#sam: alright ill get the creep stick
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Do you think it was a date?
[DP x DC fic]
[Love at first... murder? - part 5]
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Part 1
Ao3
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In-chat nicknames:
Daniel = Danny
Sharpshooter = Jazz
TooFine= Tucker
Chaos = Sam
TheCoolerDaniel = Danielle/Dani/Ellie
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Private chat nicknames:
Bill = Danny
Pants = Jazz
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As soon as Danny enters his apartment, face bright red, he takes his head into his hands and lets out a silent scream.
He could have said anything, and he panicked and went with Toodealoo Kangaroo???
At this rate, he’ll never get a partner.
As Danny stands there in misery, his phone starts buzzing with messages. Curious, he checks his phone to see what going on.
Uh oh.
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Team Phantom 👻😎
Chaos: Guys check this out
Chaos: *link*
Chaos: The Joker escaped from Arkham again, but no one’s heard anything of him since, nor have they been able to find him
TooFine: @Daniel 👀
TooFine: ok the @ had been a joke but the fact that he has read it and not replied is concerning
Sharpshooter: @Daniel, what did you do?
Sharpshooter: @Daniel
Sharpshooter: I can see that you’re reading this, don’t ignore me.
TooFine: ohhhh someones in troubleee 👀
Sharpshooter: Tucker.
TooFine: 🤐
---
Danny takes a deep breath.
Well, it’s now or never. Let’s hope Jazz is feeling merciful.
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Private chat
Bill: ok so you know how you said you would still love me if I was a worm?
Pants: I have no clue how this ties into the previous conversation, but yes. Why?
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: would you also still love me if I
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: accidentally
Bill: vibe checked someone that tried to uh
Bill: hypothetically
Bill: kidnap and or kill me??
Bill: 🥺🥺🙏
Pants: Danny, did you accidentally kill the Joker?
Bill: yes or no Jazz??!? 😩🥺
Pants: Yes, Danny. I would still love you if you, hypothetically, accidentally killed the Joker.
Bill: this is why you’re my favorite sister 🥹🥰😘
Bill: don’t tell Ellie 😳🫣
Pants: Danny, what happened?
---
Danny lets out a sigh of relief before proceeding to tell Jazz what happened.
---
Pants: Oh Danny.
Bill: are you mad at me?
Pants: I’m not mad at you, I just want you to stay safe.
Pants: While I don’t condone murder, I understand that it was self-defense and an accident. I‘m just glad that you’re alright.
Bill: 🥰💞😘
---
With a small smile on his face, Danny goes back to the groupchat.
---
Team Phantom 👻😎
Daniel: you know
Daniel: if I had a nickel for every time I’ve had to fight off an insane clown that attacked me 🤡
Daniel: I’d have two nickels
Daniel: which isn’t a lot but it’s weird that it’s happened twice, right? 🤔
Chaos: Damnit Danny, we leave you alone in a new city for a week and you already manage to get into a fight with one of Gotham City’s most infamous rogues
TooFine: actually its been 6 days 10 hours and 17 minutes
TooFine: so not even a full week yet
Chaos: Did you at least get a good few punches in?
Chaos: Danny?
TooFine: @Daniel ???
TooFine: if i had a nickel for every time danny said something concerning and then didnt provide context id be richer than vlad
Daniel: anyway, for completely unrelated reasons, @TooFine I need you to wipe some cams for me 😃
TooFine: danny im not wiping the cams again so no one will have proof of you tripping backward and falling ass-first into a trashcan
Chaos: Speaking of, Tucker do you still have that footage and can you send it to me?
TooFine: already done
Daniel: noo it’s nothing like that this time 😫
Daniel: pleaseeee 🥺🙏🙏
Daniel: I’ll get you an autograph from Tim Drake-Wayne?
TooFine: deal.
Daniel: 🥳🎉
Daniel: ok so the footage from somewhere around 3 am last night
Daniel: around some place named park row??
Daniel: I think it’s called?? 🤔
Daniel: though I’m pretty sure I’ve also heard some people refer to it as crime alley
Daniel: not sure why tho 🤷
TooTine: aye aye captain o7
Chaos: Danny, in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place is called crime alley
Daniel: stop bullying me 😠
Chaos: No
TooFine: hey danny r u sure thats right? i checked the cams n stuff but theres no available footage from the area n time u described
TooFine: its like someones already wiped it all
Daniel: oh!
Daniel: that’s so sweet of him 😊
Chaos: Wait who is this ‘him’?
TooFine: the joker????
Daniel: oh no not the Joker
Daniel: just some cute guy I met last night
Daniel: he witnessed me killing the Joker 🫣
Daniel: and didn’t call the cops on me afterward 🥰💞
TooFine: def green flag
Chaos: Oh hell yeah, he’s a keeper
Chaos: Wait you killed the Joker?! I thought you just fought him off!
Daniel: it was an accident!! 😭😭
Daniel: he crept up on me and tried to grab me 😓
Daniel: so I got startled and because all I saw was a clown
Daniel: I just kinda punched his face in with my ghost strength… 😰
TooFine: f
Chaos: f
Sharpshooter: Have you gotten rid of the body yet? Did you leave behind DNA at the crime scene? Will I need to start saving up bail money or getting ready to enact the Fenton Break Out plan?
Chaos: Jazz asking the important questions here
Daniel: well, considering the footage was wiped
Daniel: and also the fact that no one’s found him yet
Daniel: I think it’s safe to assume it’s all taken care of
Daniel: that’s honestly really sweet of him though 🥰😊
TooFine: oohhhhh ur mystery boo??
Daniel: yeah, this random guy saw me vibe-checking the Joker
Daniel: and let me go home without any trouble
Daniel: pretty sure he’s the one who wiped the cams 🤔
Daniel: and then today he showed up at my apartment with flowers 🥺
Daniel: they were sweat peas!!!! 🥰🤩
Chaos: Was that to thank you for the murder orrrr?
Sharpshooter: Oh those are your favorite, was that on purpose?
Daniel: well I didn’t tell him
Daniel: so I’m not sure if he knew or if it was a coincidence 🤷
Daniel: but yeah then he took me out to this restaurant called Pete’s for dinner
Daniel: they had some amazing cannoli
Daniel: you should try it sometime if you get the chance
Daniel: and then after dinner he took me to the observatory!!!!!!! 🤩🥰
Sharpshooter: Gotham observatory?
Sharpshooter: Isn’t that the one with the special telescope, I think you mentioned it before
Daniel: yeah, the crystal-powered telescope!! 😍💞✨🤩❤️
Daniel: and at the end, he brought me home
Daniel: and he asked for my number!!!
TooFine: nice dude!
Chaos: The guy really went all-out and planned your dream date hu? So, what’s this mystery hunk’s name?
Daniel: oh I’m not sure, I didn’t ask 🙃🤭
Sharpshooter: Danny…
Daniel: yes?
Sharpshooter: Did you go on a date with a complete stranger who witnessed you commit a murder?
Chaos: How do you not even know his name?
Daniel: two words Jazz: Johnny 13
Daniel: and he’s not a stranger!! 😠
Sharpshooter: But you don’t know his name?
Chaos: We just can’t leave him alone, can we? Less than a week on his own and he already murdered one of Gotham’s most infamous rogues and then completely forgets the concept of Stranger Danger
Daniel: I mean he probably just found it when he tried to do some research on me or something
Daniel: probably got it from the school’s system now that I think of it 🤔
TooFine: dude who the hell is this guy??
Chaos: Who the fuck did you go on a date with?
Daniel: do you really think it was a date? 🥺😳
Daniel: I wasn’t sure
Daniel: cause he mainly took me out for dinner to thank me for the night before
Daniel: but then again
Daniel: he did get me flowers and ask for my number after he brought me back to my apartment 🤔
Daniel: like I wasn’t sure if I was reading the signals right…..
Daniel: but do you think that was a date? 🫣
Sharpshooter: Danny, for the love of the Ancients.
Sharpshooter: Who was it?
Daniel: oh, it was Red Hood 🥰
TooFine: damn dannys got that vigilante rizz
Sharpshooter: Red Hood? The crime lord?!
TooFine: former, actually
Daniel: what he said ^^
Chaos: Danny, you really have a type huh? Vigilantes with a Red theme. Who’s next? Red Robin?
Daniel: stop bullying me
TooFine: never
Chaos: Never
Daniel: on a different note, who changed my name in the chat again?
Sharpshooter: Ellie did.
Chaos: Ellie
TooFine: @TheCoolerDaniel
TheCoolerDaniel: 😎
TheCoolerDaniel: wait i just read back, danny’s dating a crime lord?? :0 👀
---
Taglist (for now, I’ll probably stop if I cant keep up):
@i-always-say-yea @uraniumwizard
#i had more planned for this chapter#but this already started to become too long#so the batfam reactions will hae to be in the next chap#sorry#anyway#dp x dc#dp x dc fic#dpxdc#dcxdp#dp x dc crossover#dead on main#dead on main ship#Danny in an alley getting attacked by the fucking Joker: I wonder why this place called crime alley#team phantom has questions#but then again weirder shit has happened#danny killing the joker and going on a date with red hood is barely in the top 10 of weird/fucked up shit he's done#he seems fine and happy so theyre not too worried#might be planning a shovel talk in a private chat tho#sam: alright ill get the creep stick#sam: jazz--#jazz: already getting the ecto-skeleton ready as we speak#oh for those who are curious#jazz and danny's private chat nicknames are references to invis-o-bill and jazzie-pants the nicknames#question: would anyone mind me adding some plot? it'll still be mainly crack of course#but i got a thought of how i could add in a lil plot#tho i won't do it if people prefer it like this#so let me know what y'all think
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yellow | paul lahote
paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.
word count: 3.8k
angst, hurt + minimal comfort
trigger warnings: eating disorder, death, hospital/medical scene, vomit
paul imprinted on y/n nearly a year ago, it wasn’t something he ever wanted. in fact, he tried so hard to fight the imprint at first that he made himself ill.
paul was only just beginning to learn that he couldn’t fight off every problem he encountered. imprinting on y/n had been a harsh awakening for him, and he knew now that he couldn’t punch and kick his way through life.
that didn’t stop him trying though, he stared at the hole he’d just created in the dry wall of his bedroom. he was going to have to buy another poster.
“paul, are you still there?” y/n’s voice was muffled through the phone which lay face down on his bed, “i heard a bang.”
and paul could hear her concern so he snatched the phone and held it up to his ear, “yeah i’m still here don’t worry,” he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose.
