#and Machete had been buried weeks or months ago

[thrall-of-the-hill-arch]

@goodewitchwalking​

Something was coming, the full moon was barely weeks away, things would change. He was to be laid across a marble slab and his existence would end; it was the expectation. It was his reason to live. The young man had tried to question his fate, fight back soon the powers that be knocked him back into place. 

Three more lives had been taken that night, they were getting too close to the altar. Just make sure they’re not found- you don’t have to bury them too deep. The cops stopped looking months ago, when the numbers were climbing too high. They all knew to keep away from the forest and allow him to work freely. 

The moon felt like an anchor to him, binding the man to the living world while the horrors he inflicted were lost in the moonbeams. A machete weighed nothing in his palm. Blood dripped onto the asphalt below him, the road had been thankfully quiet allowing him to stare in peace. Jason must have been there longer than he realized, the sound of an engine and breaks broke his focus. Eyes looked beyond the woman as he turned to face her, focus on something that had yet to happen. “Can I help you?” 

[angelswatchingover]

Carry On

Yes, it’s another 15x20 fix it fic because we deserved a conversation between Dean and Cas and they all deserved to live! Enjoy this much better ending and soft epilogue.  Read it on AO3

Dean is saying his last goodbye to Sam after being injured on that vampire hunt, but the story doesn't end there. Castiel will always come when Dean is in need.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean is fading quickly. It’s getting harder to keep his head up, there’s a ringing in his ears, and his vision is blurring. This is really it. What a way to go. He didn’t think this would be his last hunt, but he knows that ever since Cas, he’s been distracted and that makes for dangerous conditions even on the easiest of hunts. He thought he was starting to learn to deal with it, too.

It’s been a month since they beat Chuck and he’s only just stopped making excuses to go past Cas’ room in the bunker, standing in the doorway and staring in as if the angel will be there, sitting in his chair reading a book like usual. The hunts have been fewer, which sucks since at least they are a distraction from constantly remembering Cas being brave enough to say, “I love you,” and seeing the look of happiness on his face as that black sludge pulled him away. And he had finally stopped pulling the coat with Cas’ bloody handprint out of his closet each day and just holding it, the last thing that he had left of the angel.

He was going to try to start living, to make Cas’ sacrifice worth it. He was even getting a regular construction job to do between the occasional weekend hunts. And then this. Why the fuck didn’t he duck and grab his machete instead of charging the 400 pound linebacker vamp? He’s definitely wishing he had brought that throwing star right about now.

It doesn’t matter now, though. He can feel that this is it and at least he has had the time to tell Sam how proud of him he is and how much he loves him. Damn, he’s going to miss his baby brother so much! He hopes his heaven memory is the one with Sam and Jack and Cas in the bunker, safe and laughing over pizza and ice cold craft beer. That was the night that he and Cas were the last two awake and before he headed off to bed, he had pulled him into a hug, one that lasted a little longer than usual, the alcohol making him warm and a little uninhibited. He had kissed the crook of Cas’ neck while his face was buried there but thankfully the angel didn’t notice and that moment has lived in his mind since.

If he gets to re-live that night in heaven, well, he thinks maybe it won’t be so bad. But first he needs to make sure Sam will be OK. Damn, he hopes he calls Eileen as soon as he gets out of here and never looks back.

“Hey,” he manages out even though its getting harder to breathe. This is important. “I'm not leaving you. I'm gonna be with you... right here... every day. Every day you're out there and you're li... and you're living and you're fighting, 'cause you... you always keep fighting. You hear me? I'll be there every step. I love you so much. My baby brother. Oh, man. Well, I did not think this would be the day. But it is. It is, and that's... Man... that's okay. I need you to... I need you to promise me. I need you to... to... to tell me... that it's okay. I need you to tell me that it's okay.”

Through big wet tears, Sam struggles out, “You can-“

“Not yet,” comes a gravely and frankly angry voice from behind Sam, a voice he would recognize in the dark: Cas!

Sam’s head turns in shock and he rushes out, “Cas, oh my God, help Dean!”

Then Dean sees Cas, he’s blurry because Dean’s sight is getting fuzzy but he’d recognize that trench coat and those blue eyes full of power and fury anywhere. He brushes past Sam and takes Dean gently by the shoulders.

“Dean, I’m sorry this is going to hurt, but I must get you down to heal you.”

The moment Cas shifts him even the slightest bit, pain rips through him so sharp that he sees stars. “No, no, no, no, no. I can’t, Cas…”

“Trust me, Dean. I’ve got you. Put all of your weight on me.” Cas leans in close so their bodies are touching and Dean doesn’t have to hold himself up. His head falls forward onto Cas’ shoulder and he screams as he is quickly lifted off the rebar and brought to the ground and laid gently on the dirt floor of the barn.

“How are you-“ Dean begins but is cut off by Cas.

“I’ll answer your questions after I heal you.”

Cas cups Dean’s left cheek and he can see the glow and feel the icy cold jolt of grace pulsing into him. But its not like usual where everything heals in an instant. No, Cas has his eyes closed in concentration and is obviously straining to heal him. Dean feels slightly better, it’s actually possible to take a breath now but he knows that he isn’t healed. Everything feels wrong.

“No,” Cas shakes his head, frustrated, “this can’t be. Its not enough!” Cas growls and tries again, this time his hand on Dean’s chest, just over where the rebar would have exited.

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, sounding panicked.

“Its my grace. I don’t… I don’t have enough to heal a wound with this much damage.”

“Since when? You’ve always been able to heal everything before!”

“For a long time now, Sam. My grace has been waning.”

“You can’t let him die! What about Jack?!”

“Jack is how I got here. He is hand’s off but was willing to send me.” Cas looks around, panicked.

Dean knows he doesn’t have much more time and he puts his hand over Cas’, the one still on his chest. “It’s OK, Cas. You did your best. I can go.”

“No! You aren’t dying today, Dean Winchester. You are supposed to live a long life. You have earned it. And I gave everything for you to live.” And there are tears in Cas’ eyes again. He meets Dean’s eyes and freezes and Dean knows that look. A determined Castiel, badass angel, is an unstoppable force.

“Sam, give me a knife.” And of course Sam does immediately, trusting Cas with their lives as usual.

“I need… Dean, please hold on. I’m going to give you what’s left of my grace.”

And before Dean can protest, Cas has drawn the knife across his neck and put his hand over the cut but Dean can see the bright glow of grace piercing through his fingers. It only takes a moment for Cas to collect the stream of grace in his hand and press it into Dean’s chest, directly over his heart. Cas squeezes his eyes shut in concentration as the grace penetrates through Dean’s skin and spreads through his body, nearly instantly healing the wound in his back and insides. It feels like being dunked in an ice bath followed immediately by being wrapped in a toasty warm blanket, the sense of pure comfort and safety is palpable.

He is healed. This isn’t going to be his last day on earth. Holy shit! He’s got more time and he’s about to thank Cas when the angel collapses across his chest as Dean let’s out a grunt and closes his eyes.

Sam rushes over and grabs Dean’s face, “Dean, hey, hey, hey, hey. Are you OK? Look at me!”

“I’m OK, Sammy,” he nearly laughs. “I’m good… I’m good. What hap-”

“Cas… I think he took out his grace to heal you.”

It’s then that it starts to make sense that it feels like there’s a hundred pound weight on his chest. It’s Cas and he isn’t moving. “Help me with him, Sam,” Dean asks and tries to nudge the angel awake but he isn’t budging. Sam checks his pulse and nods to Dean and a wave of relief passes through him as he and Sam work to move Cas to the side. He is still out cold through the whole ordeal.

Dean gets to his feet, a bit wobbly and isn’t even steady yet when he finds his arms full of a crying moose. “Jesus, Dean, I thought that was it. I thought I lost you!”

“Me t- too,” Dean gets out, his voice catching as he realizes how close they came to losing each other.  And Dean finds that he can’t stop the tears that are now spilling over. “Maybe I’m getting too old and slow for this job.”

He can feel Sam laugh before he steps back a bit from the hug with his hands still on Dean’s shoulders. “We just took on 5 vampires, and one of them was the size of Gunner Lawless. Trust me, it has nothing to do with age.”

And a laugh bubbles up in Dean too. He can’t believe it. He just escaped death yet again. Maybe it is time to slow down a bit now that he doesn’t have Chuck’s plot armor anymore. But that’s a thought for later. Right now, they’ve got a barn full of headless corpses and a passed-out angel to deal with.

“What… what did Cas do?” He asks Sam as he kneels down over the angel and tries to rouse him with one hand tapping his cheek and the other his chest. But he gets nothing but a soft moan.

“I don’t know, Dean. It looked like, like he cut out his grace and shoved it into your chest. Do you think he’s still an angel?”

“Jesus, I don’t know man. I’m going to get him to the car. What do you say we just torch this whole barn and call it a night?”

“I’ll get the gasoline.”

Cas isn’t helping him at all so he has to lean down and grab an arm and a leg and fireman carry him to the car and fuck if he isn’t a lot heavier than he looks. He deposits him in the back seat and Cas’ head falls back against the seat. Dean checks that Sam isn’t watching and turns back to Cas.

“What did you do, you stupid son-of-a-bitch?” He whispers and lets himself indulge in touching the other man, gently brushing his hair off his forehead. This is the first chance he has had to actually look at Cas since he told him he loved him a few weeks ago then got sucked away by black goo. Dean didn’t think he would ever get to see him again and he’s been burying all of those feelings deep since then. But now, Cas to just turns up out of the blue and gives up his grace. Now what? He can barely think through today’s adrenaline rush, the fear, saying goodbye to Sammy, getting Cas back, and now he can’t even talk to the guy. “You better be OK, you hear me?”

“OK, let’s get out of here. That ambulance I called is going to be here any moment,” Sam says as he walks towards the Impala with an empty gas can in his hand and Dean snaps his hand back to his side. He stands up and sees orange flames licking up the sides of the barn behind him. They’ll call it in to 911 once they are far enough away and are sure the bodies are pretty well burned so the ambulance isn’t the only first responder to come.

------

On the drive back to the hotel, Sam’s pretty sure Dean is going to crash the Impala since he has spent more time looking in the rear view mirror at Cas than he has on the road. He’s quiet for a long time, but the white knuckles on the steering wheel give away that something is wrong. Not that Sam is much better. It’s been at least half an hour and he can still feel a tremble in his hands. He nearly watched Dean die… again. But this time felt different. This time felt like it. With Chuck and Billie out of the picture and Jack being hands off, he didn’t think there was anyone left to call, any power left that would help a Winchester.

He should have known even death itself couldn’t keep Castiel away when Dean is in danger.

Cas is back. His friend. His brother. And of course, Dean’s -- who knows – sometimes it feels like more than best friend. Those two have been through so much for each other and died for each other and Sam has never forgotten that Cas told him that he and Dean have a profound bond, whatever that means. Regardless, Cas did something he hadn’t seen before. It looked like he took out his own grace. Man, he hopes he’s OK. Dean doesn’t look like he’ll handle another loss well.

“OK, what the hell is going on?” Dean stage whispers, taking Sam out of his thoughts. “How the hell did he get back? I mean he said that the Empty was so powerful he was going to be stuck there forever.”

“I don’t know.”

“I mean really, how long has he even been out of there? You’d think he could at least give us a call and let us know he’s OK.”

“Yeah, I guess. But probably no cell service in heaven or wherever.”

Dean takes time out from staring at Cas to give Sam a death stare. “Dude just let us think he was gone forever. That’s not cool.”

“I wonder if he’s back for good.”

“Yeah… I wonder,” Dean answers quietly and goes back to focusing on the road.

They drive in silence for another few minutes before Sam interrupts the quiet. “Dean, that back there, in the barn… I’m… pretty shaken, you know? You almost died and I… I want us to live.”

“Not like I don’t want to live too, Sam. But I always figured I’d go out bloody.”

“But that’s just it, Dean. We don’t have to. You’ve seen what’s going on. The hunts, there are less of them. I mean, with angels and demons out of the mix, well, that was half our problems. I’m thinking… maybe we don’t have to just hunt.”

Dean looks at Sam with an expression he can’t read but after a few moments, it softens and he answers, “I was kind of thinking the same thing, actually. I mean I always want to hunt. You know, saving people, it’s… it’s what we do it’s the one thing I know I’m good at. But we know so many other hunters now and… and maybe it doesn’t need to always be us, you know?”

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking. With Eileen moving in next week and Cas back, what if we switch our focus? Like the Men of Letters, we can teach people the lore and help make hunting better and safer.” He’s actually excited about this. He was so broken after what happened to the hunters from the apocalypse world, but maybe it’s time to try again now that it’s just this universe and there are no pissed off archangels after them.

Dean huffs a laugh and smirks, “Sam, I haven’t told you yet but I applied for a job, a real one, leading a construction crew. I figured since things were getting slow I might try to live like a real person for a while. I’m not quitting hunting but yeah lets… lets live!”

