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girl-next-door-writes · 1 year

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Bittersweet Memories

Characters: Crowley x reader

Summary: Crowley makes the ultimate sacrifice, but not before discovering just how much of a sacrifice it actually is.

Word Count: 1022 words

Prompt: Mutual pining, a gentle kiss, blurted out confession under stress.

A/N: This little bit of angst is for the lovely @roseblue373 It’s been a hot minute since I wrote my favourite demon, and I can say that I have missed him. There will not be a part two unless you want to go write one, and if you do then please tag me in it because I would love to see it.

If there was one thing Crowley was absolutely certain of, it was that life was rarely fair. The odds were always stacked. The house always won. In the incredibly long time, he had been on this planet, he had observed that fact over and over again. Yet, standing here in this moment, he couldn’t help but wish that wasn’t the case, that a demon in love could prove to be the exception to the rule.

He had known he was in love for years now, he wasn’t completely oblivious. At first, he had tried to deny it. The thought of a demon feeling such an emotion was ludicrous, but there was no other explanation for his feelings towards you. His desire to protect you, to be near you, to be the reason for your smile, was so overwhelming that he sometimes sat on his throne down in hell with an ache in his chest. Of course, he could never tell you any of this. Aside from the intense humiliation the whole situation would cause when you inevitably rejected him, it would not be fair to ask you to join him; wouldn’t be fair to ask you to give up your life for him.

The irony of that thought made the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. The two of you would never have worked out anyway. It would be like asking a tree to blossom in the depths of winter, or for the sun to shine at midnight. There were a million reasons for him to love you, but he could not find a single one why you should love him. Loving you from the shadows was all he could do, and that had been enough. Now he had to hope that you could do this without him.

You stood beside Dean, eyes focused on Lucifer. Surely your favourite demon had a plan, that was the only reason you could think of for him antagonizing the former archangel. His snarky comments usually made you laugh, but right now all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. In the back of your mind, it felt like there was a ticking clock, a countdown to something that would change everything forever. Your gaze flitted to Crowley, trying to memorize every detail of him as if you knew this would be the last time.

Crowley turned his head slightly, feeling you watching him. If he stayed, if he wavered in this moment, then he would only be in your way and he refused to be yet another obstacle for you to navigate. Better to go out swinging, right? This was for you. Everything he did was for you. Memories of the time spent by your side floated through his mind. Every time he had made you smile, each time his sarcasm had made you laugh, made a warmth bloom in his chest. He had no idea where he would go after this, was uncertain about the void he was about to willingly fall into, but he hoped that he could hold onto these memories, no matter how bittersweet they may be.

His eyes met yours, and he saw the moment you realised what he was doing. Your eyes clouded with tears he felt guilty you would shed for him. Who cries for a demon? You could do so much better than him, he was never what you needed, if anything, his friendship probably held you back. You moved to take a step towards him, and he shook his head, just a fraction, causing you to pause. He didn’t want you any closer to the psychopath than you already were. This was it. His last great sacrifice. His last time saving you.

Lucifer was taunting him, but Crowley couldn’t hear a single thing he said. His heart was torn between getting this over with and having that one last moment with you. He was reminded of all those stupid films you had made him sit through, the ones that made you cry, and it dawned on him that you needed a real goodbye. If he didn’t give you that then you would never forgive him, and he selfishly couldn’t allow that.

Turning his back on Lucifer, a dangerous move but one he felt apathetic about, Crowley strode over to you and cupped your face as a single tear escaped your eye. Wiping it away with his thumb, he gave you a soft smile.

“It’s time, kitten.” He whispered, maintaining eye contact even though his heart was breaking.

“No.” You whimpered, clinging to his jacket.

“That’s the thing about the good old days, you don’t realise you’re in them until they are over. It’s time for you to go get your happy ever after.”

“Not without you I can’t.” The tears were freely flowing now as you tried to hold yourself together, practically begging him not to do what the both of you knew he was going to. “I love you, you infuriating demon.”

Your confession hit him like a truck. You loved him. He was worthy of your love. The realization that this changed nothing, was like an ice cube dropped down the back of his shirt. You loved him, and he was leaving you forever.

Crowley had no idea how long he had stood there just gaping at you. A thousand thoughts sprinted through his mind and yet words escaped him, like early morning mist. Instead, he let out a soft sigh and pulled you close, his thumb grazing over your bottom lip before he leaned in and placed a gentle kiss there. Everything in his being suddenly felt at peace, and a smile grew as he pulled back.

“You have been the great love of my life. I want you to go find yours. Goodbye, kitten.”

He was vaguely aware of you screaming, of Dean moving to grab you as Crowley quickly made his way over to Lucifer, raising the dagger. His final thought, before the void took him, was how soft your lips caressed his and how completely human he had felt in that moment. His final thought was love.

#Crowley x reader #spn #fergus macleod #gndw fic #sorry not sorry #this hurt

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take-it-on-the-run · 4 months

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Dean Winchester Playlist

"There ain't no me if there ain't no you."

A/N: Could also be interpreted as 'Being in Love With Dean Winchester'. This has been updated (3/23/24) because Hozier just had to come out with the most perfect song for Dean after I finished his playlist.

House of The Rising Sun // The Animals

My father was a gamblin' man; down in New Orleans

Trouble // Cage The Elephant

Will it come to pass, or will I pass the test?; You know what they say, yeah, the wicked get no rest

Supermassive Black Hole // Muse

You caught me under false pretenses; how long before you let me go?

Too Sweet // Hozier

I think I'll take my whiskey neat; my coffee black and my bed at three; you're too sweet for me

I Bet on Losing Dogs // Mitski

I bet on losing dogs; I know they're losing and I'll pay for my place; by the ring

I Love You So // The Walters

I just need someone in my life to give it structure

Mr. Loverman // Rick Montgomery

The alcohol served its tour; and it's headed straight for my skin; leaving me daft and dim

Cigarette Daydreams // Cage The Elephant

You can drive all night; looking for the answers in the pouring rain

Love Like Ghosts // Lord Huron

I don't feel 'til it hurts sometimes; oh, go on, baby, hurt me tonight

Lover, You Should've Come Over // Jeff Buckley

My body turns; and yearns for a sleep that won't ever come; it's never over

Imaginary Lover // Atlanta Rhythm Section

Imaginary lovers never turn you down; when all the others turn you away, they're around

Working for the Knife // Mitski

I start the day high and end so low; 'cause I'm working for the knife

No Surprises // Radiohead

A job that slowly kills you; bruises that won't heal

Simple Man // Lynyrd Skynyrd

Boy, don't you worry, you'll find yourself; follow your heart and nothing else

Hey Jude // The Beatles

For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool; by making his world a little colder

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hopefulfuturenovelauthor · 1 year

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Panic Room

Crowley x reader (gn) part 1

about 5,000 words. I hope you all enjoy and please do not copy my work, thanks!

Warnings: read through at like 1:00 am once so probably many mistakes, canon violence, the supernatural, angst (I guess), and language. Also slight warning, I’m planning on making this a 3 part/ maybe short 4th part mini series, but I take forever to write anything, this has just been sitting in my drafts for a couple of months.

Panic Room

Hell Raising

Hair Raising

I’m ready for the worst

So frightening

Face whitening

Fear that you can’t reverse

Welcome to the Panic Room

Where all your darkest fears are going to come for you …

Seven and a half months. For you a total of 75 years of brutal, unrelenting torture. Hell did not treat you well and to call you bitter would not only be offensive but also the largest understatement of the millennium.

You loved humanity, you loved your life, and you loved those in your life. Despite this, anger was all you could feel toward the people that used to bring you the most joy. The ones that made you laugh, that made you a better person, and left you behind. You didn’t even know if they knew.

You died. You died and as your deal had stated; you were going to hell. Readying yourself for the worst did nothing to help in the end. The place was so frightening at first, but with time you became used to the fear. It was nothing anymore. Your only goal in life was to never be afraid again. You knew what you needed, but more importantly, you knew what you craved.

You wanted them to pay. You made the deal for them. You made the deal with his crossroad demons. You took the price when the one that fucked up refused to take responsibility for his actions.

You sacrificed everything. You lost your will to live and more. You didn’t want to hurt just anyone you wanted to hurt them. You wanted them to feel every moment of your torture and then some. You didn’t want revenge, you wanted justice.

“Belial, the wicked one, it’s great to finally see you, however, I had been hoping I’d be able to put a name to a face. Is the mask really necessary?” Crowley stalled.

“No, it’s not necessary, I just prefer it. After all, I did go back to get my face, and I wouldn’t want my old identity to get out there, now would I?”

“I suppose not,” Crowley led on, making his way around one of his numerous castle rooms in Hell, preparing the both of you a drink. “How do you like your liquor?”

“Well, more recently I’ve come to like a nice earthy aged scotch or whiskey neat. Whichever you think would be better. Either is much nicer than the cheap beers I used to drink. However, you still stick to the room temperature yeast water if I’m correct Dean and Sam. As for you Castiel, your grace makes it unnecessary to even try drinking unless you want a whole nother liquor store,” you turn slowly to look at the shorter hunter sneaking up behind you.

Dean had stopped his stride as you started to speak of him. Sam carefully made his way out from behind a bookshelf to your left. Castiel walked with his usual cadence from your right, out of the darkness.

Crowley gulped as you slowly moved back to look at the King of Hell. The brothers collected together on your left moving closer to the demon you were staring at. Castiel armed himself with an angel blade shifting to Crowley’s side.

“It’s nice to see I’ve sent you into such a panic, my King. But all four of you, here, in front of me, it truly seems all of my prayers have been answered.”

“What are your grievances toward us?” Castiel questioned, as he held his position as a warrior of the lord.

“What the hell did we do to you?” Dean asked.

You chuckled menacingly, “Hell is exactly right, Dean Winchester. As for my grievances, I simply can’t move past the fact that I was left here to rot.”

“We don’t even know who you are,” Sam said, trying to ease the tension of the situation.

“I assure you, you know exactly who I am.”

“What is it you wish to do to us for our mistreatment of you?” Crowley did not seem bothered by your accusations. He was in fact satisfied with his work, but only because he did not know whose face lay under the cover of your mask and hood.

“I’m simply going to take you to where all your darkest fears are going to come for you.”

Crowley scowled at this. Castiel raised his blade. “You can’t hurt me, angel, you promised.”

“I have only ever promised that to one-“ Castiel stopped speaking. The look of sudden and horrifying realization dawned on his face.

“Cas, Cas, what is it, who are they?” Dean asked as Sam tried to get Castiel to share the information he had just come to understand.

“Well, I don’t care who feathers promised to protect. This is my kingdom, no one threatens me,” Crowley pulled out his angel blade only making it a step forward.

“Really, Crowl,” your voice sounded as it used to, no longer holding the facade of an old and ancient demon, “when have you ever beat me one-to-one? We could make another bet, you’ll have to finally take me to that one restaurant you're always raving about and saying you’ll bring me to.”

His face fell immediately. “No,” it came out of his mouth with a hint of denial, but his eyes begged for what he was thinking to not be true.

It was your turn to smirk at the demon. You did so as you took off your mask and slowly removed your hood.

“Y/n,” Sam’s voice came out breathy. You were unexpected. Dean’s face whitened entirely, finally understanding Cas’s silence.

“We burned your body,” Crowley’s voice was breaking and eyes watering.

“You should have gone to Heaven,” Castiel stated.

“And I would have. If I hadn’t made a deal to save you lot from Lucifer,” your nostrils flared and your glare was directed at the Winchesters. “You were like brothers to me. I saved you! And you!” your gaze turned to Crowley, “I was given two goddamn years, by your crossroad demons. And my life ended up shorter than determined because I sacrificed myself to save all of you. And-and you, you let me rot in Hell.” Your voice broke on the last sentence you let slip.

Each of the men before you crumbled at the weight of your words. Not a single one of them could look you in the eye.

“Do it,” Dean said. No one spoke out against this. “Do what you need to do, make us pay. Just, please, let Sam out of this.” The begging was something your demon side liked, but the human part of you was sickened by it.

You walked forward, reaching out to cradle Dean's face in one of your hands. “No,” escaped firmly from your lips that were stuck in a hellish smile, fully displaying almost pointed teeth, like that of the many monsters you had all killed together.

The fear that followed your statement caught you off guard. Sam, Cas, and Crowley all flinched at your answer and Dean fell apart.

“Please,” the pleading returned. Dean looked about ready to beg you from his knees.

“I do not want revenge. I want justice. Congratulations, I don’t want to kill you any more than I want to kill anyone else at the moment. I want you to look at me and see what I am. I want you to know what you did. I want you to understand I screamed, and cried, and begged for each of you to save me. I want you to know that I held onto hope for so long,” the tears began to escape from your blackened eyes, “I thought you would come for me. I thought you cared! But you left me, never thought about me. You didn’t give any part of it a second thought. So this is punishment fit for the crime. I am a demon,” you looked at Dean, “I am not your friend,” you looked at Castiel, “I am not Y/n,” you looked at Sam, “and one day I rip this Kingdom from your grasp,” you looked at Crowley, and stepped back to view them all, “most importantly, none of this is personal. You left me behind, now I’m leaving you. You will forever recognize that you messed up and I will always be a reminder of your guilt. You are nothing to me, even if I am something to you.”

You began to walk off, reaching for the handle of the doors you had walked through earlier. You spared only one glance back before walking out, making one final blow, “goodbye boys.” After that, you simply disappeared.

—

“Your majesty,” the demon croaked out in fear.

“What?!” you snapped at your underling as you looked up from the scattered plans of hell and general paperwork. The demon shook under your gaze. It concerned you at times that your demons feared you so much. You were more of a force to be reckoned with than Crowley and he had been a demon for far longer than you had. The cruelty wasn’t what you wanted. You had hoped the damage done to your soul hadn’t changed you as much as it obviously did, but you supposed that was just your luck. “I apologize for my brashness, Anthony. I’m simply busy and stressed. Now tell me, what is the matter?” you looked at the demon before you with as much care as a demon can have for their personal assistant in a strictly platonic way.

“I’m afraid the Winchesters wish to see you. The short one is in the palace with his angel,” he told you still wary of your scrutiny.

“Here… in Hell?” you questioned. Anthony nodded, swallowing down his hesitance.

“They threatened to start killing your people if you refuse,” he said.

“Ahh, send them in then,” you told the demon, “make sure they know that if any harm comes to you I will be far less willing to even give them the time of day once they arrive.”

With another small nod, he walked off to collect Dean and Castiel. It had been a year since you had last seen any one of your old ex-friends. Hopefully, they would leave you alone if you showed little interest in their affairs.

As quickly as he left, Anthony seemed to return. Dean and Castiel were in tow, following behind the demon. You raised your brows at your loyal subject asking him if he was alright. As always Anthony kept it short with a brief nod before gesturing toward the door. You responded curtly back. Neither of you needed words to truly understand the other when it came to such dealings.

“You seem to be doing well down here,” Dean said, rocking on his feet, a telltale sign that he was uncertain and needed to calm his nerves somehow.

“Yes, I suppose us demons just have a knack when it comes to Hell,” Dean paled at the distance of your voice. It still destroyed him that this was you now. All he saw was your body, but it wasn’t you inside, not the you that had been like a younger sibling to him.

You asked Dean what he was doing here, but he did not respond.

“Dean,” Cas said.

“Yeah.”

“I asked what you wanted,” you said again, this time he was actually aware.

“Oh,” Dean was certainly out of it. Even Cas seemed to be affected by your voice. He tried to show it less, but Dean looked struck. If you had any empathy for them you would have felt bad. But you had none.

“Look,” you turned to actually face them, abandoning your work, “I’m not unreasonable, and I doubt this is a social call. I know that most of what you do tends to keep newer, larger, and more concerning players off the board. So what can I do for you so I can get back to my job and you can get back to yours?”

