#on the other side - crowley holding that gun with trembling hands but doing it just bc azira asked him and bc he knows he trusts him and ho

[beaulesbian]

~ Maybe there is something to be said for shades of grey. ~ Well, shades of dark grey. ~ Shades of very light grey, I'd rather fancy.

#theres something about this part that i want to parallel it to the ending of this season #but i still need to sort my thoughts on that #anyway!!! the trust and love azira had at this moment and scene!! its so great and big and beautiful ahh #on the other side - crowley holding that gun with trembling hands but doing it just bc azira asked him and bc he knows he trusts him and ho #much crowley loves him ahhhaahsaksjd im fine (im not fine) #goedit #goodomensedit #good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow #david tennant #michael sheen #mine #gif:good omens #good omens s2 spoilers

[l-r-christian]

Tied:The Huntress and The Original' part three

Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Winchester!Reader

Summary: Things gets hot and heavy between Y/N and Elijah and both open up to one another. Asmodeus sent out demons to find the oldest Winchester while Heaven is in a panic when word gets out the prophecy was fulfilled.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Simping!Elijah, A bit of angst, Y/N being not good with feelings

Elijah kissed Y/N hungrily as the heat raised between the two and hands roamed one another's bodies. Elijah took off Y/N's bra and his mouth was on her collar bone right away pulling a soft moan from her. Y/N mewled burying her fingers in Elijah's hair as he left bite marks on her as more of their clothes were removed as Y/N let out a breathy moan.

Elijah took one of her breast into his mouth as his hand cupped her other breast and pushed her back against the pillows moving his mouth along her body leaving marks in his wake.

"Elijah." Y/N breathed shivering feeling Elijah's mouth on her thigh leaving a mark there. Y/N mewled burying her fingers in Elijah's hair when mouth finally was where she needed him most. Y/N trembled as Elijah left marks on her thighs then moved to your clit making her moaned loudly.

"Fuck.....so...good." Y/N moaned out trembling as he worked her with his mouth and slip two fingers into her making her arching crying out his name. Elijah added a third finger getting her to arch when he curled his fingers flattening his tongue against her clit.

Elijah raised his head watching Y/N come undone she was shaking gripping the pillows as she came all over Elijah's fingers as the vampire kissed between her breast.

"There we are, beautiful." Elijah says licking his fingers clean after pulling them from her. Y/N pulled Elijah down kissing him tasting herself on his tongue moaning against his mouth as he entered her dripping core. Elijah groaned burying his face in her neck while her hands moved a long his back feeling his muscles flex while he moved.

"Oh....fuck....why....are...you so....good at this?" Y/N moan out as Elijah raised her leg to the crook of his arm and her mouth latched her mouth on his neck trying to leave marks. Elijah growled fucking her harder and deeper as he reached up pulling her hair tilted her head back placing his mouth on her thoat leaving marks there.

"A 1000+ years of practice, baby." Elijah said moaning when she began moving her hips to meet his thrusts. Y/N cried out when Elijah kissed her roughly as he began to pounded into her. Y/N moaned arching as her chest heaving as the vampire leaned back watching her writhing in pleasure under him.

Y/N's face was flushed her eyes closed tears rolling down her cheeks as she shook arching off the pillows when Elijah rubbed her clit. She cummed as her lover growled leaning down holding her arms above her head thrusting rougher.

"Fuck.....Y/N." Elijah growled as she cummed again and he followed after watching her fall back panting as he peppered her body with kisses. Y/N pulled him into a soft kiss making him hum softly as he pulled out and was about to lay down to pull her into his arms. But Y/N just pulled Elijah against her pulling a sigh from him as he nuzzled between her breast.

"In the morning we should head for New Orleans." Y/N said running her fingers through Elijah's hair making him relax against her as her other hand grabbed a sheet pulling it over their bodies.

"We should but for now sleep, baby." Elijah said softly getting quiet mutters from her. Morning came as the sunlight shined though the window as Elijah woke finding Y/N sitting looking at a map dressed in one of his shirts. It made him smile and moved behind her enjoying how she relaxed against his chest.

"What are you doing beautiful?"

"Looking for an easy way to New Orleans." Y/N answered Elijah marking a rout on the map as he pressed kisses on the back of her neck taking in her scent. Elijah hummed buried his face in her neck as for the first time Elijah felt like his other half and he wasn't going to let her go. It was nearing 12 PM when they got back on the road headed for New Orleans but not before stopping in a town and Elijah decided to spoil the huntress.

"I'm fine Dean. I am headed for New Orleans." Y/N said as Elijah watched her on the phone that he got her earlier as they sat in the back of her truck eating well more like Elijah feeding Y/N a fruit salad as she sat in his lap.

'New Orleans?! Why? We need you to head back to the bunker.'

"No can do. I have a witch to kill also to let Elijah's siblings know he is alive." Y/N tells her younger brother leaning back against Elijah's chest seeing his playful smirk something she had the pleasure of seeing the last few days.

'Wait?! You are with the guy that is the father of your prophecy baby?'

"Yeah for two days now," Y/N tells Dean pausing hearing a sound of wood snapping as Elijah held her tighter, "Dean gotta go. I'll call back later." Y/N said hanging up pulling out her shotgun cocking it with one hand as she got out of Elijah's lap.

When a large pitbull came walking out making Y/N lower her gun smiling crouching down hands out.

"Juliet, sweet baby." Y/N cooed softly as the Hound bounded to her licking and whining at the Huntress as she petted the Hellhound and another Hellhound trotted up whining to be petted too. Elijah blinked as he got out of the truck as a suited man stepped out frowning at Y/N seeing her making kissing faces as she mushed the hound's faces.

"Kitten, I wish you would stop baby my Hellhounds."

"Well Crowley tell them stop being such cute little Hell puppies." Y/N said in a baby voice as she mushed Juliet's face as the Hellhound had a derpy look on her face.

"Only you would find Hell's most feared beast adorable." Crowley says sighing stepping out noticing the Original and was quick to stand straight. Crowley knew of the Original family so to have one of the oldest vampires in front of him was quite imitating.

"What brings you by?"

"Asmodeus is looking for you since you kill his demons." Crowley tells the huntress making her frown.

"So he was the one that had all that set up."

"Of course. Your child is said to be a powerful being rivaling an Nephilim so I am leaving Romeo with you."

"That's sweet of you. If I didn't say any better you are getting soft Crowley." Y/N teased petting Romeo who licked her face leaning his body against her. Crowley smirked shaking his head leaving after telling her that Heaven knows of her being with Elijah.

"So you are friends with a demon." Elijah says as Y/N helped Romeo up into the truck getting a bright smile from the Winchester.

"Crowley is a friend started out as an enemy. He has always been looking out for me no matter what he says."

"And your love for the Hellhounds?" Elijah asked as Y/N closed the back of the truck when Elijah noticed the far off look on her face. Elijah gently cupped her face seeing the pain on her face as she subconsciously covered her abdomen.

"Love? Are you......" Elijah was cut off when Y/N pulled away harshly her eyes walking to the driver side of the truck.

"Let's get going."

"Y/N?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Y/N said lowly as Elijah picked up the pain in her tone one he knew all too well. Elijah made a note to ask later as he didn't want her in pain let alone holding onto it.

"I am here to listen when you want to talk." Elijah says cupping her face leaning in to kiss her but Romeo stuck his face between them. Y/N let out a laugh making Elijah smile enjoying the sound of it while Romeo licked her cheek.

"Alright boys let's get going."

Romeo had his head on Y/N's thigh as she drove with one hand on his head rubbing his ear. Elijah was surprised how comfortable he was with sitting in silence with Y/N.

"What is your family like?" Elijah heard Y/N ask making him look at her smiling.

"Well Niklaus is a headache but I can see good in him along with my younger brother Kol. Rebekah is....well a bit bratty but I know she'll adore you. Freya is my older sister calm trying hard to be a good sister. What of your brothers?"

"Dean is a hardheaded but as a good heart. My baby brother Sammy is too smart for his own good....tried to stay out of this life."

"You didn't grow up hunting?" Elijah asked her looking at her seeing a frown on her beautiful face.

"No....mom was killed by a demon. John train us in hunting and what started out as revenge turned into chasing a ghost." Y/N said remembering the long days of training and how John pushed her harder than her brothers.

"Your father sounds all most like my own."

"Really?" Y/N asked looking at him as the truck stopped at a red light as Elijah chuckled a bit nodding but he did know the difference between the men was the fact John didn't try to kill his own children.

"Mikael was a brutal man. But one thing I can take away that I learned from him is how to be a better father than he was."

"Elijah." Y/N said face turning red at the thought of Elijah holding their child or the three of settled off somewhere away from everything. Y/N tore her green eyes away from his mocha ones and started driving again as Elijah smirked hearing her heart racing.

"We should stop for the night."

"Yeah I'll find a motel."

"Oh love no. We are staying in a hotel." Elijah said having Y/N pull up to the nicest place in the town they were in. The room was nice every nice and Y/N let out a moan when she layed on the bed as it was the most comfortable bed she layed on.

"Comfortable?" Elijah asked smirking moving over Y/N as she reached up cupping his cheek and he leaned down kissing her softly.

"You are spoiling me."

"I am aware. I want to, I find myself adoring you."

"You are a giant sapp aren't you." Y/N teased as Elijah smiled leaning down kissing her then pulled away. Both got ready for bed and Romeo layed on her side of the bed as Elijah got in behind her.

"Night big guy."

"Goodnight baby." Elijah said softly kissing her bare shoulder lacing their fingers together as he held her close. Y/N relaxed against Elijah surprised with how safe he made her feel and was happy that he would be the father of her baby. Sleep came easy for the two unaware that Ketch was on his way toward their hotel along with Sam and Dean.

#L.R writes #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson smut #elijah mikaelson fluff

[bowlegsandbiceps]

Suptober Day 6: Cemetery Boys

Mature | Biker!Dean/Castiel | Destiel | 5,285

Read on AO3

Suptober Masterlist (A03)

Castiel was sitting in the middle of a crowded restaurant when Benny slid into the seat across from him. He stuck out like a sore thumb in his rough jeans and flannel amid the midday lunch crowd all in skirts and suits. It took Castiel a moment to pick his jaw up off the table but when he did, he was livid.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Relax buddy I’m just here to deliver a message.”

“You can’t be here. I’m waiting for someone.” Castiel glanced around, noting that a few eyes flicked away, their interest peaked by the rough and tumble man who clearly wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Yeah, yeah I know. Your boyfriend.” Benny rolled his eyes, hooking his elbow over the back of the chair, and gazed around the space. He smiled wolfishly at an old lady who immediately averted her eyes. “You find it ironic that you went from dating a man on one side of the law and then immediately jumped into bed with a guy on the other?”

Castiel grit his teeth. “I did not immediately - Look I didn’t like you when we ran in the same circles so if you’d be so kind as to show yourself to the door.”

“Right back at’cha, sweet cheeks.” Benny grinned. “But the prez sent me on an errand and I gotta complete it.” Benny’s face turned serious as he leaned over the table, lowering his voice.“Some shit’s about to go down.”

Castiel blinked then leaned in as well, his own voice a low rumble. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.”

Benny snorted. “Look I dunno if your new boyfriend talks shop with you but the Demons aren’t taking too kindly to his new two strikes policy. They put out a hit on him.”

Castiel squinted at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

Benny examined his fingernails. “Figured you’d wanna know.”

Castiel bit his lower lip, thinking. “No. No, you wouldn’t come here-“

Benny sat up straighter in his chair. “You’re right I wouldn’t. But the VP gives an order, I follow it.” Benny leaned closer. 

Castiel clenched his jaw. “Dean sent you.”

Benny lifted his hands and clapped loudly four times, drawing every eye in the room to them. Castiel sunk down in his seat. “Now you’re catching on.” Benny grinned, eyeing Castiel. “So, what is it like fucking the D.A. fresh off bein’ a biker’s old lady?” Benny gestured loosely. “So to speak.”

“You need to leave.” Castiel nodded towards the door. “Now. You have no right to interrupt my lunch-“

“Looks like I was interrupting you being stood up, but okay.”

“-with bullshit. I told Dean to stay out of my life and I meant it. Sending you instead is not a loophole. It’s a waste of your time.”

Benny snorted. “Don’t I know it.” He sucked his teeth. “But say I am right. And your shining beacon of civil obedience does have a price on his head. Would meeting him for lunch right now really be that good of an idea.”

Castiel grit his teeth. “If Dean thinks he can come in and disrupt my-“

“Hello, darling. So sorry I’m late.” A man in a dark suit, impeccably tailored, rushed by, leaning to peck Castiel on the cheek. When his eyes fell on Benny he barely even blinked. “Benny Laffitte, where’s your kutte, it’s not often you see a Man of Mayhem out of uniform unless it’s in my courtroom.”

Benny gave him a wan smile. “Crowley. Just passing on information to your beau here. I’ll be on my way.” Benny stood from his seat, towering over Crowley

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “What information is that, pray tell?”

Benny grinned down at him. “I ain’t no snitch, Mr. Prosecutor. Ask your boy.” Benny gave Castiel a nod before he swaggered away, a hush following him through the room so that the clang of his hand on the glass door rang out when he exited.

Castiel sat back, chewing his bottom lip as Crowley took his seat, grabbing the napkin on his plate and draping it in his lap. “You want to tell me what that was all about.” Crowley reached for the bottle of water on the table, tipping some into his goblet then topping off Castiel’s.

Castiel brooded for a moment. “Nothing. It was nothing. Just…”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Just?”

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Dean thinks the Demons have a hit out on you.”

Crowley blinked, setting the bottle back down. “Well, it’s a good thing you were never inducted into The Cemetery Boys because you fold like a cheap suit my love.”

“Oh shut up,” Castiel groused, reaching for his water glass but he was smiling by the time it touched his lips. Crowley gave him a smirk. “So… it’s ridiculous right?”

Crowley raised his brows, hooking his elbows on the table and holding one hand in the other. “Oh know they have a bounty on my head.”

Castiel choked on his water. “Wh-what?”

“No need to worry, darling. It’s merely a formality so they look tough for all the other little gangs around town.” Crowley sipped at his water. 

“The MC never put hits out on anyone just to look tough,” Castiel objected, looking horrified and Crowley lifted a brow.

“Oh did they put them out for other reasons?”

Castiel’s eyes went flat. “The Cemetery Boys are a group of motorcycle enthusiasts. The worst thing they’re guilty of is drinking too much on a weeknight.” Castiel scoffed when Crowley smirked.

“Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering, sports betting-“

“Alright, alright,” Castiel huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked around the room for a moment before glancing back at his boyfriend. “You’re safe though?”

Crowley’s eyes softened, his hand reaching across the table. Castiel took it. “I’m touched. Yes, safe as houses.”

#

When Castiel pulled into his apartment complex that evening after work he couldn’t help but notice the Harley parked across the street from his building. A young man was sitting astride it, eyes on his phone. Castiel slammed the door to his car watching as the young man jumped and met his eyes before he immediately looked down again. Castiel sighed, striding over with purposeful steps.

“Hello, Sam.”

The young man looked up, his shaggy hair hanging in his eyes before he shook it back. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel looked around. “Where’s your brother?”

Sam shifted. “Dunno.”

“He wouldn’t have you here by yourself. Where is he?”

Sam’s face screwed up, indignant. “Hey, I’m a Prospect now!” He twisted so Castiel could get a look at the designation on the back of his leather vest.

Castiel’s brow creased. “I thought you were going to Stanford.”

Sam’s head dipped, fiddling with his phone again. “Nah, I belong here. With my family.”

Castiel placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sam, you wanted to be a lawyer.”

Sam shrugged him off. “Yeah well, now I wanna be a Cemetery Boy. What do you care anyway? You left.”

Castiel’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “I was with Dean for a long time-“

“Yeah. And you left.”

“-and you know why I left. It’s why you left too.”

Sam leveled his gaze on Castiel. “Yeah. And I came back.” He paused. “It’s not safe for you right now. Crowley’s got a detail but you don’t. He should be protecting you.”

“I don’t need protecting, Sam!” Castiel sighed exasperatedly. “And if I did it wouldn’t be your job to do it. Or Dean’s.”

Sam shifted, his hazel eyes going soft in a way that Castiel knew was going to hit him right in the gut. “You could come back too. You don’t have to pledge-“

Castiel started to laugh. “Yeah, no. I’ve moved on.” Castiel made to turn away. “Tell your brother he should do the same.”

“He has!” Sam called after him, voice petulant. “New girl every night!”

Castiel’s eyes cut over his shoulder at Sam before heading up the stairs to his apartment.

#

The creak of his bedroom door woke Castiel from a dead sleep at 2:13 am. His eyes opened to his alarm clock, fluttered for a moment as his brain cleared. The sound of a hammer locking into place brought everything into sharp perspective and before he even took a breath he’d rolled off the side of the bed, the gunshot booming impossibly loud in the silent room. 

He didn’t have a weapon, had always hated guns, but crouched between his closet and his mattress he would have given anything to have Dean’s pearl-handled .45. He’d give anything to have Dean here. The sound of boots on hardwood thunked closer and Castiel stood abruptly, grabbed a pillow and threw it. 

It hit the intruder in the face and the gun went off again, the flash bringing spots to Castiel’s vision as he rushed the guy, knocking him hard in Castiel’s dresser. The intruder was trying to get the gun up and Castiel grabbed for the lamp, smashing it over the guy’s head as he made a break for the door. Pinballing off the hallway walls he tripped into the living room just as his front door was kicked in.

Dean Winchester charged forward, reaching for Castiel on instinct and shoving him behind him. The intruder emerged from the bedroom, gun outstretched and Dean brought the bat he held up and swung. The sickening crack of a wrist breaking, followed by an inhuman howl of pain turned Castiel’s stomach and he had to hold on to the back of his couch to keep from hitting the floor. Another sickening crack of the bat and the horrid sucking sound of a man trying to pull in a breath his body won’t accept.

“Dean.” Castiel turned his head, immediately snapping his eyes shut when he saw Dean raise the bat over his head but thanks to the sound of it cracking across the intruder’s back, Castiel’s brain unhelpfully provided him with a visual. “Dean! Please!”

Dean froze bat aloft and looked over, finding Castiel hanging on to the back of his couch, legs trembling beneath him. He was sucking in breath through his nose and letting it out of his mouth slowly as if trying not to vomit. Dean dropped the bat.

“‘ey Cas,” Dean grabbed his biceps and immediately pulled him to his chest. “Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”

“W-w-who was that. What….what’s happening?”

Dean petted his hair, sucking in a deep breath as Castiel’s arms went around him feebly, Castiel leaning all his weight against Dean. Dean pressed his face to the top of Castiel’s head. “Nothin’ for you to worry about. You’re safe now.”

#

“I want a uniformed officer on this building at all times. No one should come in and out of here without express clearance. Is that clear!?”

Dean and Castiel watched from where they stood leaning against the back of the couch as Crowley continued his rampage. Dean leaned towards Castiel.

“He’s pretty intimidating for a short guy. I’ll admit it.” Dean shrugged and Castiel cut his eyes at him.

“He’s not short. You and your brother are just freakishly tall.”

“He’s shorter than you.”

“I too am taller than average.”

Dean pounced. “Since when do you like average?”

Castiel’s head whipped to look at him. “Since it generally follows the law.”

Dean made a face. “A whole hell of a lot of good it did you tonight.”

“Winchester, what are you even doing here!” It seemed that Crowley’s tirade had finally turned to him and Dean gave him a placid smile.

“Oh just taking care of Cas here. You know. What you should have been doing.”

Castiel raised a hand. “Hey, hey now. This was no one’s fault.”

“Really,” Dean asked, his eyes ablaze as he glanced at Castiel and then lanced Crowley with a heated stare. “Last time I checked, D. A. Douchebag here had a security detail. Why wasn’t he protected, huh?”

“There were no credible threats on-”

“It’s the Demons, Crowley!” Dean shook his head, his face slack in disbelief. “They always make good on their threats. He should have had someone on him from the second you got the intel two days ago.”

“Wait, what?” Castiel looked to Crowley astonished. “Fergus, is he telling the truth? Did you know about this and not tell me?”

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, looking supremely satisfied as Crowley’s face soured. He looked from Dean to Castiel. “Darling,” Crowley took Castiel’s hands in his, leading him away from Dean. “I would never put you in harm’s way. I’m appalled you’d even think it. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to the intel. I thought…” Crowley pursed his lips. “I thought no one would dare go after you.” His eyes cut to Dean, gaze hateful. “I was wrong.”

“Damn right you were wrong,” Dean accused, pointing a finger at Crowley. “And it almost got him killed.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed, holding up a hand.

“What? Cas you can’t possibly be giving him a pass on this.” Dean’s voice was indignant.

“Dean you can’t possibly think that he knowingly let this happen.”

“I think something stinks in here and it ain’t the biker,” Dean snapped.

Castiel sighed, reaching for Dean’s shoulder and forcing him to turn towards the door. ‘Thank you. For… for…”

“Saving you,” Dean supplied and Castiel fought the roll of his eyes.

“Yes, thank you for that, but I think the police have it from here.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder and leaned closer into Castiel. “I don’t trust him, Cas. There’s something really fishy about this.”

“You’re paranoid, Dean.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re right.”

Castiel sighed again, rubbing his forehead. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“You should come to the clubhouse. It’s safe and no one would-“

“Good night, Dean.”

Den pressed his lips together, throwing one last scowl over his shoulder at Crowley before giving Castiel a pleading look that went unanswered. He heaved a sigh and left.

#

Castiel laid awake a long time after Crowley had fallen asleep, listening to his light snores. They’d talked after the police cleared out, Crowley apologizing profusely for not taking the threat more seriously. Something continued to niggle at Castiel, some deep-seated intuition that wouldn’t let him sleep.

Castiel: Dean?

Dean: Yeah, Cas.

Castiel: I wasn’t sure if you still had this number

Dean: Looks like I do.

Dean: Everything okay?

Castiel’s thumbs hovered over the screen as he chewed his bottom lip. 

Castiel: Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine. I’m sorry for bothering you.

Dean: It’s no bother Cas. Message me any time.

Dean: Or call. 

Castiel put his phone back on the bedside table and resettled but sleep didn’t come.

#

Castiel’s unease stayed with him through the morning and well into the next afternoon. Crowley had assured him that the threat on him had been neutralized but agreed to keep a uniform officer on him when Castiel didn’t let up. He couldn’t focus at work, his mind drifting to Crowley and what he was doing, who he was talking to. Was he safe? Was Castiel? By the time evening came, he had a pretty terrible headache and a determination to get some answers.

Rocky’s Bar is a ramshackle establishment off route 6 that Castiel had hoped to never set foot in. The fact that the Cemetery Boys ran nightclubs all over town was a well-known fact as was their reputation for keeping order in these establishments. Castiel just wasn’t much for strip clubs, especially those run by his ex-boyfriend. 

Stepping inside he expected to smell cigar smoke and sex but instead was greeted by a pleasant, feminine scent, sweet and cloying but not overbearing. He spotted Dean immediately behind the bar, grinning at a scantily clad woman as he loaded drinks onto her tray. Castiel stamped down the flare of jealousy in his gut.

Dean was watching the show now, eyes on the girl spinning on the pole as he wiped down glasses behind the bar. Castiel sidled up and it took Dean a minute to look at him. When he did he dropped the glass he’d been wiping so that it shattered on the floor. 

“Shit!” Dean hopped back to avoid glass spraying over the toes of his boots. “Cas? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I need answers.”

Dean had moved down the bar going for a broom that was tucked in a corner. He paused, looking back over his shoulder at Castiel. His jaw tightened as he turned away again, snatching the broom and coming back over to sweep up his mess.

“Why don’t you ask your boyfriend?”

“I did,” Castiel said, pausing to watch Dean methodically push glass into the dustpan. “Now I’m asking you.”

“What’d he tell you?” Dean set the broom and dustpan aside, crossing his arms over his chest and Castiel was not at all distracted by the flex of his biceps and the way his shirt stretched around his muscles. He wasn’t wearing his kutte, just a black v-neck and jeans.

“That I was safe. That the threat had been neutralized.”

Dean’s eyes widened just the slightest bit before his face went dangerously blank. He turned his head, looking down the bar, and then returned his gaze to the stage. Castiel huffed, annoyed, and stepped into his line of sight.

“Do you ever get tired of looking at tits?”

Dean snorted. “Absolutely not.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned to stomp off. “Never mind. I don’t even know why I bothered to come here.”

Dean was out from behind the bar in a microsecond, reaching for Castiel’s arm before worming in front of him, blocking his exit. “Sorry. I’m sorry. You want answers? I’ll give them to you. Just… “ Dean looked around and his eyes landed on something over Castiel's shoulder. He cocked his head back and Castiel glanced back to see Benny dutifully pulling himself up from an armchair and making his way over. He begrudgingly took Dean’s place behind the bar.

Upstairs in the office, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated. It was a tiny space, just big enough for the large desk and a few filing cabinets. Dean wormed his way behind the desk and Castiel forced himself into the small armchair across from him. There were posters of half-naked women on the walls and Castiel was once again struck with an extreme sense of inadequacy. Dean loved women, but Castiel knew Dean has also loved him.

“So you wanna hear word on the street or just straight facts?” Dean was pulling out a bottle of whiskey from one of the drawers along with two mugs. One of them was the one Castiel got him for Christmas two years ago that said “Send Noods” with a bowl of Ramen noodles. 

“Let's start with facts,” Castiel said showing Dean his palm, declining the drink. Dean shrugged and poured himself one.

“The fact is that the Demons are going after Crowley and the people close to him.” Dean picked up his mug. “You.” He sipped. “They’re using out of towners, seasoned guys not prospects.” Dean’s eyes leveled on Castiel. “That makes it a serious threat.”

“Why?” Castiel asked, shifting in his seat.

“Prospects are idiots,” Dean waved a hand then pursed his lips. “My brother excluded.” Dean shook his head. “You don’t give important jobs to prospects. They’re meant for grunt work and low-level intimidation. That guy I clubbed in your apartment was a Nomad - an out-of-state-er, no home club. Meant to blow in and out of town, generally used for serious shit they don’t want traced back to the local club.”

“O-kay.”

Dean sighed, seemingly annoyed that Castiel wasn’t understanding something. “These guys are one step down from trained assassins, Cas. It was a serious threat.”

“Why would Crowley lie to me?” Castiel burst out and Dean downed the rest of his drink.

“I dunno, Cas. Why do you think?”

Castiel bristled. “Oh, I guess you have an opinion?”

Dean gave him a smarmy grin. “Oh, I have several.”

“This is stupid.” Castiel threw his hands in the air. “I shouldn’t have come here.” 

Castiel made to leave but Dean stood, gripping his wrist and refusing to let go. “Cas, wait. Come on. This is serious okay? I assume he put a uni on you?”

“Yeah but I ditched him,” Castiel settled back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dean rubbed his face hard. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I didn’t want Crowley to know I came to you, Dean. Why do you think?” Castiel scoffed shaking his head and Dean set his jaw.

“What he got a problem with me or something?”

Castiel gave him a deadpan stare the lifted a finger, counting off each, “Drug trafficking, weapons trafficking, racketeering-“

Dean hissed waving his hands at Castiel. “Alright alright, enough.” Dean sighed. “Word on the street is that Alaistair put the hit out because your boyfriend,” Dean looked disgusted as he said it, “is trying to go maximum sentence when he’s only at two strikes.”

“Didn’t Alaistair maim and torture two immigrant women?”

“Yeah, but they were stealing his coke when they were supposed to be muling it.”

Castiel blinked. “So he tortured and maimed them?”

Dean gave a shrug.

Castiel felt his stomach go cold. “Do you do that?”

Dean gave a shrug then smiled. “We don’t run drugs, Cas. We’re just a group of motorcycle enthusiasts.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “That’s it? That’s all the information you have?”

Dean shifted in his seat. “There’s some other things. In-fighting and some club shit you don’t need to know but it’s not relevant to you or your safety.”

“But it’s about Crowley?”

Dean gave a short nod.

“What is it?”

Dean reached up to rub his chin, the scratch of his stubble barely heard over the thumping bass in the club below. “He’s paying off some officers on the force.”

Castiel’s brow crinkled. “What? Why?”

Dean shrugged. “No idea.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Okay so I have some idea but it’s just a gut feeling. And you only wanted facts.”

Castiel frowned. “Tell me.”

“He’s going to make a bid for mayor right?”

Castiel blinked. “Uh… yeah he’s been thinking about- how did you-?”

Dean waved a hand. “Guys like him only want power. And he’ll do anything to get it. He’s set all his pieces on the board. Stellar win record in court, charitable donations to all the right charities…” Dean eyed Castiel. “Wholesome, attractive man on his arm.” Castiel fought a blush, looking at his lap. “But he needs an edge.”

“What kind of edge.”

Dean tilted his head. “That I don’t know.”

They were silent for a moment.

“Are you going to continue to have someone in the club tail me?”

“Do you want me to have someone in the club tailing you?” Castiel hesitated. “I’ll keep Sam on you.”

# 

Castiel was driving home from the club when his car was sideswiped by a large panel van. Dazed and dizzy he could barely process that he was being dragged from the car. A man smelling of whiskey and day-old sweat pulled him up before punching him solidly in the jaw. Castiel’s ears rang as something solid ran into his assailant, knocking Castiel out of his grasp and Castiel fell back against the fender of his car, trying to focus.

The sound of fists meeting flesh echoed down the empty highway. Castiel heard a shout and someone scuffling before two meaty hands gripped the lapels of his trench coat and began to drag him towards the back of the van. Castiel began to struggle, eyes trying to focus and he saw Sam Winchester fighting against two men in black hoodies and face masks, his wide reach the only thing keeping him up in that fight. 

