PlaylistAnon

But She was hunched over a large piece of paper, a pen gripped tightly in Her hand, scribbling like a crazy kid in a horror movie. The table was covered in similar papers, a few having even floated down to the floor, and Dean sighed.

He knelt down to pick one up, his fingers curling into the material.

It was a figure. A blacked figure that seemed to be dripping tar, in the shape of a human, but hollow pits where eyes were supposed to be and no defining features at all. Dean folded the paper up, tucked it in his jacket, and set down the takeout he’d gone all the way into downtown to get.

“Princess.” He crossed the room like he was approaching a wildcat, muttering Her name when she didn’t look up. “C’mon. It’s dinner.”

He placed gentle hands on Her shoulder, crowding her from behind, and she paused. That was something. Better than Her just grumbling an I’m not hungry and continuing to draw like she’d been possessed.

Dean sort of wished they hadn’t told Her everything about Edgar and the Leviathans. She’d spent the whole five days on ordered bed-rest—Her injury healing as freakishly fast as always, but still needing time to heal—researching, and wasn’t showing any sign of slowing now. But that was an old habit that wasn’t going to die easy, but it was also a bad one. Dean was already keeping one pretty damn big secret from Her. He didn’t keep to worsen that by lying through his teeth, and he didn’t need to taint the sweetness they’d fallen into by dragging them both back into old grounds. The ones they’d tread forever, lying to each other for safety.

He didn’t love leaving only to come back to Her acting like a mental patient. But She was his mental patient. And at least he got to come back to Her at all.

“Hey.” Dean leaned down, kissing the top of Her head.

She stilled entirely, slumping back into his touch, and he grinned.

“What’re you drawing?”

“Leviathans.” She mumbled, tracing over the frantic lines on the paper. “I’m trying to remember what I saw in Alabama, but- It was weeks ago now. I might be making things up, and Bobby say the one you talked to just looked like a guy-“

“A creepy guy.” Dean offered. “He makes your bones all cold and itchy. Like- Evil freakin’ motel ice.”

Sam’s head shot up from his computer with a deep frown. “You didn’t tell us that, Dean-“

“I was trying to remember the shit he said, not how he made me all gross and tingly- In a bad way.” He kissed the little wrinkle in Her brow quickly. “Nothing gets me going like you, sweetheart, you know that.”

Her lips twitched slightly, and Jo made a dramatic gagging sound from the counter. Dean just shot her a glare, was met with a smirk, and was stopped from being snapped at by Cas popping into the kitchen right behind him.

“Fuckin’- Cas-“ Dean grunted as Indy’s tail smacked him in the face. “Jesus Christ- “

She whistled, and Indy clambered off Cas’ shoulders, over Dean’s chest, a right into Her lap. She stroked the dragon’s spine, looking up to Cas with raised brows, and Cas smiled at her.

“We met the winds and candies. She ate the sky, but I am still turned to an island. We weren’t able to get higher. But we could have. Without the guns.”

“The guns-“

“Angels.” She muttered, dragging another notebook forward. “They can’t fly too high. Restricted airspace.”

Cas nodded solemnly, looking to Dean. “But we broke the clouds. We almost became like you, Dean.”

“Uh… Because I ignore trespassing signs?”

“No. You wished to be on another planet, as a boy. You love the worlds, and they love you back-“

“Cas.” She tapped the paper, a faint flush on Her cheeks. “Was Indy still breathing fire up there, or something else.”

He frowned. “She was not concerned with war. We took what the air gave us.”

“No, you were supposed to-“ She shook Her head, letting out a slow breath. “Never mind. Thank you.”

Cas nodded, and Dean leaned further over Her shoulder, trying to read her tight, scribbling words.

“Inky dancing California?” He frowned at Her, and she whacked his shoulder.

“Indy dragon Category.”

“Ah. Course.” It was not of course. Dean loved Her to death, and after, and all over again, but the woman had horrible handwriting. Her brain moved too fast for Her hand, and sometimes he thought She was moonlighting as a doctor behind their backs. “Why are we thinking about dragon categories?”

“We’re trying to figure out what breed Indy is.” She crossed a few things out, and Indy cooed happily, her ears perking up at the sound of her own name.

“There are different breeds?” Dean leaned down to scratch Indy’s horns, and Sam nodded.

“Dragons aren’t monster monsters, like vamps or ghosts. Those ones have variations more like race, dragons are like- Actual animals. There are different kinds, but all our texts are limited, so we have to patch what’s fake from what’s actual documentation, and- Get this, dragons are actually the easy one.” Sam beckoned Dean over, turning his laptop to the side, and Dean leaned over to squint at the screen.

There was a massive, color-coded spreadsheet, with a few basic things Dean understood—locations, monsters he recognized, hunter names and words like spiny and wet—but there rest of it might as well have been written in damn Greek.

“What am I looking at?” He asked, and Sam sighed.

“We’re compiling a list, Dean. Everything we know got out of purgatory, what kind of species and breeds people have run into, if they’re hostile or only attack if provoked, how they should be approached by hunters, like- If it’s possible for a solo hunt, or you’re going to need backup.”

“And how to placate them.” She added, frowning at the air. “If they’re docile or neutral. Most of these things are like Indy, they’re just fancy animals. Endangered animals. If we can avoid hunting them back into extinction…”

She trailed off, and Dean grunted. He might’ve argued that God wouldn’t just banish whole species for shits and giggles, if he didn’t know God was a massive dickhead, and he hadn’t run into that Unicorn family. It had backed down, when he’d explained the situation. But he had bonded with Dean. Because Dean was a deviant, apparently strong enough for a unicorn’s attention.

He glanced back to Her, pressing his lips in a small, tight line. As cool as it had been to have a unicorn bow to him or whatever, he was really trying not to be a deviant anymore. She deserved better than some sex-crazed, drunk loser. If She was choosing Dean, she’d want him to be the strong, chivalrous shadow of a knight She’d always deserved. The version of him that lined up with his silent oath, to always take care of Her. The type of man that even Dad wouldn’t have been able to find a fault in, that wouldn’t have needed to be bailed out of jail or steal food. A good man.

Dean couldn’t change what he’d been, as much as he silently wished he could. If he wasn’t such a dumb fucking ass, maybe they could’ve been doing this six years ago. If he hadn’t stuck his dick in most anything with a hole, She wouldn’t have ever worried that his gaze would wander, even if he’d only ever thought of Her while he chased any high. He was pretty sure She understood now, that Dean was pushing past his deviant days. He was from the mud, but he was trying to clean up. They were courting—he’d been secretly reading Her romance books, to study, and they weren’t half bad but man, they used some weird language—and he was so damn happy with that, they could wait another ten years to have sex again.

If Dad came back today, he wouldn’t recognize Dean as the trash cobbled, sweat-stained disaster of a son he’d had to beat discipline into. He wouldn’t recognize a lot of things about Dean, but that was the one he wanted to focus on. Clean hair that She’d cut last night, trying to care about the nerd shit She and Sammy were doing, no bruises or cuts from fight and no sickly stench of sex or booze on his body. He’d have a beer with dinner, or his head would start to really damn hurt. But that was it. He was in control.

She was holding the back of his thigh and pressing Her face near his torso, but Dean was in control. He bit down his boner, and the urge to just grab Her and carry her up to the room. Bend Her over the dress and show her just what it felt like to be teased like that, because he was certain She had no fucking clue what it did to him. But he was in control. And he wasn’t a deviant anymore.

His thoughts hadn’t caught up with the instinct. Or his urges. Or every bloody and bruised and angry part of him that didn’t want to be a gentleman. That looked at Her—being all sweet and pretty and soft—and remembered how She’d whined for him, and craved to hear that whine again. To make Her so fucked out and blissful her fingers would be trembling too much to hold a pen, to show Her the comfort that the mud offered—because it was dirty and low, but still warm, coating over Dean’s skin his whole life like a shield from harsh, daggered things—so that She’d never want to leave.

He’d been getting a new nightmare. One where he had Her like this, and then She decided that Dad had been right. That Sammy had been right. That every time She’d left him, she should’ve stayed away for good. They might be soulmates, but Dean didn’t get to have a claim over Her. It was one of the reasons he still hadn’t told Her. If She wanted out, he never wanted to shackle Her to the sewer pipe of a man that he was.

Well, he kind of did.

But those were the exact damn deviant instincts he wasn’t supposed to be giving into.

“We’ve got a lot of things already.” Sam was still talking about the spreadsheet. They’d worked hard on it, so Dean nodded along, pretending he cared a little more than he actually did. It wasn’t that he didn’t like knowing the lore. Just felt pointless sometimes, when he knew he was just a rusted blade She and Sammy were going to point to something, so he could rip it apart in their name.

“Uh huh.” He squinted at the screen. Unicorns. Loch Ness Monsters (new name needed? Not in Loch Ness), Rusalka, Mandurugo, Leviathans, Dragons- “No phoenixes?”

“Those weren’t banished.” She muttered, twisting a ring on Her finger. “They were killed off. There are still none left.”

Dean frowned. That was a lie. He didn’t know where the hell the lie was—weird thing to lie about, too—but it was one. He didn’t  get to push her, though, before the front door slammed, and Eileen and Claire stumbled into the kitchen.

He’d sent them back out to get the drinks he forgot. He liked Eileen enough to let her drive baby—especially only for ten minutes—and he liked even more how Sammy started smoothing his hair and sitting up taller when she appeared in the door.

She’d told him, about Eileen calling the kid short. Even if she hadn’t been helpful the past week with research and hunter dispatch, that alone made Dean like her enough to be trusted with Claire and Baby. He wished he’d been there when it happened. He sort of wanted her to do it again, just to take a photo of Sammy’s face for blackmailing.

He was sure he’d get a chance later. Even right now, Sam was red and wide-eyed as Eileen moved through the room. Dean had caught him looking up sign language a few days ago, miming and mumbling under his breath.

Fucking loser.

“Six pack and Arizona Mango Tea.” Eileen said, Claire holding up each item as it was listed. “Gatorade, root beer, Fanta orange soda.”

Dean frowned. “Who the hell got a Fanta-“

“Me!” Claire grinned, and Dean narrowed his eyes.

“You didn’t ask, kid-“

“De.” She squeezed his forearm, and he looked down to Her soft, amused smile. “It’s a soda.”

“’S not good for your teeth-“

“I drink them.”

“Yeah, but- You’re magic-“

“Maybe I’m magic.” Claire said haughtily, passing Sam his Gatorade and Rowena her tea. “I’ve never gotten a cavity-“

“That you know about.” Dean grunted, taking his beer. “You think you got perfect teeth, then suddenly there’s a mad angel telling you that you need to let some stranger stick his hand in your damn mouth-“

“You have to brush your teeth right after dinner.” She cut Dean off, and Claire nodded.

“Deal. Take that.” She stuck her tongue out at Dean as she opened the Fanta and he sighed.

“Whatever. When we go to the dentist I’m not paying.”

“Who’s goin’ to the dentist?” Bobby asked, walking into the kitchen with Jody on his tail, and She shrugged.

“Nobody. Any progress at the library-“

“Nothin’ since I last told you. We got, uh- Sidetracked.”

Dean raised his brows, exchanging a small look with Sam. Everyone got sidetracked. It usually didn’t end with unbuttoned shirts and red faces.

Felt best not to point it out. She didn’t need that picture in Her head, any more than Bobby didn’t need the one of Dean pinning Her to a wall and fingering her until her legs gave out, Her hand wrapped around Dean’s wrist as She moaned, eyes fluttering and mouth hanging open in a pretty O-

Dean mentally slapped himself. Those were deviant thoughts. The exact kind he was really goddamn trying not to have.

He let himself keep a hand on Her, though, as they got ready for dinner. Brushing the crook of Her elbow, holding Her hips while she cleaned up the table like he was some anchor and she was leaning over a cliff, resting his hand on Her knee under the table while they ate. Everyone was mostly invested in the food—good, Dean hadn’t spent a small fortune on that expensive Chinese place for no one to appreciate it—which meant Dean just got to watch Her, and nobody was going to complain about it.

She looked tired. There were lines under Her eyes, and a slight slump to Her shoulders, but nothing dangerous. No restless fidgeting, no scratching at Her own wrists, no gripping Her throat or tugging on Dean’s amulet under her shirt.

It always shot a small bit of white-hot pride through him, to see the leather cord under Her shirt. Paired with the ring she was keeping on Her finger—her ring finger, like she thought it could be what Dean wanted it to be—he had to drag back thoughts of just attaching himself to Her with needles and kisses. There was a small hickey, peeking out from under Her collar. She’d covered the rest of them up with makeup, but left that one, and Dean wanted to drag his thumb over it. She how She’d shiver and look at him with glossy, pleading and nervous eyes. She was still so damn bad at just kissing him, but it was adorable to watch her think about.

She’d pout and stare at him like he was supposed to read Her mind. If She was touching Dean, Her fingers would curl like she wanted to drag him forward, but was already so dazed she couldn’t find the strength. If Dean was touching Her, her whole body would shake and lean towards his, like she couldn’t even fight the gravity that had sent Dean crashing into Her before they even met.

Or at least, it felt like before they’d even met. He certainly knew it had been there after, and they’d been so young he might just not care to think about a time before Her, but some very deep, vital part of him—just to the right of his heart—was certain there had never been color in the world before Her, and if there had been it had all been dull lines, waiting for Her to show up and fill them in.

And now that Dean had Her, the world was vibrant. He reached up and wiped a little orange sauce from Her lip, and it was glowing like amber. Maybe it was that Silver light from Her soul, leaking out. Maybe it was just Her smile and flush, sparking everything else like kindling. Dean didn’t really care. He just knew everything tasted better, when She blinked at him like he could never do any wrong in the world.

“I have to be out early tomorrow.” Jody was telling Bobby. “They need extra hands at the airport, with all the disappearances.”

Her head shot over like someone had blown a whistle. “Disappearances? What disappearances?”

“Bunch of people have been vanishing in the middle of the oceanic flights.” Jody sighed. “News is saying they’re getting abducted, government is saying it’s some weird terrorist attack, but-“

“It can’t be a terrorist attack if it’s just one person vanishing.” She said quickly. “That doesn’t make any sense. And- Eileen.” She turned, probably making sure Eileen could see Her lips move. “Is that something you’ve seen before? Or that the Men of Letters might know about?”

Eileen shook her head. “No. Only cases I worked with those assholes were on land, when we had to. And if they do know now, they’re not telling me.”

She nodded slowly, glancing over to Rowena, who shook her head before She even spoke.

“I don’t pay attention to human news. That shite could’ve been happening since planes were made, I wouldn’t know, or care.”

“Well, it ain’t been happening since planes were made.” Bobby grunted. “It’s been all over the news, kiddo, you really ain’t seen it?”

“I’ve been busy.” She mumbled, glancing back to Jody. “Are there any survivors? People who come back?”

“A few. But all the reports I’ve read are mostly redacted, and everyone I know who’s met them said they were talking crazy. I haven’t gotten a chance to sit in on an interview myself, though. Yet.” Jody sighed. “But six have happened in our own damn airport, so maybe I’m getting the chance tomorrow.”

Claire sat up in her chair. “Oh, cool, can I come-“

“You’re not goin’ to an airport.” Dean grunted. “Those things are death traps.”

“Dean’s afraid of planes.” Sam whispered loudly, and Dean kicked him under the table.

“You’re afraid of clowns, bitch. Those don’t even kill anyone.”

“Some do! And- Planes are safer than cars, like, statistically-“

“Clowns aren’t as dangerous as books, statistically.”

“You’re just making things up, Dean, that’s not how statistics work-“

“You’re afraid of clowns?” Eileen cut in, staring at Sam. The kid went red, gaping like a damn fish, and Dean cleared his throat.

“Oh, yeah. He has been since we were kids, think he wet his bed ‘cause of nightmares about them-“

“Dean-“

“It’s okay, Sammy. We got you potty trained now.”

Dean grinned as Sam gave him a murderous glare, and Eileen tilted her head slowly. She hummed, and looked back to her food. Dean might about to be strangled over the table, but son of a bitch, it was worth it for the look on Sam’s face-

“Stop bullying him.” She hit Dean’s leg with a pointed glare, and he rolled his eyes.

“He started it-“

“Dean Winchester.”

Dean sighed, slumping in his chair and looking back to his food. She looked over to Jody, obviously about to press for more answers about the flight thing, but Bobby cut her off with firm words.

“You got ‘bout a week before school starts again, Claire. You need somethin’ to do, we can find an activity that ain’t a felony. Hell knows we’re all committing ‘bout fifty of them just by sitting here.”

Jody laughed, and Dean glanced over with a frown.

“Really? Kinda early for school, isn’t it-“

“No. Late August is normal.” Sam shrugged, poking at his broccoli. “You just know everything about school from TV, Dean.”

“Hey, I went to school-“

“Aren’t you a dropout?” Claire hummed, and Dean scowled.

“I had to focus on hunting. Didn’t have time for essays and lab reports.”

“Oh, can I drop out to focus on hunting-“

“No.”

She, Dean, and Bobby all said it at the same time, and Claire slumped with an exaggerated sigh.

“But school sucks. I can’t even bring my friends over here, it makes me weird!”

Eileen raised her hand, signing something with her mouth full. Dean glanced over to Sammy, and found him leaning forward with a tight, focused expression. Dean smirked.

“It’s a public school. Bobby could homeschool her, technically, but-“ She sighed, signing back as She spoke. “I don’t know. Claire, I really think it’s important for you to have this-“

“I didn’t do school.” Jo drawled, a noodle falling out of her mouth. “And I turned out fantastic. Only one here who did do school is Sammy, and he’s a fuckin’ loser-“

“Hey.” Sam frowned. “I got into Stanford-“

“Uh huh. And you’re still sittin’ here with all the dropouts.”

“I finished school.” Rowena cut in, tone bored and haughty, and Bobby snorted.

“What was it back in the day, count ten fuckin’ pigs and learn how to sew?”

Rowena scowled, and Claire’s eyes widened.

“Can I go to pig school-“

“You can do whatever you want, dearie.” Rowena hummed. “If you were to stay home, I could help you learn the ways of the witch-“

“Rowena.” She snapped, spinning Her fork in her hands, and Rowena rolled her eyes.

“I think you could bring people over here, Claire.” Jody interjected, voice more measured than pretty much anyone else’s. “If we cleaned up a bit, and-“

“Got rid of all the jars full of eyes?” Dean drawled, and She sat up.

“No, I need those-“

“Joking, Princess.” He squeezed Her thigh, giving Jody a pointed expression. “Look, I’m not saying we should stop making her go to school, but the kid’s got a point. She can’t bring civilians around her, we’ve got wards all over the property, and angel wandering around the yard gathering mushrooms, guns in every room, and a dragon eating out of a damn dog bowl.”

Bobby sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Dean’s right. House is becoming a damn magic motel, too, I’m runnin’ out of rooms. We’re lucky I got such a big place, otherwise I woulda had to saddle Eileen on the couch-“

“She could’ve had my room.” Sam said quickly, and Dean barely bit down a snort.

Sam wouldn’t fit on the couch, and he damn wellknew it. But Dean caught the hopeful glance in Eileen’s direction, Sam’s attention almost perked like a damn dog as he prayed for her to notice his dumb, pointless sacrifice. Nobody needed him to sleep on the couch. Eileen already had her own room.

But Dean knew that expression. He knew it from the mirror. He had years of experience, saying things like I’ll go first as they walked down a dark hallway, of his leg bouncing restlessly after he loudly declared that he could sleep on the floor or take the shower last. Of staring at Her, hoping She’d look up and swoon like a movie. Say wow, so handsome and kind of you, Dean. Do you want to get married right now?

She still didn’t do that now, but She came pretty close when Dean silently grabbed her plate and cleared it. Sam opened his mouth, ready to offer the same for Eileen.

Eileen cleared her own plate without a glance in Sam’s direction. Dean liked her. He hoped she stuck around for a while, if only so he could keep watching Sam squirm like a little bitch.

At least he’d never been that pathetic. Dean had been completely devoted to Her, but he’d been able to hide it pretty damn well. She’d never had a single clue, that every time they went on a hunt Dean was trailing after Her like a dog. That, like Indy waiting near the sink for scrapes, he’d been silently whining in his chest that She’d just give him one spared glance, one smile, one giggle at a stupid joke that would make him feel like a titan among men. He’d stood as close as he was allowed, until She’d never thought twice about it. 

Sam was just being obvious.

“So, um- If you filter it like this you can see all the ways we know how to kill them-“

“I am deaf. I can still read.” Eileen was looking up at him flatly, and Dean bit back a snort.

Sam blushed. “Yeah, but- Sorry. There’s just a lot here. You can poke around all you want. I can answer any questions-“

“I don’t have questions.”

“Right. Sorry.” Sammy was trying to sign as he spoke. Dean might not speak any himself, but he was pretty damn sure Sam wasn’t batting a thousand based on Eileen’s amused expression.

He smirked, watching Sam fumble with the back of his own chair, staring at Eileen like he was waiting to be dismissed. Slowly and carefully, he pulled out his phone and angled it at the kid’s pathetic face. He needed some ammunition, after the whole saferoom shit. Jo was—and remained—impossible to blackmail. Which left the brunt of revenge to Sam.

Dean knew he wasn’t supposed to be pissed at them about that. Not when it had worked out, and he was lying in bed with Her like he’d always wanted. But the two buttheads had gotten lucky. She’d still had an episode, when they’d closed that door. And it was more the principle, of not locking people in damn rooms.

Plus, Sammy wasn’t just going to get away with mooning all over a girl after giving Dean shit for years. And Dean had been right to moon. Sure, Eileen was cool—nice features, pretty badass, mouthy in a way Dean could appreciate—but no one was Her.

She was gorgeous, in the single lamplight of their room. Like a goddess, with glowing skin and flyaway hairs that gave the impression of a halo. She’d showered first, while Dean had been walking Indy with Clarie and Cas—which had been as productive and amusing as always—and changed into one of Dean’s flannels. She was sitting on top of the blankets with Her legs crossed, and he could see the fabric riding up to reveal Her perfect ass, only slightly covered by black underwear Dean wanted to rip off with his teeth. He’d returned all the other ones he took, deciding that—as long as She didn’t ask—he never needed to say aloud what he’d done with them. Especially while they’d still been fighting, and the unendingly hungry, perverted little fucker who lived in his head couldn’t be warded off by just hugging and kissing Her.

Dean had countless fantasies, about what he’d like to do to Her right now. Just off the top of his head, he could spread Her legs and bury his face in Her core, smelling like some street dog being given scraps from a five-star restaurant. He could crawl over Her and bully her gently down to the mattress with kisses, feeling her turn to breathless, needy putty under his hands. He could just hug Her and palm at her breasts until her head tipped back on his shoulder, and She was giving him those sexy, begging eyes, Her lip wobbling with desire. Desire for Dean.

That he was still earning. Still proving he really deserved, and that She hadn’t chose wrong. That’s where Dean had years of practice on Sammy. Patience.

He didn’t need more than this. This was already miles ahead of what he thought he’d ever be allowed to have. And when Dean would do anything for Her—from waiting on Her like a glorified sex-butler to making himself into a shield to keep Her here, in their small room, where God wouldn’t be able to take Her without dragging Dean up to Heaven too—keeping himself on a leash for a while longer wasn’t that big an ask.

Now She was over Her laptop with that little focused wrinkle in Her brow, lips pulled into a little pout Dean just wanted to kiss right away. He’d rested his head on Her thigh, not bothering to hide the adoration that was almost spilling out of him like an overfilled, boiling pot. She had Her fingers mindlessly brushing through his hair, and Dean was allowed to trace his hand up Her side, mapping every curve and soft spot of Her body, noting where Her breath hitched slightly, her gaze going briefly unfocused when his thumb brushed under Her breast-

“De.” She glared down at him, and he just grinned.

“Hey, Princess.” He  pulled his hand away, gently taking Her’s and kissing her knuckles. “What’s up?”

Her brow furrowed deeper, and She just sighed, looking back to her laptop. Dean chuckled, sitting up and wrapping his arm around Her stomach, dragging her into his lap as he settled against the headboard. She didn’t fight him, just let Dean handle Her like a doll, and he kissed under Her jaw with a wide grin.

Trust. That was trust. She trusted him, to handle Her right.  

“What’re we doing?” He murmured in Her ear, and She sighed.

“I’m looking into that thing Jody mentioned. It really sounds like out type of case, I don’t know why she didn’t tell me sooner-“

“I got a guess.” He drawled, holding his watch up. “’S past midnight, y’know.”

She just hummed, wiggling against Dean’s chest. Her ass was almost bare, rubbing right against his crotch, and he swallowed down a hiss. If She noticed how his hand flexed, pulling Her tighter against him, She didn’t mention it. He was still safe, in Her eyes. Still the heroic gentleman She somehow thought him to be.

“Most people sleep when it’s past midnight.” He added wryly. She didn’t even look up.

“Really? Who?”

Dean snorted, and pinched Her thigh. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Laptop down.”

“Five more minutes.”

He said Her name, and she twisted in his arms. Leaned over Her computer like she was trying to forcefully stop Dean  from taking it.

“I think I’ve got something, just- Dean-“

As cute as it was that She tried, it didn’t take much for Dean to move Her. He tightened his arm around Her stomach like a belt, lifted her up with a grunt, and swiped the computer with practiced ease. She whined as he set it on the bedside table, but didn’t do more than wiggle in his arms. She couldn’t be that mad, because if She was, he’d be flat on his ass instead of kissing Her neck in apology.

“I let you stay up ‘till two yesterday, we gotta get some sleep-“

“I don’t need sleep.” She snapped, and Dean smiled fondly as her jaw strained with a yawn. “And you don’t let me do anything.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, kissing the corner of Her mouth. “But no more screen time. ‘S bad for you.”

“Whatever, dad-“

Dean let himself off the leash a little. She was earning it.

He flipped Her onto her back, and swallowed the high sound he recognized as delight, with a deep, messy kiss. She surged up to meet him, arching under his touch, and he smirked at the tiny little gasp that she let out when he squeezed his hand on Her ribs.

“You’re working too hard.” He muttered against Her lips, and he couldn’t tell if Her hum was annoyance or agreement. “You can stay up, but no more research.”

He was met with a tiny grumble. Annoyance.

Adorable annoyance, with the pout She was giving him. “I almost had it, I just needed to check something-“

“Then talk to me about it. Maybe I got something, right?”

It was a kind of pathetic offering. Dean had nothing, compared to Her. Hell, all he had was Her and Sammy, and they did all the work. He was still the grunt, running errands to churches and making sure nobody ended up a body on a pier.

But She didn’t look at him like that. She looked at Dean like he had a point, and She was still pissed with him, but couldn’t even bring herself to bark, let alone bite.

“I watched all the interview I could find.” She said slowly, tracing over Dean’s bare chest as she spoke.

It was distracting. His heart kept stumbling, and he wanted to grab those damn hands and pin them over Her head before he got hard and had to explain that maybe he was just turned on by her touch and attention, but nobody could blame him. She looked like an angel, talked like a songbird, acted like the princess Dean had known her to be since the first time he saw Her.

“There’s this… pattern.”

She continued, and Dean nodded, practicing active listening. He was really good at this attentive partner shit. She had no clue he was thinking about how he could see how perked Her nipples were.

“They all claim someone visited them when they were taking a bath. Which sounds like maybe a ghost, but-“

“Can’t be a ghost running around on separate flights and continents.” Dean muttered, and She nodded.

“Exactly. Even if it’s a haunted object, there’s no location pattern. The last two were in Bangkok, then Dublin. Within the span of forty-eight hours. The Bangkok flight was grounded for investigation, there’s literally no way that could’ve happened.”

Dean nodded slowly, rubbing Her sides as he thought. “Are there any links between the vics? All chicks, all dudes, maybe, uh- Bath kinks-“

“What’s a bath kink?”

“I dunno. Getting turned on by bathes?”

She frowned. “Is that a real thing?”

“Maybe.” His lips twitched. “People are into weird shit. Can’t control it. Hell, maybe you’ve got a bath kink we don’t know about yet-“

That got him smacked, and he knew he deserved it, but it was more than worth it for the frantic, flushed look on Her face. Dean caught Her hand on his chest and pulled it to his lips, kissing Her knuckles. She just glowered at him, and he winked.

“I don’t have a bath kink.” Her voice was sour, but uncertain. Dean chuckled.

“Alright.”

“I don’t. I- I don’t have kinks.”

Dean raised his brows. “Sweetheart, everyone’s got kinks. Some are vanilla shit, but still a kink. Hell, even Bobby’s probably got something-“

Her lips curled, and Dean sighed.

“I’m just saying it’s nothing bad if you do. And- You do.” Just from fucking you a few times, baby. I can tell. “I do. ‘S like a butt. Lot or a little. Everyone’s got one.”

He laughed, expecting Her to roll her eyes or just hide her face. Instead She was tilting her head at him, hair falling over her eyes, lips pulled between her teeth and eyes fluttering. That wasn’t fair. She looked like a sex painting. Like one of those hot naked ladies in museums, but better, and smelling like Apples, and warm below him.

“You have kinks?” She asked softly, and Dean swallowed.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m a part of everyone, you know-“

“Like what?”

Dean felt the blush burning at his ears. This was not a very gentlemanly conversation to have. “I’ll tell you later.” Or never. What I’m into doesn’t matter, Princess. All about what you want. “If it’s not a monster with a bath kink, what are you thinking?”

Usually, She’d be thrilled to be redirected to hunting talk. For once, She just looked a little annoyed, sighing and biting her lip before She continued.

“The pattern, and the interviews- Plus some footage released from the plane and passenger accounts- Time feeling like it was kind of moving though honey, the air smelling good, sunlight even on a red-eye- It’s a Pari. They’re old angels, pre-date Christian notions in the lore. I’ve actually hunted one before. But they were endangered, barely any left.”

Dean paused. “Well, that wouldn’t make them Purgatory convicts, right? Just a normal hunt, Bobby can send someone-“

She cut him off with a shake of Her head. “No, they were endangered endangered. Bobby and I didn’t even think there were any left until I found mine. I’ve only ever heard of one other case, too, so about fifty in a single month-“

“Repopulation.” Dean muttered, and she nodded.

“Maybe he rounded most of them up, left some behind, and didn’t care enough to check?”

He frowned. “You think God messed up paperwork?”

“I think he’s less detail oriented than he wants you to believe.” She sighed. “The good news is that Pari are like- Happy angels. Cupids but closer. My best guess is that they didn’t adhere to God’s strict heaven rules, so he decided to kick them out. I mean, they don’t fit the whole soldier thing angels like Cas are. They fall in love with humans all the time, abduct them to live in their kingdom.”

“Like hippies going against Vietnam?” Dean asked, and She laughed softly.

“Kind of, yeah. But that means if we catch one, they’re all so affectionate to each other-“

“We can slow them down with just that one.” He grinned, ducking down to kiss Her cheek. “You’re a genius, Princess-“

“Don’t say that yet.” She mumbled, sliding Her hand slowly around his neck. “You’re going to be pissed at me.”

Dean rose over Her with a frown, and She gave him an apologetic, soft look. He didn’t get what the problem was. These things were kidnapping people on planes, they needed to be stopped. She had a—hopefully—nonviolent way to stop them, which was going to save him the headache of holding himself back from just killing something She and Sammy wanted alive. They just needed to catch one in action, and-

Oh.

Son of a bitch.

Aug. 13th - 2011

Princess,

My love. If this is my last letter, I’m going to call you all kinds of sweet shit that’s going to make you get all flustered. I’ve earned it. I’m going to the damn gallows for you. Know I said I would, but goddamnit I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

I don’t see why Sammy can’t get on the damn plane for me. I get that someone’s gotta stay behind and tickets are expensive or whatever, but it doesn’t gotta be me. Indy loves me. She’d rather I’m the one stuck with her. And Sam’s bigger, he can tackle the damn thing, show off for Eileen. Shit, I meant to talk to you about that. I think he’s got a crush. We can get him back for all the shit he said to us.

If I survive.

You keep trying to show me plane stats about crashes, and I appreciate it, sweetheart, I do, but Jesus it’s not helping. With our luck we are gonna be that one plane that crashes. Or I’ll get a heart attack and there ain’t gonna be anyone to save me. Someone could poison us and there’d be no goddamn way to help. Nowhere to run. Humans should be that high in the sky, we need the damn land under us, we’re not fucking birds.

You’re the love of my stupid life. That’s the only reason I’m doing this shit. If I die I leave everything to you, except Baby. She goes to Sammy. But if he fucks her up, you get to take her back. Tell him he’s got my blessing about Eileen.

You’re about to come out of the bathroom. I should’ve gone into the shower. We could’ve had last day on earth sex. I could’ve knocked you up so you have something to remember me by.

I give you my blessing to move on, too. But show your new husband all these letters so he knows he better keep in shape, or I’m gonna come kick his ass for neglecting my girl.

I love you. I can still get you pregnant if you want. If it looks like we’re finished I’ll bring it up again, okay? I like the name Jack for a boy. None of that Junior shit, though. If it’s a girl, Mary. Christ, my mom would’ve loved you. I’ll tell her all about you, when I’m dead.

Yours,

DAW

You’re worried he’s going to make a break for it.    

It’s been fifteen minutes of sitting in the parking lot, rubbing his thigh while he grips the wheel with white knuckles. His eyes glazed, his chest heaving like you ran here, his whole body tensed, already braced for the impact. It’s cute, but you can’t tell him that. The genuine fear glazed in his eyes is enough to make you truly worry about him.

Later, when the hunt is over and you can’t feel his heart about to pound out of his chest, you’ll tell him how adorable he is when he’s scared. Wide green eyes and parted, worrying lips. You lean up to kiss his cheek gently, running your fingers through the hair that base of his neck, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“It’s okay, De. You can go back if you want, we already have enough hands to sell the story-“

He shakes his head, his hands flexing on the wheel. “Not leavin’ you. ‘S fine.”

“You’re sweating.”

“It’s hot outside.” He grumbles, and your lips twitch.

“Mhm?”

“And humid. A man can’t sweat in his own damn car, now?”

“He can.” You squeeze his neck gently, resting your chin on his shoulder. “But eventually he has to decide if he’s going to stay in that car, or start the walk.”

Dean makes a sour face, muttering under his breath. “You mean the freakin’ death march.”

“It’s a walk, Deano. And we’ve got like- Four hours until take off. A march implies urgency.”

He grunts, tipping his head back into your hand, his eyes squeezing shut. You just sigh, and leaning against him, meeting Bobby’s eyes through the windshield. He’s been going over the backstory with everyone else outside, and when he catches your gaze, he raises his brows.

You shake your head, and mouth not yet.

Bobby glances at Dean, snorts, and turns back to Jody. Neither of you are surprised by this. You’ve known about his plane aversion for years, and Sam’s told you about that one demon hunt they did. You’d expected this. Planned for it. There’s a chance that giving him a deadline—plane leaves in ten minutes, we’ve got to run—might’ve helped move him along, but you didn’t really want to handle that stress on top of everything else, and you couldn’t have lie to him about that if you tried.

You’re trying to make it easy. You let him drive to a further airport than Sioux Falls—to fucking Colorado—to cut the flight time down to eight hours. You’ve offered him a million chances to stay behind, or go back, or just call it and drop you off, but he won’t hear it. You don’t need to go through customs—you’re only going to Hawaii—but you’re still committing a pretty big felony. If any of you get flagged for secondary screening, you’re going to need your stories straight.

Bobby and Sam cobbled up the passports, and Sam they were his best work yet. Pictures, slightly altered names, social security numbers that link to an offsite mimicked database with fake information. He needed your help with the actual backstory part, and Eileen showed him how to get override the government address—and it’s still a little dicey if it will actually work, but worst case scenario a few TSA agents get knocked out and you run—but Sam did most of the work himself.

You think the work is helping him. Basic, grinding admin work, with everything in a nice, neat place. His visions haven’t been getting better. He’s just been trying to deal, but he’s a little bit of a liability on hunts. You’d still both agreed to offer that Sam come with you instead. Dean had turned it down with a grunt and pale face at the word flight. So you tried another variation, where Sam altered the passport you were giving Cas to be for you, then altered your passport for Jo, and that way Jo and Sam were the couple, and you were the sibling.

That had been another no. From Dean, and Sam and Jo, who’d been very adamant about never faking being a couple again. You couldn’t not bring Cas anyway, so it had been a weak suggestion. Pari were angels. You needed another person with soul-vision to look for them. And you would’ve rather brought Jo over Claire, but someone sane and clued into the wards needed to stay behind, and you hadn’t given Eileen the full run down yet.

Which meant Dean had to come. And he’d said that was fine.

You can see that it isn’t, but he says that it is.

“Do you remember the cover?” You ask him gently, trying to just offer a distraction. He grunts.

“We’re engaged.” He glances down to your ring finger, something strange crossing over his face. “Bobby ‘n Jody are you parents. They adopted you and Cas. Had Claire. Family vacation.”

You nod. “Which would be normal, for a fiancée not to come on-“

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“We could say you got held up at work, and have to take a different flight-“

Dean mutters your name, giving you a pleading look. “Please stop sayin’ that word.”

“Sorry.” You mumble, dropping your brow on his shoulder, biting the inside of your mouth. It’s not about you. This is about Dean, and his very real fear, and it’s a reasonable thing to ask of you. You know all that, very steadily.