“We need help,” Dean replied.

“We need to find the angel tablet,” Castiel said. He seemed off somehow, even just slightly. He felt off too. It could have just been your new keen magic skills. You had recently been looking into seer magic and empaths.

“Oh,” you let out, leaning back into your throne, “Sorry, little above my level at the moment. I can get you a referral though. May I ask why you need this specific artifact?”

“So you’ve heard of it?” Dean pressed, stepping closer. Your eyes flitted black and he took a cautionary step back.

“I’m afraid I don’t let demon hunters and their angel friends too close, out of self-preservation. As for hearing of it, yes, I have. Let’s just say some information trickled down from Crowley’s kingdom.”

“Is this not all his Kingdom?” Castiel’s head cocked to the side.

“For the moment. It’s always healthy to have some respectable competition.”

“Who would this ‘referral’ be?” Dean used air quotes awaiting his likely disappointment.

“Ah,” you sighed, “I had a feeling you would ask that. Sadly, Crowley would likely know more than I would.”

“Crowley isn’t going to let us anywhere near him,” Dean argued.

“Well, that isn’t my problem. I’m not the one mucking around in other people’s business, now am I?”

“Y/n-” Cas started.

“It’s Belial or your majesty, angel,” you barked.

“I apologize, Belial,” Cas looked devastated. Fuck, what was that pang in your heart? Why did it hurt so much?

“He won’t talk to us. Not while he has the demon tablet,” Dean tried to present his case.

“Yes, and that has to be the one thing he is actually doing well at the moment, keeping it away from you, good for him. Now if that is all then respectfully, get out of my palace.”

“Thank you, Belial.”

“Cas we can’t just-”

“We can and we will, Dean,” the angel as always responded firmly and apathetically. Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder ready to fly out of your throne room.

“Castiel,” you said, your voice louder than it had been before that it echoed around the room.

The angel did nothing more than look at you expectantly. “Be careful, I don’t believe any of this is going to end well for you.”

“I will be fine,” he said.

“No, angel, I mean it. I have this feeling, watch out, please,” this was the closest you had ever been to who you used to be.

“Okay.”

—

“You, you helped me, why? I- you said you wouldn’t,” Crowley fumbled as you freed him of his restraints.

“Trust me, it’s not personal. You’re just easier to overthrow than Lucifer. So, as many say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” The locks clicked, releasing the demon crouched beneath you. You dropped the chains to the floor and pointed back and forth between the two of you, “This little alliance will only last till Lucifer is back in his cage. After that, I will go back to ignoring your existence, other than me trying to take over Hell.”

“Well, I can’t say that isn’t logical. I suppose I’ll make do,” Crowley rubbed his wrists.

“There is no making due. Neither of us wants Lucifer in charge of anything. That would be bad for both of us.”

“Why is that so bad for you?” Crowley looked at you with curiosity in his eyes, “You want to ignore me forever. You wish the same for the Winchesters and Castiel. So why would joining Lucifer and letting him kill us to be so bad?”

“I-” your loss for words was concerning to Crowley when it came to this form of you. The demon you was hard to throw off their game.

“Well?” He egged you on.

“How could you ever think that I want you dead?” your voice was low, as was your gaze. You avoided looking at him. Keeping your voice steady was harder than you expected.

It was Crowley’s turn to be at a loss for words. From the start, he had thought you wanted revenge as much as you claimed you didn’t. You were a demon after all, and you thought he and the others had wronged you. He fully expected you to fantasize about each of their ends.

Finally, your eyes found his face. He never thought he would see them as broken and hurt. The glossiness of your tears was begging to spill over. “You scare me. But never, ever believe that I want you dead. I can’t trust you. I can’t be around you, because I am afraid. Because I know if I have to I’d do it all again. Seventy-five years of torture to make me hate all of you, and only three to make me care for you enough to screw myself again. Fear is an incredible tool for motivation. So yes, I’m afraid of what Lucifer will do to me, but I am just as afraid of what Lucifer will do to you.”

——

“So you're the little demon ex-hunter Fergus is obsessed with?” the red-headed witch mewled.

“If you are asking rhetorically then you likely already know,” the answer was monotonous.

“I see why he likes you so much, this body of yours is most certainly a looker. You’re also far more mature and intelligent than the other demons.”

“Back off posh female Ron Weasley.”

“I’m afraid I don't know who that is.”

You rolled your eyes as she followed you like a dog seeking attention.

“Now, as I’m sure you’re aware, your son and I are not on speaking terms. Whatever he says to you about me does not pique my interest or concern,” you turned to walk away from the witch.

“What about the fact that there’s a human pregnant with Lucifer’s child,” her voice was smug, but her words made you stand straight. “I see that caught your attention, darling.”

“You have 10 minutes to tell me everything I need to know before I leave,” you growled at her, your black eyes attempting to bring fear into her soul.

“Well, that should be more than enough time. Once I finish with all the boring stuff, we can chat. My name's Rowena by the way. You should probably know that considering how much Fergus talks about you. With his enthusiasm I’ll one day be your mother-in-law.”

“I doubt it, considering,” you mocked her and gestured to your eyes. “Either way, as much as Crowley may talk about me, he most certainly talked about you.”

“All good things I hope,” she smiled at you. It was as if every gesture of hers and every action was manipulative by nature. You understood his hatred for her, she didn’t have a genuine bone in her body. You hoped for Crowley that would change, but at the same time, you wished she would finally let him go. He was far too caught up on the woman that never loved him the way she should have. But you would never tell him that, or anyone for the matter.

“Nope, even if there was any good to share, it would never have mattered, not based on everything else he told me about you.”

“Well,” she looked at you, for once appearing less devious, “I hope I can change that.”

“You can’t, and even if you technically could, it wouldn’t mean anything, because once more, I don’t care and I never will.”

———

Juliet nudged your leg. You were situated at the table in the bunker’s library. For the past year, you have riddled yourself with vigorous research and learning. You had been impressive before all of this, but with the extra reading and practice on spells, you were more powerful than you ever really imagined. You were more powerful than Sam, Dean, or Castiel ever expected you to become. It wasn’t necessarily healthy, but considering the track records of each of your respective companions, you were doing much better.

The gorgeous black-coated supernatural dog whined a little to fully grasp your attention away from the article you were reading titled, He-Wolf/She-Wolf: a Study of Werewolf Transgenderism. You had honestly been curious about the intersectionalities of the two, but after a couple of pages in the read became more of one for pleasure than one for research. As much as you found it interesting it didn’t aid you in any of your studies. Still, you thoroughly enjoyed it, even bringing it up in conversation with the Winchesters and Cas when they talked to you.

Placing down the paper you looked up at the adorable now one-year-old you had taken under your demonic metaphorical wing. Jack was the sweetest little antichrist you had ever seen.

“Hey kid, whatcha doing?”

He didn’t look happy, in fact, he looked unhappy and a little guilty. It made you sad to see him upset, after all, he was your one and only nephew, and you loved him dearly. He was the only reason you stayed around so much. The others you could care less about, but you’d damn yourself again for the boy before you. Juliet could sense his emotions as well, and ventured slowly over to the son of Lucifer. She gently brushed against the kid's leg. Without a thought, the boy petted the Hell Hound.

“Jack,” your voice was laced with concern, “is everything okay? Did something happen?” The boy looked away with sad eyes and the slightest pout, “come on kid it’s your birthday, you can’t wallow in your negative emotions with me around, not today.”

“Do you blame me?” he asked, looking back at you with tears in his eyes.

“Jack,” your voice broke as you stood up to embrace him, “of course, I don’t, whatever would I blame you for?”

Before you could reach him, he stepped back.

“Jack,” with every second you grew more worried.

“Because it’s my fault. Crowley would be alive if I had never been-“

“No,” you said firmly. But Jack only flinched. You didn’t waste time this go around, immediately engulfing him in a hug. “Don’t say that kid, don’t say that. You are the best thing that ever happened to me. I could never blame you, and either way, it wasn’t your fault. It was Lucifer’s and mine and Sam’s and Dean’s and Cas’ and Crowley’s. We all knew what we were up against, but you kiddo, you couldn’t possibly be at fault for anything that happened that day. I just got a little unlucky alright, the best thing that ever happened to me occurred on the same day that one of the worst things that have ever happened to me did. I love you, Jack, I love you, and I can tell you without a doubt none of it was your fault, but most importantly, none of it was your responsibility.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried into your shoulder as he gripped you right.

“Shhh, shhh, you have nothing to be sorry for,” you patted his head softly.

“I just-I just know how hard today must be for you. I know how hard it is for Sam and Dean to look at me- I”

You pulled away, but only slightly. With precise movements you wiped the tears in his cheeks away, “It could never be hard for me to look at you, unless,” your voice cracked, “unless something happened to you, I- I love you, Jack. You're my nephew, you're the person I care about the most, okay? You could never make me truly mad or upset with you.”

Jack nodded the tears in his eyes finally slowing down, “I never wanted anyone to get hurt.”

“I know, Cas knows, Sam knows, Dean is getting there, and he should have already gotten there okay? Dean- Dean just- don’t let him get to you kid.”

“He has every right to-”

“He has no right,” you said clearly to Jack, “he has no right.”

“Thank you,” he sniffled.

“Always, kiddo.”

“I um- I found these,” he showed you the old photos of you and Crowley before you had become a demon. You carefully took them from his hands, avoiding looking at the photos of the two of you. It was a mystery as to how Jack found these, considering that you hid them away from prying eyes because you yourself refused to look at them.

———

“Get off my throne,” you growled at the witch.

“Ah,” Rowena smiled brightly, “Y/n, I’ve been waiting for you to show up. How have you been?”

“I was doing fine until I heard you're quite non-demonic arse was sitting on the freaking throne of Hell! You are not a demon, Rowena, what in the name of my goddamn sanity are you doing?”

“Just filling in the position. No one else took a grab at it,” her nonchalance was really starting to piss you off.

“Fuck off, Rowena,” the witch gasped shocked at you and your words.

“That is no way to speak to your, Queen, or a friend for the matter,” she held a hand to her chest.

“Get off the throne,” you spoke through gritted teeth, eyes blackened, and voice course.

“Darling-” Rowena had yet to move.

“Get off his Throne!” your voice amplified at your outburst. Dark magic encircled you, inky black coils, spreading out from your body. Tears escaped your eyes with the same fervor and enthusiasm as Lucifer escaping the cage.

Rowena wasted no time bounding from the throne and to you. You were so lost, so without focus.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Darling. I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay, everything is going to be okay. Shush child, let it out, let it out,” she tried to soothe you. To your surprise, it somewhat worked. She had calmed your angered state, but you were still a sobbing mess on the floor. With careful and caring intent she gracefully brushed your hair with her fingers, humming sweet melodies.

It felt like hours, hours of Crowley’s mother combing your hair softly swaddling you and your grief. “It’s alright, Darling,” she cradled your face in her soft, deadly hands, brushing away stray tears that hadn’t been caught by the fabric of her skirt. “I suppose, well I suppose, Hell could always use another monarch, don’t you think? You would be a wonderful ally, you would make a wonderful leader.”

“Why couldn’t it be me? If I’d just- If I’d just told him that I, that I, that I lov-” your body broke down again, your throat aching for the sobbing to stop. Your eyes pleaded with you to stop mass-producing tears, but your heart couldn’t handle the hurt.

———

Your heart was doing better at handling it now. You sat beside, Rowena. Two thrones, two leaders of Hell, one King, and one Queen. All demons respected you, followed you, and were loyal to you.

You were the only demon that resented you for sitting on that damned throne. But that was only half the time. When you felt this way, it was often that those you still had around distracted you from those thoughts or blatantly told you how wrong they were. Sam often joined the both of you in Hell, enjoying his time with you and Rowena. Jack seemed to become like Rowena’s grandchild. She constantly taught him new things you had to reteach him about because of her adverse teaching style. Somehow out of the two of you, it was the demon that had the better grasp on morals. Castiel typically stopped by to grab Jack from your palace or frequented your palace with Dean. As always the two were as close as ever.

Those two and Sam were practically Jack’s three dads. Dean had finally moved on from what had occurred between Jack and his mother. The idiot even apologized to Jack after all the shit he put the poor kid through. Like the bright little ball of sunshine he was, Jack forgave him instantly, despite you telling him that he didn’t have to accept the apology right away or at face value. Jack let your concerns roll off of him, telling you he knew Dean was being sincere.

It took you longer to forgive Dean. The hunter even tried apologizing to you. It left you a laughing mess because you couldn’t fathom what warranted his empty words. You had heard Dean say it himself, that he often apologized to Sam without even meaning it. With time and patience, you moved past his ignorance, realizing some of your own. It was often demons get bitter, your negative emotions heightened, and your positive ones lessened. One day when he and Castiel had come to pick up Jack you extended the olive branch necessary to replenish as much of your friendship as possible. Dean gladly accepted your offer, stating he would love to have your help on cases, whether it be research or the actual hunt. With a smile on your face, your gaze moved to the incredible Nephilim you had helped raise standing beside his chosen father. Your only last hope for all of them being that Dean finally confesses to Castiel as well.

The smile remained on your face for the rest of the day. Despite not needing sleep you were preparing to go to bed. The cell phone you had been gifted by the hunter brothers rang throughout your room just as you were moving aside your covers. Reaching over you received a nice greeting from Sam. It seemed Dean had told Sam what you had said earlier that day. Snapping your fingers, your cozy fleece pajamas were swapped for your preferred choice of royal attire. A quick swoosh and you appeared at the library in the Men of Letters base.

———

You didn’t like this one bit. In fact, you dreaded this quite a lot.

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echoe-back-from-the-void · 4 months

Text

Crowley X Male Reader ~pt3

| 1 | 2 | three | 4 |

I pulled back from the hug to smile down at my brother, Gabriel. "Thank you." I said in a choked voice.

"Always." Gabriel says just as emotionally.

I pat his hair as I try to calm not only myself but him as well. I meet his eyes with certainty as I rebuild my resolve. I show the ring to him, "if anyone will lock our brother away, it will be me, not the Winchesters. I swear to you I will fix this. I was absent the last time, but this time, nothing will take my attention away from our brothers. If I have to drag them by the ear I will. If I have to chain him to me I will, however long it takes." I spill the words as fast as I think them. "Our fighting will end."

Gabriel snorts a laugh before hugging me again. "You'd really drag luci by the ear?" He says laughingly.

"I will." I say bluntly letting the necklace drop to my chest.

It had barely been a day before I was being prayed to by the Winchesters. My feathers felt ruffled as I was reminded of the oldest Winchester, what I said may have been done out of anger but it was no less true. He has no right to judge my brothers while ignoring the sins of his own brother. I left the woods in a huff as I flew to them.

I landed in the somber motel room. Sam was giving his brother worried looks from the motel table. Dean was sitting on the edge of the bed, a bottle beside his feet.

"Winchesters." I said bitingly making both of them jump at my entrance.

Before Dean could open his mouth to start a fight, Sam but in. "Thank you for coming mars." Sam said cordially.

"Being polite will not earn you his ring." I said under my breath but audible for both to hear. The tv began turning static as my annoyance became apparent. "I want the other rings, if anyone will put my brother away it will be my choice."

Dean jumped up to argue. "Hell no!"

"Dean." Sam said trying to calm his brother.

"No Sammy, this dick bag Angel is just gonna take the rings and let Lucifer walk free." Dean argued as he stood up clutching the bottle.

I could feel my grace warning me of my impending anger. "Winchester, I have already leveled one battle field today and cleared every monster from this state, do not anger me further or you will be the reason I kill more." I said darkly as my eyes began to glow with grace. "I meant what I said. Lucifer will never walk free as long as I live. But Michael is no saint either. Both will be dealt with by my hand. They fear me more than that cage."

