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zepskies · 1 year

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

AN: Real quick, just want to say I’m so happy that so many people seem to like this little story so far! Here’s a longer chapter for ya.~

Word Count: 4,300 Warnings: Mentions of anxiety. Language.

Part 2: Connection

Dean honestly didn’t remember that snowy day when he was seventeen with much clarity. Or that sad, anxious feeling in his chest.

Not until six years later, anyway.

It was only a few months after Sam left for college, and left his older brother behind. Well, he’d left John too, but he was the one who gave Sam the ultimatum in the first place.

If you leave, don’t you dare come back.

So Dean struggled to be okay with that while he and John were on another hunt in South Dakota. There was a short but significant string of murders in Vermillion, about an hour away from Sioux Falls.

“Too bad Bobby couldn’t make it,” Dean said. He and John were researching the case at the closest library—over at the University of South Dakota. This one was huge, with multiple floors and new computers.

I guess this is what nerds like Sammy dream about, Dean thought.

“Yeah, could’ve used the manpower. But he’s got his own hunt over in South Carolina somewhere,” John said. His voice was gruff with tiredness. They’d driven for about a week straight, slowly but surely getting farther from the west coast.

“So this thing eats hearts. That could still be a lot of things,” Dean said. He gestured at the small pile of books between them at their table. John had been jotting something down in the autopsy report they’d stolen. He then turned it Dean’s way and tapped his finger on the puncture wounds.

“Those look canine,” John said.

Dean’s browed crunched. “Werewolf? It’s not a full moon.”

His dad shook his head. “Similar, but different. If I’m right, all we need is a couple silver bullets. After we track this thing down.”

“Okay, I’ll bite.” Dean grinned at his own pun. “What is it?”

John smirked. “It’s a skinwalker.”

That rung some kind of bell, but Dean would be hard-pressed to remember what made a skinwalker different from a werewolf. He hadn’t encountered one before, but after he killed it, he’d be sure to remember.

John explained how skinwalkers were actually a lot like werewolves: they could infect people with a single bite, they liked their burger meat raw (as in, fresh human hearts), and more importantly, silver could kill them.

Though unlike their lunar-dependent cousins, skinwalkers could shapeshift into their animal form whenever they wanted. And that didn’t limit to canines.

“But in this case,” John said, pointing again at the autopsy pictures, “I’d say we got us a dirty dog.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, so how do we find him?”

“What do the vics have in common?”

They started pouring over the police reports of the five victims. John took out a map of the city and made notes on the location where each body was found.

This was the part Sam was hella good at. Dean enjoyed the Magnum P.I. aspect of it, but sitting here in a dusty library for hours was going to be a severe test of his patience.

He tried to focus on the reports, and he actually noticed that one of the victims was a college student—here at South Dakota University. Another one was a bartender, and the bar was only a couple of blocks down the road.

Interesting.

He shuffled through the papers to find the third victim and felt something nagging in the back of his mind—an annoying buzz that made his brows knit together. He was already feeling a bit restless sitting here, his knee bouncing in place and rattling the table a bit.

John looked up at him. “What’s the matter?”

Dean blinked in confusion. “Huh?”

“You’re shaking the table.”

Dean forced his knee to stop. But that was when he felt it—a growing sense of frustration and anxiety blooming in his chest.

What the hell? he thought. He was perfectly fine a few minutes ago. Why did it feel like it was getting hard to breathe?

“Dean.” John looked at his son a bit harder. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered quickly. “Fine…I’m gonna find a bathroom.”

He tried to be normal as he got up and left the table, but at soon as he was out of eye-shot of his dad, he made swifter strides towards the nearest bathroom. He went to the sink and splashed some water across his face to wake himself up. God, why’m I so freakin’ tired?

He took slow, deep breaths to calm down. Even though his mind was racing with what the fuck, what the fuck.

He wiped his face with some paper towel and realized his hands were shaking. Was he sick or something? He knew that Taco Bell breakfast burrito was too good to be true—

That’s it. Wake the hell up. I can’t fail this damn final!

That. That was not his thought.

“What the fuck?” Dean couldn’t help saying it out loud, just to make sure he could still speak normally.

He stared at his own shocked face in the mirror.

Then finally, he knew.

He knew what these symptoms were, because while he’d ignored that chapter of social studies, Sam had always been an avid student. Truth be told, Dean hadn’t really wanted to learn that subject. It was the reason he didn’t like thinking about their mom. And the reason why their dad barely spoke about her.

But Dean knew what happened when soulmates started getting close to one another for the first time.

Dean was feeling his freaking soulmate, and it was scaring the hell out of him.

Suddenly he could feel the bond. It was like a humming thread in his mind, an itch he wanted to scratch. If he just reached out the slightest bit, he could touch it. He could connect with whoever it was on the other line.

He could…or he could just leave it for a while until he figured out what he was even going to say, let alone do if someone answered him back.

So he did what most twenty-three year old men would do when faced with a potentially life-changing bond of commitment and…feelings.

He shoved it down and ran.

Well, not literally ran, but he was quick to leave the bathroom and return to his dad.

“Finally. What the hell took you so long?” John asked. He was already gathering their stuff together to leave.

Dean felt pinned by his dad’s gaze, but he did his best to play it smooth.

“Uh, sorry. Breakfast burrito hit me sideways. Then there was no toilet paper in the stall and I had to climb under and—”

John grimaced and held up a hand to stop him. “All right. Let’s just go.”

Dean let out a relieved breath. He hefted his backpack onto his shoulder and followed his dad out of the library, back to the Impala. He climbed into the passenger seat and took a swig of an old soda to steady himself.

He still felt her anxiety in his chest (at least, he hoped it was a her). Maybe she was having a rough day…but once he remembered what she’d said in his head, he wanted to slap a hand to his forehead.

You idiot. She’s studying for a test, he thought. She’s probably a student here.

That realization made him smirk. Aw, yeah. College girl, huh?

Though that thought was followed by a dousing shower of reality.

Oh shit. The thing we’re hunting just ate a college freshman.

“Dean, what’s the matter with you? You lost in space over there?” John asked. It punctured the bubble of Dean’s internal world and made him sharpen to attention.

“Nah, I’m fine. Where’re we headed?”

John scrutinized him a bit longer, but at Dean’s stubbornness, he seemed to let it go for now.

“To find this thing,” he said. “I narrowed down its hunting grounds and called the local animal control. They’ve been getting reports of people hearing a stray dog barking, but no one’s seen him.”

Dean nodded and settled back into his seat. Just focus on the hunt, he told himself. Deal with the rest after.

You were having a phenomenally shitty day.

Well, you supposed that was nothing new. You were twenty years old, still not old enough to legally drink but old enough to have adult bills and adult stress to go along with it. So you were also broke.

And you were halfway through a degree in history. A degree that your father repeatedly told you was “impractical” to earn a decent living with. Which wasn’t even true.

…Okay, maybe that was a little bit true. But you liked history, and you could easily fall into Mom’s footsteps and become a teacher.

You could work for a museum. You could become a world-renowned historian, or write an award-winning historical fantasy like Game of Thrones and make millions off the TV deal!

…Okay, most likely it was probably going to the teacher thing, but at least you still had dreams.

Your dad only believed in what he could see right in front of his narrow-minded face.

Your dad was a dream killer.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him that on the phone just now, but you were fuming, damn it. This wasn’t what you needed on finals week. Especially because you had an insane Calculus final to cram for, and only a few hours to do it. You needed to get back to your part-time job at the coffee shop by three. Unfortunately, you were closing tonight.

First, you needed a pick-me-up before you headed to the library.

Sighing, you rubbed the silver ring on your right hand absently as you waited in line at the university’s café. The ring had been your mom’s, and now it was yours. On most days, it gave you comfort; just that little bit of extra support to get you through.

Eventually, you got to the front of the line and rattled off your coffee order while still looking up at the menu board: extra-large black coffee with a turbo shot, four sugars. When your gaze slid down and met the guy ringing you up, your brain stuttered to a halt.

“Okay, got it. One ‘Turbo Cram Session’ coming up,” he said. He gave you a charming, friendly grin. With his hazel eyes and tan skin, he was a rare find in a midwestern town like this. His brown hair was long, brushing past his shoulders. He almost reminded you of a character from the cheesy vampire book your teen cousin Lily was obsessed with.

Regardless, he was attractive.

A nervous flutter in your stomach made you smile back. “Thanks.”

You paid the overly expensive bill and watched him make your coffee.

“Finals week, right?” he commiserated.

“Yep.” You sighed and nodded. “Three exams tomorrow, one at eight-in-the-damn-morning.”

He whistled sympathetically. “Yeah, it’s a killer.”

He put the lid on your steaming coffee and handed it to you. His fingers brushed your hand when you took the to-go cup from him, but he hissed a bit and pulled his hand back.

“You okay?” you asked in concern. He glanced at your hand. You toyed with your ring in a nervous habit.

“Yeah, some coffee spilled. No worries,” he said. He flashed you a smile. “If you need to pull an all-nighter, just come back. I can help you mainline the espresso machine.”

He tapped the inside of your wrist and you laughed, playing along. “You’d do that for me?”

“Just for you,” he said with a nod. He pressed a finger to his lips conspiringly. “Keep it quiet, though, or the whole school will be cramming in here like stray cats.”

You laughed again. His nametag read, James.

“Got it. Thanks, James.”

“Call me Jimmy,” he said, giving you a more flirtatious smile.

You left the café with a full-on blush warming your face. When your hands hand brushed, you felt tingles on your skin…but you hadn’t heard his thoughts.

He’s not the one.

Disappointing.

You continued on your path to the library.

You were a bit introverted, mostly keeping to yourself. Your friends were back home in Sioux Falls, so you didn’t really have anyone here, and you didn’t put yourself out there as much as you could. But even when guys did notice you (however few and far between that was), you just couldn’t bring yourself to entertain them. Not if you couldn’t feel them.

Maybe that was a lonely way to go through life. Your friends had certainly told you so. They encouraged you to have fun and explore in college, and part of you wanted to. Another part—the more sensitive part—thought that was just setting yourself up for disappointment.

You wanted something real. Something that would last. Like what your parents had, before…

Whatever. Enough of that. You shook your head to clear your thoughts as you approached the library, but it was hard.

Juggling a full-time college schedule, two part-time jobs, and commuting over an hour every day to school was hard. And your dad wasn’t making it any easier.

