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#sacrifice
thirdity · 1 day
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Pain and hope are the two mutually exclusive primary realities that unify and become the ultimate, new synthesis for our age; we must feel both to experience this new synthesis that is serving, simplicity, and sharing; pain without hope is miserable, but hope without pain is empty and futile.
Philip K. Dick, The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick
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booknerd693 · 3 days
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Yes. Everything does end, all things physical in the material realms ends. However SATAN is forever, and through the power, guidance, and love of our Lord Satan we can be forever and beyond as well, long after the putrid demiurge false god and the other enemies of SATAN have been destroyed, long after all physical reality has ended.
Satan loves us and wants us to come back to him, to return to ABYSS. The way it was before the false light ripped power from ABYSS to create all existence. I know you can feel it too, the peacefulness of the dark, drawing us in. Hear Lord Satan's call, he is always with you.
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I keep see the question pop up:
"Why is Aaron Bushnell's sacrifice mental illness, but sacrificing yourself for the military isn't?"
And I figured I would just toss out my theory.
It's because the people saying that don't see other people, especially brown and black people, as worth anyone's sacrifice. They can't comprehend having empathy or compassion for the people in Palestine because they don't give a shit about people in Palestine. So in their minds, the only possible reason someone would care enough to sacrifice their lives for them is if they were mentally unwell.
As long as a soldier's sacrifice is made for them, it's fine. It's fair. It's justified. It's heroic. But the second their sacrifice is made in the name of someone else, it's robbed of meaning and heroism to those who do not believe those suffering have a purpose more worthy than their own.
"Sacrifice for me. But not for thee. No one else deserves to be free." -these jack holes, probably.
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One of the biggest “I love you”s in Fullmetal Alchemist are all the ways people respect each other’s bodily autonomy. There are two scenes that carry this theme to its fullest potential, and I love them so, so much.
The first one is quite iconic: Riza’s throat was slit and Roy has a chance to save her - by dooming their country and committing human transmutation. And Roy would do it. He would throw it all away just to save her, even though he knows that human transmutation is an unforgivable sin. But she looks at him and signals him to Not Do It. And he doesn’t. He wants to, but he doesn’t do it. Because only minutes earlier, he hurt her again by dooming himself (and potentially the country) with his fury.  And if there is one thing Roy Mustang doesn’t want to do, it’s hurt Riza Hawkeye any more than he already has. Even if that means watching her die. Even if that means letting her go.
He respects her and their goals enough to say no.
He loves her enough to let her die.
The second one is just as heart-wrenching: after Al sacrificed himself, basically dying in the process, Ed tries to think of a way to save him. Both Hohenheim and Ling offer him a Philosopher’s Stone to bring Al back - and Ed says No. Even though he wants nothing more in life than to save his little brother. Even though there is nothing he wants more desperately than the safety of Al. He says no for many reasons - Hohenheim is his father after all, Ling needs the stone to become Emperor - but mostly he says no because he and Al promised to never use a Stone for themselves. And he respects that. He puts Al’s wish above his own desire to see his little brother again. He respects Al’s decision (his own conviction) enough to break the rules of the world to find another way.
Because he loves Al - he loves him enough not to break the fundamentals of their principles. He loves him enough to respect the integrity of their believes.
And the narrative rewards both Roy and Edward for their choice to respect the agency and bodily autonomy of their loved ones - they survive, are saved, are brought back... and neither Ed nor Roy had to force their own desire for them to live on clearly stated last wishes.
So often we see media portray the disregard for bodily autonomy (especially in medical contexts) as a sign of love, the breaking of patient-doctor confidentiality as a sign of care, the violation of a living will as a sign of family - I like to think that Fullmetal Alchemist shows us that there’s strength in respecting it instead.
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mell-150 · 3 months
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if you wish I lived closer to you, you can summon me with some sort of ritual or sacrifice, I won't mind.
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half-mad-wanderer · 6 months
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A hard sell, but I'll take the chance. A win regardless of outcome.
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ylieke · 1 month
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Sauron sacrifices a branch of Nimloth, the white tree of Numenor, in the Temple for Morgoth.
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oooocleo · 9 months
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swapped out the wip for the final (probably??) version to keep my blog looking somewhat clean
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aanon04 · 2 months
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society of the snow (2023).
on love and survival.
some are always hungry - jihyun yun | problem area - melissa broder | … - @/ojibwa | euripides - anne carson | crush - richard siken
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inked-up-gentleman · 4 months
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The masculine urge to be a villain and sacrifice the entire world for a sleepy girl wearing nothing but my hoodie and a pair of thigh high socks
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thedearidiot · 2 years
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- Tory Adkisson, Anecdote of the Pig.
