#truly believe Dean was just running that fast for the man he loves
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The thing is. Sam was following him. you can see it.
Sam came up from the basement room with Dean, he was right behind him. But by the time Dean gets to the stairs Sam was out of the shot completely. When they pan down to show lucifer, Sam isn't up the stairs, he's barely out of the doorway.
There is no hetero explanation.
Sam long legs Winchester who regularly runs couldn't keep up because Dean the bacon and burger scarf-er was running for the door to reach the man he loves that fast, or Sam was hanging back to let them have their moment. ... I just don't think Sam would let Cas be in danger like that. Which only leaves, well, the reason Lucifer called Dean and not Sam in the first place.
How can you tell Dean is in love with Cas?
Because Sam isn't.
#how can you tell that dean's in love with cas?#because sam isn't#spn 15x19#dean was always bi#destiel was always canon#original content#since we're on the door gif today#no heterosexual explanation#spn meta#season 15 destiel#deancas#spn headcanons#It's possible#but I don't think Sam was hanging back to let them have their moment.#truly believe Dean was just running that fast for the man he loves#dean I'm hurt#the reason Lucifer called Dean and not Sam in the first place
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'Cause if You Don't Want Me, Then You're Not the One - Dean Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)
Title: 'Cause if You Don't Want Me, Then You're Not the One
Pairing: Dean Winchester X Reader
Song: John Hughes Movie
Word Count: 1,179 words
Warning(s): cussing. drinking, mentions of sex
Summary: (Based in the earlier seasons) (Y/n) is tired of watching Dean get dragged home by a new person every couple of nights.
Author's Note: This is that cheesy shit we love.
Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)
Masterlist for the Maisie Peters Writing Challenge!
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Dean Winchester.
The ultimate flirt that could truly get the attention of anyone he wanted. That included mine.
As I hunted with the brothers more, I found myself more nervous around Dean than I was around monsters. It was a strange experience, but it was one that I eventually accepted. I was going to be in love with this man that may not give me a second glance.
Sometimes, he made me feel like we were on the same page. Slightly more affectionate than normal and going out of his way to spend more time with me without Sam around.
However, then we'd go to the bar, and he'd end up magnetized to someone at the end of the bar. A smirk, a wink, and a few clever lines later, he'd be walking out and leaving Sam and me in the dust.
I always felt wrong when I got angry about it.
He wasn't mine to hold onto. Dean could do whatever he wanted without my approval.
Still, it hurt to watch him leave whatever local dive bar we ended up in.
"(Y/n), you alright," I looked away from the bar when Sam sat down next to me and put a drink in front of me.
"Yeah," I nodded before looking down into the glass.
"He's an idiot sometimes," he said. "Bobby would smack him over the head if he knew about this."
"He's threatened it," I muttered with a chuckle. I looked back at the younger Winchester, who was giving me the saddest puppy dog eyes that I had ever seen. "I'm fine."
He nodded but I could tell that he didn't believe me. His lips had been drawn into a straight line and he avoided eye contact. He didn't want to argue with me, but he could see right through me.
The night continued as it usually did.
Sam and I were talking about a recent case. What went wrong, what went right, what could've been far better than it had been before.
Dean was leaning on the bar, chatting with a smirk sitting on his lips.
I tried to keep from looking at him over Sam's shoulder. I just couldn't. Something about tonight was different. There was a rock sitting in my stomach that hadn't been there in the past.
I was tired. Fed up. I needed a night where I wasn't going to see this.
"Can you cover the drinks," I asked, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. His eyebrows furrowed and frowned a little, but still nodded at me. "Thanks."
I stood up from the seat quickly and walked out of the bar. I tried to be fast but still natural. I didn't want Dean to worry about me and wanted to get out before the tears in my eyes finally started spilling over.
What I didn't see at the time was that Dean had seen me leave.
His attention was pulled from whoever was at the bar immediately. He looked over at his brother, who had turned around as I left. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and pointed in my direction, and Sam shrugged at him.
I was just walking down the sidewalk toward the motel when Dean came outside.
"(Y/n)," he called out as he followed me.
I stopped and sighed before forcing a smile and turning to face him, "What's up?"
"You just went running out of there," he replied. "What's wrong?"
I shook my head, "Nothing. I'm just tired."
He raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe me at all.
"I'm not feeling up for the bar-thing tonight," I repeated, now forcing a chuckle. "I'm just gonna go lay down."
"Let me drive you back then."
"No," I replied, probably a little too fast. "I... You've been drinking."
He shrugged before taking a few steps back. I furrowed my eyebrows for a moment. Dean smirked before taking ten heel-to-toe steps back to me like it was a sobriety test. My confusion turned into annoyance.
"Now, what's wrong?"
"Just go back to your nightly conquest, Dean," I rolled my eyes and turned back to continue my walk from earlier.
"Hey, come on," Dean grabbed my arm as he moved to stand in front of me.
"Let me go," I said.
"Not until you're honest with me."
"No," I replied. "Let go of my arm, you ass."
"No," he sassed back. "What's wrong?"
"You fucking someone else," I snapped.
Dean let go of my arm instantly, eyes wide.
I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes for a moment before letting out a sigh.
"What," he asked.
"I...," I trailed off for a moment. Where do I even start with this? "I've spent years watching you go bars and pick up people to spend your nights with. And... I hate it."
I took another deep breath.
"I... holy shit... I love you, Dean, but I know that you don't feel the same," I felt like my throat was closing up. "So, I'll just move on. Step back. But I can't sit there and watch... that. Not anymore."
I went to walk past Dean, but he didn't let me. He stepped in front of me.
I let out a huff before going to walk around him again.
He moved in front of me.
"Stop it, Dean."
He shook his head, seeming to be distracted by something.
Before I could speak up again, he grabbed my waist and pulled me into a kiss.
I stood frozen in shock, eyes open and hands held just inches from his shoulder.
I pulled away abruptly, "What the fuck?"
He blinked a few times.
"You think you can just kiss me, and make everything perfect-"
"I love you too," he replied. "I was convinced that you would never want me like that. So, I just kept doing the same thing that I always had. There's a reason no one's ever stuck around. You're the only person that I want there. You're the only person that I want by my side through anything and everything."
I looked away from him and tried to collect my thoughts.
As I looked back, Dean rested his forehead against me.
"I'll do anything to prove to you that you're all that I truly want," he muttered.
There was a moment of silence and let out a small breath.
"Please."
I leaned in and kissed him again.
It only lasted a few seconds before I leaned back again, smiling a little.
"Yes," I whispered, reaching up to cup his face.
He smiled widely before pulling me into a tight hug. He let out a proud laugh as he spun in an awkward half-circle. He stepped back and grabbed my hand.
"Come on," he said, pulling me in the direction of the impala.
"What about Sam," I asked pointing to the bar.
"He'll figure it out," Dean pushed me a little toward the passenger seat. "Let's go!"
I laughed and sat down.
It was cheesy and sappy and lovely. It felt like an old romance movie, and I wouldn't have traded that for the world.
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folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)
#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x reader#fanfiction#imagine#x reader#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural imagine#supernatural x reader
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Your Perfect Little Bubble
Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader
Word Count: ~1.5k
Warnings: fluff, dad!sam fluff, minor angst
Request by anon: What about a Sam x reader where Sam and R are sleeping and their young child comes in because of a nightmare and wakes up reader wanting to sleep with their parents. With the lines “ ok, just don’t wake daddy up.” And Sam replies “Too late” Just domestic fluff! There just needs to be more Dad!Sam
Summary: Your little boy has a nightmare in the middle of the night and tells you about it.
nose kisses (2020 card) and child au (2021 card) for @spnfluffbingo
family for @spntfwbingo
domestic au for @spngenrebingo
Author’s Note: I know this was requested a long time ago. Sorry this is just now coming out. This is unbeta’d and all mistakes are mine. If you have any requests, please send them in!
Having kids was never something you saw for yourself until you met Sam. Being truly happy with your life was never possible for you until you met Sam. You never saw having the things you have now until you met Sam. Everything happened when you met him, and you owe him your life--to try and pay back everything he gave to you. Ten years ago, if someone asked you what you would be doing with your life, it would certainly not be this.
Your eccentric five-year-old baby boy is full of life and is curious about everything. He has an eye for the good, to see what others can’t. When you found out you were pregnant, you refused to raise him the way John did with his boys. John shut his kids out unless he needed them, and even then, it was touch-and-go. Not with Dylan, no, you wanted to be different than the rest.
Dean has always said hunters aren't kids, but you’re doing a pretty damn good job at allowing your baby boy be a kid for as long as he can. He knows what’s out there because you decided to have the talk with him in the form of stories. Instead of just shoving him into the life and forcing him to deal with it like John did, you tell stories of vampires, djinns, angels, demons, and everything in between. With stories, you can show him it’s not that scary, and with hunter parents like Sam and Dean, it’s not.
The Bunker isn’t an ideal place to raise a child, but Dylan made sure to turn this place into his own personal playground. The two rooms you merged to make his playroom is just covered with toys. Whenever he had a birthday, Sam, Dean, and even Castiel would spoil him with lots of presents, so the Bunker is just littered with them.
You don’t mind much since it makes him so happy to get gifts. He’s not spoiled in a bad way--he always says please and thank you, and he is very grateful for what he gets. You don’t think you could have raised a better son, and there are still thirteen more years to go. You let Dylan play in his playroom after dinner, so when you enter the room to get him, a smile grows on your face.
He fell asleep while playing with the present Jack gave him--Marvelous Marvin the Talking Teddy. He also has one, and they play a lot together with them. You think it’s sweet how much your son grew to love Jack. They are close in age, so it makes sense that they would get along the best.
You walk over to your little man and pick him up gently, careful not to wake him up. His head rolls to rest on your chest, and you carry him to his room. He decorated it all on his own with the help of his father. There are stars and planets painted on the wall since he loves Toy Story and Buzz Lightyear and everything that has to do with space. You lay him in his bed and tuck him up, kissing him on the head when you’re finished.
Sam and Dean had just gotten back from a tough hunt, so to give your husband some time to settle into bed and go to sleep, you figured you would clean Dylan’s playroom first. If you were to go to bed now, and Sam was only half-asleep, he would wake as soon as you got into the bed. Years of being a hunter made him accustomed to being a light sleeper.
You tidy up Dylan’s playroom, putting the toys where they belong. Inside the room is a little table in the corner that is used for arts and crafts that he loves using. Today, him and Jack were painting some of the Toy Story characters. Your son’s paintings aren’t that great with Jack not that far behind him, but they had fun while doing it. You take the pictures and hang them in the designated spot that’s used to hang all the pictures that Dylan makes. Once they dry, he picks his favorite ones and you throw the rest of them away. The ones he picks go into a big photo album that he can look through when he’s older.
Once the room is cleaner, you head back to your shared room with Sam. You can hear his soft snores from his side of the bed, so you know he is fast asleep. You’re quiet as you change into your pajamas, and you slide into bed gently. Sam turns over so he's facing you, and in his sleep, he reaches out for you. You cuddle into his side, acting as the “little spoon”. His big arms wrap around your waist as his head buries itself into the crook of your neck.
If you could stay like this forever, you would. Immediately, you drift off to sleep knowing everyone inside the Bunker is safe and sound. You’re not sure when you wake up next, but you know it’s not morning. It’s not your alarm telling you that you two needed to get up to do your morning run. It’s not the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen that Jack loves to make since he barely sleeps. No, something much more innocent and vulnerable wakes you.
“Mommy,” Dylan whispers, shaking your shoulder.
“What is it, baby? Are you okay?” you whisper and turn on the lamp next to your bed on the lowest setting so it doesn’t wake Sam up.
“I had a nightmare.”
“Come here,” you say and pat the area between you and Sam.
Sam had managed to scoot as far as possible away from you during the night, so there is plenty of room for Dylan to crawl in without waking his father. He settles in next to you, and you push his long hair away from his face. He is growing more to look like Sam every single day. He refuses to cut his hair claiming he wants to look like Daddy.
“Tell me about your nightmare, sweetheart. Just don’t wake Daddy up.”
“Too late,” Sam grumbles and flips to face you two. “What’s going on?”
“Dylan had a nightmare. He was just going to tell me about it.”
“Alright, buddy, we’re all ears. We’re listening,” Sam yawns.
“I had a nightmare about you and Daddy. You were killed by a monster and you left me all alone,” Dylan sighs.
You look at Sam knowingly, and that little story causes him to become more alert. You’re not a hunter anymore--not since you found out you were pregnant. You’re a stay-at-home mom while Sam and Dean go out and fight the monsters. You help when you can from the Bunker, but you don’t go out anymore. This isn’t your department anymore, so Sam takes over. He grabs Dylan by the waist and plops him on his elated legs so that he’s resting his back on them.
“Listen, Dylan, your mom and I aren’t going to die. I know it’s scary, okay? Believe me, I was once your age thinking the same thing about my dad. It was scary for me not knowing if he was ever going to come home, but it doesn’t have to be like that for you. Your uncle and I will always make it home to you and your mom. You have Uncle Jack and Cas here to protect you. They’re angels, so if I’m ever hurt, they can fix me right up. You won’t ever have to be alone.”
“Your daddy’s right, baby. Monsters are scary, okay? Monsters can hurt a lot of people, but your daddy and your uncle go out and kill the bad people so that the good people can be happy. Just like in your stories,” you add with a smile.
“Okay,” he nods, believing every word you and Sam say.
“You want to show your mom what we’ve been working on?” Sam asks with a smile, and that seems to brighten up your son.
“Yeah!”
He and Sam have been working on a secret handshake that only the two of them know. It puts a smile on your face to know that your son has this to fall back on. When he’s scared or alone, he can think back to times like these to feel better. When they are done, Dylan squeals in happiness when Sam bear-hugs him.
“That’s pretty cool,” you beam.
“Are you feeling much better?”
“Yes, Daddy,” Dylan smiles widely.
“Do you want to sleep in here with us?” you ask.
Dylan nods, and Sam puts him back where he was before. Dylan snuggles underneath the blanket and passes the fuck out. When you know he is fast asleep, you look at Sam with a loving smile.
“We did a good job with this one,” you say.
“We should have another one,” Sam whispers.
“I’d love nothing more.”
You lean closer to him and rub your nose against him to give him some Eskimo kisses before kissing him on the lips. It’s slow and sensual, but nothing short of loving. You pull away and cuddle into him with Dylan in between you two.
Your perfect little family all wrapped up in a perfect little bow.
Wanna get tagged? Add yourself to this document! If your tag doesn’t work, find out why! Follow my library blog @queenofdeansbooty-writes where I reblog all my stories, so you can follow that if you can’t be tagged!
@babypink224221 @fluffydanger @jennazeise @calaofnoldor @miraclesoflove @xxboesefrauxx @kendall-michele @007zada @nahigm @sandlee44 @a--1--1--3 @paintballkid711 @musiclovinchic93 @whizzer1320 @essie1876 @notyourtypicalrose @fuckwby @gh0stgurl @wonderful-writer @scarletmeii @mizzezm @fandom-princess-forevermore @katherine097 @posiemax @countrygal17a @knowledgefulbutterfly @justalonely-nerd @deanloveboi @casseythebee @redperson58 @donnaintx @foxyjwls007 @thatmotleygirl @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @sritzthefirefly @sunshin3sammy @stixnstripesworld
#spnfluffbingo#spntfwbingo#sam winchester#sam winchester x reader#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester fluff#sam winchester fic#sam winchester fiction#sam winchester fan fiction#sam winchester fanfic#sam winchester fan fic#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural fic#supernatural fluff#spn#spn fic#spn fanfiction#spn fluff
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Not My Reality Part 1
Jensen Ackles x Reader
Story Summary: Y/N wakes up in a nightmare. Is it her new reality, or can she figure out how to fix it.
Warnings: Angst
A/N: This is a short, 2-3 part series.
“Mmm, I love waking up like this,” Jensen mumbled against your skin, his body warm as you kissed your way down his chest. “We could make this an everyday tradition.”
“Mmm, I like the sound of that,” you sighed, looking up to see his green eyes twinkling at you before he flipped you over onto your back. Resting on his elbows, his hips pressed against yours, his erection trapped between your bodies. “But we might switch things up occasionally. Maybe I’ll be the one waking you up.”
“Jensen, please,” you whispered, raising your hips up to meet his, closing your eyes as you waited for that moment. The moment when the two of you became intertwined. Suddenly he pulled away, your skin cooling instantly. “Jensen?” You called out, opening your eyes, but he was nowhere to be seen.
Sitting up, you realized you were dressed in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. No longer were you on your bed. Instead, you were sitting on a stone park bench with rain gently falling down. “Where the hell am I?” You muttered out loud, looking for some sort of clue. This park didn’t seem familiar, with it’s vibrantly green trees and creek cascading beside the walkway. The grass was green and perfectly manicured. Nothing like the park by your home in Vancouver.
“Ma’am, are you okay?” This security officer asked, stopping his bike long enough to lean down and check on you.
“Yeah,” you answered, not wanting him to take you to the crazy bin. “Just taking a break.”
He didn’t seem completely convinced but continued on, leaving you to sit and wonder exactly what the hell was going on.
Sitting in the park wasn’t going to solve any of your problems. Reaching into the pocket of your jeans, you came up empty. No cell phone, no wallet. Nothing. Standing up, you began to go the same way the security officer did, looking around as you went.
There was a family off to the side, having a picnic while in front of you a man played fetch with his dog. A city came into view as you passed the trees. A city you had been to once or twice. But it was thousands of miles away from where you had just been.
Austin, Texas. Known for its bustling nightlife and sunny days. Jensen had actually considered moving here a couple of years ago, but the two of you had settled down in Vancouver. “I have to be dreaming,” you kept muttering to yourself as you came to the parking lot. Only a handful of cars were in the lot, with a bus stop at the edge. But you couldn’t take the bus. You had no money and no idea where to go. You were stuck here, with no idea what to do next.
“Y/N?” A familiar voice called out, immediately relieving some of the stress you were feeling. “What the hell are you doing out here?”
“I’m trying to figure that out as well,” you turned around, giving Jared a huge hug, ignoring the sticky sweat as you clung to something normal in this otherwise crazy day.
“Whoa,” he chuckled. “I probably stink. I’m out on my run. But you never come down to Texas. It’s a nice surprise, but why are you in the park?”
“Can we sit down?” You asked him, leading him to the nearest park bench. “So, you’re never going to believe me but I was at home, in bed and then I was here. I have no idea how. No cell phone, no wallet. Nothing. I don’t know what’s going on.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to comprehend your words. “What the hell did you drink last night?”
“I didn’t drink,” you sighed. “But I kinda wish I had a drink now.”
“So where are you staying?”
“I don’t have a place. Or anything to get a hotel room.” You didn’t even have your idea to get money at a bank or anything. Maybe, if you borrowed Jared’s phone, you could get Jensen to wire you some money. Maybe he could fly down to bring you back up there. “Maybe I could call Jensen and…,”
“Don’t bug Jensen with this,” Jared insisted. “He’s busy right now, and probably doesn’t want to see you. Listen, I’ll bring you home with me, and after I take a shower we can figure this out okay. But if you’re using, I do not want to bring that home around my kids.”
Slapping his shoulder, you stood up. “How dare you imply that I’m on drugs! Sure, this morning has been crazy enough to be drug-induced, but you know I would never do that.”
He raised an eyebrow before heading towards the pickup parked at the far end of the lot. “Y/N, I don’t know whatever you’re on, but I really don’t know you well enough to know if you’re on drugs or not.”
His words stung. But worse than that, they rang false. Jared had been your best friend, even before you had fallen for Jensen. He had introduced the two of you all those years ago. And he knew that you would never do drugs. Your best friend in college had overdosed, dying way too early in life.
Sitting in the passenger seat, you began to realize that this might be more complicated than you had originally thought.
Jared stayed silent as he drove on the outskirts of town, heading for the fancier house on the other side. “Why were you running in that park?” You asked him, trying to break up the awkward silence.
“It’s one of my favorites,” he answered, turning into a subdivision. “It’s not that far from here, and I like the creek.”
He didn’t seem to want to be too chatty, and you were okay with that. At least for now. All you wanted to do was call Jensen and have him pick you up. Have him hold you while you both laugh about what a crazy day this had been.
“I don’t think Gen and the kids are home,” he said as he pulled into the garage. “Why don’t you get yourself a cup of coffee in the kitchen while I clean up.”
He headed straight up the stairs, leaving you to find your way to the kitchen. The coffee was already mated and staying warm, and you poured a cup. Sipping as you stared out the window, you tried to come to terms with what happened. But it was hard when you really had no idea what happened.
“There’s no place like home,” you joked, tapping your heels together, wishing that it would work. But when you opened your eyes, you were still looking at the Padalecki’s extensive garden.
“That coffee waking you up?” Jared asked as he came down the stairs. His hair was wet, and he had changed from his running shorts to a pair of slim jeans and a Texas longhorn shirt.
“I wish,” you muttered. “Jar, I know this is going to sound crazy, but tell me. How did we meet?”
“We met on set,” he answered as if you had truly gone crazy. “You came on in season three, as a special guest. Why?”
That wasn’t what you remembered. The two of you had met long ago, when he was filming Gilmore Girls. You had hit it off, becoming fast friends. His friendship is what landed you that role on Supernatural. “No, that’s not right. Don’t you remember that episode in Gilmore Girls?”
He shook his head, the doorbell chime stopping whatever he was planning on saying. Without a word, he turned and left.
You followed behind, staying out of sight as he opened the door. “Hey Jensen!” Jared exclaimed. “But now’s really not a good time.”
“Jensen!” You exclaimed, pushing past Jared and throwing your arms around your husband. “You can’t imagine the day I’ve had. But how did you get here so fast?”
With your head snuggled in his shoulder, you missed the silent communication they shared. Jensen pulled you back, staring down at you with a troubled expression. “Y/N?” His voice was empty of the usual warmth and love, and it had you slightly pulling back. “What the hell are you doing down here?”
“I have no idea. But I’m just glad you’re here.” Standing up on your tiptoes, you tried to give him a kiss, but he pushed you away.
“What the hell is going on? Y/N, you can’t just kiss me. You know I’m married,” he explained angrily, turning your entire world upside down.
Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bi-danvers0 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @flamencodiva @hamiltrash1411 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @justanotherwinchester @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @magssteenkamp @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @mrspeacem1nusone @nothinbuttrouble2 @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @screechingartisancashbailiff @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @team-free-will-you-idjiot @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @thoughts-and-funnies @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 @beabutterfly987 @pink-sparkly-witch @sexyvixen7
Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen
#not my reality#part 1#jensen ackles x reader#supernatural x reader#katy writes#spn fanfic#jensen ackles fanfic#jensen ackles#y/n#reader insert#spn
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Living a Lie
Summary: Sometimes happiness waits on the other side of pain and misunderstanding.
Characters: Sam x Reader; Dean mentioned
Word Count: 3826
A/N: The expansion of my Masterlist continues. This is another one of my early fics that I’ve revised a little and am reposting. At the time I wrote it, I wanted to explore the effect someone’s looks can have on them wherever they may fall on the spectrum of what is considered conventionally attractive.
READER’S POV
There had been a time Sam picked up girls in bars, not with the frequency Dean had, but he'd done it. Now, he was doing it again. Dean had stopped entirely because he was in love, monogamous, and completely happy. Dean spent his nights sharing a bed with his soul mate. Sam prowled bars, and you hid away, alone, in your room.
Your heart broke again every time Sam didn't come home. The pain was fresh like it was the first time, like somehow your heart had mended, had rebuilt itself just to be shattered again. A heart in pieces leaves an emptiness in the center of your being, but all the broken shards are still there, the sharp edges piercing you from the inside out. That was how it felt when night fell, and Sam wasn’t in the bunker. You knew where he was and what he was doing.
Those were sleepless nights for you, nights spent hearing Sam's voice in your head. You'd always been too romantic for your own damn good. How could you be sitting here in the dark, back against your headboard, clutching your pillow tightly to your chest while you cried over the loss of a man you'd never had? He wasn't a man you were going to have. You'd seen pictures of Jessica. You just weren't his type. Sure, you could dye your hair blonde. That still wouldn't make you model gorgeous with a perfect body.