You still bite until you taste blood, an angry voice getting loud in your head. All you do is make things worse. You’re trying to help but he never wants your help, because you just ruin everything you touch and make it worse and he hates you, he hates you and you’re forcing him to do something he hates because you’re a sickness, and you’re going to lose him and you can’t lose him, you need him, he knows you need him but isn’t that still just ruining him by trapping him-

“Hey.” You feel his lips on the top of your head, and you hug his arm tight. “’S fine. I just-“ He chuckles weakly. “I fuckin’ hate this. So much.”

“I know. But- I’m serious, Dean, you don’t have to do this-“

“Yeah, I do. I’m not leaving you up in that death trap alone.”

You look back up, and find him scanning over your face with that same, strange shadow of an expression from before. It’s not a dark shadow. More like shade on a hot day, or the dimmest corner of a loud room, where no one is going to look at you, and you can stay lost and safe with no reason to move.

Dean leans down slowly, brushing his lips over yours. You hum, and he smiles, pressing back down for a firmer, longer kiss.

“’m ready.” He mutters, and you hum.

“Sam got us first class. You can get drunk.”

Dean smirks against your mouth. “Yeah? They gonna serve me peanuts?”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing.”

“Then what’s the freakin’ point?”

You lean back with a small laugh, and he grins down at you. He’s still tensed, but the hazy, almost wild fear is gone from his eyes. You squeeze his hand once, just to give him one last out.

He squeezes back three times. All good.

You’re proud of him. He wobbles a little when he gets out of the car, but he throws his head back and his chin up the second everyone looks over, swaggering over to the trunk to grab the bag. Claire opens her mouth like she’s going to make a joke. Jody grabs her upper arm and gives her a stern look. Dean’s skating on his own, personal lake of thin ice. He doesn’t need anything to push him over the edge.

Cas still seems to be testing the strength, but that’s Cas. He gets a go-pass, half for being crazy right now, half for just being Cas.

“You look like you are made of zombies and ropes.” He tells Dean plainly, and Dean laughs.

“Bags under my eyes?”

“And in your hands. And all over your soul.”

Dean just raises his brows at you, and you shrug, deciding that one doesn’t need a translation. Dean’s Gold is pouring over itself with druggish, slow and infective fear. You can see it sink a little deeper, every time someone says the word flight or plane. It spills over him, out like thick ropes of sinew to you and Cas. Like he’s trying to tether himself, even with two feet on concrete ground. The bags are the pits where the fear sinks the deepest. All the way to the center of him, where it moves the fastest.

You take his hand, when he reaches it out. It’s less of an offer, and more of a plea. He needs something to hold onto.

And you don’t know why, but he wants that thing to be you. You’re not good at chasing off fear. You’re good at causing it. Good at pushing through it, although your feet often fail you before you’re fully out through the brush. Sometimes you think you’re just made of fear, and that’s why you never really escape it.

Dean deserves better than that. Better than you.

But he smiles when you twine your fingers through his, and you push the thought way down. He doesn’t want better than you. He wants you, and he’s better at knowing things. Better at making that kind of call. You trust him with your whole soul in his hands, knowing he could decide to smash it at any time, and you’d just be left bleeding out an infinite amount of love for the rest of time.

He squeezes you hand tight, sitting right next to you on the bus—your thigh almost forced over his, with the tight squeeze—and he’s holding on you like he thinks the same, or something close to it. You want to wrap around him until your limbs are so tangled they can’t be unknotted, you want to have him over you so that he’s trapping every bit of you beneath him, and the rest of the universe can have the Silver, but everything in you that counts is Dean’s.

And he kisses the top of your head like an instinct. The same one that has you hooking your foot behind his ankle.

You still think your love might be bigger. You fear it. That you need Dean like light needs planets and people to give it any meaning. Otherwise you’re just nothing and everything, hurdling meaninglessly through everything uncaring without ever really existing at all. Dean needs you like the Earth needs the Sun.

It does. But it’s not just the Sun. It could be any star, you’re just the closest one.

But you don’t really care, if that’s true. Your love is big enough to grow over the whole universe, until it’s all just color and flowers that bloom in Dean’s name, over and over and over again.

You’re happy to be his Sun, if he wants you. If he needs you. And despite that cruel, malignant little voice in your head that never seems to go quite—wrong, wrong, evil and sick and wrong, crude, vile, evil, wrong girl, you ruin everything you touch—you believe him. You believe that Dean needs you, as much as something like you can be needed.

And if you didn’t believe it before, you certainly do now.

“Heading to Hawaii, Mr. Winchester?” The TSA agent asks, glancing at his ID, and Dean tries a winning smile.

“Uh- Yeah. Vacation.”

The agent hums, looking between Dean’s photo and his strained face. You’ve never seen him act so horribly before. It’s kind of amazing.

“Going with the wife’s family.” Dean throws in, his voice weak. “Uh- You know. We’re- We’re flying-“

He swallows, like he only just remembered, and the man glances to you. You sigh, and rubbing Dean’s back as you speak.

“He doesn’t like flying. Lifelong phobia.” You smile at the agent. “Sorry.”

The agent looks between you and Dean, back to the ID, then shrugs and passes it back to Dean.

“’S alright. We get a lot of those. You got your ID, Ma’am?”

You nod, passing it over, and Dean doesn’t let go of your hand. Not as the TSA agent clears you and you start to move through security, not as you’re waved to the belt, not even as you take off your shoes and jacket. He kneels down and keeps his hand on your calf as he takes off his own, then keeps a hand on your shoulder as he shrugs off his flannel. You’re worried he’s going to pass out, when the agent manning the detector beckons him forward and he has to let go. He’s bouncing anxiously on the other side, and when you’re cleared, he reaches for you like he thinks you’re going to slip through his hands.

If this is just getting ready to get on the plane, you might have to drug him when you’re actually taking off.

“Was it this bad when he and Sam worked the demon case?” You ask Bobby while grabbing lunch, and Bobby just shrugs.

“You know as much as I do, kiddo. It’s a real fear he’s got, long as I can remember. You know he wouldn’t be whimpering around ‘less he couldn’t help it.”

You hum, frowning at the menu of the airport Shake Shack. “I just- Sam said it was bad. That he hasn’t even looked at a plane since, like, ’05-“

“And last time he was on one, it almost crashed. That ain’t gonna help him.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Was I ever like that about anything? When I was a kid?”

“What, like a fear?”

You nod, and Bobby tilts his head.

“No, nothin’ like planes or clowns. You’d wake up screamin’ about the sky, about blood, about doom and dead things. Sounded a lot like Cas does now, actually.” He gives you a long look, lips pressed in a tight line. “Sam and Dean weren’t allowed to feel fear, kiddo. Manifests in different ways. But your fear wasn’t what most kids are dealing with anyway. If I’d tried to raise you like John did, well-“ His jaw ticks. “We wouldn’t be standin’ here.”

That’s probably true. It doesn’t stop the sting in your chest, to imagine a smaller, softer-eyed Dean having a nightmare and swallowing it down instead of going to tell his dad. You always told Bobby about your nightmares. Him telling you things were going to be okay was the only thing that made you able to fall back asleep.

“They sell sleepin’ pills, for people who don’t like planes.” Bobby mutters after you order the food, standing next to you near the pickup counter. “Jody’s grabbin’ some for me. You know how my neck gets.”

You nod, fidgeting with Dean’s amulet through your shirt and glancing over your shoulder. You left him with Cas and Claire, who are hopefully proving a distraction and not a problem. “How much do they cost.”

“Much as anything in an airport does.” Bobby grunts. “I’ll text her. Tell ‘er to get some for Casanova.”

“Tell her I can pay her back-“

“She ain’t gonna want that.”

You bite on your lip, but don’t argue. “So that’s… going well?”

Bobby pauses, then nods. You shift on your feet, offering him a small smile.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah. It is.” He sighs. “Y’know, didn’t think I’d ever want it again. Not for real, after Karen. Figured I got lucky as hell gettin’ a kid. One she woulda liked, too.”

“You think Karen would’ve liked me?” You ask softly, and Bobby chuckles.

“Oh yeah. She liked pickin’ up strays, how you think I got the damn dog?”

You snort. “Are you calling me a dog?”

“I’m callin’ you a stray. But don’t worry. Runs in the family.” He gives you a pointed look. “She picks me up, I pick you up, now you got that poor boy sweating ‘cause you ain’t there.”

“Bobby-“

“He’d stand outside your door when you two weren’t talkin’, y’know.” He says flatly. “Never seen a man act like their arm was bein’ ripped off just ‘cause they exiled themselves to the damn couch.”

You don’t answer, just grabbing the massive bag from the service worker, biting back your smile. A small, childish part of you wants to tell Bobby that you’re in love with Dean, like a giddy schoolgirl getting to gush about her first boyfriend. Getting to play him up for her father, even though Bobby already knows Dean perfectly well, and there’s nothing you could really play up when Dean’s a mountain of a man as it is.

And you can’t say you love him. Not aloud. Not to anyone.

So instead you just smile, and pass Bobby the food so you can take the drink tray.

“He’s treating me really well. He- I-“ You swallow, staring at your shoes as you walk. “He’s… Mine.”

That sounds stupid, and your face immediately heats. It’s even worse than fluttering and giggling around about how handsome and strong he is.

But Bobby only huffs in amusement, rubbing your shoulder lightly. “I know, kiddo. I know.”

You wrinkle your nose—you wish people would stop acting like this whole thing had been obvious—but break out into a smile the moment you see Dean slumped into his seat. Cas and Claire are on the floor playing a card game, and Dean’s got his own hand, but he doesn’t really seem to be paying attention at all. He stares out at the tarmac with a pale hand, the cards bending in his hand, and you sigh, dropping down next to him.

“They had a specialty milkshake.” You murmur, picking up his free hand to pass it over. “Cherry Bomb. Thought you’d like it.”

He hums, shooting you a tiny smile. “Thanks, Princess.”

You hum, kissing his cheek, and pass out the rest of the drinks as Bobby doles out food. Claire and Cas take theirs without looking away from their game, obviously a lot more invested than Dean is even pretending to be. Claire’s eyeing Cas’ innocent expression wearily but it’s a big improvement from anything else. You’re lucky Claire’s even willing to sit in the same room as him. If an angel possessed Bobby when you were twelve, you’re pretty sure at least a handful of people would’ve gotten murdered about it.

You lean your head on Dean’s shoulder, and his arm wraps around your back, but he’s still staring, empty eyed at the tarmac.

“What’re we playing?” You ask softly, and he only grunts, kissing the top of your head and not offering anything else.

“It is a game called Bullshit.” Cas provides. “Dean has not been properly participating. The sun was gone. He drifted to far into space.”

“Oh.” You glance at Dean, and feel his hand rubbing up and down your side. He’s developing a deeply unhelpful habit of that. You can’t bring yourself to wish he’d stop. “De?”

He grunts, and you raise your voice. When you still get nothing, you snap your fingers in front of his face, and he jumps.

“Winchester. Earth to Dean.”

“Uh- Yeah?” He’s blinking at you, eyes still unfocused, and you sigh.

“Okay. Come on.” You stand up, and he moves with you.

“What, is it-“ He’s paper-white, and you can see the sweat beading on his brow. “Is it happening? Now?”

“No, we still have an hour.” You start to pull him around Claire and Cas. Away from the damn window. “We’re going for a walk.”

You’re hoping that getting him to a quieter part of the airport, with less plane visibility and less people bustling around will help, and you’re right. There’s a corner of the terminal, where it’s more wall than window, and the flight isn’t populated enough to cause any noise. You and Dean sit on the floor, and you watch him eat his burger until the color returns to his face. He’s got his knees pulled up, and you’re leaning against him with a hand on his thigh.

The calmer he gets, the more you start to feel yourself going feral again. You’d been tampering it in the car, when Dean himself was your biggest concern. But now he’s breathing like a normal person and not like a diver, not sure when he’s going to find another space to breathe. His face is more flushed than usual, and he’s so tense that you can see muscles flex whenever he so much as shifts, and you’re getting the fever again. The hunger, that starts between your legs and blooms out.

Your fingers trace up the inseam of his pants, and his whole thigh ripples under your touch. You press your face into his arm, hiding your own flush and praying he doesn’t notice your legs folding tight together. Now is not the place, nor the time, for your thoughts to be clouded like this. You think the cinnamon scent of him might be a drug you want to get high on forever. You don’t think you’d ever find a need for a pill or bottle, as long as you were allowed to burrow into Dean’s neck, sinking yourself down until you were split open on the thickness in his jeans, letting him drive everything out of your head until you were just shaking with love for him, the whole world in harmony and his name falling from your lips like prayer. 

Dean catches your hand on his thigh, and for a second you foolishly think he’s going to give you what he wants. He hesitates like he might. Pulls you a little down, so you’re brushing closer to his crotch. And that perverse, burning sensation between your legs grows, and if he shoved your hand onto him right now, you’d find a bathroom or closet or something, just so you could get on your knees and show him just how grateful you are, how happy that he even exists, let alone close enough to let you fall down, down, down into his gravity.

He moves your hand away, just holding it tight in his. You sigh, and try not to sound disappointed.

“Better?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He clears his throat, setting down the empty milkshake. “I don’t mean to be- Uh- Maybe you shoulda brought Sam.”

You look up, and find him glaring at his hand, hanging limp from his knee. You reach up and gently pull his face in your direction, giving him a tiny smile and shaking your head.

“Maybe. But I could’ve done this hunt blindfolded.” You squeeze his hand three times. “And I’d always rather do it with you.”

Dean smiles. It’s small and still unsure, but it’s there, and that counts. His arm slings around your shoulders, pulling you right into his side, and you go easily. He kisses the top of your head, and you smile at the floor.

The Silver is mostly peaceful. It’s been mostly peaceful, coating over everything around you but not enough for you to notice. But right when you’re about to try and distract Dean with some random, pointless conversation, it tugs.

Not urgent. More like a notification or bell, telling you there’s something interesting. Something that’s not entirely normal, that’s it’s trying to parse with its instincts—your instincts—and what you know. You know the air, and the dust particles floating in the sunlight. You know the crows outside the walls, picking at crumbs lost to the wind and the dandelions growing between the cracks in the pavement. You know the few werewolves that you passed earlier in the terminal, but who fed on cows’ blood and weren’t going to hurt anyone. You know every single human soul, bleeding into each other like watercolor and staining all over the airport like residue of a million, rainbow bombs.

You’ve been practicing ignoring it. You’re getting better at being in louder places, with Dean’s amulet around you and the reminder that every color means something is real. You don’t like it, but it means everything is real, and that’s enough.

But the Silver drags your attention to something you don’t know.

A man, standing a large handful of feet away, talking into a phone. His soul is a sandy yellow, with his core at the top of his head and drizzling like sand through his whole body. That’s not uncommon. It’s just a slightly rare way for a soul made of earth to display itself, you’ve seen it before.

It’s his back, that catches your attention. Something is sparking and bursting against it. It looks almost like… A second core.

You’ve never seen a second core.

You turn, covering Dean’s mouth with your hand before he can say anything. The closer you look, it’s not exactly a second core. It’s more like a spot where the soul has been bunched together, like fabric in a fist.

Still strange. Still suspicious.

You turn back to Dean, so your ear can stay trained on the man. He’s speaking in a low voice, and you can’t make out many words.

But you can make out enough. You can make out bathtub, and big hat.

That’s it. Easier and faster than you thought—you’d been planning to try and mark someone for the flight back, if you didn’t get lucky on the flight there—you found the person marked for the Pari to take.

You grin at Dean, and find him raising his brows, then looking down to your hand over his mouth. His soft, plump mouth that wanders over your skin, that leaves little fires in its wake, that kisses over your core until your head is spinning and everything is just color and bliss-

You yank your hand away, swallowing tightly. “Sorry.” You whisper, and he grins.

“It’s okay. Know that face.” He bumps your knee with his. “Got something.”

“Got it.” You glance back to where the man is wandering away. “You want to do some stalking with me?”

“With you, Princess?” He kisses the back of your hand. “Always.”

You giggle despite yourself, and he helps you up to your feet. There’s a vague plan you’re forming, as you and Dean wander after Sandman, keeping a plausible distance. He has to be going to either Hawaii or Alaska. You’re in the domestic terminal, and the flight has to be overseas for the Pari to strike. You luck out again when he returns to the exact terminal where everyone is waiting for you, setting him to Hawaii. All you need to do is keep an eye on him, and interfere when the Pari come for him.

Easy. Compared to everything else, easy.

Once again, you’re mostly just worried about getting Dean on the damn plane.

There’s going to be a handprint-shaped bruise on your forearms, when he lets go. They start boarding not long after you get back, and you focus on coaxing Jody’s sleep-med into him before he starting to dry gag on the air. He takes it with a grumble about not needing a damn pill, all while watching the call screen like the letters are going to fly off the screen and attack him.

“De-“

“’M fine.” He’s holding your arm even tighter than before. “All good.”

You give him a disbelieving look, but don’t push it. There’s no point in it, when you really just want him onto the plane. Bobby herds everyone through when they call your group, but you and Dean stay in the chairs until the last possible second, when you squeeze his hand and drag him like a deadweight to his feet. You don’t offer soft encouragement or praise. It would just make him more tense.

Instead you let him hang around you, looking at the gate attendants like they’re more terrifying than any monster as you scan the tickets.

“He afraid of flying?” The honey-souled, dark-haired receptionist nods to Dean, and he scowls.

“It’s not natural.”

“Well, it’s perfectly safe-“

“That’s what everyone says, ‘till it’s not safe.”

You sigh, squeezing his hand. “Dean. You’re stalling.”

“She asked me a question-“ He cuts himself off under your gaze, bowing his head. “Fine.”

You smile, leading him down the tunnel, and the gate attendant laughs softly behind you. As much as you’re willing to rip out a throat with your teeth, just to protect Dean’s honor, you let that one slide. It is a funny sight, and you’d really be laughing if you didn’t love him so much his fear was aching in your chest.

A massive, rugged-face man, pouting and staring around the cabin like he thinks he’s in a haunted house. Clinging to your hand as you lead him through the aisle, and fumbling the seatbelt with shaking hands the moment he sits down. You put him in aisle, so he feels a little more free, and Cas took the window seat, leaving you smushed between them with no arm rests.

Bobby’s knocked out before they close the cabin, but he’s mostly here to help you control the Pari once you’ve got it. Jody’s reading, and Claire’s got headphones on, staring at the tarmac like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen. They’re here to go to Hawaii. Your side of the aisle is the only one that’s going to actually be in action.

Really just you, now that you’re thinking about it. Cas is frowning at the seats in front of him, and you’re mostly hoping he doesn’t accidentally offend someone. Dean’s pills haven’t kicked in yet. You’re pretty sure he’s actively fighting against them.

“De.” You whisper, patting his forearm. “We aren’t even moving to takeoff yet.”

“They’re checkin’ the plane.” He grunts, eyeing a passing attended suspiciously. “Any of ‘em looking like demons? Angels? Vamps, or- Witches-“

“Only monsters here are me and Cas.” You say it lightly, but he shoots you a glare.

“You aren’t monsters. You’re- You.”

“Cas is an angel. I’m a… me.”

“Exactly.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“Dean, I can crush souls-“

“’Cause you’re awesome. You’re not gonna crash the plane. You’d pick it up. Like Superman.”

You blink. “You think I’m Superman?”

“No. Yes. Superwoman, I dunno-“ He runs a hand over his face. “You’re you, Princess. And Cas is Cas. ‘S different.”

“Hm.” You lean your head on his shoulder, running your fingers over his knuckles. “So you think that if something did go bad, Cas and I would be able to take care of it?”

He nods, glowering down at the cockpit. You smile at his pretty, dumb face, so worried—for once—about something that’s really going to be okay.

You decide you can find him cute for being willing to dive headfirst into a demon pit with nothing but a machete and a gun, but a mess of a man when he’s in a well-engineered plane. You got him here. He’s stuck. And you can tease him and comfort him at the same time. You’re versatile like that.

You’re going to be very careful with it, like you’re handling a baby bird, but you’re going to do it.

“So if you think Cas and I would take care of it,” you murmur in his ear. “Why are you so worried about something going wrong?”

Dean’s head snaps in your direction, his eyes narrowed as you meet him with only a sweet smile. He lets out a sharp, startled laugh and shakes his head, ears tipped red.

“Jesus, woman.”

“Am I wrong?”

“No-“

“So breathe.” You squeeze his hand three times, making your voice firm. “We’re fine.”

Dean inhales, then exhales. Slow and heavy, giving you a dry look when he’s done. “That good enough for you, your majesty.”

“Nope. Do it again.”

His lips twitch. “Bossy, sweet girl.”

Your knees bump, and your breath hitches as he leans forward. Kisses just the tip of your nose, before dropping his brow to yours and breathing deeply, his eyes still squeezed shut. You watch him, your mouth hanging slightly open, that heat starting to build once more. You glance around to check if anyone’s watching, and  swallow. They aren’t. That only makes you want to climb into his lap more.

The attendant comes around, and the plane lurches soon after. Dean grunts, his head shooting up like a gazelle hearing a lion, and you grab him quickly by the back of his neck. He lets you tuck his face into your neck, and you felt him almost melt into your body, his arms wrapping tight around your body. You pet the top of his head, glancing over to find Bobby, Jody, and Claire exactly as you left them, and Cas still staring at the seat.

It’s difficult, with Dean wrapped around you like an octopus, but you manage to set Cas up with headphones and a game of snake on your phone.

He stares at it with a frown, keeping his voice down for Dean’s sake. “I don’t understand. What am I supposed to do with this… electricity.” His frown deepens. “Is it a metaphor? For the old brothers that fall for new grace?”

“Nope. It’s got nothing to do with anything.” You swipe at the screen, showing him how to play. “You make the snake long, and eat the apples. If you beat that, I can show you solitaire. Or pong.”

“Pong.” Cas echoes. “Does that also have one of your beasts?”

“No. But it had a ball.” Your snake runs into the wall, and you give Cas a smile. “Play it. It’s fun.”

He tilts his head at the screen, then starts to swipe, mimicking your movements almost exactly. You’re sure he’ll figure it out for himself. In the meantime, it’s also pretty cute to watch him try.

The plane rests on the runway, and you can feel Dean humming to himself against your skin. You rub his shoulder, really wishing he’d get more than the cheapest phone possible he could find. You’d be able to play him music. Instead, you’re just staring at the ceiling, letting the Silver turn in your body, waiting for it to give you the alert. It will be a while. At least two hours, until you’re over the water.

What a fun two hours that’s going to be.

The plane starts to pick up pace, and Dean starts humming faster. You laugh softly, kissing the top of his head. He’s warm, around you. When your fingers brush his neck, you can feel the burn of his skin, the race of his heart. You’d be worried he was sick, if you didn’t know it was pure fear. His Gold is drenched in it, and it’s making the stains on your even more potent than usual.

You let him keep holding you, through take off. He’s almost panting, and by the time you’re allowed to wander the cabin, he’s knocked out around you. You’re more than willing to bet it was his own fear that got him, more than the med. You thank Jody anyway.

“No problem.” She murmurs over Bobby’s head, smiling at you gently. “You want a book?”

“Yes, please.”

You settle into the seat. Two hours to kill, before the work begins. You’re basically trapped by Dean’s body over yours, and Cas has your phone, so you just lean your head over Dean’s and read. When the attendant asks if you want a drink, you take a coke and those cookie biscuit things. You’ll try and get some into Dean, when he’s up. Especially since you’re a little worried he’s going to vomit up his burger and shake.

He’s up after about an hour and a half, proving your theory right. You think he might’ve been up for longer—he’d stopped snoring—but you know for certain when you try to tip him back into his own seat, and he grabs you tighter. There’s a low growl, that rumbles through his chest. You push down a giggle, running your fingers through his hair.

“Dean.” You whisper. “I know you’re awake.”

He grunts, voice rough against your skin. “Don’t remind me.”

“I need to go talk to Bobby-“

“Then talk to ‘im from here.”

You sigh. “De, I’m not having a conversation over your head.”

“Why not. I’ve done it over your head with Sammy all the time-“

“That’s a false comparison and you know it.”

“Don’t know what the hell a false comparison is at all. Sound like some smart shit-“

“And you’re smart.” You grab the nape of his neck, pulling him up with a stern look. Again, he lets you, limp like a scolded dog in your arms.

He’s even fixing you with the puppy-like please stare that Sam pulls on him all the time. You weren’t sure you knew he could do that. It’s sort of dizzying.

“Dean, we-“ You glance over at Bobby, still deeply knocked out. Which means you have to talk to Jody. And you’re not doing it leaning around them again. Not when the conversation is going to make you sound crazy to any eavesdroppers.

But Dean’s still staring at you, his face barely an inch away over yours. You sigh, looking back between him and Jody, and bite on your lower lip.

“You can hold my hand, while I stand in the aisle. But- I need to be able to look for our guy, too-“

“I’ll come with you for that.” He says quickly, and you almost laugh.

“Yeah. Okay. Can you-“ You start to roll over him, and his hand flies up to your hips. For a second, you think he’s going to try and yank you back down.

You stare at each other, your face hovering a breath over his, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips and his mouth hanging open. You swallow, unable to look away, to move, to do anything but breathe him in and hope—despite the hundreds of people around, despite the tight space and all his fear—that he’ll just drag you down into him and never let go.

Dean’s throat bobs, his eyes dropping to your lips. He looks back to you, something flashing over his features.

His grip loosens.

You sigh, and stand up. Dean keeps himself planted on your thigh, instead holding your hand. His arm is wrapped around your leg, his fingers brushing your knee, and it’s so casually possessive you think the Spiderweb  might be short-circuiting. You’d be worried about that taking you out, if you weren’t basically in charge of this whole case going smooth.

You push forward. Lean over Bobby’s sleeping form to have a hushed conversation with Jody about what to do once the Pari shows up. You don’t know when it will hit, once you’re over the ocean, but you know you’ll have to be quick. You have the salt, and you spent the days before the flight perfecting an angel trapping spell with Rowena.

There are a few other things you can pull out if you need them. Personal projects you’d been working on, from when Raphael was a threat. They’re last resorts, for Cas’ sake. But if the Pari turns hostile—rare, but not unheard of—you’re going to need a plan B.

When you fake going to the bathroom, looking for where Sandman is sitting, Dean hangs off your arm just like in the airport. You’d been considering faking the actual bathroom part, before it became evidently clear Dean wouldn’t be able to stand on his own feet, and he might give himself a heart attack if turbulence hit while you weren’t there.

It’s a good intuition. It hits the second you’re back in your seats, and he sits up like he heard a gunshot.

“Fucking- Son of a bitch-“

“It’s okay.” You grab over his hand, and he flips it up in a second, twining your fingers together. “It’s turbulence-“

“That- That word doesn’t mean freakin’ shit-“

“It’s rough air.” You reach up, turning his panicked face onto yours. “Like a bumpy road. That’s it. Even you hit bumpy road, De.”

He grunts, pressing his head back against the seat and squeezing your hand tight. You wiggle closer, pressing your head on his chest, and you can feel his tense exhale fanning over your ear.

You smile when he kisses the top of your head, his arms around you holding you like a stuffed animal.

“Are you okay?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I hate this. Fuckin’ hate it-“

“I know.” You trace your hand over his thigh. “I told you, I could’ve taken Sam, or Jo-“

“No.” He says quickly, holding you a little tighter. “No. I- I can do it.”

“Mhm.” You lean back, letting your smile become teasing. “You kind of have to, now.”

Dean’s lips twitch, and his laugh is sharp, like you tore it from his throat. “Yeah. Alright, smartass. You wanna I told you so?”

“I’m okay. You know. “

“Yeah. Guess I do.” The plane rattles, and Dean’s breathing gets shallow again. “It’s- Goddamnit- Can you keep talking?”

“I-“ You glance around. Cas has moved onto Pong, and you’re pretty sure he’s setting a world record as you speak. Jody’s on a new book, Bobby passed out on her shoulder, Claire watching the window with the same fascination as an hour ago. “Me?”

Dean snorts. “Yeah, Princess. You. C’mon.” He squeezes your hand. “It- It helps.”

That pulls a small smile to your face, and you settle back into his arms, pulling his arm from around your chest to play with his fingers. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.” He rasps, his face burying in the top of your head. “Just- Talk, please.”

“Okay.” You pause, thinking for a long moment. “Do- Do you want to hear more about the cage?”

That’s a stupid suggestion. He’s already stressed, that’s just going to make him more stressed, and you don’t even love talking about the cage, it just fucking slipped out-

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Alright.” You take a deep breath, staring down at his palm. He’s got the watch you stole him on his wrist, and there’s a thin, pale line on his palm. A scar that matches yours, left over residue from the Mandurugo fight. “I- I told you how they put me in all these different… Worlds, I guess. Right?”

Dean grunts, and you push on.

“Well, I guess I didn’t hate all of them. I mean, a lot of them were fine, until I-“ You swallow. “Until I realized they weren’t real. But before that- They kept me down for a reason.”

You laugh weakly, but Dean doesn’t. He mutters, low and rough against your skin, “Did you have a favorite?”

“No.” They were all equally amazing, and horrible, because you loved me all the time and then suddenly it wasn’t real. “But- There were some I guess I remember better. That held me for longer.”

“Like what?”

“Um- There was one where we were all normal.” You sigh. “Jo, Cas, and I worked at the high school. You were a mechanic. Bobby was, like- My real dad. We had a dog named- Named Indy.” You flush. “And a cat named Velma. So- You know.”

Dean’s silent for a long second, before he rasps, “We?”

Shit. “Um- Yeah. You and me.”

“What, were we like- uh- roommates. Or…”

“Together.” You whisper, your hands wrapping over his. Over the Gold, so you can keep it if this all falls into another illusion. “Like- Together, together.”

Dean doesn’t immediately answer, and you’re counting every small bump and scar on his hand. Ther one on his palm, the callouses at the base of his fingers, the little knicks from years of hunting and manual work, and it’s real, it has to be real-

“Were we together,” he mutters slowly. “In a lotta these?”

You could lie. He’d know. So you just nod, and hold his hand tighter.

Dean breathes sharply on your head. “Did we always have a cat?”

That pulls a tiny, surprised laugh from your lips, and you feel him smile against your head. “No. Most of them- They weren’t cat friendly scenarios.”

“What, like we lived in a city?”

“No. Like- I told you about the superhero one.” You twist to look at him, and he nods slowly.

“Yeah. Superstrength and fire or something.”

“Or something.” You echo. “But there was also- I was a vampire, and you were a village person.”

His brow furrows. “Why’d I have to be the village person-“

“I wasn’t making the casting decisions, De. Take it up with Michael and Lucifer.”

“I will.” He grumbles. “I’m not a damn village person. Don’t even like the YMCA.”

You giggle. “Well, you were a mechanic in like- Three of them. And, um- A knight in another.”

“A knight? I can get down with bein’ a  knight.” His mouth curves up. “Were you a princess, baby?”

“Uh huh.” You drawl. “Intuitive.”

“I just made a damn good call with that one.” He chuckles kissing the tip of your nose. You smile despite yourself, twisting back to look at his hand.

“Well, maybe I should call you cowboy more.” You mumble. “That was another one.”

Dean pauses, his hand slowly curling into a fist. You can hear something wired, under his voice when he speaks. “Cowboy, huh.”

“Yep. We ran a saloon.”

“In the desert?”

“That’s where they usually are.”

“You, uh- You wear corsets, in that one? And like- Frilly skirts, or whatever?”

You nod, glancing back at him with raised brows. “It was just like Utah, actually. But- Older. And less toothless miners trying to kill us.”

Dean laughs, but there’s something faraway in his gaze that you can’t place. It’s not angry, and if anything he’s pulling you closer, but it’s still strange. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong, when the flight attendant comes around with the drink cart. Dean orders you another coke, and himself the most stupid expensive drink on the menu.

He listens to you talk more about the worlds as he drinks, and you do your best to weave around the fact that it was all, every time, about him. You’re hoping it sounds like you’re cherry picking the worlds where you were together, to calm him down. And it’s not that you’re ashamed of it, or that you want to hide it, but this is new. All of this is new. It’s fragile and precious, a garden starting to bloom between you, and you don’t want to stomp all over the flowerbed. If you sit on his lap and tell him that every single time, the only thing that Michael and Lucifer used to placate you was the idea of Dean loving you back, that’s a little much.

Online dating guides say that you shouldn’t come on too strong. That if you like someone, you should be honest with them, but not put on any extra pressure.

I love you so much you’re my ideal world is very strong. It gives a lot of extra pressure. And you’re not allowed to say I love you, either.

Dean passes out from the wine before he can ask anything too revealing, and you kiss his hairline before holding him to your chest and glancing over to the window. Cas has had it closed the whole time. You don’t think he likes seeing the vastness of the sky around you either. Neither of you need the reminder, of what’s watching—or not watching—you.

The toilet flushes, somewhere behind you, and your attention draws to it on instinct.

You see it for only a split second. Long enough to know it’s not just a trick of your brain.

Bronze, electric wings, fluttering in a vessel before vanishing down the cabin.

Shit.

The Silver hadn’t alerted you, but it’s not something unfamiliar. If anything, the Silver trusts him, the same way it never goes on alert for Cas. And when you glance at Cas, he’s still engrossed in the Pong game, dead to the world like a toddler with a shiny new toy.

Dean’s deeply knocked out. His heartbeat is steady, and the plane isn’t actually going to crash. You ease him back into his seat, and crawl over his body carefully.

You couldn’t bring your knives on the plane, but Jody has a plastic one that they handed out for a sandwich. You take it with a mouthed be right back, and slip down the aisle.

The Sand Man is exactly where you left him, near the front of economy. You’d been giving him small checks while talking to Dean, and the most he’s been up to is reading, then looking around like he can tell someone’s watching him. But he’s not who you’re after. And right now, neither is the Pari that’s going to come for him.

You walk slowly through the rows, ands most people don’t even pay you a single glance. You find his empty seat fast—fizzing with little zaps of bronze, like static electricity—and look up to the back. He couldn’t have just vanished. If he’s on this plane, it’s because he knows you’re here too.

When you reach the back of the plane, where the flight attendants should be, you pull the curtain slowly. A thin hand grabs your arm and yanks you forward, and the rush almost kicks fully in. You raise your plastic knife, the Silver rearing for an attack, and spin out of the grip. You drive the knife forward, straight into Balthazar’s eye, then wince when you realize you might have overreacted.

“What the hell?” He pulls the knife out, tossing it into a trash bag, and you grimace in apology.

“Sorry. But- You shouldn’t have grabbed me-“

“I thought we were friends,” he drawls your name, the vessel’s eye already healing. “Yet, the first you see of me in months, you’re trying to take out my favorite eye.”

“I said sorry.” You cross your arms over your chest. “And it wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t fucking grab me-“

“I grab people all the time. I never get stabbed.”

“Well, maybe it’s a good thing. You learned something new.” You sigh, glancing over your shoulder, then back to Balthazar. “I- What are you even doing here?”

“I’m helping!” He spreads his arms wide, a smug grin plastered on his face. “You’re welcome!”

You don’t bother to fake impression. “Uh huh. Helping with what.”

“Ah, see- I don’t want to tell you that. I’m just letting you know you should all get off this plane, and then I’m going to go back into hiding. I’m risking a lot to be here, you know- Christ-“

You grab another knife from the attendants’ supplies, slam your forearm against Balthazar’s neck, and pin him against the wall with the knife angled over his still-healing eye.

“Well, darling,” he smirks. “I don’t think Old Dean Boy will approve, but if you’re that instant-“

“Balthazar.” Your voice is cold and firm, and he snaps his mouth shut. “I’m not in the mood to fuck around. What, exactly, are you helping with.”

Balthazar sighs, eyeing you and your plastic knife carefully. “You must promise not to stab me again.”

“No.”

“Well, at least go for my other eyes-“ He flinches as you leer forwards. “Never mind. I’m fine like this. This is wonderful.” He lets out a slow breath, working his mouth once or twice before speaking. “See, Heaven has been a bit of a… Mess. Since you and Castiel left.”

You blink, tilting your head. “What?”

“I’m offering backstory.” He shrugs. “It’s important to my narrative. You and Cassie swept in, took over-“

“I didn’t take over-“

“Castiel used you to take over. If a man with a dragon for a pet or wife or whatever you are-“ He waves a hand dismissively. “Walks into a country and declares himself the new ruler, it is quite hard to argue. Especially when the dragon gives him extra dragon-gift powers.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You are bigger and brighter than God, darling. He had you on his arm. You helped the takeover.” Balthazar sighs. “But I’m afraid Castiel might have gotten a little… Blinded, in trying to cure you. He used many of heaven’s resources. Killed many who disagreed with him, not wanting to bother with the time of a trial. He was a tad of a madman, and a few new factions started to brew, and- Well, we’re not quite in a Civil War again, but there’s quite a reckoning. New leadership, with new ideas, and a bit of a vendetta, against Castiel and any of those who supported him in hiding the Bride.”

There’s a chilling buzz of the Silver up your spine, but you ignore it. “Balthazar, the point-“

“I’ve been banished.” He sighs. “Joshua has his immunity from our father, but I believe there’s radio silence between them. Things are a mess.” He shrugs. “I needed a job.”

Your eyes narrow. “What did you do.”

Balthazar sighs, letting out a huffed laugh. “Maybe, just maybe, I have been working with my brothers and sisters as a… matchmaker. They want humans. I know humans. You understand how it is.”

He throws you a winning smile, and you grit your teeth tight enough to feel it in your skull.