“okay...” she said uncertainly, “are you alright?”
he was clenching his fists, his jaw, and every other muscle in his body, “yeah, yeah i’m fine,” he said, trying to maintain a light and airy tone as much as possible but the words just came out flat, “i should be asking if you’re okay.”
y/n took several minutes to answer, “you don’t need to worry about me paul.”
if only she knew that his entire life now revolved around worrying about her. about wanting to protect her, from the leeches, from every creep and asshole in this town, from every bout of stress or sadness.
“i never do anything else,” he tried to say jokingly, but his voice broke mid-way through the sentence and he punched his mattress.
“look paul...” he could hear her frowning through the phone as she sighed, “i gotta go to my appointment now but I’ll see you later for the bonfire, yeah?”
tears were burning in paul’s eyes as he croaked out a response, “yeah, do you need me to pick you up?”
“it’s all good, i’m going to emily’s first to give her a hand with the food so i’ll go down with her.”
“yeah, sounds great,” he said flatly, “i’ll see you there then.”
“bye paul,” she whispered and hung up the phone.
he launched the phone at the wall, and it shattered into chunks of useless plastic. he held his head in his hands and before he knew it, his whole body was racked with dry sobs.
paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.
he grabbed a pair of beat-up trainers from under his bed and pulled them on. he thundered downstairs and out the front door, ignoring the protests of his drunken father.
paul ran.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul,’ y/n would tease him.
maybe not, but he couldn’t do anything else because she wouldn’t fucking let him. y/n had always been stubborn but in the last few months she’d become increasingly closed off and defensive. if paul made the slightest attempt to ‘stick his nose where it didn’t belong’ then she’d shut him out for weeks on end.
being apart from her was agonising.
he used to think sam and jared were exaggerating when they talked about the pain of not seeing their imprints. but now he knew it was all too real and he couldn’t stand it, so paul had learned to bite his tongue so she wouldn’t give him the silent treatment.
that was something that did not come easy to him, but it was easier than not seeing her, not talking to her, not being close to her.
paul knew on some level it was selfish to let y/n play out her fantasises and pretend that everything was fine, he knew it was wrong for indulging her. but whenever he tried to confront her, to help her, then she would shut him out again and he couldn’t bare that.
it was raining heavily now, the hail stones battered off his exposed skin as he dove out of sight behind the tree line.
staying calm was not something paul was good at, he had to spend so much of his energy focusing on blocking out his anger and sadness and pain and anguish just to make sure he didn’t shift at an inappropriate moment.
but right now, he could smash through that blockade and let every emotion flood through his body as his flesh ripped and his bones snapped, and he shed his human form to leave a large, grey wolf in his place.
paul relished in the release, it felt good to finally let go of every negative emotion he was holding onto and embrace the wolf inside of him. he ran through the trees, taking in the smell of the wet earth and the salty sea air.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’
y/n told him that once after a particularly explosive fight he’d had with his father. they sat on the beach, and she stroked his hair as he laid with his head on her lap. he told her he was going to leave home, she pointed out he had no money, he told her that he’d live in the streets if he had to.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’ she had said, her fingers entangled in his hair.
but y/n didn’t seem to adopt that mentality when it came to her own problems, and paul’s desire to protect her made her problems, his problems. and now he had an overwhelming number of problems that everyone kept telling him he couldn’t run away from, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying.
he kicked up soil and dead leaves behind him as he ran through the woods, the hailstones has subsided to a light drizzle which still managed to soak his fur. he paused to shake the water off him when he hear someone else’s voice in his head, someone else had shifted.
“hey paul.”
“hey jake.”
paul tried to shut off his inner monologue so that jacob couldn’t hear what he was thinking, he thought he was doing an alright job until-
“rough day, huh?”
paul growled.
“yeah i guess, y/n’s seeing her therapist right now....”
“is she getting better?”
paul could sense the concern in jacob’s thoughts but this wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’
well, what the fuck else was he supposed to do? everyone kept telling him that he couldn’t run away but no one was offering any alternative solutions.
it was always ‘calm down, paul.’
‘you can’t fight your way out of everything, paul.’
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’
well why the fuck not?
no one seemed to understand that he wasn’t running for his own sake but for everyone else’s. and most importantly, for y/n’s. it was excruciatingly difficult to keep those thoughts to himself and out of jacob’s mind, so he began running through the trees again to provide some kind of distraction.
“yeah, she’s going over to emily’s first to help out so i’m meeting her there.”
“do you think you might finally tell her tonight? it’s been nearly a year and she still has no idea....”
“she can’t handle it; she’s got enough going o,n i can’t burden her with all of this too.”
that was only part of it. paul was worried about how y/n would take the news that he, and all his friends were shapeshifting wolves that existed to protect the town from vampires. and even more concerning, how would she take the news that he had imprinted on her? y/n was too fragile right now, he had to protect her even if that meant keeping the truth from her.
but beyond that, he was worried that she wouldn’t accept him. paul had a crippling fear of rejection at the best of times, but the prospect of his own imprint rejecting him was unimaginable.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
maybe not forever, but for right now he was going to sprint as fast as he could.
***
the blazing bonfire crackled just meters in front of them and yet y/n was still shivering; paul wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close into his chest. she nuzzled into him and paul was filled with a burst of euphoria at their closeness. her eyes were barely open as she leaned into him, he tightened his grip on her frozen frame.
“are you okay?” he mumbled into her hair, it smelled like lavender.
she nodded slowly, “yeah, i’m just tired, today was pretty rough.”
paul frowned. he wished that they weren’t surrounded by so many people, they were sat a little away from the rest of the group, but they didn’t have the privacy he would’ve liked.
“do you want to talk about it?”
y/n sniffled, when paul looked down at her he saw tears slowly running down her cheeks and his heart shattered.
he pulled her in closer and wiped away the tears, “hey, hey what’s wrong?”
y/n just shook her head, “i don’t want to talk about it.”
‘you can’t run away from your problems, y/n’ he wanted to say.
“are you sure?” he asked hesitantly, desperately wanting to help but also not wanting her to clam up again.
she looked away from him; the glare from the roaring bonfire reflected in her glassy eyes. paul enveloped one of her cold, bony hand in his and squeezed it gently but her frown persisted. there was a hollowness in his chest as he stared at her miserable expression; paul knew he couldn’t punch away anyone’s problems but as it turns out, holding hands is just as ineffective.
“dr charles wants me to go to inpatient treatment,” she said bluntly, “he says my physical health is deteriorating too much.”
something twisted in his gut.
“but i thought you were…getting better?” he said cautiously.
paul knew that was a lie.
y/n knew that was a lie, but she was so good at pretending otherwise she had everyone convinced that she was getting better. everyone but him, and he didn’t want her to know that she wasn’t fooling him with the ‘i’m eating again, i’m doing great’ routine she had become so well-versed in.
“well, i’m not better,” she snapped, pushing paul off her as she leapt to her feet.
superhuman hearing or otherwise, everyone else around the bonfire heard y/n’s exclamation, and their heads snapped over to stare between her and paul. emily began to stand up but paul waved her off and she sat back down next to sam. he approached y/n slowly, tears continued to stream down her face but when he moved to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, she pushed him away.
he held up his hands, “okay, okay – i won’t touch you, why don’t we go somewhere quiet to talk-”
“no,” she snapped, “i don’t want to talk paul, all i ever do is fucking talk about my feelings and as long as i say the right things then everyone thinks i’m better, but i’m not fucking better, okay?”
“i know,” he roared back, “i know you’re not better, in fact you’re getting worse. i watch you get sicker every single day, i watch you withering away, i watch you dying and there is nothing that i can do because you won’t let me.”
y/n bit her lip and looked away from him.
tears were burning in paul’s eyes, “i can’t make you better, i can’t make you eat, i can’t look after you and it’s killing me.”
“i never asked you to look after me,” she screamed back, tears flowing freely down her face now, “i don’t know why you think it’s your job to keep me alive but it isn’t-”
“yes, it is!”
paul was shaking now, he was trying to hold onto his humanity with every fibre of his being, but the pain and anger was overwhelming. he was reaching his breaking point. he tried to focus on y/n; she was his anchor and usually the thought of her, focusing on the sound of her heartbeat was enough to calm him down. but usually, she wasn’t the focus is his anger, and now when he looked at her all he saw was how frail and weak she looked.
she was dying and she wouldn’t let him help her.
everyone was staring now; paul didn’t want to be on this beach anymore, he couldn’t deal with this right now. it was all too much; his head was spinning and his limbs were trembling.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
sam leapt to his feet, ready to jump in and tackle paul to the ground as he lurched towards y/n. but instead of shifting and attacking her, he grabbed her hand and led her away from the bonfire and the rest of the pack.
“paul what are you doing?” y/n asked through chattering teeth.
she didn’t try to fight him off but paul knew this was more likely a sign of her lack of energy, and not her willingness to go with him. they were at the edge of the beach now, where the sand bordered with the rough concrete path that led back towards the heart of la push. paul stopped in his tracks and turned to face y/n as he heard her breathing become increasingly shallow.
he studied her intently, emaciated body, pale lips, hollow cheeks. he could hear her heart beating slowly and irregularly inside her chest, he could see her struggling to catch a breath. despite her weakened body she stared back at him, with a clenched jaw and arms crossed across her chest.
“you can’t run away from your problems, y/n,” he finally said.
she snorted, “i’m not you, paul.”
“no, but you’re my impr-” he stopped himself before he revealed too much and ran a hand through his hair, “you’re my best friend y/n i-”
“no, jared is your best friend,” she said pointedly.
“for god’s sake can you stop being difficult for two damn seconds?” he snapped.
she let out a shrill laugh, “right sorry, i forget i’m just an inconvenience to everyone around here, i should just go.”
paul grabbed her hand before she could turn away from him. he towered over her, but when their eyes met it was like nothing else mattered. in every second of his existence, paul was acutely aware that gravity and the laws of nature didn’t bind him to the earth; she did. and when she looked into his eyes like that it only reminded him that she was his everything, before paul knew it, his anger was melting away and there was nothing but pure euphoria flowing through his body.
paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself. but in that moment, nothing else mattered except for the fact that y/n was standing chest to chest with him, and she was staring into his eyes. nothing else mattered; not her anger towards him, her disease, his feelings of helplessness, his fear of rejection.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
“do you believe in soulmates, y/n?” he asked breathily.
