#might I add one thing regarding the tag about witch hunts | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean · 3 years

Text

La Pomme ~ Chapter Seven

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count: 11,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam, Dean, and Castiel had been stomping around the bunker determinedly for the past hour looking for Jack.

After getting back from being Michael's pack mule the evening prior, Dean had gone to talk to him, but he wasn't in his room. He searched a few other places and when he came up empty, he went to Sam and Cas. When they joined the search and all three came up empty, they began to worry.

"Anything?" Sam asked as Dean and Castiel both returned to the map table room from opposite sides of the bunker.

"Nothing," Castiel admitted with a defeated tone.

"No one's seen him since yesterday. The few people I saw either saw him in his room playing video games or getting food from the kitchen," Dean added, his tone was worried-angry. He couldn't help but mutter in annoyance, "Can't believe you let him get video games."

"So, no one saw him leave?" Sam asked for confirmation, ignoring his grump brother, and the two other men shrugged in hesitant affirmation.

"Alright, well let's regroup. We'll do a quick full sweep together, talk to everyone we see, and look for any sign of him or an explanation," Sam decided. "If that comes up empty-"

"We'll hit the streets. Let's start in his room; if he did leave on his own, maybe he left a note and I missed it." Dean reasoned before the three of them went to search together.

They spent the better part of 15 minutes tearing the room apart and had yet to find anything useful.

"There's nothing here, guys," Sam shook his head frustratedly, setting the mattress back down on the bed.

"Certainly no explanation for where he went," Castiel added dejectedly, closing the dresser drawer he'd been searching through.

"The problem is, there is something here." Dean gestured to the room and said, "all of Jack's stuff. It doesn't even seem like so much as a pair of shoes is missing."

"Haven't found his phone yet," Sam pointed out frustratedly as he tried calling him once more, "not that he's answering it."

As the three stood there watching him call again, the door started to open and they all turned hopefully. When they saw Tim-one of the camp refugees-stick his head in instead of Jack, there was a collective shoulder slump.

Tim was in his late 40s but looked much older. He had a 80s punk style, with torn up, oversized dark pants, a black and white ragdoll band shirt, and huge black boots. Tim completed the look with a short green mohawk attop his head, long ZZ Top, salt-and-pepper beard, a spiked collar and matching spike through his nose.

Dean didn't like him.

"Tim?" Sam acknowledged the man when he spotted the group.

Dean watched Tim's surprised expression closely as he addressed Sam, "Oh, hey, Chief! What's shakin'?" He looked at the other two men and Dean noted a slight sweat begin to form on his forehead. He gulped and asked, "Jack here?"

Sam frowned, "No. Have you seen him?"

Tim seemed nervous, "Uhh, not since yesterday. He let me borrow his headphones," he reached into his pocket and held up the pair of headphones, "so I was just returning them."

"When exactly did you last see him?" Came the gruff follow up from Dean as Sam reached out and took the offered headphones.

"Late last night? He was playing video games with that dumpy, frigid gal."

"'Frigid'?" Castiel questioned. He thought it was an odd choice of descriptor. Sam wasn't pleased with Tim's choice of words either, but for different reasons.

Tim nodded, "Yea, ya know, tall, blonde, cute face but real icy, like she's better than you even though she's got a little too much junk in the trunk."

Dean and Sam shared a disgusted expression before Dean asked, "Full of opinions about her body but don't know her name, huh? Stay classy, Timmy."

"I assume he's referring to George," Sam offered with an annoyed tone.

"There's a woman named George?" Dean wondered.

"She's new, from the camps. She's been... connecting with Jack," Sam explained vaguely to his skeptical brother, though it came out a bit wrong.

Tim shrugged nonplussed, "Never caught her name, but she's always hanging around the kid. A little too much if you ask me," Tim gave them 'the eyes' and Sam narrowed his in disbelief at what the guy was insinuating.

"Wait, so first this girl is frigid and now you're saying she's… what? Lusting after Jack?" Dean asked dubiously.

"She's not a girl, she's our age," Sam corrected and then added, "Also, I doubt she was doing anything inappropriate." He didn't want to say why he doubted it, because it was none of Dean's damn business.

Tim hesitated and then said, "Look, all I know is I came by last night to borrow his headphones and the two of them were on the bed playing video games. They looked awful close to me. And she seemed pissed when I showed up, like I was interrupting something."

Of course Sam was not inclined to believe this story. Based on his own personal experiences with her, he was almost positive it wasn't Jack she was interested in. That was even more true if she was the woman he'd dreamt about so long ago. Which she obviously wasn't considering she was from an alternate reality. And she was real, whereas the dream, of course, hadn't been. So, it made no sense and he hadn't really allowed himself to entertain those thoughts since he first thought about it.

And, to be fair, he had been very wrong about women in the past.

"Interrupting what, exactly?" Sam demanded to know.

"I don't know, Chief. But when I left, I heard her asking him if he was 'ready to go'," His eyes were wide for emphasis and there was a creepy smirk on his face.

"Go where?" Castiel asked quickly, missing the innuendo. Tim just bounced his eyebrows in response and the three men frowned and shared curious expressions. Sam's expression was more doubtful than the others.

After a long pause Dean asked dubiously, "Jack doesn't even know how to do that… right?" None of them knew, and there was an awkwardly long silence before they realized Tim was giving them all a strange expression.

"Need anything else?" Tim asked, inching away from the doorway, "I'm supposed to meet up with Jules for a hunt."

"Tell Jules you need to sit this one out and don't leave the bunker," Dean demanded. "We might have more questions for you later."

Tim nodded in understanding, starting to back out of the room again, "And just, by the way, she isn't from the camps."

"Sorry?" Sam asked in confusion. "She's not?"

Tim shook his head, "No, sir. As second in command of third-shift security detail, it was my job to know everyone. I'd never seen her until I came here. Figured she was one of yours," with a shrug, he left.

"Alright, well we need to find whoever George is. Now!" Dean started to leave and Sam stopped him.

"Hold on, you believe his story?" He asked with a frown. He realized he barely knew her but… he felt connected to her. Dean and Castiel looked at him for a reason not to and he explained, "Listen, I know her-kind of. I-I've seen her with Jack and there's nothing that-"

"So, maybe Punk Rock Douche is wrong about things being inappropriate, but he says he heard her ask Jack if he was ready to go, and now Jack's not here, so..." Dean shrugged and Sam nodded begrudgingly. He couldn't disagree with that logic, so off they went.

As the three of them searched for George they became increasingly concerned. Just as Tim said, none of the camp refugees knew her, other than to say that they'd seen someone matching her description 'lurking' or 'sneaking' around the bunker after they showed up. They didn't know her name, they all swore she didn't come from Apocalypse World, and they had no idea where she was staying.

Sam became more and more deflated the more people they spoke to. On one hand, he didn't want to believe a word Tim had said about her, because most of them were awful. And in the admittedly limited amount of time he'd spent with her, he found her to be nothing but pleasant. And charming... Adorable. Incredibly kind hearted, but intensely competitive in a way that amused him. Had his instincts about her really been this off? Was she that good at duping him? Or, he worried, was he that good at being duped?

On the other hand, if she really was from this reality and just snuck into their bunker and lied to them about it, why? Certainly dreaming about her made a bit more sense now that she was of his reality, but was that a good thing or a bad thing? A happy coincidence or Gabriel's weird attempt at a long con? Or had the dream been real after all?

Why was he so bad with women?

Jack's phone had been blowing up with calls from Sam for the last two hours, so George figured it was time to return it. He had let her borrow it the night before when she'd mentioned wanting to listen to music. Really, though, she was trying to get in contact with Rowena regarding her trip home. She'd heard hide nor hair of the crazy redheaded witch since she'd left her there weeks ago, promising to find a way to get George home "in no time." She'd been here so long now that she'd DONE LAUNDRY. More than once! And-fun fact-the 70+ year old bunker didn't have an electric dryer! She'd have to remember to add that little factoid to Wikipedia when she got back.

Truthfully, though, being there had been like the world's best vacation from her normal life. Other than missing her friends and inexplicably worrying about the wellbeing of her students, she felt amazing. The meds she typically took to regulate her anxiety and depression had been left back at home but surprisingly she hadn't needed them. Maybe because the situation was so crazy exciting she didn't have time to be anxious or depressed? Whatever the reason, her new environment was strangely comfortable.

However, she knew the longer she was there the more dangerous the situation became. So, when Jack and her started to become friendly, she spotted an opportunity to try and get in contact with Rowena. Using the ruse of wanting to listen to music, he let her borrow the phone and made sure to give her the headphones. Which, she now couldn't find. Considering she had no way to replace them, she was kicking herself for losing them.

She checked the nooks and crannies of her tiny room one more time before giving up. Hoping Jack would take pity on her, she grabbed his phone and headed for his room. As she walked the now familiar path, her attention was on the phone, checking the messages again. She let out a frustrated growl when she saw that there were still no replies.

Texting Rowena once more to let her know that she was giving the phone back to Jack and not to respond, she added, "But DO get back here and get me home. NOW! Please?" before deleting all the texts she'd sent.

As George huffed frustratedly, she turned the phone off and looked up finally. The second her attention wasn't on the phone, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she got a sick feeling in her stomach. She was being followed. As she took a sharp turn toward the kitchen, she caught a glimpse of Dean-turned-Michael skulking behind her. Her heart started beating faster, all the blood felt like it drained from her body and a cold sweat broke out on her forehead. The thought that this must be what true terror felt like briefly popped into her head. Just as her vision began tunneling, she found the strength to move her wobbly legs and dart into the kitchen.

Unfortunately for her, there had been a small bunker party the night before; beer bottles littered the floor. She just happened to kick right into a small pile, sending three bottles crashing across the room. The echoing clangs made her feel nauseous and dread began spreading through her chest.

Nice and stealthy.

A large cleaver sitting atop a cutting board on the prep table caught her attention. Thinking quickly, she lunged for it and then flung herself back across the room to the entryway. She slammed clumsily against the wall with a clear, obvious thud. The cleaver was clutched against her heaving chest. Doing her best to catch her breath quietly, she tried to listen for his approach. Unfortunately, the loud, obnoxious sound of her own blood rushing was muting her surroundings.

Aftering standing poised and ready for attack for what felt like a crazy long time, George finally-slowly-peaked her head around to check the hallway. From her vantage point she could see very clearly down the left hall and hadn't seen anyone moving since she got there. Her breath was held almost unconsciously as more and more of the right hall came into view. Her grip tightened on the cleaver and she slowly raised it on instinct, but it didn't take her long to see that Dean-Michael wasn't there.

Maybe he passed me while I was panicking? It didn't make much sense to her but she hesitated to put too much thought into it. Every molecule of her body was screaming for her to run back and hide, but she knew she had to find Sam and warn him.

Lowering the cleaver quickly, she shoved her hand in her pocket and ripped out Jack's phone. She'd planned to text Sam a 911. Just happened to turn her head half an inch at the right time when she saw a flash of plaid and scruff flying at her from inside the kitchen behind her. The phone dropped from her hand in surprise and she swiped the cleaver on instinct.

Her reaction was surprisingly effective as the blade connected and sliced the underside of Dean's arm. Unfortunately, it also came too late; he was too close. He grabbed her hand with his good arm and twisted the weapon out of her fingers painfully. Using his grip on her hand, he easily flipped her around, wrapped his-now bleeding-arm around her neck and locked both arms together.

As she struggled against the tight chokehold, she tried to fight the panic that was building. Scratching and clawing as his arm and struggling to breathe, she tried to drop her weight. When he followed her down without loosening his grip, she tried lifting her legs up off the ground in desperation. To her shock, he easily lifted her back upright. Almost without thinking, George kicked her legs out. When they connected with the opposite wall, she pushed with all her might.

Dean stumbled backward. When he made contact with the wall behind him, she felt more than heard a deep, rumbly-perhaps annoyed-groan escape him. Unfortunately, however, his grip around her neck didn't loosen and her vision was starting to tunnel. Digging her nails hard into his arm, she felt him grunt in pain again but there was nothing more she could do. With the lack of oxygen, George's body started going limp as she quickly began passing out.

He finally let go, just before she was totally out, laying her down on the floor. She was vaguely aware of some shuffling noises, a long stretch of silence, and then her limp body was lifted up and tossed over his shoulder like a bag of rice. Mercifully, air was flowing into her lungs again but she couldn't focus on much. He was carrying her through the hallways, at a determined pace, for a while. Turning into a room finally, she was aware of lights being turned on and metal scraping against the floor.

The next thing she knew she was being set down unceremoniously in a chair. It was an ancient, mostly metal chair with an old, worn leather seat. Her head flopped forward limply. As she struggled to regain her senses, Dean used her weakened state to affix her arms and legs to the chair with handcuffs. Then he stuffed a folded bandana into her mouth and tied it around the back of her head.