“But- That’s what the warning is!” He adds quickly, probably seeing the anger washed over your face. “I didn’t matchmake any flights on this plane! So, you know. Suspicious.”

That makes you falter. You glance back to the Sand Man, still in his seat. “But- There’s someone marked, already.”

“I know. I’m telling you he should not be. So- Get off the plane.” He gestures to the emergency exit, and you scowl.

“We can’t fly, dipshit.” You push away from him, spinning the knife in your hands. “But- You know what. I don’t care. A Pari is a Pari.”

Balthazar frowns. “Well, yes, but I also think you should be taking my warning a little more seriously.”

You shoot him a flat look, but before you can snap something back, Cas says your name from right behind you.

“There you are.” He’s still looking at his game of pong. “The world is looking for you.”

“He’s awake?” You frown, and Cas nods.

“A very gooey.”

“Yeah. Isn’t he always.”

Balthazar clears his throat from behind you, and Cas glances up with a frown.

“Balthazar. You’re dirty.”

You snort, and Balthazar sighs.

“I’m broke, Castiel. Which is all your fault, while we’re keeping record-“ Balthazar pauses, squinting slightly. “You are… Strange looking.” He glances at you. “What happened to him?”

“He, um- He ate a bunch of monsters, then vomited them, and now-“ You wave loosely to Cas, frowning around the cabin.

The Silver is lighting up.

It just started now. The moment Cas reached you. A strange feeling dragging through the Silver and over your skin, like oil being poured into water. You bite the inside of your cheek, spinning the knife between your fingers, and walk slightly forward. Enough to see out the windows.

To see the clouds. Rushing past you, but never changing. Like a tape caught in a loop, playing on itself over and over again.

Cas is behind you again. “The dunes are rising.”

“Yeah.” Fuck. “I know.”

There’s nothing new in the cabin. No angel with a million wings and eyes like the two behind you, no vessel dripping with poison or filled with smoke. No new, hollow body with bright eyes. Just the exact same passengers as before. The Sand Man isn’t being kidnapped. He’s just sitting there, leaning out of the aisle like he’s looking for an attendant.

“Fucking- Shit.” You mutter under your breath, looking around, praying a Pari would just fall from the damn sky. You’re not that lucky.

Plan B it is.

“Balthazar, give me your angel blade.” You hold out your hand, shooting him a glare before he can argue. “Now.”

He rolls his eyes, but shoves the long, angular blade into your hands. You spin it once, twice in your hands, then raise it up to your forearm. Dean and Bobby are going to be pissed. They’ll live.

You slice neatly down, biting down the hiss of pain. The angel blade is worse than iron, worse than those knives Hell’s Assassins used to us on you. It’s cold, like liquid nitrogen. But the numb helps. You stay on steady feet, shoving the blade back into Balthazar’s hands before swiping your fingers through the blood.

It’s a simple sigil. Simple for you. It took months to design, and you never did get to use it, but it’s supposed to work on an archangel. You’re assuming it’s going to work fine on the pari.

You slam your hand on the drawing, and a wave of netting-patterned light bursts outwards. Trapping every angel inside the plane, blocking them from angel radio, and—hopefully, this is the part you were working on, that if you messed up might cause a very messy explosion—tethering their grace to you. You can feel Balthazar and Cas humming behind you. And something coming from further down the cabin, that you can’t quite pinpoint.

The good news is it worked. You might’ve taken a bigger risk than needed, but it worked perfectly.

The bad news is you still have no fucking clue where the pari is.

You mutter for Balthazar and Cas to follow, walking down the aisle, towards the pull of the third angel. It’s not concentrated, like they are. It’s more of a general hum, coming from your area of the plane. The Sand Man left his seat, but when you look up with wide eyes, you just find him a few rows down.

Standing with a pale, sunken-faced Dean.

He’s trying to talk to Dean, but your amazing, frightened idiot is looking up at him like he’s speaking a different language. His hands are fiddling in his lap—pulling at his sleeves and twisting his watch—and his eyes are wide and nervous. He looks a little like a lost child.

And his face lights up, when he spots you. He leans forward, looking like he’s going to stand, but the plane shakes and he shoots back down. You smile to yourself, scooting past Sand Man with a tight smile, holding out your hand for Dean to take.

“You okay, Deano?”

He scowls. Or it’s supposed to be a scowl. It looks like more of a pout. “You freakin’- Woke up and you weren’t there-“

“I know. I’m sorry.” Your words are soft and sincere—you really don’t like leaving him, this afraid and rarely vulnerable—and he grunts.

“’S alright. Just- Didn’t like it. You gonna sit?”

You sigh. “Um- Soon. I’m dealing with something.”

“Something?” Dean’s glances at your arm. At the blood, seeping through your sleeve. “Fuckin’-“ He swears your name, and you shake your head.

“No, I did that on purpose-“

“That’s- Son of a bitch, that’s worse-“

“It’s just a cut, Winchester. I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding-“

“I will heal her after.” Balthazar drawls from behind you. “As soon as my leash is off.”

You shrug, voice flat. “Sorry.”

Dean frowns, craning his neck just enough to see Cas and Balthazar waiting behind you. “Is that-“

“Yeah. He’s been working with the pari, he thinks this is something weirder than usual, and- I agree. But it’s fine.” You say quickly. “I’m fine. Honestly, it’s more annoying than anything. Um- Jody?” You twist, still holding Dean’s hand. “Can you keep an eye on, what’s your name, sir?”

You acknowledge sandman for the first time, and he just blinks at you. Dean answers for him.

“This is, uh- Daniel?” He looks up at the man with a frown. “He was tellin’ me about how he’s used to flying. And it gets easier.” He tugs on your arm, pulling you a little further down. “I don’t wanna do this shit enough to make it easier, baby.Ain’t worth it.”

You give him a fond smile, brushing your fingers through his hair. “I got that, Deano.”

“Your boyfriend is quite afraid of flying.” Daniel hums, his voice laced with a thick accent you can’t quite place. “Are you fine, seeing him suffer in such a way?”

Your eyes narrow, and you regard Daniel coldly, a burn lighting up through the Spiderweb. “I’m sorry?”

“I am just saying. If I had such a man-“

“But you don’t.” You move to block Dean from his view, and maybe you should just let the pari take him. He doesn’t know you. He doesn’t know that you’d drain all the water from the oceans and pull the sky to the earth, just to protect your Dean.

Daniel takes a small step back, something almost fearful flashing over his features, but he doesn’t fully retreat. “I- Ah- Well-“

“Cas.” You snap. “Keep an eye on him.”

Cas nods slipping between you and Daniel, putting down his phone with a dramatic sigh. Balthazar shifts awkwardly on his feet, and you gesture for him to follow you.

“I’ll be right back.” You hook your pinky though Dean’s, and he looks doubtful, but just gives a tiny nod. “Balthazar, you’re going to do a memory wipe after this, then I’ll let you out.”

Balthazar nods, giving you a cautious expression. “And what, pray tell, do you need a memory wipe for?”

You sigh. “The domestic terrorism I’m about to do.”

“Ah. Of course.”

You march down the aisle, place your hand flat on the cockpit door, and let just enough of the Silver out to weave through the cold, resolved metal. Weaking it’s willing, coaxing it to relax. To let you in.

The door clicks. You slip inside, and the piolets jump up with wide eyes. You point Balthazar forward, and he snaps his fingers with another dramatic sigh. The piolets are immediately tied to their seats and knocked out, and you stalk towards the control panels.

“This all feels like a bit much-“

“We’re not flying anywhere.” You mutter, squinting at the radar. “And time isn’t moving.” You tap the clock. “We’re all stuck here, until I fix this. So it feels appropriate.”

You reach out a hand, flexing your fingers in a silent request for the angel blade. Balthazar passes it over without a word, and you shoot him a grin.

“Good boy.”

“You are quite mean, when you’re not about to have a fit.”

You stick out your tongue, spinning the blade in your hands, and go back out the cabin. Your attention is narrowed down to finding the pari, but really it’s just narrowed down to Dean. He’s not going to breathe easy until you get him out of here. You’re not getting out of here until you grab that damn hidden pari.

So you’re not fucking around.

You stalk down the rows, and everyone seems to have clued into something going on. You feel a pang of guilt, when you see a little girl curling away from you, and you hide your blade behind your back. Her soul is a soft, lilac purple. It reminds you of Sam’s. You offer her a gentle smile, and she relaxes slightly. Her father glowers at you, but you smile at him too, and somehow they’re not reading it as the smile of a single-minded psycho bitch hijacking a plane. They smile back, their souls soothing down, and you blink.

You smile at another person. They relax too.

The Silver isn’t really moving out of you, but you can feel it buzzing under your skin. A little over it, too. Like it’s just sweat, falling from your pores.

Everyone seems more relaxed by it, though. You decide some questions can be saved for when you’re not in the middle of an active hunt.

You go up and down the plane three times. You even check the back, in case you’re wrong about the pari’s location. But it’s not there, or in your estimated area, or anywhere. You’re gripping the blade tighter and tighter, chewing on your mouth until it starts to bleed, and when you get back to Dean’s side, fucking Daniel is still there, still trying to talk to him over Cas’ shoulder. Cas, to his credit, is answering every flirty question with his typical, dry insanity. Dean seems more amused by that than anything Daniel is doing.

“Where are you headed?” Daniel asks, and Cas shrugs.

“I like Jupiter. But I have to wait for it. I owe it many apologies.”

Daniel blinks in annoyance, Dean grins, and you sigh.

“Cas, are you feeling anything-“

“Just you.” He says. “Can we go back to the rivers?”

“Not yet. I- I’m working on it.” You glare back down the cabin. There’s nothing. No strange vessel, no strange soul, nothing but a feeling in the air that even the Silver can’t place. Maybe you should just fucking toss Daniel and his weird fucking sand overboard and go home-

Daniel.

And his weird sand.

You stand a little taller, moving Cas gently to the side with one hand. You narrow your eyes, examining his two cores. One in his head. One bursting at his back. Like a hat. And wings. You glance down to Dean, and swallow.

It’s hidden all the sludge of his fear, so potent it’s even coating the blinding rush of you through him. But it’s there. Curled in his back, less like a blooming flower and more like a growing parasite. Or a rope. To be yanked on.

You’re a fucking idiot.

You spin the blade in your hands, and charge Daniel without a warning. Balthazar shouts, Jody shoots up from her seat, and Dean does the same with slightly shakier legs. Daniel’s eyes widen in fear, and whatever fucking shield he’d been tricking you with dissolves the moment you grab his collar.

He’s not a man with a sandy soul. He’s made of sand. Electric sand, whirling like a storm, crackling with occasional, pale golden lightning. The core on his head shoots up into a round, tall hall, and the core on his back bursts into wings, furled tight in his vessel. His hands fly up in quick surrender, and he cowers like an animal, but you don’t falter. You press the tip of the blade against his gut, one hand pinning him to the toilet door by his chest.

“My- My lady-“

“Shut up.” You snap, and he swallows. “It’s you. How the fuck did you hide from me.”

He blinks, opening and closing his mouth, and you sigh.

“You can talk to answer a question.”

“Right. Of course.” He swallows, looking back and forth to the silent, gaping human audience. “Well, I’d like to start by pleading that I meant no disrespect-“

“Disrespect-“

“Of your human. We- We understand that he is… It is Dean Winchester. He should not be touched by any other than… Um- Our lady.”

“Uh huh.” You shove down the bile at our lady. “It kind of looked like you were touching him, though.”

Daniel pales. “I- I had to. She told me that was the only way, for us to have a home- I didn’t have a choice-“

“Ah.” You press the blade a little further, and Daniel falls silent. “Who’s she? Eve?”

Daniel nods, and you take deep breath.

“Okay. What did she promise you.”

“That if we brought her Dean Winchester, she’d give us a home.”

“A home?” You frown. “Don’t you have like- A whole kingdom?”

“Not anymore. We- We were banished with everything else.” Daniel’s eyes cloud over with something you recognize all too well. Something tired. Something homesick.

“To Purgatory.” You murmur, and he nods.

“We were offerings. We- We were food.”

Food.

A phantom smell clogs your nose, and a memory of teeth gashes flashes through your head. That dead world, from the Oracle’s cave.

Food.

“I won’t take him.” Daniel says quickly. “And I- I will tell my siblings to stop baiting. But- Please, my lady, you must understand-“

“You were desperate.” You mutter. “You- You didn’t feel like you had another choice.”

Daniel nods eagerly, and you let him go. Step back with a deep breath.

“Tell Eve.” You say slowly, holding his gaze. “That if she’s trying to talk to me, she can do it herself. And if she wants Dean-“ You drop your voice, your voice cold. “She should start thinking about where she wants to be buried.”

Daniel pales, but nods. “Yes. Of course-“

“Don’t call me my lady.”

Daniel nods again, and you sigh. You recognize that look on his face. It’s the same one all those angels had, when they saw you in Heaven. Like they’re ready to follow you over Heaven, over everything, off the edge of the deepest fucking void. You don’t think the pari will be a problem again. Not if the influx in abduction was just bait, and Daniel is looking at you like that.

You wish he wouldn’t.

The only person you’d ever want—ever need—to follow you is Dean. And for once, even your loud, angry brain can’t find a way to twist how he’s tensed until the moment you sit back at his side. How he curls right into your arms like you’re the only thing he knows, and doesn’t move until the plane touches the ground.

It was a neat clean up, with Balthazar to help. None of the passengers or crew remember anything going wrong, and Balthazar and Cas weren’t hurt by your spell. When you get off the plane, you feel the relief shake in Dean’s shoulders, and you’re going to have to find him a real knock-out drug to get him through the flight back.

You sit on the floor of the terminal together, while Claire drags Jody to get lunch and Bobby—yawning and rubbing his neck—calls Sam with the update you relayed him.

“You feeling better?” You whisper to Dean, and he nods, kissing the side of your head.

“Feel awesome. Uh- Don’t tell Sammy. ‘Bout any of that.”

You laugh, giving him a teasing grin. “Why? You were so cute.”

“Ha ha.” He pinches your side, dragging you fully between his legs. “Glad you find my suffering cute.”

“I don’t, I just find you cute-“

“Aw. You got a crush on me.”

You flush, turning your face away from his gaze. “Shut up.” You mumble, and it doesn’t even sound convincing to yourself.

Dean laughs, nosing a kiss under your jaw, and you almost go limp in his arms. Like he’s found a button, turning you to putty in his arms.

“I got a crush on you, Princess.” He mutters, and you can’t force down your stupid, giddy smile.

It’s dumb for that to mean so much. He sleeps in your bed. You’ve had sex, three whole times, not that you’re counting. You love him so much the whole world seems to feel it, knowing that there isn’t a line you wouldn’t cross to keep him safe. Knowing that for every flower your love grows, you think you could turn into something worse than a hurricane if he was taken away. You love him enough to create new worlds, and destroy them too.

And he clung to you through the whole flight, and kisses you all the time, and pleads that he needs you when you fight. He waits for you like you’re a rising star over the horizon, and you’re going to be something that guides him home every time you return. Which you always will. For Dean.

But he says he has a crush on you, and it’s like you’re eighteen years old in a tiny motel room again.

“You’re a dork.” You grunt, resting your head on his shoulder, and he just laughs.

“I’m your dork.”

And fuck, he really is. You think your heart would beat out of your chest with the shot of euphoria that sends into your blood, if there wasn’t something still lingering on the edge of your thoughts.

Something made of things that don’t quite add up. Homeless angels, teeth, and Eve. They blur into and over each other, leaving gaps you don’t know how to fill.

And that dead world. You keep seeing it, when you close your eyes too long. More and more as you think about it.

You don’t know what’s coming, this time. You don’t have even a clue, for the first time in a while, what you’re facing at all.

But you’ll be strong enough this time. Death warned you.

You don’t think you’re going to have a choice.

He’d stopped trying to shoulder on the jacket. Gone still, holding your hand over his chest, an almost pleading look on his face.

“I’ll call.” You’d said gently. “And text. And Sam will text. Claire still has that tracker you put on her, and if she threw it out I’ll ask her to text you to-“

“You think she’s gonna find it?” His brow had knit, and you’d given him a pointed look.

“She’s almost fifteen, Dean. And she’s not a dog.”

His frown had only deepened. “I don’t like the kids she’s been hanging out with. And she might not have a target like us, but if Crowley comes knocking-“

“I’ll be with her.”

“Right now, but-“

“I’m not making you get rid of the tracker.” You’d tugged on his shirt slightly, pulling him a little closer.

Dean had stumbled forward like someone shoved him. Your breath had caught, your body suddenly pinned to the door, and maybe that hadn’t been the best way to get his attention.

He was all around you. His arms braced by your head, his lips brushing over yours, crowding your space until he was the only thing you could see. You’d been planning to say something soothing and smart like we’ll be home before you know it, before grabbing the keys out of his jacket and running, but your mind had gone blank.

Dean’s face had slowly curved into a knowing smirk, as your lips had parted. He’d leaned a little further down, letting his mouth ghost over your cheek, his words deep and teasing in your ears.

“Let me come with you, Princess.” A large hand had landed on your hip, and your nails had curled into his chest. “Sammy can stay home, you know letting him run around the library for a week is like setting a kid in a candy maze-“

“That’s not the saying.” You’d breathed out, and Dean had chuckled.

“Alright. Tell me what it is in the car.”

And you almost had. Dean had leaned back, his eyes blown out on yours, brows raised in challenge, and you would’ve fucking folded if Jo hadn’t walked in right then. Coughed your name and reminded you that it needed to be Sam, because he was the only other person besides Bobby who spoke some sign language.

“I can learn-“

“In two days?” Jo had snapped, and Dean had scowled.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he’d looked back to you, still pinned to the door. “I’ll let you drive Baby, then we can stick grumpy and the kid in their own room-“

“Sam. Get him.”

Sam had let out a long sigh from behind Dean—you hadn’t even realized he was in the hall—and dragged Dean back by the collar of his shirt. There had been some shouting and arguing, Bobby had walked into the room with a glare, and Dean had given up.

He’d sulked, though. He’d stood next to you like a person guard, protecting you from the dangerous hallway shadows while you put on your shoes. He’d  walked you out to the car and kissed the top of your head, asking one more time where no one could hear.

“I’ll hide in the trunk-“

“De.” You’d smiled at him, and he’d been fucking pouting.

You don’t know what’s getting into him. It was like this in Alabama, when you’d gone off to get the oracle. At the cape, too, when you’d just been going for a walk on the beach. He’s been acting like every time you go out of his side, you might never return.

He must not know, that there isn’t a place in the universe he could call you from that you wouldn’t answer. A single cage or hidden underworld God could lock you in, that you wouldn’t tear apart to get back to his side. You’d burn Heaven to ash. You’d turn it into that dead world from the vision in the cave, if it returned you to Dean.

There hadn’t been a good way to tell him that, in the three minutes before you had to take off. So you’d just pressed a quick, nervous kiss to his lips, and smiled.

“We’ll be quick.” You’d said. “We’re not even going on a hunt. It’s like- A glorified grocery run.”

“In Maine.” He’d grumbled, and you’d shrugged.

“It’s not that far, when you think about it-“

“It’s twenty hours, Princess. Just to damn get there.”

“And in the grande scheme of things, that’s barely any time at all-“

Dean had cut you off with a kiss. It had been longer than yours. Your knees had almost given out from the force of it, and when you’d grabbed his arms for support he’d picked you up and set you on the hood of the Firebird.

You’d moaned, melting forward into his heat, and a low sound had rumbled from his chest. One hand had tangled in your hair, the other wrapped around your waist, and your legs had been spread to let him lean between them. Heat that had nothing to do with the humid summer night had started to rise in your body like a fever you never wanted to be cured of. The Spiderweb had glowed, your head high and dizzy on the taste and smell of him, the light squeeze of your waist and perfect, demanding movement of his lips against yours-

Jo had whacked Dean upside the head, and you’d pulled apart to see her, a flustered looking Sam, and wide-eyed Claire waiting.

You’d had to go.

Dean had been in your rearview mirror until you turned the last bend of the drive, and the trees had blocked him from sight.

“We shoulda never helped you.” Jo had grumbled. “I don’t feel safe in my own damn home anymore, keep thinkin’ I’m gonna turn a corner and find you givin’ him head-“

“No, don’t- Gross.” Sam had whined. “I don’t wanna think about that-“

“Well, I don’t wanna see it!” Jo had rolled her eyes. “They’re like fuckin’ rabbits in a heat-“

“Rabbits don’t go into heat.” You’d mumbled, so much heat in your cheeks you’d been worried you were going to pass out.

“What’s a heat?” Claire had asked, and Jo had snorted.

It had been her job to explain that. You’d only listened enough to make sure she didn’t says something insane, most of your thoughts still back with Dean, and his hands, and his big body pressed over yours as his voice drawled in your ear. The wet, sloppy kisses he trails up your neck, his fingers toying with the hem of your shirt. His firm touch dragging up your stomach, pinning you to the mattress as he’d suck on a sensitive spot, his knuckles brushing under your breast as you keen up into him. Then the hardness in his pants pressed near your thigh, your moans getting louder as he teases you, and, and- and-

“Stop thinkin’ about him.” Jo had whispered a few hours later, when Sam and Claire were knocked out in the back seat. “Whore.”

You’d flushed and hit her. She laughed.

She knew damn fucking well that you and Dean still hadn’t actually been having sex. You’d upped your efforts to walking around in just his shirt before bed and sitting on his lap to watch TV. And he’s touching you, sure, but it’s all affectionate squeezes of your hips and respectful kisses on your nose and neck.

You don’t want him to be respectful. You want him to slam you back against a wall and shove his fingers inside you. To crowd you in bed and flip you over, shoving your knees aside before pressing his face to your core and keeping you there. Pick you up in his lap so he can free him, then sit you down on his cock until you’re sobbing. Every day you feel like you’re about to explode. Every day, Dean kisses you and lets his hands roam over your body, tiding you over enough that you don’t just beg, but driving you more and more out of your mind.

You’d been getting dizzy with it. The desire.

Maybe it’s good that he’s not coming on this trip. You’d spend the whole time just trying to silently beg him to fuck you instead of working.

Instead of finding Eileen.

You and Rowena found a loop in whatever protection spell she’d been using. Or you found it, and Rowena helped you make the spell to track her down, showing you how to do an exact location on Bobby’s old maps.

She’s up in Maine. In a small town near Moose-Head lake. It’s a far drive, but still closer than you’d fear. Part of you had expected her to make it back to Europe by now.

But you found her. Told Bobby you and Jo were going to get her. With everything going on, Bobby had told you to take Sam. He was keeping Dean back home to look for a lead on the things from Alabama.

Claire demanded she come as well. Bobby said no, and she went on a hunger strike for two days.

You told Bobby you can handle her, and you can. It’s not even a real case. She’s done with summer school, and if she wants to spend her break driving to Maine in the Firebird to pick up a woman she’s never met, that’s Claire’s choice.

This will be easy.

Compared to the rest of your life, this is going to be a fucking vacation.

You hit Maine early in the morning, after a little under two days. Sam goes to grab a room while Jo goes for a walk, and Claire keeps snoring in the back. When you check your phone, Dean’s sent you fifteen texts since the time you checked. Most of them are pictures of Indy or random things he decided you needed to hear. Rowena stole Bobby’s tomatoes, think he’s gonna kill her. Jody was over for dinner last night, she brought you brownies, I put them in the fridge. Indy ate one. Can dragons eat chocolate? Ask Sammy if dragons can eat chocolate. I tried to google it, but that didn’t do anything. Bobby thinks it’s fine. She seems fine. She’s trying to open the fridge. I think I gave her a taste for them.

You smile to yourself, and text she’s an omnivore.

He responds in seconds. that’s all the food. including chocolate. There’s a beat, and then, right?

Right.

thank fuck. you woulda killed me.

No I- You backspace. I wouldn’t have killed you. Just maimed.

You can almost hear his snort. nah. you like my pretty face to much.

Your heart does a little stumble. But I’d be fine with killing you?

youd be gentle about it. with a pillow. Suffication.

Suffocation.

whatever. point is youd keep me young and beautiful.

You’re smiling like an idiot. Fine. How would you kill me?

i wouldn’t. The response is immediate, and your fingers curl on your phone.

Well, what if you had to.

nope. never.

What if I became evil?

id be evil with you, princess. id be your henchman.

You bite your lip, and that shouldn’t make you feel as gooey as it does. What if I didn’t need a henchman? I could be evil by myself.

you wouldnt like being evil by yourself.

That’s probably true. You barely like being by yourself, period. It gets loud and cold. Well, maybe I don’t need a henchman.

youd find a use for me. henchman can be for sex things.

The last text comes in, and your grip on your phone slips. You fumble to grab it, looking over your shoulder to make sure the bang didn’t wake Claire, and Sam taps on the window.

“Got a room!” He shouts through the glass, and you sigh.

If you didn’t wake up Claire, that does. She makes a grumbling sound, eyes fluttering open, and you send Dean a quick I’ll call you later, Sam’s back text before shoving your phone in your jacket.

You’re exhausted. Sam drove for six hours so you could try to sleep, but your brain had been moving too fast, and without Dean you’d only been able to drift. It’s the kind of tired where your body feels a little further than your hands, and the world feels further than space. But it shouldn’t matter. You’re just finding Eileen, and going home.

It turns out when Sam said I found a room, he meant the a room part. It’s one room with two twins and a pull out couch. You split with Jo, Claire takes her own, and Sam frowns at the couch that probably isn’t going to fit his feet.

“I can go on the couch-“

“Dean would kill me.” Sam mutters, and Jo makes a face.

“And I ain’t sharing a bed with him. He’s got cooties.”

Claire laughs, and Sam makes a face, but doesn’t argue. You’re still worried about him on the couch. If he has a nightmare—which he will—you don’t want him breaking the thin springs or falling through the bed.

“It might be better.” He mutters as you grab coffee from a little local shop. “It’s good to be able to see the door, and- If I had to share, and I saw something that wasn’t- You know-“

“Yeah.” You sigh. “I know. Have you been talking to Rowena about a cure?”

Same snorts. “No.”

“Sam-“

“She’s a horrible listener,” he says your name, giving you a pointed stare. “Every time I try to describe it to her, she asks if my daddy issues are worse than Dean’s, and if my mommy issues have been seeping into my sex life. Then I tell her I’m not going to talk about that with her, and she say not like you’re having sex anyway, is it?”

You snort, mostly at Sam’s poor attempt at a Scottish accent, and Sam scowls.

“Shut up. You’re fucking Dean, and he thinks hotdogs are sandwiches.”

“I- That’s not- We’re not- So what if he does?”

“He’s a dork.” Sam mutters, taking Claire’s requested muffin from the barista, and you smile.

The night before you left, he made you a grilled cheese and made you watch another old cowboy movie with him. He’d been quoting the whole thing under his breath, and you don’t even know what actually happened in the plot. You’d just been staring at him with a stupid smile on your face, beaming whenever he looked in your direction. His eyed had always softened, and he’d stopped quoting to kiss your nose.

After, you’d sat on his chest and talked about superheroes for two hours. His hands had dragged lazily up and down your side, and you’d lost your train of thought as Utah echoed through your head.

How he’d held you, so close to think. Played with you against the wall then sat you down on his cock, turned you to putty in his arms, rolling your hips and sliding you up and down his thick length, the stretch so prefect you’d felt drunk, his mouth possessive against yours and your breathing short as he dragged every bit of pleasure from your body-

“What superpower do you think I’d have?” He’d asked, and you’d blinked at him.

“Huh?”

“If they were dealing them out, you know?” He’d shrugged, eyes shining on yours in the dark. “Like there was some kinda drug you could hit and get a power, what’d you think I would get?”

“Um…” You’d trailed off, trying to collect yourself enough to answer his question, and Dean had kissed your knuckles.

“I know what you’d have. I mean, you already got superpowers, but if we were living in another world-“

“You’d have superstrength.” You’d said, tracing your fingers over the tattoo on his chest. Over his Gold. “And I’d have… Something with fire, I think. I don’t really remember.”

Dean had frowned. “Remember?”

“It was one of the worlds.” You’d whispered, and his hold on you had tightened.

Tears had started to uselessly prick at your eyes, and you’d sniffed. Crying didn’t even make sense here, it hadn’t been real and nothing bad is happening, but you’re crying all the same.

Dean had reached up and wiped the tears from your cheeks, before pulling you down into a tight hug. You’d pressed your face in his neck as he murmured soothing words, and when your breathing had steadied out, he’d slipped a hand under your shirt to trace up your spine.

The touch had been featherlight. Probably meant to be grounding.

It had just sparked like an electric fire over your skin, your thighs wrapping tighter around his leg. If Dean had noticed, he hadn’t said anything. His voice in your ear had been careless and affectionate, like you weren’t dying of thirst in his arms.

“I was gonna say you’d be like a siren.”

You’d twisted in his arms, flushing when your noses bumped. “What?”

He’d smirked. “Your superpower. You’d be able to tell anyone to do anything.”

“Dean-“

“No. It’s my opinion, sweetheart, you’re not allowed to argue with me about that.”

He’d nipped at your nose, and you’d made a sour face.

“That’s not true, I can argue about whatever I want.”

“You’re right.” He’d kissed your jaw. “You can.”

“I know-“ You’d cut yourself off, mouth falling open when you realized what he’d done.

Dean had just given you an almost dopey, lopsided grin. “Anything else you wanna tell me, Princess-“

You’d shoved his chest, and he’d laughed. Flipped you beneath him and kissed you until you were breathless and empty-headed.

He still hadn’t fucked you. But the attention had been more than you’d ever allowed yourself to dream of.

The memory of it made you sway in the café, your fingers tightening around your coffee.

“He’s such a dork.” You breathe, and Sam recoils.

“Stop making that face.”

“I’m not-“

“Yes, you are, you’re making your Dean face-“

“I don’t have a Dean face-“

“Why is she makin’ the Dean face?” Jo asks, walking over with Claire on her tail, and you scowl.

“I’m not- It’s- Shut up.” You shove her coffee into her hand, and cross your arms over your chest. “Did you find anything?”

“In the five minutes we looked in the bookstore?” Jo says flatly. “Nah.”

You give her a murderous look, she smiles back, and Claire holds up a book.

“Jo bought me a surivial guide!” She grins, and you frown.

When you hold out a hand Claire passes it over, and you flip through it quickly, checking what kind of survival it’s guiding about. Sam reads over your shoulder, and when you stop on a page, he points at it with a frown.

“This isn’t true when you’re hunting monsters-“

“I know.” You mutter, shutting the book. “Claire, this is fine for camping. Don’t use it for hunting.”

“Well, I won’t have another choice if no one teaches me how to hunt-“

“Dean’s taking you shooting next weekend.” You mutter, and her eyes light up.

“He is?”

“Yeah.” Sam mutters. “He is?”

“Yep.” He is now, when you ask him later. “Come on. It’s a small town, shouldn’t take that long to ask around.”

And it doesn’t. You don’t even have to split up, to cover the whole thing. There’s a café, a diner—with burgers Dean would like, and fries he’d find acceptable, and music he’d love—and a hardware store that take about an hour combined. The library is mostly empty, as is the town hall, and the bar only has a few older men who eye you—Clare in the car, Jo trying her luck in the corner store next door—and look at Sam like he’s a wandering moose.

“You shootin’ up something, boy?” One asks, and his buddies snort.

Sam just frowns. “No, sir. Actually, I’m FBI, looking to ask you a few questions about a missing person’s case-“

“FBI, huh?” Another man—this one with a scrappier beard than the first—chuckles. “Didn’t know they were lettin’ giants into the feds.”

“I, uh- I don’t think they cared about my height-“

“Well, it can’t just have been your pretty face, boy.”

“Actually, it was my degree from Stanford-“

“Sam.” You mutter under your breath, and he lets out a heavy breath, taking a step back.

The first man looks you up and down, something glinting in his eyes. “Look at that. Pretty doe got a leash on the bear.”

You raise your brows, unimpressed, and the man’s mouth twists into a yellow smile.

“You gonna try and tell me you’re FBI too, sweetheart?”

Jesus, you hate it when people who aren’t Dean call you that. It makes something twist in your gut, the Spiderweb curling like it’s trying to hide.

“I’m not trying to tell you I’m FBI.” You say flatly, pulling out your fake badge. “I am FBI. And like my partner said, we’d like to ask you some questions.”

“What, ‘bout the murders?” The third man—face sunken, soul dim and almost hollow—mutters, and Yellow-Teeth shoots him a glare.”

“Shut it, Freddie.”

“Um,” Sam clears his throat. “What murders?”

“Mind your business, boy-“

“Sir.” You cut him off with a firm glare. “I’d recommend you watch your tone.”

“With you, girl?” He scoffs, and you don’t waver.

“Yes.”

The Silver, humming under your skin, leaks out just a little. Not enough to make you anything more than yourself, but the lights flicker. You raise your chin, tilting your head, and hold the man’s gaze. You could play this nice. Ask him polite and sweet to help you look for your friend, instead of going the fed route. But it would’ve compromised all the other stores, already thinking you and Sam are FBI.

And you don’t really want to play nice here. If you weren’t trying to be clean and quick, you’d start making threats.

“Answer my partners question.” You say, voice cold, and Yellow-Teeth narrows his eyes.

The second man clears his throat. “Lenny, maybe we should tell ‘em, they might be able to help-“

“Help?” Yellow-Teeth—Lenny—snorts. “Yeah, like the model squad here is gonna figure anythin’ out but how to spend our tax dollars so they can take vacations and fuck.” He leans forward, reaching out a hand to rest on your thigh. “I could show you a better time, darling. Never seen something as pretty as you, deserve to see what a real man can do.”

Something crawls over your skin from his touch, and you take a step back. “I think my boyfriend would agree with you.” You snap, and Lenny snorts.

“What, him-“

“No. Tell us about those murders.”

“I’ll tell you when you get on your knees.” Lenny winks, stumbling to his feet. “Or you could give me that pretty girl you got in your car. Seen her through the window, she looks like a spitfire- Shit-“

That’s enough. It’s not like you’re going to be here long enough for it to matter anyway.

You grab out your knife, flipping it in your hand as you lunge forward and slam Lenny’s head into the bar. His friends leap back, Sam shouts your name, and you press the knife right up to Lenny’s throat.

“Bitch.” He spits, and you smile.

“Now, that doesn’t seem like watching your tone, does it?”

Sam says your name again, tone more urgent than before. “What are you doing, he was going to cooperate-“

“He’s cooperating now.”

“I- That’s-“ Sam repeats your name. You ignore him.

“Here’s the deal, buddy.” You lean down, pressing your knife a little tighter. “You’re going to answer our questions, we’re going to leave, and if you try to follow us even a step out the door, Sam’s going to shoot you. And if I see you anywhere near the fucking child in my car, I’m going to cut your balls off and make them into gags for your buddies. Understand?”

Lenny nods, glaring up at you, and Sam sighs and pulls out his gun, seemingly resigned to this being the new plan.

You smile. “Good. Have you, or your friends,” you beam up at his friends who are still gaping at you from a few feet away. “Seen a shorter woman, mid to late twenties, with brown hair? She’d be deaf, probably wearing a green army jacket, carrying a machete and two guns. I don’t know the makes.”

Lenny grunts a no, and his friends shake their heads. You sigh.

“Fine. What’s going on with the murders.”

You lessen your knife, just enough for Lenny to speak, and he gulps at the air, face red.

“What kinda fuckin’ feds are you-“

“Normal ones.” You drawl. “Answer the question.”

“Two of our guys.” The third man, Freddie, cuts in. Probably trying to save Lenny from saying something really stupid. “Mike and Dan. They turned up dead at the lake last week, few days apart. Now Betty’s sayin’ Greg’s missin’- Another friend of ours, but he was the chief of police. Only guy we got lookin’ into it, and he’s gone.”

You frown, glancing over to Sam. He’s wearing an identical, scrunched expression. You can hear the gears turning in his head.

“Your friends.” He says slowly. “Did they mention seeing anything, before they went missing? Is there anyone who might want you all hurt?”

“You mean beside your attack cunt-“

Lenny’s sneer is cut into a gag, as you press your knife to his throat again.

“Oh, that’s not a very nice word.” You look up to Sam. “I can pretty easily see someone wanting to kill him.”

Sam makes a tight face, and Freddie clears his throat.

“Mike said he’d been seein’ this girl, that she liked hanging out near the river.”

“That she only liked being at the river.” The second guy adds. “He never seen her anywhere else.”

You frown. These men don’t seem like the brightest, but it seems pretty obvious that any woman who won’t leave the river is a the very least suspicious.

“She kept askin’ Mike to join her in the river. To come back and see her. But Mike ain’t able to swim, he wasn’t happy about having to get that close to any water-“

“Then why’d he got to the river in the first place?” Sam says, and Freddie shrugs.

“Saw her from the road. Thought she was the prettiest thing ever.”

“Wish he could’ve seen you first.” The second man mutters, eyes locked on yours. “He mighta had his head cleared. Wouldn’t be dead.”

You choose to ignore that, looking back to Sam. “You think…”

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Probably.”

“Dammit.” You release Lenny without a second look, stalking over to the door. “Stupid fucking job.”

Sam snorts, following you out to the car, leaving the men befuddled and angry in the bar. They won’t follow. You were pretty clear about what would happen if they did

You might be so tired the Silver is spilling out of you without you realizing it, because you’re still yours, but you’re also the homesickness of the dandelion seeds on the wind, and the anger of the rotten wood in the bar, neglected and miserable.