You were smart, maybe not Stanford smart, but who knows? You might have been if you'd actually studied in high school instead of sitting in the back of class scribbling love poems in your notebooks. You had more than one regret and missed opportunity in your life.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Sam's footsteps coming down the hall. He had to pass your room to get to his. That's when you got your brilliant idea. You jumped up and flicked on the lights, splashed cold water on your face at the sink, and reached for your makeup bag to erase the evidence of your crying.
Minutes later you were knocking on Sam's door. He opened the door dressed for bed, and you smiled your prettiest for him. "Can I come in?" He opened the door wider giving you room to walk inside and stood with his arm over his head, hand on the door as he leaned against it watching you.
You took a seat on the end of his bed and waited. Sam closed the door and walked closer to the bed. He was still looking at you with an unspoken question in his green eyes touched with warm honey.
He didn't move any closer, and he didn't say anything. Your broken heart made you bold. "Your night didn't go the way you had planned?"
Sam raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Planned?"
"Yeah. You know. You didn't go home with anyone." You looked down as you said it, unable to meet his eyes and say it out loud.
Sam sat down next to you, head bowed, his hand under his hair on the back of his neck. "Uhh...no, I didn't go home with anyone."
You inched closer to him until your thigh was touching his. He looked at your bare leg and swallowed. You hadn't worn anything to bed but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties.
"You don't have to spend the night alone, Sam." You reached for his hand and moved it to the inside of your thigh parting your legs slightly. His hand covered a large portion of your leg. It was warm and solid, and the feel of it made your core quiver.
SAM'S POV
Your skin is so soft, and you smell so good. How am I supposed to resist this? Resist you when I've wanted you for so long? I can't. I just can't. I'm sorry. You should be touched by a man you love, not me. I love you, but you deserve more than something one sided. That's why I haven't said anything or made a move. Maybe I shouldn't have put you on a pedestal, but I did. In my mind, that's where you belong.
I slide my hand along your smooth skin stopping at the top of your thigh, take a deep breath, and pull you closer to me with my other arm so I can kiss you. Your mouth opens under mine, and my tongue eases inside. Everything about you is so sweet. I'll never forget the way you taste. I want to leave some trace of me on you, some mark, some memory that you were mine for a little while. I pull you down on the bed with me and roll on top of you.
My kiss gets deeper; you accept it and respond. My hand is moving over your hip and under your shirt. I'm already halfway to hard. My hand is resting on your waist, and I keep kissing you, taking it slow.
I've thought about kissing you so many times, but my imagination never got it right. My hand continues its move up your body over your stomach, and I feel you pull back the tiniest bit. Alarm bells go off in my head. You're beneath me, in my arms. I want you so much, but if you’re not absolutely sure…. I pull back and look at you. "I can't do this, Y/N."
The expression on your face sent a pain straight to my heart. The next thing I felt was your hands pushing against my chest. "Get off of me!" I sat back, and you were off the bed instantly, glaring at me through tears.
"Really, Sam? Am I that much of a disappointment? Just tell me I'm not good enough for you. Just tell me!" You stormed across the room fumbling with the doorknob before you managed to get it open.
You turned back to me. I was frozen in place trying to absorb the shock of being snatched out of the soft, perfect dream that I'd been lost in seconds before. "Go back to the bar, Sam. It's early. I'm sure there are plenty of tall blondes there with long legs, or petite brunettes, or whatever the hell you want. Take your pick; you can, and I'm sure she'll be happy to satisfy you."
The slamming of the door got my brain working again. I almost fell off the bed in my hurry to get to you, to explain. By the time I got the door open, there was no sign of you in the hall. I ran toward your room calling your name. When I got there I wanted to crash through the door, but I controlled my near desperation to let you know what I truly felt, that I would never think you weren’t good enough. It’s me who isn’t good enough for you.
I knocked on the door. Seconds passed. You weren't going to answer it. I didn't blame you, believing what you did. "Y/N. Y/N. Please. You don't understand. Let me explain. It's not what you think. At all. It's nothing like what you think."
READER'S POV
Sam had stopped knocking on the door, but he hadn't stopped talking. You were leaning against the door listening. "Please let me in, Y/N. I'll tell you everything. Just let me in." He sounded genuinely upset.
Even now, after what he'd done, you still wanted to comfort him. You wanted to take the hurt from his voice. Slowly, you opened the door. His chest was rising and falling fast. This really had affected him. That didn't make sense. You'd offered him sex. Scratch that. You'd offered him you, and he wasn't interested. Now, he was upset? You saw the relief wash over his face. "Y/N?"
In a flat voice you said,"You can come in." He stepped just inside the room. You walked to the bed and sat down. "Stay over there."
Sam folded his hands in front of him, drawing your attention to the bulge that was still in his pajama pants. He focused on the floor in front of where you were sitting. "Why did you do it, Sam? Do you know what it feels like to be cast aside like that?" You swallowed and shook your head, fighting back another wave of tears. "No, you don't, because practically every woman that sees you wants you. If you spend the night alone, it's because you choose to."
He raised his head to look straight into your eyes. "I've chosen to spend a lot of nights alone. Do you know why?" He paused. "Because I met you. I started noticing these little things about you like you chew on your bottom lip when you're trying to figure something out. You run your hands through your hair and put it behind your ears all the time; it's enough to drive a guy crazy. You always eat your French fries first. When you want to relax or calm down, you listen to rain or ocean waves. Then one day you smiled at me like you had probably hundreds of times before, but that time was different. That time I felt my stomach do a little flip, and I knew I was in love with you."
A tear slipped down your cheek. Sam's voice was deep and gentle as he kept talking. "Then Dean got married, and right in front of me every day I saw what it was like to share your life with someone. He had everything I wanted. My brother was happy."
Sam looked up to the ceiling; tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He looked back down, blinked, and they fell. Then he raised his eyes back to yours. "So, I started going to bars because it was too hard to be here, but I was never going to find what I was looking for there because it was already here, and I knew it. I wanted to be with you."
"Sam?" His name came out of your mouth as a whisper.
"The problem was you didn't want it. I saw your reaction when waitresses would flirt with me at the diners we went to. You'd tense up or get fidgety. You didn't like it. You thought I was one of those guys who likes to play those games, using my looks to stroke my own ego."
You put your hand over your mouth and held it there before you moved it down to your chin, fingers shaking. "Sam, I never thought that about you. I thought I could never measure up to those women who were flirting with you. That’s what I didn’t like, that I was someone who could never get your attention." Your hand was shaking harder now.
Sam crossed the room in three steps and wrapped his arms around you. He held you and rested his chin on top of your head. "Don't you know you're beautiful, Y/N?"
You looked up at him, your eyes glistening with tears. "How would I know that, Sam? No one has ever told me." He squinted his eyes slightly and brushed the tears from your cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "And, if that's what you thought then why did you stop?" Your voice caught, and your words came out unsteady. "I was going to give myself to you." You were shaking in his arms.
Sam stroked your hair, touching you like you were precious. It made you cry even more. His voice was steady and soothing. "Shhh. That's why I couldn't do it. You should only give yourself to someone you love as much as I love you. Anything less than that isn't the way it should be for you. It isn't what I want for you." He placed a single kiss on top of your head.
You lay your hand on his chest where you had shoved him earlier, so close to his heart. "Sam, I do love you."
SAM'S POV
Your touch was light, and your hand felt tiny on my chest. I held you tighter, processing what you'd just said. After a few seconds, I pulled back from you far enough to see your face. The truth was in your eyes; I could see it. You do love me.
I knew this kiss was important. We would remember it for the rest of our lives, talk about it in the middle of the night when we settled back into bed after one of us got up to take care of our baby. I barely touched your lips with mine at first, but it wasn't long before everything I felt for you that I'd kept bottled up inside came out in that kiss. My hands were holding your face, and I slid one of them into your hair. You felt so warm and willing. My body was responding to you, hardening again.
Your hand rubbed down my side grabbing the bottom of my t-shirt. You started to pull it up. I broke the kiss long enough to take it off, then my mouth was back on yours. I felt your hands on my back, and I wanted to feel your skin. I rested my cheek against yours, slowly easing my hand back under your shirt where it had been before. I whispered to you "Is this okay?" I kept my hand still, waiting for your answer.
I felt you tremble. "My body isn't what you're used to, Sam."
I brushed my fingertips across your stomach looking for any sign that you didn't want me to. "You're perfect, Y/N. I'm going to show you just how beautiful you are." I felt your head nod against mine, so I moved my hand up a little higher and cupped your breast. You sucked in a breath and let it out in a tiny gasp. I kneaded gently, moving my thumb back and forth across your nipple until it was hard. You arched your back, rolled your hips, and let out the sweetest, softest moan I could have ever imagined. The way you sound is beautiful. I did the same with your other breast, kissing your neck while I touched you.
All your little moans and noises had me totally hard and throbbing for you. I moved my hand back down your stomach and under the waistband of your panties. You whimpered when I slid my finger between your folds, and you were so wet your juices were running over my hand. Avoiding your clit for now, I put one finger inside you and your moans got louder. "Sam."
I moved that finger in and out, establishing a rhythm. "I've got you, Y/N." You were tight around just my finger, and my dick twitched. I added another finger, taking all the time you needed to stretch you and get you ready for me. I held you close while I pumped them into you. When you were writhing against me, I touched my thumb to your clit and started making little circles. Then I changed the motion, dragging my thumb over your clit in time with my fingers moving in and out of you. When I thought you were ready, I added a third. You clenched around my fingers and tightened your hold on my shoulders. The feel of your hands clutching me like that made me moan, imagining what you would do once I was inside you.
I went back to making circles, faster this time. "Let go, Y/N, let go." You came on my fingers, your nails digging into my shoulder. I worked you through your orgasm then put both of my arms around you. You were panting. I kissed you,taking those little breaths into me. I could still feel you shaking in my arms. "I love you, Y/N. I love you."
I held you until you stilled in my arms and were calm again. You shifted, sitting back and looking at my chest. You reached out and touched me gingerly. "I'm sorry I pushed you off me the way I did." You leaned down kissing the places on my chest where your hands had pushed against me.
When you sat back, I put my hand under your chin tilting your face up. "Let me see you, Y/N." You only hesitated a second before you lifted your shirt over your head and put it down beside you. I think I held my breath when you reached to take off your panties. You are beautiful. Your body is all feminine, soft curves I want to kiss and caress. Seeing you makes me harder. The tip of my cock is leaking; I feel it. You lift your hips and slide your panties down your legs.
My mouth drops open, and I Iick my lips pulling the bottom one into my mouth. I can see the uncertainty on your face. "Do you trust me, Y/N?"
You close the distance between us and lay your head on my chest. "Yes." It may only be one word, but it's exactly what I need.
I put my arms around you, my hands on the bare skin of your back, and I lower you gently to the bed. "I'll make this good for you; I promise." I take your earlobe into my mouth sucking lightly. "You are beautiful, Y/N, and sexy. Do you know how much I want you?" I push my pelvis against you, so you can feel my erection. "That's because of you. It's for you." I move my mouth down the side of your neck, kissing you the entire way. Your skin is sweet; it occurred to me then that I'll fall asleep tonight with the taste of you on my tongue.
I kiss my way across your shoulder. Then I lift my head to put my mouth on your breast. I start by kissing a soft circle around the edge then move to the center to flick my tongue over your nipple. My lips close around you and start to suck. A groan escapes from my throat, deep and full of need. I'm so hard for you now that I don't know how much longer I can take this, but I will.
I move my mouth to your other breast, careful of my teeth. Tonight I'm making love to you slowly, gently, and completely. I want you to forget that I've ever been with anyone but you. I want you to understand who you are to me and never again feel the need to compare yourself to another woman. I swirl my tongue around and over your nub until it stands up firm in my mouth, my fingers rolling your other nipple still moist from my mouth keeping it just as tight.
You're squirming under me. I lick down the center of your stomach right to your core, and you open your legs for me. I put my hands on your hips to hold you still. You are so wet my face is covered in your slick as soon as my tongue touches you, and I drink in everything you give me. My tongue is flattened against your clit. I’m stroking it slow, teasing before moving down to push my tongue inside you. I thrust it as deep as I can go. Your voice is pleading with me. "Sam. Sam." I go back to your clit, pointing my tongue and moving over it as fast as I can. You're fisting the sheets.
"Put your hands in my hair, Y/N. Hold me where you want me." You did exactly what I said and pulled my hair hard. That turned me on even more. You were close to coming again. Your thighs were shaking. I put two fingers inside you and crooked them rubbing your g-spot until you fell apart. I kissed your stomach softly while you came down from your orgasm, keeping my fingers inside you. "You are beautiful, Y/N. Absolutely perfect."
Your expression is gentle and a little blissed out from the two orgasms, but your words are clear and certain. "Sam, I want all of you. I want you to come inside me. Give me what I gave to you." I kissed you one more time just below your belly button then stood up long enough to take off my pants. Naked, I crawled back up your body and propped myself on my forearm so I could brush your hair off your cheek. It amazes me that every part of you is just so soft.
My face was just inches from yours. I was memorizing the way you looked right now. "Are you sure?" Your eyes were filled with everything I'd ever wanted to see there. Love. Trust. Desire.
"Yes." You lay your hand on my cheek. “I’m completely sure.”
I couldn't take my eyes away from yours as I lined myself up with your opening. I wanted to see the look on your face when I entered you for the first time.
READER'S POV
You felt the end of Sam's shaft touch you. The way he was looking at you made you feel wanted and, yes, beautiful. You felt the stretch as he pushed inside. He stopped with just the tip, letting you get used to his size. Your eyes closed and fluttered back open. "I love you, Sam." He slid in another inch.
"I love you too, Y/N.” He went deeper, inch by inch, until he was all the way inside you. He started to move, and you grabbed onto his shoulders. His thrusts were so deep they were hitting your cervix. Your walls tightened around him. Nothing had ever felt so good, so right. He moved faster then slowed down. "I don't know how much longer I can last, Y/N. I'm so close."
Through all your pants and moans you managed to say, "You don't need to. Just love me. Don't hold back."
He pumped into you deep and fast. You felt him throb releasing his seed into you. "Sam!" You scratched down his back. "I'm coming again. Sam." You squeezed your eyes shut tight. Everything went black. Then you felt him rolling over, bringing you with him so that your body was part way on his, and he was cradling you against him.
You lay with your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat for a long time. Finally, it slowed back down to its normal rate. Sam was combing his fingers through your hair. "Can you forgive me, Y/N? All those nights I wasn't here, I should have been."
You snuggled closer into him. "You didn't owe me anything, Sam. There's nothing to forgive. Just don't ever do it again. Let me be enough. I want to be enough for you."
"You're everything, Y/N. Everything."
Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @peridottea91 @logical-princey @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @tumbler-tidbits @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @petitgateau911 @thinkinghardhardlythinking
Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes @stunudo @idabbleincrazy @evansrogerskitten @focusonspn @autumninavonlea @durinsbride @deansyahtzee @waywardnerd67 @fullmooner @sams-sass @beskaradberoya
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His Father’s Son
A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!
Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra
Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)
Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.
Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909
Read the first chapter below the cut!
The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.
The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.
“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.
“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.
Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”
A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself.
Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.
That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;
“I’m sorry.”
He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.
“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”
Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.
As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.
“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”
“Of course, Sir.”
Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something.
Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.
Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.
His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.
“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”
Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.
“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’”
Kill. Kill Wylan.
Kill Wylan.
It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.
“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”
Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”
Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks.
All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.
“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”
His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”
When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.
***
The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.
Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night.
After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.
He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.
So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life.
Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.
When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.
“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”
Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”
“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”
His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”
The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom.
“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”
The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.
“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”
His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.
“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”
Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow.
Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.
At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.
“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”
“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”
“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”
“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”
Everything was so loud.
Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-
“Stop!” yelled Wylan.
Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.
“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”
Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son.
Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.
The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped.
“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.
“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”
Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome.
“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”
“You… you think I’m pretty?”
The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”
In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down.
“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”
“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”
The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.
“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”
Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.
“I’m Wylan.”
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.
“That’s not an answer!”
“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”
Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.
“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”
It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again.
He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—
Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.
When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist.
“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”
“What do you mean?”
Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”
#six of crows#crooked kingdom#ck#soc#the grishaverse#shadow and bone#wylan van eck#jesper fahey#wesper#gvbb21#gvbbfic21#kuwei yul bo#kaz brekker#inej ghafa#netflix#jan van eck#fanfic
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glacier | 1.4k, Gen | Ao3
Castiel knows Dean loves him.
Right now they are sitting on the couch in front of the television, and Dean is fast asleep on his shoulders. The credits of a B-List 80s horror movie have long been playing in the background, and the gentle hum of silence is the only thing that can be heard by the human ear.
Castiel, of course, the non-human that he is, can hear multiple things that others probably couldn’t. The most prominent of those are three heartbeats from inside the bunker. Jack is probably in his room now, resting up for the night, as well as Sam, after excusing themselves from the TV room of the bunker when the movie ended. The loudest of these heartbeats, however, is the one from the man lying down on his shoulder. The beat is slow, calm. It centers Castiel much like a metronome, allowing for the music that is his thoughts to flow peacefully as the night goes by.
Movie nights are a treat for everyone. Every Tuesday and Saturday, everyone in the bunker gets together to sit down in front of the television and watch whatever it is Dean wants to watch that day. And it is always Dean who chooses, to Sam’s begrudging agreement and Jack’s excitable one. Castiel, of course, has less need for movie watching than the other three. He has most movies in existence downloaded straight into his brain from a time long gone. Still, he enjoys the time spent together with his family. He likes to view movies now from the perspective of how they would absorb and interpret what is happening on screen.
Their set up is simple; Castiel and Dean sit together on the couch, Sam sits on the loveseat he is big enough to occupy by himself, and Jack sits on a beanbag on the floor. This, like most of their traditions, is a remnant of a time when movie nights were just Castiel and Dean. No matter how much Castiel appreciates his talks and his time together alone with Dean, he admits that the company of Sam and their collective son is more than welcome.
Dean falling asleep on his shoulder is also an event that is unsurprising. The first time it happened, Castiel well and truly believed it was an accident. When he woke Dean up, Dean grumpily stood up and walked out into his room. Ever since then, Castiel refuses to wake him. There are times when they sit side by side for hours while Dean sleeps.
This time was no different. The signs were there; Dean simply started yawning and unsubtly shifted towards Castiel. He then pretended to fall asleep his head falling onto Castiel’s shoulder, until he was asleep for real. Castiel sometimes contemplates whether he should tell Dean that he knows he’s just pretending to sleep at first when he strategically places his head on Castiel’s shoulder, but Castiel surmises that he doesn’t want to burst Dean’s bubble.
So where were Castiel’s thoughts again? Ah, Dean loves him.
Castiel knows this for certain. He has known it for years, even. He thinks back to purgatory, of a man with a bright laugh and a brighter soul running up towards him on a stream. There was less appreciation for it at the time, but even Castiel knew the reason Dean stayed behind and refused to leave him. There were times when he doubted this, of course. When Castiel was human, and he couldn’t see Dean’s soul, couldn’t feel with his grace every minute detail of his emotions and physical reactions, he doubted. When Castiel thought and hoped for once that finally, now that he was human, finally they have a chance, only to be kicked out of the bunker and forced into the real world, alone and kicking like a baby, he thought then that he has misread Dean’s feelings towards him. But that time has long passed, and he’s finally, finally, secure now. Or at least as secure as he can be, given the situation. And he knows, for certain, that Dean loves him.
Dean shifts a tiny bit on his shoulder, and Castiel knows immediately that Dean is awake. He knows this from Dean’s quickening breathing and heartbeat, and the way the hunter’s soul subtly lights up, like a lamp going from dim to bright. One would think these early signs of Dean’s awakening from slumber is a source of heartbreak for Castiel, a signifier of the end of one of their most gentle moments together, but they couldn’t be more wrong; Dean’s soul looks brightest with contentment when he wakes up on his angel’s shoulder. Cas could look at him like this all day.
“Hey.” Castiel jabs Dean slightly with his right elbow. “I know you’re awake. You should go to your room and sleep there. You’ll hurt your neck.”
“Hmph. Like it here.” Dean mumbles into Castiel’s shoulder like a petulant child. Or at least he tries to make it sound like a petulant child. He sounds more earnest than sleepy, and even Castiel, fully aware of the game they’re playing here, is surprised by the admission.
“Okay. Five more minutes.” Castiel concedes. He shifts his body, straightens his back, to give Dean a sturdier body to lean against, and Dean takes full advantage of this by snuggling deeper into Castiel’s shoulder, to the point that he can feel Dean’s breath tickling against the side of his neck. It is a pleasant feeling. Castiel feels his face heating up. It doesn’t have to, of course. He’s an angel, he has full control over his bodily instincts, but he lets the heat creep in, nonetheless.
He lets his mind wander back to his own thoughts. So Dean loves him. This much is true. And he loves Dean back. This much is true as well. So what now?
Castiel finds himself asking this question over and over again in his head sometimes. What now? And he finds over and over again that the answer will always be the same. And now, This.
This, movie nights, family dinners, a head on his shoulder, this is what’s of import now. Castiel knows Dean loves him, but he is not even sure if Dean himself knows that. He suspects so, sometimes, when their eyes meet and their hands accidentally touch, and he feels Dean’s soul buzz. Which begs the question then, if Dean knows he loves Castiel, then what is he waiting for?
Castiel has thought about this enough to know the answer. He thinks back to a terrible time, one where black goo filled his mouth as he rotted from the inside. He thinks of how he said I love you then, and how he can’t even look Dean in the eye. He remembers the immediate thought when he was alive and well, of the worry that they may have to confront it now, and things will have to change because of his confession.
But it didn’t. Time passed by, and Dean never mentioned it, even once. The let down almost left Castiel feeling fine.
What is Dean waiting for? For Castiel to be able to look him in the eye when he says I love you, perhaps. To be able to say it when no one is dying. To be able to touch each other outside the excuse of accidents or life being threatened. They’re waiting for the other to be ready. Castiel wonders if he is, if Dean is. If they ever will be.
There are many things Castiel wants, and most of them he wants from Dean. But it doesn’t matter if it’s for the meantime, or maybe forever, he’ll stay here, with Dean, even if it means never getting what he wants.
Because for now Cas is content. For now he is as close to happy as he can be. Even with all the things that have gone down, his family is safe, and Dean is sleeping on his shoulder, and so what if they are moving at glacial speed towards a destination they both want to be in? So what if they’re two boxers circling each other, waiting for the other to take the first swing?
Cas closes his eyes. He leans his head against Dean’s. Cas will take this. Cas will take anything Dean gives him.
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Fire, Fur & Mistletoe Chapter 3
Pairing- Eventual Dean x Female Reader.
Word Count-2,383
Warning- Mentions of: loss of parents, death, and fires. Possible swearing. Slight angst. Fluff
Summary- A rewrite of the Nine Lives of Christmas, Hallmark movie. AU, Dean is a firefighter who doesn’t do commitment, the Holiday’s don’t mean much to him. Coming home after a shift he finds a dog in trouble. The reader is a veterinary student who works in a coffee shop trying to make it to graduation, until someone causes problems there for her. She isn’t interested in finding anyone other than her own dog until after she finishes school. Do their four legged friends have other plans?
A/N- This series is written for @spnchristmasbingo. The square filled for this chapter is Christmas Tree The first two chapters will stay closer to the movie than the rest will.
This chapter also fills my entry for @supernatural-love14,100 Followers writing challenge. Prompt - I don’t remember the last time I truly enjoyed Christmas.
This has its own tag list and it is open. That way I am not tagging anyone who doesn’t want to be tagged in Christmas stories. This story is unbeta’d.
Header by the amazing @winchest09
Divider from freepngimg.com
Series Masterlist
To say you were surprised to end up at an elementary school would be an understatement. Dean’s group of fascinating people were the kindergarten classes. He even had plastic fireman hats for them, and of course an extra one for you.
The kids were so caught up in his speech about fire safety and the important things to remember if there ever is a fire. He was so good with them and kept them all interested. He finished his presentation talking about Christmas trees and how they should all make sure their parents keep them watered, so the lights don’t catch them on fire.
Dean took questions at the end. Some of the boys wanted to know what it was like to drive the fire truck, someone asked if it was fun to slide down the pole. They were disappointed when Dean told them there wasn’t one where he worked. One little girl at the end ran up and gave him a great big hug before you guys left. He was so adorable with her.
