wanna swap cars?” Piper yelled.

“With Spencer at the wheel? No way. Pregnant remember?”

“Oh, you suck,” Piper laughed as she got in the car, smiling at Spencer from her seat next to him.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x oc #criminal minds angst #bau x oc #bau #spencer reid #spencer reid x oc #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #dr piper bishop #dr reid #agent hotchner

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foreverwayward · 5 years

Text

“Wayward Hearts” Season 3 Chapter 11: Time is On My Side

Summary: After the Devil’s Gate had been opened that fateful night in the graveyard, the hunters are forced to face a new war. Countless demons now run rampant, hungry for blood and power. It’ll take everything the three have to survive when darkness once again knocks on their door. But, with only a year before Dean’s deal comes due, Sam and Riley will stop at nothing to save him; to save their family.

Masterlist

Word Count: 7415

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

In an abandoned cabin, hidden away from the world, the fireplace roared. Its light danced across the walls and was the only illumination in the room, keeping the darkness outside at bay.

Screams of suffering went unheard as a demon cried out in agony. The possessed man was strapped to a chair in the center of a devil’s trap as holy water was thrown into his face. His flesh sizzled and steam seeped from the vessel’s skin and faded into the air.

Sam, Dean, and Riley stood in front of him unmoved. The hunters were going to get answers with the clock running out for Dean. As they had run out of ideas, they interrogated a lower level demon.

“You ready to talk?” Dean shouted into the creature’s burning face.

“I don't fucking know!” It thrashed against its restraints. “I don't know anything!”

With a mocking expression, he turned to his partners. “Oh, you hear that, guys? He doesn't know anything.”

Sam smirked as he replied, “yeah, I heard.”

“I'm telling you the truth!” it cried.

With a wry laugh and condescending smile, Riley took large strides to have herself eye to eye with the demon. “You guys,” she feigned. “He says he’s telling the truth. I guess we owe him an apology.”

“You’re so right, Rye.” Dean grabbed the monster’s face and forced holy water into its mouth before it garbled a deafening cry, “I'm gonna ask you one last time...who holds my fucking contract?!”

The demon went quiet, his head hanging in defeat. When he looked up, his eyes were an evil black as he smiled at the three. “Your mother. Yeah, she, uh--showed it to me right before I bent her over and fucked her ‘til she screamed.”

Riley took a step back as Dean moved into her spot and leaned in. “I want a name. Or else…”

“Or what? You're gonna squirt your holy water in both ends? Please. Brother, that's like a flea bite compared to what's coming to me if I tell you jack. Do what you want, the only thing I'm scared of is the demon holding your ticket.”

With a nod from Dean, Sam began to recite an exorcism. “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundusspiritus, omnis satanicapotestas, omnis incursioinfernalisadversarii…”

“Go ahead, send me back to Hell. 'Cause when you get there, I'll be waiting for you...with a few pals who are dying for a nice little meet and greet with Dean Winchester.” The demon grew a sinister grin on his face and laughed.

“Should I?” Sam asked as he paused the ritual.

Listening intently to whatever might still remain inside the vessel, Riley sighed. “The guy he’s got locked in there didn’t make it. Get this evil son of a bitch out of here.”

“Okay,” Dean agreed. “Sam, send him someplace he can't hurt anyone else.”

“...omnis legio, omnis congregatio et sectadiabolica.” As Sam continued, the unholy shrieks of pain ripped from the demon, echoing into the night and going completely unheard.

------

Sam sat alone in the cabin’s main room as he made several phone calls. He was just like his brother, whenever he had sniffed out a possible case, Sam was like a dog with a bone.

Dirty and sweating, Dean came in as he wiped his brow and huffed in exhaustion.

As the younger brother ended his call, he sat down on a chair close behind him. “Bury the body?”

“Yeah. Looks like these demons ride 'em hard just for kicks these days.” Dean grabbed a beer from their cooler and popped it open. Taking a large swig, he crashed tiredly onto a beat-up couch.

The front door closed and Riley walked in with bags of takeout. She tossed the Impala’s keys over to Dean as she went to a nearby tabletop with their spoils. “Who’s hungry?”

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ starving. Waddya got?” Dean asked. Riley pulled out a wrapped burger from the bags and smirked as he grew excited. “If I haven’t told you yet today, I love you.”

Riley tossed the warm food to Dean he quickly unwrapped it. He moaned happily as he took a large bite.

Sam chuckled. “Should we leave you and your cheeseburger alone?”

“Hey, I think I could show this burger a good time.” Filling his mouth again, Dean watched Riley as she grabbed her own beer. She had found a large and worn cushion tossed to the side and sat cross-legged as she readied to eat her own meal. “What? You too good to sit next to me now?” he teased.

“Mm-mm,” Riley started with a mouthful. “You just kinda fucking stink right now.”

He paused dramatically. “That hurts my feelings.”

“Well, you’re hurting my nose.” She laughed to herself and took another bite. “So, what’d I miss?”

“Uh…” As Sam leaned back into his chair, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “Not much. I was just about to tell Dean I think I found us a case.”

Riley appeared taken aback. “A case? Sam, we’re already on a case.”

“What? Whose?”

“Uh--Dean’s,” she answered incredulously. “We’re down to three weeks, Sam--three weeks.”

“Well, do you have a lead on Richard, or the Colt, or anything that can help us?”

She tensed as she downed more of the cold drink. Riley’s head fell as the bottle sat between her two hands, fiddling with it. “You know I don’t.”

Dean had remained silent as the two talked and he knew Riley was right. Time was not a luxury they had, but Sam wasn’t wrong. With nothing to go on, the hunters were left with countless questions and no answers.

