the winchester way

IV.

House of Politiques: A New War, An Old Flame

“The people want to attack, they are ready to take action.”

Around the oval table of the Conduct Room sat Alexander Hamilton, Bran Stark, and Emmanuel Macron, executive heads of the House of Politiques. Stark, the closest to the people of the district, explained to the two other men the willingness of the constituency. The House of Politiques had a strong, if not extreme, following.

“Do the people understand what may come if they are to truly fight?” said Hamilton. “We’ve yet to truly enter the war.”  

“Il a raison,” interjected Macron, agreeing with the diplomat. “Les gens ne connaissent pas la terreur.”

“I understand why you are skeptical, but the people have spoken and will not be diffused. They want to attack at first light. The death of Cato and Halloran has put them into a frenzy,” Stark urged.

Hamilton and Macron exchanged a look, a look almost unreadable to the third party. Hamilton reached forward and picked up his quill, dipping it into the ink before he took it the parchment in front of him, beginning to write out the House’s plan of attack. The state was weak in their artillery and manpower, and had very little training in the art of war, but with the fire burning so bright within them there was no chance in putting it out now.

“We don’t have the militia or the supplies to travel so far in this cold and still stand a chance against any of the Houses,” said Alexander, looking up at his confidants.

After a moment of thought, Bran spoke.

“What if we join forces with the House of Jolisyeux?”

“Seraient-ils conformes?” asked Macron, leaning back in his seat.

“Yes,” Hamilton replied, “The last word we received, they had taken a major hit to their remaining militia. They need assistance as much as we do. At the very least, they know how to put up a fight.”

“La distance,” stated Macron.

“The distance is an issue, yes,” Bran said, “but if we can form some sort of alliance with Pitre-”

“Jamais.”

“No, not never,” Alexander repeated, looking between the two men. “We have an ally in that house, one I do not take lightly calling upon, but an ally none the less. What is your plan, Stark?”

“We form an alliance with Pitre, if they allow us to cross through their kingdom, we are at the gates of Jolisyeux in less than half of the time the original route would take. We can afford to send a militia of ten out, including one of us, is this correct Hamilton?”

“Correct.”

“Then can we agree to this?”

The question hung in the air for a few moments, before Macron broke the silence.

“Je suis d’accord,” he said, and the other two followed suit. “Qui est notre allie, Hamilton?”

Hamilton sighed, a mixture of uncertainty and fear crossing over his face as he spoke, saying:

“Her name is Sophia.”

*****************

“I didn’t think it would take you so long to call on me, Alex,” said Sophia as she took a seat at the table. Three days had passed in calling for the woman, and she had arrived not even a few minutes before they retired to the Chamber. The three men sat across from her, Hamilton shifting uncomfortably in his chair, pushing back his brown locks of hair.

“I did not intend to call on you at all, Sophia. But we have a problem, and I’d like… I’d like to reconcile so that we can ask for your aid,” Hamilton replied, his discomfort obvious in his demeanor. Sophia noticed, and a smirk took to her lips at the thought.

“Come on now, Alexander, we didn’t leave off on that bad of a foot, did we?” She said, leaning forward as she rested her arms on the table. “Nothing between us was too...scandalous, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I cheated on my wife with you, Sophia. I would call that scandalous.”

“Pouvons-nous parler de nos problèmes maintenant?” Macron stepped into the conversation, drawing Hamilton back to the situation at hand. Hamilton swallowed, hard, then stood up from his seat before walking swiftly out of the room. Unphased, Bran continued the conversation.

“Miss, we have called you here today because we would like to form an alliance,” he said. Sophia laughed, leaning back casually in her seat.

“My men will never form an alliance with you,” she stated, folding her arms over her chest. “If that’s all, then I am going to le-”

Bran cut her off. “No, we do not want an alliance with them,” he said, “we want one with you.”

Sophia raised an eyebrow, curiously, sitting up straight once again at attention. “What kind of alliance?”