Suddenly, she felt him sprinkling her with something wet. Slowly lifting her head up, she saw him approaching her with a small, shiny blade. Normally, she'd freak out but she was still recovering from the lack of oxygen. Mercifully, all he did was press the blunt side of the blade against the skin of her arm. When she noticed the curious expression on his face, she realized what he was doing. Assuming the blade was silver, she realized the earlier liquid had probably been holy water.

The stars dancing in George's vision had finally cleared when Sam appeared in the doorway. As he walked in, her eyes went wide and her heart stopped. She started shouting incoherently behind the gag and there was a loud clanking sound as she tried to lift her hands and wave him out. Sam froze, looking at her in concern, then looking at Dean questioningly, then back to her.

The sight of George tied to a chair with a gag in her mouth registered slowly for him. He recognized her sitting there, dressed in a long sleeve black ribbed Henley t-shirt and khaki shorts. It took a moment of looking at her-perhaps distracted again by the bright artwork on the pale skin of her thick thigh-to notice the handcuffs and gag.

He jerked his head angrily toward his brother, "Really, Dean?! I told you to go easy! What the hell is this?!"

George stopped screaming in surprise when she heard Sam call him Dean, "'Ah'ss-eeennnn?!"

Dean raised an eyebrow, glancing over at George, and shrugged indifferently, "She had Jack's phone. And she has a secret hideout in our bunker that we didn't know existed." Sam looked shocked and turned to look at her quickly, then back at Dean when he lifted his arm to show off a bandage and added, "And she attacked me with a cleaver!"

"I-'hawt-ooo-err-'IKE-UHL!"

Sam listened carefully and then gave Dean an exasperated expression, "She thought you were Michael, you idiot. Of course, she attacked you! She probably thought you were going to kill her." Still, Sam hesitated to let her out of the cuffs immediately. He had to be sure.

Just then, Cas walked in with a piece of paper in his hand, "Other than a few clothes and food wrappers, her room was pretty bare. Like, Sam's room but with slightly more warmth. I did find this though. It appears to be a spell of some kind." George raised a confused eyebrow, watching them closely.

"A spell?" Sam was starting to get concerned. He definitely hadn't expected her to be a witch. A witch working with Gabriel would explain the dream situation though, he thought a bit disappointedly. He ignored that for that time being though. If the dream had been real, it wasn't a can of worms he wanted to open just yet.

Cas nodded, "I'm having trouble figuring out what it means, I think it's written in code. From what I can tell, the intended effect is to debilitate something called a 'pull out game?'" There was a muffled groan from behind the gag, as all the color drained from George's face.

"What?" Sam asked, confused. Castiel passed the paper to Sam to inspect.

"Some kind of a sports term?" Dean muttered with a frown, trying to read it over Sam's shoulder. "What's W-A-P?" Another loud groan escaped her lips.

Cas shrugged, "It's hard to follow because the context jumps around. I'm still trying to decipher it. I think it mentions some ingredients: weed-which I believe to be a colloquial reference to the plant cannabis, a king cobra-doesn't specify alive or dead-and something called 'punani Dasani'." As Sam scanned the page his eyes got wider and wider, then he quickly looked away from it.

George was struggling against her bindings even harder now, "Iss 'ought a ss'ell, iss a soo'g!"

Sam set the paper down on the table and walked over to her, taking the gag off. Dean quickly swooped up the paper and started reading.

As soon as her mouth was free, George shouted, "It's not a spell! It-"

"What's a 'Kegel'?" Sam, Cas, and George all turned to look at Dean's confused expression with a concerned look of their own.

Cas answered, "It's a type of exercise for strengthening pelvic muscles." Dean still looked confused. Sam and George looked surprised that Cas knew that and he added, "I assume it's used as part of the ritual for the spell?"

"Oh my god, it's NOT a spell!" George cried, blushing from head to toe.

Cas narrowed his eyes, "If it's not a spell then-"

"It's lyrics!"

"Lyrics?" Sam asked.

"Yes! Lyrics; for a song!" All three of them looked skeptical.

"A song by who, Chris Brown?!" Dean asked doubtfully.

George suddenly looked offended, "What?! No! It was written by women!"

"Written by women?!" Dean's head tilted questioningly and he stuttered, "'Beat it up, catch a charge?' 'Not looking for a fight, but I'm looking for a beating?' 'I want to gag, I want to choke, I-'" Sam rolled his eyes and reached out, snatching the paper away from him.

George struggled against her bindings more, waving her hands in surrender, "Dude, I refuse to sit here and explain or defend consensual rough sex for you…" She paused and looked in deep thought for a moment before muttering, "though I may have written fanfiction about doing that exact thing, actually…"

Dean and Sam shared a strange look and she said quickly, "The point is: that," she indicated toward the paper Dean was trying to annoy Sam into letting him read again, "is just a rap song, by Cardi B. I've had it stuck in my head since I got here but I can't listen to it because it doesn't exist. One night it was driving me nuts, so I finally just started writing out the lyrics hoping it would help somehow. I'm not a witch," She assured, and then looked at Dean, "and I'm not a demon! Or anything that's bothered by silver. I'm not anything! I'm just human!"

"With interesting taste in 'music'," Dean mumbled with some air quotes.

"And by the way, yes, I one hundred percent thought you were Michael! I saw you coming down the hall and nearly had a heart attack. If I'd known it was-" she looked him up and down with a strange mix of appreciation, awe, and terror, "really you… Dean Winchester." She thought for a minute and then shrugged, "Well, I probably still would have hid, but I definitely wouldn't have tried to stab you."

The guys were quiet for a moment before Cas asked them, "What do you think?"

"I believe her," Sam said definitively and George's stomach fluttered nauseatingly. "I know she thought you were Michael. We've been talking about it around here for weeks and you've not been back that long."

"Well, it's still feasible she heard about it…" Dean said but his tone indicated that wasn't what he really thought. "I've still got a lot of questions, but I'm inclined to believe her on these so called 'lyrics' at least," Dean said, begrudgingly, "I mean, what spell have you ever heard of that says 'if he ate my ass, he's a bottom feeder'?"

"Christ," George closed her eyes tight. If she weren't so terrified she would laugh. When she opened her eyes again finally, the smirk on Sam's face made her stomach do flip flops, so she closed them again.

"Alright," Dean addressed her again, "So, where's Jack?"

George's eyes flew back open and she frowned, "Jack?" She looked at Sam confused and then asked, "What do you mean 'where' is he?"

Sam was studying her, reading her reaction, before answering, "We can't find him in the bunker. He's gone, but nothing else seems to be missing."

"Except his cell phone, which was missing until I found you," Dean added accusatively, picking Jack's phone up off the table and holding it up. "So, when did you see him last?"

George frowned deeper, a concerned expression on her face, "Yesterday, but not for long." She looked over at Sam and explained, "As he's been getting better at the games, he's been more interested in single player. And seeing as how I'd rather gouge my own eyes out with a melon baller than watch a teenageish boy struggle to play video games that I could beat in my sleep, we've been hanging out less. He usually only comes to see me if he's really stuck or when he wants to talk about something that's bothering him."

Dean's brows furrowed curiously as he wondered who this woman was that seemed to be getting so close to his brother and his kid. "Why did he come to you yesterday?" He asked gruffly.

"I, uh… went to him, to ask if I could borrow his phone and listen to some music. I ended up staying to chat for a minute because he was pissed when I found him."

"Why?" Castiel asked with concern.

George smirked a bit, "Because he couldn't get a good picture of Gyrados in Pokemon Snap?" Dean looked confused and highly annoyed about it; Sam couldn't help but chuckle.

"Is that… another ambiguous song lyric?" Castiel looked confused.

"No, it's just a challenging video game," George explained. "So, hang on, are you sure he's gone-gone? Maybe-"

With a frustrated sigh, Sam nodded and cut her off, "We're sure, unfortunately. Can you just walk us through yesterday, when you saw him?"

George was getting worried; was Jack really in trouble? Was this another Big Bad trying to kill them? Was she going to have to hide in a small space again?! Did she have time to pee first? Where the hell was Rowena? Half of her was ready to go home, now, even if it had to hogtie and yank the other half with it.

After collecting her thoughts for a minute she said, "Sure. It was late evening. I went to his room to ask for the phone and found him chucking a controller at the wall," She and Sam shared a smirk and Dean narrowed his eyes curiously. "We talked about him being pissed at the game and I told him no one can get a picture of that fucking impossible pokemon, so not to beat himself up about it. Then I offered to play something multiplayer with him to get his mind off it. We played for a bit but the zombies were overwhelming him." Sam had to hold back a chuckle at the fact that she didn't seem very sympathetic. "I could tell he was just getting pissed all over, so I pretended I was tired of playing and we turned it off. He didn't feel like talking, so I made an excuse about being tired and told him I'd bring the phone back today."

"Where were you sitting?" Dean asked matter-of-factly and Sam flinched at the question.

"Scusi?" George didn't understand.

"When you were playing together, in Jack's room. Where were you sitting?" He asked again.

She looked at him like he had two heads, "What?! Why does it matter where I was sitt-" Her breath caught in her throat a little when she realized why he might be asking the question. All the blood drained from her face save for the deep, angry flush in her cheeks. She could see Sam fidgeting uncomfortably out of the corner of her eye.

The question offended her deeply and made her feel shame she didn't deserve to feel. She'd been sitting on the floor, per usual, and even so there was nothing going on between her and Jack. She doubted he'd even call her a friend; she'd helped him out with the games and listened when he needed someone to talk to a few times. That was it. Period. But the mere fact that Dean had asked the question had now planted the seed in everyone's mind. Even though she's innocent, and even after they find that out, she feared the question would always be there. She'd never be able to have a normal friendship with Jack, now.

You moron! You aren't going to be staying long enough to have any kind of friendship with any one of them, what. are. you. doing?! Just answer his moronic, misogynistic question and get this over with already.

She took a deep breath and unclenched her jaw to answer him, "I wa-" but then stopped and thought, although, when are you ever going to get the opportunity to put Dean Winchester in his place again?

Then she shook her head emphatically and, hands gesturing noisily, said, "No, ya know what? Fuck that. I honestly don't think it's any of your fucking business what square footage of space my ass was taking up inside of a room you weren't in. And I know for a fact that if I had a penis you would not be asking me this question at all, which is both ergregiously misogynistic and heteronormative. Unfortunately for you, I have a strict rule against answering such questions, sooooo thanks and g'fuck ya'self." She just told Dean Winchester to go fuck himself. She was proud but also felt like she might vomit.

Dean's eyebrows raised high. His expression slowly went from shocked, to pensive, to mildly agreeable. With an amused smirk, he gave a quick nod, "OK, you might have a point. But, I wouldn't be asking the question at all if certain people hadn't expressed concerns about the location of your ass inside the room."

"Dean," Sam was really uncomfortable with this line of questioning; though certainly not as uncomfortable as she deserved to be. He felt sure that Tim's accusations were baseless, but Jack's life could be on the line and there were definitely things she hadn't been honest about. He couldn't let his desire to believe her negatively affect Jack or their ability to find him. Still, he didn't think it was necessary to humiliate her, so he interjected gently, "George, while you were hanging out, did you talk about anything that stood out? What was his mood like?"

George swallowed hard and blinked back the shameful tears, before answering quietly, "We didn't really talk about anything special. Game shit-talk, mostly." Purposefully omitting the fact that she spent most of the time peppering Jack with questions about Sam. It seemed unnecessary to mention it now anyway, since obviously Sam felt she was being inappropriate with Jack.

"Did he say he was going somewhere? Or ask you to take him out again like with Gamestop?" Sam followed up.

George shook her head, "No. The only place he talked about wanting to go was hunting with you all. He wanted to find Dean, of course. But he wasn't worked up, just normal complaining. It wasn't anything new or concerning."

Dean asked gruffly, "Did anyone else see you two together?"

She frowned at him, "What do you mean?"

"Can anyone corroborate that you were with Jack or that you left him, alone? And yes, I would ask that question even if you had a penis," He finished with a smirk.

"Dean," Sam growled, shaking his head in frustration.

George stared daggers at him before swallowing back her snarky reply and smiling politely. At this point, no hogties were necessary; she was ready to go home. She felt mortified and ashamed, so she'd play the game if it meant being done with this. After a moment of thought she said, "Uhm… no, I don't think so. Well, maybe Tim?"

All three men shared an intrigued glance. "Blink-18Tim?" Dean clarified.

George couldn't help a wry chuckle, nodding affirmatively, "After I left Jack's room, he bumped into me in the hall. He didn't see me with Jack but he saw me alone after I left him."

"Did he know you'd come from Jack's room?" Castiel asked.

"I don't know, maybe? After I left I turned the corner, bumped into Tim-dropped the damn phone like a clumsy idiot. He picked it up and handed it back to me and then…" Pausing, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and let out a begrudging sigh, "Well, lets just say, he wasn't respecting my personal space despite repeated attempts to create distance. So, I didn't stay long enough to explain my comings and goings to him."