As Dean’s phone rang, he dug into his pocket to pull it out. He looked at the caller ID before flipping it open. “Bobby.” Dean put the call on speaker and held it out for everyone to hear.

“Hey,” their old friend replied. “Think I finally got a lead on Richard.”

“I'm listening.”

“Rufus Turner.”

Sam, Dean, and Riley shrugged at each other not knowing the name. “Who's that? Like a Cleveland steamer?”

“He's a hunter, or he used to be. He’s practically a hermit now--does a little selling on the side. Anyway, I put the word out on Richard months ago. Rufus just called, said a guy got in touch, wanted to buy some things.”

“And he thinks it's Dick?”

“Stuffy British accent went by the name Charles Gardner.”

“He’s used that before. Well, it's kind of a sloppy move, isn't it--getting in contact with one of your old friends?”

“Friend? Haven't laid eyes on him in fifteen damn years. He's not the Christmas card type. I doubt he knows I know him. Canaan, Vermont.”

Riley called out from across the room. “You’re the best, Bobby!”

“One other thing. Take a bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue.”

Slightly confused, Dean answered, “okay.” He hung up his phone and turned to the others.

“Come on. We’re going Dick hunting.” Dean stopped, almost appalled by what he had said. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“It’s for the best,” Riley retorted with a look of disgust as she got up to gather her things.

“What?” Sam appeared perplexed and his brow scrunched. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on a second.”

Dean grabbed his bag and turned down the fire that was still ablaze. “Come on. Get your stuff. The clock's ticking.”

“Look, I think we should check out the lead I have on this other case.”

“You insane?” Dean snarked as he turned back to his brother.

“Dean, there's no way he still has the Colt! That was months ago! He probably sold it the second he got it.”

“Well, then I'll kill the bastard. Win-win.”

As Riley threw their bag over her shoulder, she shrugged carelessly. “All in all, wouldn’t be a wasted trip.”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “Dean…”

“Sam,” his brother barked. “We're going!”

“No!”

“Why the fuck not?”

“Because I may have found a way to save you!”

Dean’s eyes widened and his voice softened as Riley spun to look at Sam as well. “What? What are you talking about?”

“This case? I’m pretty sure it’s from Doc Benton...real-life doctor, lived in New Hampshire in the nineteenth century--brilliant and obsessed with alchemy, especially how to live forever. So, in 1816, Doc abandons his practice and…”

Riley stared back at him, puzzled. “Sam, what the hell are you talking about?”

“...and nobody hears from him for like 20 years, and all of sudden, people start showing up dead--or missing an organ, or a hand, or some other kind of part. The legend is that whatever he did to himself was actually working to keep him alive.”

“Wait, a minute…” Dean started. “Why does this sound familiar?”

“Because you heard about it when we were kids. Dad hunted this guy down and cut out his heart. Apparently, that didn’t quite do it. But, Dean, this--this is what's gonna save you.” There was nothing disingenuous about Sam’s plan. He truly believed that following the case would finally lead them to answers.

Dean’s brow hooked and he shared a look of disbelief. “What? Chasing some Frankenstein?”

“Chasing immortality.” Sam’s words had both of his partners staring back at him, startled at the idea. “Look, Benton can't die. We find out how he did it, we can do it to you. I mean, you have to die before you go to Hell, right? So, if you can never die, then…”

“Sam, stop!” Dean shouted angrily and the room went still. “You’re not helping! You forget that if I try to welch out on this deal, Riley dies. Guess what? Living forever--is welching.”

“Fine! Then, whatever the magic pill is, we’ll take it too!”

Riley could feel Sam’s sincerity and she leaned her face into her hand as she rubbed her temples. “Look, Sam...I know you wanna save Dean just as much as I do. But I think Bobby’s right. If we hunt down the demon that has Dean’s one-way ticket, then maybe we can stop it. I really think it’s gonna be our best shot.”

“Say you find the Colt, then what? None of us even know who holds the contract.”

Raising his voice again as he felt his frustration grow, Dean bit back at him. “Well, I'll shoot the goddamn hellhounds then before they slash me up. Now, you coming or not?””

“I'm staying here,” Sam said quietly, certain of his decision.

“No, you're not. 'Cause I'm not gonna let you wander out alone to find some organ-stealing freak.”

“You're not gonna let me? How are you gonna stop me?” As Sam went on, Dean appeared taken back again. “Look, man, we're trying to do the same thing here.”

“I know, but I'm going. So, if you wanna stay...stay.” Dean shook his head when Sam didn’t answer. He shrugged and took the duffel from Riley before hanging it on his shoulder.

“Come on,” he told her as they both went for the door. Sam didn’t move but they both hesitated before turning back to him. “Sammy, be careful.”

“You too.” He and Dean stared at each other for a long moment before Dean reached out for the doorknob and walked outside.

Riley’s eyes still sat on her brother lovingly. “I know you wanna save him, Sammy. You do what you think is right.”

As Riley left, closing the door behind her, Sam let out a long and drug out sigh.

------

After driving through the night, the Chevy rolled to a stop in front of an older home on a quiet suburban street. Its colors were tacky with a mix of dark red and light green. Angled tall steps led up to an elevated porch with massive weeds lined around it.

Riley and Dean shut their doors behind them as they headed up the walkway. As they reached the porch, they saw a handwritten sign that read: ‘No solicitors. That means you! No asking for directions. No selling ANYTHING!’

Under her breath, Riley muttered, “well, Rufus just sounds like a breath of fresh air.”

Dean chuckled as he rang the buzzer and banged on the metal security door. The hunters both turned to a sound and looked up to see a camera moving to focus in on them.