"Then why didn't you deal with them earlier?!" Dean asked in aggravation.

"There comes a time for every fight, I will fight on my time, on my terms. If I have to leash them to me I will." Then thoughtfully I added. "If I were to attack one then the other would go into hiding. It is best if I see them both. That time has not presented itself yet."

"The time had in fact presented itself no more than a week later," a very sarcastic narrator announces.

It was the great big showdown as they said. Lucifer had possessed some man while Michal had possessed the Winchester half brother Adam. They met in a graveyard and before any words could be thrown I walked between them both with precision and speed beyond their comprehension as I wrapped my hand around their throats. They hadn't even noticed me before that as I had watched them both arrive in full dramatics.

Lucifer's eyes widened in fear while Michael was a little slower on the uptake. When he did catch on he began to shake like Lucifer did.

Loud rock music began to play as Dean Winchester drove the impala up the stretch of road to the cemetery. I bit down a snarl but from the way both my brothers flinched they could probably feel my grace lighting up in anger. I didn't release my brothers nor did I let up my grip while I watched the oldest Winchester exit the car and proceed to lean against the hood.

"Why are you here?" I said my words bordering on enochian as the Winchester holds his head in pain.

Sam exits the car next and approaches with his hands raised in defense. "I tried to stop him from coming but he wouldn't listen. He wants to see you put Lucifer way. To see you end the apocalypse." Sam says placatingly.

"You filthy!" I hiss. "My brothers are my problem and they will be dealt with. Their punishments are not some spectacle for you to use against them. Leave with your lives or die, that is your only warning Winchester."

"Dean. He's not joking. You see him and Lucifer and Michael. Mars knows what he's doing."

"Final warning Winchester. I'm only letting you leave with your life because for a short time we did hold a friendship until you betrayed it."

Dean sighs and enters the impala. His eyes flash between annoyance and anger before Sam persuaded him to leave. When the impala is out of sight I turn back to my brothers. While they both are still fearful they have not said a word.

Gently I release my grip on their throats and set them both back on the ground, not realizing I had lifted them in the first place. "You will Not Move from this ground until the problems are dealt with. There will be no war and there will be no apocalypse, am I clear?" I demand.

"Yes." Michael says.

"Crystal." Lucifer parrots.

My hand that was on their throats moves to their shoulders as I grip them both tightly. "I am sorry for neglecting you both. I'm sorry I wasn't there to stop your first fight. Apologies will never take back what happened but I'm trying. I knew what was happening but I was forbidden to step in. And I'll never regret anything more than the fact that I let this happen." I breathe deeply as the crack in my chest begins to grow and with it the pain follows. "Michael as the second oldest you knew what you did was wrong. Your brother was in pain! He was wounded and biting at anything that moves and you didn't care. Amara is gods sister, she is darkness, but one cannot exist without the other so they sealed her away just like you did Lucifer. Did you even know Lucifer put her away. That he struggled and fought tooth and nail to survive but the mark of Cain took its toll and corrupted him. But instead of helping you turned your back on someone, your brother, who needed you." Michael flinches at the cutting blow. "It may be hard to understand the feelings and emotions we feel but we all have always loved you. Lucifer wasn't trying to disregard fathers creations." I sigh.

"Michael, I want you back in heaven. End this revolution! No more bloodshed among brothers. There will be no apocalypse, we can not simply fix earth by bombing it. Do either of you understand the troubles you would bring about if you decimated earth. The gods, Greek, pagan, Norse and Egyptian would riot with a fury that heaven could not withstand. Please return to heaven and if I see the revolutions are not dealt with peacefully I will return home to deal with them myself." I demand and Michael nods before leaving in a flap of wings.

Not a second passes before Lucifer throws himself at me in a tight hug. "M/n" Lucifer croaked on the edge of tears.

"My you've grown." The ache pains me again and I bite my tongue to not collapse. "You were so young and I could never fault you. Yes you have done bad things. Some outside your own control. I see your pain, I know your suffering and it does not make me love you any less, brother. You have been so strong. You have fought so hard and I have seen it. I know I was absent. I know."

"I'm here. I won't let you go this time." I pause and lightheartedly begin to joke. "Although I should apologize. I had to kill one of your princes." Lucifer pulls back with a questioning look. "Loki sold Gabriel out after your little showdown. Sold him to the highest bidder and that was...Asmodeus. I felt Gabriels discomfort and stormed the place. He was feeding off our brother like a junkie. I may have taken too much pleasure in the princes departure." I joke and Lucifer smiles.

"I never did like him." He jokes back. He pauses and becomes somber. "My punishment?"

"You will be by my side for the next decade at least. Chained or not is your choice. But I will get you the help you need and you will no longer feel that ache. You won't fight your darkness alone. Not anymore."

A strong smell of sulfur invades my nose and I turn expectantly to see Crowley. "Crow." I greet.

He grins and I feel that strange feeling again. Maybe I'm Ill.

"Mars." He greets. His accent as usual draws out the ar sound. He then gives a reluctant bow to Lucifer.

"Crowley. Lucifer, while free, will be absent from hell for a time. I ask that you begin your campaigning. If possible I'd like monthly updates on news downstairs and that you do your best as the king of hell for a time. If circumstances arise you may become a semi permanent ruler if my brother does not want to take his throne." I give him a small smile. "I wish you luck toward being the next king of hell."

Crowley becomes thoughtful before a devils smile develops. "And what if I wanted someone to rule by my side."

"Two rulers is not uncommon among the humans. I don't see why anyone should stop you." I answer.

In the background Lucifer rolls his eyes before hanging off mars and whining.

"Quiet, brother. Crowley was speaking." I admonish Lucifer making him pout. I don't think I've ever seen him do that and I feel the urge to do something I've seen Dean do to same on similar occasions. Unwillingly I raise my fingers and lightly pinch Lucifer's cheek. "Don't be bratty." I then turn back to Crowley and address him again, the slight redness of his face is lost entirely on me. "As I said, you're welcome to have someone rule beside you if you can also get opinions from your closest demons. Pick someone who wouldn't try to usurp your power, your running for king. Take Asmodeus for example, he attacked an archangel for more power, you can safely assume he was disposed of. Am I making sense?"

"Crystal." Crowley says with a resigned sigh.

"Is something else the matter? You're usually much more—chipper?" I ask in concern.

Crowley eyes Lucifer from behind me before coughing and stepping closer. "I was hoping that you might perchance spend an evening with me... to go over plans for my campaign." He finishes the last bit rushed.

"I don't see why not, Lucifer will have to remain in the vicinity while I watch him." I tilt my head slightly. "I hope these talks won't involve the older Winchester or any Winchester for that matter, I understand there is some...truce between your two parties but I want no place in it while I take on the responsibility of setting heaven straight."

"Obviously, I'll pick you up at 8, wear something snazzy." The demon says before leaving quickly.

I turn to Lucifer with confusion, "snazzy? Why, I haven't heard that term in at least a few decades. I think the last time I was considered snazzy was when I had my hair longer than a buzz cut." For emphasis I try to measure how long my hair actually is and it's only a few centimeters longer than the original cut. With focus the hair begins to grow until at least an inch or two long. Making it flop charmingly.

I check myself over in a procured mirror. Adjusting it to my desires. Lucifer pokes his head over my shoulder in the mirror. "Where will I be stationed?"

"Near me, you will be joining us at the restaurant but you shouldn't be at the table in case this is a business deal or he plans to introduce me to his secondary ruler. You've mucked enough up as is. Starting forward I'd like heaven and hell to have good relations." With another snap, me and Lucifer move to my human home to discuss things in more depth.

When Crowley appears again both me and Lucifer have fully changed for whatever the occasion may be. Crowley holds the crook of his arm out like he had done each time he has teleported. With practiced ease I slip my hand over his. In a blink we are in front of a nice restaurant. Crowley asks for his reservation and then we are seated. Lucifer somewhere within eyesight of our table.

Within seconds of sitting down a waitress approaches with menus and asks for our drink orders. Crowley takes the lead in ordering a dark wine with a pomegranate undertone. I tip my head at the choice while keeping an eye out for any other guests. I'm curious who he would choose for a second ruler. If he could subdue Abadon she would make a good secondary leader. Even Cain would be a good candidate if Crowley could convince him to come out of hiding. There's also Alastair, while I don't appreciate torture it can be the easiest way to get anything. Even the threat of torture can bend knees. I continue to think thoughtfully while perusing the menu.

"Do you have any preferences? I come here often so I may be of help." Crowley offers and I nod folding my menu back up to look at him.

"I am curious who you would recommend as your secondary ruler. I've considered multiple possibilities but..."

"But?"

"Well of all those I considered, no one has been introduced yet. So maybe it's someone you think I wouldn't approve of. But that's absurd. I trust your judgement whole heartedly."

Crowley coughs into his wine and uses his napkins to cover his mouth. The tips of his ears turning red making me tilt my head in confusions.

"Are you well?" I asks sympathetically.

"I'm fine." He barks.

"I see." I respond. "You should know that Lucifer is glaring at you for some reason." At that moment the waitress arrives to take our order and refill the wine.

"It's so lovely to see a father and son having a wonderful meal. Most sons can't even give their fathers the time of day after they leave the house." The waitress admits. In the background Lucifer begins to cackle much to my confusion.

I could See Crowley revving up for a freak out. "We're not father and son! He's my bloody date for crying out loud! Damned seven hells!!" He shouts in aggravation as he still coughs.

"Oh, I, I'll be back with the second course." The waiter says sheepishly and backs up nearly tripping into another table.

I feel a warmth in my face that I don't understand, "this was a date? I hadn't even realized you were persuing me. Not that I don't mind, your charming, and polite, easy to talk to, with a particular handsome smile. But..."

Crowley opens his mouth but pauses before moving his hand forward to take my own. "I was hoping to express my affection more appropriately. I had been feeling this way for a while and at first I didn't understand if you knew or not. Gabriel had cleared up some misunderstandings."

I raise my eyebrow, "what misunderstandings? You're persuing me and I appreciate your companionship. What more is there to be?"

"Then you're denser than a ship anchor. I've been bloody following you since the beginning. And then you kept giving me gifts and... well I thought you knew." He simmers into a pout. I don't think I've seen that expression on him before. Maybe once or twice I've seen it on my soldiers as they try to puppy eye their way out of chores.

I let my forefinger hover over his lips. His face is getting red again and gently I thumb the corner of his lips. "Don't pout so hard or your face will get stuck that way." I give a wry grin, my lips barely lifting but my eyes showcase most of my smile. "I think, If I knew how, I would've been able to be more affectionate." I huff and my smile becomes softer, more real. "So, will we peruse this?"

"As long as you'll have me?"

I twist our hands and link our fingers. "I don't mind."

#supernatural fluff #crowley #fluff #crowley x reader #fergus macleod #romance #supernatual

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4izawas · 3 years

Text

Game Over [Supernatural] [SAW!AU MINISERIES} CH3 - COIL

Series Summary: The Winchesters and their allies bite off more than they can chew when they try to track someone who isn’t exactly a monster…

Warnings: Blood, gore, torture, character death, drug addiction, alcohol addiction

Theme: Hello Zepp (Charles Clouser)

Contents: saw!au, serial killer!au, pawn!reader, victim!reader, former victim!reader, Senior Player!Reader, Senior Player!OFC, Senior Player!OMC, Senior Player!OMC, Player!Dean Winchester, Player!Sam Winchester, Player!Rowena MacLeod, Player!Crowley/Fergus MacLeod, Player!Castiel Novak, Player!OFC, Player!OMC

Note: Certain gifs used were made by the lovely @marril96, who inspired this AU. Go send her some love, she’s absolutely incredible!

The group walked through the building for a while, Rowena keeping an eye on the woman in front of her. After what she’d said, an eerie silence had settled over the group - an eerie silence that Rowena did not like.

Sasha’s voice echoes through the silence, making Rowena jump and tear her eyes away from Y/N’s back. “Hey! I found a door over here!”

“I need the flashlight,” Tom says; he grabs the flashlight out of Allen’s hands before going through the door. He walks down some stairs, holding the baseball bat and the light, then through a door to a wide open room. The others swiftly follow, and Dean notices something curious.

“Over there,” he calls, directing everyone’s attention to what he’d seen.

Something in a robe is lying in the corner.

Dean and Tom give each other a looo that conveyed silent understanding before walking towards it in tandem, Tom whispering, “What the fuck?”

They work like a team, Tom standing ready with the spiked bat while Dean puts the human like thing into view.

“Oh, shit,” Sasha mutters, backing away a little. A rather shoddy looking mannequin is inside the robe. An envelope with the word ‘Romi’ has been pinned to the doll’s chest with a knife. Allen jumps up when Sam turns the light on.

“Hey!” He exclaims, voicing his surprise. His eyes land on Sam, who’s still holding the string that turned the overhead light on between his fingers. “Damn, kid.”

“Sorry.” Sam replies quietly, looking down to his right when Rowena comes up next to him.

“Don’t be, we needed the light,” she replies simply, and Allen shrugs and nods.

“True,” he responds as the envelope on the mannequin is pulled loose by Dean, who looks it over.

“What the fuck is a Romi?” The hunter asks, eyeing the name on the front.

Weasel, who’s been more or less hiding in his hoodie, weakly speaks up.

“It’s - It’s me: Romi,” he says, “It’s my name.”

Castiel’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as he replies, “I thought your name was Wesley?”

“Romi’s my first name; it was my father’s.” Weasel mutters back; Rowena rolls her eyes.

“Only he could be so unfortunate as to have you as both a son and a namesake.” The ginger growls lowly, still strongly disliking him for all the ‘whore’s that he’d thrown around only hours earlier. Y/N snorts in response, but Weasel does nothing as Rowena is flanked by not only the elder player but by both Sam and Dean, who look down at him threateningly. Unwilling to oppose the two walls of muscle, he turns away as Tom grabs the recorder out of the mannequin’s lap. The tape is put into it and played while Weasel stands by a nearby electrical panel.

“‘Cross the empty room in front of you and stop at the door. Go one at a time, largest down to smallest in threes. You will receive further information afterwards.’”

Everyone crosses the room as ordered, starting with Tom, Y/N, and Rowena. Allen, Castiel, and Sasha follow, and are then in turn also followed by Sam, Dean, and Crowley. Weasel is left alone on the other side of the room with the recorder. He goes to follow, but suddenly terrifyingly familiar laughter sounds and the floor breaks under him. He screams, falling down into a pit of what seem to be roots, then sees(even though it’s dark) a tape and grabs it, pressing play.

“‘Hello, Romi - I want to play a game. For years you have burned those around you with your lies, cons, and deceits. Now you’ll have a chance to redeem yourself for the games you played with others… by playing one of mine.’” As Jigsaw’s voice echoes through both chambers, Y/N leans against a nearby cabinet as Weasel desperately slams his fists on the metal siding of the pit of roots. “‘In front of you are two keys to help you escape - they are not required for those above you, but for you to get out of this situation, you must retrieve them. One is my gift to you for helping me kidnap the others. The second is yours to donate. However, one of them will come with a price. Remember, Romi: once you are in your personal hell, only the devil can help you out - so watch your step and tread carefully.’”

During the tape’s runtime, everyone had looked down towards Weasel, confused or angered by what they’ve just heard.

“Wait a minute - What does that mean, ‘kidnap the others’?” Dean asks, already getting angry.

“How would I know?” Weasel responds nervously, but Sasha… Sasha remembers.

“Because you put us here,” she hisses, “see, I remember. My car... I stepped in halfway, but dropped my keys. I got them and got back in and started the car, but you popped up behind me and pressed a handkerchief against my nose and mouth; I saw you in the rear view.”

“Chloroform,” Crowley mutters darkly, interrupting her; if he wasn’t stripped of his abilities, his eyes would be blood red.