"I'm sorry," Sam apologized with another deep frown. He was starting to feel like a massive tool. And he made a mental note to have a chat with everyone in the bunker about sexual harassment in the hunt space.

She clenched her jaw and looked back at Dean, shrugging, "I'm used to it." That only made Sam feel worse but George continued on, "Anyway, Tim probably can't corroborate that I was with Jack but he saw me alone in the hallway around midnight… with Jack's phone. I don't know if that helps me here, or not, actually," She finished with a deep sigh. Unconsciously, she tried to lift a hand to run through her hair, only to be reminded it was handcuffed to the chair. She huffed and gripped the arms tightly instead before adding, "Listen, I don't know what kind of information you're trying to get from me, but I can tell you with complete and total honesty: I do not know where Jack is. And my vagina and I have nothing to do with why he's gone missing," That was directed at Dean, to whom she gave a pointed stare.

Ignoring her snarky decree of innocence, Dean asked slightly more nicely, "Did you see where Tim was going when you left him?"

"I didn't. He turned down the hallway toward Jack's room…" She trailed off, thinking back to that night, "but I can't say for sure where he went. Like I said, the guy was giving me the creeps, so I left quickly."

There was a dense silence in the room as the three men digested her story. They huddled together and murmured to each other for a moment.

"So, do we believe Creepy Tim or Lil Kim?" Dean asked sarcastically motioning to George with a slight nod.

Castiel was unsure, "I don't know…" He looked the woman over with a skeptical eye, feeling inexplicably uneasy in her presence but he couldn't figure out why. "Something about her is… unsettling me."

Sam frowned, "What? You think she's lying?"

"No, no, it's more… Well, truthfully, I can't explain it. I don't think she's lying necessarily, but I think there's more than meets the eye."

"Is that just a fancy way of saying she's hiding something? Because, she's definitely hiding something," Dean said definitively, glancing back at the paper with the lyrics again.

"She's answered all our questions so far," Sam defended. "Even the ones that some could construe as offensive."

"Jack's missing and she was the last one seen with him. Just because you're sweet on her, doesn't mean she's not evil," Dean sneered.

"Historically speaking, it would make her more likely to be evil," Castiel added helpfully and Sam looked deeply offended.

With an annoyed huff, Sam grumbled, "She's the last one to be seen with him according to Tim. Obviously, their stories don't match up. Look, I'm not saying there isn't something strange about her," with a glance back at her he lowered his voice, "and obviously she wasn't honest about where she came from, but I really don't think we know enough yet to say she's responsible for Jack going missing. And Tim is definitely on my radar now."

Castiel seemed doubtful, "I don't know. Do we now believe her over Tim? The people of the camp fought beside us against Michael. Against Lucifer! He's our ally, isn't he?"

Neither was sure how to answer that. Sam thought for a minute, remembering something. With a brow furrow, he looked back at George suddenly, asking, "What music did you listen to?"

George looked confused, "What?"

"You said you borrowed the phone to listen to music?"

George's eyes went a little wide and she sputtered, "Oh… right, yea, the phone. Music." With what she hoped looked like a calm shrug she explained, "I didn't actually get to. Jack broke the speakers on the phone and…" she paused guiltily, "I might have... misplaced the headphones."

"Misplaced?" Castiel asked curiously as the three of them shared another look.

George rolled her eyes in annoyance at herself and said, "OK, yes, I lost them! They were attached to the phone when Jack gave it to me but when I got back to my room, I couldn't find them..." She trailed off guiltily.

Sam, Dean, and Castiel looked at each other with urgency and Castiel nodded before turning to leave quickly, "Tim. On it."

George looked confused but remained silent, watching them carefully. Dean and Sam spoke quietly to each other.

"Tim brought those headphones back when we first saw him at Jack's room, right?" Sam asked, even though he knew he was right.

Dean nodded and said, "And she said when she dropped the phone he handed it back to her. Probably swiped them then."

"You thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I'm thinking Tim is at the top of my suspect list now and I'm pretty close to pounding on his face, yea," Dean and Sam nodded in agreement and then glanced over George again.

"What about-"

Dean shook his head, unsure, "I don't know, man. You seem to be pretty sure she's innocent and based on what we know right now, I'm inclined to agree with you… but there's still something odd about her. And Tim was right about one thing: she obviously lied about coming from Apocalypse World. No one knew her. And she was hiding out in that room we didn't know existed until today, which is honestly kinda creepy. So, where did your little stalker come from and what is she doing here?"

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Why don't we just ask her?"

Dean thought about it for a minute and then shrugged, "Alright, I will." He turned away from Sam and back to George, looking at her curiously, "So, George." The look she gave him was very done and he smiled, "Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot-"

"Oh? To which foot are you referring? The one where you strangled me or the one where you all but accused me of sexually assaulting a teenager?"

Dean smirked and gave her an apologetic expression, "Both. Mostly the first. I wasn't trying to hurt you, exactly-"

"Yea, I get it. You were just doing your job," George sighed, still annoyed about the sexist insinuation about her relationship with Jack, but understanding about the interrogation. If Jack really was missing, she knew they had to 'work the case.' It's just, so far as she knew, Sam was the only one who had ever seen her and Jack together and to hear Dean tell it, there were some concerns about their friendship. It hurt her more than she wanted to admit to think Sam was the one with those concerns.

"Right," Dean nodded slowly and then asked, "So, how did you end up here? At the bunker."

George's expression went from annoyed to surprised and then nervous, "Uhh, what… what do you mean?"

Dean shrugged, "I mean, Sam said you told him you came from Apocalypse World?"

George glanced at Sam and then darted her eyes around the room nervously, "I don't know if I said it so much as he guessed and I didn't correct him, but..."

When George didn't offer any further explanation, Dean and Sam exchanged a glance and Dean said, "Yea, and uh… Jules said the two of you were close."

"She did?" That was interesting.

Dean nodded emphatically, "Oh yea! Said the two of you fought together in Apocalypse World. Said you killed a lot of those giant squid aliens together?" Sam had to force himself to not roll his eyes at his brother's ruse.

"G-giant squ-?" George's eyes went wide and she muttered, "Holy-I really need to pay better attention to this show..."

"What?" Sam's brow raised.

George cleared her throat and said, "Nothing! Uh, just… yeah, I-I guess if that's what Jules said then… yup, I-I… I did that?"

"That sounds like a question?" Dean asked with an eyebrow raise. "Did you fight and kill giant squid aliens or not?"

George paused and then said slowly, "Whatever Jules said is exactly, uh-what happened."

Dean had to fight to keep his face expressionless, so he paused before saying, "Right. Well, hey, in that case I want to extend my condolences." Dean looked down and Sam tried not to react to whatever his brother was doing. "She told us how you lost your half human-half giant squid alien husband to the fight."

Her jaw dropped in surprise and a quiet chuckle of absurdity escaped her lips before she could stop it. As she struggled to keep her expression from showing the immense confusion she felt, her mind was drawing a complete blank at how to respond to this information. Was this in the show?!

Sam also struggled to keep his composure, lifting a hand up to rub his nose oh-so-casually, hiding a smirk.

When she couldn't respond Dean encouraged-slowly, as he was also struggling, "That must have been difficult? Losing Flurbert like that."

George grimaced and started nodding slowly, still looking very uncertain. She wasn't exactly sure how to feel about losing her imaginary human-squid alien hybrid husband. "Ye-eah… always hard to lose someone…" Finally sputtered out of her mouth.

Dean's eyes widened quickly in disbelief that she hadn't cracked at 'Flurbert'. With determination, he pushed forward, "Jules said it was real recent, too." George made an exaggerated noise of sad agreement, trying desperately to control the I-think-I'm-going-nuts laughter that was bubbling up. She was kind of nervous that the struggle might make her vomit.

With a sad shake of his head Dean continued, "I can't imagine what you're going through. I mean, I just don't know how you're going to do it all alone."

George narrowed her eyes a bit and managed a confused, "Do… what?"

Sam quickly turned away as Dean explained, "Raise all the babies." Luckily, he'd realized what was about to happen a split second before Dean said it, otherwise his face would have given them away.

"The fuck?" George blurted.

Dean's expression was innocent and he explained, "Yeah, Jules told us about the pregnancy, too." Sam couldn't turn back around, he was biting his fist to keep from laughing.

George's face twisted into a nearly crazed look of disbelief and asked, "Sorry-Jules... told you... that I was an ex soldier in a war against, er-giant squid aliens... who is also pregnant by her dead... human-squid... alien hybrid husband?"

Dean gave her a little 'oops' face and asked earnestly, "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. Were you not announcing yet?"

George was silent for a long time before finally, unable to stop it, she burst into the most insane laughter she's ever experienced. Between gasps she managed to get out, "What-the-fuck-is-happening?!"

Sam and Dean shared an amused look. Dean looked proud of himself and Sam rolled his eyes at his dumb brother. He could have easily just told her they knew she wasn't from Apocalypse World, but Dean loved the drama.

"Did you guys get new writers or something, what the hell!?" George managed to squeak out before another round of laughter. The look the brothers shared next was one of confusion. As she calmed down, tears streaming down her face, she said, "Oh my lord, I've gone beyond Oz at this point. Giant Squid Aliens?! That's Star Trek, not Supernatural!"

"Supernatural?" Dean asked and Sam whipped around to her, suddenly serious again. George saw them looking at her suspiciously and her laughter died away. She knew she had no choice but to tell them the truth now.

"Wha-" Sam furrowed his brow at her and asked dubiously, "Are you a fan of Supernatural?" His face fell suddenly and he swallowed nervously, "Did Becky send you?"

"Ha!" Came barking out before she could help it. With a pensive expression, trying not to laugh again, she said, "Um… Well, yes to the first question; hard no to the second."

Dean was getting angry and growled, "Explain."

George took a nervous breath and said, "OK… well, here's the thing: I wasn't lying about being from an alternate reality, I just was lying about which one I came from. When you ask if I'm a fan of Supernatural, I assume you're talking about the books. By Carver Edlund, right?" Dean and Sam both nodded affirmatively with a slight frown. "OK, so, I'm not a fan of the books. I've actually never read them because they don't exist in my reality," George looked guilty and paused again.

The brothers exchanged another confused look and Dean asked more than stated, "OK?"

"I'm confused," Sam took a step closer. "You're a fan of Supernatural but you come from an alternate reality where Supernatural doesn't exist?"

"I said the books don't exist…" George gave them a nervous smile, waiting for them to come to the conclusion on their own. They weren't, so she said, "Think back about six-ish years ago?"

Following her directions, Sam's face slowly went from confusion to disbelief and then shock. Dean's face did the same, on about a five second delay. George squeezed her lips shut to keep from laughing.

"Wait… Are you saying you're from that-that alternate reality where this is all a TV show?" Sam asked, extremely skeptical. Then again it certainly explained a lot of her little idiosyncrasies.

George winced guiltily and nodded, "Yeah."

No one knew what to say and they all felt equally as awkward suddenly.

"You think we're actors?" Dean asked finally.

George shook her head a little and shrugged, "I don't really know how to answer that question." A nervous laughter bubbled up and she looked queasy suddenly, "I'm in a new reality for fucks sake. When I first got here? I definitely thought you were all actors, yes. Which was incredibly embarrassing because I couldn't remember Rowena's real name-er, Rowena's actress' real name? You know what I mean. Anyway, it definitely took some convincing, to say the least, but I've been here a while now and I've kinda gotten used to it? I mean, I think I know that you're really Sam Winchester and you're really Dean Winchester and this is all really… real." With a pair of wide eyes, she let out a huff of apologetic frustration, "Still, it's not every day you're suddenly ON a television show. I still get embarrassingly nervous whenever I see another charac-person I recognize," she shook her head with a light blush. "Which is exactly why I was trying to avoid you all while I waited for Rowena to help me get back home. But then I kept fucking up and running into Sam and then I woke up in his room and then Jack found me there and-and-and then he found me in the kitchen and he looked so sad; I had to help! What was I supposed to do?! And then Gamestop and Sam had a beard and things just spiraled! I-I-I-" He near breathless rambling stopped short when she met Sam's sweet eyes and her blush darkened.

"She woke up in your room?" Dean asked with a curious look to Sam.

Ignoring him, Sam quickly interjected, "Er-Rowena? What does she have to do with all this? Does she have Jack?"

George shook her head vehemently, "Nono, no! I told you, my being here has nothing to do with Jack being missing. I'm not part of this story, I don't belong here; I'm just… like one of those little fish that stick to sharks. Just looking for a safe place to hang out, maybe mooch a little bit of food here and there, until I can get back home to my reality. I'm not here to mess with anything. In fact, I think it's best for everyone if you let me go back to my hovel and consider me not here! Just pretend I don't exist because I'm definitely not supposed to. Here, that is."

Sam frowned for a minute and asked, "How do you know?"

"Know what?" She asked in confusion.

"That you aren't supposed to be here?"