Back at the hotel, they are greeted by Miracle, who immediately jumps into Dean’s arms as Dean mumbles into his fur, “Got someone for you to meet, buddy.” And once they get a still comatose Cas onto a bed with the dog curled up by his feet standing guard, Dean and Sam step outside with a couple of beers in each hand.

After a few silent sips, Sam ventures, “So… are you OK?”

Dean gives him a look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Cas is back and maybe human and you seem… I don’t know… off.”

Dean makes a face like he’s thinking really hard then gulps down the rest of his beer. Finally, after a drawn-out silence he begins, “Sam, there’s something I didn’t tell you about when Cas… when he died… before.”

“What is it?”

“When Billie was coming for me she was- she was doing something to my heart. She was killing me but Cas, he… he got me to the storeroom and he made a sigil to hold her off. But Sam, we were done for. It was only a matter of time before she got through. And Cas said some shit and that’s what made the Empty come for him.”

“What did he say, Dean?”

After a long pause where Sam thinks Dean isn’t going to answer, he finally continues, “He said he couldn’t have what he wanted but he could be happy with just saying it. Like what the fuck does that even mean?”

“I don’t know, Dean. What did he say that made him happy?”

Dean just shakes his head and rubs his eyes but not before Sam notices them filling with tears ready to spill over.

Finally, Dean turns away from him to face the parking lot, the darkness hiding the emotion on his face. “He’s so stupid, man. Like he didn’t know what he was saying. How could he? I don’t even know what he meant.”

Sam wants to ask but he knows its best to let Dean work through this and be patient as he waits for him to be ready to talk.

“He said… Cas, he said I taught him how to care and that… that he loved me.”

“Of course he loves you, Dean. You’re his best friend and we’re his family.”

Dean shakes his head certainly. “No, Sam. I… I don’t think he meant it like that.”

Oh. Oh.

“Well that… that makes sense, actually.”

Turning on hid Dean growls, “How does that make any sense?”

“Remember what Chuck said? That this Cas was the only version of himself that rebelled, that helped us, and stayed with us and basically changed the course of history? Dean, that… that takes a lot of love.”

“But he’s an angel. Like, I don’t even know if their definition of… you know… is the same as ours.”

Sam huffs a small laugh, “Cas has never been like other angels though, has he? I think he knew exactly what he was saying. The question is, what do you think about it?”

Dean drags a hand down over his face, “I don’t know, man. He’s my best friend, you know?”

“He’s one of my best friends too, but I don’t think that’s what we’re talking about, here.”

“What if.. what if I’m reading into this whole thing and he just meant that he loves us like, like family?”

Sam shrugs, “Maybe, but I’m not sure that’s really enough to change our universe and rebel against Chuck’s writings and summon the Empty. I guess you’re going to have to have a conversation with him and find out.”

“Yeah… yeah,” Dean answers, distracted. It feels like the end of the conversation so Sam turns towards the motel room to go in and check on their friend before Dean grabs his arm. “What if… what if I might feel… that… about him?”

Sam smiles at his dumb brother, “Then I’d say both of you are very lucky and found something special. We don’t get a lot of wins in this life, Dean. That’s why I never gave up on Eileen. When you find something good and real, hold onto it. And I’d say both of you have earned some happiness.”

Dean just nods his head, looking thoughtful before finally looking away and quietly answering, “Thanks, Sammy.”

It’s then that they hear a groan from inside the room and they both briefly make eye contact before rushing in. Dean, of course immediately sits on the edge of the bed trying his best not to touch Cas while Sam stands beside him seeing if their friend will rouse.

-----

When Castiel wakes up the first thing he notices is pain. He’s used to pain, but his grace always dulled the nerve endings so that all of this sensation was greatly muted. It takes him a moment to recall why his grace isn’t working and then he remembers that he used what was left of it to heal Dean. He’s human again and this time his grace isn’t just stored away in a vile in a library. No, the last of it was used up (except the small remnant that will always live with him, integrated into his vessel – no, not his vessel, his body). He concentrates for a moment to figure out where the pain is coming from and if there is any permanent damage that he needs to be concerned about.

All of his organs seem to be in working order but there is a dull ache through his entire body, like it had been thrown against a wall and all of his muscles are bruised. He realizes this is from extracting the grace out of every cell and concentrating it into one ball of cosmic energy that he drew out through his neck. He had to use every muscle in his body to focus and force the foreign grace into Dean. Dean! He lost consciousness before he saw if his friend was healed. He doesn’t even know if he is alive or dead. He immediately moves to open his eyes, to get up and find out and when he does he lets out a groan from the pain and the light shining into his eyes giving him a headache.

But within seconds he has his answer, and he feels a relief wash over him as Dean sits down next to him. Dean: alive, healthy, healed, and looking very concerned.

“Hey, hey, Cas. You with us?” He asks gently.

Castiel looks around the room quickly then back to Dean. “I… yes, I’m with you and you’re… it worked. You’re alive?” He finds his hand moving to touch Dean on its own, resting on his friend’s upper arm soliciting the slightest smile from Dean.

“Yeah, man I’m good as new. But what the hell happened back there? What did you do? Where did you even come from?”

Castiel shifts up to a sitting position, adjusts the pillows and lets himself sit back against them while something golden catches his eye, movement at the foot of the bed. He squints at the big ball of fur and asks, “Why is there a dog here?”

The dog in question walks up to Castiel and begins sniffing at him, tail wagging furiously and he cautiously reaches out and pets the animal behind it’s ears. When he looks back at Dean the man has a grin widening on his face, “Cas, meet Miracle. He’s ours and I think he likes you.”

The dog lets out a small whine and Sam answers, “And I also think he needs to go out. Guys, I’ll take him for a walk and be back shortly. Cas, I’m so glad you are back. I’ve missed you.”

He steps forward and wraps Castiel in a hug and he answers, “I’ve missed you too, Sam.” And Castiel can’t stop the smile on his face as he realizes how happy he is to see his good friend again. Sam then takes Miracle outside and leaves Dean and Castiel alone. He can’t bring himself to look into Dean’s eyes, so he sits in silence, staring at the stained brown and yellow patterned bedspread.

Dean clears his throat and begins, “Ok, man. Now I need some answers. What’s going on? How are you even here?”

“Jack. He pulled me and some of the other angels from the Empty and put the entity back to sleep. Many of my brethren chose to remain at rest but some were returned to heaven. Jack and I, we have been leading the rebuilding. We are changing it, Dean. Its no longer a place where each person re-lives their memories. It’s open and free, a place where souls can rest and seek greater fulfillment. I was building it with you in mind. I didn’t expect you to be arriving so soon, though.”

He says this last accusing, angry and finally makes eye contact with Dean.

“Hey, man, I wasn’t exactly planning to be taken out by vamp-mimes in Canton freaking Ohio today.”

“You need to be more careful.”

“Yeah, I guess maybe I do. But that still doesn’t answer the question. How did you get to me? Did you get your wings back?”

“No, our wings are… I think Jack wanted angels to stay in heaven and not interfere on earth so he didn’t restore our wings. Our work is now in heaven, restoring it, re-creating it, and protecting the souls there. But I could feel your distress so I asked him to send me to you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to return to heaven.”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean fumes.

“It’s alright, Dean. I would prefer to be here… if you will have me.”

“If I’ll have… of course you can stay, you dumbass. But I’m still pissed you left like you did.” Dean breaks eye contact, eyes drifting down to where their thighs are nearly touching, his right hand coming up to scratch the side of his neck before he suddenly leans forward and wraps Castiel in a hug. “I’ve missed you, you know?” Dean breathes into his neck.

“And I, you, Dean,” Castiel answers, wrapping his arms tightly around his friend.

The hug lasts just a bit longer than Dean’s usually do but Castiel isn’t complaining. He hasn’t felt this happy since he spoke his truth to the man several earth weeks ago. It’s been much longer in heaven, but time doesn’t exist there in a linear sense so it feels like a very long time to him. Dean takes a deep breath and separates them but keeps his hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looks him deep in his eyes. Castiel is lost for a moment in the beautiful sea of green, sparkling with unfallen tears.

“Cas, your grace. What did you do with it that saved me?”

“You were going to die, and I… I wasn’t powerful enough to heal you. My grace has been waning for a long time and I couldn’t… I couldn’t watch you die. I knew the only way was to give you directly what grace I had left.”

Dean is shaking his head looking stunned and sad and his mouth opens like he wants to protest.

“Dean, it was my choice, one that I don’t regret.”

“But I’m not-“

“Don’t tell me you aren’t worth it. There will never be a moment when you aren’t worth saving.”

Dean huffs, head shaking again. “Thanks, Cas. I know I don’t say it enough but thanks… for everything.”

They sit in silence for a moment, neither ready to break eye contact or the gravity of the moment. Finally, Dean looks away. “So, what does this mean. Are you human now?”

“Essentially. What residual grace I have left isn’t enough to give me any powers. I’ll live a human life and I’ll age and die.”

“Fuck, I’m so sorry. That was such a stupid way to get hurt and you gave up your grace for me? I’m… I’m so sorry, Cas.” Dean puts his hand over Castiel’s, an obvious plea for forgiveness.

Castiel is shocked for a moment. Hand holding isn’t something he knows Dean is comfortable with and even though he told Dean that he is in love with him, he doesn’t want to make him uncomfortable. He will be satisfied being the hunter’s friend since he knows that Dean could never love him back the same way.

“Cas, man, I need to say something here. It’s about what… what you said before the Empty.”

“That doesn’t need to change anything between us. I just needed you to know how I felt.”

“You were wrong, you know.” Castiel squints and tilts his head, trying to figure out what Dean means, what he was wrong about. And Dean smiles at him, fond and affectionate. “To think you can’t have what you want. How do you even know if you don’t try?”

“Dean, I guess I was too ambiguous. When I said that I loved you, I meant that I am in love with you and what I want is to be with you, always. Were it my choice, you would be my partner, my friend, my lover, and my soul mate. But I know that you don’t feel the same and that’s okay. I’m satisfied with just being able to tell you that.”

“Well, what if I’m not satisfied with that? What if you fucking off like that without even giving me a chance to respond was pretty messed up? Cause here’s the thing, Cas.” Dean swallows and takes a large breath, obviously gearing up to say something difficult and important. “You know how you said that I’m, you know, good? Well, man, you need to believe that you are too. Cas, half the time I was only able to stand up and fight because you and Sam believed in me. You, fighting with us and for us… for me, is what changed everything. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had and I lo… I love you too, Cas. So that thing that you think you can’t have… what if we give it a shot?”

Castiel can feel his eyes becoming misted over and he can barely believe what he is hearing, that Dean could possibly be in love with him too. He had never considered the possibility that Dean could love him, let alone love the male body that has become his own. But here he is, sitting close to Dean, with his hand warm under Dean’s and the hunter’s eyes looking at him with earnestness, fear, and a pleading.

Castiel slowly nods and watches a fond smile build on Dean’s face. “Yeah?” He asks, “Do you wanna try… a kiss?”

“Yes, please,” Castiel breathes out soft and solemn. And Dean brings a hand up to his cheek and softly caresses down to his neck and gently tilts his head and pulls him in until their lips meet. It’s short, just a soft caress but the thrill of it is nearly too much to bear.

Dean pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “I never thought this would be something we could have but, Cas, we beat God. We’re free now and I just wanna have a life that’s mine.” Dean pulls back a bit but stays close, their faces only inches apart. “And I don’t usually do the whole relationship thing so I don’t even know if I’m going to be any good at it, but I’ll try, for you.”

“We’ll figure it out together. But first, can we do that again?” He asks, the slightest smirk on his face.

And Dean growls, “Hell yeah,” and dives in for another kiss, this one a lot less innocent than their first. Dean deepens the kiss, one hand wrapping around Cas’ back and the other threading through the hair on the back of Castiel’s head, giving him better control to pour his feelings into the kiss. Cas lets Dean take the lead, he can feel the hunter’s desperation and wants to give him everything he needs. Dean makes a low, satisfied sound and Castiel’s insides do a flip because he never imagined that sound would be because of him.

Just as their hands begin groping at eachother, Sam returns.

“Oh… oh, man, sorry guys,” he says awkwardly standing in the doorway.

Dean pulls back but keeps his hands on Cas’ jaw and smiles, secretive and just for him.

“So… uh, it looks like you guys figured things out.”

Dean laughs, a free bubbly sound and tells his brother, “Yeah, Sammy, it took a while, but I think we finally both know what we want.”

-------

Sam takes the whole thing in stride, barely even acting surprised and when Dean asks him why, Sam just rolls his eyes and says that he has watched his brother and his angel dance around this for years just waiting for them to figure it out. And when Dean protests that Cas is a dude, Sam gently reminds him of his crushes on Dr. Sexy and Gunner Lawless and his fling with Lee. Dean looks at him shocked, growling that Lee could have kept his mouth shut but Sam just tells him no one ever had to tell him because he had eyes. Dean shakes his head, tells him to shut up, and smirks at him over his beer bottle.

