#I very quickly grew to loathe the low-rise car

[pangur-and-grim]

I didn't want to talk about it until the whole horrible thing was over, but Wednesday slipped out an open door last week and (with the help of a motion-activated camera on the porch) we finally got him back last night!

he’s acting so sweet and cuddly today, it’s clear how happy he is to be home and safe inside.

#god though the day it happened was so scary #I've never physically exerted myself to the point where I thought I might fall over before #but we thought he might be hiding under a car so I walked around the neighbourhood from 8pm to 11:30pm checking under cars #which was sometime a bending/squatting motion if the car was high enough off the ground #and sometimes involved actually lying on the ground if it was a fancy low-rise car #I very quickly grew to loathe the low-rise car #but yeah I still getting back into shape after the 6 month book contract so doing 3 and half hours straight of adrenaline-fuelled squats was #very inadvisable. for three days afterward I had a hard time bending my legs bc of the muscle pain #but like literally did not notice the exertion while it was happening bc I was in 'oh fuck we need to find this cat' mode #we ended up plastering the neighbourhood in signs and pestering all our neighbours #which lead to several texted sightings that let us know he wasnt straying far from the house #so we set up a raccoon trap on the porch that DID NOT WORK #like he kept getting inside and eating all the food without tripping the trap? #so we'd adjust the sensitivity and the same thing would happen 💀 shitty trap #on night 5 we set up a motion activated camera so that we could make sure it was him eating the food #and holy shit. the stress of seeing him on the camera and not being able to open the door and grab him bc we knew he'd run and not come back #we literally WATCHED HIM ON THE CAM enter the trap and eat all the food without triggering it #and then he sat on the steps and groomed his face for 8 minutes straight while we whispered about what to do #eventually when he left the porch and started walking off we decided we could open the door without scaring him #(bc he was far enough away) #and so my housemate did that and started calling his name and opening cans of wet food to make the Good Food Sound #and holy shit. it worked #when we heard him meow back it was such a relief #they were such horrible distressed meows that we thought something had happened to injure him #but I think he was just vocalizing the emotions of being lost for 5 days and finally hearing his owner's voice #it took a few more minutes of coaxing for him to actually enter the house #he was a stray before my housemate took him in so the fear instinct is STRONG #but now today he's been cuddling up to us and letting us hold him for way longer than normal #and like I'm trying not to anthromorphise. but he's clearly so so happy to be back home and with the people he knows

[trexrambling]

Bite Me (Part 5)

Characters: Reader, Sam, Dean (no pairings yet)

Warnings: Not much for this chapter, just mention of injuries

Overview: You were raised in the hunter life. You fell out of it. It wasn’t your choice to get pulled back in.

Word Count: 1,569

A/N: This is the fifth installment in my first ever fanfic. I love how much love you guys keep giving me :) You make my typing fingers very happy! This is more of a connecting chapter, so bear with me. It just mean’s I’ll post part 6 sooner rather than later! These words, like everything else I write, are for me. Feel free to join me in the adventure.

Read (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4)

“And this here’s Bobby,” Uncle Jay said, pointing at the worn picture with his calloused finger. “One of the best hunting buddies a guy could have.” We were sifting through a box filled with old photographs and odd mementos that I had found tucked behind some books while searching for a particular title on Greek Mythology. Uncle Jay had smiled when I brought it out, eager to take a walk down memory lane. My eyes roamed the photograph containing a large group of hunters, pausing on a set of boys. They were the youngest in the photo by a good number of years. 

I pointed. “Who are they?”

Uncle Jay let out a brief chuckle. “Them’s the Winchester boys.” His pointer finger traced the photo again. “Man behind them is their daddy, John. This one-” he tapped the slightly shorter figure- “that’s Dean. Real spitfire, that one. And the other, Sammy, he has a good head on his shoulders. One of the most mature fifteen year olds I’ve ever met. Gosh-” he scratched his bristled chin- “Kid must be… at least twenty by now. Close to your age, Small Fry. That’d put Dean around twenty-four, give or take.” He sighed deeply and placed the crumpled image back in the box before closing the lid. “Now-” he picked up the book on mythology- “what have we found out about our siren?” And just like that we were back on the case at hand.

The Winchester boys’ faces stayed with me. I went back to the box later than night and removed the photograph of hunters, folding it in half on an existent crease and slipping it into my wallet. I took the photo with me wherever I went, a reminder through the blood, pain, and hurt that there were others out there like me. Two boys, now young men, living and breathing the hunter life. I wondered if they were given a choice. I wondered if they’d tried to get out of it all. I wondered if they had bigger hopes and dreams for a life not involving salt lines, shotguns, and solitary. I wondered if they had nightmares that would wake them in a state of panic in the dead of night. I wondered what they feared while living an existence alongside monsters. I wondered how much they were like me. And just having that photograph gave me a glimmer of hope, a hope to connect with someone outside of mine and Uncle Jay’s small world.

“Hey, come on, you can’t sleep.” Someone was gently shaking my arm. “You need to wake up.”

“Bite me,” I growled low in my throat, and the hand quickly disappeared.

“What did she say?” That would be Dean.