“What?” a harsh voice barked over the intercom.

Dean cleared his throat. “Hi, uh--Rufus?”

“Yeah...even if I am, the question is still the same. What?”

“Uh--I'm Dean Winchester. We’re friends of Bobby Singer's.”

“So?”

Riley shrugged as the two shared a look. “Hi, Rufus. I’m, uh--Riley Munroe. Listen, we heard from Bobby that the guy we’re looking for made contact with you. He’s British…”

“And so?”

“So...do you know where he is?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome. Would you please tell us where we can find him?”

“No.”

“’Course not,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Look, Rufus, man…”

The two doors quickly flung open as an irritated man stood in the doorway. He was roughly Bobby’s age with dark skin, a full mustache, and short hair.

With the cereal bowl he was still working on in his hand, he studied the couple. “Look, let me point something out to you. You are knocking at my goddamn door, so don't ‘look, man’ me. I'm not your man.”

Realizing he may have stepped in it, Dean apologized with a nervous smile. “I'm sorry, sir.”

“Alright, let me tell you a little story. See, once upon a time, Bobby called me--asked me to call him if I got a whiff of this Richard Lewis. I got a whiff, I called, the end.”

“Okay, yeah, if you could just tell me where he is, I mean, that would be great.”

Rufus stopped as he stared back at the young hunter. “Dean Winchester, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Dean, do I look like I'm here to help you?”

“I'm gonna say...no?”

“Then get the fuck off my property.”

Riley tried to regain the man’s attention as he began to head back inside. “Listen, that’s totally fair. But, uh--” she reached into the bag on Dean’s shoulder and pulled out a tall box with the Johnny Walker label. “We have this scotch, and, uh--we weren’t sure if it was any good.”

As Rufus eyed the bottle of his favorite scotch, he looked back at the couple and smiled with a nod of approval.

------

Inside Rufus’ home, the three sat at his collapsible card table as they each nursed a glass of Johnny Walker. The bottle was already nearly empty as they finished pouring another round.

“Bottoms up,” Dean said gruffly as they all clinked their glasses together with a soft chuckle from Rufus.

“You know, I don't even bother drinking unless it's this stuff. Nectar of the Gods, I'm telling you.”

“Mm…” Riley started as she seethed through her next sip. “I’m enjoying the change. Most of Dean’s whiskey tends to come in the form of a plastic jug.” As she shot him a look, the three hunters laughed. “Alright, so back to business. Richard was here…”

“He wanted to buy a couple of things, which is gonna take me some time to round up.”

Anxious for answers, Dean jumped into the conversation. “Where is he now?”

Rufus watched Dean closely for a moment and Riley could feel his skepticism. “You got three weeks left. Why are you wasting your time chasing after that English asshat in a suit?”

Now suspicious of Rufus, the couple shared a glance. “How do you know about that?”

“Because I know things.” The older man leaned in intensely. “I know a lot of things about a lot of people. And I know ain't no goddamn peashooter gonna save you.”

Riley and Dean grew more anxious as they continued to drink, desperate to calm their nerves. “What makes you so sure?” Dean questioned coolly.

“‘Cause that's the job, kid. Even if you manage to scrape out of this one, there's just gonna be something else down the road. Folks like us...there ain't no happy ending. We all got it coming.”

“Well, ain't you a bucket of sunshine?”

The room went quiet and Riley couldn’t contain the hold her abilities had on her. Her constant state of anxiety had made it nearly impossible to control her gifts and the thoughts of others had her feeling like she was drowning.

Knowing she needed a minute to calm down, Riley tossed back the last of her drink. “Rufus, you mind if I, uh--use your bathroom?”

Without a word, he motioned toward the hallway as if telling her to find her own way. Riley nodded gratefully and walked away trying to contain her urge to cry.

Rufus and Dean refocused on each other and the older hunter shook his head softly. “It was a mistake getting so close to someone the way you are with her.”

Dean thought to himself as the corner of his lip barely curled up in a gentle smile. “Nothing with Riley has been a mistake, that much I can tell you.”

“Even selling your soul for her?”

“...I’d have given more to get her back if I had to.”

With a scoff and chortle of disbelief, Rufus poured more scotch into his glass. “Love has got you by the balls, boy. It’s gonna end up costing you everything.”

“Well,” Dean replied as he swirled the liquid in his hand. “Some things are worth everything.”

“It’ll never work out with her. I'm what you've got to look forward to if you survive.” Rufus smirked as he raised his glass to Dean once more. “But you won't.”

Riley’s back leaned into the wall as she listened in. Her eyes were shut and a tear freed itself to run down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and straightened herself up before walking back in to join the others.

As she sat down, Riley ran a hand through her hair and exhaled a hard breath. “So, Richard…”

Clearly quite drunk, Rufus began to slur his words; his eyes looked heavy and tired. “Hotel Canaan. Room 39. But watch your back.”

“I’m not worried about it. We can handle Richard.”

“Oh, don't be so sure about that. There are things that you don't know about him.”

“And I’m assuming that’s because you ‘know things’.”

With a look of superiority, Rufus took another sip. “Yep.” Riley and Dean waited as the older hunter took his time and drug on. “Lifted his prints, he burnt them off. Probably years ago.”

Dean nodded, not surprised with what Rufus had told them. “Yeah, so you're right where we are.”

“Nope.” Again, he stopped the pace of the conversation and waited before going on. “You do his ear?”

“...Sorry?” Dean asked, wondering if he had heard him correctly.

“You do his ear?”

“Hey, man, I'll try anything once, but I don't know. That sounds uncomfortable. I mean, to be honest, he’s not really my type either.”