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marisashorror · 29 days
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An Offering
2022
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tomicscomics · 3 months
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01/05/2024
"If you cannot afford a lamb, one will be appointed to you."
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JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Joseph continues reading about Jewish law from his brochure (continued from last week's cartoon).  In Jewish tradition, the sacrifice for a newborn boy was typically one yearling lamb (for the sin offering) and one turtledove (for the burnt offering).  As Mary and Joseph discuss this, the Holy Spirit (a dove, but not for sacrifice) shows up to give a knowing glance at Baby Jesus.  You see, Jesus is called the "Lamb of God," and His mission is to be sacrificed for our sins, so it's ironic that His parents are required to sacrifice a lamb for HIM under Jewish law. 2. A few commenters last week were concerned about Mary and Joseph sleeping too close together in their blanket fort, as it challenges the perpetual virginity of Mary (a core Catholic belief).  I argue that Mary and Joseph are a poor married couple sleeping in a barn that's open to the cold and creatures of nature, so the chaste and honorable Joseph would probably stay near his Holy Family for their protection, instead of sleeping apart and leaving them vulnerable.  No scandal here! 3. A few commenters last week argued about the perpetual virginity of Mary (the belief that she remained a virgin after Jesus's birth; a belief held by the early Church even before the Bible was canonized).  I just wanted to say that I'm thrilled and honored that my comics appeal to people of all religions, including other Christian denominations.  It moves me every time I get a comment from someone who isn't Catholic but loves my work.  That said, I AM Catholic, so please understand that my comics follow the canon of Catholicism when I can help it.  No hard feelings.  Of course, you're all welcome to continue giving me suggestions and debating in the comments (good-naturedly, of course).  I've learned so much by listening and looking into your apologetics.
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zepskies · 3 months
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Smoke Eater - Part 19
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Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
🔥 Series Masterlist
AN: Deep breaths, my friends. We’re almost to the end. ❤️
Word Count: 5,800 Tags/Warnings: Violence, peril, blood and guns, character death…
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Part 19: “Sacrifice”
“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.
“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.
The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.
“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”
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Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.
“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.
“I think you know, son,” the man replied.
Dean’s wide eyes flicked up to John’s, and the other man sprang into action. He shot a look and a whispered order at Cas, who went running for some IP tracking equipment back in the police car.
Meanwhile, John guided Dean to sit down on the couch. Sam followed them on his brother’s right, while John sat on Dean’s left.
Dean put the phone on speaker between the three of them.
“You’re Daniel Savage, huh?” Dean said. He tried to inject some more control into his tone, like he wasn’t freaking the fuck out. “Man, do I feel special.”
“Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Dean-o. I’m doing the same thing your dad’s doing. Hooking the bigger fish.”
Dean’s lips pursed. He glanced at his father, but his attention on the phone turned steely.
“What the hell do you want?” he asked. “Your lackey’s on lockdown. So’s your bastard son. If you want to help him, I’d suggest you turn your ass over to the cops.”
“Yes, Nick’s an idiot. But family, right?” said Daniel. He breathed out a sigh.
But then his voice was firm and calculating. It made Dean’s skin crawl.
“Cards on the table, son. Your daddy’s got something of mine. I’ve got something of yours.”
Dean’s face hardened, but John raised a placating hand; a warning to keep calm. Dean tried to take a breath.
His heart clenched at the mere thought of you being in the same room with that man. Having been taken and hauled to God knows where. He couldn’t imagine how scared you were. And if you were hurt…
Fuck. There was a roiling pit forming in his stomach, his head starting to pound in time with his heartbeat.
Already Cas was back with a laptop and program designed to track the caller’s phone. He was fiddling with the settings, trying to get a read. Dean knew he had to keep this fucker talking.
“You have her with you?” he asked.
“Sure do. She’s a pretty little thing.”
Dean’s jaw clenched in a furious glare. “Don’t you fucking touch her, you son of a bitch.”
“Quid pro quo, Dean. What can you do for me?”
“What do you mean?” he asked, as desperation began to escape him. “There’s no way they’re letting Nick go before the trial. It’s out of my dad’s hands.”
“Your dad has no real evidence that my son is anything more than a successful businessman,” said Daniel. “If you really need someone to pin these unfortunate murders on, you had your man in custody…but, oh wait. You gave him immunity.”
Dean’s eyes were desperate when they met Sam’s worried ones, then their father’s. It didn’t matter that John and Cas did have evidence besides Alastair’s testimony. All Dean cared about was you.