"Oh, well funny you should mention that. To add some glitter to the glue I've obviously been sniffing-if I may borrow a phrase," She shot a smirk to Sam. He furrowed his brow in shock, remembering having said something similar when he was without his soul some eight years prior. She then grimaced and finished apologetically, "I come from the year 2020."

Both the boys looked yet more stunned and exchanged dubious expressions. Even Sam was starting to feel worried about this woman's mental health.

"Those lyrics I wrote down? They're from a song that was just released a few months ago, which is why I can't listen to it here. All the shit you're going through right now-Michael, apocalypse world? Ya, all of that has already happened for me. On the show, I mean."

It hit Sam hard suddenly just how much she knew about them-him, and it felt like he'd swallowed cement. He was ashamed of all the horrible things he'd done, the pain he'd caused so many people. It wasn't reasonable to expect a partner to be understanding about any of it, which is partly why he'd been reluctant to pursue relationships more and more.

But he'd been really hoping that maybe she was meant to be part of h-the story, so he asked anyway, "But... how do you know this is supposed to happen? That you aren't supposed to be part of… the 'story?'"

George guffawed and said, "Look, I'm admittedly behind on watching these last few seasons-and maybe I wouldn't be considered the world's biggest Supernatural fan-but I'm pretty confident that I was never actually on it," She finished with a definitive nod. Was it her or did Sam seem strangely disappointed.

"OK, tell me something only a fan of Supernatural would know," Dean said dubiously.

She narrowed her eyes in doubt, "Like… something just about major events or something personal? I-I know you killed Hitler?"

The two men quickly looked at each other in shock and then Sam shook his head, "Wait, that does not count. He tells that story to anyone who'll listen."

"I know you can lift Thor's hammer!" She replied back to him, grinning at the memory. That was pretty hot.

Dean turned to his brother with a smug smirk, "You were saying?"

"Something more personal, then?" Sam asked sheepishly.

"Uuuuhhhh…" George was frozen, unsure how to answer until finally she blurted, "OK, how about I know 'Carver Edlund' is really 'Chuck Shurley' is really motherfucking GOD with a capital G! Huh? Or, ooh! How about Sam's imaginary friend person? I can't remember his name, but he was some kind of being called like Xanadu or Zanzibar or-"

"A zanna," Sam choked out, all the air missing from his lungs suddenly.

"Sure, right! A zanna! Honestly, I mostly remember that episode because of the mermaid. It was sad when she was killed; I love mermaids." Sam looked nauseous and Dean suspicious, but both their eyes were wide. The three of them were all staring at each other, unsure what to say.

Finally, Sam gulped, "Dean, no one knows about Sully."

"I don't know Sam, I'm just not convinced. A time traveling superfan? C'mon! She could have gotten this intell from... anyone…"

George thought for a minute and then said, "Well I know a few more personal things but it feels kind of… icky telling you about yourself like that." Dean and Sam exchanged nervous glances and then she said, "How about the fact that-in my reality-Castiel is played by a different actor because Misha Collins was murdered? And that, while the official word was robbery-gone-wrong, I think the three of us know the cause of death was a bit more Supernatural than that, hmm?" She looked at the two of them pointedly, with a small, sardonic smirk.

That one shook both of them and they looked very guilty, especially Sam. Then, looking at Dean, she kept going, "Like I said I'm not the biggest fan but if we're talking most recent seasons: I know you had the mark of Cain for a bit. I know you stabbed Death with his own scythe and released the darkness who started as baby Amara and then grew up real fast. And I also know you were kinda, sorta feelin' her for a while-no shame. She was hot," Dean gulped and George began listing off factoids like it was a grocery list, "I know she brought your mom back to life. I know that Sam got kidnapped and tortured by the British Men of Letters. I know they tried to kill you both but obviously they didn't know who they were fucking with and it didn't go well for them… I know that stuffy psychopath Ketch 'died'," she air quoted, "but then came back with some bullshit twin story which I don't really remember why because I was only half paying attention and I personally still think Ketch is a tool, but that's neither here nor there." She paused and Dean made a nod of agreement at her last comment, giving Sam a curious look. The young Winchester could do little else but blink rapidly and panic internally. Neither one could wrap their heads around this.

With a head shake and a frustrated eye roll, Dean asked, "So, let me get this straight, not only do you come from an alternate reality where Sam and I are just two douchey, Polish actor dweebs, but you're also from the future of that reality?"

"Well... I think only Jared's the only one who's Polish, but…" George shrugged helplessly, "essentially, yea." The deafening, dumbfounded silence returned.

Dean frowned and he asked slowly, "To do what? And how did you get here?"

George winced and deep sighed, "Yea, still working on all that. Honestly, I hadn't even thought about the 'why' of it; I was more focused on a general 'wtf' and 'how do I get out of here before I fuck it up and get the show canceled or something.' As for how I got here, I couldn't tell you. One minute I'm in my apartment, getting ready for a date, and-"

"Oh, a date?" Sam asked, a little too sharply, standing at attention. Dean snickered at Sam's doofy, fake innocent expression.

George nodded off handedly, "Yea, this guy I met online. We were supposed to meet up for the first time at Marin Headlands Park for a hike to watch the sunset." She finished wistfully, as though it was incredibly romantic. Sam and Dean looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

"Let me get this straight. You 'met' a guy online-so basically a stranger-and he asked you to go to a secluded, wooded area alone with him at dusk?" Sugar coating wasn't Dean's forte. "Can I get 'what is a thousand red flags' for $500 Alex?"

She narrowed her eyes defensively at him. "He's not a stranger, he's… he's… he's LuvsToHike79!"

"Oh my God," Dean's voice went high and Sam made an "oo, not good" face. Pulling his most smug 'told ya so' look, Dean held out his arms to an imaginary audience, "might as well be notaserialkiller19! No question that loser was going to club you over the head, drag you back to his basement, and chain you to the floor."

As George struggled to remember the guy's real name, she could feel her cheeks begin to burn. After a moment, she decided that she would not be accepting questions or comments regarding her barely-there love life from Jared Padalecki or Jensen Ackles…or Sam or Dean Winchester for that matter!

"Says the 'loser' who nearly suffocated me, carried me to the dungeon in his secret bunker, and handcuffed me to a chair?" Lifting her wrists demonstratively, the handcuffs clanged loudly against the metal armrests. Sam looked like he wished the floor would swallow him whole while Dean nodded his head in resignation at her point. "The point is, I was in my apartment and then… something strange happened, like loud music and a big shove, and then suddenly I was in the library with Rowena. After she dropped the alternate reality bombshell, she said she'd been casting some spells to help boost the power and keep the rift open for you guys to be able to get back. Somehow I came through the rift, too? When she left me in that hobbit hole-which by the way she conjured out of thin air. It was really cool-she promised to come back after she was able to ensure your safe return. That was nearly a month ago," She finished with an annoyed smile. "She certainly lives up to her reputation and I can't tell if that's comforting or incredibly annoying."

"Why not both?" Dean offered with a knowing smirk.

Before anything else could be said, they heard erratic footsteps approaching. All three of them turned to see Castiel leading a very reluctant and struggling Tim into the room. Tim started elbowing and slapping at him and, in frustration, Cas shoved him hard. George let out a yelp of surprise as the guy went crashing to the ground inside the dungeon. He landed at Sam and Dean's feet. Looking up at them slowly there was a panicked expression on his face.

He gulped when Dean grinned like a cat about to eat the canary, "Hiya, Tim."

Tim scrambled to his feet and tried to bolt but Dean tripped him. He stumbled and then turned around and swung at Dean hard. Dean dodged the punch and landed one of his own into the guy's gut. There was a loud clanging sound as George instinctively tried to bring her hands to her face in shock. When he started trying to get up again, Castiel elbowed him in the back and he crumpled to the ground with a disoriented groan.

Sam quickly picked up the keys to the handcuffs and walked over to her, "We're probably going to need that chair back now."

"Happy to oblige," George nodded enthusiastically and yanked on the handcuffs that were holding her down. Sam unlocked her hands and ankles in record time and she vacated the chair quickly.

"Sorry about that, we just have to be careful, you know?" He apologized, nervously watching her move away from the hot seat and toward the desk in the corner of the room. "Are you hurt?" Sam asked with some concern when she rubbed her wrists absentmindedly.

She shrugged and stopped, "Actually, no. Just habit."

"You get handcuffed a lot?" Sam joked, sounding relieved, while moving to help Dean haul the guy into the chair.

"Only when there's a safeword involved," She assured with a wink.

Sam let out an "Aheh!" and some silent chuckles followed as he locked the cuffs on Tim's wrists and ankles. George couldn't see his face but she pictured he was blushing and it made her smile.

Dean, who'd secured Tim on the other side, stood upright again. He gave both George and Sam a bemused once over, then said aloud to himself, "Yea, it's all starting to make sense now."

George's smile dropped and she asked curiously, "What?"

Dean chose not to answer. Sam finished snapping the cuffs and then stood upright, just as Dean tossed a flask of holy water at Tim. His skin sizzled and he was alert again suddenly. Growling in pain, he struggled against his bindings fiercely and his eyes flashed black. George shivered in shock, goosebumps covering her entire body.

Whoa, that's intense.

Sam turned toward George and warned, "So, this," He motioned toward Tim, "might get a little..."

"Intense?" She filled in the blanks, watching Dean set the flask down and pick a knife up off the table next to her. He gave the blade an appreciative once over that made her gulp. Nodding before Sam could even answer, she headed for the door, "Well, then, that's my cue."

Sam followed behind her a bit, walking her out. When they were almost to the door, they heard the demon formerly known as Tim comment, "Letting the chubby little slut go, hmm? Did she tell you where she's hiding Jack, yet? Someone do a thorough check between her legs?"

While Dean adjusted his grip on the blade and took a step forward, Sam unholstered his gun, cocked it, and aimed lazily, "Would you like to repeat that, Timmy? Didn't quite hear you."

The menacing timbre of his voice gave George goosebumps, yet she was barely paying attention, glaring at Tim with a white hot rage. After a beat, she forced herself to relax and cleared her throat.

Her finger raised in the air, as she took a step forward, looked at the demon with a polite smile, and began sweetly, "First of all, wow are you obsessed with my body. Sorry not sorry: even if you weren't a demon, hard pass. Second, you can aim all that tired slut shaming at someone who actually gives a shit, because it ain't me. Third," Sam lowered his gun, watching her take another step and gave Tim an expression of such pity that it made even Dean uncomfortable, "what kind of demon takes a shot at the Winchesters and misses? Hmm?" Dean, Sam, and Castiel watched, stunned and confused. They were poised to step in if she got too close as she took another step toward the suddenly confused demon and continued, "Oh wait, I know!" She placed her hands open on either side of her mouth and shouted, "EVERY OTHER FUCKING DEMON who's come before you, TIM! Far, far better demons than you. Meg? Dead. Abaddon? Dead. Alastair? Lilith? Ruby? You guessed it: dead. Well, OK, there was Yellow Eyes," she admitted, feigning resolve.

"Nope, actually, we got him too," Dean interjected helpfully, thoroughly enjoying this. Plus, as endearingly irritating as he found her, watching a confident woman verbal bitch slap a demon was hot. He could tell from the look on his brother's face, he felt the same.

George acted mock surprised, "Ope! You don't say! I have a hard time keeping track." She looked back at Tim and said, "You know, these guys have killed so many demons, that where I come from there's an entire wikipedia page just listing name after name of all the demons who came for them and died trying. I'm sure you realize that a lot of them were smarter than you. Yet for some reason, you, Tim-or Krampus or whatever the fuck your demon name is-"

"I-It-It's actually Cleetus…" Came a pathetic stutter.

George's neck snapped back and she shared a 'wow' face with Dean. After a moment she said sarcastically, "Catchy. Yet, I've already forgotten it. Tim, you actually thought you were going to be different, huh? Thought that you were going to be the one to finally get them, right? That your name wouldn't end up on that list? Yet, your cover story is some played out all-women-are-whores BS, accusing me of trying to seduce Jack and kidnap him or something? Really? Your big play was a poorly constructed red herring? That's it?" The look of pity was back and Dean was almost feeling bad for the guy. "You thought if you wanted it bad enough that you'd actually pull it off, hmm? Well, buddy, I've seen every episode of America's Next Top Model and I've got bad news: 'wanting it more' gets you squat."

"No kidding, otherwise Natasha would have won season 8 like she should have," Dean chimed in matter of factly.

George's adrenaline was pumping at this point, so she was unable to process the absurdity of that statement coming out of Dean Winchester's mouth-especially since he was wrong; Jaslene was far superior. The look on Sam's face alone nearly broke her, but she pushed forward and made a mental note to address it later.