“what?” she asked; her breath billowed out of her chapped lips and hung visibly in the cool september air, thick, like cigarette smoke.
he took a deep breath; it was now or never.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
“y/n, there’s something i have to tell you-”
she was the first to break eye contact with him, her pupils dilated suddenly, and her eyes fluttered shut. she managed to grip onto his bicep lightly as she collapsed, but her hand turned limp and rolled gently onto the sand as she lay unconscious in his arms.
***
“clear!” carlisle hollered.
paul reluctantly dropped y/n’s hand as carlisle pressed the paddles to her chest and sent two hundred volts of electricity searing through her lifeless body.
he frowned at the consistent flatline on the monitor, “push ten of epi and charge again,” he ordered the nurse, resuming chest compressions as he waited for the next round of medication to be administered.
paul grabbed her hand again while he had the chance, she was already turning cold. the blood had drained from her face, and paul couldn’t focus on her heartbeat to calm him because she no longer had one.
“clear!”
they repeated the routine they had been performing for the last several minutes; paul let go of her hand, carlisle shocked her, the flatline remained.
the nurse shook her head, “asystole,” she said flatly.
“what does that mean?” paul asked frantically, he looked between carlisle and y/n, “why aren’t you helping her?”
carlisle retrieved a neuro torch from the pocket of his lab coat, peeling back y/n’s eyelids he shone the light over each of her eyes, “pupil’s are fixed and dilated,” he said to the nurse.
“why are you stopping? fix her!” paul wailed.
“i’m sorry paul, there’s nothing else we can do for her,” he said softly, “time of death, 19.08.”
the nurse nodded and made a note on y/n’s chart before exiting the trauma room, leaving just paul, sam, and carlisle in the room with y/n’s lifeless body.
paul didn’t cry, or scream, or phase into a giant wolf. he stood by y/n’s bedside, clutching her hand in his and staring straight ahead at the monitor she was attached to. it continued to let out a continuous, monotone beep. sam, who was just waiting for paul to explode, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder; paul didn’t have the energy to push him away.
“bring her back,” he croaked.
carlisle looked between paul and sam, “i am very sorry for your loss, paul, but there is nothing else i can do, she’s gone-”
“well bring her back!” he roared, falling to his knees as he continued to clutch y/n’s hand, “you fix her, you bring her back, you change her i don’t care-”
“you know i can’t do that-”
“yes, you can. you’ve done it before, change her i don’t care if she’s a vampire just bring her back,” he sobbed.
“paul, we can’t violate the treaty,” sam barked.
“i don’t give a fuck about the treaty,” he turned his head to snarl at sam, “bring her back right now doc or i swear to god i will-”
“i am very sorry paul, but even if i wanted to change her i couldn’t, it’s too late. there are some things even venom can’t fix, even if i tried the venom wouldn’t be able to circulate her body without a heartbeat.”
paul rose from his knees and dropped y/n’s hand. he was robotic as he began chest compressions, despite protests from carlisle. sam tried to pull paul’s arms away from y/n, but he shoved him off roughly and continued to rhythmically administer cpr.
“paul, you need to stop,” carlisle said, “she’s gone – that isn’t going to help her.”
he ignored him.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul’.
he wasn’t running anymore.
for once in his life paul was facing his problem head on.
he wasn’t running anymore.
he was doing what everyone always wanted, and yet sam and carlisle were trying to stop him.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
sam and carlisle winced as there was an audible crack.
“you’re breaking her ribs, paul,” carlisle said, attempting to remove paul’s hands from y/n’s body but he flinched away from the vampire’s icy touch.
carlisle looked at sam pleadingly; sam nodded briefly at him before reaching forward and attempting to drag paul away from y/n’s body. he resisted, struggling against sam’s grip as he maintained the rhythmic compressions. his vision blurred in front of him, refusing to take on the scene before him.
he never got a chance to tell her about the imprint.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
she never regained consciousness after she collapsed.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
he never got to say goodbye.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
he never got to tell her he loved her.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
sam was dragging him backwards, away from y/n; his rigid grip kept paul’s arms pinned to his sides and stopped him from reaching out to cling to y/n.
paul couldn’t breathe.
everything was spinning.
the harsh, fluorescent hospital lights burned his watery eyes; he wanted nothing more than to sink down into darkness till he could awake from this nightmare.
y/n couldn’t be dead.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
“someone will need to contact her family, they will need to make arrangements,” carlisle commented quietly, “ i will call them myself if you give me the number.”
“this is my fault,” paul choked out.
“what?”
“it’s my fault,” his voice caught in his throat, “i let her slowly kill herself because i didn’t want her shut me out.”
“y/n was sick for a long time paul-” carlisle began.
“and i could’ve fixed her, but i was too selfish to let her go and now she’s gone forever.”
his knuckles turned white as he gripped the metal pole that ran along the side of y/n’s bed, he couldn’t bring himself to look at her body.
sam placed a hand on his shoulder, “there’s nothing you could’ve done paul, you already did everything you could for her - you can’t love someone back together.”
“what if it was emily?” paul snarled, “would you be so calm and condescending if it was your imprint lying dead in front of you?”
paul’s heart pounded in his chest, he was still unable to look at her. he wanted to remember her alive and breathing, not like this.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
“if you’ll excuse me, i should get started on some paperwork,” carlisle said quietly.
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
paul lahote never wanted to imprint on anyone, but especially not on the one girl he couldn’t seem to protect, not even from herself.
“c’mon paul, you should get out of here.”
‘you can’t run away from your problems, paul.’
his eyes flickered up, and the sight of y/n’s corpse sent acidic vomit bubbling up his throat and into his mouth. he turned sharply on his heel and choked out his stomach contents into a bin in the corner.
after he composed himself paul did what he did best.
he ran.
#paul lahote#paul lahote x reader#twilight#twilight imagine#twilight wolf pack#sam uley#emily young#paul lahote imagine#angst#hurt and comfort
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alexa, play candyshop (bass boosted) | 03
pairing: gabriel x reader
genre: soulmate au, canon divergent around s13, hurt/comfort, humour, future smut (probs)
wc: 3.7k
rating: sfw
warnings: none really
You knew there was a reason some divine power brought you to the Winchesters all those years ago, but to this day you still have no idea what that reason is. It’s something you’re destined to find out soon though, especially when you return to the bunker after months away and find not only a new face, but one that belongs to someone who up until that point you’d thought was dead. What does his return have to do with the changes you’re suddenly experiencing in yourself? Will you finally find out the reason you’d been brought here in the first place? Maybe…
Chuck works in mysterious ways after all.
prev. || next
“Well, whatever it says, we’re gonna have to wait until Cas and Dean get back before we can decipher it.”
You huff, sparing a glance to the angel huddled in the corner, resting his head against the drawers beside his bed. It’s been a few days since you’d first come back and you wish you could say you’ve had all sorts of good progress with Gabriel, but the truth is that you haven’t. He has receded so far into himself that a part of you is actually worried the archangel you knew is gone completely.
“I’m a bit worried,” you admit quietly to Sam after a moment. He turns his gaze to you and you hold it. “He’s… he’s worse than I thought.”
And, put bluntly, you’d thought he was bad.
Sam doesn’t say anything, merely releases your gaze and turns to survey the room once more; the walls are plastered in a scrambled mess of what you can only guess is enochian. You’re not sure when Gabriel had the chance to do it, but you know that earlier you’d visited him to offer him a portion of his grace back and he’d refused, so you’d left and when you returned some time later the walls were like this.
“Did Dean say when they were going to be getting back?” you ask, wringing your hands.
“He didn’t respond to my text, so I can only assume he’s driving.” Sam huffed a laugh. “Cas forgot to charge his phone again so I can’t reach him either.”
You purse your lips, trying not to smile. Of course, it is the little things that Castiel forgets. Like that wireless technology needs charging, that Beyonce is too well known to be used as a cover name, and those straws that don’t always come with fast food drinks.
You’re about to speak when the faint sound of metal hitting metal echoes through the bunker, heavy footsteps on steel stairs following suit.
“Well, I guess that saves us asking,” you say, patting Sam on the arm as you move past. The two of you depart Gabriel’s room, sparing him one last concerned glance before you close the door behind you.
“I’m home! And I brought food!”
Yeah, that’s definitely Dean. You just hope Castiel came in with him so he can see his brother and read the scribble on the walls.
x x
The scribble, as Castiel informed you, is a thrilling account of Gabriel’s Story, so to speak. What happened to him after his so-called ‘death’, and you tuned out for a fair amount of it (mostly during the detailed recount of time spent with porn-stars in Monte Carlo) but heard the important bits, like how he was traded in to Asmodeus and what the Prince of Hell then proceeded to do to him for the years following.
It saddened you, despite it being largely something you already suspected if not knew.
After listening to Castiel read the enochian on the walls, you’d had to leave. Uncharacteristic of you, and Dean had given you an odd look as you passed him in the hallway, but you couldn’t spend another minute in there. You felt bile rising to the back of your throat.
You really don’t have an explanation for why you’re reacting so strongly, so viscerally, to everything that has to do with Gabriel. Like you’d affirmed earlier, you only really met and interacted with him a handful of times! You aren’t close with him, haven’t known him extensively—
So why do you have this gaping pit of loss and grief in your stomach, like you’ve lost a limb?
It doesn’t make sense, and you’re not sure if you can make it make sense, honestly. You’d like to be able to put it on the backburner too, but every time you try it just creeps its way back to the forefront of your mind. In a bid to distract yourself, you hole yourself up in your room for the rest of the day, marathoning whatever dumb show is on TV. If you’re lucky, the entertainment channel might have old reruns of Neighbours. That never fails to make you laugh with its exaggerated soapy drama.
To your disappointment, the only thing playing in a marathon fashion is Family Guy, and with a sigh you bundle up in your covers and resign yourself to the afternoon. Well, if you wanted to numb your brain then this result isn’t so bad after all.
You spend the rest of the afternoon in your room, and pass out at some indiscernible hour. When you wake next, it’s a ridiculously early hour of the next morning and the TV is still running. You have a cramp in your neck from your odd sleeping position, and you rub it with a scowl as you emerge from the blankets and turn off the TV. You slept way too long, and there’s no way you can get back to sleep now.
Begrudgingly, you slip from your bed and into a standing position, relishing in the stretch you feel as you lengthen your tight, tense limbs. The floor is cold against your feet but you’re too lazy to search for the slippers that came with your room and instead just go on your way. Destination: kitchen.
You feel like a ghost, wandering the silent halls of the bunker. Dean is most definitely passed out by this point, and Sam… well he’s probably asleep, but you wouldn’t bet on it. That psychopath could also be out jogging. You’re so zoned out that you don’t even realise you’ve reached the kitchen until you stub your toe on the doorframe.