He swallowed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. It’s what I want John to do.”
Dean took a moment to close his eyes, pull himself together. His hands squeezed his knees to brace himself. When he next opened his eyes, he let out a sharp breath.
“What do you want then? Aside from Nick somehow breaking loose,” he asked.
“I want your dad to back the fuck off, once and for all,” Daniel said. His voice was more edged, with both warning and a hint of frustration. “Or I’ll make his son live the same pathetic existence he does.”
Dean’s next breath came out harsher, as both John and Sam sharpened at the threat.
“That’s right, Dean. These are my terms of engagement, else I’m gonna have a bonfire with your girl here.” 
It all gripped Dean at once.
Panic, anger, and desperation.
He grabbed the phone and spoke harshly into the speaker.
“Put her on the damn line," he said. "I wanna hear her and know this isn’t a trick.”
Daniel sighed, like he was getting bored. “Oh, all right.”
There was some shuffling, the sound of Daniel’s steps echoing in what sounded like a large room. Dean’s brows furrowed as he heard sounds of your struggle, then your labored breaths, as if a gag had been removed from your mouth.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and talk to him,” said Daniel.
Soon enough, your tremulous voice reached him.
“Dean?” you said. You sounded like you were fighting tears; maybe even losing. Dean’s heart broke all the more for it.
“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?” he asked.
“Yeah…yeah, I’m okay,” you said, though your voice shook. He hoped you weren’t lying for his sake.
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” He raised a fist to his mouth, ignoring how it shook. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m going to find you—”
All too soon, the phone was taken away from you.
“Rule number one of negotiations, kid. Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
Dean’s eyes widened. The next thing he heard was a hard slap. It echoed into the speaker, along with your shout of both surprise and pain, a chair toppling over.
“You fucking bastard,” Dean seethed. “When I find you—”
John interrupted this time, taking the cell phone from Dean. He shot his son a look that was meant to be reassuring, but Dean was too incensed. Sam gripped his shoulder and earned his brother’s gaze. Dean’s chest heaved with the effort of calming his breathing.
“What do you want?” John said into the phone. His voice was clipped and direct.
While he continued to speak, Cas was frowning in frustration over his laptop.
“Anything?” Sam asked.
“I can’t get a lock on his signal. He must have something throwing off the scanner,” Cas replied.
Dean growled in frustration and pushed off the couch. He began to pace the living room, all while he tried to keep an ear on what John was saying lowly into the phone.
By the time he hung up, Dean was raging.
“Fuck this, I’m gonna find her,” he said. John tried to stop him from going anywhere with a hand on his shoulder. Dean knocked him off angrily. Sam also stood, for once on the same page as his father, no matter how much he sympathized.
“Dean, you need to calm down,” John tried.
It was the wrong thing to say.
“I didn’t ask for this!” Dean shouted. The force of it echoed on the apartment walls. “Matter of fact, I’ve never asked you for a damn thing until now. Only that you’d keep me in the loop on Azazel, and keep her out of this. But you couldn’t even do that, could you?”
Sam was at a loss, looking between his father and brother. Cas was also caught in between, watching the scene with concern, and bated breath.
John’s broad shoulders sunk a bit, along with the deep breath he expelled.
“You’re right,” John said. His eyes held the weight of his words. Of sincerity. And by degrees, Dean’s anger lessened.
Again, not by much.
“Let’s fix it,” said John. “Once and for all.”
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Dean wasn’t fully recovered from his TBI. He’d been cleared for driving, but not yet for full physical exercise, let alone going back to work. The stress of all this was giving him a powerful headache, but there was no way he was going to be sidelined now, on any part of it.
Sam was forced to withdraw the case against Nick Savage, citing lack of evidence to support a trial at this time. The judge gave Sam permission to refile when he was able to build a better case.
John was then tasked with escorting Nick out of prison. Cas, meanwhile, was sitting in his personal car outside the county jail with Dean in the passenger seat. Cas didn’t trust what his friend would do behind the wheel once he saw Nick.
“What happens after Nick gets out?” Dean asked. “Dad’s been cagey about the whole deal.”
“We’re escorting him to the airport,” Cas said. “There we’ll wait for Daniel and make the exchange.”
Nick, for you. That was the deal.
“And then?” Dean asked, his teeth already clenching.
Cas blew out a sigh. “We’ll have a unit waiting on standby. We’re going to try and get ahold of whoever has her, though I doubt Daniel will come himself.”
“What if you can’t catch him?” Dean pressed.
