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have you seen a knight of the seven kingdoms? not expecting u to write anything abt it ofc i just think you’d like it if you haven’t seen it!! i know how much you love the found family trope with a character lying to said found family about their identity bc their fear judgement about their background w/ the occasional splash of toxic bio family
Ooh, isn’t that a spinoff of something or am I wrong? It sounds interesting though
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Thirteen: Prophets
Summary: Crowley tries to plot with multiple prophets; the Winchesters interrupt.
“Okay,” said Sam, looking up from his computer. “I got something.”
“What?” said Dean, opening a beer—his latest and continued coping mechanism for missing Castiel and seeing him places.
“Well, this kid went missing from a preschool,” said Sam.
“I hope they get found, but how is this us?” asked (Y/N).
“At the same time he vanished, a surprise tornado hit, lasted maybe 20 seconds, then, uh…shazam! Back to perfect weather,” said Sam.
“And they pooh-pooh climate change,” said Dean.
“That’s more like us,” said (Y/N).
“Similar wackiness has happened over the past few weeks in other places—uh, Tulsa, a bus driver vanishes and a river gets overrun with frogs.” Sam scrolled farther on his computer. “New Mexico—a mailman disappears, the earth splits open.”
“Alright. So we thinking demons?” said Dean, looking over Sam’s shoulder.
“Yeah, possibly, but…I mean, this stuff was major.” Sam shook his head. “These folks have nothing in common—no religious affiliations, different hometowns, all ages. Why would demons want them?”
“Why do demons want anything?” said Dean.
“There must be something tying them together that has nothing to do with demographics,” said (Y/N). “Not like the census screens for supernatural.”
“Alright. So we’re on this?” said Dean. Sam nodded in confirmation. “Okay. Suit up.”
(Y/N) groaned. The suits were so formal.
“Hey, you wanted to be an FBI agent,” said Dean.
“That’s because I’m nosy,” said (Y/N). “God forbid I also have a sense of style.”
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In their suits, Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) headed up to the front door of a plain suburban house. The evening light filtered in through the windows on either side of the door, and when Sam knocked, they saw a young woman peeking out. Sam held up his badge, and the woman had to open the door. She eyed them uncertainly from behind the chain keeping her safely within the home.
“Mrs. Hagar? Agents Roth, Malloy, and Joel. We want to speak to you about Aaron Webber’s abduction,” said Dean formally.
Mrs. Hagar flinched at the boy’s name, guilt and shame and worry flashing across her features. “Like I told the police, one minute I was taking Aaron to get cleaned up, and the next minute…I woke up in a park three blocks away.” She spoke quietly, knowing it was an insane story and that no one would believe it.
“And you have no memory of what happened?” asked Sam.
“No. He was just gone,” said Mrs. Hagar.
As she spoke, Dean gave (Y/N) a look, and they pretended their phone buzzed and lifted it to their ear.
“Can you think any reason why somebody would want to harm him? Um, any enemies?” asked Dean.
“Enemies? He’s five,” said Mrs. Hagar, confused and now suspicious of the people asking her such questions.
“He means maybe his parents had enemies and someone took Aaron because of that,” said Sam, smoothly creating a seamless story.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus…” murmured (Y/N), and Mrs. Hagar didn’t react other than furrowing her brow.
“Excuse me?” she said.
“It’s, uh, code for your own safety so that you can’t reveal anything under enhanced interrogation,” supplied Dean. He moved on before she could question the answer. “Now, when you woke up on the floor, were there any signs of struggle?”
“No,” said Mrs. Hagar.
“Smell like sulfur?” asked Sam.
“How did you know that?” asked Mrs. Hagar in surprise.
“Lucky guess.” Sam exchanged a look with the other two. “Thanks for your time.”
Mrs. Hagar was grateful for the chance to lock herself up inside once again, and she closed the door without another word. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) turned from the front porch and headed back towards the impala.
“No reaction to the exorcism,” said (Y/N). “She’s definitely not still possessed.”
“But she was with Aaron went missing,” said Sam. “I’m willing to bet a demon got hold of Aaron Webber.”
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(Y/N) sat up abruptly as they heard a floorboard creak. “Dean?” they stared at him out the window. He stared out with a strange, faraway look in his eyes.
“What’s going on?” said Sam, sitting up in alarm. “Are we alright?”
“I don’t know. I just saw something,” said Dean, furrowing his brow.
“You saw what?” said Sam cautiously. Dean was having one of his moments that were clearly trauma responses that he would refuse to address as such.
“Cas,” said Dean.
“You saw Cas? Where?” said (Y/N), sitting up straighter. They were fully awake.
“Right there.” Dean gestured to the motel window. “And-and-and earlier, on the road. I feel like I’m seeing him.” He shook his head, trying to convince himself he was being ridiculous.
“That’s…not possible. I mean, you said it yourself. You made it out and he didn’t, right?” said Sam, still half-asleep but trying to get Dean to come down from this episode.
“I tried so damn hard to get us the hell out of there,” said Dean vaguely, turning away from the window.
“We know you did,” said (Y/N). Dean had fought for himself and Castiel, and then he had returned and fought to find (Y/N). Dean didn’t give up on the people he cared about.
“You know, I could have pulled him out.” Dean was staring into space like how (Y/N) did when contemplating their own monstrosity. “I just don’t understand why he didn’t try harder.”
Sam stood. “Dean,” he said softly. “You did everything you could.”
“Yeah, but why do I feel like crap?” scoffed Dean, using sarcasm to obscure his true feelings of grief.
“Survivor’s guilt,” said (Y/N).
Dean hummed but didn’t respond.
“If you let it, this is gonna keep messing with you,” said Sam. “You got to walk past it.” He clapped Dean on the shoulder before heading to the bathroom.
“Dean,” said (Y/N), and he looked at them. “I get it. I feel it a lot about my parents.” Dean blinked. “It’s tough. But you don’t abandon people. It’s not who you are. If there was a way for you to open a door back to Purgatory and pull Cas out, you would.”
“Yeah. I would.” Dean looked down. “I just—I miss him.”
(Y/N) knew why, and it was for a very different reason than why Dean ever missed Sam or (Y/N). “I know, Dean. I know.”
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“Hey, our case become more complicated,” said Sam, yawning and taking another sip of coffee.
“You mean more complicated than a dead end?” said (Y/N).
“Haha,” said Sam sarcastically. “It’s not just Americans who are vanishing. Uh, this guy, Luigi Ponzi disappeared walking between two subway cars in Rome. And right above ground, there was a freak hailstorm.”
“I’ve always wanted to go to Europe,” said (Y/N).
“I’m not getting on a plane,” said Dean instantly.
“That’s your line?” said (Y/N) incredulously, and Dean huffed.
“You don’t need to go to Rome.”
Everyone jumped, and (Y/N)’s magic sparked in alarm as the voice spoke. They whirled, and their eyes widened. Castiel, disheveled and exhausted, stood in the middle of the room.
“Cas?” said (Y/N) in shock.
“Cas?” said Sam in surprise.
“Cas?” Dean’s voice was strangled with so much emotion it was overwhelming.
“Hello,” said Castiel.
Dean took a step back and grabbed the kitchenette counter to support himself. Sam’s mouth opened and closed with no idea what to say. (Y/N) swallowed their shock.
“Do you…want some water?” they offered. Castiel wasn’t in his best shape, and they didn’t have much, but (Y/N) cared about him.
Castiel nodded and sank into a seat at the small table. “Thank you,” he said as (Y/N) grabbed a glass.
“Unbelievable, man. I-I cannot believe it,” said Sam, still staring. “You’re actually here.” Just a few hours, they’d all been convinced Dean’s guilt was causing hallucinations. Instead, Castiel was there. On Earth. With them.
“Yeah, I’ve been trying to reach out, but for whatever reason, I wasn’t at full power,” said Castiel, shaking his head. “So I couldn’t connect with you.”
Sam looked at Dean. “That must have been why you kept seeing him. I mean, you think?”
“Yeah. Yeah, uh, I got to be honest.” Dean couldn’t stop staring—this was Cas, his Cas, back, back with him—and faltered with his words. “I-I-I’m thinking, how the hell did you make it out? I mean, I-I was there. I-I-I know that place. I know how we had to scratch and claw and kill and bleed to find that portal and make it through it, and it almost finished me.” He swallowed his guilt and pain from thinking he had lost Castiel. “So, uh... so how exactly are you sitting here with us right now?”
“Dean, everything you just said is completely true. And that’s the strange part,” said Castiel honestly. “I…have no idea. I remember endlessly running and hiding from Leviathan, and then I was on the side of the road in Illinois. And…that was it.”
“And that’s it?” repeated (Y/N). Even if Castiel was telling the truth—and they believed he was—it was a strange story. Something or someone else had to be involved with his escape. The question was what that meant. For the moment, though, (Y/N) was just glad to have their friend back.
“Yes.” Castiel took a long drink of the water, put the glass down, and frowned at his hands, still stained with dirt and grime. “Oh. I’m dirty.”
Dean chuckled slightly. That was Cas. “Purgatory will do that to you.”
Castiel stood and headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up. Dean stared after him.
“Dean?” said (Y/N). No response.
“Dean?” said Sam more forcefully.
Dean blinked and came out of his memories. “Huh?”
“You alright?” said Sam.
“You do see something severely wrong here, right?” Dean sat down tiredly. “Sammy, (Y/N), I remember every second of leaving that place. I mean, I remember the-the heat, the stink, the pain, the fear.” He shivered slightly and swallowed. “I have that whole ugly mess right here—” he tapped his head “—and he says he has no idea how he got out? I’m just not buying it.”
“I agree that something’s up,” said (Y/N). “But I think Cas doesn’t know what happened.”