A twin engine sounded in the distance and Castiel felt his heart clench, struggling harder as two sets of hands tried to haul him up into the back of the van. He could barely see, the old two-lane road unlit except for the headlight of the bike as it drew nearer and the broken headlights of the van crunched into the side of his car. Castiel’s feet were leaving the ground as he was lifted bodily and he yelled out despite himself. 

“No! Let me go! Get off me! Help! Help!”

“Get off him you son of a bitch!” Dean’s voice rang out in the silent night, the motor on his bike dying as he skidded to a halt and let it drop to the ground as he vaulted off of it. He fired off a round into the air, everyone around him cringing down and looking his way. 

“Shit, Dean Winchester,” one of them muttered, dropping Castiel immediately and it was enough for Castiel to break free.

Without thinking he ran towards Dean, throwing his body at him and Dean accepted him with open arms, cocooning him in a tight embrace. Castiel clutched him close, fear pumping through his veins, heart galloping so hard in his chest he felt sick from it. He heard boots on gravel and one of Dean’s arms shot out, pointing the gun at the man who tried to approach.

“Stay out of this Winchester.”

The gun fired and Castiel gave a small cry, pressing his face hard into Dean’s shoulder trying to block out the distinct sound of a body hitting the pavement. 

“Anyone else got something to say?!” Dean shouted, his other arm still wrapped tight around Castiel. “You.” Dean gestured with the gun. “Tell Alaistair he comes near Castiel Novak again, he’ll be shitting his own teeth for a week.”

A high laugh bubbled from behind Castiel and he gripped Dean tighter at the icy sound. “We don’t work for Alaistair. Don’t you know, Winchester? There’s a new God in town and he’s playing for keeps.”

The gun went off again and someone howled in pain. “I’m not much for riddles,” Dean spit. 

“Dean…”

“Shut up, Cas.”

Castiel shut up, keeping his chin tucked over Dean’s shoulder.

“He calls himself Lucifer,” A trembling voice hissed. “He’s working with the prosecutor.”

Castiel’s breath hitched. He felt Dean swallow hard.

“How?” Dean’s voice was more a command than a question.

“To take over the Demons. Alaistair goes down and he’s the new leader. Anyone who stands against him dies.”

“What’s in it for Crowley?” Dean demanded.

“Mayor,” Sam chimed in, his voice astonished. “He puts Alasiatr away, the infighting stops and there’s peace on the streets again.”

“What does this have to do with Cas?” Dean redoubled his grip and Castiel tried to keep himself from trembling. Silence. Another gunshot, this time followed by rapid-fire speech.

“Jesus! Okay, okay! He wants him dead.”

“Lucifer? Why?” Dean asked.

“No, Dean,” Sam replied and Castiel knew before Sam even said it. “Crowley.”

“What?” Dean’s voice was astonished, his gun lowering a bit and Castiel merely closed his eyes, turning his face into Dean’s neck.

“You said it yourself. He needs an edge,” Sam’s voice was almost giddy with understanding. “What’s better than a dead husband?”

Dean’s entire body stiffened. “They aren’t married.”

Castiel curled in more, his throat feeling as if it might burst. “Not yet. I found the ring. He was going to ask soon.”

Dean growled softly. “Alright, you and you, listen up. Anyone comes near Castiel Novak and they’ll deal with the Cemetery Boys. You want a war you fucking got one. Now get your friend out of here before he bleeds out on the side of the road. Sammy, call a tow and wait with the car. Cas,” Dean’s voice softened as he turned his head, nose brushing in Castiel’s hair. “You’re with me.”

Castiel didn’t object.

#

Castiel wasn’t fully cognizant of anything that was happening to him until he found himself being helped into a pair of Dean’s sweat pants in the room above the clubhouse. Dean had practically carried him up the stairs, sat him on a chair, and chattered at him about anything and everything while he went about putting clean sheets on the bed. 

Castiel shivered as Dean guided his arms through an old club t-shirt, one that Castiel used to sleep in when he and Dean had been together. Why had he ever left Dean? He’d been so mad for so long he couldn’t even remember why anymore. And given the night’s events, he was sure it was small and insignificant in comparison to everything he’d done for Castiel tonight.

“Dean.” Castiel reached for his hip and Dean placed his hands on Castiel’s biceps, steadying him.

“You need to get some sleep. You’re dead on your feet.”

Castiel acquiesced though reluctantly as Dean guided him over to the bed. The mattress was lumpy but the linens smelled like fresh laundry and Castiel curled up as Dean tucked him in. Castiel caught his wrist when Dean made to move away.

“Stay. Please.”

Dean swallowed hard. “Cas, I-“

“I just want you to hold me.” Castiel knew he’d likely feel shame later but right now all he wanted was comfort. “Please.”

Dean was perilous to stop himself, toeing out of his boots and letting his jeans fall to the floor. He shrugged out of his kutte, hanging it on the arm of the chair before tossing his flannel aside and slid between cool sheets next to Castiel. Dean chuckled as he was immediately enveloped, Castiel latching onto him like an octopus, and god, how he’d missed this.

“Thank you,” Castiel murmured into his chest and Dean shivered at his warm breath on the bare skin of his chest. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t listen. Dean. I’m sorry.” He was starting to hyperventilate and Dean held him tighter.

“Shhh, calm down, Cas. It’s okay. You were just… It doesn’t matter. I forgive you okay. Don’t freak out, just breathe.”

“How could I be so stupid?” Castiel panted, his eyes squeezing shut. “How could I not see it?”

“Well Crowley is a slimy, lying son of a bitch and you’re… well… you trust people too easy, Cas.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, sweetheart, you do. It’s something I love about you but only when I’m around to look out for you.”

“I never should have left.” Silence stretched. “Dean?”

“I’m not gonna argue with you.”

Castiel couldn’t help it, he huffed a laugh. “You’re an asshole.” They were silent for a moment. “What do we do now?”

“Well, I got some lube in the drawer over th- OW!” Dean winced as Castiel pinched his nipple hard. “Easy on the goods.”

“I meant about Crowley.”

“Oh, you should definitely break up with him,” Dean nuzzled his nose into Castiel’s hair and received another, less severe, nipple tweak. 

“We can’t go to the police.”

“Nope.”

“So what do we do.”

“We’ve got church tomorrow. I’ll bring it up.”

Castiel sat up, gazing down at Dean. “You’re gonna get the club involved?”

“Honey, we’re already involved. You fuck with one of us you fuck with all of us. They hurt you. They’re lucky I only blew out their knee caps and not their skulls.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped shut. “Jesus, Dean please don’t kill anyone.”

“Aw, Cas you’re no fun.”

“This isn’t funny!”

Dean’s face turned sober. “I know. I’m sorry, I know it isn’t. Look, we can’t do anything tonight, but I promise you, you’re safe here. YOu’re safe with me.” Dean rested his forehead against Castiel’s. 

“And we’ll just… figure out the rest?” Castiel gazed up at Dean, taking in the dusting of freckles across his nose. A small smile pulled at Dean’s lips.

“Yeah. We’ll make it up as we go.”

#suptober21 #biker dean #destiel #fanfic: supernatural #spn fic #writing by me

[writingfromkitchenator]

The Demon, The Hunter, and The Halfblood

Masterlist

Crowley x Original Female Character

Chapters: One

Series Warnings: A/B/O series, some Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alpha x Omega, obligatory smut warning here (as usual, no under 18′s please, specifics will be within chapter warnings as needed), violence, blood, fluff, angst, major character death, possession, swearing

Chapter 2

Words: 2,742

Madelyn was furious, and if there was one thing that no one ever wanted to do, it was piss off an Omega, especially when they were a hunter.

These demons were going to get what was coming for them.  It wasn’t the first one’s she’d dealt with and she doubted it was going to be her last.

Her teeth bared in the dark, eyes watching at the several demons patrolling, her hand lose on the angel blade in her hand, trying to work through her anger on what was going to be the best way to deal with this.  She’d managed to kill two of the ones that had entered her home, but these were the ones that had gotten away, and gotten away with something that Madelyn cared about deeply.

She could be angry at herself and Crowley later for this happening.  For now, she had to focus on them.

Two demon voices reach her and she looks over at them from where she was currently hiding.

“Why aren’t we just using ‘em against Crowley now?”  One asked. “Surely one’s enough?”

“Come on dude, surely you know that the more we have on Crowley, the better.  If those idiots inside hadn’t fucked it up so bad, we wouldn’t need to be so on guard with this.”  The other said coldly.  “I wouldn’t have thought it would be that hard to capture a hunter and a kid.”

Madelyn’s eyes flash and she creeps forward, being careful not to be seen.  She hadn’t spent all her life hunting to be taken down by a couple of demons, especially when she had a few tricks of her own now.

The two guards didn’t know what hit them, her blade moving fast and silently, igniting them both from within and leaving them as nothing but cold corpses on the ground.  Those two were pointless, the ones she was really interested in were the ones inside.

The ones that had her daughter.

Crowley had been overdue, Madelyn getting increasingly worried.  She’d been about to text him when the demons had somehow gotten around all the defences set up, and that was when she’d told her to run.  

Madelyn had fought, and as she’d fought, she’d heard a scream, a scream that no mother wanted to hear. With terror, she’d realised that she had run to her safe space, her room, and the demons had found her.

The demons were quick to leave, leaving the ones that Madelyn had killed, and she’d spent the last several hours tracking them down to here.

Now the demons were going to pay.

Breaking into the building felt too easy, as did silently moving through the halls, but the closer she got, the more she knew that this was going to end right now, one way or another.

They knew she’d be coming, if they were any sort of smart, they would’ve suspected that she’d be coming with Crowley, but from what she could tell, they were barely any sort of prepared.  Clearly they were as half brained as Crowley always made out.

There was another demon in the hallway and her angel blade launched and lodged in his throat before he could make a noise, dropping quickly to the ground.  Madelyn took the blade with hardly a thought and burst into the next room.

“Mummy!”  Casey screamed from a chair in the middle of the room.

Madelyn didn’t have a chance to respond to her, several demons launching at her at once, and with a furious growl, Madelyn didn’t hesitate to engage.

The first one went down easily, making the mistake of trying to get to her alone, the next closest two learnt from the first, taking her on at once.  Madelyn was fast, and the blade moved easily in her hand, but what gained her the real advantage was the immunity to a third demons power.

She couldn’t help it, shooting him a grin as he tried again and again to throw her across the room only for nothing to happen.

Her body took a few hits, especially as the third finally decided to give up and charge into help, but she didn’t waste time, slitting the throat of one of the original two, letting them drop, her gun came out and shot the other, staggering them back and giving her enough time to brace for the third.

Except he was better, he caught her movement as she went to stab him, moved out of the way of her gun as she fired and sent it flying from her hands.

Madelyn cursed as she was grabbed from behind, the other demon having recovered, and for the briefest of moments her grip loosened just a little too much on her angel blade, allowing the other demon to take it.

Her head cracked back into the demon behind her, smashing his nose in a shower of blood, making him scream, but he doesn’t let go.  The other demon came back in with the blade, aiming for her stomach, and she just managed to grab his hand, stopping it just short.

A brief standstill came to pass as Madelyn struggles to both hold back the angel blade and to fight against the one still holding her.

She might have had some extra skills at her disposal, but that wasn’t always useful.

The blade slipped forward and Madelyn barely held back a grunt of pain as the blade began to sink into her stomach.

“Mummy no!”  Casey shouted and then a high pitched scream left her.

The effect on the demons was instantaneous, the three remaining in the room, the third by Casey’s chair, all covering their ears to try and block out the child’s scream. Madelyn let out a breath, feeling the echo of power, the scream hurting her ears but not debilitating her.

She pulled the blade free from her stomach and made short work of the distracted demons.  Three quick movements and the demons dropped dead, and Madelyn hurried to Casey.

“Casey.  Casey!”  She said loudly, dropping to her knees in front of her, trying to get her to stop. “It’s okay baby, they’re all gone.”

Casey stopped and instantly started to sob, throwing her arms around Madelyn, who pulls her close. “They hurt you!”

“I’ll be okay,” Madelyn said, quickly picking her up, ignoring the burning pain from her stomach. “I can sort that out later, we just need to get somewhere safe.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Casey asked, her voice trembling through the sobs.

“I don’t know baby, but we’re going to find him okay?”  Madelyn does a quick scan around outside, making sure that there aren’t any more demons. “We just may need some help to do that.”

Madelyn broke into the first car she found, quickly getting Casey securely into the back seat, telling her to get some sleep while she drove.  Before she jumped in herself, she removed the jacket she had on and tied it as best she could around the still bleeding wound in her stomach.  If she didn’t have Casey with her, she would’ve gotten herself to a hospital, or even stitched the wound over herself, but right now, getting Casey to safety was top of the priority list.

Darkness seemed to give away to dawn far too quickly for Madelyn’s taste, tiredness setting in over her, mixed with exhaustion and blood loss from the fight.  She knew that there wasn’t far to go, but she also knew that the daylight made them more exposed.

She wasn’t looking forward to the coming explanation either, but she hoped they could hold from that until she at least found Crowley.

Bobby’s house hadn’t changed as she pulled up as close as she dared, the sun still rising in the early morning.  She sat back and drew in a couple of deep breathes, not really knowing where else to go, and for a moment she glanced back at Casey still sleeping in the backseat.

After all this time, she didn’t have any other choice.

Sighing, she struggles her way out of the car, the wound burning away and her vision swayed for a moment.  She was cutting this far too close for her liking, but she struggled up the stairs anyway.

Madelyn knocked on the door. “Bobby?”

She knew that he would likely react with all sorts of tests, but she hoped the bleeding wound in her side would also put a stop to that.

It was hard to tell who was more surprised when the door opened however, Sam staring a little open mouthed at her.  “Maddie?”

Madelyn smiled weakly at him, even as there was crash from another room.  “Hey Sammy, don’t suppose you want to help your sister out after all this time?”

Sam caught her as she stumbled forward, his expression instantly turning grim at the sight of the blood and then the wound.  Dean’s anger followed him to the door, but died instantly when he saw her pale expression.

“Holy shit Maddie, who the hell have you been fighting?”  Dean said, taking her other arm as they half carried her into the lounge.

“Just the usual demons,” She said, giving half a laugh as they sat her down, Sam hurrying off to find a med kit.  “One of them got lucky with an angel blade.  Can’t say it’s a fun thing to be stabbed with.”

Dean grimaces, keeping pressure on the wound until Sam got back.  “You better go wake Bobby.”

“Before you do,” Madelyn lets out a low hiss as Sam pulls her jacket and shirt away from the wound. “I don’t suppose one of you’d care to go and get the little girl out of the backseat?  I can’t imagine how she’d respond to waking up alone.”

Sam and Dean shared a look that Madelyn missed, her eyes jammed shut from the pain, but Dean nods. “Yeah…sure.”

A little while later, Dean comes back in with Casey in his arms, her black hair mused from sleep and rubbing her tired green eyes, quickly finding Madelyn.

“Mummy?” Her voice trembled a little and she started to squirm in Dean's arms.

Madelyn quickly hid the pain in her face but held up a hand to stop her.  “Hey baby, it's okay, I'm going to be okay, you just have to stay with Uncle Dean there for a little, alright?”

Casey stops squirming and blinks at her, looking to Sam, then Dean, and then Bobby as he entered and froze in the doorway, wondering what the noise was.

“Casey,” Madelyn drew her gaze back to her.  “Do you remember me telling you about Uncle Dean, Uncle Sam and Uncle Bobby? Do you remember what I said?”

Her bottom lip trembles a bit, but she nods.  “You...you said I'd be safe with them.”

“That's my girl,” Madelyn smiles at her, ignoring the pain from the wound as Sam does his best to clean it.  “”You're such a smart girl.”

Casey sniffs. “Where's Daddy?”

Madelyn didn't miss the shared looks between Sam, Dean and Bobby.  “I don't know baby, we'll sort that out when Uncle Sam's got me all patched up, okay?”

She nods, but still looks unsure.

Madelyn glances over at Bobby.  “Uncle Bobby, you have eggs?”

Bobby finally seems to move, frowning at her.  “Yeah?”

Madelyn smiles.  “Do you think you could cook Casey up some scrambled eggs for breakfast?  It’s been a while since she’s eaten.”

He blinks for a moment but then his expression softens on the little girl in Dean's arms.  “Yeah…I can do that.  You want to come with me sweetie?”

Bobby holds out his arms for Casey, who looks at him for a moment before going to him, quickly disappearing into the kitchen.

Madelyn lets out a sigh and her expression screws up in pain.

Sam watches her, worried, but keeps cleaning over the wound.  “How old is she?”

Her eyes shut.  “Not longed turned four.”

“Four?” Dean cut in first before Sam can say anything.  “You have a four year old daughter and you didn't think-" He cuts himself off, the anger returning to his expression.  “Screw that!  You've been alive all this time and you didn't think to tell us!?”

Madelyn opens one eye to peak at him, unperturbed.  “I had my reasons Dean, and in all honesty, I'd prefer it if you go let Crowley out of whatever hole you've put him in first before I offer any sort of explanation.”

Dean's expression darkened. “What makes you even think we have that slimy bastard?  Are you seriously telling me that that little girl in there is half demon?”

Scoffing, but then thinking better of it because of the pain, Madelyn rolls her eyes.  “I know all of your tells.  You were all very quick to react when she mentioned her father, and I figured by your other reactions that you'd already put two and two together.  As for the half demon thing, and please keep your voice down about it, we don't need the whole world knowing and we don't want to scare her any more than she is.  I would've thought that would be obvious.”

Sam cut over Dean then, quickly breaking the tension building in the room.  “Maddie, we need to get you to a hospital.”

Madelyn shakes her head. “No can do, Sam, with angels and demons hunting her, I can't take that risk.  They'll keep me in there longer than I can be.”

“The wound is too deep-"

“Patch it as best you can, my body will do the rest.”  Madelyn waves a hand.  “As long as I'm not bleeding anymore, that's all that matters.”

Sam still looked at her concerned, glancing at Dean, but it was clear that nothing was going to change about the situation any time soon.  Sighing, he pulls out a needle and a thread and started to stitch the wound together.

“How can you be so nonchalant about this?”  Dean asked coldly.  “How can you even just lie there like nothing has changed?”

“My previous comment about Crowley still stands.”  Madelyn said, her eyes drifting shut again.  “And I do suggest letting him out before a half demonic four year old learns that you've been keeping her father prisoner.”

“No,” Dean said before Sam could say anything.  “He owes us answers.”

“He owes you squat Dean, and I promise you she will tear this house apart if she finds out.”

“Can we just cut the shit, please.” Sam said firmly, glaring between the two of them.  “None of this is going to help either of us get what we want.”

“But-"

“Go take a walk Dean,” Sam said, a little angrily.  “Go and cool off for a few minutes.  We hardly need a fight in front of Casey.”

Dean's mouth opened and closed a few times before he rolled his eyes and huffed, storming away.

“Good to see not much has changed.”

Sam shot her a look before going back to stitching the wound.  “You certainly don't help.”

“Well, we can't all be winners.”  Madelyn sighs, the pain still clear on her face as Sam finishes but it's clear it's somewhat eased.  “So why do you have Crowley here? I'm trying not to be mad over what I've just been through with Casey, so an answer would be nice.”

Sam places gauze over the wound.  “We're trying to find out how to remove something Crowley helped Dean get. He mightn't have answers directly, but he might know someone who does.”

“Hmm?” Madelyn opens her eyes again to look at him, a slight frown creasing her brow.  “You're talking about the Mark of Cain right? And Rowena, charming mother in law she is too, but I can promise Crowley's been looking for her too, much as I disagree.”

“You...you know all about it?”

“Of course I do,” Madelyn shifts and sits up, holding her side for a moment and letting out a slow breath.  “Or did you real think Crowley wouldn't keep me up to date on my brother's?  Although, I usually have to work through the smart arse comments.”

Sam watches as she stands, draws in a deep breath, and make her way into the kitchen, the pain dying before she came into view of Casey.  “You enjoying your breakfast?”

A worrying feeling was starting in the back of his mind, but he just wasn't overly sure how to deal with it.

#supernatural #the demon the hunter and the halfblood #crowley #crowley x original female character #long fic #fic series #crowley fridays #sister winchester #alpha x omega #a/b/o

[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 10

Another daytime update!

Warning: there’s a lot of gun in this chapter. Following (book) canon, and then... well you’ll see.

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 10

Crowley’s watch hit three o'clock. Not that he would have noticed, right at that moment, if it had exploded.

Miles under the Earth, past where the dimensions divided, the screams of the damned increased in terror as a snapping, snarling, clawing beast tore its way to the surface…

Crowley floated, as if magnetised, into the tent. His drifting footsteps carried him to the edge of the knot of children.

Most of them were on their smartphones. Some of them chatted over Aziraphale, with deliberate disdain. Adam looked half-comatose. He leaned backward on his elbows and looked over at Crowley upside-down.

Crowley didn’t notice. A dimmer switch had turned down on the rest of the world, while Aziraphale glowed across from him.

Aziraphale had just dropped three linked rings. The children tittered derisively.

“Whoops! Just a tick!”

Aziraphale fumbled for the rings. As he stood back up, his eyes flicked towards Crowley. He winked.

Crowley’s heart skipped as if Aziraphale had blown him a kiss. A few consonants slipped out under his breath.

“Now then. Do any of you young masters and mistresses have on your person such a thing as a pocket handkerchief?”

It was car-crash viewing, Crowley had to admit. Aziraphale actually looked surprised that none of the kids had a hankie. A rictus grin strained his face as he beckoned the closest secret service agent. The man looked understandably reluctant to join the proceedings.

“Oh go on, my dear chap, just check.” Aziraphale winked in desperation.

The agent patted his pocket. His face turned to surprise. He produced a well-made, duck-egg blue handkerchief with lace trim. Crowley felt a glow of gratification that Aziraphale had to resort to cheating.

At that point, everything went tits up.

The edge of the lace caught on the serviceman’s gun. It yanked out of its holster and whizzed through the air like an especially lethal frisbee. It landed with a splat in a bowl of jelly. The kids whooped and applauded.

There are some actions that an eleven-year-old boy will always take, no matter the circumstances.

Adam raced across the room, seized the gun and waved it gleefully in the air.

“Stick ‘em up, dogbreaths!”

The room slid into chaos. The children screamed with delight. The adults all tried to bestow calm while breaking out in terrified sweat. It was a scene that would normally cause Crowley to wonder how he got so lucky.

And then someone threw some jelly at Adam.

The boy yelped and pulled the trigger.

Crowley’s time-slowing powers kicked in. They were useless in this situation. He couldn’t outrun a bullet. In agonised slow-motion, he watched the preliminary puff of smoke from the muzzle of the gun, heralding the noise and carnage to follow.

Aziraphale blinked.

Crowley felt the air hum with ethereal magic.

Then, like a bum note before the music was meant to start, it cut out.

The unfortunate thing about trying to turn a gun into a water pistol is that the boy holding it currently had more sway over reality than any other being in the universe. Aziraphale’s polite hint that the gun might prefer to be a water pistol bounced harmlessly off Adam’s expectation that the gun would be a gun.

Time resumed.

There was an explosion. The gun kicked. Adam’s entire body jerked. The bullet fired over the other children’s heads and struck Aziraphale in the chest.

He poofed into a cloud of silver smoke.

There was an inappropriately cheery jingle as his ring hit the floor. A rumpled dove, surprised to be no longer stuffed up a sleeve, flapped free and flew away.

Adam dropped the gun. His eyes were wide with horror.

No-one screamed. Crowley got the impression this was only because shock had punched the breath from everyone. He closed his mouth and miracled the rest of the bullets out of the gun, just in case.

A couple of people finally got around to screaming, but felt embarrassed and stopped. Confused applause broke out. It built to appreciative applause. Whatever had just happened, it was the best magic trick they’d ever seen.   

Adam and Crowley were the only ones not clapping. Adam was white and trembling.

“He just - he just -”

Crowley used the distraction to creep towards the stage, hoping to scoop up Aziraphale’s gem.

A small pigtailed girl pounced on it. “I got a prize!”

Crowley flipped her off. She scowled at him.

Adam whirled around on the rest of the room.

“Stop. Clapping.”

Every pair of hands froze. In one choreographed move, everybody lowered their hands to their sides, their faces utterly blank.

Two armed security guards burst into the tent, followed by Harriet Dowling.

“Adam? Oh, thank god. Why was there a gunshot?” She looked wildly around.

Adam turned to her. His eyes were still huge, but the rest of his face was eerily calm.

“I shot the magician, mum.”

Harriet’s hand flew to her chest. She looked to the stage, presumably for a big pool of blood and a corpse she might have missed.

“He, uh. He shot a gentleman, ma’am.” One of the secret servicewomen shuffled forward. “But it was all part of the magic act.” She sounded uncertain. Her eyes darted to the stage, too, as if there might be a body just out of sight.

Harriet sagged. She pressed a hand to her forehead.

“I’m gonna kill Tad,” she muttered. “What is with these dangerous party games? There’s some wild animal outside, I swear to god. I didn’t ask for a petting zoo. It’s not even in a pen. Who’s encouraging my son to play with guns, huh? I don’t care if it’s pretend, it’s just irresponsible.”

Adam took a breath.

“It wasn’t a trick. I shot him. Look.”

He pointed to the baffled pigtailed girl. She still had Aziraphale’s gem clutched in her hand. She was probably getting jelly on it. Aziraphale would hate that, Crowley thought, a touch hysterically.

Harriet sighed. “Honey, obviously you didn’t really shoot him.”

“He turned into smoke!” another girl piped up.

“See? It’s not real.” Harriet’s smile was tight at the edges. “Scary trick to pull at a child’s birthday party…”

Adam stamped his foot. It made no noise on the grass, but a shock wave sounded in the minds of everyone present. They clammed up, disturbed. Then they all forgot it had happened.

“Just let him have the ring, Trixie,” someone said, rolling their eyes.

“Don’t want to, it’s mine,” Trixie snapped. Crowley flipped her off again.

“I killed him,” Adam roared.

People exchanged uncomfortable looks. Harriet stamped towards her son. The kids all recognised a parent who’d reached her limit and barrelled out of her way.

“Young man, do not throw a tantrum in front of everyone or I swear to God you can spend the rest of the day in your room,” she hissed.

Adam met her eyes. His gaze turned suddenly cold.

“It doesn’t matter what you think,” he said. “You won’t be here next week.”

His voice sent ice water flooding down Crowley’s spine.

For a second, Harriet looked frightened.

She grabbed Adam by the arm. “That’s it. You’re in timeout.”

She pasted a smile on her face and perp-walked her son to the exit. On the way, she passed the stage. Trixie reluctantly held out the ring upon some pointed prompting. Harriet stared blankly and took it.

Crowley followed her out of the tent, a string of curses running through his head.

~*~

A ring of secret service, all with their guns out, had a large black dog surrounded in the garden. Calling it a large black dog was like calling the Hadron Particle Collider a bumpy cylinder. It didn’t really capture the essence of what was being described.

The dog’s blood-red eyes rolled towards the figures crossing the lawn. It only cared about one of them. His master. The one who would give it a purpose, a definition. A name.

He sounded angry. The hellhound would rip whoever had angered him to pieces. That was what it was made for. Its hackles rose. The men surrounding it tightened their grip on their guns.

The hellhound prepared to spring to its master’s side.

To its surprise, it had a sudden feeling its master wouldn’t want that.

It growled to itself. Uncertainty was not a familiar sensation.

Its master… wasn’t ready for it yet. It wasn’t the hellhound’s business to understand why. All it existed for was to serve him. It would keep its distance. For now.

The dog stalked out of the circle of scared men, ignoring the weapons trained on it, and slunk away into the shrubbery.

~*~

The noise of parent-at-the-end-of-her-rope, combined with tantruming-child, were easy enough to follow through the house. Crowley didn’t even need to bother with stealth. He hung back behind a corner as Harriet frog-marched Adam to his bedroom and pushed him inside.

“You can stay in there until you’re ready to behave!”

“I don’t want to come out. This birthday was rubbish. I hated everything.”

Harriet gave a stifled scream. Crowley had heard line managers make noises like that. He flinched and ducked out of sight.

“If you hate everything, you can stay in there with all the toys we bought you, just like we bought you your cake and your presents. Here, you can have this too.” Harriet thrust Aziraphale’s gem towards Adam. He grabbed it and threw it on the floor behind him.

The door slammed. Harriet’s footsteps stomped up the corridor, away from Crowley.

Crowley slid down the wall. He might as well settle in until he could see a good way to get the ring back.

~*~

The kids on the lawn were being herded out, which meant someone might come to check on Adam after the last goodbyes had been said.

Crowley paced tight circles in the corridor. Adam had been quiet for a couple of hours now. It was early for him to go to sleep, but Crowley knew the appeal of a rage-nap. He pressed his ear to the door. Nothing.

He couldn’t leave it any longer. He quietly opened the door.

Adam was passed out fully clothed on top of the sheets. His face showed no anger in sleep. Occasionally, his cheek twitched. It was hard to imagine him ending the world, right now. Crowley’s imagination was more than up to the task, however.

Crowley looked around for Aziraphale. He was probably on the floor, unless Adam had picked him up. Which seemed unlikely, given the state of the rest of his room.

Finding him in here would be like locating shiny junk in a shiny junk pile. Crowley scanned the visible areas of carpet, which took about half a second, and then turned, heart sinking, to the rest of it.

Ten minutes later, he was on his knees silently swearing and trying to peer around stacks of precarious interlocking piles of toys and games, each of which would clearly come crashing down if he tried to move even one component. Crowley hated Jenga.

He happened to glance to his left. A glint of gold caught the corner of his eye under the bed. He crawled over, careful not to dislodge anything.

As he rooted around in the unbelievable mess, the Antichrist slumbering above him, it occurred to him that if he were profoundly unlucky - which most of the evidence of his life so far would seem to show - he would get up to find Adam awake and staring at him.

