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1000roughdrafts · 4 years

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Family Secrets: Chapter Fourteen

Town That Never Stops Smiling

Summary: Being transported to Teraw leaves you tired and confused, but the path to the truth is a long and needy road.

Warnings: slight angst, slightly OOC Dean

W/C: 3.2k

Masterlist/schedule

The four of you walk in silence through the field and onto a dirt road. Walking towards the bridge, you peer over at the glistening water underneath it. Dean squints at her, shaking his head, "all right. So where we headin'? Motel? Get some grub?"

Allanah giggles, "no. Here, there are no hotels, as they have no need for them. No one is allowed to travel between the regions without a request from the Head of the Region. From there, the Head provides them with a place to stay, whether that be in his or her own quarters, or at a volunteers. On the topic, we need to be careful about how we interact with the people and places here. It's big enough that we won't be noticed right away, but if we stay in one place too long there are going to be issues," Allanah says while you make your way to the start of the bridge.

"Uh, so what happens if we do get caught?" Sam asks in a whisper, looking around at the decaying bridge and trees that surround it.

As sweet as can be, Allanah smiles, "think American TSA meets intense CIA interrogations," she smirks. "In other words, let's just not get caught." Dean frowns which puts her attention onto him, "you're going to struggle with this the most, Dean, I can already feel it. But Y/N, you've felt it deep down, haven't you? A mother's love is not to be taken lightly, even beyond death."

You keep quiet, peaking over at Dean. He holds contempt in his face, trapped behind that stoic expression but easy to see the swirl of emotion in his eyes. He wants to scream out and ask questions, but what could he say? He has children, or at least a past version of him did and he knows nothing of it, but Y/N does?

Luna - June 26, 2068

Teraw - Region 3

Complete darkness goes so well with shattering silence. I have known nothing other than the darkness and cherish the quiet. The only thing I hate about the silence is that it traps me in a world of uncertainty. With nothing to grip onto, I succumb to the thoughts raging in my mind like an ocean under a full moon; but it is a beautiful thing.

Just as I am trapped in my mind I am trapped in my body. No movement in my arms, torso, hands, legs, feet or face. I can not open my eyes, nor can I move my lips. Absolutely nothing works anymore. Well, almost nothing. Miraculously my ears can hear anything from a train passing by to a mouse three stories down.

I am surrounded by so much noise in the day that I look forward to the treacherous words my mind whispers to me as I lay to sleep. I rely on my ears so much these days, as it's the only sense I've got left. There's this single sound I hear more than anything. It has a set pace, just as a metronome would tick along to keep the beat of a song. Beep. Beep. Beep. I don't live like many others, they say I'm lucky to be alive at all.

I hear my family as they trickle in, their footsteps are quick and loud. It breaks my concentration on the ticking. The stepping stops, I hear sniffling, deep breaths and then suddenly, "Luna, it's your mama. Can you hear me?" Yes, I hear you. I want to say it.

"I should start at the beginning," Allanah sighs, slowing her walk to a gentle stroll. "The two of you, Shirley and Bill you used to be called," she laughs lightly. "You enlisted me as a," she motions her hand around, scrunching her face, "guardian of sorts for your five children, quintuplets," she laughs again. "Wren, Ana, Tullie, Aidan and Luna."

You and Dean lock eyes, "Luna?" he says, pointing at you, "the girl that's-"

"Indeed," Allanah lets out a long breath, watching the ground somberly. "It's very sad what has happened to her," she says. "There's evil in this realm that neither of you could predict. It's what sent me back to Earth, locked me out. It wasn't until after I'd ended things with Crowley and found Y/N that I remembered who I truly was and what you created me to be. I needed to do something, anything, to bring the two of you back to this realm to fix what had been broken."

Coming to a stop at the start of the bridge, Allanah looks into her hands, "your children, they," looking back up between you and Dean. "They are very powerful, yet they don't know it. Not anymore, at least."

"What do you mean?" Sam tilts his head.

"Each of them possess qualities and powers of an element specific to Earth. When Bill and Shirley created this realm, you split the children up into regions. This was done to protect them, or so you said. Teraw was specific to Luna, but with you two gone and evil sneaking in, the regions had grown a mind of their own," she lowers her voice, "it's gotten out of control. Ana was born in Inequescent, but with the latest reincarnation, the family Ana was brought into grew tired and she was adopted by a family here in Teraw. What I know to be happening soon is that because of Luna's sickness, Tullie will be requested to come help her. Horrible things are in store for the regions, unless we can stop it.”

"Like what?" Dean asks.

"This evil... it wishes to gain control of the other regions. After that, other dimensions... like Earth."

Tullie - June 6, 2068 Hemort - Region 4

A day off is a luxury when one has specialized skills in the medical profession, at least for those in Hemort. I usually try to wind down and relax on those two short days, or tune into my favorite channel to watch some gushy movies about how everything always works out in the end, and everyone is just so nice. They make me sick, and yet I can't bring myself to watch anything else. In my day to day life, I don't always get to see the happy endings. Moreso, with my line of work, I see death more than any sane person should. And that begs the question; am I really as sane as I believe myself to be?

I admire the house on the screen and the characters who live in it, wondering what it would be like to have a big house with a yard and a cute dog who gets to enjoy it. There's not much of that here, only the Elite live on large plots of land. Instead, I rent this quaint apartment with the ceiling to wall windows I'd dreamt of having since I was young. When the new owner bought the complex, she planted the most beautiful garden and elegant, tall trees on either side of the building, which is better than the concrete nothingness that resided there before.

Pausing the movie, I unravel myself from underneath the blankets to make some tea, although I'd never be able to make it as calming and tasty as my mother had. The storm doesn't help to calm me either, with the trees rattling against the windows and begging to come inside. While waiting for the kettle to boil, I close the blinds and play the movie. I could stand to miss a little of it if it means I don't have to listen to that screaming sound the wind makes.

While adding honey to the mug in preparation, my phone rings. I'm not expecting a call, so I don't scatter to answer it. I pull the kettle and turn down the dial on the stove before going back to the couch to rummage through knitted blankets for my cell.

"Hello," I say, putting the phone between my ear and shoulder as I make my way back to my tea.

"Hi, Tullie," the voice says, calmly and sweetly. I spill boiling water onto my hands at the surprise, and curse myself for not checking the caller ID. How dare he call me at this hour.

"What do you want, Dan?"

After a heartbreaking pause, he speaks out, "this is not a personal call, okay? I don't care how you're doing. I don't want to know what you're doing. I don't even care if you're hiding from the storm in a cup of tea right now, or watching those stupid puke inducing movies, I-" I hear him sigh, "this is about the hospital," he says swiftly.

"Mine or yours?"

"Why would I be calling about yours? Listen, I have my hands tied on a case over here. I could really use your help. No one has a clue on what to do. They put me on this, but," he pauses and his voice shifts down a tone, "I'm really in over my head."

"How does no one there know what to do? Your hospital is the best out of all five districts."

"This case is really strange, Tu-"

"Don't," I sharply cut him off and take the phone in my hand before he can finish my name. "Please, don't call me that. It's Doctor Marion."

There is a silence between us as I make my way back to the couch, gripping my mug with both hands and the phone resting back on my shoulder.

"You know I wouldn't be calling you if I wasn't out of options, but this girl," he sighs. "She's been out for three weeks. There is nothing in her medical history that would help to explain her state. Her parents have no idea what happened, they said they just found her like this."

"Okay, so assuming it's a coma," I say, mostly thinking out loud. Then back to him, I condescend, "are you sure it's not locked-in state? Er, what about psychogenic unresponsiveness?"

"Of course, what do you take me for?" he says in a short, agitated breath. "Look, it's absolutely a coma with no explainable source. We've taken MRI's and Cat Scans and still can not locate the site of her brain that's causing it."

"Were there drugs involved?"

"No, we did blood work after taken her vitals. No drugs in her system, vitamin levels are all normal and we've been monitoring her brain waves while she's been here. It's like she went to sleep one night and just... didn't wake up."

"It sounds like you've done everything I would have, so why are you calling me?"

"Tu - Doctor Marion, I know you-"

"No, you knew me," I softly yell, foolishly pointing a finger in the air as if he were in front of me. Quieter now, I keep a harsh tongue, "I'm not the same person I was then, you played a huge role in that. I changed myself for the better. I never wanted to hear from you again. The last thing I need is to be reminded..." I trail off before the tear in my eye can drop and listen to the actors giggling on the television.

"Reminded of what?" Dan asks, in that same torturous way he'd always comforted me in the past.

"It doesn't matter. I'm going to bed. You'll get an answer tomorrow." Forgetting the tea, I barricade myself in blankets and cry myself to sleep.

As you walk along the bridge, Allanah continues, “for the first long while that I was here, things were fine. The churches were full, as were the pubs and shops. That’s the way many enjoyed it for a great while, but when those who opened their eyes fought back?” She sucks in air through her teeth, “well, let’s just say blood was shed, and tears were shared.”

She moves her hands around and slows her steps, “allow me to take this back in time. They followed a set of standards. A hierarchy of social standings and if one was not near the top, they were not worth a loaf. The weight of one’s standing held in community intervention in threefold. It started with the preparation and bringing about of their first church. Many thought that if one was of fellowship they were among deities.” She laughs softly, “as I, the only guardian of this realm, knew there were no deities, just little old me. It was comical. And per the two of you, I was never allowed to step in or intervene.”