“What do you mean?” said Sam.
“I think that whatever got him out wanted to make sure that, for now, he doesn’t know how,” said (Y/N). “It’s going to come and bite us in the ass because nothing good comes for free, but I think Cas isn’t hiding anything.” They looked at Dean. “Least of all for you.”
A strange warmth collected in Dean’s chest at that declaration. “Yeah. I hope so. I just—I saw the shape that he was in. I mean, there was no way he was fighting his ass out alone. No way.”
“Alright. So, the question is who or what got him out,” said Sam.
“Exactly,” said (Y/N). “And what do they want in return?”
After that ominous question, the door of the bathroom opened, and Castiel reemerged, freshly shaven and wearing a proper suit and trench coat. “Better?” He extended his hands to show them the outfit and get their opinion.
“Better,” said (Y/N), smiling fondly. Sam nodded. Dean watched Castiel and smiled slightly. He nodded.
Castiel looked pleased and sat down. “So, what is going on currently?”
“Crowley is trying to stop us from closing the Gates of Hell,” said (Y/N). “He’s the King of Hell.”
Castiel looked at them. “That is quite the mission.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “We shoot for the stars.”
“But right now we’ve lost Kevin and now demons are kidnapping random people across the globe,” said Sam.
“What are we at, seven?” asked Dean.
“Yeah, uh, Luigi, Justin, Aaron, Maria—” began Sam.
“—Maria, Dennis, Krista, Sven,” finished Castiel.
(Y/N)’s head snapped towards him. “How did you know those are the names?”
“Well, they’re prophets,” said Castiel. He was matter-of-fact as ever, like all his angelic knowledge was obvious.
“Prophets?” repeated Dean.
“Yeah, angels instinctively know the names of every prophet—past, present, and future,” said Castiel casually.
“So this list is the name of every one of ‘em that exists?” clarified Dean.
“Yes, until the next generation is born,” said Castiel. “Plus Kevin Tran, of course. The other seven are future prophets, since, uh, only one can exist at a time.”
“Uh, how is Kevin a prophet if Chuck is a prophet?” asked Sam, frowning.
“I’m not sure what happened to Chuck, but, um…he must be dead,” said Castiel, shrugging.
“Dammit, and he didn’t even get to publish any of the cool stories I’m in,” grumbled (Y/N). Dean snorted, and Sam facepalmed at the fact that was (Y/N)’s issue.
“So, the next one comes off the bench if Kevin goes down?” asked Dean.
“Exactly. And they have no idea who they are, of course,” said Castiel.
“So Crowley is going to make sure he has all the prophets if one stops obeying him, like Kevin,” said (Y/N).
“Insurance,” said Dean. “Boy, he’s getting desperate.”
“Explains all the weird phenomena. Lower-level demons nabbing heavy-duty cargo,” said Sam. “The vessels of God’s Word—boom.”
“I get the feeling something’s going on,” said Castiel.
“Oh, yeah,” said (Y/N).
Sam’s phone rang, and he lifted it to his ear. His eyes widened. “Mrs. Tran?” He stood. “Well, where the hell have you—What?” He looked at the others in alarm. “Crowley’s got Kevin.”
(Y/N) groaned. “Goddammit.”
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Dean, Sam, Castiel, and (Y/N) sat in the impala and kept a wary eye on the empty road extending into the horizon. Dean shifted impatiently.
“Where the hell is she?” he said.
“She’ll be here. Uh, mile marker 96 was kind of the halfway point,” said Sam.
Dean sank back into his seat, and he glanced in the rearview mirror. He couldn’t look away from Castiel’s face. Everything from Purgatory came rushing back, Castiel’s hand slipping from his, their screams, Dean’s desperation—He jerked back to the present, breath shallow.
“Cas, can I talk to you outside?” he said abruptly.
Sam and (Y/N) exchanged looks, and Castiel blinked in surprise. He got out of the impala, though, and Dean and he took a few steps to the side of the road.
“That’s not going to end well,” said Sam.
“Yeah, especially since I think Castiel is way more aware of what his feelings are for Dean than Dean is about what his feelings are for Castiel,” said (Y/N).
Sam groaned. “This is going to go on for years, isn’t it?”
“It already has for years,” said (Y/N).
A car pulled up at the edge of the road, and Sam and (Y/N) got out immediately. Dean and Castiel had gone quiet, and they all watched Mrs. Tran get out of the car. She shifted nervously and looked them all dead in the eyes.
“You can do this, can’t you? You can get him back?” asked Mrs. Tran. Her only focus was her son.
“How did Crowley find you?” questioned Dean.
“Oh, I hired a witch, and she ratted us out,” said Mrs. Tran.
(Y/N)’s eye twitched.
“A witch? Why’d you hire a witch?” said Sam incredulously.
“You had a perfectly good one who wouldn’t rat you out right here,” said (Y/N), gesturing to themself. “Unbelievable.”
“I know, I know! But I wanted her to make demon bombs, of course!” Mrs. Tran pulled out a notebook. ‘These are Kevin’s notes.”
All of (Y/N)’s irritation flew from their mind, and they perked up. “Demon bombs?” They looked at Dean and Sam. “I’m making one if I can get the ingredients.”
“Kid, I’ve never been so down for magic,” said Dean.
“Mrs. Tran, do you have any idea where Crowley could have taken Kevin?” asked Sam.
“No. But, uh—” Mrs. Tran opened her trunk “—this guy might.” In her trunk was a bound and angry demon.
“Oh.” Dean grinned and pulled out the demon-killing knife. “Let’s talk.”
l
A few hours later, the impala and Mrs. Tran’s car pulled up outside a large factory—because Crowley loved his abandoned asylums and factories. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) got out of the impala. Mrs. Tran moved to leave her car, but Sam slapped handcuffs over her wrist and the steering wheel.
“Sorry, Mrs. Tran,” he said.
“Wait! What?!” she protested as Sam got out.
Dean ignored her and opened the trunk again. “This it?” he said, gesturing to the building.
The demon nodded hastily. “Yes.”
“My son is in there!” said Mrs. Tran desperately.
“Which means Crowley already has leverage. He doesn’t need another hostage,” said Sam.
Dean stabbed the demon and killed it. He closed the trunk. Sam nodded at him, and (Y/N) rolled their shoulders, flicking a small knife around in their hand.
“Oh, come on!” said Mrs. Tran.
The hunters, angel, and witch ignored her and headed towards the factory. (Y/N) picked the lock, and they all slipped inside. They crept along the edges of the building, ducking under pipes and weaving through stairways. As they heard footsteps, the four hid around a corner, and Dean lunged at the demon once its back was turned. The demon fell to the demon knife before it had a chance to alert anyone to their presence.
“Alright. Me and (Y/N) will check that way,” said Sam, gesturing to the left. Dean nodded, and they split up—Sam and (Y/N) on the left, Dean and Castiel on the right.
As Sam and (Y/N) went, they spotted four demons below them, and they glanced at one another from the stairs. Sam jerked with his head for them to step back, and (Y/N) nodded, slipping back behind the doorway.
Sam stepped down into the room. The four demons turned, sneered, and smirked.
“Winchester,” said one.
“Looks like you guys got me,” said Sam, putting up his hands.
The demons advanced, grinning at the idea of tearing him apart. Idiots. (Y/N) pulled a small glass jar from their pocket and threw it into the air. It hit the ground, and Sam covered his eyes. It exploded, smoke filled the air, and the demons inhaled. The moment they did, their souls—whatever was left, that was—burned, and they screamed as they were exorcised. When the light of their deaths receded, (Y/N) and Sam looked down, and they saw shadows of the demons’ forms permanently burnt into the ground.
(Y/N) grinned. “Hell yeah.”
“Hell yeah,” agreed Sam. Demon bombs for the win.
They headed farther forward until they arrived at a locked door. (Y/N) gestured to it, and Sam lifted his leg to kick it down. It fell inward, and they stepped in. The room was empty save for an octagonal table that had bloodstains littering it. (Y/N) and Sam exchanged a worried look, but then the sound of shifting gravel caught their ears.
A small boy peeked out from behind a concrete block. Aaron Webber. Slowly, several other missing persons looked from out under the table and behind other columns. They stared at (Y/N) and Sam.
“Hey,” said (Y/N). “We’re here to help.”
“If you want to get out of here, follow us,” said Sam.
The would-be prophets didn’t hesitate. Sam and (Y/N) ushered them from the building. Sam pulled out his phone and, while making calls, he checked each traumatized person over for injuries. (Y/N) watched the factory, itching to go back in. From within the factor, a bright golden light emanated. That was Castiel’s power. (Y/N) grimaced in worry—he had said he wasn’t at full power. They didn’t want him to hurt himself.
“We should go back—” said (Y/N) as Sam glanced at the shivering prophets.
“(Y/N), do not go running towards where Crowley is,” said Sam.
“But Dean and Cas—”
“We can handle ourselves,” said Dean, emerging with Castiel hanging on his arm tiredly. Kevin, clutching part of a stone table and lacking a finger, stumbled out after him.
“Kevin!” said Mrs. Tran. Sam leaned in and removed her cuffs so she could run to her son.
“Cops are on their way,” said Sam to Dean and Castiel. “They’re gonna pick up the prophets. Um, they’ll all be heading home.”
“What about us?” asked Mrs. Tran.
“I called a friend of ours, Garth. He does what we do,” said Sam. He paused. “Well…n his own way. He’ll keep an eye on you guys.”
“He’s a good guy,” said (Y/N).
“No more going off on your own,” said Sam. Mrs. Tran rolled her eyes. “You get that it was hiring that witch that got you into all this, right?”
“Call me if you want a spell,” said (Y/N).
“You do not have experience, (Y/N),” said Castiel.