How long would it take for the secret service to crash in here? Or one of the Dowlings? They probably carried. Maybe he and Aziraphale could both get shot by an American on the same day.

His ungloved hand bumped against something ring-sized. He grabbed it and cupped it in his palms. It was Aziraphale.

Crowley crawled back out from under the bed, crossed his fingers, and raised his head.

Adam was still asleep. Crowley exhaled.

The ring glowed.

Crowley scrambled to his feet and bolted from the room. The feats of parkour he did to avoid kicking anything over were ones for the ages.

Aziraphale’s gem was singing. It glowed white hot and threw Heavenly light in Crowley’s face. Crowley booked it down the corridor, searching for an empty room half-blinded. The gem was becoming hard to hold. It tried to float into the air, warbling out a rising major chord.[1] Crowley kept his hands clamped firmly on it.

He threw open a door to an unused spare bedroom, barrelled in and released the gem, hissing as it burned his ungloved hand. He backed into a wardrobe and watched Aziraphale reform.

At first, he was only a voluminous ball of light. He shrunk inward, compressed and developed mass. His gem was at chest-height. The blobby shapes surrounding it turned into two plump hands, entwined over his heart, arms folded against his torso. His feet were pressed neatly together. A mop of curly hair appeared, and then a calm face, the familiar upturned nose and prim mouth, all those comfortable lines, the softness of the cheeks. He was still choosing to wear mostly beige, for whatever reason. No updates to the worn waistcoat or brown Oxford shoes. He was as Crowley remembered him.

The light flicked out. Aziraphale dropped to the ground with a small gasp. He opened his eyes.

“Crowley,” he breathed.

Crowley pressed his back against the wardrobe in a manly attempt not to slide to the floor.

They stared at each other, reunited for the first time in seventy-eight years.

---

[1] The closest approximation is the singing lift in London’s Royal Festival Hall.

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #steven universe #so yeah some accidental murder in this update! #he gets better tho #crowley hates jenga and isn't keen on parkour but will do it in an emergency #had to give a shout out to the singing lift I love that thing

[fatbottombucky]

You Just Gotta Push Through *Dean Winchester x Reader*

Request: Halloween request: Dean Winchester/male!reader: Dean comforting M!R after nightmares because a monster made M!R relive his worst memory?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Male!Reader

Rating: [PG-13] Teen

Warnings: mentions of mental illness and trauma- also Male x Male relations, kissing also

“That was the longest case,” Sam sighs when stomping down the stairs to the bunker, a hefty sigh leaving his lips once he slumps into a chair. “Remind me to never let Dean trick me into hunting a nest of vamps, during Halloween...again.”

You chuckle and fall into the chair beside him, “hey, wherever he goes, you go, them the rules.”

Sam chuckles but nods in agreement. You both watch Dean enter, walking down the metal stairs languidly. He leaves his duffle on the table next to yours, telling you both he’s going to make a sandwich.

You both fall into silence, you glance at Sam for a moment before kicking your feet up and thinking. It was a long case, too long. But Dean had been looking for the long ones, ones that took weeks at a time because he wanted his mind focused. Not focused on The Mark.

“Hey, man. How are you holdin’ up?”

Now that’s a question. You tried to not focus on this weeks events, tried to keep your mind on the mission and task at hand; not straying to the past.

“I’m- I’m good, yeah, fine,” you faintly smiled and Sam didn’t look convinced, “how is Dean? The Mark seems to not be making him a psycho killer.”

Sam nods silently, “I’m still worried about him. He seems... too calm, like he’s trying to prove he’s absolutely fine now. We all know he isn’t.”

“I mean,” you sigh, “at least he’s not a demon, right? Now we just gotta make sure he don’t go back, Crowley is even on our side, that’s how messed up this is.”

Sam nods slowly, eyebrows furrowed together and tapping the table top with his knuckles. This is how it’s been for a few days, Sam silently worrying about Dean, and Dean, well, Dean trying to play off everything is A-Okay.

They’re Winchester’s they seem to pull through everything that is thrown at them, hopefully, this isn’t the thing that breaks them.

“Well, Imma get some shut eye. Sharing a bed with you in a lousy motel has not be fun,” Sam does a mock gasp, holding a hand over his heart, “motel beds aren’t made for Giants, Sammy.”

He throws his head back laughing, probably, remembering the night that he pushed you out in his sleep. You aren’t that much smaller than Sam, around Dean’s height- so average for a man (Sam is freakishly tall)- but trying to sleep in the same bed as Sam Winchester... well, it proved to be more of a challenge than the vamps.

Only one room to share between three grown men, a few of the nights Dean didn’t use his bed but when he did, you had to top-and-tail with Sammy. Something you’ll never do again.

You grab your bag, heaving it over your shoulder and walking off towards you room. Walking past Dean’s room you notice he’s sat on his bed, plate of food beside him and a book opened up, you smile once he notices you.

“What you doing?” You lean on his door frame, smiling at his surroundings. Dean really went in on decorating this place, making it feel like home; heck, he even helped you.

“Just doing some reading, these nerds really wrote everything down,” he patted the giant hardback before looking at you, “how you holdin’ up? Sorry if I pushed you into working that case-“

You shrug him off, “it’s fine, really I’m fine. It’s been 12 years, I’m a grown man now, it doesn’t bother me anymore. That night- that memory- It’s fingers prints on a window now,” Dean nods slowly at you. “Anywayyyyy I’m beat, gonna catch some sleep before you hull ass on another case.”

You walk to your room, that’s opposite Dean’s. A deep sigh leaving your lips as you sit on your bed, the softness inciting you to fall asleep a lot quicker than any motel bed yourve slept on.

Falling back against the mattress, feet still planted firmly on the ground. Your eyes close slowly and you slip into a peaceful slumber.

~Dream~

You wake up to screaming. A familiar screaming, but you can’t figure out who is screaming. Your heart beats rapidly when the screaming is suddenly stopped, a gurgling but then nothingness.

You walk to your door, you’ve been here before. It’s your old room, yet you’re the age you are now. Unusual for this nightmare. The only nightmare you ever have.

Opening the door, your bare feet make contact with the slippery, and sticky floor. You shudder violently at the thought of it, this is not a nightmare it’s a memory. Only something feels different about this.

That’s when you see him, laying on the floor, pale and lifeless with a vampire over him. Sam... this isn’t normal, this isn’t right. No, this is not how it went down twelve years ago. In fact, it was your little sister that was killed, not Sam Winchester- you didn’t even know him back then.

You run down the stairs, smacking into the front door. Trying and failing to open it, you swiftly turn and there before you... Dean... ripped to shreds on the floor of your old living room.

Only this time you make no move to stop this, you’re glued to the spot and shaking. The Winchester’s dead... you’re completely alone. This is your fault.

~End Of Dream~

You’re shaken awake, a voice yelling at you. The gun that’s clenched in your hand is pulled out of it, you blink and it’s Dean... alive and well, well, as he could be.

“Hey, Y/N, you okay?” His voice is firm but his face is soft, hands holding your shaken shoulders. You’re trembling, crying even, “you’re okay, I promise.”

Your breathing eventually regains to normalcy. You nod slowly, a deep sigh leaves Dean. “Bad dream?”

You nod, “yeah. It’s something... I’m- I used to have this nightmare all the time about, well, you know. But this time it was... it was you and Sam, dead and bloody, god. Blood was everywhere and I couldn’t- I was scared, I did... nothing.”

Dean is silent for a long pause, “...Y/N, it was just a nightmare. I ain’t falling at the hands of no vampires,” you let out a shaky chuckle, “and I’d never let Sammy die... or you.”

You nod slowly and look at him, the concern and worry on his face. It reminds you of the same face you had when he turned into a demon, a sigh escapes you.

“We’re kinda fucked,” Dean chuckles and nods, “you can’t die Dean, I mean it. I can’t do this alone, Sam can’t do this alone. We need you, I need you, you’ve gotta fight every single fight.”

Dean nods, eyebrows raised and a smile on his face.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily, you’re stuck with me. You gotta know that by now,” he nudges you and stands up, offering a hand which you gladly take. “Let’s go get some good, greasy food because that’s the only home remedy for this.”

You grab your jacket with the other hand, still holding Dean’s because if you let go you’re scared he’d disappear again. Leave you again.

“Maybe see if there’s any Halloween candy to buy,” his calmness is intoxicating. It calms you, but the deep dread that is, the fact, The Mark is still scorned on his skin. The itch he can’t scratch.

Maybe you should come clean about your feelings. Before it’s too late. Before he isn’t Dean anymore, before Cass has to put him down.

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x male reader #dean winchester x male!reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester one shot #supernatural imagine #supernatural one shot #supernatural x reader

[heart-lit]

A Real Miracle

Author: Heart_lit

Summary: 1941. The Blitz church scene. A different take on what happens after Crowley tells Aziraphale “it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.”

Aziraphale’s mind reels in shock as the woman turns to point the gun in his face. The nazi agents are speaking but he can’t make out the words, he can only concentrate on the frantic breaths wracking his corporation. I’ve been set up! he thinks, desperately searching his memory for a red flag, anything that should have given away the true nature of his new acquaintance. She recruited me! It was all a lie? Oh, the books! They’ll be lost forever! I’m going to die! How am I going to explain this to Upstairs?

 The angel struggles to focus. He feels perfectly wretched. To be exposed for such a fool! The insufferable nazi man has been taunting Aziraphale as he packs away the angel's priceless books. The second man is speaking to him. “Now where were we? Oh, yes. Killing you.”

 Aziraphale’s heart is racing faster than his panicked thoughts. “You can’t kill me!” he pleads. “There will be paperwork!” They are all startled when the church door is thrown open and a man enters wearing dark clothes and a dark hat, hissing as he takes his first steps into the sacred space. The angel’s heart leaps. Crowley!

 The demon is hopping foot to foot as he spots Aziraphale and begins to make his way up the aisle to the front of the church. “Consecrated ground,” Crowley gasps out. “It’s like being on a beach in bare feet!”

 Aziraphale can’t speak a word, his thoughts flying. Crowley! What is he doing here? Could he be working with these people? Why would he ever enter a church? He could have been destroyed the moment he crossed the threshold! Surely a demon couldn’t withstand the holy energy of the place!

 “Mr. Anthony J. Crowley!” he is greeted by one of the men. “Your fame precedes you!” The nazi woman knows Crowley, too, apparently, as she addresses him by name as well. But then she says, “Such a pity you must both die.” She’s going to shoot Crowley, too! So he is NOT working for them! Aziraphale feels a flood of relief that his friend, his dear friend, is too good to stoke these particular fires of hell. A glimmer of hope, of happiness begins to fill his heart.

  He is here for me. He came for me. To save me! Oh, how did he know I was in danger? How does he always know? Crowley always comes for me!

 Aziraphale’s thoughts are swirling and he is unable to follow the conversation that is happening between the humans and Crowley. Something about a bomb that Crowley says will be landing in this exact spot any moment now. The angel tries his best to snap out of his reverie as Crowley explains to the agents, “A last minute demonic intervention will throw the bombs off course. You’re all wasting your valuable running away time!” 

 Crowley turns to face Aziraphale, his eyebrows raised pointedly above his glasses, to say, “And if, in thirty seconds, a bomb does land here, it would take a REAL miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” 

  A real miracle? Oh, a bomb will discorporate us both!

 Aziraphale can hear the distant wail of the bomb in question, the sound growing louder by the second. The humans are scrambling away and any moment now the bomb will hit. The noise of the incoming bomb grows loud enough to drown out all other sounds, and all other thoughts except for Crowley!

 Crowley looks to Aziraphale. In a matter of seconds, Aziraphale’s wings spring forth into reality as he steps toward the demon. His hands reach out for Crowley’s, taking hold of them and pulling Crowley the last few steps toward the angel. Aziraphale’s wings spread up and over his body, surrounding Crowley, along with a wave of heavenly energy, into a cocoon of blindingly bright white feathers. As Crowley is pressed to Aziraphale’s breast, the angel’s arms find their way around Crowley’s shoulders, drawing the demon’s head to rest against the angel’s shoulder, under the shelter of Aziraphale’s heavenly wings. The ground shakes and the church crumbles into dust around them, the nazis buried under the rubble. The dust begins to settle. 

 Crowley pulls back slightly from Aziraphale’s embrace and raises his head, drawing his sunglasses down and away from his face as he looks up at the angel’s wings, awe in his golden eyes. As he tucks the glasses into his shirt pocket, Crowley slowly raises his other hand, reaches up and ever so gently, reverently touches just the tips of a few feathers directly over their heads. Aziraphale’s arms lower, his hands cascading down Crowley’s arms to take the demon’s hands back into his own. He draws them in to press against his chest, gripping them tightly. Crowley’s amber eyes lower to meet the angel’s sparkling blue ones, their faces mere inches apart. 

 “That was very kind of you,” the angel whispers to Crowley. Aziraphale rarely has a chance to see Crowley’s luminous eyes uncovered. “Sssshut up, angel,” the demon responds, softly, and Aziraphale can feel Crowey’s breath ghosting across his lips. “You saved me...” the angel breathes. Crowley quirks one side of his lips into a smirk, eyes flashing, but he doesn’t make a move to step away. A thought is nagging at the back of Aziraphale’s mind. “Oh the books!” he exclaims softly. His lip trembles and a tear escapes his eye, trailing down his cherubic cheek. They’ll all have been blown to dust. Gone forever.

 Crowley huffs softly and his smirk widens to a grin. “Oh, angel,” he says, gently. He brings one hand up to the angel’s face and carefully wipes the tear away with the edge of his thumb. Then, he takes a small step back, withdrawing his hand from Aziraphale’s and looking up. The angel’s wings are still surrounding them.

 Aziraphale shivers a little and begins to withdraw his energy, tucking his wings back into the ethereal plane. Crowley leans down to tug a bag free from the rubble near their feet. My books! He passes the handle toward Aziraphale and says, “A little demonic miracle of my own, angel.” Aziraphale’s jaw drops and then snaps shut again. He feels a little faint as he clutches the bag in toward his chest, the bag taking the place where Crowley had been moments before. Aziraphale is too astonished to speak. He came for me...

 Crowley gives him a wink before placing his glasses back onto his face. “Lift home?” he says, holding out one hand toward the speechless angel. Aziraphale’s heart is beating so fast, he is certain he can’t remain standing much longer. He came for me... he saved my books. He saved me...

 Aziraphale places his hand into Crowley’s and allows himself to be led away.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #hey guys this is my first time writing fic!!! let me know if you like!! #Wingfic

[codicesandflora]

Ineffable Inktober-Day Twenty Seven: Wings

Yep, this is me, ignoring the fact that October is over and still working on finishing this....

This takes place a couple of years after the Notpocalypse. And just as a heads up, there are some brief mentions of an injury and pain in this one.

Barriers Broken (AO3 Link)

“Angel? Are you all right?”

Aziraphale started and looked at Crowley with a hasty smile. “Oh yes, everything’s tickety….”

Crowley frowned. “Angel, if you say ‘tickety-boo’, I’ll set your Oscar Wilde’s on fire.”

Aziraphale’s lips formed an ‘o’. “You wouldn’t dare,” he spluttered.

Indignation lit up Aziraphale’s eyes which relieved some of the tension that had been building up inside Crowley. At least the angel could still be offended. That was a comforting sign.

“I might,” Crowley said with a half smirk. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the mess you got us into just so you could get that copy of A House of Pomegranates.”

“That was hardly my fault. No reasonable person would respond to an offer of generous financial compensation with a request for a gun duel.”

“And no sane person would stick around to see what happens after a threat like that.” Crowley sighed and gave him a fond smile. “Come on, angel quit trying to change the subject. You’ve had that look on your face like someone actually managed to worm a book away from you all morning. What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t just the expression on Aziraphale’s face that had Crowley worried. There was also pallor the angel had and the way his features were pinched with pain. Aziraphale’s step had been sluggish and punctuated with the occasional stumble. Now, beads of sweat were appearing on the angel’s forehead, and Crowley refused to put his questions off any longer.

Aziraphale shook his head and pulled a small handkerchief that had embroidered golden wings on the corners out of his pocket. He wiped his forehead with it and frowned when he pulled it away from his face.

“I, I’m afraid I might have to make an appointment to visit Heaven soon. And I’m really not looking forward to it.”

Crowley let out a huge breath. Neither of them visited their former head offices in the two years since they had been released after the Nearpocalypse. Although he never said a word about it, Crowley was certain that Aziraphale dearly wanted to avoid Heaven.

However, if the angel was truly ill, a visit to Heaven might be necessary. The fact that Aziraphale was considering it meant that, whatever this was, it was serious.

“Why?” Crowley asked. He hadn’t meant for that to come out as an accusation, but the worry that had frayed his nerves had also stretched his vocal cords past sounding casual or simply concerned.

“I….” Aziraphale cast his eyes downward. “It’s my wings. I think there is something wrong with them.”

At that moment, Crowley was grateful for the sunglasses on his face because he doubted that he could hide the terror that was sure to widening his eyes. While their wings were usually kept out of the physical plane, that didn’t meant that they could be ignored or that they couldn’t be injured.

Even worse, because an angel and a demon’s wings were so intertwined with their True Self, a severe injury or a minor one that was neglected could spread to the rest of the non-corporeal form. And if that was allowed to happen…it meant a death as sure and as permanent as one delivered with holy water or Hellfire.

“What happened?” Crowley said, his voice morphing into a low growl.

“I…there was a demon who visited the shop a couple of weeks ago,” Aziraphale replied. “They was looking for you. But after I refused to tell them anything, I suppose they decided to get rid of me before continuing their search.”

Crowley’s hands curled into fists, his jaw tightening. “I warned them. Looks like I’ll have to….”

“No, not really,” Aziraphale said, holding up a hand. “I already Smote them. Quite decisively too. They won’t be back for a long while. But I’m afraid they did manage to land a nasty gash to my right wing before I dispatched it. I, I thought I could take care of it on my own….”

“Open your wings,” Crowley cut in. Aziraphale took a step back from him, and Crowley struggled to ignore the twist in his heart at the sight. “Look, I’m not going to do anything to them unless you want me to, but we got to see how bad the damage is, right? So please, angel. For me?”

That last part was blackmail, and Crowley knew it, but he was too worried to focus on that right now. He would deal with the repercussions of that later when he knew that Aziraphale was going to be all right.

The angel ducked his head and nodded. Slowly, he pulled his wings out of the celestial plane and into the physical one. Once they were fully out, Crowley did another sharp intake of breath.

Aziraphale’s wings were beautiful, but they were also horribly messy, full of broken and disheveled feathers and what looked like a molt that hadn’t been completely cleared away. Worst of all though, was a long slash in the upper part of the right wing. The wound was scarlet through the fluff of sparse feathers that stuck to it and it was trickling stray drips of a green ooze.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. “This…this is….”

“Crowley…I’m, I’m afraid that I….”

The angel put his hand to his forehead again, his eyelids fluttering and his posture wavering. Crowley immediately took the hint and rushed over just in time to catch him before Aziraphale fell face first onto the floor.

‘Shit! Shit, shit, shit...!’ “Hey, I’ve got you,” Crowley said, struggling to sound reassuring. “Ok, I’ve got you. Can you walk? Angel? Hey, can you hear me?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. His head flopped onto Crowley’s shoulder, and the demon didn’t have to see his face to know that Aziraphale was likely unconscious by now. Deciding not to waste any more time on conversation, Crowley hoisted Aziraphale over his shoulder, the angel’s wings draped around him like a shroud.

“It’s ok,” Crowley babbled. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get you fixed up and it’ll be fine. Just hold on, Aziraphale, ok? I’ve got you.”

He continued the steady stream of comforting nonsense while using a miracle to move both of them to the bedroom and as he lowered Aziraphale onto the bed. A bed which suddenly became much larger and wider to accommodate the wings and both of them being on it. Crowley snapped his fingers to brighten the light in the room, because despite the discomfort it would cause, he needed to be able to see even the smallest details of what he was doing.

Crowley ripped the sunglasses off his face and tossed them aside as he climbed onto the bed. He turned Aziraphale face down so he could examine the wing from a better angle.

‘Don’t think it has spread through the whole wing yet. So at least there’s that. Hard to tell though with how they look right now….’

Crowley frowned. It was obvious that the angel hadn’t taken care of his wings at all and the neglect had exacerbated the trauma of the wound. He was going to have a talk with Aziraphale about this when the angel woke up, but for now, he needed to focus on the bigger problem at hand.

“Angel, if you can hear me, I’m going to treat your wound, all right? So, I’m going to have to touch you and….”

That got a response, but not one Crowley had hoped for. Aziraphale’s wings trembled, curling away from him and there was a pained whimper. Whispers laced with shame and agony.

“Please…please don’t, Crowley…please….”

‘Damn him.’ Crowley’s eyes stung. To do nothing would mean death, and he already knew which he would prefer if he had to decide between Aziraphale loathing him and Aziraphale not existing.

“Aziraphale,” he said, his voice deliberately stern. “If I don’t take care of this…you know what will happen. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me to do this, but…ngk….”

He could have said more. He was a tempter, and damn good at his job. He should have been able to find the words to convince Aziraphale, but words could break through the hurt he felt at the husky sob he heard from the angel.

‘Please,’ Crowley’s heart cried out. ‘Please, Aziraphale…’

Slowly, awkwardly, Aziraphale’s wings stretched out again, still trembling, but steady enough so that Crowley could work.

‘Right….’ Crowley snapped his fingers and a stack of soft, green towels appeared on the stand next to the bed. Another snap and some tonics he had stored at his flat sat next to them.

There was so much Crowley wanted to do to Aziraphale’s wings. Not just heal them, but fix them. Straighten and clean them so that they could be as beautiful as Crowley remembered them being in Eden. But doing more than what was necessary to save Aziraphale’s life would be a violation of trust at this point. As much as he burned to do more, he swore to himself he would make this quick.

Crowley looked through his tonics, chose one, and sprinkled a tiny pool of it onto his hand. “Ok, this will sting a little, but I promise it will help, ok?”

There was no response, but Crowley knew better than to assume that Aziraphale hadn’t heard him. More likely, the angel just shut himself down to conserve his strength and as a way to cope with what was coming. But Aziraphale was probably still aware, and Crowley made sure that that remained at the forefront of his brain throughout this.

Gingerly, he rubbed the tonic into the wound. Aziraphale moaned and shuddered, but did not open his eyes or make any other sound. Crowley rubbed the excess away with one of the towels, mopping up the green goo that had congealed on the nearby feathers.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Ok, this is going to be the worst of it. But I’m going to make this as fast as possible, I promise.”

There was still no reply from the inert form on the bed. Crowley slowly blinked and then placed his hands on either side of the wound. A harsh cry rang out, and Crowley almost let go. But then he reminded himself that this was coming and held on.

Then he closed his eyes and focused everything into drawing out the poison and repairing the damaged flesh. The poison turned his stomach. The knitting of soft tissue drained him. But Crowley was sure that none of it could compare to how dreadful Aziraphale felt right now.

Once he was certain that the wound was purified and healed, Crowley let go, releasing a long sigh as he did. Aziraphale was completely out, boneless, his wings drooping over the sides of the bed.

Crowley scooted to the foot of the bed, lying down and curling into a ball on his side. He wanted to be there when Aziraphale woke up. He told himself it was just to make sure that Aziraphale was going to recover.

It hurt too much to acknowledge that it was also because he couldn’t bear the thought of Aziraphale being alone after all that.

#good omens #fanfic #My fic #ineffableinktober #dang it I'm going to finish this challenge...even if it takes another month...XD

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

Without You

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 8569

Summary: Simon is severely injured and out of commission. Baz has trouble coping. Based on "you’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up" request.

Read on AO3

AN: Heyyyyy, my peeps. Long time no fic. Long story short: I started antidepressants and they fucked with me hard. They wiped out of my energy for weeks, I could barely get out of bed. But now I've adjusted and I'm mostly back to myself, and I plan to get through the requests :D There's actually one request before this but that one was gonna take awhile so I thought I'd post this one first. I'm still iffy on some parts of this fic, but hey it's done. That's more than I can say for most of my writing recently lol. Hope you guys enjoy it :D. Disclaimer: Idk exactly how a coma of this length affects someone. Don't take what happens here as fact please.

———————————————

Baz

It starts as a normal day. (Well, as normal as mine can get.) Snow wakes me up at an ungodly hour, banging around like a frenetic ping pong ball. I growl and burrow deeper into my blanket pile. Why does he always insist on doing this? I swear, Snow forgets that other people exist in his little world.

He makes a particularly loud bang, equivalent to gun shot to my sensitive ears, and my patience snaps. I bolt upright and glare at his back.

“Would you keep it down?” I hiss. “Some of us actually want to sleep.”

Snow whips around so fast he nearly trips. I’m taken slightly aback. He looks like a frightened rabbit caught in the headlights. I’ve never seen him so frantic and afraid. Even his breathing is strange, rapid and shallow. What could scare the Chosen One so badly?

“I gotta- I-I can’t,” he stutters, like the adorable numpty he is. Snow is bleeding magic, making the air feel thick and smokey. We stare at each other for a long drawn out moment. Then he just leaves, dashing away in a flurry of bronze hair and untucked clothing. I’m left in the rising dawn light, feeling thoroughly perplexed.

Is Snow okay? He looked so helplessly terrified. Part of me wants to run after him, ask him what’s wrong, maybe try to help. But I know he wouldn’t tell me anything. Actually, he’d probably yell his bloody head off at me.

“Whatever,” I groan, flopping back down. And I let myself drift back off to sleep.

———————————————

Boom!

BOOM!

The entire room shakes, flinging me back into consciousness. My eyes fly open and I bolt upright. Flecks of plaster rain down from the sky like a light dusting of snow. The stones are still vibrating slightly. Crowley and Merlin and Methuselah, what the ever loving fuck was that?! Has the Mage completely lost his mind and decided to test nuclear bombs on the Watford grounds? As if he needs another bomb with Snow-

Wait. What if... No, he’s the Chosen One, he’s fine. I don’t need to worry. He was probably just panicking like a moron earlier. That explosion was...fine. He’ll be okay...

Fucking hell.

I dash out from bed, throwing on my jumper and shoes terrifyingly fast. I grab my wand just in case. As I’m running down the steps, I wonder how I’m going to explain this, dashing towards Simon bloody Snow with a racing heart and fear in my eyes. But I don’t fucking care. He might be in danger. I can’t leave him alone, I can’t, I just can’t.

The second I’m outside, I see the towering smoke coming from the Great Lawn. It’s a massive plume blacking out the sky. My undead heart is roaring in my ears as I run towards the smoke, not caring about any fire within. When I reach the edge of the spot, all the breath leaves my lungs. Flames cover the grass, burning so bright my eyes hurt. In the middle of the inferno are two silhouettes. One is kneeling, and the other is laying limp on the ground. Maybe I’m imagining, maybe I’m terrified, maybe I’m just projecting, but I swear the person on the ground has a mass of dirty bronze curls.

I raise my wand up and yell, “make a wish!” The fire goes out with a rushing pop. Grey smoke still trails off the blackened ground. I wave through the thick cloud, focusing on the two silhouettes. And when I step through, my heart sinks right to the ground.

Simon Snow is on the ground, eyes closed, laying limp with his head on Bunce’s lap.

“What happened?” I ask, voice shakier than I want it to be.

Penelope Bunce’s head whips around. Her face is streaked in ash and tears, hair a tangled mess of fading purple. Unsurprisingly, she looks utterly shocked.

“Baz?” she says. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard the explosion, what else?” I snap. “What happened? Why was the Lawn on fire?”

Bunce glares at me, but I see the way her lip trembles. She rubs her forehead, streaking ash across her skin. “It was a group of ogres. Simon spotted them from his window then sent a messenger bird to me for help. Then we came here. They were under the Humdrum’s control, completely vicious. Simon and I couldn’t hold them off. He was getting tired and scared, so...”

A few tears fall down her cheeks. She places her hand over her mouth, trying to control her rapidly increasing breath, trying to say what I already know. There’s only one thing in the World of Mages that could’ve made such a concussive sound. And this time, I heard two.

I step forward, getting a clearer view. Snow is spread out across the ground like an exhausted starfish. Eyes closed, head lolling to the side, covered head to toe in dirt, blood, and ash. His sword is still laying on his open palm. I can hear his breathing and pulse with my vampire ears. Thank fucking Crowley, he’s still alive. But from the weak sound of both, I’m not sure how long that’s going to last.

“Fucking hell,” I whisper.

Bunce nods solemnly. “I tried to wake him up, but he’s out cold.” She sniffles, and I can’t help but feel bad for her. “Is this good enough for you, Basilton? Finally getting rid of the Chosen One like you want.”

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm in my mind and heart. I can’t lose control right now. I can’t react to her fiery but justified words. Not when Snow needs me.

Quick as lightning, I kneel down and scoop Simon up. I don’t go for a full on bridal carry, that’s a little too obvious. Instead, I sling him over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes, his sword falling to the ground, arms hanging down my back. He’s incredibly light with my strength. I have to force myself to not think about how close he is right now. This is absolutely not the time and the place for that, dammit.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Bunce shouts, shooting to her feet.

“What does it look like?” I hiss. “I’m getting him to the nurse’s office.”

“Why would you do that?! You’re on opposite sides of a bloody war!”

Because I love him far more than my own reputation, I think. But I can’t say that out loud of course. I never can. “Because I don’t want the Mage to find a way to blame this on me and my family.”

I start speed walking across the grass before Bunce can respond. I don’t need more questions right now, I need to get Snow to help. His torso bumps against my back with every step. A stupid part of me hopes the simple vibrations and movement will wake him up. But he stays completely limp.

Crowley, Snow, if you die, I will kill you.