Life in the bunker with the four of them barely feels like an adjustment. It’s so easy for Cas to move into Dean’s room and fall into a routine. Dean gets that construction job and Sam, Cas, and Eileen go to work on solidifying the hunter network. Charlie and Stevie come by to help install a phone system so that they can dispatch and play FBI leaders when others need it. Dean jokes that they are becoming Hunter Corp and even gets some business advice from their counterparts who are still living it up in Brazil, which never won’t be weird.

They still pick up hunts themselves, sometimes just Sam and Dean, leaving Cas and Eileen to man the bunker. With Cas being fluent in ASL, they find themselves having secret conversations and making each other laugh, to the chagrin of their partners who just know it’s about them. Other times Dean will grab Cas and hit the road for a hunt, usually picked because it’s close to something he wants to see. They took care of a wendigo in Arizona so that they could stand on the edge of the Grand Canyon and the four of them killed a dragon living in a cave in California and spent the next week enjoying the ocean, toes in the sand, fingers entwined, and laughing at Miracle as he frolicks in the waves. Cas spens days kissing all of the new freckles that appear across Deans face and body from all that sun.

The Society of Letters, as they rename it at Charlie’s request, flourishes. Sam is a natural leader and they develop a rotation where different hunters will spend a week or two at a time in the bunker, manning the phones and dispatching cases. It also becomes a resting stop for hunters who, like Sam and Dean for so many years, don’t really have a home and just travel from case to case. The infirmary becomes well stocked and they hire Alex on full time to take care of injured hunters.

Dean loves it at first. He gets to see all of his friends. Claire and Kaia, Donna and Jodi, Caesar and Jesse, Garth and Bess. They all take shifts and his life is full of friends and family. Eventually, though, he is tired of not being able to roam around in his robe or not being able to pin Cas to map table and have his way with him. There are just always people coming and going in his home.

Two years in, he and Cas move out to a small craftsman on a lake about 10 miles from the bunker. It’s close enough that they can see Sam and Eileen whenever they want but far enough to be quiet and all theirs. It has a small pier for Dean to fish off of and a big yard for Miracle to chase squirrels. The garage is big enough for Dean to work on Baby and for Cas to park Dorothy’s bike, which has become his preferred method of transportation. Cas has beehives and a garden and Dean can’t stop watching him in his sun hat with his hands in the dirt and his heart still skips a beat sometimes just knowing that Cas is his. He gets a job teaching foreign languages at a local community college and damn if he isn’t the hottest professor Dean’s ever seen in his vests and sweaters.

One day he slips a ring on Cas’ finger after amazing adrenaline-filled post-hunt sex in a musty motel room outside of Des Moines. They get married in their back yard, fairy lights twinkling in the trees and the sun setting over the lake, bathing the scene in golden light. There is no priest or official, just Dean and Cas promising their lives to each other as they stare into each other’s misty eyes. The rest of the world seems to disappear. Afterwards, 20 or so guests hover around the picnic tables covered with pot luck dishes and dance to the tinny music coming from a table top speaker in the clearing surrounded by folding chairs. Dean sways slowly with Cas as he whispers, “I love you, Castiel Winchester,” in his ear.

Sam and Eileen move out a year later when she announces at Christmas dinner that they are having a baby. They too stay close, finding a home in an older suburban neighborhood with huge trees in the yard for the kids to climb and neighborhood children always blocking the road with their street hockey games. They sold some of the Men of Letters cars to buy the house and now the bunker’s garage is actually functional for the hunters coming and going. They both keep working in the bunker as leaders of the Society of Hunters, but they stop going on hunts and focus on raising the kids.

And so life goes on as it does, full of celebrations and tears, births and deaths, hunts and holidays, victories and losses. Dean and Cas still fight, bickering over things big and small. Cas will always be too stubborn and Dean too controlling. And when things get bad, Dean fumes as Cas takes off on Dorothy’s bike to get away from it all. But he learns that Cas will always return to him and they get better and making up, at talking, and at listening as the years roll by.

Dean dies on a Tuesday. It was the bacon that got him after all, a heart attack at the end of a long life. Sam smiles at the irony and they give him a hunter’s funeral. Sam is surrounded by his friends and his growing family that now includes four grandchildren. Led Zeppelin plays and everyone toasts Dean as the drinks and stories flow freely. There is laughter and joy as his life is celebrated and Sam thinks this is exactly what Dean would have wanted. Cas never leaves his seat by the fire until the last embers have burned away. Sam knows Cas won’t be far behind Dean, his health is ailing too and they never did do well without each other.

“Hey, Cas, how are you doing?” Sam asks, bringing a drink over to his brother-in-law.

“I’m OK, thank you,” he answers, adjusting the blanket that Claire had placed over his lap. “I know where Dean is and I promise you, he’s happy. He’ll be greeted by Bobby and Mary and Charlie and we even planned a reception for him at the Roadhouse. I think even Jack will be there.”

Cas closes his eyes and tips his face to the sky, breathing in and he looks peaceful.  Sam sits down next to him, groaning a bit at the arthritis that has set into his old joints.

“I’m so grateful for you, Cas. You made him happy for all these years and even prepared heaven for him.” Sam feels a tear trickle down his face. “I’m just going to miss him so much!”

“I miss him already, but we will all be together again soon. You and Dean are the best humans I have ever known. What we did together, we have earned eternal peace and fulfillment.” Cas finally turns to him, smiling. “We did it, Sam. We wrote our own story and it was good.”

#Supernatural #Destiel #Destiel fanfic #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Castiel #15x20 #15x20 fix it #Dean Winchester lives #Castiel to the rescue #lots of feelings #and talks between the boys

[sammystep]

My God is the Sun

So this was an entry for a prompt on the Jojo discord I'm in- this prompt was history and I of course had to go and make it weird. 

Historical Fiction of the first expedition to Machu Picchu, in which the narrator discovers the reason the Spanish Conquistadors had no record of the palatial grounds.

Written in Lovecraftian style, genre: horror

It is with reluctance that I dare to transcribe the events of that night in December to paper in the fear that to repeat it outside the confines of my mind will make it tangible. The discovery of such an evil in the world however weighs on me, my remaining honor implores me to give witness of the events so that it my not be repeated in error. May my selfless recording of my own cowardice give peace to the widows and families of those lost to us, if it is possible to find peace after such a tale.

I had traveled from Europe to the mountains of Peru under the employment of one Augusto Berns, a German business man of moderate renown and ambition, but no less lacking in political connection to without doubt expunge his name from these documents should they be parted from me. My previous experience working for his competitor in Egypt had extended my reputation far enough that for a moderate pay raise I had no qualms in overseeing similar unsavory work in South America. The relics of the ancients were not scarce once there was a deposit struck, but like mining for gold or silver there needed to be an experienced geologist on hand to conduct the miners. So too there was a need for my service of identifying the treasured pieces of archeological finds between useless bits of rubble and broken pottery.

Within a few months in the jungles of this untamed land our expedition had learned from the locals of a royal palace of the Inca left untouched by time. The Spanish conquistadors leaving no record of reaching such a place in the research I conducted made this rumor at least worthy of a guided tour up the mountain. A few shining coins convinced the local boys of the village to help haul equipment and guide us to their ancient playground, nimble as mountain goats they climbed steep rock face and held balance over a decaying rope bridge to our goal. The workers of our party armed with machetes to clear vines and overgrowth thick and gnarled from our path, if not for the occasional brick jutting from the ground clearly made by human hands, I would have assumed the palace to be only myth. Surely no structures would survive the will of nature at her heart of green growth.

Finally, a monument emerged from behind the trees, a complex of buildings and rubble overtaken by tall grass and vines and wild fruiting plants but immune to the advancement of thick trees and roots. Our searching was rewarded with the discovery of a dense collection of artifacts and items crafted hundreds of years ago. By the weeks end we had established a camp under the guise of a logging operation, rudimentary living quarters and storehouse to properly care for the treasures built at the base of the path up the mountain the locals called Machu Picchu.

The easily scavenged locations produced adequate finds and we pushed further and further into the expanse of desiccated temples and chambers even as the days waned with the nearing of the winter solstice. The temples devoted to the ancient gods of the builders of this mystifying isolated city were easily identifiable like all temples are, the walls carved in intricate detail of ritual and practices not unlike the stained-glass windows of a Christian church. Naturally, the caverns connected to the grand temple served as tombs for the deceased where we found the greatest treasures so far. Raw gems and rough metal tools and a few weapons made of a strange black glass that the locals identified as obsidian and was only found in volcanic deposits.

The mummified remains of the people buried here stare at us as we take from them the last of their worldly positions, eyes long unseeing and shriveled in their skulls but watching all the same. The treasures abounded and were sure to fetch whatever price we named for them and I sent word to my contacts in England to inquire their interest in purchasing directly from me and avoiding business costs going through Herr Berns. The day after that letter posted on an outgoing expedition to the coast for resupply, we came upon the grandest cavern yet found.

This new partition of the tomb system was markedly different from its predecessors, the walls even more spectacular in their craftmanship depicting a specific ritual and repeating figure of a man standing head over shoulders of the life-sized renditions of native people. Though certainly grander and more extravagant than the chambers that came before it, the new cavity was sorely lacking in loose artifacts that may be easily traded and sold. Few raw and roughly cut gem stones were cemented into the walls themselves and the workers quickly jumped at the chance to dislodge some precious stones as large as their fists.

I allowed them to work uninterrupted as I studied the carvings and hieroglyphics on the walls, and though I was no scholar of this language their rudimentary story telling through sequence made the ritual understandable across years untold and needing no interpreter. Depictions of young men lined up and awaiting a signal of the sun and moon to align descend into a cave, an underworld inhabited by creatures portrayed with human bodies and decidedly inhuman faces. The torsos and limbs of the nonhumans posed in strange and unnatural ways as the scenes continued deeper and deeper into the cavern. Only a sliver of light remained from the winter sun as I gained awareness of what the ritual carved from solid rock entailed, what the specialized glass tools and unfathomable artifacts scattered in abandoned workshops were for.

I could scarcely stomach the contemplation of the images, knowing now what my own hands had touched in the extraction of items from the temple halls, what morbid truth the array of alters and weapons found so far had been subjected to. All in appeasement of their god, the primitive god of what I would only realize later the god of death and blood. What I had once believed to be simply decorative motifs in the floors that I stood upon served a different more practical purpose to channel the blood of their deceased into this grand cavern. And if the star alignments and depictions were to be believed, the winter solstice marked the festival of ultimate sacrifice to this blood god. The groups of men previously depicted nearer the entrance to this tomb now bent in supplication to be worthy of becoming one with this great being.

My examinations ended here with the last of the carved reliefs, and I wish now that this had ben the end of our adventure to this hall of death, but ancient stone had never posed any real threat before, aside from unstable footing. Foolishly we continued to the rear of the cavern where the walls seemed to bow out away in a circular cul-de-sac around a central pillar holding the roof stable. Though it was covered in slimy algae enough to obscure what material it was made of, enough of the monolith remained visible to see it was dotted with alcoves containing the first untethered artifacts to be found in this section of cave. Within moments I had retrieved one of the items, a stone mask carved with great care and polish, its face a haughty sneer and monstrous fangs protruding from behind closed lips. In all my experience I had never known an artifact to emit such malice and menace as simply holding this mask instilled into me.

Not having the fortitude to withstand this feeling for longer than necessary I ordered the workers to start collection of these masks, for while they were indeed eerie and disturbed, they would fetch fair price to private collectors in Europe. The novelty of possessing mysterious worship items the fad of nobles to flaunt their wealth and intellect to lecture guests on its origin. I then turned my attention to the obstructed portions of this structure and what was uncovered burns into my mind even now as I write this account. Under the muck and slime, I revealed little at a time the face of a man, carved so carefully from the stone it appeared as though he had been cursed by Medusa of Greek myth.

Though the stone man was indeed the most valuable piece of ancient art we had uncovered in this expedition, he was carved from the very structure of the cave system and I mourned for the riches that would never be mine upon his sale. I returned my attention to the workers extracting masks from alcoves and scolded one as he was about to place the mask upon his face in jest. The light from the entrance was fading quickly as we recovered all we could carry and as we turned to exit it had faded completely so that we were forced to abandon arm loads of cargo and hold torches aloft instead. The flash of flint and tinder to light them sparked in the gloom and made the shadows dance along the carved reliefs on the walls, the pictures seeming to take on life of their own as the light shifted on their features.

I had scarcely lit my own torch to lead the men back to camp when the sliding scrape of a stone being dislodged behind us froze us in our steps. The more cautious and superstitious of the group spun around and franticly searched for explanation to the sudden sound but I foolishly eased their minds believing it to just be a natural shifting of rock or discarded artifact. The sun had truly set now and shade became pitch black without its radiant presence. As I worked to calm the men so too something else was working in these obscuring shadows.