“I’m a quick study,” said (Y/N). “A witch prodigy.” It was, in fact, true. The more they tested, the better they became.
“How you holding up, Kev?” asked Sam.
“You kidding? I want to seal those bastards up forever.” Kevin held up his hand that was wrapped in a makeshift bandage. “Took my finger.”
“I may be able to fix that,” said Castiel, passing by to speak to Dean.
“In the meantime, just lay low till we get back to you, okay?” said Sam.
Kevin nodded. He and Mrs. Tran had learned their lesson.
(Y/N) watched Castiel go to Dean, and they spoke in low voices to one another. Dean lowered his head and looked away from Castiel, a telltale sign that he was being vulnerable and therefore uncomfortable. Then, he looked up as Castiel spoke, and he furrowed his brow.
“Uh-oh,” said (Y/N).
“What?” Sam looked over and saw Dean tensing as Castiel kept speaking. “Oh great.”
“They’re having a domestic,” groaned (Y/N). They started walking over.
“Oh, wait, (Y/N)—give me a second,” said Sam, excusing himself from Kevin and mrs. Tran.
“Everything okay over here?” said (Y/N), appearing beside Castiel and Dean.
“Yes,” said Castiel, even though Dean’s arms were crossed. “Just setting a few things straight.”
“Okay. Good,” said Sam, smart enough to not prod. “Garth is gonna lay low with the Tran family, and so, while they’re there, we’re going to work on finding the other part of the demon tablet. We have to track down the other piece. You’re with us on this one, right, Cas?” Castiel was starting into space. “Cas, you okay?”
See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 2) Chapter Twenty-Two
Found Family! The Boys and Supe! Reader
Platonic Yandere! Homelander and Supe! Reader
(Platonic Soldier Boy and Supe! Reader)
Chapter Twenty-Two: Truthbomb
Summary: (Y/N) listens and watches. They learn a lot.
Chapter Warnings: typical the Boys warnings
(Y/N) watched Frenchie watch the people of Annie’s Starlight Home. They held a cup of tea that Frenchie had insisted would help calm them down. (Y/N) didn’t need calming. They were calm. They were in sync with all the waves again. They had found the source of the energy they liked, and now they were all in sync again, no longer buzzing like a part of the melody was missing. Or, well, there were bits and pieces still slightly discordant, but overall, (Y/N) was alright.
“Why are you staring at him?” said (Y/N), looking at Frenchie while he glancing surreptitiously at Colin who was hard at work getting kids out safely.
Frenchie jerked. “Oh, no reason, Petit (Y/N).” He smiled nervously, and he knew from the unsettling intense gaze (Y/N) had on him that they didn’t believe him.
“There’s a reason, you just don’t want to tell me,” said (Y/N), sipping their tea. “This is good.” They didn’t notice Frenchie grimace at the callout and instead said, “Can I help?”
“Help?” repeated Frenchie. “No, non, you’re alright here.”
“But you said the person across the street is bad and that I’m a hero,” said (Y/N). “So I should help. I want to help.” They wrinkled their nose. “I don’t like her.” On top of what Frenchie had explained—a long-winded and very flowery-metaphor-full explanation of (Y/N) being some sort of hero who escaped Vought, which was corrupt, and Homelander, who was a monster and still trying to hurt people by using the Seven and Vought and supes like Firecracker, and they were there to stop them—(Y/N) wasn’t a fan of her waves. They were all wrong.
“Neither do we, mon ami, but we don’t want people to see you,” said Frenchie. “You could be in danger.”
“But I don’t die,” said (Y/N). “So isn’t danger alright?”
Frenchie looked at them fully, the slight tilt of their head, the straightforward expression. There it was, slips of the (Y/N) he knew more familiar, damaged by trauma. “Petit (Y/N), no one should suffer for nothing.”
(Y/N) shrugged as if they were listening but not really agreeing and took another sip of tea. “But I could help.”
“You could,” said Frenchie. “But it is better for you to stay here. You need time to…”
“Heal?” supplied (Y/N). “You guys think something’s wrong with me.”
“You have no memories,” pointed out Frenchie. And they were talking about waves and generally acting more mentally unraveled.
“Oh, right,” said (Y/N). “That.” They shrugged. “They’ll come back.”
“You can’t be sure,” said Frenchie. “And they will be…painful.”
“I know.” (Y/N) hummed and lifted their hands, examining them. “I can feel them.” They traced lines on their arms, old scarred flesh. “I see them.” They looked at Frenchie. “You all think I’ve become fragile.” They shook their head. “But I know.”
“You know?” repeated Frenchie.
“I know,” said (Y/N).
“Know what?” prompted Frenchie.
(Y/N) smiled. “Everything.”
If this wasn’t incredibly concerning behavior, Frenchie would be very interested to know what drugs could make him feel as confident in that statement as (Y/N) seemed to be.
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“M, I got a favor to ask,” said Butcher as he and MM snuck to the backstage of Firecracker’s TruthBomb show while another supe took over for a segment.
“Think you’re in a position to ask for a favor?” said MM incredulously.
Butcher continued anyways, “If I can’t get the job done before I, uh…” He swallowed. “I need you to get Ryan away from Homelander.”
MM softened slightly. “Oh, Butcher.”
“I got to be realistic,” said Butcher. “Some days I can barely even fucking stand. Get him out of there. Raise him.”
“Raise him?” repeated MM incredulously.
“You’re the best dad I know, MM,” said Butcher. “The best fucking anyone.”
“That might be one of the nicest things you’ve ever said to me, but…what if Ryan doesn’t want to go?” said MM.
“Then you’ve got to make him,” said Butcher. He could see Becca staring at him, imploring him to protect her son.
MM was silent for a long moment, unsure of what to say. Before he could decide, he spotted Firecracker across the trailers. “White trash walking,” he said, and Butcher turned to see.
Butcher grinned and began to clap, his asshole persona returning. Firecracker stopped in confusion and turned around. “Top-notch show, luv. Just weren’t sure whether you wanted us to kneel before your cross or burn it.”
Firecracker stared. “Oh, you’re those motherfuckers that killed my friend.”
“Yeah, crying shame, that,” said Butcher with a grin. “But if it’s any consolation, he’s up there with God, noshing on his holiest of holies as we speak.”
“Alright, alright, keep your hair on, love,” said Butcher, putting his hands up. “We just want a little chin wag’s all.”
“Talk American,” snapped Firecracker.
“Right. You remember that magical summer when you was twenty-eight, working as a counselor at the Capes for Christ Bible Camp in Davie, Florida, and you met that lovely fifteen-year-old boy who tickled your fancy, and, well, then, tickled more than that, didn’t he?”
Firecracker paled.
“Ring any bells?” said Butcher impishly. “Here’s a little keepsake snapped by the Broward County Sheriff’s Department that you can stash in your wank bank.” He held up a photograph of a nearly nude Firecracker inside a car. “You are your little Bieber edging in the back of your RAV4 in the car park of Buca di Beppo.”
“Whatever Voodoo Vought’s lawyers pulled to get your statutory charges dropped, I don’t think they’re gonna matter too much to your evangelical audience back there,” said MM, gesturing to the stage where the crowd was cheering for Ezekiel. Firecracker shifted uneasily.
“You’re gonna tell us everything you know about Sage and her grand plan, or I hit this little tweet button here,” said Butcher.
Firecracker looked at the screen. She took a breath. “How about I just send it myself?” She pressed tweet before Butcher could react. “Fuck around and find out.” She walked off. She had a plan. She could spin this. People always listened to her.
l
Annie stared at the screen after Firecracker’s speech about being saved from her sins by Jesus Christ—the fucking sin of having sex with a minor. People were clapping. People were fucking clapping. Annie was disgusted. She couldn’t believe she was ever involved with Capes for Christ. They were all monsters. And then the story of her accidentally blinding someone when she was thirteen. She couldn’t handle it. Annie stood and rushed out the back, overwhelmed.
“Mademoiselle Annie!” said Frenchie, standing to go after her.
“Not so fast, Frenchie,” said Butcher, returning with MM after a frustrating defeat. “Here.” He tossed something to him, and Frenchie caught them. “Keys to her trailer. Go give it a toss, will you?”
Frenchie looked at (Y/N).
“Don’t worry, we’ll keep an eye on the mental patient,” said Butcher.
“I’m going after Annie,” said (Y/N), standing from the desk.
“No, no, you can’t be seen,” said MM. They had cleared everyone out of the building for safety, but if (Y/N) went outside while crowds were packed in front and wandering around the entire office, they could be spotted, and that would put them into the line of fire when they weren’t ready. And they definitely weren’t ready.
(Y/N) opened the door to the corridor leading outside. “She’s here,” they said, and they stepped through, closing the door behind them.
MM looked at Butcher. “How the hell did you even get them here?” They seemed ready to wander at a moment’s notice.
“The waves, MM, the waves,” said Butcher cheerfully, patting him on the back.
l
Homelander looked at the wall marked with his height over the years. He could feel the silence behind him. His eyes scanned the room and landed on another old cell of his. His face twitched.
“Marty,” he said softly.
“Yeah?” said Marty, attempting to keep his voice light.
“Come here for a sec,” said Homelander. Marty obeyed. “I’d like to apologize. For Frank.” He exhaled. “Look, I guess I-I got a little grumpy, and I-I’m sorry. Can you forgive me?”
“Of course,” lied Marty, putting a smile on. “These things-these things happen.”
“Thank you,” said Homelander. “I just worried. Vought was so mad at (Y/N) for breaking out and killing all those people, and I didn’t want you to be mad of me. Of course, I’m upset at (Y/N), too, but I forgive them for killing. It happens. We get angry.” He smiled. “And sometimes we remember just how much people hurt us.”
