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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part eight Word count: ±2900 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part eight summary: Zoë might have accepted the boys help, that doesn’t mean they get along. If the hostility between them isn’t enough, Sam and Dean have some unresolved issues of their own. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

A little less than an hour later, Sam, Dean and Zoë are sharing a table in In-N-Out. All three scheduled in some time to trade their business suits for their everyday clothes. The boys are comfortable in plaid shirts, worn jeans, and dusty old shoes, while Zoë looks like a totally different person now that she left her black pumps, blazer and dress pants in her hotel room. She’s wearing her hair down, her blown locks playfully curled up after last night’s shower. Her grey shirt has the famous Pink Floyd logo on it; a ray entering a triangle and breaks off into a rainbow when it exits. The brand new biker jacket hangs over the back of the bench while she plays with the loose tie of her All Stars shoe, wiggling her foot rhythmically.

U2’s Beautiful Day is playing in the background. It fits, considering the clear blue sky and warm sun outside. Satisfied, Dean and Zoë devour their burgers while Sam has settled for a milkshake, since they don’t have salads at this restaurant. Stunned and a little disgusted, he watches how Zoë intends to break the world record, tailed by Dean. The younger Winchester stares at them both, as the huntress swallows the last bite of the massive Animal Burger and starts on an additional cheeseburger she ordered. Apparently, Zoë doesn’t feel the need to hold back, despite having company, but then again, she wouldn’t change her demeanor for anyone.

Dean doesn’t even notice her manners as he shares her appetite. He’s more annoyed that she finished her burger before he did. He looks up for a moment as she licks the sauce from her fingers after finishing, then continues eating even faster than he did a moment ago.

“Dude! Seriously, a food race?” Sam chuckles. “Wholth?” Dean says with his mouth full. He swallows his bite, which apparently was a little bigger than he anticipated. He coughs and hits his chest with his fist, Zoë can’t help to laugh when she sees tears appear in his eyes. “What are you? Fuckin’ five years old?” she grins. “I wasn’t racing you,” he mutters hoarse. “Oh, you so were.” She sniggers, dipping one of Dean’s fries in mayonnaise. “Are you gonna eat that?” Obviously enjoying herself, she waits for his reaction. He watches her move the fry to her mouth with a look of shock and repugnance on his features. How dare she? Zoë chews on the snack provokingly. as expected he goes for the counter attack. “Don’t touch my fucking food,” he warns, pulling his portion of fries to his side of the table, clearly annoyed with his colleague stealing. “And I wasn’t racing you, ‘cause if I did, you would be many burger lengths behind, woman.” “That’s what’s bugging you the most, isn’t it? Dean Winchester just got defeated by a girl,” she nags. “I can take you with ease,” he claims, confidently. She laughs in return.“You wouldn’t stand a chance.” “Wanna bet?” “Knock it off, you two.” Sam breaks it up and looks from one to the other. “Now, could we concentrate on the case? We all got better things to do.” “I have better things to do. You on the other hand just have an unhealthy obsession with helping me,” she corrects, as she drinks from her milkshake through the straw. “Whatever,” Sam counters with a huff. “Let’s focus here. We’re dealing with a frustrated child spirit most likely on a killing spree.” “Yeah, but how the hell is she still here? I already burned her bones,” Zoë brings to mind. “She must be connected to some kind of object then, are you sure you burned everything?” Dean checks.

Zoë slightly tilts her head and glares at him with an attitude. Is he fucking kidding? “We’re sure, I was there with her,” Sam confirms, jumping in before the huntress can snap at his brother. “Nothing more romantic than a night at the graveyard,” Dean comments with a little grin, earning a death stare from Sam, and so he continues seriously. “We need to figure out what’s keeping her here before she goes all Mike Tyson again.” “She probably targets the people who are directly or indirectly responsible for her death. I don’t think she’ll rest until she kills every single one of them unless we do something about it,” Zoë speaks up. “So, who could be her next target?” Sam wonders. “It could be anyone, but the biggest candidates for a one way ticket to the land of the dead are probably Mrs. Shire and her son, maybe even Mrs. Dawlson,” Zoë realizes. “Who?” Sam and Dean question at the same time. “Her teacher at Elementary School. She knew about the abuse,” she informs, sipping her shake.