From the central pillar of the cavern a writhing mass of roots carved from stone warped as they awoke from their centuries old slumber, twisting over themselves in masses indescribable in words before shooting out and grasping the closest members of our party, binding them and constricting like snakes devouring their prey. We were reduced in that moment to our most basic of instincts, some men fleeing the cavern on swift feet before their minds could even comprehend what they were witnessing, others remaining frozen in place as if they too were cursed to remain stone. Madness must have overtaken me then, for as I watched the stone vines rise up and pierce through the ear lobes of one of the workers, another vine through his tongue as he screamed, I could only feel a sense of awe as I saw acted out in front of me the rituals I had studied on the engraved walls. Blood flowed freely from his wounds as he struggled against the embrace of the stone vines, struggled against the embrace of death.

More roots curled around our ill-begotten goods that had fallen to the ground, lifting the macabre stone masks to the faces of the other men caught in the tangled web. The collected blood from the first man splashed over them and, upon contact, produced thin bone like claws from the sides of the masks and extended into the skulls of the workers. Their blood pooled beneath them where they lay motionless and fed into the irrigation channels marked into the floor, flowing towards the central monolith at a supernatural rate. With horror, I looked up to the face of the carved man and witnessed color return to his face and hair and I felt within me the burning cold awe of witnessing the ancient god come to life. For that is the only thing he could be, the carvings and worship of the ancient people must have been correct in their depictions of this god of death.

The monolith god descended from his perch, towering over we remaining mortals and approached the bloodied man still held firm in front of him. I had no control over my own person to even draw breath as I witnessed the pillar god’s chest undulate before sprouting ribs from beneath smooth skin without drawing blood, the ribs caging the unwilling sacrifice and pulling him to the gods body, where upon he started to melt into the flesh of the stone man, screaming in terror as his bloody tongue filled his mouth to drown his own screams. As he was digested and incorporated into the flesh of the god, the others that had been sacrificed and lay immobile on the floor began to twitch and move under their own power once more. The sight must have broken me from my stupor as I next remember running alongside the few others still untethered by roots toward the exit. Blurred walls rushed by my vision before we finally spilled into the open night air, spurred on ever faster by the sounds of our less swift companions being torn and cannibalized by our former colleagues.

I was one of only three men to make it back to our camp at the base of the mountain.

In our haste to reach the relative safety of our outpost we had not the presence of mind to ensure the creatures that were once men had given up the chase at the edge of the temple grounds, our subconscious minds somehow equating their presence as static and therefore bound to the unholy place behind us. But we were soon proved wrong when from outside the door a squealing of metal and splintering of wood informed us that the main gate to our own safe haven had been breached. We three that knew the truth of what lay out in the light of the crescent moon, rendered dumb and speechless as we heard the cries of men and animals alike outside fall prey to the hunting party stalking past our door. We could not draw breath to warn the others before they too rushed outside to fend off what they knew nothing about. I regained a semblance of sense or perhaps my survival instincts overwhelmed my rational mind, but I found myself cowering behind the doors of a standing wardrobe, not daring to crack the door in hope that perhaps I would run out of air before I could be found, that my death would be kinder than the ones I could hear happening still around and inside the lodging.

I know not how much time passed as I prayed mercy, as I awaited the inevitable. Eons, years, seconds had no meaning as I counted each breath, each heartbeat that flooded my ears and rendered them useless to hear the intermittent screams of the men in my employ. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids as surely my supply of fresh air dwindled before my breathing must have alerted the hunters to my hiding space. The doors of my salvation proved to be little more than paper to the claws and power of the men formerly human, their faces twisted in expression to match the accursed masks found in that sanctuary of death. I screamed wordlessly as they dragged me past the remains of the work crew, of the carcasses of the pack animals and past the demolished wooden gate. In my panic I thrashed though they did not harm me as they carried my body back to the temple grounds.

The large flat stone in the center of the courtyard had been speculated to be the site of ritual for animal sacrifices to the ancient gods, and I suppose to a god, humans must not be more than livestock after all. The twisted creatures held me to the slab, one on each limb as a fifth held aloft one of the wretched masks. From the cavern entrance the blood god emerged into the moonlight, his hair a shade of red matching the blood on his face and hands of the night’s sacrifices given onto him. Two black horns adorned his head on each side of his head and I knew this was no god but a demon set upon the world. We had awoken that which was truly cursed, without our greed for treasure and careless disregard for warnings of ancient people this creature would be forever still trapped in its stone prison.

The terrible mask descending towards my face obscured my vision of this demon and the sickly moon in the lavender sky, the creature biting down and spilling its own blood from its tongue in preparation of taking the last sacrifice of the night. But as the cold stone settled over my face hope bloomed in my chest as through the eyehole’s daylight cast its first red rays upon the ruins. The temple grounds were bathed in the glorious rays and the hunting party fell to the ground squealing and shrieking as their skin and sinew burned away. With my limbs free I managed to free my face from the mask as the hunters still dripping blood activated its command to impale my own skull. Even now I bare the scars of the few bone like claws that managed to break the skin of my temple and face. With my remaining strength I flung myself from the alter, the man made from the monolith unable to step foot into the sunlight lest he suffer the same burning fate as his minions. I could feel his eyes upon me even after leaving the main entrance to the ruins but I dared not slow my retreat to look back.

My legs carried me past the ruins of my camp, now to be abandoned along with the stone buildings of the ancient peoples. In a trance, I carried myself to civilization. Though I understood the local dialect, at this moment I found words beyond me, unable to reconcile the fate I had narrowly escaped and indeed believing my escape was a phantasm of my own making, a final imagining of a dying mind like that of a dream. But the comfort of the safety afforded me now, the solid walls and bright sun shining down restored my faculties, though I still dare not speak of this encounter out loud.  

I fear the strain on my mind too great to bear for much longer. I am no longer able to tolerate the thought of sleeping at night and leaving myself vulnerable to the hunters come back to reclaim their lost prize. But sleeping in the bright sun as I wish to do proves impossible as well, only able brief periods of rest under the burning rays before the discomfort proves too much, my eyes now sensitive to even the faintest flicker of flame. My strength wanes as food tastes of ash in my mouth, my mental state and paranoia sapping my will to sustain myself with it. Even if it were not a repulsive task anymore to simply eat, I fear that this gnawing hunger in my belly will never again be satiated.

I wait impatiently for the next traveling escort arranged by my employer to deliver the artifacts my team had collected, and I pray they will not hesitate to abandon the task of collecting the items when confronted with the carnage left at the camp site. The temple of the bloody god and the cursed stone masks must stay hidden in this jungle, lost to time.

Author’s Note:

I read a few short stories by Lovecraft to get the kind of feel for that horror genre down and I just gotta say this writing style is pretentious as hell and totally my jam.

Let me know what you think- I know its a VERY niche market for loosely Jojo-related historical fiction horror pieces ':|

#pillar men #lovecraft #monster #sacrifice #depictions of violence #first person narrative #horror #short story #jojo reference

[ilikeoneshots]

Keep Moving - Bakugou Katsuki

I had thirty minutes left on my patrol shift so I started making my way back to my agency. I hadn’t been feeling too hot the last couple days and I was completely exhausted.

I was about two block away from the agency when I heard the explosions behind me. I quickly turned and saw smoke billowing into the sky from the business district. I quickly launched myself into the sky and made my way toward the havoc.

“(H/N) in business district. Three unknown assailants caused an explosion of some kind. I don’t see any injured civies,” I call into my radio.

“Copy, (H/N). We’re sending someone in to cover you,” dispatch responded. I nodded to myself before descending upon the villains.

I dropped soundlessly behind one and rendered them unconscious with a rudimentary sleeper hold. As the man collapsed, the other two took notice of me.

“What the fuck, dude?! You didn’t say this bitch would be around!” One said to the other.

“Yeah, well, how the fuck was I supposed to know?! Just take the bitch out!” The other man exclaimed.

“If you boys are done with this little show, we can do this one of two ways. One, you give up on this sad excuse of a robbery and come away quietly without any injuries. Two, I kick your asses and make a pit stop to the emergency room before going to jail. Which will it be?” I asked, boredom lacing my voice.

“Fuck you, you stupid bitch! You think you can take both of us?!” The first man screamed at me.

“Option two it is then,” I sigh before using my speed to appear behind him. He could barely turn to look at me before I kicked him into the wall they blew up moments ago. He groaned from his place on the ground. I turned toward the other man, “Would you like to reconsider?”

He snarled at me before using his quirk to shoot something at me. Did this dude have bullets coming out of his fingertips?!?

I dodged quickly and flipped over his head and landed behind him, catching him in a sleeper hold like the third member of their party. He flailed around, sending shots around wildly from his hands before he slumped into the hold. I restrained him quickly and went to make my way to the man I had kicked when I noticed he was gone.

“Dammit!” I groaned. It wasn’t more than a minute later that the police showed up to cart the two men away, “I’m sorry sir, the third man ran off. I’ll see if I can locate him quickly,” I said to the supervising officer.

I was about to go for the sky when I heard my name being called, I look around and see a familiar head of blonde hair and sharp red eyes. I smile and wave, my smile quickly turning into a look of confusion when I saw him blasting off full speed toward me and screaming something. I couldn’t figure out what he was screaming due to his explosions. I went to look behind me when I felt something sharp hit my side.

It felt like everything was going in slow motion. I look down and see the abdomen of my suit growing redder. I look back up and see the man from earlier holding an insanely long knife in his hand. He had a crazed look in his eyes. He was quickly tackled to the ground. I stumbled a bit before feeling arms wrap around me.

“(Y/N)! Hey, hey, hey. Look at me,” his voice sounded weird. I try to focus my eyes on him.

“Katsu? Did he just fucking stab me?” I groan.

“Shut up, stupid woman! We have to get you to the hospital!” He’s yelling, fear evident in his voice. He picks me up and I groan in pain once more.

“What a dick... who just stabs someone like that?” My voice comes out in a mumble. Katsuki isn’t paying my ramblings any mind as he runs me to the nearest hospital.

My mind is going in and out of consciousness as they place me on the gurney. I look over in one last moment of lucidity and see Katsuki with tears running down his cheeks and then I’m out.

I don’t know how long I’m out for but when I come to I instantly want to go back to sleep. The bright fluorescent lights make my head pound and I groan at the feeling. I feel something grab my hand and I force my eyes open again. The image of my husband comes into view.

“(Y/N)? Can you hear me?” I nod and motion to my throat, “Oh water! Hold on,” Katsuki leaves for a moment only to reappear moments later with a glass. I down in in seconds.

“Oh my God, that’s so much better,” I sigh.

“How do you feel?” He asks me in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Like I got stabbed with a machete,” I humorlessly laugh, “Okay, fill me in on what happened after they took me back?” I grunt as I try to sit up. Katsuki quickly helps me adjust before holding my hand in his vice-like grip again.

“Babe... something.. let me go get the doctor,” Katsuki said before leaving the room. I’m so confused, he’s not acting normally... I didn’t have time to ponder his odd behavior because he returned just as quickly has he left, doctor in tow.

“Morning, Mrs Bakugou. I’m Doctor Lin, I did your surgery last night,” The woman stated as she sat in the seat across from my bed, “A couple things happened while you were in surgery. Nothing life threatening but it is serious.”

I sit in silence as I listen to the woman drone on and on about what happened. She explains my wound, my blood loss, how I was lucky the blade didn’t actually hit any internal organs, but what really got me was a question.

“Ma’am, did you know you were pregnant?” I blinked at her a few times.

“What do you mean?” What did she just ask me??

“Oh, dear... I’m so sorry,” she stammered for a moment as she looked at the clipboard in her hands, “You were twelve weeks pregnant, Ma’am. I regret to inform you, but due to the blood loss, shock along with anesthesia and the surgery the fetus did not make it.”

I numbly look to Katsuki, he’s just staring at the doctor in front of us.

“I’ll give you two a moment,” she says before leaving the room. Katsuki is still frozen, staring at the seat the woman was just occupying.

“K-Katsu?” I whisper and he jumped back into reality and is holding me close to his chest, “I d-didn’t know! If only I had known! How did I not realize?!” I cry into his shirt. He’s rocking me back and forth, careful not to hurt my stitches.

“It isn’t your fault, you were doing your job. If I had gotten to you sooner, I could have kept that guy from getting away,” he’s mad at himself now... I pull away and place my hands on either side of his face, making his look at me.

“If I can’t blame myself, you can’t blame yourself,” I wipe the tears from his cheeks and he does the same for me. He kisses me softly as I sniffle.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he holds me close again, “I haven’t even really thought about wanting a kid, but hearing that we could have and now their gone...” I nod against his shoulder.

“I know what you mean...”

Two days later, I was discharged. The doctor informed me that I shouldn’t be surprised at any heavy bleeding and eventually I will ‘pass’ the baby. My anxiety levels were at an all time high, the thought of having to ‘pass’ my baby overwhelming.

I called my boss and informed her of my situation, we’re pretty close, and she gave me four weeks off. Enough time for the physical side of my miscarriage to end.