“FUCK!” you curse, managing to restrain yourself from howling like a lunatic just barely, at the last second. You double over, heaving in a big breath. Of course it had to be the little toe—
“y/n? Are you alright?”
The low, gravelly tone that brushes your ears is familiar and always welcome. You stick your thumb up so Castiel doesn’t worry while you grasp your bearings. When you find your voice, you follow up the gesture with a squeaky, “Fine! Peachy.”
“I would remind you that I can tell when you are lying, but I don’t think you aimed to be very believable.”
You straighten, throwing Castiel a bright smile despite the pain still throbbing in your foot. You should have looked for the slippers—this is your hubris catching you slipping.
“Sorry Cas, I shouldn’t be sarcastic. I’m fine, but I think one of these days I’m gonna break my toe for real on that stupid doorframe.”
Unfortunately, this isn’t your first run-in with the doorway. If anyone asked, you would tell them that the design of the hallway is atrocious and that door is not where it’s meant to be. Well, it’s not where you expect it to be every time you come to the kitchen, and is clearly an obvious design flaw.
The angel lets out a soft noise of understanding, lips twitching in the ghost of a smile. “Perhaps. You don’t seem to have very good luck with doorframes.”
“Nope, I definitely do not,” you respond, shaking your foot out before moving over to the fridge and checking to see if Dean bought strawberries. A noise of delight escapes you as you find what you’re looking for, several punnets stacked in the back corner. Ah, and they say old dogs can’t learn new tricks—Dean is a very good learner with the proper motivation!
(Pavlov would be proud of you.)
Castiel has a smile on his face as he watches you remove one of the punnets, hopping up onto the bench facing him and flicking the plastic open. He approaches, movements fluid and calm, and for a few moments you sit in comfortable silence. He is the first to break it.
“y/n… are you alright?” At his repeated question you give him a confused look, and he hurries to elaborate. “I mean… with everything. With Gabriel. I noticed how you left, yesterday.”
Ah. Well, you knew that you hadn’t been subtle, but you hadn’t been sure whether anyone was going to question you on it. You munch on a berry as you think, gaze flicking to the side. You wouldn’t dream of telling Sam or Dean about the odd sensations you’d been feeling, despite the fact they knew how you’d reacted to the news of Gabriel’s death, but Castiel… you felt comfortable confiding this in him.
“Well… yes, and no.” You drop the top of the strawberry into the lid of the punnet and reach for another. “To be honest, I don’t really understand what is going on with me. It’s like… super overactive empathy. It just hurts, to see him that way. And it makes me sad, knowing what he went through. Painfully so.”
Castiel nods, light eyes on you as he listens attentively and with care. You chew through another two berries before continuing. “Hearing it straight from him—well, as straight from him as it could be, I suppose—it just got to be a bit much for me. I had to leave. It just… made me feel a bit sick, is all.”
The look on the angel’s face is pensive, and it’s as though you can see his mind whirring a mile a minute behind the sky of his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs, gaze flicking to the side as he thinks. “Well, you are a very kind soul, so I am not surprised by your empathy. Though, if it is affecting you so strongly…”
He pauses, eyes finding your own again. “If you feel ill again, come find me. I’ll help as much as I can.”
You smile at him, every moment as sincere as you’ve ever been. “Thanks, Cas. I really appreciate it.”
x x
Sam must have done or said something to Gabriel while you were locked up in your room, because there seemed to be a sudden change in his progress.
For the better, you think. Well, you hope.
He was a little less withdrawn, a little less manic and fidgety. He still doesn’t really speak, and doesn’t react well to loud noises or sudden movements, but Sam told you he had spoken last night.
To correct him about calling the Monte Carlo porn-stars ‘hookers’, of course. You’d wanted to slam your head into the tile wall when you’d heard that.
The day passed quickly after your encounter with Castiel, and you spent it cleaning and polishing your weapons—you don’t want to go down as that one stupid hunter whose greatest folly was improper upkeep of her arsenal. Only when you’d polished your machete to a gleaming shine did you admit that it was likely time for a break. You thought it had only been a few hours, so when you wandered out and found that it was actually almost dinner time, you’d been pretty surprised.
Sam had run into you in the hallway and filled you in, and afterwards had insisted on accompanying you to the kitchen. It seems you spend a lot of your time there, now you think about it.
The large, industrial-feeling space is where you find yourself now, making a lazy stir-fry from pre-packaged vegetables and beef. You’d tasked Sam with cooking the rice since he’d insisted on lingering for conversation, and since you trust that he’s more capable than his brother you don’t bother checking on his progress.
“Castiel was worried when he first saw Gabriel, but after seeing the writing he’s happy because it means the Gabriel we know is still in there, somewhere.” Sam updates you from your side, sniffing and peering into the wok before you in mild interest. “That smells good. You sharing?”
“Maybe,” you answer him, giving him a sly look. “Depends… you got any of that guilt-free ice cream hiding in the freezer?”
Sam peers around to make sure his brother isn’t listening before nodding, “Back corner, behind the frozen berries. We got a deal?”
“Pleasure doing business with you, young Winchester,” you answer with a shake of his hand, putting on an accent for his benefit. He snorts, moving away to grab two bowls—good timing, you have to note, since the stir-fry is almost done. “Kind of sad you still have to hide it from Dean, though.”
“Are you kidding? He has a nose like a bloodhound for sweets,” Sam says, coming back with porcelain in tow. “Did I ever tell you about the time he found an industrial-size bag of Hershey’s kisses I bought? I hid it in the vents in the dustiest corner of the library, and he still found it. That was meant to last me months and he tore through it in a week.”
You blink, mildly impressed. You knew he had a sweet tooth but you didn’t know it was that bad. “Dude, get your brother some therapy.”
Sam snorts, muttering something about how it would be easier to herd cats and juggle at the same time. You’re distracted for the moment by an errant thought that filters across your mind at the mention of chocolates.
Gabriel, in his time spent as a trickster, developed quite the soft spot for them… could it…?
You stir the food before you once more before taking the wok off the heat, moving it to the wooden chopping board on the bench; Sam takes initiative and turns off the stove behind you, something you’re thankful for.
You’ll have to test your theory after dinner.
x x
The chocolates and candies you’d left for Gabriel after you’d had your dinner are, to your delight, gone the next time you see him.
You’d placed them on a tray for him outside the room and knocked, letting him know you had left him something. Of course, after that no matter how much you wished to stay you forced yourself to be on your merry way so he could retrieve them in peace. The rest of the night had been spent arguing with Dean about the proper name a werewolf-vampire hybrid should be called—not because you have an important opinion on the matter, of course, but because Dean gets very fired up about the subject and it’s very funny to behold.
Back to the point, when you’d returned on your trip past Gabriel’s room this morning (on your way to the kitchen, as anyone would expect), the tray had been placed neatly to the side with the wrappers twisted into the shape of a big, shiny bow. Kind of impressive, especially since you have no idea how he got them to stay stuck together like that.
It made you happy, though, that he’d eaten them. Angels don’t need to eat, of course, but he’d seemed to develop a taste for them ever since adopting the mask of Loki so you thought it might help make him feel a little more like himself.
You try not to think about it too much because it actually makes you a bit embarrassed— why are you so invested? You don’t quite want to know.
Currently, you’re settled in the library with your legs crossed and a tome on celestial beings in your lap. By your side is a plate of celery and a jar of peanut butter, and Dean, who is seated at the oak table with Castiel across from him, is giving you periodic looks of disgust and twisted curiosity. He’d started off attempting to read up on some monster—you suspected it was Werepires, after last night’s argument—while Sam popped off to the store for groceries, since Mary and Jack were meant to be returning tonight. The keyword to note here is attempting; each crunch of celery between your teeth yanks his gaze from the book to you and you can tell its wearing on him. Castiel says nothing, having discovered candy crush on his phone earlier, and merely glances between the two of you every now and then with a faint look of amusement.
“Alright,” He finally breaks after your third stick of celery, giving it a look like it personally offends him. “How can you eat that? Just use a spoon if you like peanut butter so much.”
“What the fuck, ew,” you comment, chomping loudly before dipping the stick into the jar for another coating. “I hate peanut butter.”
“You’re sitting there practically eating it out of the jar!”
“I get cravings sometimes, Dean!” you throw back, somewhat defensively. “It’s like when people eat vegemite—no one likes it, but you get cravings for it, you know?”
“What—ew, no, I don’t know!” Dean’s face has now crumpled into a complete look of disgust at the mention of that particular spread, and he shudders as he regards you. “Every time you leave I almost forget what a freak you are, and then you come back and I’m reminded all over again.”
The way he says it has no bite whatsoever, and you flash him a grin. You don’t realise Castiel has even been paying attention until he speaks, the humour lacing his deadpan tone the only give-away that he’s teasing.
“That wasn’t very nice, Dean. You eat some weird things for a human yourself—like that greasy, fried dessert from the stall in the food festival we drove through.”
Dean at first looks like he wants to argue, but at Castiel’s example a flush of green instead washes over his features. “Ugh, god that was gross. Don’t ever let me buy before I try at a food market again, Cas.”
Castiel snorts softly, turning back to his phone, “You have my word.”
Dean seems to have forgotten he was shaming you for your celery topping, his attention now directed back to the book before him. His face is still kind of pale and you assume he is now adequately distracted enough for you to continue eating in peace. After consuming the rest of the celery in your hold, you go to turn back to your own book. It isn’t meant to be, though, because in the next second the familiar sound of the heavy metal bunker door creaking open splits the air and Sam’s bright voice follows after.
“We’re back! We brought fried chicken.”
You slam the lid back on the peanut butter, putting it on the plate with the celery and launching to your feet in record time, the book unfortunate collateral. It’s like you’re possessed as you zoom into the kitchen, stomach alive and stirring at the mention of chicken despite the fact you’d already been eating.
Upon entry to the kitchen, you’re faced with two new people you have yet to be introduced to—considering you’re familiar with most of Sam and Dean’s other contacts by this point in your friendship, you presume that these two must be Jack and Mary, the Nephilim and the Winchester brother’s resurrected mother, respectively.
“Hello!” you greet, darting forward to help Sam with the food. He gives you a look that tells you he knows exactly why you’d come to help and gives you the bag full of groceries instead of the one with chicken, just to spite you. Your face falls into a pout but your voice is still cheery as you continue, “I’m y/n, I hunt with Dean off and on.”