With a shrug she continued, "Now, sure, you infiltrated their bunker, bravo! But, I'm looking around and seeing: you, special little demon snowflake you," Sam wondered if George had the urge to boop the man on the nose, as indicated by her tone in that moment, "helplessly tied to a chair. And I'm seeing both of them," She held her thumbs out at both brothers smugly, "decidedly not tied to chairs. Oh yea, and holding weapons." Then she pointed to Castiel and said, "Also, not only is that guy an angel but I think he's also kinda the dad of the kid they're looking for and boy does he look pissed." Castiel was quick enough to mask his confusion with the rage he was feeling and she continued, "Sure, he's not currently holding a weapon, but honestly I don't even think he's going to need one, do you?" She gave Tim an exaggerated grimace and motioned around to the room, advising, "Tim, look at your life. Look at your choices."

The demon, whose brow was suddenly damp, watched her with a confused, somewhat deflated expression and began to say, "Well, I-"

Cutting him off, she began to step backwards away from him slowly, "Anyway, I'm gonna go ahead and take off now. It's one thing to watch pretend torture on TV but another thing to see actual torture. So..." She let her words sink in before she turned around and started heading for the exit again. The demon looked nervously between the three men, who were all looking particularly puffed up and menacing by that point. Tossing up a peace sign as she left, she called out, "Better luck next time, Tim!"

The four of them remained in stunned silence for an incredibly long time before Dean finally said, "OK, if you insist, I'll say it: That was hot as shit."

Sam gave him a disapproving frown for his phrasing, then nodded begrudgingly in agreement.

“For the record, Natasha should not have won that season. Jaslene was the superior model," Castiel added, giving Dean a pointed look, almost unconsciously unsheathing his angel blade and stepping toward Tim.

Oddly, Tim nodded enthusiastically and agreed, "Yea, Jaslene was way bet-"

"Can we focus please?!" Sam said in exasperation. Dean and Castiel looked like scolded children with matching apologetic expressions.

When Sam turned away, Dean grumbled quietly to Cas, "We'll talk about it later."

"There's nothing to talk about. Jasle-"

"Guys!"

3 notes · View notes

theparanormalperiodical · 4 years

Text

The Real Story Behind Krampus (2017), And The 17 Other Terrifying Christmas Tales And Traditions You NEED To Know About

Christmas is a time for family, a time for laughter, and a time for drinking volumes of alcohol that make your cousins concerned about your emotional wellbeing.

But most importantly, it's a time for demons to hunt down children and stuff them full of straw and pebbles. No, I’m not talking about the Eastenders Christmas Special - I’m talking about the Christmas traditions they don’t put in Hallmark movies.

As Christmas has been celebrated for 2000 years, it has amassed a collation of equally terrifying traditions and monsters that only the dark corners of history could conjure up.

Although confirmed by the Dickensian tradition of sharing ghost stories (see Matthew Mcconaughey movie - or failing that some old book about poverty in Victorian Britain), it seems we’ve forgotten the true terror behind the most wonderful time of the year!

So, as your favourite paranormal blogger, I’ve taken it upon myself to bring together everything creepy ‘bout Christmas.

Today’s post is gonna take y’all through the mythical monsters you should be on the lookout for, plus the Christmas traditions that bare a dark, twisted backstory.

Which is all of them.

Let’s get spooky!

First, Let’s All About The Monsters Of Christmas

Hands up if you’ve watched Krampus (2017).

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6cVyoMH4QE

It might not be Love, Actually, nor will it ever score a set of great reviews, but it got everyone talking about the mythical creature titling the film.

Need a summary?

This dark-comedy/horror film centres around a dysfunctional family at Christmas. When the youngest child loses faith in Santa, he rips up his letter to him, sending a signal to Krampus that he has lost his Christmas spirit and thus must be punished!

Okay, this film doesn’t fit the actual legend that well. But the kid does get dragged to hell - and unfortunately, that’s what sticks closest to the creature titling the film.

On top of this, the movie features the classic mysterious European grandmother that has a story about the war (as a European I can confirm this). But her story isn’t about an air raid, or some long-gone past ruler; instead, it explains a twisted tale regarding the most famous companion of Father Christmas.

That being said, it provides an introduction that only scratches the surface of the mythical creatures of Crimbo:

Krampus is the half-goat, half-demon creature that is often witnessed wandering ‘round with Santa Claus. Concieved in the pre-christian era in central europe, his aim of existence was to punish naughty children.

“So, Santa provides for the nice kids, Krampus provides for the naughty kids? Got it.”

If only it was that simple.

Krampus’s family tree is more twisted than the British royal family - and has a similar collection of dodgy relatives:

Son of the Norse goddess, Hel (ruler of the underworld and the dead), Krampus is a Perchten, a race of beasts born to scare away Winter. Never heard of ‘em? Well, you’ve probably heard of his grandfather, then: Loki.

Given his famous hegemony, it follows that he is always believed to be the Horned God of the Witches, and sticks to a devilish image.

With a dark, hairy body, large fangs and a tongue hanging far below his bottom lip, beast-like is an understatement. Accessorising his frightful look is a grasp of birch branches or a whip, as well as a sack or basket (to put children in and take to hell or save for a quick drink and snack later), and chains.

However, the chains part is still subject to debate: some believe it is an attempt to bind the devil by the Catholic Church in attempt to control him, while others claim it is because Krampus is Santa’s slave.

This directly relates to the position of Krampus and his fellow monsters - they are all believed to be Santa’s companions.

So, we know who Krampus is. But did you know he has a whole night devoted to him?

Krampusnacht falls on the 6th December, a day from which people put on masks and get drunk, scaring kids. Alternatively, you can dress up and hand out coal, mirroring the Krampus spirit! Nevertheless, both serve as a reminder to children not to be naughty, as does the bundle of golden birch branches you can have in your house.

Now, who’s ready to get their feminist on?

Frau Perchta is the female counterpart of Krampus.

This goddess-monster goes about giving good kids silver coins, and giving naughty kids, uh, well, death.

She’d slice ‘em open, and stuff ‘em full of straw and pebbles. But her backstory goes much further than simply murdering children: as she oversees spinning as a part of the 12 days of Christmas, she focuses on people that get their work done.

And if you slack? Then you gon’ get murdered.

Given her name, it’s obvious that like Krampus, she’s a beast-like creature. But her animalistic tropes only go so far as her feet - just like Krampus’ single goat hoof, she has a swan foot.

“So, she’s a swan?”

Nope - she’s either regarded as a beautiful young woman, or an old crone.

Classic Patriarchy.

Next up is another animal, but this time, it comes in the form of a cat. Unfortunately, the Yule Cat is less Instagram, and more deadly. Yep - this Icelandic beast eats the kids that fail to complete their chores before Christmas.

Just like Frau Perchta, it can be traced back to farmers attempting to scare their workers into getting shizz done. If they hadn’t processed the autumn wool, they’d be eaten by the cat. If they had, they’d receive new clothes.

You’d better be thankful for those socks, then!

But it turns out the Yule Cat isn’t the only monster from Iceland. In fact, he’s actually the pet of a family of ferocious Christmas beasts!

Gryla and Leppaludi are a couple hell-bent on detecting naughty children. Gryla, the matriarch of this famalam - is a Norse giantess, who wanders round each and every village in iceland. Once she’s found said children, she eats them.

Often she is described as a beggar, asking for parents to turn over their disobedient children so she can chuck ‘em in her sack, and add them to her signature stew!

Her husband - well, third husband but who’s judging - Leppaludi, is what the Daily Mail would label a benefit-scrounger as he hangs about in their cave all day. On top of this is their 12 children: The Yule Lads.

(God, this has a Daily Mail story written all over it.)

Each lad has a different, um, quirk.

One harasses sheep. One steels tupperware - no, seriously, he makes a point of stealing pots with lids. And another steals candles from children.

So that’s Iceland covered - let’s head back to continental Europe!

Hans Trapp is our next contender for the ultimate creep of Christmas. Trapp is a resident of Alsace-Lorraine, and comes from near the border of France and Germany. But what’s really terrifying about this monster is that he once existed.

Hans Von Trotha was a French Knight and man of particular political distinction. From his feuds with the church, to his ever-roaming spirit after he died, the following myth was by no means a random creation. However, the backstory to Hans Trapp took a bit of a detour from his past:

Trapp was reportedly a Satanist who would kill children. Yeah, you can see a theme here…

This rich, greedy man was excommunicated by the church, and then exiled to the forest where he would hunt children. Well, he would until struck by a bolt of lightning sent by God. But despite his rather dark past, his backstory is less really-demonic, more redemptive.

A bit like Krampus, he seeks to remind kids to be virtuous, teaming up with St. Nicholas to ensure children would be nice.

Next is Romanian Werewolves.

Yep, that’s plural.

Sure, these man-beasts show up during the full moon, but also makes a point of unleashing their true forms at Christmas. This has merged with caroling in Romania - dressing up as animals and pissing off people busy having a cheeky Baileys rather than see their family is a common occurrence there.

Oh, and they go around and tell you not to have sex.

No, seriously, you aren’t allowed to have sex on Christmas Eve cause Jesus or somethin’.

The other Christmas mythical creatures include:

Le Pere Fouettard, some fella who tags along with St. Nick, delivering lumps of coal to naughty kids. Well, when he’s not beating them up, that is!

Knecht Ruprecht joins Santa on his rounds too, but he isn’t like Pere, don’t worry! He kidnaps children, instead.

Next up is Zwarte Piet, one of Santa’s helpers who listens at the chimney of family homes to deduce if kids have been naughty or nice. Guys, we got a wholesome helper! Wait - people dress up in blackface to celebrate him?

I think we can all agree that racism is far scarier than anything else on this list…

Lastly, we have Belsnickel. And don’t worry, there’s no racism here. This bloke clad in fur and random clothes asks kids if they’ve been naughty or nice during the year.

Let’s Talk About The Terrifying Traditions

Well, we did it, guys!

We made it through the monsters behind a Merry Christmas.

And you can rest easy knowing these are all mythical creatures that can add a smidge of spook to your Christmas. But now it’s time to discuss the spooky side to the traditions we pull out of the attic year-upon-year.

So, no, these aren’t based on myths or religion - its based on historical fact!

Great.

Anyways:

If there’s one thing that defines Christmas - and is currently crippling my bank account - its gift giving.

Thinking of giving someone scissors for the most wonderful time of the year? It will literally cut your friendship or relationship in two. And shoes? The receiver of your gift will metaphorically walk away from your relationship.

But if you’re looking for a more, uh, positive gift, a wallet or purse should be on your shopping list, instead.

Wallets with money in them are believed to ward off demons, ghosts, and all other scary things.

Another creepy Christmas fact is the historical origins of mince pies. As a Brit, seeing Americans attempt to comprehend mince pies always figures as a solid meme. But the origin of it doesn’t steer too far from ‘Murican attempts to replicate this Christmas treat.

Back in the 16th century, cannibals would add human meat to pies, selling it off as actual meat. Oh, and this parallels some vague rumour of Santa being a cannibal. Basics, a holy man told him to give gifts to kids instead of eating them.

In some strange and convoluted way this somehow chocks up to mincemeat now insinuating that there is no meat in there, instead.

*shrugs*

Speaking of tasty treats, why not make sure you stick to the rule of the Baker’s Dozen at Christmas?

When bakers would make batches, they would provide 13 of something instead of a dozen in case something turned out wrong. But they would also provide an extra roll, or a bun, at Christmas!

It’s for that reason that on the 12th day of Christmas, you have to take down your Christmas tree. Fail to do so? You’re gonna have to keep it up all year, then. It’s a mouldy pine tree, or its bad luck.

Our next tradition stakes it claim as the twisting of a Crimbo icon: it’s Santa Claus, himself.

But this time, he takes on an urban legend that I’m sure many actually believe: understandably, ‘santa’ can be traced to ‘satan’, as if it is the unholy being himself but in disguise. And ‘claus’? It can be translated to ‘hoof claws’, a running theme we see with the monsters like Krampus.

So, could it be the devil in disguise?

Satan aside, who else likes trooping up to midnight mass and singing about the JC?

Well Christmas carols - and even carolling itself - actually sticks to a relatively dark past. Take Good King Wenceslas - this bloke let in peasants and encouraged them to join his bountiful feast!

Unfortunately, his charitable efforts were not rewarded. He was stabbed with a lance repeatedly outside a church upon his own brother’s orders, and was then dismembered.

Yikes.

Historically, carollers would partake in similarly violent activities, demanding food and drink from their audience. Heck, they would even so so far as to start attacking, raping, and destroying their property!

Guess it wasn’t a very Silent Night, then…

Our penultimate tradition is that of the Nutcracker: Whether you’re watching it, or using it to have a Christmas-specific nibble, there’s no doubt that this is pretty popular image of the festive season.

But - and it’s a big ol’ ‘but’ - it’s based on a truly terrifying story.

No, there’s no ghosts, no ghouls, and certainly no demons. But there is a child marriage.

The story goes that a girl, Marie, sees a nutcracker come to life. Her Grandfather than launches into this story of how men can be cursed with the ugliness of a nutcracker. She replies by saying she’d marry one no matter how they looked.