———————————————

“He went off twice?” Nurse Keswick asks Bunce. She nods, gripping Snow’s hand tight. He’s laying on the bed, wrapped tight in a blanket, hooked up to a heart monitor and breathing tubes in his nose. It beeps steadily, every blip reminding me he’s still alive. But his closed eyes and frozen body say he’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Bunce is by his bedside while I lurk in a dark corner, though I desperately wish I could sit there too.

“Yeah,” Baz replies.”One right after another. I’ve never seen it before. The first time was like pulsing waves, but then the second was like...like a bloody nuclear bomb.” She squeezes his hand tighter. “His magic exploded out into a big dome with a mushroom cloud after. All the ogres were incinerated on the spot, along with a lot of the grass.”

Ms. Keswick nods along thoughtfully, making notes on her clipboard. “And he fell unconscious after the second one?”

Bunce’s face crumples in distress. “Yeah. I cleared most of the fire around us, then tried to wake him up with magic and just, y’know, shaking. Nothing worked.”

“I see. Any dizziness prior to today?”

“No.”

“Did any of the ogres hit him particularly hard?”

“Not that I saw.”

“Didn’t hit his head after going off again?”

“He was already unconscious before he hit the bloody ground,” Bunce snaps. Her brows pull together, matching her scowl. If I were Ms. Keswick, I would back away very slowly. Other than the Humdrum, the scariest thing in the Magical World is Penelope Bunce’s wrath. I know. I’ve been on the receiving end of it for years.

Ms. Keswick clears her throat and jots something down on her sheet. “Alright. Well, there isn’t anything physically or magically causing Mr. Snow’s unconsciousness. At least not normal magic. From what you said, it seems to be caused by an overexertion of power.”

“That’s not a thing,” I say coldly. Bunce glares at me over her shoulder, rightly assuming I’m just being my usual snarky arsehole self. But really I’m concerned Ms. Keswick is just making up a diagnosis because she doesn’t know what else to say. I don’t want Snow to suffer because of a wild guess.

“Not usually,” Ms. Keswick says slowly. “But Mr. Snow’s magic does tend to be unusual. He’s not like other mages. It’s very possible he used too much magic and...burnt himself out in a way. I just can’t tell you for sure.”

I scowl deeply. Bunce scoffs at me. I know what she thinks, that I’m upset he’s not fully dead. If only she knew how my entire world is shattering.

“Will he wake up?” Bunce asks.

Ms. Keswick’s eyes soften with sadness. She holds the clipboard to her chest. “I have to be honest, I don’t know. No spell is working. I think we just have to wait and see.”

Bunce’s face falls. It’s only because of my years of practice schooling my expression that I don’t look the same. My heart is beating so loud in my ears. I want to rush over and shake Snow awake. But that won’t do any good. Snow will stay asleep, possibly forever. I don’t even want to consider that.

The door bursts open with a bang so loud I jolt. The Mage stomps in, hand on his sword and fire in his eyes. He’s so enraged he walks right past me.

“What happened?!” he barks at Ms. Keswick and Bunce. Fucking prick.

“It was ogres,” Bunce says, sounding more than a little annoyed. “Sent by the Humdrum. Simon went off twice and passed out. I tried to wake him up but nothing worked. Ms. Keswick says we just have to wait and see.”

The Mage looks even more furious. Bastard probably doesn’t like his favourite weapon being out of commission. “Have you tried every spell, Ms. Keswick?”

“Yes, I have,” she replies. I commend her for staying calm in the face of his anger.

“I doubt that. I will try myself. Everyone leave.” He looks right at me, eyes thin blue slits. “That includes you, Mr. Pitch. I don’t even want to know why you’re here.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Neither I nor the Families had anything to do with this.”

“I never said that.”

“You never had to.” I push off the wall, hands linked behind my back. “I’ll be taking my leave.”

The Mage nods stiffly. He turns back to Bunce and Ms. Keswick. “As should everyone else, like I requested.”

Ms. Keswick nods and walks towards her office. Bunce frowns as she goes out the exit. I follow behind her. Before we leave, I glance over my shoulder, looking at Snow’s face one last time. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see him again.

Bunce and I walk down the hall together, me a few steps behind her. She’s stomping so hard it rattles the floorboards. If she weren’t here, I would be doing the same. I’m so damn frustrated. None of us have any idea what is going on, none of us can seem to help, and Snow is just stuck there, unable to wake up. I’m quite used to feeling helpless when it comes to Snow, but this is far worse.

“Hey.” Bunce stops and turns around. Her mouth is thin line and her voice has an edge. I cross my arms, awaiting a verbal lashing. “It feels weird to say this, but...thanks, for getting him here.”

Well, didn’t expect that. I hope Bunce can’t see the small smile on my lips. I do have a reputation. “You’re welcome. I must say, I’m surprised to hear that from you.”

“Yeah, so am I,” she chuckles in morose sort of way, rubbing up and down her arm. “I know you didn’t do it for any altruistic reasons, but still, it’s good you did it anyway. Though this doesn’t change anything.”

“I know.” She nods, then turns around and walks away. I stand still for a long moment, trying to recollect myself. I know exactly what you still think of me, Bunce. What Snow will still think of me when he wakes up. If he wakes up...

I press the heels of my hands hard into my eyes. Pitches don’t cry, dammit. I take a deep breath and recollect myself. It will be okay. It has to be. Otherwise, well, I don’t know what I’ll do.

———————————————

It’s been fourteen whole days, and Snow still hasn’t woken up. I’ve tried to ignore the anxiety that fears to it’s way through my stomach, but it gets worse with every passing second. During the day I hide it well, going about my business as usual. But at night, I spend hours laying awake, just staring at his empty bed. Having Snow there was torture, but him not being there is absolute fucking hell.

“Do you think the Chosen One is really out of commission for good?” Niall asks through his sandwich.

“Who knows,” Dev replies. “Either way, the Mage’s side is shitting their pants in fear now that their favourite weapon is gone. The Families are elated.”

Crack. Niall and Dev both jolt. Fuck. My knife nearly made it through the plate and onto the table. I could’ve goen further. Damn vampire strength. I put my utensils down calmly and pick up my teacup. “Yes,” I say evenly, “they definitely are. My father and aunt sent word that they are quite pleased.”

Luckily, both of them act like nothing happened. Good men. Niall nods as he eats his salad. “They’re finally off our backs, and we didn’t even have to do anything.”

“Very true.” I push at a piece of chicken a bit too hard, nearly sending it off my slightly cracked plate. But I quickly regain my control. “So who do you think is going to win the FA cup this year, gentlemen? My money is on Manchester.”

Dev scoffs and rolls his eyes. “You always say that. I’m betting on Liverpool.”

“And you always say that!” Niall points at him like it’s a devastating accusation, though we all know Dev’s incessant loyalty to Liverpool. My personal theory is that it’s just because he loves the Beatles.

He and Niall start arguing about the ability of football clubs, and I just sit back. I don’t have the energy for a rousing football debate. Or anything else really. It feels like every ounce of myself is going into worrying about Snow. There’s nothing left for the rest of my life.

We finish lunch, and I pretend I’m going to the library. But the second Dev and Niall are out of sight, I walk towards to the infirmary. I’ve been trying to get there since that first day, but Bunce is by his side almost every bloody hour. She would yell my ear off if I showed up. One thank you does not a friendship make. But I want to see Snow, dammit. And I know for a fact Bunce has a major test this period, while mine is totally free.

Just as I’m turning the corner, I run head on into someone. We both yell as we fall on the floor. Once my vision comes back into focus, I look up, and meet a pair of wide brown eyes.

“Oh, hello Baz,” Agatha says nervously. “What...what are you doing here?”

I gulp down the small lump in my throat and recollect myself. “I could ask the same of you, Wellbelove.”

She starts collecting her books, staring intently at the ground. “It’s my free period, and I’m going to see Simon.”

“I thought you two broke up.” Agatha freezes up. I wince slightly at my own sharp words. I didn’t mean to be that harsh. But part of me is still angry at her for hurting him. They’re disgustingly cute relationship was agony for me, but Snow was happy. That’s what matters.

Wellbelove sighs, standing with her back straight. I do the same, clutching my bookbag strap tight. “Yes, we did break up a few weeks ago. But I still care for him.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’m not sure Snow believes that.”

She nods in a strange, solemn way. “No, I don’t think he does. But I do. I just couldn’t be what he wanted. Simon wants me to be his happy ending, the person waiting for him when all this insanity is over. I want to be someone’s right now.”

My annoyance dissipates, and I feel like a right prick. I clear my throat and look down at the floor. “I see. That’s...understandable.”

“I’m glad you get it. Simon didn’t.” I raise my eyes slightly. Agatha is gazing at the door in a forlorn sort of way. Like a gothic heroine gazing out from her balcony. “I know I did the right thing, but it was hard.”

“Most right things are.” And so are the wrong things, as I’ve learned from experience. They just tear you apart inside in a whole different way.

“Too true.” She smiles slightly. “But I’m glad I did. It was worth the risk. I’m happier now. I only wish Simon was awake so we could at least try to make up. I don’t want to lose him even more.” Her bottom lip trembles, and even though we aren’t even close to friends, it still breaks my heart. “I just want him to be okay.”

My chest feels tight at her words. Before I can stop myself, I’m nodding, and I can feel my face fall slightly, my sorrow bleeding through. I quickly school my expression and straighten up. But Agatha is looking at me, first with shock, and it slowly fades to pity. It stabs me in the gut so sharply I immediately look away. Yes, I’m pathetic, but no one needs to know.

I clear my throat and look away. “I should go. Studying, and all that.”

“Right.” She smiles softly. I can’t tell if she’s being kind because I’m so pitiful, or just because she’s nice. I don’t want to find out. So I turn my back and walk away. Snow is still stuck in that room. It’s stupidly poetic and over dramatic, but if I have a heart, it’s stuck there along with him.

———————————————

I’ve been frozen for hours. I just keep staring across the room, staring at his bed.

It’s still a complete mess. At first I didn’t want to touch his things because I prefer not getting my ear yelled off when Snow comes back. Now I can’t bear to do it, to erase the most obvious sign of his presence. Looking at the crumpled sheets reminds me he used to be here. He was here, where I could make sure he was alive and okay.

He’s still alive, you dolt, my rational brain reminds me. But not in any way that really counts. I want him to be laughing, snarling, yelling, living his damn life. He should be here. It’s not fair. Simon Snow doesn’t deserve to be in a coma.

What I wouldn’t give for him to wake up.

What I wouldn’t give to have him in my arms.

I didn’t get to see him yesterday. And I feel like if I don’t right now, I’m going to catch fire and burn to a crisp.

I throw my quilt off and swing my legs over the side. I don’t even bother putting on shoes. After slowly descending the stairs of Mummer’s house, I tiptoe through the halls. Luckily, I’m very good at being totally silent while sneaking through Watford. It finally pays off to be like a ghost.

Eventually, I reach the nurse’s office. I press my sensitive ear to the door. There are no footsteps, no muttering, no sound except that incessant beeping I remember. With a shaky hand, I turn the brass knob, and step inside.

The moonlight pours in through the window, a silver stream perfectly illuminating the bed. I cautiously walk forward. Every step feels like I’m walking on knives. Snow is still there, obviously, a perfect sleeping statue. But he looks so different. That’s probably because he’s lost quite a bit of weight. A feeding tube can only do so much, I suppose. His cheekbones are more prominent, pushing through his pretty face. His skin looks paler too. It’s lost a lot of its golden luster, more of a pale yellow now. He looks so...empty. My undead heart shatters.

There’s a chair next to the bed. I suppose that’s where Bunce has been spending every minute she can. I sit down slowly, like it’ll bite me  I want to touch him. I want to feel his skin, just in case I may never be able to again. But I hold back.

“Hello, Snow,” I say, unsure if I’m really talking to him or myself. “You’ve been here for quite awhile, huh? The window isn’t open. You’re probably overheating, you human furnace.”

I’m not an idiot, I know he’s going to wake up just because I’m talking. But how I wish his stupid blue eyes would open right now. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. I reach out and lightly brush the back of his hand. Crowley, his skin is colder than his namesake. A choked sound is wrenched from my throat.

“You moron,” I hiss, “how could you go off like that unprepared? Just bring your stupid sword to fight an entire pack of ogres? Bunce was there, I know, but you two were still not enough. You should’ve thought it through more. You should have...” I take a deep breath, holding back tears. “You should have asked for my help. I could have protected you.”

My mind goes back to Wellbelove’s words. How she was scared, yet took the risk anyway to be happier. I wish I could be that brave. And...maybe I could, at least while he sleeps.

I swipe my thumb over the back of his hand, feeling every single bone in it. “You never would’ve asked me though, because you still think I hate you. But the truth is, I don’t, Snow. Not in the way you think.” I hold him tighter, tighter than I ever have before. Wet drops slide down my cheeks. Fuck, I really am pathetic. I’m a stupid blubbering mess, all over this ridiculous, brave boy. “I despise what you do to me, but I can’t despise you, Simon. You’re too strong, too clever, too incredible to hate. You’re the best person I’ve ever met, so much better than my horrible undead arse. You don’t deserve to be stuck here.” I press my fingers harder into his chilly palm. It’s all I can do to keep from falling apart.

“I know you’ve never listened to me once in our years living together, but I hope you make an exception this time. Please, wake up. The World of Mages needs you. I need you. I can’t bear to imagine a world without you in it. I don’t care if you still hate me forever. You should get to live and have your happy ending.” I reach forward and brush away a tangled mess of curls from his forehead. Because I’m a constant disappointment to myself.

“I hope you wake up, because you’re the best thing in existence. And because...” I take a deep, powerful breath, pushing the words out of that deep dark place I’ve hidden them for years. “Because I’m absolutely, hopelessly in love with you, Simon Snow. And losing you would be worse than dying again.” I lightly brush his cheek, barely touching him, but it’s enough. “So wake up, you bloody numpty. You’re not allowed to die. I won’t let you.” My voice cracks. I fall forward, pressing my tear filled eyes on my hand. “You can’t leave me yet.”

My breaths come out shaky, like a rattling old air conditioner. I haven’t let myself cry these entire two weeks, holding in every ounce of horrible, tangled despir. But they fly freely now, streaking down my cheeks. I can’t live without Snow. He’s my hopeless love, my stupid reason to live, my sun. If I’m not crashing into him, what am I doing? I’ve considered dying by his hand, but never him going before me. I can’t lose him. I don’t how to lose him and not lose what little is left of my soul as well.

A weight falls on top of my head. It’s cold, bony, and splays out over my head. A hand. I bolt upright, and I’m immediately met with plain blue eyes and a soft smile, like it takes Atlas level amounts of effort to just to pull his mouth up.

“Hi,” Snow says, voice raspy from disuse, yet somehow still the most beautiful sound.

I stare at him slack jawed for a stupid amount of time. I swear, my brain has turn to thick gruel. Simon Snow is awake, looking at me, smiling. He’s okay. And I’m holding his hand.

Immediately, I shoot back, sitting up ramrod straight, hand very far away from his. I probably look like a panicked deer. “Hello, Snow. You’re up. I’ll...go get Bunce. She’ll be very thrilled.”

I start to stand up, but the slightest brush from chilly fingers, and I freeze. I look over my shoulder. Snow is frowning in this pouty puppy dog way. He looks so unbelievably vulnerable and scared.

“Baz,” he wheezes, “don’t leave me alone, please.”

Crowley, did he really have to say that? It sends a sharp pain directly through my chest. I immediately fall back into the chair. “Okay, I won’t.”

He smiles again, making me almost sigh with relief. “How are you feeling?” I ask. I hope he doesn’t notice I’m shaking like a leaf.

“Like shit,” he chuckles. It brings a laugh out of me too, small and breathy.

“Laying in bed for two weeks will do that, Snow.”

“Yeah, true enough.” He takes a rattling breath. “I thought Penny would be the one here when I woke up. She’s been here a lot.”

My eyes widen slightly. “You know that?”

He nods slowly and winces. It obviously hurts him to move. “Yeah. After a few days, I could hear everything, I just couldn’t, y’know, open my eyes or move.”

Oh fuck. I can feel whatever little blood I have rush to my face. I hope it’s not too noticeable. There’s only so much embarrassment I can take before I explode. “Oh...everything?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Everything?”

“Yeah,” Snow sighs, “everything.”

He turns his head towards me. I see his wince again. I start to reach forward, like I want to what, comfort him. No, I’m not allowed to do that. I’ve never been allowed. Why the fuck do I think I can? Snow looks at my hand strangely, between confused and awestruck I think. I quickly pull my hand back into my lap.

“Sorry,” I whisper, looking very pointedly down.

“Baz, I-I told you, I heard you.” His eyes narrow slightly, as much as he can right now. “But this isn’t some plot, right?”

My blood starts to boil and a scowl nearly split my face in two. Of course in his own mind, it’s reasonable for him to ask. But I just poured out what’s left of my pathetic heart to him, even though I thought he couldn’t hear. It was the most truthful I’ve ever been in my life. And he thought I was lying.

I push my chair away. “Well, I won’t bother you with anymore of my plots. I’ll go get Bunce or Nurse Keswick now.”

“No, Baz, wait!” Snow sits up, and immediately starts coughing. His entire body convulses with the force of them. I’m immediately standing at his side

“Don’t get up, Snow.” I gently hold his upper arms and help lower him back onto the sheets. My thumbs press right into his humerus. Crowley, he really is all skin and bones right now. It hurts me in such a horrific way.

He gestures to the cup of water on the bedside table. I immediately pick it up and bring the straw to his cracked lips. Snow drinks deeply, shoulders relaxing. He ends up drinking the entire thing, then falls back on the bed. I put the cup down and sit, all thoughts of leaving obviously out the window.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I just, I had to ask. I heard it all, but part of me just...can’t believe it.” Our eyes meet, and a shiver runs down my spine. “I never knew you felt like that.”

I stare at my lap, fiddling with my shaky fingers. The world is closing in, shrinking to just me, the lonely lovesick vampire who has never dealt with his feelings. Except Snow is here too. And a part of me wants him here, and another part desperately can’t handle him right now. Snow overwhelms me, always has. He rids my brain of any logical thought. It’s horrible, and I love it. Just like him.

“I made sure you didn’t,” I whisper. “I made sure no one did.”

“Yeah, I kinda guessed that.” He smiles softly again. No matter how weak he is, it’s still such a pretty smile. “For how long?”

I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut. I hope I don’t look too ridiculous “A long time, Snow. Almost since we met.”

I look up slightly. Snow’s eyes are bigger than saucer plates and his lips are slightly parted. Part of my brain supplies an intense image of my tongue between those lips, tracing the inside of his mouth, feeling every crevice. He just woke up from a coma, Basil, get a hold of yourself.

“That’s...a long time...”

I snort in a very undignified way. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“You don’t need to be an arse,” he mumbles.

“I do when you state the absolutely obvious.”

He pouts in that ridiculously adorable way again. Snow really is a giant, sword wielding, explosive puppy dog. “Why do you always go for the lowest blow? Especially if you...care about me like that.”

I gulp. Did the coma make him more articulate somehow? Maybe it rattled some of his brains loose. “Because I’m not supposed to. You know that, Snow. We’re enemies.”

“But what if I like this better?” He blurts out. His cheeks immediately go rosy pink, body a bit too iron deficient for bright scarlet.

My eyebrows furrow together. “What is this?”

“This. What we’re doing right now. Talking, being nice, not being arseholes. And,” he smiles sheepishly like a cheeky schoolboy, “I liked what you had to say, before I woke up.”

My first reaction is to blush. And my second is to scoff and stare at the wall, which is boring, but at least not his beautiful face. “Like having your ego stroked, Snow?”

The room is completely silent for a few long, drawn out seconds. I keep my eyes on the stone wall, analysing every line of mortar. Anything to not look at him. But then I feel something tepid brush over my hand, making my whole body jolt. Snow’s fingers are laying atop mine. It’s something I’ve wanted for so many years. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

“I thought about you.”

My eyebrows shoot all the way up to my hairline. “What?”

He keeps smiling, like that’s an answer. “While I was stuck here, I thought about what you were doing.

“You mean what I was plotting?”

“Yeah. And I missed you.”

I scoff, leaning back in the uncomfortable chair. “Sure, Snow.”

I keep looking at the wall, though I can’t bear to remove my hand from under his. But suddenly, I feel something slowly curl around my long fingers. I whip my head around. Snow is actually holding my hand, even after I insulted him. And when I look up, he still has that smile, despite how much strain it obviously causes him.

“You called me Simon before,” he says.

Surprisingly, it makes me laugh. Because he’s just so ridiculous, and adorable. “That’s what you care about?”

“Uh-huh. I like when you call me Simon. I like you being here, just the two of us. I like all of this better than us fighting.”

Merlin and Morgana, this is too good to be true. Simon Snow is awake, and he knows how I feel, and he likes this better than fighting. I don’t know what to do. My brain is overloaded with information and emotion, and I don’t deal well with the latter. I need to recollect myself before I do something irreversibly stupid.

Snow yawns loudly, mouth wide like a boa constrictor swallowing its prey. The analogy seems apt, honestly. I feel like Snow has swallowed me whole.

“You should rest, Snow,” I say. “You’re probably loopy from...something. Bunce will want to talk your ear off in the morning. Certainly have to have your strength for that.”

His fingers tighten on my hand. He’s so weak it’s barely a squeeze, but it makes me stay anyway. “You’re running away.”

How Snow says that so pathetically yet resolutely all at once is astounding. And it breaks my heart a bit more. “I just need to rest. And so do you.”

He frowns deeper. “Are you going to pretend that none of this happened? Make me feel crazy?”

Well, I had thought about it. But...I don’t think I can now. Not with the way Snow is looking at me with those big plain blue eyes. He destroys all my walls. He makes me feel so weak. I hate it, but I want to love it.

“How about,” I say slowly, “we talk later, when you’re not just emerging from a coma? Okay?”

Relief obviously washes over Snow. His weak body melts into the mattress. It’s good to see him relax. “Promise?”

I chuckle and shake my head. “What are you, five?”

“Please, Baz?” he asks, already drifting off to proper sleep.

Crowley, I am so weak. But maybe I really could learn to love it. I grip his hand tight, but not tight enough to hurt. His skin is warming up. He’s starting to feel like himself again. “I promise, Snow.”

He smiles as his eyes slide shut. He’s immediately asleep. Snow always looks beautiful, but smiling in his sleep, he looks positively angelic. Usually he’s curled up in a knot, whimpering and crying. But not tonight it seems.

I put his hand over his stomach, and exit the little nurse’s room. I walk back to my room in a daze. My brain is still playing catch up. Simon is awake. He’s coherent. He heard every stupid thing I had to say and he liked it. A grin spreads across my face, dopey in the best, most ridiculous way.

He’s okay. And maybe for the first time ever, so am I.

———————————————

It’s been another week and a half of Snow-less agony for me. He has to recover from quite a bit, I assume. An ogre fight, a massive going off, and a two week long coma is bound to do some damage. That’s all I know though. It’s not like Bunce is giving me daily updates on his condition. I want to go see him, desperately, but I also think he needs time to think. He needs to get his head on straight. I know he was worried I would pretend none of that night happened, but I’m more worried he will. Snow will get all his mental faculties back and pretend I never confessed my stupid undying love. Objectively, that would be best, I suppose. There’s no chance at all for us. Still, it would hurt.

“Baz? Baz? Baz are you listening?”

My head snaps up to see a very confused Dev and Niall. Shit, right, we’re supposed to be studying. There’s a test next week. A world still exists outside of Simon bloody Snow.

“Um, yes,” I say, looking back down at my extremely wordy textbook. “History of the first magical war, right. Who was the instigator?” I raise my head again, trying to look as bored and passive as my father. But both my friends still look monumentally concerned. I frown at them. “What?”

“You okay, mate?” Dev asks. “You’ve been off these past couple weeks.”

Niall nods. “Yeah, totally. Ever since the Chosen One went into a coma...”

Crowley, I hope I don’t have enough blood to blush. It keeps happening, and I hate my thoughts being out in the open. “Coincidence, my dear Niall. Finals stress has been a bastard.”

It’s an easy lie, a believable one, but a lie all the same. And unfortunately these boys have known me since I was in diapers. They look at each other briefly, then back at me, both with an expression of deadpan disbelief.

“Is it cause you actually put him in the coma?” Dev asks.

I immediately snap my pencil in half. Just one hard press of my thumb and the little stick is dismembered. Both Dev and Niall jolt. I can’t blame them, I would be shocked too. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and put the pencil down.

“Where,” I say slowly, carefully, “did you hear that?

“Um...around,” Niall replies. “People heard you were there when he went off. Some people are saying you egged him on until he blew up...”

I press my lips together and take another long, deep breath. I need to calm down before I explode. It makes sense, considering what I’ve let people think about me. But the fact that people think I’m responsible for hurting Snow, when I actually tried to save him, is so much more painful than I thought it would be. I don’t want people to think I hurt Simon. I no longer want to be known as his enemy. Crowley, I’m tired of being his enemy at all.

“Baz? You okay?”

I look up at them again. I’m not sure who said that, but both my friends look incredibly concerned. They’re good men, really, underneath all that sarcasm. I nod once.

“I’m alright,” I say, “and that’s not what happened. Snow went off on his own.”

“Okay,” Dev says. “Are you sure you’re alright though? You seem weird.”

“Yeah. I’ve just got a lot going on.”

Niall leans forward on his forearms, brows all scrunched together. “Y’know you can can tell us shit, right?”

I lightly drum my fingers on the table, creating a low rattling sound. I know he means well, but that’s not true. How could I tell them about Snow? How I’ve been in love with him for years? How I accidentally confessed and now he may want what I want? I can’t. Right?

“I know,” I say. “And I’ll tell you if there’s anything to tell.”

“Okay, good.”

Dev smiles, closed mouth and reserved, but there’s a genuine kindness in his face. “We’re always here for you, mate.”

Niall nods and smiles along with him. My eyes narrow slightly. Who are these people and what happened to Dev and Niall? They’re being too nice. We’re always arseholes to each other. They keep smiling. Maybe they’ve been hexed or something.

Or maybe...they know something.

No. No way. They haven’t possibly have figured it out. If they have, they would be yelling at me, they would hate me. That’s what I’ve always expected. But maybe, just maybe, there’s a chance it’ll be okay. Maybe I don’t need to be so terrified.

“Thanks,” I say slowly, then flip up my book, focusing intently on the little black words. They make my chaotic world melt away for a moment. My panic dips ever so slightly. Simon is awake, he’s okay. And for the first time ever, maybe I will be too.

———————————————

I’m laying on my bed, having my fifteenth existential crisis of the past three and a half weeks, when the door starts to open. I immediately bolt up like I’ve been electrocuted. It opens further, and every creak of old hinges sound like a thousand decibels to my ears. Soon, a tawny face peeks through, which makes my slow heartbeat skip. And when he smiles, it stops completely.

“Hey,” Snow says.

“Uh, hi. You’re back,” I say, like a useless idiot. Way to go, Basil.

“Yeah. They finally freed me.” He steps in, and I see the cane in his left hand. It’s dark red wood with a curved brass handle. It’s probably the most posh thing I’ve ever seen him with. He leans on it heavily as he walks in. His legs still look very shaky, like thin branches in the wind. He stumbles on the dip in the wood floor. Immediately I’m on my feet, rushing to his side. I catch his arms, and suddenly realise what the fuck I just did. My eyes meet Snow’s plain blue ones, wide and wondering. I have to actively stop myself from getting lost in them. We stare at each other as the seconds stretch out. I finally come back to my senses, then clear my throat and look away.

“Are you alright?” I ask.

“Y-Yeah,” Snow says.

“Good.” I take a step away, putting a respectable distance between us.

Snow steps forward, still leaning more than slightly on his cane. He sits heavily on his bed with a sigh. I sit on my own, legs pressed together, hands in my lap. I probably look like my father, far too respectable and reserved to look normal. I feel like I’m one bad moment away from falling apart or jumping out the bloody window.

“How are you feeling?” I stare at the dark wood floor. I don’t think I can look at him right now.

“Better,” Simon says. “Penny’s been helping me with moving. My muscles got all funny after two weeks stuck in a bed. But I can walk now, at least with a cane. And I can eat solid foods, thankfully.”

I chuckle quietly. “Back to scones?”

“Soon, hopefully.” I flick my eyes up for a moment, and unfortunately see his big dopey grin. My dead body melts into a white hot puddle. Damn Snow for being so painfully adorable. I have to look down again before I really do defenestrate myself.

“That’s good for you, I suppose.”

“Yeah.”

There’s another stretch of silence. Long, tension filled, agonizing silence. It makes want to eat my own skin. The image is horrifying but accurate. My tongue feels heavy and any ideas for a sentence is utterly idiotic. I’m not used to being at a complete loss for words. Is this how Snow feels all the time? It’s terrible. It gives me a new brand of sympathy for him.

“So,” both Snow and I say at the exact same time.

I look up, and he’s looking back. We stare for a moment, until Snow makes a very dignified snort. It’s like a high pitch hog. My eyes go very wide.

“Sorry,” he giggles. “Sorry.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” I say.

He keeps giggling and snorting. And it’s so stupidly ridiculous, that I laugh as well. I’m quieter and more controlled, as usual, but I’m still laughing. Snow makes a few more snorts, and it turns into a full blown howl. Head thrown back, hand pressed to his stomach. It’s so beautiful and free, so different from when he was in that bed. Before I know it, I’m howling too. It’s the loudest I’ve laughed in my entire undead life. Our sounds fill the tiny room so perfectly, and it’s absolutely glorious. Bloody hell, why haven’t I felt like this before? Why can’t I feel like this all the time?

Slowly, we start to calm down. The room returns to its usual tranquility, only the sound of birds outside the window accompanying us. Snow and I look at each other once more. He softly smiles, and I smile back.

“I still like this,” he says quickly, like he’s trying to get the words out before he stumbles.