Both of their faces light in recognition, and you realise that your reputation has preceded you. Exactly which reputation depends on which brother mentioned you—you imagine Dean would have had some very interesting comments to add.
“Hello,” the woman, Mary, speaks, and you’re taken aback by how soft-spoken she seems in contrast with the badass aura and get-up she’s got going on. You’re a little surprised to see her, considering she’s the same age as you presume she would have been when Sam was a baby. “I’m Mary, I’m sure you’ve heard about me. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and… thank you for looking after my boys over the years.”
You beam a grin and it must come across as a very shit-eating one because you hear Dean groan from the next room over as he ambles to join the crowd in the kitchen.
“Don’t encourage her,” he says gruffly as he enters the kitchen, hugging his mother and ruffling Jack’s hair before following his nose to the bag with the chicken in it. “She’ll never let it go.”
“I’m Jack!” Your attention is torn from the previous interaction and redirected to the youthful blonde man next to Mary, grinning at you brightly. “I’ve heard so much about you—it’s nice to finally meet you!”
“Oh, you’ve heard about me?” you can’t help yourself from asking, and you hear Dean’s groan echo behind you. “All good things, I hope.”
It’s a little unfair of you to be fishing in the Jack pond for little tidbits you can use to bully Dean later, considering he’s literally barely a year old and doesn’t really know better to keep his mouth shut, but it is what it is. The question left you out of habit more than anything.
“Oh, definitely,” Jack answers, going to help Mary the second he sees her struggle with a bag from the corner of his eyes, “Well, mostly. Dean—”
“Okay, that’s enough!” Dean interrupted loudly and pointedly, not-so-subtly holding his finger to his mouth to tell Jack to shut it. “Dinner time! Everyone into the library, we have a lot to catch up on.”
Begrudgingly you let it go and follow his directions. He has a point; there is definitely a lot of informing to be done, especially regarding the archangel in the room down the hall.
You take a seat and wait for your meal to be served. The night passes quickly from that point on, the brothers cracking out some beer and Dean snickering when you turn your nose up at it (bad experience, better not to remember it). You get to know Mary Winchester and Jack Kline a little better, and now with all of your heads put together you hope you can come up with a solution to the issues around Gabriel and his recovery.
Well, that and you’re going to see if you can get some good material out of Mary to tease the brothers with. When in Rome, after all!
prev. || next.
#supernatural#supernatural x reader#supernatural fanfic#supernatural gabriel x reader#gabriel x reader#reader insert#spn fanfic#spn gabriel#gabriel x you#supernatural gabriel x you#supernatural soulmate au#soulmate au#wing fic#hhhhhhhh#supernatural au#supernatural series#gabriel series
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Later the Truth Breaks
For Better or Worst: Chapter Six
Featuring: Sam Winchester x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC
Other Characters: Castiel, Dumah, mentions of Naomi, OC Bandit (their dog)
Season 14 AU
Word Count: 2263
Summary: Mangled magic, dissecting illusions
Special shout out to MJ @thoughtslikeaminefield for beta reading this installment for me.
Series Masterlist
^*^*^
“What the hell?!” Sam snapped, spinning in the driver’s seat to face this, this stalker.
“Calm down. I just want to talk,” Castiel replied brusquely.
“Yeah, well, ever heard of the phone? Or a damn email? Who even are you?!” Sam held up his hands waiting for answers.
“My name is Castiel, and I’m your friend, Sam. You and your brother, Dean, tend to call me Cas, for short. It’s sort of a nickname,” he over-explained.
“I know what a nickname is,” Sam pinched his eyes, the headache had returned full force. Though he felt stable, not close to blacking out again. Not yet at least. “But what I don’t know is how you know me or that I had a brother named Dean.”
“Had? What do you mean had, Sam?” Cas’s jaw jutted out, sitting up to hear what this version of Sam could be talking about.
“Had. As in past tense, Dean died of a heart condition like twelve, thirteen years ago.” Sam watched the weird man process the information. “Why? Does it matter?”
“The spell is more complicated than I imagined, they not only hoodwinked you into being in love with that woman--- they completely rewrote your past,” Castiel peered into Sam’s eyes with the intensity of a microsurgeon.
“Whoa, buddy. Easy there. That woman is my wife, and she’s amazing.” Sam tried to get the man to relax, to realize how insane he sounded. “You okay? You need a ride somewhere? A doctor maybe?”
“No, I am not ill,” Cas answered unironically. “Though, you seem to be quite muddled.”
“Yeah, well, you caught me off guard. Excuse me for being pissed about it,” Sam snapped before locking onto this Castiel’s gaze once more, seeing him completely and with startling familiarity. “How do we know each other? What am I missing here?”
^*^*^
She probably should have eaten something or sipped rather than chugged the wine. Emery was flushed with more than the jets from the tub. Slowly she was able to let the day’s disappointments sink to the back of her mind and just be. No super professor mode, no chipper neighbor filter, no patient and dutiful wife efforts, she was just her. Which wasn’t something she got to do very often, in this life or the life she left behind. When Emery wasn’t working or being for someone else, it got very loud in her head. But tonight, though the thoughts were there, she decided to just push them back, to let them hold her up instead of weighing her down. Emery decided to float above the worries in the fuzzy heat of a drunken bath.
This was ridiculous. There she lay, in a huge tub in a huge house in an overpriced neighborhood. She started to laugh at herself, at Sam, even at Bandit, wherever he had gotten to. She was a freakin’ professor at an amazing school. This was the dream. A dream she got out of nightmares. She didn’t deserve this place, she didn’t need it, it was too much. Suddenly she started to cry, tears leaked down her face, which only made her laugh harder. The absurdity of it all.
Emery inhaled and sank beneath the few remaining bubbles, hovering in stasis until her lungs brought her surfacing. She exhaled. Letting her bangs fall as they may, she hid beneath the mask of heavy, wet reality. Gravity won in the end, and she crawled from the drained tub and burrowed into Sam’s oversized robe. It wasn’t overly soft like hers, though it was thick and comforting, but mostly it smelled like his aftershave. She started working the conditioner into her hair, twisting and pinning it for the night. She was half-assing it and she didn’t care. She swayed absently on the balls of her feet to a playlist as she finished putting her hair up. There, close enough; she had her scarf secured before she scampered downstairs, robe hem dragging behind her like a train.
The haunting blue of the clock above the range glared at her, shuffling into her relaxation like an unsignaled merger. What was keeping Sam?
^*^*^
“Is there somewhere we can talk? I don’t think this is the best place to do this,” Castiel suggested. Sam couldn’t help but agree, a public place would be safer. And much less creepy, as long as the guy didn’t slit his throat the second, he faced forward. Unconsciously, Sam started driving to the bar Cady had suggested, but stopped before the final turn.
He cleared his throat. “You hungry? Emery was going to bring home dinner, but I can just get a drink—if you want.”
“I don’t eat,” Castiel explained.
“Of course, you don’t,” Sam grumbled, pulling into the parking lot beside the chain bar and grill. Appetizers and a stiff drink sounded like manna from heaven at this point in his day. Sam didn’t know why he was hearing Castiel out, but he somehow knew to trust him. To listen, to wait until all the information was explained before deciding on his sanity. Call it instinct or something deeper, Sam wanted him to feel heard.
Once they were settled, drinks in hand, Sam decided to press back. “So, why don’t you eat?”
“This is just a vessel, my grace sustains me and this form,” Cas replied leadingly.
“Your grace?” Sam’s brow furrowed and a smirk played on his lips, despite the constant tension in his jaw.
“I’m an angel, Sam. Much like Naomi, the one who put you in this situation. And apparently buried your memories. Of me. Of Dean and what brought you to this town, away from your family and your calling,” Castiel prodded back, looking for any blip in Sam’s eyes, any wavering, any weakness.
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “My family? I don’t have anyone, man. All I have is Emery and Bandit, and that’s more than I could ask for,” Sam explained. “My mom died when I was a baby, Dean when I was in college and Dad right after that. Why do you think you know anything about my family?!”
Castiel sighed. “I really am an angel, you know. I’m not saying these things to upset you, Sam. I am saying them to see where it started and try and pull back the curtain, as one would say. To reveal what they’ve been hiding from you. I need to search your thoughts and it would be much faster if I could just see what was there.”
“What? Dude. That’s just—” Sam froze, Castiel didn’t wait for an opening, he simply placed two fingers on Sam’s forehead. Suddenly the pain from looking at the self-proclaimed angel started to wane, as their surroundings became overwhelming. The sounds of the patrons and the smells of the food and the beer spattered floor grew too much. Sam hadn’t realized he had closed his eyes, but just as he was about to be sick, Castiel’s fingers spread wider and a deep penetrating chill fell down his back. The nausea disappeared as quickly as Sam opened his eyes.
Perhaps there was something in his drink or maybe he was more exhausted than he thought, but in truth, inevitability had started to creep through the wall of reason and spell work inside Sam Winchester’s mind.
^*^*^
It was fine. There were no problems. He was just going to be late. It was only an hour passed the latest he could have possibly been at work. Things came up. It being his birthday, shouldn’t cause her any more alarm or distress. They were going to be alright. They were safe. Sam would be home soon. Wouldn’t he?
Emery had torn into the bag of caramel corn they’d bought for movie night as she worked through the possibilities in her head. Shoveling handfuls of the tacky sweet kernels into her mouth between checking her phone and looking to Bandit for explanation. The dog, though concerned, had little rebuttal to her teetering train of thought. He did his part by cleaning up after his mama. He was a good boy after all, and she was having a day. She grabbed a fresh bottle from the rack and poured herself another glass. Standing around stewing wasn’t bringing him home any faster and she would not lower herself to be the nagging wife. He was just late.
They had left off in the middle of a season of the latest edgy, politically charged amalgamation of horror and drama on the easily affordable default streaming service. She didn’t want to have to re-watch it when he finally arrived. Which was why, Emery flipped, blazing through the slew of options, from trending to suggested, nothing seemed to hit her fancy. When ‘Touched By An Angel’ appeared from the recesses of heartwarming and nostalgia she dropped the remote and finished her latest glass, tongue worrying over the latest crumb wedged in the back of her gum. She didn’t even want to think that they could be involved.