When you left there Dean asked if you were interested in helping him pick out tiles for the kitchen backsplash. You didn’t have anything else to do and had been enjoying helping him with the house so you agreed.
Getting to the store he had three different ones selected and had you help him decide. After the paint he trusted your opinion on the color selection.
They had enough in stock of your choice to let you two get started on it when you got home. The rest would be in soon. You had a system worked out, you put the mastic on the back and Dean applied the tile to the wall.
That afternoon Dean headed into work for another 24 hour shift. The second call of the afternoon was for a house fire. Thankfully for the residents it was mostly contained to one room, just the living room. But that room had a bit of damage done.
Hoping out of the truck back at the station he asks, “Okay who seriously is going to BBQ a turkey in the fireplace. And plan on doing it twice because this was just going to be a test run before Christmas?”
“It’s the Holidays,” Bobby stated. “People are going to be doing crazy things. You’ve been here a few years don’t you know this by now.”
“That is true. Y/N and I were talking about that earlier after we left the school presentation.”
“Wait, WE, left the presentation? Did you take her with you?” Benny wanted to know.
“Well,”
“She’s living with him now, didn’t you know that?” Sam asks him.
“What, really?” Benny couldn’t believe it.
“She moved in a couple days ago.”
“Wow, you two move fast.”
“It’s not like that you idiots. She got kicked out of her condo and had nowhere else to go, and she already got fired because of me. I’m just giving her a place to stay till she figures things out. The house has the room. Our dogs get along great.”
“Is that why Miracle isn’t here?” Cas wants to know.
“Yeah, Y/N’s taking care of him and Dean. He’s falling in love.”
“Who Dean or Miracle?” Cas questions Sam.
“Dean, probably both. She is very easy to like.”
“You’ve met her, besides that day she was in here?” Benny wanted to know.
“Yeah, Dean called me to help move her.”
“I would have helped the nice pretty girl move, why didn’t you ask me to help?”
“I’m not sure packing would have been the only thing you tried with her, Benny. I just found her again, I’m not letting you scare her off.”
“He didn’t deny the love.” Sam says with a smile.
“I’m not falling in love with anyone, bitch.” Dean shakes his head at the whole thing as he removes his gear.
“I’m sorry, my jerk of a brother, is falling in love, but he doesn’t know it yet.”
“That can’t be true Dean, come on man. I look up to you, playing the field avoiding commitment, a constant string of beautiful women.”
“It’s not true, we aren’t falling in love, not dating. I still don’t do commitment, and never getting married.”
“So what are you doing with Miracle if you don’t do commitment?” Bobby asks as he takes off his coat.”
“Temporary long termish house guest.”
“Uh huh.”
“I told him when the house is sold he’s on his own.”
“Let us know how that works out in a couple of months, you idjit.”
“I’m calling your bluff with the girl. Can you say no to these three things.”
“Really Cas?”
Cas ignores Dean and continues on, “ You live with her? That’s a yes. Two, you spend all your free time with her? Yes.”
“Well.”
“Three, you think about her when you aren’t with her? Yes,”
“No, no, you have it all wrong. Like I said she is only staying till she gets back on her feet. We are getting to know each other so we hang out, but only because she’s already there.”
“Getting to know each other like you would if you were dating someone?”
“Shut it Sam.”
“Are you saying he is falling in love? The legend, is human after all?” Benny questioned.
“No, I’m not falling in love. Y/N is a temporary roommate. That’s it.”
“Man, you are like five minutes away from marrying this girl.” Sam tells him.
“I hate you all.” Gear off Dean leaves them behind to take a shower.
“Keep telling yourself that!” Bobby yells after him.
Wandering around Dean’s house alone while he was at work, you got to thinking. There was one thing you were really missing this close to Christmas, and it was something you didn’t think you would be able to have this year. A Christmas tree.
When Dean gets home the next afternoon you bring it up.
“I was wondering if you were going to get a Christmas tree this year?”
“Usually don’t. I don’t think I’ve had one in a few years.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I haven’t seen a reason too. I buy a house, fix it up and sell it. Usually I don’t stay in one long enough. I don’t do much for the Holidays. Why do you ask?”
“I was thinking maybe we could get a tree? I have a little artificial tabletop tree, but wouldn’t it be nice to have a real one? To have that Christmas smell when you walk in the door?”
“If you like real ones so much why didn’t you already have one in your place?”
“It was against the bylaws. Apparently too much of a fire liability.”
“That didn’t stop you with Dakota.”
“The tree can’t be hidden quickly like she was. She was worth risking it for.”
“You really want to get a tree?”
“Please, it helps it feel more like Christmas. If you don’t want one I understand.”
Dean threw his head back and sighed. “Fine we can go get a tree. I think there is a tree lot near the station that hasn’t sold out yet.”
“Let’s go to a tree farm, get the whole experience.”
“You’ll be the death of me Sweetheart.”
Dean didn’t have to work at all the following day, so after breakfast the two of you headed out to the Christmas tree farm. Dressed in warm clothes and boots you were ready to walk all around the 8 acre tree farm if you needed to, just to find the right tree. There was a wagon ride that took you around to the different types of trees. Dean and you got off in the back lot figuring you could walk your way toward the entrance.
“There’s a tree,” Dean points out as you start walking down the first row.
“Yes, and it’s also like four foot tall. It’s still growing, let the baby be.”
“Okay, miss Christmas tree expert. How do you pick the perfect Christmas tree?”
“It’s really pretty scientific you know.”
“Oh really? Please do explain it to me.”
You laughed at his expression. He had turned to you with wide eyes and a cheeky little grin. Like he was going to absorb whatever you said. “You dork.” Heading over to a tree you reach for a branch pulling your hand back toward you slowly. “First you need to check the freshness. If the needles stay on when you do that it’s good.”
You drop your hand to the side, “Then you need to inhale deeply and see how it smells.”
Dean did just that, “It smells like a tree.”
“Okay, but does it smell Christmassy.”
“Christmassy? Pretty sure you just made that word up.”
“Nope it’s totally in the dictionary.”
“Okay, Webster. Then what does it mean?”
“To be filled with Christmas spirit.”
Dean just stared at you for a moment. “You think a tree is going to smell like it’s filled with Christmas spirit? Just wondering if you were drinking before I got up this morning?”
“Oh come on, it’s that fresh cut pine smell that fills the whole place and makes it feel like Christmas.”
“Whatever you say, I’ll leave the nose work to you. What is step three?” He wants to know as you two walk down the lane looking at the trees around you.
“The lean test. You need to look at a tree straight on, then lean to the right and to the left, then stand back up straight. You don’t want a tree that is leaning too hard one way and is crooked.” You stop to inspect a tree, but continue on down your way.
The fourth step is checking the trunk and making sure nothing is wrong with it. Sometimes the tree might be straight but that isn’t. Or it could have a double one that won’t fit in a tree stand.”
“Height is important too. Your ceilings are fairly high so we could get a foot tree no problem.”
Dean is just smiling listening to you go on about trees while you walk through the lot. “Yep that is extremely scientific.”
You two stopped and looked at different ones but kept going. There was one you stuck a stick up in top of to mark if you didn’t find anything else you liked. Around an hour into your search you stopped in your tracks. Dean was lost in his thoughts and took him a moment to notice.
“That’s the one.”
“The one?”
“Yep, that’s the tree we should get.”
“There is only one? How do you know it’s the one? What if you are wrong, but you’ve already committed to it? What happens then, fighting and hurting the kids?”
“You lost me, Dean.”
“I um,” He just realized what all came out of his mouth. “I mean it’s a great tree. Let’s get that one.”
“You sure you are alright?”
“Yep great. Hold that steady, till I need you to push a little, will you?”
While you were helping to hold the tree from moving too much Dean got on the ground and started sawing back and forth till he had it lying on the ground. You couldn’t help but notice the muscles in his arms as he worked.
The two of you carried the tree toward the path in the hopes the wagon would be around soon and you wouldn’t have to carry it all the way to the front. Thankfully only about five minutes later you could hear it coming around. Up at the front they shook and bagged the tree for you.
They also had Santa, and some petting animals around.
“Did you want to go tell Santa your Christmas wish?” You asked Dean.
“You know, I already saw him this year. He and I are pretty tight.”
“Really?”
“Yep.”
After seeing the animals you hopped in his truck and headed to the store. Neither of you had a stand that would fit the newly bought tree. With that accomplished you were on your way back to the house. Getting the tree inside it was set up in the living room not to far from the fire place, but not near enough to catch any sparks that may pop out.
Dean didn’t have any decorations in the house, but you had some you had been saving. After the lights were on you went to the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for the two of you and pulled out some of the peanut butter blossom cookies you made the day before. Coming back Dean still hadn’t turned on the tv so you asked if you could. Finding the different music channels you finally came across a Christmas one.
The two of you were enjoying the music and each other’s company as you decorated the tree.
It was late afternoon by the time everything was done and cleaned up. You offered to start dinner and Dean came in to help you. The two of you working easily in the newly finished kitchen.
After dinner you two retired back to the living room turning off the lights in the room and just letting the tree shine. There was a roaring fire going, The Santa Clause 2 playing on tv. Chet had to be one of your favorite reindeer in training. It was very relaxing.
After the movie Dean mutes the television and turns to you. “Thank you for suggesting the tree. It’s actually really nice to have it. I don’t remember the last time I truly enjoyed Christmas. My parents fought a lot when we were little after the fire, before and after separating. After we lost them it was just Sam and I. Both of us just worked double shifts on Christmas at the station so others could have the time off. Now Sam has Jess so he works part of the day, but doesn’t do a double anymore so he can spend time with her and her family.
He looks around at the decorations on the mantle, “I wouldn’t be opposed if you had some other small decorations you wanted to get out too.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I have that won’t be in the way.”
He turns the volume back up and the two of you settle back to watch another movie.
Thank you for reading!
Chapter 4
Tags- @winchest09 @waywardbeanie @whatareyousearchingfordean @flamencodiva @deanwanddamons @jensengirl83 @abuavnee @lunarmoon8 @amyzombie1013 @akshi8278 @that-one-gay-girl @mandalou29 @igotmadskills
#fire fur & mistletoe#dean winchester#dean x female!reader#dean x reader#christmas#supernatural-love14 writing challenge#supernatural#spnchristmasbingo
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Knot In Love - Alpha!Dean x Omega! Reader
A/N: Part Thirteen is back. Again, where it’s a daily thing? I am not tagging anyone new. 3pm is the magical time, usually. As always, feedback is incredible. And, I hope you all enjoy one of my favorites <3
PSA: I am NOT a minor friendly blog. If you are below 18, please come back when you’re older. I don’t want to lose my blog because you were too eager to grow up. If I discover you, I WILL block.
Series Masterlist
Series Warnings: Forced mating. Knotting. Alpha/Omega dynamics. Witchcraft (more based on real craft than Hollywood). Angst. Etc. Read at your own discretion.
Word Count: Roughly 3,800
“Y/N?” Castiel asked in confusion. He hadn't had time to learn about Dean's mate during the chaos that was Jack's birth.
“You're going to love her,” Dean enthused, on cloud nine as he drove. He'd said he needed a win. There was no better one than the man sitting in his back seat.
“She's been helping with Jack,” Sam spoke up. Helping out a bit, so it didn't seem as insane as it really was. “Dean kind of-”
“Marked her,” Dean finished for Sam. Almost proudly. Ignoring the fact that he'd been looking for a way to break the bond. Small details and all of that. “Without her permission, but all things considered-”
“You what?” Disbelief wasn't a strong enough word to explain the angel's tone. Yet, that's exactly what it was. “Dean, what were you thinking?”
“Heat of the moment,” The alpha shrugged, earning an eye roll from his brother. It was a piss poor answer and everyone knew it. The truth was, he hadn't had the control to stop it. But, he'd be damned if he admitted it there. “Anyways- you're going to love this. I go into a rut, right? And genius, here, decides to ask Jody for help. Turns out that she's Jody's niece. It's a real small world.”
“I don't see how you thought I'd love any of this.” The angel stated seriously, looking at his friend in worry.
“That's cause you don't have a sense of humor, Cas,” The older brother shot back. Using wit as a crutch to break it down. “Anyways, come to find out, she's a witch.”
“I'm still not laughing, Dean.” Was the very serious reply. “You mated a witch?” With that revelation came the next. “You left a witch with Jack?” The angel went into full father mode at the flip of a dime. “What were you thinking-”
“Dean left out the bit where it's not our traditional witch,” Sam chimed in, shooting his brother a scowl. It did no good. He was still practically dancing in his seat. Too upbeat by far. “More like a psychic than anything like Rowena. Still powerful, though.” The last bit was more of an after thought than anything.
“How do you figure that one? I know I called her a witch, but it isn't anything deep. Just wishful thinking on her part.” Dean didn't like the tone his brother had used. Almost as if in awe of what you could do. In his mind, he'd written you off as a herb loving hippie who claimed to be a witch. It was the easiest way to cope.
“She did a reading for me-”
“She what?” That time, it was the older Winchester who broke out that line. Looking almost betrayed. The angel in the back was busy looking at the ceiling. Asking his, yet again, missing father what he'd been left to deal with, mentally.
“I asked her to, Dean.” Sam answered easily. As if it was nothing to be ashamed of. And it wasn't. Yet, he wouldn't reveal the specifics. That had been meant for him, and him only. He wouldn't soil the gift you'd given.“She's the real deal. There's things she couldn't have known, but those cards-”
“A trick of the hands.” Dean grumbled, his mood turning sour. He didn't want to think about your power. That stuck a little too close to him given Billie's inclusion of your name. “A hell of a fast one, I'm sure.”
“Dean...All she did was pull the cards from the top of the deck. She talked to me while I shuffled, but...I...I watched. There was nothing.” That was somehow worse than the thought of you tricking Sam. It made you a threat. “There wasn't a trick. Then, there's the wind-”
“What wind?” Suddenly, the surly Dean was back in full force. Eyes blazing.
“She taught Jack how to whistle up a wind,” Sam didn't want to admit it by that point. However, he knew enough to know that it would fester to the breaking point if he didn't. You'd be on the receiving end. “She's not like Rowena...not even close, but Y/N...She's a witch.” It was a simple statement. “You mated a witch, Dean. And right now? That witch is teaching the son of Lucifer how to control himself.” Dean swallowed hard. “That's just... fact. You can't run away from it.”
“Watch me,” With that, his hand jerked over to the radio. Hitting the button so that the music ended the conversation without a hitch.
–
“I did it,” Jack laughed, staring at the pencil that he'd let fall on the ground. Cheeks no doubt aching from the sizable grin. “I really did it.”
“You did good,” Your answer was drawn out. The exhaustion never seemed to leave. “Why don't we take a break?”
Just like that, all cheer drained from the room, “Maybe you need to go to a doctor,” His worry was evident as he stared you down. Taking in just how weak you really were.
“I don't need a doctor, Jack.” You needed your mate. The one that you couldn't get a hold of due to your destroyed phone. “I'll just close my eyes a bit, okay?”
Your arms cushioned your head as they drifted shut. There was no theatrical wait. You were out in seconds.
Instead of it just being a bit, you slept against the table in the library for hours. Jack entertained himself with the laptop. He didn't even blink when he felt Dean approach. Simply stared at the screen, typing away.
“How'd it go?” He asked readily. Quiet enough that it wouldn't wake you.
“Well,” Dean spoke up, leading the way. Sam on his heels. Everything he'd been about to say faded as he caught side of you in the distance. You were too deep into the exhaustion to be awoken by the gaze. Your breathing was soft as you snuggled into your own arm.
“Jack, um...” Sam wasn't much better. But, it got Jack to look upwards.
“What's wrong?” He'd been around long enough to identify that tone. Something wasn't being said. Both men simply turned to the opening.
There, the man in the trench coat walked forward, “Hello, Jack.” His deep, rumbling voice sounded too familiar to ignore.
“Castiel?” His shoulders straightened out as he sat more upright. Processing the newest twist.
“Yeah, it's me.” The angel sighed out. Looking more than a little nervous at the reunion. Lip twitching as he took in the child he'd been so eager to meet.
“No.” Jack got to his feet. The slant to his body more than protective as he blocked the angel's view of you. “We burned your body...and what's burned stays dead.” It was a rule that had been drilled into his head repeatedly. “How...”
“Well, that's the question we've been asking,” Dean spoke up, loudly enough that you jarred upwards. Awake, though groggy. “Heya, sweetheart. Nice of you to join the party.” The rough hand caressed your cheek as you blinked into focus. He frowned a bit when he found the covering over your neck, but he didn't get a chance to ask.
“Jack...” Sam stepped forward, swallowing tightly. Instantly, you became more alert before locking eyes on the man with the blue eyes. He assessed you in the same manner, before turning to more important things. You didn't move your gaze. “Did you, uh...Did you bring Cas back?”
Your head whipped around to the boy. Understanding exactly what was happening, then. Jack had done the impossible.
“I don't know.” Came the weak answer. He looked almost pained as he revealed the truth that you'd already known. “I wanted him back.. I...begged for him to come back, but...”
“Well, here he is.” Dean stated as if it truly needed done.
“Because of me?” He sounded as if he didn't believe it. Bound to the floor in shock.
“We don't know...” Sam's voice was almost breathy as he spoke up. “We don't know, Jack.” He was still amazed beyond belief. “But, we...” He took a steadying inhale, hands pressed deep into the pockets of the tan hunter's coat, “we...we think. Maybe.”
“Intention is everything.” You felt the angel's eyes jump to you when the boy's did the same. Looking for the approval he craved. “I think you did it.” You were every bit the proud, glowing mother figure, then. Even with the shadowed eyes and torn up throat.
“Thank you, Jack.” All attention was turned back to where it belonged. Cas.
A tiny, twitch of the lip followed before Jack started moving forward, “I missed you so much.” He wrapped the angel in a hug that was returned as easily. Cas closed his eyes to savor the moment before the embrace ended. Their hands didn't quite pull away immediately, though. Too long and not long enough all at once. It was Jack who released the hold in the end. Uncertainty making itself known.
“Sam and Dean tell me you're doing well.” Castiel left his hand in place on Jack's shoulder.
“I am.” He nodded easily, eyes more than a little watery as he choked the words out past the emotions that were running rampant inside of him. “I...” A pleased little smile lined his lips as he pulled back, “Watch this.” He stepped away, then. Drawing all eyes back to the desk. Once there, his hand rested over the pencil. It levitated with ease, drawing different reactions from each man. You, however, were simply proud.
“Wow,” Sam muttered under his breath.
“I can move the pencil.” Jack beamed brightly. “And,” He sat down in his chair. “I found a case.” Everyone moved in closer, then. “Hunters case.”
“What kind of a-”
“Zombies!” Dean was cut off by the excited answer. Jack had fallen in love with the undead, so you weren't shocked by the interest this time around. Everyone stepped forward, looking to get in on what he was talking about. A whisper towards Cas and Sam followed, “I know what zombies are now.” Sam's eyes met yours and you gave a sheepish shrug. Someone had to teach the kid about the horror life, after all. It only seemed fitting that it be a witch. “You see?”
“Wait.” Dean spoke up again, leaving your body tense as a simple click pulled up the page he was looking for, “Where'd you learn to do that?”
“By watching you,” Jack answered easily, not bothering to look up. “And Sam...and Y/N.” Dean's hand squeezed your shoulder a bit, earning a warning glare from you. Telling him plainly that mate or not, he'd be beaten if he dared to cause Jack to question his newfound strengths. “Three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personal inscription was sold at a pawn shop. But, when they went to authenticate it, they found out that it had been buried with its owner.” He looked up to Sam. Hoping to see the glint of approval in the hazel eyes. “Twenty years ago.” Moving back to the screen, he continued. “And when they checked out the grave, it was empty.” That time Dean got the smile. “Which means,” A key was tapped. “The dead are rising in Dodge City, Kansas.” Goosebumps lifted on your skin.
When you looked up at your mate, however, all trepidation was gone. He fought back his grin for a minute. He really did. However, he failed.
“Right,” Sam began. “Or maybe it's a- a grave robbery.” The more logical answer was thrown out there. “But...”
“Oh,” Jack seemed almost disappointed at that. His mind had ignored that possibility.
“Yeah,” Dean's voice came out strong. “But, we should probably check it out.” You were gaining whiplash from jerking your head back and forth
“Wait...really?” It was the angel who spoke up that time. Jack didn't even look confused. Simply stunned that Dean had agreed with him. Your face wasn't much better.
“Yeah, we've done more on less.” Sam looked as if he'd fall over. “Besides, Dodge City's kind of, uh...kind of awesome.” It was your turn to make use of the Winchester bitch face. Castiel turned to Sam as if hoping he'd get an explanation there. He got nothing. “Alright, well...” You could feel Dean's excitement. So different from everything you'd felt from him before. He was on the move, then. “Two salty hunters, one half angel kid, a witch that isn't a witch,” Your eyes narrowed at that one. “And, a dude that just came back from the dead. Again.” Jack glee was brimming over. A nod of pleasure left Dean as he made it to the head of the group. Taking in his soldiers. His tongue came out to wet his lips as it was decided. “Team Free Will 2.0.” He grinned with a smile that near bowed you over. So carefree. Happy. “Here we go.” Your stomach knotted. Even with the good, something bad was coming.
“Dean!” You clambered to your feet. It was too late. He was gone. Whistling on his way to his room. You didn't have the energy to keep up with him. “Damn it.”
“You okay?” Sam turned to you. Motioning towards your neck. Asking what his brother had missed. Or perhaps even ignored.
“I was hoping that you could answer that,” With a small grunt, you exposed the oozing, raw meat that was hanging on top of the remains of the mark. Just enough still there to hold the connection in place. “What happened while you were gone?”
Your body was screaming at you to follow Dean. To reaffirm the bond. But, you couldn't bring yourself to sour his mood. Not just yet. That damned empathy holding you back.
“You're not going to like it,” The hunter sighed out. Pain etching his features. From both the memory and the wound.
“I can...heal that. If you'd like.” Your head jerked towards the angel. He was assessing you. Attempting to determine how much of a threat that you were. Or could grow to be.
“I...I don't think-”
“That'd be great!” Jack spoke up. Looking to the father figure he'd wanted back so very badly. Eyes gleaming in anticipation. “He can show me, Y/N.”
“How am I supposed to argue against that?” You sighed out. Hating the old student-teacher ploy. You'd rather stew in your own misery than have the guarded being touch you. But, it meant too much to Jack. “Thank you.” You sent an appreciative smile towards the angel. He simply stared at you as if you were something to be dissected. It was then you realized you couldn't get a read on him in the slightest. You didn't like it. Not one bit. You liked what Sam had to say even less.
--
“You're going to do something you shouldn't,” Jack stated as your body hit the doorway.
You weren't the only one who had a sense of what could happen in the world. The nephilim was quickly picking up and honing in on the skill. He'd known the second he'd watched your shadowy figure make its escape.
“I don't have a choice, Jack.” You didn't turn around, your basket dangling off of your arms. Afraid that your resolve would wither if you did. Something that you couldn't afford. Sam's story had tore you apart. Nearly as bad as the wound itself. Dean was off on his own, glowing in the turn around his life had become. Unaware of the damage outside of the bubble he'd created. “He didn't leave me with one, this entire time.”
“Because it's how it's supposed to be,” You clenched your eyes at that. Your body agreed. Even your mind understood it to an extent. Though, you certainly didn't want to believe it. “You two are-”
“Something bad is coming, Jack.” He didn't like that answer. Wasn't used to you cutting him down so easily. His ever present rippling emotions swarmed you. Worry. Guilt. “It's coming, and...and it's going to hit me like a train. I can feel it.”
Your mind wandered back to the scrying you'd done once everything had settled back down. You'd darkened the room you had taken up as your own. The crystal ball had rested against black cloth, on the simple stand you'd brought with you. Two candles illuminated the room. You gazed into the orb, waiting for the signs to appear. For your future to be told.
The crystal didn't give full visions. Not like people tended to expect. Instead, it gave its message in a colored cloud that nestled and writhed in the center. A mix of black, red, and grey had appeared. Bad items coming, danger, and ill fortune. You didn't get much darker than that.
You didn't know the specifics; didn't need to. The warning had been clear. You'd already almost died twice because of the mating. A third time was too much to risk.