“You kissed me right before I passed out, you fucking freak,” she turns to everyone else above the pit with her. “I knew I knew him. You’re the last person I saw before I woke up here. You did this.”

“Are you sure it’s him?” Tom asks warily, “You better be sure.”

“I’m sure.”

Weasel began speaking to Dean, who was closer to the edge, as if the hunter would take his side, “You would have done the same. I did what I had to do!”

“Fucking disgusting,” is Dean’s only response, eyes filled with fury. Tom stalks over to the edge, eyes wild.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he says, pulling the knife out of the dummy’s chest and points it furiously at his fellow captive down below. “You got five seconds to get us out of here.”

“I don’t know the way out!” The scrawny man cries. Out of frustration, or to have a possible weapon, Sasha breaks a glass bottle she’d found and had been holding. Y/N just watches with mild interest, completely uninterested in the proceedings before her. Sasha, however, is overcome with her emotions over being kidnapped and drugged and anything in between.

“Bullshit! You put us in here, you can get us out of here!” She shouts.

“N-No, I can’t!” Weasel cries, shaking his head.

Sam speaks next, his voice cold and furious, “Then you’re a dead man.”

“S-So are you!” Weaseling retorts, and suddenly Dean appears from wherever he’d disappeared to behind the lip.

“Say it again and your body’ll hit the floor sooner than necessary,” he hisses darkly. Weasel jumps back and Tom steps towards him, but Rowena prevents a possible scuffle.

“It’s not gonna… Wait, wait, wait,” she was mainly ignored - at least, she was until she’d had enough. “WAIT! Listen to me!” Everyone focuses on her. “He’s got two keys in that room. We’re all wasting time here when he could just be running for them!”

“Wasting time - wasting time? Are you kidding me?! He kidnapped me in the middle of the night!” Sasha snarls, advancing on the shorter woman.

“We don’t even know what’s in that room,” Sam snaps, slightly wedding himself between the two women. “Are you yourself willing to stick yourself in his situation to find out?” He looks around the room, which is suddenly silent. “Are any of you?”

Y/N shrugs.

“Why the fuck not,” she states, breaking the tension. Almost everyone visibly relaxes at the sound of her voice, even though she wasn’t attempting in any way to comfort them. Crowley shakes his head.

“Okay, wait - So who gets them? I mean, there’s two, so which two people get the keys after he escapes?”

Dean himself speaks louder, trying to get the focus back. “We’ll work that out later! We have other things to worry about here.”

Tom ignores everyone and speaks directly to Weasel. “Right now, you’re going in there-“ He points into the darkness, “…or I’ll come down and kill you where you stand.”

Fine! I guess I’m going in there to get those stupid keys - But I get one!” Weasel squeaks. The accomplice crouches down and crawls into the room where the two keys dangling from the ceiling. “Ugh, it feels like a bunch of roots or something in here - and they’re moving.”

“Like Devil’s Snare from Harry Potter?” Sam asks curiously. There’s a pause then a response.

“Yeah, but is this really the time to be a ten foot nerd?”

“Shut up!” Dean barks, and Weasel jumps, squashing something beneath his foot. There was a hiss as air escaped it, but Weasel ignored it, looking up at the key above him instead. “Ah-hah!” He pulls the key at the halfway point loose and pockets it. “One for me….”

“Hurry up!” Crowley growls.

“Okay, okay! I’m going, damn,” Weasel tries to get the second key, but it slips out of his hands and swings around. “Come on, baby!” he grunts as he whirls around, climbing the mountain of roots in different ways so as to get to the treasure above. “You guys can fight over this one.”

“Thank you, Weasel - now come on!” Allen urges. Weasel finally grabs it, yanking the key from its chain, but the chain that the key was dangling from is connected to the door of the pit. It closes, locking Weasel inside.

“Oh, shit - The fucking door closed!” Tom exclaims. The trap activates, lights flashing on blindingly. No one can see anything, blinded by said lights as they stagger off to the viewing area by the door - but all they hear are Weasels screams.

“Open the door! Open the door! Let me out!”

“It’s locked! I can’t open it!” Tom shouts back, squinting his eyes shut. The captive crawls through the now roiling ‘roots’ to the door and tries to kick it open, slicing his already injured leg up severely

“Open the door! Open the fucking door! I’m getting bit!” He howls, “Ow, fuck!”

“Come on! Get him out of there!” Castiel urged, as blind as everyone else. The room rings with a cacophony of different words, but in the end they’re all mainly the same:

“The door! The keys! I can’t get it open!”

And of course, there was Weasel screaming in agony in the locked room.

Sam, still blinded like the rest, catches what the man was shouting, “What’s biting you?!”

“SNAKES!” Weasel roars. A few seconds after, everyone's vision slowly comes back and they’re all horrified; the pit is full of a roiling nest of snakes long as Sam was tall at the very least. Dean’s eyes widen and his heart begins to race; snakes were a fear of his that he never mentioned.

“Get him out of there!” He snaps. The weaselly man crawls to the other end of the pit and bangs on the glass window desperately, frightened and in deep pain. A snake rears its head back before striking, clamping its mouth down on his waist and dragging him away. Weasel screams and struggles to the other ends of the room, desperate to survive. On the other end, he sees his key to survival: a devil has been painted nearby a valve with the word "Twist" near it - no doubt it opens another door, but the sea of serpents only come across it, going higher and higher, overshadowing it. Tom tries to pull the door open, but the handle is glowing hot from mechanisms heating it from the inside so they can’t let him out, Sasha covers her ears from the torturous groans coming out of the pit as the skinny man is slowly wrapped in in the coils of a snake as long as the room itself.

“H-Help-“ he weakly whispers.

“Get him out!” Rowena shrieks, but the snake only tightens its grip around him, easing its cool body further up around Weasel’s, slowly but surely crushing him.

“Use your coat! Use your fucking coat!” Sam shouts desperately. Tom’s coat is wound around the burning hot handle, but despite their best pulling efforts, the door remains closed; all they could do was watch.

“Come on! He’s dying in there!” Dean cries.

“Stop it!” Rowena shouts.

“Come on!” Dean grunts, putting all his strength into opening the door, “Turn!”

“Stop it!” Sam bellows, adding his own cries to Rowena’s.

“Got to put your weight on it!” Tom says urgently, “we can work together!”

Both men throw everything they have into it, but it’s all for nothing.

“STOP IT!” Sasha screams as Weasel spasms and screams, eyes seeming to get larger and larger and his face redder and redder as the pressure against his body mounted against him.

Castiel points at the back of the room in a hidden corner, “There’s a glass window over there - we can break it!”

Everyone, besides Rowena (who’s still barefoot from her own trial), runs to the other side.

“He’s got the keys in his hand.” Y/N murmurs. Dean tries to talk to Weasel, knowing how terrified the other man was.

“Hang on, man. We’re gonna get you out!”

“We can’t break the glass,” Y/N says simply; no one listens. Weasel slams the hand closest to them against the glass window, stunning the others. Sasha is in tears.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” She hated Weasel, but not that much.

Rowena and Sasha start screaming, while Tom tries to make way, everyone still ignoring Y/N.

“Get out of the fucking way! Move, move, move!”

He attempts to kick the glass in, but it doesn’t work.

“Shit - Come on!” Dean urges, his hero complex absolutely raging. This man was a dick, but they couldn’t let him die!

Weasel reaches out, screaming anxiously and trying to crawl out of the snake’s grip, but is unsuccessful. The snake’s coils tighten even more, making Weasel’s eyes bulge out of his skull until -

Pop.

Sasha screamed as one of Weasel’s eyes pops from its socket and hangs loosely against his cheek, barely attached but still so. His jaw is slack in shock as he’s slowly crushed, his other eye is forced from its socket, and most everyone gags at the sight, even the hunters. The only ones that don’t are Y/N and Crowley - and evening Crowley looks slightly sick to his stomach. Y/N?

Y/N has no expression on her face.

The snake holding him rears up and finally swoops down, taking his head into its mouth right before the room goes black and silent.

Everyone is silent for a moment before Dean breaks it.

“Fuck!” He snarls, punching the wall. Sam leans against it, sliding down and letting his head hang, his hair covering his face in his misery. Everyone begins to mourn in their own way.

“He’s - He’s dead,” Rowena whispers. Y/N looks the room over with her eyes, then turns and begins to walk through the door, whispering three words under her breath where no one heard but Rowena:

“Game over, Romi.”

Original Post: Supernatural AU | Saw

Idea Credits To: @marril96

Game Over - @marril96 @rebelliouswinchester @moonie-flower101 @loonylunalovegood77 @thuutthuutbilly @fandom-imagines1 @ruthieconnellfan @afanofeverything1 @castiel-has-bees @tofeartheunknown @l4life

Supernatural - @fandom-princess-forevermore

Dean Winchester - @akshi8278 @squirrelnotsam @stoneyggirl @defenderrosetyler

Sam Winchester - @defenderrosetyler

Rowena MacLeod - @marril96

Castiel Novak - @winchesteratheart13

Crowley/Fergus Macleod - @bucky-babygirl

Forevers - @deanmonandnegansbitch @twdeadlysins

#supernatural #game over #game over series #Rowena MacLeod x reader #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #Castiel x reader #Castiel Novak x reader #Crowley x reader #fergus macleod x reader #gore #blood #death #snakes #torture

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dapperappleton · 4 years

Text

SPN Crowley x Reader

Summary: Becky is about the only person you can talk to about liking Crowley the demon

Warnings: None

Word count: 712 (this is like the shortest thing I’ve ever written but I really like it sooo)

“Hi Y/N!” Becky squealed over the phone. “Are you in danger? Do you need my help?”

“No, Becky. I’m fine,” you laughed. “Well, physically fine. So, you remember Crowley right?”

“Crowley, the demon with the colt?”

“Yes, well... we got the colt from him two weeks ago. And oh my god was he attractive and very flirty. He is exactly my type-“

You were cut off by Becky’s squealing. You could practically see her happy dancing. She apparently shipped you and Crowley since when she told you and your brothers about him, she winked at you. That’s why you had called her, she was probably the only person that you could talk to about maybe —definitely— having a crush on the King of the Crossroads.

“Y/N!! You and Crowley would be so cute together!! What does he look like, we didn’t get a good description of him.”

“Well, he’s pretty short, he has brown eyes, apparently always wears really fancy, dark suits.” You stared at the ceiling of the motel room. “He’s got a bit of a temper, I can tell, but he’s also really flirty and actually kinda sweet to me. He definitely seems like the hopeless romantic type.”

“Oh. My. Goodness. Did you give him your number or anything?”

“Well that’s why I called. He showed up in the motel room a little bit ago, Sam and Dean are out interviewing people. He just sort of, appeared, and started to flirt with me. I just died on the spot and flirted back a little. Right before he left I wrote my number on his hand. He actually blushed. A big bad demon blushed!! At me giving him my number!!”

Becky was giggling like a gossiping schoolgirl. You definitely had a deep blush on your face as you lay spread out on the bed.

“If he asks you out, you have to tell me. I want to know how it goes!!” She sighed blissfully. “My new OTP actually getting together! How amazing!”

You could hear Baby pulling up to the motel and a car door shutting.

“Alright Becky. I have to go, the boys are back. I’ll update you if anything happens.”

“Alright, bye!!”

You put your phone down the moment the door opened. Sam glances to you just laying with your head hanging off the side of the bed. You weren’t necessarily supposed to be doing anything, the boys had gone to collect information on where you could find the werewolf you were hunting.

“Anything happen when we were gone?” Dean asked.

“Nope.”

Your phone buzzed with a text. Looking down at it, you saw an unknown number.

Hello, darling. When you’re done with that hunt of yours, why don’t I take you out to eat. You pick the restaurant.

Crowley. You glanced up at Sam who was walking into the bathroom and Dean who was stuffing his face with a burger. You quickly typed up a response.

Sounds good, but I’m not sure you’d like the kind of food I’d pick. Besides, do you even eat?

Eating isn’t necessary, but for someone like you, love, I’d gladly eat any food. Even that junk food you and your brothers live off of.

Hey, it’s not that bad. Besides, there isn’t much choice. The last time I had an actual cooked meal was months ago at Bobby’s.

Well maybe we could do that. I could take you to my house and we can cook some real food.

That sounds great. I’ll text you when we’re done with the hunt.

You hadn’t realised, but you were grinning like a madman and blushing enough to look like a tomato. Your whole face was flushed and your ears and neck were hot as well. You had it bad.

“Whatcha smiling at there Y/N?” Dean asked through a mouthful of fries, and Sam looked at you questioningly.

“Oh, what? It’s just Becky. She’s texting me and excitedly reminiscing on that convention she dragged us to.” You gave a half smirk at your good lying ability you had picked up over the years.

Because of the blush, they probably thought that either you had a crush on Becky or you were lying, but they didn’t say anything else. One more text popped up.

;)

“She says hi.”

#spn #supernatural #supernatural crowley #supernatural x reader #x reader #crowley x reader #fergus macleod x reader #supernatural crowley x reader #sam winchester #dean winchester #winchester!reader #supernatural becky

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jtownraindancer · 4 years

Text

Crowley x Reader: R.I.P.

The world had changed, though much remained the same.

Majestic cathedrals that had once towered above all other structures were now overwhelmed by high-rises and modern artwork, though their mighty foundations had yet to crumble, magnificent columns and lead glass and iron chains still holding strong throughout the ages.

Colossal castles that had once served as impervious fortresses had fallen to corrosion, behemoths hinting at celestial ordainment succumbing to the unstoppable conquests of time, though some fragments remained, symbols of past tribulation, of the bloody journeys undertaken to secure perceived autonomy.

Roman roads and ancient arches and devious dwellers still dotted the landscape, some scarcely more than phantasmic remnants of a far more glorious age.

Most unchanging, though never truly the same, were the waterways, carrying filth and forgotten trinkets to the sea, artefacts that would one day be studied by more superior races.

It was near one such waterway that he finally found you, forlorn features focused on the Medway, your back turned against the corpse of the stronghold, eyes drawn to corroded debris scattered among the shallow waters.

He approached you quietly, silently studying the slope of your shoulders, noting the changes made to your hair and choices in attire. It was with bitter resentment that he accepted yet more changes made in the past few years, yet more factors he had no say in suggesting they be altered once more.

It seemed despite your differences, despite his departure, despite damning the Devil and dooming his dominion, you still possessed the ability to sense his presence, disheartened gaze brightening significantly as you turned from the object of your consternation, very aura lightened by his arrival.

He was helpless in the face of your affection, drowning in the kindness behind your smile and the soft embrace you offered.

A rarity, in his line of work, finding someone so unruffled by knowledge of his identity, fully tranquil with his companionship.

You trusted him wholeheartedly, a humbling token of your regard that oft left him wondering if he truly deserved your confidence.

Though it had been nearing the second year since your last conversation, you exhibited no shyness, old patterns and routine playing out in a familiar dance that immediately soothed him.

There was a heaviness to your heart however, a flutter of pain to your eyes that summoned his curiosity.

He confided in you, seeking any advice you may have to offer for his conflicting interests, offering his support in your pursuit of your dreams.

At long last, when the conversation had cycled through, he pressed for information about those others you so passionately cared for- family and friends and, tragically, a former lover?

You spoke with sharpness, the caustic coating to your tone reflecting in your features. The fool- for could they be anything else?- had caused you harm, seeking unions outside the oaths you had pledged to one another.

He pondered briefly on the torments he could provide them on your behalf, cruel fantasies cut short as your intonations darkened with each passing syllable.

Your wrath took him by surprise, your vengeance already affecting the traitor's career.

Such simple misdirects had forced their entire lifestyle into mere shambles of former security.

The most frightening part of your revelation was revealed with the carefree dismissal of your own callousness, a bark of laughter carrying on the easterly wind.