Marty swallowed.
Homelander patted him on the shoulder and squeezed. Hard. “But you were always one of the kinder ones.”
“That’s right, John,” said Marty as if speaking to a child.
“ ‘Homelander.’ ” He wouldn’t remind him again.
“Homelander,” repeated Marty hastily. “We were friends. I was always nice to you.”
Homelander laughed. “Yeah, that’s right. You were. Mostly.” His humor dropped, and Marty paled. “Well, you remember the nickname you had for me, right?”
Marty hummed as if he didn’t.
“Really? ‘Squirt,’ ” said Homelander. He chuckled, and Marty hastily matched the laugh. “Yeah, you called me ‘Squirt,’ silly. You remember why?”
“No,” said Marty, nervous.
“Oh, f—Marty, okay,” scoffed Homelander. “But you do remember, though, that I used to be left in there—” he pulled Marty in front of a cell “—for hours, days on end.” Just like (Y/N) had been in their own cell.
Just like Homelander had left them with Stormfront. He would never remember that, though. He would never remember he perpetrated as much torture as he suffered.
“Completely alone. Right?” continued Homelander. He leaned in. “Only, I was never really alone, was I? Mm? Big Brother was always watching.” He laughed. “You were always watching, weren’t you, Marty? But growing boys have…certain needs, shall we say? So I figured out that when you did your rounds at night, I had a couple of minutes to myself to, uh…well, to do what boys do. And-and that would be the only time of day that I would feel anything good. So this one time, I, uh, couldn’t get finished in time. And you caught me with my pants down. You had a really, really good laugh at me. Remember?”
Marty paled. He knew what was coming. Just like Frank, he was going to be taught a lesson.
“That’s when you nicknamed me Squirt,” said Homelander. “I got to be honest with you, Marty.” He sighed. “You really hurt my feelings.”
Marty looked at him. “I…I am very sorry.” He said it with his whole chest, as earnest and heartfelt as he could possibly make it.
Homelander nodded. “What’s done is done,” he said graciously. “Water under the bridge. But stay there a sec.” He walked back towards the chairs while Marty watched from the doorway. “I do want you to jerk off in front of us right now.” He wanted Marty to feel the humiliation he had as a young boy. He looked at the rest of the scientists. “Hey, guys, come on over here.”
The scientists swallowed but had to turn towards him or risk their own punishment. Marty swallowed nervously, shifting uneasily.
“We’re all gonna laugh at you, okay?” said Homelander, looking at Marty intensely. “That way, you will know how it feels, and I think I’m gonna feel better.” He smiled.
Marty laughed nervously as the crowd formed. “Homelander…I am really very sorry.”
“I know, I know,” said Homelander. “Thank you. Now, don’t be shy. Take your pants down. Now.”
Marty swallowed and obeyed. He had to or he would die.
He died mere minutes later, bleeding out on the ground as his dick was blown off with a laser-hole through him.
And Homelander laughed the entire time.
“Stop it, John.”
Homelander paused at a woman’s voice. “Barbara.” He turned around to face the older woman. “Uh…the cake’s melted, I’m afraid.”
Barbara sighed. “Please put him out of his misery,” she said, nodding to Marty.
Homelander shrugged and looked at Marty, who was crying and holding the hole in his body. It spilled blood over the ground, pooling like tar with liquified organs. The scientists swallowed bile.
“I forgive you, Marty.” He put a boot on Marty’s head.
Crunch
l
“You’re not okay.”
Annie looked up from where she sat against a wall. She smiled tiredly at (Y/N). “I’m not.”
(Y/N) sat down next to her. “You shouldn’t listen to her.”
“What she said was true,” said Annie. “Not the full truth,” she added bitterly, “But enough that everyone will listen.”
“Probably,” said (Y/N). “I’m sorry.”
Annie smiled tiredly once again. “It’s not your fault.” She reached out and patted (Y/N)’s arm gently, careful to keep to the shoulder. “At least if TruthBomb is a shitshow, you’re here. I missed you a lot.”
“I missed you, too,” said (Y/N).
“You can’t remember me,” said Annie. “You can’t miss what you can’t remember.”
“Yes I can,” said (Y/N). They tapped their heart. “I felt it. Everything missing.” They smiled. “And I found it again.”
Annie looked at them. “You seem so…calm. It’s strange. Usually you’re tense.”
(Y/N) hummed and leaned back. “I'm just...here.”
Annie grimaced. One moment of complete lucidity and then a statement like that. It was going to take a while to understand whether or not (Y/N) was getting better. “You know…if I was feeling like this before, you always said I should be honest, screw the consequences.”
“I did?” said (Y/N).
“Not exactly that,” admitted Annie. “But you inspired me to be honest.”
“That’s nice,” said (Y/N), smiling. “I’m glad I was a good person.”
“You still are,” said Annie softly. “You came here because I was upset. You want to help.”
(Y/N) shrugged. “I like when it’s all steady. I don’t like it when it’s all jumbled.”
Annie let out a breathy laugh. There was no other reaction to have to that.
“I hope I remember you,” said (Y/N) abruptly.
“If you remember me, you have to remember everything else,” said Annie. Those memories would break the calm that (Y/N) seemed to have now.
“I think it would be worth it,” said (Y/N).
“How can you know that?” said Annie.
“Because you’re a good person,” said (Y/N). They leaned towards Annie, and their head settled on her shoulder.
Annie tensed slightly, unused to (Y/N) initiating any sort of physical contact like that. “You—How can you be sure?” She had messed up so much, and the more Firecracker spoke, the more everyone knew it.
“Because the entire day, you’ve cared about other people more than yourself,” said (Y/N). “Bad people don’t do that.”
Annie’s eyes burned. “Thank you, (Y/N).” She took their hand and squeezed.
(Y/N) hummed.
Beneath her fingertips, Annie felt their pulse beat in a steady rhythm. Unconsciously, her breathing began to echo it. Slowly, she calmed, a steady beat pulsing under her skin. She closed her eyes, exhaling as some of her tension was released.
(Y/N)’s eyes glowed faintly green in the dim corridor.
also, nobody (except maybe you, since ur the author) will fully convince me that MC doesn't have even at least a *little* bit of survivor's guilt pertaining to the events of Ushti's destruction/desecration
They definitely do. There's a reason that their identity will always be Ushti before Mandalorian or Jedi. They might fit and be a part of another place now, but they were born and raised somewhere that doesn't exist. They feel a need to carry that with them, to remind people Ushti didn't completely die, there are still some out there.
Also, related, I don't think MC would ever be like Mando in the way that their practice of being a mandalorian wouldn't involve never taking their helmet off. Yes, that would be "being like their dad," but I think that MC is their own person, and Mando would respect that now that the practices of various mandalorians are more accepted. Plus, as I've said, the MC definitely wants to show their face, show where they came from. If they hid their markings for the rest of their life, they'd feel like they were trying to cut out their Ushti heritage, and that would really kill Ushti more than the empire did
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Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Twelve: Grudge
Summary: Grudges go worse with time, hidden beneath attempts to be calm, getting filled with resent. No one's immune.
(Y/N) and Sam sat across from Sara Alcott—Sara Brown—on her front porch. She poured them glasses of sweet tea, and they dutifully and politely took a sip.
“Mm,” said Sam approvingly.
(Y/N) sat theirs down. They preferred bitter and spicy tastes to sweet. Maybe that was witchy, maybe it was just them. Either way, Sara’s tea had way too much sugar for them.
“Now, I know you didn’t come all this way for my sweet tea, Agents,” said Sara, looking at them both with a knowing smirk.
“No, um, we’re here about Chester Lew,” said Sam.
Sara sighed sadly. “Oh, yes. So sad.”
“It is,” said Sam.
“Is it true you and Chester were seeing one another a while back?” asked (Y/N).
Sara tutted in amusement. “Well, that is an odd question for the FBI, isn’t it?”
“We have to ask a lot of strange questions to make sure we know all angles of a situation,” said (Y/N), never breaking eye-contact.
It was intense enough that Sara had to clear her throat and laugh nervously. “Yeah. Well, yes. Yes. Me and that old tomcat, Chester, we went to prom together. That’s about it.”
“And that’s all?” prompted Sara.
“Well, I wasn’t exactly a good girl, if that’s what you mean,” said Sara euphemistically. “And after that, I-I thought that Chester and I were gonna be hot and heavy. But it just wasn’t meant to be.” She shrugged. “And, uh, a week later, he eloped with Mary.”
“Did you speak much to Mary or Chester again after that?” asked Sam.
“Well, I’d see them about, you know—picnics and such.” Sara gave them a significant look. “But…Mary kept Chester on a pretty short leash. Honestly, I’d moved on, but it seems she never did.” She waved a hand dismissively and shrugged.
“Why do you think she kept such a tight hold on him after all those years?” asked (Y/N).
“Well, I guess in her mind, I was a reminder of Chester’s betrayal,” said Sara. She looked between the pair. “So, if that’s all…”
“Yes, thank you very much for your help,” said Sam, rising with (Y/N) from the deck chairs. Sara nodded and returned to her home while Sam and (Y/N) walked away. “What do you think?”
“I think she’s telling the truth,” said (Y/N). “Whatever this possession is, the anger is coming from the people being possessed, and it’s not being created by other people.”
“Let’s let Dean and Garth know,” said Sam, taking out his phone.
“Hey, you’re on speaker,” said Dean as he answered.
“Sara Alcott’s clean, if you look past the fact that she and Chester knocked boots on prom night back in the day,” said Sam.
“But it sounds like Mary still had an issue with it,” said (Y/N).
Dean sighed. “Okay, so Mary has a grudge against Sara, and Scott has a grudge against Jeff. Besides the fact this is making my head hurt, how does this add up to a ghost?”