All right, stop it. Anxiety was starting to well up in your chest, and you couldn’t afford to battle with it right now.

You went into the library and found your usual spot, practically buried behind the reference books. Finding your favorite work desk, you settled your things there and sipped your coffee. You willed yourself to calm down—to power through that voice in your head that wanted to focus on your problems instead of solutions.

You only had a few hours to plug several complex math equations into your head.

That’s it. Wake the hell up, you thought sternly. I can’t fail this damn final!

With a shaky breath, you cracked open your Calculus book, put on your headphones and some music, and started studying.

A few minutes later, the men’s bathroom door opened with a loud crack and someone quickly walked out of it—right past your table.

You were too deep in your studies and your music to notice.

Father and son were on the hunt.

John was pretty sure they’d found the skinwalker (in a coffee shop of all places). They just had to wait until the bastard came out.

He and Dean waited in the Impala with Reuben sandwiches to tide them over for the stakeout. John discreetly shot his son a glance.

The boy had been off his game all day, but he couldn’t put his finger on why…

“Hey Dad, where’s Zeppelin IV?” he asked, around a mouthful of Reuben. A smile twitched at John’s lips. He wordlessly retrieved the cassette from the compartment on the driver’s side door and held it up in his hand.

“Hey, why d’you keep it on your side?” Dean asked. “You don’t trust me with your tunes by now? Just like you never let me drive?”

He was mostly teasing, but maybe there was a thread of truth underneath. John scoffed.

“I don’t let you drive the Impala ‘cause you’re a punk,” he said. He offered Dean the cassette, but just as he was about to grab it, John took it back and popped it into the cassette player himself. He smirked. “Driver picks the music.”

Dean gave him a look, like he wanted to snipe a comeback, but thought better of it. He sat back into his seat.

John took a satisfied bite out of his sandwich.

Oh shit!

You sprung up from your desk in the library, wiping drool from the side of your cheek.

Tell me I didn’t fucking fall asleep!

Sure enough, your Calculus book was cracked open, your half-drunk coffee was cold, and you had all but missed your shift at work. No, no, no!

You dashed around like a mad person trying to collect your books, pens, your phone—everything into your backpack. You had walked here from your dorm, so you were just going to have to run to the coffee shop on foot. You were too broke to take a taxi and the bus would take too damn long.

It was only, what, a mile or two?

Lord help me.

You didn’t have a choice. You just had to run.

“Coffee boy’s clocking out,” Dean observed. He and John climbed out of the Impala. By then it was evening, almost night. The sun dipped behind the clouds and the streetlights were about to come on. Rush hour traffic was heavy here at a four-way intersection.

Dean focused on their target. The guy looked normal—dark hair, tan skin. I guess that’s the idea, Dean thought. Look normal, blend in by slinging watery, overpriced coffee, get your filet o’ human hearts on the side.

When the guy came out of the café, he didn’t walk to a car parked on the street. Instead, he dipped between the café and the university library and went through a back alley.

“Let’s go,” John said, and with their guns loaded up with silver (hidden in their jackets), they hurried across the street and ducked into the alley.

But they didn’t see any trace of the guy. Both retrieved and cocked their guns, moving through the alley slowly.

Dean was usually good at this part. His ex-marine dad had trained him well, and he was focused. Alert.

Until something nagged at the back of his mind. A low hum as that connection flared to life.

Oh fuck. His lips pursed. A persistent feeling of worry (that wasn’t his own) prickled in his chest, like fire ants across his skin. He tried his best to shut it out.

Not now.

You rushed out the library doors and inwardly bemoaned that it was practically nighttime. You were lucky if you still had a job by the time you got to work.

Damn it! Frustration and worry warred for dominance, but you couldn’t focus on that.

Not now.

You hesitated a moment. A weird feeling fluttered in your chest just then…

Ugh, whatever, you dismissed, shaking your head. I’m insane, it’s fine.

You ran to the street intersection and waited impatiently for the walking light to turn green.

You looked both ways on the street. It was still red, but there was a window of opportunity in a short lull of cars. You could make it if you hurried.

So you did. You took your chance and ran halfway down the street, making it past the first wave of oncoming traffic. You just didn’t account for the truck that was turning the corner—from the opposite direction.

You had time to utter a scream before you dove for the sidewalk. A woman walking her dog helped you up, asking if you were okay.

You were and you weren’t, really. You were shaking, but you thanked the woman with a trembling smile. At this point, you didn’t care if you were fired. Five bucks an hour wasn’t worth getting splattered on a dusty pavement.

Damn. Guess I’ll have to apply at Starbucks.

It was intense.

Your fear was like a searing hot knife ripping through Dean’s heart, and it tore a ragged sound from his throat as his knee buckled.

John’s head swiveled to him with wide eyes. “Dean—”

That was the opening their prey was waiting for. Or rather, the creature that was hunting them.

A large dog leapt from the roof of the café—behind and above them. It went for Dean first, biting into his arm through his jacket. Both of them went down as Dean struggled and the animal growled and tried to shred his arm. Dean almost didn’t feel the pain, but he felt panic of his own as he tried to pry the creature off by his canine ears.

“Dean!”

He looked up at his dad, who stood with his gun aloft. Dean trusted him. He helped give an opening and moved his face away.

Three shots rang out.

The first two killed the skinwalker. The third was just for insurance, and maybe vengeance.

John helped Dean out from under the creature’s body, and they watched it transform back into its natural form. Coffee shop boy.

James, Dean read on his nametag.

“Rest in peace, Cujo,” he quipped, but by now the pain was finally registering. His arm wept with blood through his jacket, and he hissed in pain when his dad put firm pressure on the wound.

“What the fuck happened, Dean?” John demanded. “You got shit between your ears, or a working brain? Because whatever’s got you distracted, that’s how you get killed.”

His father’s anger wasn’t pleasant, but his disappointment was crushing.

Dean swallowed the pain, both physical and…and the rest. He just nodded and apologized.

“Sorry, Dad.”

John shook his head, but he continued leading Dean back to the car.

Back at the motel, John was able to stitch Dean up and wrap his arm. They had planned to leave after the hunt to save money on another motel night…but John agreed to give it one more day to let Dean rest on a real bed.

His son wasn’t just in pain. He was melancholy.

It was unusual for Dean, who normally kept up a decent attitude. And it wasn’t like him to slip up like that on a hunt. John could admit, things were different now without Sam. John was different.

Not that he’d been a picnic before. He knew that much. But maybe Sam leaving was harder than John cared to admit.

After he and Dean were showered up, John brought them back some takeout and beers. He gave Dean one, but before he turned on the TV, he hesitated. A twinge of sorry was at the tip of his tongue.

Instead, he asked, “What’s wrong, Dean?”

His son opened his mouth, a denial ready to fire.

“Don’t lie to me, son,” John said. “Just…tell me what happened today.”

It took a while to pry it out of him. He was resistant, and John expected that.

Dean, for his part, was trying to figure out what to say. How to say it.

Just then, he also remembered something Sam told him when he was only in sixth grade.

“Dean, did you know this? Human souls are really complex, and they’re unique too. We learned about it today in school.”

“Good for you, Super Geek.”

“They found out that connected souls subconsciously try to find each other. So when you start hearing someone’s thoughts, it’s because the souls are trying to bond together, like molecules.”

Like molecules, huh?

Speaking of, Dean hadn’t heard your thoughts since that terrifying moment when he felt you…

For a moment, he’d thought you’d….

Though deep down, he knew you weren’t gone. He knew the bond was there, like an idle TV. Either you lived really close to this motel, or this HBO connection was getting a wider bandwidth.

“Dean?” John pressed.

Dean looked up, breaking from his thoughts. John didn’t often ask him to open up. But Dean figured if anyone would understand, it would probably be his dad.

He was forced to contemplate the question that had been scaring him all day.

Did he want the same soul bond his parents had, even if it nearly killed John after she died?

“…Dad, how did you and Mom meet?”

The question took John by surprise…but maybe it shouldn’t have. His perceptive gaze washed over Dean.

“It was after I came back from Vietnam,” John said eventually. “We ran into each other by the old movie theater.”

Dean smiled. “Aw, both of you were in line for Jaws?”

A resigned smile quirked at John’s lips. “That was ’75, genius. And no, we…literally ran into each other. Full speed. I went to help her up, but she was already doing it herself. Plus picking up everything that fell outta her bag. All I could do was stare at her like an idiot, ‘cause…I heard her say, God damn it.”

John had been lost in the memory for a moment, but here he looked at Dean.

“But she didn’t say it. She thought it,” he said. “And I knew it was her. She was it for me.”

“And she did too?” Dean asked, somewhat hesitantly.

“No,” John laughed a little. “She took some convincing, if I remember right.”

“What, she couldn’t hear your thoughts?”

“No, she could. But that…connection. It’s different in the beginning,” John said, with a heavy sigh. This was harder to talk about than he thought. For Dean, he would do it. But just this once.

“You don’t have so much control over it. It just kinda…happens.”

“And…how did that work, exactly?” Dean asked.

“Why do you want to know?” John returned. Dean quieted, looking down at his beer.

That was all the confirmation he needed to finally know what was going on. He sighed again.

“Son,” he started, then hesitated. He knew what he was about to say wasn’t completely right, but it was the truth. One day, Dean would understand.

“Son,” he said again. “Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean’s brows knit together, a silent question that he almost didn’t want to ask. John answered it anyway.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody,” he said.

Dean took those words to heart. He reminded himself that his dad had seen blood and war long before he met Mary. Maybe his dad had more regrets than just not being able to save her.

So the next morning, Dean slid into the Impala’s passenger seat. John drove them away from the college town, out of Vermillion, South Dakota.

Dean felt relieved, and also guilty. Then, the farther they got, he just felt wrong.

Soon enough, the warm tendril of connection in his chest dissipated.

AN: Phew! Okay, one major step closer to you and Dean finally meeting. I definitely drew on some of my own experiences at college here lol.

Read on to: Part 3.