“Ears are as unique to humans as fingerprints.”

“No kidding.”

“Of course, that don't fly in the courts over here, but in England, they're all over it. A friend of a friend...of a friend, faxed me ten pages of confidential files within a day. All I had to send him was one clean shot off the security camera.” Rufus stood from his seat and walked across the room to his cluttered desk. He grabbed a thick folder stuffed with paperwork and handed it to Dean. “The so-called Richard Lewis.”

------

Crickets chirped loudly through the woods as Sam pushed open an old and squeaky door to a lost cabin in the Pennsylvania forest.

Armed with his flashlight and desperate for answers, the large hunter stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and peered around the main room. Dust filled the air and danced in front of his light. It smelled of dampness and worn wood; curtains torn to shreds still barely clutching to the windows.

Sam walked through the room examining everything that caught his eye. He flipped through pages of antique books he found lying around and crouched to rifle through the small drawers of a desk. When he found nothing, he stood back up only to notice a leather journal with a strange symbol carved into the front.

Knowing he needed to be in and out as quickly as possible, Sam tucked the book into his jacket and moved on.

A large door sat prominently in the middle of the floor. Sam gripped the metal handle and lifted it open as its rusted hinges screeched. Steep steps disappeared into the darkness below him and they creaked under the hunter’s weight as he slowly descended into the cellar.

Cobwebs hung from anything they could cling to and twinkled in the beam of the flashlight. It then bounced off what appeared to be a work station of sorts. Glass bottles, assorted tools, and other odds and ends for Sam thought to be for dissection lined the wooden countertops. Shelves were stuffed to the brim with medical antiquity jars filled with disgusting fluids and papers strung about the walls.

As Sam worked through the dark room, his light landed on a man’s body lying on an old operating table. He moved closer and reached out a hand to check the stranger’s pulse only to feel the cold touch of the man’s skin. How long he had been dead was unclear, but his body was clearly opened and sewn back together before it was crudely covered in a blood-stained sheet.

The sound of gentle tapping caught Sam’s attention and he turned in its direction. It was coming from behind tattered curtains tucked away in the back. He eased his way closer trying to remain as quiet as possible to get a closer look.

Once inside, he found a woman strapped to another operating table. She was a young and beautiful brunette in a white top and blue jeans. Her arms had been stretched out beside her where pieces of skin had been removed. A collection of maggots crawled across the open wounds as the girl remained unconscious.

As Sam leaned in to place his fingers on the pulse point of her neck, the woman gasped and her eyes sprung open.

Violently startled by the girl’s immediate awakening, Sam jumped.

The desperate and terrified woman whimpered and cried as she came to, shaking and fighting against her restraints.

“Shh! Shh! Shh!” Sam repeated softly as he tried to comfort her. “It's okay. I'm here to help you. I'm here to help you. I'm gonna help you.”

With a swift glance around him, the hunter found a large sheet and began to wrap the destroyed flesh on her arms. She sobbed as his touch reminded her of the blinding pain.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry.” He continued to shush her as he gingerly tended to her wounds.

The sound of a creaking door opening echoed through the house and the woman’s heart began to race out of control. She tried with all she had to stay silent only for her fear took over as she mewled soft but high pitched squeals.

With no other option, Sam covered the girl’s mouth.

As they looked up, a shadow blocked the light out as shoes stomped across the wooden boards. Dust fell at their movement and fluttered down onto them. Sam kept his hand in place to silence the weeping woman while his free hand moved swiftly to free her.

A small window of the cellar caught Sam’s eye and he carried the wounded woman to the wall before lifting her up and out. He softly grunted as he scrambled up behind her and picked her up into his arms once again.

Sam rushed through the woods back to his rental car as the trembling girl clung around his neck.

Once at the car, he placed her in the passenger seat as she groaned in pain. Sam ran around to the driver’s set and pulled the door closed behind him in a hurry.

As he turned the ignition, the car sprung to life. But before he could shift into gear, the glass beside him shattered as the cold hand of Doc Benton reached out for him.

The girl began to scream and backed herself into her side of the car as she shook.

The doctor looked like something out of an old horror movie. His complexion was practically grey with hair that gave the same hue. There were stitches across his face where pieces of skin had been strung together to recreate his face; wrinkles of the dead tissue were prominently indented. The trail of sutures traveled down his neck and underneath his 19th century tattered clothing. His eyes were dead, with one nearly completely white with an expressionless appearance. Doc Benton was a perfect blend of Dr. Frankenstein and his monster.

Benton took hold of Sam’s head and his fingers laced into his hair before slamming him against the wheel multiple times.

As he fought off the decrepit man, Sam wildly shifted into reverse and slammed on the gas pedal. The car roared backward as the doctor tried to hold on before he was flipped onto the hood of the car. He rolled off and hit the dirt ground with Sam’s headlights fixated on him.

Once he doctor began to pull himself up, Sam stared him down as he met Benton’s dead eyes. He threw the car into drive with his teeth gritted and rammed into the creature.

The doc was pulled underneath the small SUV and was crushed by the weight of the wheels. His body made an audible crunching sound as the vehicle bumped over him before Sam sped away with the rescued woman down the dirt road.

Unmoved by the events, Doc Benton stood to his feet once again. His neck was snapped, his head hanging at an obscene angle.

The doctor watched the car disappear into the night as he effortlessly snapped his spine back into place.

------

The hotel door opened to a dark room with the hall light barely able to illuminate inside. Richard stepped in as he closed it behind him and pocketed his keys.

Before he was able to turn around, he was charged at from the darkness and pinned to the wall. There stood a wrathful Dean Winchester with his arm against his throat, his gun pointed at Richard’s face.