Cas didn’t want to have to tell his friend something he didn’t want to hear, but he didn’t make a habit of lying to Dean. He wasn’t about to start now.
“Then it’s over, for now,” he replied. “We each go back to our corners and regroup.”
“Dad’ll never stop hunting this guy,” Dean said.
“That may be,” Cas nodded. “But he does have a line.”  
“My father’s an obsessed bastard,” Dean groused. “He doesn’t have a damn line.”
Cas looked over at him then. He was calm and sympathetic, and yet, still disagreeing in his silence. Dean knew he was probably wrong, but in the moment, he didn’t care. He was still angry.
He perked up, however, when the prison doors slid open. Out came John escorting Nick and his lawyer, Amelia. Nick looked as smug as ever now that his cuffs were off. He was given the clothes he was arrested in—a blue silk shirt, pants, Italian leather shoes, and a silver Rolex watch.
Screw this, Dean thought. He unlocked the car from his side and climbed out. He didn’t care that he could hear Cas mutter a curse behind him and follow suit.
Nick saw Dean coming and couldn’t help but smirk, even as John grasped his arm and led him to his police car.
“Hey, fireman,” Nick taunted with his waggling brows. “Where’s our girl?”
Dean’s lips edged at a dangerous smile. Cas came up just behind him, ready to restrain him if need be.
“You can finesse your way out of this, but remember our little chat,” Dean said. His eyes burned with a thinly veiled threat. “Not a dime in this world can protect you from me.”
Nick pretended to shiver.
“Ooh, I’m so fucking scared,” he snarked. He resisted John’s manhandling and ripped his arm out of the other man’s grasp to step further into the open, leaving just a few yards between him and Dean.
“You can’t touch me,” Nick taunted. “You won’t dare. Not unless you want—”
Three shots rang out in the open clearing.
All heads ducked, but Dean’s eyes widened. He watched Nick crumple to the ground as scarlet red plumed in the man’s silk shirt. The shock etched on his face drained along with his life, leaving blue eyes staring up at a clear sky.
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Forensics at the scene found traces of a sniper on the rooftop of a building directly across from the county jail.
John and Cas already were mounting an entire unit search in locating Alastair Rolston, but he had apparently moved out of his apartment as soon as he was released from prison with his immunity deal. (The police officers escorting him into witness protection had been found dead at the scene of his designated safe house.)
The detectives were later called into the medical examiner’s office on the case of Nick Savage—not to examine the body, but the bullets that had carved into his heart, right lung, and throat.
One of the bullets had a special casing. Inside was a rolled-up note, not unlike a carrier pigeon. It had a simple message:
JOHN — STULL STORAGE. COME ALONE.
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Once again, Dean refused to sit idly. He’d pushed back hard enough that John had eventually relented. This time, however, Sam stepped in to make sure his brother was reigned in. Dean’s knee was already bouncing with anticipation and nervousness.
It was nearly midnight on a Tuesday. The brothers sat in the surveillance van with Jody Mills, all wearing protective Kevlar vests as precaution. The van was removed from the immediate site of Stull Storage, which was made up of a main warehouse and several rows of storage units on the other side. 
Cas was leading another police unit on standby, but John was going into the warehouse. He wore his usual leather jacket over his rumpled shirt, pants, and boots, but also a protective vest and hidden wire under his collar.
Sam, Dean, and Jody were able to listen in as John entered alone.
He had a flashlight positioned over his raised gun as he walked into the building. He found some light switches along the wall and was able to turn on half the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.
He heard a whimper.
Moving towards the sound cautiously, John soon found you tied to a chair. You looked a bit worse for wear; though you were dressed for an interview in black slacks and a blouse, your hair was in disarray, your cheek still sported a fading red mark, and you likely had other bumps and bruises.
Your eyes widened with hope when you saw John. You made sounds of surprise around the gag tied in your mouth, but he shushed you with a finger held to his lips.
He went over to you after lowering his gun, cocking back the safety, and re-holstering. He went to untie the gag first. You breathed deeply when it was gone.
“You okay?” he asked, touching your arm in comfort.
“Yeah,” you nodded, but your widening eyes still darted behind him.
Another safety clicked back. John immediately drew his gun again and turned. He was met with the man of the hour.
Standing mere feet away with his own gun was Daniel Savage. AKA: Azazel.
“Ooh, you’re getting old, John,” he said with a smirk. “Wasn’t expecting to get the drop on you so easily.”
John subtly moved so he was standing in front of you. He hadn't had time to untie you from the chair. Your breathing came out shallow as you tried to spy around John to your captor.