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean x female!reader #dean x female reader #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x you #john winchester #sam winchester #bobby singer #soulmate au #soulmates #slipped in a winchesters reference #spn #spn fanfic #zepskies #zepskies writes #dean x you

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pedgito · 2 years

Note

Cute prompt idea: Vamp!Eddie having a soft spot for paranormal investigator! reader (can be gn! or open to other pronouns)

Also lovely writing! 😍

author’s note: uh, this was meant to be short but y’all know how that goes with me. it took on a life of it’s own and i hope it isn’t completely off track from what you were requesting.

cw: sfw, vampire!eddie, gn!reader, all types of paranormal creatures exist, gang is basically monster hunters, dad!hopper vibes, eddie is just sweet and curious, mentions of injury/blood, fighting off ghouls and use of weapons, blood drinking (not how you think), light/silver still effect vampires, this is just super cute and a break from my smut momentarily

word count: 4k

A normal work shift consisted of coming in, grabbing your assignment for the night, grabbing your gear, and heading on your way to whatever undisclosed location was sealed inside the folder. It was an easy routine to fall into; despite how dangerous the job actually was, you were good at, great even.

It’s part of the reason why Hopper chose you to train the new recruits—that and Dustin couldn’t be trusted with the new ones, he was incredibly skilled at scaring them away within the first few hours and it quickly turned into a problem. Hopper needed staff and staff didn’t exist whenever Dustin was training so, the responsibility fell on you.

“I’ve got a new one for you tonight,” He announces from the moment your foot crosses the threshold, his wide shoulder and head peeking out of his office door, “he should be here any minute.”

“You’re kidding?” You ask with a reasonable amount of disbelief, having only finished training someone last week. “I just finished up with Wheeler.”

“And he’s already doing great,” Hopper points out, “I just sent him off on his first solo and he’s loving it—says he learned a lot from you.”

You really hated being good at your job and loving it just as much—it meant that you were more inclined to feel obligated when asked to do things, like training another new employee for back to back weeks, which was a tedious enough task in itself.

“I really deserve a vacation,” You tell him, “or a raise—even a thank you would be great.”

“You know how much I appreciate you, kid.” Hopper says.

And you do, he’s always treated you like family from the beginning and that’s never changed. You always had a place to call home with him.

You sigh, loud and dramatic, “Okay—well, is there anything I should know?”

Hopper’s face changes slightly, contemplating his next words.

“Come here,” He nods toward the interior of his office, “you’ll probably want to take a look at his file.”

The red flags shot off in your mind immediately, but your feet moved for you, following him into his office, letting him slip the Manila file into your hands as you sifted through.

“Edward Munson,” You test the name on your tongue, glancing down to see the preferred shortened version of his first name, “—oh, Eddie. Eddie Munson? Am I saying that right?”

Hopper nods, pointing toward the bottom of the file, a portion that was usually left blank. It’s only been filled one other time, long before you, and it wasn’t something that Hopper took on lightly. There had to be a reason.

Your eyes widen, shoving the file back at him quickly, as if you’d been burned. “A vampire?” You say seethingly, “Have you lost your mind?”

“Look—the kid means well.” Hopper tells you, “I know his uncle—the boy has a good head on his shoulders; just a lot of unfortunate circumstances he’s been involved in. I told him I’d do him a favor—we can at least try it out.”

“And after last time?”

“It’s the last time I ever hire a werewolf during the week of a full moon,” Hopper admits his wrongdoing, but lowers his voice to level with you, “—just give it a chance, for me?”

“You’re lucky I don’t hate you.” You say begrudgingly, eyes narrowing. You pull at your bag, the weight of it slipping off your shoulders. “Is that all?”

“Don’t bring it up.” Hopper warns, “Kid gets real sensitive about sometimes. He’ll talk about it if he wants to.”

“You know I’m dealing with ghouls tonight, right?” You tell him, feeling that he should know, considering how much he despises the supernatural beings. “The ones out at the cemetery that we’ve been trying to contain for weeks.”

“Sounds like fun,” He grimaces, “seems like you’ll both be getting a real hands-on experience.”

You smile smugly, “Don’t worry, Hop—I’ll make sure to bring you back a souvenir.”

He sips at his coffee, fluffy mustaches covering his top lip, “It better be a goddamn keychain and not another severed hand.”

You shrug indifferently, “I’ll surprise you.”

“And I’ll put you on cleanup duty for a month.”

It was an empty threat. He’d never be able to go through with it, he relied on you far too much.

Eddie is entirely too curious and touches everything, like those annoying kids with sticky fingers that love to find their way into everyone’s business. He asks too many questions, he talks far too often, and you almost forget that giant blinking red sign in your head that keeps screaming ‘Vampire’—nothing about him gives it away.

Well, maybe the outfit, the hair—but definitely not the personality. The ones you’ve met were always brooding, pensive, dealing with ventures of guilt and trauma. Eddie was brand new, practically a baby, fresh-face and untouched.

You smack at his hand with the tip of your flashlight, clinking against the dense metal of his rings. His eyebrows furrow, making a small noise of disapproval as he pulls his hand back.

“Stop touching everything.” You warn him, sorting through the gear in the back of your van, gathering the supplies you needed on your belt and vest, watching on as he struggled with his own. “Some of this stuff is used for lethal force.”

“You think they’d make these things a little more practical.” Eddie complains, pulling desperately at the clips, trying to force them to connect around his chest.

“It’s because you grabbed the smallest size.” You deadpan, dropping what you were doing to assist him, yanking at the clips until they click together, watching as his back straightened in discomfort.

“Well, good thing I don’t need to breathe,” Eddie comments idly, pulling a soft laugh from your chest. You weren’t sure why you were expecting him to be secretive about it. He was far too giddy to hide it, he was being himself.

“We can switch.” You offer, already pulling at your vest before he answers, watching as he silently unclipped his own in the process. You switch without a word, and the fit is more comfortable, for him, at least. “Is that better?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.”

It was only one minor inconvenience in the giant problem that was your life; you’d survive. You shoved the supplies into the vest, handing Eddie a flashlight before taking one for yourself.

“I don’t need one,” Eddie tells you, holding the flashlight up with a loose grip, “I can see fine.”

You pointedly shove it back toward his chest, “It’s not for you,” You say flippantly, “just take the damn flashlight.”

Eddie eyes you for a moment, trying to decipher you. He’d always been good at reading people, but you were giving him a harder time than he’d expected.

“Sorry,” He apologizes, clicking the flashlight a few times, light shining in your eyes obnoxiously, “—oh shit, I-“

You sigh through your nose deeply, eyes falling shut to calm yourself.

You speak slowly, face scrunching up in focus, “I’m begging you. Please stop.”

Eddie sets the flashlight down carefully, hands crossed in front of him as he stands back, forcing his curious hands to halt.

“When we get in there I need you to listen to me,” You tell him, trying to emphasize the severity as much as possible, “you might not be able to die so easily, but I can.”

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

For some reason, you believe him—but his giant, doe eyes have seen nothing yet; they’re unscarred to the wonders of things that go bump in the night, aside from himself. There’s too many things discovered and undiscovered, and even you didn’t know everything. But, the job was serious—and you knew he’d take it as such.

“Let’s hope so.”

The walk to the cemetery is long and quiet, for the most part, aside from the few attempts at small talk that Eddie tries.

“So, how often do you deal with—“ Eddie pauses, thinking of the name, the word slipping his mind.

He takes too long, “Ghouls?” You finish for him.

Eddie nods, curls bouncing against his shoulders. He smiles a lot, too—it’s only slightly alarming because his fingers are so prominent and he doesn’t try to hide them.

“Not often—only once a year, usually,” You tell him, “and they don’t always show up so close to Hawkins, but we’ve been tracking them for a while and they’re supposed to feed tonight.”

Eddie nods slowly, following your words carefully.

“They eat the dead.” You explain, earning an odd look from Eddie, it’s almost poetic. “Don’t worry—you’re safe. Besides,” You stick up the flashlight, shining the light back in his face, “I’ll be there to defend your honor.”

Eddie winces, shoving the light away gently. He blinks rapidly, like he’s struggling to see and you realize your mistake, quickly shoving the flashlight back into its secured spot on your vest.

“Shit—“ You start to apologize, “I didn’t mean to hurt you with that. Are you okay?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie lies, rubbing at his irritated eyes, “just burns a little—I’ll be okay.”

You feel bad and you hate it, because it feels like every moral in your body is turning against itself. In his defense, he was just as much a capable person as you, albeit some differences—and it wasn’t unusual for people like his kind to meld into and function in society to some capacity. It was new to the world, but it worked—he wasn’t the first vampire you’ve met, he wouldn’t be the last—but they usually ended up on the other end of spike after trying to kill you, so yes, things were a little different.

You take a step, slipping on the crack in the concrete as you’re lost in thought, nearly tumbling toward certain death, but Eddie catches you, one hand wrapping around your waist, the other grilled tightly on your bicep, pulling you upright and against him.

“Are you sure you should be out right now?” Eddie asks, “You seem distracted.”

You nod gently, not asking him to let go, his hands squeezing you reassuringly, just a soft touch that would go unnoticed if you weren’t so hyper aware of his hands on you, freezing cold to the touch.

“It’s a lot to deal with in one night,” You admit honestly, “This is more high risk than most cases and Hopper wanted me to train you—it’s literally your first, plus you’re a—“

“You can say it.” Eddie says, head tilting to meet yours as you look up at him. “You don’t have to feel weird about it.”

“I kill people like you,” You say softly, “all the time.”

“I’m sure they deserve it, though,” He offers, which couldn’t be truer, “I don’t want to hurt people—or you, at least.”

You smile awkwardly, eyes wandering to his lingering hands.

“You can let me go now.”

Eddie pulls away quickly, hands settling at his side.

“My bad,” He excuses, “—are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod quickly, walking the rest of the path until you meet the gate closing off the cemetery, pulling at the chain wrapped around the only entrance you have to get inside.

“Did you grab the bolt cutters like I asked?” You turn to Eddie, catching the telling and guilty look on his face as soon as your eyes fall on him. “Eddie, come on—“

“I got it, I got it,” He says defensively, nudging you out of the way to grasp the chain in his hand, but the moment he touches the chain he’s pulling back with a shout of pain, “—fuck, are you kidding me?”

“You didn’t think that one through, did you?” You ask, pulling at the tightly bound chain. Eddie’s face falls, staring down at his wounded hands, healing slowly in front of you. “Works well, doesn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah,” Eddie scoffs, hissing slightly at your touch, hands tracing over the slowly healing scar on his palm, “I’ve never—I didn’t think that was real.”

“Silver is pretty effective,” You tell him, his skin now fully healed as you let go, placing his hands back at his side, “it can take down a full grown man, if needed.”