“Where's the Colt?” Dean snarled.

Trying to appear calm even as he was threatened, Lewis calmly replied, “Dean. Good to see you, old friend.”

“No extra words.”

“It's long gone, across the world by now.”

“You're lying.” Grabbing the briefcase in Richard’s hand, Dean tossed it onto the bed.

“I'll call the buyer. Speak Farsi?”

From the shadows, Riley sauntered toward the two with her gun aimed and ready.

“Riley, so good to see you.” As Lewis’ words were spoken, Dean leaned his weight into his throat, causing him to choke ever so slightly.

“Dean…” When he looked over to her, Riley nodded for him to step away. She walked to Richard still standing at the wall as he rubbed the tender muscles at his neck. Her eyes met his and she grabbed his jacket pulling him close.

Richard chuckled under his breath with a look of excitement. “Ooh, there’s the firecracker I remember…”

Quickly frisking him to check for a weapon, Riley took hold of the gun she had found on his waist and held it up.

“Don’t fuckin’ flatter yourself.” She reached across him and flicked on the lights as Dean went to search the briefcase. “Don’t...move…” Riley seethed as she backed away to aid her boyfriend, leaving Richard standing against the wall.

“I told you I don't have it.”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean snarked. “I'm definitely gonna take your word for it.” He turned his back and dumped the contents of the case onto the bed coming up empty-handed.

Riley rifled through the drawers as Richard slid along the wall toward the door.

As he turned to his partner, Dean scratched his nose signaling for Riley to listen. “This shitbag telling the truth?”

All she could do was shrug before speaking back to him telepathically. “I can’t tell. I can’t get in his head. He’s scared as hell, I can tell you that much.”

“Good. He fuckin’ should be.”

When Richard tried to inch away, a gunshot was fired and Lewis grunted at the shock of the bullet missing his head by inches, going clear through the door. He froze and looked back at Dean who stood with his gun still aimed. The hunter was serious with his threats and Richard knew it.

“Don't fuckin’ move.”

Lewis’ breath had quickened and his brow creased with anger. “It's gone. Get on a plane if you must. Track down the buyer--you might catch up to him eventually.”

While Riley bounced her attention back and forth between Richard and her search for the Colt, she watched as Dean marched toward him aggressively. Once in front of Lewis, Dean pointed his weapon to his rival’s forehead and his face twitched with wrath.

Twitching a little with nerves, Richard asked, “Are you going to kill me?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean answered with a coy smile.

“You're not the cold-blooded type.”

“You mean like you? That's true. See, I couldn't imagine killing my parents.”

Flabbergasted, but attempting to regather himself, Richard kept his face deadpanned. “I don't know what you're talking--”

“Yes, you do,” Dean interrupted firmly. “You were, what, 17? Folks died in some shady car accident. Police suspected a slashed brake line, but it was all too crispy to tell. Cut to little Richard--oh, I'm sorry, David...inheriting millions.”

Riley looked Richard in the eyes, seeing how taken back he was. “That’s your real name, isn’t it? David?”

With a sigh of defeat, Richard conceded. “How did you even…”

“Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Grabbing Richard’s hand in an attempt to connect and read his thoughts, Riley was suddenly met with flashes of memories. It was like watching a movie in fast-forward. She saw moments in time of Richard’s childhood and the unending bruises, cuts, and broken bones through the years.

One moment in particular slowed down as a teenage Lewis laid helpless on the floor, crying and shaking after taking a terrible beating. His father’s footsteps retreated out of the room leaving Richard alone in agony.

As Riley released her hold on him, she was thrust back into the present and blinked rapidly trying to regain her composure. Richard glared at her skeptically, unsure of what had just happened. “They hurt you, didn’t they?”

“What?”

“You made a deal to be free of them--to be free of what you’d been put through your entire life.”

The emotions in Richard shifted and Riley could feel it all. His hard swallow of pain rang through her no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

With a tone Riley had never heard before, Richard’s voice went softer. “You don’t know anything about it. They were lovely people, and I killed them--and I got rich. I can't be bothered to give a damn. Just like I don't care what happens to your Neanderthal boyfriend.”

Again, Dean pushed him roughly against the door with his arm shoved into his throat as the hunter’s jaw clenched. He stared Lewis down for a long and tense minute before growling, “you make me fuckin’ sick.”

“Likewise, Winchester.”

Dean took a step back and held up his gun with a smirk. There was no doubt that Dean wanted the man dead and Richard closed his eyes as he braced for the gunshot.

“Dean…” Riley whispered into his mind. She looked up above the door and his eyes followed hers. A strand of woven herbs was dislodged from the ledge above the door.

Taking a moment to think, Dean stared him down. When nothing happened, Richard opened his eyes and Dean dropped his pistol to his side.

“You're not worth it.” The Winchester grabbed Lewis’ arm and shoved him off to the side before opening the door and leaving.

Riley stopped and her focus went back to Richard. “I’m sorry about what happened to you.” Her eyes welled and her jaw ticked in anger. “But I’ll never forgive you for what your selfishness is about to cost me. Goodbye, Richard.”

As she too disappeared and shut the door behind her, Lewis lifted his hand that had a scrap of paper that he uncrumpled to look at. It was a motel receipt for ‘The Erie’ that he had pick-pocketed from Dean, showing its address and the number of the room rented.

Reaching into his pocket, Richard took out his phone and quickly began to dial. When someone on the other line answered, he told them, “it worked. They found me. No, Sam wasn't with them. But I know where they are.”

------

Baby roared down the highway through the night as Riley made a call while Dean drove on. She put it on speakerphone as the line rang before Sam picked up.