“We simply want your word that you will help us pass through your kingdom, unharmed, so that we may make it quickly to the House of Jolisyeux. We have business to conduct but do not have the time to spare,” said Bran.

Sophia gave a sweet smile before asking, “And what will I benefit from this alliance? I won’t just help you, you know. I want something in return.”

Bran nodded quickly. “Yes, that is understood, what can we give you? Money? Status? We can give you essentially anything that meets the same severity of our offer.”

“I want Hamilton.”

The room fell silent, the two leaders looking between each other then back at Sophia, somewhat in shock. Sophia sat undisturbed, awaiting a response.

“I’m sorry, miss, we cannot just give you Ham-”

“I want to speak with him, to reform what was once beautiful. As long as he agrees to speak with me, I will follow through with the terms of this alliance. He must agree now, he cannot wait,” she said.

The door to the chamber closed softly enough to be heard by the three at the table, catching their attention. Hamilton stood tall, staring down the woman who had wrecked his marriage, but made one night turn into the fantasy he carried around the in the forefront of his mind day and night. With a deep breath, he said, “If we must talk, we must talk Sophia. Tell my men how to get through your kingdom, and keep them safe, and I will talk.”

Sophia smiled, nodding her head.

“I will do just that.”

III.

The House of Raciste: A Powerless King

“There is so little life left within these walls, my king.”

The sound of oversized feet hitting the floor grew louder as they approached the displaced king from behind. Hitler stood by one of the windows in his bedchamber, deep in thought looking out upon what had once been his great kingdom. He had spent a lifetime working to ensure the rise of the Raciste house, and he had been so close to his goal when his uncle had finally passed. But the world that he once considered an ally turned out to be his enemy, and his once outlandish and great reign was defeated by those that he trusted.

However, with each ruthless attack, he had slowly began to take it all back.

Hitler sighed, letting the voice of the hedgehog pull him from his tormented thoughts for a few moments. “The life lost is so that we may gain. The followers of Raciste know we must take what is ours. They know we are the only ones deserving. The die as heroes, they died protecting the sanctity of this House.”

The Fuhrer turned to face the short animal, a feeling of disdain settling on his shoulders. He had never liked the thing, but due to his mother’s infidelity he was cursed with the bastard of a brother. He was an asset some of the time, but simply an ass the rest. “Do you question my authority, brother?”

Shadow nodded his head, saying, “Your weakness disgusts me.”

“Weakness?”

“Precisely.”

“I do not know what weakness you are speaking of, bastard. I believe you forget that this kingdom, this reich, this life is mine. You are only alive because I allow you to be. I am above you, in all ways, and you will speak to me as such,” Hitler said, his tone growing louder and angrier with each passing word. Among the pressure of the war and the need to take his place on his uncle’s, no- HIS throne, he could feel himself beginning to lose that last ounce of control that his body had clung to. All due to the blasphemy spewing from his own kins mouth.

“Hitler, even if I am only half of you, I am still the ultimate lifeform,” Shadow responded, his voice unwavering.

Hitler could only see red.  

“You dare speak to me as if you are the heir to any kingdom, you disgusting creature. I intend to claim back my power and when I do, you and the entirety of your race will be destroyed. I will rise from the ashes of these burnt walls and I will take back what is rightfully mine, sir. There is no man out there that may destroy what I have started and not pay me back tenfold, with his life and his land. There is no man-”

“What about a woman?”

The intensity of the argument dissipated as soon as the feminine drifted into the ears of the rival siblings. Both of their attention turned to see Sophia entering the chambers, and both men found their composure in her presence.

“My lady,” Hitler said, bowing to the woman before meeting her at the door. He took her hand and kissed it, a smile spreading underneath his mustache.

“Adolf, what am I hearing about you trying to claim your uncle’s throne?” Sophia asked, sweetness and innocence dripping from her words. She reached out and took the German’s hand in hers, leading him over to the sofa in the back of the large room. Shadow followed behind, but remained standing as the two royals took their seat.