She is then whisked away into a magical world from which she marries a nutcracker.

This all goes down whilst she is 8 years old.

Our final tradition of terror is less about the abuse of young girls, and more about evil beings breaking into your house. Merry Christmas?

See, you’d think that people coming down your chimney is reserved for one bloke in particular, but it turns out that European tales of malicious spirits taking the same route is a common tale frequently told.

Belsnickel does the same, as do Greek goblins in order to terrorise the residents of the house.

So - What’s Your Verdict?

Which tradition left you shook?

And what Christmas film are you now going to watch to try and wipe this from your brain?

Be sure to hit follow to see a real spooky story tous les jours (everyday for the unsophisticated among us)!

At this point, I would tell you to have a Merry Christmas, but I think a safe one where, you know, you don’t get dragged to hell by Krampus, is best.

160 notes · View notes

queensdivas · 5 years

Text

A Damned Soul Chapter 2 (A Gwil Fan Fic)

It’s all coming together! WHOOP WHOOP! If you would like to be tagged please let me know! If you got requests on one of the Bohrap boys or the dads! Please feel free to request! I hope you all enjoy because holy shit this is getting fun to write!

@mexifangorl @leah-halliwell92 @bonafiderocketqueen @i-live-for-queen @its-funny-til-its-not @b-i-g-i-r-l-b-i @teathymewithben @mayofbrian @brianmydear @i-live-for-queen

Previous Chapter

Next chapter

Masterlist

He viewed the world as the first cinematograph when he would be walking around this mortal world. The people in constant motion, the quality of viewing, and even trying to add the old piano music along for the ride. It was the only thing that was keeping him sane before walking into a church to drown himself in holy water.

Fixing his black gloves as the coat man took his cloak off the from the hanger. He placed his dark purple hat on top of his head then prepared himself for the walk out to start his day. Breakfast was on his mind Walking out to the cool evening as the world changed into the fast moving of what he saw.

Till his eyes drifted to her..is when the reality of how the world looks would come back to his sight. Hundreds of times he’s witnessed this moment...words still manage to fall short in this instance. It was how she carried herself around the world when he would see her. Always walking with a destination to go..strong footsteps..not light like some kind of fae.

To him..she was an absolute Goddess…

She walked down the street with a basket full of pastries to take home with her which I’m assuming was her little herb shop down the street from my home. Till a bum came running behind her, pushing her down and snatching her basket.

“Thank you for the free pastries! You bitch!” He screamed as I held my cane up to hit him on his leg, collapsing before me and basically rolling all over the sidewalk in pain. Grabbing the basket from the ground as she dusted off her dress then smiling as I handed her basket back to her.

“Ummm..thank you Sir Lee.” Her eyes always looked down when we would first come into contact. But never doing the lifting of the chin so we could meet. It was seeing her standing before me in embarrassment or even humility.

The sunset was causing a little sunburned was beginning form which was time for me to get into the next building. Tipping my hat to her as I moved swiftly past her but her eyes lingering as they always do after we first meet..

“Wait..Sir Lee..if it’s not too much of a burden..may I ask… Oh never mind you look like in a hurry.”

“No please..your want is my command.” She gulped as she hid her face again from me..I don’t mean to frighten her. Just these precious moments seem to fly by so damn quickly.

“I know it’s not far..but will you please walk me home..if it’s out of your way then never mind. Oh never mind you’re too busy!” She scurried off before I could even give her my answer..which will always be yes....

When it comes to the sunlight and vampires. It is your enemy yes..but you won’t burst into a pile ashes with being in it. Eventually they become a little resistant to it so going outside to the world with the sun won't kill them. It’ll hurt a little bit at first so basically it’s like they’re getting a very bad sunburn. Luckily for Gwil. He’d been alive since the 7th century so the sun hadn’t been a major issue to keep himself alive. Still hurts after a little bit.

In his bright red 63’ Corvette Stingray which stuck out like a sore thumb, traveling up along the coast in the strong winds of the night traveling along with him. He was determined that this would be the last time..or would just stay outside on the sunniest day of the year.

Parking at the cottage as the sun was already setting creating a gorgeous orange backdrop of what he would be viewing for when he wakes up from his slumber. The realtor came out of the cottage with her perky smile on her face and a large yellow folder for all the paperwork he has to sign.

“Mr. Lee! It’s truly a pleasure doing business with you!” She shook my hand with her eyes trailing up and down my body. I can’t tell you how many damn times these women just keep staring at me like I’m some sort of eye candy to them. Quite revolting.

“Now you’re more than welcome to walk around to see how the movers got everything put together and ready to go.” This isn’t the first home I’ve had to buy over the millennials. Usually my home has been a castle, some large mansion, and large flat on a square.

Sitting on top of the hill the cottage sat that was a pearl white color but was also a little into the hill so the top would be covered in grass. Keeps a nice natural temperature for the house. My new home was a little smaller than most of the grand places I’ve lived before. As in it’s not a castle, a mansion, or even large flat on the square. It had a living room, a bedroom that is pitch black..for obvious reasons. No kitchen which makes the living room much larger. Then of course a bathroom.

“Now regarding the whole no kitchen. I can always expand the cottage for some room for a tiny little kitc.

“No kitchen needed. I plan on doing most of my cooking outside so to enjoy the view.” Lying to her as she nodded then placed the paperwork I needed to finish signing on the living room table. Scribbling down my signature on the lines so I could get this woman out of my hair. I’ve got things to start working on before tomorrow evening when she should be shopping for the catch of the day.

“Please doing business with you mam and I hope we can do business again.” Practically shoving her out of the cottage then locking the door tightly. Might as well get some rest before I go grab some dinner.

The curtains were shut all over the living room of the cottage as I walked over to the record player. Usually some very light chants get me to fall asleep after a move such as this. Pressing the play button as the house was beginning to fill with beautiful music.

IF it’s one thing I miss about the 13th century was the vast amount of chants that were sung all Sundays. Thought entering a church would practically be a death sentence for myself..walking by them in the early mornings after a night of hunting was always pleasurable.

Entering into the bedroom to see a very large cat sitting in the middle of my bed. His tail softly moving on top of the covers, those very yellow green eyes were staring directly at me..as if he was planning on pouncing at any moment. Cats in this world are very interesting. The whole “cats have nine lives” is very real and to the point some cats have been with me for a very long time...all annoying with their meows and purs.

“Look. As much as I love cats and all the so called happiness you bring to this world. I would prefer not to have you in my home. So c’mon.” Standing at the edge of the bed but he wasn’t moving an inch..stubborn feline!

“Alright then you stubborn feline.” My hands reaching down to him as he began squinting at me.

“Call me a feline again..I dare you ya bloody blood sucker!” Did...did he just talk…? That’s so damn impossible! I must be tired and a little bit of a headache most likely because I’m hungry!

“Shocked to see a feline talking to you?”

“HOLY SHIT!” Falling to the floor as I backed myself to the dresser! Stopping so that he wouldn’t pounce at me to scratch my eyes out!

“How the!?! What the!?”

“Your really going to question why I’m talking? We live in a world with vampires, witches, and other mythical creatures. Is a talking cat really so bizarre that you threw yourself against the dresser?” He had a thick American accent which stung like a viper somehow! Still sitting on top of my bed but closer to the edge so we could have some sort of eye contact.

“If I say yes...I get the feeling you’ll scratch my eyes out.” He sat in the middle of my legs. His ears pointed straight up as I tried to get this entire situation in my head. Like I said..I’ve had cats follow me around..but none of them have ever had some sort of conversation!

“So you’re a talking cat...and you’re bothering me because…?”

“I’ve heard of you before. You’re very famous for your tragic story. To some fellow immortals your story makes even Elvis Presley sad.” Elvis is alive?

“Elvis is alive? I thought he died in 1970 or something…?” Rolling his eyes as he got down from the bed and even appeared bigger than what he was on the bed. His grey fur was very fluffy and his paws were massive for a cat.

“You’re missing the point you idiot! Those of us who have been wandering this world since the beginning have seen heart aches and the destruction. But you..oh boy have you inspired the masses.” For an American cat his vocabulary is better than what I thought it would be.

“So you’re bothering me because I inspired the masses?”

“Nope. I’m here to help your dumbass because after watching this fail countless times..it’s now just utterly depressing.” This cat is making me feel absolutely stupid! A stupid cat is making me feel so god damn stupid!

“You may call me Hyacinth! That’s what my last owner called me and I’ve liked the way it sounds. Now I’ve got to grab some dinner and your stomach growling is flooding my ears. So let’s go find some sort of grub!” Prancing off into the living room as I stayed there in shock. His head poking back into the room with annoyance written all over his face.

Opening the door as he walked out to the front porch, looking around the coast before us. I’m feeling elk. DO you think I go running around eating whatever virgin blood is available? I got tired of human blood around the 14th century...mostly because that nasty plague.

We started walking along the coast in silence..trying to read each other’s thoughts, emotions, and not wanting to attack each other. He doesn’t plan on staying around does he? I need to get on with my life and this cat will get in the way with it!

“So..Hyacinth. I know you said you’re here to help...but why and how do you plan on helping me?” We stopped walking as he entered the water a little then began searching for some sort of fish.

“Like I said. Some of us have had enough of what happens. You think you’re alone in this world..but you’re not the only ones who’ve been completely thrown under the bus. We figured if we start with you..eventually we can all finally have some sort of peace in our lives. A spark has to..” He stopped to dive his head down then pulled out a tiny fish in his mouth.

Their pools of blood crept into my nose with my eyes turning dark red. They’re so close..small animals have been doing the trick..but they’re so..juicy! A white cloudy trail appeared before me that would lead me to those Elk! I could distinctly hear their calm heart beats which was like hearing Beethovens symphony’s for the time! Loud! And so damn desirable!

Squatting on the rock from a short distance to see their blood vessels flowing through each of their bodies. Which one was diseased, weak, pregnant, and the healthiest. My tongue grazing against my lips, my fangs beginning to grow from hunger. It's been so long since I’ve been fully filled..

It’s come down to the point where drinking human blood is just gross. Most humans blood these days are filled with so much damn sugar, diseases, drugs, and even to much damn coffee. But animal blood..no..wild animal blood that live on the richness of nature it was fuels me now. Mostly small animals..since I’ve been living in areas where Elk just don’t come to live in your backyard.

Hyacinth wandered over to where I was drowning myself in my delectable meal. Once finished, he sat down next to me as I sat up. Licking the blood off my lips then beginning to clean myself up.

“As she ever seen your true form?” Catching my breath as he looked up at me.

“Yes..every time. She never cowards away..”

“I think I’m beginning to hatch a scheme for us. Oh yes..it’s all coming together.”

#gwilym lee #gwil #Gwil lee #gwilym x reader #gwilym x oc #vampire fic #vamp gwil #better than twilight #bohrap #it's a bohrap boy #joe mazzello #ben hardy #rami malek #gwil x reader #gwilym lee x reader

26 notes · View notes

asoftervirge · 6 years

Text

A Royal Bond: Roman’s Betrothed

RATING: PG, will increase as the story goes on PAIRINGS: R. Sanders/V. Sanders (main); L. Sanders/P. Sanders (side); T. Sanders/OMC (mentioned)

FIC WARNINGS/KINKS: None in this chapter! FIC SUMMARY: Prince Roman of Alexandros chooses his betrothed: a feral Omega who goes by the name of Virgil.

TAGLIST: @hellomusicalnerdhere (if anybody else wishes to be tagged, please let me know!)

CLICK HERE IF YOU READ IT ON AO3 INSTEAD!

"What is this?!"

Roman stared at the cream-colored parchment in his hands with shocked brown eyes.

"What do you think it is, Roman?"

The Sanders Family insignia stared back at him - almost mockingly. It was an official statement that was to be heard by the Kingdom of Alexandros from their official herald.

It read, and I quote:

Per tradition, as he is eighteen years of age, His Royal Majesty King Thomas of Alexandros is pleased to announce that his son His Royal Highness Prince Roman of Alexandros will be arranged to mate, be that with a Beta or Omega.

Royal Advisors Logan Faraday & Patton Spencer will choose one of your sons and/or daughters for HRH to choose from. An official announcement of engagement will be stated afterwards.

There was no avoiding this.

He turned eighteen a few weeks ago.

He was forced to find a mate.

Shoving the statement into the hands of the herald like it had been caught on fire, Roman marched up to his Father and knelt in front of him with pleading eyes.

This couldn't be happening.

He still had three years! Three years to try and find a mate of his own before choosing a mate and produce an heir! It wasn't anyone wasn't going to want Roman as a mate anyways, but that was besides the point!

"Father, please tell me this is a mistake."

His Father, King Thomas, looked down at him though not unkindly. "I'm afraid not, Roman. You know how our family is. Your of age now."

"I have until age twenty-one!"

"I'm well aware of that." King Thomas soothed, running a hand through Roman's bangs. "But it's better that we start this process now instead of later."