“Guys!” Garth’s excited voice broke over the phone. “Bobby has it right here.” He had evidently been consulting an old journal. “Green goo equals a spectre.”
“Which equals a ghost, right?” said Dean.
“Mm, kinda,” said Garth. “A spectre is an avenging ghost. It, uh-it possesses you and finds out whatever betrayals you’re feeling and forces you to act on them.”
“So the definition of what we’re seeing in town,” said (Y/N).
“Bobby say anything in there about how we hunt these things?” asked Sam.
“Uh, the last spectre he encountered rose shortly after someone desecrated a nearby grave,” reported Garth.
(Y/N) opened their phone and did a quick search. “Good news, there was a grave desecrated locally three days ago.”
“Okay, who was it?” asked Dean.
“That’s the bad news,” sighed (Y/N).
l
Dean, Sam, Garth, and (Y/N) stared at the ornamental tomb that had a literal guard standing outside.
“The unknown soldier? You’re kidding me, right?” said Dean incredulously.
“Mary Lew steamrolled her husband the day after this place was vandalized. Do the math,” said Garth.
“But I thought the unknown soldier was buried in Arlington,” said Sam, frowning.
“Yep, but this is the Confederate tomb of the unknown soldier. See, the idea was, they took a faceless, nameless soldier they couldn’t identify, and they buried him here to commemorate all the soldiers who died,” explained Garth.
“Did you learn that in college?” teased Dean.
“Nope—Civil War reenactments. Once a year, every year.” Everyone stared. “Don’t hate.”
“I won’t as long as you’re Union,” said (Y/N).
“Okay, uh, what about the guard?” Sam gestured to the person standing watch.
“He’s ceremonial. Gone by dusk,” said Garth.
“So, then we do this tonight?” said Dean.
“Yeah,” said Garth.
“Burn a Confederate soldier’s bones in a town full of ‘proud of their heritage’ people? Great idea,” said (Y/N).
l
Under the cover of darkness, the group of hunters and the witch headed towards the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Flashlights on, they entered and peered around warily. No telling if a spectre was about.
“Place doesn’t look disturbed to me. What’s the police report say?” asked Sam.
“They thought it was just some teens messing around—beer cans and some graffiti,” said (Y/N). They gave a look. “And, of course, they were stupid enough to open the casket.”
“And so Casper made a run for it,” said Dean.
“So, what? If they never touched this, none of this would be happening?” said Sam, looking at the casket in the center of the room.
“Yeah, according to Bobby,” said Garth.
“All right, well, let’s get this party started,” said Dean, flexing for a moment. “Sammy, you want to give me a hand?” Sam nodded, and (Y/N) kept the light on the casket so Dean, Sam, and Garth could push on the lid. “And…go.”
They pushed the heavy stone top to the side, grimacing. (Y/N) rubbed their fingers together. They scraped their index-finger nail against the pad of their thumb, and a small bead of blood dropped down their palm. A pleasant hum filled (Y/N)’s body, and they pressed their fingers to the stone while Dean, Sam, and Garth were busy. It slid from the casket.
Before anyone looked at them, (Y/N) lifted the flashlight so they could all see the inside of the casket. A skeleton lay within, dressed in a torn-up and decaying uniform and carrying a gun and sword beside him.
“Whoa, check out this hardware,” said Garth appreciatively. “Do you guys know how much this is worth?”
“Yeah, but why open it up if you’re not gonna take anything?” asked Dean.
“Maybe what they took isn’t noticeable?” suggested (Y/N).
“Maybe the cops showed up and they had to split fast,” said Sam. He shrugged and picked up a can of lighter fluid.
“You sure this will work, even on a spectre?” asked Garth. There hadn’t been many tips in Bobby’s journal.
“It's a ghost, isn’t it? You burn its bones, the ghost disappears,” said Dean logically.
Sam dumped lighter fluid over the bones.
“I agree with Garth,” said (Y/N). “It doesn’t explain how the spectre is moving around. It has to be following an item, right? Not it’s bones.” Like Bobby and the flask.
“No harm in burning the bones, though,” said Dean.
“Alright, alright,” said Garth. “Uh, I kind of feel like we should say something, all right? Don't you? Just a little.” He didn’t want any bad karma from not being respectful of a tomb.
“Sure. We won,” said Dean, flicking his lighter and setting fire to the bones.
l
They had not won. That was clear as day when daytime arrived and there was a third body, now of a sheriff. Apparently, the spectre had jumped ship from the Lews to the rest of the townsfolk. Dean, Sam, Garth, and (Y/N) stood around the sheriff’s desk after getting the lowdown on the perpetrator, Deputy Wallace.
“Ten bones says Deputy Doug had an axe to grind with his boss,” said Dean.
“How can you be so sure?” said Garth.
Dean pointed at the green goo clinging to the tape dispense on the desk.
“Ah, what the hell?” groaned Garth.
“Maybe we torched the wrong redneck,” said Dean.
“No, I’m betting that something was taken from the grave, but no one noticed,” said (Y/N). “And like Bobby’s flask, the spectre is moving around with it.”
“And whoever has the object gets possessed,” said Sam.
“Okay. So, who’s got the object, and, more importantly, who do they got a grudge against?” wondered Garth.
“Well, we’ve got the last person possessed in a cell,” said (Y/N). “So let’s see what he picked up from Scott and who might have picked it up from him.
The four headed to the holding cells where Deputy Wallace sat despondently behind bars. He looked up at them tearfully as they entered.
“All right. We need you to focus, Deputy,” said Sam, getting straight to the questions. They didn’t have time to waste. “Other lives depend on it. Tell me what happened after you shot the sheriff.”
“I was on the ground. I think Karl tackled me, and I asked him what happened,” said Wallace, frowning with concentration.
“And?” said Dean.
“He didn’t answer me,” said Wallace, shaking his head. “He just took my gun and walked away.”
Shit, thought (Y/N).
“Did he say where he was going?” questioned Dean urgently.
“I guess…I must have hurt him, too. He said he was going to the hospital,” said Wallace guilty.
(Y/N) knew that wasn’t why he had gone. They looked at the others. “Find out what you can about the unknown soldier. I’m going to the hospital.”
“Not without me,” said Dean.
(Y/N) nodded, and they hurried off.
Sam watched and let out a long breath. Right. (Y/N) could still trust Dean. And they couldn’t trust him.
l
Dean pulled into the hospital, and (Y/N) jumped out to check the sheriff’s car. They cursed.
“Empty!” they said.
“So he’s inside already,” said Dean, moving towards the doors. They ran forward and skidded through the front door. A scream echoed, and (Y/N) darted towards it.
Karl stood with a rifle in hand, pointing at a receptionist and nurse. The man’s eyes widened, and Karl gritted his teeth.
“Hey, ump. You remember me? I stole second!” spat Karl.
“Karl? What the hell are you doing? Why are you doing—”
Karl interrupted the man. “Why am I gonna make mustard from your brain stem?! I don’t know. Why did you call me out, ump?”
That’s his grudge? (Y/N) was unimpressed, and they flicked out a knife, ready to do what they had to pull their magic out.
“I’m sorry,” said the man desperately.
Karl squeezed the trigger, and (Y/N) nearly cut across their arm, but the gun clicked uselessly. Karl stared at it.
“Looks like you’re shooting blanks,” said Dean, and when Karl turned to face him, he punched him across the face.
Karl stumbled back, and he looked at Dean—the gaze inhuman. “Hey, that tickled.” He punched Dean, and Dean flew into the wall.
Well, shit. (Y/N) dug their knife into their arm, swiped their fingers across the blood.
“Karl, listen, I know the spectre’s turning the temperature up in there,” said Dean, standing. He coughed as Karl grabbed him and strangeld him. “So just tell me what the object is, and we’ll send this joker home.”
“I don’t think so. There’s unfinished business, thanks to you,” said Karl, speaking with the spectre.
(Y/N) flicked their wrist, eyes shining, and Karl was torn from Dean, flying into the back wall. His head snapped up as he stood, glaring at (Y/N). Then, he smirked.
“Oh, the spectre likes you. You smell like anger,” said Karl.
“Tell him to come out and play if he likes me so much,” sneered (Y/N).
Karl lunged, (Y/N) dodged, and they rubbed their bloody fingers together, tongue rolling over the words of magic lodged in their heart. Karl stumbled, the spectre grew angry, and he grabbed them. (Y/N) raised their leg to kick him away, but as they moved, Karl pressed a small penny with a hole in it into their palm.
In an instant, all of (Y/N)’s turned from the frustration of a fight to the fire of fury at an old friend. Indignance welled up at their treatment, at the person’s actions, at their abandonment. (Y/N) was still while Karl crumpled, unconscious.
Dean stood and stared. “(Y/N)?” he said warily.
“I have to go,” they said abruptly, turning to leave.
“Can you put the penny down?” said Dean, hoping that (Y/N)’s nature as a witch would protect them against the spectre.
“Later. I have unfinished business,” (Y/N) started towards the door.
“No. Nope, that’s a bad idea,” said Dean, moving between them and the door.
“Dean, I don’t want to hurt you,” warned (Y/N).
Well, that’s nice. “You don’t want to hurt anyone. Not really,” said Dean. “I get it, you’re angry. But it’s in your head.” He glanced at the blood dripping down their arm and grimaced. First, he had never seen them do that for magic. Second, shit. It meant they had power.
“Get out of my way,” said (Y/N).
“(Y/N), I’m not going to let you do something you’ll regret,” said Dean.
(Y/N) tilted their head, black goo leaking from their ear. “No one lets me do anything. I do what I want.”