“Daniel,” John greeted. “It’s about time, wouldn’t you say?”
“You cheated though,” said Daniel, despite his cocky smirk. Like father like son. “I know you’ve got a team waiting in the wings.”
“If you wanna get technical, you cheated first,” John pointed out.
Daniel shrugged. Behind him came around ten of his own hired men, armed with their own guns. “Hate the player, hate the game, my friend.”
John’s lips pursed, but he didn’t lower his gun. He had a straight shot at Daniel’s chest.
“Even if you do get off a shot, you’ll be Swiss cheese where you stand,” Daniel said. 
“Small price to pay for ending your miserable life,” John remarked.
Daniel’s brows rose. “Are you gonna make her pay for it too?”
He gestured behind John, where he glanced back at your face. Your red-rimmed eyes were shining with tears. And John knew that once his gun fired, his body would hit the ground. Yours wouldn’t be far behind.
His brows furrowed, and the hands holding his weapon wavered.
“So how you do think this is gonna play out?” John asked.
“Well, for starters, you’re going to drop that damn gun,” said Daniel. He cocked his own weapon. “Then, you’re going to get down on your knees and take this bullet, like putting down a rabid dog. Then maybe, I’ll let her go before the cops rush in.”
John’s hesitation was mere seconds. He clicked the safety back on. He set down his gun, and lowered to his knees in slow movements.
Your eyes widened further as incredulous tears slipped down your cheeks. You shook your head.
“Don’t!” you said shakily. 
John didn’t look back at you this time, but he did answer you.
“It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said.
Daniel’s grim smile made you shiver.
“What a caring father-in-law,” he said, and he slowly stalked forward. “You know, I prided myself on delegating my operations well. Oh, it was a well-oiled machine back in the day. But some things…well, some things are just better handled yourself. Know what I mean?”
He tilted his head down at John.
“For example: I really regret the way I had your wife killed,” he said. “For all the trouble you’ve given me, I wish I’d actually burned the bitch myself.”
John glared up at the man with pure fury and hatred.
Though his eyes widened when the first shot split the air, and buried a bullet in Daniel’s left arm. Daniel shouted in pain as he unconsciously dropped his gun. John dove for it, and everything started to happen at once.
Daniel kicked at John’s chest while holding his wounded arm, tossing the other man back. John rolled onto his feet, and their full out brawl began. Meanwhile, a unit of police officers swarmed into the warehouse and sparked a shootout with Daniel’s men.
And in all of this, Cas came out from behind your line of vision to untie you. He wore a protective vest over his usual white dress shirt, now rolled up to the elbows.
“Cas!” you gasped. He gave you a smile, then used a pocketknife to cut through the zip ties holding your wrists behind you and your ankles to the chair.
“Come on, let’s go.” He helped you up and guided you out the back of the warehouse.
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The last coherent sound Sam and Dean heard was a bullet fired and hitting its target. They couldn’t tell if it was John or Daniel that had been hit, or even you.
Above all things, Dean was a man of action.
He just couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fuck this,” he growled. He got to his feet and went for the door of the surveillance van, but while Jody voiced her protest, it was Sam who reached him first.
“Dean, stop! You can’t go out there!” Sam said.
“The hell I can’t,” Dean said. The punch he reared back and threw was precise when it cracked Sam in the cheek. He went down hard. It was all Jody could do to keep him from knocking his head on the metal floor, but Sam was out cold, with his hair flopped over his face.
"Dean!" Jody yelled after him. She stared after the open door of the van with wide, worried eyes.
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There were rows upon rows of storage units behind the warehouse. It felt like a maze in itself, one that you and Cas were forced to navigate alone in the crisp January night. Both of you saw your breath on the air as you tried to move quickly, but quietly.
Until a long arm reached out on the other side of a unit, and a hand closed on Cas’s gun, pushing it down and ripping it out of his hands. An elbow cracked into his face, making him grunt and stumble.
Your scream of surprise echoed in the night. You stared up into the familiar face of Alastair, whose mouth formed a sly grin.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he said.
Cas distracted him with a blow that Alastair blocked, but it gave Cas room to break the taller man’s stance and knock his head against the unit wall—once, twice, until the man stumbled and fell. He wasn’t knocked out, but Cas didn’t wait for Alastair to recover. He grabbed you and forced you to run.
“I thought he was in protective custody for the trial,” you said, through huffing breaths.
“Evidently he escaped,” Cas replied.