"Hey man, R.I.P." You paused, expression darkening and words lowering to a rumble reflecting your remaining rage. "They should have known better than to fuck with me."

An uncomfortable wariness was soon breeding distrust in his conscious. For if you could rip asunder all certainties from one person's life, the life of someone you had once vowed to cherish until your dying breath, what damage would you wreak upon those without such protections?

Many things remained the same, but it was with a begrudging acceptance that Crowley acknowledged that even the most steady and stringent of consistencies will often change too.

For now however, he vowed to savour whatever tenderness still remained within your possession.

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spn-imagines-nation · 6 years

Photo

“Wait, are you serious Fergus?! Oh good God, my poor son... And now here we are again.”

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spnsisterimagines · 2 years

Text

Sam: What do you guys say when you answer the phone?

Kevin: What up?

Charlie: Who dis be?

Dean: No, she’s dead, this is her son

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crossroadsserpent · 1 month

Text

Imagine....

Imagine patting Crowley on the head and calling him "My good little demon" after he comes back to you after dealing with the Winchesters.

#fergus macleod #fergus macleod x reader #supernatural crowley x reader #crowley #crowley x reader #supernatural #crowley imagine #supernatural imagine

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pendragonfics · 7 years

Text

Eleventh Time’s the Charm

Paring: Crowley/Reader

Tags: female reader, alternate universe - soulmates, time travel, reincarnation, Crowley being Crowley, murder, character death, but not really, angst and feels, angst with a happy ending, fluff.

Summary: Living a dreary, slow life working in a diner-slash-cafe in a terrible small town, waiting for your life to start and soulmate to walk into your life...it happens. You meet the guy. And thus, the story begins.

Word Count: 4,461

Current Date: 2017-09-29

Everyone has someone. Your someone, was perhaps, preoccupied. Soulmates were a thing, and while it was good for the 99% of people who had their shit together, you did not have yours together, and lived out your days working days at the diner, nights working on your online education. Poor as hell, living out of a caravan in a nobody town’s trailer park, you rarely saw anyone new who wasn’t a regular at Bean There, Donut That. Apparently, when people met their One, everything sort of clicks. Comes into focus. You’d never had that happen with Joe who loved maple syrup more than life, or the coffee addicts with their stamp-cards.

One night, it might have happened. You’re not sure, because you were quite out of it. There was an essay due for your online university, and you’d left the only copy of it on your USB that was attached to your spare set of keys at work. You were rushing around, practically screeching for Zach the busboy to toss them to you. Zach was never good at throwing things, especially projectiles that weren’t footballs. Thus, a strange bearded patron was hit on the back of his head with your Punisher USB and keys.

“Bloody –,” he mutters.

But before he can blink, you scoop up your keys from behind his chair where he’s sipping pink milk, and give a wan, apologetic smile and dash out. “Sorry, man!” You call out over your shoulder, and dash out to your beat-up pickup truck.

You didn’t notice the clarity of the night until you’d uploaded the final essay for your exams and hit send. With the laptop shut, the lamplight inside the caravan low, stars littering the night sky outside the window brighter than ever before, you sit there, breathless. You don’t think it’s to do with Zach smacking your keys into that bloke until you’re dunking a camomile teabag into your Sherlock cup an hour later. Checking your watch, you see the diner has a few minutes before it’s closed for business, and with your old phone, call them up.

“Hello, Bean There, Donut That, it’s Keith.” Another co-worker, works the grill.

You sigh. “Hey, Keith, it’s __________.” You scratch your nose, and add, “Sorry it’s late, I was just wondering if you know who that guy was who came in today. Emr, earlier. When I was in.”

You hear Keith make a noise, and then, “Oli? He’s one of your regulars.”

Oli? No. “No, no, not one of my regulars…the other guy. Uh, beard? Older? I don’t know, I was in a rush. Zach hit him with my keys.”

The phone rustles, “__________, hey, did you submit that paper?” You hear Ned, the owner of the diner on the phone. He’s the type of guy who’d make you feel like absolute shit if you were late to work, but would be all Suburban Dad if someone was out to wrong you. “I heard what you and Keith were saying. Yes, we had a new patron come in, I didn’t catch his name.”

You sigh, nowhere closer to finding out if he was the guy. “Did he say he’d stick around town?”

“Didn’t get that either. But you’re working the morning shift anyway, so you can see for yourself.” Ned reminds you, and clicks his tongue into the phone. “Okay, diner’s closed. See you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, __________.”

You hung up. Brushed your teeth, straightened the picture frame above the bed of Vincent van Gough’s sunflowers, switched off the lamp. Your head was still spinning. For once in your life when you needed the clouded thoughts, all you could think about was the flash of dark green eyes as you ran out of the diner.

---

He was back again. You were wiping your hands on your apron when he came in the door like a warm breeze, clicking the pen to get it to write vanilla milkshake for the nice young couple on a date. Your breath caught in your throat, he stilled. But Keith’s voice called out for you over the usual din of the diner, and you gave the new order for the kitchen to make. You didn’t realise that he was standing beside you until you could smell him – a pleasant scent, a hint of chai and burned earth – and he cleared his throat.

“I don’t think we’ve been introduced.” He said, an accent thick, like cold butter lumpy over toast. Refusing to melt, insisting to stay in a brave new world.

You turn toward him, so he can read the name badge that sits above your breast. “I’m actually going to say sorry for hitting you with my keys yesterday,” you preface. “So, don’t take it out on Zach.”

He tsks, “Please. It’s all in his lack of coordination…none of your fault. Can I buy you a drink?”

“This – isn’t a bar,” you tell him. Ned eyes you over the bench, and motions to a new group of people who have been sitting for a while. “Sorry, I’m working right now. But I’d love coffee. If you’re into that. After I’m –,”

“__________!” Ned calls out, annoyed.

“Coming!” you reply, and spare a glance to your current conversation. “I finish at midday.”

He smiles. “I’ll see you then, darling.”

By the time you’re back from taking the order from the new table, delivering the milkshake to the other, and fixing the split bill (Zach is terrible at math, but he’ll never admit it) not on your area, you find a napkin where you’d been speaking to the guy sitting there. In a sort of half cursive script, reads, The name’s Crowley. Underneath the napkin, you find, is a handful of quarters and half dollars, and a folded piece of paper, with more writing that this time, says, Coffee’s on me.

By the time your shift has ended, you only remember the coffee plans when your fingers brush on the loose change in your pocket. Instead of ordering two cappuccinos from Zach, you opt for the takeaway joint down the road. It isn’t until you’ve got the two cups in your hands until you see him, Crowley again, strolling toward you like he owns the small town.

“Hello, darling.”

You pass him his cup, and grab a sachet of sugar from the vendor. “Hello yourself. Got you a black coffee.”

He smiles, taking a sip from the paper cup, and content, he sighs. “Mm. Like my soul.”

You walk in silence together, the small town’s area painfully small at that moment. It was a short walk to anywhere, really – with a police station caring for only less than a thousand people – the main street had all the places needed on it, be it clothes, food, money, sex. The cemetery around the corner. The school wasn’t too far away, either, and neither was the park. You gravitated toward the location of the latter, leading the mysterious man toward the empty commons and plastic playground.

“I think you’re my soulmate,” you tell him, closing the gate to the empty play area behind you.

He frowns at your wording. “What makes you think I’m your soulmate?” He questions, draining his coffee all at once, like a craven caffeine addict. “I could be a married man, with children and a dog named Pollyanna.”

“You’re not, though.” You tilt your head. “You’re a businessman.”

He raises a brow. “And? You’re a budding high school teacher, and that doesn’t erase the fact that I could be those things.”

You laugh, and take another sip of your coffee. “I just have a feeling, man.” You look over the park, and slowly, taking another sip, embrace the silence of the park, and the lack of bustle as opposed to that of work. “Just…everything’s clearer now.”

“Okay, slow down there, Johnny Nash. You think I’m your soulmate because you don’t need prescription glasses anymore?” The way Crowley said it made your point sound silly, if not puerile. “…I’m just a guy passing through town.”

You pitch your half-drunken coffee into a bin nearby, and when it misses the rim, go to put it in the bin. “You’re making this really hard on me, you know?” You hum, annoyed. “I’ve lived a really shit life, and I’ve always known that there were soulmates. Heck, even Ned has one, and he’s an ass to me.

Crowley lifted a brow at the latter remark, but didn’t question it.

“I’ve barely known anyone my whole freakin’ life! Everyone I meet could be the One, but they’re not, but you – you walk in like you’ve always been there, and just go and tell me it’s not real? Screw you, man.” You swipe a tear from the corner of your eye, and storm off. Leaving him standing in an empty playground, alone.

---

It’s two months later when you get your results back from the online university. It’s a stressful two weeks, and you take every damn shift at the diner you can, saving every penny and dime until Ned approaches you to ask if you’re okay, which doesn’t shock you as much as it really could. He’s nice, under all the sternness and responsibilities he has.

But you’re sitting in your caravan, staring at the screen of your laptop. You’re not observing the tab abandoned on the upper right side of the screen, reading that you’ve managed to save over eight thousand dollars in the last four years. You’re not seeing at the background image of your laptop, a still from My Neighbour Totoro. Nope. You’re staring at the marks the university have sent through, sitting in your inbox.

High distinction.

You almost whoop for joy when the power cuts out of your caravan. It’s not the first time it’s happened before, what, with the electricity company often having problems out in the middle of nowhere where you live, and calmly, you reach for your cell phone for the torch app. But in the dark, you can’t see it, and all the clarity you got those months ago is useless on moonless nights. Blindly, you walk to the entrance of the outside world, going to see what had happened.

You hear grunting, clash of metal on metal, animalistic groans as you open the door. A part of you wants to close the door, lock it, and pretend you’ve been dreaming since you opened the laptop this evening. Another, slightly larger part wants you to go out, and see what’s happening. Aided only by the light of the nearby gas station, you see two silhouettes, male, wearing odd clothes considering they’re battling it out with short white swords in a trailer park at eleven fifty at night. You don’t even get close enough to see their faces when a stone crunches under your foot, and one of the men’s faces look to you. A bolt of terror passes through you, but before you can react, a blade is thrown near your head, and the other man – wearing a suit, a coat, and a tie – presses his fingers to your forehead.

Then, it’s dark.

---

When you wake, your limbs are at odd angles, face cold, and mushed into the ground, mud wet on your face and smelling like fresh herbs. It’s dark, still – the kind of dark that you see right before dawn, when the birds decide to sing for the world to wake – and slowly, you tell your body to move, your limbs screaming from whatever it has happened to you. You remember approaching the two men who had been fighting, being touched, and then, nothing.

“Ah cannae believe yoo've dain thes, Fergus, efter aw we've dain!” A woman’s voice screeched, louder than the birds, her accent thicker than anything you’ve ever heard in your life. It’s English, yes, but it’s hard to focus over all the butchered vowels that are strange to your American-born ears. “– aw we've bin ben! Aam th' mammy ay yer bairn, an' ye - ye tak' a mistress since day th’ first day!”

When your eyes focus in the dark, you see a woman with unruly hair the colour of fire on the horizon, and from what light spilled over the hills, you could see a similar fury to match that hair of hers. She stormed off, her old dress billowing over her feet, a knapsack over her shoulder, running away from wherever it was where you were. Where you were. Your blood ran cold. There were no hills, where you lived, and there certainly was no spikey purple flowers that grew this, that, and every edgeways over the grass, and there certainly was no people who spoke like that.

Whatever that man had done to you, it wasn’t good.

“__________?” A familiar, albeit foreign voice asked, your name strange on their lips. When you looked up, your heart stuttered, your words failed. “Lassie, whit ar’ ye doing doon there?”

You’d seen this exact face two months ago, and not a day after you’d left him alone in the park for your askew coffee date. Some things had changed – he looked a little…younger, eyes wider, frown lines less prominent on his face. Even though he’s been arguing with the other woman, he looks at you so tender, it’s almost strange, considering how he’d last looked at you before. It isn’t until you see what he’s wearing, that you realise something very unnatural has happened, and instead of going through time the usual way (forwards, gradually), you’ve been thrust the other way (backwards, painfully).

“I – I don’t know,” you whisper, groaning as you go to stand. “What year is it?”

He chuckles, arms steadying you as you waver on your feet. “Ye say such strange things, _______, when yoo've bin drinkin...it’s a body year nigh ay th' century.” He brushes the dirt from your shoulders, and sighs, “Dornt tell me yoo've forgotten th' years spent wi' me warmin' th' sheets, hen.”

Your eyes widen. “I – Crowley, that – she’s your wife!”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'll have some’ah whit you've bin drinkin’, lassie.” He chuckles, knocking a final part of mud from your shapeless nightdress. Had you really time travelled in your nightie? “Ye – m’name is Fergus – an' och aye, she is mah wife. Don’t ye rememb’r aw those nights hidin' from ’er?” He motions to the cottage where you’re nearby to, and adds. “Come in. You’ll catch yer death in ‘at, lassie.”

Slowly, you will yourself to move beside him, walking toward the house. It’s a nice place, and even though it’s small, it’s nothing you’d be able to afford to live in with your current salary and savings. It has a thatched roof, the brickwork is beautiful, the door thick and heavy like a barrel that you’ve seen people make scotch in. Inside, the house is lovely, and lit and heated by a fireplace barely living through the frigid air. Naively, you go to it, hands extended to warm yourself.

Fergus chuckles at that, and busies himself at the other end of the room. You notice there’s two beds in the antipodes of the inside, and that he’s sitting in a handmade chair that rocks, hands busy at work with material and a needle.

“C–Fergus,” you correct yourself, his dark green eyes focusing on you, and not the stitching in his hands, “What am I to you?” You ask, voice soft. “Your wife –,”

He sighs, heavily. You see crowfeet lines mark in the side of his eyes, his face downcast. “She knows abit us...has dain, for a while, now.” He places the neat sewing he’s working on aside, and rests his hands to hold his forehead, like Atlas holds the world. “She has aye bin a strong-willed, loch me…but we're nae a match.”

You frown, piecing things together, “Fergus, where’s your child?”

“Nae loch ye an' me.” His eyes are so sad, and if you didn’t know any better that this wasn’t the same person you met two months ago, you’d even go to him, console him. You sure did work minimum wage, but that didn’t make you a heartless b-witch. “I've gone an’ made a mess ay everythin' I’ve ever tooched…”

Your heart wrenches, but still, when you stand, considerably warmer than waking up on the glens of Scotland near naked, you motion to the door. “I’m sorry, I really am…but I need to, ah,” you motion to your bladder below your belly, and the older man nods, understanding. “Thank you.”

“Ye know where th’ lavvy is, lass.” He motions toward a small building across the way, and closes the door behind you to make your way.

But you don’t make it to the outhouse, instead, a familiar-scented hand grasping your arm and wrenching you out of view from the open shutters of the shieling where 15th Century Crowley-not-Crowley is inside. But when you go to fight your assailant, you see the face you had just parted with not fifteen seconds beforehand. But this time, you know it’s not the other one, Fergus. It’s Crowley.

“What – can this day get any weirder?” You hiss at him, trying to get out of his arms.

He nods. “Yeah. Wait about four seconds, darling.” You huff, complying, but internally agree. Because just like you’ve seen another Crowley, there, coming from the edge of the forest, is another you. She has slightly longer hair, braided nicely, and wears a dress like the one Fergus’s wife wore. She glances left, right, and seeing nobody was there, makes way to enter Fergus’s house. “You owe me money.”