“Riley, you guys get the Colt?”

“What do you think?” Dean asked, utterly frustrated.

“So, does that mean Richard is, uh…”

“No, no--he deserves to die a dozen times over, but I couldn't do it.” Looking over to Riley, Dean was hit with a wave of realization that while still without the Colt, they had no chance of saving him.

As his glance went between the road and the woman beside him, Dean nodded as he clenched his lips. “I’m really screwed, guys.”

Riley sighed. “Dean, don’t talk like that.”

“Sam, you were right. Dick was a goose chase. The Colt’s gone, and this time, I’m really fucked.”

As Riley rested her elbow against the door, she put her forehead into her hand trying to control herself until Sam jumped back in. “Maybe not. Look, Dean, I found Benton's cabin.”

“You okay? Was he there?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No.”

With a look of uncertainty, Riley asked, “no? Why not?”

“Guys, please just listen for a second. I found his lab book, and it has the formula.”

“You’re talking about his zombie formula?”

Sam sighed in exasperation. “It’s not a zombie formula.”

“Let me guess,” Dean started as he resituated in his seat. “I got to drink blood out of a baby's skull?”

“No, that's the thing. It's not black magic. There's no blood sacrifice or anything. It's just science, Dean. Very, very extremely weird science, but…”

Again the couple shared a glance as a small flicker of hope rushed through them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Dean said as he fumbled over his words. “What are--what are you saying? You think…”

“Dean, I think it might be doable. I mean, I know we've hit a shit ton of walls, but I--I think this formula--I think it might be it. This could save you.”

“Okay, so, this formula…”

“Well, I mean, look--we're not in the clear yet. There are still things that I don't get…” Before Sam could finish his sentence, the sound of garbled grunts and a struggle came through the line.

“Sam?” Riley asked with worry.

With fear and panic in his eyes when he didn’t answer, Dean called out, “Sammy!”

------

Strapped to a wooden operating table in Doc Benton’s damp cellar, Sam’s eyes were wide as they were taped to stay open. His heart was racing and his attempts to free himself were useless against the restraints at his forehead, wrists, waist, and feet.

“You can relax. It's all gonna be okay,” Benton told the hunter as he softly tapped his arm. “Ain't nothing gonna happen here that you got to worry about, Sammy. Your chances of coming out of this procedure alive? Very, very high.”

“How do you know my name?”

The doctor held a metal scooping tool to an open flame and ensured that it had been entirely warmed. “Oh, I know. You think I'm some kind of monster, don't you? Well, I got to tell you, I have never done one thing that I did not have to do. This whole eternal-life thing is very high-maintenance. If something goes bad, like my eyes here--” he told Sam as he leaned over to show off his faded dead eyes. Benton’s cold fingers traced Sam’s forehead as he admired the hazel eyes staring back at him. “You got to replace them. And sometimes things get damaged, like when your father cut out my heart. Now, that--that was very inconvenient. So, I'm sure that you can understand all the joy I felt when I read all about myself here in his journal.” Holding up John’s hunter’s journal, the doctor flipped to a specific page and flashed it in front of the trapped Winchester. “Kind of makes this whole thing just feel like some kind of family reunion, don't it? Well, I guess it's about time that we get this thing started.”

Tossing the journal off to the side, Doc Benton brought the scooper close to Sam’s open eyes. He began to position the tool to remove them completely. The hunter trembled and grunted as he still tried to get free.

Three loud shots rang out as Benton was shot from behind. He turned to see Dean with his gun still raised, though he grew nervous seeing that his attack appeared to have done nothing.

“Shoot all you want.” The doctor approached Dean who let loose two more rounds.

Grabbing him, Benton threw Dean into the wall causing him to crash against assorted items and glass. He groaned at the impact before falling to the ground. As the half-dead man grew close to Dean once more, he leaned down and hovered over him.

A small grunt came from behind him as Riley thrust her blade into the doctor’s back. It went clear through and pierced his heart. He stood erect again and laughed.

“A knife? What part of immortality do you not understand? Pity about the heart, though. It was a brand-new one.”

“Glad to hear it,” Riley retorted while softly panting. “Guess that means it’s gonna be pumping really strong…” She held up a bottle of chloroform with a mischievous expression as Benton began to wobble. “I mean, now this junk is gonna spread through your entire body. You see, Dean and I picked up your little bottle upstairs. A little dip of the knife and...presto.”

With a look of shock as he began to lose consciousness, the monster collapsed to the floor with a moan.

------

Doc Benton’s cries for release came from the freshly dug hole in the ground. Inside, was a refrigerator strapped shut by heavy metal chains. They clanged against the porcelain as the doctor tried to escape.

“No! No! Don't! Stop it! I can help you! No!”

Riley tossed Benton’s book into the hole to disappear along with the monstrous man. “Should’ve been in the ground a long time ago. Better late than never, I guess.”

“Dean...” Sam said softly as his family turned to face him. “We need that formula. I mean, we're talking hell in three weeks, or needing a new pancreas in like half a century.”

“Yeah, well--you can't exactly get those at a Kwik-E-Mart,” Dean countered.

“It's not perfect, but it buys us more time to think of something better. We just need time, Dean. I mean, please, just--just think about it.”

Staying silent, Riley closed her eyes as Sam’s emotions swelled over her like a tidal wave. She could feel his desperation and undying love for Dean. It didn’t matter what the cost, Sam was ready to pay that price to save his brother. And as much as Riley felt the same, she knew Dean too well; there was no way we would ever agree to an existence like Doctor Benton’s.