I fiddle with my shaking fingers. “Do we even know what this is, Snow?” He shrugs, making me roll my eyes. “Have you ever noticed half your sentences are shrugs?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “I mean, I don’t know what this is yet. But I meant what I said before. Whatever this is, I really do like it better than fighting. Don’t you?”

I press my lips together, holding my tongue back before I say something stupid. Simon is still smiling, still looks hopeful. I know I shouldn’t want him, but every fibre of my being is crying out for Simon Snow. He offers out his hand, palm up, shaking ever so slightly. It’s so unbelievably kind, just like him.

“How can you even trust me? After everything?” I whisper harshly, because if I’m anything, I’m self destructive as fuck. Happiness and I aren’t allowed to mix, right?

“I’m not sure I fully do, but...” he shrugs and holds his hand out even farther, wiggling his fingers as much as he can. My pulse is faster than the speed of light.

Crowley, I hope I’m not doing something irrepreably idiotic.

Ignoring every sensible part of myself, I reach out and grab his hand.

Snow grins, brighter than the sun he resembles. He slowly laces our fingers together, probably waiting for me to pull away. But I don’t. For once I don’t run away. I let myself take a risk, on the smallest off chance I can find happiness. With Simon Snow.

“I want this too,” I say before I get scared. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

Impossibly, Simon grins even harder. I’m going to go blind from his light. “I know.”

I raise a curious eyebrow. “How long have you wanted this?”

He shrugs, and I sigh in exasperation. “Yeah, sorry,” Snow giggles, “not the answer you’re hoping for, I guess.. I dunno when, Baz. I don’t really think about things I can’t do anything about. I just know that I want this now. That’s what matters, right?”

I sigh again, but tighten my grip on his hand. “Yeah, I suppose it is. I don’t know what we’re going to do though. There’s a lot in our way.”

“That’s been true about our whole lives, innit?”

I have to nod. “True enough.”

Simon stands up, legs buckling slightly. I grab his other arm and help him turn. He sits himself next to me, so close our legs press together. His warmth shoots up through my body, spreading like a wildfire. I’d gladly burn because of him.

“We’ll figure it out,” he says with complete confidence. “I’m the Mage’s Heir, you’re a Pitch. Between the two of us we can come up with something.”

Bloody hell. He’s so willing to just barrel forward with no plan. It’s ridiculous, yet oddly inspiring. Snow doesn’t need a plan. He just wants us to be happy. The frantic part of my mind can’t handle, overthinking and over-analyzing everything that could go wrong, which is a lot.

Simon keeps grinning. I feel warmer than I have in my entire life.

Fuck everything. I just want him.

“Okay,” I sigh.

Simon’s eyes widen. “Okay?”

“Okay, I’m in. You’re an idiot, but you can have...this, if you want.”

Now his perfect, pretty lips fall open, Crowley, is he trying to kill me? “Really?

I roll my eyes out of pure habit. “Do you have cotton in your ears? Yes, really, you nump-”

And then he kisses me.

The whole world comes to a screeching halt. I’m thrown into near catatonic shock, frozen as Simon bloody Snow pushes his scorching lips against mine. His right hand cups my cheek, calluses scratching my smooth skin in the best way. I’ve never known this kind of feeling. Literally. This is my first kiss. It’s warm, soft, and made a thousand times better because it’s him, Simon Snow. Simon Snow is my first kiss. He’s still kissing me.

I’m living a charmed life.

I stay frozen for longer than I should. Crowley, could I make it more bloody obvious I’m a kiss virgin? Eventually, I let my eyes flutter shut and raise a shaky hand to cup his cheek. It’s just as soft as his lips. I tilt my head ever so slightly, and so does Simon, slotting us together even more. He does this wonderful thing with his chin that makes my thoughts melt into putty. This can’t be happening.

Snow reaches back, brushing the nape of my neck, moving up to weave his fingers in my hair. Then he clenches his fist tight and jams our faces even closer together. I inhale sharply in shock.

Bloody hell, this is real.

I pull away a bit too suddenly. Snow blinks open his blurry, pupil blown eyes. His lips are red and swollen. Could he look anymore like an image from my dreams?

“Sorry,” he says. He’s out of breath. It’s amazing.

I shake my head. “No, it’s fine. It’s just, well, you recently came out of a coma, and you’re still recovering. Maybe you shouldn’t be engaging in any...strenuous activities.”

Simon smiling and starts giggling. It’s utterly adorable. “Aw, you do care,” he says between snorts.

“Obviously.” I lean forward, tapping our foreheads together. It’s a stupidly romantic teen thing. I love it. “I care for you far too much, Simon.”

Snow slowly runs his thumb over my nape and brushes our noses together. “I care about you too. Definitely more than I thought I did.” He grabs my hand, putting it between us. “We’ll make this work, Baz. We’ve both gone through Hell. This will be a piece of cake.”

“And you do love cake.”

We chuckle together, holding each other’s faces, holding each other’s hands. There might be slightly less in our way than I thought, but there’s still a lot. But this is all I’ve ever wanted, and I’m going to fight like hell for it. I think Snow will too.

“We can do this,” he sighs, hot breath caressing my cool skin.

I hold Simon tight. I almost lost him once. Never again. “We can.”

Snow and I sit there for a long while. And for the first time in my miserable unlife, I feel at peace.

———————————————

AN: Hope y'all enjoyed that :) Tbh I feel like this isn't my best work but I'm still proud of it. The fact that I was able to write at all was an achievement. Also I love angsty overthinking Baz lol, and the ending was super sweet imo. I hope to get back to more regular posting soon. Thanks for being patient. See you peeps again soon :)

#carry on #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #nct fluff #angst #canon divergence #mysnowbazfic

[cayranwilde]

A Burn Worse Than Whiskey

CHAPTER 3

Crowley didn’t know fear. Fear was a stranger - a vague acquaintance at best. Crowley could count on one hand the number of times fear clutched at his heart or churned his stomach, but this, as he kneeled next to his friend’s prone body, was by far the worst.

He remembered first meeting fear when he fell, (or as he liked to tell others), sauntered vaguely downwards. Sauntered or not, unsure as to what would come next had troubled him greatly. Would he still be able to see the stars he helped form into being if he was no longer in heaven, or would they forever more be a fond but distant memory? He loved the stars as Aziraphale loved books or good food. Creators tended to have affection for their creations, whether it be music, art, literature, or in Crowley’s case, stars. A piece of a creator’s soul is given to their masterpiece upon its design, and regardless of the outcome, there is always an attachment.

Thankfully, he had never been denied the stars.

The second time fear made an appearance was in 1941, during the London Blitz. He had heard whispers of a well-to-do book collector having caught the attention of a few notable German spies - spies with direct ties to the Führer himself. For a while, Crowley had watched Aziraphale from a distance, never interfering, but always hidden in the shadows should the angel need him. Aziraphale had always been susceptible to trouble - not because he was stupid or lacked common sense, but rather because he was too damn gullible and good. He never assumed in any of his dealings that he was being “played for a sucker,” and had it not been for the gun being pointed directly at the angel’s head, Crowley would have shook his head in embarrassment for his friend. The gun was a game changer.

The very sight of the pistol, cocked and ready to fire, only inches away from the crease of the angel’s brow sent an unpleasant shiver up the demon’s back. He knew he shouldn’t have cared, he really shouldn’t have. What was one less angel in the grand scheme of things? It would’ve taken years - hundreds, maybe thousands - for Aziraphale to finish the paperwork should his human brains have been splattered against the sanctuary’s walls that night, and then there would have been no guarantee he’d get another body. It pissed Crowley off the think - to know that he cared, and with a frustrated snarl, the demon entered the church, feet ablaze, to keep the angel on earth.

The third time Crowley had been surrounded by fire and smoke. He could always feel Aziraphale, always. Not anymore though. The angel’s bookshop was collapsing around him, pillars of ash and smoke crumbling at his feet as he screamed. Many times he called out for the angel, his voice cracking in anguish, though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Aziraphale was gone. Discorporated. His very being had returned to heaven, and most likely, his human shell was smoldering somewhere under the rubble. It was over - they had lost. If he ever saw Aziraphale again it would be during the Great Battle, and Crowley knew he’d not be able to face him then. Losing Aziraphale on earth was one thing, but the possibility of watching him die by a fellow demon’s hands coiled his gut. He nearly gagged at the thought.

Standing on shaky legs, Crowley stumbled out the door with a book tucked under his arm. It was the only thing he had left of the angel. He felt numb. No anger, no pain, no sadness - just numb. The only thing left to do at this point was to get absurdly drunk.

The fourth time was only a few months ago. Thwarting the Apocalypse had been rather stressful, but Crowley never did feel what he had come to recognize as fear at the Tadfield Airbase. No, what scared him was what came next. He had stood by the angel’s side wearing Aziraphale’s face while Aziraphale wore his, just waiting. They both knew their respective sides were coming for them, but when, they did not know. All they had to go off of was a dead witch’s prophecy and the relative assumption that their bosses were pissed.

But then it happened. Crowely had felt himself bound, gagged and drugged forcefully away while Aziraphale received a nasty blow to the back of his head. They lost sight of each other after that, neither one knowing what to expect from that point forward. They had their own ideas of course, but they couldn’t be certain. They just had to trust the prophecy. But Crowley wasn’t good at trusting - not when his life and the life of the angel’s was at stake.

Thankfully, they had won. Their gamble paid off. They were going to be left alone. Crowley could breathe again.

But now as he leaned over his friend, hands grasping at Aziraphale’s, his throat was constricting once more. Fear was back to taunt him. It leered at him - pointed it’s nobby finger at him and laughed. Crowley felt like he was back at the bookstore, watching it burn. The same helplessness tugged at his heart, although this time it was far, far worse. This time, it was his fault. He had done this to Aziraphale. Instead of books burning, the angel was clawing at his throat, trying desperately to wrench the fire from his esophagus. Horrible noises were being emitted from the angel’s lips, and his mouth opened and shut desperately like a fish having been out of the water too long.

“Aziraphale! Azira...what the hell is happening?!” Anathema screeched, doing her best to hold down the angel’s other arm. Crowley had nearly forgotten she was there. His ears were ringing, his head spinning.

“CROWLEY! Please!” His head shot up, serpent eyes glaring at the girl, his sunglasses discarded somewhere on the floor.

“The fool drank hell fire,” Crowley spat. The sound of Aziraphale choking filled the void between them, consuming everything.

“But how is that even possible?” Anathema asked, wiping the sweat from her brow. She had misjudged the angel’s strength, but held Aziraphale’s right arm firmly.

“My cup...damn it, Aziraphale! I’m trying to help!” The demon growled, one hand pinning Aziraphale’s left arm to the floor while the other cupped the angel’s face, trying to get him to focus. “I spiked my cider with liquid hell fire...from the lake of Fire.* Ever heard of it?” The intensity in Crowley’s voice caused the young witch to shudder. Of course she had heard of it.

“Great for demons, but dead...deadly to angels. Aziraphale! Azira...stop! Jesus , look at me! LOOK. AT. ME!”

Crowley looked positively distraught. His teeth were bared and clinched, and his golden irses had expanded to mask the sclera. Anathema had never seen him like this and prayed that she never had to again. He looked wild, like a feral dog who was determined to protect a few scraps of meat. He looked demonic. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or feel sorry for the wretched creature across from her.

Aziraphale’s thrashing suddenly began to subside to twitchy jerks and spasms. It was as if he was losing control of his nervous system. Wide, pain filled blue eyes that had once been focused on Crowley seemed to look past the demon now, unfocused.

“No no no no no…” Crowley patted Aziraphale’s pale cheek desperately, wanting nothing more than to gather the angel in his arms and never let go. “Stay with me, angel. Hey! Eyes on me, remember? Eyes on me!”

“He’s dying…” Anathema croaked, hands trembling. She knew it even without looking at his aura. She had seen death many times in her young life, she knew what it looked like.

“No he’s not...he won’t! The bastard’s too stubborn to die.” Crowley all but snarled at the witch. “He can’t die.”

“But what about a new body? Adam gave him a new body, surely…”

“NO!” Crowley snapped, baring his teeth at her. His canines were sharper than she remembered. “They won’t give him a new body. We’re fucking outssssiders, remember?! If he goes, that’s it! Heaven doesn’t want em’, fucking Hell doesn’t either….” Nobody wanted them. He and Crowley were on their own.

The demon heaved a deep breath and released it shakely, trying to reign his emotions in. He couldn’t lose himself - not yet. Aziraphale needed him, and if they had any chance what-so-ever at keeping the angel alive, he needed to calm down. He closed his eyes momentarily before glancing back at Anathema, eyes still sharp but seemingly tamed.

“We’re on our own.” Crowley said, the venom gone from his voice. “We’ve got to fix this. We’ve got to save him …”

The witch nodded, gaze flicking back and forth between the two celestials. She felt herself gulp and tried to steady the shaking of her own hands as she tentatively reached out to touch Aziraphale. Before she placed a hand on the angel’s chest, she shot Crowley a nervous glance, almost seeking his approval. The demon didn’t respond, but gave her a sharp nod. Anathema gently undid Aziraphale’s bow-tie and loosened his collar, snaking her lithe fingers around the angel’s throat. She felt his adam’s apple bob sporadically against her palm as he struggled against the suffocating pain.

“Do you think this is only affecting his human body, or his celestial one?”

“Both. Definitely both,” Crowley replied, hovering protectively by the angel’s side as Anathema inspected him. “Hell fire is meant to be torturous to any afflicted angel, body and soul” he explained, watching her carefully. “Depending on what part of the body it touches, and depending on the amount, an angel’s death can be quick or slow.”

Anathema could tell that this was extremely hard for the demon to talk about. She could hear the break in his voice and could feel the waves of anguish rolling off of him. She dared not look at his aura, for she was afraid the very intensity of it would break her heart. She couldn’t begin to imagine what he was feeling - she couldn’t put herself in his shoes. She had only known Newt for a few months now, and while she had grown to love him completely (almost as if he was designed specifically for her) she couldn’t imagine him losing him. Crowley and Aziraphale had been friends for over six thousand years. For one to lose the other would be soul crushing.

“Right,”she nodded with a wet sniff. Her eyes stayed on Aziraphale. She couldn’t look at Crowley right now. “How much was in the mug?”

“Enough.” His jaw tightened. Anathema understood.

“Any cure?”

“I...I don’t know. Not that I know of.” Crowley hadn’t witnessed first hand the burning of any angel, which he was thankful for. Demon or not, he took no pleasure in watching any creature - heavenly, demonic, or earthy - die a slow and torturous death. Crowley wasn’t like other demons though - that was apparently clear.

“Well, there must be something …” she closed her eyes, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s forehead. She gritted her teeth, and her head tilted ever so slightly in concentration. She kept her hands steady. She was feeling for him. His human body was still working, albeit not well, but she had no clue as to the state of his celestial form. It took a moment, but she finally saw him, and when she did, she felt sick - physically sick. She pulled back quickly, almost as if she had been burned herself and gasped, eyes wide.

“What?!” Crowley demanded, golden eyes glowing fiercely behind the fray of his auburn hair.

“It's not good...its not…” her voice broke, still trying to steady her panicked breathing.

“FUCK!” Crowley felt like throwing something. He was losing control again, he could feel it. The demon raked his hands through his now disheveled hair, trying to keep the urge to panic at bay. Aziraphale wasn’t helping matters. His human body was giving up. He could sense it, and he could tell Anathema did too. She was speaking urgently to Aziraphale, practically pleading with the prone form on the floor to hang on while her fingers threading through the blonde curls that now matted against the angel’s forehead.

Then suddenly, something in the room changed. The atmosphere shifted, and Aziraphale stilled under Anathema’s touch.

“Zira?” Crowley reached out and shook the angel’s shoulder, but there was no response. “Hey! Aziraphale...angel!” He shook harder - still nothing.

“No..no...no. NO! ANGEL!” Frantically, the demon clung to him like a lost child, fingers curled tightly around the fabric of the angel’s waistcoat. He shook him again and again, pleading for Aziraphale to blink, move, do something. Anything. But Aziraphale didn’t respond, didn’t blink, didn’t move. Had Crowley been in his right mind, he knew he wouldn’t respond. He was gone - he knew it.

Anathema, who had been shoved aside by the hysterical demon quickly sat up and crawled back over to them, determination creasing her brow. Without warning, she peeled Crowley’s hands away and pushed him back with as much force as she could muster. She didn’t know how the demon would react to being man-handled let alone touched by a human, but currently, she didn’t care. The clock was ticking.

At the same time, an inhuman snarl crawled from the back of Crowley’s throat; however, before he could lash out at the one who tore him away from Aziraphale, Anathema bent down and placed her mouth over the angel’s, forcing air down the scalded throat. The act caused Crowley to pause, fearful eyes wide in shock. She did it again, and again, only pausing to listen, her face inches from his.

“What...what are you doing?” Crowley was still in a state of stupor, heart hammering in his chest.

“Something,” she barked between a breath, “I’m doing something.”

“But it won’t work, we’re not human. He’s not human!”

“But this body is!” Anathema shot back, eyes fierce and determined behind her round rimmed glasses. “Look, he hasn’t discorporated yet, Crowley. It means he’s still here - he’s still here. I feel him.” She placed a hand over Aziraphale’s chest, fingers splayed over his heart as emphasis.

“He doesn’t have much longer, but I’m certain that the only chance we have at possibly keeping him here with us a little longer is if we keep this body working!” She was panting, her chest heaving with emotion. The witch stared at Crowley as if willing him to trust her - to understand that she was doing everything that she could think of to help Aziraphale. She knew trust didn’t come easy to him, but if they had any chance in hell or heaven at keeping Aziraphale alive, Crowley had to work with her.

Crowley gawked dumbfoundedly at the witch. Their eyes remained at a deadlock only a few moments longer before she broke away to resume tending to the lifeless body of the angel. Crowley watched her breath for him again and he blinked, finding it hard to form words.

“Crowley!” Inhale. Breath. “You’ve got to do something!”

“But I…”

“Do something or you’ll never talk to him again!”

A punch in the gut. He forgot to breathe. Those words were so achingly familiar. The words reverberated around him, consuming every ounce of his consciousness, and Crowley felt dizzy.

He couldn’t fathom not hearing Aziraphale’s voice again. It was unthinkable, really. He had stopped time once because he was unable to picture a world where Aziraphale ignored him completely, but this was different. Aziraphale wouldn’t be ignoring him - Aziraphale would be gone. He’d be alone, utterly and completely alone, and Crowley couldn’t wrap his head around that possibility. He just couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

With a look of determination the demon growled low and dangerous, eyes shooting up towards the heavens. He raised his arms, mimicking his movements at the Tadfield airbase, and with a twist of his wrists, time stopped.

______________________________________________________________________

The celestial plain was very similar to the Sahara Desert. Endless rolling hills of red sand met a deep blue sky, one beginning where the other ended. In every direction it was the same. There were no clouds in the sky and no sun - just light; a comforting kind of light that not only warmed the skin but the soul as well. It was and had always been a neutral territory for both angels and demons alike - a middle ground between Heaven and Hell. It was familiar, but undoubtedly a place you didn’t linger for too long. Some mistook it for purgatory, but it wasn’t. Purgatory was for lost and confused souls, not for the occasional meeting between an angel and a demon.

Crowley felt his raven black wings stretch out behind him, joints and tendons aching after having been tucked away for so long. His feathers fanned the air behind him, and for a brief moment Crowley closed his eyes and relished the feeling. He felt whole again.

As they dipped back down to graze the top of the sand in a slow flutter, the demon’s eyes shot back open and he inhaled deeply, sniffing the air for the familiar scent of old cologne, mint, and Earl Grey tea. Aziraphale. The angel’s scent was present and hung thick in the air, mixed with what Crowley could only describe as charcoal and metal. They were smells that didn’t mix well together - smells that weren’t meant to linger around a heavenly presence.

Crowley followed the smell, his head darting around the plain like a skittish deer. His serpentine eyes were wide and completely yellow, void of any human attributes as he scaled the area around him. For a brief moment, Crowley thought he was too late. When he didn’t immediately spot Aziraphale his first thought was that he had discorporated, and that the angel’s lingering scent was the only thing left to prove that the Aziraphale had in fact been here. But then, something white caught his eye.  He immediately started running.

Unlike his human form, Aziraphale’s celestial form was still moving - still alive. The demon would have sighed in relief had it not been for the physical state of figure before him. Aziraphale’s wings, which were as beautiful as ever, laid limply against the red sand, pillowing the angel’s upper torso. One of the angel’s arms rested by his side, unmoving, while his other hand clawed sluggishly at his throat. Crowley felt physically sick at the sight of Aziraphale’s neck.

The once soft, pale skin was black. His scorched skin flaked and began peeling back to reveal nasty reddish blisters that seemed to attack his veins, crudely coloring them a shade of blood red as they pulsed and stretched out across the angel’s jawline. Aziraphale’s lips were partially open as he struggled against the pain, and a low cough rattled his chest, flecks of gold ichor painting his lip and chin as he sputtered.

The sight brought Crowley to his knees. His hand shook as they hovered over the dying angel, not knowing how or where to touch him. He didn’t understand how Aziraphale was still alive. He was suffering horribly, and while it was rather uncharacteristic of a demon, Crowley didn’t want Aziraphale to suffer.

“Zira?” Crowley placed a gentle hand on the angel’s forehead, finally mustering enough courage to touch him. “Angel, can you hear me?” His long fingers stroked through the angel’s hair.

Aziraphale’s blue eyes had dimmed, no longer the color of the sky after a rainstorm. They were glazed over and red rimmed, and held the look of someone who had accepted defeat. Even as they slowly rolled over to gaze upon the worried face of the demon, it was apparent Aziraphale was tired. It made Crowley think that maybe, just maybe this was it. That there was nothing he could do - that he might as well be comforting a corpse. But then, amongst the angel’s unmasked pain, the corner of Aziraphale’s lips twitched in what Crowley could only describe as a smile. Hope pulled at his heart strings.

“Angel, I’m here. I’m not leaving you, alright? What can I do? Tell me...tell me what to do…” Crowley pulled Aziraphale carefully into his lap, cradling the angel’s head in the crook of his elbow.

Aziraphale’s mouth moved, attempting to speak; however, all that he managed to get out was the “C” and the “ley.”

“Yes, yes, it's me. I’m here,” He repeats, trying to smile. “Please, tell me how to help you.”

The angel only sighed and shook his head.

“No, no Aziraphale,” Crowley ran his fingers through the pale blonde curls again. “You’re not giving up. I’m not giving up...we went through too much shit for it to end like this, you hear me?” The demon shook the angel softly, prompting Aziraphale to look at him.

“Please, there must be something ,” Crowley pleaded, eyes skimming the angel’s face for answers. Aziraphale coughed again, his head falling back as another wave of pain rocked his body. Crowley clung to him tighter, shushing him gently much like a mother would shush a wailing toddler.

“Zira, please,” he cooed, “Stay with me. Think .”

Aziraphale’s eyes found his again, and he grimaced as he swallowed. He could taste the blood on his tongue. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and drift away. He wanted the pain to end, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go. It hurt him to see Crowley so upset and desperate, and had he the strength, he would’ve reached up to smooth those worry lines away.

“Water…” Aziraphale rhasped, barely above a whisper.

“What?” Crowley asked, leaning his head forward so that his ear was right next to the angel’s lips.

“H..hholy...wa...water.”

Crowley blinked. Oh God. Yes, of course. Of course! Why had he not thought of that? Of course holy water was the answer, how could he have been so daft?

Crowley’s hand stilled in the angel’s hair as he brought his lips down to kiss Aziraphale’s forehead. He then swiftly moved to cup the angel’s cheeks.

“Listen, I’m going to fix this. Right now. I’ve got to go back, but don’t...don’t leave. Hang on a little longer, alright? Can you do that for me?” The demon’s eyes were wide and desperate, searching the angel’s face for a sign of confirmation. Energy spent, Aziraphale could only nod. He’d stay as long as he could.

“I’ll fix this, okay? I’ll fix this!” And with that, Aziraphale felt Crowley’s hands leave him as time resumed.

______________________________________________________________________

The present world came back to Crowley in a woosh. No time had passed on earth while he had visited the celestial plain, and with a shuddering breath, the demon reached out and squeezed Anathema’s shoulder.

“Holy water. We need holy water,” he said urgently, eyes hard and intense.

Pausing in her life-saving ministrations, the young witch looked up. Sweat had begun to bead on her brow and her rosy cheeks glistened. Had they not been short for time, Crowley might have thanked her for tending to his friend so fervently. The key word being might. Words of gratitude tasted bad on his tongue.

“Holy water?” She repeated, “How do you…”

“Aziraphale told me,” he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “Long story. Don’t have time to explain now. We need to get our hands on some holy water, like now.”

Just as Anathema was about to open her mouth, the door clicked open and Newt Pulsifer came through the door, shouting a pleasant “hello” from the foyer.

“I think I got everything this time, darling,” he called, the sound of paper bags hitting the kitchen countertop.

“NEWT!” Anathema shouted, her voice demanding and urgent. “I need you to run upstairs right now and get that bottle of holy water - it is in the green trunk!”

“But, why would you need…” his voice tapered off as the scrawny man peeked his head through the door. While he couldn’t see everything, he saw enough. He saw Anathema and the demon Crowley hovering over what he could only assume was Aziraphale based on the tuffs of blonde hair and posh clothing. While he could not physically see the angel’s face, based on the witch’s posture and the wide-eyed, frantic look on the demon’s face, he could tell something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“NEWT, JUST GO! HURRY PLEASE!”

“Right...yes, on it,” Newt said, scrambling up the narrow, wooden staircase. His heavy foot-fall caused the old wooden floor to creak and moan in protest as he turned to run down the hallway, knees hitting the floor with a thud in front of  the ancient green trunk. It was one of those trunks that used to only open by lock and key; however, the years had rusted the old lock making it nearly impossible to use a key should the owner still have it. Thankfully, the key was no longer needed, the latch broken and worn, and Newt lifted the heavy lid open with a grunt.

Newt reached down, fingers picking up bottle after bottle, trying to find the right one. He heard Anathema shout “ HURRY ” from the floor below, and he tried to move faster, the bottles clinking loudly as he sorted through them. Finally, after a few subtle curses, he found the right one. It was a clear bottle, its contents sloshing back and forth as it was jostled. A small metal cross was tied to the nozzle of the bottle, and the initials “H.W.” were written on the top of the cork.

“GOT IT!” He yelled, turning to run down the stairs, nearly tripping in the process. Once he reached the bottom floor he handed the bottle to Anathema, out of breath from his exertion. The witch took it from him with a jerk and passed it to Crowley who looked positively dumbfounded as to why she had given the bottle to him. She didn’t hesitate to explain.

“I know the water can’t touch you, so I’ll hold him,” she said, already moving to prop the angel’s body against her shoulder, arms holding him upright. “That way if any of it spills, it spills on me, okay?”

Crowley nodded, popping the bottle open with his thumb. Anathema man-handled Aziraphale’s jaw, forcing his mouth open even wider.

“Ready,” she said, dipping her chin at the demon. “Slowly now…”

Although somewhat shakily, Crowley reached over and tilted the bottle against the angel’s parted lips, watching as the water began to slide down Aziraphale’s throat. After a few seconds, Anathema stopped him and brought a hand down to massage the angel’s neck, forcing the prone body to swallow. Crowley than began pouring more, nearly emptying half of the bottle before he stopped completely. The witch kneaded his throat again, and thankfully all of the water went down “swimmingly” save for a few stray drops that had leaked out of the corner of the angel’s mouth.

Anathema then laid Aziraphale back down, cradling his head in her lap. The room went silent. Nothing could be heard save for the harsh breathing of the three conscious occupants, excruciatingly waiting. Newt watched nervously by the door while Crowley simply stared, eyes locked on the angel’s face.  Thirty seconds passed.

“Well?!” Crowley hissed, breaking the silence. “Why issssn’t he coming around?”

“I...I don’t know. Maybe it takes time?”

“Are you sure that was real holy water? Because if it wasssssn’t…” he warned, gold eyes sharpening.

“I’m positive,” she replied defensively. “I collected it myself at Saint Mary’s in Phoenix, Arizona. Watched it be blessed and everything.” What sort of witch would she be if she couldn’t tell the difference between real holy water and fake? A laughing stock, that’s what. Agnes Nutter would have rolled in her grave (figuratively speaking) had Anathema given Aziraphale plain old water.

But now, as time slowly ticked on without the slightest twitch from the angel, Anathema began to question herself.

Once again, she placed her hand over the angel’s still chest, feeling for life. She prayed to anyone who would listen to let this work, oh please let this work. If it didn’t, she didn’t know what they’d do - what Crowley would do. The demon’s sanity was hanging on by a thin thread - a thread that was stretching thinner and thinner as every second ticked by. The thread would snap at any given moment if this failed. She wouldn’t be able to handle it. A dead angel was unbearable, but a broken demon was unfathomable. She suspected that should Aziraphale die here on her living room floor, Crowley would crumble in on himself and all but die with him.

It was utterly, and completely heartbreaking.

A minute passed.

“I don’t understand,” Crowley moaned, his voice breaking under the strain of sorrow. The snap was coming. “He told me holy water...he told me.”

“Maybe we were just too late,”Anathema replied softly, trying to control the sob that worked its way up her throat. Newt could hear the quiver in her voice and quietly walked over to place a comforting hand on her back. He thought it best he didn’t speak.

“No...no...I made him promise me that he would hold on. I made him promise before I came back that he…” he choked on his words. Crowley’s eyes closed, tears stinging the corners of his eyes. Snakes weren’t meant to cry.