You just wanted to find Eileen and go home. But there’s no Eileen, and apparently a fucking case to deal with.

“You’re grumpy.” Jo says as you walk into the morgue room, and you stick your tongue out a her.

“I’m tired-“

“Go to bed.”

“I can’t. It’s too early.” You flip the sheet on the body, wrinkling your nose at the bloated, purple face of Mike. “Fucking- Ew.”

Jo grunts an agreement. “He smells like fish.”

“And death.”

“Yeah, ‘cause he’s dead-“

“No, he smells like death.” You lean down, taking a deep breath through your nose. Your eyes water, but you’re right. “He’s salty.”

Jo stares at you like you’re insane. “Huh?”

“He smells like salt and- Not roses. But,” you inhale again, forcing down a gag. “Um- Crabapples?”

“Weird. Maybe he had a perfume.”

“This body is days old, a perfume would’ve been gone-“

“Then maybe he was marinating with some apples.” Jo shrugs, pulling on the gloves. “I’m givin’ you solutions.”

You roll your eyes, walking back to her side as she pulls the sheet all the way off.

The water messed with Mike’s body, but most parts are still intact. He’s got all his fingers. All his toes. But-

“Damn.” Jo squints. “Tough luck for Mike.”

You nod, picking a long, metal tool off the table. You poke his manhood to the slide, wincing at the pathic, tiny flop against his gray skin, and press your lips in a tight line.

“Did you kill him?” Jo grins, and you sigh.

Sam told her about the bar before you could even get in a word about the case. Jo, at least, through it was funny.

Your eyes drag away from Mike’s lonely, ballless, floppy dick and down his swollen legs.

“Jo.” You point with the tool, rising back up. “Look at that.”

Jo follows your direction, then frowns. “They look like-“

“Rope marks.” You finish, setting down the tool. “We need the police reports, and autopsy reports. If it was a spell there might be reside of the ingredients in his blood, or something at the crime scene. If it was just rope, that’ll be in the reports too, and we can get it from evidence-“

“I know.” Jo pulls off her gloves, dumping them in the trash. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

You nod, pulling out your phone to text Sam an update. You should’ve known better, when you saw the smirk on her face.

“He bigger than Dean?”

“Uh- Who?”

You look up and Jo wiggles her brows. Nods to Mike’s body with a smirk.

It takes you another second, before you connect her words. A flush hit your face, your eyes going wide, and you’re going to fucking kill her.

“Jo-“

“I’m just askin’-“

“It’s- That’s- I’m not telling you how-“ You drop your voice to a hiss. “How big Dean is.”

“Why, ‘cause he’s small?”

“No!”

“So he’s big-“

“Yes, but-“

“Yes?!”

“Shut up!” You whine, and Jo laughs. Bumps your shoulder before strutting out the door, leaving you trailing behind her with a burning face.

Jo drives you back to the motel—you’re apparently too tired to be trusted—and you make it about three minutes before you yawn, and your tongue starts to feel loose.

“He’s big.” You mumble, hugging your stomach, and Jo snorts.

“Course he is.”

“He’s thick, too.” You hold up your hands in a circle, making it smaller and bigger until you’ve got it exactly. “Like this.”

You hold the circle in Jo’s face, and she shakes her head.

“Jesus, I don’t wanna fuckin’ know that-“

“Why not?”

“’Cause I don’t wanna know about Dean’s dick!”

You frown. “You asked.”

“I was jokin’.”

“Oh.” You pause, your mind wandering faster than your mouth can keep up with. “He’s my cowboy.”

You lean your head on Jo’s shoulder, and she sighs.

“Yeah. I know.”

“He got me lingerie. I dunno how to wear it.” You squint at her. “Have you ever worn it? Does it hurt?”

“What, lingerie?”

You nod, and Jo shoots you an amused look.

“You’re like a kitten sometimes, you know that?”

“No.”

Her mouth twitches. She doesn’t elaborate. “No. It doesn’t hurt.”

That’s good. You’d been more worried than you want to say aloud.

“We don’t talk about your love life a lot.” You yawn, fighting to stay awake. “Is it cause I talk about Dean too much?”

“No. I just don’t really have one. Never did.”

“I didn’t either-“

“You had Dean. That counts. I had no one, which I’m fine with. I’m good how I am.”

You hum, nodding absentmindedly. “You got me. If you’re lonely.”

You can hear the smile in her voice. “I don’t get lonely. Not anymore.”

She turns up the radio, and you both listen in silence until you arrive at the motel. The morgue let you in late, and it’s well past dinner. Sam and Claire ate while you and Jo were out, and when you get inside, Claire’s watching cartoons while Sam reads. You share the rope thing with Sam, and agree to look into it in the morning. Sam and Jo can go look at the river while you get the reports and keep looking for Eileen, but nothing’s happening tonight.

You poke at your leftovers, staring at your phone and trying to will Dean to call. Your eyes are drooping, but you’re still too wired to sleep.

And you’d forgotten Velma in your shared bag with Dean. Which means the only Gold you have of him is on the dirty shirt you wore when you hugged him goodbye, and the marks on your neck.

He’s been texting you all day, but only short updates. He knows you’re searching, and he’s perfect and thoughtful, so he’s probably trying not to bother you. Which still looks like five texts an hour, about something Cas said that needs translating, something Indy did to Rowena, how he’s worried Bobby’s found the sheets from the saferoom before they got washed, and he’s really just trying to get Dean alone to kill him. You’ve told him a million times that Bobby wouldn’t do that, but he’s never been convinced.

For most of the texts, you’ve been responding with small jokes and more attempts to drop hint. You even googled how to tell a guy you want to sleep with him while Jo was getting lunch earlier, and closed the tab before she even got back with an antsy feeling at the top of your chest.

You got this far, somehow. There’s has to be something about your vile, crude, angry personality that he likes without just asking him like the article suggested.

I don’t have that many pairs of underwear. You told him. I think I might have to go without them. But- You pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard. It felt dirty, but in a good way. A tingling way in your core, winding you tight for him to take apart.

Dean had responded before you got the chance. i can buy you new ones. but I wanna see you try them on

You flush, and flipped your phone over to take deep breaths. You take a quick look around the room. No one’s paying attention.

You can do this. You can do this.

I’m still on the hunt. I only have skirts lefts, and I’m basically out now. 

He doesn’t respond for thirty minutes. Your throat is getting tight when your phone finally dings.

Jesus, Princess. You like trying to kill me.

No?

I dont believe you

Are you okay? If you’re hurt you need to tell Bobby, he can patch you-

I’m good. Dean’s message comes through before you can send your next one. One part hurts, but you’re the only one I want taking care of it.  

Oh.

Oh.

You blink at your phone stupidly, then type Okay. I have to go to the bathroom.

Dean sends a thumbs up, and you excuse yourself to the shower.

You don’t actually use it. You just sit in the tub, staring at your phone and trying to use the porcelain to cool the heat in your body. It works well enough that you don’t look like a wanton whore anymore. But you miss him like homesickness. Not just to cool this unyielding desire, but to be there.  A voice outside your head that’s louder than you can scream in your head, a place you don’t feel like an intrusion on for daring to tread on scared land, tar leaking from your feet and hands like a broken sewage pipe. The Silver isn’t a danger right now, but it’s not a comfort either. And the heat just makes you feel like there aren’t enough sweet things in the world that could satiate you, until you have Dean.

But you haven’t gotten a new text in an hour and a half, and there’s nothing to respond to but the thumbs up.

You’re allowed to text first. You could tell him about the diner, or ask how Indy’s doing. But he could be busy.

If he’s busy, you don’t want to bother him. You’re not as important as the research, and if he’s just sleeping you don’t want to wake him up.

It can wait until morning, when he texts first. Then you’ll respond, like a sensible woman, instead of a tired disaster who’s aching for his touch like the absence of it burns. Like not having him next to you is the same as having your skin flayed from your body.

You’re going to wait. For the morning.

You tell yourself you’re going to wait for morning. You even go through all the motions. Take a shower, brush your teeth—check your phone again, still nothing—read a little while Jo and Claire finish their cartoon, then help Sam kick them off the couch so he can go to bed. The lights flip out, and you curl under the sheets.

Close your eyes. Try to hold them closed.

Jo’s asleep. You can feel her body slumping through the mattress. Sam’s legs are hanging limply over the couch, and Claire has a small snore. You’re the last one awake, after spending the whole day yawning and grumbling.

But you just can’t sleep. And the longer you lie there, the worse it gets.

The more your thoughts wander.

To Dean. Always to Dean. To the heat of his body and his massive hands and… Other parts. You wish Jo would let you talk about it. You need to tell someone, how he’s so fucking perfect everywhere, it’s almost unfair. How proud he stands between his legs, how he looks at you while he strokes himself, how it’s so beautiful you’d be happy if that’s all he could give you.

You start to feel restless. Your mind is painting an image you can’t escape, and it’s driving you out of your mind with need.

Dean pining you to the bed with just a hand on your stomach, his cock hard and thick and taunting you. He’s stroking it to the sight of you below him, sweaty and frantic, smirking and cooing about how pretty and good you are for him, pinching your waist when he asks you a question and you just whine. You’d try to touch yourself, but it wouldn’t be enough. You’d moan his name, offering your mouth for his use, and he’s just smirk.

“Easy, baby.”

Easy, baby. His baby. His good girl, his girl, and his rough hands toying with the lips of your pussy when you can’t take it anymore, his cock dragging between your puffed lips, and-

You sit up, your heart beating in your ears. You can’t start grinding the mattress right now. But you can’t stop thinking about Dean, either.

You grab your jacket, pull on pants, and slip out the door. Into the Firebird’s backseat. You’d parked near the tree line, with no other cars around. It’s the dead of night anyway.

Nobody will see.

When you lie down, your fingers wander down your stomach, under your pants, and teasing over your core. They feel topo light, compared to Dean’s. When he does that, it’s like being struck by lightning. You just feel kind of stupid.

But you need something, or you’re going to go insane. So you hook your panties to the side and circle your clit lightly, letting out a stuttering breath of relief.

You mind wanders again, this time to Dean’s texts. Trying them on in front of him.

That’s worse than the lingerie. At least that would be ripped off of you fast. If you’re trying things on, you’d just be standing there naked, Dean sitting in the corner while you were bare and exposed. You might’ve had nightmares about that. Being that vulnerable, only for his lip to curl before he spits that you’re hideous, inside and out, and-

Dean wouldn’t do that. He wants you.

He wants you.

He’d sit in the corner, legs spread, grinning at you as you shifted awkwardly on your feet. And he’s an ass, so he’d just coo praise while his hands fisted on his sides. If you’re brave—and you’re not—you’d walk over to him and get on your knees. Just take him in your mouth like before, letting the weight of him sitting on your tongue, know that you’re somehow the thing making him hard, that letting him use your mouth is getting him off. You’d drool and gag around him, finally make him cum in your mouth.

But you’re really not that brave. You’d probably do it wrong, and he’d hate you forever, and-

You dig your nails into your wrist, trying physically shove the vile thoughts away. Dean wants you. Dean wants you.  

If you called him, he’d help. He’d said that. If you need me, just ask.

You flip to his contact. Your thumb hovers over it, then you throw it across the car with a whine. Fucking pathetic, he always takes care of you and you can’t even ask him for sex, but that’s asking something and you already ask too much, and-

Don’t think, Princess. Just feel

His voice drawls in your head, and you pinch your clit.

If you called him, he would’ve told you exactly that. That you’re always thinking too much.

You don’t think when he’s got you. And if you do, it’s always of Dean.

If you’d been doing the underwear thing, he wouldn’t have rejected you. He would’ve stood up suddenly and walked over you. Just stood there with his eyes blown out on yours, waiting for you to say his name before he snapped.

Kissed you, rough and passionate. Gotten on his knees before you, holding you up by your hips, nipping and kissing all over your stomach and abdomen.

Then he’s kiss your clit over your panties. Suck on it through the fabric, groaning when your nails dragged over his scalp, the vibration making your whole body shake. He’d suck harder and harder, and you’d try to grind down onto his face but his grip would be to strong. He’d drag your underwear away with his teeth, open mouth kiss your clit before dragging his tongue over your pussy. Start to eat you with an unrelenting pace under you were clawing at his shoulders, but that would only spur him on, and you’d scream his name so loud he’d have to rip off your panties and shove them in your mouth so he could keep making out with your dripping, sensitive cunt. You’d be unable to stand, just a puddle of moans and desire, singing Dean’s name as he made you cum over and over on his tongue, and you love him, you love him, he’d bite your inner thigh then flick his tongue over your clit until you were in a frenzy and you love him-

You cum with a squeak of Dean’s name, and it’s a pale shadow of what he pulls from you, but that’s like comparing a pond to the ocean. It’s still an orgasm. It still makes your toes curl. Better than most the other ones you’ve had from humping the mattress while just vaguely thinking of Dean’s lips.

But what Dean does is different. He plays you, treats you like an instrument, fragile and in need of care, but still something for him to do what he pleases with. Pull what music he wants from your lips. He could’ve caused that orgasm with just a brush of his mouth over your nipple and his fingers in your mouth.

You love him.

And something itches over your skin. When you’d been thinking of him, you’d been whispering things. You hadn’t really thought about it. Most just Dean and please and I love you-

You didn’t say that. You don’t think you said it, but there’s the crawl over your skin.

He’s there. God’s here, you said it and he’s here. Your eyes fly open in panic, your body scrambling back like that’s going to stop anything at all, he’s shining in the Sky. He’s there, he’s watching and he heard and he’s there-

You can’t breathe. An iron weight is closing around your lungs, the Silver burning under your skin, and Dean, he’s going to take Dean-

Dean’s fine for now. You grab his amulet, digging the sharp edged into your palm, and if Dean wasn’t fine you’d feel it. But the Spiderweb is alight, casting rainbow light around your ribs. It’s fast and frantic with your heart, but it’s okay.

You’re okay. A voice like Dean’s mutters in your head, and you squeeze the amulet tighter in your palm. Breathe.

It’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. You almost grab your phone and call him in the dead of night seven times, tears streaming down your face as you just try to breathe, but clinging to the amulet helps. Feeling the Spiderweb helps.

And he’s not real. You’re counting the stars and they’re steady, but God is flickering in and out, sometimes barely more than a dying flashlight. Dean’s fine. He has to be.

Or it’s a trick. There’s no Gold. It could be a trick.

You hit call. He picks up in two rings, muttering your name through the speaker.

He sounds tired—you probably just woke him up—but you can’t stop the ragged sob of relief from ripping through your body. Dean says your name again, his voice thicker, filled with concern.

“Everything okay, Princess-“

“Yeah. Yeah, I- I’m okay.” You sink into the seats, wrapping your arm around your stomach. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah.” You hear him stifle a yawn, and bite back a smile. “Was already up.”

“Uh huh. I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Said I was awake.”

You drag your nails over your calves, your voice getting small. “Still sorry.”

Dean sighs. “Baby.”

“Hm?” You flush. He says it so casually, like it doesn’t make you feel as if all the stars in the universe have been bundled up and shot into your blood.

“Yeah, you woke me up, but ‘m fine. You gonna tell me you’re fine too, or the truth.”

“I-“ You pick at your skin. “I saw him. Got worried.”

“Ah. Worried ‘bout-“

“Him taking you.”

There’s a second of static through the phone. “Me?”

You nod, then say, “Yeah.”

“Well, he didn’t. I’m here. Indy’s in her nest, and- Did all your laundry. Even, uh-“ He coughs. “The underwear. Found some older ones you mighta lost.”

“Thanks.” You push down your own yawn, the sound of his voice making your body relax. “Can we still get new ones?”

“Yes. I mean- Yeah, sure, I can look online-“

“I wanna go to a store.” You mumble. “Your favorite color’s blue, right?”

He clears his throat. “Yeah. But- I’m learning to like gray. Specific shades of it.”

You nod mindlessly. “Slate? Or more-“ This yawn gets through. “Like a steely gray-blue.”

“I’m thinkin’ more silver.”

“Hm. Shiny.”

“Yeah. It is.”

“My favorite color’s gold.” You mumble, your words starting to slur, and Dean’s voice hums in your ear.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Also like green. And-“ Another yawn. Your eyes are impossibly heavy. “Green.”

“You said green already, sweet girl.” He murmurs, and you grunt. “You goin’ to bed?”

“Can’t.” You grumble, and he chuckles.

“Sounds like you are. Sleep well, Princess.”

It’s like he casts a spell over you. You blink, and suddenly there’s watery, blue light filtering through the trees, dawn on the horizon. You’re not well-rested, but you’re rested. No longer on the brink of passing out. It’s really the most you could hope for.

You crawl back into bed only fifteen minutes before Sam’s bustling around the room, trying to be quiet and failing miserably. After that, there’s no point in even faking sleep. You take your coffee, and get to work.

Sam and Jo split off after breakfast to get the files and visit the river, and you take Claire through the rest of town to look for Eileen. You start in the motel—it’s the only one for a few miles—and bride the clerk into letting you see the guest registrations, but you don’t recognize any of the name’s as Eileen’s alias. There’s a chance she has new ones, or a few you’ve never heard. You go through the parking lot, taking photos of license plates and texting them to Jody. She’ll run them, tell you if any are stolen. You’re hoping you can find Eileen before the case wraps up. Just head right home after, and collapse back in Dean’s arms.

At least you’re not trying to do the whole thing alone. That might’ve made your back cave, with how you’re still feeling a million miles wide and only half your own. The Silver is definitely overflowing with how you’re too tired to tamper it down. All the world is technicolor, souls weaving through every store you poke your head into and staining the streets like graffiti. Claire asks you want you’re staring at, and you just shake your head, rubbing your eyes.

You’ll explain later. You’re too tired to right now, but she’s being helpful, and you don’t want to deny her answers. You’re trying to make a point of entertaining every question where you can. Where you’re sending every photo, how you made the FBI badges, what you do if someone realizes it’s fake, who Eileen is, why you can’t find her, if she’s dead, how you know she’s not, how you just make spells, if it’s ethical to just steal food from a Walmart like that. 

“Dean would say it isn’t.” She tells you, and you snort, passing her a banana across the picnic table outside the motel.

It’s been three hours of finding nothing and answering questions. You’d needed to sit down, and Claire needed to eat, hence the Walmart.

“It’s a Walmart. They’ll be fine.”

“But what if they’re not-“

“They will be. Trust me.”

Claire scrunches her face, but doesn’t say anything else as she eats her banana.

“And Dean would think it’s fine.” You add. “He steals all the time too. He just makes fun of me for doing it.”

Claire nods slowly. “But you let him.”

You shrug, and Claire leans forward.

“Why do you like him so much?”

“Dean?” You blink at her, and she nods. “I- Why wouldn’t I like him-“

“I don’t know, he’s a dork. And you’re cool.”

You frown. “I’m not cool-“

“Sam says you stabbed someone yesterday-“

“Sam is exaggerating.” You mutter. “And shouldn’t have told you that. There were some assholes, I dealt with them appropriately. That’s it.” She doesn’t know what the men were saying, or why you decided they needed to be dealt with. Claire knows what men can be. There’s no use in making her afraid.

“Yeah.” She grins at you, leaning over the table. “Which is cool. Dean likes bad music and he’s like- a million years old-“

“He’s thirty-two.” You mutter, and Claire gives you a pointed look.

“And he like cars. Cars are for toddlers-“

“His car is important to him, Claire.” You say firmly. “And I know he can be a dork, but I l- I like it. He’s loyal and sweet, and he spends a lot of time making sure we’re all safe.”

Claire makes a sour face, slumping back down on her bench. “I know.” She grumbles. “I just wanted you to admit he sucks sometimes.”

“He-“ You cut yourself off, peering at her almost pouting expression. “Claire. What’s wrong. Don’t-“ You give her a firm look before she opens her mouth. “Tell me nothing. I invented that game. Truth. Now.”

“Why doesn’t he trust me?!” She shouts, throwing up her hands. “I do everything he says! I keep a burner phone, I don’t stay in any of the bathrooms with flickering lights at school, I always find something iron in a room and I stopped asking for a gun! But Dean still doesn’t trust me, and it’s not fair.”

You sigh, setting down your own banana. “You found the tracker?”

“You knew-“

“Of course I knew. Dean tells me everything. And he trusts you, he’s just-“ You sigh, rubbing the scar on your palm. “It’s a little my fault, okay?”

Claire’s eyes narrow. “Did you tell him to-“

“No. But me- And Sam- We’re both very good at getting into… Bad situations.”

“Bad like- What, gambling debt sharks-“

“Sam and Dean get in fights, then Sam vanishes for days only to turn up cursed or drugged or doping.” You say dryly. “I’ve been kidnapped like, five times, and there’s a more… complicated history between us.”

“Complicated like-“

“I can’t tell you.” You say gently. “Not because I don’t trust you, but- I’m not ready to. Okay?”

“Okay.” Claire mutters. “But I don’t see how that’s my problem-“

“It makes him nervous about where I am. Where we all are.” You sigh. “I’ll talk to him about the tracker, okay? But I also worry about you-“

“I’m the same age you were when you started hunting-“

“Claire. You know that’s not the same.”

“Then help me make it the same! Teach me something to help.”

You swallow. That’s actually not a bad idea. It would make Dean feel better about her going out into the city with random people you haven’t met. She’d be able to defend herself, if something happened.

“Fine.” You stand up, grabbing both your banana peels. “One defensive spell.”

Claire’s eyes widen in delight, and she scrambles after you. It takes up a good few hours, showing her how to do the spell then helping her practice until she gets it right. Her pronunciation is still a little off, and when you tell her to find something with pine wood she stares at you like you’re crazy, but it’s progress, and she’s thrilled.

You ask a few more stores, when you take a break. You’re only about an hour from calling Rowena and asking her to run the tracking spell again when you see it.

A flash of brown hair, through a sea of baseball caps and balding men at the Bass Pro Shop.

You grab Claire’s wrist and run through the crowd, trying to get in her line of sight. Claire protests behind you, but she can suck it up. You weren’t about to just leave her alone.

Eileen stops in front of some fancy looking fish rods, and you knock over a rack of camo jackets to scramble in front of her.

“Eileen!” You shout, letting go of Claire’s hand to sign, and her eyes widen.

She says your name, and throws her arms around you, hugging you tight before stepping back to sign. “You’re here! How did you find me?”

“Tracking spell. Where did you-“

“All over.” Just as always, she speaks as she signs, and Claire watches from your side with wide eyes. “Was running from men of letters, had to stay underground. Then the earth shook.” She frowns. “Was that you?”

“Um- Yeah. Probably.”

“Thought so. You are dramatic.”

You laugh, and Claire clears her throat loudly from your side.

“I’m Claire.” She says, then frowns. “Or-“ She tugs your sleeve, saying your name in a hiss. “How do I sign Claire-“

“Hi, Claire.” Eileen mostly just looks amused, and Claire goes red. “It’s okay. I read lips.”

“She’s amazing. It’s kind of creepy.” You turn back to Eileen. “She’s, um- Well-“

“It’s complicated?” Eileen smirks, and you give her a flat look.

“Funny.”

“Thank you.” She glances over her shoulder. “I need to get a finish pole. Monster in the rivers.”

“Yeah, we know. You think it’s a fish?”

She shrugs, and you sigh. Sam and Jo still haven’t gotten back to you with any updates. Can’t hurt to be prepared and have a fishing pole. Even if Eileen pick the biggest one for no reason, and disagrees with your point that a trap actually works better, forcing you to get both and stuff them in to the Firebird. Eileen fills you in on the drive, and as you unload the mess into the motel. After Purgatory she ran into some American hunters on basic ghost runs, and started using the thin network Bobby’s built to look for the banshee that killed her parents.

“I took other cases, too.” She says, sitting at the motel table. “To help. The world is a mess.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, moving the fishing pole for the fifth time. It doesn’t like just standing there. It want to be somewhere quiet, but there doesn’t seem to be a spot that satisfies it. “Sorry. We, um- We didn’t think opening the door was going to do that.”

“We? Was it the brothers?”

“No. Me and angel, Cas-“

“He’s possessing my dad.” Claire tells Eileen eagerly. “That’s why she’s responsible for me.”

“That’s… True.” You sigh, setting the fishing pole down. “Wait, if you were using the Late Night Monster Line-“

“What’s-“

“It’s what Dean calls Bobby’s hunter system.” You Claire tell quickly, not looking away from Eileen. “He runs it. If you were using it, didn’t you talk to my dad?”

Eileen frowns. “Bobby is your dad?”

You nod, and her eyes widen slightly.

“That makes sense. Winchesters are your Sam and Dean?”

“Um- Yeah. Have I not told you that?”

“No.” She signs your name. “I heard about you too. You scare everyone, for some reason.”

“I don’t scare you?”

“You are like a cat. Scary if you are stupid.” Eileen smiles, when you snort. “I did not get to talk to Bobby, though. Had to go through someone else. Garth. But I texted Sam with the number you gave me. Never got a response.”

“Oh, that’s my fault. He probably lost that phone like- Two years ago.”

Eileen nods, and Claire raises her hand. “How do you know about them? They’re just like- Nerds.”

Eileen laughs. “They are famous for hunters. I hear Dean Winchester kills monsters with his bare hands and puts leashes on angels. Sam Winchester drinks demon blood and talks to the devil.” She signs your name with an apologetic look. “You are more unclear. Lots of rumors. They tell me you bring beasts with you. Demons follow you and you put angels in jars.”

“Just the one angel. And also just one demon, but she doesn’t follow so much as annoy me- Is that really all people say?” You thought it would be worse.

Eileen shrugs. “Some people think you are Death.”

“Oh.” There it is. “Cool.”

The door bangs open, before Claire can ask anymore questions. Sam and Jo barrel inside, drenched in water, shouting over each other, and shoving like children.

“There was nothing wrong with the river,” Sam tells you, not noticing Eileen at all. “And Jo shoved me-“

“You tripped.” Jo rolls her eyes. “And there was something-“

“It was a bunch of hair-“

“Thick hair, Sam! Magic, thick fuckin’ hair, and you said you saw a woman-“

“Yeah, but- I wasn’t sure it was- Water makes shapes!”

Jo scoffs. “No it don’t.” She gives you a flat look. “Tell him water don’t make shapes.”

“I don’t know, I think I might’ve been-“ He says your name with a pleading look, and you sigh.

“We’ll look at it tomorrow.” You tell them, then point over your shoulder. “Say hi to Eileen.”

Sam and Jo both blink, Sam’s face going red and Jo’s jaw dropping when they realize that they missed a whole extra person in the room.

“Um- Hi.” Sam waves, looking down at his hands like he’s not sure what to do with them, before sticking one out. “I’m Sam.”

Jo just nods. “Jo.”

Eileen looks between them, then to you. “Sam Winchester?”

You nod, and she tilts her head.

“I thought he would be taller.”

You snort, Jo snickering behind you, and Sam makes a confused expression.

“I, um- I’ve never heard that one before. I’m sorry I’m not… taller.”

Jo’s still laughing. “You sure you never heard it? Sounds like you said it-“

“Shut up.” He grumbles, and you smile to yourself. It’s strangely nice, to see those moments where he really does look like Dean. With the pout and eyebrow scrunch, it’s uncanny.

Eileen stands up, and Sam’s attention snaps away from Jo. He’s staring at Eileen as she walks over—you think he might be trying to stand taller—and when she gives his hand one firm shake, he smiles at her.

She just tilts her head, lets go of his hand, and turns to you.

“This is the brother?” She only uses sign, so you match, only nodding back. “He looks like a puppy. Is your ‘best friend’-“ She puts massive air quotes that feel unnecessary. “Also a puppy?”

“No. More like… A cattle dog. One of the big ones.”

She nods, and doesn’t seem to have anymore questions about the situation. You’ll give her the Dean updates later, after you’ve taken care of the bigger problem.

River women and hair.

It doesn’t take that long to work out. Jo passes you the morgue reports—cause of death, drowning, but you could’ve guessed that—and Sam describes the woman he saw. Claire hangs over your shoulder while you draw it, then Sam’s as he researches. Eileen joins her, squinting at the screen before looking over to you with a frown.

“The monsters that came out of purgatory.” She signs. “Mermaids?”

You shake your head. “Maybe, but not like in the picture. And all of them were powerful monsters, this one seems more run-of-the-mill.”

“Maybe just an angry spirit?” Jo suggests, hanging upside down off the bed, and you hum.

“Maybe, but- I don’t think so. Those leave messages, residue.”

“They’re going after the same group of men-“

“No.” Eileen cuts in, gaze bouncing between you. “There was one other man. A tourist. Went to the river and drowned.”

You sit up slightly, something scratching in your head. “Another man? Specifically a man?”

Eileen nods, then pauses, brow knitting. “Do you think-“

“Yeah. It’s a little warm for one, but it’s tracking, and- Sam.” You stand up, spinning your knife in your hands. “Look up Rusalka.”

Sam nods, reading aloud when the words load on the screen. “A rusalka is a malicious female water spirit, known for… Luring and drowning young men.”

“It’s not going to be in there,” you tap the computer, leaning over the table with a grin. “They’re pretty rare outside of Russia. But I’ve seen one before, like, ten years ago. They attack men because they were killed or driven to drowning themselves by abusive husbands. They sense men’s love and attraction like- Evil protector mermaids. It doesn’t matter if the love is pure, or the attraction is secret, or whatever. If you’re there, you’re a man, and you’re attracted to a woman, you get drowned.”

Sam scans over the screen, speaking slowly. “Do you think this one is luring prey? Counting the men’s attraction to her as enough to kill them?”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Wait, hold on.” Jo’s craning her neck, still hanging upside down. “It’s any love? If Dean was here, would have to bench ‘im so he wouldn’t get dragged up ‘cause of you?”

You sigh, flushing slightly. “I mean- Yeah. Hypothetically. But he’s not, so we’re fine.” You grin. “Unless Sam’s secretly in love with you.”

Sam gives you an unimpressed look, Jo gags so hard she falls off the bed, and Claire giggles from her chair.

“Would they come out for just a man?” He asks, and you shrug.

“Maybe. When I hunted mine I just sort of dove into the lake.”

Claire’s eyes widen. “And you killed it underwater?”

“Yeah. I could just do that again, I have a knife now-“

“No. You’re not diving into a lake,” Sam mutters your name. “Dean would kill me.”

“That’s- Dean isn’t your boss-“

“You think he’d let you dive into a river?”’

“I think he’d say wow, what a great idea, you’re a genius-“

“Yeah, ‘cause you’d be askin’ him.” Jo snorts. “If we told him you’d been free diving with an angry water bitch he ain’t gonna be happy.”

You scowl, and Sam clears his throat before you can keep protesting.

“I could be bait. I am… Uh- A man.”

Eileen waves for your attention. “Won’t work if he’s not feeling attraction.”

You nod, glancing at Sam’s purple. He hasn’t really been putting out connection tendrils in months, not to anyone but you, Bobby, and Dean. Even Jo is still treated wearily, with the marred, matted mess of his soul creeping out slightly when they’re talking before recoiling back in. Eileen’s right. The rule is attraction to women, and if the rusalka had tried to lure him and failed it might not be enough.

But he’s also sending out little, whispy coils of sparking smoke to Eileen. His face is red, as she stands behind him, and his back is both hunched like he’s trying to get away from her as he tries to sit taller than he really is. His soul is rolling nervously, pulling itself back in before sending out another flume of battered purple. You tilt your head, watching Sam open his mouth and turning over his shoulder before snapping it shut and looking back to his computer.

Your lips twitch. You’re telling Dean as soon as you get home.

“I think it will work. And if it doesn’t, I’ll just jump in the river.”

Eileen nods, and Jo grumbles something to Sam that sounds like a threat. You give her a soul expression when she catches your eyes, and she smirks. They’re being dramatic. You’re not going to drown, or get hurt, and if you do you heal fast. There’s no reason to worry about what Dean’s going to think, because you’re going to kill the rusalka and everyone’s going to be fine.

This is something you don’t even have to worry about getting through. This is the kind of hunt you could do blindfolded with your hands behind your back. The only thing to kill a rusalka is silver, and that’s child’s play. You’ll be on the road before the sun even sets.

You leave Claire at the motel with strict instructions not to leave. She protests, and you tell her she can either be in the room with TV and a phone, or the car with nothing. She takes the room.

Sam paces along the river bank in a very casual, not at all suspicious manner, you and Jo watching him downstream while Eileen waits up ahead.

“You think they’re gonna show?” Jo whispers, and you shrug, spinning the Blade in your hands.

“Oh yeah. We’re fine.”

“But Sam ain’t attracted-“

“He’s got a crush on Eileen.”

Jo’s silent for a second. “Ah. I- How the hell do you know?”

“He’s blushing all the time. She called him short and now he’s trying to be tall.” You point the blade to Sam’s raised chin and puffed chest, his walk a little more like a strut. “In the car he kept trying to show Eileen the silver bullets he made with Dean, and when she told him she made her own from coins, I think his tail started wagging. Plus his soul is trying to reach for her.”

“His soul-“

“Yeah. Souls make like- tentacles for each other. Sam’s are reaching for Eileen.”

“Ah.” Jo snorts. “Of course you fuckin’ get that in a day.”

You frown. “What does that mean?”

“Nothin’. I’m just shocked you ain’t lookin’ at them thinking they’re such good friends.”

“Well, Eileen isn’t really looking at Sam all that much, but she’s focused on the-“

You cut yourself off as the Silver suddenly roars to life. Yanking on at the top of your chest like a hook being pulled, making you shoot to your feel with the Blade ready in your hands.

Sam blinks at you from the open. “What?”

You frown at him, perfectly fine and dry on the land. No creepy water women in sight. “I- I don’t-“

The Silver pushes out like a building storm, and you have to bite your tongue to stop an explosion. You count real things—Sam’s purple, the rush of the water, Dean’s Golden stains and the amulet, cold on your bare skin—a whirl around, trying to pinpoint the danger.

“Jo, do you-“

You cut yourself off, dread sinking like a stone into your gut.

Where Jo had been crouched behind you, there’s now only a stain of blue.

They took Jo.

Sam calls your name, but you don’t hear it. You’re not doing this twice. You’re not. You won’t. You’re going to rip open the earth and the sky before you do this again.

The blur kicks in, and you yank off your jacket, kick off your shoes, and lean over the surface of the river. The water rushes so fast, a blur of black and white as it hits stones—frantic to get to somewhere it can rest, hoping that something will carry it faster and never feeling like this riverbed is enough—but you can see a few shapes, shifting below the surface.

Sam shouts for you again, and you look up to see a woman with long, silky black hair that flows back into the river stalking towards him. She’s half Sam’s size, green skin and yellowed teeth like stones, smiling at him like a shark as her hair wraps around his ankles. Jo’s still in the water. You could pull her out easy, but Sam’s heavier-

Eileen jumps out of the brush, gun raised, and fires two rounds into the woman’s chest. She staggered back with a hiss, the wounds boiling in her skin, and dives back into the river. Eileen runs forward to Sam, shooting you a quick nod, and that’s all you need.

You jump into the river.

The water is dark and cold, but the Silver flows with the current, asking the water to turn warmer, the river to slow it’s rush. You pull yourself down, down, down, the slime of the sea weed and rocks sliding over your feet when you hit the bottom. The water moves for you, helping you move through the river bed, pushing you a little faster as the Silver grows bigger and bigger.

Right when you see locks of golden-white hair through the riverweed, it flares in warning, and you feel slimy hands try to wrap around your chest. You whip around and find the rusalka smiling at you, eyes glimmering in the dark. Her finger are light and teasing—more of an invitation that a threat—her hair floating around her head, and when you slam your feet into her chest she seems surprised. A howling, angry sound echoes through the water, and you turn around, dragging yourself to Jo. Her eyes are closed, her blue rioting in her body, but she’s alive. It soothes the Silver enough for you to breathe—a sharp, crystal like feeling filling your lungs as the Silver sifts through the water—and focus. You cut off the hair around her ankles, and throw her up to the surface.

The water starts to rush, carrying her up, up, up. You’re about to push up and follow when the rusalka slams into your chest, knocking you back through the water.

The gleam in her eyes is getting more violent as she swims forward. She’s not trying to wrap you in her hair, but wrestle you into submission. She makes sneering sounds and shrieks of fury when you duck out of the way, silver bubbles rising to the surface. She grabs one, turning it sharp and daggered, and your eyes widen.

You didn’t know they could do that. Or that they went after women. Or that they seemed to be territorial, even against things like you, or maybe there’s another kind of reason she’s trying to fight you-

Her hand slams down into your shoulder, the bubble dagger slicing though your muscle, and you shout in pain.

You’re in a fight, not a lab. The Silver is settled now that you’re not in real danger, but you’d also rather not have to go to the hospital.

The rush kicks in, and it’s almost nice. You haven’t had a good, easy hunting fight in a while. The rusalka lunges, her fingers turned into claws, and you jump over her head, driving the Blade into her back. She shrieks in pain, and her hair shoots up, trying to wrap around your wrists and pull your arms over your head. You use it to pull yourself up, hooking your ankles over the locks and folding in half, and when the Rusalka reaches for you again, you yank. She shoots off the ground, high over your head before slamming against the rocks with a moan of pain. You cut the loose hair around your wrists, and swim down.

She tries to get up to meet you. You slam your foot on her chest, and push her back down. She grabs your foot, and you kick into the air. Forcing her up to your eye level, when your grab the hair and hold it under her chin like a handle. She shrieks again, claws flailing, and that feels like enough. You drive the Blade into her chest, twist it, and watch her dissolve into bubbles under your hands.