“Katsuki.. I know you don’t want to talk about this but...” I stop myself. I can’t bring myself to ask this, but I know I have to, “W-When it happens-“

“We’re going to bury it,” he says softly, he can read me like a book. He knows how hard this is on me, it’s hard on him too, “We can bury it underneath the cherry blossom tree in the backyard.” I nod silently.

“Do you think it would have been a boy or a girl?” I ask after we arrived home and settled on the couch, just wanting to hold each other.

“Not sure, why?” He hummed as he rubbed my shoulders

“I want to give them a name...” I say, fiddling with the end of my shirt.

He was quiet for a while and I assumed I went to far with the morbidity of the situation. I was about to say ‘forget it’ when Katsuki started to speak again.

“I’d like to think it would have been a girl. She would have had my eye color but your eye shape,” he smiled to himself as he imagined what our baby would have looked like, “I’d want her to have your hair texture and color too.”

“So you’d only want her to have your eyes?” I asked.

“I’d be perfectly happy with that,” he smiled down at me.

“I’d want her to have your smile,” I say as I turn slightly to give him a kiss.

“Sappy woman,” he grinned.

“Did you forget what all you just said?” He chuckled and playfully flicked my forehead.

“That’s besides the point, what name would you give her?” I hum as I think about it.

“We could call her Sakura, because of the cherry blossom tree,” I offer the idea.

“I do like that name, but are you sure you want to name her after the tree?”

“I know it’s not very original...” I mumble as I rest my head against his chest.

“No, I like it. We can call her Sakura,” he kisses my hair. I nod. We fall into a comfortable silence, every now and then I tense when I feel a cramp.

“I wish the other day had been different... if it had only happened an hour later... I would have been home and then we would have been able to meet Sakura in a few more months,” I say as the tears start flowing again. Katsuki rubs my back and shushes me softly.

“We can’t think about ‘what if’s. What happened, happened for a reason. It may not make any sense right now, but we can’t change it even if we wanted to. So now, we have to keep going forward and in the future if you want to we can try again,” his voice calms me.

“I love you, Katsu. I’m glad you’re with me. But, if I’m being honest, hearing you say such soft things is odd,” I admit. He scoffs at me.

“I’m not soft, I just love you,” he gently moves me as he gets off the couch, “You keep resting, I’m going to start dinner.”

~~

It’s been almost a year since we lost Sakura. If I’m being honest, I still get sad about it. I think Katsuki does too. But like Katsuki said, we can’t change the past so we have to keep moving forward. Which is what we’ve managed to do.

“Mrs Bakugou? Are you there?” The voice called out through the phone I had dropped. I scrambled to pick the device back up.

“Y-Yes! I’m here! I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest.

“I said, the results came back. You’re pregnant.”

#bakugou katsuki x pregnant reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #mha x reader #mha

[high-ashell-hargrove]

Lost- Dean Winchester x Reader

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Ptsd, bad old writing per usual?

Description: after returning from the dead, Y/n deals with her memories of Pergatory and Dean is there to attempt to help her through it all

A/n: so i wrote this like a year ago, and kinda hate it but ngl i wanted to post it lolol

like 1.5k words

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The smell of musty books and beer wafted through the air, along with the new addition of mint and lavender shampoo. It had been over a year since y/n felt soft fabric touch her skin and warm water engulfed her fragile body. She had made her journey from where she had been buried back to Bobbys. Guilt and fear coursed through her veins. Will they be happy to see me? These thoughts raced through her mind as she stared at the off white door. After a while she ambled up the steps, taking a deep breath she knocked on the door. The door opened slowly and she was met with the eldest Winchester, A small gasp left his mouth. He splashed her with holy water. "It's really me Dean." Y/n croaked, her mouth was tremendously dry. A smile plastered across his face as he pulled her in for a hug. "God I missed you" y/n whispered. She absolutely missed the smell of the cologne that seeped from the man’s clothing. "I missed you more." He said fighting back tears, which didn't work much because tears spilled over his face. Pulling back he wrapped his arm around her torso and guided her inside.

"Who was it?" I heard the youngest Winchester call out from the kitchen area. "It's y/n," Dean called back. Silence filled the house. Two sets of footsteps sounded toward the two. There stood in front of you in the tiny mudroom, was Sam and Bobby. “Hey guys,” she said, her voice was brittle, her eyes once full of life and hope now looked dark and empty. The men just stood there, shocked at the small frame standing in front of them. Her face covered in matted blood and dirt, her nails busted, clothing torn and soiled. Sam slowly approached her and brought her in for a hug. He couldn't help but notice her grip, usually strong was now a weak squeeze.

Stepping back he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Did the Cass bring you back?” he asked.

“Hell if I kno’.” a light chuckle left her throat.

She looked at each of the men again, reaching up at Sam as she fiddles with his hair.

“How long has it been? I swear your hair has grown like, four inches in what? Five months?” she chucked again, pulling away from the Winchester. The men looked at her, sad expressions across each face.

“y/n,” Dean said, placing a strong hand on her shoulder, slowly he walked into the living room with her and sat on the couch. “It's been a year and nine months.” His voice is thick. She looked from Sam to Bobby searching for answers. She sucked in a deep breath.

“O-oh, well then I h-haven't had a shower in over a year,” she said, trying to lighten the mood. 

Slowly standing up again she ripped her hands from Deans, “if you'll excuse me.” she said making her way to the staircase. “Damnit,” Dean whispered, rubbing his face.

[Oof)

After cleaning up y/n made her way downstairs again, in the boy's clothing now because hers had been ruined, Sam waited at the bottom of the staircase. *pov change hahahah*

"Though you might need this." He chuckled holding out a beer. I take it and take a sip, wincing at the feeling. Walking into the kitchen I was met with a table filled with food. 

"We uh, though you would be hungry too," Dean said, clasping his hands together. Forcing a smile I sat down, the boys followed. Looking down I began fiddling with my fingers, Dean leaned over and patted my leg. I let out a whimper and grip my thigh. 

"You- you still have injuries don't you," Dean asked with concern dripping in his voice. 

I nodded. Looking up again I see the boys staring at me. 

"Don't want the food to go to waste." I sigh, grabbing the pie.

It had been months of y/n trying to get back into hunting with the boys, Adjusting had become much harder than she thought. Every little thing set her off in some way. Y/n had mostly stuck behind and helped Bobby with research "Berkshire county PA, big Vamp nest according to Rufus." Y/n said, sitting down on her phone.

"The boys are gonna need you on this one," Bobby said sitting back in his chair.

Her eyes widened. Once again It was like she hadn't done this, ever.

"No. They don't need me, together they are enough." Y/n says, her hands trembling.

The sound of the impala rumbled through the air, looking over towards the door she heard the engine come to a stop and the heavy doors shutting. Eventually, she was met by the two men standing in the door frame of bobby’s ‘living room’.

“Hey boys,” Bobby said as he got up to give them hugs. Not soon after they embraced me with strong arms, almost suffocating actually. We sat for about an hour talking out the new case, each time mentioning me joining them on the hunt Dean would look at me with worry, not once did I meet his gaze. We finally agreed, well Bobby and Sam agreed I would be joining them. Packing some things I say my goodbyes to Bobby and find myself staring out baby's windows. A few hours felt like long agonizing months. Fear sat at the pit of my stomach.  Eventually, we make it to a dinky little motel called “Comfort inn”.

Slinging down his bags Dean huffed “Comfort inn my ass.”

Chuckling Sam and I follow in suit.

“I’m takin’ the couch.”

“Cute but no.” I heard Dean reply. Turning around sent him a questioning look. 

I scoff. “And why the hell, not Mr. Winchester.”

“Because I heard all about the tango you had with some demons about a week ago,” he replies and points toward my side. Rolling my eyes and throwing my bag onto the couch.

“So sweet for keeping tabs on me, but no.” 

A few nights later and some more dead bodies we all had found the vamps nest. It was in a big barn in the middle of, you guessed it, nowhere. We got our things and headed there. I have to admit I wasn't afraid of working the ‘suit’ part of the job, but killing vamps I was definitely scared shitless thinking about. We were About ten minutes away from busting in their machetes wielding. 

We stood outside of the doors, my heart thumping uncontrollably. Sliding open the door we all quietly entered, vamps asleep right at our feet. One by one we silently killed them. As we approached the far left corner of the barn, cries for help emerged. Next thing I see, vamps swarming us. Separating us. I focused on the task at hand. my blade flying through them, without seconds to spare. Next thing I know I'm met with the boys again, staring at me like I'm crazy. Blood covered my hand, neck, face, and clothes. It was like I blacked out. Startled, I stumbled back out to the car. The ride back no words were exchanged, we simply cleaned up when we got back to the motel and hit the hay.

Whispers filled her head. The smell of rotting flesh wafted through her nose, and the sounds of twigs and dirt crunched beneath her boots.

A light gasp left y/n throat. Quickly looking around she noticed she was indeed in the motel and not in purgatory. Quietly y/n walked into the bathroom. Shutting the door she turned to look in the mirror.  She was back, it had been so long since she had let her emotions get to her. Now blood soaked her shirt and covered her once clean skin. taking a deep breath y/n looked into the motel mirror again, images of purgatory flashed through her once more. sobs left her throat and her vision began to blur with tears. a light knock brought her back. 

"You okay in there y/n/n?" Dean called from the opposite side. y/n could not bring herself to reply, only more muffled cries. He opened the door and immediately was at her side, whispering comforting words to her while stroking her hair.

“Talk to me, sweetheart.” 

She tightens her grip on his arms, and suddenly she begins. “That-that place, it broke me in more ways than one.” she squeaked. Taking a few more breaths she started again. “I was suffocating Dean, I- I felt myself losing what humanity I had left. And the worse thing was when I screamed… my head felt like it was constantly being shoved underwater. I lost hope… I still feel lost.”He didn't know what to say, he had been there…. But he just couldn't seem to muster up any words, he just held her tighter.

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x female!reader #supernatural imagine #supernatural fanfiction #dean is bi #ahahahahaha #supernatural fic

[winchesters-favorite-girl]

She is a Badass

A/N: This is @not-jk-rowling ‘s one shot for my 5,000 followers international giveaway.

Request: hiii!! for my one shot can you write one where the teen!reader is a hunter who sam & dean had saw/heard about and they finally end up on a hunt together but they find out she’s actually super timid/shy so they kinda look out for her like she’s their sister n there’s just some fluff (sorry if this is too vague lol i’m super stressed i just need some fluff in my life ya feel) thank u!!

Word Count: 1,502

Warnings: None

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“So why are we headed to Akron again?” Dean questioned, glancing at Sam from the driver's seat.

Sam let out a sigh, “Because Jody asked us to.”

“Well, I get that, I was just wondering why she asked us to.” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

“Because there’s a hunter on a vampire case and she’s worried that they might have taken on more than they can handle.” Sam replied.

“So we gotta play babysitter?” Dean asked in an annoyed tone.

Sam shook his head, “I don’t think so, it’s the hunter that Claire told us about; the one she worked that weird salt and burn with.”

Dean gave him a surprised look, “The one she said was a complete badass that made us look like outdated hunters?”

“Yup, that’s the one. Turns out she’s also the one who helped Mackey with that wraith case a few months ago when we were stuck on the ghoul hunt and she gave Jody the info we used on that weird gremlin thing last week.” Sam informed his brother.

“Really?” Dean replied surprised, “She does sound like a badass.” He mumbled to himself but Sam heard anyway.

“I know, she’s only seventeen too.” Sam responded as he went back to flipping through the folder of information he had gathered for the hunt.

Dean glanced at Sam, “She’s only seventeen and she’s hunting alone?” He asked incredulously, “Where are her parents?” A solemn look took over Sam’s face which told Dean all he needed to know, “Her parents are gone.” He meant to ask but it came out more like a statement.

“Yeah.” Sam sadly replied, “She told Claire it was a kitsune that killed her mom and her dad went crazy trying to figure out what happened; got dragged into the life. He died a few months ago on a vamp case; I kinda think that’s why Jody wants us there, it’s her first vamp case since he died.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about what you’ve gone through. He was silent for a few moments, “She was also the one that gave Garth the heads up about those douchebags that were coming after him and Beth right?”

Sam nodded his head, “Yeah, she ran into them and gave them the heads up. Her dad was pissed as hell but she told Jody she knew it was the right thing to do. Her dad died a few weeks later.”

“She sounds like a good kid.” Dean replied.

“Hmm.” Sam mumbled, agreeing with Dean.

“Maybe we could start looking out for her like we do with Claire; doing all of this alone at seventeen can’t be easy.” Dean stated.

A small smile grew on Sam’s face as he listened to Dean talk, “We can try.” He told him, glancing down at his phone as it lit up. “Uh, so apparently she figured out the location of the vamps and went after them already.” Sam told Dean.

Dean looked over at Sam with wide eyes, “Is she crazy?”

“I guess so.” Sam responded, just as bewildered as his brother.

“We’re almost to the town; can you track her phone?” Dean asked.

Nodding his head, Sam got to work on his phone in an attempt to find your location.

“She’s about fifteen minutes away.” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“I can make it in seven.” Dean replied, pushing his foot down harder on the gas.