Dean seems confused. After all, he knows Zoë only arrived here last night. “How do you even know that?” “Because I had a fucking chat with her, asshat,” she claims, snappy. Dean bites his tongue and shakes his head slightly, letting a silent sigh slip from his lips. This woman is unbelievable. If it wasn’t for Sammy being so dead set on helping the bitch, he would get the hell out of dodge. Ignoring her comment, he picks up a few fries and stuffs his mouth full, not noticing the exchange of looks between Zoë and Sam. As soon as the youngest Winchester makes eye contact, he knows she didn’t talk to Mrs. Dawlson; she saw something in one of her flashbacks. “There could be a dozen more possible victims we don’t know about,” Sam states, quickly filling the void before it becomes noticeable. “True, but to figure out who might be next, we need to find more info on what happened to Laura,” she declares. “We already know what happened to her. Her dad abused her till death followed, nothing to add to that,” Sam says. “No, I mean after that.” Zoë leans forward, snitching another fry from the hunter across from her, who snaps his head up to her, staring her down and wondering where she got the nerve to steal his food twice. “Don’t you think it’s a little strange that no one found out about this murder yet? Because that what it was; murder. Her father killed her. Child services should have been all over this, especially with another minor in the household. Laura was buried without a conviction, while she obviously did not die of natural causes,” the smart woman brings to mind. “Why is that?” “I mean, the system is flawed. Maybe they missed it?” Sam suggests. “No, I don’t believe that. She must have been a mess, considering what her victims look like,” she ponders. Both boys nod as a sign of agreement; she has a point. Dean rubs his chin as he thinks. Then his facial expression changes, the metaphorical light bulb switching on in his brain. He glances up at the woman opposite of him, who watches him questioning.

“Dr. Hughes”, he says out of the blue. “I know that name,” Zoë realizes, trying to remember where she has heard it before. “It’s the doc from the morgue that we talked to,” he fills in. “He did the slicing on Shire’s dead body and also mentioned Ronald was a friend of his. I thought he responded weird when Sam mentioned the Hobbit dude.” “Is the Methodist Medical Center the only dead men’s storage in town?” Zoë asks the whizkid on Dean’s right. “Not sure. Let me check.” Sam takes out his laptop and sets it up on the table. As he works the computer, Zoë continues their brainstorming session.

“One way or the other, we need to get our hands on Laura’s death report and we need to figure out who wrote it. I’m guessing someone covered for Shire,” she speaks up. “How is that even possible these days, with all the paperwork and the forensics?” Sam rubs his temple, taking in Zoë for a second, but then returns his gaze to the laptop screen in front of him. “You think we’re the only ones who lie and deceive?” Zoë returns, smartly.

“We need to talk to more people. Someone who was there and experienced the abuse first hand and might know more about the cover-up. The Shire dude’s wife maybe?” Dean suggests. “We can’t turn up on her doorstep and confront her. If she doesn’t know her husband possibly erased evidence, it’s just gonna bring a shit ton of drama and a hell of alot explaining to do when she starts asking questions,” Zoë makes clear.

She forks her fingers through her hair and checks her phone for the time; shit. It’s almost 1 PM. Frustrated about the many blank pages of this case, she sighs, pulling at the corner of her bottom lip with her teeth. There’s so much about this job that doesn’t add up. “I don’t get how she could still be here. There was nothing left of her remains,” she sighs. “There has to be an explanation for that,” Sam ponders, as he stares at the address on display. “Anyway, there are no other morgues in town besides the one at the hospital on W. Kingshighway.”

“I tell you what.” With a neat throw Zoë tosses her empty plastic cup into the garbage can across the aisle. “Sam, you keep an eye on the Shire family. Dean’s gonna have a chat with Dr. Hughes, see if you can get some info on the death report. I’m gonna tail the teacher for a while,” she decides. Sam nods approvingly before his brother can object. He folds down the laptop screen and gets up. “Sounds good to me.” “Make sure you keep your eyes open, that little pain in the ass manages to beat up grown ups without the people next door noticing,” Zoë warns as she picks up her helmet from the bench. “You think this is our first rodeo?” Dean responds with a scoff. “You didn’t see me coming the other night in Rochester,” she counters sassy.