Hitler cleared his throat before responding, saying, “It is not my uncle’s throne any longer, my love. It has been rightfully mine since his passing. These traitors have done nothing but keep what is my blood right from me for the past six months, you see?” Hitler swallowed, then said, “I know you spend much time in the Pitre kingdom, and I know you believe them to be good men, but-”

“Oh, they’re not good men,” Sophia interjected, “They’re horrible men. Almost as horrible as you. But they’re amazing when we’re in bed and I’ve yet to find that in any other kingdom. You come close, Addie, but I’m not here to discuss bedside tales.”

Agitated, Hitler lost the feeling of affection he had once had, coldly asking, “Then why have you come here?”

“I’ve come here becau- Shadow, please sit down, you make me agitated when you just stand there all broodingly,” Sophia waited for the hedgehog to take a seat on the sofa across from her and Hitler before she continued, his large feet slapping against the floor as he walked. “Anyways, I’ve come here to tell you there is nothing more you can do. The throne will never be yours, and you must stop this senseless war. If it continues, there will be nothing left to rule over, and then this all would have been for nothing.”

Shadow interjected this time, remarking, “Outnumbered, but they’re still no match.”

“You are wrong, Sophia. You have no right to come to this kingdom and tell me how to fight for it. You think you know about the war? You know nothing. You lie in that clown bed all day and wait for them to come and relieve themselves with you. You know nothing!” Hitler shouted, standing up briskly from his seat. Sophia locked eyes with him, and after a few moments, he seemed to relax, sinking to the ground in front of the blonde. He took her hand in his, looking up at her in adoration. “Forgive me, my love. You know I only act this way because you have been away. Those Pitres...they have you mislead. But stay here, be with me once again… I will never do what they have done.”

Sophia met his gaze, a small smile creeping across her lips. She gently removed her hand from his, standing slowly so she could bend over to level her face with his. Quietly, she said, “Stop fighting this war, and I will be everything you ever wanted me to be.”

 I. The House of Jolisyeux: An Ambush

“We must turn back.”

Thandruil pulled the reigns of his steed, forcing the small army of men that followed behind him to abruptly halt. Night had fallen faster than expected, and the snow that had began to fall around the militia earlier in the day had hastily built up the legs of their horses. Speed was becoming harder to maintain, and the brisk winds were colder than the night before. The sky above was overcast with thick clouds of winter, making it difficult to see even the mane of his horse that lay in front of him.

“We must turn back, we risk being ambushed,” Thandruil commanded, his eyes straining against the dark vastness of the trees around him.

A voice came from the left of Thandruil, pointed and logical, stating, “Sir, we must continue, if we do not reach the base before the next light, King Winchester will-”  

“King Winchester will understand. We cannot afford to lose anymore men, Sir Green. We turn back, now,” Thandruil ordered. No resistance followed as the men turned around. They rode for a few minutes before Green fell back to be beside Thandruil. He was silent, but the elvish lord knew his second in command well enough to know that he disagreed with his direction. He waited a moment more before speaking up, just loud enough for the comrade beside him to hear.

“I know you have complaints, Sir Green, but I must consider the will of the people before I consider the will of the aristocrats.”

“You are an aristocrat, Thandruil,” Green sneered, “Just because Lord Winchester has you parading with us miscreants, does not make you any less of what you are. You turn back because you know he cannot lead us without you. You are the valuable one, not us.”

Thandruil turned his head to look at the man beside him, but the darkness that shrouded them only left a faint outline of him.

“You know that I do not see you as a miscreant, Hank. You are so much more than that,” Thandruil said softly, reaching out to touch what he assumed was the other soldiers shoulder. He gave a small squeeze, then turned back to the blackness in front of him, knowing he would not be hearing much more from Green. The road ahead was only illuminated by the few lanterns that the militia had brought with them, and the flames were burning low as they traveled on. They knew the path well, and a feeling of ease began to fall over the group as they journeyed nearer and nearer to their home. When the clearing of the forest came into view, the first arrow plunged into the side of the soldier in the front of the party.

A scream of pain erupted from the innocents mouth, but was quickly silenced by the second arrow, which went directly into his head.