The impala had just come to a stop as your figure was walking out of the barn where the vampires had been holding up. The brothers both exited the vehicle and watched with impressed looks on their faces.

“Hey kid.” Dean said, grabbing your attention.

You looked up with a suspicious look on your face, not trusting the strangers that were waiting for you outside of a vampire hideout.

“Who’re you?” You asked in a quiet tone, moving your bloody machete in front of you in a protective manner.

“I’m Sam and this is my brother Dean.” Sam told you.

“Oh.” You replied, lowering your weapon, “The Winchester Brothers.”

“That’s us.” Sam responded with a slight smile.

“See you didn’t wait for backup.” Dean added, an impressed look on his face, “Kinda dangerous don’t ya think?”

You simply shrugged your shoulders and looked at the ground; you hated attention from other hunters, it’s why you always hunted alone. They always made it sound like you were accomplishing huge tasks when in reality you were doing what your father showed you to do. He had also taught you that too much praise can be a bad thing; it can make your head too big which could lead to arrogance which can get you killed.

“Jody wanted us to be here just in case but it looks like you definitely had things handled.” Sam tried to compliment you but you didn’t say anything, just blushed slightly and looked at the ground.

The brothers shared a confused look for a moment before Dean decided to speak, “Well you did all the heavy lifting, you want some help with the clean up?” He questioned.

You quickly nodded your head, “That’d be great.” You quietly replied.

“Sammy, you get the shovels while the kid shows me the damage.” Dean said, motioning for you to lead the way.

Walking at a fast pace you led the oldest Winchester into the barn. Dean looked around with wide eyes as he took in the room, “Dang kid, you really don’t mess around.” He stated as he counted at least seven bodies on the ground. Again, you shrugged your shoulders, not entirely sure how to react. “You don’t know how to take a compliment, do you?” Dean honestly asked.

“Dad always told me to keep myself level headed and to not let a win get to your head; said it could make you overconfident on the next hunt which could get you killed.” You told him.

A sad smile overtook Dean’s face as he connected the dots, “Your dad sounded a lot like mine.”

“Was he a good hunter?” You questioned.

Dean glanced over at you, “The best, but, from what I hear you’re pretty good.”

“Thanks.” You mumbled, looking over at the door as Sam appeared with shovels.

“Ready to start digging?” Sam asked.

You made a displeased face and let out a quiet groan which Dean couldn’t help but laugh at. “Come on kid, sooner we do this the sooner we can buy you some celebratory burgers and pie at the diner in town.” Dean told you with a grin.

“You don’t have to bring me to get food.” You said, “I can get something on my own.” Both brothers shook their heads with your words.

“When was the last time you had a meal that didn’t come off of a dollar menu?” Sam gently questioned.

You shrugged nonchalantly but both brothers knew the game you were playing, they played the same ones when they were younger. “It’s not a big deal.” You tried to convince them.

The brothers gave you a look which made you roll your eyes, “What? You guys don’t have to worry about me, you don’t even really know me.” You stated quietly.

“We might not know you, but you’re Claire’s friend, Jody says you’re good people, and you’ve helped our friends out on multiple occasions.” Sam told you.

“Just cause we don’t know you doesn’t mean that we don’t care about you.” Dean added, “Besides, we know some stuff about you. I mean we just burned and buried a bunch of vampire bodies together kid, don’t tell me that wasn’t a least a bit of a bonding experience.”

You cracked a smile at Dean’s joke, “You’re ridiculous.” You told him, causing Sam to laugh.

A huge grin appeared on Dean’s face, “Maybe, but you’re getting pie with us, no excuses.”

Both brothers kept their poker faces on while they watched you have a small internal battle on if you should take them up on their offer or go off on your own like you normally do. They both knew the type of life you were used to and knew that getting you to open up and be accepting of any help they were offering would be difficult; but they also knew that if you allowed them to help you you’d be safer.

Sam couldn’t help but look at you and see a kid who had been pushed into the life much like he had.

Dean saw you as another hunter’s kid who was trying to fill the shoes her dad had set for them.

Both looked at you as exactly what it would have been like had they had a little sister on the road with them.

“I could go for some pie.” You said quietly, breaking both the brothers from their thoughts.

“Yeah?” Dean asked with a growing smile on his face; one that you couldn’t help but return.

“Yeah.”

#dean x reader #sam x reader #supernatural x reader #winchester sister #supernatural fanfiction #katie writes #supernatural one shot

[such-fun]

Fic: Drag You Down (Negan x Reader) Part 1.

Yes, I started another story. No, I don’t know why. Blame my muse.

Title: Drag You Down

Pairing: Negan x Reader

Summary: Giving the Alexandrians all their guns left the women of Oceanside defenseless, and you would do anything to keep them safe.

Tags: @negans-network, @thecynicalnerd, @deadlywinters, @attentionseekingprincess, @chaoticevilanddowntofuck, @marvelandgameofthrones, @briannaatkins03, @toxic-ink, @petlaufeyson, @ravenclawkittyninja, @poseidon29, @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues

 1:

It had been weeks since Tara had led the Alexandrians back to Oceanside and commandeered all of your weapons, and Natania was still furious. Her anger was less palpable now, but few dared to cross her. Her silent fury assured that everyone gave her a wide berth.

 You understood her pain and frustration and had no idea how to make things better. Without weapons your community was weakened. This camp, filled with women and children, was now at the mercy of any nefarious strangers. You didn’t blame Cyndie for helping Tara. The Alexandrians were facing much of the same horrors you had barely survived. Helping them had been the right thing to do.

 Weeks turned to months and there had been no sign of Tara or Rick. Part of you feared they were long dead and Negan stronger than ever. Their possible failure left you with a bitter taste in your mouth. The Alexandrians defeat could spell the end of your peaceful safe haven and a return to the Savior’s bloody rule. Your return to Negan.

 You saw Cyndie walk past the tables and benches where the children were eating and you moved to follow her. She spotted you from the corner of her eye and you signaled for her to meet you behind the cabin.

 “We need to talk,” you spoke softly as she rounded the corner.

 “What’s going on?” she bit her lip anxiously.

 “We can’t go on like this for much longer,” you sighed, staring off into the distance at the sullen form of your leader. “Natania is no use like this. Without a leader, without guns, we’re sitting ducks.”

 “You have a plan?” she wondered, glancing at the happy children and knowing deep down that something had to be done.

 “We can’t spare many people, not with Natania practically catatonic” you frowned. “Rachel and the others can take care of the fishing. We need to go scavenging.”

 “I don’t think—”

 “No, you don’t think!” you interrupted harshly before closing your eyes and taking a calming breath. “Sorry, I just—we need to keep our people safe. You need to keep them safe.” She bowed her head and slowly nodded. You felt terrible for laying such guilt on her, but your fear had taken over. You couldn’t go back to that way of life. You couldn’t see any more people die.

“We can cover more ground if we split up. Walk to the highway, you go east and I’ll go west. Stay quiet and out of sight, and gather as much weaponry as you can carry. Guns are priority, but knives are good too.” Cyndie agreed.

 “Who is going to tell Natania?” she looked at you warily.

 “No one,” you admitted. “We keep this to ourselves, until we’ve got something to show her. You know her; she’s practically got us on lockdown right now. Tell Rachel to come up with a cover, just in case Natania asks about us.”

 “I’ll go find Rachel,” Cyndie said, as you stood straighter. Given a purpose, she appeared more focused. You, on the other hand, couldn’t shake your nervousness. If you couldn’t find anything and Natania discovered you left camp on a fool’s errand, you were going to be in a world of hurt.

 “I’ll pack some supplies, we leave in ten.” With one final nod to your friend, you headed inside to pack a couple backpacks.

 You planned to travel light. You slipped a couple of bottles of water into each back, along with some food, unsure of how long you’d be gone. Flashlights were a must; it wouldn’t pay to be caught unawares in the dark. You strapped your trusted dagger to your thigh, feeling almost naked without the reassurance of even a pistol at your side. Without guns, knives and machetes had become everyone’s go to weapons. You put an extra knife in your pack, as well as Cyndie’s, and slipped outside.

 You waited amongst the trees, keeping just out of sight of the women on patrol. As ten minutes neared, you wondered if Cyndie was going to be late. Just before your patience ran out, you saw her moving through the tree line.

 Wordlessly you handed her the pack you set aside for her. After one last look at your home, you began your trek through the woods, Cyndie keeping pace in silence.

 It didn’t take long to reach the highway.

 The blockade Natania had made ages ago was worse for the wear after Tara’s departure, but still holding. You both made your way over the obstacles. There had been a fight along that stretch of highway, corpses littered the ground but they weren’t moving so you paid them little attention.

 You had hoped that there might have been a stray weapon left behind in the melee, but no such luck.

 Coming out the other side, you and Cyndie followed the road in front of you. It took an hour to reach the fork in the road. This is where you were to part ways.

 Despite the lingering resentment you felt for her, you pulled Cyndie close. Her arms wrapped around you without hesitation, and you hugged each other tightly. Pulling back, you rested your hands on her shoulders and gave her a small smile.

 “Stay safe,” you murmured, and Cyndie returned the sentiment with a weary grin. “We rendezvous here in four days.”

 “I’ll be here, with a shitload of guns,” she declared optimistically, and you laughed softly.

 “And remember, no one can follow you back,” you said solemnly. “No witnesses.”

 “No witnesses,” she nodded sharply.

 Giving her arm a quick squeeze you took a step back, looking at the open road ahead of you, and started walking. Neither one of you looked back. The mission was all that mattered now.

  You knew you weren’t likely to find much at the first turn off you took. Your people had picked it pretty clean when you first set up at Oceanside. Still, you gave it a quick once over before calling it a bust and moving on.

 Following the side of the road, you were grateful that you remembered to tuck your jeans into your boots. The grass was high and the insects everywhere. Your tank top left you exposed though, and you were pretty sure you had a couple mosquito bites already.

 There was a rest stop to your left, and one bedraggled walker shuffling around the parking lot. Slipping your dagger from its sheath, you didn’t bother with stealth. Walking with deliberate speed toward the walker, who turned and groaned at the sight of you, you swiftly buried your blade into the side of its head. The body fell unceremoniously to the ground and you pulled the dagger free with a grunt.

 The bathrooms were nightmarish. Blood streaked along the walls, broken glass, and in the men’s room lay an unfortunate man who appeared to have fallen and slammed his head into the corner of the sink. The smell was overwhelming.

 You did your best, covering your nose and delicately checking the body, but there was nothing worth taking.

 The diner next door proved a little more fruitful. You found a butcher knife, rusted but still usable, and a discarded box of shells in the back office. No gun though.

 The rest of the day followed a similar pattern. More dead bodies than bullets found. You weren’t surprised. You hadn’t expected much on your first day out. The next two days, when you would be able to head deeper into the woods, should prove more worthwhile. At least, that is what you hoped.

 Night crept upon you and you decided to call it quits at your fourth stop of the day. The gas station you came across wouldn’t offer much protection. The windows were smashed, the doors hung off the hinges, and even the office in the back wouldn’t provide much shelter. There were no windows there, but the door was in pieces and left you vulnerable to any walker that might stumble in while you slept.

 You’re only alternative would be to sleep in one of the cars out front. But from the once over you gave them on the way in, that would not be happening. The driver still sat in one car, rotting away in the seat. The driver’s side window was broke out and the smell of death was impossible to stomach.

 As quietly as you could, you pushed and pulled of the tall shelving units from the store to the back office. Your impromptu barricade would have to do.

 Sleep didn’t come easily.

   You woke in the morning, unsure of the time. If you weren’t awake at dawn, you never knew the time of day. There was just day and night.

 With the feeling of safety that only the sun could provide, you made your way out the building and into the parking lot. Heading around back, you grew warily hopeful at the sight of the two cars left abandoned.

 One was unsalvageable. The tires were torn and flat. The other looked promising.

 You peeked in the windows, relieved when no body greeted you. The door creaked loudly when you opened it. After a quick look around to see if attracted any walkers, you crouched down, lying awkwardly across the driver’s seat. With your dagger, you reached down, searching for the wires to the ignition, and carefully stripped them.

 The whole process took a few minutes considering you had to pause every few seconds to see if trouble was coming. But soon enough you found the right connection and the engine began to sputter to life.

 Biting back a smile, you sat up, closed the door, and put the car in drive. You hoped this was a sign that this would be a good day.

 You allowed yourself to enjoy the ride to your next stop, wherever it may be. It had been so long since you experienced a nice, relaxing drive through the country. The feeling was almost foreign, but one you didn’t want to let go.

 With the car you could cover more distance. You passed up a few dilapidated buildings. They likely wouldn’t have much left to find, and if you were desperate you could always hit them up on the way back home.

 A sign, half fallen, caught your eye and you perked up. It advertised a nearby housing development. Being so out of the way, this little community could be just what you were looking for. Planned development or not, this was still the South. Homes meant guns. And there was a chance no one had discovered them yet.