The demon slowly crumpled forward, fingernails digging into his scalp as his forehead touched the floor, a sob rocking his lithe body. He groped blindly, one hand finally curling around Aziraphale’s arm. He clung to the angel’s body as if it was the only thing that grounded him to the earth and screamed . The sound itself was enough to silence the birds outside the window and cause the sun to retreat behind thunderous clouds. All manner of life in and surrounding the cottage felt the waves of agony rushing over the demon’s shoulders - the scream itself causing the electricity to flicker, leaving the room to be lit only by the sun’s fading light. Heaven and Hell weren’t paying attention, otherwise they would have noticed the shift in the earth’s atmosphere.

The demon’s keening morphed into low, antagonizing whimper as the hand that wasn’t already clinging to Aziraphale’s body encircled his stomach, trying desperately to hold himself together. Nothing could be heard over the demon’s sobs and the erratic sniffling of the witch and her lover. Fear had been replaced by despair. She lingered at the door step, head bowed, face pale.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley whispered, voice hoarse from screaming. “I’m so, so sorry…” He didn’t dare look up. He couldn’t look up. It was over, it was done. He failed.

He. Was. Alone.

Another rush of unrelenting agony consumed the demon, and as another sob began to build the arm he clung to twitched.

It’s not real , Crowley. You’re imagining things , Crowley.

The arm twitched again.

This time, he looked up. Anathema must have felt it too, because her eyes, red with tears, looked down at the angel almost expectantly. She placed her hand on his chest, and her eyes widened.

“Crowley, I feel…” she didn’t finish. As if breaking the surface of water, Aziraphale gasped greedily, his chest heaving and eyes impossibly wide.

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5]

#good omens #good omens fan fiction #crowley #aziraphale #crowley and aziraphale #anathema device #aziraphale whump #hurt aziraphale #aziraphale angst #protective crowley #near death experience #fluff #crowley and aziraphale love each other

[fictionalabyss]

I loved him.

Pairing : Destiel, Crowley.

Word count : 1,304

Written for : @spnaubingo and @spngenrebingo

Square : Au - HistoricalAU Genre - Western

Warnings : Major character death, Violence, heartbreak. Single use of the word “Negro” as I tried to keep this as accurate to the wordage in the show and hopefully the time it’s set in.

A/N : Based on a scene in Hell on Wheels (season 4, episode 5 if you want to watch it), which is a Historical Western. This story takes place in Cheyenne Wyoming late 1860′s. If you’ve seen it : Castiel is Marshal Jessup, Dean is Heckard and Crowley takes on the role of Durant. 

SPN AU Bingo Round Two Masterlist.

SPN GENRE BINGO MASTERLIST.

Dean strolled along the street and glanced between the buildings as he went. He wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just doing his job. When he spotted the body laying in the mud behind some building, he’d been annoyed at first. Yet another body littering the streets of Cheyenne. But that’s why they were dispatched to the frontier of Wyoming, wasn’t it. To bring law to a lawless land, where men shot and killed each other over nothing, where the only judge and jury present were a gun or a noose. What else was there for the fine people of the Government of the United States to do, than appoint a Governor and send him on his way with his Marshals and a Judge.

The people here resisted at every turn, and of course they did. Freedmen were tired of being under the white man’s thumb, and everyone else was set in their wild ways, content to drink, fuck and kill as they pleased before heading back to building the railroad. Irish clashing with the Negros. Union and Rebels. Everyone scared or angry about the Indians. Don’t even get started on the Mormons that littered the area from here to Fort Smith and beyond.

Dean almost liked it here. As Deputy Marshal, there was never a dull moment.

Dean moved closer, to find out who it was, maybe a clue as to who did it, and get the body off the streets. But that’s when something shiny caught his eye, and his face paled. “No..” His pace quickened, and he could now see the features on the face of the deceased. “No! Cas, no!” his feet kicked up mud as he ran and dropped to the man's side.

His hands moved over the body without actually touching it, his eyes searching desperately for some sign of life before he finally allowed himself to touch skin and feel for a pulse. He should have known. He should have known he’d feel nothing there given that he had to move the rope wrapped around his neck out of the way. He trembled as he looked around. The rope had been a part of someone's clothes line, pulled down and wrapped around his neck. There were signs of struggle all around. Boot prints dug into the mud where they tried to get purchase. Hand prints from someone clawing into the ground, trying to get to the nearby knife that still lay in the mud. He looked down at Cas one more time, blood had trickled down from a split in his forehead and Dean could even make out what could be skin between his teeth. He’d fought back with everything he’d had in him, but it hadn’t been enough.

Dean stared blankly ahead and stood. He had to find John Campbell and tell him that someone killed his U.S Marshal. Dean’s jaw clenched tight. Then, he was going to find the man who killed him. And he already had an idea who that could have been.

It was pitch black in the train car as Dean shut the door behind him. Then he stood there, head down so his hat covered his face, and he leaned slightly on the walking stick he used more often than not as a weapon. Waiting. He could hear the shuffle of feet and the creaking of the floor as his target neared.

And then there he was, across the room from him. Crowley barely seemed surprised as he tied his robe and uttered a simple “Oh.” When Dean showed no intention of moving, or speaking, Crowley spoke again as he took a step into the room.. “Any business with the Governor will have to wait until morning.” Then his hand rose in a dismissive wave before he turned to head back to his bedroom on the other side of the thin wall that separated the car.

Dean tilted his head, took a step closer. “Tell me why you did it?”

“Did what?” It was a demand more than a question. There was no confusion in Crowley’s voice. He was guilty of many things, all of them insignificant to him. The possibility of having to answer for one of them seemed to barely faze the man.

“Castiel is dead.”  There was a waver in Dean’s voice, a tightening in his throat as he said his name. Dean tried to swallow down the pain that made his lip curl back while Crowley stopped his retreat and stared at him.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” Crowley stepped back into the room, closer to Dean than he had been before. He looked to Dean as if he was an imbecile for accusing him, and it was obvious it was an accusation.

That’s when Dean finally looked up, looked at the man before him with pure disgust and hatred. His eyes narrowed further into a glare that would scare off any man he fixed it on, and gave a slight shake to his head. “I loved him.”

There was a moment of confusion on Crowley’s face before the meaning of the statement dawned on him a second later. His brow remained furrowed, but the rest of the creases of confusion melted away. “Y- You loved him?” his eyebrows went up as he regarded a seething Dean. “Oh, I see.” He breathed it out with a soft smile, hoping to calm the situation just a touch. When he continued, he used a firm but gentle voice. “Well, whatever it is you think I’ve done, I can assure you, you are wrong.”

“Stop lying.” With a simple flick of his wrist, his hand opening and closing again, he now held his walking stick as a weapon.

Before Crowley could move, react, or even utter a word, Dean swung his arm across and hit Crowley on the side of the head with the ball that topped off the handle, sending the man sprawling over his desk. Crowley, however, was quicker than he looked and grabbed hold of the chimney of an oil lamp and broke it in Dean’s face, sending Dean falling backwards into the wall as his hand went to his eyes.

Crowley moved to run past him, but Dean grabbed the back of his robe and pulled, turning Crowley and slamming him to the ground face first. Then Dean kicked him, and when Crowley’s body turned, Dean kicked him again with everything he had and Crowley dropped back again, hands up to try and fend off the attack as he curled into the fetal position.

Dean rained blows down on him with his cane. He could hear the cracking of bones as he beat down on his head, ribs, anything he could hit he hit it. Spit foamed out of his mouth in rage as he swung down again and again.

Memories haunted him. Memories of drinks in the saloon spent laughing with each other. Stolen kisses when they managed a bit of privacy. Fucking on the card table when they had finally been rid of Mickey McGinnes and the other Irish bastards in the casino.

He’d never wake up next to him again. Never get to steal kisses behind a building. Or fuck behind some tent in this shithole of a town. He had nothing left to live for, nothing left to love and he rained all that rage down on Crowley.

Cheyenne Wyoming was the death of Castiel, and it was the death of Dean, because Dean might as well be dead without him.

Every swing, every kick, every punch was emphasized by a grunt of exertion. He was growing tired, he could feel his swings getting weaker but he couldn’t stop. Not as long as Crowley was breathing and Castiel wasn’t.

He’d burn the whole fucking town down to make them pay.

*If you like this, please consider supporting my work*

Tagging : Cas. - @deanandsamsbitch

Dean - @evyiione @deanandsamsbitch @akshi8278 @haelyn   @anjiep24 @polina-93 @colagirl5 @adoptdontshoppets   

Supernatural - @roxyspearing  @internationalmusicteacher @super100012 @legend-o-zelda @sandlee44 @dancingalone21  @superfanficgsp987 @holyfuckloueh  @arses21434 @musiclovinchic93 @your-sparklywinnercollection @closetspngirl @ksgeekgirl @4llmywr1tings  @hobby27 @just-another-busyfangirl 

All tags - @gloria1097 @pearky22   @trashforwinchesters    @bohowitch @feelmyroarrrr @pureawesomeness001 @thesassmisstress @fandomsneverdie14  @me-a-unicorn @xalgaliareptx @destiels-new-girl @sorenmarie87 @ridingmoxley @shaelyn102   @nanie5 @jesstherebel   @mogaruke @emoryhemsworth @my-amaz-fanfics @akfonkin @lazinessisalliknow   @screechingartisancashbailiff @justballoonfishthings @coralphantomninja @babypink224221

#spnaubingo #spngenrebingo #historicalau #western #destiel #destiel fic #dean winchester #dean fic #dean #dean winchester fic #castiel fic #castiel #spn #spn au #spn fic #supernatural #supernatural au #supernatural fic

[pink1031]

You’ve Woken Up The Demon In Me- Part 4

Characters: Demon!Dean x Reader, Crowley, Castiel, Cole

Warnings: Violence, non-con, dub-con, language, rough sex, oral (male and female receiving),angst, smut, choking, general abuse, Fluffiness is abundant in this last part.   

A/n: So we have made it to the end of this one, finally.  Sorry it took me so long to finish this one and hopefully it was worth the wait. This one continues to follow the story line of the show as far as Cole’s character is concerned. I did not follow everything exactly, but much of the dialogue is there and the same premise. Sorry if this is pure trash. Gifs are not mine.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

@build-a-pyre

@wildefire

You sat in the library in silence, a bottle of Jack Daniels in your hand as Sam took Dean’s food to his room.  You poured yourself your third glass and brought it to your lips.  Sam’s soft footsteps filled the room as you sat the glass back down on the table.  You slid the bottle over to him as he pulled out the chair next to yours.

“How you holding up?” Sam looked at you with furrowed brows.

“Cas healed everything up so, I’m good.” You shrugged your shoulders.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Sam pursed his lips as he poured himself a drink.

You sighed and stared down at the honey colored liquid in your glass. “I don’t know Sammy.”

Sam brought his own glass to his lips and took a long drink. “You want to talk about it?” 

“I really don’t know what to say about it.” You glanced up meeting his eyes for only a minute before looking back down at the table.

“I can’t imagine how you are feeling Y/n.” Sam sighed softly, he reached out and gently gripped your hand holding it in his own large one. “I just want you to know I am here for you and I will listen if you do decide you want to talk.” You returned his sad smile and held his hand. “I just don’t know what good talking about it is going to do. I mean, my best friend, the man I love almost killed me.  He uh, he…” Your voice trailed off.  You couldn’t even bring yourself to say the words.  

“He raped you Y/n.” Sam looked at you then. “You can say it.”

You quickly jerked your hand away from Sam and shifted in your chair. “It wasn’t like that.” You huffed. “I mean it was but it wasn’t.” You let out a growl of frustration. “I wanted Dean. I’ve wanted Dean for a long time.” You paused and looked down at your hands. “Just, just not like that.” You looked up at the younger brother with tears in your eyes. “Fuck Sammy, I am just so confused about it all.”

Sam just looked at you with a frown on his face. His large hand reached out for yours again but you jerked away and stood up. “What am I supposed to do Sam?” you almost yelled in your frustration. “I mean, part of me wants to run in there and hold him because I know the shit that is going through his head and part of me is scared shitless to even be within five hundred feet of him.” You began pacing the floor as the anger, sadness, and frustration all coursed through your veins.

Sam’s brows furrowed deeper. “I honestly don’t know, Y/n.” He huffed softly, his lips forming a thin line.

“You know I love him Sammy.” You turned to face the younger Winchester. “That’s why I stayed with him out there.” You flung your arm out in gesture pointing past the walls of the bunker.

“What?” Sam asked, the confusion showing on his face.

“C’mon Sammy.” You rolled your eyes as you started pacing again. “You and I both know I am better than fucking Houdini at slipping a pair of cuffs. I could have been out of there that first night.” You stopped to see the surprise expression on Sam’s face. “But I couldn’t leave him out there all alone with Crowley.  I had to know he was all right. I had to stay with him.”

Sam rose from his chair in one fluid movement at your confession. In two long strides, he was at your side wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tight against his chest. He held you close, tears filling his eyes at the realization that all the pain and abuse you suffered was the price you were willing to pay to make sure his brother was not alone.  You sacrificed yourself to make sure Dean was safe, or as safe as he could be under the circumstances. 

“Y/n?” Dean’s voice cracked as he spoke. The one word, your name, holding so much raw emotion.

Your heart raced and fear immediately coursed through you as you saw Dean standing in the library doorway. You quickly pushed Sam away from you and took two steps back not wanting to face the consequences of being caught hugging his brother. 

“No, no, no, sweetheart.” Dean held his hands out to his sides as he took a few steps forward. The fear on your face breaking his heart. “It’s okay.  It’s okay.,” he said softly. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You stammered. “He hugged me. I didn’t…” Your voice trembled.

“Y/n, baby,” Dean stopped moving as he watched your body shake with fear. “It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. Never again. Never.” Tears streaked down Dean’s cheeks as he spoke. 

You took a shaky breath. Tears already forming in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.  You nodded your head softly, Dean took another step forward, and it made you instinctively take a step backwards. Dean stared at you for a long moment. He wanted so badly to rush to you and wrap you up in his arms. He wanted to hold you and kiss away every tear that fell from your eyes and let you know everything was going to be okay.  However, with every step that Dean made towards you, you took a step away from him.

“Listen, brat, I uh..” Dean paused as he saw you visibly cringed at his use of his nickname for you and he swore to himself right then that he would never call you brat again.  

Dean’s shoulder slumped in defeat. He had no idea how to make this right between the two of you. He didn’t know if he was ever going to be able to fix what he had broken inside of you.  His lips parted to speak but there were no words that could ever make what had happened all right so he closed his mouth and turned to leave the room.

“Dean, wait.” You called out softly. Your voice still a little shaken. Dean slowly turned to look at you. “I know…” you paused struggling to find your own words. “I know it wasn’t you and, and I don’t blame you. I just need some time to process. Ya know?”

A small soft smile that didn’t reach Dean’s eyes formed on his pink lips. “Of course sweetheart. I just,” Dean paused as he felt his own tears prickling at his eyes once more. “I uh, heard what you said to Sammy and I just wanted to say thank you.  Thank you for not leaving me alone and thank you for not giving up on me.  I know saying I’m sorry will never make up for what happened but I truly am sorry.” Dean didn’t wait for your response before turning and heading out of the room.

One month later:

It had been a month now since Dean was back to being Dean. The three of you had heeded Casteil’s advice and taken some time off for yourselves.  The time off hadn’t lasted long before you and Dean both were ready to jump back into work. Wanting desperately to get back to some sort of normalcy.  Sam had been leery of going back to work but with the both of you hounding him, he didn’t have much of a choice. 

By the close of that first month you were finally able to be in the same room with Dean without feeling like you were on edge and without your fight or flight instinct kicking in. In fact, you had made enough progress that Sam was able to leave you and Dean alone in a room together for small periods of time without you immediately bolting for the door. Sam was very happy to point out that fact when he had actually gotten to go take a shower without you locking yourself in your room while he had been busy.  

Things by no means were back to normal between you and Dean. You didn’t talk to each other much and neither of you could really look each other in the eye. You certainly were not ready for any kind of physical contact with Dean yet.  Even the friendly hugs and playful contact that you so often shared before Dean became a demon was very much off limits.  You were both trying very hard but like you both kept telling each other and yourselves, it was just going to take time.  

3 months later:

By the time three months had passed since Dean had been cured things were going a little smoother.  You and Dean were talking more even joking around some. Your nightmares had greatly decreased and the three of you were back to full time work.  

You were now able to stay in a room alone with Dean and were mostly at ease.  You still had no physical contact which was beginning to take its toll on Dean.  There were so many times when he had automatically reached out to hug you or put his arm around you, which to him seemed so natural, only to have you flinch and pull away when he tried.  

Dean was beginning to think he would never gain your trust back and he had almost lost all hope that you would ever love him again the way you had before.   Things changed the night Cole came back into your lives. You found yourself standing in a dark alley with your gun drawn pointing it at Cole as he pointed his gun right back at you.

“Put it down. Y/n, put it down!” Dean barked at you from the opposite end of the alley.

You looked at Dean and then back at Cole as you slowly lowered your weapon just as Sam came around the corner. 

“Cole, hey, right here. We're talking, okay?” Dean spoke calmly as he drew Cole’s attention away from you and Sam.  Your eyes darted between Dean and the man standing between the two of you with his gun trained on Dean.

“How can I believe you, huh?” Cole asked, his voice was quivering. “How can I believe you?” he yelled the question this time. “My whole life, I’ve been…”

“I get it.“ Dean interrupted him. “That was your story. Look, man, I got one of those, too. Okay, but those stories that we tell to keep us going? Man, sometimes they blind us. They take us to dark places,“ Dean paused for a minute, “the kind of place where I might beat the crap out of a good man just for the fun of it.“ Dean’s eyes met yours over Cole’s shoulder as he spoke. “The people who love me, they pulled me back from that edge.” 

You took a shuddered breath as you watched the situation unfold and Dean continued to speak. “Cole, once you touch that darkness... It never goes away. Now, the truth is... I'm past saving. I know how my story ends. It's at the edge of a blade or the barrel of a gun. So, the question is, is that gonna be today? That gonna be that gun?”

Your lips parted. You wanted to scream a resounding “no” to answer Dean’s question for Cole.  The thought of Dean being gone made your heart ache and your stomach tighten and you knew in that moment that you still loved the man with everything in you.  

Before you could speak Sam’s voice cut through the silence. “You've got a family, Cole.” the sound of Sam’s voice made Cole turn to look at him. “I heard you on the phone that night. I'm guessing they need you to come back, and they need you to come back whole.”

Cole stared between the brothers for a moment before slowly lowering his gun and handing it back over to Dean.  He simply nodded his head and walked away. Once Cole had climbed back into his vehicle you breathed a sigh of relief and did the only thing you could think of, you ran to Dean.  Dean’s body stiffened in surprise as you ran towards him and flung your arms around him. 

“What if he had shot you Dean?” You hugged the man as tight as you could. “You were just going to stand there and let him shoot you.” Tears filled your eyes and your voice began to tremble. “I can’t loose you Dean. Not again.” 

“Shh,” Dean finally allowed his arms to gently wrap around you and he held you softly against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere sweetheart. I’m right here.”

  Dean closed his eyes as he rested his head on top of yours. He breathed in deeply inhaling the scent of your hair, drinking it in as if he might never get to smell it again.  He had missed your touch and your smell so much he wanted to stay in this moment forever, just holding you and just feeling you against him.   Your sobs began to rock your body, it was like once the flood gates had opened they wouldn’t close and you and Dean both realized this was what you had needed. He held you and rocked you gently in his arms as all your emotions that you had been bottling up over the last three months came flooding out in the form of tears. Dean gently stroked your hair and ran a gentle hand up and down your back. 

“That’s it darlin’, just let it all out.” He soothed as he held you tight. “I got you.” It was at that moment, as you clung to Dean like your life depended on it, you couldn‘t stop the words from spilling out of your mouth. “I love you Dean.” You whispered softly against his chest as your sobs slowly subsided. Dean gently cupped your chin in his rough calloused hand and tilted your head up so he could look down into your eyes. His thumb gently stroked over your cheek as his jade eyes locked on yours. “I love you too sweetheart.” He smiled softly.

Dean dipped his head to press his full soft lips to yours but your body instantly tensed and you pulled back. “I’m sorry.” You whispered softly as you stared up at Dean a deep frown on his face as he let his hands slips away from your body. “Nothing to apologize for, sweetheart.” Dean reached out to you and brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face. His smile returned when you didn’t flinch away from him.  “It’s going to take time remember? And I’m willing to wait, no matter how long it takes.” 

“Thank you.” You returned his smiled. Your moment was interrupted by a cough from behind you drawing yours and Dean’s attention to Sam. “Guys, I hate to interrupt but we need to find Rowena.” Sam brought you both back to the case at hand. You both nodded and headed towards the Impala.

6 months later:

Another three months had passed since your breakdown with Dean in the alleyway.  Things were continuing to get better but still not back to pre-demon-Dean days.  You didn’t think you would ever go back to being the same person you had been, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Dean was being true to his word and keeping a comfortable distance from you which now included being able to occasionally put his arm around you and the two of you had shared a few more hugs.  The hugs started a little awkward but had gradually gotten easier and even comforting at times.  You continued, however, to get your own motel room anytime the three of you were on the road. You just couldn’t bring yourself to stay in the same room with Dean all night, even with Sam there. 

One thing for sure that had not changed was you all still hated dealing with witches.  Rowena was turning out to be a pain in the ass and add that to the stress of trying to find a way to remove the Mark of Cain from Dean left the three of you running ragged.  

The three of you were driving back towards the bunker when Dean had pulled into a motel parking lot in the middle of some little one-horse town that you didn’t know the name of. 

“I’m beat.” He grumbled as he rubbed his hand down his face. “Let’s just crash here for the night and we can head home in the morning.”

You and Sam grunted in agreement, both of you just as tired as Dean. Sam peeled himself out of the passenger seat and headed to the motel office to get your rooms while you and Dean waited in the car.  A few minutes later Sam returned.

“Bad news.” Sam huffed as he slid back into the car. “They only have one room available.”

“Shit.” Dean mumbled. “Guess we’ll have to push on to the next town and”.

“Ugh,” you cut Dean off. “Let’s just stay here. I’m too tired.”

Dean turned around in the front seat so he could look at you. “Are you sure sweetheart? We can drive a little further.”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” You waved him off. “You’re tired, I’m tired, Sam’s tired.  Let’s just go get some sleep.” You opened the back door and slid out before either brother could say anything else.

Sam went back to the office and paid for the room before heading back to the car where the three of you grabbed your duffels and headed into the motel room.

You exited the bathroom to find both of the boys had changed into their sweats for the night and had each taken up residence on one of the queen size beds.  You suddenly were unsure about this arrangement.  You had always slept in the same bed with Dean when the three of you were on the road but now that didn’t feel like the best option and you weren’t sure what to do.  Sam and Dean both looked up at you as you stood staring between the two beds.  Dean looked at you with almost hopeful eyes and Sam’s eyes just seemed sad as he gave you a small smile. 

“You can sleep in my bed.” Sam offered, nodding to the empty space at his side. 

You immediately turned and looked at Dean to see his reaction. He smiled softly and shrugged his shoulders. “Whatever you are comfortable with darlin’.” 

“Thanks.” You smiled at him before making your way to the empty side of Sam’s bed and crawling in under the covers. You could hear the audible sigh that spilled from Dean’s lips as you made your choice but you knew despite his disappointment he would let you be. 

Two hours had passed. Two hours of tossing and turning. Two hours of staring up at the ceiling. Two hours of listening to both men snore and you were still not asleep. You were so exhausted but you could not fall asleep. It didn’t help anything that you were sleeping with the giant Winchester. Sam was all arms and legs and he was definitely used to sleeping in a bed by himself by the way he sprawled out. You found yourself inching closer and closer to your edge of the bed as he tossed and turned as well.  You were on the very edge of the bed the next time he rolled over and with a thud his arm landed across your shoulder. You sighed and grumbled as you rolled out from under the large arm and stood up. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you looked at Sam on his stomach almost spread eagle across the bed. 

You were so tired you contemplated sleeping on the floor when your eyes moved over to Dean in the opposite bed. Dean was quietly lying on one side of his bed leaving the opposite side completely empty. You stared for several long minutes at the empty portion of the bed. You bit at your bottom lip and shifted nervously on your feet. 

“Screw it.” You mumbled under your breath before letting your bare feet carry you silently across the room.  You eased yourself into Dean’s bed as slowly and quietly as you could so as not to wake him up.  Within minutes you finally drifted off to sleep.   

‘Why was it so hot?’ you thought to yourself as awoke the next morning. Your eyelids were still too heavy to open but you were practically sweating.  Did you fall asleep next to a furnace? You squirmed as you tried to move to fling the blankets off your body but you found you couldn’t move. Something very heavy was draped over your shoulders, waist and legs.  Your eyes slowly blinked open and you realized the heaviness holding you in place were Dean.  One of his large muscled arms was under your head and wrapped around your shoulders while his other arm had a tight grip around your waist holding you close to his chest. Both of your legs were tangled with his effectively trapping you flush against his very warm, very hard body.  You couldn’t see his face as your own was buried in the crook of his neck with his chin resting on top of your head.  You could tell he was still sleeping by the even soft breaths that blew lightly against your hair.  You tried very slowly and very gently to dislodge your body from being entwined with his but you couldn’t budge an inch. You tried for several minutes before Dean’s very gravelly sleep laden voice cut through the silence of the room.

“You really need to stop with the squirming sweetheart.” 

“Dean.” You whined softly into his neck as you wiggled to once more try to free yourself.  

“I’m serious darlin’, you keep that up and I am not going to be responsible for my actions.” He chuckled softly into your hair. 

You giggled in response. “Dean, I’m sweating here. It’s too hot. At least let me move a little.” 

Dean grumbled but loosened his grip allowing you pull back until there was space between your two bodies and you could finally tilt your head up to look into those jade green eyes.  

“Good morning.” You smiled as your bright eyes met his. 

His smile was warm and genuine. “Good morning sweetheart.”  The arm that been around your waist moved to allow Dean to brush a stray strand of hair from your face before he gently stroked your cheek.  “I had almost forgotten how good it felt to wake up next to you.” 

You couldn’t help but to nuzzle softly into his hand on your soft porcelain cheek, your eyes closing briefly as you savored the touch. “Yeah, same here.” 

“You know,” Dean raked his teeth over his bottom lip as his eyes studied your face, “we could do this, every morning. If you want to.”  He chortled softly. “I always did have the best sleep ever with you by my side.”

You returned his smile but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. It made you feel sad that you couldn’t give Dean what he wanted, what he needed. “You know none of this has been because I don’t want to be with you Dean.  I do want this every morning. I do want us to be together. I just don’t know if I can.” 

Dean nodded softly, his hand still gently brushing against your cheek.  “I understand sweetheart, I really do.”  His thumb gently caressed against your bottom lip and your lips parted instinctively. Dean grinned. “You know, um, it’s been a while since we uh, you know, tested your boundaries.” He cleared his throat. “Um, you know, just to see where we are at now.  I mean you didn’t freak out when you woke up with me this morning.”

“True. I didn‘t did I?” You said with an easy smile and this time your eyes sparkled a little with the happiness in that realization. Dean’s thumb gently trailed over your bottom lip once more as he stared down at your mouth. Your lips pursed softly as you kissed the pad his thumb. You watched as Dean’s eyes closed and he mumbled something incoherent under his breath. “Dean?” You whispered softly, suddenly feeling nervous. His eyes opened slowly at the sound of his name. “Kiss me?” You asked almost shyly. 

Dean continued to cup your cheek with his rough calloused hand as he dipped his head towards yours. He was almost hesitant as he lips brushed against your own. The touch was soft, almost feather-light. Your hand moved to curl your small fingers around the wrist of the hand that held your face. You held onto him gently as his lips simply stayed against yours. He was letting you guide this, letting you control what and how much of him you wanted. You pressed your lips to his more firmly and he returned with the same amount of pressure. He kissed you tenderly, carefully. You sighed contentedly as your lips parted and you gently suckled at his bottom lip bringing a soft moan to his throat. The warm softness of your tongue found his plump bottom lip and you tasted him as your hand left his wrist to stroke along his forearm and over his broad shoulder until your fingers played down along the hard muscles of his back. 

Dean’s heart was racing in his chest at the feel of your fingers dancing along his skin and the taste of you on his lips. His tongue moved with your own, finally dipping between your soft full lips into the sweetness of your mouth.  You moaned against his lips softly and deepened the kiss until you were both breathless when you finally pulled apart. “Y/n.” Dean moaned your name softly as his hand slid down your cheek and over the curve of your shoulder to settle against your waist. The heat pooled between your legs at the sound of your name falling from his lips. You pressed your thighs together needing friction as the desire that you hadn’t felt in so long made you quiver.  

Your eyes locked on his glassy green orbs that held so much need and emotion in that one moment. “More Dean.” The plea came out soft and raspy. Dean trembled with the effort to hold himself back as the plea fell from your lips. He wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes off and feel your body under him as he finally made you his again but he knew he couldn’t do that. Not yet.  “Are you sure, sweetheart?” 

You nodded your head in reply not sure if you could form words. You leaned in to press your lips to Dean’s once more but to your surprise Dean pulled back.   “I need to hear you say it, Y/n.” Dean’s eyes searched your face. “You know I want you, darlin’ but I need to know you are okay.”

You nodded once more before you found your voice. “I’m okay Dean. I’m sure.” Dean‘s lips met yours once more, the kiss passion filled but easy. His tongue danced with yours and you moaned against him as he rolled you both so you were on your back under him. The kiss was needy and desperate but not hard, not demanding. Your hands were at his waist pulling him closer to your body as you melted into the kiss.  Your body was writhing gently under him and all he had done was kiss you.  With soft but precise movements Dean slowly began to undress you, taking his time with each piece of clothing making sure to give you time to protest or stop him but you nodded each time he paused until you were fully naked underneath him. 