As she passes him she pets his shoulder, the one she put a bullet in only two nights ago. Dean flinches when a dim pain shoots through his arm again. That fucking b-- Before he can call her names, she exits the fast food restaurant, probably expecting the Winchesters to follow like obedient dogs. Stunned, he watches her walk over to her motorcycle, huffing in disbelief. First she doesn’t want their help, and now she’s giving out orders like she rules the fucking world. He didn’t think it could be possible, but his detest for her just grew to an all time high.

“Mark my words, one of these days I’m gonna shoot her down,” he announces frustrated. “Ahuh,” Sam responds, cynicism on his tongue as he puts the laptop in his backpack. “Just make sure you don’t pull a gun on her in public, will you?” “Can’t make any promises.” His brother huffs. “Anyway, you can have the car if you drop me off at the hospital. Let’s get this over with so that we can put some distance between us and the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Sam’s lips form a constricted smile, luckily his brother doesn’t notice. He has to admit that he’s enjoying the fact that his big brother is being told what to do by a girl, while normally he only takes orders from one person and one person only; their dad. What he finds interesting, however, is that despite a few muttered objections, Dean actually follows through with it.

“And you know what’s the fun part about all this?” Sam nags as they exit In-N-Out. “What?” Dean responds, annoyed, scanning the parking lot in order to spot Zoë’s Road King. “You have to dress like a penguin again.” The younger Winchester grins as he opens the door to the passenger’s seat.

His brother stares at him over the top of the car, realizing he’s going undercover as the FBI Agent Young once more. “Ah, come on! Can’t we trade?” he asks desperately. Sam laughs and sits down. “No way, dude.” Dean does the same and closes the door, complaining. “Man, I hate suits.” “You think I’m comfortable in one during these temperatures?” Sam returns. “Sam, even if I’d be freezing my ass off, I will never be at ease in that ridiculous outfit,” Dean states while turning the ignition, allowing Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd to play on the cassette deck.

“I’m not trading places. I can work some stuff out while I’m guarding the house,” Sam explains, looking outside the window, squinting his eyes to protect them from the sun. “What stuff?” Dean questions, making sure it’s not just some lame excuse. Sam looks aside and hesitates for a moment, but then tells him anyway. “I want to call some friends of Dad,” he admits.

He feels Dean’s piercing gaze, but doesn’t look up. It’s only a matter of seconds before Dean pops the first question. “Why?” Dean asks sternly. “Why?! I don’t know about you, Dean, but I wanna find him,” Sam returns defensive. Dean grips the wheel a little tighter; as if he doesn’t want to find Dad. Seriously? “So do I, but I don’t think it’s wise to start calling random hunters to ask where he is, Sam.” “I won’t call ‘random’ hunters. I’ll call a few old friends, and why the hell not?” his brother questions. “Because Dad doesn’t want to be found,” the oldest of the two claims. “How could you possibly know that, Dean?! Seriously, do you have some kind of telepathic connection with the guy or what?” Sam reacts. “Hey, you’re the psychic one, not me,” Dean counters. “If Dad wants us involved in his hunt, he will contact us one way or the other. You know that.” “No, I don’t! I haven’t heard a word from him since I left for Stanford. I don’t understand the blind faith you have in the man,” the younger brother argues. “You were the one who fucking left, Sam. And let me tell you somethin’,” Dean pauses to enforce his words. “I trust him because he’s a damn good hunter.” “He’s human! He makes mistakes just like anyone else, only this time you won’t be around to back him up. It’s not some monster that he’s hunting, this is the monster! The one that killed Mom, that killed Jess!” Sam adds up. “You think I don’t realize that?” The car stops at a traffic light and Dean turns to him, his piercing green eyes judging his brother, the same way John so often has. “Of course I’d rather be backing him up right now, but he decided to do this alone and I accept that.” “Why the hell, though? Just because he says so?” Sam huffs, shaking his head disappointed. “Hell yes, because he says so!” his brother snaps. “He leads this mission, and we stick to the orders he gives us. It’s about fucking time you show him the respect he deserves.” “He has to earn that first,” the younger Winchester responds. “He earned that a long time ago. Every time he protected you, protected us. Everything that we were taught, all the skills that we’ve learned. You were so caught up in the illusion that school was gonna work out, that when he objected because he didn’t want you to be on your own, you cut all ties,” Dean barks at him as he accelerates faster than necessary. “Why the hell do you want to find him so bad if you hate his guts, huh?” “I don’t hate his guts,” Sam says, his voice a lot less hostile than a moment ago.