 It was a quaint little spot, and you wondered why Natania passed it by when you fled the Saviors. But small or not communities like this tended to attract attention eventually. While a home and a proper bed might have been nice, nothing mattered more than safety. And not just from roamers.  

 You parked the rusted sedan along the weed-strewn sidewalk. Your dagger was in your hand before you even opened the car door. Houses had supplies, but they also had walkers.

 There were two to put down in the first house. They would have nearly ambushed you at the door if you hadn’t been prepared. With them gone, you took your time exploring. It didn’t take long to find a shotgun hidden in a bedroom closet, and a couple of boxes of shells stacked neatly on the floor.

 You struggled not to feel elated as you loaded the gun, dropped the boxes into your bag, and placed the shotgun inside, leaving the grip exposed should you need to grab it in an emergency.

 As you moved to the second house you allowed yourself to feel reluctantly optimistic.

 Inside you found three walkers, one a child, and no weapons. Your optimism faded slightly. Reality always did like to give you a quick kick in the ass. Still that was only the second house of at least twenty.

 The third was empty, of both walkers and anything the occupants could take with them as they fled. But they couldn’t have grabbed everything. A decent haul might still be found.

 You were upstairs when the rumbling started.

 The sound became more familiar as it grew closer, and you felt dread in the pit of your stomach. The home office you were standing in had a view of the once deserted street, and you crouched low as you dared to look outside.

 A caravan, five or maybe six trucks, some large and built to carry heavy loads, a couple with the usual bed in the back. The beds weren’t empty, but filled with men. Armed men.

 “Jesus—fuck!” you hissed, ducking down from the window and flattening your body against the wall.

 You knew those trucks. Those men.

 There was shrill whistle and a loud bang, and you found yourself whispering “Please not him, please not him—”

 And then a voice rang out.

 “Alright you sorry shits! You know the fucking drill. I want this place cleaned out!”

 Your heart nearly stopped. Negan. His voice was unmistakable. It still haunted your dreams.

 Rick must have failed. Oceanside had given everything they had, but it hadn’t been good enough. And now there was only Negan.

 “Boss, there’s something you should see.” Your body tensed. Simon. He brought the whole damn crew. “Still warm…”

 You leant over, barely lifting the lowest blind, and saw the pair standing in front of your car. Simon’s hand was on the hood, and he was looking up at Negan with an eager smirk.

 “Well, well! Looks like we’ve got ourselves a live one!” You cringed and curled in on yourself. “100 points to the fucker who can bring me our guest. Still breathing preferably, but hey, shit happens.” His low, wicked laugh had your heart pounding.

 Shock gave way to reality and you knew you had to move.

 The car wasn’t an option. Running out the back might buy you a little time, but there were so many Saviors around that it would only be a matter of time before one of them spotted you.

 You didn’t bother grabbing your gun. Firing off a shot would lead them all right to you, next to a dead Savior.

 The only solution was the roof. If you could climb out the window and find a spot on the roof to lay low, maybe you could make it out this.

 Panic filled you when you heard the front door open. Running to the back bedroom on the second floor, you tried to throw open the window but your hands were shaking. It took you much too long to unlatch it.

 You scrambled to push up the window, taking your knife and cutting open the screen desperately.

 Footsteps were thundering up the stairs and you heard a man yell “Hey!” as you slipped one leg out the window.

 They say adrenaline can be handy in fight, but it can also be your worst enemy. It made you jittery, your movements uncoordinated. You let the panic get the best of you, and you let out a frantic scream as a hand locked itself around your other leg.

 You tried your best to yank it out of his grasp, but the man’s grip was solid and he pulled you harshly back inside. Tumbling to the floor, dagger still in hand, you swung wildly. You must have made contact, because he bit out an angry curse.

 Taking aim at his booted foot, you brought down the knife but he moved before you could pierce him. Instead his boot came down on your hand and you dropped the knife with a sharp cry.

 “Bitch,” he muttered, grabbing you roughly by the hair and dragging you to the stairs. You struggled to stay upright as he hauled you downstairs like you were luggage. The whole time, from the bedroom to the front door, you tried to pry his hand loose but with your right hand in searing pain there wasn’t much you could do.

 Your eyes were watering and you couldn’t see more than a blur as he manhandled you toward the street. The commotion drew some attention and you could hear people moving closer as you came to a stop in the middle of the road, on your knees.

 You tried to brace yourself with your hands, but were knocked off balance once more when he pulled you backwards, tearing the pack off your back.

 Relieving you of your shotgun, he placed the barrel at the back of your head. Curious, amused voices lowered to a murmur as booted feet leisurely made their way to you.

 “Hell, Mark. Don’t tell me this little thing got a piece of you,” Negan snorted, glancing at the blood dripping down the man’s chest.

 “Just a flesh wound,” he grunted as you kept your head down.

 “You are a feisty one,” he grinned down at you. “Now I gotta ask, what are you doing out here in the butt-fuck of nowhere all by yourself? It’s a dangerous world…walkers, Claimers…me.”

 Your jaw was clenched so hard you swore you heard it pop.

 You flinched when the tip of his bat met you chin, the barbed pricking your skin. “I asked you a fucking question, darling. It’s only polite to answer.”

 “I—” you stammered, knowing there was no way to talk your way out of this one. You saw his knees begin to bend as he moved to crouch down at your level.

 “Am I that fucking scary?” he teased, looking back at Simon with a sarcastic expression. Simon grinned wide, amused. “Come on, honey,” Negan entreated, turning back towards you and leaning in. “Look at me.”

 When you did nothing but continue to shake in fear, your felt his hand on your jaw, caressing it lightly before squeezing it menacingly. “I said look at me.”

 Finally doing as you were told, you allowed yourself to look him in the eye. The grip on your jaw tightened unbearably before it released entirely.

 Negan sat back on his haunches, studying you for a minute, face hard and emotionless. Then a smile began to blossom and he let out a delighted laugh.

 “Fuck me!” he chortled, pushing himself up to stand before leaning back to get a good look at your stricken face. “This is a fucking banner day!” Simon followed his gaze, raising a surprised brow at the sight of you. His mustache curled up as he smirked, shaking his head in disbelief.

 “I have missed you,” Negan crowed. Some of his Saviors, new to his service, looked at each other in confusion. “Have you missed me, darling?”

 Somewhere inside you found the strength to look him in the eye, without a teardrop spilling, and tell him honestly, “No.”

 “Well that just breaks my fucking heart,” Negan rumbled, dark and foreboding. Looking up at Mark, he sneered, “Put the fucking gun away and throw her ass in the truck.”

 In no time, Mark grabbed you by the arm and began to lead you toward the pickup that Negan had undoubtedly arrived in.

 “Keep a fucking eye on her, Simon,” Negan ordered, eyeing you warningly. You licked your lips nervously and he smiled tauntingly. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, dear wife.”

 Mark’s grip softened a bit at Negan’s revelation, but it didn’t ease your worries. Things were just as bad as you thought.

 There would be no more peace for you. There was only Negan.  

#negan's thirst squad #negan x reader #negan #twd negan #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead imagine #negan imagine #fanfic #fanfiction #oceanside #twd #twd fanfiction #simon #twd simon #twd cyndie #twd natania #rick grimes #tara chambler #the saviors #reader insert #reader imagine

[a-howl-at-that-moon]

My September Song

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 2449

Warnings: maybe language, fluff

Summary: the idea popped into my head while listening to “September Song” by JP Cooper...

Note: English isn’t my first language!

“Dean, there's another car right over there.” The older Winchester looked in the direction his brother was pointing. And in fact, a black 1968 Chevrolet Biscayne was parked in front of the house. “What the hell?”, Dean whispered. “I don't know, maybe another hunter on this case?” “Whatever”, Dean said, though he threw an appreciative glance at the car. “Let's figure this out.” They both climbed out of the Impala, with a machete in their hand. Dean took the lead and opened the wrought iron portal of the mansion. They were in Lafayette, Louisiana. They had read in a newspaper that two men had been found, their throats torn up. They hit the road, rented a cheap motel room, dressed as FBI agents; just like before. A normal supernatural thing in a whole crappy supernatural world. “You take the front, I'll take the back.” Sam nodded, held his machete in his hand while Dean started to walk towards the back of the old house. He found a condemned window and took the wood off of it. He entered the mansion and turned on his flash-light. Everything was quiet. The room appeared to be a messy dusty living-room. He noticed blood stains on almost every furniture. He heard a noise coming from the other side of the wall and turned off the flash-light; the floor creaked under his feet as he held his breath and tightened his grip around the machete while walking closer to the wall. He blinked and a blade tackled his throat; he even felt a slight cut on his skin before he made eye contact with whoever the hell was holding the blade. “Dean Winchester?” “Y/N Y/L/N?!” “Dean?!” “Holy hell...” “Is that really you?” “Of course it's me.” “Oh my...” “Can you please remove your blade?” “Oh, yes, sorry about that. What are you doing here?” “What am I doing here? You mean what are you doing here?” “I'm...” Her last words were covered by a loud noise upstairs. “Sammy!” He ran upstairs, his machete in front of him. Sam was fighting three vampires who looked happy to see fresh blood walking towards them. One of them threw the young Winchester against the wall. Dean barely heard Y/N. She ran in front of him and sliced a vampire's head. Dean stayed still for one second until his brain began to work again. “Don't ever touch my brother you son of a bitch!” He knocked a vampire out on the floor and cut his head off; blood spurted on his jacket. He looked around him. Y/N was struggling with the last vampire. He had shoved her against the wall. Dean heard her scream. The vampire had his teeth inches from her throat. He ran behind the vamp and sliced his head with one skillful movement. Y/N fell on her knees, her hand on her throat, coughing and breathing heavily. He put a hand on her shoulder. “You okay? Did he bite you?” She shook her head and grabbed her blade before standing up slowly. “He didn't. How's your brother?” They both turned around to see Sam, who was sitting on the floor and seemed a little dizzy. Dean walked to him and helped him stand up. “Come on, let's get out of here.” Sam nodded and wrapped his arm around Dean's shoulders before leaning his eyes on Y/N. He frowned but recognized her right away. “Y/N?” She smiled and came closer to him. “Hi Sammy.” “What are you doing here?” “Yeah, that's the question I asked before we had to smash those sons of bitches”, Dean added with a little smile. “Well, I'm a hunter”, she answered proudly. “I'm new in the business, actually. But I'm improving”, she added. “Yeah, that's what we saw”, Dean muttered under his breath, winning a glance from Y/N. She didn't say anything though, and followed the brothers outside. Dean could feel her behind him; see her again brought back to life old feelings. “I need to talk to her”, he whispered to Sam. “Obviously you do. I'll wait in the car.” “Thanks.” “You owe me.” “Shut up.” Sam chuckled and moved away from Dean's embrace. “Apart from the circumstances, it was nice to see you again, Y/N.” “You too Sammy”, she said. “Take care.” “You too”, he replied as he waved her goodbye. She watched Sam walk away and climb in the front seat. “This is such a nice car”, she said as she pointed the Impala. “I remember it.” “You do?”, he said as he came closer to her. She nodded, a wistful smile on her lips. Silence filled the space between the two of them. She slowly went to her car and turned around when she noticed Dean wasn't following her. She gave him a questioning gaze; he smiled and moved to her. “Your car is a nice one too.” “It was my uncle's”, she explained. “What happened to him?” They stopped walking when they reached her car; she looked at him during a few seconds. “He died three years ago. One of his last will was to give me his car.” “I'm sorry.” “Thanks”, she breathed. “He did well, by the way. She looks great”, he added as he patted the Chevrolet. Y/N leaned on the car and Dean rested his arm on its roof. “I remember, you know. Back in high school.” “Is that so?” “I never apologised for leaving like I did.” “Yeah, well, there's been... water under the bridge. You were already a hunter, right?” “Yeah”, he breathed. She nodded. “Well it doesn't mean I wasn't mad at you afterwards, but it does explain a lot.” “You were mad at me?”, he asked, faking the surprise. “Of course I was! I was in love with you and you disappeared! I really thought you left because of me”, she laughed. “Seriously?” “What?” “You were in love with me?” “It was pretty obvious, wasn't it?” “Well... not for me.” She rolled her eyes. Dean remembered the two of them in high school, getting close really fast when he arrived and spending a lot of time together; he grew feelings for her, but never in a million years had he thought she was feeling the same thing, convinced she only saw him as a friend. “I guess I should've been more explicit”, she breathed. “I was in love with you too, just so you know”, Dean said. She looked up at him. “You didn't change, Dean Winchester, did you?” He shrugged. “Maybe I did.” They looked at each other for a moment. “Dean?” “Yes?” “Sam's waiting for you.” Dean shook his head. “Yeah, sure. Listen I... I would like to see you again, is there any...” “I would like that too”, she cut him. “Here”, she said as she handed him her phone. “Give me your number, I'll call so you'll have mine.” “That's smart”, he joked as he did so. She took her phone back, laughing. “I am, aren't I. Seriously, Dean?”, she asked as she saw what he had written. “A little heart after your name?” “Come on, you won't erase it.” She seemed to hesitate but she rose on her tiptoes and pecked a kiss on his cheek. “Maybe I won’t.” Dean couldn't say whether she was joking or serious. She unlocked the car and opened the driver's door. “See you soon, then.” “I'll wait for your call.” She smiled at him one last time and climbed in the car. Dean stayed still until the car was out of sight, and walked back to the Impala.