It’s only when you reach the surface that you really feel it.

“Fuck.” You groan, twisting on the bank to flop on your back. Sam shouts your name behind you, and you try to pick up your arm to wave, but it hurts.

Sam appears in your vision, reaching for your shoulder, and you swat him away with your free hand.

“I’m fine.”

His brows knit. “The rusalka-“

“Dead.” You sigh. “Sam. I think I can breathe underwater.”

“Yeah, you were down there for like ten minutes.” Sam sighs, slowly pulling your hand away from your shoulder. “Jesus, how-“

“Got distracted. Jo-“

“Back at the car.” Sam mutters. “She’s fine. But you’re… Damnit“ He sighs. “Dean’s gonna be pissed.”

This world is flat and hot. It’s kinda like Utah, but more sand. More red. Closer to the movies, than the actual shit they ran through in the 1800s.

Dean reached up to his head, and felt the weight of a cowboy hat. When he ran his hand over his jacket, there was a gun hanging on one side, a lasso on the other. When he rubbed his jaw, he found stubble. A dream. He’d gotten good at picking out when he was in a dream, and this one seemed to be cowboy themed.

His feet were moving, even if he didn’t know where the hell he was going. His body did, like following a damn script.

Just to the right of his heart, there was a pull.

Home. He was going home.

She was waiting for him, in the middle of a saloon. Dressed in a corset, frilled skirt and black boots. So damn gorgeous he almost fell to his knees.

Dean didn’t bother to call Her name. He walked over, wrapped his arm around Her stomach, and kissed her neck. He got a hot little squeal as a reward, even as She sank back into his arms. Like she’d known it was him the whole time.

“You miss me, Princess?” He muttered in Her ear, and she giggled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

Her eyes were bright and glossy, shining with delight under his attention. He’d never get over Her looking at him like that. Like his sorry, blood-coated hands and mud-made body were worth something. Like he didn’t even have to turn into some kind of decorative ceramic to decorate Her arm, because she liked him as he was.

Just Dean. Her Dean.

He was Her Dean, and goddamnit, if he didn’t feel that in his bones when She looked at him like that.

“What happens if I did?” She said, swaying herself back and forth in his arms.

Dean smirked. “Don’t know yet.” He kissed under Her ear, lowering his voice. “What do you want to happen?”

She swallowed, and Dean grinned at the flush creeping up Her neck. “I- Um- I don’t know. Stuff.”

“Stuff?” Dean hummed, dragging his hand down Her stomach, and she nodded.

“Yes. Please.”

Son of a bitch, She already sounded breathless. Dean chuckled, spinning Her around in his arms, and grinned down at Her slack, wanting face. Her chest was heaving, Her breasts pushed up by the corset, and Dean wished he had one of those photographic memories. He’d keep this imagine in his head for the rest of his damn life.

It was probably for the better he didn’t, actually. He’d never get anything done again.

“I did miss you.” She whispered, leaning up to bump their noses together. “And if- If you don’t want to do stuff-“

Dean snorted. “Baby, we could be locked in a room for another year and I still wouldn’t have done all the stuff I wanna do with you.”

Her eyes went adorably wide, and Dean brushed a light, fond kiss over Her cheek. She turned Her head, trying to catch his lips, and he let them graze before pulling them back. He shouldn’t be teasing so much when She always became putty from one damn kiss, but it was so fun. He never felt more important, then watching Her try to beg him with those pretty, shining eyes. And She was like a live-wire, when he worked Her up enough. He couldn’t just put all that sensitivity to waste.

And the second She said please aloud, he’d cave anyway.

He just had other things he wanted to do, first.

“You look hot.” He traced his fingers over Her sides, and She pressed impossibly closer.

“Thank you.”

“You want to go for a walk? Let me show you off,” he kissed Her cheek again, grabbing her jaw so she’d stay still. “Let the whole world see how perfect my girl is. I’ll buy you as many books as you want. Buy you a fuckin’ horse.”

She giggled. “I don’t want a horse-“

“Well if you, do, it’s yours.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.” Dean kissed up Her face, and her breath was getting short against his hands. “I’ll give you the world, sweetheart. C’mon.”

She hummed, leaning into his touch, and Dean grinned.

There were better things than just fucking Her, as much as little dean was ready to jump at the opportunity. Shit, Dean himself was gunning to jump Her—get Her all happy and stupid beneath him—but he didn’t want to push anything. Out there, in the real world, he was taking it slow. Making sure She was comfortable with him, that She understood he really damn meant everything he said about all the way down. They were trying the real thing, whatever it looked like for them. Dean wasn’t going to risk it by making Her think he only wanted sex.

But here, in a dream, it might be allowed. She wanted him out there, and he had been getting so frustrated he could feel the ache in his balls through his dream.

No. Still violating. Dean was supposed to be proving something, not sticking his dick in Her tight, pretty pussy that was always so wet for him, and rubbing against his leg as Her hips started to roll on his leg. He squeezed his grip on Her jaw and she moaned, leaning into him, and he was a sick fucking bastard but what a good way to be put down-

Dean jolted awake with a groan, someone banging on his door.

“Up, Dean! Now!” Rowena’s words were muffled and shrill through the door, and Dean grunted, glancing at the clock on the bedstand.

“It’s three in the damn morning-“

“The world does not wait for the sun-“

“People wait for the sun-“

“Then go ask people to cast you spells, you ungrateful twat.”

Dean ran a hand over his face, and flopped back down on the bed. His free hand flopped over the mattress, searching for Her on and instinct. He only hit Indy’s cold little tail, whipping under his fingers.

The dragon yawned, stretching as she rolled over onto her back, and Dean glanced over to find golden eyes blinking at him through the dark.

There was no going back to bed now. He might as well have just set an alarm that wouldn’t go off until he hauled ass down stairs.

“Gimme fifteen.” He called, and Rowena sniffed.

“You can have ten.”

Before Dean could protest, the sound of heels creaked down the hall, and he has ten minutes.

He’d gotten ready in less. Been up earlier. But it was still damn annoying, to roll out of bed just to sit at the kitchen table with Rowena and Cas, trying to translate between them while his coffee was still brewing. It was all he’d been doing since She took off to grab her friend.

Get up. Check his phone for Her texts. Tell himself it was fine She hadn’t responded in ten seconds, She was probably just busy, not dead or on the run or any of the other things that made him want to wrap around Her and never be pried away. Go downstairs and make coffee. Sit with Cas and Rowena and try to figure out what the hell Cas meant by the stars are shifting. Some might fall. Tell Rowena his best guess, and remind himself not to slap a lady when she rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath that she wished the tiger was here.

Dean wished She was here too. Rowena wasn’t special. Dean was only doing this shit because She wasn’t here to just look at Cas and go of course, the stars might fall, and he didn’t think his translations were all that great either.

“Uh…” He rubbed his face, trying to force his brain to work through the skin. “Maybe he’s talkin’ about angels. Those are stars, right buddy.”

Cas nodded. “Some of them. But we are in the wrong sky.”

“Awesome. Wrong sky. Maybe the angels are- Uh- In the wrong vessels? And they’re going to hunt for new ones?”

Rowena scoffed. “It is not a book of prophecies.”

Dean just grunted, standing to get his coffee as the pot dinged. He was doing his best. It wasn’t very good, but when Dad had been training him, translating an angel’s riddles for a witch hadn’t exactly come up.

Dad would probably kill him, though, if he saw what Dean was up to now. Not just the Rowena and Cas part, though he definitely would hate that. Dad would have his head for just sitting here while Sammy was across the country. For taking orders from a girl, even thought it was Her and her orders were more of commandments. There wasn’t a thing She’d tell Dean to do that he wouldn’t, as long as it didn’t get Her hurt.

But he did feel like a dog, whining for his owner to return the moment She stepped out of the door. He’d been restless all week, to the point that Bobby kept making him walk it off. But Dean wasn’t a damn researcher. He wasn’t the brains of any operation, he was supposed to be out there with Her and Sammy, keeping an eye on them, doing all the dirty work so their hands stayed clean. His muscles were straining for a fight, his fingers itching to trace over Her bare, warm skin in more than a dream, just to make sure She was real again. 

Bobby was calling it hunter fever. Dean was pretty sure it was just Her fever. It was a constant wrestle with his instincts, not to call Her every five minutes. Not to hop in the car and go to Maine, where he was supposed to be.

But She said stay at Bobby’s. She asked Dean to help Rowena and Bobby look into those things from Alabama, so he did.

They hadn’t really found anything, but not for a lack of trying. If Dean wasn’t sitting with Rowena and Cas, he’d been going through whatever documents Bobby dumped in his lap. If he wasn’t doing that, he was making phone calls. They’d sent out feelers for any other hunters who ran into black tar and strangely eaten animals, but they hadn’t gotten any hits.

It was pretty worrying, considering they hadn’t even ganked the one in Alabama, and it was almost certainly one of God’s duds. Which meant there might be more out there, hiding in the shadows and threatening to pop up and freak Her out.

Dean had never seen a monster get to Her like that. Some angels and demons had, with the right threat. The fairies had for a while, but that was more about what they were doing. Even when Crowley or Eve had gotten to Her, it had been with threats and cruel words.

This thing, whatever it was, it had gotten Her. Not just in the usual freak-out way, after they came back from the oracle.

She’d called it evil.

And Dean had a feeling that, whenever they pinned down what it was, it wasn’t going to go without a fight.

“She has been brighter.” Cas said when they took a break, walking with Dean in the junkyard.

Indy had been as restless as he was, without Her there. Dean was becoming more and more convinced that she was the only one in the universe that really understood how dull everything was when She was gone.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been giving her dust bathes-“ Dean paused, realizing that Cas probably wasn’t talking about Indy. “Oh.” He said Her name, and Cas gave him a confused look.

“She does not need dust bathes yet, she hasn’t begun to bloom-“

“No, I was talking about Indy.” He frowned. “What are you talking about, yet-“

“She is getting older.” Cas shrugged. “Soon she will evolve.”

“Like a Pokémon?”

Cas blinked at him, and Dean sighed.

“They’re like these Japanese monsters- Not real monsters, but-“ Dean grimaced, giving up fast. “Never mind. Hey, uh-“ He cleared his throat, looking up at Indy, doing her loops in the sky. “Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything, Dean. The wind carries me.”

“Yeah. Sure. The wind.” Dean didn’t think this was going to be a productive conversation. He still had to try. “Is there maybe some kinda way to mark me?”

“Of course. There are thousands of ways, though many are not possible due to your height.”

“No, I mean- Physically. Some magic tattoo on my body or something, that can’t be replicated by any sorta shifter.”

Cas stopped walking, tilting his head slowly. “There is the favor, but you already hold it in you.”

Dean sighed. He didn’t know what the favor was, but if he already had it, it wasn’t going to help. “Cas, man, I’m looking for something new. Something that like, if you looked at me, you’d know it was me, every time-“

“You are you, Dean.”

“I know, but we’re kinda living in a world where people can run around wearing your face like that Nick Cage movie- No. Ignore that.” He held up his hand, and Cas closed his mouth. “I just want anything. Even if it’s a brand, I’ll take it.”

Cas frowned, and shook his head. “But you are enough?”

Dean snorted dryly. “Yeah, alright-“

“Every heart beats your name when wrath is needed.” Cas said seriously—though he didn’t really say things any other way—and Dean swallowed. “Hands on the sun burn, no matter how large. And you are under the sun. You are safe.”

“Uh- Thought I had the sun?” Dean tried for the joke, and Cas just frowned.

“Dean-“

“Ah. Different suns, right?”

Cas dipped his head, and Dean let out a slow, heavy breath. Cas was doing his best with what he had. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, muttered thanks, and went back to watching Indy in the sky.

He’d been trying to imagine what that must’ve been like for Her. Being trapped in the cage, reset over and over, living lives that weren’t theirs and not knowing until the very end. He’d pictured a few of the lives, trying to sort out what kind of roles he might’ve been shoved in to try and keep Her docile. A selfish, possessive beast inside of him needed to know that—in at least one or two—he got to be Her’s. That if she’d been shoved into Dr. Sexy, Dean was the hot nurse everyone was rooting for Her to hookup with. That if it was the fancy, lace and satin life she deserved, Dean was the bodyguard She smiled at and led behind a closed door. If she was a damsel lost at sea, Dean was the pirate who scooped her up, and if She was a runaway bride he was the thief who showed Her a happy life without a damn dollar to their name.

Dean would love Her like she deserved, a million dollars or not. If She was somehow happy with this life full of stitches and rubbing alcohol, he was too. But that didn’t stop him thinking about if She’d want him in a life where She knew wealth. If She’d really choose Dean, not over God, but some nice douchebag with a retirement plan and five, shining watches. If She’d chose Dean if he was the douchebag, just another man in a sea of bachelors all trying to be Her’s.

He’d like to think She would. That it didn’t matter what world they’d shoved Her into, Dean had still meant something to Her. Soulmates.

It tasted bitter, how that would make another version of him that got to have Her while Dean had been sulking around like an asshole, but he’d rather get to love Her in every life but one, than the other way around.

And he was, finally, getting his shot in this life. She’d called him two nights ago, when She’d been freaking out. She’d told him about all that torture without him even asking.

He would’ve gone crazy too. Hell, he remembered feeling sick every time he smelled sulfur, after he got back from hell, how the pit in him had split wider and wider every time he had to raise a blade. She been in there for twice the time, under the hand of Michael and Lucifer. Sammy had been broken by it. And they might not have laid a hand on Her, but Dean wasn’t sure he would’ve come out the other side not testing every damn person he met to make sure they weren’t another trick.

It explained Her reaction to that shifter, a few weeks after She’d gotten home. Added up why She’d been so freaked out by Sammy’s soul being blocked, too.

And something else was scratching in his brain about it. Something he hadn’t really been able to piece together yet, but was shaped like a bunch of different parts he just had to put together.

“Dean!” Bobby called from the house, holding a phone to his ear. “Get over here!”

Dean gave a thumbs up over his shoulder, whistling for Indy and heading back inside. He’d figure something out to help Her. And until he did, he’d just keep holding Her, just like he might as well had been made to do.

“I got something.” Bobby said when he walked into the kitchen, tossing the phone over to Dean. “Text should be comin’ in soon.”

Dean nodded, glancing down at the screen. “Something on Eve, or-“

“Alabama tar.”

“Oh. The fun one.”

Bobby snorted, and the phone buzzed in Dean’s hand.

“Uh- Devil’s Lake, ND- That’s only ‘bout four hours, Bobby-“

“I know. Guy named Herb said he saw somethin’ in the paper matching our ABP, worth checkin’ out-“

“We should do it today.” Dean tossed the phone back. “Everyone’s still out in Maine, we’ll want something for when they get back. Cas,” he grinned at the angel, standing as awkwardly as always near the wall. “You’re in charge.”

Cas nodded solemnly. “The nest will remind intact, Dean. She will land safely, and the flowers will know they are loved.”

Dean decided that was just Cas talk for Yes, sir, and clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. Even if it was Cas talk for I’m going to throw a rave, Dean was only going to be gone for a day. Cas could let loose, long as the house was in one piece when they got back.

He didn’t bother to grab the whole travel bag, especially not when Bobby had brought his own. They were just checking something out.

Still, he grabbed Excalibur. Just in case.

“You think we’ll be sticking around?” He asked as Bobby tossed it in the trunk, and Bobby shook his head.

“Bringin’ wards, case we run into something nasty and need to lock down.”

“What about clothing-“

“You can wear a damn towel, long as you’re covering up.”

“Mostly only wear pants any-“ Dean cut himself off, face heating as Bobby raised his brows.

Right. He wasn’t going on a road trip with Sammy or Jo or Cas. He was going with Bobby. Who might have been tolerating Her and Dean being together, but was still very much Her Dad.

“Uh- I wear a shirt.” He coughed, drumming his hand on the wheel as Bobby slid into shotgun. “And five pairs of underwear, and- One of those Hockey straps, makes it real hard to get anything off, y’know-“

“Dean.” Bobby grunted. “Shut up and drive.”

Dean nodded, thankful for the noise of the engine filling the car. He turned up the music to a respectful volume, loud enough that they really didn’t have to speak, but not deafening. Jesus, he prayed this mixtape didn’t have any sex songs. He’d park Baby on a bridge and jump.

“Didn’t know you listened to salsa.” Bobby said after an hour, and Dean swallowed.

“Uh- I think this is something called flamenco.” He mumbled Her name. “It’s her song.”

Bobby grunted, and Dean wished they were on a bridge now.

“What kinda music does Jody like?” He tried.

“Folk shit. Grassroots. And rock.”

Dean nodded, and that seemed to be the end of that conversation. The only thing he could think of now was Her humming to this song in their room, Her fingers tapping on his knee as he sat with Her, and her giggle as he’d teased Her. Her head on his shoulder, their fingers folded together, Her breath warm on his neck, Her body soft in his hands when he finally got Her to stand up and show him how the dance worked. He’d chosen the smaller, happier moment of Her laugh and smile, but goddamnit he’d wanted to walk Her back against the wall, sink to his knees and make Her hips roll against his face-

He coughed, shifting in his seat and pressing his hand on his thigh. He would not pop a boner with Bobby sitting next to him. He was a grown man.

After another hour of silence, Bobby cleared his throat.

“Should call ‘em.” He muttered. “Check in they found the girl.”

Dean nodded, fumbling for his phone, then looking over in surprise when Bobby already had his open. Usually Sammy made him call Her, because She’d pick up faster.

He felt a weird rush of pride, when it took Bobby seven rings to get an answer.

“Bobby?” Her siren-like voice came through the speaker, and Dean fought back his stupid, happy smile.

“Hey, kiddo. You’re on speaker with Dean.”

“Oh- Hi, De.”

“Hey, Princess. Everything quiet on the front?”

“Um- Yeah? We found Eileen, we’re actually heading back now. Are you guys in the car?”

“We got a lead.” Bobby said. “Somethin’ up in North Dakota, we’re checkin’ it out. You driving?”

There was a long silence, some muffled voices in the background, then Claire’s rising up loud enough to be heard through the speaker.

“She’s not allowed to drive!”

“I’m allowed to drive.” She snapped, and Dean shot Bobby a worried look. “She’s being dramatic, I just chose not to drive-“

“’Cause you’d bleed all over the damn car.” Jo’s voice cut Her off, and Dean’s grip on the wheel became white-knuckled.

“I would not-“

Bobby said Her name sternly, and She fell silent. “What’d you do.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“She got stabbed.” Sam said, a little louder than the rest. “But if Dean’s there, it wasn’t my fault, she was in a river-“

“A river?!” Dean shouted, that somehow being the final straw. “The hell were you doing in a river-“

“I was hunting.”

“In a fuckin’ river-“

“It was a river monster.” She snapped. “I’m fine.”

Bobby grunted Her name. “Put us on speaker.”

“Bobby-“

He snapped Her full name, Singer at the end, and Dean could picture Her nervous expression.

“You’re on speaker.” She mumbled, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Sam. She need stiches?”

“Yeah- Ow- I’m driving, stop pinching me-“

“Stop snitching.” She hissed, and Dean barked Her name at the phone.

“If he says you don’t need stitches and you come back with stitches, I’m gonna be pissed.”

The scuffling stopped—Dean would bet a lot of money She was pouting right now—and Sam mumbled, “She needed stitches.”

“How’s the mobility.” Bobby grunted, and Sam sighed.

“It’s okay. And she heals fast, but if she’d been driving it might’ve made it worse-“

“Might’ve.” She grumbled in the background. “We don’t know.”

“You couldn’t open the trunk.” Jo drawled, and Dean was going to kill Her.

“Sweetheart-“

“It was heavy!” She whined. “I could’ve done it, and- I’m fine-“

“Sammy. Don’t let her pick shit up.”

“Yeah.” Sam sighed. “Okay. But if she tries to kill me-“

“She ain’t gonna kill you.” Bobby grunted. “Drive safe. Call us when you’re gettin’ close.”

The call dropped, and Bobby ran a hand over his scowl.

“I swear, that girl thinks she could run through a blender and come out in one damn piece.”

Dean snorted. “Remember when she broke her ankle. She kept trying to run on it, I had to carry her everywhere.”

Bobby chuckled. “When she was thirteen she got a concussion tryin’ to race my old dog. Ran straight into a school bus I had in the yard. Caught ‘er trying to do it again the next damn day.”

“I remember that dog. He was always whining, whenever Sammy and I came around-“

“He liked you boys plenty. Was pissed she wasn’t there too.”

That tracked. Dean was also pissed, when She wasn’t there. “Bobby?”

He grunted, and Dean swallowed.

“I know you’ve said you wanted us ‘round, but- I don’t know. We would’ve loved her, same as we do now-“

“Dean.” Bobby cut him off, voice more gentle than Dean had heard in a while. “Trust me. Wasn’t you. Was never you.”

Dean let a slow breath. “Was it…”

“You think he wouldn’t have put a bullet through her head?”

Red crept over Dean’s vision, and some part of him still wanted to say no. Dad would’ve given Her a real shot, especially if Dean and Sam were vouching for her. If Dean said he’d rather die than lose Her.

But that wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t. Hell, She hadn’t even been running around showing off Her powers and Dad still hadn’t wanted Her around him. And he’d told Dean to leave, and he had, and Dean didn’t want to think about a life where he’d grown a damn spine and told Dad no. That he might’ve been young and stupid, might’ve only known Her a day, but goddamnit he’d trusted Her. She’d felt right, even back then, and it was the only thing in his life that had never started feeling wrong. They would’ve been married by now. Bobby would’ve had some grandkids, She wouldn’t be running around getting hurt because they’d live in the suburbs, and the biggest danger would be a lego on the damn floor.

Soulmate.

He had Her now. He wasn’t going to let go.

“Part of me wishes I’d risked it.” Bobby said suddenly. “Hindsight might be makin’ me blind, but- Hell, she would’ve been a lot happier. I tried my damn best, but- You know how she is. And I never see Her smile more, than when you’re ‘round.”

“Yeah?” Dean grinned, and Bobby gave him a flat glare.

“Don’t fish, Dean, it ain’t cute. And you know that if you break her heart-“

“I’ll shoot myself for you.”

Bobby grunted. “Good.”

Dean nodded, tapping his hand on the wheel, the tension that had settled on his chest loosening slightly. Indy might be the only one who really understood how vital She was the world being rightside up, but Bobby was a close damn second. And he was certainly the only one who got what it was like, loving Her when she kept trying to run into oncoming traffic. Loving Her even when she’d scream that she didn’t deserve to be looked at.

He wasn’t going to tell Bobby what She’d told him in the saferoom. That wasn’t Dean’s call to make, and he had a feeling Bobby knew anyway.

But maybe, once he had a clearer picture, he could loop Bobby into the God situation.

Between them, they could figure out something to free their girl from the creep trying to take Her away. They’d been protecting Her from herself for years. Dean would give his damn soul to protect Her from God. Bobby would too, if asked.

She’d be safe. Long as they were around, She was going to be safe. 

The town Bobby had gotten the tip form was pretty quiet, and it didn’t take long to figure out exactly where the thing had struck. The old, wooden church on main street smelled of rot and sulfur, the moment Dean stepped out of the car. He groaned, pinching his nose, and Bobby whacked his shoulder.

“Stand up, you’re an agent, not a fuckin’ kid smellin’ fish.”

“It’s ass, Bobby-“

“Ass smells better than this, boy. Tastes better, too.”

Dean’s mouth fell open, and Bobby smirked, walking forward without a glance back. Maybe this was how Sammy felt, whenever Dean made jokes about tying Her up. Maybe he should be more careful. He felt like he was going to throw up.

He jogged after Bobby, flashing his badge, and the vomit could also just be the smell. The whole place stank of it, like an evil death-skunk, and Dean had to pull back a gag.

“Sure looks like the pictures.” Bobby muttered, and Dean nodded.

“Smells like it, too. We found it.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yay.”

They split up, combing through the church for any hints to what the hell might’ve done this. There were similar jagged marks where the tar was most concentrated, like something had been eating the benches and curtains. The cross on the dais had it’s who bottom half bit off, the tar dripping down to the carpet with an acidic hiss, Jesus’ face half-melted off.

“We’re thinkin’ it’s a terrorist attack.” One of the officers said, and Dean looked at him with raised brows.

“Huh? On a church?”

“Lot of people hold hate for the true lord.” The man said darkly. “If they ain’t Christ fearing, worshipping one of those devil religions, they won’t be ready for judgement day. God’ll find ‘em. Make ‘em pay.”

“Right, uh- Amen.” Dean coughed—his hand fisting at his side—looking back to the cross. “You think some kinda bomb did that?”

“Who knows when them arabs got up their sleeves. Comin’ up from Mexico with their drugs-“

“Uh- I’m pretty sure- Never mind.” Dean shook his head. “Was anyone in here, when it happened?”

The man nodded solemnly, pointing to the front benches. Dean grimaced, walking over slowly, the smell growing stronger and stronger with every step.

“Son of a bitch.” He choked on the stench, swallowing down the vomit at the sight.

It was probably about five sorry suckers, who’d been caught in this things path. But it was kind of impossible to tell. The whole thing was a mess of melted flesh, clean picked bones, and ripped limbs. One lady had half her face eaten like the wooden Jesus, another’s head had been torn from his body, the tar dripping out of his empty eye sockets and out of his toothless mouth.

“Balls.” Bobby muttered, coming up next to him, and Dean nodded.

“Not worth hoping this isn’t those teeth Cas was talking about, is it?”

“No. I got a feelin’ this is what Death was talkin’ about, with that old things shit.” Bobby swallowed. “This is somethin’ God didn’t want walking around.”

Evil. She’d said. They felt evil.

“That’s right.” The officer muttered, something dark in his voice. “God don’t want them comin’ round here, getting our world all dirty, messing with our people-“

“Alright.” Dean rolled up his sleeve. “Think that’s enough from you.”

He socked the officer in the face, decking him in one blow, and he slumped to the ground like something out a cartoon.

His face landed in the tar, he started to scream.

Dean and Bobby stumbled back, watching as the blackness crept over him like a parasite. It grew into his mouth, his tongue lolling in a second, the screams dying faster. His body convulsed, thrashing and shaking, his screams getting louder and louder until they just… Stopped. 

His whole body went limp. Dean kicked his ankle, and it flopped like it was boneless.

Oops.

“Uh- Bobby?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t touch the goo.”

“Good call.” Bobby grunted. “We need a second for you to feel bad ‘bout that, or-“

“Nah. I think he was about to ask us to do some genocide.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “We should… Not be here.”

Bobby grunted an agreement, and they got slipped out the church’s back door. Dean really hoped he didn’t have to go back to one for a while. Two was enough times, for one year.

“You think the thing is still in the area?” He asked Bobby as they walked back to the car, and Bobby frowned.

“If it is, don’t think we should tangle with it-“

“Yeah, but if we get a picture we can- I don’t know, make some wanted posters-“

Bobby muttered Her name. “She said they were shifters.”

Shit, they were. “Well, maybe we can spot how they shift.” Dean opened Baby’s door, looking at Bobby over the hood. “They’re driving back from Maine, that’s about two days, might as well have something when they get home.”

“I’m callin’ this something. We’re goin’ home.”

“I’d listen to him, Dean Winchester.” A cold, mocking voice cut through the air, and Dean felt something slither up his spine.

A cold chill that he’d only felt once before.

A chill like death.

He grabbed his gun, clicking the safety off and spinning to aim it at the monster’s head. On Baby’s other side, he saw Bobby do the same.

But it wasn’t some biblical, horror-story, Lovecraftian monster standing a few yards down the street. It was a man. Brown hair, tanned skin, mid-forties. Dean was pretty sure he’d seen this exact dude in every roadbar across the country.

The man smiled through. His teeth were glittering white.

Like bone.

There was the slither again. This was the guy.

“I think we both know those won’t do anything.” The monster drawled, looking between them with amusement. “I’m not going to attack you, anyway. You are drenched in her protection.”

Dean’s jaw clenched. Her. Dean’s Her. There wasn’t really anyone else he could be talking about.

“Robert Singer.” The monster looked between them curiously. “And Dean Winchester.” He laughed. “You even smell like her. It is even worse than we thought.”

Dean raised his brows, holding the gun higher. “Yeah? You think about my smell a lot.”

“We think about her smell.” The monster corrected, and Bobby raised his brows.

“What, you like a bloodhound?”

The monster smirked. “We are something beyond the abilities of your feeble mind. You can call me Edgar,” he dips his head in mock respect. “If it will make you shut the fuck up.”

Bobby blinked in surprise, and Dean glanced to the backseat. To where he’d stashed Excalibur.

It could kill anything. If he was fast enough-

“I saw the Sword in your car,” Edgar hummed, still looking mildly entertained. “You can use it on me, if you wish. But is one sword against thousands of us, stronger than you can imagine-“

“You seem real convinced we’re some kinds of idiots.” Dean snapped. “But we’ve done the humans are nothing but ants thing before, buddy, and the ants came out on top every time. If you’re not here to kill us, you’re here for something. Get it over with, or I’ll take you up on the offer to cut your fuckin’ head off.”

Edgar’s smile got wider, and Dean tried not to recoil at the smell of his breath, drifting on the wind. It smelled like the tar.

“Interesting.” He hummed. “But not… unexpected.”

Bobby grunted. “You hear him, you don’t stop talkin’ in riddles-“

“I’m getting there.” Edgar looked between them. “It’s nothing complex. Just a warning.”

“What?” Dean scoffed. “Stay out of your way, or we’ll kill you?”

Edgar hummed. “Half marks, Dean Winchester.” He took a step forward.

Bobby and Dean both took a step back, and Edgar’s smile widened.

“But as I believe you both know.” He mused, looking between them. “There are worse things than death. And we’d love to show you, if you give us a chance.”

“You keep sayin’ we.” Bobby snapped, but Dean heard the waver in his voice. “Y’all got names, or just whine.”

“We have thousands of names.” Edgar purred. “Devourer. Daemon. Death bringer. But our favorite is Leviathan.”

The slither rolled over Dean’s body. He felt sick, his palms sweating, like just this guy’s presence was pulling his body apart.

He looked at Bobby, and found the man pallid, his hands shaking slightly as he lowered his gun.

They exchanged a heavy look, nothing worth saying that they couldn’t both feel. It took an hour of driving for the feeling to fully fade. It took another two for Dean the stop picturing Edgar’s white teeth.

Thousands of those things were out there. Leviathans.

Evil. Her voice said in Dean’s head.

There were worse things than death. Fuck, Death himself had told Her to stand up, before she didn’t have a choice. This was the before.

No matter where She stood, Dean would stand with her. Against any evil. All the way down.

He might only have that one sword.

He’d use it to defend Her, until his legs gave out.

She’d dropped Her face onto his shoulder, Her arm wrapped around his stomach, and he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get used to it. Just having Her, so easily, without a damn tear or question.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” She’d blinked ahead of them, then mumbled. “Hi, Jo.”

Jo had said Her name—a hell of a lot nicer than she’d said Dean’s, even smiling—and Sam had cleared his throat.

“You’re- Uh-“ The kid had looked up at the ceiling, cheeks pink. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Oh- Um- I dunno.” She’d yawned again, and Dean had grinned.

“You wanted us to work it out, Sammy-“

“No- No. That’s- Dean-“ Sam had gagged on the air. “That’s so gross-“

“You asked-“

“I wish I hadn’t-“

“Well, it’ll teach you to fuckin’ stick your nose in things-“

“Us sticking our nose.” Jo had cut in, her hands on her hips. “Got you laid, Dean. Thank. You.”

Sam had gagged again, Dean had rolled his eyes, and She’d tugged on Dean’s arm with another yawn. He’d looked back to find Her eyes still drooping, her hair hanging at all different angles, and her brow scrunched. It was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

“Dean.” She’d mumbled, tilting Her head.

He’d grinned. “Yeah, Princess?”

“I- I think I’m hungry.”

“Let’s get you food, then.” He’d grabbed Her face, kissed the side of Her head, and felt something in him glowing.

This was allowed. He was allowed to do that, and She wasn’t going to run.

There was a part of him—trained from years lying alone in motel rooms and watching everyone walk out a million doors—that didn’t believe it yet. It was loudly reminding him that Dad had said he wouldn’t go, and he did. That he’d done everything he ever could for Sam, and the kid still ran out on him. That even his Mom had been gassed into a fireball, and he’d been waiting on the side of the street in the cold, alone.

It reminded him that She’d walked away too. That Dean had spent a lot of time watching the windows and looking up at the sky, hoping She might just be sparing him a single damn thought that night.

But She had been. She’d come back. When She’d been gone, she said it had been to protect him—which was a load of crap, but he believed She thought he’d needed that—and now She was letting him hold her here. Dean could still watch Her carefully, for when she might get scared. When she was scared she got flighty. But he’d be allowed to catch Her now. Grab Her out of the air, and pull her all the way down with him. She’d stay. They’d both stay.

That morning, he’d gotten Her dressed—after Sam and Jo left, Sam scrambling out and Jo dragging her feet with an annoyed glare and grumble—and half-carried Her upstairs. She’d been walking sideways. He’d been strictly forbidden to make any jokes about it, but that hadn’t stopped the glowing, smug pride blooming through his chest at the hickeys on Her neck and sway in her step.

That afternoon, he’d muttered a thanks to Sam and Jo. Sam had just nodded and asked that they never speak of it again. Jo had gloated for ten minutes, until She’d wandered into the room with an innocent expression and started talking about how She and Rowena had been studying dragons, and she was pretty sure Indy could breathe different types of fire.

It had been the project for the week. Try to get Indy to breathe another kind of fire, when the lizard still blew the normal kind out of her nose when she sneezed. She had a hell of a lot of faith in Indy, where Dean was pretty sure they were lucky they still had a house and not an ash pile. But it was keeping Her busy. Keeping Her from being up until 2am in the library, entertaining Claire too, and Dean couldn’t complain all that much.

Even with all the Purgatory fugitives crawling over the Earth, Crowley laying low and Eve who fucking knew where, things were strangely good. No one was dying. The world wasn’t ending. Cas was still in the cuckoo’s nest, Sam was still seeing things, and Rowena was still an unwelcome houseguest that kept stealing all his damn bacon, but those were simple problems. Problems Dean could survive. 

He had a bed again. His hot, perfect, flawless woman in that bed with him—and Indy, but he’d accepted that a while ago—and Bobby wasn’t even trying to kill him. They’d gotten a silent understanding. Dean kept it under the radar, and Bobby pretended he only saw Her smiling.

Because She was smiling.

It wasn’t freely. She didn’t walk around with it on Her face or shining in her eyes. But She was smiling.

And Dean would let himself be locked in a million more rooms, if he just got to see Her keep smiling.

“Dean.”

He started slightly, then groaned. Ran a hand over his face as he turned. “Cas, dude- C’mon-“

“Do you see it coming?”

Dean blinked. Cas was standing barely a foot away in their bathroom, his head tilted and eyes shining in the dark. Dean was in his sweatpants, with toothpaste running down his chin. This didn’t feel like the best time for a conversation.

“See what?”

“It. The teeth.”

“Uh-“ Dean wiped his chin. “Yours or mine?”

“No, Dean, the teeth. The black ones.”

“Black teeth? Do I have freakin’ cavities-“

“Yes, in your second molar. But I am speaking of the teeth.”

“Buddy, that’s not clearing anything- I have a cavity?” Dean frowned, looking back to the mirror and opening his mouth with a frown. Cas sighed.

“Your human eyes will not be able to see it. The rot starts too deep. It is all starting too deep, and I am worried we don’t have time.”

“Time?” Dean had pulled his mouth to the side, only half-listening. “What for my cavity?”

“No. It is-“ Cas had shaken his head, voice distressed. “They are hungry, Dean. They have been very hungry, and they are going to ruin, many, many things, it will fall, every garden will fall again-“

“Hey, uh-“ Dean had grabbed Cas’ shoulder gently, and said Her name. “Let’s go get your translator, dude. I don’t speak Cas.”

Cas had made a sour expression as Dean steered him into their room, but it had relaxed the moment he saw Her on the bed. Dean had grinned, when She looked up at them with a tiny, pouting frown and wrinkle in her brow. He and Cas both knew She’d help. Just Her presence helped.

“What’s wrong?” She said, closing the book in her lap slowly, and Cas gave Her a pleading look.

“The teeth.”

“The… teeth?” She looked to Dean, and he shrugged.

“The teeth, Princess.”

He got a flat look before She looked back to Cas. It just made him grin wider.

“What teeth, Cas?”

“Her favorites. They are made of the dinosaurs, they took our home, they take yours too, Dean, they do not like things in their way, they crawl from the water and eat them.”

“Maybe he’s talking about a piranha? With- legs?”

She ignored him. “Were they loud, Cas?”

Cas nodded. “Louder than space.”

Dean frowned. He was pretty sure space was famously not loud. Whole vacuum thing. But She nodded like Cas was making sense, so maybe space was loud. Dean wasn’t an astronaut, or a creature made of stars like they were. What did he know.

“We’ll be ready for them.” She told Cas gently, like she was coddling a child. “Okay?”

Cas didn’t look convinced. “They rip barricades and wings.”

“So, I’ll just make a moat.”

Dean really didn’t know what the hell that meant, but it worked for Cas. He left them alone with a bow of his head, and when Dean crawled back into bed and kissed Her cheek, she flushed and didn’t move away.