They flicked their wrist, and Dean flew over the reception desk. He crashed into computers, took down a filing cabinet, and hit the ground. He groaned and pulled himself to stand. (Y/N) was gone.
“Son of a bitch.” He grabbed his phone and called Sam.
“Did you find the deputy?” asked Sam.
“Sure did,” said Dean while running outside. “And then the spectre jumped ship.”
“Into who?” asked Sam.
“Son of a bitch! They took Baby!” cursed Dean.
“Who, Dean?” repeated Sam urgently.
“(Y/N), Sam! The spectre’s in the kid,” said Dean. “Which means they’re coming for you. And they’ve got blood and their magic ready to shoot. Where are you?”
“We left the library,” said Sam. “Garth and I were going to head back to the motel.”
“They’ll be there. They know that’s where you’d go,” said Dean. “Pick me up and we’ll go back together.”
“Dean, what’s the plan?” said Sam. “We can’t hurt—”
“We’ll figure it out,” said Dean. They had to. He couldn’t lose his little sibling, either of them.
l
“What’s our plan?” said Sam.
“Don’t die, don’t hurt them,” said Dean.
“They’ve got a gun, but we’re three guys. We can handle it,” said Garth encouragingly. “And we’ll get that ghost out of em.”
Dean and Sam grimaced. Garth had no idea (Y/N) had magic. And, unfortunately, he was about to find out. There was no way to get around that. Sam wasn’t sure what would happen, but he’d make sure Garth didn’t hurt them for being a witch. Dean would ensure the same—by any means necessary.
Dean arrived at the motel room door and pushed it open while he, Sam, and Garth braced themselves. They stepped inside. Instantly, an oppressive force grabbed them by the shoulders, and they stumbled, frozen in place.
“There you are.” (Y/N)’s voice was dark, and they glared at the three.
Garth frowned in confusion at being unable to move, but Dean ignored it. (Y/N) was the focus—that and their anger at Sam.
“(Y/N), give us the—”
“You should have looked for me,” said (Y/N) coldly.
Sam swallowed. “(Y/N), this isn’t you.”
“Don’t let a spectre pull your strings,” said Dean. He hoped that indignation would override the fury they held in their gaze ((Y/N) loved fighting against authority).
“You didn’t look. I kept calling, and I kept looking, and I kept suffering because I was alone, and you were—you were living the life of your dreams,” said (Y/N). Their fingers twitched, and the lights flickered as electricity buzzed. Sam had a suspicion he knew what spell could be coming, and he swallowed.
“I-I should have looked,” agreed Sam. “I’m sorry—”
“I’m part of the life you don’t want,” said (Y/N), voice shaking with anger and grief. “I know that. But it doesn’t make it fair. It’s not fair what I had to go through because you decided you didn’t care enough to look for us, for me!”
“What do you want me to say? I’ve apologized as much as I can, (Y/N),” said Sam. “I can’t make you believe me.”
“Sam,” warned Dean.
“That ain’t (Y/N), Sam,” said Garth.
“I’ve made mistakes, (Y/N), I know it, but don’t make this one. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone—”
“You don’t know anything about me!” shouted (Y/N), and the lightbulbs exploded. Dean and Garth flew back and hit the wall while (Y/N) glared at Sam. “You left me! And I had to survive. I had to—Goddamn it, monsters came for me. Because I’m me. And I had to kill them on my own, alone, terrified, and I almost died, and if the caravan hadn’t found me, I wouldn’t be here, and you would still be living your happy life because you don’t care.” They looked at Sam, eyes burning with anger and tears. “Why didn’t you care enough?”
Sam stared, and he faltered. “(Y/N)—”
Garth tackled (Y/N), and the penny fell from their hand, slicked with their blood. (Y/N) yelped, and Garth grabbed the penny.
“Garth, don’t!” said Dean in alarm.
Garth stood while (Y/N) groaned. “It’s cool.” He smiled. “It’s all good. I’m cool.”
Sam let out a sigh of relief, and Dean grinned.
(Y/N) sat up. “What the hell happened?”
“You nearly fried Sam,” said Dean.
“Oh.” (Y/N) grimaced. “Right. Sorry.”
“It’s…okay.” Sam was surprised to find that he meant it. (Y/N)’s confessions—they explained their anger. He would be angry, too, disappointed in himself even more, if he had the experience they did.
“So, Garth—” Dean turned towards him, hand hovering towards his gun.
“Oh, I don’t care about (Y/N) being a witch,” said Garth casually, anticipating the line of questioning.
(Y/N) stood and stared. “What?” They didn’t believe it.
Garth gave them a half-shrug. “I don’t care.” Like everything else, he went with the flow on this thing, too.
Unbelievable. Well, Garth was moving up the ranks of who (Y/N) liked in the world. “Okay. Thanks.”
“And you won’t tell anyone?” said Dean warily.
“None of my business,” said Garth, smiling.
(Y/N)’s shoulders slumped in relief and exhaustion. What a day.
l
“Did Garth make it out okay?” asked (Y/N) as Dean reentered the motel room. They rubbed the bandage over their arm.
“Yeah,” said Dean. “Turns out the guy is so easygoing he has no grudges.” He paused. “I gave him back Bobby’s cap.”
“That was good of you,” said (Y/N) approvingly.
“Yeah, yeah,” said Dean. “But we’re not talking about Garth.”
Damn. (Y/N) had thought they’d get to avoid the inevitable “about what you talked about while you were possessed” talk.
“About what you talked about while you were possessed—”
(Y/N) interrupted Dean. “I’m sure it was all stupid. I mean, I was possessed.”
“You said you were hunted by monsters,” said Sam matter-of-factly. “We thought you were hunting.”
“I mean, yeah, I was later on. But at the beginning…” (Y/N) grimaced. “Turns out magic has a smell, and since I’m getting stronger, some monsters smell it and like it. My necklace is getting weaker the older I get.” They looked at Sam and Dean. “It’s okay. I keep herbs on me to avoid that. But I had some incidents before that.”
“You said you almost died,” said Dean.
“I did,” admitted (Y/N). They fiddled with their pendant. “But I got found. The caravan helped me. I—” they licked their lips. “Some of them have magic. Pretty weak, not like the witches we face, but that’s the reason I have a little more control.” The palm readers. The man who could see ghosts of the future. The woman who sensed the pain of others. The kid who knew instinctually who could be brought into the circus and would fit. “They saved me.”
“But you still felt alone,” said Dean knowingly. He was bad at “chick-flick” moments, but he reached out and took (Y/N)’s hand—always a supportive older brother.
“I mean, yeah. Most of their abilities are psychic abilities, so slight it feels like instinct instead of anything supernatural. I’m something else,” said (Y/N). “And they weren’t hunters. Just people. They’re nice, but they’re not my family.” They’re not you.
“You said…You think my life is better without you in,” said Sam.
(Y/N) flinched. They’d said that? Fuck. “You want a normal life. I don’t really fit into a normal life,” they said softly, avoiding his gaze and holding their necklace tightly.
“You fit into my life,” said Sam. He moved closer, and (Y/N) raised their eyes to look at him. “I know I messed up. I really did. I can’t make you understand how sorry I am. But my life isn’t better without you. You’re important to me.” He looked at Dean. “To both of us.”
“Yeah. You’re one of us,” said Dean. “You got it, kid? That’s why we did come and find you. You matter.”
(Y/N) sniffed, trying to hide the overwhelming emotions. “I’m sorry for hurting you guys.”
“Hey, we’ve all beaten each other up,” said Dean teasingly.
“Right of passage,” said Sam, smiling slightly. He looked at their arm. “But can you be careful about hurting yourself?”
“Yeah,” they said. “Sorry.” The magic needed them to give something—not cruelly, but nothing can be given without taking something in return.
“It’s okay. We just don’t like you hurt,” said Dean.
(Y/N) smiled slightly. They cared. They cared. (Y/N) would try to believe it. Even if they hadn’t said everything. Monsters were what hunted them, but (Y/N) knew intimately that some monsters were human.
Random What- If: You think it would be better or worse if Borealis grew up Homelander, only a few years younger, but young enough that he was still in the Lab by the time Borealis is brought in?
Hm, that's a hard question. I can see it going multiple ways.
On the one hand, the big issue with Homelander is that he was isolated his entire childhood, which affects him now. Could having someone else in a similar situation at that formative age help him? Maybe. He could learn some empathy and learn to protect someone else. If he and Borealis created a bond, that would be something precious and good.
Or., on the other hand...it would make him even more possessive. That would be pretty bad for Borealis, and they'd be raised with an abusive and controlling Homelander from the start, which would prevent them from becoming them.
Also, even if there is the possibility, Vought would probably weaponize two super supes being raised together. They'd create some sort of "competition" between the two, especially because they know that Homelander thrives on the idea of trying to be loved. If that worked, Borealis would probably be in an even more trouble since Homelander would turn against them as another "competitor" for the love he deserves.