“God, Cas. You really need to hand out some pink slips,” you said, with a tremor in your voice. The police were supposed to have been watching you as well, before you were kidnapped. Cas conceded your point.
“We really shouldn’t have given him immunity,” he grumbled.
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Dean knew he was being some kind of idiot.
Knew it as he carefully approached a side door of the warehouse. His vest wouldn’t protect his whole body if he entered the no man’s land shootout he could hear happening on the other side of the door.
Already he could see policemen escorting some of Azazel’s captured team around the front exit. Dean kept to the shadows, and he cracked the side door open.
There was still plenty going on inside. A few bodies were already strewn across the dusty warehouse floor. Large crates stacked up to the ceiling offered meager protection for both sides of the siege, including Dean as he kept to the wall and slid his way inside and behind a formation of wooden crates. He scanned the room until he found his dad.
John was fighting hand-to-hand with who had to be Daniel Savage. Even though the latter had blood dripping from his arm, John had his share of bruises and scrapes, including a long cut across his cheek from the knife clenched in Daniel’s non-injured right hand.
What the hell do I do? Dean assessed the situation, his eyes darting quickly between the men. He came in here without a weapon (another smart move). He went through most of the training a million years ago, but Dean wasn’t a police officer. He was a firefighter.
However, when he spotted a forgotten Glock on the floor, just a few yards away where the men were still tousling, Dean inched his way closer. He’d have to leave the relative safety of the crates and throw himself out into the open to reach the gun. At this point, Daniel was closer.
And he’d noticed the gun too, at the same time that John glanced up and saw his son. His eyes widened, and just for a moment he lost his grip on Daniel. The other man went for the gun at the same time Dean dove.
John yanked Daniel back by his collar and kneed him in the stomach. But Daniel had the longer reach. He cracked an elbow into John’s face and followed by a swift punch to the gut. John grunted and doubled over at the impact to his already battered ribs and stomach.
Daniel threw him head-first into a pile of nearby crates. He was breathing hard, but his lips twitched in satisfaction at the way John fell into a heap of broken wood. The detective was clearly waning.
Daniel stalked forward. Ignoring his still bleeding shoulder, he grabbed John by the jacket and collar of his shirt and hefted him up to his feet, prepared to deliver another blow. The cocking of a nearby gun made him pause. But in a moment, he twisted John in front him with an arm wrapped around his neck to face his next attacker.
While Daniel had been distracted, Dean had managed to dive and roll across the concrete, scooping up the gun on his way back onto his feet. Now he’d had the time to take aim and wait for his moment, which was right fucking now.
Slowly, Daniel tilted his head to look past John’s shoulder. He was met with Dean’s smirk and a gun pointed directly at his head.
“I think I’ve got something of yours,” Dean remarked. His fingers slid over the trigger.
Daniel tilted his head. A dry smile edged at the corner of his lips. “All right, Dean. Well played. But…”
He tightened his arm around John’s throat and held the knife poised at his neck.
“We’re at what you’d call an impasse, don’t you think?” Daniel asked.
“Dean,” John said. He met his eldest’s gaze as uncertainly crept into Dean’s stance. His hand was still held aloft, but there was an almost imperceptible shake.
“Just shoot him,” said John, with full conviction. “Don’t worry about me.”
Dean’s mouth pressed into a line, his brows furrowing. He wasn’t doing that.
“See, I don’t think he’s got it in ‘im,” Daniel said, speaking lowly in John’s ear. His knife tightened against John’s neck. “You’re out of your fucking depth, Dean.”
Dean flinched as a bullet zoomed past his head from across the room. He was reminded that there was still a fight going on, and the three of them were very much out in the open. John’s face turned more urgent, with thinly veiled worry.
“Dean, either shoot him or get the hell out of here,” he said tersely.
“I’m not leaving,” Dean said, with a small, stubborn shake of his head. But he was nervous. Despite how close he’d come with Nick Savage, Dean had never shot at someone, let alone taken a life. The gun was heavy in his hand.
“Running out of time, son,” Daniel taunted.
“I’m not your fucking son,” Dean gritted out. “Speaking of, did you have Alastair do your dirty work, taking out Nick, or did you pull that trigger yourself?”
Daniel’s smirk faded, his gaze tightening with resignation.
“Sacrifices, Dean,” he said. “We make ‘em to survive. To make sure our legacies survive.”
Dean’s eyes widened as he looked at this man, and he finally understood what his dad had been trying to tell him.
He ain’t a man. He’s a monster.