^*^*^
Three months before
Dumah had her doubts about the whole thing. Naomi using Michael to fuel Heaven and keep the Winchesters apart and isolated, in attempts to keep them from them finding out. It was a knee jerk solution to a problem that was bigger than the few remaining angels could handle. So, she watched the newlyweds go about their days. Invisible, but ever present from their walks to their jobs and home again. She saw how miserable Sam was. How frustrated and untrusting he was of her kind. She also saw Emery, doing everything she could right. It was like the spark that had held them over from their vows never left her. That small dose of true love from the cupids had nestled inside the woman and held firm. Her faith and her determination only fueling the bond that had been formed.
Dumah almost felt bad for her, but she had a stake in the deal too. She had an endgame, or at least a shiny carrot on the end of her stick just as Sam did. Perhaps her naivety helped the disguise, or maybe her need was that much greater than Sam’s. Either way, the angel knew that Emery wasn’t backing down. If this ruse was going to fall apart and leave Heaven at risk, clearly it wasn’t from the wife’s side of things. No, for this to succeed for as long as possible, Sam Winchester needed to be kept in line.
She wasn’t ever there long; Heaven would have noticed her absences if she lingered. Instead Dumah made a game of the randomness of them: length, location, and target all varied. Occasionally it was just her and the dog, sitting in the winter afternoons. It was on the last week of their first month together that she had started hearing the prayers that Emery had been offering up to the Father that never listened.
‘Make this work. Mold us into what is needed for your good works. Let me be enough.’
In the early morning hours, Dumah entered the den and watched Sam toss and turn. He had continued to refuse his wife’s offers to share their bed again. It was there, in Sam’s dreams, the maladjusted angel started building the bridge in his mind, slowly and carefully. She left, just as secretly as she arrived, but not before leaving something upstairs, an innocuous physical aid to bolster the fledgling marriage before it imploded.
^*^*^
“How did you meet Emery, Sam?” Castiel changed the subject on a dime, causing Sam to gasp as he gathered his bearings.
“Uh, a co-worker introduced us,” Sam nodded, a tired smile barely registering on his face. “What does that have to do with anything? Did you see my thoughts or just shove some serious vertigo at me?”
Cas didn’t flinch. “How long did you date?”
“Not long, why?” Sam signaled the bartender for another drink, before realizing Castiel hadn’t touched his.
“Why did you move here? Isn’t it odd to leave one place and pick up somewhere completely different? Especially between terms.”
“Emery got offered a better position,” Sam shrugged. “Listen, I’m all for playing nice here, but you still haven’t convinced me of anything. How are we somehow being used by angels? I mean, you make them sound like the bad guys.”
Castiel didn’t answer right away, instead he grimaced and thought about how to approach Sam, now that he had no history with him. As if he was a stranger needed convincing for the sake of someone, he thought dead.
“You said Dean died while you were in school. Were you with him when it happened?”
“I was—” Sam broke off as his mind reeled, a broken heaving Dean sprawled out on the floor of a stranger’s house. Blood was everywhere, his clothes and his body beneath them, torn to shreds by some invisible force. He closed his eyes, trying to see the memory he thought he knew. Only to be met by another image of Dean, older than he ever could have been. Heavy with anguish and satisfaction, his handsome face mutilated when he looked into Sam’s eyes. A single phrase surfaced, like a fist working against a thick pane, ‘proud of us’ pummeled repeatedly, until it broke through the barrier in Sam’s mind.
The moment Sam was back, Castiel saw it. In his eyes, the set of his shoulders, the tension in his hands. Sam gasped, and gritted his teeth. “Is Dean gone?”
The need to know flooding past the grief and bewilderment.
“I don’t know,” Castiel answered. “That’s what we’ve got to figure out.”
^*^*^
Read On: Older Bonds and Deeper Ties
#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester fanfiction#for better or worst series#sam x ofc#sam winchester fanfic#sam fic#sam x emery#simwin
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Come to me now and rest your head part 13: Halloween (MCU Captain America fanfic)
This is part 13 of a 15-chapter fic about Bucky’s return and recovery, as told through a year’s worth of rough holidays. Not every chapter will be emeto, but all have some form of physical illness or mental health struggle that could be categorized as sickfic or whump.
We are in powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure.
Contains emeto and migraines.
__________________________________________________________________
Bucky’s first day of work is the day before Halloween. It took a few days after broaching the topic of a job with Steve to broach it with Sam, and all of two minutes after broaching it with Sam for him to offer Bucky a position at the VA, but it’s taken the better stretch of two months for Bucky accept and choose a start date.
If Bucky remembered his first day of kindergarten, he thinks he’d remember something like this morning. Steve irons Bucky’s favorite flannel shirt and packs him a lunch and so many snacks that he doesn’t think he’ll be hungry enough or have time in his 4 to 6 hour workday to consume them all.
Sam comes by at 8:30 to pick him up. Bucky doesn’t make it out of the bathroom until 8:33 because he’s quashing anxiety under the guise of trying one-handedly to pull his hair into a ponytail. Luckily, Steve’s there to rescue him from the hair elastic and pour Sam a cup of coffee so everyone’s pretty much satisfied. Sam and Bucky are on the road by 8:45.
“You’ll have flex hours,” Sam explains as they pull into the VA staff lot. “So you can come in at any time you want as long as you make 20 hours in a week. You can do 5 days of 4 hours, or 2 days of 8 and a 4, or whatever works in your schedule. And your start time doesn’t matter. I can keep picking you up, or Steve can drop you off, or if you feel like walking or someday you’re driving yourself…whatever works.”
It’s already a lot of information to process.
Sam leads Bucky down a maze of hallways. Bucky’s grateful it’s away from the hospital-y wing and toward a more office-y area.
“Here you are,” Sam says, pushing open a door decorated with a large paper pumpkin. “The billing office.”
There’s a waiting area with two pink upholstered chairs and an end table with several outdated magazines. Behind a long counter sits a young woman in her 20s, and beyond that, Bucky can see several drab grey cubicles.
“Hey Darcy,” Sam says. “This is James.” They’d agreed beforehand that Bucky wanted to try going by his given name.
“Oh, hey,” Darcy says. “I’ll get him set up.” She smiles at Bucky. “Come on back. We got 4 part-time billers, but it looks like you’re the only one home today.”
She opens a swinging door at the end of the counter and escorts Bucky and Sam back into the cubicles. They stop outside the end cube, which has a nameplate reading “JAMES” clipped to the dingy fabric. “This is you,” Darcy says. “You can decorate or whatever. If you want.”
“Hm,” Bucky says. He sets his backpack, which is filled mostly with snacks, on the desk beside the rather outdated computer monitor.
“You ready to get started in the system, or do you wanna walk around a little bit more first?” Darcy asks.
“Um…” Bucky doesn’t know.
“I just ask ‘cause everyone’s pretty different in how they like to attack a new job. How about I get you logged in, and you let me know if you want to break for a tour.” Darcy steps back to her desk to wheel her swivel chair into Bucky’s cubicle.
“You’re doing good,” Sam reassures. “I’ll hang out for a little bit. But you’ll be fine with her. She’s nice.”
Bucky sits at the computer and follows Darcy’s directions to log onto the computer and access the timekeeping system, then the billing system. He nods at Sam when he slides out of the cube, feeling at least somewhat settled and in control.
“It’s a lot of clicking, and a little typing.” Darcy glances at his stump arm and gracefully balances her looking before it becomes staring. “Being a biller, it’s not that hard, but the pay’s so good because your real job is to keep confidentiality. It’s all vets looking out for vets here, so that’s not really that hard either,” Darcy says.
“You’re a vet?” Bucky asks, not meaning it to come out so candidly.
“Yeah, I know I don’t really look the part.” Darcy adjusts her glasses. “I enlisted out of high school and did one tour. Got injured, got discharged, now I’m going to college and doing this on the side. Cause it pays better than my old internship. Billing is cool except if you want to talk to people, so that’s why I do the desk instead of hanging back here. You probably think I’m weird, but I like answering the phone.”
“Oh,” is what Bucky drudges up for a response.
She stays by his side for another 20 minutes, showing him how to take electronic paperwork and use it to fill out more electronic paperwork, match diagnosis codes, check names and addresses, and finally submit documents for filing. It seems tedious, but manageable.
“I think you pretty much got it,” Darcy says. “I’ll leave you to it. Unless you want to go for a walk?”
Bucky shakes his head.
“Ok. The tour’s not all that. It’s really just a trip to the breakroom. And the only thing cool about that place is the coffee.” She continues, “So, just press on, I guess. Ask questions if you have them. Or if your monitor goes trippy, I know how to hit it so it goes back to normal.”
Bucky doesn’t ask what that means. He just nods.
“Oh, and there are jolly ranchers under the counter if you want some.” Darcy points to her station.
Bucky nods again as she retreats, and turns his attention to the new claim form on his screen. He blinks hard to try to mitigate the glare of the fluorescent lights against his computer screen.
He makes it through that form and the next two before his head starts aching. It begins as the normal shake-it-off kind of headache that usually means nothing more than too much coffee or not enough coffee or it’s cloudy or it’s Tuesday, but within half an hour, it’s progressed to the start of a migraine.
Bucky pushes his keyboard back and rests his forehead on the edge of the desk. He can’t remember what he put in his backpack. There might be Excedrin somewhere among the sandwiches and granola bars. Bucky doesn’t really want to raise his head to check. Aura’s creeping in behind his eye and edging out his peripheral vision with white light.
The phone rings, and Darcy’s clipped voice answers it. “Fuck,” Bucky mutters as the sound ratchets up the pain toward sickening nausea. His forehead and right temple are throbbing so badly.
Darcy hangs up the phone, and something plastic crinkles. “James? You want some candy?” she calls.
Bucky doesn’t want to open his mouth to answer. He’d rather just crawl under the desk and curl up and die, but that doesn’t seem appropriate for his first day on the job. He ends up having to stick his head under the desk, though, and heave into his small trashcan. And it’s just his luck that Darcy’s rounding the edge of his cube to offer candy just as he gags up his breakfast.
The bag of jolly ranchers hits the floor, and Darcy says, “Oh my god, ok, hold on a sec, let me call Sam.”
Bucky’s heart throbs in his sinuses and he retches again. After a few seconds, or maybe a few years, footsteps sprint up behind him. Sam’s on his knees at Bucky’s shoulder. “Ok, man, you’re good, you’re good.”
Sam walks him to the bathroom as soon as Bucky’s stomach’s settled enough for him to stand up. The vertigo’s still thrumming so strongly he can barely walk a straight line. Bucky steps into the single stall and leaves the door open, squatting in front of the toilet to heave some more. Sam puts a hand lightly on his back and quietly asks, “You got words for how you’re feeling?”