“...no. What he is, isn't living. Look, this is simple to me, okay? Black or white; human, not human. See, what the Doc is is a fuckin’ monster. I can't do it. I would rather go to Hell.” With one last look into the deep ditch where Benton continued to plead for his freedom, Dean took hold of a shovel. “Enjoy forever in there, Doc.”

As the three hunters began to fill the hole with the freshly dug soil, the muffled screams continued.

“Let me out! I can save you! No. Don't!” The Doc wailed as he was slowly planted in the Earth.

------

The Eerie was a cheap motel that barely had enough business to stay afloat. Its neon lights had random letters flickering as their bulbs died.

On the second floor, Richard’s ridiculously priced shoes tapped against the cheap concrete flooring. He picked the lock of the door and opened it with ease.

As he stepped inside, he drew a gun from his coat and quietly entered. He raised his pistol and pointed it toward the two beds in front of him.

Richard fired three shots through a silencer into the bodies lying under the covers; two in one bed and one in the other.

He moved closer and turned on the bedside lamp. The clock beside the bed showed it was 11:56 PM and he swiftly pulled back the covers. As he did, he revealed a sex doll slowly deflating. When Lewis checked the other bed, two more dolls continued to lose the air that hissed as it seeped out.

Disoriented and clearly in a state of urgency, Richard’s eyes darted across the room. His attention was stolen by the loud ringing that came from the phone on the nightstand.

Picking it up, he put it to his ear.

“Hiya, Dick,” Dean snarked from the other end of the line. “Here's a fun fact you may not know. I felt your hand in my pocket when you swiped that motel receipt.”

With desperation in his voice, Richard replied, “you don't understand.”

“Oh, I'm pretty sure I understand perfectly. See, Rye and I noticed something interesting in your hotel room--something tucked above the door. An herb, Devil's shoestring? There's only one use for that--holding hellhounds at bay.”

As Dean went on, Richard sat on the edge of the bed as he began to accept his fate. His eyes grew red as they filled with tears and he swallowed the massive lump in his throat, threatening his air.

“So, you know what we did? We went back and took another look at your folks' obit. Turns out they died ten years ago...today. You didn't kill them. A demon did your dirty work. You made a deal, didn't you, Dick? And it's come due. Is that why you stole the Colt, huh? Try to wiggle out of your deal--our gun for your soul?”

“...yes.”

Riley could be heard sighing as she interjected. “It wasn’t enough though, was it? Taking the Colt?”

“They changed the deal. They wanted me to kill Sam...and you, Riley.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. But you’d think you’d know by now Richard, demons aren’t exactly trustworthy partners, are they? ...and it’s almost midnight.”

“Riley, I’m out of time and I’m out of options,” Lewis choked out with a broken voice. “I need your help. I know I don’t deserve it.”

“Do you deserve our help? No, you don’t. But the saddest part of all of this? If you would have just told us you needed help, we could have used the Colt and saved you from this mess.”

“I know and saved Dean as well. I know about his deal. The demon that holds it--she holds mine too. She said she holds every deal.”

“Who’s she?”

“Her name's Lilith.”

“Lilith?” Dean scoffed incredulously. “Why should I believe you?”

“You shouldn't, but it's the truth.”

“This can't help you, Dick--not now. Why you telling me this?”

Richard paused as a tear fell down his face. “Because just maybe you can kill the bitch.”

The line went quiet as the hunters were lost in thought. It was Dean that broke the silence. “I'll see you in Hell.”

Dean hung up and Richard was left alone in the motel room as he listened to the deafening dial tone coming from the phone.

The receiver clicked as he hung up and the old clock flipped as midnight made its deadly appearance. Beads of sweat poured from Lewis’ face as deep howling came from the distance. He stood to look out the window, pale with fear.

Closer vicious growls came from behind him and hot panting breath blew through his hair. Lewis inhaled a sharp breath as his eyes squeezed shut.

His time was up, and the pits of Hell were waiting.

------

S3 Finale Prequel: Just for Tonight

Wayward Hearts Tag List: @waywardmoeyy @00slayer @adoptdontshoppets @arctusluna @salt-n-burn-em-all @nerd-in-a-galaxy-far-away @becs-bunker @squirrelnotsam @fandommaniacx @death-unbecomes-you @themoonandotherslikeit @x-waywardaf-x @flamencodiva @aaspiringhero @gemini0410 @love-nakamura @klinenovakwinchester @cemmia @deans-baby-momma @paintballkid711 @da5haexowin @a-manduhhhhh @winchestergirl82 @spnbaby-67 @sandycub @bunnybaby121115 @erins-culinary-service @lauravic @moonxdance @knights0fkylo @panicatthewestwing @screechingartisancashbailiff @wiredandwayward @the-children-of-the-stars @rosey1981 @mylovelydame21 @titty-teetee @walkingchemicalfire

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roman-catholic-mass-readings · 5 years

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13th July >> Mass Readings (USA)

Saturday, Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time

Saint Henry

Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Saturday, Fourteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

Genesis 49:29-32; 50:15-26a

God will surely take care of you and lead you out of this land.

Jacob gave his sons this charge: “Since I am about to be taken to my people, bury me with my fathers in the cave that lies in the field of Ephron the Hittite, the cave in the field of Machpelah, facing on Mamre, in the land of Canaan, the field that Abraham bought from Ephron the Hittite for a burial ground. There Abraham and his wife Sarah are buried, and so are Isaac and his wife Rebekah, and there, too, I buried Leah– the field and the cave in it that had been purchased from the Hittites.”