“Good to know,” Eddie laughs weakly, balling his hands into fists a few times, testing that his skin was back to normal, “—so how are we getting in?”

“You forget the bolt cutters—figure it out.” You tell him. It was one of the best ways to teach, you’ve learned, allowing them to problem solve in situations that seemed impossible; it always spurred the best ideas.

“Well, I could turn into my bat form and fly over the gate.”

“Are you fucking serious?” You ask with wide eyes, “Is that actually a thing? I thought it was a myth.”

“You’re so gullible.” Eddie laughs, pointing toward the top of the gate where a few spikes had been worn down and left a convenient opening, “We’re climbing, right?”

“Bingo.” You smile, “You gotta lose the jacket, though. I’m not ruining mine.”

Eddie mumbles begrudgingly, shifting off his vest to reach his jacket, tossing the thick piece of clothing at you. You toss the jacket over the edge, pulling until it sufficiently covers the sharp edges.

“Can you do it?” Eddie asks, nodding toward the ledge, hands poised to help lift you. You shove him away, assuring him you’re fine. You push off with your feet, barely missing the edge—you sigh, take a breath, and jump once more. Eddie stifles a quiet laugh beside you, knowing that your pride was too high to ask now that you already denied his help. He’s silent when his hands grasp your hips, careful as he squeezes and lifts you up. You freeze, letting out a soft noise of surprise as he pushes you far enough to where you can grab the ledge, pulling and throwing yourself over with a little less grace that you intend, flustered by how easy he was able to lift you up.

Eddie climbs the gate in two movements, a large leap as he grabs the ledge and flips over with practiced precision. You’ve never seen anything like it before, his feet hitting the ground simultaneously. You huff in annoyance, watching as he yanks his jacket down, shifting his hand through the gate to grab at his vest, the biggest, smuggest smile on his face.

“Show off,” You remark, earning another soft laugh from him, “just hurry up.”

You weren’t sure what to expect walking into the nest, but it’s eerily silent, like Hopper got it wrong and they hadn’t migrated here for the winter, but then you’re being blindsided, thrown off to your side and away from Eddie—leaving him to handle the hoard of them blindly, your body colliding with the stone buried in the ground, collapsing weakly onto the grass.

“What do I do?” Eddie panics, pulling the large machete from his belt, swinging wildly in an attempt to fend them off, your vision blurry as you search for him, focusing on his voice.

“Their heads,” You shouts, clutching your side to dull the steering pain, hand wetting with what you can only assume is blood, shirt tacky and damp as it stuck to your skin, “cut off their heads!”

There’s a loud commotion, screaming from Eddie and the hoard of ghouls, you can’t focus, the pain in your side is more overwhelming than anything you’ve felt. You close your eyes, attempting to breath through the pain—you hear the cracking of foliage behind you, an all too familiar feeling creeping up your spine as the creature leaps over your back, ghastly and horribly smelling, you push and fight, trying to keep it as constrained as you can while you search for your knife, only realizing once you find it that it’s the source of your pain, lodge in your side, just under the skin. It couldn’t have been more of a freak accident, somehow managing to miss anything fatal, but the pain was still unbearable.

“Eddie—help, please,” You plead in a moment of vulnerability, teeth gritting in pain as you groaned, using every ounce of strength to fight the thing off, only finding relief when the ghoul is being pulled off of your forcefully, shoved on the ground as Eddie shoved the machete through its skull, the disgusting squelch making your stomach turn, “—thank you.” You force out through a weak breath, clutching your side as you try to rise to your knees, only to be subdued by Eddie, gently forced back down.

“Don’t move,” He warns, hands hovering over your side, your own hands stained in blood, “you’re bleeding too much.”

“I’m sorry,” You don’t know why you’re apologizing, but it feels right in the moment, given the circumstance, “I can wrap myself up—or try—I don’t want it to bother—bother you.”

You can see his pupils dilate larger, eyes focused on the blood pooling against the ground, but aside from that, he’s calm. It’s unlike any other interaction you’ve had with someone of his mind—but Eddie had contradicted most of what you knew, even in the small amount of time you’ve interacted.

“I can help you,” Eddie suggested, “but only if you’re okay with it.”

Your eyes narrow, urging him to continue.

“I guess you’re unfamiliar with how healing works,” Eddie assumes, pressing his hand firmly to add pressure to your wound. He can hear the blood flowing through your body, the sound rushing through his ears, the smell invading his nose—normally he’d jump at the first hint of blood, feed on whatever unfortunate stranger was around at night, but there was nothing like this—he didn’t want to hurt you at all, he wanted to fix you, help you—he’s only ever done it once and he knows it works, but the process is…intimate, “are you?”

You shake your head weakly.

“My blood, it’ll heal you.” Eddie explains, “but you have to…”

He can’t say the words, seeing the way your face creases, a sudden realization hitting you. “No—no way.”

“It’s safe, I promise”. Eddie says, “But, we can always call Hopper—“

“No, no!” You stammer, shaking your hand out in disapproval, the movement makes you wince, your hand clasping over his own where it’s pressed to your side, the sharp metal of the knife pressing sharply into your side. “God—I need to take it out.”

“If I take it out, you’re going to bleed even more,” Eddie explains, “Look—I get how weird it is—I do, but I promise it’s safe. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You’re not sure why you trust him so easily—maybe it’s his eyes, so innocent and pure, like there wasn’t a lie he could tell.

“Do it,” You say quickly, tired of lingering on the thought, “just do it.”

Rip the bandaid off, stop the pain.

“Are you sure?” Eddie asks, taken back by your sudden agreement.

You nod furiously, the pain and blood loss starting to take toll, feeling yourself go lightheaded and slumped, moaning softly.

You watch as Eddie pulls his sleeve back, the sharp point of his teeth digging into his wrist, carefully angling his arm as he pulls away, leading it toward your mouth slowly. You can see the blood seeping out—his other hand coming to cup the back of your head gently, tilting it back comfortably until your lips meet his skin.

“Slowly,” Eddie intructs, “just suck—but be careful.”

Your brows furrowed in concentration, lips pursed to suck gently—you’re not sure what you’re expecting, but it’s not the taste that hits your tongue initially; sweet and tangible, like a drug that would easily become addicting. It’s not bitter, or copper-tasting, and it throws you for a loop. It’s fuzzy, the feeling as it flows down your throat, your free hand comes to wrap around his wrist, eyes squeezing shut as you sucked harder, whining at the sensation, a type of pleasure you’ve never felt before.

“Hey, hey,” His voice is soft, but stern, “slow down—you don’t need that much.”

You pull back with a heat to your face, feeling embarrassed. Eddie releases the back of your hand, pulling quickly at the knife—you are numb to the pain, body already trying to heal itself as he throws the knife to the ground, letting it clammer loudly against the concrete.

“That was intense.” You admit honestly, letting Eddie wipe the stray string of blood away with his thumb, using the pad of his sleeve to wipe your mouth clean. It only makes the embarrassment worse.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks curiously.

“Feels—fuzzy, tingly, I guess.” You tell him, “Like a high, maybe?”

Eddie makes a subtle face of surprise, laughing quietly at your description. “Well, looks like you’re all good now—like it never happened.”

“I’m not gonna end up turning in my sleep, am I?” You ask jokingly, letting Eddie pull you to your feet slowly.

“No,” He chuckles, “I meant what I said. I wouldn’t try to trick you. But—you might feel weird for a day or two, it’ll fade.”

“Oh—okay,” You nod, glancing around at the mess of bodies lying about, left for you both to clean up. “Well, we should probably finish up the job—Hopper is probably wondering where we’re at already.”

“Are you going to tell him—“

“No.” You respond immediately. “No one needs to know about it—or that I got hurt. I’d never hear the end of it.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods in understanding, releasing you when he thinks you’re stable enough, “our secret—got it.”

You smile softly and Eddie does too, you’ve never felt more nervous.

When you finally drive back, it’s at the peak of early morning, sun still down and most of everyone has gone aside from Hopper, who practically lived at the place—Eddie grabbed most of the gear for you, lugging it in his arms as you followed closely behind.

“Looks like you two had a night,” He comments, stepping out of his office to watch your two frazzled, worn out faces walk down the hall, “how’d he do?”

“He’s alright,” You shrug and Eddie laughs to himself, continuing down the hall as Hopper stops you in your tracks, “—what?”

“You alright, kid?” He asks, “I know how rough ghouls are—you don’t have to play it down.”

You shake your head, “No, we’re good—he’s really curious but…he’s got potential.” You tilt your head slightly, watching down the hallway as Eddie turns the corner, “If you want to pair him up with anyone—it can be me, he’s not as bad as I hoped for.”

“Told you,” He teases, poking your arm gently. “—must’ve really had an effect on you, though.”

You shrug, “Someone’s gotta control the chaos,” You say, “and sticking him with Dustin is an accident waiting to happen.”

Eddie laughs quietly down the hall, unbeknownst to you as he listens in on your conversation with Hopper.

“Alright, if you say so.” Hopper relents, hands held up in defeat.

You weren’t sure how or why, but Eddie had quickly snuck himself into the soft spot of your heart, your thoughts—and maybe it was the blood, or the general effect that Eddie had on people, but you were fine with that.

“Looks like I’m out of here for the night,” Eddie comments, sneaking up on you two easily, enjoying the startled looks on your face, he smiles, “—made a good impression, I hope.”

“You’ll survive another day.” You tell him snarkily, “I guess.”

“Good—now if you don’t mind, I’ve got a coffin waiting for me at home—“

“Okay—now you’re just gloating.” You say tiredly, turning on your heels with a quick wave to Hopper, a smug smile written all over his face.

“I’m not joking.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Is that a challenge?”

You smile, catching his bashful grin as you shake your head at his terrible flirting. You were game, fortunately for him.

“Yeah, it is.”

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #vampire!eddie #my writing

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steddilly · 9 months

Text

When Wayne moved to Hawkins fifteen years ago to case the town, he hadn’t expected to end up staying. What kind of hunter purposefully cocked up an assignment? A bad one apparently, but he was fine with that. He’d been sent to the small town in rural Indiana after a strange rise in creature sightings, that sort of thing didn’t take much time getting back to the kind of hunters led by his younger brother, Al.

He quickly found out that Hawkins was acting as some sort of beacon to supernatural beings, attracting them to seek out and settle down in the town surrounded by thick wooded areas. Weres of every kind. Vamps of every kind. Witches, shapeshifters, banshees, and just about every other kind of creature you could think of.