“That’s stupid,” you mutter under your breath, watching your steps along the bridge.

“Blacksmiths, clergymen, doctors and carpenters were just below, and seen as noble. Those however that farmed land, crops and livestock were seen at the bottom. Along with butchers, dairymaids, tailors, barbers, and the like were noted to be Sepulchers. It’s worth noting, that this system was not one that you two brought in place.”

“Sepulchers?” Sam twists his face.

“No one had an inkling as to why, but it was surmised that it was in reference to those folk being just as untitled as the many of the graves placed just outside of this bridge.”

Dean folds his lips down in a nod, looking around at the piles of dirt outside of the river and under the bridge.

“After segregating with an older congregating with an older woman who called herself Minerva, it was she that determined there was power in numbers. There were more of them than there were in the fellowship and just as one might catch a second wind, they found their strength. It started at first with the announcement. The Town Crier, also among the Sepulchers, had begun his course into the Town Whisperer, and could be found in the benighted area, or circumferential. They conspired many gatherings and prepared for battle, if need be so. The churches grew ever suspicious as their totality grew by the day. Minerva conducted the rough fifty to leave their work for another day,” she sighs, “and then another. This war lasted for years, reaching all five regions and the only thing that I could do was try and protect your children, and carry them through their reincarnations. I had made many, many attempts to reach out to the two of you and all had fallen short.”

She focuses on the boards of the bridge and the squeaking they make as you walk over them, “a man by the name of Henry took to ending the war, and was appointed the Head of Teraw for his efforts. This man’s son is now the Head and Luna’s father in this realm. I wasn’t here to place them into the proper families,” she sighs, “and now I worry he’s stirring up trouble.”

Ana - June 6, 2068

Teraw - Region 3

These briefings make me feel less of who I want to be. I understand the importance of putting together the minds of professional colleagues to come to a conclusion on how to move forward with whatever case we happen to be discussing. However, as someone who works in healthcare, forgive me for stating that I find them to be quite menial. It's usually the same act every day; Dan will turn up late, I drum my fingers on the table, Mary doesn't say a damn word and Nathan does most, if not all, of the talking.

I'm mid-yawn through one of Nathan's monologues as a pink-haired woman wearing sweatpants, a tank top and a light cardigan walks in. I can only assume she is lost with the confusion draped on her face, so I stand to redirect her. Nathan, the natural born leader that he is, smiles and holds a hand out to her.

"You must be Doctor Marion. I'm Chief Nathan Scott. Dean speaks very highly of you." Her confusion is overtaken by a smile as she accepts the greeting, "I understand your decision to be here was quite rash, so we'll excuse the lapse in dress code this one time," he jokes.

I mask a chuckle by returning to my seat and shuffling through my papers. He pulls out his pocket watch and just barely inspects it before looking back up at her. With a careless wave of his hands and a slight shrug he says, "Dan should be arriving soon. If you know him like we do, you would know he's late to everything."

She laughs softly, looking at her feet. "Go ahead and take a seat right there, next to Ana." He gestures over to me and smiles. I do not. "She doesn't bite, I promise." I might.

"Enough," Nathan says as if he's heard one too many of Dan's jokes. Then again, we all certainly have. Dan glides across the room, briefcase in tow, and plops into the chair next to Mary. "First of all," Nathan goes on, sitting at the head of the table. He pulls a stack of papers from his own briefcase and shifts to Doctor Marion. "I need you to look over and sign these before we can proceed, for patient privacy and all that."

"I understand," she squeaks out and inches her chair close to the table. She smiles when she's finished and pushes the papers back to Nathan, who inspects them thoroughly before carrying on with his speech.

"Now, miss Luna's case is of high priority and exceptionally confidential." He classically folds his hands together and leans slightly into the table, facing me and the new doctor. "You see, her parents are what makes this town what it is."

"And what is that, exactly?"

"Powerful," I scoff.

Approaching the end of the bridge, Dean grips onto your arm, pulling you to face him. “I want to know what’s going on. Damn it, Y/N, we haven’t talked in... ten months, and - and now we’re in an alternate dimension where apparently our kids live, and...” he flops his hands down at his sides, looking around before taking a step closer to you, holding up a finger, “and you knew about them?”

“No,” you sigh, “I only had a feeling about it, I - I didn’t know for sure. I don’t even know how to explain it, it was just this gut feeling...” you trail off, not really understanding the whole thing yourself.

Dean rolls his eyes, so you push on, “look, Dean, I’m sorry that you got dragged into this, but-” you take a deep breath, forcefully letting it out. He turns his eyebrows down, crossing his arms. “I don’t know what else to tell you,” you breathe. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? That I never should have left? That I wish none of this was happening in the first place?”

He continues to glare, and you take one small step towards him, your bodies merely inches from each other.

“You never should have left, Y/N,” he scowls. “We were heading here from the beginning, Y/N. The only freaking difference is that we spent ten months apart from each other,” he says, voice crawling back into animosity. “I don’t know if I can trust anything you say to me now.”

You drop your voice to a whisper, “I am sorry, Dean, for everything. I’m sorry that I left, again, but we - I can’t change any of that now, so we just gotta get through this, and when we get back home... if we get back home, we can go our separate ways if that’s what you want.”

After a long pause, his face softens slightly, “no,” he says. Clearing his throat, his eyes move around your face, “no, Y/N. That’s the opposite of what I want. I want you. Even through all the shit we went through, I was happy with you. Why can’t you see that?”

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whatdoyouthinkmyjobis · 7 years

Text

Hunters on the Hellmouth

masterlist

first chapter

previous chapter

AN: Inspired by events in BTVS 7.11 “Showtime.” Links to character sheets at the bottom of the story.

Warnings: Torture. Gore. FEELS!

Chapter 32: The Demon Inside

The body landed in the alley with a sickening crunch. Dani, Grace, and Wook heaved their blanketed package into Giles’ trunk. From Dean’s broken bedroom window, Buffy watched them pull away with the last Bringer corpse.

“I’m going to need you to repeat what you just said,” Xander requested. He and the rest of the Scoobies had spent the better part of an hour listening to Buffy tell Dean’s story while the Potentials helped unbloody the Winchesters’ apartment.

“About how Sam and Dean don’t know of anything that can kill Lucifer?” Buffy asked.

“About all of it.”

“For the record,” said Anya as she scrubbed the splatter off the wall, “this whole angel thing scares the crap out me. It’s not natural!”

“I’m more stuck on the Satan part,” said Xander.

“Angel. Devil. It’s all the same apparently!” Anya had been practically green since Buffy shared the news.

“And Giles has nothing?” asked Willow, hope still in her eyes.

“I think Giles has a splitting headache.” By the time he’d left Dean’s hospital room, Giles had taken on the glassy gaze of a wandering Alzheimer’s patient.

“At least that explains why they’re so strong and manly and ridiculously good looking.”

Xander’s relief brought a smile to Buffy’s lips. “Strong yes, but I think the rest is just genetics. I’ve seen the family photos.”

“Damn it!”

“Imagine keeping a secret like that,” Willow wondered aloud.

Xander shrugged. “‘Hello, I’m an angel in disguise,’ sounds like a great pickup line.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anya argued. “And that’s not what they are.”

“I meant Sam,” Willow clarified. “Having something like that done to you as a child, an infant. Being terrified of latent evil inside of you.”

“You get used to it,” said Dawn.

A cough from the doorway alerted them to Cloé with her arms full of books. “I don’t know how to get the blood out,” she said meekly.

Willow relived the girl of her burden. “I'll handle these, and you go get yourself a snack in the kitchen, okay?”

“Terrifying Lucifer part aside, this is a good thing, right?”

“How could you even think that, Xander?” Anya whined.

“Hear me out,” he continued. “The angels want Dean, and they don't want the bad guys to have Sam. Let's just tell them Sam was abducted. They saved Dean’s life, after all. What's the worst that could happen?”

According to Dean, a lot of bad could happen when angels were involved, but Castiel was his friend. “We could try--”

Anya tossed her bloody rag in the bucket of water and stormed out of the room.

“For once, I'm with Anya,” said Willow. “Angels sound kind of cosmically selfish. They helped Dean, but who’s to say helping Sam wouldn't take the form of killing him? Or, hey, now that they’re here and noticing things, how about they burn the witch?”

“I get where you’re coming from. I do,” Buffy said. “Dean told me the angels are bad news, but Castiel is on their side. He’s the only angel on their side, and it’s cost him. If we pray to him, maybe we can at least get some guidance.”

“You pray. I’ll be hiding. Dawn, you staying?”

The girl shrugged and settled onto the bed. “Pretty sure angels can smite me no matter what room I’m in. I’ll stay for the fireworks.”

“Do we need to hold hands or confess our sins or something?” Xander asked after Willow left.

“I don’t really know.” Buffy felt heat in her cheeks. The prayer thing still felt weirder than angels existing. “But we have to address Castiel specifically or the other angels will hear.”

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her hands upturned on her knees, and began. “Castiel, it’s Buffy Summers again. We need your help. It sounds like Lucifer followed the Winchesters here, and now he has Sam --”

The unbroken window exploded as the squealing roar of a freight train filled the room. Xander and Dawn huddled into balls screaming, their voices unable to overpower the sound. “Castiel, make it stop!” Buffy cried.

Silence.

“What was that?” someone shouted above the crying in the other room.

“He could have just told us he was washing his hair,” Xander said, shaking his head as he checked on Dawn.