“You're sure?” Concern coated his voice, tangled with uncertainty. He trusted your instincts. But his own were telling him that if you walked out that door, a mistake would be made.
“I've never been more sure of anything in my life,” You turned to Jack so that he could see your face. To try and encourage him to understand. The desperation in your eyes seared through him. He'd let you go. He didn't have a choice. “I've got to do this.”
“He's not going to be happy.” You knew that. For all his talk, Dean hadn't been prepared to act. Not even when your nails had ripped chunks of flesh from your body at his hands. You were certain there was no way he hadn't guessed. He'd chosen to ignore it. He was still too reckless. Too filled with that dangerous energy to protect himself. To protect you. No, as long as you were mated, you weren't safe. “Just...stay safe.”
“I'm trying,” You reached up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Every worry the boy possessed seemed to be radiating from his tense body. “I won't leave you. I promise.” Your thumb brushed against his shoulder in comfort.
“It's like you can read my mind, sometimes.” Jack gave you a soft little smile. Out of everyone, you seemed to understand him the most. He didn't know what he'd do if you ever left his side. “I don't know how I feel about that, honestly.”
“No one ever does,” With your own wicked little grin, you pointed out the obvious. “Joys of being a witch.” It faded away as the wind whipped the surface of the bunker. “Go relax, Jack. It's been a wild day...We're leaving early in the morning.” The order was filled with stress. The weather had your body practically vibrating. His concern only amplified it.
“I will when you're back,” His eyes told you that he'd be waiting. That he'd cover for you if you needed. With that, you yanked up the hood of your jacket and walked out, into the storm.
The energy was overwhelming. Exactly the thing you needed to harness. The bunker held too many wards for you to remain inside. Your mission was too important to risk it blocking your magic.
The familiar path was harsher in the wicked night. Each flash of a leaf drew your attention. As if it were trying to chase you back. You found your space a ways from the bunker, resting under a nest of trees to give you some relief from the rain. You'd built a small shelter over time. Branches weaved together out of love. Your own little private space.
There was no need for an alter. Intention was everything. And there was more than enough of that stewing inside of you.
You could have waited for the right moon phase. Could have followed through on a specific day. However, the unknown threat that rested over you commanded that you acted immediately. Simply trust in yourself. In your own abilities being enough. The hood left your head, and you set out to get to work.
The black candles were pulled out first. You had personally melted the wax down to create them for the very purpose you'd use them. A process that made it more personal. Cayenne aided in your venture. Separation was a specialty it carried. A pinch rested inside the wax. Waiting to break apart the binds holding you down.
Then, came the sharp piece of black obsidian. Smoothly shaped into an arrowhead. Perfect for amping up the power you carried within you. It was almost too strong. You didn't handle it often, but desperate times called for desperate measures.
On the first, your name was carved into the soft wax. As clear as you could get it on the dark night. On the second, Dean's name was etched. The black ribbon wrapped around both wide, but short candles. Just large enough to fit your names. Small enough to speed up the burning process. Ensuring it would be over with quickly. The ribbon rested across the belly of both; ensuring that it wouldn't be burned by the wick. A small space separated the two. Close, but with just enough room between them to work.
The match had no trouble catching on the small strands of string. “These two flames burn brightly together,” Your voice was strong as you called out into the storm. Despite the shake of your hand. “But, one consumes the other with this link between them.” You would be consumed. There were no doubts left. Even before you'd looked into the crystal ball, you'd known. “No more shall I suffer from the sadness brought by Dean.” Your eyes focused on the flames that burned was strong and billowed straight into the air. A sign it was working. “No more shall I be hurt by Dean.” Your hand rubbed against the mark at those words. The wounds may have been healed, but the emotional damage was still present. Snaking over the spell. “I sever my ties from thee.” The obsidian was lifted. Slicing through the ribbon with ease. Destroying the bond symbolically. For a moment, the flame seemed to lift higher.
Your body felt drained as you stared at the ongoing spell. The water in your eyes couldn't be denied. The soul was mourning the loss of what could have been.
Ordinarily, you'd have hated the idea of crying. Instead, you simply let them fall. Telling yourself that the salt water would aid in your protection...
Forever: @dean-winchesters-bacon @supernaturalginger @lilulo-12 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @michaelneedssomemilk @lemondropirwin @fanfictionismydeath @neii3n @surmya1907
Dean/Jensen: @akshi8278 @screechingartisancashbailiff @woodworthti666 @coldmuffinbanditshoe
#supernatural#spn#supernatural reader insert#spn reader insert#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfiction#Supernatural angst#spn angst#supernatural a/b/o#spn a/b/o#dean#dean winchester#dean fanfiction#dean x reader#dean x y/n#dean x you#alpha dean x omega reader#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester angst#dean winchester reader insert#dean reader insert#dean winchester x y/n#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#alpha dean winchester#a/b/o
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From The Shadows
summary: Gwilym is full of secrets. People in town seem to know them all. You've got to decided who, and what to believe.
a/n: Once upon a time, I fell asleep in the middle of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds, promptly dreamed this whole thing up, and then told @brianmays-hair I'd write it for her birthday. Better late than never, aye? So here... whatever this is, is! Suspend your disbelief and try to enjoy this actual 1950's fever dream? (I truly cannot believe I've done this)
w/c: 15k
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
He didn't want for it to happen... the accident. Of course he didn't. But he did think moving here would be safe. Gwilym soon realized no place was safe. So he settled, and he lived with a thousand regrets, and he stopped dreaming anything would ever change.
///
You couldn't think up one good reason to say no.
Your aunt was an elusive Hollywood costume designer, who rarely showed up for the holidays. But when she passed on, she left her home to you. With your sister long married and moved away, and you parents happily retired, there was nothing stopping you from packing up and heading out.
Sure you liked the place you'd been living in, and your mediocre life there. But there was something about the timing. When had life ever awarded anyone such a bold-faced fresh start without something taxing having been the catalyst? So with the stars seeming to have perfectly aligned, you moved to Bodega Bay.
It was her summer home. A place you'd never been too, but the one your aunt ended up secluding herself to for the last decade or so. If she liked it well enough to die there, it must have been a lovely place. Maybe it was foolish of you to take what you could carry and crash in a place you knew nothing about. But there was some undeniable force pushing you along, a little voice in your head urging you not to squander this divine change of pace. Besides, you could use a little more sunshine.
The ride there was long and silent, as the cab driver seemed keener on training his ear to the ball game on the radio. You kept an eye out the window and watched the ocean appear between neighbourhoods and pockets of green. The water seemed to welcome you, showing more of itself the closer you got to where you were going. But the waves became less fierce and foamy as you turned into the town tucked between the rolling raised land. There was a calm sapphire bay surrounding the place that sparkled in the midday sun, and you realized at first glance what must have drawn people to settle here. It was picture-perfect, like nothing could go wrong. Or if it had, the beauty of it all might've shone bright enough to drown everyone's sorrows.
"This is all the further I can take you." The driver parked near a boardwalk that split into rows of docks. You thanked him, collected your things, and turned to find someone you might be able to ask for a bit of direction.
///
Every day was the same for Gwilym. He woke up, rowed across the bay, and worked until he got to row back home and enjoy the solitude. When he wasn't tending to the garden he bothered keeping, he was working at the shop on the dock; unloading crates from ships, and setting them in trucks that rode to different businesses around town. Then he'd carry the boxes meant for the dock shop into the back room and sort through what he could before it was time to go home, where the quiet was a comfort.
He spoke of business with the shopkeep, and hardly much more with anyone else. That was the way it had to be. As the Englishman gave a nod to the man who gave him work, Gwilym wondered if he'd ever be able to repay the man. He was one of the few people here who treated Gwilym with any kind of benevolence. It was hatred or less, otherwise. And some days his invisibility weighed more sorrowfully on Gwilym's heart than anything.
Tonight, as he shuffled down the rickety dock and stepped onto his boat that stirred with the water, Gwilym was unusually interrupted.
"Hiya." A voice came, sweet and unsure. It was the hesitation in her tone that made him look her way. The wonder in her voice wasn't as malice as he'd come to recognize. But he looked up and saw her and wished he never did. Her features were perfectly aligned and her pale dress fit her form with grace. He looked at her and held his breath for a new reason among the others, and hoped her question was simple; because the longer he looked, the more he wanted to help her, and he knew that wasn't possible.
"I've just arrived and I'm trying to find my way around here." She rested two suitcases down, and shuffled closer to where Gwyilm paused in his leaning to untether his ride from its mooring.
"Do you know this address?" The woman extended a slip of paper with numbers and a street name scrawled in messy cursive. He looked upon it and knew. Of course, he knew the address. There weren't very many paths to weave between in Bodega Bay.
With a quick glance around, Gwilym saw the calm waters surrounding the island beyond the docks. He noticed the stillness of the town too, and wondered what to do.
"Yes, you're looking for a house on the island," Gwilym spoke, reluctantly turning his head toward the middle of these waters. The woman's brows curved up and her glance turned, too.
"There are usually men with boats who offer rides for a dollar or more. It appears none of them are around just yet." Gwilym sighed. He used to worry about letting people down. But over the year, he worried less about what people thought of him and more over if they'd dare to speak out about it. But now, with this stranger, Gwilym felt an urgent pang to extend an offer her way, even though he knew better than to do so.
"I can give you a ride there now, if your going is dire. The others will likely be round in a couple of hours, otherwise." He hesitated in voicing his offer, the only warning he could give without all but scaring her away.
"Oh, could you?" She grinned brightly. "I've only got those two bags and I'd be awfully grateful for a lift."
If this was a cruel trick, Gwilym decided he'd willingly pay the price, for her. She seemed genuine and clueless in his presence. But he recognized she was smart enough, and if she stayed here long, this ride would come to haunt her. That thought nearly made him take it all back and deny her help. Save her trouble in the long run. But she was already shuffling to collect her things with a smile.
///
The idyllic little town with pastel structures settled on the water's edge could only be made more enchanting by the kinds of people who occupied here.
When you breezed toward the man at the end of the wooden walkway, you hadn't known exactly what to expect. But a tall, handsome Englishmen wasn't it. He seemed stoic. Maybe exhausted from a long day. His eyes were a shade of blue you'd never seen the likes of, not even in the crystal waters that lapped along the boardwalk.
He took the two cases you'd brought along and helped you aboard his modest boat with a crisp sail, with one strong hand. If this was the start of your staying here, you wondered what was around the corner. Was it much too soon to hope his face would be some kind of constant?
The island wasn't far. You could see homes and speckles of gardens from the place you'd sailed off from. But the ride was only as fast as the waters and wind allowed. Time enough for a conversation to sprout past the heavy silence.
"So I take it you aren't one who offers rides, often?" You wondered, from the spot you'd settled, soaking up the scenery.
"No. There are a few others, who cater to folks who've lived here for years. There is no one waiting around to ferry newcomers, because there never really are any."
"Then I caught you right on time." You smiled. He seemed to try, but struggled to return the expression.
"You'll want to keep an eye out for Dean," The man said, steering the boat against a breeze. "He's give's plenty of lifts for a decent price."
"But what's your name?" You wondered, in the middle of the bay now, with the most handsome man you'd ever laid your eyes upon.
"I'm Gwilym." He pursed his smile and turned his eyes toward the water and you started to wonder if he'd had more than just a bad day. The rest of the ride was quiet. And even when you made it to land, the man who'd been kind enough to give you a lift kept his mouth shut. He handed you your bags with a cagy grin and pointed you in the right direction as you thanked him one last time. He stayed on his boat, tying ropes to posts as you headed on your way. And though you wanted to look back on your trek down a dirt path peppered with homes, you didn't.
///
It was just like her papers said it would be. Fully furnished, with a nice view. Out of the east, you could see the bay past patches of trees, and it seemed to stretch out until it met the sky.
Sun fluttered through old dusty curtains, and there were even still pill bottles and bandaids in the medicine cabinet. You breezed from the garish pink bathroom, through the steel green master suite to find the halls were empty of picture frames.
In the kitchen, you searched through the ivory white cabinets and found most of the cans of food were outdated, and the water had yet to be turned back on. So with your bags left sitting near the white brick fireplace, you took the key you'd found below the welcome mat, and floated down the path toward the dock nearest your side of the island.
There was someone waiting there, a boy with his feet kicked back in a big canoe. You had that thought again, about how perfect things seemed here, but this time it was paired with the smallest twinge of doubt.
"Hi, uh, would you happen to be someone I could ask a ride from?" You stepped nearer toward the small wooden dock and watched a young man with a bright smile and dark hair sit up from his boat.
"Sure enough." He grinned up to you, as you paused, unsure of the etiquette of this way of things. "I'm Dean." The boy's smile broadened as he lifted a hand to his brow, to shield the sun as he looked your way. "You must be who has moved into that old Davis place."
"Ah yes, she was my aunt." You noted, understanding how small this broken up town must have been, for a stranger to know your business. Dean nodded and gestured you in for a lift.
"Well," said the man you assumed might have been only a few years older than you, pushing an oar against sinking land. "Welcome to Old Money!"
"That's a funny way of pronouncing Bodega Bay." You grinned, settling on the wooden bench across from him.
"This place used to be full of faces as young as ours. But most moved around the bend to Hollywood. So now it's mostly just old rich bastards, and a few of their spoiled rich kids, here." Dean told.
"And which of the two are you?" You rose a brow to the guy as he rowed along.
"The latter, I'm afraid."
You chuckled at his honest nod and turned to admire what you could see of the town as you floated closer toward it. "What a strange place, indeed."
"Is that all you make of Bodega Bay so far?" Dean wondered, not offended in his asking, but truly curious it seemed.
"Well, so far I've only just arrived and found my way to the island. I would have thought the town abandoned if I hadn't gotten lucky to catch a gent just leaving the harbour." You laughed a little as Dean listened. He seemed to raise a dark brow for you to go on.
"How silly of me to have let his name slip my mind already," You gestured as you thought aloud. "Let's see, he was quite tall, oh and English and-"
"Gwilym? You met Mr. Lee!" Dean beamed, rowing all the while.
"Yes, Gwilym was his name."
"You, my dear," Dean said, looking to you like you were in on some joke. "are very lucky."
Today wasn't what you'd expected in this quaint little village you were meant to call home, now. Home... such a silly word for here. You didn't quite feel at home in the misty air. But the folks you'd met so far made you smile to think of. The bay wavered as you rode along. It wasn't the steady grounding feeling of welcome you'd anticipated to sink into amidst the old cozy community. But you hoped that once this all became familiar, you'd be glad for it.
///
He was cursed, sure, but this was a new torture. When he saw her again... he was glad for it.
She was skipping along with Dean through the trails of the island when they saw him, too. It was her, who rose a hand to catch Gwilym's attention, though she already had it. She was beautiful. Like how the moon was beautiful, and everyone knew it, but still looked and marvelled at the sight of its shine like it was unbelievable.
She stopped and asked how he was doing and he couldn't think up an answer to a question he'd rarely been asked, since moving here.
"Dean was just showing me around the island," She gestured to the bright-eyed dark-haired man a few years younger than Gwilym. His smile was pleasant as ever it had been. Dean might have been the closest thing to a friend Gwilym had known, here, or ever. "And he pointed out your house. Mr. Lee, it's beautiful."
The sincerity in her tone made him chuckle. He couldn't help it.
"It's a few blue shutters between a few tall trees." Gwilym shrugged, shoving his hands in the pockets of his trousers, casting a gaze to the boat he was planning on taking out on the water, as far as it would go before the sun set and his work week started again.
"But those flowers growing up from your back garden that I could see from these trails..." She pointed his way with a grin. Gwilym was in awe by the turn of her painted lips and the way he knew she was trying to get him to carry on some kind of banter.
But then a pair of young friends rode around the corner on bicycles. They halted their wheels from turning by digging their heels into the dirt. They saw him, and maneuvered their bikes to turn the other way. Gwilym was snapped back to reality, one he was desperate to spare this new stunning stranger from. So Gwilym cleared his throat and nodded to Dean, who nodded back with reluctant understanding.
Dean knew a lot, but neither of them had spoken a word about what happened since the start of the year. They'd barely spoken at all, outside of the shop. Dean respected Gwilym's distance.
Gwilym had to go about his evening like always. He couldn't be to her what he'd just briefly been. He couldn't lie. When he managed to escape, and wave the pair off, a weight lifted from his chest as they turned off laughing together. But all at once, as they disappeared down the trail, Gwilym's heart sank. He wanted to laugh with her. He thought moments ago that he might've been able to share trivial talk until nightfall. But he couldn't. Of course he couldn't.
He sailed alone and reminded himself it had to be that way.
///
He used to go to parties. And people would greet him with glee when he arrived. He used to sit and mingle, and dance with strangers and familiar faces. But they all turned on him, and he knew he'd never be able to gain the likes of such company again.
He knew he'd always be seen as some vile, heartless monster. He knew his hurt and his fear was his alone and that peoples suspicions were stronger than their hearts, at first glance and forever then after.
So he kept his head down in line at the bank, wishing he'd shown up when less of the townspeople had. He knew catching their sneers (if the dared to look toward him) would only add to his never-ending ache.
So Gwilym offered a polite grin to the lady behind the counter even though he knew she wouldn't return it. He knew it didn't make him look better either, or change anyone's made up minds. But he thought it must have been better than scowling back.
He prepared to bolt after his transaction was through. And he did. But time seemed to freeze for just a moment when he looked up and saw her. The woman for whom he'd given a ride. Who'd stopped to greet him kindly just a day ago.
She was there before him, again. With perfectly styled hair and an openness on her face when she noticed him. He knew it was better to smile, but he couldn't help but hurry away faster. He had to outrun the way his heart felt light at the simple sight of one ignorant stranger. Gwilym knew she'd find out soon enough, and eventually, she wouldn't look at him like that, like she was glad to see him. He hurried away and wished he didn't have too.
///
You had come to depend on Dean for many a ride. When he told you lot's of people had their own boats, or took the big one into town at six a.m. you almost felt bad for asking him. But he followed up his saying so by telling you he was glad for the extra company. You'd toss him a couple of coins for his trouble and head into town to find something to occupy your time.
That's when you met Maggie. The girl Dean so often rambled about on rides to and fro. She was waiting on the boardwalk one morning with a big shiny hardback book for your dark haired friend in her grasp. They weren't official, not yet. He told you he was still gaining the gull to take her out. But it was clear she was mad about the guy. Who wouldn't be? With his contagious grin and the gentle way about him.
Maggie parted ways with Dean on his way to his job at the dock shop, and promptly hooked you up with a gig at the library. She worked there, alongside another much older woman who was glad to hire you on. Miss Porter gave you books to label, and shelves to clean, and left you to man the desk while she planned children programs and filed fees away. Maggie usually hosted the events Miss Porter planned, corralling kids to think up their own fairytales, or reading to a few when school let out.
It was an easy, quiet, delightful job. When Miss Porter handed over your very first paycheck, you practically skipped to the bank on your lunch break, but came back with a puzzled expression stuck on your face.
"Did you go? Did you talk to the teller I recommended?" Miss Porter wondered, sitting in the seat next to where you'd settled in to finish out your workday.
"Yes!" You promised with a nod. You told her how smoothly everything went, and how you'd even recognized a few people in line ahead of you. The man from the market and some ladies who'd checked out books from you on your first day. And then you mentioned Gwilym. You mentioned how you'd met him first thing, before anyone. Then, bashfully, how charmed you were by the guy. How you'd hoped to see more of him.
"But... he was just so strange, today. Like he couldn't wait to get out of there. Like he didn't know me." You boggled, tapping labels to new books. You glance up to notice Miss Porter's face, the hesitation on her lips, her lingering worried eyes.
"What?" You wondered flatly.
"Mr Lee. He's... well there are rumours about him. And where there's smoke there's fire." The old woman let out a humorous huff of a laugh. "Just- keep your head about yourself, girl."
"Yeah, okay." You gave Miss Porter a sidelong glance and floated along with her change in conversation. She chattered about her own lunch break and the friends she met up with during the hour. You listened, half-heartedly considering her gossip and watching the clock tick until someone eventually slid a book across the desk to you.
"Fancy seeing you here again." A voice rang past a smile, belonging to a boy with flaxen hair who'd come to the library almost every other day you worked, this month.
"Jake," You acknowledged with a tired grin. You never had much interest in his flirting, but his acquaintance had proven to be harmless and sometimes the most entertaining part of your afternoon. The buzz about the library was the only thing you had to look forward to, and more often than naught; the halls were empty and you'd unsort books just to busy yourself with putting them in order again. So, you at least tried to enjoy conversation with the preppy guy.
"Say, didn't you mention last week something about moving here for a bit of adventure?" He asked as you glimpsed to the cover of the text he was checking out. A book on ethics that looked unopened.
"Perhaps I might've." You mumbled, going about scribbling the date down.
"Then why do I only see you here and not anyplace else people our age hang around in, hmm?" The blonde boy wondered, looking to you. You gave him a sorry shrug and hoped he'd enjoy the book, reminding it was due back in two weeks. Jake's smile grew before he parted, as you turned to find Miss Porter watching you with a matching grin. Then she started her gossiping, about how Jake came from a good family with money and charm; The Hollywood type, she said.
She had a lot of opinions about everyone in town, it seemed. You let her ramble, but knew better than to listen too closely.
///
There was your life at the library, and then hardly much else. You came to recognize faces that you'd never see outside of the place you worked. Dean was the only friend you had beyond the confines of the desk. Even Maggie seemed lost to the halls of books. Neither of you had seen much of her, and every time you asked Dean, he seemed just as clueless as you were of her whereabouts after work hours.
So you stuck close to the boy and went to record shops and pubs when you felt like it. Between nights full of chatter about Bodega Bay's fast approaching annual fall festival, and antidotes about your lives before now, you always tried to circle back around to the same subject.
It seemed like Dean might've known more about Mr. Lee than he let on. You ask how he'd been, knowing the men worked closely together. Dean would only say they were both too busy to trade any small talk during the day. You'd ask how someone from so far came to know the quaint little town, but Dean would turn the question back around to you, and point out how you'd come to stay. All of your questions of Mr. Lee went marginally unanswered. Maybe Dean knew what you were really trying to ask. Maybe you were too afraid to wonder outright.
You thought much of him, Mr Lee. So the next time you caught a glimpse of his broad figure on the harbour, you asked Dean to wait up, as you rushed to say hello.
///
"Hey, you!"
Oh, it couldn't be? Gwilym could have smiled despite himself. There she was, taking steps closer over scattered ropes, headed right his way. Gwilym set down the crate he was carrying atop another and turned to face her as she'd already caught his attention.
"Don't you ever stop working?" She asked with a soft smile, coming to a slow halt before him. "You say you live on the island but I swear if I squint from there I can see you over here sorting boxes at all hours."
"It's better to be busy." Gwilym shrugged, letting his lips upturn for a moment.
"I suppose. But I hear there's a festival coming. Surely you'll have time free to waste all your well-earned dollars trying to win a fish in a bag?"
He had to chuckle. She spoke to him like they'd been friends for so long that there were no more secrets to trade, only small talk.
"Uh, no, I think not," Gwilym admitted, keeping his smile and trying not to stare at her own. "I'd much prefer to hide away during the festival." He hoped he seemed more antisocial on his own accord. Like he hadn't been scared into staying in for so long that he prefered it, in the end. Like it was his choice all along.
"Hm, why? Are the games not nearly as exciting as I've imagined them to be?"
"Well, yes that is one reason." He shrugged. "There are usually only a few tents and things. Most people use the festival as an excuse to pack the bay with their boats and scare the fish away for months."
"And you don't prefer to sail your boat somewhere in the middle of it all?"
He shook his head and reached for the crates once more, struck with a sudden thrum of worry, a realization that he shouldn't be carrying on just so.
Perhaps he sensed it coming, the inevitable. Before Gwilym could give a farewell to the woman he'd been foolishly thinking of, he heard footsteps pounding down the harbour toward where they stood.
At the sight of someone storming right her way, Gwilym turned in a hurry. To save her the embarrassment, or torment, or whatever she might receive for sharing a word with him. And as he left- though he couldn't understand why, and he feared the possibility, he hoped to see her again.
///
You were just about to demand Mr. Lee cease being so bloody mysterious and come to dinner with you and Dean.