What started out as a task to infiltrate the town to get a better idea of the severity of the infestation quickly turned into something more, because then he got to know the residents as more than just what they were and began seeing them as neighbours and friends. They trusted him and welcomed him into their communities, even the supernaturals grew to trust him and he even watched some of them grow up. He couldn’t hurt these people, they weren’t doing anything wrong.

Wayne never heard much from his younger brother or the other hunters, he occasionally sent Al letters downplaying what was actually going on in Hawkins, it was a low level threat that almost wasn’t worth dealing with. He should have known better, almost two decades of peace sounded like long overdue trouble for a semi-retired hunter, and word travelled fast to him that there were two men asking about him. He knew his brother would eventually show up to track him down, but he never expected his nephew to be dragged out with him.

Albert Munson was a ruthless hunter, more of a shoot first and ask questions later kind of guy. Eddie though... The boy he’d left behind was more sort hearted than his old man, he wouldn’t want to hurt innocent people. Wayne would learn that Eddie didn’t agree with the majority of what his father believed, and refused to be brainwashed with his ideologies towards supernatural beings.

The real trouble begins when Al (unbeknownst to Wayne) set up a few traps in the woods and actually ends up catching a Werecub, who lets out the most heartbreaking cries Wayne has ever heard - but he knew what kind of cry that was, it was a cry for help and not just of fear.

“You’ve been slacking, Wayne. Barely a few hours here and we’ve already caught us a baby monster.” Al was so pleased with himself, standing proudly below the strung up cub with his arms crossed. It made Wayne sick to think that he had once been exactly the same as his brother, conflicted at the time or not, he had participated in the same things.

“Dad, there’s no us. I don't want anything to do with this. You’re hurting him, he’s probably just a kid.” Eddie denied, keeping himself well back from the situation, wanting no part in it.

It wasn’t long before the trio heard an answering howl to the cries, high and haunting and designed to travel - it sounded like a very pissed off mama, and suddenly they felt very unprepared for this expedition. They were expecting a Werewolf (the most common type of Were) or a Werebear (because of the cub), but what came crashing through the undergrowth was a monstrous coyote-looking creature, and she was livid. Her fur was shiny and well maintained, dark rusty shades of brown mottled with grey and blonde streaks. She chased the three of them through the woods until they were far enough away for the Werecoyote to double back and rescue her pup.

“Wooah boy, that was a close one!” Al chuckled after they stopped running to catch their breaths, as if they’d just been out for a jog in the woods and not chased by something that could have easily caught up with them.

The worst part was that Wayne definitely thought he recognised the Werecoyote, and if he recognised the Were then he definitely recognised him. Steve Harrington, resident Were and local babysitter to some of the younger supernatural beings in Hawkins, which meant the cub was most likely one of the kids he took care of and considered his pack. He absolutely knew who Wayne was, and now he knew what Wayne was.

“Relax, Wayne, it was just a ‘yote.” Al clapped him on the shoulder, something he bet his brother thought would be assuring and friendly, but it absolutely wasn’t. “Could’ve been worse. Would’a been a whole other story if we’d attracted a wolf.” - Wayne didn’t think so, but he was the one who was going to be suffering the consequences. - “C’mon, take your brother and nephew home for some grub, all that running’s worked up an appetite.”

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propertyofrjl · 1 year

Note

i saw your requests were open! so what about an established relationship with remus and going to him after finishing a book that's left you wrecked and just ranting to him and he just listens and just falls in love all over again

Of course, thank you for my first request Anon.

I’m very excited cause this is all new hehe.

(The book reader talks about isn’t actually a book cause I couldn’t think of a real on to use 😊)

Remus Lupin x reader

Tear Stained Pages

Hot salty tears stained your flustered cheeks, it had been half an hour since you’d finished the book your boyfriend had recommended you and only 5 since the crying had stopped. It had broken you, you were sure of it, sobbing for the entirety of the last chapter and after. Pulling yourself up from your bed sluggishly you made your way to the boys dorm, the ending words from the book replaying in your head.

Remus looked up at the sound of the knock at his door, furrowing his brows as he sauntered over to see who it was, knowing that his 3 roommates were in detention that evening. The old door creaked as he opened it, your pretty face greeting him. The beginnings of a smile rested on his scarred face, only for it to fade when he noticed the state you were in.

With ruffled hair that stuck out in all different directions, puffy red eyes and a runny nose, dressed in pyjamas that were falling apart at the seams, you felt a mess. Remus thought the opposite.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His voice dripped with worry as he pulled you into his room, arms opening to welcome you into a warm embrace. As much as you wanted to yell at him for recommending you the book that caused all this, you couldn’t resist the opportunity to hug the boy. Snuggling your face into his chest, your arms, weak with emotional exhaustion, wrapping around his waist.

“Why did he have to die?” Your voice is weepy and muffled against Remus’s sweater, it smells of him, that earthy scent with a hint of chocolate that always leaves a warm fluttery feeling in your stomach. At your words Remus smiles sadly, knowing you’d finished his latest recommendation.

“You finished the book.” He chuckled slightly, you pulled away and smacked his chest playfully, a pout falling on your flushed face.

“Don’t laugh! Why would you want me to read that book, it’s so sad! First her dad dies, then she finds love, and then he dies?! Not only that but she finds the engagement box on the night of the funeral and -“ you continue to rant about everything you’d read, pushing your way into the room and falling down onto the werewolfs bed.

Remus watched you grumble and shout out your anguish, his heart beating extra fast as you looked up at him with a look of feign betrayal. He lay down next to you, hand reaching up to take yours and rub his thumb over your knuckles, a simple yet sweet attempt at comfort. He couldn’t help but stare at you, his girl. Your face was filled to the brim with emotion, the passion you held for a simple work of fiction being so strong had him falling for you all over again.

“M’sorry Love, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You stop talking now, turning on your side to face the boy, the way he was looking at you almost made you nervous, such a loving gaze.

“It’s okay, just make sure the next one isn’t too sad, please?” Your little plea had his heart shuddering in his chest, stomach twisting in a knot of giddiness and adoration for you. He nodded against the blankets, a smile on his face.

“Course Darling, whatever you want yeah?” You crawled forward into his arms, falling against Remus and being overtaken by a sense of safety and love, his hand running over the length of your back and tracing random pictures till you calmed down.

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin is one sexy mf #fluffy #marauders #marauders x reader #marauders x y/n #remus lupin #remus fluff #remus lupin blurb

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sterekbros · 1 year

Text

For @sterekweekly healthy, @sterekbingo mpreg, @domaystic day 17 marked date on the calendar.

for always by Winchesterek

Stiles looked down at the baby girl in his arms, that familiar feeling of warmth filling his chest and spreading throughout his body. It had been a long, hard night, but Ava was born before the sun came up this morning.

He was tired, but no amount of tiredness could replace the love he felt for her as she slept in his arms. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen, but he remembered thinking the exact same thing when Elijah had been born almost six years ago.

Ava snuggled against his chest and Stiles leaned in to run his nose along the crown of her head, placing a gentle kiss there, not wanting to wake her. Her scent was floral and sweet, the faint hint of milk clinging to her. She whimpered and Stiles gently ran a hand along her back, cupping her head as she relaxed.

It was hard to believe that she was there in his arms. She was always this abstract concept even though he knew she was real. It had been the same feeling when he’d carried and then birthed Elijah all those years ago.

Stiles looked up when Derek walked into the hospital room. Derek had one of those smiles that lit up his whole face present on his lips. It always made Stiles want to kiss him.

“Hey,” Stiles said quietly as Derek walked up and pecked him gently on the lips.

“Hey,” Derek replied, smoothing a hand along the back of Stiles’ head and resting it on the back of his neck. Derek’s touch grounded him and he felt a little lightheaded when he felt Derek draw his pain.

“How are feeling?”

“Tired, but I’m okay. Not in any pain thanks to your werewolf-y powers.” Stiles smiled and pressed against Derek’s hand, closing his eyes and sighing.

“Good,” Derek replied quietly. “The doctor said Ava is a perfectly healthy baby girl.”

When Stiles opened his eyes, Derek was looking at Ava with so much love and adoration it made his heart swell with emotion.

“She’s beautiful,” Derek whispered, his eyes on only Ava.

“Do you want to hold her?” Stiles carefully shifted Ava in his arms to support her, even as Derek reached out for her before answering him. He smiled as Derek cradled Ava to his chest and Ava snuggled against Derek like she was scenting him.

Stiles was always fascinated with how all that worked, like their kids knew Derek was not only their father but their Alpha as well. He wondered if something in them let them know that he was an Omega, too.

“I always forget how tiny they are when they’re born.” Derek smoothed his hand over Ava’s fuzzy head, his eyes only for her. “And I feel like I’m going to break her. Just like when Eli was born.”

Stiles gave a quiet chuckle. “You haven't broken Elijah yet, I think you’ll do just fine with Ava.”

Derek cast Stiles a smile before his eyes returned to their daughter. “Elijah is in the waiting room with your father. He wanted to come in and see you and Ava, but I told him he had to wait until I checked on you guys.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and then over his face as he rested back against the bed and sighed. “I miss him already, even if it’s only been, like, what? 24 hours.”

“He misses you too,” Derek replied, carefully shifting Ava in his arms. “All he’s been asking about is you and the baby when I called to check on him. I told your dad that everything was fine and you guys were doing okay.”

“I have to wake her up soon to feed her.” Stiles pulled his blanket over himself more since it was chilly in the room. “So if you want to bring him in here we can do that. And my dad can see Ava too.”

Derek gave Stiles a reluctant look and Stiles knew that Derek didn't want to let go of Ava so soon. “Yeah, okay.”

“I promise she’ll be here when you get back.” Stiles gave Derek a gentle smile, reaching out for Ava when Derek handed her over with an almost painful look. “You can take care of her all night long, pinky swear.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that.” Derek chuckled and kissed Stiles’ temple, running a hand over Ava, before disappearing into the hallway.

Soon after, Elijah came through the door, a bright, happy smile on his face, with Derek and then his father trailing in behind him.

“Daddy!” Elijah practically shrieked and ran toward the bed.

“Shhh, baby,” Stiles said, holding his hand up to his mouth, in a ‘shh’ motion, even as Derek snagged Elijah mid-run toward the bed.