Buffy stood and gently shook the glass from her hair. “Plan B. Gather the girls. We needed an army yesterday.”

It had either been hours or days since the Turok-Han bit off his fingers. Though the slightest movement made him want to scream, Spike held up his hand to look at the tattered stubs. They’d stopped oozing blood, but they weren’t any longer. Hours then.

Vampires were semi-immortal. As long as they avoided sunlight, few humans were strong or fast enough to stake or decapitate them. But, as Spike had discovered years before under the torturous knife of Glory, they don’t pass out from pain either. His entire body felt like a lit wick being eaten up by burn and sizzle.

Laying on the floor a few feet below him, Sam looked worse for wear. The bandage over his stomach was brown with dried blood; infection would set in soon. He was pale with sunken eyes and a confused gaze. Wearing only pajama pants in the drafty old church in December, his shivering had unnervingly diminished. No one had fed Sam or given him water since he’d arrived. If the goal was to see who could endure torture the longest, Spike would be the grim winner.

“Sam, you like poetry?” Spike asked.

Wearily, Sam lifted his head from the cold stone floor. “Poetry? Uh, kinda. It-it’s okay.”

“Fftt! Americans! No sense of romance.”

“I dunno. B-Bobby’s really into poetry,” Sam mumbled.

“Who’s Bobby?”

“Kinda like our, um, adopt-a-dad when Dad w-wasn’t around.”

“Oh, what’d ‘e like?” Spike asked.

“Uh, Fr-Frost and the Scottish guy. Auld Lang Syne.”

“Burns! Not bad. I like the romantics myself. You ever read any Keats?”

Sam shook his head.

A new twinge of pain shot through Spike’s hand, but he bit his tongue. They were going to talk about poetry until one of them died. “Most of ‘em are love poems. Now, don’t start thinking I fancy you. Like my hair a little longer and my heads a bit more fucked up. One of ‘is most famous goes:

O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,

Alone and palely loitering?

The sedge has wither’d from the lake,

And no birds sing.”

There was a dark splatter and smear at the sewer entrance to the caves. Sam’s blood. Buffy hoped that would be all for blood. How much damage could The First -- could Lucifer -- have done to his chosen one in less than twelve hours? She knew she didn’t want an answer, that the Devil’s desire for a body was Sam’s only hope.

The footsteps behind her provided no comfort.

She had no idea if her theory was correct, but the clock was ticking on Sam, and she couldn’t waste time hoping a clue would land in her lap. The Turok-Han had acted like guard dogs. They knew Spike was being kept in a church, but Willow didn’t recognize any of the windows the Winchesters had snapped. Because the church wasn’t above ground. Buffy was all in that Spike and hopefully Sam were in the church where she’d faced The Master.

As Buffy arrived at the spot of her last battle, a blood-curdling scream echoed off the ruins. She’d never been so happy to hear someone in pain.

One of the Potentials whimpered.

“You’re okay. Remember, The First doesn’t have a body. It can’t hurt you.”

“Now, Buffy,” said a soft voice that made Buffy’s heart skip a beat, “it’s not fair to give the girls a false sense of hope.” Standing where she’d last seen It as Angel, last seen It as The Master, was her mother in a long white dress. If she had to watch this near immortal dress up as her mother, she was going to give it more than hell. “After all, what I may lack in vessel, I more than make up for in followers. It was considerate of you to bring the girls. Saves me the trip.” It snapped its fingers, and a dozen Bringers stepped out of the dark, blades ready.

As they’d practiced, the girls formed an outward facing ring. “Bring it!” Dani yelled. As the Bringers rushed forward, Molly fired on them with a water pistol.

“I have to admit, I didn’t see that coming,” said The First.

Lys, Wook and Kate stepped forward with blowtorches raised, engulfing the gas-soaked Bringers in flame. The girls stepped aside, letting the monster-torches run past screaming.

“Next?” taunted Buffy. The Turok-Han, dark blood up to its elbows, slunk out from a crumbled doorway and snarled at them. Giles’ research had confirmed her experience, they couldn’t be staked. Gripping the handle of her machete, Buffy smiled recalling Dean’s philosophy: everything can be beheaded, which provides distraction if nothing else. “Hey there, short, grey and ugly. Ready for round two?”

They circled each other, Buffy acutely aware of the barely trained girls watching behind her. If it killed her, they’d be next. They’d done well against the Bringers. It was her turn to make them proud.

The vampire swiped, nicking her skin. She kicked it in the chest. It barely moved. They grappled and rolled, Buffy’s machete falling in the tumble. She bashed its head against the stone floor. The vampire started to push her off, so she jammed her thumb in its eye. It howled and released her arms. She rushed to her machete as it lunged at her. Using its speed and weight to throw it off balance, she swung her blade and lopped off its head. It sputtered and hissed before turning to dust a moment later.

The visage of her mother offered a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t get comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll be back, and you’ll be so grounded.” In a flash of blue light, Lucifer disappeared.

Buffy and the Potentials entered the torch-lit corridor the Turok-Han had come from. Most of the windows had been shattered from earthquakes, but the shape implied this was part of the buried church where Buffy had faced The Master. At the end of the corridor, they found a mostly collapsed chapel, one window still intact behind the bloody, meat-covered altar. Sam was chained in a kneeling position at the base of the altar steps. With one firm kick, she was able to release him from the floor. He was pale, his eyes hollow. Collapsing onto Grace and Keisha, he wheezed, “Get Spike.”

“Where is he?”

“Don’t recognize me, love?” Spike’s voice came from the bloody altar.

Ascending the stairs, Buffy started to see a human form in the meat. Spike’s skin was taut on his ribs, his cheeks more gaunt than usual. He was missing his legs and fingers. His naked body was covered in hundreds of puncture marks. The blood oozing from his wounds was nearly black and thick. “Not my best look, but my heart’s still intact. Head’s still on. Do a bloke a favor, and kill me, eh?”

Buffy didn’t kill him. She wrapped him in her coat and carried Spike out of his hell. The voices of dozens of girls asked what he was, but she didn’t answer. He rested his head on her chest and, despite his pain, fell asleep to the thumping of her heart.

He awoke when someone removed the coat, exposing his naked, maimed body. It was quiet where he was, but many feet were moving above him. He opened his eyes just enough to see that he was back in Buffy’s basement, and she stood over him examining his body. “Enjoying the view?”

“No,” said Buffy. “Even when I wanted you dead, I never wanted this.”

“Funny thing, all-encompassing evils don’t take kindly when you tell ‘em to sod off.”

Her small hand, gentle and warm, rested on his arm before she began to clean the punctures from the Turok-Han’s claws on his torso.

“How’s the giant?”

“Sam’s not great, but he’s doing a hell of a lot better than you.” Her voice was distant. No doubt, she’d rather be attending to her friend, but with a full house, Spike couldn’t imagine why she’d deigned to care for him.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I didn’t want to play anymore.”

“So It had a tantrum? What did It want from you?”

The night Spike returned to Sunnydale after his soul trials, he ran into a light. It was terrifying and comforting at the same time. The most beautiful thing he had ever seen. It went through him like his pockets were being rifled by supernovas. Then the light turned into Buffy, but more the Buffy of his dreams than the real thing.

“Are you a demon?” It had asked.

Spike said he was a vampire, but It was excited about the demon in him. Spike was certain It was a siren, but any port in a storm.

“It wanted a friend at first,” Spike confessed. Unflinchingly, Buffy started to clean the tattered remains of his fingers; he wanted to recoil from her touch. She didn’t deserve this gruesome sight. “No bandages, alright? Gotta leave room for me to grow back.”

“You’re going to grow back?” There was a hint of happiness behind her surprise, a softening of her mouth, and Spike wondered if caring for him had perhaps been her choice.

“Short story, this isn’t the first time those primordial vampires snacked on me.”

“That’s good news, I guess. Although, I’m not into this whole chapter on your best buddy The First Evil.”

“Pfft! That’s what It calls itself? Weak. And do I look like we’re on good terms?” He wouldn’t admit it, but It had kept him from climbing the walls when his soul was driving him mad, asking him questions about Sunnydale, the Hellmouth, demons, Buffy. “It was a distraction ‘til It started asking me to do things.”

“Things like kill people?”

“That was later. At first, it just wanted to know about you, and I painted a warts-and-all picture. Then it wanted me to follow you, spy on you. I did a little, but seeing you with Dean was torture.” Spike paused to mourn again what could have been if he’d ever gained full control of the demon inside. “Then It wanted me to kill you.”

Buffy turned away. He thought she left, disgusted by the sight of him, disturbed by what he’d done, but he heard her rummaging through some boxes. She returned with oven mitts -- one with pink and white flowers stained brown, the other red and printed with a festive black buckle and white trim.

“But you started killing other people, building it an army,” she said as she gently wrapped Spike’s maimed hands in gauze and slipped the oven mitts over them.

“Wot can I say? The Devil made me do it.”

Buffy’s cool, interrogator’s mask melted in surprise.

“Yeah, I know,” Spike said. Between torture sessions, Sam had filled him in on the true nature of The First.

Quietly, Buffy moved on to cleaning the stumps of his legs. She tore a sheet in two, gently folding each half around a leg before covering him with a downy blanket. “How does that feel?”

“Better,” he said with a small smile.

A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I--I haven’t been a good friend to you.”