But his bright eyes tore from yours and floated over your shoulder, and his smile faded. Gwilym cleared his throat and ducked his head through the back door of the shop, leaving you without another word, like you'd hadn't just stood and spoken at all, and were completely unworthy of a goodbye. As you tried not to let his odd behaviour sting, you turned to see what the matter was.
You saw Maggie. For the first time out from behind a book in a week or more. Her lily-white fists curled at her sides, and a look meant to kill shot toward you.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" She spat, stalling in front of you, red with anger. You gawked at Maggie, and dared to glimpse around, wondering if there had to be something you were missing.
"Why were you talking to him?" Maggie seethed, snapping your attention back to her. Why was the question, wasn't it? Why had everyone you'd met so strangely behaved at the mention of a name belonging to a man who was hardly ever around?
"Why not, Maggie?" You pressed, feeling vexation start to burn below your surface. You'd known this girl long enough to feel fond of her, but not long enough to give way to her sudden and jarring concern without your own shining through.
"Let me remind you," Maggie hissed, "Because there's no way you're stupid enough to not know yet,"
"Like hell you will, Maggie." Dean appeared in a huff, "Do you really believe all the shit?" In two long strides, Dean was breaking up your standoff with his girl, not on her side, though, it seemed.
Maggie gawked at him, mouth slack between two rosy cheeks coloured by the chill and her anger.
"You don't?" She seemed to warn. And as Dean started shaking his head, she was set off once more. "Why do you think I haven't been around, huh? When I realized you worked alongside the creep I had to wait for you to come around. I could not be seen so near-"
"I will not stand here and let you go on spreading those vile rumours!" Dean stood his ground, at your confounded side.
"Well, I won't stand here and listen to you defend a cold-blooded criminal!" Maggie yanked her hands from her sides to throw them in the air as she hollered. Then she spun on her heels and muttered curses on her stomp back down the boardwalk.
"Dean..." You asked in a sacred hush, watching her storm off. "Why would she say something like that?"
You turned to the only real friend you'd made here. You knew his middle name, and what he really thought of the best pub in town. You knew he wouldn't lie. But you were afraid of what he'd say now.
Dean glanced to his watch with a heavy sigh, then looked back up to you.
"Got time for a really long story?"
///
You settled into Dean's cluttered kitchen and accepted his offer of a dark toxic drink before either of you spoke. And right when you were about to break the silence with one of the dozens of questions swirling through your mind, Dean looked to you.
"My parents were born and raised here, and so was I. But they moved to Hollywood when I went off to college." Dean explained that his mother passed on from illness and his father followed soon after, old age getting the better of the man.
"They were the owners of a building that was left to me. Downstairs was their place, upstairs was an apartment they rented out. And that's how I met Gwilym."
You took a sip of your drink, and nodded for him to go on.
Dean explained that with his parents gone, Gwilym was his only hope of understanding the lease the men were bonded by. Soon their talks grew common. Dean spent many a night sharing drinks with Mr. Lee, like the one he'd just poured for you.
"To have a friend one staircase away was such fun. We were both in desperate need of company. With my parents gone, and his wife never home."
Before you could ask, Dean told. He said Gwilym's wife had dreams of becoming an actor; a dream she'd once shared with her husband. But Gwilym was left to pick up odd jobs while Mrs. Lee went out to every audition. She rarely landed a role, but showed up to so many casting calls and parties that celebrities came to adore her. Mrs. Lee was always out drinking till dawn with the Hollywood elite. "I only ever met her once." Dean shrugged away a halfhearted smile.
He told you Gwilym was left to pay the bills and lend her cash to go back out again, when she came home tipsy in the mid afternoon. Dean said they bickered all the time. When Gwilym asked where she'd been, she would only shout back, call him horrible names Dean could hear from the apartment downstairs. He said even in his every attempt to ignore her picking fights, it was impossible.
"So the last night she came home, I thought it was like any other," Dean recalled, shifting in his ugly vinyl chair.
Dean said Mrs. Lee's sister had come to visit, and both ladies had stayed out all weekend without so much as letting Gwilym know. When they eventually stumbled up the stairs days later at dawn, their drunken laughter woke Dean, and Gwilym's loud worry over where they'd been kept the landlord awake.
Dean said he tried to ignore it. But after an unusual bout of quiet, the ruckus from the upstairs tenant's came back in a new and frightening way. Dean said he'd sprung out of bed purely by instinct, and opened his door to rush to the second level. No sooner than the man had met the bottom of the staircase did the Lee's door fly open. Gwilym tossed his sister in law out, as he stumbled toward the stairs himself. And if Dean hadn't been there to stop him, Mr. Lee would have rushed back into the cloud of smoke billowing from his apartment.
"The whole place burned down." Dean said, matter of factly. A pit opened in your stomach as you tried to wrap your head around the story that had been unfolded. "Mrs. Lee never made it out. Everyone blamed Gwilym. Still do."
"They say he killed her?" You croaked, mostly alarmed by Deans apathetic gaze.
"He was proven innocent." Dean lifted a brow, and his glass. But before he could take a drink, he seemed to realize something. Dean abandoned his alcohol and got up from the table without a word. You watched him disappear around the hall, while you sat in stunned silence. Your mind was too overwhelmed with thought to process much, before Dean was back again, with a crumpled old newspaper in hand.
"When I moved back here, I stuffed papers in the boxes of glasses and plates." Dean chuckled, smoothing out the page on his table. "Didn't even realize I'd used this one till I unpacked. Figured I'd keep it, in case of moment's like now, I guess."
Past the wrinkles, you looked and saw a headline. Gwilym's name printed in black, next to the word innocent, followed by a question mark. You leaned in close to read the article that followed.
It stated that the fire that his wife died in was a proven accident. Mrs. Lee's sister and husband had told the authorities that arrived on the scene the same frantic story. The quote that followed her sister's statement, though, began to help you realize why everyone treated Mr. Lee with such contempt.
Gwilym may not have started the fire, but he drove my sister mad enough to. It was his careless treatment of her that drove my sister away. He killed her in the end, and we won't let him forget it.
"She started the fire?" Your heart dropped away. How could such hate exist? How were their quotes from famous actors mourning the loss of this woman, and cursing her husband's name? Why did the people in Bodega Bay care?
When you asked, Dean said it was because everyone here had some kind of connection to Hollywood, or wanted too. They were always on the side of the stars, always influenced by tabloids and concerned with the gossip that kept them in celebrity loops.
He said he should have known better, when he moved back here and extended an offer for Gwilym to come along, neither of them having a better place to go. Dean said he should have known the rumours would spread, and how the people in Bodega Bay would react to Gwilym's settling here. Then he shook his head, and looked to you.
"So now you know." Dean said, standing to reach for the bottle he'd poured from earlier in the evening. Your glass had barely been sipped from, but you held it up to be filled further still. Now you knew, indeed. But you were clueless as to what to do about it.
///
The next morning, you'd barely settled behind the desk at the library before Maggie stormed in. She marched up to the counter you and Miss Porter sat quietly behind, and slammed an envelope on the counter.
"I quit." She seethed, breathing hard as she pierced her eyes right into yours. Miss Porter gapped at the girl, and then to you, and when she turned to look to Maggie and ask her to change her mind, the girl was stomping out of the door.
You told your boss you had no idea what the girl's problem was, but realized she'd probably find out eventually, with the way miss Miss Porter sniffed out every detail of peoples lives in this town. So you kept to yourself while you still could, and didn't see anyone you recognized all day.
But you heard everyone talk. You'd heard the talk before. You'd heard his name whispered from housewives and mailmen. But now you understood why, and you discerned what they seemed to say. It made you sick, with worries of all kinds.
So, you agreed to stay late and lock up- only so you might be able to sneak into the attic of the library. There you found collections of misprints, yearbooks and old newspapers. It took until the sunlight started to fade from the dormer window before you found what you were looking for. A paper from the day after the incident, and a few more. All of which spelled Dean's name wrong, and spewed more vile quotes.
All of them seemed to tell the truth, seemed to acknowledge Gwilym's innocents, yet they all blamed him still. For caring too little. For being such a terrible husband. For whatever made them feel better about his wife's tragic loss. You'd read more than enough to be sure of the truth, and maddened by the way it had been turned and used against a man who had done little wrong.
But now, as you kept your eyes wide to see him again, he seemed to have vanished from the town completely
"Why don't they talk about you?" You asked Dean, stepping into his boat one afternoon, after being disappointed to find Gwilym's boat missing from the harbour.
"They misprinted my name in one paper and rolled with it in all the others." He laughed bitterly, rowing home. You recalled that to be the case. You knew Dean wouldn't lie.
"Why don't you talk to him?" You asked more, trying to put the pieces of this puzzle together. A tiny internal voice drove you through this discovery, the same urgent pang that pushed you to pack up and move here.
"I used to. He stopped letting me over. Stopped answering calls." Dean shrugged. You hung your head, and apologized for all the questions. Dean insisted he was glad someone finally cared to ask.
You had all kinds of answers, now. But worried and wondered about Gwilym all week. And then the festival came.
///
It was just like he said it would be. As you stepped into Dean's canoe to head to work, you saw a dozen boats lined up at the berth of the town. And by the time your lunch break came, you spotted two dozen more boats crowding the bay, some sailing, some waiting their turn. By the time you were free to go and see what the fuss was about, Dean waved from the window of the shop as you breezed by. You walked past a tent selling sweets, and another selling drinks, and saw little else besides a mess of people.
"Well look who it is." An unexpectedly familiar voice floated over your shoulder. Jake stood a few paces away, rocking on his feet, looking taller than he ever seemed from behind the desk of your library.
You gave him a pleasant hello, and he said something about how nice it was to finally see you out and about.
"Have you found much adventure, yet?" He wondered. And you weren't sure if he was asking about your time in Bodega Bay, or about the festival that started sometime while you were still clocked in. Either way, when you hesitated, the nice blonde boy extended his hand and insisted you join him.
And you had a fleeting thought, that Jake was only trying to do for you what you'd been trying to do for Gwilym. Reaching out. Giving you a chance. So with a tired grin, you took it.
You followed the blonde boy through the cutting breeze, down a dock and up the steps of a big boat adorned in strings of lights. It was crammed with people in fancy clothes, drinking from dark bottles and twisting to some rock and roll tune.
Jake kept his distance and poured you a couple of drinks. He danced you around a couple of corners, introducing you to people along the way. You shot him a grin each time he gave out your name and drank a little more. The air was cold, but you were warm, crammed between strangers and their friends. The music coming from the boat was loud, but as you shuffled toward the deck, you could hear music in the distance, too, from other boats. Other friends laughter echoing from beyond the bay. And finally, the beauty of the townspeople shone just as brightly as the town itself.
You laughed as Jake spun you lazily around to the beat of a new song. He followed as you kept slipping closer toward the edge of the crowd. He warned you to get down from the railing you leaned too far over when you'd spun far out of the party as possible. You turned and pointed to a couple dancing on the top of the rails, without a care. And because he couldn't argue, and you were a little tipsy, you stood there, too, and let him hold your hand as you balanced along the beams.
You trusted Jake. His intentions were good and his grip was firm. It tightened as you started to lose your step.
///
Gwilym was on his way to take a break from sorting through inventory in the back room. About this time, he liked to sit and watch the birds and sun dip below the sea. He couldn't see that from home. So sometimes he'd stay later, just to watch the sun setting. Sometimes it was the best part of his whole day. So as the festival raged on, he tried to stay out of sight.
But he didn't even get to sit before he noticed. Just around the corner, there was a boat laced with party lights. A bevy of drunken partiers danced across the deck. A man with pale hair and a dopey smile holding the hand of the woman Gwilym hadn't stopped thinking of. Her, standing on the rails. As soon as Gwilym turned and saw, the boy let go, and she was falling in the water.
The boy with pale hair raced from the deck, but Gwilym was faster. Nearer. Close enough to cross onto the boardwalk and reach into the bay before she had drifted far past the surface. It was instinctive, his mission to save her. He wasn't thinking, he was just reaching in and tugging her up, and only after he pulled her onto the deck at his side, did he realize the speed his heart was thrumming and the fear that spread through him.
She let out startled coughs and looked to him with big watery eyes, and he had to ask if she was okay because he didn't know what else to do. But he was quicker to act than he was to think, still, standing and offering her help to do the same. She stretched up slowly, holding his arm without hesitation. He couldn't be sure if she needed or wanted too, but she didn't let go.
Just as Gwilym decidedly turned toward the shop, Dean appeared. He bound toward the boy with pale hair and grabbed him by the shirt collar with fire in his eyes.
"What the ever loving fuck were you thinking?" Dean shouted, nearly lifting the guy off his feet. The boy who'd let her fall tried to stutter a response, but couldn't So Dean let him go, prepared to do worse. But Gwilym called his name, before thinking about it. Dean looked and saw Gwilym letting the girl he'd come to secretly and desperately adore, lean into his side, despite the way she shivered in drenched clothes. Dean seemed to snap out of it, and only cursed at the blonde boy as he stumbled away, back onto the boat without a word.
"Let's go." Gwilym waved Dean along, as the trio headed toward the shop, while the party raged on.
///
In the matter of a second, the laughter and the lights and the music and the fun was muffled. It kept on as your time stalled and became murky and cold and wet; and then it was louder than ever.
People stood and gasped along the marina as the water splashed around you. Gwilym's grip hurt but it was much more tolerable than the chill of the water and the way your lungs burned with the ache to breathe. How long were you down there?
Mr. Lee threw you toward the docks and stood you up, and looked to you as you looked to him, for the first time in months. For the first time ever, it felt like. But his icy eyes tore away at the sight of the commotion.
Dean was there. He was red with anger, and the boy who'd tried but failed to stop you from falling, seemed like a spec in your friends grasp. Gwilym was the one to save him too, telling Dean to go. You'd barely registered any of this happening until Dean spun back around to face you on his way in the shop, and Jake had left you without a goodbye.
"Are you okay? I mean, are you-" Dean worried, holding open the door to the shop. He flipped the open sign to closed, like it mattered. As you entered the store stocked with fishing gear and boat parts, Gwilym slipped out of your grasp and left you colder than ever.
"I'm fine. I think." You grinned. "Yes. Thank you, Dean." You nodded his way, feeling more embarrassed than anything as you recalled the expressions on onlookers faces a moment ago. You knew everyone saw, but you worried over what they must've thought.
It was Dean's sweeping scowl that started everyone chattering again, as you'd walked off. They looked away from you as your friend led you closer to the dock shop, where Gwilym had now found a towel and something else you didn't know you needed. He watched Dean lead you toward the counter with eye's bluer than the autumn sky.
"A first aid kit? I'm fine, I-" But then you followed Dean's pitiful gaze by raising a hand to your head. You felt nothing but a chill on your fingertips. When you pulled them away, they were sticky and red.
"Oh, I see."
Gwilym ordered Dean to go around back and search for a sweater, or something you might be able to change into. You went where Mr. Lee pointed you toward, settling against the front counter. He handed you a towel, and you draped it over your shoulders, willing yourself to stop shivering.
Then, the stoic Englishman rose a cloth to your head, and watched where he cared for, while you watched him. He was close enough for you to recognise he smelled of something sweeter than pine, and was taller than you realized. His jaw was peppered with stubble and his eyes were a never ending shade of blue you wished you could look right into, but he wouldn't let you. He stayed focused on his work, and informed you only had a small cut.
"I need a lift home." You spoke in a hush, keeping your gaze fixed on his own best you were able.
"Dean will take you." Gwilym mumbled back, so close you could nearly feel the rumble of his voice.
"What if I want you to take me?" You countered with a childish pout, still tipsy and shaken.
"I can't." He spoke firmly, taking the smallest step to your side to close up the first aid kit. You watched, tightening the towel around you and wondering what kind of mess you must'a looked like.
"Why?" You wondered, hopelessly. Your question was loaded, and heavy, and it made Mr. Lee clench his sharp jaw.
"You know why." He responded, grimly. Gwilym took the first aid kit and started away from you as your chest filled up in a way you thought felt just like drowning. Your throat was too tight to call out and stop him from leaving it at that- to stop him from leaving you. So he kept on walking, slipping around the back just as Dean appeared with a set of men's clothes, offering them to you with a small sorry shrug.
You decidedly took the sweater and ducked behind the counter to slip it on, while Dean stood guard. You looked to him once you finished, and were disappointed to find Mr. Lee had not come back. So you took Dean's hand and let him take you home.
He had to row in a strange path, away from other boats, so it took you twice as long to get to the island. And the only conversation you shared on the ride was when Dean kept asking if you were okay and you kept shutting him down; because you couldn't say yes or no without the threat of tears stinging your eyes.
You let Dean walk you to your door, and thanked him for it with the last exhausted breath you could muster. And when you were on your own, you let your heart hurt and you let yourself cry. Then you decided Gwilym must have actually liked being so alone. You decided to leave him be, and stop from searching him out. And while you made yourself promise to keep your distance, you hoped that he'd miss your interactions enough to show up and ask why they'd stopped.
///
You couldn't figure who was more selfish. Him, for retaining such isolation, for having little decency to let you down easy and slipping into the shadows at the sight of you. Or you, for stooping to his level. If he was so keen on keeping a distance, you decided for once, to make it easy.
You decided to try and forget the way he plunged his hand into the freezing waters to yank you to the surface before you knew what hit you. And the warmth that radiated from him, as he let you lean in, despite everything.
You pretended not to care about Gwilym Lee, and went about your weekend as usual. And as you went from work, and ignored Dean's worries over whether you were doing alright, you saw Mr. Lee three times.
Once, on your way from the harbour to your job. Gwilym was out, watching a big boat sail in. And you wouldn't let yourself search for his gaze. You waited until you were a speck in the horizon before you turned to see if he'd noticed or cared. But all you saw was Dean racing to catch up with you, and extending the jacket you'd left in his boat in your rush to storm away.
The next time you saw Gwilym was from the safety of your front porch, as you swept away fallen leaves from the steps. He'd ventured out to his own front lawn that was a mess after the night-long storm, and noticed you already done with your chore. Before you caved and met his eye, you spun inside and shut the door, searching to see if he noticed or cared before you let it shut all the way. Then you scurried off to work with all the reluctance of a school kid.
Your time used to be pleasantly occupied during shifts at the library. But now each day you dreaded stepping foot near there. Miss Porter stopped sharing gossip with you on lunch break. She was probably too busy talking about you. Jake had stopped showing up, and your job of taping labels and arranging shelves seemed like your own personal purgatory.
Dean tried to get you to join him on nights at his favourite grotty pub and afternoon rides around the bay. But you were too much occupied by worry and doubt to entertain your friends free time. So you only let him row you home and kept swearing you'd agree to some fun next time he asked. Dean let you trail away toward home as he accepted a pair of friends into his ride, and you didn't need to look back to know his pitiful gaze was still set on you.
///
She looked back. She kept looking back, and that's when Gwilym realized he'd made a horrible mistake... perhaps the worst he'd ever made.
///
You saw him a third time on your trek home, that afternoon. He seemed to be headed toward the place he'd always hidden his boat away in, but he stopped when he saw you, and his sea blue eyes searched for yours. You tightened your sweater around your frame and prepared to breeze past him, hoping you didn't look like you wanted to burst into tears.
"Y/n, please wait," Gwilym spoke up, his usual low, calm tone now broken and weary.
You didn't wait. You wanted too, but suddenly all the rage and sadness you felt flooded your system and made your feet stomp harder up the steps to your house.
"Please," Gwilym said again, turning to follow close behind.
"Can't we talk?" He seemed to beg. You jostled open your front door with your heart drumming in your ears as you registered the sound of his following along.
"You want to talk?" You laughed without an ounce of humour, spinning to face Gwilym as you backed into your home. He followed timidly like if he made one floorboard creek it would spin loose and he'd slip through the crack.
"Yes." He seemed to decide, stalling just past the still opened door.
"I'm sure you only mean that you want me to talk to you." You pointed, tossing your handbag toward an empty chair. "Because God knows you've never had much to say to me. Not even of the weather let alone where you came from." You were nearly shouting, waving a hand as you looked toward the man you'd always longed to know.
"No, I've had to hear about you from everyone else! " You rang, and almost regretted it. You watched him start to crumble, standing still in place all the while. But once you'd started there was no point in stopping. "And I've spent all summer desperate to learn more, but not from them."
"I- I didn't want you to..." Gwilym struggled to explain in a stuttered breath, holding his hands up for you to see.
"What? Didn't want me to find out?" You asked, "Well I did, but all I've ever wanted was to hear it from you." You shouted, hardly caring to stop the tears burning your eyes. You'd read the articles, the tabloids, and the bullshit from warped celebrity minds. But even before then, you'd been drawn to Mr. Lee. You'd seen the good in him.
"I've always been on your side." You said. "Even when you treat me like one of them. Like I don't give a shit about you. Well, I do!"
You watched his brow furrow and his eyes dart between yours. You watched him try and understand, and you couldn't hold back your frustrated tears any longer. And maybe you felt like you hadn't made yourself clear enough, or maybe you were only listening to that little voice in your head, either way, you threw yourself toward Gwilym and wrapped him in a hug.
It took him a beat to hug you back, but he did. And he held on as you tried to stop from crying, and appreciate this rare and surprising moment.
"I'm sorry." You heard him mumbled into your hair, as his comforting grip tightened ever so slightly. You couldn't help but laugh as you relished the feeling of his strong figure finally accepting you in. Then, with every way you could mean it, you assured he had nothing at all to be sorry for.
///
It took a while. A week, actually. But Gwilym eventually told you everything.
The day he followed you in your doorway, he stayed for a bit. You apologized for bursting into tears and he smiled when you looked at him and laughed about it. And then you showed him round your aunts dusty old home. You told him just how you'd come to live here, and you convinced him to stay for dinner.
While you ate, he spoke of England. He recalled growing up there, the differences between worlds, and what he missed most about the place. But before conversation could go on flourishing, the sun set and you both retired to prepare for another days work.
The next morning you cancled the plans with Dean you'd made to go to the pub. And when you told him why, he nearly toppled his canoe over by all his excitement. You had to make him sit back down and promise you'd keep him updated on your mission to be a friend to Gwil. Even though everyone involved knew, on some level, that you were keen to be a little more than friends.
But you shoved thoughts like those deep down. Now was no time to seduce the man. Now was the time to listen to him, and hope to high heavens he wanted the same thing as you.
And that night, as you made it to the island and parted ways with your friend, you found Gwilym waiting up for you just outside your home. You could have burst into another bout of tears at the notion, but you'd already made a big enough fool out of yourself once. So you rushed to invite the man in. But he stopped your stammering and asked you over to his place, instead.
His home was much grander on the inside than the simple outside made it seem. The ceilings were high and there were shelves along most of the walls, all jam packed with books and a few potted plants. As if the forest he seemed to raise outback weren't enough. There were bushes and vines and flowers of all kinds, bright in the cold blue evening.
So you sat inside and shared a drink. After mindless chatter, you started in on a conversation that led to you learning a little more about the woman he'd once been married to. He spoke of when they met and whence they moved, and why. He spoke a little of his dream of acting and how it fizzled out early on for several reasons. He spoke of Hollywood and how he blamed the city for souring everything. And then the night fell and you knew it was best to leave while you were ahead.
"I'd love to come back around when your garden is in full bloom." You invited yourself over again, reluctantly trudging toward the door. Gwilym followed along a safe distance away with his hands in his pockets.
"You're welcome back round anytime." Gwilym noted, his words packed with meaning. You tried not to melt at his invitation, the first you'd ever received. You only hoped it wouldn't be the last, and tried to hold back your gleefully nervous chuckles.
"Well good." You decided, reaching for the door. "Because I'll certainly find every excuse to stop over."
You would have kissed him then, if he were only a little closer. If you'd had a little more to drink, you would have had enough courage to crash your lips against. But you didn't. You simply let your smile linger as you struggled to tear your gaze from his. Gwilym shook his head at your staring and reached past you to open the door, keeping his pretty gaze settled on yours all the while.
So you headed for home, but made sure to look over your shoulder before you'd gone too far.
///
He'd asked her over. He was terrified as ever, maybe his fears had even shifted or tripled. But he asked her over anyway. And when she followed along with a smile, he realized there wasn't too much to be afraid of.