Roman groaned dramatically and glared at his Father. "My life is over! Is that why you're making me do this now? So you can just marry me off and I can do the only thing any royal cares about -- produce babies and forgo freedom!"

Even if he wasn't looking, Logan, one of his advisers, was rolling his eyes.

Thomas glared. "Roman, that's enough." That quickly quieted the prince. "I know this isn't what you wan't, but you'll never know until you try. You might find your mate immediately."

"Like you and Papa?"

Everyone in the room grew silent and watched Thomas as he sadly smiled down at Roman. Nodding his head, he said in a gentle whisper, "Exactly like me and Papa."

He tried hard not to let tears fall down his face as he stood up and ordered, "Announce the news immediately. Patton, Logan, I would suggest that you start making rounds throughout the Kingdom. As for you Roman, please try and behave about all this, okay?"

With that, everyone nodded and bowed as King Thomas left the throne room. The herald followed after him quickly. Logan and Patton stayed behind a little longer to see Roman's reaction.

Sure enough, he reacted just how Logan predicted: throwing a temper tantrum like that of a two-year old child.

"¡Esto es ridículo!" he screamed out in Spanish. "¿Por qué debería estar tirando mi vida a los dieciocho años?"

"Roman, you heard what your father said." Logan huffed in annoyance. "You are of age, you should start acting like a future ruler."

"And you should start minding your own business." Roman growled, releasing strong pheromones. Logan never understood why he loved being a Prince.

Patton looks at them pleadingly. "Play nice, kids, please." He didn't want them to start arguing. It wouldn't be the first time they did so.

"You aren't going to be a Prince forever, I hope you know that." Logan tells him firmly. "Sooner or later you will find a mate and produce an heir."

"And I would it be later than sooner."

"Roman-"

"No. I don't think you understand, Logan." Roman glares viciously at him, releasing even more pheromones. "Becoming King means I lose all the freedom I have. No adventures, no skipping council meetings, no competing in tournaments, no hunting dragon-witches. Everything will be taken from me. All because I'm eighteen and are forced to marry!"

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. A headache always formed every time Roman spoke. "You sound as though you're dying."

"I might as well be on my death bed!"

Patton, his other adviser, stepped forward. "Marriage won't be that bad, kiddo. It only means you're growing up, it was bound to happen eventually." He placed a comforting hand on Roman's shoulder. He released his own pheromones.

"Besides, you'll still be the same Roman we know and love. You'll just have a higher position in the Kingdom that's all! Just give it a chance, Roman. Please?”

The Prince sighed, the Beta's scent comforted him slightly. "I thank you for the positive words, Patton. But it's just not working." He started to leave the throne room.

"Where are you going?" Patton asked in concern.

"Stables." Roman states without looking at them. "Don't even think of following me." He could feel Logan's piercing gaze on his back as he kept walking.

-,-,-,-,-

"I swear he is going to be my downfall." Logan grumbled as he and Patton made their way around the village. Searching for future consorts isn't as easy as people believe. They had spent under an hour going door to door in search of someone worthy of being Roman's mate. And none of them were up to their standards.

"Aww, try not to take it so seriously, Lo." Patton tells him. "Look at Thomas. He's still the same loveable, goofball we knew all those years ago!"

"That's because we helped him get back to who he was. Had we not, he would still be severely depressed. Remember?"

Patton nodded sadly. That was an incredibly dark time in the Kingdom. Fortunately, they were all able to move past it, even if it proved to be difficult. "I remember." They silently continued making their way through the village until Patton smelt a distinct smell in the air. Focusing on the scent, he started to follow it.

"P-Patton?" Logan called out. He started to sprint after him before deciding to run. "Patton! Get back here immediately!" Groaning, he kept following the other adviser.

They continued to follow the scent until Patton skidded to a halt. The smell was coming from a young boy. He was wearing a patchwork shirt that went over his knees and his hair appeared to be a tangled, dirty mess. He was shaking like a leaf and was curled in himself.

Patton's hear broke at the sight of him. Carefully, he walked up to him and knelt in front of him. "Excuse me?" he whispered. The boy was startled by his voice and backed away from him. "Woah, woah, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise." He held a hand out, making sure that it was okay to touch him.

The boy crawled towards Patton and sniffed his head before nuzzling into it. Patton was shocked by the reaction while Logan observed it more. He noticed how young he was, around 16 at most. He had striking silver eyes, but he could see how he had bags under them. What he also noticed was how his behavior was that of...

Logan's eyes widened as he pulled Patton away from him. "Patton, I'd be careful with him."

"What? Why?" Patton asked, a little upset.

Logan looked at the boy before whispering to Patton, "He's a Feral Omega." Patton was shocked. "You don't know how he's going to react to you. And not only that, a Feral Omega can't be a member of the Royal Family."

"And why not?" If Patton wasn't a Beta, he'd be releasing a scent that would've made Logan cower in fear.

"Thomas had enough scandal with the abolishment of Omega slavery. Not to mention the Consent Laws!" Logan hissed. "We don't need to add to that."

Patton glared. "I get that, Logan, I really do. But he seems to be more than just a Feral Omega." He looked at the boy then back to Logan, desperation in his eyes. "Trust me, Logan. Please?"

Logan sighed. It was always hard to say no to Patton. "Fine." Patton cheered happily before returning to the Omega.

"Hi again!" Patton says quietly as to not disturb him. "I was curious if you wanted to come with us somewhere?" The boy tensed up at that, backing away again. Patton released a calming scent to try and make him feel better. "I know that sounds scary, but I promise you we'll take care of you."

Logan stepped forward. "I can assure you that Patton is correct in that regard. While I can understand that you don't trust us, but we wouldn't back down on our word." He held a hand out for the boy to sniff, only for him to hiss at him. Logan glared at Patton. "Are we positive--"

"Yes!" Patton insisted, making the boy flinch. He was quick to reassure him, "I'm sorry. We just think it would best if you came with us."

The boy whimpered, his eyes shining with tears.

"Living out here on the streets is very dangerous, especially for an Omega such as yourself." Logan tells him gently. "We don't want you hurt. We only want you to be safe and we can take you to a safe place."

Hearing that made the omega look at him. Promise?, he signs, shocking the advisers.

"Aww, what's wrong, kiddo?" Patton asks. "You can't talk?"

When I get real anxious or highly emotional, he signs. Rely on body language, facial expressions and signing when that happens...Please answer question.

"You can trust me when I say that we will uphold our promise." Logan responds kindly. "And I happen to be very good at reading people as well as sign language. So if you ever find it difficult to sign, you can always use me for assistance."

The boy looked at him, then at Patton. Seeing the kindness and the reassurance in their eyes told him that he could trust them. Thank you.

Logan smiled. You're welcome.

"What's your name, kiddo?" Patton smiled as he helped the boy to his feet.

It took him a while but the boy finally said, "V-Virgil."

-,-,-,-,-

Knock, knock, knock. "Roman?"

Thomas opened the door to his son's room. He noticed him lying down on his bed, face planted in his pillows. Thomas also took note that Roman was dressed in his pajamas instead of his regal uniform. He sat down beside him and placed a gentle hand on his back.

"Go away, Father." Roman muffled out. He didn't want to bother dealing with anything related to his future, and albeit, upcoming marriage. All he wanted was to be alone with his thoughts.

Thomas cooed sadly, rubbing his back in soothing motions. "I know you don't wish to talk about it," he says. "I understand, truly I do. Though I must tell you that Patton and Logan have returned."

The Prince groaned loudly. Great, he thinks. This is happening regardless of whether or not I want it to. Nonetheless, he slowly rose from his bed and changed back into his uniform. Before left, his Father called to him.

"Roman, wait." The Prince turned around. "Please remember what I said, alright?" He nodded.

He knows that even though he doesn't want to do this, at all, he should still have his princely etiquette. Straightening his back and lowering his shoulders, he left his room and made his way to the throne room. Thomas trailed closely behind him.

Once they arrived, Roman noticed Patton, Logan, and the herald all standing directly in front of the throne. What caught his eye was the figure standing beside Patton. They were dressed in a white gown and a veil was covering their face.

In the olden days, white symbolized that those who were going to be royal consorts aren't mated. Nowadays, since Omegas were originally kept as slaves, the white has no symbolism anymore. That doesn't mean that the Royal Family still doesn't use it.

Patton saw him and smiled brightly. He didn't say anything to Roman and gently lead the veiled figure towards him. He mouthed to Roman, "I really hope you like him."

Roman gently held the ends of the veil between his fingers before gently lifting it over the figures' head. When he saw the face underneath, his breath was caught in his throat.

Virgil looked completely different from how Patton and Logan found him in the streets. His messy hair was washed and straightened. Instead of it being a dirty, brownish color, it now glowed a dark purple hue.

His eye makeup was stunning, dark purple with a black outline. It made his silvery-purple eyes pop. A light blush was on his cheeks, a subtle touch to contrast all the dark coloring.

Roman thought this was the most beautiful creature he ever laid his eyes on.

At first, Virgil didn't recognize who he was standing in front of until he noticed the insignia on Roman's uniform. His eye grew wide and his face grew red as he immediately knelt down in respect.

Patton giggled, while Thomas and Logan smiled. Roman chuckled. That seemed to be a typical reaction when strangers meet a member of royalty. He gently guided Virgil back to his feet.

"Please don't kneel." he tells him kindly. "I do not wish for formalities right now."

When Virgil went to speak, he found that he had no voice. He placed his hands on his throat and shook his head fearfully.

"What's wrong?" Roman asked worriedly. "Can't you speak?"

"I'm afraid, Your Majesty," Logan explains, addressing Thomas more than Roman. "That when he gets into states of high anxiety or any other emotion state, they reduce him to becoming mute. In that case, he relies on communication via sign and body language along with facial expressions."

Roman nodded in understanding. "What is your name, beautiful one? Can you try and sign it to me?"

Virgil went wide-eyed and blushed more at the petname and quickly, albeit shakily, signed his name. My name is Virgil.

"Fortunately, he has told Patton and I that his name is Virgil, which is what he signed to you." Logan translates. Roman adored it. "Unfortunately, however, he is a Feral Omega who was living on the streets after the abolishment of slave ownership."

Thomas looked at Virgil sadly. "A feral Omega, is that so?"

Virgil looked down at the pristine floor in embarrassment. He felt two finger hook under his chin and forces him to stare at Roman, who was still looking concerned.

"There's nothing to be afraid of." he tells the omega gently. "We are all friendly here. My Father was the one who abolished Omega slavery, as you probably know, and we would never hurt you." He can see the stress leave Virgil as he begins to look more relaxed.

It took him a few tries, but Virgil utters out, "T-Thank you."

His voice was scratchy and a little deep, but Roman loved the sound of it. Everything about the omega were things the prince secretly dreamed of.

"I-It's no trouble, really." he coughed, blushing a shade of red as deep as his sash. He looked at the junction between Virgil's neck and shoulder, then met his eyes again. "May I?"

Virgil didn't necessarily know what he was asking for, but he shyly nodded.

Roman stepped forward, careful as to not make the omega anymore nervous than he was, and pressed his nose to his scent glands. His scent. It was something he never smelt before.

Despite him being a former slave, he doesn't have a bond mark or anything to represent another alpha's scent. Virgil was covered in his own that marked him as his and his alone.

Virgil seemed shocked by the gesture, but one whiff of the prince's scent made him quickly submit. It was a strong, earthy scent and it provided him comfort. Feeling his anxiety leave him, Virgil wrapped his arms around Roman tightly and pressed his nose to the alpha's scent glands.

Thomas simply stared, Patton blushed deeply, and Logan looked indignant.

Scenting on the neck was always considered a private matter. Members of the royalty would only scent their consorts on their wrists. The only public exception was during weddings. Roman seemed to be disregarding that rule entirely, and he didn't seem to care.

The two remained that way for a long time, nuzzling each other and soaking in each others' scents. It was only when Logan loudly coughed that Virgil recoiled back. Even though he looked embarrassed, he didn't feel that way.

Thomas stepped forward. "Roman?" His son turned to him, reddish-brown eyes shining with glee. When he nodded enthusiastically, the King smiled and turned his head towards the herald. "I believe you have an official announcement to make?"

"Might as well." Logan says, rolling his eyes. "They've already completed the first step of the mating process."

Roman flushed, but he looked back at Virgil who gave him a small smile. The prince responded with a larger one of his own, tangling Virgil's hin, pale fingers in his own.

His Royal Highness Prince Roman of Alexandros is delighted to announce his engagement to an Omega named Virgil. Further details of the wedding will be announced at a later date.

His Royal Majesty King Thomas of Alexandros sends his well wishes to the happy couple.