You growl, turning to him. “I owe you nothing!” you push against his chest, infuriated at how calmly he’s taking your Alice in Wonderland of a day. “You – you owe me an explanation. How did I – why are we –,” your anger is cut short when you see the figure of Fergus’s wife approaching, her fiery hair a warning across the morning sky. You’d think nothing of it, except, in her hands is a dagger, glinting in the early air of the day, and a murderous look upon her face. You cover your mouth with your hands, knowing what she will find when she enters her home. “Oh my g–,” you stammer, turning toward Crowley, holding your hands on your ears to block out the homicidal noises.

“__________,” he says your name with urgency.

Holding you close to his chest, Crowley moves through something dark, like a gate. A portal? You didn’t see, your eyes were closed, but when your eyes open once more, you’re not in Scotland, hiding outside an old stone house that another __________ has just been murdered in. You’re on the steps to your caravan, and sitting there, you shake. It’s warm out, and you’re not sure why you’re like this until Crowley places a blanket over your shoulders. Shock.

“__________,” he says again, and it’s only this time you realise that you’re not alone with one another. One another being, another pair of yourselves. Before you, are two men in plaid, and a man who you think you’ve seen before. “Hello, boys…”

You’re silent as they share words that make barely any sense or understanding over the static and numbness that fills your ears and that which lays between them. It’s only when you look to the blue-eyed man wearing a suit, coat, and tie which you confirm that this isn’t a normal experience. Because he’s the one who touched you, and made you go to the past in the first place.

“Can someone – explain this,” you motion gently to the air surrounding you, “to me?”

“Chronokinesis,” the man with the tie responds.

“Cas made you time-travel,” The shorter-haired man interrupted the fancy story, and added, “From what I hear, it was an accident. You’re okay.” The unspoken addition to that sentence is, at least, from what we can see. “Crowley got you in time, I hear.”

You blink. “This – this is normal, for you all…?” you question, mouth agape. “I saw myself being murdered by his wife in 1699, and its –,” you can’t blink the image of Fergus from behind your eyes, the way he moved so smoothly, like silk on lace, but you also can’t rid your ears of the sounds of the – “if this is what being a soulmate is, I don’t want it.”

The bow-legged man raised his eyebrows. “Soulmate? Didn’t think the demon King of Hell had –,”

“D-demon?” you whisper.

“Dean,” the longer-haired man interrupted, seeing your expression. He sounds hesitantly nice, and glancing to the man beside you, Ferg-Crowley, you wonder what his relationship is to this trio of strange people. “– Crowley, is there anything else we can do for you…before we leave you two to work out whatever just happened to you?”

“King of Hell…?” you breathe. “What?”

Cas puts a hand on both boys, and with a blink of an eye, all three are gone before they can answer you. Crowley scratches absently at his facial scruff, the blanket falling from your shoulders. You sit in silence for what seems like hours, but really, from the way the sun is spilling over the trailer park, awakening life back to this small, dreary town, it’s only minutes.

“You’re a demon?” you ask him, glancing to the face you’ve seen a lot of, of late.

He nods. “Yeah. Haven’t always been…you knew me, before.” He looks sadly into his hands, which sit like apples abandoned in his lap, and then to you, “Every thirty years, you come back to me, always with the name __________, always with your face, with your voice, with your –,” his voice chokes up, and you swear that there’s a glint of moisture in the corner of his eyes. “And you always die beside me.”

Your mouth gapes, words lost for a moment. “Are you talking about…reincarnation?” Crowley nods. “Wait. I don’t – I never signed up for this, I just wanted to find someone to buy a dog with, move into my first house with, call my family…” you wipe a tear from your eye now, feeling as sad as Crowley looked. “That knife, your wife used – do you think it did something to my soul?”

From a bag on his side, he withdraws a dagger, old and worn, but still as wicked sharp as you last saw it, when it was in the hand of his spouse from three hundred years ago. On the hilt, is etched, adelante, morte. But on the blade, there is a catch on the cannelure, a sharp triangle of metal missing.

“Is that Latin?” you frown, staying a safe distance away from your past-life’s murder weapon.

Crowley shakes his head. “Gaelic,” he tells you, and places it back in the bag. “It says, onward, death.” He chuckles. “Might have been cursed, and terribly looked after, as the chip might have only partially severed your –,”

Just hearing that, you gather the sides of the blanket that had fallen, and adjust them so you’re hidden from sight. Gone. Like a babe craving the seclusion of the womb after leaving it. The voice of your soulmate, so tantalisingly beautiful stops as you’re hidden, and while hidden, tears start falling from your eyes.

“Darling?”

You poke your head out from the blanket, gazing up at his face. As the morning settles over the lonely, little town you’ve been in for so much of your life, working, saving, sleeping, working some more, you allow your eyes to linger, focus on Crowley. The way his eyes watch yours, softer than the snarl he gave the trio of oddballs earlier. The way his hair on his face is slowly growing into a beard, now a soft covering over his facial features. How his hands are empty, and in your hands, you feel a want, a need to place yours in his.

You wouldn’t have been able to see this clearly months before meeting him. It’s only fair that with the clarity that came with finding your soulmate that you study the person you’re destined to be with.

“How many times have you met me?” you ask him, voice soft. “How many __________’s?”

“You’re the eleventh,” Crowley mutters, sighing deeply.

You’re sitting in a trailer park, beside the demon king of hell, considering the difficulties of what just happened to you, and what has happened to the pair of you over the last three hundred years. Eleven reincarnations of you. That’s almost enough to give you a T.A.R.D.I.S. and a popular timeslot on the BBC. And sitting there, on the steps to the caravan you’ve lived, breathed, studied, and lived through so far, you have an idea.

“If it’s all right with you,” you tell him, voice low, reserved, “I’m very happy just being number eleven.” He cocks an eyebrow, and you add, “You said that dagger had done something to me, severed my –,”

“Soul.” Crowley nods, “It’s not unheard of, but…I think I know someone who can help us out with this predicament. He owes me a favour.”

---

Everyone has someone. Your someone, was, in fact, the King of Hell, ruler of the underworld, the soulmate to ten other reincarnations of yourself throughout history. Soulmates were a thing, and while it was good for the 99% of people who had their shit together, you were proudly human. The 1% who still worked at the diner, despite being the domestic partner to the endless wealth and power of that of the ruler of Hell.

You’re fixed. The archangel who fixed you was disgruntled, snappy, but gets the job done. There will never be a twelfth __________. Just you, and Crowley.

With your degree completed, you managed to secure a job as an interpreter of ancient historical texts at the university in a flourishing town by the seaside, and with your savings You upgraded your living situation to live in a small house, with a garden out the front and a basement at the bottom (Crowley’s favourite haunt). While it was sad to leave your life in the sad, dead-end job and the small, tired town, it really wasn’t, and you were glad to leave Bean There, Donut That behind.

Life just isn’t that shitty. It’s all a little window that goes very slowly for the person living it, because life isn’t a television show which cuts to the action. You need to live the little parts. Make your hard work into the montage that the viewers cherish. It wasn’t always sunshine and rainbows, yes, but nothing really is. It’s like the Beatles said, all you need is love – except, perhaps, food, oxygen, and a place to call your own.

And with your new life with Crowley, you had all of that.

#crowley #Crowley Supernatural #crowley x reader #crowley/reader #crowley supernatural x reader #crowley spn #fergus macleod #fergus macleod x reader #supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #Supernatural fanfic #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #Female reader

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thekillingjoke-haha · 2 years

Text

Love Among Tragedies

Summary: Some say the feeling of love was like your stomach is full of butterflies,but why does it sting?

Paring:Crowley x Death!Reader

Warning: Death,Blood,Gore,Mutilation(hell hounds),till death do us part,angst,family drama,suprise ☆Fluff☆

Tagged: @spnquotebingo

Word Count: 2,770

Fergus was a simple man for the time he was birthed in where poverty was the only way of living if you weren't born into lordship. The year is 1696 he was thirty-five when when he made a deal with a demon that only lasted ten years before his soul was taken. The majority of those years he almost forgotten about said deal that was until he saw her. Her h/c stood out amongst the others even if it matched a few,her s/c smooth skin with a soft glow drew him in,but it seems she was always just out of reach. As Fergus was on his final year the mysterious women grew closer to him her details becoming more clear.

Her aura was breath taking and left those you noticed her in a frozen state of shock. It seemed only few noticed her beauty though as she moved swiftly in crowds as if a shadow in the dark of night. The more he saw of her the hallucinations started the fear and paranoia of snarls and barks in the night the feeling something unearthly hidden in the shadows watching him. The butterflies in his stomach when he saw her makes him choked up everytime he tries to get near, the more Fergus saw her the more the flying insects seems to attack his insides to the point of actually pain. The hounds took him in the night. Red eyed beast of hell ripped him to shreds ripping out his soul taking his life force. Through the bloody haze she stood there looking down at him her clothes a wine red with black accents. The colorless eyes filled in e/c like paint in water as she leaned down to his body the soft stare made him feel like he was suspended within the clouds as her hand, freezing to the touch, brushed his cheek and the sudden pain of it all rushed back to the brunette man as his body tensed up. Her angelic face was right above his bloodied one. "We'll meet again,Fergus." The words were so faint as she leaned down placing a kiss on his lips taking his final breath away. Fergus MacLeod died at forty-five thought to be sacrificed by believers of the dark arts during the witch trails.

Dammed to hell was his eternal punishment it wasn't until almost twelve thousand years in the fiery depths before the corruption of his soul was enough to be promoted to a crossroads demon. The year was 1806 when he first got to feel the dirt of the earth beneath his feet he turned to look at the unfortunate soul that became his first contract. "I want riches that will make the queen herself envious." The women hissed and Crowley leaned back to stir clear for the venom she spewd towards his face. He wanted this deal wrapped up quickly if it ment he left her presence at once. "You have a deal. Let's seal it with a kiss shall we?" They leaned towards eachother and the moment their lips touched it was like something else witnessed them. Someone who sent shivers down his spin like the first chill of winter creeping up as the last leaf has fallen.

Pulling away first his eyes caught the h/c in a proper bun and her dress was of prestige elegance of silk f/c and patterns of gold. Her lips were painted a deep color that complimented her so well. She was just as breath taking as she was when he last layed his sights upon her. Crowley almost cried out in a fit of frustration as the hag left taking along the woman he yearned for since her lips met his. That was only his first deal,but he come to notice she was there for every single one the tingle making his skin feel numb and there she was far from his and the desperate souls touch. After every ten years now the king of hell he watched as the hellhounds bounded towards the maker of the deals and he saw how she was incredibly close to them until she finally touches them on the head or check as the expel their last breath. It was 1979 when she stayed not leaving the body the moment after it's passing she sat on the ground giving a faint whistle. "Who are you? You aren't a reaper or a demon as far as I know." The Scottish demon asked as she gently petted the young pups Juliette and Roman. Her attire has always changed with the ages this decade she wore a skirt right above the knees a solid f/c and a f/c and white striped polo. "I'm something far older then any reaper or demon,Fergus." She hummed not caring for the weight of the two hounds heads on her lap. "Why now after all these years are you speaking to me again?"

Her lifeless e/c eyes looked up into his brown one's as she sighed. "The time has come for the sword of Michael to be sheathed in the soil of a soon to be battle ground of the long awaited spat between heaven and hell." She said feeling the life of the sword due within the month. "You're a angel." Crowley said in shock those winged assholes never left heaven and if they did they were not to be seen. "I was once a angel...but I left my home long ago."

~~~~Flashback Creation~~~~

Five archangels were made by the hands of God birthed from supernovas themselves to make a light so powerful all except one. This child filled a greater purpose then her brothers one that only she could burden making her grace from the black holes and the vast infinity of the unknown he made Y/n. For eons they five siblings grew up and lived within the paradise which was heaven watch as new siblings were made every day. It wasn't until God created man that he knew the youngest archangels true purpose would come into play.

Adam and Eve never grew old in age,but when they disobeyed God and bit from the forbidden fruit of knowledge they were punished and after Eve birthed her sons was Y/n told of what she must do. Cain and Able fought often,but it was nothing like this so aggressive filled with dangerous attacks that's when the archangel stood close by gazing between them taking a deep breath she stepped closes to Able standing behind him as his brother picked up a rock and began to beat his brother. As the life fled his eyes she grabbed his hand as his last breath hissed out. The first death taking his soul to heaven she was stopped at the gates with his soul in hand. "What is the meaning of this father?" She asked and the all father sighed. "He also attempted to kill Cain and with that he must go to hell,dove." This was the first time hell was mentioned after luciferd fall. She nodded her head and dive bombed down he wings breaking the surface taking her to the pits of fire,her brothers prison. Her three sets of gray wings sinnged at the heat tips of most of her feathers blacking while only some still held burning embers. She wanted to cry,but after she left the soul to his punishment she tried to go back to heaven.

"My child you hold within you the grace of heaven whilst you wings carry the embodiment of hell. You mustn't be allowed in either place your job now lies in between both. Until one domain rains you will not belong to either." With those words the heartbreak of loosing her home created a plain unlike any other her pain making the afterlife of monsters from her darkness. Her lost love created the second supernatural monster. Leviathans were birthed from her tragedy. She is the mother of monsters the Angel of Death.

~~~~Flashback End~~~~

"...and I refuse to be involved in that family dispute. I have one job now, take and deliver souls to the gates upstairs or the flames below." Y/n said as she stopped the petting allowing the hellhounds to leave her hold. The demon doesn't understand everyone feared death,but he was so drawn to her even before his passing. She chuckled and Crowley frowned confused. "I can hear every thought you have of me,Fergus." The Scotsmans face flushed red. "Maybe you were one of my favorite souls...maybe someday you'll realize what you're feeling and I might return that feeling. Until then Mr.MacLeod." With his name left her mouth in almost a whisper as she disappeared. So much was happening that the demon could barely process its been almost three hundred years since she he last heard her voice and when he does it's to tell him about the unknown. Crowley didn't know what she meant about his feelings. Although it was peculiar no one wished to be in deaths precise longing for her touch and cold lips to steal their life away.

Four years past til he finally spoke with her again . The birth of Lucifer's vessel and the the darkening of his soul with the blood of a demon. Crowley watched as she stood outside of the burning house the eyes of the oldest Winchester staring through her with lose and hatred. She walked to the remaining Winchester’s her movement smooth as if she wasn't taking steps,but floating. She brushed the small tuffs of hair from the infants forhead and wiped the tears from the child's face. Y/n almost wanted to weep for them she can see every death they'd experience weather it be their own or those they love dying before them. She smiled as them she saw their souls or more what they're souls will become they were just like her brothers,but with a sigh she stepped back the Winchester brothers will grow to hate her like everyone...everyone except one whiskey drinking demon.

"Well hello love." They sat togther in a bar one seat between them as he drunk from a glass while she played with the rim of her's. "Why hello there. What do I owe the pleasure?" She hummed still playing with her mug if ale. "Just thought we could get some alone time since this is one of the few times I see you without a deal involved. I am off the clock after all." He chuckled,but a victorious smile overtook his face as she gave off a soft laugh as well. "Well,darling I a very busy angel. Souls to reap and reapers under my thumb. Never time to rest." She gave a false pout.Crowley was about to say something when a extremely drunk man ran into the counter space between them spouting drunk nonsense. "Just oonnnnee more driiink, daaave. I g*hick* got the cash!~" His words dragged as the king of hell looked at him disgusted about to kill him when the h/c angel lifted her hand motioning for him to stop. She slid the drink she was playing with infront of him just as the bartender sat the same think down it fazing togther as one. "This is you last drink. Then I'm kicking you out." The bartender,Dave, grumbled before walking away the drunk took the mug drank in big gulps. Crowley looked into her lifeless e/c eyes with confusion as the man finished the drink. He stumbled away from the bar top before falling forward his body lurching as he puked in a puddle under him his face submerged in it as he chocked himself with his own vomit. "Death or should I say myself? I always make my course. You killing him would have deprived him of his punishment his...gluttony." She huffed as she reached over towards Crowley swipping his drink finishing it off even though the brown liquid turned to ash on her tounge.