Salt Lake City, Utah - Two weeks later.

“I started to think we’d never be able to catch up.” “You missed me, didn’t you?”, Dean teased as the two of them sat at a table in the corner of the bar. “Just as much as you missed me”, she teased back. “How have you been for these two weeks?” Dean waited for the waitress to move away with their order to talk. “We kept hunting. We killed two ghosts, one werewolf and… stuff.” “Two Wendigos”, she replied. Dean raised his eyebrows, impressed. “There you go”, the waitress said as she put the drinks on the table, laying her eyes on Dean a little longer than necessary before she left. “So”, Dean asked, not paying attention at all, “a hunter? Why?” She leaned towards him. “Remember my uncle?” Dean nodded, listening to her carefully. “I was the only one in the family to whom he wanted to talk to. He was always… strange, like he lived alone in his house, no real friends nor relationships. But still, I loved him.” “Yeah, I knew someone like that”, Dean breathed, more for himself than for her. Y/N stopped talking for a few seconds, her eyes locked with Dean’s. She took a sip of her beer. “When he passed away”, she continued, “he gave me his car. Before I took her away from his house, I cleaned her. And I found a diary in the glove box.” “A hunter diary?”, he guessed. She nodded. “I also found all his weapons in his bedroom. Guns, machetes, holy water, powder, bullets.” She smiled. “You know at the beginning I really thought he was crazy. I mean, vampires, werewolves, demons? Come on. But then, I began to look in the newspapers, I found weird cases. So I trained, I failed, I trained and failed again, and I... I killed my first monster six months after my uncle’s death.” Dean noticed tears started to fill her eyes. He gently put his hand over hers on the table. “He must be proud of you.” “I hope he is”, she whispered. She cleared her throat, wiped the couple of tears on her cheeks and looked up at Dean. “So”, she added as she removed her hand from his embrace, “it’s your turn now, isn’t it?” “I guess, yeah. Here’s the thing: our mother died when we were kids, Sammy was just a baby. Killed by a monster. Our father wanted payback. He raised us and trained us so we became hunters.” He paused and finished his beer. “We got our payback, our father died, and here we are.” She looked at him worriedly. “I’m sorry Dean.” “Me too”, he answered. “How about we order something else?”, he added suddenly, standing up and walking to the bar. He ran a hand over his face as he waited for the drinks. He didn’t like to open himself to people, he felt too vulnerable and that was a feeling he didn’t want to feel at all. He was more the kind of person to bury all of this deep down, to look someone in the eye and to lie, swearing he’s okay. It was easier to convince yourself that you were okay if people thought you actually were. “Here.” “Thanks.” He caught her gaze on him. “Don’t look at me like that.” “Like what?” “Like if you had pity on me.” “I don’t”, she shrugged. “You went through crap most of the people, and that includes me, wouldn’t have been able to face. You don’t look like some fragile guy to me.” “I’m not.” “I know.” They looked at each other. Dean couldn't describe how he felt, here, facing her. Seeing Y/N again brought back old feelings straight to his heart, feelings he thought he’d never experience again. But now he didn’t know how to act. What if he was the only one to feel… whatever the hell it was? What if she felt the same? What was happening to him? “Dean?” He shook his head. “What?” She laughed. God he missed her laughter. “You were gone far away from here.” “Oh, uh… sorry.” She raised her glass. He squinted his eyes. “Come on”, she smiled. “To the future!” He raised his glass as well and gave her a wink. He could swear he saw her blush. “To the future.” About one hour later, they left the bar, Dean as lost as when they came in. “That was… nice”, she said as they were walking to the parking. “’Nice’? That’s the only thing that comes to you after you spent the evening with me?” She nudged his shoulder. “Don’t pretend to be cooler than you are Winchester”, she teased. They stopped in front of their cars, parked next to each other. She ran a hand through her hair. “So… is it that awkward moment where we have to say goodbye but we actually don’t know how to say it?” “You want to say goodbye?”, he breathed. “I don’t know”, she answered. He took a step forward; they were really, really close, now. “Maybe we don’t have to say it.” She tilted her head, watching him. “What do you have in mind?” Dean chuckled when he heard the question. There was nothing but her in his world right now. He couldn’t help but think they were meant to find each other after all these years. What were the chances? He wanted her to know how much she – still – meant to him. And if she wasn’t feeling the same, well… at least she’d know. Taking one last step forward, he put his hand on her cheek. He waited, leaving her enough time to pull away, and as she didn’t, closed his eyes and kissed her forehead. He felt her grab the hem of his jacket. He stayed still for a few seconds before he pulled away. She was looking at him with a light in her eyes, a light that he couldn’t read. Rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, he awkwardly smiled to her and took a few steps back. He stumbled on something invisible, smiled even more awkwardly and finally walked to his Impala without looking at her. He was about to climb in the front seat when someone gripped his wrist. He barely got the time to realise what the hell was going on that Y/N turned him to her and crashed her lips on his, cupping his face with her hands to hold him in place. He didn’t react right away, but he did react. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her as close to him as possible and kissed her back. His tongue brushed her lower lip and she opened her mouth, moaning to the feeling of their tongues dancing together. “Should’ve done this sooner”, she breathed, eyes closed. “Y/N…” She looked up at him. “I love you.” Her eyes were so bright, now. Resting her forehead against his, she answered in a whisper that sounded so loud to his ears. “Me too, D. I love you.” And they never had to say goodbye. Ever.

#supernatural #supernatural one shot #supernatural fic #september song #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x y/n #fluff #akf

[thespearnews-blog]

Uganda, A state Ascending Into Violence, Torture and Murder

New Post has been published on https://thespearnews.com/2017/05/16/uganda-state-ascending-violence-torture-murder/

Uganda, A state Ascending Into Violence, Torture and Murder

Fz Wagaba

Political violence and intolerance in Uganda has dramatically increased in the past months, with record levels of state sponsored abductions, torture and murders recorded   as opposition to dictator Museveni’s 32 year rule escalates.

Hundreds of cases of political violence and state agents inspired torture have been reported countrywide by local NGOs and newspapers respectively, that involve the use of violence and torture mainly to obtain confessions of involvement in serious crime, and many more other politically motivated assaults on individuals and known members of the opposition.

Human Rights groups based in the country have condemned the state for using illegal means in arresting and detaining suspects, as well as holding them in ungazetted facilities popularly known as ‘Torture Chambers’ which provide Ugandan security and military forces with the opportunity for unseen torture and interrogation of suspects, where victims are beaten, electrocuted, whipped and maimed by inflicting life changing injuries and trauma. One notoriously singled out detention facility that is used by the so called ‘Police Flying Squad’, an outfit that was created by the Uganda Police to tackle violent crime is based on the outskirts of the impoverished country’s former industrial town of Jinja 52 miles out of the capital Kampala, where suspects have narrated being blindfolded and beaten with blunt objects including machetes, gun butts, iron bars as well as use of electrocution, and left to spend nights undressed on cold floors while being infested on by mosquitos.

Last week, slews of limping men and women were paraded and produced before court to be charged of offenses ranging from murder, treason and terrorism. Surprisingly, one prominent politician who had as well been abducted from an undisclosed place and taken to this facility was not present in court.

This prompted questions by his relatives and friends who later found out that he had been secretly wheeled out of the torture place to a private hospital in Kampala where we was admitted under high security, while undergoing medical treatment to cure his openly gaping huge wounds on both his legs and ankles.

The horrifying scenes of the state of Mr. Byamukama the Mayor and chairman of Kamwenge District in South Western Uganda, in excruciating pain lying on his hospital bed sent shock waves all over the country. Meanwhile, the pleas of other suspects (see attached images), who were being charged mainly with the murder of AIGP Andrew Felix Kaweesi on March 17 among other charges were falling on deaf ears of the presiding magistrate.

It’s common law procedure that a lower court does not entertain pleas from capital offence suspects, but even in such extra-ordinary circumstances, it appeared evident that the magistrate was fearful, or bent on further frustrating the victims by refusing to acknowledge any of the pleas against further violence on them. So shocking to say the least. Despite showing off broken limbs and fresh body wounds, court was so short of compassion that it didn’t even bother calling for a report on the health of these men, nor recommending urgent medical attention. They were all further remanded in prison at the dismay of their relatives and friends who had gathered to show support to their loved ones.

Gavin (not his real name) is a former detainee at this notorious facility in Jinja has disclosed the shocking levels of abuse and torture he received at the hands of his captors.

He says he experienced brutal, callous and inhumane treatment every morning and evening. He further lamented how he was tied and beaten with his feet hanging in the air, while his hands were tired from the ceiling and 21 men took it in turns to whip him from the back indiscriminate of where the whip hit. He further says that his interrogators demanded that he accepts to be part of the gang that terrorises people at night by hitting them with iron bars, and also reveal more information about other human and gay rights activists he was seen associating with and who was funding their activities.

Realising that they were not getting too much from him, they secretly transferred him under blindfolds to another detention facility in Kireka an eastern Kampala suburb where the beatings continued together with threats of using pair of pliers on his genitals. He was denied water every other time he requested for it, and the right to speak to anyone from outside including access to a lawyer. As like Byamukama, Gavin was later secretly transferred in the middle of the night to an unknown place where he spent a week and half in solitary confinement as his wounds dried on portions of anti-bacteria and pain killing pills.

He narrates that at one moment, a female who he heard his guard refer to as ‘Musaawo’, meaning nurse was brought in to examine his wounds and washed them with a substance that had a thick smell of Dettol a common surgical liquid substance often used to decontaminate bacterial infections in that part of the world. Three days later, he was called into an empty room and caution against speaking to the press or any other relevant persons about his ordeal, or else he would be returned and dealt with again. He was then driven and secretly dumped on a busy Kampala road where he solicited for a phone from a stranger and called his mum.

Gavin’s experience tallies with testimonies from other former victims of this brutal treatment, indicating that there is a severe systemic and coordinated campaign of state sponsored violence whose frequency is on the rise beyond anyone else’s control, but the perpetrators themselves.

There have been other coordinated reports of electrocutions during interrogation, solitary confinement and sexual harassment.

Latest images of suspected criminals being paraded before court with sceptic wounds all over their body have ignited widespread debate, anger and condemnation of the tyrant’s campaign of violence from both local and international players on social media and foreign media outlets respectively. Over 15 suspects have so been accused of killing AIGP Kaweesi and his two bodyguards, and have all denied any involvement in this tragic murder. These arrests have caused a wave of fear within the opposition ranks and supporters who have always been an easy target whenever a security operation is underway in this East African country.

All these latest developments come on the back many more unresolved state inspired murders and arbitrary arrests including that of Dr. Stella Nyanzi, a celebrated Ugandan academic and Human Rights activist who was arrested and later imprisoned in Luzira Maximum security prison for likening president Museveni to a person’s buttocks. She has since been released on court bail but after spending 30 days behind bars. This is further proof that Museveni’s government is desperately becoming intolerant with anyone who expresses dissent and critical views, and would do anything within its means to quell free expression in the most brutal of ways possible.

So many other rights abuses have gone un investigated and perpetuators unpunished giving them the blank cheque of impunity to carry on endlessly. The most shocking of such cruelty was the mass killing of over one hundred monarchists in a police and military joint operation inside a kingdom’s palace in Kasese South West Uganda on November 26, 2016. Among the slain victims were fifteen children including women and police officers. Those who survived the bloody onslaught were arrested, driven over 180KM to the same notorious detention facility in Jinja where they were tortured, and as a result fatalities occurred but the authorities were so quick to cover them up. Responding to this massacre, Maria Burnett the Director of Africa at the Human Rights Watch said, “The assault on the palace compound in Kasese, which killed more people in a go than any other tragic single event since the height of the Northern Uganda war over a decade ago, should not be swept under the carpet”. Until now, some families are still in limbo without a trace of their loved ones as they never had the chance to bury them nor speak to them since the bloody tragic event over six months ago.

Meanwhile, the Uganda government is adamant that there will be no investigations whatsoever into this grim operation and conduct of any official involved on that day. And as a result of the above documented abuses, and many other more that remain unrecorded, coupled with no hope of imminent change of the status quo, sections of Ugandans find themselves living in perpetual fear and as refugees in their own country, faced with the prospect of never getting justice or reparation whatsoever for the abuse they have been subjected to over the years, sharing spaces with their tormentors and facing their graves with unhealed wounds. Such is the tyrant’s tragic campaign of torture and violence facing my beloved country Uganda.

N.B: Uganda is a signatory to the International Convention Against Torture (CAT) which states that torture is a peremptory norm in international law.

Fz Wagaba