Still, Gwilym kept as much to himself as he could without seeming rude or uninterested. He lingered a safe distance behind as he showed her around the place he'd called home all year. She marvelled over how neat the shelves were and how lovely the old furniture was, and waved him off when he remarked how he didn't pick any of it out but had grown fond of the space all the same. And then he followed her out into the garden, where she spun between the vines. Gwilym notices the moon, as he followed it's pale light, and thought it was nowhere near as beautiful compared to the glow coming from the woman smiling up at him.
But then he was scared again... of what might happen now. Gwilym hadn't thought of the future all year. But there was nothing else to think of when she was around. He wondered where life would lead her, and he hoped, selfishly, that he'd get to follow along.
He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to close the distance between them and hold her closer than he had when she threw herself in his arms a day before...
He didn't, though. But when she skipped toward home she looked back to him and smiled, and he decided one day, he would.
///
It was two more days before you Gwil him again. Dean seemed to understand when you left him alone on the harbour, yet you still turned and apologized and swore you'd call him round for game night by the weekend. He just laughed and pushed you along, and you hurried to catch Gwilym before he'd sailed off.
You were right on time, just like the first time. He helped you aboard, same as before, with the same strong hand he used to pull you from these very waters. You joked about it, only recalling the incident like how you remembered a varied few dreams.
"So you only liked me because I saved you from drowning," Gwilym noted, letting his boat drift toward where the sky and the sea blended.
"No, I liked you plenty before." You admitted in an embarrassed chuckle. Here you were, in the middle of the bay with the most handsome man you'd ever met. And here he was with you, and you were more nervous than the first day of this kind. The excited kind of nervous. The kind you felt before settling in a roller coaster or seeing a film you'd waited a long time to catch. This was what you'd wanted, to be here with him. But what was next, you worried?
As you talked about what led you here, and how you'd trusted your gut to start over again, Gwilym listened. And then, after a few careful questions, he told you what happened. He told you about the life he lived just before moving to Bodega Bay.
He spoke of his wife like someone he'd read about once. Like his connection to her was something he'd only ever heard of and never felt. But he was kind in his descriptors and he even chuckled when he recounted how happy they were for a moment. But only a moment, he said.
Then Gwilym told you much of what Dean already had. How she'd started going out, and treating him poorly for worrying over her whereabouts. How one night Gwilym went to a party he knew she'd be the life of, and found her there canoodling with some famous director. How Mrs. Lee blamed Gwilym for embarrassing her. How he'd missed her long before she was gone for good.
Then he recounted what happened the night his wife and her sister came home from a long weekend away. How scared he'd been when he couldn't reach her. How poorly she'd made him feel for being upset by it all. How she kicked her sister out of the guest room, where she'd already retired to spin records and light candles. His wife scratched the record to a stop and slammed the door in Gwilyms face as he begged her to come to some kind of resolution. He said she'd answered his pleas through the door with muffled curses and clatters, like she was tossing things about in her drunken ire.
Gwilym recalled how it went quiet, for too long. And how he couldn't open the door when he started to try. How he broke the handle when black smoke started billowing into the hall, and she wasn't answering when he called her name. How right as he planned to bust the door down flames curled from the crack near the floor and started to spread, chasing him away.
Gwilym said he scooped up his sister in law from the sofa and tossed her toward the staircase that led to freedom. He said that he didn't even see Dean there. Gwilym only realized his friend had shown up when he reached out and stopped him from turning back to the apartment. Gwilym knew his wife was gone, and his attempts weren't worth it, but he said he still felt like he had to try.
///
He'd never rambled for it for so long, not even to himself or the rose bushes. By the end of his tale, when there might have been a little left to say, but everything had already become clear, he caught a glimpse of her face and the way she sat listening. There was little pity in her gaze, and no judgement. There was something he'd never seen before... and it warmed him. He didn't feel small under her watchful eye. He felt heard and a little lighter for having spoken the things he never really dared to before.
"Why here?" She asked, never daring to look away from him.
"Dean offered. Gave me another place to stay. And a job. And I just couldn't go back to my family... I can't."
"Why?" Her simple question made him smile despite the ache in his heart.
"I'm afraid of what they might think. If I might not be able to change their minds. And then I really wouldn't have anyone." Gwilym stated simply. "It's like as long as I keep them at a distance they won't change. I know that's grotesquely selfish." He shook his head, keeping his grin of disbelief.
"Gwilym," She said, once he'd finally looked to her once more. "You have me." She reached out for his hand. And he held her gaze. He might never come to understand her kindness. But he'd be a fool by failing to accept it any longer.
Gwilym thought things would never change. That his past would always hang heavily and shade his future. And maybe that was true. But for the first time instead of accepting so, he took the chance of letting her in on his greatest fears.
Perhaps it was better to have someone brilliant to be certain of, amidst the unchanging darkness. And perhaps he could never repay her with any of the flickering beams of hope and laughter she pulled from him. The good she saw that was left of Gwilym had been polished, and he wasn't sure it would ever be enough. But he had to try and make it more than so.
So that night, when the wind grew too cold without the sun warming their time on the water, he let her come back to his place, like he promised. He made dinner and listened to the stories she told between butting in to help him cook. He let himself become lost in thoughts of her as his gaze lingered when she wasn't looking.
And after they ate, she fell asleep on his sofa while he cleaned everything up. But instead of pacing through the kitchen like he did when he couldn't sleep; he sat back at the table, glanced to the woman dreaming in his parlour, and pulled out a pen and paper.
///
You'd never been more glad to live in Bodega Bay. Gwilym let you breeze in whenever you pleased, and some days he'd even surprised you by stopping over your place with drinks.
You'd started bringing Dean along, and roping the two men into playing poker and staying up late to watch specials on the telly. Gwilym always sat nearest to you, and shared looks that lasted a little too long and laughs over things you knew Dean missed the joke on. But your friend seemed just as happy to be apart. To be with the two of you. He'd even started sharing chats with Gwilym while you insisted on making lunch. You caught glimpses of the two of them in Gwil's garden, in the midst of some sort of serious talks. And you'd never been happier to see such stoic faces chatting away. It was what the both of them needed.
Gwilym wouldn't go out with the two of you though. He apologized for shooting down the invite so quickly, but you assured him not to worry. You figured he'd say no. But you still couldn't help but to extend the offer.
The next time you managed for a night out and about, though, you came to understand Gwilym's reasons for staying in better than ever.
Jake was there- with a group of his friends in the farthest corner of the pub you and Dean liked to go to. He noticed you, and started to move reluctantly across the place, like he was being forced to approach you. You shot Dean one stern look, warning him to let you deal with this on your own. Your friend grumbled in agreeance as he turned to go find a table for the pair of you, keeping a sidelong glance on the blonde boy who'd come to face you.
"I'm sorry for what happened, and the fact it took me till now to say so." Jake seemed genuine in his speak, though his body language suggested otherwise. His feet were pointed away, prepared to rush off, it seemed.
"It's okay, really. You warned me, and you tried to hold on." You shrugged, recalling the night Jake tried to stop you from climbing the railing you fell from. It was a scary thing, but it was all over now. You'd started to walk away, but your pale haired friend stopped you from going just yet.
"Listen, I-I know you moved here looking for some kind of fun, or whatever," Jake stuttered as you'd spun to face him once more. "But is hanging around the resident killer really how you get your kicks? People are talking about you, and they don't have a lot of good to say." Jake rubbed the back of his neck as you gaped at him.
"If this is you keeping my best interest in mind, you're doing a shitty job of it." You rang, watching Jake look around to the few people you stood near.
"it's just, he's not-"
"Gwilym is a better man than you'll ever be." You pointed, before turning to leave the kid behind. Maybe you'd spoken a little too loudly, because as you headed to find Dean, you saw the eyes of nearly every patron turned your way. But they weren't just stunned by your outburst. They were chattering with each other as you walked by. Gossiping about more than the way Gwilym's name passed from your lips in defence, but how they'd seen you with him before.
You smiled, despite it all, and were practically reduced to laughter by the time you reached Dean. Your heart ached at the thought of Gwilym having to endure such disdain every time he left his home. But you were glad to be on the receiving end. Maybe the sound of his name proudly rolling from your lips would change their minds... eventually. Maybe it wouldn't. But you were proud, and you hoped defending Gwilym made everyone who never had curdle with remorse.
///
The holidays were approaching and the cold seemed unexpectedly bitter so near the water. Still, you went about your day as ever, chatting with Dean on rides, working away, spending your earnings to keep the lights on and the rest on records and expensive wine to share with your friends. You only had two, but they drained your alcohol as quickly as a family of five. Still, you couldn't have been happier.
You don't tell Gwilym about all the time's ladies at the market call you a dirty sinner for spending your free time with him. You only smiled at them and warned their hatred would send them to hell surer than Mr. Lee would be banished there.
You found old misplaced books in the library's attic when you wander up to sort it out on the slow days. And you'd bring them to Gwil, because he'd told you all the many books lining his shelves had been read and read again.
You even scored a free new hardback, when the printing company shipped out a book with the title misspelled. You toted the new story all the way home, and hugged Dean goodbye at the base of the island. He was headed to his cousins family home for Thanksgiving, and you missed him the moment he rowed away.
But you weren't alone. You had Gwilym. He'd started leaving his door unlocked, so you could burst in whenever you pleased, and you did on many occasions, but always with good reason. To catch a film on the telly, or share some of the better desserts you'd learned to make from scratch.
Now, you rested the new book on his bare coffee table, and flung yourself to his golden sofa, where you started complaining about your day before he'd even found his way into the room to greet you.
When Gwilym appeared in the archway of the parlour, you were unusually caught off guard by his appearance. There was a beard starting to decorate his sharp jaw, and the first few buttons of the white shirt he wore were undone.
"Can I read something to you?" He asked, in such a rush that you hoped his sudden question would be reason enough for your stunned silence, and he hadn't caught you ogling him.
"Of course." You nodded, noticing the piece of folded paper in his hand. You shook yourself out of your staring but watched as he moved into the room, decidedly resting near the coffee table at your feet. Gwilym unfolded the paper and looked up to you before he started to read. Though you had no idea what was going on, you gave him a sure nod and leaned ever closer to listen.
"So," He looked from the paper to you again. "A while ago I decided to write this letter. To my family. And, well, okay..."
Gwilym stammered, and then dove straight into reading from the paper in his grasp. You watched his pretty blue eyes scan the page, and listened as he read the note that started with his apology for going so long without reaching out to them before. Gwilym's letter was short. It was filled with a simple wish that his family was doing well, and that he might see them again one day. When he finished, he looked up to you like he was looking for approval.
"I think..." He said, leaving the paper to rest on top of the book you'd brought for him. "I think I want to send it to them." Gwilym searched your face as you straightened in place and smiled.
"Gwil, that's great news!" You chirped. "There's a post box right outside the library. I could take it-"
"No." He said, loud and sure. Your grin faltered as Gwilym shook his head, and spoke up again.
"I want to take it." He said. "But I would like if you came along."
You could have squealed, or did a little dance. You could have opened the door and declared to the whole island that you'd never been happier. But instead, you lunged from your perch on the sofa and kissed Gwilym. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pressed your lips to his, and struggled to hold back a contented sigh when he started kissing you back. His fingers pressed against your shoulder blades, holding you close as you kept your lips to his as long as you could hold your breath.
When you finally broke away, you looked in his brilliant blue eyes, and waited for him to say something.
"So, you think it's a good idea?" Gwilym asked. And past your rapid heartbeat, you managed a laugh. Despite your sweaty palms, you settled on your knees before the man, with both of your hands on his broad shoulders.
"I know it is." You nodded, searching his face, all its angles and beauty. Then it was decided you'd deliver it the very next morning, as he stood to his feet and held out a hand to help you do the same. Gwilym collected his letter, and you recalled the book you'd brought for him, reaching for it with a gasp of remembrance and holding it out for him to take.
And later, after you insisted on making dinner, you asked him to crack open the pages and read a little to tell if the plot was of any interest.
With the book in hand, Gwilym settled on the sofa at your side, and muttered through the first few sentences- like he would when you asked about the many books already in his collection. "Better to let them speak for themselves," He'd say.
But now, he kept just reading on, turning page after page by the soft lamp light. So you listened, and rested your head on his shoulder as he told the tale, not missing a beat as you leaned into his side. You felt the resonance of his voice as he spoke, and relished the warmth of the sweater he'd changed into. You recalled the feeling of his lips moving against yours, and hope this was the first of many nights like this one.
///
He'd never been happier, it was certain. But the fact still boggled him. He'd been to places he'd always dreamed- and indulged in outrageous fun with people he'd cared for on days with perfect weather. But here, now, in the middle of his darkest hour, she made him the happiest he'd ever been.
And she didn't even have to kiss him to make it so. That was just a nice surprise. Something he'd been too nervous to make happen himself. So when she made the move, he kissed her back with all the care he'd been saving up, and hoped it wasn't too long until the next time.
She remained close to his side the next day, when he set off to town with a letter in his hand. And when he slid it into the post box, all he felt was the urgent pang to turn and look at her, and ask what she fancied doing the rest of the day. He was stupidly head over heels for the woman, and the way he'd come to recognize the smile on her face. The way he knew she wanted nothing more than to parade around town at his side, yet shrugged and suggested heading home and listening to some of the records she'd bought the weekend before.
The way she'd let herself into his home, and start yammering on about her day no matter if he was in the room or not. How she'd bustle about his kitchen and take the food over to her place for a last minute change of scenery. How she'd make him go out into his garden at least three times a week and insist he ramble to her about the growth of the plants he'd taken to caring for.
How when she was away, he knew she'd be back. How he didn't have to worry.
When Christmas was drawing near, their connection had become familiar, but unchanged. She hadn't kissed him since the first time, and every time he thought of making a move he'd talk himself out of being so bold. But he let her hold onto his arm when she waited up for a ride across the bay. And he let her curl into his side when they watched specials on the telly. He draped his arm around her then, and lost himself in the comfort of closeness, and tried not to worry if it would last. He knew he was lucky to be on the receiving end of anything so special at all, these days. He didn't dare push his luck.
But he let her fall asleep there, against his shoulder. And instead of laying her against the cushions, or waking her to send home, he happily fell asleep too.
///
"It's Christmas! Please open up!"
The pounding at the door sprung you from slumber, and you hardly cared how you must have looked in your fluster to answer the door.
Dean was bundled up in layers with a stack of presents in hand. You could see his breath as he cursed you for taking so long to answer, just before wishing you a very Merry Christmas. Then you rushed through Gwilym's home to find a mirror and a moment to fix yourself up. Had you really fallen asleep next to the guy? You'd been forced into consciousness so quickly that you didn't get to relish waking at his side. It was a bit of a good thing, you decided, as you'd been graced with a little time to straighten your wrinkled sweater and pin your hair back into place before you saw Gwilym again.
Out of all the Christmas mornings you'd enjoyed, this one was already the best. Gwilym's home was cozy, and the tree you'd encouraged him to trim was so quaint near the window, masking the cold on the other side with bright red bulbs shining from every branch.
Dean was shuffling about the tree, scattering the presents he'd brought along and complaining about his most recent family gathering and how it'd ended in a political debate no one won. You floated back to Gwil's sofa, a space you'd taken quite a liking too in recent months. He wasn't there, where you'd left him, but instead taking cautious steps through the archway you'd only just breezed through. in his grasp, two cups of cocoa to match the third and final mug already rested on the coffee table, between stacks of books.
When Gwilym abandoned the drinks, he fell onto the sofa at your side, and it might have seemed as though you'd never left your places from the night before. You found yourself tucked right under the arm he kept over the back of the sofa; as you both watched Dean toss the last of his presents under the tree with a share snicker. When Dean turned to curse the pair of you for laughing at him on Christmas, he stopped mid reprimand and said,
"Oh so it's like that now, is it?" The boy whose dark hair was still masked under a knitted cap gestured between the two of you.
"Always was, wasn't it?" Gwilym was quick to respond, as Dean shrugged and reached to turn the telly to a Christmas programme.
No sooner than Gwilym spoke did you tear yourself from his side to reach for the presents you'd wrapped a month earlier. You placed your gifts in front of the men you'd come to adore more than you knew was possible. And they traded their own with you. Between boxes of ties and cookbooks, and records, and gift cards, you couldn't imagine life could get better than this. Yet you still hoped it couldn't get any worse. And that days in such company wouldn't end, even when there were no gifts or secrets left to trade.
///
By boxing day, you'd had a chance to clean yourself up and sort away the gifts from your friends. You'd properly stored away the desserts Gwilym sent you home with, and had nothing better to do by mid afternoon than to return his freshly cleaned kitchenware.
When you reached Gwilyms door, you collected the mail from the box he always forgot to check and breezed in with the announcement that you were delivering all sorts of things to the kitchen. You let the mail fall to the table as you went about sorting pans into the cupboards you knew they belonged in.
Gwilym sauntered in, totally unphased by your presence, trading a simple hello. When you turned from sorting away dishes, he'd moved across the kitchen and startled you by being so suddenly close. Before you could ask why, you noticed. There was an envelope in his hand and a look in his eye that reminded you of the look he wore when you met.
"They wrote back." He spoke, keeping his bright eyes fixed on yours. Had he expected radio silence from his family? Or was he worried to open the letter to heartbreak? Either way, there their response was, between his long fingers. You gave him a nod, encouraging him in whatever his next move was, silently hoping he'd tear the seal. Another beat past before he leaned back against the counter and opened the envelope.
You stood a few paces away, wringing your hands as Gwilym unfolded a letter in silence. You watched him tuck a lip between his teeth as his eyes scanned the page.
"They say it's nice to hear from me." He sort of mumbled like he was reading from one of those storybooks of his. "And that they miss me."
"They say... they want me to come home." Gwilym's voice subtly cracked, as he rose a hand to run a set of fingers across his beard. You watched as he grinned, and turned his eyes to you.
"Well?" You asked in a quiet breath. "Are you gonna go?" You didn't want to ask, though. Because as much as you wanted nothing more than for Gwilym to be happy, really happy... you'd miss him.
Gwilym considered your question and seemed to watch you think. You held your breath as if that would stall your thoughts and hoped he couldn't hear how heavily your heartbeat. Gwilym seemed to decide something, moving his head as he reached to leave the letter on the countertop behind him. He pressed the heels of his hands against the space, and looked right at you with a question of his own.
"Would you come with me?"
"You want me to come with you?" You asked through a stunned chuckled, wondering if he could have at all been kidding. Wondering what the catch was. Gwilym watched you trying to understand, and pushed himself from the counter. He closed the space between the two of you by raising both of his strong hands, and holding your face in his gentle touch.
He seemed to search for the right words but he settled instead for a nod as his eyes peered into yours.
And you knew better than to say no. When had life opened up such a grand opportunity? The last time that happened, chances lead you right to Gwil. The simple thought of taking another step through life side by side was enough to send your heart into a frenzy. Your boggled mind swept away all logical thought, so all you could do was nod along, and smile like an idiot.
Then Gwilym kissed you. He wrapped his arms around you so tight you couldn't budge even if you wanted too. But there was no place else you could imagine being. He kissed you into a dizzy trance. You couldn't even be sure if you were kissing him back with the proper gusto, you just held on and hoped he was alright with the fact you didn't plan on ever letting go.
///
It took a while. A few more months before you and Gwilym even began to discuss making it official. By then, you’d gotten through almost all of the hard talks. And once the cold started to leave, it was decided the pair of you would too.
"Is that everything?" Dean wondered, still sporting that silly, ill-fitting knit cap though spring had started to blossom
"Hm, should I throw out a couple of sweaters and make room for you?" You asked the guy, passing your luggage to Gwilym who took your last bag to the boat waiting at the base of the island.
"Someone's gotta be here to give you a lift, when you get back." Dean wagged a finger, pushing you toward his trusty old ride and worrying that you'd miss your flight. He worried all the way across the bay, actually; if you'd packed enough and left a key in the right spot, so he could come and manage Gwil's garden. Dean demanded one of you phone when you got to where you were going, and helped you carry your bags onto the boardwalk. Dean even waited with you as Gwilym went into the shop to call a cab.
You said the last of your goodbyes to the friend you'd come to know, confident your connection was one that would never die. Dean pulled you into a constricting hug when Gwilym came back. And after a while, you whispered a small thanks into Dean's ear. He'd been the best kind of friend you had ever known.
"Help him write one of those letters to me, too, okay?" Dean nodded toward Gwilym, as he pulled away from your embrace. You gave a mock salute and let your heart melt a little when the two men shared their own goodbye.
Your friend turned around the boardwalk to wave every few feet, as he trailed off to the shop. You waved back every time, and Gwilym laughed, keeping one hand firmly curled into your side.
"You sure about this?" He asked, in that delightful accent of his, as his gaze swept across the town. A cab was sputtering closer from the highway. You responded by reaching for his hand, and drawing his knuckles close enough to kiss. Even though you'd come far enough to hold his hand and share midnights together, reassurance was never neglected. And you still had lots more to share, anyway. More to talk about. More to see. More life to live, and figure out with Gwilym.
He gave your hand a squeeze before his grasp slipped away at the appearance of your ride. The driver shuffled out of the car to help Gwilym toss your bags into the boot.
"Where too?" The driver asked before settling back behind the wheel.
"The airport." Gwilym grinned, opening the back door for you, and following as you slid to settle and enjoy the ride.
"Home." You corrected, with a nod toward the man you'd come to adore. He responded by lacing his fingers through yours once more and placing a kiss on the back of your hand, his eyes staying glued to yours all the while, bluer that the waters you'd once fallen into.
Moving here was probably the best thing you ever did. But leaving was already better.
∘₊✧──────✧₊∘
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Happy reading
Human AU Malec & Destiel Oneshot
Dean lets his eyes run over the spines of the library books in front of him. He knows that he has likely read all the historical novels in their small town library at this point, but it doesn't harm to check for new arrivals.
He spots a cover he hasn't seen before, well placed on a small tablet stand—a new accession. Awesome. He reaches out to get it, but before he can grab it, a large hand with black nail polish beats him to it, and Dean curses inwardly.
The other man follows the hand invading his view and scrutinises Dean with black-rimmed eyes. "Sorry. Were you interested in this one?"
Dean needs a moment to take the man fully in. He is a work of art from the black cowboy boots right up to the blue-tinted tips of his spiked up hair. Dean has to clear his throat. He's never seen anyone like him in their little town. He's probably from the new settlement up the hill. Many New Yorkers moved here, much to the villagers' dismay.
Mr Perfect-Style raises a questioning eyebrow, and Dean realises that he hasn't answered for too long. "Um, yeah. It's from my favourite author, and I haven't read it yet."
The other man smiles. "Same."
Dean likes the other man's voice. And his confident posture. And his taste in books. Dammit! He hasn't looked at a man for years now. Hook-ups with women are safer. But he's settled now, and Dean is pretty confident that the man gives off queer vibes with all the makeup and shiny clothes.
Dean feels courageous today and decides to check his hunch. He leans against the bookshelf and puts on his most winsome smile. "What do I have to do for you to give me way with this book? I'm a fast reader."
Two sentences without stammering. This must be Dean's new record regarding gay flirting. He's nearly proud of himself.
The other man raises the single eyebrow even higher, eyes sparkling with mirth. He gives Dean a once-over, and his lips pull into a wide grin. "I'm not sure if I should hit that," he says, and Dean freaking blushes, the smirk gliding off his face instantly.
Suffering a rebuff is bad enough. But he never hit a wall so quickly before he could even reveal all his charm. Not with women though, so...
He straightens himself and nods. "Gonna make a reservation then," he says and turns around, leaving the library without new reading fodder.
***
"Here, Mr Winchester. Happy reading," the librarian says.
Dean smiles at her as he takes the book after she scanned it together with his library card. "I'm lucky that it was returned so quickly. Two days. That's impressive."
"Maybe the other reader didn't enjoy it," she supplies with a shrug. Dean doubts that very much. He nods nonetheless. He's still a little miffed. Usually, he's so smooth when it comes to flirting with the ladies, but men still give him a headache. All those contradicting signals.
He walks out to the bus stop, and when he finds a seat in the last row, he opens the book, unable to wait a minute longer now that he has it in his hands. At the beginning of the first chapter, he finds a scrap of paper. No. It's handmade paper adorned with beautiful handwriting. Dean furrows his brow. And reads the short note.
Sorry if I was too harsh on you on Tuesday. I would like to atone. Do you have plans for the spring fair?