Elijah was still giggling as Derek brought him over.

“You have to be gentle with Ava because she’s a tiny baby,” Derek told Elijah.

“I will,” Elijah whispered. “I promise.”

Elijah looked at Stiles then with pleading eyes. “Please, Daddy! I want to see her!” His words were more of a whispered shout, but that was kind of Elijah’s default setting.

“Alright, come on. But you have to be careful.” Stiles tried to scooch over to make space for Elijah and Derek, wincing as he did so. He shook his head when Derek gave him a concerned look.

Derek put Elijah gently onto the bed next to Stiles, where Elijah promptly leaned in close with big, green eyes as he looked down at Ava.

“See, baby, she’s so little and we need to take care of her because she can't take care of herself.” Stiles carefully tilted Ava up so Elijah could see her better, even as Derek smoothed a hand down Elijah’s back and he leaned in to look with them.

“Okay, Daddy. I’ll take care of her. I promise.” Elijah looked fascinated with her and Stiles smiled, leaning in to kiss Elijah’s head.

“I know you will. You’ll be the best big brother ever.” Stiles looked up at Derek and they exchanged a loving look before Stiles’ gaze returned to Ava.

She yawned and Stiles’ heart swelled again as her eyes opened and she looked around at them. He was faintly aware of his father coming up to the bed behind Derek and Elijah, congratulating them and telling them how beautiful Ava was. Telling Stiles that he’d done well, but Stiles was too wrapped up in Ava to pay much attention to the conversation as Derek spoke to his dad.

Elijah curled up against Stiles and he wrapped his arm around him as Ava gurgled and stared at her brother.

“I think she loves you already,” he told his son.

“I love you too Ava, for always.”

Hearing Elijah say that warmed Stiles as emotion filled him. It was something he and Derek always said to each other.

And he knew that his little family would do just that.

They’d love each other…

For always.

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useyernamesteven · 1 year

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It might just be me, but I kinda like the concept of Enid still having trouble "wolfing out" post s1

Don't get me wrong wolf!roommate antics would be great too, but like imagine:

....

Enid goes home and she's over the freakin MOON cuz she's finally a real werewolf now, just like the rest of her pack! She tells her family and obviously her mom is relieved (and yet still critical of Enids other invisible flaws) and her Dads happy she's happy and her brothers are annoying and for some reason her scars aren't healing as quickly as a werewolf should be able to heal but it doesn't matter cuz at least she finally feels normal (even if there is a small monotoned voice that sounds suspiciously like her fav lil psycho somewhere in the back of her mind telling her she was "normal" just being herself)

Then a month goes by and its the night of the full moon and Enid's with her family and pack in the woods and everyone starts wolfing out around her and Enid's so excited to join in. But ten minutes go by, then 30 and Enid's excitement starts to dwindle. At the hour mark she feels like she's panicking bcuz why hasn't she turned yet?? and the other wolves in the pack are starting to get antsy waiting for the hunt. After another twenty minutes still waiting, the pack take off and Enid's left alone at the campsite, still human.

The next morning the pack come back and Enid comes out of her tent, keeping her head down as feelings of shame and embarrassment color her cheeks. Her Dad pats her shoulder, tells her she'll get the next one, but her mother refuses to acknowledge her until they get home, and even then its only to hand her another round of brochures before Enid heads off to go cry herself to sleep.

Fast-forward and Nevermore opens back up and Enid's scrambling to get out of her house bcuz she can't stand it any longer. At least at school she has friends who don't really care if she can't shift. She even gets a three-second hug out of Wednesday when they reunite!

A week later is the full moon and Enid's trying so hard to not let it get to her but it seems Wednesday can see through all her fake smiles and nonchalance cuz she corners Enid the night before the full moon and asks her to either produce an explanation or suffer Wednesdays interrogation methods. And Enid comes clean in a sloppy sobbing mess of "i thought i was normal now!" and "its not fair".

And she feels bad cuz Wednesday is obviously NOT the person you should be dumping your emotional blights upon, but surprisingly her roommate seems solemn (more so than per usual Addams fashion) and it isnt until Wednesdays gingerly patting her head that Enid realizes she's actually attempting to cheer her up. And Enid bursts out laughing bcuz its very sweet and caring and so unlike her dreary bff that it actually does the trick.

Thing puts on Jennifer's Body which is a little on the nose given what happened last semester but its something they can all enjoy and Enid nearly chokes on a mouthful of popcorn when Wednesday admits she finds Megan Fox attractive but only when she's covered in blood and devouring the foolish men who fell victim to her seductions. Then they put on Legally Blonde and Enid chokes on her popcorn again when Wednesday says she's seen it before, and they spend three hours playing and pausing it to argue and critique the plot points and "its a girlpower movie Willa!" and eventually they fall asleep and Enid forgets why she was even upset to begin with.

Well, until the next day when its the full moon and Enid's a lil disappointed but not terribly so bcuz her wolf friends invite her out to lunch for some food and a howl, Ajax and Yoko have been sending her silly memes all day, and Thing gave her a manicure this afternoon, but the cherry on top is Wednesday promising another movie night and she gave Enid full control over what they watch. By the time the moon starts rising Enid feels like she's on cloud 9...

Which is inevitably when everything goes to shit bcuz the pain kicks in mid-way through "Let it Go" and Enid has enough strength in her to at least push past a notably worried roomie and out onto their balcony before her bones start cracking and holy shit she's wolfing out! But shes freakin out and so disoriented, not used to her new body or the flood to her senses that are suddenly on blast, and shes panicking and panicking until she hears someone calling to her, coaxing her, and a scent she knows all too well. It calms her, centers her, and Enid comes back to her senses a little to see Wednesday out on the balcony with her, hand outstretched but not touching. And Enid gives a few cautious sniffs and whines and its then that Wednesday finally brushes her fingers along her snout, up to her ears, and begins to softly, soothingly pet her and its then that Enid finally feels like herself in that moment.

She wakes up the next morning on the floor of their room with a small mountain of blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows around her, and Wednesday on her bed beside her. There are claw marks along the floor and fur shed all over the place, but nothings broken and she doesn't smell blood (beside the usual aroma a la Addams). How her roomie managed to get a full blown werewolf back into their room is beyond her but Wednesday looks too peaceful curled up on her bright colored sheets to wake her and find out just yet.

...

What I'm saying is that Wednesday is Enid's anchor and she'll only wolf out when she's around.

#wednesday netflix #enid sinclair #wednesday addams #wenclair #if you squint a lil #its a show about outcasts among the outcasts like it just makes sense if she still had problems shifting #like maybe the blood moon and the stress were enough to trigger it but a normal moon 🤷#idk i just like the idea of Enid still being a lil imperfect #this is very long #maybe i ought to just make it a one-shot or smthn #blurb

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artzychic27 · 5 months

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Idea: Actor AU commentary, but it’s for Monstrous Youths, where they talk about different aspects of the show like plots, character stuff, and of course, costumes and makeup! (Marc talking about how much he loves his moth wings, him and Reshma talk about maneuvering the extra limbs, Mylene, Mireille, and Lacey talk about how you simulate someone having vines, tar or flames for hair, the Buff Squad™️ talking about the fur on their arms is hot as hell and gets rank as fuck😅)

Chloé: *Rises from her sarcophagus* WHO DARES TO AWAKEN THE QUEEN- Ugh! Ew! There’s sand on my tongue!

Cast: *Laughing*

Director: *Laughs* Cut!

—

[Commentary]

Juleka: *Adjusting her fangs* I think what I like best about playing a vampire is that my wardrobe is the same as what I usually wear. That, and they don’t need to cake my face with a ton of makeup to give me that “undead” look.

Luka: I, on the other hand, require tons of makeup to truly make myself look like the living dead.

Juleka: And because you wanna feel pretty.

Luka: Jules… I am pretty.

—

[Commentary]

Marc: Reshma and I love being insect monsters.

Reshma: He’s an insect, I’m an arachnid. But, he’s right. It’s fun controlling the extra limbs, but also challenging.

Marc: For the longest time, we’ve been slapping the other cast members.

Reshma: I swear, we did not mean to do that!

—

[Commentary]

Kim: See, in order to play the role of the fearsome werewolf of DuPont School For Monstrous Youths, I spent the longest time observing the masters…

Max: And by that, he means he spent hours at a dog shelter playing with the puppies.

Kim: It’s called getting into character!

—

Adrien: Why don’t you just ask your dad?

Nino: Whenever I do, he always goes, “GRRRR! GRANDPA BAD!” *Coughs* God, that fucked my throat.

Adrien: *Burries his face in his hands and laughs* Drink some water, man!

Ismael: Ugh! I wanna go home!

Lila: The boy wants to go home! Enough with the bloopers! End the madness!

—

[Commentary]

Lila: Nath, Marc, and I cannot tell you how long it took us to master having wings. Mine are made of real feathers, and they’re pretty thick, so I had to work on my balance quite a bit.

Marc: Then, there are the harnesses that make it look we’re flying. Nathaniel screamed the first time.

Nathaniel: Because that harness broke and I was falling!

Lila: No, that was just… Flying downwards.

Nathaniel: Well, screw you.

—

[Commentary]

Simon: *Getting his makeup done* The crew did excellent work on my eye. It blinks whenever I do, and I can see through it. The only thing is that it gets kinda sweaty under there, and it gets all in my eyes, so my fake eye is just blinking non-stop.

—

[Commentary]

Alya: *Putting on a green bodysuit* My outfit’s a little… Complex. See, there’s this combination of the suit I’m wearing and transparent clothing to make it look like I’m a ghost with translucent skin

Mireille: The same is with me, only my clothes are not transparent.

—

Ondine: *Emerges from the pool, gasping for air*

Lacey: Ondine! What happened?

Ondine: I couldn’t breathe under there!

Rose: Why didn’t you just use the breathing tube?

Ondine: I couldn’t find the tube!

Staff member: My bad!

—

[Commentary]

Ondine: Things don’t always go according to plan on set. Some tails may come off, wings may not flap accordingly, and people trip on vines. What’s important is that we stay levelheaded, share a few laughs, and things go smoothly in the end.

Rose: And then we laugh at the bloopers.

Ondine: That, too.

—

[Commentary]

Lacey: Okay, okay! So, my fire hair?! It’s actual fire! There’s this non-burning fire that doesn’t even hurt, and it’s awesome!

Jean: Also terrifying.