“You actually understand what he’s saying?” He muttered, settling against the headboard and pulling Her slowly between his legs. “Or just making shit up?”

She rolled Her eyes, leaning into his chest. “I actually understand. It just-“ She sighed. “It makes sense to me. And you know Cas would tell me if I was wrong.”

“That’s true.” Dean sighed. “Apparently I got a cavity.”

“We can go to the dentist-“

“I’m not going to the dentist.”

“You have a cavity, De. Dentists fix that.”

“I’m just gonna ask Rowena to make me somethin’ for it.” He mumbled, kissing the back of Her neck. “If I go to the dentist they’re gonna make me fuckin’ floss.”

“Rowena would turn you into a frog.” She hummed, still looking at Her book. “And I can make you floss.”

“But you won’t-“

“Yes. I will.”

Dean sighed, and pressed his face into the soft column of Her throat. She leaned Her head against him, Her hand moving to cover his on her stomach.

“Rufus knows how to do dentist stuff.” She offered. “I can call him.”

“I’m not letting Rufus put his fingers in my mouth-“

“He’d wear gloves.”

Dean grunted. “He’s gonna try and talk to me about you. Then he’s gonna snitch to Bobby.”

She hummed. “What would you tell Rufus about me?”

He heard it immediately. The way Her voice got quieter, Her body tensing in his arms, every word careful. Whatever it was in Her head that made her cry and broke Her apart, it was getting loud, and She was making Herself small. Giving Dean a chance to fight it off, to prove Her wrong, to help.

She wasn’t running. She was shrinking into Dean’s arms, and letting him help.

“That you’re doing good.” He kissed under Her jaw, grinning against the soft skin. “That you’re getting sleep, eating. That you’re getting all pretty and embarrassed-“ He kissed behind Her ear, and she melted back. “Whenever I hold your hand in the grocery store-“

“You made a joke.” She mumbled, but there wasn’t a lot of defense in Her voice. “You- That was your fault-“

“I know.” Dean grinned, kissing over Her cheek. “You liked it, though.”

He got a little grumble in return, and chuckled. His hand on Her stomach was splayed, and she was pressed nice and tight against his body. Melting into him with every low word of praise, even as She twisted her face to try and hide from him. Dean let Her. It was real damn adorable, to watch Her squirm under affection. Made it even better, when She started whining for him. Like she couldn’t even help it.

“I’ll tell him that I think you need a vacation.” Dean murmured against Her skin. “That Bobby should give us a week, let us head somewhere quiet. Just us.” He kissed near Her eye. “Lot of catchin’ up we gotta do, isn’t there Princess.”

She made a wanting, sweet sound, and Dean smirked. Maybe he would let Rufus poke around his mouth. They really could use that week off, because even with Dean back in their room, they hadn’t actually found the time to have fun. She was still on edge about a million other things, their fight being over taking only one burden off Her shoulders.

There were still nightmares. Later that night, She woke up screaming and Dean had to cradle her gently, whispering soft reminders that everything was fine until She fell asleep. It still took some coaxing to get Her to eat, some reminders and firm words to get Her to bed. Everything wasn’t perfect, just because She knew Dean wasn’t angry. Because She knew he needed her, that he couldn’t hate Her if he tried.

That he felt it. Dean was putting everything he had, into making sure She knew he felt it.

And that meant kissing Her, holding Her, and waiting. If She’d chosen Dean, he could wait forever to get more again. He had all he needed anyway, when She gave up reading and crawled up his chest, blinking at him nervously with glossy, bright eyes. He pulled Her down into a slow kiss, and She folded over him with a happy sigh. Let Dean lead Her, with one hand on the back of Her head and the other on her thigh. That was as far as it got, before She flew off of him with a lust-blown expression and Her thighs clenching around his torso. Dean raised his brows, and She flushed.  

Dean wasn’t in a rush. He rolled Her over and kissed her one more time—gentle and delicate—before they went to bed.

They had all the damn time in the world.

“There are so many monsters.” Sam muttered, glaring at his laptop. “Why? I mean, I know why, but couldn’t Eve just be happy with one way to suck human’s blood?”

“Woah, Sammy.” Dean laughed, grabbing the milk out of the fridge. “Never thought I’d see the day you were complaining about research. We better call Crowley, see if hell is frozen over.”

“Hell is perfectly intact.” Cas said. “The glaciers cannot grow past where the water rises, and the fire does not bleed. The trees has not lost any roots.”

“Parts of Hell are already frozen.” She translated with a sigh, squinting at the Book. “And the ecosystem is in balance, so nothing else is freezing.”

Dean blinked. “Hell’s got icebergs?”

“Hell is big, Dean, it’s like a whole country.”

Cas nodded. “The war gods rip it open. People do not stop walking away from you.”

“Things die a lot.” She muttered, frowning at a page. “Sam, did you find the article on Titans-“

“Yeah, but it’s not helpful. I think I have one on dragons, though. There are different breeds, and- You think there are others?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s- Yes, but I don’t think that’s what they were. I- I remember them being cold. But like- hot-cold. Burning ice.” She leaned back in Her chair, fiddling with Dean’s amulet. “I don’t know, there were so many things, and- I’m really not sure what was real and what was just…”

She trailed off, and Sam sighed.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Dean frowned, and bit down a comment about how maybe they should be more worried about Her and Sam seeing shit than whatever teeth Cas had been going on about. She’d decided it needed to be dealt with, and that was all they’d been researching since dawn. Jo had given up and gone to get more books an hour ago. Bobby and Rowena were in town with Jody, trying to use the database to find something. Claire was out with some friends.

Leaving Dean, uselessly lingering in the door and trying to give suggestions that Sam shot down in a second. At least he was feeding them, making sure they drank water. He’d gotten a translation of one word, and She’d smiled at him, and that had been pretty sweet. Maybe he should take Indy for another walk, she was getting restless on the counter-

The door slammed in the hallway, and Dean leaned out to see Bobby marching towards them, holding something tight in his hand.

“Got somethin’.” He grunted, clapping Dean on the shoulder as he walked into the kitchen. “Or- Somethin’ that might be somethin’. Jody thinks it’s somethin’.”

“I think it’s nothing.” Rowena sniffed, walking behind Bobby with her chin raised. “It is foolish. There has not been a true oracle seen in thousands of years-“

“Oracle?” Her head shot up, eyes wide. “You found an oracle?”

“Jody found an oracle.” Bobby grinned, passing Her a crumpled paper. “Looks real, kiddo.”

Her mouth fell open as She scanned over the page, and Dean shot a look at Sam. Sam only raised his brows in an I don’t fucking know look, and he sighed.

“And you don’t think it is?” She looked up at Rowena, who shrugged.

“I think oracles are myths, little tiger. If they were ever real, they’re certainly not anymore.”

“Well, I ain’t someone who just buys into a damn fairytale.” Bobby snapped. “And you’re not the one makin’ the call here.”

“You trust a child, over me-“

“I trust my kid over you. Hell, I ain’t trustin’ you over your little demon son.”

Rowena’s nose twitched. “Well, he is an imbecile. And you are a fool.”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed, and Dean cleared his throat before they got a live old-person brawl in the kitchen.

“Someone gonna explain what an Oracle is?”

“Yeah, is it like a prophet?” Sam leaned forward, pretty obviously trying to read the paper in Her hands. “Or- There are plenty of people with the sight, is it one of those.”

She shook Her head. “A prophet is designated by God for a certain purpose. They have visions pertaining only to Heaven and Hell. Psychics like Sam usually see things in relation to their literal view. The self, those close to them, family.”

“Theory ‘bout Oracles is that they’re closest thing to real Fortune Tellers.” Bobby grunted. “They talk like bridge trolls, but there ain’t a damn thing in the world we don’t know.”

“Like what Cas’ teeth are.” Sam said, sitting a little taller. “Or what kind of things got out of Purgatory.”

“Where Eve is.” Dean muttered. “Or… God.”

Bobby nodded firmly, and Dean swallowed. Answers. They could get some goddamn answers.

“Oracles are fairy tales.” Rowena snipped, crossing her arms over her chest. “Myths, made up by half-wit witches who needed money.”

“Good thing we deal in fairy tales.” Dean grunted, walking to lean over Her chair.

The paper in Her hands was a drawing. It was a waterfall, low to the ground, with a lot of willow trees surrounding it. And a girl. A young girl, her back to the artist, her hair almost as short as Dean’s, smoke rising all around Her. Smoke that looked twisted, like fumes he’d seen in old movies, when they went into a smokehouse or opium den.

And at the bottom of the page, tight words were scrawled in cursive.

Oracle of Ishtar, move through her land. The bayou sings for us.

“Ishtar.” He muttered. “What’s that, like a city?”

“No. It’s- It’s the gate of Babylon.” She looked up at Rowena, who sighed.

“Yes, but-“

“Where is it.”

Alabama. Whatever this was, it was in the swamps of northern Alabama. Not the longest drive, even in the summer. It could have been worse. They could be going back to Florida.

Dean still didn’t love the arrangement they had to make. He was saddled with Rowena and Sam in the Impala, and She’d taken Cas and Jo in the Firebird. It made the most sense. Cas needed Her to translate. Dean didn’t want to ride with Jo—she’d spend the whole time teasing him—and it wasn’t like she was going to leave Her side anyway.

But Dean also didn’t want to leave Her side. His hands kept restlessly drumming on the wheel, he glanced in the rearview every other minute to make sure She was still behind him, he kept getting this damn tight feeling in his throat. Wire squeezing around his throat, telling him that he needed to be there with Her. Needed to be able to remind Her that she had him, that she wasn’t a burden, that he loved Her. He needed to tell Her in every way he could, that he really did love Her. Needed to show it to Her until she said it, so he could say it too, and She would never feel like she wasn’t enough. Anything painful in Her head was something he’d be happy to fight, but he couldn’t do that from a separate goddamn car-

“Dude.” Sam muttered. “You good?”

Dean grunted. “Yeah. ‘m fine.”

“You sound it-“

“Shut your face, Sam, I’m fine.”

Sam sighed. “Are you already fighting again-“

“No. We’re good.”

“You’re trying to strangle the wheel, Dean.”

He glanced at his hands, and found them white-knuckled and tight. He let out a slow breath, loosening his grip, and shrugged like nothing had happened at all.

“He misses his girlfriend.” Rowena hummed from the backseat, and Dean shot Her a glare.

“I don’t remember saying you could talk-“

“I don’t follow orders from you, boy. The only reason I am tolerating this… Horror.” She shivered, like she wasn’t in the best damn car in the universe. “Is for your Princess.”

“Actually,” Sam twisted in his seat before Dean could make one of the many, creative threats running through his head. “I’ve had some questions about that. How did you know what she was, if- I mean you’re technically a human, right? You can’t see souls, like the demons and angels. And- I don’t think you have the thing that monsters have for her, so-“

“I had spent my whole life, hearing about the Magdalene. And I know how to spot power, when it is right in front of me. And I know that if something… volatile is left unchecked, it becomes a danger.”

Dean grunted. “She’s not a danger-“

“Not now, no. But I am not a gambling woman.”

“It ain’t a gamble.” Dean snapped. “She’s more than just a fuckin’ toy for you, if you think you’re ever gonna control her or some shit-“

“I am deeply aware that is not possible for anyone but you, Dean, no matter how deeply disappointing it is that she would give a man that kind of power.”

Something went red in his vison. “I don’t control her-“

“I’m sure you believe that.” Rowena drawled, and Dean’s grip tightened again.

“Dean.” Sam muttered a low warning, and Dean just shook his head. Rowena wanted a reaction. She wouldn’t get one.

But he didn’t. Rowena didn’t know what the hell she was talking about, because Dean barely controlled anything. Nobody listened to him when he said something was a bad idea—Sam hadn’t stopped doping on demon blood, they’d fallen into the cage, and Purgatory had been opened—and if Dean had any control over her at all, he was pretty damn sure he’d know about it.

She wasn’t something to be controlled at all. The idea of putting Her in any kind of cage, on some sort of leash he could yank, it was wrong. She was the wind and nothing should change her direction. The map of stars that couldn’t be rearranged because someone wanted a different sky. A beautiful volcano, and Dean was the guy giving offerings to make sure She didn’t erupt.

It wasn’t an easy job. Never had been. But Dean loved every damn piece of Her, even the ones that drove him insane. If a fucked-up part of him hadn’t enjoyed the never-ending chase, hadn’t loved doing every bit of work for Her to look at him and smile, he would’ve given up ten years ago.

Being the asshole that the ocean chose to part for was a lot better than building dams and digging rivers until it was forced to drain.

She chose him. And that meant Dean got to control Her the same way he’d controlled Indy flapping into the Firebird when they left.

Pretty much not at all.

He did get to have Her more than anyone. She looked at him with pure fucking adoration and trust, when he was over her in bed. Backing Her against the kitchen counter with a smirk. Holding his hand at the gas station, Her head leaning on his shoulder as she stared at the snack aisle with bleary eyes.

Rowena didn’t understand that Dean wasn’t Her commander, he was her guard. Her shadow. All the way down meant She was going to do stupid things, Dean was going to stop what he could, and neither of them would let go.

His reward wasn’t any kind of power. It was just Her.

“Have you ever had one of those?” She leaned forward, nodding to a Red Bull, and Dean shrugged.

“Nah, not my thing. You want one?”

She shook Her head with a sigh. “No, I’m just- I’m tired. They have coffee at the front, I’ll get that.”

Dean grunted, glancing up to the front of the station. The coffee was a machine with stains on it and some suspicious-looking milk in a jar. “Just let Jo drive, sweetheart. Take a nap in the back.”

Her nose wrinkled. “You take a nap.”

“I will if you take it with me.”

“I- Really?” She blinked up at him, eyes wide, and Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, really. I can nap. I’m fuckin’ great at napping.”

“But- Sam would have to drive. We could just stop for the night-“

“No stopping. I’m not buying three rooms just for Cas to stand over us in bed and Rowena to bitch about gross showers.” Dean grabbed a chocolate bar off the shelf, herding her towards checkout. “Rowena can go with Jo. She can handle the crazies herself, you’re coming with me.”

“Dean, you don’t have to-“

“Want to.” He kissed the top of Her head, nudging her towards the ice cream freezer. “Go get something for Cas, don’t think he’s had Dippin’ Dots before.”

She blinked at him for a second, then nodded and shuffled away. Dean dumped their haul on the counter—it felt like some kinda riddle, but apparently what two witches, three hunters, and an angel ate on a road trip was mostly just packaged sugar and one granola bar—and the cashier started to lazily scan every item while watching the baseball game on the TV over his head.

Dean looped his arm around Her back, when She returned with three Dippin’ Dots packages, flushing when he raised his brows.

“Cotton Candy for me and Cas.” She mumbled. “Banana Sundae for Jo.”

“Nothing for me?”

“You can share mine.” She leaned into his chest, hiding a yawn in his jacket, and Dean grinned.

Nobody argued, when he told them they were shifting the seating arrangement. Cas was too enamored with the ice cream to speak, Rowena gave him a weird kind of look, Jo just sighed and reached into Her pocket for the keys, and Sam grumbled something about not being a chaperone.

“No sex in the backseat, Dean, I’m serious-“

“Get your head out of the gutter, Sammy, sleeping can just mean sleeping.”

Sam didn’t look convinced, but his eyes softened when they darted to Her. Already sitting in the backseat, Indy on Her lap, pouting at something on Her phone. Sam sighed, his shoulders slumping, and snatched the keys out of Dean’s hands. Dean grinned, checked that Jo had the address, and slid into the backseat at Her side.

Indy warbled happily, flapping up to try and climb over Dean’s head, and he groaned.

“C’mon- Fuckin’- Ow-“

“She’s restless, De, she’s been in the car all day.”

“We just let her out-“

“For ten minutes- Indy-“ She reached forward, carefully prying the dragon from where she’d been trying to lick Dean’s nose. “Indy, Gargoyle.”

Indy eerped and whined, but sat down in Her lap. Her tail was still whipping back and forth, golden eyes fixed on Dean, and he sighed. Stroked her spine, watching Sam drive with a frown.

“Hey, dude, easy on the breaks-“

“I’m merging, I have to be careful-“

“Be careful of what, only other people on the road right now are trucks and raccoons-“

“Dean.” She said softly, and Dean looked over to find Her giving him a gentle, pointed look.

He sighed, tipping his head back against the seat. “Just- Be careful with her.”

“Uh huh.” Sam’s voice was flat, and if She wasn’t curling into his side, Dean might’ve started arguing again.

“Sam can drive.” She murmured in his ear, and Dean snorted.

“Depends on what you call driving-“

“I can hear you, jerk.”

Dean opened his mouth to snap back, and She cleared her throat. He sighed, gave Her an amused look, and tugged Her further into his side. She melted against him, letting out a breathy, soft noise when Dean grabbed Her knee and squeezed once. She took his hand and squeezed back three times, offering him a small smile. Dean grinned and kissed Her brow. The smile grew, and She fell right into him, grabbing his hand in both of Her’s.

Sam had some stupid classical radio on in the background, but it seemed to be putting Indy to sleep, which was the most Dean could ask for. It sure as hell made it easier for Her to start falling asleep, Her body pressed perfectly into Dean’s. He watched Her in the low light of the highway lamps, the shifting shadows and warm gold giving Her the impression of a painting. And he was allowed to touch the art.

The art was touching him. She was snuggling into Dean like he was a blanket, their bodies figuring out a way to tangle together even here. It was almost magnetic, how Her legs moved over Dean’s lap, Her knees against his chest and her face pressed near his arm. He had his hand resting back on Her thigh, closer to her ass as his arm looped around Her back as the other kept Her body tucked safely from the rumble of the road.

“Do you want some ice cream?” She mumbled, holding the spoon up for Dean to have, and he leaned forward. Ate it out of Her hand, never breaking Her wide, shiny gaze, and licked his lips with a smirk.

“Thanks, Princess.”

“Mhm.” She wiggled in his lap, head ducking back down, and Dean chuckled. Rubbed his hand up and down Her spine, keeping his voice low enough that Sam wouldn’t hear.

“What were you reading?”

“Nothing, just- Reports. About the monsters. I think there might be a serpent in Lake Michigan.”

“You tell Bobby?”

“Yeah, but-“

“Then you did your job.” Dean made his voice firm. “Nothing we can do about that one from here, and Bobby’s got good people to handle it. We’re dealing with the big money, sweetheart. Eyes on the oracle prize.”

She sighed, but nodded. Dean knew She didn’t believe him.

Her words from the panic room were still echoing in his head. The exhaustion, the completeness of the way She’d said everything. Dean dragged his hand slowly up Her back, letting it rest at the base of Her neck, and tapped her gently. She looked up at him, brow wrinkled—like he’d guessed it would be—and Dean dropped his brow to Her’s.

“You’re doing everything you can, baby. You’re good.”

She blinked, lip wobbling, and Dean kissed Her. Soft and slow. A reminder that he was there.

“I let them out.” She whispered. “And I could do more-“

“Nope.” He kissed Her again, fingers weaving into Her hair. “You’re good.”

She nodded, leaning up to chase Dean’s mouth, and she tasted like ice cream and fruit. He was never going to be able to get enough.

It didn’t take long for Her to go down after that, breath even and heartbeat steady under Dean’s hands. He couldn’t get his eyes to close though, his head to stop thinking.

The scalpel was heavy in his pocket. He’d used it to look at Sam, at Jo, at everyone. He still hadn’t used it on Her. He hadn’t been sure if it was a violation or not, if it was a situation like Cas’ grace where he’d be turned to ash in a second, or just something that was open for anyone. Cas was allowed to see it. Crowley was allowed to see it.

Dean wanted to see it. She’d still been dancing around the Cage, but She’d told him about seeing God. Maybe he’d messed with Her soul. Maybe there would be something on Her soul, that told them just how to get God off her back.

He moved slowly. Pulled the scalpel out of his jacket, pausing whenever She shifted in his arms. Dean flipped it in his hand, holding it angled towards the roof, and took a heavy breath.

Quickly, he turned the blade down. Made sure it was reflecting Her, and not himself.

The tool almost slipped from his hands.

Everyone had always called Her bright. That didn’t feel like a strong enough word.

She was blinding. Whatever light had always seemed to shimmer in Her eyes were a dull, dying and flickering bulb compared to this. The hurricane of Silver inside Her seemed to move like clockwork that didn’t know what time it was supposed to be telling. No one else’s souls had moved, when Dean looked at them, but Her’s seemed alive. It rolled like a storm, bloomed like a garden, flaring like fireworks in strange places and tangling itself together and apart like waves. There was a thin, iridescent line of gold that was threaded through Her—the only thing that didn’t seem to be moved by the power of Her—and something glowing and bursting near Her back, but nothing else.

No stamped claim, reading property of God. No marker, no scars like Sam’s, nothing.

If God said he had dibs, Dean wasn’t able to see any proof of it. There was only the Gold.

She said Dean was made of Gold.

Soulmates.

Dean was a part of Her soul. Nothing was going to be able to take that away. Not even God.

He pressed his face down into Her hair, and took a deep breath. Her apples really were like a drug. He was out within minutes, and when he woke up, there hadn’t been a single nightmare.

“Where are we?” He muttered, turning Her head gently so her ears were covered by his jacket. She was still out, Dean wasn’t going to let anything wake her up.

“Northern Mississippi, I think.” Sam squinted at a passing road sign. “Only like, five more hours.”

Dean grunted. “You need to switch again?”

“No, I think I’m okay. I’ll rest when we get there.”

Dean nodded, looking out the window. The sun was just over the horizon, they’d have plenty of daylight to burn figuring things out while Sammy slept. “How’s your head feeling?”

“The same.”

“Sam-“

“Nothing’s changed, Dean.” Sam gave him a look in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, I’m still seeing things, but- I’ve gotten better at knowing when it isn’t real, alright?”

“Yeah? How.”

“I just- I am. You have to trust me on this, I’ve got it under control.”

Dean worked his jaw, letting out a heavy breath through his nose. He didn’t trust it. Sam hadn’t even told him in a way the kid could remember—Becky’s shit really had done a number—and Dean was pretty sure he never would’ve said anything if Dean hadn’t already known. But now wasn’t the time to push. Maybe Sam did have it handled. Maybe, for once, something like this wasn’t going to blow up in their face.

It probably would. But maybe it wouldn’t.

The hours passed slowly. Indy woke up first, and Dean scratched her ears to stop the whole damn car from flipping with the little gremlin’s excitement. When they got to Alabama—Jo having somehow beaten them, which never would’ve happened if Dean was driving—they ended up in a fancy Hilton near the city, Rowena declaring that if they put her, she would not have the “strength” to work the case.

Dean cringed at the number on the register when he booked the rooms, but it would be worth it. Rowena wouldn’t spend the whole time whining, Sam and Jo wouldn’t spend the whole time complaining about Dean kissing Her—which he would’ve anyway, She was his girl, but it was still annoying—and Cas could wander around Rowena’s room bothering her.

Sam knocked out the moment they got upstairs, and She gave Jo their bed so she didn’t have to deal with Sam’s snores. Indy flapped around the room before settling on a chair—She’d snuck her up in Dean’s coat—and that left Her, Dean, Rowena, and Cas to poke around town, looking for any leads on where the oracle actually was.

“Why did Bobby think it was this place anyway?” Dean asked, driving through the small, not very magic-looking town.

“The willow trees in the drawing are native to a really specific bayou in this area.” She muttered, Her knees up on the dash as she examined the paper. “There’s a chance we’re going to have to go a town over, but- We’ll see.”

“Or won’t.” Rowena muttered. “Because there’s no such thing as an Oracle-“

“Rowena.” She sighed. “Shut up.”

Dean smirked at Rowena’s humph, and goddamn, he wished he had that superpower. Rowena had actually shut up.

“It’s a small town.” She looked up at the passing woods with a frown. “If we ask around about local legends, strange activities, even just a tourist trap-“

“We’ll get a lead.” Dean nodded. “Feds, or?”

“No. I, um-“ She glanced at Cas in the backseat. He was staring out the window with a curious expression, sunken into the seat without a care in the world. Lucky bastard.

“Good call.” Dean muttered. “You take him, I’ll take the Poodle back there.”

“Did you just call me a poodle, boy-“

“Yeah. I did. Hit me with your best shot back.”

Rowena glared daggers at his skull, and She sighed, tapping Dean’s thigh.

“Please don’t get turned into a frog.”

“I’ll try.” He shot Her a grin. “Would you kiss me back to a man, Princess?”

She flushed, but rolled her eyes. “Yes.”

“Thanks, baby-“

“But if that didn’t fix it.” She hummed, Her fingers tracing up and down his jeans. “I’d keep you in a nice jar.”

“You’d put me in a jar-“

“Just until I figured out how to turn you back.” She gave him a doe-eyed, small smile. “Would you keep me if I was a frog?”

“I keep you if you were a toad.” Dean said loyally. “I’d make you a whole aquarium.”

“Toads don’t live in aquariums, Dean-“

“Then I’d make you a toad house.”

“Oh.” She beamed, and Dean's heart did a stupid little skip. “Thank you.”

He grunted, catching Her hand on his leg and squeezing three times. If he’d let Her keep that up, he would’ve spent the whole afternoon walking around with blue balls. Even stopping Her there wasn’t really enough. When he split off with Rowena, his pants were sort of tight, Little Dean straining at the loss of her soft touch so close, teasing him without even knowing it. If they’d been alone, maybe he could’ve guided Her hand up, watch Her get all flushed when she felt the hardness through his pants. Or, better, he could’ve pulled over. Pinned Her hand to her stomach and held her gaze while he echoed the same movements on Her thigh, making her understand just how fucking insane she drove him-

“Get a hold of yourself.” Rowena snapped, and Dean realized he’d walked right past the library they were supposed to be investigating. “You want me to think you’re more than a pretty piece of meat, dearie, prove it.”

She marched inside the library, and Dean sighed. He should’ve asked to take Cas. At least his ramblings would be entertaining. Rowena, on the other hand, might be secretly plotting to kill him. It was even worse than Jo, who always had a reason. Rowena just seemed to be offended by his presence in general.

“You gotta stop just standing in the corner glaring at them.” Dean muttered, after the third failed interview, this on with a pretty chill Pet Store owner named Dave who had stammered and shrunken from Rowena like she might bite. “It’s freaky, you look like you wanna kill someone.”

“That is because I do want to kill someone.”

“Is it me.”

“Not right now, no. But, Hell and the Devil’s arsehole-“ Rowena fanned herself with a hand, glaring around the street. “This town is disgusting. That… thing,” she spat the word, pointing back to the pet store. “He smelled like a skunk.”

“He was probably smoking or something.” Dean shrugged. “We’re not the freakin’ pigs, that’s not our problem.”

“Well, this isn’t my problem either-“

Dean cut her off with Her name, running a hand over his face. “She thinks this is something. And I’m trusting her over anything else, any damn day. She says look for it, we-“ He gestured between their bodies. “Look. You wanna be a disciple or whatever? Look.”

Rowena scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “I am not a disciple, Dean Winchester, I am the only one in the world who is willing to train her, to help her power grow-“

“Yeah? You’re still here to help?”

“The Magdalene, yes-“

“Then help. Which looks like actually trying to do this, even if you think it’s bullshit.”

Rowena glared at him. She was silent for a second, scanning over Dean’s glower, his defensive stance. Then she sighed.

“Hm.” Her nose twitched, something gleaming in her eyes that Dean didn’t really want to understand. “Fine.”

“Awesome.” Dean sighed. “C’mon. One more stop.”

Rowena followed him over to the hardware show and—in a way that was sort of creepier than the glaring—tried to have a normal conversation with the owner.

“You enjoy… Drills?” She said, glancing at the shelf, and the man perked up.

“Yes, ma’am. Nothin’ better than makin’ something with your own two hands. Ain’t that right, son?”

Dean nodded, clearing his throat. “Actually, my and my… Mom here are looking to try and buy some property in town, build a house. You like the area? Anything we should know about, getting into the community.”

“Nah. We good people. Tight-knit.” The man smiled at Rowena. “You don’t look old enough to be anyone’s mother, ma’am. You’re like- One of those fancy magazine ladies.”

Rowena recoiled slightly, like a snake about to strike, then took a heavy breath and smiled.

It was sort of terrifying. Dean almost choked on nothing at the sight of it.

“Thank you… Clive.” Rowena’s nose twitched. “Interesting name.”

“Was my father’s.” Clive tipped his hat. “Store was too. But he never got something half as pretty as you wandering inside.”

Rowena’s smile got more pained. “Oh. Delightful.”

Dean didn’t hide the snort that time. Rowena was looking at him like this was his fault, and he just grinned. It was the most amazing, horrible thing he’d ever gotten to see.

“We got nothing.” He told Her when they met back up for lunch. “But Rowena’s got a date with the hardware store guy.”

“Really-“

“No. Control your mutt,” Rowena snapped Her name, dropping on the bench next to Cas. “He forced me to smile.”

“Wow. Horrible.” She said flatly. “Did you survive?”

Rowena scoffed. It was a softer scoff than she’d been giving Dean or Bobby, so it looked like She really did just get extra privileges. Which was fine. If anyone deserved them, it was always going to be Her.

“No luck on our end either.” She sighed, glancing over at Cas. “Well- Nothing solid.”

Dean frowned. “Anything… Liquid?”

“There is a girl in the wind and the water, and the bugs call her but she does not go home.” Cas informed him simply. “And the marshes sleep before dawn.”

“A teenage girl went missing like, twenty years ago. Emily. But- It mostly just sounds like a really sad story. Not our thing.” She sighed. “And there hadn’t been any deaths in the town since, but now like three people have vanished into the bayou.”

“Three people?” Dean asked. “Tourists, or-“

“Locals. Doesn’t sound like they get tourists. Or even people passing through, which means-“

“Someone would’ve noticed an oracle, dear.” Rowena said, and She shrugged.

“Someone did notice an oracle.” She held up the paper. “That’s why we’re here. But if only one person noticed and they kept it under wraps, in such a small town, it’s not crazy that there might be something.”

Rowena didn’t look impressed. “I don’t remember being this foolishly hopeful, when I was young.”

“That’s because you’re a million years old. We’re looking in the bayou.”

Dean hid his smirk at Rowena’s annoyance by shoving a whole hotdog into his face. He choked slightly, and She patted his back mindlessly, focused on a colorful print of a swamp map with Cas. Dean wasn’t really sure what Cas was bringing to the conversation, but She seemed happy with it. She kept nodding and murmuring agreements, and somehow they ended up with a clear path for tomorrow.

It would have to be tomorrow. They needed all hands for the search—Sam’s tall head was good at looking for things—and it was already late enough in the afternoon that nothing should be getting started. They headed back to the hotel, and they’d meet up again in the morning.

Rowena would meet up with them in the morning. Dean dragged Her, Jo, and Sammy down to eat at the fancy restaurant, because he’d never actually gotten to eat at one of these. It was inside the hotel, it had tablecloths and words on the menu Dean couldn’t pronounce.

“Gah-nock-y”

“New-chi.” She giggled, bumping their knees under the table. “It’s Italian.”

“Don’t care who made it up.” Dean shrugged. “Is it good?”

“You’d like it.”

Dean nodded. He’d take the Gnocchi, even if it had an insane, stupid name. He was going to take that, and the onion rings that had seasoning, and the lobster, and the lava fudge cake, and-

“Dean.” Sam gave him a flat look, and Dean ignored him.

“Gelato. Uh- Princess, what’s a good gelato flavor-“

“Mango, please.” She said with a sweet smile, and Dean grinned.

“You heard the lady. Mango.”

The waiter took his menu with a nod, and Sam sighed.

“Dean, hotel fridges aren’t that big-“

“Don’t need the fridge. Gonna eat it all right here.”

Jo snorted. “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Wrong. I’m gonna be walking it off. It’s cardio.”

“I think for you it’s going to be strength training- Ow-“ Sam looked at Her with a whine. “What was that for?”

“Nothing.” She blinked at Sam like a baby deer, twisting a ring on Her finger. The ring.

She’d been wearing the ring Dean got her, whenever they weren’t on a case. It wasn’t any kind of technical claim—She put it on Her right ring finger—but it was damn close to one. And eventually, Dean would get Her the real thing. When they were ready.

“You kicked me-“

“No, I didn’t.”

Sam gaped at Her, and she just raised her brows. Sam caved fast, looking down at his tablecloth like a scolded child. Dean smirked, resting his arm over the back of Her chair, and everything was good.

Oracle or not, this was the closest they’d gotten to a real vacation in a while. No fighting. No complications. Something close to a normal life, where Dean was taking her to dinner with their friends, they spent money like it wasn’t stolen, and She was laughing at something Jo said like it had always been easy. Dean could think of a life where this was everything. Where he had a real ring on Her finger, and maybe they were on a vacation to get away from work, to take a weekend to themselves away from the kids. They’d go back Sunday night, sleep in a bed they shared, and Dean would make Her breakfast in the morning before she went to work.

It would be peaceful.

After everything, Dean could really do with something peaceful.

He ate almost everything, if only to shove it in Sam’s smug face, waiting for him to fail. Somewhere around the end of the lobster, Jo grabbed Her hand and pulled her to the bar, leaving Dean staring after them and trying to chew fast enough to call Her back.

Sam snorted. “You look like a lost puppy.”

Dean swallowed, shooting him a glare. “Shut up.”

“You wanna go follow them, admit it-“

“Sam.”

“You already miss her.” Sam smirked, and Dean kicked him under the table. Sam just laughed.

“I said shut up-“

“C’mon, Dean. It’s cute.” Sam shrugged. “And after this much time, I’d rather have you being all pathetic like this.”

He waved a hand, and Dean realized he’d been slumping. Like his body was sadder without Her around. Shit, he’d probably been slumping near Rowena too.

He just missed Her. He’d always missed Her. And that tight feeling was back in his throat until She returned, holding a Shirley Temple with five cherries and a crumpled napkin.

“Someone got a phone number.” Jo sang, dropping back in her seat, and She sighed.

“Jo, it was probably for you-“

“Nuh uh. He put it under your drink.”

“Maybe he thought it was yours-“

“Do I look like I drink Shirley Temples?” Jo gave Her a look, and she sighed.

“Shut up.”

Dean cleared his throat. Something hot was rising up his chest, straining at his muscles. “Who got a number?”

“Your girl is glowing, Dean.” Jo smirked. “Apparently, everyone’s seeing it.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he grabbed the napkin off the table. There in bleeding pen, some asshole had scrawled their number on the paper for Her to find. He glared over his shoulder, trying to figure out which of the smug looking bartenders had gotten a big head that needed punching down, because Dean was happy to give them a hand with it, and-

“Can I have some gelato?” She asked softly, leaning over his arm, and Dean looked down to find Her blinking at him hopefully.

At Dean. Only Dean. Not even glancing at the napkin or thinking twice about it.

The feeling in his chest eased. “Yeah, Princess. Got it for you.”

She smiled, and Jo was right. She was sort of shining brighter than usual. It was a soft glow, like clouds being lit up by the setting sun. And Dean knew it wouldn’t last. The world didn’t let them have things like this forever, and God was still a looming axe over both their necks. But Dean was going to get Her out. And then, She’d be happy like that forever.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean knocked on Cas and Rowena’s door after dinner. “Can I talk to you?”

Cas smiled at him from the floor, the TV humming in the background. “Of course, Dean. You know I enjoy your river.”

“Uh- Right. Course.” Dean rubbed his neck, glancing around the room. “Where’d Rowena go?”

“She told me she was going out to meet a shocking sugar-person. And not to tell you.”

Dean snorted. That one he was pretty sure he got. Sugar person. Sweet Man. “Good job on that one, buddy.”

“Thank you.”

Cas looked back to the TV, patting the floor at his side. Dean sighed and walked over, dropping on the floor and looking up at the TV.

“Buffy, huh? You like this shit?”

“It reminds me of my oaths.”

Dean blinked at the TV. That one had him lost. “Sure. Can I ask you something?”

Cas nodded, looking back to Dean with a curious expression. Dean cleared his throat, picking his words slowly.

“When someone like- Say a demon. When a demon gets a soul in a contract, does anything happen to the soul before it becomes dog food? Like- I dunno-“ He shrugged, forcing himself to sound casual. “The soul version of writing your name in Sharpie on a glass?”

Cas frowned, his voice a little more clear than it had been in a while. “Did you sell your soul again?”

“No, no.” Dean shook his head. “But- When I did. Would there have been a mark on it?”

Cas gave him a weary look, but nodded. “You would’ve had a mole. Cancerous. Unremovable but by the very heart of the Earth.”

Dean sighed. “Alright, what would that have looked like?”

“Mail. From the green side.”

Dean squinted at him. He could get this. He could pick apart Cas’ insanity on his own, because he was smart.

“Like… A stamp?”

Cas grinned, and Dean sat a little taller.

“Okay. A stamp.” There hadn’t been a stamp on Her soul. “Thanks, dude.”

Cas nodded, and returned to his Buffy. Once Dean was sure he was engrossed—no longer paying Dean any mind—he grabbed some paper from their desk, and got to work on his letter for the night.

He was writing them in strange places. The bathroom at Bobby’s, while taking Indy for a walk last night, while pretending to work on Baby’s engine. When the year came around, he’d make sure there was no room for Her to argue about being some kind of problem for him. If She tried to tell him that she’d made him write them, made Dean spend too much time on Her, he’d done a whole letter last week about how he could never spend too much time on Her.