What could he say? Ever since he’d regained his soul, he’d needed someone to talk to; but unfortunately, he and Buffy had been better friends when he was evil. Buffy had been so caught up in her new boyfriend, Spike’s only option for friendship had been the Devil himself.

But what choice did she have? Besouled vampires hadn’t exactly gone well for her in the past. And she had spent months flinching when he got near, the memory of what he -- what his demon -- had tried to do still clawing at her.

“I wish I could change things between us,” he said. “Rearranging the timing and all. We could ‘ave been great together under the right circumstances.”

She smiled as the tears fell.

“But I’m ‘appy for you,” he continued. “You found someone who understands you. I’m not jealous you didn’t pick me, but the loneliness stings. Love-sick vampire with a soul doesn’t ‘ave a lot of places he can go. No singles mixers or one-nine-hundred hotlines.”

“So when Lucifer appeared to you as me…”

“I took comfort in it, though I knew it wasn’t you. All that time, It was working me out, figuring out how to operate me. It kept complaining about how my soul and the demon were getting in the way. I think it figured out how to talk to each separately. So when I was killing--”

“The demon was in charge.”

“Gold star for the lady. So you see, Buffy, you have to kill me. Otherwise, It’s going to come back, going to make the demon in me do things again.”

The fight had gone smoother than they’d expected, bringing some cheer to the girls’ faces. But the confused aftermath -- watching Buffy expertly fight the Turok-han, finding Sam hurt and half naked in the chapel, Buffy’s mysterious package -- had driven a group of them to the backyard to talk in private.

“Did you see what she was carrying?” asked Vi while biting her nails.

“I think it was a body,” said Keisha more calmly than the statement justified.

“Like a dead one?” asked Cloé in breathless horror.

“No, it moved,” whispered Naomi, checking over her shoulder to see if anyone in the house was watching.

“No way! I was in the chapel when we got Sam. Whatever it was couldn’t have been alive,” said Gabi.

“It spoke,” insisted Naomi, who had been no closer to Buffy post-fight than the rest of them.

“No!”

“Guys, you’re ignoring the obvious,” said Kate, brushing her heavy black bangs from her eyes. “We ‘ad to remove the anti-demon symbol to get it through the door.”

Gabi shook her head and looked directly at Cloé to calm her. “It can’t be a demon! Buffy wouldn’t bring a demon in the house. She wouldn’t put us in danger like that.”

“Maybe it’s a vampire?” asked Lys, clearly delighted by the idea.

“Like the Slayer would be friends with a vampire,” said Keisha, her eyebrows raised in speculation.

“But she is!” Lys insisted. She pulled a cigarette from her pack and handed it to an expectant looking Kate before pinching another between her lips. “My Watcher said she was friends with a notorious vampire named Angel. I guess he turned his back on his kind or something.”

“I’ve heard them whispering about Angel!” added Naomi.

“My Watcher said she had a fling with Angel,” Vi added. “It was, like, this huge scandal, a Slayer and a vampire. Also, total ew.”

“I dunno,” Lys shrugged. “Sex with a vampire could be hot.”

Keisha curled her lip in disgust. “You are broken and gross.”

Sam remembered being rescued, but the next twenty-four hours was a blur of sleep, hospital noise, and gorging himself on chicken broth. The cold stone floor of the chapel had made his already damaged body ache, and he’d missed several rounds of meds. The exhaustion forced his reeling mind to rest. The nurses came in and out making sure he wasn’t lacking for anything, but mostly he wanted to hide.

Three words. Three words said in Xander’s casual, joking style as he helped him into his car after the rescue: “So Satan, huh?”

They knew. Maybe Dean had told them. Maybe they figured it out. Either way, his secret was out.

When Willow had said she saw darkness in him -- something evil like what was in the vampires -- he wanted to hide, but Willow knew what it was like to wrestle with her inner demons, to quell her dark powers. Even so, there was a difference between one’s own dark side and an evil planted inside.

I am the vessel of Lucifer. Sam couldn’t say the words.

The pain woke him. He’d slept long enough that the sun was dim through the blinds. Blinds? He barely remembered being discharged, yet he’d been returned to Buffy’s house and was laying in Willow’s bed. Reaching for his meds on the night stand, he saw Dawn curled on a trunk at the end of the bed staring at him like a he was an exhibit at a traveling freak show.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

“I know,” she said brightly.

She dashed out of the room only to return with a glass of water for him. She perched on the edge of the bed. “Buffy always tells me that my choices are what define me. Screw fate and prophecy.”

He offered her a faint smile. “Sounds like Dean.”

“Maybe that’s why they like each other. They’re just a couple of narcissists.”

Sam laughed, which hurt, but the unexpected joy made his whole body tingle.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you,” Dawn said. “I’m sorry you’re being chased. It was smart of your angel friend to bring you here. If anyone can stop Lucifer, it’s Buffy.”

Her innocent faith broke his heart. He nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s what he was hoping.”

Dawn squeezed his hand. “Get some rest. Running for your life is super exhausting.”

Sam woke in the morning to find Dean on a cot beside him, his hand stretched out toward him as it always was when they shared a motel room.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” his brother replied without opening his eyes.

“Your girlfriend saved my ass.”

“She’s fucking awesome.”

After a few days, Sam felt he would go crazy if he had to lie in bed a moment longer. Willow’s soft mattress spawned knots in his back, and he felt bad that she was sleeping on the floor. In the still hours before dawn, he tiptoed around Dean sleeping on a cot and slipped downstairs for some space.

Only there wasn’t any space. Two dozen or so girls, double what he’d remembered before going to the hospital, filled the living room with cots, blankets, and bags.

A mousy redhead by the stairs stirred. She squinted at him with sleepy concern and poked him in the ankle. “Real,” she muttered, before laying down and adjusting her blankets.

A dark-skinned girl wearing what looked liked a dingy hand-me-down Catholic school uniform, complete with small wooden cross, stood at the kitchen counter peeling an orange.

“Good morning,” Sam whispered.

She nodded with a shy smile.

“Just an orange for breakfast?” he asked. She was thin, not sickly, but she would need to add some muscle for training.

The girl nodded, taking a bite of fruit.

“English?”

She pointed at herself. “Jabulela.”

It took a moment before Sam realized that must be her name, not a language he hadn’t heard of. “Sam.”

“Sam,” she repeated, holding the a in the back of her throat.

“Jabulela, parlez-vous français?” he asked, pulling up the six weeks of French he’d taken Freshman year.

Her face lit up. “Je remercie le Seigneur! Quelqu'un à qui parler.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t understand. Ne comprends. Enchanté.”

Jabulela’s shoulders slumped, but she smiled again before returning to her orange.

No doubt, in a few weeks, Buffy would have him and Dean training Potentials. They’d find a translator soon.

Sam slipped two oranges into his sweatshirt pocket and headed for the basement -- the only place they could have possibly tucked Spike in this packed house. The basement was so dark, Sam gripped the rail and felt the steps out with this eyes closed. One step. Two steps. Though Spike didn’t need to sleep, Sam didn’t want to wake him with a light if he’d opted to.

“What are you doing ‘ere, Samuel?” Spike’s voice, though soft, carried a hint of threat.

“It��s just Sam. I brought you an orange.”

“Worried about my vitamin C?” Spike was laying on a cot underneath the manacles they’d locked him in weeks before. A blanket covered his lap, but it was too dark to tell if his legs had regrown to fill the space.

Sam approached him, but as he crossed the demon trap surrounding him, Spike jolted upright and raised a mitted hand in warning. “You should stay back! My pet demon is rearing up you just being ‘ere. Wants me to take you back.”

“Did you recently grow some sporty peglegs I need to worry about?” Sam sat on the end of Spike’s cot. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“I thought you were supposed to be smart,” Spike said earnestly as he watched Sam peel the orange.

“Sometimes I think it’s better to trust people. Want a slice?”

Spike pinned one mitt between his arm and chest, pulling out a bare hand with gnarled, small fingers that clasped around the orange slice. “I don’t need to eat, you know.”

“I know, but it’s nice isn’t it?”

Spike nodded. “Going to need ‘elp getting that mitt back on.”

“What’s up with those?” Sam asked.

“Growing back itches,” Spike paused to suck on his orange. “I don’t want to look at ‘em either.”

They ate a few more slices in silence as the house above them began to buzz with activity. When the first orange was gone, Sam said, “You didn’t have to save me.”

“But who’d peel my oranges?”

Sam chuckled quietly. Spike, or at least the man inside him, couldn’t help but be a hero though he wouldn’t take credit. Had Spike not kept Sam awake, kept the Turok-Han’s attention, stoked Lucifer’s hatred, Sam would have died or been in pieces or both. “I’m sure one of the Potentials would have helped you.”

“Potentials?” said Spike with surprise. “Is that all the ruckus upstairs? Slayer niblets?”

It was Sam’s turn to be surprised. “Have none of them been down to see you?”

Spike shook his head. “Mostly Buffy brings me blood. Willow a few times. Giles popped down once to ask me a bunch of questions. Didn’t even know ‘e was back in town.”

Sam’s experience had been completely different since the rescue. He could only get a moment alone in the bathroom. Dean, Willow, Dawn and Xander were constantly by his side anticipating his every need. It was nice to know they were still his friends even though he was a freak, but the way they treated Spike felt unjust. “What have you been doing down here?”

“Daydreaming. Sleeping. Buffy brought me some books, but--” Spike held up his twisted hand.