Dean stares at the delicate letters and numbers, then he lets out a snort and pushes the paper into the pocket of his jacket.
***
"A date would do you good," Alec says and pushes a bottle of ice-cold beer into Dean's hand. "Is he good-looking?"
Dean snorts. "Not my usual type."
"Your usual type is women. You haven't been with a single man since you came out."
Dean shrugs. "Men are intimidating as fuck." Alec snorts at that. "You have no right to make fun of me. How many men exactly did you date in the last two years?"
"That's different. I don't need a man," Alec says and slumps on the other side of the sofa.
"And I do?"
Alec scans him from head to toe. "Most definitely." Dean huffs a laugh and doesn't dignify him with an answer. "What do you have to lose? We wanted to go to the fair anyway. Ask him if he has a nice, good-looking buddy who's interested in men, and we're going on a double date."
Dean laughs out loud. "Just a second ago, you said you don't need a man."
"I don't need a partner. But a nice flirt? Why not?" Alec shrugs.
Dean shakes his head. "I won't go out with that guy just to get you laid."
Alec rolls his eyes. "Come on, man. Maybe he knows where the hot, secretly gay people are hiding in this town."
"They are assembled in this room, Alec." Dean takes a swig of his beer and shakes his head. "Wouldn't it be easier to simply be fuck buddies?"
Alec screws up his face in disgust. "You're like my brother. Don't even—urgh."
Dean giggles and plops into the sofa cushions. "Okay. I'll text him."
***
"You owe me. Big time," Castiel grumbles. "I don't care that we've been friends since kindergarten. If my date is a stupid meathead, I'm killing you."
Magnus chuckles. "Now and then, a meathead is exactly what one needs, Castiel. It's not always about finding your one true love. You know that I'm a romantic by heart, but sometimes you just need a good, mmpf," he says as Castiel covers his mouth with his hand.
He pierces Magnus with his eyes. "I know you are a bit of a lothario, but not everyone needs that to be happy." He pulls his hand away and looks at it in disgust before he cleans the lipgloss away with a handkerchief that he pulls out of his trenchcoat.
"Sorry, darling. I should've known better than to say that. But I'm sure he'll be nice." He looks at his watch. "They must be here any second. Oh, there." Magnus waves wildly at two approaching men and shouts Dean's name.
"Which one is supposed to be mine?" Castiel grunts.
"The one with the neck tattoo," Magnus smirks.
"Of course it's him," Castiel says and rolls his eyes.
***
"So, you're afraid of heights," Castiel asks Dean, who eyes Magnus and Alec in the line for the Ferris wheel.
"Yeah. Since childhood. And you?"
"I kind of fell from the sky once. Don't need a repetition of this experience."
Dean chuckles. "I can imagine. So, you and Magnus, you never…?"
Castiel looks at him in disgust. "Oh no. He's way too sexual for my taste." His eyes widen when he realises what he just said. "I mean, I love him, and he is a great guy. Smart, funny. Stylish, I guess." He squirms under Dean's piercing gaze.
"I wouldn't have expected someone like you when he promised his best-looking friend," Dean says, grinning from ear to ear.
Castiel snorts. "That's because Ragnor is on the other side of the pond, and all his other male friends are straight or heteroromantic."
"What?"
"They are asexual but like women romantically."
Dean raises his eyebrows but doesn't comment on it. Who wants to look like a complete idiot in front of a handsome guy like Castiel? Not that Dean would look at him that way. He's on a date with Magnus, after all. Magnus, who smiles at Alec in a way that Dean wasn't graced with until now.
Dean pulls his gaze from the two other men and turns to Castiel. "So, you're a professor? Of what exactly?"
"Church history." Great change of topic, Winchester. "Are you a martial arts instructor like Alec?"
"No," Dean chuckles. "I train in my spare time, but I'm a car mechanic and teach the next generation."
It's the first time that Castiel's frown smooths out this evening and a tender smile plays on his lips. "Teaching is such a great vocation, don't you agree?"
Dean thinks of his trainees and nods. "It's pretty rewarding, yeah." Dean can't take his eyes off Castiel's beautiful lips. Alec will kill him.
***
"Oh, you must go to the London Eye, should you ever be there. It's magnificent."
Alec chuckles. "I will remember that the next time I portal over."
Magnus hits his arm playfully. "I'm just so happy to finally be on a Ferris Wheel again. Castiel is such a—no, that would be mean to say. He has his reasons."
"I like people who don't feel the need to belittle others," Alec says, seemingly apropos of nothing.
"I think everyone has an intrinsic value. No matter their strengths or weaknesses." Alec smiles at him. Magnus quirks an eyebrow. "What?"
"Nothing," Alec smirks. "You're just really beautiful." Magnus' lips part in surprise. The sight is very distracting. "Sorry. I guess that was inappropriate. You're Dean's date after all."
Magnus looks down at his date standing suspiciously close to his friend, who usually hates it when people do that. "I don't have the feeling he's truly interested in me. Are you sure he's gay?"
Alec laughs out loud. "He's a disaster bi. Can get every woman he wants, but let a man flirt with him and he switches into panic mode."
"I figured that. I was playing hard to get and he turned the other way."
Alec chuckles. "I can imagine that. But I'm happy that you tried to get to know him anyway. Although I don't think that you two are a good match."
Magnus smirks in amusement. "Is that so?"
Alec nods and moves over to Magnus' bench. "Yeah," he says when the cabin has finally stopped swaying. "I wish you were my date."
"Why? Because we have so much in common?" Magnus snorts.
Alec shrugs. "Opposites attract." He leans in, to Magnus' ear. "And I saw you checking out my ass," he whispers over the noises of the fair.
"You have a very nice ass, Alec. Who would blame me?"
***
"Sonofabitch! I can't believe he's kissing my date!"
Castiel chuckles, and the sound worms itself into Dean's chest and settles in his heart. "They look cute together, though."
"I guess they'll take another round, huh?" Dean laughs.
"Seems that way. Would you like to walk over the fair with me?" Dean smiles at him. He intertwines their fingers and relishes Castiel's answering smile. Alec will likely not use Krav Maga on him.
#malec#destiel#deancas#multifandom fic#dean winchester#castiel#alec lightwood#magnus bane#double date#malec fandom#fanfiction#shadowhunters#malec fanfiction#destiel fanfiction#bisexual dean winchester#bisexual magnus bane#gay alec lightwood#ace castiel
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Falling Stars (Sequel to Tell A Tale of You and Me) - Prologue
Pairing: Dean Thomas x Reader
Summary: In the midst of a brewing war you fall for one of your classmates, a boy that you used to know. When you have the chance to fight against evil, you fight for what you believe in.
Chapter Summary: Chapter Summary: In your third year you finally meet your father and discover he’s as wonderful as your mother has always told you. Unfortunately, it leads you to have an awkward conversation with your friend and crush.
Warnings: fluff, angst, dialogue heavy, kind of ooc Draco
Words: 2703
Disclaimer: This gif doesn’t belong to me!
A/N: Here we are, the prologue of the sequel! This part is set in the third year but the rest of the fic will be set in fifth year! Also, I’ll be writing chapter summaries for this fic! You guys will get to see Dean’s POV in the next part! This is still a reader insert fic, the reader just has a name! Hope you guys enjoy and please let me know what you think and let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! I love you all!
next part masterlist prequel
Prologue - Stormy Eyes and Dimpled Smiles
As a little girl your mother had always told you stories about your father, she told you what a great man he was and how much she loved him. But, as you got older she had told you that he’d been betrayed by someone who he called a friend and he’d been carted off to Azkaban. But he was innocent, your mum had always insisted upon that and she wouldn’t lie to you.
When you were accepted into Hogwarts your mum had begged for you to use her maiden name as your surname, she didn’t want you to get bullied when people discovered who your dad was. However, changing your name would have been an insult to your dad and nobody had really bullied you for it.
Your heart was beating wildly as adrenaline coursed through your veins as you grabbed your broomstick, pulled on the dragon hide jacket that used to belong to your dad and you left your dormitory.
“Cassie,” your second cousin sighed as you wandered into the common room with a determined look on your face, “please don’t do this, don’t go to him.”
You groaned at his words, “Draco, you told me that my father is in the top cell of The Dark Tower. Do you really expect me not to go to him? You don’t understand, you have your father here, I know he might not be the best dad but you still have him. I’m not asking for your permission.”
Draco sighed and finally relented, “fine, just be careful Cass.”
You laughed as you quirked an eyebrow, “you’re not going soft on me, are you Malfoy?” you teased and he scoffed as he looked away with the hint of a smirk on his face. You smiled as you leaned forwards and hugged him, “see you later,” before he could reply you were out of the common room.
You knew what was going to happen to your dad if you didn’t get to him in time, he would have to endure getting his soul sucked out by the Dementors and you couldn’t let that happen. You hardly remembered your dad but you loved him fiercely. You had never run so fast in your life, thankfully you didn’t meet anyone as you sprinted through the castle corridors. You didn’t see anyone until you passed the portrait hole outside of the Gryffindor common room and you saw one of your friends – and your secret crush – Dean standing outside.
“Cass, where are you going?” he called after you and you stupidly flushed at the sound of his voice.
“I’ll explain later Dean,” you shouted over your shoulder, and you carried on running like the wind.
Once you got out onto the grounds you mounted your broom and soared up through the velvet night sky on the way to meet your dad, you felt sick with nerves. When you got to the top of the tower you saw your dad through the bars, he was sitting there with his head in his hands. You were too scared to speak out loud so instead you cleared your throat.
Sirius’ head shot up and he stared at you with wild haunted eyes, he was still as handsome as the man you had seen in photographs but he was so thin and gaunt. His hair was matted and the gleam in his eyes had died. He truly looked like a man on the run.
“Who are you?” he mumbled, frowning at you from behind the bars.
“I uh, well,” you stammered, feeling tears well up in your eyes.
Sirius regarded you closely before he gasped and you saw his dull grey eyes fill up with tears, it made his eyes sparkle in the moonlight, “Cassie, is that you? You look beautiful, just like your mother did at your age,” he smiled.
You nodded as the tears trickled down your cheeks and you gave him a watery smile, “it’s me dad,” you sniffled.
The gap between the bars was big enough that he could get his hand through and he cupped your cheek, wiping away your tears, “let’s get you out of here,” you felt around for your wand and that was when you realised that you had left it on your bed, “I don’t have it,” you sighed, you felt like such an idiot, you had forgotten your wand when your dad’s life was in jeopardy, “I’m so sorry,” you sniffled.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay sweetheart. I’m just so happy to see you,” he grinned, “how is your mother?”
“She’s fine, she misses you so much,” it was hard to see that your mum wasn’t truly happy. How could she be when the love of her life was behind bars?
A crease formed in the middle of his forehead and it looked like he was seconds away from bursting into tears, “Merlin, I miss her more and more as each day goes by.”
You bit your lip and decided to address the pressing issue, “I know that you’re innocent, you were betrayed by one of your best friends. Mum always used to tell me and Uncle Remus that you were innocent, I’m sure whether Uncle Remus believed it.”
“Uncle Remus?” Sirius raised an eyebrow and burst out laughing. His laugh was a warm, rich sound, it made you feel protected and you almost remembered it from your childhood, “I’m sure Remus loves that,” there was a sparkling gleam to his warm eyes and you smiled sheepishly.
“Mum didn’t want him to be alone.”
Sirius nodded, “I heard that Morgana, Remus’ wife died. They were together in school, she was nice.”
“She was killed by a Death Eater a few years after Harry’s parents died.”
“Your mum has always been like that Cass, she’s always been exceedingly kind, she’s never wanted anyone to feel alone,” you could see that he was still plainly in love with your mum, after twelve years. But you knew that she was still in love with him too. You wished that one day you would meet somebody who desperately loved you.
Your dad cleared his throat as he looked at you with a cheeky grin, “so, Cass, tell me about yourself. I can’t believe I don’t really know anything about my daughter, I take it you play Quidditch? You look very much at ease up there.”
You giggled as you nodded, Quidditch was your pride and joy, you loved playing it so much, “yes I do, and I’m a Chaser. Though, I’m the only girl on my team,” you fiddled with the ends of your hair, suddenly feeling nervous, “I’m in Slytherin, I know you would rather have me be sorted into Gryffindor but I wasn’t.”
“Woah, sweetheart,” he chuckled, holding up his hands, “I don’t care what house you’re sorted into; the only thing I care about is if you’re happy. Besides, your Uncle Regulus was a Slytherin and even though we had our differences, he was my brother and I loved him. One of the best teachers that I’d ever had was a Slytherin too, Horace Slughorn, it’s not a weakness to be a Slytherin. I love you Cass.”
You grinned as you felt your tears well up and you felt an overwhelming amount of love for your dad. He was just as you had always hoped, “I love you too dad.”
Sirius smiled as he raised an eyebrow and nodded at your jacket, “is that my jacket?” he laughed.
“Yeah,” you smiled bashfully, “mum gave it to me at the start of the school term and I’ve hardly taken it off.”
“It was my first dragon hide jacket, my first of many. It suits you Cass.”
You spent about ten minutes talking to your dad about your experience at Hogwarts – you even told him about Dean – before you were interrupted by Harry Potter. Harry and Hermione were on Buckbeak’s back and you were momentarily speechless as Harry smiled at you kindly, “hi Cass.”
“Hey Harry,” you smiled; you knew that Harry was here to rescue Sirius because your dad was his godfather.
You moved out of the way as Hermione pointed her wand at the bars, “Bombarda!” she shouted and the bars exploded right off the cell and Sirius hopped onto Buckbeak. You felt a twinge of jealousy at the fact that Hermione had been the one to release your dad. Sirius must have seen the look on your face because he chuckled and kissed your forehead.
When the four of you reached the courtyard, you stood back to let Harry have his time with your dad, Sirius was his godfather after all. You sighed as you breathed in the warm night air as you leaned against the stone wall. It was hard not to feel jealous but your dad didn’t just belong to you.
“Are you alright Cass?” Hermione asked you sweetly, her hair was bushier than usual due to her flying through the sky on the Hippogriff’s back, “tonight must have been a weird one for you.”
“I just found him, after twelve years. I hardly remember anything about him before he was sent off to Azkaban, I don’t want to lose him again,” you sniffed, blinking the tears out of your eyes.
“Oh, Cass,” Hermione sighed and pulled you into a warm hug, you hadn’t always been friendly with Hermione but right now, you needed a hug. You hugged her back tightly as you rested your head against her shoulder.
“I have to go now Cass,” your dad’s voice caused you to pull away from Hermione and you ran into his open arms.
You felt a great pain in your heart as Sirius wrapped his arms around you, “when will I see you again? I have to know,” you asked thickly as you fought back tears.
“Soon, I promise, just keep an eye on the horizon,” he chuckled as he pulled away and cupped your cheeks, “I love you Cass,” he kissed your forehead.
“I love you too dad,” you sniffled.
As Sirius mounted Buckbeak, he turned to Hermione, “you really are the brightest witch of your age.”
Hermione smiled in response and then he was gone, flying deeper and deeper into the night sky. You hoped that he would go and see your mum; you lived for the day when you could see him again.
----------------------------
On the last day of the school term you said goodbye to Remus and wandered down to the carriages that would take you into Hogsmeade Station. You sighed, leaning your head against the side of the carriage as it travelled towards the village. You wondered where your dad was now and you hoped that he was safe. Now that he was free from Azkaban you supposed that you could write to him over the summer. You were sure that he would appreciate it.
“So, what’s your father like?” Draco prompted as you got out of the carriage and walked onto the platform.
You smiled, you couldn’t believe that after twelve years you had seen him again, he was just as your mum had always said, “he’s wonderful.”
Draco nodded at you as you boarded the train, “you are sitting with us right?” he asked, gesturing to your Slytherin classmates, “lately, we’ve been a little concerned about where your loyalty lies,” he smirked and you scowled as someone in the crowd laughed.
“No, there’s something I need to do, I’ll just see you next term,” you hissed as you grimaced at him before you pushed past him and began to search the compartments.
You had to find Dean; now that your dad had escaped Hogwarts – and certain death – you guessed that your family would be pulled into drama. Dean didn’t deserve to be a part of it, he didn’t need the trouble. Your heart twisted as you rehearsed what you were going to say to him. Finally, you found the compartment he was sharing with Seamus and Neville, you really didn’t want to do this but you really had no other choice.
Taking a deep breath you pulled open the glass door and poked your head in, “Dean, can I talk to you for a second?”
Dean looked up and gave you a dimpled smile, the edges of his deep brown eyes crinkling as he did so. Merlin, you were going to miss that beautiful smile, especially with those dimples, “Hi Cass, of course,” he got up and followed you into the corridor.
You bit your lip nervously as you fiddled with the ends of your hair, “okay, I’m just going to come out and say it, Sirius Black is my dad.”
Dean raised an eyebrow as he let out a surprised laugh, “Cass, I know.”
“You do?” you frowned up at him, “why didn’t you say anything?”
Dean shrugged casually, “I dunno, I thought it might be something that you were insecure about, I didn’t want to pry so I figured that if you wanted to talk about it, you would have told me already. It must have been hard for you,” he offered you another one of those brilliant smiles.
You felt the warmth gather in your chest, you wished that you could have told him that your dad was innocent but he would never believe you. He was so sweet and kind, there was no way that you could tell him that you didn’t want to be friends with him anymore, “Merlin, that is so nice,” you smiled and Dean let out a nervous little chuckle, “with my dad being on the run and everything, things will be crazy with my family and I don’t think that I’ll be able to hang out this summer,” you weren’t exactly lying.
“Hey,” Dean smiled and pulled you into a warm hug, resting his chin on the top of your head, “that’s completely fine, just let me know if you ever want an escape from it.”
You bit your lip to keep the goofy grin at bay, “I will,” you pulled back slightly to smile up at him, “thanks Dean.”
The sound of the door being wrenched open caused you to jump away from each other and Seamus poked his head out with a mischievous smile on his face, “wanna come and sit with us Cass?” he smirked over at Dean.
You and Dean exchanged amused glances and you shrugged, “sure, I’d love to,” you beamed and sat opposite Neville.
Neville gave you a wary look and you couldn’t exactly blame him, most of your Slytherin classmates had been horrible to him and you couldn’t understand why. There was no need for people to be mean to him, it was uncalled for, “hi Neville, what book have you got there?”
“Hi Cass,” he stuttered, “um, it’s a book about Herbology,” he gestured to the heavy tome on his lap.
You nodded with a grin, “I’ve heard that you’re really good at it.”
Neville shrugged as he flushed bright red, “I guess, I’m okay at it,” he smiled. You caught Dean’s eye and he gave you a warm smile.
“So Cass,” Seamus started, “will you still be playing Quidditch next year?”
You laughed and nodded, there was no way that you would ever stop playing Quidditch, “of course, maybe Slytherin will have more of a chance next year because Oliver won’t be the Keeper.”
Seamus burst out laughing as he shook his head, “no chance.”
“I agree,” Dean smirked, “Gryffindor will be even more unstoppable next year because I’m trying out for the team.”
You felt a competitive thrill course through your body and you narrowed your eyes at your crush, “I’ll kick your arse into next week, Thomas.”
Neville and Seamus watched your interaction intently with amused looks on their faces, “promises, promises,” Dean smirked, causing you to laugh.
The rest of the journey consisted of the four of you laughing and joking – even Neville warmed up to you – as you played Exploding Snap. You could hardly keep your eyes off of Dean and you were looking forward to the next term. You had no idea that there would be no Quidditch matches and you had no idea that the wizarding world was about to be plunged into darkness.
----------------------------
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#dean#dean thomas#dean thomas fanfiction#dean fanfiction#dean fluff#sequel#dean x reader#dean x reader insert#dean x you#you x dean#dean thomas x reader#dean thomas x reader insert#dean thomas x you#you x dean thomas#sirius black#sirius#sirius orion black#pads#padfoot#moony wormtail padfoot and prongs#remus lupin#harry potter#hermione granger#neville longbottom#seamus finnigan#draco malfoy#harry potter imagine#golden trio#golden trio era#the golden trio
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1x02: Wendigo
Then:
No Chick Flick Moments
Now:
In Blackwater Ridge, Colorado, three dudes enjoy the wilderness by gaming inside their tent. Something stalks their campsite from the shadows but the unattended fire that’s dangerously close to their flammable homes must be keeping it at bay, right? Erm, well, one dude heads out to the little boy’s room (a nearby tree) and gets snatched.
Another one pops his head out the tent door and gets snatched as well. The third dude kills his light and watches the shadow of a very fast creature circle his tent until it slashes the side and snatches him as well.
Palo Alto, California
Sam’s visiting Jessica’s grave. It really didn’t affect me the first time I watched this. It’s devastating to watch now though. Knowing Sam now --knowing how he doesn’t let people in, knowing how he didn’t even really let Jess in but loved her and wanted this world he could never have with her. Knowing that it’s fifteen years later and he’s had no one to really be with (Amelia was a construct of his damaged brain when forced to face the supernatural without Dean or Cas. I will not be taking questions at this time.) (But I guess he gets a blurry wife so ALLS GOOD FOR SAMMY.) He tells Jessica, “I should have protected you. I should have told you the truth.” Gah. Nothing could have saved her, and he has to go another fifteen years before he realizes this for good.
Psych! He was actually dreaming, but I hold firm with my thoughts on the dream scene.
Dean asks if Sam is okay.
Sam says yes and clears his throat. Classic! Then Dean asks if Sam wants to drive for a while. GAH. Like, Dean’s looking out for his little bro in the only way he knows right now --letting him drive.
They discuss leaving Palo Alto, and Dean points out that if they’re going to find the thing that killed Jess, they have to find their dad. He’s sending them to Colorado. Specifically to a National Forest in Lost Creek, Colorado.
They get to the warden’s station and introduce themselves as Environmental Study majors from UC-Boulder. “Recycle, man.” Bbys. The ranger sees right through their bullshit though. He asks if they’re friends with “that Hailey girl.” Dean sees his chance to learn more and leans into it. Hayley apparently has a brother that’s on Blackwater Ridge. He isn’t technically missing but she knows something is up.
Dean gets the brother’s camping permit. And now I need to process the next couple of lines. Sam asks if Dean wants a hook up with Hailey. Like, fuck you Sam for not knowing your brother at all, but also I guess you’re forgiven because your brother does do everything in his power to project that kind of energy. However, Dean is working the case and wants to know what they’re dealing with on this mountain.
Dean and Sam head over to Hailey’s to ask her about her brother, Tommy. They say they’re rangers.
Hailey gets on Dean’s good side by complementing his car. Hailey tells the brothers that she feels something is wrong because Tommy checks in every day via his cell and satellite phone. Hailey’s heading out first thing in the morning to try and find him.
Later at a bar, Sam “NERD” Winchester pulls out his extensive research on the area. People disappear on the ridge every 23 years. There was one survivor in 1959. They go to interview him. He tries to stick to the grizzly bear story, but eventually admits that they won’t believe him since no one else ever did. He said it moved fast and came into their cabin. It took his parents and left him with a horrible scar.
The next morning, Sam and Dean meet up with Hayley, her brother Ben, and the guide, Roy. The guide is skeptical but Dean just wants to help find her brother.
Cut to Tommy tied up in a cave. He wakes just in time to watch one of his friends get chomped to pieces by the monster.
Dean and Roy try to out alpha each other. Roy finds a bear trap and saves Dean from a nasty injury. I’m over here wondering wtf that’s doing in the middle of a national forest.
Hayley calls Dean out on their lack of provisions and wants to know who they are. He comes clean and tells her that they’re brothers looking for their father. But also, uh, Dean wearing jeans and boots is way more practical than SHORTS when hiking. Who wants to fuck around with ticks and poison ivy? All these years we thought Dean was just posturing about shorts when he was actually being a practical son of a bitch.
They reach the ridge and hear absolutely nothing. Roy decides he’s going to wander off alone. Solid choice, dude. The rest stick together. Soon they hear Roy call for Hailey. They run to him. They find her brother’s destroyed campsite. They find tracks of where the bodies were dragged and Tommy’s destroyed phone.
They explore the campsite, which is torn to absolute bits. Dean tracks the struggle to just outside of the campsite, where the trail quickly grows cold. Everyone gets lured further into the woods by desperate cries for help but it gets them nowhere. When they return to the destroyed camp, Sam pulls out their dad’s journal and they use it to pinpoint the monster: it’s a wendigo.