He’d get it through Her head. She was the whole universe. Loving Her was the easiest thing Dean had ever done.

Princess,

I told you a while ago that I’m not dying again until you go first. That I already put you through that, and it’s not fair that you gotta deal with me kicking the bucket twice. But you have to know that I won’t be at your funeral. Probably won’t even make it to the memorial. You’re gonna go, and then I’ll be right behind you. My money’s on less than a day, before I just give up. There might be a life without you. If we get as old as I want to be, I don’t think my body will have the will to live it.

You’d want me to move on, after, because you don’t understand that I love you so damn much it hurts sometimes. I’ll get you to understand. You know I’m here, that’s a start. You know I need you. I think you might know I love you, but you’re not saying it, and I don’t’ want to put that on you. If I say it first, you’ll feel bad if you can’t say it back. ‘Cause I think you do love me, Princess. Don’t think you would’ve ever told me anything if you didn’t. But I know you’ve got some voices in your head, know you’re afraid of some things I still don’t know how to see.

I’ll fight them with you, if you let me see. I’m your shadow. Nothing in this world I wouldn’t do to make you smile.

Cas is watching Buffy. I can’t tell if he’s getting crazier or not. Sort of worried he’s going to try and crawl into the TV.

I love you,

DAW

Alabama is hot.

Sam and Dean are still wearing their flannels, and if you hadn’t seen firsthand evidence, you’d think it was a physical part of their bodies. Cas is slugging through the mud in his trench coat, not batting a single eye, and Rowena brought a pack of ice she’s refusing to share with anyone else.

Jo’s in shorts, and you’re in a dress so small you might be flashing everyone every single step, but it’s still not short enough. The fabric is sticking to your skin, tears of sweat smeared on your face, and you might’ve passed out ten minutes ago if Dean hadn’t noticed your eyes glazing over and made everyone take a break.

He’d sat you down on a log with a concerted frown, running his hands through your hair and practically trying to feed you the water. You’d grabbed it with a grumble, drank half the bottle, then dumped the rest of it on Indy’s scales.

“You-“ Rowena had gaped at you. “Why would you do such a thing, I am dying-“

“No, you’re not.” You’d muttered, running a hand over Indy’s back. “And Sam has more.”

Rowena had stalked up to Sam, who’d nervously placed the water in her hands. Rowena had downed the whole thing in the bare seconds where Sam had been giving one to Jo, before he’d looked to you with a frown.

“Do we know where we’re actually, like- Going? Or is it just wander and pray.”

“We’re looking for the trees.” You’d passed the drawing into his hands. “Apparently you can’t track an oracle.”

“Can’t track something that isn’t real.” Rowena snipped, and you shot Her a glare.

“Can you track anything at all?”

She’d given you an unimpressed, almost amused look, and returned to bullying water out of Sam. She knew you were less pissed about her not thinking the oracle was real—she hadn’t thought you were real, you’re not that worried about proving her wrong—and more about the fruitless attempts you’d both been making to find Eileen the past few weeks. She was somewhere out there, and she’d risked her life for you. If Rowena couldn’t find her, you might sell her back to Crowley in exchange for some demons to look instead.

Not really. But you’d think about it.

You’d sighed, wiping more sweat from your brow, and looked back to Indy. She didn’t seem to love the heat either, her scales getting dry and her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She was panting. You shouldn’t have brought her, you should’ve left her in South Dakota, she’s suffering because you’re a horrible dragon owner-

“She’s alright.” Dean had muttered, like he could read your fucking mind. “There’s water in a bayou, right? Once we get there she can scuba, it’ll cool her down.”

He’d given you a crooked, gentle grin, and you chewed on the inside of your mouth.

“There are things in the water, De. What if a crocodile gets her-“

“She can take a croc, can’t you Indy.” He’d scratched under her chin, and she’d eerped happily. “Yeah, they’d be brisket before they knew it.”

You’d laughed softly, leaning your head on his shoulder, and he was right. Indy was about the size of a labrador puppy now. She’d be able to handle any crocodiles. She’d probably try to play with them, not understand that they were very much trying to eat her.

Dean had kept his arm around you, while you rested on the log. Made you eat a little more, and even bended to you insisting that he take a few bites as well. His hand had rubbed steadily up and down your side, his lips grazing your brow before he stood back up, helping you to your feet.

It was hot. Humid and sticky and hot.

Dean wasn’t fucking helping at all.

He hasn’t given you a single moment to doubt this, since you’d left the safe room. Not even a heartbeat to doubt him, a heartbeat for your brain to start picking apart his words and find the secret, hidden hatred underneath.

There wasn’t any. Nothing in his action, in how he looked at you, in any word he said. And you’d know. You’d ripped every single detail of the panic room apart, looking for a single word or expression that would prove you didn’t get to have something as good as Dean. But he’d yelled at you because you weren’t listening. He’d still tried, even after you’d spat at him like a feral animal. When you’d cried to him, sobbing like a pathetic, whiny child, he hadn’t left. He wasn’t going to leave.

You, somehow, had him. Every noble part of him had looked at you, and there must have been some trick in the light, because Dean liked you.

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid, how he’s just been kissing you and holding your hand and you feel like you’re made of bubbles, but if this is an illusion you never want it to break. If you’re going to keep bleeding, you need to have this to cauterize the wound. Dean’s opened adoration that keeps making the Spiderweb spark and short-circuit, like it’s not sure it can hold this much light at once. You’re not sure you can hold this much light at once. You’re drenched in Gold, Dean’s handprints are all over your body, his marks on your neck and clothing so deep that they don’t ever seem to be able to fade.

You told him what you were. You tried to tell him, and he just… Still wants you. It feels impossible. You’d picked at your nails and stared at his Gold enough to know that it’s real.

You want to be able to carry it. To let Dean keep wanting you, to not let him down, to not find the darkest pit that would make him look away. You thought you’d hit it before. Either you hadn’t, or you did and he still wants you.

He wants you. Dean.

Your Dean.

Every second, you want to grab his pretty face and scream that you love him. That God might have you by the throat but you’ll cut off your head if it means your body gets to stay safe with him. That if one day you become something and he has to kill you, you’ve forgiven him a million times over. That you’d be happy, if he was the last face you ever saw. That you’d be happy in a cage if he visited you. That you’d learn to smile without biting, if he wanted to keep you around. You’re his, the whole world can try to have you but you’re Dean’s, you love him, you love him, you love him.

“What would you wish for?” Dean asks as you continue on the hike, looking around at the twisting, weeping trees. “If we didn’t have to use this to ask about the Purgatory shit?”

“I don’t know. And- It’s an oracle, De.”

“Yeah, I know.” He frowns at you, worry flashing in his eyes. “That’s what I said, right? Don’t tell me it’s pronounced all crazy like Gnocci-“

“No. You said it right.” You smile at him, and his shoulders relax.

“That’s good.” He chuckles. “What’s up, then, are there… Wish rules?”

Your whole body is buzzing. At how he’s standing right next to you, keeping his hand on your lower back, helping you over roots and getting all red and cute while still rolling up his sleeves and making you feel like a Victorian woman allowed to see an ankle for the first time. He shouldn’t be allowed to be so sweet while also lifting you over a fallen branch like you weigh nothing. It’s not fair to your focus, or ability to not jump his stupid bones.

“No wish rules.” You hum. “No wishes, either.”

Dean stares at you, then groans. “I’m thinking of a fuckin’-“

“Genie.” You giggle, bumping his shoulder. “Oracles only answer questions.”

“Real genies don’t even grant wishes either.” He grumbles. “And what question you’d ask isn’t as fun, we’ve got the whole freakin’ internet.”

“You could ask it for the meaning of life?”

“Nah. I already got that one for myself.” He grazes his hand up your side, and you flush. “You know what, I think I’d ask it about lottery numbers. Winning numbers, next ten years.”

You don’t burst his bubble that, without a bank account or active social security number, he wouldn’t be able to cash a single winning ticket. He looks too proud of his answer, and you’re sure you could work something out for him to have the money. When he asks you what question you’d want the answer to, though, you lie. You smile, twisting a ring on your finger, and say that you don’t know. Dean gives you a strange look. He knows it’s a lie.

You think he’s trying to prove he trusts you, because he doesn’t push it. He just lets it go with a small grin, and starts talking about how there are less mosquitoes than he thought in the swamp.

There are plenty of mosquitoes. They just aren’t bothering you right now. You’ve seen them buzzing on the edge of the water—Indy had even eaten a handful of them—but they stay there, the same way you’ve seen some crocodiles in the water rise up to the surface, before dipping back down. The trees are even parting for you, the mud refusing to pull you down.

You like it here. It’s a hike, which is awful and gross, and you’re barely more than a fountain of sweat anymore, but it’s alive. It’s alive in a way that doesn’t hurt, Alive in a way that flows through you like oxygen. The Silver is soothed by it. By Dean at your side.

By the thick leaves over your head, blocking you from God.

He’s still not there all the time, but you don’t trust it. He’ll come back. It’s just a matter of when, and you’d rather not have to worry about that right now.

You’re going to worry about it anyway. But at least like this it’s only an itch in your brain, rather than a loud, desperate alarm. 

And you know what you’d ask, if you could. For somewhere safe to go.

Somewhere God could never follow. Where you could say that you love Dean, and not worry it would be the last thing you ever told him.

If you can’t have that sanctuary, one day, you’ll find a way to say it that God can’t hear. For now you’ll just hang off his hand, smile at him, and give him everything you have until it feels like payment enough, for smiling back.

After searching for the whole day and finding nothing, Dean’s dragging everyone back to the Impala with grumbles about not wanting to find out if Swamp Thing is one of the convicts.

You return to the hotel, order room service, and eat dinner in bed between Dean’s legs. Indy had nuzzled you for pets, then waddled off the bed to sit on the floor and watch the TV. Dean’s hand rests on your lower stomach, his thick fingers brushing over the line of your panties, but he never goes lower. No matter how you spread your legs or lean back against him—flushing furiously, biting down whines whenever his lip brush your neck—Dean won’t touch you.

He’s being perfect. He’s acting like you’re in a fairy tale, and all of a sudden he’s supposed to court you before he’s allowed in your pants. You know he wants something, because you’d felt him getting hard, you’d seen the jaw clench, heard his voice drop all thick and deep and-

“Stop squirming.” Dean mutters in your ear, pressing you harder back against his chest. “You’re gonna get crumbs on the bed.”

You make a very unattractive grumbling sound, and Dean laughs. His hand creeps higher up your stomach, his knuckle brushing your breast.

You have to bite your tongue to stop the moan.

Something is fucking wrong with you. You’re becoming a wild animal, going into a fucking heat. There’s not a single thing Dean can do right now that doesn’t make you ache for him. On the car ride he’d put his hand on your thigh, and you’d almost exploded. When you got back he made you take a shower first, pulling off his flannel with a groan, and you’d wanted to drag him in with you. During dinner, he wipes some sauce off your cheek and holds it up to your mouth.

It takes you a minute of heavy breathing and digging your nails into your palm, to very normally lick the sauce off his finger. You’d done it without a single moan or rubbing of your thighs. After, you don’t think there’s enough AC in the universe to cool you down, but it’s fine. You’ve survived more than Dean suddenly not understanding when someone wants to have sex with him.

But maybe it’s just you. Maybe he knows you’re coming onto him, and he just doesn’t want to have sex with you. All the other times were pity. Were just him seeing the twisted, starved desire for him that consumes you and wanting to use it to calm you down. He’s never wanted to have sex with you, you made him have sex with you, you’re a fucking disease on his life-

“You want some dessert?” Dean mumbles, his thumb dragging small circles on your ribs. “I got some more of that fudge cake. You’re gonna love it.” He swoops down, pressing a firm kiss to your lips. “Almost tastes as sweet as you.”

You squeak, shoving at his chest, and he laughs. Kisses your cheek before going to grab the cake, leaving you curled on the bed, trying to get the sheets bunched between your thighs as discreetly as possible. When he returns, he sets the cake to the side and prowls over you. Pinning you to the bed with a wide grin, tracing his hands over your frozen features, and muttering something under his breath that you don’t get a chance to make out before he’s diving down and kissing you stupid into the mattress. Your legs fly up to lock around him, shrieking laughs of his name escaping you as he teases your sides and sucks on your neck, and maybe he does want to sleep with you.

But he still stops, right when you start to feel him pressing on your thigh.

And you might be about to go insane.

“He’s a man.” Jo drawls when you tell her, trailing a little behind the rest of the group on the second day. “He’s dumb. Have you told him you wanna fuck?”

“I- I don’t-“ You look up to where Dean’s trudging through the mud, grumpily indulging whatever Cas is babbling about today. “I can’t just ask him.” You hiss, and Jo snorts.

“Like he wouldn’t take off his pants right now, if you asked real nice.”

“I’m not going to make him take of his pants in the forest-“

“He’d take his pants off for you if you were gonna stick his dick in a blender.” Jo said flatly, looping her arm through yours. “Are you feelin’ anything?”

“Anything- Like-“

“Your magic spidertingle. Tellin’ us if we’re getting close.”

You shake your head. “No. Nothing. Do you think I should start dressing more- I don’t know- Exposed-“

“I can see your panties, the fuckin’ croc are probably gettin’ horny. Maybe he just wants to take it slow.”

Jo starts talking about how you could try literally tracking the oracle, with hunting tactics, or at least start marking where you’ve been so you don’t keep getting lost, and you nod along. She’s right, about all of it. You even throw in some suggestions about bird patterns you’ve absorbed around areas inflicted by magic, and eventually you devolve into a conversation about what kind of birds you’d be if you were birds. Jo would be a falcon. Dean would be an eagle. Cas would be a pigeon, and Rowena would be an owl.

But still, it’s a looping thought in the back of your brain. Dean might be taking it slow.

You don’t want him to take it slow. You want him to rip off all your clothing and fuck you against a tree, you want him to carry you back to the car and make you sit on him while he drives, you want to be backed against the wall and touched until your knees give out. To kneel in front of him and choke on him again, you want his hands and his mouth and all the attention he can give you, you want, you want, you want-

“You okay, Princess?” Dean frowns at you, returned after Jo and Sam developed into an argument about Sam being an albatross. “You’re breathing fast.”

“I, um-“ You swallow, busying your hands with twisting your rings so they don’t sink into him. “Just tired. Lot of walking.”

You give him your best, innocent smile, and his brows knit, his hand curling on your back.

You don’t like not telling him. You’re really trying to be honest. But the answer makes you sound like a crazed lunatic who can’t keep a hold of herself.

I just need you to touch me, Dean, please, please, please, please-

You’d rather eat glass and drink a jar of spiders.

Dean opens his mouth, eyes still locked on your—hopefully—convincing expression, but his mutter of your name is cut off by Sam's shout of disgust.

Your heads both shoot up, Dean pulling out his gun and your hands going to your thighs for the knives you left in the hotel. You swear under your breath, whistling for Indy as you march through the swamp water. Dean races after you—probably trying to get you behind him—but you’re faster, and he trips over a few roots. The wind flows to help him from hitting the ground, right past you in a hot gust, and it hits you.

The smell.

Your nose wrinkles, your body recoiling on instinct, and Indy’s wings flap like she’s trying to beat the almost morbid stench away.

The body is half sunken in the water, and what’s left of it to breach the surfacer is maggot riddled and blackened. The flesh is twisted, covered in boils and the fur is matted with a tar-like goo. You pinch your nose, wading carefully forward into the water, and Dean calls your name from the shore.

“Don’t fuckin’- What are you doing, Princess, we’re not here to play with dead animals-“

“I’m fine,” you call over your shoulder, gaze fixed on the bear.

Because the body is rotted. It’s barely more than vulture bait, bloated and molding.

But you can still see something gleam inside of it.

It’s not a soul. Animals don’t quite have souls the way humans do, but they have something. You’ve never bothered to give it a name—never had the time to properly study or research it—but you know it’s there. If human souls have more power than the nuclear core of a star, this is the heat inside planet. There aren’t the same kind of colors until they hit a certain level of light, but there are other things.

Blossoming patterns, that flow through each one. This bear had a core like sea shells. Spirals and a curves, weaving into each other with a thinner, sharper zig-zag that seems to be left over from another bear. Maybe a cub, maybe a mate. Someone important enough that the dead bear is holding on. Using those extra patterns like a ledge, clinging to it with sweating hands.

The Silver is flowing out of you. Not rushing or exploding, but simply billowing like smoke from a fire, abloom like a flower, finding it’s way in an ashen landscape. It’s trying to find a place to take root, in a place that reeks of death. It doesn’t like how permanent it feels. How the decay is slipping everything past your fingers. Like Dean, and Jo, and Ellen all have before.

But there’s no pain to this. You’re the soothing reminder of the fireflies, starting to glow around the water to make sure no light is lost in the dark. The depth of the water, keeping everything around it cool, shielding it’s wards from prying, angry eyes above. The mud that brings that relief to the trees and land, the willows that cry with neither sadness nor fear, but joy. They are connected, where no one else can see. The birds and bugs and critters that flit through their branches leave little stains of joy, and it melt through everything like sugar being mixed into something raw.

Your fingers comb through the fur, and the maggots move to let you work. The Silver latches onto that sharper pattern inside the bear and starts to flow gently, trying to look for something strong enough in the bear to tug on without unraveling everything. There are a few spots, but every time it tries to help the bear hold on, whatever tar is stained on the bear seeps in further. It happens, once, twice, a third time before you shift your attention.

The tar doesn’t look like anything special, but when you touch it, it burns. Burns you.

Dean shouts your name when you hiss in pain, starting to trudge through the swamp towards you, but you hold up a hand. He shouldn’t come close to here. Something is deeply, deeply wrong.

Whatever this tar is dissolves against you,  after the brief sting. But looking at the bear, you don’t think it will be true of anything else. And when you bite your tongue and press your hand carefully against the thick concentration of it on the bear, the Silver flares. It can burn it all away, but it’s still sunken too far. Into the bear’s core. There’s nothing left for you to salvage, not without letting out so much of the Silver you might end up hurting someone else.

All you can do for the bear is burn out most of it. Let the leftover residue of the Silver smoke out the tar in the bear, so that it doesn’t spread to that second pattern.

And you close your eyes as the bear sinks away—to wherever dead bears pass onto—and hold onto the zigzags. Breathe out slowly, the Silver molding around it like a shield, then out like tiny wings. An offering of protection, for whoever it belongs to, if they were important enough that this bear wanted to move on.

You open your eyes slowly, and turn back to everyone on the shore. They’re staring at you with almost comically shocked expressions. Dean’s hands are hanging at his side, a look in his eyes that reminds you of when people see acts of god in a movie. A child seeing the night sky for the first time. Pure awe and reverence, almost disbelief. It makes something in you squirm, hot and electric, but for once you don’t hate that expression. You’ve seen it before, on countless other people and creatures.

On Dean, it feels warmer. Not unwelcome or invasive.

It feels real.

He holds out a hand as you approach, and you take it tentatively. A very loud and wired part of you is afraid some tar is still on your hands, that you might be killing him with a single touch. But his fingers close around yours, and no one starts to scream.

“We need to be more careful.” You tell him, as he leads you out of the water. “Whatever did that- It’s- I don’t like it.”

Dean nods, glancing over his shoulder at the body—already sinking deeper into the water—and grunts, “Hold on.”

Your grip tightens, and before you know what’s happening he’s ducking down, hooking his arm under your knees and sweeping you off your feet.

“We’re done.” He announces to no one in particular. “We need a better plan for tomorrow.”

No one argues. Sam, Jo, and even Rowena look too shaken to bother, and Cas-

Cas is staring at you with an expression like Dean’s, but something deeper and more alert in his eyes. The instinct of an animal that can sense a winter on the horizon. That knows something bleak is coming, that’s already looking for shelter.

He doesn’t speak in the car. When you put a hand on his arm, he looks at you with an uneasy, spooked expression. His electric blue is sparking and frenzied, to the point that it looks almost numbed. You blink at him, and he blinks back.

He felt it too.

Whatever that was, Cas felt it too. It’s like a blaring siren that only you and he can feel.

Danger.

When you get back to the hotel, Dean runs a bath, helping you out of your clothing with a tight expression. You let him, your thoughts too far away to argue that you can do it yourself.

Dean’s gaze remains fixed on your face, as he guides you into the cool water. You sigh as it hits your skin, head tipping back, and his lips twitch.

“Good?”

You nod, reaching out to grab his forearm before he can try to be polite and leave you here alone.

He mutters your name, eyes flicking down to your bare body, but you squeeze three times. Give him a hopeful, almost pleading look, tilting your head and making your voice soft like a cloud. Soft. Barely even a breath.

“Stay. Please.”

Dean’s throat bobs, but he nods. Sinks to the floor outside the bathtub, holding your hand on his arm and slowly moving so you’re holding hands again. He’s even more Golden than usual, and maybe it’s low, warm light of the bathroom, but it could just be how awake the Silver is right now. And out of everything, it’s always moved to be in harmony with Dean.

“You’re thinking.” Dean mutters, his thumb tracing circles on the back of your hand. It’s not an accusation. When you look at him, he’s just watching you with his brows raised.

You sigh, and twist to sit up in the tub. Your arm goes over your chest on instinct, but Dean’s eyes still drop to your chest. He stiffens slightly, shifting himself as he looks back up to you. You lean forward, holding his gaze, voice soft.

“Do you agree with Rowena?”

He frowns. “About the oracle?” When you nod, he shrugs. “I dunno. Stranger things.”

“We haven’t been able to find it at all. All we’ve seen is… That.” You swallow, your voice sounding faraway even in your own head. “I don’t know what that was, Dean. I’ve never seen anything like it, and- I text Bobby about it on the drive, but he’s got nothing. He’s going to ask Rufus, but-“ Your grip on his hand tightening, the Silver winding itself tight in your chest. “Death said there were old things in Purgatory. Dangerous things. What if this is the dangerous thing.”

“We’ve faced dangerous shit before, sweetheart. Nothing we tangle with is going to outrank the devil-“

“Lucifer didn’t feel like this.” You cut him off with a whisper. “This felt wrong, it felt so fucking wrong, everything about it just was- It sat here,” your free hand presses against the top of his voice, your voice turning urgent. “And it wouldn’t stick to me but it was trying to. It felt like parasite, De. It- It felt like something… Evil.”

Dean exhales slowly, running a hand down his face. He scans over your open expression, face twitching, voice rough and cautious. “You think we should be hunting it?”

You blink at him, and you don’t have an answer. It’s your job. You’re good at it, and you’re overstaffed right now. Between the six of you, a hunt should be easy.

But this feels different. This is something that Cas is curling away from. Something even Death seemed weary of. You don’t have enough information. And whatever that tar was, you really don’t want to find out what it might do to a human.

Your lungs tighten at the thought. Dean’s body coated in that fucking poison, his Gold trying to fight it out, his body going limp and eyes getting empty and the Silver growing and growing but still not strong enough, you’re still not strong enough, and you can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t do anything but scream as he’s ripped away again-

Dean says your name firmly, moved onto a knee so he can lean over the tub. Your face is between his hands, his thumb running down your nose, and a croak of either his name or just a plea escapes your throat.

“I know. It’s fine, nothing’s here right now. You’re good, Princess.” His jaw tenses, as your hand flies up to grab the collar of his shirt. His Gold is still strong. Still there.

It’s fine.

Dean relaxes slowly, as you come down, but doesn’t move away from his defensive stance over you. Like he’s trying to use his body to shield you from your own thoughts.

It almost works.

“We can go home.” He mutters, touching you as if you’re about to shatter. “You give the word, we’re packing in the cars and heading back. Bobby’ll send someone else.”

You blink at him. “Dean, it’s our job-“

“You’re more important.”

It pangs through your chest, the sheer certainty in his words. No room for doubt. Just affirmation that, if you told him you were done, he’d leave the whole case behind.

But the oracle. You want so bad to find that oracle. For answers, for help cleaning up your mess, for a secret, burning pride that lives at the top of your stomach. You think you get it from Bobby. The same way his eyes had gleamed with excitement when Jody found the drawing, you’d felt a sick, persistent need to be the one to find it.

You can do something good. You can find the oracle, like a normal hunter and not a you.

“We’ve been looking two days.” You mutter, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “Nothing but the bear, but- I really think it’s out there.”

He nods, and you lean forward, dropping your brow against his chest.

“One more day. Please.”

Dean grunts, a hand cradling your head as you just rest there. Listening to his heartbeat, breathing in his cinnamon smell.

You change into one of his shirts, while he takes his own shower. Lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling, picking at your fingers and counting each sting as something that’s real.

When Dean joins you, he wraps his arms around your hips, pressing his face into your breasts. You comb through his hair, and change your counting to strands of him between your fingers.

Dean picks his chin up, staring at you with such an openly fond expression, and you flush under the attention. You’re warm again. The sticky heat of the swamp is following you, making your skin tingle and thighs damp, and you have to breathe through your nose.

It’s not fair that he’s looking at you like that and not doing anything. That his back is bare and muscled, and you can see every flex when he shifts his grip on your body. Your thoughts are racing against the fear anymore. You’re trying—and helplessly failing—to not think of how easily Dean could flip you over and drag your hips up, exposing you to his hot gaze. He could tease you over your panties, press his thumb against your entrance through the fabric, and bunch it between your pussy lips. Play with your ass and thighs until you’re gaping and moaning for him. Or he could keep your in this position and roll up your shirt. Suck on your nipples while sliding thick fingers in and out of your drenched heat-

“We got any plans for searching tomorrow?” Dean says, his hand caressing lazily up and down your sides, and you press your lips tight to stop the drooling moan.

“I- Um-“ You need to get a fucking grip. “I don’t know.”

“Maybe it’s got a magic security lock?” He hums, turning his cheek into your body. “Like Excalibur.”

You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. Been reading all those old stories, ‘bout the knights and King Arthur. Trying to understand what’s up with my sword. Whole thing is only the worthy can pull it out, right?” He shrugs around you. “Maybe the oracle’s got something like that.”

You blink, your fingers stilling. Oracles did always have offerings, in every documented case. Food or gifts that you’d have to bring, to even be allowed access. Some even had tolls, or secondary trials to prove that worthiness, or just a trait like pure of heart or a certain age or marital class, all maidens, no men-

You sit up, arm wrapping around Dean’s head. You’ve got it.

He grunts, tapping your forearm lightly. “Sweetheart, headlock-“

“Shit, sorry-“ You let him go, shame crawling up your spine, and he just chuckles.

“’S alright. You okay-“

“Yeah. You’re a genius.” You kiss his cheek quickly, and roll off the bed. “I’ve got it. I think- I need to go talk to Sam.”

You pull on your shoes, Dean scrambling after you, yanking on a shirt in the hall as he calls your name.

“Princess, pants-“

“No time!” You call back, and he groans.

Evidently, he doesn’t seem to think it’s worth dragging you back to the room. Dean jogs behind you, grabbing your arm when he catches up and pulling you back just enough to be at his side. When you reach Sam and Jo’s room, rapping loud and quick on the door, he’s draping over your back, glaring up and down the hall like he can force people to stay away.

Jo opens the door, her eyes widening slightly.

“You ain’t wearing pants.”

“I know,” you lean forward, looking over her shoulder. “Is Sam here? I need him to check something-“

“He’s down at the bar.” Jo shoots a questioning look over your head, and Dean just sighs.

“She thinks she’s got something.”

“Ah.” Jo snorts. “’Course.”

You ignore them both, pulling away from Dean to get into the room. Sam has the laptop. You can just borrow it.

Dean and Jo stand awkwardly near the door while you look for what you need, and whenever you look but they both start staring at random spots around the room. Dean examines motel art like it’s the most riveting thing in the world. Jo looks at the mirror and starts examining her hair, even though it’s just as blonde and smooth as normal. 

They’re weird.

“I’ve got it.” You flip the computer around for them to read. “It’s a requirement, and we’re not meeting it. I’ll have to talk to Cas to confirm it, but- I think I’ve got it.”

They approach slowly, squinting at the screen.

“That’s… Uh-“ Dean frowns. “Huh.”

“Emily Jacobs.” Jo reads aloud. “Urban legends. The heron girl.” She glares at Dean. “Did you fuckin’ feed her something?”

“I’m fine.” You smile as Dean glowers. “Dean, you remember what we mentioned during the interviews, right? The girl, who vanished decades ago, and they never found the body-“

“Yeah, but- That one just sounded like some kinda accident-“

“Maybe the vanishing was. But oracles need an actual host. And the host sets the rules, for who they’ll see. Emily Jacobs,” you tap the screen. “Made rules that we haven’t been respecting.”

Jo leans closer, still reading. “Jacobs turned into a local myth after running into the bayou surrounding her small hometown, shortly after a dramatic breakup with her boyfriend, after he learned she’d been sleeping with her… Fuckin’ gross-“

“I know. And,” you lean over, switching the tabs. “There’s a police report filed from about five years before Emily vanished. Where another girl asked them to investigate him on Emily’s behalf. But guess who was best friends with the chief of police.”

Dean makes a sour expression, Jo sighing and running a hand through her hair.

“You think-“

“Yeah. Another report says that the fight with the boyfriend ended in the cops being called.”

Jo nods, and Dean looks between you both with a frown.

“Sorry I’m not part of the wonder twin ESP,” he waves between you and Jo. “But what are we callin’ this?”

“Emily doesn’t like men, De.”

He frowns. “Good for her, I guess, but-“

“She hates men.” Jo drawls. “They ain’t been good to her. She gets her own oracle, get to set the rules for the bouncer-“

“No boys allowed.” You finish, giving Dean an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Dean shrugs. Mumbles something about getting that, and lets you and Jo plan for about fifteen more minutes before moping next to you like a neglected dog. He’s statied when you wrap an arm around his neck, playing with the hair at his nape, and about an hour later he’s snoring on your lap.

“You gonna get ‘im to bed?” Jo asks, glancing at when his face is pressed into your bare thigh, and you shrug.

“He’s fine. We need to make sure that the legends are confirmed, before we go out tomorrow-“

“Yeah, I know. You guys- Uh-“ She raises her brows, and you flush.

Shake your head, because you’re suddenly hyper-aware of Dean’s lips brushing over sensitive skin, and you don’t trust your voice.

“What’d you even do all night then, talk about the case?”

“I took a bath.” You whisper, like Dean might hear the magnitude of your desire while fast asleep. “We talked about the bear. Just kind of- Lay in bed.”

“So you’re not makin’ a move-“

“I don’t make moves, Jo-“

She snorts. “Yeah, I fuckin’ know.” She pauses. “What was up with the bear?”

“It, um-“ You swallow. “It wasn’t fully dead. I was trying to bring it back, but whatever got it, I couldn’t. Not easily.”

“What, like with me?”

Her question isn’t harsh, or accusatory. She’s just trying to understand. It still makes your skin prick, your throat getting tight as your own voice echoes in your head, screaming at God to stop taking her.

“No.” You murmur, looking down to Dean’s slack, pretty face. “This was like the soul had been destroyed. For you, it was just God dragging you away, and I- I wasn’t able to hold on.” You swallow, the pain caught in your throat. “I’m sorry.”

Jo sighs, and you feel her shifting on the bed. She’s sitting next to you now—on the opposite side of Dean—and resting her head on your shoulder.

“It’s alright. I know you really fuckin’ tried.”

“Did it hurt?” You ask before she can stop you, and she’s silent. For long enough that the feeling in your throat sinks to your stomach, thick and horrid like ash.

“Yeah. Dyin’ hurt. But death felt fine, wherever God stashed me.” She takes a long breath, voice dropping lower. “Y’know how I said I don’t remember it?”

You nod, turning to look at her, and she’s staring at nothing, her blue shrinking into itself, everything in her a million miles away.

“I don’t. I didn’t lie to you. We don’t do that. But-“ She frowns at the air, pouting slightly. “There’s this weird fuckin’ feeling sometimes. Like someone’s watchin’ me. Like the ground- It ain’t fully under my feet, and when I see the sun, it’s real bright. Loud. Everything gets real loud.” She twists, eyes meeting yours. “You ever feel that?”

You swallow, and nod. “Yeah. I- I do. Does that-“

“No. Just feels weird.” She sighs, looking back out into nothing. “But it gets better. Whenever I’m round you.”

There’s nothing you can think to say to that. Nothing that will matter. So you just lean your head back against her’s, take a deep breath and count things that are real. Dean’s Gold, Jo’s blue, the sound of crickets outside. The curtains aren’t drawn, and God isn’t watching, so you count the stars.

Cas has said Heaven feels it, when you break.

You wonder if the stars feel it too.

Sometime after Jo’s breath has evened and her body has slumped into sleep, Sam comes back to the room. He gives you a questioning look, and you just shrug, pointing to Dean, then the door, and mouth Too heavy.

Sam huffs a low laugh, and—with slightly disproportional amounts of effort—you manage to get Dean back to your room, Jo safely asleep on her bed.

“Didn’t know he could sleep this deeply.” Sam grunts. “If it was just me, he’d be throwing punches by now.”

“He’s tired-“

“We’re all tired. He’s- Relaxed.”

You don’t think that’s fully true. When you get him back to the room, Dean grumbles at nothing, his arms twitching and legs twisting until you climb back into bed. When he grabs you in his sleep, the grip is tight, almost like he’s trying to lock you in his arms. And in the morning, while Indy rolls around in the sheets and you’re getting ready to go, he’s worrying so much you think he might just lock you in the bathroom.

“You gotta bring the knives, sweetheart-“

“I was going to-“

“And Jo better be brining her gun. What’s she got, a colt?”

“I don’t know-“

“Think she’s got a colt. I’ll give her my extra magnum, it’s in the trunk-“

“She doesn’t want your gun, Dean-“

“I’m not asking, it’s about safety-“

“Dean.” You step right in his path, raising a hand to block him from moving, and his shoulders sag. He reaches up, tracing a finger down your arm, and shakes his head.

“I could wear a wig.” He mutters, not looking you in the eyes. “I got parts of me that are kinda- I always liked those dumb bedtime stories. My dad used to say I was worse than a- Uh-“ He shakes his head, frowning up at the ceiling. “Y’know.”

You do. And there’s a roar in your blood, that’s making violent promises about what you’re going to do with John Winchester when you find where God is keeping him.

“I don’t think the angry spirit in Alabama is very progressive about gender.” You say gently, reaching up to cup his face. “And even if she is, I don’t think you’re fooling her.”

Dean frowns. “Won’t hurt to try-“

“Yes it will.” You don’t know why he’s so on edge about this. You’re basically just going on a magic hike. “We’re going to be fine, Dean. She won’t be hostile, and if she is, I’ll kill her.”

He grunts like he doesn’t believe you, but stops trying to argue. You let him lean over you until your noses are bumping, and part your lips in a silent invitation. Dean kisses you slowly. Deep and heavy, his tongue pressing over yours, his lips working against yours until you’re dizzy.

You pull at his shirt, and he grunts. Starts to walk you backward, the kisses turning more urgent. You squeak as you hit the wall, but Dean doesn’t break pace. His arm hooks under your knees, swallowing your high sound as he picks you up. Pressing your core against his abdomen when your legs wrap around him. You moan, clawing at his shoulders, and his mouth becomes ravenous. It’s a bruising, hungry force, open-mouthed and sloppy, his teeth catching on your lower lip before he pushes his tongue down your throat, his hands wandering. You try to throw everything you have back, kissing him back and giving everything his lips demand-

Dean’s hips jerk slightly, and suddenly, he stops. Pulls away, letting you chase him, but making the kisses softer again. You almost whine, but bite it back. It’s fine. You’re on fire but it’s fine.

“Be careful.” He mutters, and you nod.

“Am I ever not?”

That, at least, gets a dry huff. Dean kisses the corner of your mouth, then your nose, and lets you down.

You wish he wouldn’t. You would’ve agreed to stay in bed, if he’d kept going.

Instead, you pack into the Firebird with Jo, Rowena, and Indy, and look in the rearview mirror you drive away. Sam’s already gone, but Cas seems to be trying to tell Dean something, and Dean’s just watching you disappear down the road. His arms are cross, and the details of his expression are blurred by distance, but you can picture them clearly. His almost-pout and glower, brows knit, jaw working like he’s trying to bite back words.

“What’s wrong with the Winchester.” Rowena cuts through your thoughts, and you sigh.

“Nothing’s wrong with him, he’s just-“

“Sad she’s leavin’.” Jo says plainly. “Gettin’ pining sickness.”

You roll your eyes, and decide not to grace that with a response. You have work to do.

It had been two days, almost aimlessly wandering the bayou in search of the oracle with nothing.

Today, it’s half an hour before the Silver starts to turn inside of you. One hour, when your back starts to hurt, and another ten minutes before everything starts to get colorful, every lead shimmering like jade and the murky water gleaming with Gold. You whistle for Indy to keep close, and she drops from the sky to flap over your head. You grab Jo’s arm, keeping your voice lower.

“Spider sense.” You mutter, and she nods, pulling out her gun. You shoot Rowena a tight nod, and she stands up taller. You’d meant what you said to Dean. You don’t think the oracle is going to be hostile.

Better safe than dead in the water.

You move slowly through the water, pulling out the crumpled drawing. You already have it memorized.

This time, you just hold it up to the air, and take a deep breath.

This is it.

Those are the trees. The water. And you can feel it, singing in the air, a language almost as old as yours is.

The oracle.

You found the oracle.

But there’s something else. Something that’s dulling the colors closer to the water, that hangs in the air like a smoke filter. You pull out the Blade and wave Indy forwards. She does a little loop before darting through the waterfall, then right back out. Hovering in the air, wings flapping and tail whipping. Waiting for you to follow.