Lacey: But also AWESOME!

Alix: Yeah, and speaking of hair… Those are real trained snakes. Because pops didn’t raise some coward who goes with the CGI option!

*The camera pans to Nathaniel*

Nathaniel: Hi. Yeah, uh… That actually is CGI. Alix tried the snake option for a minute, screamed, and then fainted. She just wants to sound badass.

—

[Commentary]

Zoé: I’d say the most difficult part about our characters are the bandages and vines.

Myléne: I’m always tripping on them during the days my characters forgets to trim them, and Chloé and Zoé often get tangled in their bandages.

Chloé: They’re like a fucking straitjacket!

—

Kagami: You will do well to listen, Félix. Stay away from my school. Stay away from Adrien. And stay away from me. *One of her horns falls off* … My horn fell off, didn’t it?

Félix: *Snickering* Yep. Wanna try that again?

Kagami: No, I want to wallow in shame. *Leaves*

Félix: Kagami! Come back! You were good! I was really intimidated!

*Meanwhile*

Cosette: Kagami, come on! It happens to all of us. You’re not the first one, really. Remember when I charged at Lucien and both of my horns just slipped off?

Aurore: Or when one of mine fell into the pool?

Kagami: I know, it’s just embarrassing. Right after I have the monologue of a lifetime.

Cosette: Yeah, that does kinda suck.

Aurore: Cosette!

Coaette: What? It’s true.

—

[Commentary]

Félix: Working with Lucien as the antagonists is great, just wonderful.

Lucien: Yes, I can’t get enough of playing the villain. There’s just something about it that draws me toward the role.

Félix: Same! And, you know, if there just so happens to be a villain musical number, then you can bet I’m going to give it my all. Hint. Hint.

Lucien: The writers looked at your notes; they said they’d think about it.

—

[Commentary]

Marinette: Having these buttons put on my eyes gave me flashbacks to when I watched Coraline!

Alya: She screamed.

Marinette: I did!

—

[Commentary]

Denise: That fur… Is hot as fuck! I- no joke! My arms are soaked when I take those off!

Ivan: They have to be washed constantly, and no one wants that job.

Denise: Sometimes the others make jokes about burning them, and we are beginning to consider it, ‘cause those things are getting rank.

—

Jean: Hey, guys- Ghouls! I meant ghouls! Fuck!

Cast: *Laughing*

Jean: Fuck all these fucking monster words! I need coffee! *Dramatically tosses one end of his scarf over his shoulder and leaves*

Ismael: Say what you want. He was destined to be The Phantom.

—

[Commentary]

Sabrina: The groaning my character does is actually just me saying real sentences from the back of my throat. When I say, “Hello, my name is Sabrina,” people have to listen closely to hear it. I was originally going to groan, but then I thought, ‘Nah! Lemme have some fun with this!’

—

Rose: Real quick, I can’t find my femur.

Kim: What?

Rose: It was supposed to come off for one scene, and now I can’t find it.

Ismael: *Points to her thigh* Found it. Case solved!

Adrien: You’re a little shit, you know that?

Ismael: *Smirks* All a part of my charm.

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #akuma class #science kids #mlb au #DuPont school for monstrous youths #monster high #actor au #answered ask #ask me stuff

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zappedbyzabka · 2 months

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talking about monsters, werewolf kreese....

Absolutely. GENIUS ideas. Big fuckin brain.

I’ve always loved werewolf Kreese because he’s the one that trained Red Riding Hood (Johnny) and all the little piggies.

Hairy chest and arms🥰

Papa wolf wearing granny’s apron

Are we talking about the kind of werewolf that just looks like a really big wolf after turning or are we talking about this? Because it changes things.

He’d never have a varsity jacket, that was a thing for the guys Betsy dated before him. He preferred something fit for meeting any broad’s dad in. Slacks with a clean, well-ironed shirt and shiny shoes will always do the trick in first impressions with nearly anyone. And when he still had his uniform, there were plenty of busty khaki wackies to keep him company.

But as he grew older, he started dressing like someone you could just guess would turn into a werewolf. Something like a lumberjack with concerningly pointy canines.

His sergeant could have turned him (if he wasn’t born a werewolf), and maybe that had a hand in his decision to let him fall into the pit of snakes.

Terry always knew his secret. Kreese was a bit vulnerable after everything. His girl’s death, the trauma of war, and being turned into a fucking werewolf—he had to tell someone and he knew Twig was too devoted to blabber.

He bought a whole field in the middle of nowhere with a load of sheep and goats for him to rip through on full moons, and John would wake up naked in their carnage. It wasn’t what he’d have liked to do with his free time, but he became absolutely ravenous and possessed, unable to stop himself.

Terry would be there by helicopter the next morning with towels and food a normal human would eat, his hair coated in pomade.

It was a jarring difference, being next to his elegant friend wearing pristine clothes when he’s bare and covered in blood, still has death stuck in his throat and the cracks of his teeth when Terry’s are white as the coke he snorts off his pinky after asking him what it felt like. Too excited to hear the gruesome details, but it was only Kreese’s second time turning and he didn’t remember anything but noise.

“It felt like eating something alive.” is what he decided to say.

“Sounds fun, I’m envious.”

He grew sick of being powerless and started doing the bullshit meditation that Terry was always trying to get to get him to do, fluffing up the act like a pillow, saying how it helps you ‘gain control’.

(”It’s the next thing to nirvana if you take just a pinch of peyote beforehand. Oh, captain, I was sitting on my floor straight-backed for five hours with zero boredom—”

“Just show me how to do this damn thing! It’s infuriating enough that I have to do this.”

Terry narrowed his eyes at him, hands on his hips. “Seon demands the admission of ignorance. Remember that, John. ”

He grabbed two cushions in placed them on the floor across from each other, sitting cross-legged on one “Now, shall we?”)

He didn’t fog up his mind with drugs, but he wrote down everything Twig taught him, calmed his mind, and accepted the fact that he didn’t know how to control the beast yet. He meditated every night, focused on every feeling, and explored every nook and cranny in his brain—though, a lot of things were figuratively covered up in tarps.

He found that one day, he had the steering wheel. His unwanted shifts were less frequent and he learns to change on command.

He’s never clear-headed as a furry monster, but he’s still aware enough in it. It’s no longer like taking a backseat in his body and watching himself do things.

(There is a possibility he could still lose control....COUGH)

I know he’d purposely shift and fuck around with teenagers trying to play hooky/canoodling in the woods by chasing them to their cars. Make everyone think they have a wolf problem in LA.

Probably would do it to the Cobras and see how they’d react in the face of danger. (real nice, Kreese.)

Does he tear people he hates limb from limb sometimes? Who knows. He definitely ponders it.

Or yknow, maybe he was just born as one and this universe has all sorts of creatures, ûwhich is an au I ADORE. Maybe he was always comfortable as a shifter and has total power over it. He’s a weapon in two forms, deadlier than a Cobra: that doesn’t sound like a problem to him.

He has always had that carpet on his chest and a viciousness inside so.

(And let me not get into him having ruts and turning pussy whipped—which includes ass. Just getting absolutely parched for it and humping against furniture, making guttural sounds like an animal and fucking his hand like he’s trying to give himself friction burn. Poor guy has no good place to pop a knot—or does he ?)

#Sorry this took so long to answer...I just go ‘do I wanna write more or?....’ but short answers gotta happen sometimes #But I love werewolf kreese😮‍💨#If you want me to go more into the nsft stuff them lmk #Or also kreerence stuff👀#john kreese

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buriedlove · 9 months

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💧and ☁️ for my cute and fluffy werewolf boy

Thank you for the ask for Alex!

💧 DROPLET - random angst headcanon

Alex’s 13th birthday has always been his favourite memory of his. He’d been dreading it because his father had always told him that was when the wolf genes would kick in, at midnight. He hadn’t slept the night before and had chained himself in a cupboard so he didn’t hurt anyone. But his birthday arrived and the wolf didn’t. Instead he had a delicious meal at his Uncle’s restaurant and went vinyl shopping with his father, who seemed strangely… happy… that the wolf hadn’t arrived. Relieved, almost. It was a happy day, light. He wasn’t going to be a wolf. The gene wasn’t dominant. He could lead a normal life. Little did he know that on his mother’s side a genetic quirk meant that it kicked in exactly 6 months after the 13th birthday. His mother hadn’t shared that news when he’d shared how happy he was that he hadn’t turned, what a perfect day he’d had. Instead she just smiled knowingly. Six months later was the worst day of his life. It tore him apart. Literally. It’s one he tries to forget every day. To block out the knowing smile on his mother’s face. Instead he remembers vinyl shopping with his dad and picking out the album with the man who looked like he was from outer space on the front.

☁️ CLOUD - a soft headcanon

The first night after meeting MC in the dome Alex couldn’t sleep. There was a fluttering feeling in his chest that he hadn’t felt before. It felt exciting, hopeful. It was like every part of his body and mind felt alive for the first time. After pacing the floor of his room for hours he finally decided to sneak outside and go back to the beach. Maybe the stars would sooth him to sleep, even if they weren’t real. But there were no stars. No fake sky at all, in fact. Instead there was just the deepest ocean pressing against the clear walls of the dome. The reality of the situation that they were all in hit Alex in that moment and without any thought he walked straight over to the hut he knew MC was sleeping in. He sat on the ground, his back pressed to the wall and quietly listened. Just in case there was any danger. After a little while he closed his eyes and imagined he was watching the stars, a smile on his lips as he wondered if one day he’d be watching them for real with the person that was making his chest flutter.

#buried love #interactive fiction #buried love asks #alex buried love

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squidinu · 1 year

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August out here being a full-time single wolf dad

#cryptid crush #werewolf #sketches #real werewolf dad hours

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bobwess · 1 month

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Workin' on the new "Wait for the Ricochet" chapter. Preview:

It was barely four in the morning when young Dean heard his brother.

“Are you awake?”

He sighed, turning on his side to face young Sam. “Yeah.” He threw his hands up to block the sudden blinding light when Sam threw on the lamp. “Jesus.”

“I can’t sleep.”

Dean sighed again, settling back with his eyes closed. “How much sleep did you get?”

“Five hours.” Young Sam said, sitting on the edge of his bed. “You?”

“Two.” Dean rubbed his hand over his face, trying to push past the last pulls of sleep. He and Sam had sat together a long time last night.