As the soldier fell, Thandruil shouted, “They’re attacking! Flee! Now!”

The men took of in separate directions: some forward, towards the gates of their realm; some into the forest beside them; and some stayed put, shocked into a paralyzed state. Thandruil and Green charged forward, racing to the gates. Thandruil shouted, calling out for the gates to be opened, hoping there was someone manning the post. It was unlikely, however, that anyone was there: the House of Jolisyeux had lost too many men in the war, and he understood how close they were to losing more.

Through the darkness, Thandruil was close enough to see the gates beginning to part, and he called for the men to return. There was no point in attempting to attack- the darkness was too thick, they were too few, and they stood no chance on the ground if their enemy was in the trees. He heard the sounds of men yelling, coming closer. He could only hope these were his men, and not the stampede of whoever ambushed them. There was no way to know- the gates were already opened, and the kingdom was already at risk. Thandruil, Green, and ten others made it past the threshold as the gates began to close. Once inside, they dismounted, using the light of the torches brought by the guards to asses who was still there.

“Call as many men as you can, search the perimeter for any intruders, and set up posts around the walls. We were ambushed, and from the looks of the arrows, it was the Raciste. I don’t expect them to try and enter, but these gates shall not be opened unless under my order,” Thandruil announced, looking over the men in front of him.

They had started out with 30 men, and now only ten stood before him. The few left spread out and followed suit to the order placed. Thandruil mounted his horse, but before he could leave, a hand grabbed his leg.

“Before you go, sir, know that I still don’t agree with your order,” said Green, looking up at the official above him. Thandruil locked eyes with the man for a moment, before simply nodding, then turning and riding deeper into the castle.

*********************

Thandruil quietly entered the Cabinet of King Winchester, slipping into the warmth of the fire-heated room. The man found the head of the kingdom at his desk, straining himself over plans of attack, economic forms, and general worries of the people. Samuel Winchester had adopted the Kingdom of Jolisyeux from King John Jolisyeux at the age of 16, a day after the king, his grandfather, died from syphilis. He had ruled fairly for seven years- his house was neutral, war was never supposed to be at the forefront of his plans. But here it was, and the weight of the lives lost weighed on the young king’s shoulders, as if he was carrying the bodies of the innocent souls every hour of every day.

Thandruil had been the right hand man to Winchester since the day he was born- he knew everything there was to know about the man since he could form thought. He was only a year older, but a year could mean so much more in the world they were forced into. They considered each other brothers, and it brought Thandruil great pain to deliver the news to his kin of the attack. Winchester noticed Thandruil within a few moments, and a small smile of comfort graced his face for a moment, before the sternness and stress fell back into place.

“Why are you here, brother?” The king said. It was not a question, but an order to be answered to. Thandruil swallowed before answering.

“The snowfall became too great for the militia, we could not see, and I knew we were heading into enemy territory completely blind. I ordered a retreat. We were ambushed right outside of the gates. We lost twenty men, including Cato and Caligula.”

“Caligula,” Winchester repeated quietly. Caligula was a well regarded man within the walls of Jolisyeux. He was the best strategist the kingdom had, and the only man the king trusted to look over any plans he made regarding the war. He had accompanied the militia that night to execute his plan to attack the camp set up by the House of Raciste. However, the Raciste had been two steps ahead of them. The king regained his composure after a moment, setting back his shoulders and pushing back his brown locks, looking up to meet his friends eyes. “The blame of this loss does not fall on your shoulders, Thandruil. The House of Raciste knew we were coming. Not even Caligula had calculated that. You were lucky to come out with any men at all. We will recover from this. We must not alert the people of Caligula’s death, not yet. They’ve taken too much as it is, we need-”

“Sam, our ranks are decreasing every time we leave the gates. Eventually, there will be nothing left of this kingdom. Men have stopped stepping up to go out, it is a death wish to even put on the armor. I believe if we tell the people of Caligula’s passing… I believe they will be more inclined to rise up,” Thandruil interjected, his pale face developing a blush.