Turning on a light and grabbing the book on the top of the pile, Sam began to read, “Chapter one: The Boy Who Lived…”

The sun was up by the time Buffy came down with a happy-faced mug full of warm blood. If she was surprised to find Sam reading Harry Potter to an enthralled vampire, she didn’t show it.

“We’re all crammed in my room,” she said as she absent-mindedly watched Spike drink his blood. “It would be great if you could join us, Sam.”

“‘It would be great if you could join us?’ Way to make a sentencing sound like a birthday party,” Spike grumbled.

Deeply confused, Sam asked, “Why? What’s going on.”

Coldy, Spike said, “They’re sorting out what to do with me, more specifically, who gets to kill me.”

“No one is killing you, Spike,” Buffy said, taking back the blood-stained mug. “I won’t let that happen.”

“Appreciated, but I’m not sure you have a choice.”

“You’re in my house, under my protection. I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised.

“I’m not sure you have a choice,” Spike repeated slowly.

“Why doesn’t everyone come down here?” Sam asked, as memories of being locked in Bobby’s panic room flooded back. “Spike should get a say.”

Spike shook his head and smiled sadly, “Thanks, mate, but I don’t need to ‘ear exactly ‘ow much some of ‘em want me dead.”

“You’re not dying.” Sam hoped his determination combined with Buffy’s would be enough.

“When you can...” Buffy slipped up the stairs, leaving them in the basement’s uncomfortable quiet.

In the name of the greater good, Sam had killed many people, and he couldn’t blame demon possession for most of them. If Spike was guilty and out of control, then so was he.

By the time he caught up to her, Buffy was by the bathroom arguing with Lys. “I don’t care if you like her or not, French is the only common language Jabulela speaks. Show her around. Explain things.”

“But she’s some sort of religious nut!” Lys exclaimed, waving her hands as if that could hammer the point home.

“She’s a nun and less likely to bite than other people in this house, including me. Go. Do intros.”

Lys squinted at Buffy. “Fine, but you owe me!”

“I’ll get on that,” Buffy muttered as the girl stomped downstairs. “Like I’m not doing enough already.”

“Hey, can we talk?” Sam asked, leaning against the wall for support. “About Spike?”

Buffy raised her eyebrows and sighed. “He is the theme of the day.”

“Spike saved my life down there.”

“He probably did,” she said.

“So would it kill anyone in this house to spend a little time with him?”

Buffy leaned against the wall beside Sam, her head resting on his shoulder. She whispered, “I’m glad you care. Spike’s been through so much and tried so hard to better himself, but I know Dawn and Xander and the others just see the monster who--” He could almost hear her biting her tongue.

“I’ve tried, you know,” she continued. “I went down there the first day and cleaned him up; we talked for hours. But the First tripped something in him. I can see it in his eyes. The demon in him wants to hurt me even if the man doesn’t. I want him to live. Hell, I want him to win, but how can that happen with a time bomb in his chest?”

“So what we need is a way to separate the demon and the man?”

She sighed, the weight of her task pressing the air from her lungs. “We’ve been hitting the books for days, but I can’t find a spell that would help.”

“I know one,” Sam said.

Spike wiggled his toes in his newly tied boots. It had taken nearly two weeks to regrow his body. He stood by his cot and stretched before walking slow laps around his circular cage. He pressed on the air, but nothing he did could get him past the line painted on the floor.

The basement door opened and new footsteps, one of which was thunkingly uneven, descended the stairs. Spike sniffed the air. Engine grease.

“Winchesters!” He turned to see Sam, Dean in a cast, Buffy and Giles standing at the bottom of the stairs. “Come to gloat? Maybe poke the bear a bit?”

“No, we’re here to save your sorry ass,” said Dean.”

Spike pressed his tongue against his teeth and chuckled. “‘Course you are. Gotta fulfill that hero complex.”

“Spike.” How did Buffy fit so much exasperation into one syllable? “Dean and Sam have a plan to help you, maybe.”

Unable to suppress the smirk, he crossed his arms. “Maybe? Maybe if I’m a good boy or maybe it won’t work? Neither sound appealing.”

Leaning against the railing, Giles said, “You yourself said The First has been able to activate the demon within you, use you as a puppet. Do you feel any of its influence now?”

The smirk faded from his face. The demon’s voice was strong and pushy; usually when it was ravenous, Spike felt due for a good slaughter. “It’s like a dog, barking away in my ‘ead.”

“What’s it barking?” Dean asked.

“To kill you. Then turn ‘er,” Spike said, pointing at Buffy. “I - I don’t want to do either.”

“And what’s your plan to deal?” Buffy asked. “Yoga?”

Spike rubbed his tongue on the inside of his teeth, waiting.

Dean began, “So here’s the deal--”

“Not you,” Spike said, locking his eyes on Sam. “Can barely tolerate you. Sam, ‘e’s on my Christmas card list. You wouldn’t lie to a poor devil, would you, Sam?”

With a little color back in his cheeks but his eyes still darkly circled, Sam gazed at the floor as he thought. “It’s a theory, really. If it doesn’t work...you die.”

Spike shrugged.

Sam eased himself to the floor to sit cross-legged just outside of the painted trap. “Vampires are different where we’re from; it’s more like a genetic mutation, but here it’s a form of demon possession. Where we’re from, we would say you, William Pratt, are a vessel, and all we need to do to empty you is an exorcism.”

“Exorcism? Wot with the spinning ‘ead and pea soup?”

Dean and Giles busied themselves looking anywhere but at Spike, yet Buffy stared at him with tears rimming her eyes.

“Kinda? Demons don’t go quietly,” Sam said. “But the bigger problem is that to become a vessel at all, you had to be killed by a vampire. We’ve exorcised a few people who were already dead; they didn’t come to life once the demon was gone.”

Spike nodded. Was there a man inside him able to be saved? He wanted to think so. With the demon gone, would he return to his Victorian self? Sniveling, timid, desperate to please. Spike had never liked William Pratt, which is why he never fought to save him.

But the demon’s voice was getting so loud, filling his head with a thousand horrible things to do to Buffy, to Dean, to everyone in the house. Lucifer’s hooks were in him, and he wanted to be free.

“Do it,” Spike said.

Sam began, “Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus--”

Spike’s body slammed to the ground and pushed back to the other side of the circle, sending his cot flying across the room.

“--et omnis legio diabolica--”

Buffy and Giles rushed to the edge of his cage.

“--Cessa decipere humanas creaturas--”

The demon, furious Buffy didn’t have the balls to kill him, lashed out, “You fucking bitch!”

“--hostis humanae salutis--”

Spike clutched his throat. It felt like his heart was trying to claw its way out.

“--contremisce et effuge--”

Buffy held back tears.

The younger Winchester’s spell was replaced with a deafening roar, like drowning in a tidal wave. Blackness crept into Spike’s vision. He stared at Buffy until the darkness won out.

“--Benedictus deus. Gloria patri.”

Spike coughed and opened his eyes. Cold air rushed into his lungs as his entire body began to tingle. A strange pressure filled his chest as he bounded up the stairs in twos. Rushing past the startled girls in the kitchen, he burst into the backyard where, for the first time in over one hundred and twenty years, the sun glowed warm on his skin.

Read Giles’ dossiers on: Dani Vi Cloé Molly Lys Grace Wook Keisha Leticia Naomi Kate Gabi Jabulela

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fanfic-from-a-67-impala · 7 years

Text

A Supernatural x Reader Story Chapter Eighteen: The Girl with the Dungeons and Dragons Tattoo, Part Two

Word count: 3292

(You can also read it on Wattpad here)

Master Post

Fifteen minutes later, you are peering through the window at Charlie, who sits in her cubicle, staring intently at her computer, the light flickering on her face with the changing screen. The entire time, you pace the small platform, running your fingers along your pendant as you wait for her to finish and get the hell out of the building.

In the corner of your eye, near the building's entrance, you see movement. When you glance down, you see a man in a suit with a cell phone to his ear and a familiar face you've only seen on screens striding toward the entrance.

Being in plain sight with nowhere to hide, you can only stay still, hoping not to draw Dick's attention. Thankfully, his wide eyes never deviate from the path straight ahead as he asks questions about a package at an airport.

As soon as he passes the threshold and you are no longer in his range of sight, you pull out your phone and dial Charlie's number.

"Miss me already?" she answers.

"Charlie," you plead. "Finish what you're doing and get out of there."

"What?" she asks. "Why?"

"Dick is here," you explain, "and I'm guessing finding out whatever's on that drive is the first thing on his to-do list."

"What do I do?" she asks, panic beginning to set into her voice.

"Breathe," you say, trying to keep the panic out of our own voice. "Listen to me – there's no time to run. You're going to take the drive, and you're going to hide until he leaves. Can you do that?"

"Uh... maybe? I –"

Her line goes silent and your heart beats so hard that you can hear it. "Charlie?"

"I think I heard something," she whispers before the line goes silent again, and then you hear the end call tone.

Slowly, you inch back toward the glass so you can see her, and nearly fall off the edge in shock when you see Dick already standing in front of her.

Words are exchanged between them, and she turns around to plug the drive back into her computer and show him what she found.

It is then that you hear the sweet sound of an old engine pulling into the parking lot. You begin to climb down the stories of the building. In your eagerness, your hand slips on the second floor before you can get a grip on the rope and the back of your head hits the pavement.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

You are snapped back into consciousness by the sound of glass crashing to the ground. You feel the impact of the fall everywhere, from the back of your head to your elbows to your heels. You lift your throbbing head and grip the back of it to find your hand covered in something sticky that you don't bother to check.