I opened my eyes a slit to see Sam looking at me over his shoulder and Dean trying to catch my reflection in the mirror. “I said, ‘Thanks for keeping my well being such a pressing concern.’” Dean scowled at my sarcasm while Sam’s expression remained blank. I internally smacked myself. It wasn’t their fault I felt like pudding with nerve endings that had been set on fire. It was my fault, and I knew it. I was just mad at myself, and that self-loathing was seeping into everything else.

“I’m sorry,” I sighed, “I’m what some people would call ‘touchy’ at times. But yes, no sleeping. I’m 98% sure I have a concussion.” The dizziness and throbbing pain behind my eyes continued to confirm my theory. I hadn’t been sleeping. I had been planning and making checklists. I had a to-go pack stuffed into my attic, but considering that the vamps were dead I had decided to give myself an hour to get my things together and remove any trace of myself from the house. I tacked on another fifteen to thirty minutes just in case the line of questioning that the Winchesters were bound to unfold ended up being longer than expected.

I glanced down at my leg. It was the worst of my injuries. I needed to set it soon. A deep, plum looking bruise had formed beneath the skin where Iver had, from the looks of the markings, driven his foot down to break the bone. Sam, still looking at me, followed my gaze and winced slightly. “You really should let us take you to the hospital.”

I looked out the window. “We’re almost to my house,” was my reply.

The rest of the ride was in tense silence, my brain still calculating the next few hours while the Winchesters undoubtedly ran through the possible scenarios they could be walking into. When the front wheels of the car finally crested the 0.35-mile driveway that wound to my house, I calmly righted myself in the seat and started to methodically scan the surrounding woods. My hunter instincts were fully engaged, as they had been since I awoke on the vamp’s mattress no more than three hours ago. If there was any movement in the trees, I would see it.

The hybrid house I called home finally came into view. I say hybrid because it looked as though someone had taken a cabin the middle of the Appalachian Mountains and married it to a cookie-cutter condo from the suburbs of California. The structure sported a shiny tin roof with a stucco chimney shooting out the top, logs for the base of the house, and dull red bricks completing the rest of the exterior walls. Most people would look at the house and unconsciously turn up their nose. It was a Frankenstein house, and I loved everything about it. The fact that it was dead set in the undesirable middle of “next to downtown” and “mountain resort” meant that I was able to pay for it with next-to-nothing-cash. Everything that was defective to the general public was a complement to who I was – pieces patched together, yet strong and whole. The reality that I was going to be leaving this place in loosely two hours had me biting the inside of my cheek to keep the dam of tears that had broken earlier at bay.

As soon as all movement had stopped and the car was in park, my hand found the door’s handle and swung it open. “Woah, hey, hold on a second.” Sam quickly exited the car and came around to my side, lowering himself until one knee was on the ground and the other was propped up by his foot. He held out a lock picking kit. “First, I think it’s time we got rid of that chain. Second,” he smiled at me slightly, “you may be strong, but I have a feeling you’ll need an extra hand making it up the steps.”

I glanced at the four, tall steps leading up to my front door, then back at Sam, surrender clearly written across my face. Thwarted by the stairs of doom once more. I slowly turned until both of my feet were dangling out the side of the car. Sam hesitantly reached for my chained ankle, meeting my eyes and waiting for me to give him a nod of consent before he carefully placed it on his knee. I watched his fingers expertly dig around with the metal and pins until a small ‘click’ signaled the lock’s release. I was impressed at his speed – almost as good as me. Almost. Sam bent the metal ring on its hinge and my ankle was finally free. Shallow angry welts wrapped around my flesh; the metal cuff had been too small and had cut into my skin.

Sam dropped the chain on the ground and returned my foot to its dangling position. After placing his kit back in his pocket, he slid an arm under mine to support the majority of my weight before easing me out of the car. The ground tilted and I clutched Sam’s upper arm a bit tighter, swallowing deeply to deter the rising nausea and blinking slowly until things were back in place.

“This would be a whole lot easier if I just carried you,” Sam stated, still making it clear that the decision was mine. I swallowed again, but this time it was to suppress my pride.

“Ok,” I surrendered to logic. “Thank you,” I quickly added as an afterthought. Sam picked me up into his arms again, more careful with my broken leg than he had been before. I was so used to the aching fire that it barely registered. Now that all planning for future progression was complete, my mind only had one train of thought that I had previously quelled.

Arlo. Please God, anyone, please…

Sam carried me up the steps, Dean following closely behind, gun still in hand. The wooden front door was slightly ajar, either from where Gareth had grabbed me earlier or a different source, I wasn’t sure. Gratitude for the green-eyed hunter grew as he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder, sliding around us to take the lead with his gun trained in front of him. Dean placed a foot on the door and slowly pushed it open, the wood swinging silently on its well oiled hinges. He stepped through first, pausing to notice the salt line encased between the two pieces of wood that made up my doorframe, before continuing into the house. Sam and I were right behind him.

Home again, home again, jiggity –

I never finished the thought.

-Read Part 6-

Tags: @wheresthekillswitch @pinknerdpanda @emilywritesaboutdean @ruprecht0420 @arryn-nyxx @jotink78 @hiimaprofessionalfangirl @super-not-natural @a-bouquet-of-fandoms @jensen-jarpad @sama1314 @mamabear82nd @tas898 @findingfitnessforme @docharleythegeekqueen @ilikaicalie @sveskee @super-not-naturall @celahcain @impala-dreamer @daughterleftbehind

#bite me #spn fanfic #reader insert #dean winchester #sam winchester