Crowley gazed never faltered from her face. "I think after four years I know what I'm feeling for you. It's love isn't it? No matter how much time has pasted us I long to be with you to feel your touch upon me." He reached out to grab her hand,but a force stopped him. "I'd kill you,Fergus. I'm going to apologize for it now. I'm sorry that you fell for me,but I'm not sorry I fell for you. Though we can't be together. I'm death and until you take your final leave from this earth we can't be together." Y/n's eyes were filled with sorrow as she knew it would be long before they can be together since he's a demon in hell a place she can't enter their only interaction is limited to earth. "We love eachother we've just come to terms with that why can't you just take me sooner then expected,love? Isn't there a why I can be more reckless" She shook her head with a sigh. "It not like the movies nothing with change when you will die and your time in long ways from here. It's truly disheartening when two people love each other and can't make that work...that's a real tragedy." Standing from her stool walking over the man's body that was being treated by emt she stopped in the doorway to look at him this was probably breaking some rule her father had in place. "I suggest you stick close to those Winchester’s they often attract trouble...I won't be far when they're involved." With that she was gone. She didn't tell him that with time being involved with them will kill him,but it was setting him on their course.

Y/n looked at Kelly she was a nice woman and the angel could feel the life in her stomach she brushed her hand on the surface of the tight bulging skin. Feeling the energy her nephew held he kicked as he felt hers in return. The years have been eventful to say the least the archangel was far more busy now that she no longer had her three of her four horsemen now dawning all of the rings since she just didn't trust Billy with the death one yet. She's been watch from the sidelines seeing her brothers torment the Winchester’s as she sat in the distance unable to face them until it was their time. Y/n didn't shed a tear when Lucifer stabbed Gabriel because nothing could hide from death not even her trickster older brother. The Winchester’s have seen her often having died more then once. Then finally the only thing on her mind she thinks about on a daily Crowley today was the day and she was waiting for him. Removing her hand from the pregnant woman's stomach she frowned at what she was about to do,but birthing a nephilim was sure to kill her. The little one in her absorbing in these last few weeks the remainder of her soul leaving her weak. Y/n reached forward and dug her hand into her the woman howled in pain as a painful contraction worse then the others riooled though her body. Starting the process of killing the mother while the child was inside was always difficult especially if the unborn were to live.

The Winchester’s are outside fighting with Lucifer and the h/c archangel appears their seeing the fight Crowly doing a ritual to close the rift. He faces the blonde angel admiring that he would lose,but he will enjoy wiping that smug smile. Y/n appears next to him her hand encasing his over the handle of the blade knowing this would be the think to kill him as they both drive the angel blade into him a smile over coming his face as he looked into those eyes he loved. He died in a sacrifice way to lock up Lucifer not how he saw himself going out as his chest deflated and his body went lack a kiss was press to his lips in a chast kiss.

The woods were dark and almost lifeless,but with the howls and sounds of horror said otherwise. This was the place that held within it monsters. "Hello,darling.Welcome to purgatory. " He turned around and there she was. Her s/c seeming to glow in a soft light that didn't really come from any direction. With slow strids she walked closer to him and without hesitating she pulled him in for a deep passionate kiss filled with want. Crowley was sure that if it could it would kill him again with how it felt,but high off of the feeling her pushed back with equal enthusiasm. Their lives were filled with nothing,but blood,death,and danger. Even with all of the sins of hell and the grief of death...The found Love Among Tragedies.

=============================================================================================

A/n: I do love a guy with a accent that's why my lover boy Balthazar is next because I fucking miss him.

@spnquotebingo Quote(in bold slanted blue): "When two people love each other and can't make it work...that's a real tragedy." -Gone Girl

#spnquotebingo #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural #angels #angst #crowley x reader #demon x angel #demon x death #angel of death #death!reader #fergus macleod #hellhounds #death do us part #but we're already past that phase

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marril96 · 4 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Epilogue: What the Future Holds

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: Five years later...

A/N: Here we are, folks. This is the end. I would like to thank everyone who helped me get this story to where it is. From my wonderful editors to my faithful readers — I appreciate every single one of you amazing people. Thank you so much! For reading, commenting, helping me out, talking to me, believing in me, encouraging me to continue even when it was hard. I hope the ending is satisfying enough, and that we will hang out soon when I work on my other projects. Best of regards, Mariana. ♥

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

There was nothing better than a wedding to get the old gang back together.

It had been a while since you'd seen everyone all at once.

Five long years — ever since you'd graduated high school.

There were times when it felt as if it had happened yesterday. As if you'd just said goodbye to your friends before everyone went their own way, their own direction, colleges and jobs calling.

Time sure liked to fly.

You made sure to stay in contact with everyone. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram; all tools you readily used. They were your friends. Some distance couldn't change that.

The seven of you had your own Facebook chat group that was filled to the brim with messages. Memes were shared. Laughs exchanged — in emoji form, but laughs nonetheless. News, good and bad, were told. Advices asked for and given.

It almost felt like old times.

Almost.

But not quite.

The truth was, despite how hard you tried to maintain your friendship, things changed.

Life happened.

Sam had gone to Stanford on full scholarship, dreaming big of contributing to the world, helping save it. With the way things were going, you were confident he would do it. If anyone could help make the world a better place, it was him.

In his free time, he liked to give speeches on healthy lifestyles, which, for some bizarre reason, consisted of consuming a lot of kale.

A kale smoothie had become a signature of his, the cup seemingly glued to his hand.

He'd become a hit on the internet for it. A meme everyone in your friend group shared and poked fun at. Light-heartedly, of course.

Dean was convinced Sam was doing it to embarrass him.

Sam, in turn, had told him a healthier diet would do him good.

Dean wasn't interested, and, a few hours later, had posted a picture of himself stuffing a big, greasy hamburger into his mouth with the caption #DownWithKale.

Sam was not amused.

Crowley had changed his name as soon as he'd turned eighteen. Crowley had officially become his name, Fergus long forgotten, thrown in the trash where he felt it belonged.

His family still called him Fergus.

Well, Rowena and his mother did. Gavin, the good boy that he was, had always referred to him as Crowley, which was why he was Crowley's favorite family member (his only family member, if he had any say in it).

He'd gone into studying business, rich businessman future planned out to the smallest details. He'd intended to work his way to the top; it would take a while, but he was confident hard work, combined with his cunning, ambitious nature, would earn him the throne.

Maybe, he'd mused, he could eventually open his own company. Be his own boss. Set his own terms.

May he have the best of luck.

Castiel had gone into teaching. A surprising choice of career, especially considering his awkward nature, but it was what he wanted to do. Helping kids. Guiding them by his own example.

He certainly had the drive for it.

Who knows? Maybe kids would like him. Maybe they would like his awkwardness.

Meg, not really the scholarly type, had gone to community college and had found herself working in a supermarket.

She hated her job, and she hated the customers even more. The chat was frequently filled with her rants about one thing or another that had occurred at work that particular day.

Funny stuff, usually.

Especially when she snapped at customers and got reprimanded for it, but kept doing it anyway because her boss knew all too well he couldn't afford to lose her as an employee.

Instead of a college, Dean had gone into trades. He'd opened his own little mechanic shop back in Lawrence. It was hard work, far from ideal, paid just enough to cover the costs of living, but he enjoyed it. He was happy.

That was all that mattered.

Rowena had worked hard on her intensive at Joffrey. It was a difficult three months; she was always practicing, always dancing, on her feet from dawn to dusk. You'd barely gotten to talk, aside from the weekends, which you'd spent in front of your phones or laptops, Skype open, smiles wide as you talked about each week's events.

You'd missed her so much.

Too much.

But, as with all things, the intensive had eventually ended and you'd gotten to have her home for a week — a whole week! — before college officially started.

The two of you couldn't keep your hands off each other that entire time.

It wasn't enough — seven measly days was far from enough — but it was something.

After three months of drought, it was the welcome, desperately awaited rain.

Parting for college was even more difficult. You'd each gone your own way, different as you were, each pursuing your own dream.

It was a struggle, but, like the intensive, you'd made it work.

You'd kept in contact. Skyped at every available moment. Traveled to one another's schools when the opportunity arose. Made sure to spend the holidays (the most important ones) together.

And, just like that, years had gone by, and soon enough school was behind you and you were together once again.

The decision to move in together was a mutual one. It was more of an understanding, really. With school behind you, jobs calling, and the relationship stronger than ever even all these years later, it just made sense to take it a step further.

Why wouldn't you live together?

You did everything else together, so you might as well, to quote Crowley every time he walked in on you making out, get a room.

So you did.

You rented an apartment in Manhattan. A small one that, despite its size, was warm and pleasant and felt just like home.

Your and Rowena's home.

Sometimes it felt like a dream.

As if, every moment now, you would wake up and realize the last five years of your life were nothing but a fantasy, a product of your sleeping mind.

Then you would kiss Rowena's cheek, take a sip of tea from her mug just to tease her (her glares and pouts were adorable), and smile, and the reality — your reality, one you'd worked hard to accomplish, your so wished for future — would settle in and all the silly thoughts would go away as if they'd never existed.

You'd made it.

The future you'd dreamed of, that you and Rowena had planned for so thoroughly, had come to be.

It wasn't perfect, but it was yours.

Rowena had found work at Broadway. She was a dancer, and an excellent one; with Joffrey on her resume, the job was hers the moment she'd stepped into the audition room.

You were having difficulty with finding employment yourself, but, luckily, her pay was enough to cover the living costs of the two of you.

You felt bad; the last thing you wanted was to look as if you were taking advantage. But she'd made it clear she didn't mind. You were together. A family, for no other word could describe what you had, what you'd built and grew together. What was hers was yours, and vice versa.

Being a housewife wasn't your ideal profession, if one could call it that, but it wasn't bad.

It was, dare you say it, fun.

You found yourself enjoying awaiting Rowena's return after a long, exhausting day on her feet — literally — with a loving hug, a peck on the lips, and a warm meal on the table — a delivery from a restaurant or a warmed up can, for cooking was a skill you were still far from perfecting.

You were happy.

And so was she.

The two of you made it work.

Lately, Rowena had been considering joining the Royal Ballet. It was a big step, one that required careful thinking and plenty of discussions.

Moving to another city was one thing.

Moving to another country, half across the world, on the other hand…

She'd made it clear she wasn't going to make the decision without you. This concerned you, too; if you wanted to stay in New York, you would stay.

Both of you.

She just wanted you to think about it, weigh in cons and pros.

And you did.

You'd been thinking about it for weeks.

Bless her heart, Rowena was patient. She didn't push you, or rush you, or try to guilt you. She left you to your own pace.

You were immensely grateful for it.

By the time the wedding came, you were pretty sure you'd made up your mind.

In a day or two — hell, maybe even today, after the ceremony — you would tell her.

It was a small wedding, closest family and friends only. Sam was never one for parties. He and Eileen had rented a small cottage with a beautiful yard they'd decorated themselves. Quite cheap, as far as American weddings went, but lovely.

This was a wedding for love, not luxury.

When Sam had announced he was engaged in the group chat a year ago, you weren't surprised. You'd always had a feeling he would go for it first. While Dean was a one night stand kind of guy, Sam was more the settle down type. The kind of guy who kicked ass at work during the day and then cuddled with his wife and kids at night. The picture of a family man.

And, god, would he be a good one!

He was sweet and caring, a wonderful friend, and, no doubt, an even more wonderful boyfriend. Husband material, if you ever knew one.

Eileen was equally sweet, equally amazing. A lovely girl who treated everyone like a friend and loved Sam with all her heart.

They were perfect for each other.

Seeing your gang together after five years, in person, in full color, was an experience that was almost supernatural. There was screaming and squealing and hugging and teasing. You'd forgotten how noisy you were all together.

Your mind flashed back to high school, to afternoons at Biggerson's, sipping at your smoothies and coffees and stealing fries off each other's plates.

Those were the days.

There wasn't much difference to either of you. You were older, but other than that, you still looked the same. You teased each other as you'd used to, joked as if you were still that bunch of high schoolers who had the whole world under their feet.

There were changes, obviously. Inevitably. Some subtle, others not so much.

Sam's hair was an inch or so shorter, or so it looked in the pictures (he was still getting ready, having not yet shown himself to the guests).

You followed his example, having never been one for big change. Shorter hair was shorter hair, even if only a bit.

Dean bore — proudly — a few scars. Work injuries, though you were willing to bet he'd earned a couple in the bar fights he liked to brag about.

"You should see the other guy," he always said.

You never had any particular desire to.

Crowley had a small beard, and wore it well; it made him look older, more mature.

Emphasis on look, for he and Rowena still bickered like brats.

Gavin, the actual child of the family, was more mature than the two of them.

Rowena wore less sparkly clothes (she now saved those for special occasions). Instead, she preferred to wear dress pants and blouses that you found strangely arousing.

Sometimes you got her to role-play in them. She made one delicious businesswoman.

Castiel dressed the same, trench coat over everything (even wore the damn thing to the wedding), looked the same, acted the same, however, his change was big.

It tied right into Meg's for she was seven months pregnant, and her stomach was appropriately swollen to showcase it.

She'd gained a bit of weight and dyed her hair blonde, but her character remained the same.

She was still that same foul-mouthed, opinionated firecracker of a girl.

And you loved her for it.

"You look great!" you told her first thing you saw her. Then you threw an arm around her, your other one wrapping around Castiel, and said, "I couldn't wait to congratulate you guys in person! I'm so happy for you!"

You were.

Happy from the bottom of your heart.

Ecstatic.

Proud.

The two of them had done well for themselves. Like your and Rowena's, their life wasn't perfect, but they made it work. They lived it to the fullest.

They were happy.

In love.

Excited for the baby, a joyous little accident.

You weren't the parenting type, (neither was Rowena), however, while raising a family wasn't your particular dream, you couldn't have been more excited for them.

This was what they wanted.

What kind of a friend would you be if you judged?

Families came in all shapes and sizes.

As did dreams. Ambitions. Aspirations.

Supporting them, wishing them well in any and every form — that was the true meaning of friendship.

Meg and Castiel would make amazing parents.

Weird and eccentric, but still amazing.

That baby would be one happy, very loved kid. Surrounded by a large family of aunts and uncles, all loving, caring, eager to spoil them.

Blood-related and not.

As far as Meg and Castiel were concerned, your group was family.

It was definitely better than some actual family members.

Like Castiel's father, good old Principal Shurley, who'd, a couple years ago, gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble for embezzlement.

The news didn't quite shock you as it should have. There was always something about him.

Lucifer never stopped getting in trouble. Only, once he was out of school, his daddy couldn't sweet talk his way out of it (not that he hadn't tried; Castiel talked quite a bit about Chuck's restless attempts, and failures, to save him) and thus the darling little angel had gotten himself quite a record.

Assault.

Harassment.

Battery.

You name it, he'd done it.

It turned out that the police didn't give a damn about what daddy Shurley had to say about his son's character.

They surely gave even less of a damn now that he was serving his sentence for embezzlement.

Lucifer was currently with him, doing a two year stint for… something.

It was hard to keep track when it came to him.

The current Lawrence Hugh's principal was Amara Shurley, Chuck's sister, because of course she was.

Nepotism for the win!

Though, from everything you'd heard, she was, so far, doing a great job. Far better than her brother ever did.

Castiel had cut all ties with his father and brother. He'd considered doing so earlier, but now that he was expecting a child, the decision came with ease.

He didn't want his child around criminals. Didn't want them to set the wrong example.

That alone told you he was going to be a great father.

The ceremony, modest as it was, was beautiful. Eileen, in her snow-white dress, looked like a princess. No — a queen, the veil a doubling as a crown. Sam was equally handsome, clad in a black suit that made him look somewhat older, more mature, a fairy tale prince come to life.