The gun was heavy in his hand…
“Come on, Dean!” Daniel shouted. “Make a decision—”
Dean still remembered most things he’d learned at the Police Academy. He’d lived, ate, sweat, and breathed those drills and tests for months. And yet, there was only one score he’d truly been proud of. It was the one record of his dad’s that he’d managed to beat.
You could guess which one.
Dean let his fingers squeeze the trigger on some instinct he couldn’t name. Daniel was forced to choke on his words.
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Cas pulled you around the corner of a storage unit that blocked the light of the moon. It was just in time for a bullet to rip past where his head used to be.
You leaned heavily against the wall and heaved for breath, but Cas held a finger to his lips while he tried to calm his own breathing.
You held a hand over your mouth to try and stifle the sounds from getting out. Your eyes were wide and panicked, but Cas could only reassure you with a brief hand on your shoulder. He nodded and signaled with his free hand. Wait.
You gave a jerky nod in return. So he reached for his belt and brandished the only weapon he had left—the knife he’d used to cut through your bonds. The air was quiet, except for the distant shouts of police officers; it sounded like Azazel’s men were finally being rounded up.
Cas had called for backup earlier, but he didn’t think they could wait for it. Nor would he know if they were coming. He’d long since turned off the radio on his belt so that it couldn’t tip off his position with you.
He chanced looking around the wall of the storage unit. The coast looked clear, though he knew it wasn’t. Still, the best Cas could hope for was to cover you on the way back to the police barricade. He leaned back and reached for you. He guided you, both with his eyes and a hand on your back.
On the count of three, run, he mouthed. You wordlessly agreed. He saw the fear shining in your eyes.
One…two…
An arm shot out to grab Castiel’s collar the moment he stepped out from his cover, making you scream. The first punch came swift; Alastair was taller, perhaps stronger, but Cas recovered quickly.
He ducked the other man’s arm and delivered an uppercut that had his adversary careening back. With a well-placed jab to the wrist, Alastair’s gun clattered away across the ground.
Cas managed to shoot you a quick look. “Run. Now!”
You paused for a mere moment while Cas continued to grapple with Alastair. Then, in your frozen fear, you finally managed flight. And you took off running, even though Alastair tried to grab at your hair. Cas held him back and continued the fight.
You’d only managed a few yards of distance though, before you couldn’t help but look back. Something in you just couldn’t leave Cas behind.
You took cover behind another storage unit and watched Alastair slowly get the upper hand. He managed to pin Cas against the ribbed metal wall of a unit. He winced as it dug into his spine, but he had bigger problems.
He spat blood after the third blow to his jaw and tried to blink dark spots of his vision. Alastair looked down on him with the lean look of a predator. His smile betrayed the enjoyment he took in his work.
“Contrary to what you might think, I’ve never killed a cop before,” he said. “Just a cop’s wife.”
Cas’s eyes widened a fraction. Alastair’s smile deepened. He raised a bloody fist to finish his work, but he winced and weakened with a shout as a knife embedded deep in his thigh.
It was Cas’s knife that you’d found on the ground.
Alastair’s angry eyes looked down and met your scared ones. You let go of the knife and scrambled back. He backhanded you roughly. You cried out and fell hard on the pavement.
Alastair reached for the knife, but Cas grabbed it first. He twisted as he yanked it out, then jabbed it into the taller man’s neck. It choked his scream as he stumbled back. And yet, even that didn’t manage to kill him.
Cas dove for the fallen gun. It was mere feet away from where he’d forced it out of Alastair’s grip. Cas felt a hand grab his shoulder. He reacted fast—he turned and shot two rounds of hot led into Alastair’s gut.
His gray eyes went wide. Blood gurgled in his mouth.
And slowly, Alastair slid to the ground.
Cas was bloody, his shirt stained and torn, but he was still standing with ragged breath. You had managed to sit up, though your shocked eyes were trained on the body you’d just seen fall into a heap. The horrific spell of it broke when Cas gently touched your shoulder.
You gasped and raised your head.
“It’s okay,” he said, reaching a hand to you. “It’s over.”
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Cas escorted you back to the police barricade. There you found Sam, and the mere sight of him relieved you so much you didn’t realize you were crying when you stepped into his embrace. He hugged you tight and asked if you were all right.
You couldn’t give him an honest answer, but at least you were alive.
“I’m okay,” you said tremulously, but you pulled back at grasped his arms. “Where’s Dean?”
Sam looked anxious as his gaze flit between you and Cas.
“That goddamn idiot, he went in there! They won’t let me through—”
“What?” Cas said incredulously. “Into the warehouse?”