Winchester leveled his eyes with his friends, shooting up an eyebrow in question. “What makes you so certain the people will not revolt against us instead? We’ve taken their fathers, husbands, brothers- we have taken their families and ripped them apart. And now we have taken the only political figure they still respect in this time of desperation. You truly believe that they will not rise up and destroy us instead, Thandruil? After everything we’ve done to these people?”

Thandruil took another deep breath, trying to calm the nerves in his body. He understood where the king was speaking from, he had thought of the consequences as well. But there only hope of one last working army lied in the hands of the surviving few, and this was the last hope.

“I believe the people will either rise against us, or fight back with the will they have left. Either way, we will most likely die in the end, my king. I would rather willing die at the hands of our people, than watch our people die willingly at the hands of the enemy.”

The king seemed to process the words for a few moments before he nodded, then turned away from his friend.

“We will tell the people at daybreak. Let them slay us before breakfast, as to build up their appetite.”

Thandruil nodded, then as quietly as he entered, he left the Cabinet.

II.House of Pitre: Womanly Assets

Sophia rolled over in bed, coming face to face with her sleeping lover. His orange-tufted hair and white painted skin enamored her, and she spent a few passing seconds to admire him. Pennywise was not as great of a leader as his brother, Alexander, but he was nothing short of a fantastic lover. He was animalistic, almost to the point of murderous on some occasions. But she thrived off of it, and it was why she chose to reside within the House of Pitre.  

While she roamed through many different castle walls and enjoyed the games of many different kings and lords, she found herself drawn the the chaos that followed the clown she called a lover. And on the nights that she simply couldn’t handle the insanity that followed the man, she found herself in the arms of Alexander. Stoic, yet attractive and fit, he was the perfect kind of calm- he always looked as if he was on the verge of mass murder, but he was gentle, and the mix of the two traits never ceased to amaze her.  

The two brothers made quite the pair during the war. Sophia had spent many days sitting in the Great Hall while the two hashed out plans with other diplomats and lords, and the way they worked together was demonic. Pennywise was the greatest fear of anyone who entered, and he made it so that their adversaries did not leave feeling unthreatened. Alex was the calmer of the two, but he had the stature of a man that was not to be played a fool. And anyone who tried to play him a fool would be paid a visit from his brother.

As Sophia looked upon the man beside her, she felt the other brother roll over on the other side of her, turning to face her. He reached out and placed an arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him as he slept. She slid her hand across the sheets of the bed and moved them into the scraggly mess that was Pennywise’s hair. He woke at her touch, and smiled that sadistic smile she had come to love.

“Hiya Sophie,” he said sleepily, and she smiled at him as he said, “want to come play with me?”

Just as she started to move from Alexander’s grasp, the doors to the bed chamber opened, and briskly walked in the man that the brothers referred to as, The Joker. He was the head of their military, and he always had some kind of news for her men.

“My lords,” he said, “I hope not to interrupt anything too serious, but there has been an update.”

Alexander woke beside her, and sat up in bed at the same time as his brother. Sophia remained lying down, awaiting the announcement.

“Out with it, Joker,” Alexander said.

The Joker cleared his throat, unrolled the paper he had in his hand, and began to read aloud. “The House of Jolisyeux has been ambushed. They’re almost entirely out of men to defend themselves. The House of Raciste plans to attack at dawn,” The Joker rolled the paper back up, then spoke directly. “If we do not intervene and take over the House of Jolisyeux, Raciste will have the upperhand. Our army is not nearly as small as Jolisyeux’s, but we have taken many hits, and we won’t be able to defend ourselves against Raciste if they grow any larger in power.”

“Who told ya this, Joker?” Pennywise chimed in.

“A spy within the House of Raciste delivered the news about an hour ago,” The Joker replied. Sophia looked between the two brothers as they looked at one another, and without saying a word, they seemed to have formed a plan. Alexander spoke first:

“Get the men together, Pennywise. We have a kingdom to invade.”