Now that their father was dead, Joseph’s brothers became fearful and thought, “Suppose Joseph has been nursing a grudge against us and now plans to pay us back in full for all the wrong we did him!” So they approached Joseph and said: “Before your father died, he gave us these instructions: ‘You shall say to Joseph, Jacob begs you to forgive the criminal wrongdoing of your brothers, who treated you so cruelly.’ Please, therefore, forgive the crime that we, the servants of your father’s God, committed.” When they spoke these words to him, Joseph broke into tears. Then his brothers proceeded to fling themselves down before him and said, “Let us be your slaves!” But Joseph replied to them: “Have no fear. Can I take the place of God? Even though you meant harm to me, God meant it for good, to achieve his present end, the survival of many people. Therefore have no fear. I will provide for you and for your children.” By thus speaking kindly to them, he reassured them.

Joseph remained in Egypt, together with his father’s family. He lived a hundred and ten years. He saw Ephraim’s children to the third generation, and the children of Manasseh’s son Machir were also born on Joseph’s knees.

Joseph said to his brothers: “I am about to die. God will surely take care of you and lead you out of this land to the land that he promised on oath to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.” Then, putting the sons of Israel under oath, he continued, “When God thus takes care of you, you must bring my bones up with you from this place.” Joseph died at the age of a hundred and ten.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 105:1-2, 3-4, 6-7

R/ Be glad you lowly ones; may your hearts be glad!

Give thanks to the Lord, invoke his name;

make known among the nations his deeds.

Sing to him, sing his praise,

proclaim all his wondrous deeds.

R/ Be glad you lowly ones; may your hearts be glad!

Glory in his holy name;

rejoice, O hearts that seek the Lord!

Look to the Lord in his strength;

seek to serve him constantly.

R/ Be glad you lowly ones; may your hearts be glad!

You descendants of Abraham, his servants,

sons of Jacob, his chosen ones!

He, the Lord, is our God;

throughout the earth his judgments prevail.

R/ Be glad you lowly ones; may your hearts be glad!

Gospel Acclamation

1 Peter 4:14

Alleluia, alleluia.

If you are insulted for the name of Christ, blessed are you,

for the Spirit of God rests upon you.

Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Matthew 10:24-33

Do not be afraid of those who kill the body.

Jesus said to his Apostles: “No disciple is above his teacher, no slave above his master. It is enough for the disciple that he become like his teacher, for the slave that he become like his master. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more those of his household! “Therefore do not be afraid of them. Nothing is concealed that will not be revealed, nor secret that will not be known. What I say to you in the darkness, speak in the light; what you hear whispered, proclaim on the housetops. And do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna. Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge. Even all the hairs of your head are counted. So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father. But whoever denies me before others, I will deny before my heavenly Father.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

———————-

Saint Henry

(Liturgical Colour: White)

(Readings for the memorial

There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Saturday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading

Micah 6:6-8

You have been told, O man, what is good.

With what shall I come before the Lord,

and bow before God most high?

Shall I come before him with burnt offerings,

with calves a year old?

Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams,

with myriad streams of oil?

Shall I give my first-born for my crime,

the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?

You have been told, O man, what is good,

and what the Lord requires of you:

Only to do the right and to love goodness,

and to walk humbly with your God.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 1:1-2, 3, 4 and 6

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord.

R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord.

R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Blessed the man who follows not

the counsel of the wicked

Nor walks in the way of sinners,

nor sits in the company of the insolent,

But delights in the law of the Lord

and meditates on his law day and night.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord.

R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord.

R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

He is like a tree

planted near running water,

That yields its fruit in due season,

and whose leaves never fade.

Whatever he does, prospers.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord.

R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord.

R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Not so, the wicked, not so;

they are like chaff which the wind drives away.

For the Lord watches over the way of the just,

but the way of the wicked vanishes.

R/ Blessed are they who hope in the Lord.

R/ Blessed are they who delight in the law of the Lord.

R/ The just will flourish like the palm tree in the garden of the Lord.

Gospel Acclamation

John 14:23

Alleluia, alleluia.

Whoever loves me will keep my word

and my Father will love him

and we will come to him.

Alleluia, alleluia.

Gospel

Matthew 7:21-27

The house built on rock and the house built on sand.

Jesus said to his disciples: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven. Many will say to me on that day, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name? Did we not drive out demons in your name? Did we not do mighty deeds in your name?’ Then I will declare to them solemnly, ‘I never knew you. Depart from me, you evildoers.’

“Everyone who listens to these words of mine and acts on them will be like a wise man who built his house on rock. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. But it did not collapse; it had been set solidly on rock. And everyone who listens to these words of mine but does not act on them will be like a fool who built his house on sand. The rain fell, the floods came, and the winds blew and buffeted the house. And it collapsed and was completely ruined.”

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

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Saturday memorial of the Blessed Virgin Mary

(Liturgical Colour: White)

First Reading

Genesis 3:9-15, 20

I will put enmity between your offspring and the offspring of the woman.

After the man, Adam, had eaten of the tree, the LORD God called to the man and asked him, “Where are you?” He answered, “I heard you in the garden; but I was afraid, because I was naked, so I hid myself.” Then he asked, “Who told you that you were naked? You have eaten, then, from the tree of which I had forbidden you to eat!” The man replied, “The woman whom you put here with me– she gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it.” The LORD God then asked the woman, “Why did you do such a thing?” The woman answered, “The serpent tricked me into it, so I ate it.” Then the LORD God said to the serpent:

“Because you have done this, you shall be banned from all the animals and from all the wild creatures; On your belly shall you crawl, and dirt shall you eat all the days of your life.I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers; He will strike at your head, while you strike at his heel.”

The man called his wife Eve, because she became the mother of all the living.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

1 Samuel 2:1, 4-5, 6-7, 8abcd