Dean takes his eyes off the road again and glances at the passenger, noticing the defeated expression on Sammy’s face. Annoyed with himself he looks ahead again, shutting his eyes for a second when a pang of guilt distinguishes the anger in a matter of seconds. He meant to give his little brother a reality check, but all he did was hurt him. “Sam, I get you want answers. But calling his friends isn’t the way to do it. We just gotta be patient.”

His brother's jaw clenches and he looks away, not denying nor confirming that Dean is right and that he himself will listen. It doesn’t matter anyway; there’s no way he can turn his brother’s mind around. And Dean claims Sam is the one who is like their old man? Just now he was sure to sit next to a younger version of Dad.

He can't agree with the reasoning behind Dean’s actions, though. His older brother dragged him out of school to find Dad and now that it’s coming down to that, he doesn’t want to go out on a search. Sam on the other hand, he has to find him. Not only does he have some unresolved issues with his father, John is also the only hunter who has been tracking the thing that ruined their lives. He is the key to finding answers. It’s all he can think of; hunting down the bastard that killed Mom and Jessica.

Without saying another word, Dean drives his Impala to their motel, convinced he made his point, even though he hurt his brother’s feelings to get the message across. But Sam isn’t going to let go, neither will he trade places with Dean on their jobs. During his hours of watching the Shire family, he’s gonna make those calls and he is going to find their father. Whether Dean likes it, or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter nine here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural OFC series #Supernatural fanfiction #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester fanfiction #Dean fanfiction #Sam fanfiction #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dark!Supernatural #supernatur #spn #stss #1x02 in bad waters #Zoë Sullivan #Kate Huntington

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imnottrulyjust-blog · 7 years

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What depression is like

I wake up from a stupor fully remembering the nightmare was experiencing. The demons haunting me in my sleep. Her voice so clear near my ears just to have it muted by her mocking laughter.

♪I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed ♪

I reach or my phone to answer, but it’s not ringing. “Am I awake or still dreaming?” I could’ve sworn I heard her ringtone. I wonder if she went to sleep okay last night. I hope she wakes up well today. If I pray to an apparently non-existent deity, will she have a nice day today? Wait, what day is it today?

My body feels the net force of a neutron star acting on it while trying to will my ass out of bed each morning. Almost all light sources damage me; I say almost, because the light displayed by my smartphone while verifying if she still has me blocked on social media gives me a few seconds of hope while the apps load; almost, because the same light displayed by my phone while browsing my collection of pictures of her bring you a smile that is shattered by a scream of agony mixed with an endless stream of tears flowing from my dead eyes. Then again, she hated seeing me cry.

My pets, my loyal guardians and companions, whimper at my feet due to the lack of affection from their master. How long until they turn feral? Doesn’t matter. They’d be doing me a favour if they ate away at my body while I sleep. Then again, she wasn’t a huge fan of pets and would’ve taken them to a shelter to find a new home.

Oh, shower time. Some say the water running down your body washes away your pains. Fools! You’re just making space for new miseries. The only solace of being inside your shower is not having to be worried about flushing the toilet after taking a piss. So what if you pee on your feet? She’s gone anyhow; you don’t matter. A bit of body wash and nobody will even know you also stepped on a bit of shit after cleaning your anus. Then again, she was always a clean freak.

Well, I guess there’s also a benefit in being able to clean up fast after masturbating inside the shower. Oh, that sweet mixture of serotonin and oxytocin. What peaceful 60 seconds after cumming! You work at it for 60 minutes while trying to think of anything other than her and you get a full minute of relaxation. Whoop dee fucking do! Then again, she would get upset if I was moody.

Medical experts say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Well, fuck you. I wasn’t even supposed to wake up today, or ever again, and now you want me to cook something for myself? Then again, she would get worried if I didn’t take care of myself.

Need to get dressed for work. How bloody stupid is it that we can’t go to work wearing sweat pants and a comfortable t-shirt? Who the fucking hell cares if I don’t wear a suit every day I need to have a meeting with the higher ups? What does it matter if I don’t wear a button-up shirt every other day? Let me wear my Rick & Morty shirt or my witty engineering shirt every now and then. I know my boss wears his when he’s out with his family. Then again, what if I see her on my way to work? She liked when I dressed up nice.