All-in-all, I think that even if it was positive for a shot while, Vought would twist it in order to psychologically attempt to take control of Homelander and Borealis.
aa yay!! I have to say borealis powers work so well to kill homelander(if youre gonna include them in the fight), it was so disappointing to see marie just get discarded like that
I'm so excited for the finale, to write for it. I'm not 100% how it's going to go, but I've decided I'm going to let the story and Borealis speak to me and see how it goes
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Mouse just watches shows, gets obsessed, and then it pops up. Usually there’s some sort of symbolism or specific trait that I get into that I want to explore in a character (eg with Peaky Blinders I was abroad when I started it so I was thinking about European politics, learning another language, and so that plays a lot into the MC as well as the symbolism of someone who can’t put a gun down/put the war behind them)
I haven't really watched peaky blinders but ohmy god I CANT WAIT FOR SEEYOURSELF BECOME THE VILKAIN BOOK 3???? I CANT WAIT FOR TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYSaaaa you're so productive 😭
I’m not even a chapter in so I have no idea when it’ll be ready, but I suspect that we’ll roll straight from Book 2 into Book 3! :)
glad that you acknowledged my note :3 totally didn't write all of that cuz i jus finished rewatching the series.
if you ever get your hands on tng, your mind will literally explode. the characters and storylines are jus phenomenal. there's so much that can be done with some of the characters like data, deanna troi, q, worf, geordi etc. and the storylines like in "the measure of a man," "the offspring," "times arrow" the conflicts with romulans and... the borg. the concept of the holodeck, insanee. trust me... it's peak.
and yo, i'll take any star trek fics from you (even if it's snw lmao 💀), your fics are so goated. i also may or may not have drawn fanart for logos & pathos btw... shhhh
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Ah! Wait, I want to seeeee, you can't tell me that and then do nothing else :(((
staying anon to seem nonchalant... haiiii, i've been following this blog for a while (since logos & pathos) and have a question !! :3
(note: i fr read logos & pathos atleast once a month. i jus adore the way you write spock, the slow burn yearning kills meee, even as a lesbian i can tell when peak is present.)
anyways i was wondering if you've ever watched star trek: the next generation? you mentioned once that you thought strange new worlds lacked the fun and whimsy that the original series had, (overall it being somewhat of a nothing burger, which i completely agree with) and as the biggest trekkie in the galaxy (true btw), i was wondering if you would ever consider writing for it. i'd argue that tng has just as much whimsy (or even more in some cases) as tos. and i adore how in depth you go when it comes to your fics, especially with tos.
pssst spock is in a two-parter on tng 👀 i would luv to see some y/n and spock when he is on romulus trying to reunify the vulcans and romulans.
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I've definitely considered doing some more with Logos and Pathos and that universe. Honestly, who knows, maybe I will do Strange New Worlds (I once did a bit of an outline for it, years ago) or TNG, but I don't have access to the media (and everything--ahem--keeps getting taken down) so I'm not quite sure how I'd manage that.
I honestly do miss Spock and his gold MC <3
Happy to say hello to you, definitely interested, but I've never watched other star trek stuff (I know I know) other than AOS, TOS, and a bit of SNW on a plane
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A Shot in the Dark (Book 2) has been written and finished. It will follow Season 2 of Peaky Blinders. I do not know when it will be released, but, hey, exciting to have it done. Also...
133,344 words
416 Word document pages
45 chapters
1 book
Nobody's Soldier (Book 6) has been written and finished. It will follow Season 9 of Supernatural. I also do not know when this will be released. It all depends on See Yourself Become the Villain (Book 3) getting finished so I can release that as soon as possible. Exciting times!
Found Family! Supernatural and Teen! Witch! Reader
Chapter Eleven: Ectoplasm
Summary: The Winchesters meet Garth again on a strange case down south.
“So, guy’s old lady comes home while he’s working underneath his ride, puts the pedal to the metal, and takes half his head off,” explained Dean, pulling up on the street nearest the crime scene.
“What, that’s it?” said Sam incredulously.
“Yeah, in a nutshell. She says she blacked out, doesn’t remember a damn thing,” said Dean, shrugging.
“Well, that sounds like insanity,” said Sam.
“Maybe,” said Dean.
“Is there something weird about this that makes this our sort of thing?” asked (Y/N).
“Well, Kevin’s in the wind, okay, Sam’s sulking around like a eunuch in a whorehouse, you’re and I can’t help but ask myself, when is decapitation not my thing?” Dean got out of the impala and headed towards the crime scene.
(Y/N) and Sam got out and followed him, badges in hand. They flashed them to the deputy watching them approach, and the deputy blinked.
“Whoa, whoa, FBI?” he said.
“Yeah, happened to be in the neighborhood,” said Sam smoothly.
The deputy shook his head, mystified. “First a Texas Ranger, now you guys?”
“Texas Ranger?” repeated (Y/N). They weren’t in Texas. They were nowhere near Texas.
“Yep. Right over there.” The deputy gestured to a man in a cowboy hat interviewing a witness.
The man took his hat off to fan himself, and (Y/N) nearly slapped their face. Of course. It was Garth.
“Oh, you got to be kidding me,” said Dean. He started Garth. “Hey, Chuck Norris.”
“Sam? Dean! (Y/N)!” Garth beamed and hugged Sam.
“Forgot he was a hugger,” wheezed Sam. Garth might be smaller, but he could squeeze like a bear.
“Come here!” Garth let go of Sam and went for (Y/N). They accepted the hug; they couldn’t say no to such honest joy.
“Hi, Garth,” they said.
“Alright, okay—” Dean was pulled into the last hug before Garth finally let go and smiled at all of them. “We’re still working here.”
“You guys have no idea how much I missed you,” said Garth. “And (Y/N)! I’m so glad they found you. Did that circus psychic find you?”
“Something like that,” said (Y/N), smirking.
“Um, excuse us, would you?” said Dean to the witness, pulling Garth to the side to chat. “A Texas Ranger, Garth? Seriously? We’re in Missouri.”
Garth shrugged. “What? Come on.” He gestured to their suits. “I look like a funeral director in one of those.”
Yeah, he would look kinda like Death, thought (Y/N).
“Wow. I heard some chatter you three were back in the batter’s box, but I didn’t believe it till now,” said Garth, pleased but incredulous. His phone abruptly with “Jump” by Kriss Kross. He held up a hand while he answered. “Yo, Earl. What you got? A revenant. Okay, uh, you’ll need a casket and some silver spikes. Oh, and don’t get bit. No, it won’t turn you, but it will hurt like hell. Okay, so, once you got all that, nail that sucker in, bury him, and throw away the key. Okay? All right. Hasta.” He hung up after the efficient exchange.
Dean stared. “What are you doing?”
“May job, hombre,” said Garth.
“Your job is giving hunters advice?” said (Y/N).
“Yeah,” said Garth.
“Since when?” said Dean.
“Hold up. Are you the new Bobby?” asked Sam.
“You shut your mouth,” snapped Dean. No one replaced Bobby.
“Yes,” said Garth.
“You shut your mouth! What?” demanded Dean.
“Bobby was gone. You three were MIA,” explained Garth. “It was a weird time. Somebody had to step in and take up the slack.” He focused. “All right. Let’s just get back to work, and we'll talk about this later, all right?” He patted them on the back and walked way.
“Did Garth just tell us what to do?” said Dean incredulously.
“Huh. It makes sense. I just…forgot he has a head on his shoulders,” said (Y/N).
Sam snorted. “Does he really?”
“Hey, he’s a successful hunter. Still living, anyways,” said (Y/N), shrugging. “And he’s nice enough to help other people, so I say keep a good thing going.”
“He doesn’t replace Bobby,” grumbled Dean.
“No, he’s just doing Bobby’s job. Calm down,” said (Y/N), rolling their eyes.
Dean huffed under his breath as they returned to the witness.
“Uh, Scott Lew,” said Garth, introducing them. “These gentlemen here are with the FBI. Mr. Lew’s parents were the individuals involved in this…unfortunate situation.”
“Sorry for your loss,” said Dean.
“Just a few questions, Mr. Lew. Um, by any chance were your parents having…marital problems?” asked Sam.
“No. Uh, no more than anyone else,” said Scott.
So that’s probably a yes, thought (Y/N). “Has your mom been ill? Any seizures, strokes, changes to her mental state?”
“I don’t think so, but they’re checking her out at the hospital right now,” said Scott awkwardly.
“What about other strange behaviors?” asked Dean.
“What do you mean?” asked Scott.
“Hearing voices, seeing things—you notice anything like that?” asked Dean.
“My parents were married for thirty years—high-school sweethearts,” said Scott emphatically. “There’s no good explanation for why this happened, no matter where you want to look.”
“Okay, well, thank you, Scott. We’ll be in touch,” said Garth, concluding the interview.
The group of hunters circled closer to the crime scene, and Sam took out an EMF reader to check for signs of spectral activity while (Y/N) snooped for hex bags or anything else occult.
“No EMF. No traces of sulfur anywhere,” said Sam, standing.
“No hex bags,” said (Y/N). “And I don’t—” They glanced at Garth. He didn’t know. “I don’t think there was any witchcraft done around here.”
“Like I thought—bust,” said Sam.
“Hold on there, Sam,” said Garth. “There’s a lot of things to factor in here. Uh, it happened last night, so the readings could be cold by now.”
“Good point,” said Dean.
“Still no witchcraft,” said (Y/N). “So that narrows things down.”
“And, uh, even if there was any sulfur, Barney Fife and his crew probably contaminated the whole crime scene and any evidence that was here with it,” said Garth.
(Y/N) snorted at the comparison and peeked under the car.
“Wow. He’s on a roll,” said Dean, slightly impressed.
“That’s one word for it,” said Sam, huffing. He wanted to go back to searching for Kevin, not playing hunter on random cases. He was looking for The End.
“Oh, ew. Yeah, we got something,” said (Y/N). They pointed a green goo on the ground that they had almost stepped in.
“Is that gum, or is that ectoplasm?” asked Dean.
“Isn’t ectoplasm usually black?” said Sam, frowning.
Garth knelt, put a finger into the goo, and tasted it.
“Okay, yeah, that can’t be good for you,” said (Y/N), grimacing.
“Definitely ectoplasm,” said Garth.
“And you discovered that at what cost?” said (Y/N).
Garth shrugged. “So, what are we thinking—uh, some kind of ghost, right?” His phone rang again, this time with “Wild Wild West” by Kool Moe Dee. “Uh, Ranger McCrae here.”