#Sanders Sides #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #Prinxiety #A Royal Bond AU

94 notes · View notes

fangirlshrewt97 · 4 years

Text

The Witcher Fic - Give Me One More Chance (Part 3)

Author: Fangirlshrewt97

Fandom: The Witcher (TV Series)

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier|Dandelion, Geralt of Rivia & Yennefer of Vengerburg, Geralt of Rivia & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Jaskier|Dandelion & Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon

Characters: Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier|Dandelion, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Yennefer of Vengerburg, Roach

Rating: Teen Audiences and Up (Swearing, Mild Gore)

Warnings: None Apply

Additional Tags: Post Episode S01E06: Rare Species, Emotionally Constipated Geralt of Rivia, Pining, Touch-Starved Geralt of Rivia, Whump, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt & Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, Canon-Typical Levels of Violence, Monsters, I really put Geralt through the wringer here, but I am ok with that because poor Jaskier did not deserve it, I do acknowledge though that Geralt is multiple levels of screwed up and maybe thought he was helping them both when he was actually hurting them

Summary: After the dragon hunt, Geralt tries to cope with his actions. And misses Jaskier a lot. But refuses to deal with his feeling even when it almost kills him.

Alternate title: 5 things Geralt misses about Jaskier + 1 he didn’t need to

Link to A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24389734

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

*****

Geralt did not have much time to ponder on his own cursed luck after the incident with the shapeshifter. Mere weeks later, he was in Cintra as it fell, and days later, he found his Child Surprise. He made a promise to himself as he was riding to Cintra that he would just protect her and then return her to her family after the danger had passed. But having seen the corpse of Queen Calanthe, and held Ciri’s small form against him, he knew he had a new purpose now.

Still, Ciri was a child, a princess who grew up wanting for nothing, and now she was all alone in the world stuck with a stranger destiny has assigned her. She screamed herself awake the first few nights, and Geralt did not know what to do but hold her when she sought comfort from his touch.

It had been a long time since Geralt had ever had to properly care for another human being, and he had never truly had anyone who looks to him for comfort. The last kind touch he had had, he had to pay coin for. He could hardly learn lessons on childcare based on his interactions at a brothel anyways.

He held her in his arms, ran his fingers through her hair. Those get her to stop shaking. Sometimes, he rumbled, noticing that she tucked herself closer to the vibrations. He knew a few of the lullabies and songs Jaskier had used to help comfort children they sometimes had to rescue from monster, but that was not an option. He remembered every lyric though, he just couldn't bring himself to sing Jaskier's words. His lark had never been quiet for long, and even when his scent had long faded from the memento Geralt still had inside his tunic, his melodies were forever imprinted onto Geralt’s brain. He hummed a few of the easier shanties under his breath. Ciri snuffled her nose and curled herself more tightly under his chin. After laying her out in her own bedroll, Geralt laid down nearby, still seeing the outline of her figure. The last time someone touched him to comfort him because they wanted to see if he was alright, because they genuinely cared, he payed them back by screaming that they were the cause of all his misfortunes. But each of them had led him to something invaluable had it not? He inevitably hurt all those he cared about, and the thought of somehow causing his newest charge any pain made Geralt want to vomit. His hands were made of killing not caring, how could anyone trust him to take care of such innocence?

Geralt was rarely selfish, but alone, in the dark with just the starts ad Ciri's sweet snores for company, he could admit to himself that he could no longer imagine life without Ciri. Or rather imagine it and not feel a void there. Same for Yennefer. They may not have parted with kind words, but she was still important to him, and she always would be.

///

After almost getting accustomed to the feeling of travelling alone once again, Ciri was yet another change to the routine he had established decades ago. And a welcome one, but unpracticed. She was fierce and brave, but ultimately she was still raised in a palace, her hands still smooth and without callouses earned through work done with one’s own hands. He taught her how to gather firewood, how to find a water source, how to determine if it was clean. He spoke more with her than he could remember speaking to anyone, including -.

No. Geralt would not deny himself the truth anymore. Thinking about him still hurt. Didn’t mean he would accept the pain either. Just... ignore it.

Except, he didn’t expect it to hurt even more to not think of him. Ciri asked him about his connection to her, about their destiny and how it came to be. About Yennefer. About Witcher training. About Roach. About himself.

And he told her. He told her about starting when he was a mere child, about the trials being lethal, about brothers being killed because they were not strong enough to survive. But he also told her that they were not asked to participate in the trials until they felt ready.

He told her about the purple-eyed sorceress. About the stories that had started coming out of Sodden, about a fight for the chokehold, the Nilfgardian army against a small group of mages and sorceresses. They were in a rundown inn when they hear a rumor of a witch with purple eyes who defeated an army before vanishing into smoke. Ciri tries to distract him when his face grows shuttered.

///

He didn’t tell her about Jaskier. Not about his bright clothes and merry laughter, about his endless well of impossible tales that nonetheless always made the children of any town they visited laugh. He also kept quiet about how he misses Jaskier’s fearlessness regarding touching Geralt. That was not a conversation he was prepared to have with himself even. He didn’t tell about how good a friend he was to the Witcher, and above all, he didn’t breathe a word about the guilt that eats at him a little more each day for sending the bard away.

It must be visible on him somehow though, because Ciri always wore a knowing glint when he recounted a retelling of an adventure he shared with the bard that he carefully worded to completely extract him from the story.

He told dull stories.

///

They found Yennefer six weeks into their travels. Or rather she found them. They were camping when Roach neighs at the change in the air around them, and his medallion starts to vibrate. He gathers Ciri and his swords, gives her a dagger and tells her to run in case the fight turns ugly. She had just managed to hide behind a tree when the portal opens and Yennefer steps though, looking as radiant and terrifying as always.

“Is this how you always greet friends, Witcher?” Yennefer asked, deadpan.

Geralt scented her familiar smell of lilacs and gooseberries, but the shapeshifter had a hold of his thoughts again, and he pressed his sword’s tip into her throat until he nicks her chin. She lets him.

“Satisfied?”

Still wary, he nodded. He lowered his weapon.

Then, she surprised him. Her voice was filled with genuine regret as she informed him: “Geralt. I am so sorry. Princess Cirilla was killed during the fall of Cintra. I know she was your Child Surprise, and whatever your feelings might have been about that, she was far too young to die.”

Geralt blinked at her, before snorting.

“Your informants are wrong.”

It was Yennefer’s turn to blink. This was not quite the reaction she had been expecting.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona! Come on out!” Geralt called out, voice just a bit louder than normal. Ciri came scrambling out of her hiding place, and plastered herself to Geralt’s side.

“Fiona, I want you to meet Yennefer of Vengerburg.” Geralt told Ciri. Then looking at Yennefer, with a far more amused twinkle in his eyes: “Yennefer, I want you to meet Fiona.”

When Yen just stared he added “Also called Princess Cirilla, the Lion Cub of Cintra.”

Yennefer’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped slightly open. But she being who she was, recovers quickly and bowed and held out a hand for the young girl. Ciri squinted at her suspiciously before hesitantly extending her own hand.

“Pleasure to meet you Princess.” Yennefer adds, voice warmer than Geralt has ever heard it. Her whole countenance was softer than he remembered.

Ciri smiled, a sight that still instilled a warmth in Geralt’s core.

“Pleasure to meet you Yennefer.”

At that time, Ciri’s stomach let out a loud growl, causing her to turn pink.

“I’m so sorry!” Ciri says embarrassed.

Yennefer laughed. “What do you say I make a meal for a change? Neither a Witcher or a songbird can ever be counted on to whip up anything anyone can actually call enjoyable food. It’s all cooked enough to not be chalk or stone.”

She did not notice Geralt stiffen. Or Ciri perk up.

The excitement in her voice felt like a blade to Geralt’s heart. “Songbird? What songbird? Geralt you had a pet?”

Yennefer pauseed, frowning confusedly between them before she looks around the campground.

“Where is your songbird shadow Geralt?” Yennefer asked.

Geralt would swear his teeth were being grinded to dust in his mouth.

“Not with me anymore.”

“Geralt!” Ciri whined.

He makes the mistake of glancing at her and being caught in her doe-like gaze, stripped to his core and made to feel ashamed.

“Ciri drop it!” Geralt growled. She jumped away from him, abruptly leaving him feeling unbalanced. She looked close to tears.

“Yennefer, watch her. I am going to get us some food.” Geralt rumbled before grabbing his steel sword and dagger, and disappearing into the forest.

As he walked into the forest, he feels the dagger Ciri unintentionally embedded in his chest pierce deeper. He had not noticed until she pointed it out, but the world did seem to be getting duller.

///

The girls were resting inside Yennefer’s magic tent, on a comfortable feather bed surrounded by warmth and furs. Geralt laid outside the tent opening on his bedroll, the fabric just barely hiding the discomfort of the pebbles beneath him. He has stripped his armor, and a ways away, loosely tied to a tree, Roach was resting. He could faintly make out Yen and Ciri’s heartbeats from inside the tent.

He was tired. He has been pushing himself harder than probably advisable, even for a Witcher, but honestly, his thinking has been compromised and all his instincts were screaming at him to get his Child Surprise home to Kaer Morhen.

He told himself the cold he felt was because of the oncoming winter, and not the small loss of Ciri inside the tent instead of beside him. He had not realized how much he missed the presence of another person in his camp until he was all alone. That what he was missing wasn't the fur cloak he had given to Ciri to protect against the bitter cold, and not the other human who used to steal the very same coat and stick his cold nose into Geralt’s bedroll when he allowed it.

///

Yennefer declared she would travel with them for a while as they made their way northward toward Kaer Morhen. Geralt believeed her but also knows that Yennefer would not stay long. She was too used to luxury for life on the road. After the first two days, Ciri warmed immensely to Yennefer, happy for another female presence after only Geralt. And one who could talk in more than grunts and stilted sentences.

It was as he was coming back from one of his hunts that he heard them talking and decided to hide when he heard his name being mentioned.

“What was that?” Yennefer asked from where she was reading a book and adding something to a pot.

“What was the songbird?”

“Songbird?”

“When you first joined us. You asked Geralt where his songbird was. And he yelled at me?”

“Oh Ciri I don’t-”

“Please Yennefer.”

Yennefer sighed.

“There was a bard before you joined Geralt. Jaskier.”

“Jaskier? That name sounds familiar.”

“Have you heard the song ‘Toss a Coin to Your Witcher’?”

“Yes! I loved that song. Back in Cintra, this bard used to come, his name was Dandelion. He would always sing that song for me, but never in front of Grandmother. She did not like that song at all.”

“Figures.”

“What?”

“Jaskier was the bard who wrote that song. He was a good friend of Geralt’s. I guess he was the reason we met.”

“Oh?”

“Jaskier- He was injured. A Djinn attacked him. Geralt brought him to me to be healed.”

“You were friends then?”

“I wouldn’t say friends. The bard was annoying, and could not shut up. He would get involved with everyone, did not know what discretion meant. Had no sense of self-preservation.” Yennefer paused. Then she smiled sadly. “But he wasn’t all bad. He was kind. For all his insults and pettiness, Jaskier never did anything to hurt. He was loyal. To Geralt above everything.”

“He was Geralt’s friend?”

“Bestest friend in the whole world if I remember correctly.” Yennefer's voice was almost nostalgic.

“What happened?” Ciri asked, before her voice lowered to a whisper Geralt had to strain to hear. “Did he die?”

“I- I don’t know Ciri. The bastard had terrible luck of always getting into life-threatening situations, but he also had a gift to talk himself out of nearly anything.”

“Then why isn’t he with Geralt?” Ciri asked, endearingly earnest in her curiosity.

“You are going to have to take it up with him. Now come on. This stew is almost done. Help me finish up and we can cook whatever Geralt brings back.”

Ciri thankfully dropped the subject. Geralt waited another minute before making himself walk noisily back to camp.

///

They were walking through a small town in Aerdinn, just like all the other small towns they had walked through in their journey. Completely unremarkable. But it was the first town they have come across in nearly a week without even a hint of war in the air. The population was made primarily of farmers and peasants, and though a few glanced at the peculiar group, no one stopped them. They made their way through town, and were planning on leaving after dinner when Ciri heard the sound of music coming from a tavern close by. Before either he or Yennefer could stop her, she split off from them and entered the building.

Geralt ran into the tavern behind her. The place was crowded, raucous. Ciri’s eyes were glowing, and she was practically vibrating with excitement. Yennefer came in behind him, face twisting when a couple of drunk locals bumped into her on their way out. But Geralt did not notice any of this. No. His eyes were on the troubador playing music for the crowd.

His doublet was a light green, just shiny enough to reflect the candlelight in the room. He was singing at the top of his voice, his feet leading the beat the villagers accompanied. His hair was longer, and his face had more wrinkles. His voice was more hollow that Geralt has ever heard it, despite the cheer the bard projected. Yet there he was.

His songbird. His little lark.

His Jaskier.

“Dandelion!”

The world seemed to freeze around them as electric blue eyes met ancient amber.

#the witcher #my fic #the witcher fic #jaskier #geralt #geraskier #geraskier fic #yennefer of vengerberg #cirilla fiona elen riannon #part 3 #I'll be updating daily #please let me know what you think #i'm done with this fic

0 notes