Bucky can’t convince his throat to come out of contraction, so he just spits into the toilet.
“It’s ok if you don’t…”
“Is…huh…’s a migraine…” Bucky breathes, stopping to hiccup.
“Alright, alright. You tell me when you’re ready to go home,” Sam says.
“I feel so…god, ah, fuck…” Bucky dry heaves one last time and sinks back against the wall of the stall. His face is pure white and sweat beads on his temples and upper lip.
“Yeah, I know you don’t feel good. It’s your first day here, you’re probably all wound up…”
“Sorry,” Bucky chokes out.
“No, it’s fine,” Sam insists. “Dude, it’s the VA. Don’t you go thinking you’re the only guy that’s ever had a tough first day.”
It takes Bucky another few minutes to calm down and feel ready to ride in the car. Sam retrieves Bucky’s backpack, lends him some sunglasses, and leads him out to the parking lot.
It’s by sheer willpower that Bucky manages not to be sick in Sam’s car. The second they’re in the front door of the townhouse, he trips off to the downstairs bathroom. When he emerges, paler and shakier and sweatier than before, Sam pushes him to the couch and serves up lukewarm water and painkillers.
When Bucky next opens his eyes, Steve is home from work, and Sam’s at the kitchen table, on his fifth back issue of Nat Geo. Gatorade and Ritz crackers are open on the counter, and Bucky feels famished under his lingering nausea.
He meanders into the kitchen and sits beside Sam. Steve brings the snacks over and pauses to wrap his arm over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky leans forward to press his face into Steve’s chest, and Steve tightens the embrace.
Sam finishes reading his magazine, snags a handful of crackers, and takes his leave. “You don’t have to come back to work tomorrow if you’re still not feeling great,” he says to Bucky. “Take as many days as you need.”
Bucky gets back to work on November first. When he gets to his cubicle, Sam and Darcy are screwing lightbulbs into a few desk lamps and cheap torchiers.
The first time Bucky makes it through his scheduled workday, it’s many thanks to the support of his friends.
#sickfic#fanfic#mcu#captain america#stucky#powers/no powers choose-your-own-adventure#emeto#migraines#steve rogers#bucky barnes#sam wilson#darcy lewis#emetophilia#marvel
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Tumblr - Girl (Part 3)
Tumblr - Girl (series)
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Masterlist
Pairing: Misha Collins x reader
Summary: The conversation goes on
Word Count: 2,103
Warnings: panic attack, angst, depression, mental illness, self doubt
Notes: it is my first ever fanfic and I am not a English native speaker so please don’t hate me
I’m still looking for a beta-reader! and if you want to give me some feedback, don’t hesitate!
Have fun with part 3!
Mishas POV
I was worried about my tumblr-girl and to be honest I felt some responsibility for her, I was the one who wrote to her when he needed someone, I gave her hope so I couldn’t simply stop caring for her. It was strange, though she was basically a total stranger to me, I felt that something was wrong when she didn’t replied for the whole day, so I typed a short message to her, hoping she recognized that she wasn’t alone in the world, and that I don’t give up that easy.
Some hours passed but eventually I heard the sound of my phone, notifying me that I got a new message. I first was glad and couldn’t wait to read what she wrote to me, but when I opened the inbox and the message I gasped for air. After reading the first line I knew she was serious here, she really thought about killing herself and she had a really bad impression of herself. I didn’t know what to do, but then I started typing a text.
“Hey Y/N,
First things first, I’m glad you are alive, I’m glad you wrote me and I’m glad my texts gave you a smile and I hope Sam and Dean help you through this hard times. :)“
I stopped, it was hard for me to find the right words, I wasn’t even sure if it was right to type just a message, shouldn’t I get her help? I read the message once again and continued writing.
I’m not sure what to do, Y/N, I won’t stop writing to you if you don’t want me to, like I said some times before, I care! You are important, and no, that’s not just a phrase, I mean you are important to me, I always love getting texts from you, I’m really looking forward to it when I press >send<. I know you might think I know you just by a few messages, and it may be right, but…“
Yeah, but…? But there is a connection between us? But I like you? But I can’t sleep without knowing you are alright? I didn’t want to sound like a creep, or anything like that. I stood up, walked around a bit and took some deep breaths before sitting down again, staring at the display of my laptop. I read the whole letter again and again, then I started typing on
“… I can be someone to lean on, I want to be someone to lean on for you. You are part of the family so you are not alone, I’m here. I promise, I’m here when you need me.
Do you want to tell me what’s going on over there, in your life, what makes you feel bad? I promise I’m a good listener and I’m available anytime you need somebody to listen and to talk.
Love, oldbonesgoingdown”
I just wanted to send it when I stopped, she asked for a name, my name. Should I lie? I felt guilty when I wrote some normal name, no, I couldn’t do that, I promised to be here for her, I couldn’t lie about that detail, this was important. I sat there, rested my head in my hands for quite a time to think about this problem, I didn’t want to reveal myself, I was afraid she would think I wanted to mess with her or on the other hand she could freak out and block the conversation, I had no idea what to do and I typed a text to Jensen, but just before I could press send I got the idea. A small smile appeared on my face when I typed a PS to the message.
“PS.: My name is Dmitri, it’s not that common here in the US, but I have some Russian ancestors and over there it’s quite normal, I’m travelling a lot for my job, mostly in the US. I hope I could help you with these information.
Your POV
The next day when you woke up your head felt like exploding and your stomach made some strange noises, slowly you sat on your bed, trying to realize the situation, one and a half empty wine bottles stood next to your bed and on the TV was still the menu of the fifth season of supernatural. You took the remote, turned off the TV, then stood up and tapped with shaky steps to the bathroom. You reached the bathroom just right to empty the entire content of your belly in the toilet. Great. Gasping for air you searched for the toilet paper to wipe your mouth. Before you found it you hat to vomit again and again. After some minutes of throwing up, catching breath and drinking some mouthful of water you sat on the bathroom floor and tried to figure out what you have done the day before. There was nothing, you couldn’t remember a damn thing from last night, a glance at your wrists and arms showed that you hadn’t hurt yourself, so far so good. You sat there for at least half an hour, your mind wandered off until your stomach felt better.
After wiping your mouth again, brushing your teeth and drinking another few gulps of water you got up and went back to your bedroom to get your phone. Now embarrassing messages sent, no stupid phone-calls made, there was just one other stupid thing you could have done last night. You closed your eyes as you didn’t want to see your tumblr-inbox. One new message. Arrived yesterday night. Fuck. After some time of hesitation you opened the text.
You read the first few words of the new message and your throat dried out in a second, what did you do? What did you say? You scrolled up to the previous message, to the one you wrote yesterday, and tears welled up when you read your desperate words. Why? You let the drops roll down your face, why can’t you just be as normal as every other human? Once again you had to throw up and your complete was shaking when you chocked but there was nothing left in your stomach. Tired and crying you rested your head in your hands Fuck.
When you decided to read the rest of his message, you were sure he was telling you that he couldn’t write with you anymore, because you were too freaky, too messed up for him. Streams of tears rushed down your cheeks. The voices in your head laughed at you, because for a moment you thought you found someone to share your thoughts, your problems, with. But you couldn’t keep someone near you, you were boring, nobody wants to waist his time with you. You were just a nobody, not important, nobody should have to listen to you, to your lifestories, which were unnecessary, who would want to hear this stories, the stories how you became who you are, who would be interested? You couldn’t stop crying, your body cramped and your lungs didn’t get enough air, you gasped once more, tried to calm yourself down but couldn’t handle it, the panic attack came too fast and hit you too hard. After struggling for quite a time everything turned black, you felt your head hitting something hard, maybe a part of your bed, then you passed out and felt nothing anymore.
You woke up hours later, still lying in your bed, your head hurting awfully and you remembered the panic attack, you suffered earlier. With your hand you examined your head for some serious injuries, you felt your hair stick together on the back of your head and you winced when you touched the spot where the wound was, but it wasn’t big, you could easily hide it behind your hair. Good.
Afraid of the words you would read now you took your phone and opened the message – again – and read it out loud:
“Hey Y/N,
First things first, I’m glad you are alive, I’m glad you wrote me and I’m glad my texts gave you a smile and I hope Sam and Dean help you through this hard times. :)”
Yeah, sure he was glad you were alive, he had to say that, hasn’t he? It would be more than morbid not to say so, but although this line gave you a smile, he was happy to hear from you, even if that was just a line it was a nice one. With that smile on your lips you carried on to his second paragraph:
“I’m not sure what to do, Y/N, I won’t stop writing to you if you don’t want me to, like I said some times before, I care! You are important, and no, that’s not just a phrase, I mean you are important to me, I always love getting texts from you, I’m really looking forward to it when I press >send<. “
A little tear rolled down your cheek, nobody has ever said something like that to you, and in some way you wanted to believe it, you wanted to be the one he was interested in, the one whose messages he awaits excited. You never were that person, but you would love to be. Quickly you wiped your tears away and continued reading.
“I know you might think I know you just by a few messages, and it may be right, but I can be someone to lean on, I want to be someone to lean on for you. You are part of the family so you are not alone, I’m here. I promise, I’m here when you need me.
Do you want to tell me what’s going on over there, in your life, what makes you feel bad? I promise I’m a good listener and I’m available anytime you need somebody to listen and to talk.
Love, oldbonesgoingdown
“PS.: My name is Dmitri, it’s not that common here in the US, but I have some Russian ancestors and over there it’s quite normal, I’m travelling a lot for my job, mostly in the US. I hope I could help you with these information. “
Wow, that was quite a letter, and it was super supportive, you really got the feeling he wanted to be there for you, it made you smile, it made your body shiver but in a positive way now, you were exited to write back to him. All the lies you told yourself earlier were nearly swiped away, just a little bit stayed, a little bit of self-doubt, if he really meant what he said, but for the moment you just couldn’t wait to hear more from him, Dmitri.
“Hey Dmitri (nice to finally know how to address this right :D),
Wow, thank you for your supportive as hell message. After giving me a panic attack it helped me to get on my feet again today. No worries, the panic attack was caused by me, be these nasty voices in my head.
I’m sorry I scared you yesterday, as I said I was drunk and I had a very hard day, as you probably could imagine by my words, but I’m better today, thanks to you, and yeah, we know each other just by a few messages, but I think there is good talking to you, my friend, so let’s keep this up and find out if this can last.