They said their vows with so much love on their faces you were one hundred percent certain they would make do on them to the letter.

Til death did them part.

There were smiles. Tears. So much joy it was overwhelming.

Meg was the lucky one who caught the bouquet, only to promptly, in a deadpan tone, say, "No," and shove it in Crowley's hands.

Crowley shoved it in Dean's, who shoved it back to him and started what was basically a struggle over the damn thing.

Not marriage material, your group.

Sam was the black sheep.

Laughter was exchanged.

Food — delicious! — eaten.

Drinks downed and refilled.

Dances had.

Aside from the newlyweds, Rowena had proven herself to be quite an attraction with her precise, professional moves. Everyone wanted to be her partner.

Not a dancer yourself, you had no problem with it.

However, after what had to be the tenth request, you considered charging people to dance with your girlfriend.

It was only fair.

The celebration extended long into the night. There was enough alcohol to keep everyone going.

The place, located in the middle of nowhere, was perfect for a party. No neighbors to complain about the noise. No busybodies sticking their nose in. Just a group of people having the fun of their lives, drunk out of their minds.

By the time you and Rowena arrived to your hotel, you were exhausted. There was more alcohol than blood in your veins. Your feet were killing you. Your throat ached from singing and shouting.

You hadn't even removed your clothes — shaking off your shoes, you plopped on the bed, curled up against each other, and drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, Rowena was looking at you with a smile on her face. Your head pounding as if someone were whacking it with a hammer, eyes stinging, it took a bit of willpower to pull on one of your own.

"Were you watching me sleep?" Your voice was raspy, broken. You cleared your throat. Sucked in a breath.

God.

Singing had been a mistake.

Her smile melted into a smirk. She shrugged, nonchalant. Denying not a single thing. "I was just thinking."

"Should I be worried?" you teased.

"I'd hope not."

Her face grew serious.

Uh oh.

Now you definitely were worried.

Morning — a hungover one at that — was the worst possible time for serious conversations.

It wasn't a surprise, though.

Rowena prided herself in her unpredictability.

"What is it?" you asked, light draining from your face. Preparing for news that, at best, would be unpleasant, and, at worst, absolutely horrible.

"Sam and Eileen seem happy."

They did.

They were happy.

You nodded.

Rowena sighed, "Do you think we're happy?"

What was she trying to say? Heart racing, lump forming in your throat, you uttered a tad too defensively, "Do you think we're not?"

"Of course not!"

She seemed genuine, so there was that.

You allowed yourself a moment of relief. "Me, neither. I'm happy."

"As am I."

Good.

That was good.

You were on the same level.

She was silent for a few moments. Thought her words through. "I was just wondering if we should… take it a step further."

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

You had an inkling, but you wanted to hear it from her.

You wanted her to confirm it.

Rowena swallowed. "Get married."

It was as if all air had vanished from your lungs. Your throat was dry. Heart, once again, running a marathon. Hands shaking as if you were cold.

You weren't — you couldn't be — for as soon as the words left her mouth, a wave of heat flooded you, filled you up from head to toe.

Marriage wasn't on your list of priorities.

Wasn't on any of your lists, as a matter of fact.

You and Rowena loved each other — you didn't need a piece of paper to prove it.

But…

It would be a lie if you said you hadn't considered it once or twice.

What would it be like to call yourself her wife? To wear her ring; a promise in the form of shimmery gold?

"Or maybe just get engaged," she said after a few moments of uncomfortable, deafening silence. "Wear the rings."

You looked at her, eyes wide. Mouth trembling.

She gulped. Uncertain. Frightened. Nervous to the bone. "We don't have to. I was just… thinking out loud." She pulled on another smile — a fake on this time, hurt flickering over her face no matter how hard she tried to mask it. "Forget I said anything."

"No." You reached for her hand, twined your fingers with hers in a tight knot. "We could try."

She was stunned. "Really?"

"I don't see why not."

What was the worst that could happen?

You were already together. Already happy and crazy in love.

"We could try the engagement thing, see if it works," you said.

You had nothing to lose.

At this point, you could only gain.

Rowena beamed. A chuckle escaped her; lovely, happy. Adorable. "Okay!"

It was a perfect arrangement.

"I will get you a ring," she added. "Make it official."

"How about we both get rings?" you said. This was kind of a mutual proposal, after all. And also… "There's nice jewelry shops in the UK, right?"

It was her turn to be confused. "What?"

Your decision.

The one you'd been planning to relay to her.

The timing couldn't have been more perfect.

"We don't have to get engaged in USA, right?" you said. "Think about it. You, a Royal Ballerina. Me, a not-so-royal couch potato. That's a romance movie right there!"

Rowena gasped. Swallowed. Breathed in and out in attempts to contain her excitement. "You want to move to Britain?"

"That's what I'm saying, aren't I?" You grinned. Squeezed her hand. "I've been meaning to tell you. I figured now's the perfect time."

"Y/N, I…" She brought your linked hands to her mouth, kissed your knuckles. "Thank you! I just… Thank you, darling!"

You locked your lips with hers. Deepened the kiss, melted into it. Thought of millions of more you would share.

The future was yours.

All you had to do was seize it. Take it. Dig your claws in and never let go.

"Don't you forget me when you become a world-famous ballerina," you teased.

"Och, darling," she purred, "don't you know by now you're quite unforgettable?"

You chuckled. "Just making sure."

She pecked you on the mouth. "I love you."

"Me, too."

You'd loved her for five years.

You'd loved her when she was bad, and even more when she became good.

You'd loved her when she was away, and you'd loved her when she was here.

You'd loved her in your apartment.

You'd loved her in the United States.

And you would love her in the United Kingdom.

You loved her now, and you would love her in the future.

Forever.

And ever.

Til death did you part.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @shadowgirl-vsb @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @a-queen-and-her-throne @carryon-doctor-lock

#rowena #rowena macleod #spn #supernatural #spn family #crowley #fergus macleod #sam winchester #eileen leahy #dean winchester #meg masters #castiel #fanfiction #my fics #high school au #rowena x reader

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holylulusworld · 3 years

Text

The girl on the bridge (4) - The funeral

Title: The girl on the bridge (4) - The funeral

Summary: You lost your child and life becomes too heavy to keep ongoing. That’s when you meet your guardian angel.

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, Arthur Ketch, Rowena MacLeod, Fergus MacLeod

Word Count: 1,8 k

Rating: Mature

Warnings: angst, language, suicidal thoughts, mentions attempted suicide, mentions of child’s death, a funeral, mentions almost drowning, loss of a loved one, implied relationship break-up, fluff

Square Filled for @spndeanbingo: Fire Fighter!AU

Square Filled for @spnaubingo: Ketch

2021 SPN AU BINGO masterlist

2021 SPN Dean Bingo masterlist

A/N: Please head the trigger warnings for this story! Take care of yourself. I mention suicide and other triggers.

The girl on the bridge masterlist

Previously on the girl on the bridge…

I found fate on that old bridge and will be damned to let it slip through my fingers…

Now, Dean’s PoV

“Slow down, sweetheart,” I wrap my arm around Y/N’s waistline when she tries to walk toward the bathroom. “The doctor said you need to take it slow. You almost drowned not two days ago.”

“I-I never thanked you,” she sniffles. Y/N doesn’t look at me when she breaks down once again. She hides her face in my chest, crying bitterly. “Abby would be so disappointed in me. How could I do such a stupid thing? Who will remember her when I’m not around any longer?”

“How about we go for a little walk and get some fresh air?” she nods against me but claws at my shirt. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I had breakfast already,” Y/N whispers, sniffling silently. “It was awful.”

“I know,” I laugh, and Y/N looks up at me to crack a smile. She just looks at me with teary eyes, almost as if she wants to find out what to do next. “How do you feel today? Do you need me to call the doctor or a nurse?”

“I’m fine, I think,” she still holds my gaze. Her hand slowly moves toward my face to stroke my cheek. “You saved me, Dean. You’re a hero. Never forget you risked your life to save a stranger.”

“You tried to save Abby too, Y/N,” I lean in her gentle touch, even close my eyes for a moment to forget my father and Ben are still dead and that the girl touching me is as broken as I am. “You almost got yourself killed to save her.”

“It was no use,” she presses a soft kiss to my chin, sighing when I don’t pull away. “Ketch, he tried to stay with me, but I felt the rift between us grow wider every day. No matter how hard we tried, we just couldn’t save what we had. Abby’s death changed everything, and we lost our love.”

I wish I could take the pain away, could save Y/N from the nightmares and the guilt eating her up. “Sometimes grief brings people together and sometimes; they fall out of love.”

“Arthur is not a bad man, but he made it even harder for me to move on. God, how can you move on after you lost your child?” Y/N whispers. “Arthur, he didn’t show his emotions. Not even during Abigail’s funeral did he hold my hand. I broke down and he just walked away and let my friends take care of me after we arrived back at home.”

“Sounds like an asshole to me,” I grit out. “I know he lost his beloved daughter, but you were the woman he was supposed to love. If you love a woman, you don’t leave her alone. Especially not on your daughter’s funeral.”

“It was my fault,” her voice cracks when I cup her face to force her to look up at me. “Dean, I should’ve listened to Abby. If only I listened to her. She wanted to get the cat and ran onto the street.”

“Sweetheart, Arthur was her father. He could’ve taken care of his daughter too. What kind of father invites his boss to his daughter’s birthday party? Stop blaming yourself, Y/N,” I try to make her see it wasn’t her fault.

“Says the man blaming himself for Ben’s death,” she fires back, grinning when I give her a dirty look. “Your father decided to enter the school. He was an experienced firefighter, still, he was careless.”

“Y/N—” I try to argue with the girl in front of me, but she shakes her head and I know, she will give me hell if I don’t agree with her. “He was an experienced firefighter, but he was worried about his son and—”

“He did the same thing you did, Dean. Yes, it was stupid of you to run into a burning building without your equipment, but you wanted to save Ben. You didn’t know he was already dead. Your father did the same to save you, Dean,” she stands on tiptoes to press her soft lips to the corner of my mouth.

“Sweetheart,” I sigh, enjoying her taste on my lips. “It’s still my fault he died. John Winchester could still be alive if only I didn’t lose my mind that day.”

“How about you appreciate he gave his life to save yours? Your father was a good man, just like you,” fuck, she won’t give in. That girl can make me feel like a scolded boy and a hero at the same time. “I wasn’t there that day, but to me, you are a hero. No matter if you saved the boy or not. At least you tried, and that is more most of the people would’ve done.”

“Same goes for you, Y/N,” I press my lips to her forehead, hoping I don’t cross a line when I wrap my arms around her trembling from. “We both need to find a way to move one. But before we can do so, we should talk about what happened…”

“I-I want to begin,” she sniffs, hiding her face in my chest again.

Almost one year ago, Abigail’s funeral, Reader’s PoV…

“Arthur?” I can barely walk with my crutches, but I’m determined to attend Abigail’s funeral. “Where are you?”

“Sorry, he already went downstairs, Darling,” Arthur’s uncle gives me an apologetic smile. “Let me help you, Y/N.”

“Why did he go downstairs without telling me so? I wanted him to help me carry Abby’s favorite plushie. I want them to put it in her—” I choke on the words, remembering my little girl doesn’t sleep in her bed. Now she’s sleeping in a coffin, and I will never see her smile again.

“You see,” Fergus clears his throat, glancing at the plushie I stuffed under my arm. “Arthur doesn’t want you to put the plushie in her coffin,” he drops his eyes, shaking his head slightly. “He’s grieving, Darling. Arthur just can’t show his emotions.”

“He doesn’t want me to put it in her coffin. But she loved it! She loved it and can’t sleep without it!” I cry, sounding like a madwoman. I know, deep down in my heart Abigail doesn’t need the plushie but I want her to have it. It’s the last thing I can do for her.”

“How about you keep it and put it next to her picture?” Fergus helps me put the plushie away before he wraps one arm around my waistline to guide me down the stairs. “Everything is going to be alright, Y/N.”

“No, it won’t,” I whimper. “But thank you for trying to make me feel better, Fergus. I appreciate you try to be there for me.”

“Arthur should be there for you, Y/N. He just can’t right now—”

Rain runs down my face, washes the tears off my cheeks.

I stand next to Fergus and Rowena. Is it odd I feel rejected by the man I love? He refused to stand next to me during the funeral, and I felt like he stabbed my heart.

Rowena holds my hand while Fergus runs one hand up and down my back. I’m close to breaking down when the preacher ends his speech. I whimper my daughter’s name, hand reaching out for Arthur, but he shakes his head, whispering Abby’s name.

“I can’t, Y/N,” Arthur chokes out, looking at me. There is so much sadness in his eyes when he takes the rose out of my hands. “Let me do this. You should go back to the car. Your leg and ribs, you need to recover first.”

“I can’t leave, not without saying goodbye, Arthur,” he huffs but holds out his arm when Rowena whispers something in his ear. “Please.”

“Let’s say goodbye together then…”

Everything after this moment was a blur.

I don’t remember what I said or if I placed a rose onto Abby’s coffin. All I know is that I’m in the backseat of Fergus's car. I feel Arthur’s hand rub circles into my back while I cry into his chest.

“You need to calm, Y/N,” he tries to soothe me, but I can’t hear him. “Y/N, breathe with me, Darling. I know you can do it…”

Now, Dean’s PoV,…

“That sounds awful, sweetheart,” Y/N still leans her head against my chest. She told me about her daughter’s funeral, and I don’t know what to say. “He should’ve been there for you.”

“He lost his daughter. I understood he couldn’t care about me. I was only Abigail’s stepmom but loved her like she was my own,” she whispers sadly. “The only thing I will never forgive is that he said I wasn’t Abby’s mom before he left me.”

“Sonofabitch,” I curse, and Y/N chuckles. She looks up at me, laughing when I exclaim her ex-fiancé was a fucking asshole for telling Y/N so. “He didn’t deserve you.”

“Arthur lost his daughter. That’s the worst thing ever happening to a person. I don’t blame him for leaving me. I just can’t forget the things he said before he closed the door.”

I don’t ask about Arthur again. For today I let Y/N hold tight onto me and just listen to everything she wants to talk about.

“He shouldn’t have blamed you, Y/N.”

“How’s the girl?” my brother sits next to me on my car’s hood. Y/N fell asleep an hour ago and I allowed myself to leave the hospital room to get fresh air and a coffee.

“Better, I think,” what else can I tell my brother? Y/N told me about her daughter’s funeral, and I can’t break her trust in me. “The doctor said she can go home by tomorrow.”

“I was looking for you,” Sam licks his lips, and I know he will ask me a question I don’t want to answer. “I was worried, Dean. Bobby said you want to quit.”

“I needed a few weeks off,” I lie, glancing at the coffee in my hands. “I don’t know what to do yet.”

“Dean, don’t lie to me,” damn my smart little brother; he can see right through my lie. “I know you blame yourself for dad’s death but—” he chokes on his words, jumping off my car. “How could you even consider leaving me too? You are the only family I got left!” he yells. “How could you?”

“Sammy,” I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “I’m sorry,” there is no use in lying to Sam. He already knows I wanted to kill myself the night I met Y/N. “I didn’t see the light at the end of a long and dark tunnel but now…”

“You found the girl and think everything is going to be alright?” he huffs. “Dean, you need help. Both of you.”

“We help each other,” I protest. I went to a supportive group, even tried therapy but the only thing giving me new hope is the girl on the bridge.

Y/N, my ray of hope…

>> Part 5

Tags in reblog.

#The girl on the bridge (4) - The funeral #dean winchester #spndeanbingo #spnaubingo #firefighter!dean #firefighter!au #firefighter!Dean Winchester #firefighter!dean winchester x reader #angst #tw: mentions of attempted suicide

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