He stared down at your naked flesh. His eyes drinking in every inch. “So beautiful.” He whispered softly. He was hesitant as his fingertips reached out to gently stroke your flesh. His touch was so soft, so careful, and so tender, as if he thought you were fine porcelain under him and he was afraid you could break at any moment. His fingers traced softly and slowly over your collarbones and down the valley between your breasts before letting his warm touch gently trace around each hard nipple making your back arch and a soft whine fall from your lips.  He grinned down at you as he watched your breasts rise and fall. Your nipples grew to taut peaks as the pads of his fingers grazed the pebbles in the lightest of touches. You reached out for him, wanting to touch him, wanting to feel his warm skin against you.  

“Let me make you feel good sweetheart.” Dean’s voice was low and thick as he gently caught your outstretched hands in his own. He wasn’t rough but instead gentle as he guided your arms back down to your sides and placed them softly against the mattress.  You nodded softly, biting at your bottom lip as he resumed the exploration of your body like this was the first time.  

His hands moved to the spot they had left off, gently teasing fingertips against your hard nipples before letting his hands slide down across your abdomen and sides.  Dean’s strong hands played over your flesh. Rough palms skimming along your hips and down your thighs, touching you everywhere but where you wanted him the most.  

“Dean.” You whined as your hips rose at his touch.  

Dean just smiled down at you before lowering his head and kissing you tenderly. His lips began to follow the same path his hands had. His mouth moved to leave warm wet kisses over your jaw and down your neck. His tongue lapped softly along your heated skin as he reached your collarbone. A light graze of teeth made you shiver as he made his way to your right breast. He lavished the hard bud with his tongue before gently sucking it into his mouth making you gasp with the pleasure.  His mouth moved languidly, showering your breast with affection before kissing and licking his way to your left breast and repeating the process.   You squirmed under his expert ministrations. Your body was alight with desire, every nerve tingling in a way it never had before. Your hands tunneled through the short scruff of Dean’s hair as he kissed his way lower down your body. His tongue teasing a wet trail over your skin until his warm breath washed against the apex of your thighs. 

“Please Dean.” You whimpered. 

“Patience, sweetheart.” Dean looked up at you as he settled himself between your creamy thighs. “I’m going to take care of you, I promise.” 

Dean was definitely a man of his word and you knew that.  His lips gently kissed the soft flesh of you inner thighs, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin as he inched his way painfully slow to where you needed him the most.  His warm breath washed across your slick folds before his tongue licked a soft line from your tight entrance to your throbbing clit.  The sensation made your hips rise from the bed and deep moan to fill your throat.  Dean smiled as you slowly began to rock against his mouth as his tongue delved into your tight heat. He moaned at the taste of you on his tongue, a sweetness he never thought would grace his lips again.  His took his time bringing you to the edge again and again as he alternated between driving his tongue in and out of your heat to flicking and sucking at your pulsing clit.  

Your head was rolled back against the bed as your hands fisted in the short hair atop his head as you moaned and cried out for him. “Please Dean please. Please make me cum.”  

Dean groaned as your pleas echoed in the room.  His lips latched onto your clit as he gently slid two fingers into your dripping pussy.  His fingers worked hard back and forth as they stroked your slick walls.  The digits curled inside of you until you were bucking against him.  

“That’s it baby.  Cum for me sweetheart.” Dean moaned against your soaked petals as he felt your walls flutter around his thrusting fingers. 

The fire between your legs spread out until it felt like it engulfed your entire body.  Your head snapped back as you cried out your release and your body quaked with the force of your orgasm. You called out Dean’s name over and over again as you rode out your climax until your body fell limp against the bed.  

Slowly Dean eased his fingers from your slippery core.  He placed a tender kiss to your now sensitive clit before sliding up your body.  Your chest rose and fell against his as you tried to calm your rapid breathing.  Dean grinned down at you as he peppered your face with soft kisses until you were giggling under him.

  “You are so beautiful baby.” He gently stroked your flushed cheek as his lips pressed lovingly to your own. “I love seeing you smile again.”  

Your own hands moved to cup his scruffy cheeks as you brought his lips back to your own.  “I love you Dean.” You whispered softly against his lips before you kissed him hard.  Dean moaned into your mouth as your tongue pushed past his lips and into his mouth. You took control then, your hands leaving his face to push at his shoulders as your hips rose over him and you coaxed him onto his back.  

“I love you too.” Came Dean’s gruff breathy reply as your lips finally left his.  You grinned down into his smiling eyes, watching as they crinkled at the corners as he looked up at you. 

You bit at your bottom lip as your hands slid down the broad expanse of his muscled chest. Your fingers played along his skin, tracing each ripple of muscle and every hard line until your hands reached the waist of his sweatpants. You gave him a mischievous grin as you hooked your fingers into the waistband and gave a hard tug.  Dean quirked an eyebrow up at you and chuckled softly as he raised his hips allowing you to tug both his pants and boxer briefs down at one time.  

“You sure about this sweetheart? We don’t have to.” Dean’s smile turned to a frown as he looked up at you, the worry evident on his face.  ’You know I want to but we don’t have to do this now.”

“I want you Dean.” You smiled at him reassuringly as you leaned back over and kissed him again.  His moan vibrated against your lips as your soft hand found his hard length and your fingers curled around him.  You slowly and softly stroked along his cock. You took your time as your hand twisted around his cock, moving up and down until his hips were rising off the bed and he was almost whimpering with need.  

“Shit Y/n.  Please baby. I need you.” He moaned as your hand continued it’s teasingly languid pace.  

You smirked as you looked down at him, seeing his brows furrowed, the way he bit his bottom lip, and the absolute need in his eyes.  You shifted your body so you could straddle his thick thighs with your shapely legs. Your eyes locked on his as you guided the thick swollen head of his cock to your tight slick entrance and slowly began to lower yourself.  Your hands braced yourself against his chest as you took him inch by inch into your clutching cunt.  Your moan of pleasure mixed with Dean’s soft groan as your firm ass finally rested against his thighs. Your walls fluttered as they stretched around his hardness and you could feel his cock pulsing inside of you.  Dean’s hands reached out for your own and he laced his fingers with yours as you both just took the time to relish your bodies being locked together.  

Dean used his grip on your hands to pull your body forward, bending you at the waist until your chest was pressed against his own.  His arms wrapped tightly around you as his lips found yours.  Slowly he began to thrust under you, short soft thrusts that sent jolts of pleasure coursing through the both of you until your hips began to match his rhythm.  Your mouth molded against his, you clung to his chest as his arms held you tight, and your hips ground against one another.  The two of you moved in perfect steady rhythm.  It was slow, gentle, and full of emotion, this was more than sex, this was love.  

In one graceful movement, Dean rolled you both so you were under him. He kept his arms laced around your back, strong hands sliding up to curl around your shoulders and hold you close to him.  

Dean’s eyes closed and a moan rumbled deep in his chest as he slowly began to grind his hips against your own. You tightened your thighs around his waist, your heels digging into the flesh of his ass as your hips rolled to match his.  Time seemed to slow to a stop, every move was slow, easy, languid, and perfect.  His body fit perfect into yours and the two of you melded together as one.  Hands caressed flesh, lips kissed, and your bodies bucked together.  

Dean’s low gruff voice was soft as he whispered and moaned against the curve of your neck. “You are so perfect baby.” He ground his hips harder to yours as you moaned beneath him. “So beautiful.  You feel so good.” His words whispered against your lips this time as he kissed you. “I’ll never hurt you again.  I love you Y/N.” 

“Dean.” You gasped against his lips as you body began to quake under him. The constant drag of his cock back and forth between your slick clutching walls pushing you closer and closer to the precipice of ecstasy. “I love you.” You panted. Your hands clutched at his back, nails raking lightly along his skin as your back arched under his, thrusting your breasts to press to his chest. 

Dean felt your body tensing under him.  The sweet velvet walls of your pussy tightening around his throbbing cock pulling a deep groan from his throat.  His hips began to falter as your cry of release echoed in the room. Your body bucked to his as you came undone around him.  He held you tight to his body as his own release shook him to his core and he came with a roar of your name.  You clung to each other as you both rode out wave after wave of pleasure as one until it felt like you were both floating.  

You stayed locked together, your bodies entwined as you came down from your high.  Dean returned to kissing over every inch of your face from your forehead down to your lips and chin as he confessed his love for you as well as his promises to always keep you safe.  You giggled under him as you returned the kisses and sweet sentiments.  

With a whimper of protest from you, Dean dislodged his body from yours to lie at your side.  He was quick to pull you against him and cradle you to his body. “That is how your first time should have been darlin’.” Dean’s green eyes met yours and you saw the shine of tears welling in the jade orbs.  

“Dean.” Your hand cupped his scruffy cheek. You weren’t sure what to say.  You knew Dean would never forgive himself and no words you could say would make it better for him.

“I mean it baby.  I’ll never hurt you again and I’ll never let anyone else hurt you.” He smiled as he looked into your beautiful eyes.

“I know Dean.” You returned his smile as your lips sought his out once again.  He kissed you lovingly as his hand stroked lightly over your soft skin.  As the kiss ended, you buried your face into the curve of his neck and snuggled close to his warm body.  

You both hummed a sigh of contentment as you snuggled together.  The morning was beautiful and everything you had imagined being with Dean would be before the demon had come into the picture.  

Dean’s phone chirped to life bringing you both out of your post coital haze and Dean groaned as he rolled over to grab it from the nightstand.  He chuckled as he read the text from Sam. 

Is it safe for me to come back now? I’ll bring breakfast.  

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Well since he is bringing food.”  

Dean laughed and messaged his brother back, giving him the all clear.   You and Dean reluctantly climbed out of bed.  By the time Sam came back you were both showered and dressed.  Sam grinned as he walked into the room and his eyes landed on you and Dean caught up in a tight embrace and sharing a loving kiss.  

Things were finally right in his family again, or as right as they could be for a Winchester, and it gave him hope.  

#demon!dean x reader #dean winchester #demon!dean #spn #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #Sam Winchester #Supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean x you #you've woken up the demon in me

[winsister91]

Since I’ve Been Loving You - Part 7

Summary: Y/N tries to buy time until the others to arrive. For now, she has to go it alone against Crowley.

Pairing: Cop!Dean x Cop!Reader

Word Count: 1649

Warnings: Language, violence, gunfight, angst, fluff

A/N: My chapter for @luci-in-trenchcoats collab series! Thank you for letting me take part :)

Since I’ve Been Loving You Masterlist

Previously in part 6...

The flashlight app on Gordon’s phone lit up the room and you were right. You checked the drain, but your arms were not long enough to retrieve the firing mechanisms from your weapons. You would have to make do with what you had scavenged from the former prison guard. The shotgun was bulky, but you were able to slip it down the back leg of your jeans. You hid the blade inside your bra and were glad you had more than just a metal nail file to defend Dean and yourself.

The phone buzzed in your pocket; a message from Sam. You sighed in relief when you read his three simple words; 5 minutes out.

You checked on Dean to make sure he was still breathing. It was shallow, as was his pulse, but to the untrained hand, it would be undetectable. You whispered your thoughts in his ear. Even though he couldn’t hear you, you needed to speak the words in case one, or both of you didn’t survive.

You rose to your feet, fear replaced by rage and determination and you stalked to the bottom of the grimy stairs.

“Crowley!” you howled from the pit. “Let’s finish this!”

Your heart sunk no sooner than the words left your lips, you could hear the scurry of footsteps in the room above, but way more than just one set of feet.

“Shit…” you hissed to yourself, hastily trying to wrack your brains as you glanced around the room.

Just need to buy five minutes until the cavalry arrive…

You grab for the shotgun on your person and take aim at the door at the top of the stairs. The moment you noticed any movement on the door handle you fired. The bullets blasted and burst into shrapnel which scorched through the old wood.

“Give it up!” You threatened, lining up a second shot, “You’ve lost Crowley! It’s over!”

“Is it?” his coarse British voice echoed on the other side of the door, “I know for a fact you’ve only got one shot left in that gun, and no ammunition.”

You winced at the reality of his words. You gritted your teeth and stood stubborn and strong, “It only takes one to take you down!”

“What about the other five of us?” Crowley tittered, “So you’re right, it is over! For you.”

You feel a small lump of anxiety form in your throat. It threatens to shake you, but you swallow it down with a grimace. There was no time to panic, you could hear the thud of footsteps approaching the door again, and decided to conceal yourself.

You found a shadowy corner, balling yourself up behind a dusty crate. To your advantage, there were a few shadowy little cubby holes like this you could have chosen from, so you hoped luck would be on your side and this one wouldn’t be their first to check.

You ducked from sight when you saw Crowley, surrounded by his band of thugs and all armed to the teeth as they cockily strolled down the stairs.

“Ugh,” Crowley scoffed, rolling his eyes, “I do hate Hide and Seek.”

With a wave of his hand, he signals his men to start searching the room. You held your breath in your spot as your eyes fell briefly on Dean, who still laid limp and unconscious where you’d left him. You feel your heart begin to thud harder and faster as Crowley started to approach him. Your jaw trembled with anger and pain as you watched the madman kick Dean’s unconscious body hard in the chest.

“Well, what do you know…” Crowley sang with joy, “You weren’t kidding were you, darling! Dead. As. A. Doornail.”

Your eyes stung and filled up as Crowley timed hard boots to Dean’s chest with every word he spoke.

You shook your head, you knew you had to stay focused and keep buying time until Sam and the others arrived. You couldn’t let your emotions get the better of you. It was easier said than done though. Whilst you sat in your quiet corner biding your time, panic flooded your mind. Worried that your actions by coming out alone may now get you and Dean killed. More anxiety at the thought of Sam and the others also getting killed when they arrive. You made this mess. You had to try and fix it.

Taking a short sharp breath, you tried to compose yourself again, before you could do anything you had to get rid of the involuntary trembling. You will yourself to look up again, taking long quiet breaths as your eyes scanned around. Two of Crowley’s men were far from you, on the opposite side of the room searching, another one stayed hovering around the mouth of the stairwell and the other two were near you, but had their backs to you. You ducked back down again, planning your approach. You gripped the shotgun tightly in one hand, the other snaking under your shirt to grab the knife you hid on yourself.

You take position, holding your feet in the right stance to pounce as you faced your target. Your heart thudded with adrenaline and fear, but you had to ignore it. You had to make sure you and Dean made it out of here alive. To do that, you needed Crowley’s attention off of Dean.

You leapt forward, swiftly reaching your destination as your brought the knife up to your target’s throat. While he froze, stunned momentarily you brought up the shotgun next to his hip and fired at his none the wiser buddy nearby. You tossed the shotgun before his body could even hit the ground, turning your attention back to your hostage, skillfully swiping the pistol from the hand he waved around manically and aiming it at a bemused Crowley.

“Enough,” you uttered lowly, digging the sharp edge of the knife into your human shield’s neck as you stepped forward, “It’s. Over.”

“Darling,” Crowley smirked, nodded his head with a pouted lip, “I’ve got to admit I’m mildly impressed. But there’s still four of mine and only one of you.”

Before you can react, the sound of gunfire filled the room. Whilst talking Crowley had slipped his hand inside his jacket, retrieving a concealed pistol which he fired in your direction. You thought at first he’d missed, until a sudden wash of white-hot pain coursed through your shoulder. Crowley’s shot had torn clean through the man you held defensively, and into you.

You fell back from the momentum with a small cry of pain, colliding harshly with the cold ground. You winced in pain and gasped for the breath as you watch the man who took the brunt of the bullet, fall dead to your side.

“Oh…” Crowley shrugged, “Make that three of mine now.”

You could feel your energy draining as you slowly bled out, watching Crowley’s feet take steps towards you. He kneels down, a twisted smile painted on his face as he watched you pant and gasp for breath.

Dammit… you thought to yourself as your eyes suddenly met with the barrel of his gun, ...I’m sorry Dean.

You heard the familiar bang of gunfire, but it wasn’t as loud as you expected it to be. You’d clenched your eyes tight, but decided to take a quick peek when you realized your face hadn’t been blown off.

Crowley was on the ground before you, writhing in agony and holding his leg which bled profusely. The other three of his men were scrambling and fighting against some other figures which had appeared in the room. Your vision became foggy as you continued to lose blood and the sounds around you grew into white noise and echoes.

Somewhere amongst them, you could have sworn you heard someone shout “Police!”.

Sam?

 Beeping. You could hear a repetitive, monotonous beeping. Your eyes felt heavy and aching as you forced them open. The light was bright and sharp, not helped by the bright beige and clinical surroundings. You were in a hospital, and damn did you have a large number of bandages wrapped all around you.

“Morning,” the first voice you wanted to hear greeted you. Your heart skipped an injured beat as you realized Dean was with you. He was sat in the chair next to your bed, also adorning a matching hospital gown and IV drip.

“Dean,” you smiled, voice slightly croaky from not being used, “You’re okay.”

“Yeah,” he laughed sheepishly, “I’m told you had a small hand in that.”

“Very small,” you scoffed, squinting your eyes in guilt, “I screwed up Dean...I nearly got us both killed.”

“You tracked Crowley down,” Dean held your hand reassuringly, “Took two of his men outta the equation alone, and bought us enough time to survive and catch Crowley alive. Now he can face justice.”

“We got lucky, Sam and the others are the ones that got us out of there” you sighed, shaking your head and squeezing his hand tight, “That was too close, and I should have handled it better. I’m sorry.”

“I’m here trying to thank you and all you wanna do is apologize,” Dean laughed shaking his head and cupping your chin, “It doesn’t matter, I’m just glad you’re okay.”

You feel your cheeks flush, his words striking you with relief and nerves as he drew close to you, your lips mere millimeters apart. He stops, leaving the ball in your court to decide what happened next.

Isn’t it obvious?

You took what felt natural to you and leaned in, letting your mouths collide in one long embracing kiss. At first, it felt like your heart had jumped into your throat, but your nerves swiftly calmed as you relaxed and relished how natural and right this felt.

Your lips parted and you found yourself lost in his emerald eyes.

“Not bad Winchester,” you smirked in a tease.

“Not so bad yourself Y/L/N,” he bit his bottom lip in return.

You both laughed together, sharing one or two more sweet pecks before deciding to take on reality.

“I really should be letting someone know you’re up,” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, “They‘ve been nagging to get a statement from ya for hours.”

“Well I do apologize for being unconscious,” you drawl sarcastically.

“I’m afraid you’re in for a long day of statements and questions,” Dean shrugged, looking at you sympathetically, “So I got you this, it’s the closest I can do to buying you dinner in here.”

He reached into a pocket and tossed a small red pack of jello onto your lap. You picked it up, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh my,” you chuckled, “How romantic.”

“I had limited options!” Dean protested with a laugh, “I promise, future dates will be a hella lot better than this.”

“Future dates huh?” you cocked your head curiously.

“Well yeah,” Dean flashed his best attempt at puppy eyes, “If you’ll have me?”

You smiled again, resisting the urge to giggle like a schoolgirl, “I think you may have just twisted my arm, Winchester.”

Tags! Forever Posse: @sofreddie @chelsea072498 @ria132love @untitled39887 @chicagolove88 @akshi8278 @sis-tafics @younoeatcheeseyounobefat @mandilion76 @teamfreewill92 @supernaturalmagicfolk @emoryhemsworth @musicistobeheard-blog @pheonyxstorm @mrswhozeewhatsis @turnttoverr @itspronouncedsatanbitch @the--real-wombat  @xagateophobiax @samisimportant @jensen-gal @castielle11235 @waiting-to-find-myshadows   @19agbrown   @mogaruke @nyxveracity   @cole-winchester @esoltis280    @maui137

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#since i've been loving you #collab series #supernatural #spn #fanfiction #spn fanfic #dean x reader #cop!dean x cop!reader #cop!dean #supernatural au #dean au #dean fluff #fluff #dean angst #angst

[holylulusworld]

The queen of Lebanon - Part 9 – The kingpin of Lebanon

Summary: Your father died years ago, all men in the business believed you are too weak to take over his Empire – they were wrong. Anyone trying to get into your hair will feel your wrath. What happens when a cocky mobster tries not only to steal your empire but your heart too?

Pairing: Mobster!Dean x Mobster!Reader, Cole Trenton, Jimmy ‘Cas’ Novak, Benny LaFitte, Arthur Ketch

Warnings: angst, ‘the family business’, mentions of characters death, love-hate relationship, hooking up, rivalry, betrayal, violence, mentions torture, age gap (reader is 28; Dean 32)

The queen of Lebanon Masterlist

Four years and 7 months ago, …

He’s panting heavily looking up at you with wide eyes as he can see the coldness in your Y/E/C orbs. 

“I know what you did to my mother and Michael. I know you are a killer, a monster, Winchester. You love to make a murder look like an accident so…” Smirking you point toward the fire slowly feasting at his car. “You will die like my family.”

“Y/N, this isn’t you.” Coughing John tries to free his leg cursing as the pain makes him feel dizzy. “Don’t do this…”

“You destroyed my whole life, John. You killed my whole family and any chance I had with Dean. Now your life end with the same pain my family felt back then. Have a nice life…” Laughing you run toward your car, jumping in as Cole speeds off.

A few moments later you heart the explosion end John Winchesters' life. You wish you could say your heart is healed but all you feel is a void at the place where your heart used to be…

Now…

“Artemis has fallen, just like Ares…” Pacing around Dean’s office you bite your lower lip. “Problem is, Dean…” Standing closer to the mobster you hide your face in his neck to make sure no one can hear your words.

“Gadreel didn’t know about Frank. He wasn’t around when Charlie told us about him. She never mentioned her connection to Frank before and…” Meeting Dean’s eyes you take a deep breath. “…there’s only one person knowing Ares was my most important hideout with the best security…”

“Who?” Hushing the word Dean searches your face and he can see the disappointment. “Y/N, we need to share information. Just tell me, Baby Girl.”

“I can’t…not yet.” Choking the words out you press a piece of paper into Dean’s hand, giving him a cracked smile. “I need to be sure, Dean. If he’s a traitor, he’ll die but I can’t just kill him. Gadreel still could be the rat.”

“What did Charlie say?” Pointing toward your iPad you nuzzle your nose into Dean’s neck, inhaling his scent to calm your nerves. “Y/N?”

“Charlie said all data look original, but the phone calls, the ones coming from Gadreel’s phone look odd. Charlie found some notes Frank made. He assumed it’s fake…” Dean’s features darken, and you feel the anger radiate through his body.

“What now?” Kissing your neck Dean roams your body, not wanting to miss to touch you while he has the chance to. “We need to find the rat…”

“Trap, Dean.” Whispering your plan into Dean’s ear you feel his hands wander to your ass, squeezing it hard. “Dean, not now. I’ll call Garth, make sure he’s safe. If I can’t reach him, I know Gadreel is guilty…”

“What if Garth is alright?” Falling silent you take a deep breath. “Y/N, tell me his name…” Letting go of you Dean searches your face once again.

“Just give me two hours. The plan will reveal the rat and we will punish him. If it’s Gadreel he will pay, if it’s him then…” Swallowing the lump in your throat you give Dean a cracked smile. “I will let Arthur hurt him as no one got hurt before…”

Turning around you leave Dean’s office. He’s gulping hard as he opens the piece of paper to read the note you gave him. “Be there at 2 pm…”

“Garth called you?” Cole asks once again; relieved Gadreel didn’t harm your friend. “So, Gadreel did his job and the Sheriff is safe.”

“He did, Cole. Maybe we were wrong, or Garth was not important enough to Dick Roman to blow his cover, Cole. The Sheriff doesn’t know anything about Dick Roman or his business. Garth concentrated on the Winchesters and Crowley.”

“I see.” Nodding thoughtfully Cole gives you a warm smile and you feel a pull at your heart. “That’s good. We don’t want to involve innocent people.”

“True. Still, I must meet up with Garth later. I’ll meet him at the old restaurant my father bought years ago. It’s safe, no one knows about it except for you, me and Garth.” After telling Cole, you will go without Dean you can see his mood lighten.

“Without Dean Winchester?” Smirking Cole nudges your side. “I thought you are Siamese twins lately, Y/N. Your father wouldn’t like your collaboration with the enemy.”

“I am not collaborating with Dean Winchester. We will use his resources and men to bring Dick Roman down. After that…” Shrugging you give Cole a wink. “We will take down the Winchesters next.”

“I hate this plan for sure.” Dean is grumbling as he must watch you walk toward the building with Cole by your side. “I should be with her, Sammy.”

“Dean just calm down. Y/N has a plan, okay. Garth and his family are safe. If we want to find out who the rat is, we need to trust her instinct. I know you love her, now prove you can be a partner, not just a lover.”

“Sam is right, boss. Charlie checked the messages, Gadreel’s bank account, and the calls once again and found a trace.” Benny points toward you entering the building. 

“According to the data Gadreel called Dick Roman while he was with Garth, but the Sheriff confirmed Gadreel didn’t call anyone for over ten hours. The only call he made was the one Y/N received.”

“You mean Gadreel is innocent?” Jimmy watches you nod at Cole before he follows you into the building. “Where is he then?”

“Just wait, Jimmy. Y/N is nothing but a genius…” Smirking Sam sends a message to Ketch and the others waiting for your orders. “Let’s do this…”

The building is dusty, silent and ... empty. While you walk further into the room Cole looks around, confused as Garth is nowhere to be found.

“Shouldn’t the Sheriff be here?” Cole sounds impatient and a cold shiver runs down your spine. “Y/N?”

“Why? Does this mess with your plans, brother?” Turning around you look into the barrel of Cole’s gun. While his eyes darken, and he doesn’t even try to hide his betrayal any longer you don’t even blink when he pulls the trigger.

“Did you believe I wouldn’t find out, Cole?” Aiming your gun toward his head you blink the tears away. “Did you believe Charlie and I would just swallow your bait and kill Gadreel, who survived your attack by the way.”

Cole��s eyes fill with fear as you unlock the gun. “Y/N…”

“Just tell me the reason, Cole. Tell me why you made a deal with the devil and wanted to kill me, Gadreel and all others. Explain this whole insanity to me and I’ll kill you fast.” Voice trembling you hear the others getting closer.

“Bobby…” Gasping you hear your father's name leave Cole’s lips. “He wanted to retire and leave the business to Dean Winchester.” Scoffing Cole sits onto a dusty chair, frantically moving his left hand through his hair. “He told me that you and I shall have a normal life.”

“What’s wrong with having a normal life? That’s what I wanted.” Screaming the words, you ram your fist into Cole’s face. “What did you do…?”

“I tried to talk to Bobby, tried to make him see I am the man to take over his Empire, but he was adamant and promised me a better life.” Voice cracking Cole looks up at you.

“I…I called Dick and told him I will help him taking over Dean’s Empire if he helps me getting my foster fathers…”

“You…it was you…” Pressing one hand over your mouth you step back as Dean and the others enter the building. “It was you killing my parents?”

“No…no! I just thought Dick would scare Bobby a bit, put pressure on him to give his Empire to me. I didn’t know he would kill him or Jody, I swear.”

While you lower the gun, shaking your head you close your eyes. Tears threaten to burst free, but you swallow your pain, not showing weakness once again.

“Why Cole? Was all you had not enough? Daddy loved you like his son, Cole…he loved you…” Choking on your words you fire the magazine into the wall behind Cole.

“He loved me…sure.” Scoffing Cole glares at you. “But there was not enough respect to let me take over his Empire. I swear I didn’t want him to die, but what’s done is done.”

“Still, after Dick killed my parents you gave him information.” Tossing your gun onto the table you run one hand down your face. “Why did he wait that long to strike?”

“Dick believed I would take over Bobby’s Empire, would open Lebanon to him but with you taking over, he had to wait for a chance. There was still John Winchester and Crowley.” Huffing you close your eyes.

“I helped him by taking John down, I guess. What about Crowley? Is he dead too?” Looking at Cole your features darken as he refuses to answer. “You will answer all our questions.” 

“Boss? What about Gadreel?” Jimmy tries to find a way to help you, but he can see the hurting all over your face. 

“Gadreel is alive. Not that Cole didn’t try to kill our friend.” Sniffling you ball your hands into fists to hit Cole one last time.

“Ketch, he’s all yours.” Meeting Arthur’s eyes you nod at him. “No holding back. Cole is fair game from now on. He’s not my brother any longer.” Grabbing your gun, you walk out of the building.

“Y/N…Sweetheart…” Dean runs after you, watching you fall to your knees in front of his car. “Baby Girl, just let me…”

“I made it easier for him, Dean.” Laughing hysterically, you look up at Dean. “I killed John and opened the door for Dick Roman a bit. I stopped the war only to bring the apocalypse. What shall we do now?”

“First, I’ll bring you home and then we will tell anyone to prepare for a worst-case scenario. Dick Roman is out there and he already killed too many of us. Gadreel is on his way back. I asked two of my men to make sure he’s safe.”

“I can’t believe Cole betrayed me, Dean. How could my brother do this to dad? He took him in after no one else wanted that bastard.” Getting up you straighten your back, looking into Dean’s eyes you swallow your pride.

“Y/N let me…” Holding out your hand you smirk as Dean looks at you, blinking a few times.

“If you still want a bond between Singer and Winchester, here’s your chance. I’ll do it, for dad and Jody. I will marry the kingpin of Lebanon to make sure everyone knows we stand united…”

“Hmmm…I’d like to make sure your cute ass is mine, but you don’t have to marry me to make sure we will stand united, Sweetheart.” 

“Winchester, if you want to be the kingpin of Lebanon, shake my hand. This is how it’s done for ages. We form a bond and unite our Empires.” Shaking your hand Dean licks his lips, a dirty grin all over his face. 

“I like the way you do business for sure, Baby Girl. You and I united means that no one will be able to stop us. I love you…”

“Don’t get cocky, Winchester. This is business, nothing else…” Turning on your heels you smirk as Dean follows you, muttering under his breath. “Come one, we have a traitor to torture and a wedding to plan…”

The queen of Lebanon

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[shipaholic]

Omens Universe, Chapter 9 Part 1

At last, the present day! Time for bringing up Satan’s baby. :)

Link to next part at the end.