The shock keeps you on the ground for a moment before you realize you don't have time to be in shock. You rise to your feet, ignoring the pounding headache that you know will only get worse, and find that the crashing sound was the double doors of the building's entrance shattering and falling to the ground as the boys burst through them.

For a moment, there is no sound, then Charlie's panicked voice. "Dean, he's one of them!"

It is her cry that throws your legs into a sprint toward the door. By the time you reach them, two of the leviathans are on the ground, one unconscious and one screaming in pain, the burn from the Borax emitting a yellow smoke. Sam has scooped up a pained-looking Charlie in his arms.

"That would explain it," Dick says to Charlie. "You're hanging with the wrong crowd, kiddo."

The boys begin to step back as Dick steps forward until an invisible force flings him backward into a pillar, leaving the rest of you to stare in anticipation.

Bobby.

"All right, enough!" Dick yells, sitting upright. "Show yourself. Let's do this like real monsters."

It takes a while for you to register that the "monster" he is talking to is Bobby. You cannot fathom that he is now a ghost, a vengeful spirit. A thing to hunt.

"Come on," you distantly hear Sam call to you and Dean, but it is enough to snap you back to reality, and you follow the boys to the car.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

"Why didn't you kill him?" Charlie questions from the back seat of the boys' stolen car on the way to a hospital on the other side of the city. She sits with one arm wrapped around the other broken one, her red hair a tangled mess and her green eyes wide in distress.

You're hanging with the wrong crowd.

Dick's words echo through your thoughts. If you had heard that about the boys four years ago, you wouldn't have given it a second thought before disregarding it. But now, a considerable amount of doubt lingers for hours after. Sam and Dean have always been the "good guys." The ones who kept people safe and stopped "bad guys" like Dick. But the Sam and Dean you know wouldn't have dragged an innocent girl like Charlie into this mess. They wouldn't have sent her into the building full of leviathans to hack into an email account.

"We can't yet," Sam says. "But we will."

She lets out a sigh that only you can hear from the seat next to hers. "The really evil ones always need a special sword."

Dean shares a glance with you, then with Sam, before turning back to the road.

"Oh, okay," Charlie says faintly, her eyelids beginning to droop. "I'm going to pass out now."

You lift your hands as she adjusts her position to lay on her side with her head in your lap. You let one of your hands fall into hers, and you feel her lean into you.

Until you get to the hospital, this position shifts only briefly when Dean stops at the apartment so you can pack a few things. You walk back down to the car, a bag in each hand, and slide back into your seat, the weight of her head back on your lap.

With your free hand, you reach to the back of your head, which still aches from the fall, and gently press the area where you thought you felt blood. The unexpected jolt of pain makes you wince.

"(Y/N)?" Dean says, looking at you through the rearview mirror, as if asking what is wrong.

You drop your hand. "It was stupid," you try to brush it off. "I fell when I was trying to climb down."

"You should get it checked out when we get to the hospital," he says.

"It's nothing," you assure him, though you wouldn't trust your own voice. "I just need a shower."

You pull your eyes away from his, tying your hair back to hide the blood for good measure.

After an hour of uncomfortable silence and avoiding Dean's eyes, he pulls into the emergency room of an ancient-looking, white brick-lain medical center in eastern Chicago.

You and the boys end up in the otherwise empty waiting room, each with a weak Styrofoam cup of coffee in hand, as Charlie gets her arm in a cast.

"You going to tell us what happened?" Dean asks, breaking the silence.

You have been dreading this conversation from the moment they stepped out of your bathroom, not because it is any crazier than they are used to, but because you are not entirely sure how you are alive either. You have an idea, but the details are still foggy.

Still, you decide, you owe them an explanation.

Sighing, you drag your chair so that it's turned around to face the boys and sit down, leaning forward, placing your elbows on your knees for support. You don't realize until then how tired you are.

"A few months ago, I was pulled out of the pit," you begin.

"By who?"

"Crowley."

The shift in their attention is apparent at the mention of a name you know they recognize, and not favorably.

"He told me that he was going to send me back to earth," you continue, "and that I was to find you two, and kill you. Said I was the only one who could get close enough."

Sam furrows his brows and tilts his head slightly in confusion while Dean uncrosses his arms and leans forward, tensing as if he may need to defend himself. You don't have the energy to fight the instinct to lean back when he comes nearer, raising a different glance of suspicion from him.

"I told him he could take his deal and shove it up his ass," you say, trying to change the subject from the eye conversation you were having with Dean. "And he told me that it wasn't a deal, it was an order, and he sent me up anyway. It hurt like hell, worse than the first three Segments combined."

"'Segments'?" Dean asks.

You shoot him a questioning look, wondering how he could not know, then remembering. "Of Hell," you clarify. "The Rack is only the first Segment," you explain. "There are six."

"Like circles?" Sam asks, "in Dante's Inferno."

"Not so much," you say. "More like Hell is one big circle and each soul rotates through the pie slices of the circle, the Segments. Once they reach a sort of equivalent of death, a breaking point, they move onto the next Segment."

"What were they like?" Dean asks, and you can see the flashbacks running through his eyes. "The others?"

You almost tell him no and spare him the stories that will only cause him pain, but you know it would only leave him imagining the worst and decide to recount the memories anyway.

"The second section was the worst," you recollect, "for me, anyway. You're sent back to earth, but not really you, just your spirit, and you're forced to watch everyone you've left behind. The object is that you feel every terrible, gut-wrenching, broken feeling that everyone you love feels. Every scrape and bruise and loss, I felt it."

The gears in their brains turn as you imagine they try to figure out when it was that you were watching, feeling.

"The last thing I remember from that Segment, my breaking point," you try to fill in the blanks, "was the night you tried to kill Lucifer with the Colt. Ellen and Jo... That was real, wasn't it?"

Dean's eyes dart down but Sam's do not leave yours as he nods, giving you the answer you were dreading, but the one you needed, the one you knew.

"The next two segments are pretty biblical," you explain. "The Lake, the 'fiery lake of burning sulfur' – exactly what is sounds like. And the 'blazing furnace, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth' – that's where they sic the hellhounds on you."

Fire reflects underneath your eyelids, screams and low growls echo through your ears, and you use all of your strength to push it back, turning away for a second.

When you look back up at the boys, they are staring at you expectantly.

"Hmm?" you ask, obviously having missed something.

"What happens when you get through all of them?" Sam asks, not like a question, but like he knows the answer.

"You go around the circle again," you answer anyway. "Or at least that's what I've heard. I hadn't gotten past the Furnace yet."

When you glance over at him, Dean is still looking at you like something is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't quite grasp it.

"Anyway, I woke up in the middle of this small town in Illinois," you continue. "Hitchhiked to Chicago, got a job, met Charlie. Never looked back until I heard about a few disappearances in the area. Something about it just didn't seem routine, so I did some research. And now we've got an army of unkillable shape-shifting people-eating monsters trying to take over the world."

The boys both nod in agreement with your frustrated tone.

"Well, I'm going to get a refill," Dean says, coffee cup in hand as he stands. As he walks to the door, he gives you a pointed look, gesturing to Sam, whose head rests in his hands in exhaustion. Talk to him.

You give Dean the slightest of reluctant nods and he leaves, the air becoming thick with tension as soon as the door swings closed behind him.

"Sam," you find yourself saying aloud before you can stop and find that you are at a loss for words.

To your horror, he looks up at you, with tired, unreadable eyes, expecting you to say something.

How could you apologize for something so horrible, for not only leaving him, but for not giving him a fair warning over the course of a year? Would it even be worth it? Would he ever forgive you?

"I..." You take a second to swallow the lump in your throat and blink back the tears that prick your eyes. "You were dead. I did what I had to do – Dean and I both did. And if you died tomorrow, I'd sell my soul a thousand times over, and I won't apologize for it."

You look up at him now, into those eyes that seem to never end, that make you want to laugh and cry and disappear all at once, that know when there is something you need to say and are always there to listen.

"But it never should have gone down that way," you continue, eyes still locked with his. "I should have been straight with you, and we should have figured it out together. And for that, I am sorry."

For what seems like hours, you are left in suspense as you stare into his unreadable eyes, so serious that you can't tell if they are full of anger or understanding.

"Look, (Y/N)," Sam begins, "I was upset with you for a while. I'd thought that if Dean were going to die, at least... You were family – are family. I wasn't prepared to lose you both. But I get why you hid it from me. I would have killed myself trying to get you two out of that deal if I knew."

You cross the space you've made between you two and re-position yourself in the seat next to him.

"You're always going to be a big sister to me, (Y/N)," he continues, craning his neck to meet your eyes again, "and I know you were only doing what you always do, trying to protect me."

Relief washes over you in waves, each one stronger as you realize that his understanding, his forgiveness, is not a dream. Finally, exhausted with nothing more to say, you lean over and rest your still-aching head on his shoulder and feel him lean his head on yours, and you both get a few minutes of rest before Dean walks back through the doors, a fresh cup of coffee in his hand.

Soon after, the door of the exam room creaks open and reveals a tall man in a white lab coat and scrubs leading through the door a relieved-looking Charlie, her arm in a sling and exhaustion on her face.

"Let's get out of here," she says.