“One of those things rings Hammer, I’m throwing down,” whispered Dean.
“I’m rooting for Barbie Girl,” said (Y/N).
“Oh, great. Okay. Okay,” said Garth, bracing the phone between his shoulder and ear while scribbling a note on his hand. “Thanks, Doc.” He hung up and looked at Dean, Sam, and (Y/N). “Asked the coroner to drop me a line in case the autopsy turned up anything…unusual. And guess what? Our dead guy had the word ‘Alcott’—” he showed them the spelling as written on his palm “—carved into his chest.”
“With what?” asked Sam.
“Coroner’s best guess? His wife Mary's fingernails,” said Garth.
“Still think this is a bust?” said (Y/N).
Sam sighed.
l
Sam, Dean, (Y/N), and Garth stood beside Mary Lew’s bed in her hospital room. The bright lights of the room buzzed above them as they looked at her, handcuffed with a sheriff guarding the exit. She seemed…tired and grieving. She stared into space even as they addressed her.
“Mrs. Lew, can you tell us what happened?” asked Sam carefully.
“I was at the store getting groceries, and the next thing I know, my son Scott finds me in the driveway.” Mary stared into space, and her breath hitched. “And Chester was…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.
“Do you remember anything at all about what happened? Um…Chester dying?” asked Sam, trying to be as gentle as possible.
“Not really. Bits and pieces, I guess,” said Mary.
Unfortunate choice of words, thought (Y/N).
“Such as?” prompted Dean.
“I remember his screams…the smell of burnt rubber, and…I remember feeling so angry—just uncontrollable rage, like I wasn’t myself,” said Mary, shivering. “And after it was over, all that anger was just gone.”
“Ma’am, does the word ‘Alcott’ mean anything to you?” asked (Y/N).
Mary clenched her fists instinctually, a telltale sign it did mean something to her. “What does she have to do with anything?” she said defensively.
“It’s a she?” said Sam, prompting her to continue.
Mary couldn’t avoid continuing. “My husband, Chester, and I were going steady in high school for a few years already when we had a big fight,” she said, trying to shrug it off as inconsequential despite the fact it clearly bothered her.
“What about?” questioned Dean.
“Something stupid, I’m sure. It was around prom, and so he took Sara Alcott as his date instead of me,” admitted Mary.
“So, this Sara Alcott was a rival for your husband’s affections?” asked Garth.
“Sara had one night with him, whereas I was—” Mary started to cry “—with Chester for thirty-seven years.”
“Of course, right. Sure,” said Sam awkwardly. “Um, just one more question. Um…Is…Ms. Alcott still alive?”
“As far as I know, yes,” said Mary, through bitter tears.
“Thank you very much, Mrs. Lew,” said Dean, hurrying them out before the situation became even more awkward.
l
“Let me get this straight,” said Dean as they headed towards the impala after finishing with Mary. “This poor guy goes to prom with some girl over thirty years ago, and because of that, he is now a pancake?”
“If it’s some sort of possession, it’s possible it could be bringing up old grudges,” said (Y/N). “Wouldn’t be the first time people’s emotions are influenced.”
“Yeah, but what sort of possession? Alcott’s alive. It makes no sense,” said Dean.
“Well, we’re definitely gonna want to talk to her,” said Garth.
“Yeah, sounds like a plan.” Dean paused. “Did we eat yet?”
l
“There you go,” said the waitress, setting down the burgers (and singular salad) that the group had ordered. They were in a bar, which (Y/N) got into thanks to their handy FBI badge.
“Thanks,” said Garth. He took a bite and then looked at Dean and (Y/N). “So, Dean, (Y/N), gimme the skinny. Where were you the past year?”
“Reading tarot for suburban mothers while I hunted on the side,” said (Y/N), blunt as ever. “Tried not to die.”
Sam held his utensils tighter. Dean frowned.
“Bet you made good money on that scam,” said Garth cheerfully.
Not so much a scam. (Y/N) smiled all the same.
“Why don’t we save what I did on my summer vacation for another time?” said Dean, taking another bite of his burger.
“Aw, come on,” said Garth.
“Alright. I was in Purgatory,” said Dean, straightforward.
“Like the Purgatory Purgatory?” said Garth.
“No, the one in Miami,” said Dean sarcastically.
“The gay club?” snorted (Y/N), and Dean threw a fry at them.
“Man, that’s balls,” said Garth, not batting an eye. He took everything in stride, which was one of his best qualities.
“That’s not how you say ‘balls,’ ” said Dean.
“So how’d you get out?” asked Garth.
Sam made a show of turning and looking at Dean of the answer to that question. (Y/N) glanced at him curiously. They weren’t going to judge—they were just glad he was back—but they were curious. It was one of (Y/N)’s biggest flaws (that and their hopeless need to run straight into danger, which stemmed from a need to be useful or else, but that was too much psychoanalysis and they weren’t going to get into that).
Dean avoided everyone’s gaze and looked around the bar. A confederate flag hung on the wall, and he frowned. “What’s up with all the, uh, hillbilly hankies? These people know the Civil War’s over, right?”
“Mm. That’s a touchy subject round these parts,” said Garth knowingly. “See, Missouri was a border state. So, half the men were Confederate, the other half were the Union.”
“How do you know all this?” asked Sam.
“I went to college,” said Garth, munching on his burger.
“You went to college?” said Sam in surprise.
“Huh.” (Y/N) hadn’t thought about that; people got into the life in different ways. They hadn’t even really gotten around to thinking about college. And they really weren’t going to start.
“Yeah. College and on to dental school,” said Garth, nodding.
“You were a dentist?” said (Y/N), blinking. It seemed so…normal.
“Yeah, just for, like, a hot minute. Where’d you think I got my first case?” said Garth, shrugging like it was obvious.
“Let me guess—Tooth Fairy,” joked Dean.
Looking uncomfortable and a little ashamed, Garth put his utensils down. Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) stared.
“Yeah. Man, I felt terrible when I ganked that SOB,” said Garth, shaking his head.
“Uh, you killed the Tooth Fairy?” said Sam slowly, making sure he heard that right.
“Yeah, man. I mean, not my proudest moment, but it happened.” Garth shrugged and picked up his burger for another bite. “Mmm. Man, this is good.”
The phone rang—a normal ringtone from Dean’s phone—and he picked it up. “Yes, this is him. Really? What’s the address.” He listened and scribbled it down. “Yeah, got it. Thank you.” He hung up. “There’s another one.”
“What?” said Sam.
“Another body dropped,” said Dean. “And the perp was Scott Lew.”
“Damn,” said (Y/N).
l
(Y/N) looked at the crime scene with their hands and their hips. Jeff’s—Scott’s friend—body lay under a blanket, blood staining it and the ground beneath him. Drying, spilt coffee was drying on the floor, and various amenities from the convenience store shelves lay haphazardly around Jeff’s corpse. Green goo peppered the ground as well—whatever had possessed Mary had gotten to Scott as well.
“So, first the mom goes ‘Natural Born Killer,’ and now the son?” remarked Dena. “Well, what do we got—a ghost with an Oedipus complex?”
“You don’t know what that means, do you?” said (Y/N).
“Nope,” said Dean.
“Thought so,” said (Y/N). “Still, is there something about the Lew family causing it? Or is it chance that whatever got to Mary got to Scott?”
“Not sure, but check this out,” said Sam, stepping over to the refrigerated section of the store. Painted in blood was “Sussex.”
“ ‘Sussex,’ ” read Dean. “What is that, another name?”
“I wonder if it’s another person that involved in a grudge,” said (Y/N), tilting their head. “Then there would be some sort of pattern.”
Garth walked over after consulting with the deputies on the scene.
“Hey, what’d the cops say?” asked Sam.
“Not much,” he said, scratching beneath his baseball hat. “Uh, Scott insisted he wasn’t in control of himself. Says all he remembers is a red-hot rage.”
“That’s like his mother,” said (Y/N).
“So, what is this, some-some kind of family curse?” Sam looked at (Y/N).
“Maybe,” said (Y/N). “No hex bag doesn’t rule it out.”
Dean couldn’t stop staring at the baseball hat on Garth’s head. “Is that Bobby’s hat?”
“Oh, yeah. Sure is.” Garth smiled proudly. “We worked a rugaru case together a few years back. He left it in my car, so I kept it as a—” Dean snatched the hat from his head “—memento. What are you doing?”
“That’s not how you wear it,” snapped Dean, tucking it under his jacket.
(Y/N) grimaced. Dean’s time in Purgatory had meant he never got to grieve Bobby’s loss properly, which, in turn, meant he wasn’t sure how to handle people trying to move on. (This is a very wise statement for someone who refuses to fully deal with the trauma and internalized issues their parents’ deaths created).
A deputy walked up to them and informed them, “Gentlemen, surveillance is up, but something is all screwy with it.” He brought them to the back room of the store to show the security feed. It displayed Scott stabbing Jeff with a shovel—brutal—but Scott’s face was obscured by white light and a strange line across the screen.
“Must be the camera,” said the deputy.
(Y/N) knew better. “Probably. Thank you, deputy.” He nodded and walked off, leaving the hunters to talk amongst themselves.
“You guys see the head? Ever seen anything like that before?” asked Dean, watching the reply of the security footage again.
“Like that? No way,” said Garth.
“So?” said Sam, wondering what to do next.
“So…” Dean frowned.
“So, I’m thinking we need to talk to Sara Alcott,” said Garth. “I found her—although these days, she goes by Sara Brown.”
“How about this?” said Sam. “(Y/N) and I’ll check her out, and you two see what you can find out about Sussex.” He wanted to try to show (Y/N) he was still their friend and someone they could rely on. He had to prove himself to them. After all, he cared about them too much to let them think he didn’t care. They were family.