(From the beginning)

(last part)

(chrono)

---

Chapter 9

Tad and Harriet Dowling, new parents, were at breakfast.

Sunlight poured through the French windows. Harriet buttered a slice of toast. The baby was on her lap, grizzling. He was a golden-haired male baby, and he was perfect.

The baby’s tiny fists wobbled. His face turned red. The first hint of a high, plaintive note escaped his body.

Harriet put down her toast. She sighed.

“Tad, could you call for Nanny?”

It was like a siren going off. When the word ‘nanny’ was uttered, the baby wailed like he already understood what it meant and hated it.

Harriet winced. “Actually, I’ll get her. Tad, could you take the baby? Please? Now?”

Tad Dowling, cultural attaché to the United States, grimaced as he took his son off his wife.

“Here you are, little guy. Why the fuss, huh? You’re not scared of Nanny, are you? She’s a lovely woman.”

Yes. Wasn’t she?

His eyes unfocused slightly.

A tall figure swept into the room. The baby hollered like a car alarm.

Tad gingerly carried the little guy over. Nanny wordlessly held out her arms. She looked terribly normal. The baby kicked and turned purple as Tad handed him to her.

“Sorry about him, Ms…”

He broke off, puzzled.

The baby’s roars grew loud enough to shatter glass.

Tad laughed, nervously. “OK, now, off you go. You’ll soon calm down.”

There was a foul smell in the room. Harriet pulled a face.

“I’m sorry, I thought I just changed him.” She sounded uncertain.

Nanny gave a grim smile.

“I think the little man wants a walk.”

Tad nodded with relief. “Great idea. Doesn’t that sound nice, Adam?”

“See you soon, honey,” Harriet said. She had to shout above the yells.

Hastur, Duke of Hell, rearranged the baby in her arms, and carried him into the garden.

~*~

A familiar face snipped the heads off the roses. Ligur nodded to Hastur from beneath the brim of his gardening hat.

Hastur’s lip curled. The air was too fragrant. At least the rest of London was still decently polluted.

She looked around the smooth lawn. No-one else was around, besides some security guards in the distance.

“Where’s he pissed off to?” she growled to Ligur.

“Tree,” Ligur grunted. He assaulted some flowers with the secateurs.

Hastur stumped round the side of the house, baby screeching in her arms.

An apple tree curled into the sky round the back. It was the only plant in the grounds that hadn’t withered under Ligur’s ministrations. It smelled sweet, like cider and cloves. Underlying the fragrance was a hint of good old-fashioned terror. Hastur reluctantly approved.

She stood beneath the tree and knocked on the trunk.

“Job for you, Crawly,” she sneered.

Something wound down the trunk from the canopy. A long, black scaly body with a red underbelly. The baby’s unholy shrieks quietened. The tears splashing down his front dried up.

The snake turned into a white, glowing coil as it reached the bottom. It shifted back into a man with wavy red hair and sunglasses. He checked himself over - clothes, shades, glove - and held out his arms. Hastur deposited the baby and stepped back, simmering with jealousy.

“Hi, Hastur.” Crowley tucked the Antichrist against his chest. “What’s up?”

Hastur glowered. “Things are progressing as planned. Our dark master, may he ever watch under us, would be proud.”

Crowley jiggled the baby up and down. Adam gurgled. Hastur held back an envious tear.

“We have infiltrated the house at every level. There is no sign of the hated opposition. None shall thwart our glorious purpose. Our master’s child grows closer every day to fulfilling his destiny. Praise be to Satan.”

“Praise. Great.”

Hastur squinted into Crowley’s face.

“Get on with it,” she whispered.

Crowley cleared his throat. He paced slowly under the tree, rocking the baby in his arms. Adam’s big blue eyes stared around in curiosity.

“Once upon a time, our Lord and master, the King of Hell, knew that it was time to scorch the planet Earth to a tiny cinder and reduce all the creatures upon it to a thin, red slurry, lying all over the place like pools of, er... soup. And that was all very good and correct. Hurrah. And that’s where you came in -”

Hastur, satisfied, turned and stomped away. She never stayed long for Adam’s stories. She didn’t approve of literacy.

Crowley kept up a litany of blood and gore until Hastur was out of earshot. He and the baby lapsed into companionable silence.

Adam blew a few bubbles. His little baby hoodie was drooping on one side. Among the golden curls, on the left side of his head, something glinted in the sun. It was a gem, shaped like a curved red horn.

Crowley covered it up. He didn’t like looking at it. He felt like it was spying on him. Hell had used more unlikely things than babies as listening devices in Crowley’s time.

Worse still, there was the chance that Lucifer was in there, somewhere. Conscious. Furious at Crowley’s lukewarm attitude to the impending Armageddon.

“Just remember, I rescued you from Nanny Hastureth,” he told the baby. “Think of that when you’re deciding who to grind beneath your heel later.”

Adam grinned.

Crowley grinned back.

Adam hiccupped and threw up on Crowley’s jacket.

Crowley finger-snapped it away. The smell lingered. He hoped that wasn’t an omen.

“You know, the real story of how you got here is pretty fun,” he said.

~*~

Six months earlier

Crowley spotted the nun with the rabbit-in-headlights look about her at the end of the corridor.

“Psst.”

She took in the man with the sunglasses and the picnic basket dangling from his hand, and scurried over.

“Is that him?” Her voice trembled with awe.

“Yup.”

Crowley handed over The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Prince of this World and Lord of Darkness.

Sister Mary Loquacious poured over the tiny Antichrist and cooed at his teensy little toes, fingers, and horn.

“Pardon?”

Crowley peered into the basket. He hadn’t thought to check. A red curved horn, like one half of a classic devil’s Halloween headdress, sprouted from the left side of the baby’s head.

“Wow.”

“It’s very classic. Though I’d expect him to have a matching one,” Sister Mary said.

Crowley said nothing. He felt like he’d caught his boss asleep sucking his thumb at the office party.

So, Lucifer had really done it. Used his own gem to create. This.

Blimey.

“Does he look like his daddy? I bet he does. Does he look like his daddy-waddy-kins?”

In one way, yes. Crowley deflected. He needed to get going.

“Do you think he’ll remember me when he grows up?” Sister Mary said, wistfully.

“Pray that he doesn’t,” said Crowley, and fled.

~*~

Sister Mary bustled to Room Three. The Antichrist, tucked in his little basket, dozed under her arm. She felt like she was skipping through the woods to deliver a picnic to the lucky Mr and Mrs American Ambassador. Except that instead of a picnic inside, there was an apocalypse.

She wondered if his new parents would love him. She felt sure that they would. From the tips of his hoofie-kins (which he didn’t have), to the top of his precious little horn.

She slowed.

Now that she thought about it, the horn was a bit of a problem.

It was silly, but it had never occurred to her that the Ambassador’s wife had, presumably, just given birth to a baby without a horn growing out of his head, and she was about to hand her back a baby that did have a horn growing out of his head. That part of the plan had sort of... passed her by.

There must be a plan for dealing with this. Naturally. The other sisters must have just forgotten to mention it to her. Which was strange, since all they were supposed to do was mention things to each other all day long. Probably an oversight.

Still. Mrs. Dowling might, just conceivably, have the odd question.

It would be fine. She’d make something up.

She tried to think of a lie she’d be comfortable giving to a room full of security men with guns.

As a bead of nervous sweat appeared on her brow, Mary found herself before Room Three.

She swallowed. She raised her hand. It trembled mid-knock.

Maybe…

On second thought, there was no shame in finding someone a little higher up the chain, just to make sure. It didn’t mean she’d failed to handle things at all.

She hurried away from the room.

~*~

Mary stood, red-faced, in a corner of Room Four, hidden behind two other nuns.

Upon some extremely pointed instructions, she was silent while Mother Superior suggested names for the baby. This was in defiance of her vows, but going by the looks on everyone’s faces, she’d better obey and not risk messing things up.

The thought of what could have happened had she given the Prince of Lies to the wrong parents made her feel faint.

Still, she caught the mistake in time. That was the important thing. And Mother Superior had a very convincing story about the horn, which Mrs. Dowling accepted without question, possibly owing to the euphoria of birth, and also the painkillers. She was explaining the complex medical reason for it, in a serious voice, to her husband, on the laptop held by one of the secret service agents.

Mary was a little lost in her own world, and still on edge, and she really didn’t mean to forget herself. But a lifetime of mindless chattering, some of it mandated, was a tricky habit to break. The words spilled out before she was even aware of them.

“Of course, there’s always Adam.”

Someone next to her trod on her foot. She squeaked.

Mother Superior shot her a frozen, angry stare. The room seemed to hold its breath.

Mrs. Dowling stared into her son’s eyes.

“Adam?” Her brows lifted. “Huh.”

~*~

2013

Adam Dowling’s bedroom had a real racing car in it. It had a real remote controlled tank, a real pirate ship, and a real plane suspended from the ceiling. They were all sized for him.

He was five. His eyelids fluttered as he sat up in bed, listening to his bedtime story. A huge black snake, the size of a python, loomed over his innocent little face.

“And then little Adam went home with his new peons, mum and dad. They took him to live in a big house they’d bought just for him, and filled it with all the things he liked, like toys, and sweets, and television, and egg-and-soldiers for breakfast every day. And he grew up big and strong and destroyed them all. Which was good. The end.”

Adam yawned.

“Cwawly, can I hear the other story?”

“Sssure,” Crowley hissed. “Which one?”

This wasn’t such a bad role. Delighting a macabre junior-schooler was squarely in Crowley’s wheelhouse. The downside was that his official title was Crawly the Magic Talking Snake. Including on his paperwork at head office. Which was a bit annoying. Definitely Dagon’s work.

“The one about the angel in the garden.”

Crowley hesitated. “Yeah, all right.”

He happened to be in the mood for it this evening. He coiled up on Adam’s pillow. It was soft as a dream. He’d have to be careful not to fall asleep himself.

“An angel and a demon met in a garden. They were supposed to be enemies, and thwart each other's plans, and score big victories for Heaven and Hell. But that was a lot of work. So instead, they became best friends. And then, purely by accident, they discovered they had a secret power. When they needed to, they could turn into one person, with the best parts of both of them. A superhero - but cool. Not a goody-goody from the comics.

“Whenever they turned into him, the angel didn’t have to feel bad about doing the wrong thing from time to time. And the demon could experience a little of the grace that he thought was lost to him forever. They loved being him, because they loved being together. Because they loved each other. But the angel never realised it, because he was good, and good people are stupid even when they’re really, really clever. So the demon knew he had to keep his love a secret, because if the angel knew about it, he’d get into a panic and everything would be ruined.

“But one day, the angel realised he loved the demon, and he didn’t panic, and everything was wonderful. But it still ended up ruined, because of ineffability. That’s the worst word in the English language. Never say it or I will wash out your mouth with soap. And so the angel left Earth forever to hang out with the other angels, who were rubbish and boring, rather than the cool demon who was better than them in every way. So, the lesson is…?”

Adam nodded along, glassy-eyed. “Good people are rubbish?”

Crowley hissed. “Believe it. Stick with what you know.”

Adam made a non-committal noise. He often sounded like he was weighing his options at the end of these. Crowley wondered how much he was taking in.

“And in the End of Days, the forces of Hell will cwawl over the earth and drag the hosts of Heaven down into the pit. Hurrah,” Adam said, contentedly.

“Hurrah,” said Crowley, checking over his shoulder in case one of his bosses was there. They weren’t.

It was a lonely job, honestly, playing imaginary friend to the Antichrist. To keep up the pretence that he was a made-up magic talking snake, he had to take care only to appear when no other people were around. This wasn’t too difficult, as he seemed to be Adam’s only friend. He wondered if he’d have had lots of friends, in different circumstances. He was an intense kid. There was an odd, magnetic draw to him. Probably got it from his dad.

Unfortunately, his upbringing had largely involved demons whispering in his ear that he was destined to bring about the End of Days. The other parents tended not to bring their children round after the first time little Adam joyfully took a playmate to the koi pond and enacted the Rise of the Kraken from the Thunderous Deeps. And replacing the koi was blessed expensive, judging by the sharp tone Adam’s human mum took with the idiot ambassador they’d lumbered the poor kid with.

The rest of the team all thought it was for the best, of course. Wouldn’t do for the Harbinger of the End Times to get attached to the world and any peoples he was about to destroy. Adam had never had so much as a pet, in case he discovered a fondness for animals. Hastur, still slogging away as the Dowling’s live-in nanny, once tried to interest the boy in a tank full of pet tarantulas. Adam had recoiled in horror, although that might just have been from Hastur. It gave Crowley a warm, spiteful glow that Adam never warmed up to her.

Adam’s eyelids were drooping. Time for Crowley to go. He uncoiled and slithered onto the floor. He reared up to whisper a goodbye over Adam’s curly head.

“What are you?” he murmured.

“The Great Beast, Destwoyer of Worlds.”

“And what are your powers?”

“Money.”

Eh, fine. That’d do. Crowley slunk from the room.

Outside the bedroom door, he shifted back to human-shaped. His right arm twinged. It always played up when he switched forms. He looked at it and winced. It was worse tonight.

He morphed the glove over it before anyone could round the corner. Incognito, that was his middle name. [1]

He slipped down the hall, encountering no-one. Demons had replaced most of the staff. They had little interest in him. This was Hastur and Ligur’s operation. Crowley was small fry. Fine. It wasn’t like he wanted any of this.

Six years to go.

He slowed as he passed a ground-floor window. The mathematically trimmed lawn rolled out like a table mat. Beneath the window was a bed of rose bushes with all the heads cut off.

Crowley pushed the window open and leaned his head out. A sulphuric stink rose from the flower bed. Overlaying it was the faint scent of roses. They were fighting a losing battle. Crowley reached down and snipped off a stem.

He brought the headless stem inside. He looked around furtively and blinked. A pink bloom pushed its petals from the top of the stalk.

Crowley lowered his head and inhaled the scent of the rose in his hand.

He sighed and snapped his fingers.

The flower burst into flames. It fell into a pile of ash. Crowley trod it into the carpet as he strode away.

---

[1] He’d tried to make it his middle initial, because it sounded cool and James Bond-ish, but he’d been a bit drunk and smudged it. Then he decided he liked ‘J’ better, anyway.

---

Musical interlude! Go here for Crowley’s version of It’s Over, Isn’t It? - Steven Universe

---

(Link to next part)

#omens universe fic #omens universe #good omens #good omens fic #ineffable husbands #steven universe #listen #I am dead proud of Nanny Hastureth #it's very satisfying to spent 7 chapters pretending you're writing missing scenes fic #then jam canon in a shredder jerk the steering wheel and careen off the highway screaming IT'S AU BITCHES!

[boogiewrites]

Don’t Call Her Annie 7 Memories & Monologues

Characters: Jim Hopper x Reader (OFC)

Word Count: 3500

Summary:  Annette Horowitz is Joyce’s younger sister. She hasn’t been the perfect sibling or aunt but after she finds out Will is missing, she finds herself crashing back into Hawkins to do everything in her power to help, driven by a need to prove herself. She hasn’t been around much in the past 20 or so years, but when she comes back home she finds old friends, old habits and old feelings she’d thought she’d finally escaped. Can she really change or is she just kidding herself?

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 8

You can check out my other work on My Masterlist.

Warnings/Tags: Angst. Fluff. Intense Situations. Violence. Slight Gore. Language. Feelings (insert Crowley gif here). Slow burn.

A/N:  I'm tweaking their reality here, I know. But this fan fiction, so...I can do that. (Fun side note. This is the first piece I wrote for this series. This moment was what played in my head for months before I let myself write it and inspired the entire story. This is not the end...I hope you enjoy it.)

Tagged folks are at the bottom, if you’d like to be added or removed, just leave a reply and I’ll see it! Any positive feedback or messages are appreciated. Thanks!

Memory

One night after being grounded, but still getting wasted in your room you find Hopper outside alone. You were in your pajamas, which happened to be ones you'd worn before you hit puberty, so at this point, a robe would've been appropriate to have worn over it if you're getting out of bed. But at your level of sobriety in combination with your naive, aloof mind, you went outside in it anyway.  You can't remember why you had gone outside, or why he was there too, but you were a drunk teenager and that felt like a lifetime ago. You do remember he was upset about something. But mostly you remember that the look on his face when he became distracted and flustered at your body made you feel things. So naturally, in your drunken, pathetic rebellion you said something inappropriate. Neither of you said much to each other after that night for a while. Your crush, however, remained, if not worsened through your denial of it. Your young, naive heart thought you loved him.

Then Joyce got pregnant. It crashed your outlook, it made you feel scared for her, for your relationship as sisters which had become strained as you tried to force everyone away from you. You saw her with Lonnie. You hated Lonnie. You and Hopper both loathed him. This was something you instantly bonded over. You'd seen the way he looked at him, it was how you looked at him too. Like he was taking something that belonged to you. You started being able to hold conversations alone together again. You weren't the same girl you were the last time you'd been close though. Because after Joyce got pregnant and you saw the life she had now you wanted to run scared. You wanted out of Hawkins. You felt caged and didn't want what happened to her to happen to you. This would be a theme that would follow you around your entire adult life up until you hear about Will going missing.

You'd thought the reason Hop stayed around so long after Joyce got pregnant was because of how much he loved her. He wanted to leave after he found out, he found it hell to deal with, but he saw how you reacted to the news. He knew Joyce wouldn't be able to handle you anymore with a baby and an abusive husband. He didn't want you to get hurt in the wake of the consequences of Joyce's bad decisions. He felt compelled to stay and make sure you didn't get in too much trouble because he saw your life going that way unless someone was there to look after you. Once he thought you had matured enough, which happened surprisingly quickly, he found after he started trying to correct your behavior, he felt he could leave without the weight of it on his shoulders. Very shortly after he left, you did too.

Sure you'd not been the best aunt. You had come to holidays when you weren't too far away to make it. You sent cards and called for birthdays and celebrations when you remembered. Sure you hadn't been as close as you wanted to be to your family, but every time you'd tried to settle down for yourself or with them, you got itchy and ran. You loved them, deeply and dearly you had just let yourself forget how to show and say that.

And all that brought you here. To this moment. This was how you would show them how much they meant to you. To Joyce, to your nephews, to Hopper. 

October

"Why are you doing this?" he says slowly, his emotions in his eyes, his voice cracked. Shutting the door to the room across the hall he'd dragged you into without asking you first. He'd just grabbed you and moved.

"Because besides you, I'm the only one that can." you say matter-of-factly.

"Did you ever think they don't want you to do this? That I don't want you to do this?" his voice is hushed, he bares his teeth when he speaks to you unintentionally. How was he supposed to keep control when you kept breaking his heart like this.

"I have to." you say through gritted teeth, standing and wiping your face.

"Jesus, Ann! No, you don't!" his hands raise in the air in frustration. His nails digging into his palms as he tries to stay quiet and alert while also having this loaded conversation.

"If you think for one second, that I would even hesitate to die for them," you stutter, his shoulders wincing at your words. "then you clearly don't know me as well as you think you do, Jim." the tears sting your eyes, your stomach knots and you hold back.

His head falls down, he closes his eyes.

"You aren't the only one allowed to go and put yourself in danger you know," you growl at him, your hands planted on your hips, still mad about you and Joyce having to save him from his own recklessness in the tunnels.

He turns back to you, his hands on your shoulders, he takes a deep breath, "You know chances are you don't make it back, right?" he's never looked this intensely at you. You pull your mouth into a tight line so your lips don't tremble. A wave of nausea hits you.

"I know," you whisper, tears cresting out of your eyes and slowly rolling down your cheek. "It's worth it if you get them out of here." your voice cracks, you're having a hard time keeping all this in. He pulls you into his arms. You feel his face on the top of your head. "Promise me you'll get them out of here." your hands hold on tightly to his shirt, you close your eyes and rest your face against him.

"I promise." his voice was more somber, you feel a breath hitch in his chest.

You push away from him, wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt. You and Jim share a weighted moment, just looking at each other. Neither of you had the words right now.

You reach to the doorknob and open the door after he moves out of the way to let you out. You look up and see Joyce standing there, her arms crossed, she's sobbing and practically leaps into your arms, this was going to be ugly. -----------------------------

He stands next to you while he helps secure everything on you, his face is hard and he hasn't said much. He put your earpiece in, checks the gun before handing it to you, and tightens the strap onto your shoulder. The rhythmic pulsing of the alarm light is the only illumination in the dark stairwell. This'll be the last time you see him. You'd said your goodbyes to everyone but him really. Well, the things you really wanted to say to him anyway.  

"I know you're mad. I'm sorry." your eyes follow him as he continues not engaging with you, as he checks you over again. "As cliche, as it is I want you all to try to not feel bad too long." you grab his hands and shake them until he looks at you. He meets your gaze from where he'd held it at the ceiling. "At least leave me with the illusion that you'll try to be happy again." you frown and sigh.  

"Alright. You're good to go." he motions to your gear with his head. You see he wasn't going to be honest unless you made a grand, sweeping gesture first. You grumble and take off the gun, he looks at you, confusion on his face.

"Give me your shirt, Jim." you hold your hand out, your shoulders low, your voice already tired.

"Why?" he shakes his head at you.

"Just give it to me." you groan. His eyes narrow at you, he takes off the flannel shirt layer. You walk over the glass panel still intact on the nearest door and you slip on the shirt. At first, you button a few buttons, admiring your reflection in the glass. Then you roll up the sleeves, and tie it at the waist and put your gun back on.

"That's just gonna slow you down, you know that. It'll get caught on something or grabbed or-"

"Shut up, Jim." you put your hands on his arms, your eyes tired.

"Look, I want you to come back, I know it's not realistic but I have to hold onto that as long as I can to deal with this. So if I let you go in that, I know it'll be my fault if it's what gets you killed and I can't have that added on top of everything else." it comes tumbling out of him, his shoulders falling as his words continued on. You were left with Jim. Class of '60 Jim. The golden boy of your teen years. You saw the same eyes, the same look on his face when he was truly exhausted.

"Can't you just let a girl die in your shirt, Jim? Jesus." you roll your eyes and let go of him, moving to the strap on your shoulder.

"Wait." he grabs your arm. "What?" his brow is bent but not angry.

"You really wanna know right now?" you raise your eyebrows at him with an annoyed attitude.

"Fuck. Well, I have to now that you said that." you almost smile.

"I didn't want to die not knowing what I looked like in one of your shirts." you admit much more easily than you thought. Your eyes move from side to side at your own surprise to the admission. You say it calmly, returning your eyes to his face after having no better way to share this information with him.

He goes through lots of expressions on a micro level, his eyes mostly read of surprise.

"Jim..." you chew the inside of your cheek, taking a big breath in. You decide to not hold back in the last moments you'd have here with him. You put your hands on the sides of his face and stare into his eyes.

You wouldn't have believed it if your older self could've told your younger self that your so-called first love would get even more handsome the older he got. The way his eyes crinkled and his cheeks folded as he smiled. The beard he'd be thrilled to have known he could grow eventually had come in. He grew even taller somehow, broader, stronger. You adored the soft middle he'd accumulated, you thought it matched his insides better than the rest of his rough outer appearance. You weren't completely sure if you wanted to be with him, you had thought you might over the past year. You didn't know if there was some happy ending for you two, probably not, especially not together. But you did know you loved him. Not just the smidge of romantic love that refused to leave your heart, left over from your teen years. But a fully thought out mutual respect that grew the more he revealed about himself. He was good, you'd known very few good men in your life and he deserved to be loved.

"There are so many things I'd love to tell you. I'll tell you next time I see you, okay?" you smile at him, genuinely.

"Annie..." he whispers, his face falling, he swallows hard as he holds in tears. You let him say your childhood name without rejection. But it doesn't come without its pain.

"But in the meantime, know I find it very fitting that you're the one here with me for this. I wouldn't want anyone else here with me right now." the corner of your mouth pulls back into a sad and reluctant smile. You let go of his face and sigh at him, taking it in one last time.

"Not even Joyce?" his voice is soft and quiet. You're surprised by his response.

"No. I don't need her for this. I need you." your voice is calm and confident.

He repeats your name. He grabs your face and his mouth opens, you never thought you'd live to see Jim Hopper's lips trembling at your expense. A few tears fall down your face as he moves in close to you. "Please, don't go." he hoarsely whispers. He couldn't help but feel the irony of his words, as you'd asked the same thing of him when he told you he was leaving Hawkins decades before. You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of his voice, it's painful. He keeps saying your name and each time it hurts more than the last.

"I'm going to be a pain in the ass until the end. Especially yours. Same as it's always been." you put one of your hands over his.

"I'm sorry." you feel him shake his head as he squeezes you again. "For everything. For when you were younger and now. I'm sorry you were drawn into this. You don't deserve this." he rushes out his apology, you feel his breath tinging across your scalp.

"But I do deserve it." you sigh, you felt it was true, deep down.

"Don't say that." he says into your hair. "You are," he composes himself for a moment, "You are a pain in the ass." he lets out a huff of a laugh and you follow. "But you're also irreplaceable. I know you don't see how important you are but that doesn't change that fact." you could hear the anger bubbling under the surface of his kind words. "I really wanted better for you, sweetheart, I'm so sorry I couldn't do that."

"I gave up on trying to hold things against you a very long time ago, Jim." you give him a tight-lipped smile. "I forgive you for whatever you've made up in your head to be guilty about. None of this is on you." you shake your head at him. You start to pull back and he brings your lips together. Sharing a few slow movements before parting. At least you could die without wondering what his lips felt like against yours now. You sniffle as he pulls away, neither of you could tell who started crying first because both your faces were wet. You try to quiet your loud breathing, slow your chest trying to panic, your heart wanting to explode from the overload of emotions.

You stretch and crack your joints, taking many deep breaths, you stand at the edge of the stairs. You look down into the darkness. You put your hands around the large gun, and close your eyes. You feel Jim standing very close to you.

"Please. Don't do anything stupid. Try to come back to us." he pushes his forehead against the side of your head.

"I always find my way back to you, don't I? Whether I mean to or not it seems." you don't look at him, your heart is beating too fast to handle any more surging emotions.

He doesn't respond. He squeezes your hand and kisses your hair again.

"Maybe we'll get this right in the next lifetime." one hand rests on your chest to steady your heartbeat. It stays because you feel like it's the weakest part of you right now, on the edge of bursting and breaking. "I'm glad we had the chance to be friends again. No matter what you'll tell yourself later, I'm okay with this ending." you want to clarify, you could only imagine the years of his life he'll spend carrying the guilt of your death on his shoulders, even though he shouldn't. You turn your face to look into his eyes. "I love ya, Jim." you say with a slump of your shoulders. It felt so good to say it. You wished you'd had time to sit and live in the feeling of relief, but you didn't.

"I love you too, Annie." His face softens as the words fall past his lips. "Too bad we couldn't have said it more often." his face screws up slightly. You nod and give him one last kiss.

He backs away and stands in the doorway to the stairwell. Your lips quiver and you clear your throat and squeeze your eyelids shut to clear your eyes of tears. You couldn't kill these things if you let your eyes blur. Time to tap into your muscle memory. You take the first step down the stairs.

Jim hears you humming softly to yourself as you head down the stairs, your steps a beat to your favorite song. He slowly backs away, trying to recall the tune, it was so familiar. He thinks he recognizes the song as your voice drifts too far from his ears to hear and he goes back to the surveillance room. --------

"It's getting a little crowded up here so we're going to have to take this slow." Dr. Owens voice carries over the walkie-talkie you have in one hand, the gun in the other. Your eyes are wide, your heart pounding in your chest. Your ears try to pick up every possible sound and its cause around you. The buzz of the overhead fluorescent lights was deafening.

You start walking. You try to control your breathing. Heel, toe, heel, toe you move down the echoing hallways. You follow his instructions. You do everything you're supposed to but that didn't mean anything in this scenario. You hide around corners, in closets, you hold your breath and try to focus. It all happens so fast.

"RUN!" you hear over the walkie-talkie, your eyes land on one of the monsters. As your heart drops into your stomach and you push with all your strength against the floor. Your feet hit the tile in fast pats that mimic the rising rate of your heart.

You break through another set of doors. You see the front lobby, you hear your sister.

"ANNIE!" she screams. You feel the whoosh of air as the monsters break down the doors right behind you. You only lock eyes for a second with Joyce. You lunge out of the way and you hear her scream. You see Jim aiming the gun and your heart is beating so fast you make desperate noises with every movement you make, pushing your body to work as hard and fast as it can. You scurry across the floor, losing your walkie-talkie in the struggle. You see at least 5 more of the creatures moving together out of the bursting door. You make your way to the nearest clear doorway, pushing through them without looking back.

You hear Joyce screaming incoherently, gunfire,  the sounds of the monsters growling and scurrying across the floor, more gunfire. When you hear the wood of the door you'd just ran through from the lobby split and crack, then you hear Jim scream. You involuntarily join them as you make your way blindly through the maze of hallways. You hear snarls and scratches coming from everywhere. You're dodging bloody bodies as you jump and slide your way farther and farther from the exit.

You see the metal door crumpled up against a wall, you dart into the room without thinking. You see the lift, you know it goes somewhere, you don't care where right now, you slam it shut and push the buttons and groan at how slow time is passing. As it lowers into the darkness, you hold the side of the basket, gasping for air, feeling your entire body shake with adrenaline and fear. A few hard sobs convulse your body as you descend. As you land you're grasping your gun again. You look around. It's quiet, you don't trust it. You feel air blowing on your neck and you turn to see dimly tunnels behind you. Your eyes adjust fully, seeing the cavernous expanse of the tunnels like Jim had been in when you and Joyce had saved him. The uneven pulsing floor underneath your feet made you stumble slightly. You didn't know why there weren't any of those things here, it didn't make any sense. You know this is your last chance to get out, you huff a determined noise and pick a tunnel to follow.

Chapter 8

The marked through ones I could not tag. Sorry!

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