Young Sam hugged his arms around himself. “I keep thinking about going back.”

“Yeah.”

Sam didn’t say anything for a moment.

Young Dean looked up, squinting past the lamp to look at his brother. He frowned, pulling himself up. “Hey.” He said softly, getting up and crossing to sit next to Sam.

“I know we have to.” Sam said, looking down.

“I know.”

“I almost don’t want to.”

Dean put a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“I know… I mean I don’t want to leave Dad or… or Bobby…” Or Pastor Jim. “But… I don’t know… it’s been…”

Three full meals a day. Quiet. Full of movies and fishing and the internet.

“Who knows if that’d last.” Dean tried to reason, but he couldn’t bring himself to put much of an effort into it. He tried anyway. “Like a vacation. It all goes back to normal after.”

“I said it was better… hunting without Dad.”

“Sam-”

“I don’t want to fight the apocalypse.” Sam said, voice small. “I don’t want to give up college.”

I don’t want to go to hell.

Dean felt his face flush, room pushing in for just a moment. “We turn out okay.” he reminded Sam, but his thoughts circled back to Cas. “I mean… as good as we could.”

“He won’t tell me much.” Sam said. “Me… I know he’s hiding things. Things that happened to us.”

“Yeah.”

“Have you uh… did he tell you anything?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.” Sam said, leaving no room in his voice for doubt.

Dean closed his eyes. “Yeah, alright, but he didn’t tell me anything about you.”

“What did he say about you?”

“Sam-”

“Tell me!”

“No.” Dean said firmly. “He… I… It’s for me to know.”

“That’s not good enough.” Sam said forcefully. “I want to know.”

Dean closed his eyes. “It’s bad.”

“What?”

“It’s real bad, Sammy. I… I don’t want to talk about it.” He couldn’t talk about it. “I… I don’t…” He felt the hot flush of his face but he managed to stave off tears for the moment at least. “I don’t want to go back.”

It felt heavy, and came with a white hot flash of guilt. He immediately felt a keen stab when he thought of Dad.

Dean shifted slightly, feeling the ghost of bruising still splashed across his rib cage. Third week of the motel. Werewolf. Whoever was before that. Why is it always no highways and one bar?

“Dean?”

Dean closed his eyes, riding out a lightheaded wave.

He was going to hell in thirteen years.

Fifty years from now he’ll still be in hell.

He closed his eyes. And what was he losing now? His mind flashed back to sitting with Sam for hours last night.

“Dean?”

“I don’t want to go back, Sam.” Dean repeated softly.

#spn fanfic #time travel mixup

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ani-coolgirl · 8 months

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750 Pounds of Dirt Ain't Enough

Written for @wincestwednesdays prompt 4: buried

Read here on AO3

It starts when Dean is twenty while he and Sam are held up in some dinky cabin in Colorado in the aftermath of a snowstorm. Dean’s pissed because Dad left him behind for no goddamn reason—Sam’s not a baby, he doesn’t need watching. Sam’s pissed for the same reason, but tenfold because Dean hadn’t argued the point—just mumbled, “Yes, sir,” after he’d quietly suggested that Sam would be fine on his own and Dad had given him a Look before going off to chase his signs and portents. The cold doesn’t do enough to smother their anger and the fact that the weather has them trapped only makes it worse. The storm let up hours ago but the roads are still frozen solid and will be for days yet. They’ve already run through every card game in the book and played Monopoly exactly once. Sam said the Free Parking rule isn’t in the book. Dean said Sam was a nerd and an asshole. In the ensuing scuffle, they lost the car piece and a few hundred in fake dollars. Monopoly’s a stupid game anyway.

They’ve been taking turns digging a path from the front door to the car to the road in the unlikely event they’ll be able to escape this snowy hellhole anytime soon. It’s Sam’s turn and Dean’s wondering if it’s worth the effort of pushing aside three layers of clothing to jerk off. There’s not much else to do around here, and given that the cabin is basically just one big room, there’s no other opportunity to do the deed with any sort of privacy. The only “reading” material is a Sears catalog. The lady modeling sweaters isn’t his usual type, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Before he can make up his mind though, Sam storms back inside, tossing aside his gloves and hat in disgust.

“The stupid shovel broke,” Sam snarls, slamming the door behind him. The tip of his nose and cheeks are bright and ruddy like a holiday card. ”Piece of shit.” He struggles with the zipper of his jacket, fingers clumsy and the metal tab stubborn; he must be freezing. The thought hits Dean like a fastball to the face:

I could warm him up, he thinks. Get him so goddamn warm.

It’s gone in the span of a blink, but the rogue thought echoes through the caverns of his mind. Dean ends up shoving him in front of the heater and calling him a pussy until Sam’s screaming at him again. By the time they’ve exiled themselves to opposite corners of the cabin the thought, if it was ever real, has utterly vanished. Dean’s sure of it.

*~*

It happens again when he’s twenty-two and Sam’s standing in a hole three feet deep—only three more to go. Dad’s dealing with a werewolf in the next state over while they take care of a haunting. It’s their first hunt alone. Everything’s going like clockwork; Dad will be pleased, even if he doesn’t say so. He and Sam work well together, better than usual since Dean doesn’t have to waste time playing buffer between father and youngest. He thinks about maybe treating Sam to a trip to a local museum after they’re done (done a whole day ahead of schedule and Sam loves that nerdy shit) when Sam abruptly stops digging, stabbing the shovel into the ground and looking up at Dean with an unreadable expression on his face.

“You know I’m not doing this forever, right?” he says.

Dean stares at him blankly. The flashlight wanders, shining directly into Sam’s face. His pupils contract and Dean can pick out the bands of green within the dark amber of his irises more clearly than ever before—there are even hints of gold. A brown streak crosses his cheek like a splash of old blood and Dean wants to clean it off with his tongue.

Gorgeous.

Sam swears and shoots him the middle finger, blinking rapidly. Dean orders him to keep digging before the ghost of Harold Maddox realizes what’s what and decides not to wait quietly while they torch his bones. Neither one of them speaks as they watch the body burn or on their way back to the car. Dean still takes him to the museum the next day. When Sam thanks him, Dean wants to be sick. Two months later, Sam leaves and doesn’t look back. Dean’s glad he didn’t—he’s terrified of what Sam might’ve seen if he did.

*~*

He’s twenty-six and the love of his brother’s life has died, it sneaks back into his life like an insidious serpent.

Sam holds it together through the funeral but Dean can see it on his face as the coffin is lowered into the ground—the cracks forming on the surface. They take off while the priest is still talking. At the hotel, Sam crawls into Dean’s arms, still in his suit, and hides his face in Dean’s collar while he shakes.

“There wasn’t even anything in there,” he hiccups trying and failing to bite back his sobs. “Why would they bury an empty box?”

Dean doesn’t answer—he doesn’t get it either—but he knows that’s not what Sam wants to hear right now. He just pushes his hair away from his forehead and thinks—

God, you’re beautiful.

—nothing at all. Sam falls asleep there, wet face against his chest. Dean doesn’t dare move for hours. He doesn’t sleep. It has everything to do with the possibility of accidentally disturbing Sam and nothing to do with what he might dream if he closes his eyes.

*~*

Dean’s twenty-eight. His brother’s twenty-four. His brother will be twenty-four forever. It’s never going away.

He won’t let Bobby bury his brother. He kisses Sam’s cold forehead again and again. He’s starting to smell. There’s no one to hear so he says,

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

over and over until he’s hoarse. Then, he takes a tin box with some graveyard dirt, a bone of a black cat, and his picture inside, and finds the nearest crossroads. The box goes in the ground. His feelings don’t.

*~*

Dean sort of loses track after that.

*~*

It doesn’t matter how old he is when it ends. All that matters is Sam’s missing and Dean’s running out of time.

It’s a small graveyard, but small is relative when there are over a hundred plots where the ghoul might have stashed his brother. Sonnova bitch took a shotgun blast to the skull rather than tell Dean where to look. Over the years, he’s gotten good at channeling rage into focus; now, there’s only blind panic.

He’s lost Sam so many times, that you’d think it would have gotten easier to deal with over time. It’s only gotten worse. And this time would be the worst of them all, because if he’s not at least there to hold him while it happens... well, he’s got plenty of shotgun shells left.

There are no leads, no clues. He can’t even go the obvious route and look for any freshly dug graves because, A) it’s a historic site, meaning there haven’t been any funerals there in decades, and B) last night’s rainstorm would’ve washed away any evidence anyhow. Dean drops. He might just be sick. Every goddam plot looks the same, how can he figure it out if they all look the same—

“Stop,” the Sam in his mind orders. “Breathe. You can figure this out. Look again.”

Dean’s got nothing left to lose. He obeys.

A field of crumbling headstones. No obvious starting points like a tomb. Even though it’s a historic cemetery it’s not very well maintained. Obviously, nobody’s been around for a while, since most of the stones are overgrown with ivy—

Which is why the one grave in the west corner of the field with a single fresh rose on it is so goddamn odd.

Dean sprints to the grave. At some point while he digs, the shovel slips out of his grip; he claws at the ground with his hands. Every inch of him is covered in mud. He can taste it on his teeth.

He almost weeps when his fingertips strike wood. The ghoul didn’t even bother putting Sam in a real casket. It’s just a pine box, barely big enough to hold him—maybe he meant to grab Dean instead. Doesn’t matter. He rips it open and thinks he pulls off half a fingernail in the process but doesn’t give a shit because...

There’s Sam. Curled on his side and very, very still. Dean touches his face and it’s cold. Before the terror can completely overtake him, Sam blinks and coughs. He looks up at Dean and smiles.

“What took you?” he asks.

They’ve had a million close calls. The millionth and first isn’t so special.

And yet.

Sam.

Dean hauls Sam out of the box and into his arms. Sam doesn’t fight him and doesn’t seem to think there’s anything at all odd about the way Dean checks him over. Even laughs when Dean gets muck in his hair and on his face. He only gets quiet when Dean cups his face in his muddy hands.

There’s too much he wants to say and he can’t find a way the right way to say it. So he doesn’t. When Dean kisses him, Sam doesn’t seem surprised. “Why now?” he asks when they separate. Dean doesn’t have an answer. All he knows is that whatever he’s unearthed can’t ever be buried again now that it’s seen the sun. Dean’s not sure why he bothered trying to bury it in the first place.

#wincest #wincest wednesday #supernatural #spn #my fic

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