Pennywise laughed as he jumped out of bed, dressing quickly as he left the room. Sophia looked to Alexander, and he met her blue-eyed gaze.

“Why, exactly, are we at war again?” she asked. “Are we not just fighting this war for ourselves? It feels like we are gaining nothing and losing everything.”

Alexander nodded, processing her statement, before carefully replying with, “We fight this war for the power of the Throne of Siege. When King Siege died, the power should have gone to his eldest son. But Siege had no sons, so the next in line was his nephew, Hitler Raciste, the head of the House of Raciste. Many kingdoms didn’t want him in power, ours included, because of his ideas. He was a tyrannical nightmare. So that’s why the war began, and it will not end until the rest of these kingdoms have been destroyed, and only one remains.”

Sophia nodded, she then sat up and slid out of bed, searching for her clothing to put on. Alexander stood as well, asking her what she was planning on doing.

“Well,” she said, “if we’re going to be attempting to take this throne, I have a few men I need to visit in a few other kingdoms.”

thanks @incarnite for the request!

----------------------------------------------------------------

It had always been like a game to Dean.

He and Sam would find a lead, follow it, and eventually find the source of whatever monster or demon was fucking with what should have been a quiet, sleepy town in the middle of nowhere. The game was in finding out who would show up to gank the thing first: he and Sam, or her. 

For years this had been the pattern. Every once in a while she would beat him there, sometimes she would even have the job already done, and the brothers would pull up to find her, patiently waiting for their arrival. Other times, she would be the one to show up last, but she would almost always have to step in and save the day. 

Over the years, she had developed a sort of friendship with the brothers. Sam would invite her to eat after a hunt, and Dean would use any opportunity to ask her what the hell she had been thinking, how did she find them- he’d say anything besides thank you. That was always a part of the game in Dean’s eyes too; with every question and accusation, she’d throw out a sarcastic sentiment. 

“You know if you keep showing up like this you’re going to get us killed.” 

“Wow, (Y/N), thanks so much for you help! We couldn’t have done it without you!”

“You’re a damn idiot for just jumping in there like that, (Y/N)!”

“You want to buy my meal for being such a valuable asset today? That’s so kind of you, Dean!”

He’d never admit it to her, but he enjoyed it, to a certain extent. She royally pissed him off in every sense of the phrase, but she had an effect on him that he couldn’t overlook. And he knew she was well aware of what she did to him, which pissed him off even more. Half of the time he could barely look her in the eye from across the table in whatever two-star diner the three of them had settled into after a hunt.

However, tonight wasn’t a game. Tonight had turned from almost enjoyable to literal hell on Earth so fast that the brothers almost hadn’t noticed a difference. 

When Dean and Sam had pulled up to the inhabitable house on the outskirts of Bumfuck, Nowhere, hoping to kill whatever was luring locals in and dismembering them with relative ease, they found that she had beat them to the chase. I small pang of anger, and some other feeling that Dean didn’t have the time to process, hit him when they pulled up behind her beat up Toyota. As he made his way inside, walking through the already busted-down door, Dean was considering all of the different ways he could convey his frustrations later when the trio sat down to eat. 

However, his thought process was cut short when he and Sam entered what must have been a kitchen some years ago. There she were, standing dead center of the room, back to the brothers. 

“(Y/N), what the hell are you doing?” Dean said, ready to verbally rip her in two. Just as he was gearing up to let it out, Sam stopped him. 

“Something’s wrong, Dean,” Sam said, his eyes locked on her immobile frame. “(Y/N)?”

She still hadn’t moved. The only light in the room came from Sam’s flashlight, which was focused on the back of her head, waiting for her to turn around. 

“What’s going on, (Y/N)?” Sam said, raising his voice as if she weren’t ten feet in front of him. 

At this point, Dean had shifted from angry to somewhere between concerned and unsure. He took a step forward, and by the time he had put his foot back down on the ground, she had gone from standing still to being face to face with the elder Winchester. 

Dean, who could never look her directly in the eye, was now staring her down. He wasn’t looking at her, though. Where her eyes should have been were now glazed over in black, and Dean realized exactly what was wrong.