“You’re a great manager! Keep up the good work! You saved the company millions with that study, so we hope you stick around for many years to come!” What does it matter? Any jackass with half a brain and respect for the job can achieve good result, until a student trained by me shows up asking for a job and takes mine away. Then again, on special occasions, she’d tell me how proud she was.

♪ I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed. Get along with the voices inside of my head ♪

Did my phone get hacked? I swear I keep hearing her damn ringtone.

Lunch time. I remember a time when friends would make fun of how much I would eat and envy the fact that I would stay in shape. That seems like ages ago, back when I still felt joy from doing physical activity. Back when I tried my damnedest to look good for her. Why should I care if I look good for myself? It’s not as if I’m a narcissist. Then again, she was always fond of looking her best. She always did, even when wearing sweat pants, a Star Wars shirt, and no makeup.

I look at the time, and somehow it’s already time for me to go to the university to help students with their final projects. What the fuck? Can I travel through time? I was eating lunch just a few minutes ago and it’s suddenly 4:30pm. I hope she was able to have lunch.

I dread going to the university. She’s still taking classes there and our times coincide. However, the students need me. They’re all missing titles for each figure, table, and chart; figures are not properly aligned; the data is poorly explained; the table of contents is manually formatted; no APA-style references; lackluster conclusions. Honestly, these reports are almost as mediocre and worthless as I am. I can’t let them hand in that shit. Just the way I helped her out polish her own work until the Sun rose in the morning.

“Since you’re too busy helping others, I can go fend for myself. I can take care of myself just fine. I have my own resources.” Is that all I am to her? A resource? No. I’m beneath that. KNOW YOUR PLACE, FOOL!

It’s late. I can finally go home, but why should I? My pets are there, but if anything happened to me, my closest friends would make sure that my furry pals get new, proper homes. I can easily build up enough speed on the highway to smash into a fully loaded semi-truck. Although, what if I survive? What if I only get badly injured? How am I going to explain what happened? “Sorry officer, I just really wanted to end it all and thought that ignoring my knowledge of physics and probabilities was a fantastic idea!”

What if my mother tries to keep me alive as a vegetable? What about my friends?

What about her? Would she care? Yeah, what about her?! Somebody, please, tell me! Would she care?! IS SHE EVEN AWARE OF HOW I FEEL?! GOD, ZEUS, BUDDHA, ANYBODY, PLEASE!!!! DOES SHE EVEN REALLY GIVE A FLYING FUCK ABOUT HOW I FEEL?!?!?!?!

My chest hurts. I can’t breathe. Stop yelling at me! My chest fucking hurts! Am I having a heart attack? I can’t be having a heart attack I’m too young for a heart attack whatthehellisgoingon STOP YELLING what is this amIgoingcrazypleasestopyelling AM I GOING INSANE PLEASE MAKE IT STOP!!!!!!!

♪ I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed. Get along with the voices inside of my head. You’re trying to save me, stop holding your breath. ♪

My phone’s battery is dead. I must be hallucinating her ringtone. More importantly, how the hell did I get home? I know I was getting into my car just a minute ago. Maybe I should have dinner, albeit a late one. How about a banan… where did this box of fried chicken come from? When did I stop for food?

I eat about a third of the fried chicken.

And a banana.

With chocolate milk.

…because I can.

She’d probably scold me for eating poorly.

Time flies when you’re correcting written reports, browsing memes on social media, watching Netflix on your smart TV, and absentmindedly looking at all types of porn on Pornhub, Gelbooru, and Tumblr. How the hell did I reblog 100 images, gifs, and videos?

5:00 AM. Must’ve dozed off at some point. I can finish correcting tomorrow along with the 3 reports that are due in the afternoon, 2 meetings, e-mails, phone calls… I hope she’s okay.

♪ I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed. Get along with the voices inside of my head. You’re trying to save me, stop holding your breath. And you think I’m crazy, yeah, you think I’m crazy. ♪

Yeah, I think you’re crazy, but I know you’re amazing.

Good night and sweet dreams. If anything is to happen to you, may the universe instead direct it towards me. I love you.

♪I’m friends with the monster that’s under my bed ♪

Wait, what day is it today?

#i feel lonely #i feel like shit #i feel like crying #thoughts #my dark days #missing you #missing her #thinking of her #thinking of you #depression #poetry #poets on tumblr

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