• • • • • • • • • • • •

The scent of exhaust fumes clouds the bus station air. Charlie wraps her unbroken arm around your waist while yours rests across her shoulders protectively as you walk to the bus you are both meant to take, the boys following close behind.

Only a few paces from the bus, you break away from each other.

"I left your dumb flask on the backseat, by the way," she calls to Dean. "Worst good-luck charm ever."

She turns around and he hands her her duffel bag.

"So, listen," Sam begins to tell her, "we can't thank you enough."

"Actually, you can," she says. "Never contact me again. Like, ever. Deal?"

She holds out her left hand to Sam, which he shakes, chuckling. "Deal."

"Keep your head down out there, okay?" Dean warns her.

"This ain't the first time I've disappeared," she shrugs. "You think my name is really Charlie Bradbury?"

She turns to you then, or so you see out of the corner of your eye because you haven't taken your eyes off the boys since you turned around. How could you leave them again, after everything you have been through with them? And how could you let them save the world alone again?

They look to you, eyes expectant, and you dart your own eyes down, knowing you've already made a decision. You look back up to your side.

"Charlie," you begin, hearing the guilt in your own voice.

She sighs, nods, and pulls you into a hug. "I know."

For the last precious seconds, you hang onto her, breathing in her orange-shampoo scent over the exhaust fumes.

"You going to be okay?" you ask as you pull away. You know she will be, but you can't tell her you will miss her without the tears that have formed in your eyes springing out and streaming down your cheeks.

They do anyway, when she tells you she loves you, and you can barely choke out the same because of the lump in your throat.

You see that she has tears in her eyes also before she leans in to press her lips to yours for a few short seconds, then pulls away.

"So," she says, turning to address the boys as well, "good luck saving to world. Peace out, bitches."

Your eyes follow her as she hands her bag to the operator and steps onto the bus. You squint to see her silhouette through the tinted windows, but lose her as soon as she turns to sit down.

"She's kind of like the little sister I never wanted," Dean comments.

Sam chuckles lightly, but it soon fades. "You okay, (Y/N)?" he asks.

"Fine," you say quickly, wiping the tears from your cheeks before turning back to them.

They look like they don't really believe you, but they both play along.

"Then, we have to talk," Sam says, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket as they always do when he has something difficult to say. "Bobby..."

"I know," you say, and he looks relieved, but sympathetic. "He's holding onto that flask, isn't he?"

They nod.

"What are we going to do about him?"

Sam sighs. "We can't let him stay like this," he speculates. "What happened in that lobby..."

"If I had a free shot," Dean argues, "I'd have bitch-slapped the hell out of Dick."

"Yeah," Sam says, "but, I mean, Charlie got her freaking arm broken."

"He didn't mean to do it," Dean insists.

"Exactly. He's not in control, not about Dick," Sam remarks. "That was vengeful spirit crap."

"I know," Dean concedes. "But it's still Bobby." He looks to you for support.

You have to clear your throat to get the words out. "Sam's right, Dean," you sigh. "You know I love him, but if we don't stop him, someone's going to get hurt, and some other hunter's going to come along and do it."

"I know," he repeats, trying to cover up the sadness in his eyes with focus. "Look, let's just figure out what that thing we stole is, and then we'll figure out what the hell to do with Bobby."

With that and a shrug, he brushes past you and Sam to the parking lot, leaving the two of you to give each other a look, and then to follow him to the car.

#Supernatural #SupernaturalxReader #Supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #A Supernatural x Reader Story #series #writing is hard #crimson and clover #wlw reader

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1000roughdrafts · 4 years

Text

Family Secrets: Chapter Fifteen

Calm Before the Storm

Summary: Scoping out the hospital with your new gang, Allanah, Dean and Sam, you finally meet the young girl from your visions, and the man who’s possibly to blame for her state.

Warnings: language, violence against OC,

W/C: 3.3k

Masterlist/schedule

Your fingers sting where you’d been chewing at them. A bandage softens the pulsing of your thumb where you’d bitten a little too hard and drew blood. Still, even through the pain, you continue to absentmindedly chew on your fingers and their nails as you walk through the door of the hospital.

A rush of memories hits you. Everything looks the same; the hallway, the lights, the numbers on the doors, the people. Allanah and Sam walk in front of you, Dean by your side. When you glance over at him, his eyes are wide as he scans the are. “You okay, Dean?”

“Huh?” he looks over at you, coming out of his trance. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “As good as I can be after finding out about an alternate dimension where five of my-” he shakes his head, “our children live.”

You nod sympathetically, “yeah, I’m with you there,” you snort.

Continuing down the hallway as you follow Allanah, she moves her head from left to right, peering down the hallways and looking at the numbers on the doors. She stops at one, and turns around to face you.

“This is it, isn’t it?” You point at the door, your heart pounding in your chest, “this is where Luna is, right?”

Wren - June 6, 2068 Ira, Region 1

Only when I am looking for lights do I realize how abnormally dark this region is. My vision is skewed with the use of only one eye, the other swollen shut. I wrestle with my legs, sometimes having to force them by my hands just to step along this bridge. My hand alternates between picking up my leg and holding my broken, leaking nose in place.

I hear sirens off in the distance, which is not unusual for this region, along with the incessant screaming from all neighborhoods; the song of Ira. Women, children, and men are everyday and every night pleading and begging for their lives. Half of this region are just here to serve as victims to the other half, and me? I remain somewhere in between. Hero by day, villain by night. Though, it depends on who you ask whether I'm the good guy or the bad guy.

I like to think I'm a guy just trying to survive, just like everyone else. I like to go with the flow of things, wherever the wind seems to take me. However, sometimes that leads me into very dark situations like walking along the bridge in the dead of the night after a fight with some dealers, resulting in a bloody nose, black eye, probably a broken foot and an empty stomach.

I'm not a user, but sometimes when necessity strikes I will pose as one. Undercover means that there's always a chance of getting caught. Unfortunately for my broken body, I'd been caught. I was lucky enough to escape, but not before they 'taught me a lesson'. Fuck those guys.

Soon, I will be home. I envision myself peeling my shoes from my bloodied socks, wincing at the pain but sighing at the release of pressure. I watch myself fall onto the semi-carpeted floor of my living room and remaining there forever... or until the power goes out, or perhaps until the eviction notice comes by, whichever happens first. I really don’t give a damn anymore.

The closer I get to the brink of this bridge, the louder and increasingly heart wrenching the screams become. My heart pounds vigorously in my chest. I'd cover my ears if I could, but my hands are treating my legs like the wheels of a wheelchair to keep me going. I am vehemently disgusted and angered by the lack of funds and concern for this region. We're region number one, yet last of all five. How could it get to this point? How could I be the only one fighting for a better living state for Ira?

This isn't a case of just one or two bad neighborhoods like in the other regions. Oh, no. This is a blatant disregard for the livelihood of the folks who live here. Ira might as well be a prison for the 'rejects' of the other four regions. How could they get away with such a wickedness?

This is a region where any street you find yourself on, you'll be a witness to, at best, a bloody robbery, or passed out users, and at worst, a death unfolding right before your eyes. This is not shocking to the folks who live here, and lest you wish death upon yourself, you just don't intervene... to live, you look the other way.

I have to push these thoughts away. There's not much I can do at the moment, this anger is a waste of energy. Reaching my door, I struggle with my keys. I force myself through, taking only one step in before I'm grabbed from all sides and a mesh bag is thrown over my head.

"Hey!" I scream. The fabric is too thick, my voice is muffled and the air is thinning. "What the fuck!"

There's at least four of them. I feel four hands on my arms, the crunching of ones' steps along my floor, and the smacking lips of one standing somewhere in front of me. A heat spreads through my body when I feel the dull, harsh point of a gun barrel against the back of my head, "shut the fuck up!" one barks.

I stiffen my body, growing angry all over again, "how the fuck did you get in here?"

"We'll be ones to ask questions," one says with a kick to my stomach. I buckle over, a gloved hand covers my screams and I'm held up by their hands.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

Another blow to my stomach with the blunt force of a thick knee ejects blood from my mouth. "I said we'll be asking the questions." I'm ripped back into the gun as it presses deeper into the back of my neck, "keep your damn mouth shut, don't fight back, and listen to our rules if you want to live."

I spit the remaining blood from my mouth and onto my carpet, might not get my deposit back but I couldn't lend a thought to that now. I'm sure kidnapped-and-beaten-to-a-bloody-freakin'-pulp is covered somewhere in my renters agreement, this is Ira after all.

"Ah, tell me where we're going at least," I growl in the most intimidating voice I can muster up with my swollen throat.

"Teraw," the man behind me says in a gravelly voice before forcing me out of my door and shoving me down the path and into a car.

Allanah peers her head into the room after a knock and steps inside. The three of you follow behind her. It’s just like you’d seen it however many months ago, Luna in a hospital bed with a tube in her throat, the doctor stands with a chart in his hand, a woman is crying beside her and there’s a man in a business suit.

He turns to face the four of you, pointing a finger, “you’re not supposed to be here,” he screams. “What the Hell are you doing?”

The doctor catches him by the arm and turns around to face you, “these are some friends of mine, Mr. Grant. Please, just relax.” You look at Allanah with wide eyes, her softly staring out of the window. Mr. Grant huffs, shoving the doctors arm off of him while brushing out his suit. The doctor softens his voice and focuses on the woman, “please, Mrs. Grant, take your husband outside to relax a little, will you?”