“(Y/N)?” He sputtered out, before she lashed out, shoving him headfirst into the ground. The last thing in Dean’s vision were the eyes; the black pools that replaced the green that he had wished he had looked at more often.

----------------------------------------------------

When Dean finally came to, it took him a moment to register what exactly was happening in front of him.

The first thing he noticed was the pounding headache that seemed to originate from the back of his head. Next, he registered Sam, who was towering above him, shining a flashlight in his face. 

“Dean? Are you okay?” He said, concern spreading over his features. Dean sat up, only then realizing he was lying on the ground. Once he recognized his surroundings, everything came flooding back. 

“Where’s (Y/N)? Where the hell is she?” he demanded, rushing to stand. 

“I’m right here, Dean,” said a familiar voice, somewhere in the darkness in front of him. Dean grabbed the flashlight from Sam, shining it in the direction of the noise. 

The flashlight gleamed off of the eyes of whatever was possessing her, and while the idea of expressing emotion was the most foreign concept to the elder Winchester, every feeling he had ever been able to feel came over him. He wanted to lash out, attack the thing that was impersonating one of two people he cared about. Because damn it, he did care. He didn’t know when he had started or even why, but he knew there was no way he could let this thing just take over. 

At some point while Dean was out, Sam had subdued her enough to have her surrounded by a circle of salt. 

“You’re not (Y/N) you fuck,” was the only thing Dean could muster. He turned around and pointed the flashlight to the ground, frantically searching for the duffel he had carried in with him. He needed the book, he had to get the demon out, he had to save her this time, he had to-

“Dean,” Sam said, stopping Dean’s flow of thought. Dean’s head whipped around, and he pointed the flashlight at his brother, who was holding the very thing he needed. 

“Let me do it,” Dean said as he ripped the book from Sam’s hands. He flipped the over-used, bookmarked page, and came as close to the salt circle as possible. 

She lifted her head and made eye contact with him, a sick smile spreading across her face. Dean took one look at the demon in front of him, and started to read.

-------------------------------------------------------

“You know, you can finally say you saved the day this time, Winchester,” she said through a mouthful of fries, a small smile on her face.

She, Sam, and Dean were seated comfortably in the back of a local diner, enough food on the table to feed an army, but not nearly enough to feed the three of them. Dean looked across the table, making eye contact with her for what seemed like the thousandth time that night. He couldn’t help but feel somewhat relieved every time he looked up to see a normal set of eyes looking back at him.

The exorcism had taken forever. The screams that ranged between demonic and screams of human pain were still ringing in his ears, even a day after, but when finally exorcised, her limp body on the rotting wooden floor of the house was all Dean could think about. 

The boys had taken her back to their motel to recover. It took her a day to come to and assess the real damage to her person, and besides a few aches and pains, the only issue she had was an extreme craving for something greasy. None of them had talked about what had happened until that moment in the diner. Dean responded with, “You owe me for it, (Y/N). Better start thinking of ways to pay me back.”

A look that Dean couldn’t quite register flashed across her face before she said, “I could think of a few ways.”

“You guys are fucking disgusting,” Sam interjected, and Dean straightened up, removing all emotion from his face as he focused intently back on his food. 

She and Sam picked up a conversation, and he only looked up once, making eye contact with her one more time. 

what kind of fanfiction do you write?

self-insert x dean 

do you write anything besides self-inserts?

not currently, but maybe in the future!

can i request a fic with sam/cas/other characters?

no, i currently only write dean fics. sorry!

what kind of fanfics can i request?

anything!* songs based fics, random au’s, original ideas, anything you want! make sure to let me know if you do not want to be credited in the post, otherwise I will include your url when I post!

*** I will not write anything along the lines of rape, molestation, sexual abuse, or anything that could be considered hateful in regards to other races/sexuality/genders. If you have a question about a fic idea that you’re unsure of, please just ask!

how often do you post?

whenever my schedule allows me to at the moment.