You asked what’s going on here and I honestly can’t tell, I often just don’t know why I feel that bad, It just hits me from time to time and often doesn’t let me go for quite a while and for this times I was looking for support in the SPN-family, you see? So there are good times as well, I’m not an all-time-depressive ;)
Enough talk about me, I’m not that important, what’s going on in your life? There is surely a lot of stuff which is more interesting than that things about me, isn’t it?
Looking forward to your message,
Y/N
Your message was painfully honest, but after what you wrote yesterday you thought he could handle it and it was nice to get those things of your chest. After you sent it you went back to your bed and forgot yourself in some daydreaming about your mysterious but unbelievable sweet tumblr-boy.
Part 4
#spn#supernatural#spn fanfic#spn fandom#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural family#spnfamily#spnfandom#misha x reader#misha collins#jensen ackles#fanfic#fandom#misha#messaging#feelings
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Plus one
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: John Winchester x (hunter)reader
Genres: angst, pregnancy, mild fluff
Words: 2.159
Summary: John and reader have an affair, which they keep a secret from his sons. However, when reader finds out she’s pregnant, things get complicated - requested by Anonymous
Not even once in your entire life had you imagined that a white stick would be so terrifying. You fought ghosts, vampires, ghouls and demons and you were scared to death by looking at a white stick.
A white stick of Doom, as you began to think about it. You had no idea why did you buy it. Honestly, there was no chance that it would show you anything, but somewhere deep in your mind a voice (of reason, probably) whispered that you should check that possibility, too, just to be sure that it was impossible.
Yet, after three endlessly long minutes, when you looked at the stick, laying on the sink, it was clear. You were doomed. Totally, absolutely, unspeakably doomed.
After all, had you ever seen a pregnant hunter?
You bit your lip harshly, preventing yourself from screaming. For a moment, you wanted to grab your things, steal John’s car and ride as fast as you could, hell only knew where. How could you tell him? He’d leave you, that’s for sure. You could easily be his daughter and now, you were pregnant, and you he would probably say that you were stupid.
Because you were. You shouldn’t have allowed him to ever touch you. To have sex with you.
When you first met him, you had a feeling that he hated you for some reason. Maybe you reminded him of his dead wife and that made him mad? You didn’t know and you didn’t want to guess. You only had to work with him for a short while, then John would drive away to mind his business and you, Sam and Dean would continue saving the world.
Turned out, it was safer to split up in groups of two and try to catch the Yellow-eyed demon that way. So, after a long debate, you and John paired up and went to hunt the demon down. You were in touch with the brothers, calling as frequently as it was possible, and exchanging the information you’d gathered.
And somewhere between driving at nights and catching the demons, you and John ended up in one bed, devouring each other as if your life depended on it. A passion, that was building up for a long time, exploded and there was no stopping it.
Damn, you never expected John to return your attraction. You had always had a thing for older men, and being younger that Sam and Dean, you were practically the youngest everywhere brothers and you arrived.
But John didn’t mind. After the first time you and him slept together, he told you that you were a great hunter, with amazing intuition, and he didn’t give a damn about your age. However, his sons would, so you and John decided to never tell them.
And how the fuck could you keep it a secret now when the evidence was growing inside you?
“Balls…” you mumbled as you hid the pregnancy test into a box and threw it into your bag. You had already made five of them and they were all positive.
You started a cold water and lowered your face to flush it with it, hoping that it would calm your nerves a bit. You already felt panic, creeping from the depths of your mind, igniting a tight, ill feeling in your stomach.
You had to tell John. He had to know, regardless his reaction. He could just drop you in whatever city you would be passing by and tell the boys you freaked out. They wouldn’t believe him, but they would leave you alone. For some time, probably.
You wiped your face with a towel and stepped out of the bathroom, placing your bag by your bed. John was out to get some food and he would back soon, so you had to figure out how to tell him. “Hey, John, guess what? I’m pregnant” sounded too straightforward and revolving around the topic with a talk about bees and flowers was pointless. He had two sons, he knew how babies were made.
Cursing under your breath, you sat on the edge of the bed, a wild race of thoughts in your head. None of them was useful, none of them gave you an answer. You propped your elbows on your thighs and rested your head in your palms. Shit, and you thought you were careful, you thought that a pill would be enough.
The door was opened but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you would just straight up share the news, not even controlling your words. You couldn’t do it, you needed to say it cautiously.
Your leg started to bounce, an evidence of your nerves and John halted in his steps, putting the groceries on the small table. He gave you an once over, taking it your jumping legs, hidden face and visibly quickened breathing.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, but you didn’t reply. You didn’t even make a sound and John began to be anxious. Even when you were stressed, you usually shared your thoughts with him, seeking an advice or a support. John wasn’t a man, who would talk too long to motivate but he always managed to give you a few words of motivation you needed.
But now, you didn’t even asked for that. You just sat there, miserable and evidently on a verge of panic and John had no idea what to do.
“Y/N, you okay?” he tried again, taking couple of steps and sitting on a bed opposite you. You stayed in your position, unable to move.
“Dammit, say something.”
“Look into my bag,” you whispered and John frowned, reaching for it and tugging at the zipper. It opened and his gaze fell onto five boxes of tests, making him furrow his brows even more. He was staring at them, his heart pounding hard against his ribcage.
“All positive?” he murmured and you finally dared a glance at him. His expression wasn’t one of anger, he looked slightly confused and utterly dumbfounded.
“Yes,” you confirmed, running a shaking hand through your hair. Your hands were clammy so you rubbed them on your jeans.
John was silent for few minutes and then, he stood up, passing the bag into your hands.
“Come on, you need to see a doctor. We have to check if everything’s alright.”
Blinking away tears of relief, you followed him to his car and let him take you to a doctor.
And then, without a word, John showed his caring side, the side you never thought you’d witness. He made sure you ate decently, often times driving at night to quench your cravings. You were given the easiest tasks, usually doing research – John forbid you to go any near demons, explaining it with a fact that they would probably sense that you were pregnant and harm both you and the baby.
He would also surprise you with small things. Preparing your meds, so you wouldn’t forget to take them. Massaging your back or feet when you complained they hurt. He even took you shopping when your clothes started to be too tight.
And you couldn’t believe that you doubted in that man. That you forgot that he was responsible and would never leave you in such state.
However, you were still running a case, one that required you to meet Sam and Dean from time to time. And the time to meet them was nearing, making you fidgety and anxious.
You were sitting in the car, John driving you the city the boys were in, waiting for you to arrive. They said they found a lead and you had to see it.
“John, how are we going to tell them? They’ll be so pissed at me!”
“Stop worrying, Y/N. I’ll talk to them, you don’t have to stress out.”
“How can I not stress out? I’m younger than Sam and I’m carrying your child, you know what they’ll think. That I’m a-“
“No, you are not! Just breathe, Y/N, it’s going to be fine,” John soothed, patting your knee affectionately as the pulled over on a parking lot in front of a motel. You reached to the cubbyhole and took out a pack of jelly beans, offering one to John once you ripped the pack open.
With a small smile he refused your offer, so you shrugged and began eating the sweets as you made your way to the room the brothers told you they stopped in.
You adjusted your sweater, making sure it was covering your growing tummy properly. You wasn’t showing very much, but your belly was already slightly rounded and you didn’t want the boys to notice too soon.
“I can carry my bag,” you scolded when John opened the trunk and took out both yours and his duffel bags, swinging them onto his shoulder.
“You have something to carry, so I’m taking the bags.”
“Someone,” you corrected, giving him a mocked offended look and John planted a quick kiss to your temple as the two of you stopped in front of the door. You knocked loudly and in next second, a grinning Dean was standing in front of you, pulling you into a tight hug.
“Ugghh,” you panted, trying to free from his grasp but to no avail. Dean had to have his hug, no matter what, so you hugged him back, coming to Sam when Dean released you, satisfied.
Sam held you briefly and curiously glanced at your snack.
“Since when you like jelly beans?”
You shrugged, putting three sweets in your mouth.
“Since when you’re so interested in what I eat?”
“Since you yelled at me and threw a pack of those when I bought them for you once.”
“Well, my taste changed,” you said dismissively, sitting by the table. John was already sitting on one of chairs and Sam took the last one left. Dean went to the fridge and opened it, bending a little to reach deeper.
“Dad, Y/N, want a beer?”
“No, thanks!” you said and Sam shoot you a strange glance – a mix of worry and amusement.
“Y/N, are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, why?” you answered, leaning back in your chair. Sam eyed you and you freaked out for a moment when his eyes landed on your stomach. He said nothing, however, changing the subject to the lead they’d found.
They briefly summarized what they learnt, showing you photos and articles. You and John were nodding, John mentioned that you saw something similar in some other states and you began to form a plan about what to do next.
Everything was fine, and you were sure that you would not show any sign of different state until Dean rested his hands on the back of John’s chair and leaned in, lowering himself between you and John.
You smelled his cologne and it was enough to make you nauseous, prompting you to jump from your seat and dart to the bathroom, when you emptied your stomach to the toilet.
John was fast to slide in, despite your weak protest and tries to push him out. He kept from your hair from your face, gently rubbing your back and flushing the toilet when you stopped and proceeded to wash your face and mouth.
As the two of you entered the room, Sam and Dean were already on their feet, their arms folded over their chests. They looked concerned and expectant. You cleared your throat and sipped on a water after John handed you a glass.
“How bad is it?” Dean asked first, knitting his brows.
“How long do you have? And what meds are you taking?” his brother followed and you looked at John, confused.
He nodded and so you smiled softly at the boys before you said,
“Roughly six months and I’m taking folic acid and vitamins, since everything seems fine so far.”
“Waaaait,” Sam panted, his eyes growing wide as he began to realize what your words meant. Dean was glancing between you, his father and Sam, seemingly close to putting two and two together, too.
“Sam, does it mean that we-?”
“Yeah, Dean, I think she’s… you know.”
“I’m standing here, you morons,” you rolled your eyes and John shook his head, laughing airily.
“I know, I know. Okay,” Sam took a breath and his expression turned to a serious one. “Dad, I’m not happy that you demoralized Y/N-“
“but she’s awesome, so it’s cool. She can handle a lot,” Dean added and winked at you, making you giggle. Then, the boys came to you but you didn’t allow them to hug you – you wanted to avoid any more meetings with the toilet.
“I’m gonna be a big brother!” Sam cheered and all of you laughed, while John put his arm around your shoulders.
“See, shouldn’t have worried so much. All’s good.”
You slid your palm over your stomach, stroking it gently.
“Yeah, all is good.”
#john#john x reader#john winchester#john winchester x reader#x reader#reader insert#supernatural#spn#spnfic
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