The woman nods, her face scrunched up as tears fall into the tissue she pads her face with. Reluctantly, Mr. Grant wraps his arm around her and they glide out of the room. You take a few steps closer to the bed, placing your hand on Luna’s.

You feel Dean by your side, but don’t dare to look at him. He places his hand on top of yours and an influx of memories come rushing in. You force your eyes shut to block away the tears.

“I’m going to need some alone time with her, Dan,” Allanah whispers. “She’ll be up and at ‘em before you know it,” she says in a melancholic, yet chipper voice.

Dan, you assume, lowers his voice, “whatever you do, make it look normal.” He sighs, “and we’ll talk later about you showing up here out of nowhere,” he says sternly before smiling his goodbyes.

Allanah coasts to the other side of Luna’s bed, placing her hand over Luna’s forehead and running it gently down to her chin. She stops, looking up at Sam, who stands off in the corner. He takes a few steps towards the bed and Allanah continues to run her hand down Luna’s body. Starting with her collarbone, and working down each arm, she runs her hands down her sides and each leg, confusion written all over her face.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks.

Allanah brings her hands up to inspect them, “nothing,” she says somberly. “Nothing is happening at all. My powers,” she pauses, shaking her head. “They don’t work here,” she says, turning to face the three of you.

Aiden - June 6, 2068

Feri - Region 2

Depression is perilous and conniving. One minute I'm feeling fine and the next I want to strap myself to a chair just to fight the urge to throw myself from the bridge. It's that little voice in the back of my mind that's constantly telling me how worthless I am, telling me that no matter what I do - it's never going to be good enough.

It tells me to be silent. It encourages me not to whisper a single word to anyone because they won't believe me, nor will they care. So I've kept it locked up in the pit of my stomach as it weighs me down. I'm tired even when I sleep. I'm not hungry, even when I haven't eaten for a day or more. I can't breathe, and I can never catch my breath.

It's constantly gripping onto every fiber in my body, yanking me towards the ground. I'm lying on the floor, staring into nothing. On the surface everything is fine, peachy. On the inside, there's a violent storm of death threats and negative thoughts that I can't seem to escape. I'm living in my own personal Hell, flames and all.

"Aidan!" my co-actor, Richard shouts. "Aidan, come on! Jack said cut like six times, now. Get up," he irritably grunts.

"Sorry," I clear my throat, the lab coat swooping at my feet as I stand. Walking off set and over to the director I ask for a short break to clear my mind.

My hands shake as I bring the cigarette to my mouth and I can't fathom why. Perhaps it's because I haven't eaten in a while, can't remember. Perhaps I'm just cracking under the pressure. This is no money-making field, this acting thing.

"Hey, Aidan," Richard is calmer now, startling me as he steps to my side with a cigar in his hands. I turn to face the concrete wall and the buildings beyond it. "Is everything all right with you?"

"Why do you ask?" I breathe in a long, relaxing drag of the cigarette.

He casually shrugs, "we lost you for a while back there. Were you zoning out, or what?"

"We got the scene though, right? That was the last take?" I fake enthusiasm that's riddled with anxiety, it seems to pass effectively on my apathetic co-actor.

He pats my back, "we kicked ass, man! That was the best take yet! There using it for the film."

"Good," I sigh out a mixture of pent up stress and cigarette smoke. "I think I'd go a little insane if I had to do that all over again."

"Why?" he snickers. "Working a character that loses his whole family hit a little too close to home for you?"

I glare at him. How could a person sound so genuine and yet sarcastic at the same time? Well, I should know by now. That's Richard.

I throw my cigarette onto the ground, pushing him against the wall with my fists on his shoulders. "Not cool, man. You of all people should know that." I drop him, smoothing out the creases on his suit that I'd caused. I should know by now that I had only given him what he wanted by reacting.

He adjusts himself, putting his hands in the air defensively. "All right, you're right. My bad, man. Sorry," he says with a roll of his eyes.

I glare at him while stamping out the remaining embers with my foot. Heading inside I hear my name, "ah! Aidan, glorious job back there! Listen, Mr. Grant called," he nearly shakes in excitement. "He wants us to shoot the hospital scenes in his district's hospital. What do you say we head to Teraw today?"

There’s a faint knock at the door, and soon after Dan enters the room with Luna’s parents behind him. Mr. Grant pushes past his wife and Dan to stand by Luna’s side.

Mr. Grant turns to face Dan, “Doctor, I’ll have you escort them out immediately, or else I’ll call someone to do me the favor,” he growls.

Leaving the room, there’s a small rumble as you walk down the hallway. Your eyes shoot up at Dean, leaning on him for stability. “You feel that?” you ask, glancing over at Allanah and Sam.

Allanah’s eye is caught by the flickering of the lights and sway of the floor.

“There! Go, now!” she screams, pointing down the hallway of nurses and wandering patients as they run about, filing it up with their screams. She presses her palms into your sides, flipping you around to face in the other direction, and pushes you to start running. Dean and Sam stay close behind as you sprint down the shifting hallway.

“What about Luna?” you cry out.

“Dan will take care of her, we have to move! Now, go!” She points at a door, “there’s tables in that room, go!”

Sam pushes you into Dean and the three of you into the room, all of you running to sit under a table. A large cabinet wobbles before falling in front of the door, blocking you in.

Somewhere in the hospital a siren is blaring, and the shaking gets more violent than before. Uncovering your ears, you lift yourself up to peer out of one of the windows. You jaw drops and a gasp escapes you as you see the water from underneath the bridge clashing against the side of the hospital, destroying houses and smaller buildings in its wake.

The rumbling continues as pieces fall from the hospital. Patients are screaming and doctors can be heard calling after them, trying to herd everyone to safety.

Allanah shuffles over to you in a crouch, “we need to find the children,” she shouts, just barely to be heard over the ear splitting alarm.

You peak your head from under the table and look between the brothers as they scan the room for a way out. Pulling yourself from your squat you stand next to Allanah, “how?” you point over at the cabinet in front of the door, “we’re blocked in!”

Allanah matches your gaze at the door, then looks out of the window at the raging ocean waters as they crash against the side of the building. Walking over to the door, she extends her palms out at the fallen cabinets. She exerts all of her energy into what you assume is an attempt to move it. Turning back to you and the brothers, her face falls flat.

“I guess I really don’t have any powers here,” she says, looking down into her shaking hands. “That son of a-”

“Okay, okay,” you say, taking a few steps towards her, “looks like you’ve been around Dean a little too long,” you chuckle. “Look, it’s fine. There are four of us here, I’m sure we could muster up the strength to get the door clear.” You glance over at them, and shake your head once, “come on, guys.”

Sam readily strolls to the cabinet, while Dean mopes over. With eight hands gripping onto it, you count to three and all pull together, blowing raspberries at the weight and scrunching up your faces. It takes a few tries, and balancing it on your knees to get it out of the way, but crashes against the floor with a loud bang, rattling the other cabinets in the room.

You push your way out of the door and into the now empty halls. The screaming has faded out and the only sound comes from a television on the corner of the wall in one of the waiting rooms. You gravitate towards it, taking heavy steps.

“This is an official evacuation notice from Teraw authorities and weather administrators. It is heavily advised that all residents get to safety in the wake of the sudden, and unpredictable, Hurricane Vampurica,” the monotone voice repeats over a multi-color strip before giving out a collection of resources to call and a way to help others.

“Vampurica?” Dean grunts. You turn around to see him standing behind you, Allanah and Sam close behind. “Do they even-” he sighs. “Know what? It doesn’t even matter,” he groans, turning around and storming down the hallway.

You focus on the doors, searching for the one Luna had been in. Ignoring everyone else, you run for it and open the door to find an empty bed. Sheets and blankets in a pile on the floor, and the chair is tipped over.

“Where would he have taken her?” you ask Allanah as she approaches your side.

“I’m not sure,” she lulls.

A sharp pain in your temple sends you to the ground, grunting and calling out as the pain runs down your neck and into your back.

Dean drops to your side, “Y/N! What’s going on?” he shouts, running his hands along your arm and pulling you over onto your back. You hold your hands up to your head, putting pressure on your temples to soften the pain. “Y/N-” he shouts before groaning out in pain.

Sam and Allanah are at your sides as you and Dean writhe in pain. The last thing you see before your eyes shut is Sam nervously looking you over, fear written on his face.

Before you is a large, three story house and to your side is Dean, standing dazed and looking you over with wide eyes.

“Great,” he scowls. “What could possibly go wrong?”

“It’s okay, Dean,” you whine in frustration. “We’re not actually here. I doubt anyone could even see us,” you say, taking a few steps towards the brick pathway that leads to the door.

Dean grabs onto your arm, twisting you around to face him. He points at the house, “if that guy is in there, he’ll see us. He did last time, remember?”

“No, I don’t think he did. Don’t you remember what he said to us when we showed up with Sam and Allanah? It was the same thing as then, so I guess we just traveled there at the same time...” you trail off, not exactly believing yourself so you know you can’t expect him to.

“Why didn’t we see us, then?” he says. “If we were there in that moment, we should have been able to see us, too, right?”

“Let’s just be extra careful in there, then. Pretend like we’re in our bodies and anyone can see us.” He doesn’t move his face, nor says anything. “Please, Dean. I need to know if she’s okay! I have this- this need to save them, protect them. Don’t you?” you impatiently yell. Without saying a word, he relaxes slightly. With an open palm he gestures to the house. You crouch as you walk towards it, scanning the building for an open window.

Next Chapter

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