They hunker down for the night at the camp, and Dean protects them with Anasazi symbols drawn in the dirt. Soooooooooo in one breath you’re telling me that wendigo are found around the upper midwest / Canada, and in the next you’re telling me that the Anasazi (Southwestern/Western US) created widely-established protections against the wendigo? STARES DIRECTLY INTO THE CAMERA. The timelines! The geographic areas! Sigh...Supernatural ain’t ever had that good of a track record.
Dean tries to unpack Sam’s gourd. Sam doesn’t want to waste time hunting a wendigo when he can find their dad and hunt for what killed Jess instead. Dean holds out John Winchester’s journal like it’s a friggin’ (gags a little) bible and delivers the now-iconic line: “I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business.”
Sam wants to know why John doesn’t just call his boys and give them an update - “It makes no sense.” OMG RIGHT, SAM? #JohnWinchester’sA+Parenting
Dean tells Sam that helping other people and other families is what helps him make it through each day. We cry in Dean’s face a little, even when he immediately attempts to mask his empathy in his very next (also iconic) line: “Let me tell you what else helps. Killing as many evil sons of bitches as I possibly can.”
Pleas for help start to echo through the woods again. Roy fires indiscriminately into the trees and races after his prey, sight unseen. Hands grab him by the head and haul him up into the trees. Everyone else makes it through the night safely and Roy’s demise reminds us that toxic masculinity KILLS.
The next morning, Sam’s moodily staring at their dad’s journal while Dean chats with Haley about the hunt.
For LOOK AT THIS BEAN Science:
We get info-dumped a truly mixed bag of lore, attributing wendigo tales to the Cree people (right region, at least!) and saying that wendigo are created by cannibalistic acts gone into overdrive. The implication here is that cannibalism equals power but alas, it also turns one into a monster. Wendigo like to squirrel away humans like nuts, so Haley’s brother might be alive and trapped for later snacking. And they can kill it! Kill it with fire.
Cut to Dean striding through the woods with a molotov cocktail in hand. THAT’S MY BOY. They follow an easy trail of bloody claw marks along the trees. Too late, Sam realizes it was TOO EASY. Roy’s body drops from the canopy and the group splinters as they flee. Dean and Haley get nabbed, leaving Sam and Ben to find their missing siblings. Ben finally gets some lines, alerting Sam to Dean’s breadcrumb trail of peanut M&Ms.
They head into a defunct mine. (Speak friend and enter?) Growls echo through the darkened tunnels, but Sam and Ben discover the body storage by accident when they fall through floor boards into a lower level. They discover Haley and Dean trussed up and free them. Tommy’s there too! And still alive!
Dean finds some flare guns and they make their way out of the tunnels. Dean tries to lure the wendigo away from the siblings and Sam. All his attempts are for naught, because the wendigo tries to attack Sam, and the three siblings. It’s okay, though! Dean fires a flare gun right into its gut and it burns into embers.
Later at the ranger’s station, they spin tales to the cops about a grizzly.
Haley thanks Dean with a gentle kiss, and Dean watches the siblings leave with a fond and wistful expression. JENSEN ACKLES YOUR FACE IS A MENACE!
The Winchesters hit the road, Sam behind the wheel of the Impala. Time to hunt some evil sons of bitches and play some classic rock!
Oh sweetheart, I don’t do quotes:
Recycle, man
Nobody likes a skeptic
I think he wants us to pick up where he left off. You know, saving people, hunting things. The family business
Man, I hate camping
Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!
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Oh hai; more of the sci fic weirdness that is eating my brain. No Dean here but maybe plot?
Given how little had resulted from the autopsy, Castiel went with the only lead he had; that of the former Councilwoman’s successor, Balthazar Severin. To his annoyance, the flamboyant civil servant was currently not in his offices nor at his home; he was instead traipsing about with donors and other hangers-on in an over-priced, gaudy ballroom in one of the grander buildings downtown.
He bit back an annoyed groan as he called out the address. The car’s communication screen flickered and announced pleasantly, “Please buckle up for safety,” before sliding into the fast-paced traffic of the early evening.
As he rode, Castiel pulled out his case tablet, flicking through the information he’d gathered. Rebecca Errol had been hounded by scandal in the last few terms of her Seat. Everything from purchased votes to greased palms over development deals. Little wonder why Severin had managed to be win by such a large gap. Not that Castiel saw much difference. The Council had long since been a localized but fully corrupt replacement of local governments. Only really shocking concept was that states continued to function at all.
A half hour later, he arrived at the ballroom. He left the car and it dinged as it sped away, searching for a parking space. Given it was Friday and relatively early, Castiel believed his car would simply end up circling until he called it back after his interview.
I hate the city, he admitted. He ignored the valet’s look of superiority and flashed his ID screen. The man’s face paled and he gestured rapidly.
At least some things still work. The wide entry to the ballroom was brightly lit and full. He didn’t stifle the look of disgust. All this opulence and for what? Ego stroking? The amount of money spilling from the crystal chandeliers and elaborate buffet tables would certainly be better served elsewhere. Not that he could voice such an opinion.
He asked about quietly, seeking the newest councilman. He found him rather by accident, talking with a tall brunet nearest the open bar.
Both men turned at the same time as Castiel stepped close.
“Councilman Severin? Might I have a word?”
Before the man could respond, the younger, taller one held out a hand. “I’m Sam, his attaché. You can make an appointment with his office in the morn-“
Castiel held up his ID screen. “It’ll take only a few minutes.”
Balthazar tapped Sam on the shoulder and inclined his head to the left when the man looked back. “I do so love it when he’s aggressive.” He grinned at Sam’s annoyed squint. “What, Agent Novak, might I do for you this fine evening?” He sipped his drink, pale eyes on Castiel’s.
Maybe I just hate people, Castiel grumbled. He pulled out his case tablet. “Last night, Rebecca Errol was murdered at her campaign headquarters.”
“So sad,” Balthazar muttered. He waved away Sam’s groan of protest.
“Might not be the best reaction,” Castiel pointed out, hiding his smile at Sam’s look of no shit he threw at Balthazar.
“You’d have a harder time finding someone who liked her over someone who didn’t,” Balthazar drawled. He shrugged. “In any event, I don’t know why you’re bothering me with this news.”
“Councilman Severin, you have to understand why I’d be asking.” Castiel fought back a yawn. He didn’t truly believe the man had anything to do with her death. Even the idea of hiring an outsider appeared laughable. Balthazar was many things but from what little Castiel knew of him, he was too lazy to engineer assassinations over something as small-time as a Council Seat.
“Please, call me Balthazar. You make me sound so old,” he wheedled.
“Fine. Balthazar. You’re an obvious suspect given your past in regards to Errol.”
Balthazar pulled a face. “Oh, yes; she and I were fond of our public tête-à-têtes, were we not?” He held his half-empty glass loose in be-ringed fingers. His gaze wandered the room, flickering about like a moth distracted by a wildfire. One could think him well beyond the intoxication of the socially-acceptable; but Castiel could see the pale blue eyes that roved were still sharp and clear.
Balthazar caught his look and smirked, before swallowing the last of his drink. “My condolences to my predecessor but you’ll no doubt find I have not been in her presence – or in fact, near her base of operations – in nearly a fortnight.” He didn’t lift his gaze from Castiel’s as he replaced his glass with a full one from a wandering waiter. He looked away then to peer at his drink, shifting it under the myriad lights of the ballroom. “In fact, I would believe she has been rather naughty these last few months.” He let the glass dangle from his fingers. “Perhaps those avenues are better traveled?”
Castiel ignored the question. “Have you ever actively hired Alters?”
Strangely, Balthazar glanced at Sam before answering. Any sly humor had tempered as he responded. “I don’t seek them out, no. I may have hired them in the past but not with any intent. Mods are rarely so useful to require purpose.” His flirty, drunken behavior vanished entirely. He stood straighter, glass forgotten in his hand.
The man was a chameleon. Castiel could see why he’d been able to win the election so handily, even with Errol throwing money at every corner. Balthazar appeared to be expert in behaving exactly as expected or desired, no matter the venue. But beneath that shifting exterior peeked a cunning awareness that Castiel found far more interesting.
“Why?” Balthazar asked, tone low.
“Her killer is thought to be one. He, uh, removed her mods.” She didn’t have many. One in her left ear for communicating with staff and cash card chips on the back of her right. He showed the crime scene, her right arm ending in a bloody stump and the left half of her head torn away, exposing bone and brain.
“Bloody hell,” Balthazar breathed, his face pale. That reaction alone was enough to convince Castiel that Balthazar had no hand in her death.
The other man took effort to tear his eyes from the photo. He cleared his throat and pushed Castiel’s tablet down and out of sight. “I may not have liked the woman but I never wished her dead.” He turned to Sam and leaned in, whispering low.
The other man frowned but nodded.
He turned back. “Why do you think an Alter is involved?”
Castiel flicked through his tablet, pulling up the same distorted image he’d shown the shop owner at Winchester Station earlier. “This. This was the last person seen around her compound before the morning when her body was found.”
Balthazar grimaced. “Unfortunate looking soul,” he muttered. He shook his head. “I am genuinely sorry she suffered like that, but I’m afraid I’ve nothing to offer.” He held out his empty hand. “Nor have I seen that man before.”
To Castiel’s surprise, Sam took the tablet from him, frowning at the image. “Do you think her mods had anything to do with it?”
“Not at present, no,” Castiel replied slowly. He retrieved the tablet. It was an avenue he was considering and found it interesting that a councilman’s attaché had clued in so quickly as well. Everything about the crime scene spoke of a serial killer with intent. This wasn’t an assassination. He’d taken his time with Errol. Careful and methodical. Though, his superiors were quick to indicate anything but. To them, the easiest and cleanest answer was a political argument turned bloody. Castiel feared it something more.
It resembled two other unsolved cases he had. In far too many ways. The grotesqueries. The destroyed mods. The time. He hadn’t exaggerated when speaking with the shop owner; he was certain this killer targeted Alters. And given Errol’s demise, apparently even ones with minor mods. Which meant more than half the population at this rate.
He eyed Sam, watching his reaction. “Do you have information?”
Sam blinked in surprise. “Er, no. Sorry. I just . . . her body getting damaged like that.” He drew his hand along his mouth and shuddered. He coughed and looked toward Balthazar who watched him carefully. “I’ll, uh, have flowers sent to her office in the morning, Councilman.”
Balthazar nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “So thoughtful, Samuel.”
Castiel turned off the case tablet and returned it to his coat pocket. “Chances are, it’s as you intimated; an enemy of hers. Possibly angry over her election loss.” He tugged on the collar of his coat. “I’d be more suspicious of you, Balthazar, if she’d died before votes were cast.”
Balthazar’s grin was cold. “Indeed.” He raised his eyebrows. “Well, if I’m no longer needed?”
Unwilling to consider the avenue closed, Castiel nodded. “For now.”
There was no missing the narrowing of pale eyes. “Do help yourself, Agent,” Balthazar purred, gesturing to the excess around them. “As a dutiful servant of the Council, you’re more than welcome.”
Castiel worked a hollow smile. “Thank you, but no. I’ve still plenty of work to do.” He touched two fingers to his temple in a false salute. “I’ll be sure to leave a message with your office when I’ve more to discuss.”
“Until then,” Balthazar murmured, raising his glass.
Castiel felt two pairs of eyes on his back until well out the ballroom’s false opulence. He glanced over his shoulder as he headed toward the street and noted both men were now huddled together, the taller one’s hands motioning quickly in agitation.
He frowned.
Something there. Something to pursue.
Outside, the cold musty air a boon compared to the stuffy confines off the ballroom, he tapped a code on his wrist. The medallion he wore there vibrated and quite quickly he heard the soft hum of his car as it approached.
He slid into the vehicle with a grunt and directed it to home. A fruitless day, in the end. He’d done little more than unearth new questions. He tapped a code into the console of his car, opening his private computer link.
“Yes?” The soft, male voice filled the cab of the car.
“Run a search on Winchester Station. I want to know who owns the building, who runs it, anything.”
“Yes, sir.” A click and the AI disconnected.
He rubbed his jaw, wondering why his instinct wouldn’t let him risk the public channels. Why only the ones provided by his old friend, Gabriel. Paranoid, maybe? Yet, some quiet part of him knew it a wrong turn to use the Department’s servers. Given their insistence on this being an assassination and Castiel knowing it spoke of worse, he figured he may as well give in. For now, at least.
He sighed and ground his knuckles into his eyes. “I’m turning into him, probably,” he muttered.
Thinking of Gabriel reminded him that he owed his friend a visit. Maybe Gabriel had heard something. Or knew who might have performed the killer’s mods.
Or knows who performed the shop owner’s. He sat back in his seat, eyes unfocused as street lights and head lights turned into streaks of brilliant white and gold. Something very strange there. Mods so well hidden were expensive. And if that were true, why would someone with that kind of financial access work in a backwater repair store like that?
He sighed and shut his eyes, settling in for the long drive home.
“What I wouldn’t give for an ordinary murder.”
#destiel#destiel!au#supernatural#supernatural!au#deancas#deancas!au#altered states#sci fi#i do wish more people were interested#i'm glad there a handful of folks who appear to care#such is life i suppose
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Almost: Masterpost
My first “big” fic in a while is finally done! If people are like me then you’ll just want to read completed fics because we are impatient af so here are the links to read all of it! Thank you to everyone who read it, reblogged it, commented in the tags or on AO3, and got annoyed by my frequent tagging lol
Summary: Castiel confesses his love to Dean just before he has to move away for college. Dean's lack of a reaction makes Cas believe that Dean just doesn't feel the same way so he leaves. Thinking it's for the best to push Dean out of his life.
Fast forward five years and Cas is back in town for his Dad's funeral. Dean's reaction is to run to Cas - hoping to finally say the words that he never got the chance to say all those years ago - but a ring on Cas's finger halts Dean's plan completely.
This is an AU. I promise.
Word Count: 25,188
Read the whole thing on A03 link (maybe leave a nice little comment)
Read it on Tumblr:
Ch 1 : It’s a best friends to strangers to seeing each other years later with mutual pining AU
Ch 2 : Dean drives Cas back home after that shocking turn of events and he realizes his feelings have not changed.
Ch 3 : Dean comes back from the long drive with Cas in need of some comfort. Sam is there to finally get him to talk out his feelings and admit to things he has been pushing down. Then he has to go face Cas the next day.
Ch 4 : The funeral is over and Dean was just gonna head home but then he sees Cas and he really can’t help himself.
Ch 5 : Dean hides in Cas’s childhood bedroom during the funeral reception. He quickly finds himself having a nice conversation with Mick and - fuck- the dude’s actually nice.
Ch 6 : Dean is a little too distracted by everything Cas. Even when he tells himself he has to move on and just be happy for his old best friend. But it’s hard when Cas is now just a text message away again.
Ch 7 : Dean was locked up in a room full of hot-headed Novak siblings while they read Chuck’s last testimony out loud. Lucky for Dean, Cas doesn’t mind being used as a pillow. Unlucky for Dean, Cas’s siblings are assholes.
Ch 8 : Dean and Cas finally use their words. And sometimes it’s too late. Sometimes it’s just the relief of just knowing that makes someone truly happy.
Ch 9 : Castiel was moving on with his life. He is engaged to a man who loves him and has a semi-relationship with his family. Then his father dies and Cas has to go back to his hometown. It’s fine. It’s not like he would bump into the man he loved on his first day back and realize that - oh shit! He still loves him! Now what?
Note for chapter 9: This is all in Cas’s POV so you will read some Cas/Mick stuff but don’t worry it’s still the happy ending we all wanted :)
Thank you again for everyone who read this!! I was so close to not giving ya’ll a happy ending but I promise you it is 🥰🥰
#Destiel#Deancas#Supernatural#SPN#A More Profound OTP#Cas#Castiel#main braincell#Dean#Dean Winchester#sharing braincell with his brother#My Writing#WormstacheWrites#destiel fics#deancas fics#fanfiction#destiel fanfic
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Hola Mishamigos! It’s Friday and I am here with more nonsense from my SPN rewatch - dudes, we are all SLEEPING on Season 11, in both good and bad ways. There is so much in just the first trifecta of “Out of the Darkness, Into the Fire;” “Form and Void;” and “Bad Seed” (since “Baby” deserves her own analysis) - so come relive my rewatch with me. This is a summary of some things that stood out for me (few are analysis, most are clowning; basically this is a pared down live tweet - you’re welcome/I'm sorry); copy/paste from the script is included with my own emphasis:
OUT OF THE DARKNESS INTO THE FIRE [11x01]
-There’s lots more to this episode, but really this is the most important and relevant part (also it’s too soon and I am offended, damaged, attacked and hurt) -
DEAN: Yeah, whoa. All right, take -- take it easy, okay? (gesturing to the deputy’s wound) Bad guys?
JENNA: Rebar. I sought cover. I fell.
***LIKE EXCUSE ME, but what in the actual fuck. Did they just decide to pull that from the episode four years later to emotionally traumatize us in the subsequent rewatches? I know it’s probably coincidence but my sad soul has not recovered *enough* for rebar’s first SPN appearance to be right now in this moment when I am blissfully 5 entire seasons away from the dead end in the road.
- The only other important part of this episode - when Dean takes the call from Cas privately first before putting it on speaker for Sam, and something about this exchange is so endearing-
(Dean’s phone rings)
DEAN: Where the hell are you, Cas?
(The scene flips between Sam and Dean at the hospital, and Castiel in the woods.)
CASTIEL: I'm...I'm okay.
DEAN: You don't sound okay.
CASTIEL: Dean, I am fine. Besides, what I have, you can't help me.
DEAN: What do you mean, what you have?
CASTIEL: Just please tell Sam -- Rowena escaped with the Book of the Damned and the codex.
DEAN: Okay, forget Rowena. Where are you?
CASTIEL: Now, you tell me -- the Mark . . .
DEAN: Oh, really? You're worried about me after everything that I’ve --
CASTIEL: Dean, is it gone?
DEAN: Yes. I'm good. I mean, I'm not great.
CASTIEL: Makes two of us. (Dean puts Cas on speakerphone) This is good news.
SAM: Hey, Cas.
CASTIEL: Sam.
***It’s just so poignant that Dean wanted privacy for the first minutes of that call, probably because he is still haunted about the beating he gave Cas in 10 and *other things,* and Cas is literally being torn apart by Rowena’s curse but he only cares about Dean getting rid of the Mark, and the world is ending but Dean only cares about Cas and where he is - honestly this scene - I’m -
***Further thoughts on the Animal Curse/Cas/Dean below under 11x03
FORM AND VOID [11x02]
(love the Genesis call back to this verse in the title - “And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.”)
-speaking of emotional trauma, this fucking shit again -
JENNA: Yeah. I pretty much grew up here. Learned to ride my bike down the road. Had my first kiss at that blue house over there. Lost my virginity up there (pointing to different house).
DEAN: I'll bet blue house was pissed.
JENNA: She was. (handing Amara to Dean) Do you mind?
***This frustrated/disappointed/angered/saddened me to NO END despite already knowing that it happens constantly on the show, because what was the reason?! Did they have to point out that she had a female love interest for this brief moment just to turn her evil and kill her off? There was no need to include this detail. It’s either blatant homophobia or willful ignorance (so also blatant homophobia) that this is what representation means. I won’t go on because obviously we are aware of this and much has already been said/written about it, but still, fuck this.
-we meet Billie and there is more “FORESHADOWING”-
QUEEN IS SINGING “OH DEATH” aka Death’s entrance song from Season 5 and I am BLOWN AWAY by this almost as much as her amazing voice - like did they know at this point she would become the new Death season later? DID THEY KNOW? I need answers.
Seriously, go listen to it immediately; bask in its glory:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LFOm5i6b56o
We also get our first mention of the Empty, so that’s cute that they referenced both Dean’s and Cas’s Season 15 ‘demises’ in the same episode (it’s not cute really and I am crying again now) ->
BILLIE: You and Dean . . . Dying and coming back again and again. The old death thought it was funny. But now there's one hard, fast rule in this universe. What lives . . . dies. So the next time you or your brother bite it, well, you're not going to Heaven . . . Or Hell. One of us -- and, Lord, I hope it's me -- we're gonna make a mistake and toss you out into the Empty. And nothing comes back from that. I know you're dying. I can feel it. You're unclean in the biblical sense. So I'll be seeing you again, Sam . . . Seeing you real soon. Name's Billie, by the way.
-another reason for me to continue denying the flaming trash heap that they tried to call the series finale-
Sam is dying here because he has been infected by the Darkness-vein-animal-exploding-people-plague so he goes to pray about it
SAM: So . . . I know it's been a long time, but . . . Dean and I, we've -- we've been through a lot of bad. But this is different. This is my fault, and I don't know how to fix it. And if I have to die, I've made my peace with that, but . . . Please. Dean deserves better. Dean deserves a life. There are people out there, good people, who are going to suffer because of me, and I am not asking you to clean up my mess. Hell, I don't even know if you're out there, but . . . If you are . . . And if you can hear me, I, um . . . We need your help, God. We need to know there's hope. We need a sign.
**DABB WROTE THIS F-ING EPISODE. How are you going to write Dean deserves a life here to just do what you did Dabb. Don’t get me started on my feelings about this scene in the dark depths of my finale-denying soul. DEAN DESERVES BETTER INDEED, SEASON 11 SAM.
To rub salt in this particular wound, they show us THE cutest scenes of Dean with this damn baby so we can have feelings about how great of a parent he could be (also I ADORE that whenever Jared, Jensen, or Misha have scenes in later seasons with young children/babies it is SO clear they slip into their own natural dad mode without even noticing it; these guys just all seem like excellent fathers and it makes me mushy) and even Crowley picks up on that shit and makes his little ex-boyfriend joke (after Demon Dean and most of season 10 there is no way I will ever NOT believe that Crowley and Dean did not take a tumble; I will take no criticism):
CROWLEY: The child likes you. No surprise, really. You're very maternal.
LIKE WHAT IS THIS:
Speaking of King Jackles, next comes the episode he directed ->
BAD SEED [11x03]
-Cas/Dean parallels with the Attack Dog Spell/Mark of Cain-
This arc appears in the 10 finale and then runs through the first three episodes, culminating in this one. Despite it hurting my heart to see our angel so bloody eyed and feral, I LOVED this parallel; it’s truly brilliant - Cas’s reaction to the attack dog spell is such a mirror to the way Dean dealt with the Mark most of 10. It’s also beautiful that Dean is the only one that can pull Cas from the spell’s control at the end of this episode; that alley scene between the two of them in 11x02 is so tender and sweet. I like to think this brought an entire new layer of depth to their connection, because no one truly understood how Dean felt under the influence of the Mark until now (someone write a fan fic about this exchange!!!!!!) I *love* this journey for them (please say that sentence in Alexis Rose in your head). Bonus that the episode containing my most favorite of *domestic* phone calls with Dean and Cas follows this one, and also Dean’s SHORT SHORTS follow because now he is just walking around the bunker in short shorts while Cas is there and I maintain this is because of this new level of closeness. As previously stated I ACCEPT NO criticism.
ALSO OF COURSE THE FACE CUP THAT JENSEN HIMSEF DIRECTED HIMSELF TO DO. I STAN A KING. I HEREBY DEMAND AT LEAST ONE FACE CUP PER EPISODE OF THE MINI SERIES JENSEN.
***I just saw something posted by @watchthebeesandfish back in 2015 when digging around the internet re: this episode - that this was the first time both Dean/Cas had seen each other as “themselves” since that heart wrenching bridge scene in 9x10, when Dean walks away from Sam/Cas after the Gadreel possession reveal (he goes on to take the Mark of Cain in the following episode, and has it the rest of the season through season 10 finale). That is brilliant and accurate and I BOW DOWN in humility to that parallel. I now love this scene a billion times more. *single [wo]man tear* Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this little trip down memory lane, thanks as always for getting through my rambling, and HAPPY FACE CUPPING FOREVER.
#destiel#deancas#spn#spn family#spn fandom#sen season 11#spn recap#spn analysis#spn clowning#heller#jackles#king jackles#but why not write an entire live tweet dissertation of my spn rewatch#spn subtext
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