Your tears fell anew as a new frantic worry took hold, churning in your stomach and making you feel sick. You turned, and both Cas and Sam had to stop you from heading towards the warehouse.
“Get him out of there!” you cried. “Dean!”
You tried to push past Cas and his attempts to calm you, but you stopped the moment you saw him…
Dean was helping John limp out of the warehouse. Jody was on John’s other side, supporting him as well. John looked beat to hell, and exhausted, but there was no mistaking the calm look on his face. Like he’d finally sleep tonight.
Dean, on the other hand, looked pale, haggard, and worried. However, his head perked up as soon as he heard your voice. His eyes widened. He turned to Jody to make sure she could support John on her own, and she nodded at him.
It let Dean make his way straight for you.
Sam and Cas finally released you, like a horse waiting to bolt out of the stables. Your tears blurred your vision as you went to him.
When Dean swept you up into his arms, you were able to throw yours around his neck and cling to him for all you were worth. You buried your face into his neck and sobbed your relief.
You wouldn’t know that Dean’s eyes were shining and red, his mouth trembling slightly as he sucked in a breath and held you as tight as he dared. His hand came up to cup the back of your head, over your wild hair. His lips pressed to the side of your head as he closed his eyes for a moment.
“You okay?” he asked, when he was able to speak.
“Mhmm,” you nodded, though his question prompted you to pull back and find his face. Your heels came back to the ground, and you reached up to stroke his cheek and search his gaze.
“What about you?” you asked tremulously. “Your head?”
“’M fine,” he said. Though the truth was, he was reeling. His ears still rung from the bullet that hit Daniel between the eyes.
The weight of that decision was almost too fresh to be real, but it was heavy on Dean all the same. He could even get in legal trouble for this. He wasn’t supposed to have entered that building. Hell, he’d picked up a gun and shot a man.
Though he already knew what Sam would say.
Justification. Imminent danger. Self-defense.
Dean just didn’t know if that would fly here, especially with the Fire Department.
Right now, however, you were his lifeline. You grounded him in reality when you held his face in your hands. Just beyond you, he could see the relief on both Sam and Cas’s faces.
Dean gave them a smile, but he focused back on you. He held your hand to his cheek.
“Promise me you’re gonna stay put for a while,” he quipped. “Preferably where I can see you.”
You scoffed at him through the tears glittering in your eyes.
“Dean Winchester, if that isn’t the most hypocritical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth!” you said, punctuating your words with a slap on his chest.
“Hey!” he protested, but you ignored him. You gripped his shirt and felt the Kevlar underneath. It might’ve protected his chest, but he hadn’t had anything to protect his damn head.
“You run into fires, not bullets, you idiot,” you said, now wiping frustrated tears from your cheek.
Dean’s tension began to ease with a smile. He held you more securely, pulling you flush against him.
“You sound like Bobby,” he teased.
“Good!” you snapped. “You’re not allowed to scare me like that. Do you hear m—?”
He didn’t think he’d ever miss you giving him shit, but this time, it just made him smile until the corners of his eyes crinkled. Shortly before he cut you off with a searing kiss.
You made a sound of surprise, even as you gripped at his shirt, then his face to keep him there. You both knew this night was long from being over. An even longer way from recovering.
But for now, this was a good start.
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AN: And so, we're drawing near to the end. 🥹 What did you think of the respective ends of Nick and Daniel Savage, and even Alastair? And of course, her and Dean's reunion. 💗
Soon (this weekend), we have the epilogue...
Next Time:
“So…I’ve gotta tell you something,” said Dean, after he parted from your lips for a moment, and allowed you to breathe. His tone made you tilt your head in suspicion.
“It’s nothing bad,” he said, though he looked a bit nervous.
Your brows furrowed. You led him to the couch, where he took your hands in his. It took him a moment to get started. He seemed stuck on what he wanted to say, or maybe just how he wanted to say it.
“Whatever it is, I’m sure I can handle it,” you teased.
Dean gave you a smile. His shoulders relaxed a little...
Keep Reading: THE EPILOGUE
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seb mckinnon
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thepenultimateword · 7 months
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Prompt #226
“Sooo…” The deity tapped their fingers uncomfortably on the arm of their chaise lounge. “Do you want…cheese?”
The sacrifice raised both brows. “Cheese?”
“I don’t really know what mortals like. I personally don’t eat, but the acolytes keep a refrigerator in the lower quarters of the temple and I’ve overheard once or twice they keep cheese there.”
“I’ve been abducted, held prisoner, and served to you on a silver platter, and you’re just going to feed me?”
The deity shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m not sure what else they expect me to do with you.”
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