“Cave.” You mutter, spinning the Blade in your hand, and Rowena and Jo nod.

Normally, you’d take a second to make Rowena admit you were right. But there’s that horrible feeling, making the Silver start to spike. This isn’t the place to taunt.

And there it is, when you slide past the deafening roar of the water and into the cave.

That smell.

Emily Jacobs was the oracle.

Was.

The same way as the bear, she’s been ripped to shreds, covered in that black tar and turned to nothing but flesh and shiny bones. Some bile rises in your throat, at the sight of a bashed in skull closer to your feet, a singe eyeball still hanging from the sinew.

There are other bodies, too. One of a crocodile that’s jaw has been split down the middle, and several hawks, reduced to nothing but talons and wings and beaks, dismembered around the cave.

You hold up an arm, stopping Jo from approaching a body. They’re all covered in that tar. The whole cave is smeared with it, and you don’t want to find out what it does to something that’s not you. Indy’s ordered to sit outside, Jo and Rowena lingering near the entrance as you walk slowly forwards.

It’s impossible to say, how long ago the oracle was attacked. You don’t know how fast this thing works. All you can work out is that there’s not a single living soul left, nothing for you to even try to hold onto. When you stop at the broad wall in the back of the cave, it might be a good idea to collect some of the tar to study.

But you don’t want to go near it. Even just gathering some on the tip of the Blade makes your bones shudder.

Wrong.

Then you see it.

Something on the wall, under the tar. It looks like… Writing.

You turn on your heels and march back outside, crouching down next to Indy and holding up the blade.

“Smaug.”

Indy opens her mouth, and breathes a small burst of fire onto the Blade. The tar evaporates.

Heat sensitive. Maybe. Dragon fire has extra properties. Indy sensitive.

You whistle, walk back into the cave, and point at the wall. Same order as before, before dragging Rowena and Jo out of the blast zone. Just in case.

Indy flaps around then darts back out the waterfall, and you hold up your hand to block the wave of heat. When it’s gone, and the smoke clears, you bite the inside of your mouth.

“Dear Christ.” Rowena mutters. “This poor thing.”

The walls are covered in writing. Scratched writing, like it was done with nails on stone. Some of it is in Greek, some Latin, even Arabic and Hebrew.

Most of it is nonsense, a mix of predictions that are vague, have already come to pass. Towers will fall, fruitless war leaves land barren, the end is put on hold, he returns and the world moves, he cannot see, great men rise with skeletons on the tarmac, she comes, she cones, she comes, she comes-

It’s written a million times in every language.

She comes.

Paradise will not be found. Hell is ripped open. The Whore moves for him. She comes. The Bride does not bow, and the sky falls. Paradise has been found. She comes. Eyes go black. She burns it all. There is nothing. There is everything. She comes.

Jo calls your name from across the cave, and your blood goes cold when you see it.

You always hate seeing them. The photos Eileen sent you from Babylon, the portrait in that museum, anything.

This portrait of you, scratched into the wall, is the worst one yet.

It can be no one but you. It’s not just vague features, like drawing from a hazy dream. This is so close to looking in a mirror it makes your stomach turn. You’re looking right at yourself, and somehow—with no chalk or paint—your eyes are Silver.

You reach up slowly, trying to see if the silver would wipe off on your hands, and-

This place is dead.

It looks like it was once something. Something graceful, something alive. But now it is nothing but ash and bones. It hangs in the air like a plague, stifling even a shallow breath, burning on your skin like acid. Everywhere you look there is death. It sinks into the stones, it eats and it takes, but there’s no balance or reason to it. It is not the long, tall and tired death of Death himself. This is angry. This is without cause, like an explosion without a bomb.

And unlike Death, whatever did this has no care for leaving anything at all, to let Life return. It is woven in the withered plants, clouded like smoke, the ground stone under your feet. Running through the black water.

Black like the tar.

The only place that may be untouched is far on the horizon, a palace that still shines and covers itself in green, despite the embers and smog that block out any other bit of light.

This is no place for you, and it is not Death who made it that way. Death has never looked at you with distaste or disgust. His presence has never felt wrong.

This is so wrong, wrong, wrong. It’s a feeling in your bones that makes the Silver burn, this is fucking wrong-

Your eyes shoot open, and Jo’s calling your name, holding you up with a hand on your arm and back. You’re back in the cave. Everything isn’t lost.

But you can still feel it.

Wrong.

The Silver is rushing up, up, up, and this is wrong. Something is very, very wrong, and-

You turn, and run. Out of the cave, the Blade tight in your hand and the Silver ready to erupt. The world is quiet outside. Just the water, the rustling of leaves, and chirp of birds.

Everything is still alive.

But something is wrong.

You spin the Blade, walking further out. Your eyes stay fixed on the tree line, the Silver pouring into the world. You’re the birds singing, calling to each other so they won’t find themselves alone. The waterfall trying to waste itself, because it has failed it’s one duty of shielding the oracle and it cannot find itself just falling forever. The wind trying to clean itself of the horrible smell, and-

The mud below your feet. Trying to swallow something that steps on it.

Something wrong.

You follow it, sprinting through the tree line, and there it is. Darting through the trees. Just out of your reach.

A body.

A body without a soul, it’s insides made only of that black fucking tar.  

You freeze. Your vision clouds, your legs no longer willing to move, and the figure vanishes through the trees. The Silver is crashing back down too fast, the world feeling like it’s caving in, and you can’t breathe, can’t breathe, can’t breathe-

Jo shouts your name, and you blink. Everything is numb, when you turn to stare at her. You’re not falling apart, but the world is dull. The Silver is suspended, like it can’t bring itself to explode here, with Rowena and Jo so close and this whole place full of life.

You don’t hear yourself speak, as Jo starts saying something about you just running off. Later, you’ll remember going back to get Rowena and taking pictures of the cave to send to Bobby. Right now, you’re just floating through the world, staring at Jo’s blue like it’s the very last tether you have to your own body. You’re grabbing Dean’s amulet, the edges digging into your palm, and your free hand is hugging your stomach. Tracing over the stains he left, as you just try to breathe.

This is real. This is real. You’re not in the Cage, this is real, Dean was your Dean, this is your Jo, this is real-

The car ride back is a blur. Everything is an empty, detached blur until you see Dean, and something in you sparks.

The Spiderweb starts singing, when his eyes flash with alarm and he pulls you into his arms. It wakes up the rest of you. The Silver starts to roll like a storm in your body, and it hurts. Your back aches, and Dean drags his hand mindlessly over it, saying something to Jo you can’t really hear.

It’s a relief when he picks you up and carries you back to your room. You don’t want to be near anything else, it’s all too much. Your skin is trying to crawl off your body, your organs burning in your chest, and it’s too fucking much-

You curl into Dean’s chest as he holds you on the floor of your room. When you open your eyes, you can see his Gold through the blur of tears, but it just makes your body shake with more sobs when you touch him and he glows in response. The Silver is trying to push out of you, into him, but you can’t. You can’t hurt him. This is real but that means you can really hurt Dean, but whatever evil thing was out there can hurt him too, and what if you’re not strong enough again. What if you bend, what if you break, what if Dean slips back through your fingers, or his soul becomes infected like the bear’s and you have to let him go, you can’t let him go, he’d really be just a body and you can’t let him go-

“It’s okay.” Dean’s voice mutters into your ear, and you think he’s rocking you back and forth. “You’re good, baby. I know.” He kisses the top of your head, and you hold him tighter. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

His thumb starts to run down your nose, and you take a sharp breath, sinking further into his arms. He starts to hum, deep and offkey, waiting as your head slowly calms.

You grab his hand off your face, and pull it into your lap. You’re sitting between his legs, knees hiked over one thigh, your face buried near his neck. Dean doesn’t say anything, when your tears stop flowing. He just reaches up and wipes them away.

And you don’t have to look at him, to know how worried he is. You can see his soul fighting itself, expanding towards you before pressing down.

He’s still trying to show he trusts you. He’s not demanding any explanation, not while you’re still shaking in his arms.

It will be a fight later. Whatever Jo told him won’t be enough to explain your reaction. The reaction you’ll always have, if those things keep coming back.

They will.

And you’re really tired of fighting.

“Did Jo…” You chew on your lower lip, forcing your voice to raise a little higher. “Did she tell you what we found.”

Dean grunts. “Yeah. Sounded nasty.”

You laugh weakly. “It was nasty. And I- I saw some things. There was a vision, and- Writing-“ You’re going to tell everyone about that later. It’s important for work.

This part is just supposed to be for Dean.

“I saw the monster.” You mutter, leaning back to look him in the eyes. “I- I saw whatever that thing was. And it was shaped like a person, but with something… Something wrong on the inside.”

Dean nods, brushing a little hair from your face, and rasps your name. “Guess it was ugly, huh?”

You laugh again, leaning into his touch. “Hideous, but…”

You trail off, searching over his beautiful, impossibly patient expression. He’s begged you to tell him. He stayed through you betraying him, he didn’t fall to the Mandurugo, and whatever you’ve always felt, from the very first time, he feels it to.

“In the cage.” You whisper, and his arms around you flex with the silent surprise in his eyes. “They didn’t torture me like Sam. I- I don’t think they could touch me, so they got… Creative.”

Dean pales, his voice hoarse as he mutters your name. “You don’t have to-“

You cover his mouth, pushing on. If you don’t say it now, you’ll swallow it forever, and it’s just going to eat you up like a crazed parasite that feeds on keeping you alone.

“They’d put me in worlds. Like that time Gabriel messed with you and Sam, but- I didn’t know it wasn’t real. They’d wipe my head, give me memories and- Put everyone in these roles. Real people. Bobby and Jo and Cas and- You.” You swallow, your voice barely a breath. “You were in all of them. But it wasn’t you.” Tears roll down your cheeks, your words strangled through shallow breaths. “It wasn’t you, Dean, it was a puppet, and I always knew the difference but then they’d reset me, over and over and over, and- And sometimes I’m worried- I’m worried I’m going to look at you and everything will just have been a trick, that I’m still in there, that you’re not real and- I’ve just been alone and then… I don’t wanna be alone-”

Your voice breaks altogether, your head dropping into his shoulder, and Dean just keeps holding you. You don’t know how long you just sit there, clinging to him and trying to breathe. He’s rubbing your spine again, pulling you impossibly close, and you feel the silent command in it.

Breathe.

“You’re not alone.” His voice is rough, cracked in a way you feel through your ribs and to the right of your heart.

“I- I know-“

“No, just- Listen.“ He tugs you gently back, forcing you to meet his eyes.

They’re a little red and glassy, his gaze resolved but tight. You sniff, trying to wipe your nose and face, and he catches your hand. Squeezes three times.

“I’m never gonna leave you alone, Princess.” He twists your fingers. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle despite everything. You giggle because it’s even more juvenile than the first time you did it, all those years ago. Because even then you wanted him, and his presence made the world slot together like it was the answer to the universe, and his smile made you want to smile back.

You giggle, and Dean’s whole face lights up. You lock your pinkies together, making a tiny shake, and you bury your face back into his shoulder.

“Was there anything I do?” He asks. “That fake me didn’t?”

You shake your head, and Dean sighs.  

“Figures. We’ll find something.” He kisses the top of your head. “So you know. But- I am real. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah.” You breathe. “I do.”

Dean’s still holding onto you. His whole body is tensed over yours, his fingers digging into your arms as he draws you closer, but he’s still holding on.

It’s a good thing. Your knees feel sort of weak, your head spinning with the echo of the door. The air is feeling thin, the safe room spinning, and the only truly solid thing is Dean.

Bending over you, scowling at the door, voice raising as he holds you tighter and tighter.

“Sammy-“

“Sorry!” Sam calls from the other side, his voice higher than usual. “But, I mean- You guys were asking for it-“

“We were asking to be locked in a damn closet?!”

“It’s a safe room, Dean, stop being dramatic-“

“It doesn’t matter what it is, let us the hell out!”

There’s a pause from the other side of the door, then a whacking sound.

“Do not open that fuckin’ door, Sam Winchester-“

“I wasn’t going to.” Sam whines, and you can hear Jo’s eye roll.

“You were makin’ the puppy face-“

“They’re mad! We’re only doing this for them, I was just wondering if- If it was the best way-“

“It’s the only damn way, dumbass.”

“Only way to what?” Dean calls, still glowing at the door. “Get both of you shot in you fuckin’ sleep after we break out? ‘Cause yeah, you’re hitting some Vegas level odds-“

“To make you two fuckin’ idiot talk.” Jo snaps, and Dean freezes.

His grip on you doesn’t slip. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears.

“Jo.” Your voice sounds far away. “Jo, we have been talking, we’re fine-“

Jo cuts you off with your name, voice bored. “You ain’t able to lie to me. You ain’t talked.”

“Yes, we have-“

“Then why’s Dean still sleepin’ on the couch?”

Another silence. Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach, sinking like a stone, and your eyes move to look at him before your heart can think better.

There’s a vein in Dean’s neck that’s ticking, his jaw clenched in the way that means he’s probably trying to fight off words. Brow furrowed, ears red, eyes hooded and locked on the door in a glare that—if he ever looked at you with such deep, unforgiving wrath—might’ve made you just burst into tears and cling to his legs for forgiveness.

Then, like he’s reading your mind, his gaze drops.

For a moment, Dean’s just looking at you, and the world is narrowing down. His gaze softens slightly, still lined with anger—brow still knit, jaw still tight—but there’s something else that makes your heart kickstart back up, the Spiderweb casting an almost frantic light thought your body. The Silver is humming, easy and smooth, under your skin, as if it knows that there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

Dean is here. The only thing that can take him from you is God, and you’re never going to let that happen, so everything is really fine.

You swallow, and reach up to grab his hand against your body. You squeeze it once.

His mouth twitches down, a heavy sigh leaving his nose.

He squeezes back twice. Not okay.

And you feel empty again.

You look away, lip wobbling, and press your face into the side of Dean’s chest because he might not be okay with you, but he’s still Golden and the only fucking thing you know is real.

Dean mutters your name, hauling you further up his chest, one hand moving to cradle the back of your head. You burrow further into him, arms wrapping around his torso and throat closing up as you fight back the tears.

All you ever do is cry. You ruin everything and he doesn’t trust you and you should’ve stayed in the cage and all you ever do is fucking cry-

“Hey, woah- Shit-“ Dean says your name again, voice rising, and you dig your fingers into the fabric of his shirt.

He can’t make you let go. He’s the only anchor you have, and he might not want to be, and it’s so fucking horrible for you to make him your everything when he probably wants nothing to do with you again, but if he makes you let go you’re going to be set adrift in the whole universe and if he’s not there to drag you back down you’re going to become a monster, damnation, wrong, wrong, wrong-

“It’s okay, you’re okay-“ Dean says your name near your ear, and the first sob breaks your throat. “Son of a bitch- Sam, Sam-“ His voice raises, and you feel a strong arm hook under your knees, before the ground vanishes beneath your feet.

You’re fine, though. Your arms fly around Dean’s neck, and you turn your face into his shoulder, trying to hide the downright pathetic, hot and shameful tears streaming down your cheeks. But Dean’s got you. He’s got you, just right now, so the Silver is still just flowing, and your heart is fracturing and peeling, but it’s all okay.

“Sam, let us out now.” Dean’s using the stern voice. The one that’s for orders, that he usually uses on civilians during hunts.

You’ve always thought it would be scary, if it wasn’t Dean using it, and you wouldn’t still trust him with the air in your lungs as he kicked it out of your body.

With how high Sam’s voice is, he doesn’t seem to have the same opinion.

“Dean, we- We can’t. Jo’s right, you guys really need to talk-“

Dean scoffs, and you peak over his shoulder to see him heading to the small cot. “Yeah, we need to talk?”  His tone is cold. Mocking. “About what. About the goddamn weather, talk strategy, the house sleeping arguments. ‘Cause if you want the couch, I’m all ears about a trade-“

“I don’t want the couch.” Sam sighs. “I just- You’re my brother, Dean. I want you to be happy-“

“I am happy.” He snaps, setting you down on the cot.

And his voice is so angry, but his features are twisted in worry. He pries you away from his body gently, his touch soft as he moves hair out of your face. You bat away his hand—he shouldn’t have to do everything for you—and scrub the tears from your cheeks until the skin feels raw. Dean’s mouth presses in a thin line of worry, hands twitching as he stares at you, and you try to give him a weak smile.

It’s not his fault he doesn’t want to be in here with you. It’s your worst nightmare as well.

“I don’t think you are, Dean.” Sam calls, tone softer than before. “I think you know why you’re not, and I think you know why you’re in here. And- And why we can’t let you out.”

Dean rolls his eyes, voice bitter. “To talk.”

“I mean, it’s more than just talking, but-“

“Well what the hell is it then?” Dean stands up, marching back to the door.

You pull the blankets tighter around your body. It’s colder, the space that he left. Almost like a void, the absence threatening to suck you in.

“Since you two are so smart.” Dean sneers. “Spell it out for us. Stop being fucking cowards and say exactly what the hell we’re in here for. You want us to talk? We have talked-“

“Yeah, and you’re still not gettin’ it.” Jo says, voice almost as firm as Dean’s. “Put on your big boy pants and have a conversation about feelings, Dean. You don’t get out until you do.”

“She’s fuckin’ crying!” He shouts. “She’s losing it, and it’s because of you two selfish fucking idiots!”

He slams a fist on the door, and the sound echoes through the room. It sounds like the sky falling, like drums heralding something you’re not ready to fight, like your heart finally bursting. A high, weak sound of fear escapes your throat as you hug yourself tighter.

Dean looks over his shoulder, face painted in worried, and his fist drops. He sighs, scanning over the tiny ball you’ve curled yourself into. His expression is unreadable, but you can still weigh it.

Heavy. He runs a hand over his face, voice dropping back down, shoulders sagging with an invisible weight you can’t see, but would help him carry if he let you.

But he won’t.

He doesn’t trust you.

“I know you two think you’re helping.” Dean doesn’t look away as he speaks. “But we don’t need it. And if you leave us in here, if you-“ He shakes his head, looking back to the door. “Sam. I’m never gonna fuckin’ forgive you if you do this to her.”

You sniff, and turn your face into your knees. It silences the tears, makes it easier to hide your broken expression for Dean’s gaze. It shouldn’t be his responsibility.

You’re trying to be stronger. You’re really trying.

But this isn’t a monster or villain you’re just refusing to let yourself be bigger than. This is just love for Dean, that’s always been more than you. That’s been in every breath and every step and so vast it just pours out of you sometimes. These are only your useless, weak and loud feelings that deafen you, suffocate you, destroy you in a way nothing else has ever been able.

You don’t really care that Sam and Jo are locking you in here. Maybe it’s where you belong.

Out of God’s sight. Out of everyone’s sight. Unkillable, but cageable. Where you can’t hurt anyone until they unbox you for a fight, and you earn your food and a few hours off your leash that way.

But it’s not fair to trap Dean in here with you. He deserves more than that.

He deserves more than you.

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Sam certainly sounds sorry.

When you risk a glance up a Dean’s furious expression, you don’t think he’s going to be forgiven.

“Sam-“

“Bobby and Rowena agree with us. Cas, well- We didn’t tell him, but I asked him not to open the door, and whatever he said sounded like a yes. You need this, and- I know it’s hard, but-“

“You have no fuckin’ idea what it is.” Dean hisses. “You have no goddamn right to do this, we’re grown-ass adults, we handle our own issues-“

“Yeah?” Jo snorts. “Then handle them in there. Shouldn’t be this big a deal, if y’all got it all figured out.”

Dean goes silent at that. You watch him open and close his mouth, hands fisted tight, and for a second you think he does know what they want you to talk about you. Because maybe it’s the crying or exhaustion from not sleeping all that much, but you really don’t know.

“Guys.” Dean rasps, all the fight gone from his voice. “Don’t do this. Not to me, you don’t gotta give a shit about me.” He says your name, almost like he’s pleading. “Don’t do it to her.”

Jo’s silent for a long, long moment, and when she speaks, her voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“I’m doing this for her, Dean. So-“ She cuts herself off with a sigh. “Do your fuckin’ job, you ass. For some damn reason, you’re the only one who can.”

You hear her voice, a little more muffled—no longer trying to be audible through the door—mutter something to Sam. Sam says something back, then clears his throat, raising his voice back up.

“There’s enough food in there for a few days. And, uh- A stove. Bed. Toilet and everything. No door, but you guys are comfortable with each other-“

“Sam.” Dean grunts, and Sam’s voice gets higher again.

“It’ll be fine, Dean It’s not that bad-“

“Not that bad.” Dean snorts. “You threatened to put one between my fuckin’ eyes if I ever pulled this on you again.”

You can picture Sam’s wince. “Yeah, but… I was alone. You guys- You’ll have each other.”

Dean doesn’t seem to have a response to that. You don’t bother to try and think of one, staying in your little ball on the bed.

If this is what has to happen—if Sam and Jo are set on whatever this is—you just want to make it easy. Simple. Painless for Dean, however you can.

“We’ll check on you guys in the morning.” Sam says. “Please just- Try to talk. If you’re not doing it for us, do it for each other.”

Another beat of silence. Dean’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, but you’re not sure you’re breathing at all.

“Sorry.” Sam mutters. Footsteps sound then fade on the other side of the door, and he’s gone.

Leaving just you, Dean, and the long silence that’s going to threaten to drown you before they open the door.

It feels like a million years before you speak, even though it’s probably only an hour. You stay on the bed, bundling the sheets around your body and staring off into space—trying to just breathe, to get your tears under control so Dean isn’t forced to see them—and Dean stands at the door, trying to get it open with anything he can find.

There’s not much to work with. Sam and Jo pretty obviously planned this, and if they want you in here, they would’ve thought to remove anything that would let you out. You think about pointing that out to Dean, but his shoulders are squared like he’s on a mission, and it seems better to let him work through this, however he needs.

You don’t think it will be helpful right now, to tell him that he might not trust you, and he might not be okay near you, but the best thing to do is just ride this out. Maybe brainstorm what Sam and Jo want you to talk about, then just get it over with so they can let you out.

But you’re trying to make this easy for him. And right now, easy means not being a problem. Not being a monster he has to wrangle, or a waterfall he has to somehow force back up the cliff.

So you just watch him move, chin resting on your knees and hand wrapped around his amulet, and count what’s real.

Dean. Dean is real. He’s Golden, so he’s your Dean, and he’s real. This is real—being trapped again, being locked up, and maybe the walls are pressing in but you just have to breathe—and you can’t really feel anything else in the room, but it’s all real.

At least you can be sure of that. The last thing Dean needs is for you to have another freak-out like Cape Cod, and start screaming about things that aren’t there.

And he looks at you every time he turns, scanning over your body like you might’ve started bleeding out. His jaw ticks, eyes flashing with that same weight, and he looks away. Goes back to ripping up the room, grabbing a plastic spoon, and marching over to the door. He’s trying to pick the lock with the pointy end. You’re mostly just watching the muscles of his back flex, and trying to work out what Sam meant by Bobby agrees with this.

Bobby wouldn’t agree with locking you in a room. He used to try and talk you out of doing it to yourself, when your powers really started to get out of control. Which means that whatever you and Dean have to talk about it, it’s serious.

Serious and something Bobby doesn’t want to help with. Not directly. If it was, he would’ve just sat you down in the kitchen and told you. Maybe made Sam guard the door, but keep himself in the conversation to make sure you actually spoke. If he’s decided the best choice is to lock you in the safe room, then that means it must be about-

Dean grunts your name, and you blink. He’s still standing at the door, shoulders a little slumped, holding out the spoon like he wants you to take it.

“Yeah?” You whisper, and his throat bobs.

“You’re better with locks.” He mutters, holding out the spoon further.

You sigh. “I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are.”

“Doors just- Open for me sometimes, that’s not the same as being good with locks.”

Dean stands a little taller. “They just open for you?”

You nod, and he sighs.

“Course they do.” He mutters under his breath, and you frown.

“What does that mean-“

“Everything moves for you, sweetheart. Don’t know why I thought doors would be different.”

Dean runs a hand over his face, not giving you a chance to protest that everything doesn’t move for you, and if it does, it’s only because the world moves for hurricanes. Moves for plagues. Moves for monsters, tearing through it with their teeth just so there’s a clear path for the people they love to take-

“Can you ask this door to open?” Dean asks, and you give him a flat look.

“Door. Please open.”

Nothing happens. Dean makes a sour face, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Uh- Try not asking so nicely?”

You frown. “Why can’t I ask nicely?”

“I dunno, I’ve never ordered a door to open-“

“Neither have I!”

“You just said-“

“I said they open for me, Dean. I don’t ask them to, they just- They do!”

“I- That’s- Goddamnit.” Dean works his jaw, brow knitting back together. He holds out the spoon again. “Try the spoon.”

You tip your head back against the wall. “Dean-“

“Maybe the door needs to see that you wanna open it.” He says, and he looks so fucking desperate.

He doesn’t want to be in here. Not with you. His voice is strained like it’s painful to speak to you at all.

If it hurts for him that much, you have to make it better. And if the most you can do is cure him of you, then that’s it. You can get him out, then just… Stay here. Be the monster when they need you, hidden from God and Eve to make everything easier, a beast that won’t turn and bite their ankles for attention anymore. That will sit at Dean’s feet, if he bothers to visit.

It’s a better fate than you deserve.

You stand slowly. Walk over with your eyes on the ground—Dean shouldn’t need to see the shine of your tears—and take the spoon from his hands.

Your fingers brush. It’s like being struck by lightning, your legs threatening to give out just from that single, fleeting touch. You can still see his Gold on your knuckles, as you kneel and start to work the lock. It’s not sinking into your skin, though. Your body isn’t bothering to preserve it, like when you’d been in Europe or looking for Cas. It’s not ready to let go of him. You’re never ready to let go of him. You never will be.

It may be a small mercy, that the spoon snaps in half, and the door stays locked.

You get to hoard Dean’s time and attention just a little longer, like a dragon coiling itself around stolen treasure it never had any right to take.

Dean’s lips press in a tight line, when you hold up the broken spoon. You give him a pointed look, leaning back on your knees to try and see his expression a little better, and his hands flex.

He looks away, coughing loudly.

“Maybe try Indy.” He grunts. He won’t even look at you. “She can burn the door down.”

You sigh, and—just to indulge him—whistle. You both wait a long moment, but there’s no telltale bang against the door that means she’s trying to fly to you.

“The basement is soundproof.” You mutter, and Dean groans.

“Fuckin’- Son of a bitch.” He marches away from the door, pacing back and forth across the room.

You twist, leaning against the door, rubbing your wrists and chewing on your cheek until it stings. You won’t cry. Not again. You’ll have plenty of time later.

“There’s gotta be something.” He mutters to himself, and you sigh.

“Dean-“

“Can you break us out?” He turns with a hopeless expression. “Long as it doesn’t hurt you, we could- Maybe turn the door into a tree or teleport us upstairs-“

“I can’t teleport.”

“Yeah, you can-“

“When?”

“During the apocalypse! You teleported to me twice!”

“I- That wasn’t- You called me.” You give him a pleading expression, and suddenly you’re back in Delaware. With Dean in your lap, saying he’d marry you. Looking at you like you’re his whole universe, whispering you came like it’s something to be in awe of.

But he doesn’t remember. He doesn’t want to be here with you, doesn’t want anything to do with you. He’s still angry, and you deserve it, because you ruined it, you ruin everything, you’re a fucking sickness and he’s good and strong and amazing and you’re nothing at all-

“Hey, hey-“ Dean says your name, rushing across the room to your side.

You’re fucking crying again. All you ever do is fucking cry.

“It’s okay, Princess, it’s fine, don’t hurt yourself-“

“I’m not.” You snap, swatting him away. He shouldn’t fix this. The point of proving yourself if that you stop making him do everything for you, that you become the thing Death said you were, that you prove useful. Not just some weak, teary-eyed, sad girl that Dean can never seem to pry off.

“You’re crying-“

“I know.” Your words are choked, and you curl further into yourself. “I’m fine.”

Dean’s kneeling in front of you. You hold his gaze—trying to glare, but probably just looking like a nervous, sad child—and his face falls.

The Spiderweb howls, as he leans back. Your fingers twitch to reach out and grab him. Drag him back, sob an apology, just let him do whatever he wants, even if it’s carving you up and taking all the love from your body, before stitching you back together as a hollow shell made of fire.

But he wouldn’t do that. Dean’s a good man.

You won’t let him touch you, won’t let yourself hurt him. So he retreats, and your ribs squeeze together like the whole world is caving in.

“Fine.” He mutters. “Fine. We’ll just- We’ll wait it out. Sam said they’d be back tomorrow, we’ll say we talked, and they’ll let us out.”

You nod. There’s nothing else for you to do, because Dean’s the only trustworthy one here. You’ll do anything he says.

And it really sounds like he knows, exactly what you’re supposed to be talking about. But you’re not brave enough to ask.

So you just mumble an agreement, and try to wait out the clock.

The next few hours pass even slower than the first. It’s like dragging your feet through mud, like trying to breathe will your lungs are being stuffed with dirt. You skin feels like it’s covered in a thin layer of grime, just from being you. There’s a shower near the toilet, but it’s too cold to get naked, and you don’t know if Dean would be okay with you doing that.

He’s barely even looking at you with clothing on. Whatever had made him pin you to the bed in cape cod seems to be gone. Whatever fragile tightrope of ease you’d been walking together for the past week seems to be fraying. It’s so thin you’re afraid to speak, because just one wrong step and it’s going to snap entirely, and you’ll fall down, down, down.

Dean starts to organize the room—putting back things he’d tossed around, making the bed, taking inventory of everything Sam and Jo left you—but you think he just wants something to do with his hands. You hum to yourself to combat the sticky, angry silence and fidget with the amulet.

It kills the time, to try and think about what you’re supposed to be talking about. Maybe it’s just the latest fight, so nobody has to deal with the tension anymore. Could be something only Dean knows, something he’s supposed to tell you, but that can’t be right. Dean doesn’t keep secrets from you.

Maybe you’re supposed to apologize again, for everything. But they wouldn’t need to lock you up for that. You’d do it all by yourself, you do it all the time.

Or it’s- The other thing. The conversation Jo wanted you to have, that you told her you can’t.

Feelings.

The amulet digs into your palm, and you feel a little like a fucking idiot. They want you to talk about the thing Jo’s been trying to get you to talk about since she got back. The thing Sam’s been trying to get you to talk about for years. You’d been so lost in worry about Dean, so trapped in your own head and the pain you’d stopped seeing anything past a foot away that wasn’t Dean.

They want you to talk about your feelings. To tell Dean you love him, because somehow even God knows, but he doesn’t. Or he does and he doesn’t want to hear it.

It doesn’t matter anyway. You can’t tell him. If you do, he’ll get hurt.

So the kill time plan might be the best you’ve got. Dean can safely walk free, and with you trapped here, God won’t care about him. Jo and Sam don’t have to fake not knowing that you love Dean so much it you don’t even know what to do with it anymore. You’re still usable as a weapon, maybe even more so after being unforgiven for everything. Everyone wins.

Everyone but you. Alone. Broken and alone. Never getting the chance to have something good, to be something good, to learn how to be happy.

But maybe Dean will visit you. If you ruined sex for him, he might just need to come see you to relieve the itch. You’d wait for him on your knees, let him touch you however he wants, be whatever he needs you to be as long as it’s something. As long as you get to be something to him.

He’ll kiss you and paint your skin in his Gold, let you feel something good for a night before ripping it away in the morning, call you baby. Baby, I need you, baby. Easy, baby. I love you, baby-

Your hand is tight around your throat, the amulet digging into your windpipe. It hurts, but it’s a pain that’s going to keep you alive. You can live with it. Live with just Dean, whenever he wants you.

That’s all you’ve ever need anyway.

You risk another look at him. He’s crouching near the mini-fridge, going through the food, face twisted in concentration. His Gold is burning, rolling through itself and flaring out before pressing back in. You watch him for a long moment, still playing with the amulet under your fingers.

If he knows that you’re supposed to talk about feelings, that must mean he knows you love him.

But he doesn’t want to hear it. Doesn’t want you.

He said he’d marry you.

He could just be that angry.

He’s been angry before.

He might’ve just hit the breaking point. Finally given up.

Dean doesn’t give up. And he’s angry, but he’d been speaking to you yesterday. He hadn’t been doing… This.

He doesn’t want you. He said he’d marry you. He’s just that angry-

You drag your nails down your face, a frustrated sound ripping from your chest. You’re stuck. You’re fucking stuck in the same looping thoughts, you can’t break yourself out of them, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts-

Dean snaps your name, almost sprinting across the room, and you shake your head. Press further back against the wall, hiding your face and digging your nails deeper into your skin. The Silver isn’t threatening to burst, but you’re about to cry again, and you won’t. The pain helps like this. If all you can think about is the sting, you don’t have to think about Dean, Dean, Dean, he hates you, he fucking hates you, of course he fucking hates you, you’re made of shadows and garbage and evil, vile things-

“Jesus, fuckin’-“ Dean says your name again, voice urgent. “Stop, stop-“

Big hands close over yours, dragging them from your face. You don’t fight them this time. You just blink at him through the tears, breathing too fast to form a single word. It makes you dizzy just to shake your head. You can’t, you can’t, you’re stuck and you can’t-

“Breathe.” Dean orders, moving both your hands into one of his, using the other to grab your chin and force your gaze onto his. “Breathe, Princess, in and out, in and- There you go-“

He’s moving your hands with each word. Pulling them slowly up for in, then down for out. A physical pattern for you to follow, a beat you try to keep. You lean into his touch, taking tight, uneven breaths, and Dean nods slowly.

“Yeah, that’s it. C’mon, just- In and out, in and out.” He squeezes your hands three times. You gasp so loud, it seems to shake the fog from your vision. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re good, baby, you’re-“

You whimper, and baby, I love you, baby, I need you, baby, easy-

“Breathe.” Dean uses the firm, ordering voice. He’s never really done that before, and maybe you’re just losing your mind already, but it sounds different from earlier.

More desperate. Almost panicked.

But you breathe, blinking at him hopelessly, and Dean sighs.

“Good girl.” He mutters, thumb tracing over the line of your jaw, and you make another weak sound. Lean forwards, like an animal testing if they’re allowed to take scraps from the table.

Dean bundles you into his arms, and you let out a long, shaky breath. His hand rubs up and down your spine, his lips grazing over the top of your head, and you’re good. You’re good.

“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them.” Dean mutters under his breath, and you sigh.

“De, it’s okay-“

“No. It’s not. They don’t- They didn’t goddamn think-“

“Dean-“

He repeats your name back, tone a little mocking, and you lean back with a frown.

Dean’s staring down at you, still petting the back of your head. You blink at him slowly, and his eyes soften again.

“You- It’s alright. If you don’t want to.” His voice is hoarse, attention almost too soft for you to bear. “But my guess is that being locked in a room, it isn’t- With Lucifer and Michael-“ He presses his lips together, eyes screwing shut. “Sorry, sweetheart, just- Gimme a second.”

You nod, even as you mumble, “Dean, you- You don’t have to-“

“Want to.” He grunts, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. “Just tryin’ to- Fuck- Listen.” His eyes shoot open. “If you don’t wanna talk, we can keep doin’ that. But if this is better with some noise or- Whatever- I’m here.”

You stare at him, watching the Gold in his body almost riot and twist, pressing out before being dragged back in. He’s still staring at you, expression open but somehow unreadable, arms loose enough around you that you could move if you wanted to, could wiggle away and he’d let you go, but you don’t want him to.

He’s here. His cinnamon and grass smell is smoking out every dangerous, toxin-coated thought from your head. His voice is deep and clear, and there’s really nothing more to do but listen.

“There are cards.” You whisper, and Dean raises his brows.

“Cards? Like- The playing cards, or-“

“Playing cards.”

“Do you… Want them?”

He’s speaking so softly. Like he’s just as worried about snapping the tightrope as you are.

But he’s reaching out a hand. And maybe if you take it, should something snap, you’ll both be too stubborn to let go of each other.

“Yes, please.”

Dean nods slowly, and starts to detangle you from his arms. Making you move, moving away, leaving you alone-

“Wait, Dean-“ You grab his leg, scrambling up to your knees, and he freezes.

Looks down at you, not bothering to try and shake you away. His jaw ticks, at the sight of you clinging to him like a nervous koala, but he just waits.

“I- Can you-“ You swallow, forcing your arms not to wrap around his thigh. “Can you play go fish with me? Please?”

Dean just stares a you for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is a rasp.

“Yeah. I can do that.”

A little spark rushes through the Spiderweb. Bursting like a firework, letting color bloom quickly over your ribs. The air is a little easier to breathe, and your face doesn’t feel like it’s make of iron, and you smile. Nervous and small. An offering.

Dean swallows, his hand threading through your hair and resting on the top of your head. He’s till staring at you, eyes pretty and wide and filled with so much you can’t even begin to pick it apart.

Then he smiles back.

And maybe this won’t have to hurt that much. Maybe this is going to be okay.

Dean grabs the cards, and sits across from you on the floor. You rock back and forth while he shuffles, almost transfixed by his hands. Bending and folding and curling, that scar on his palm from the Mandurugo pale against his skin-

“Does it hurt?” You blurt, and he frowns.

“Does what hurt?”

“Your hand.” You reach forward without thinking, grabbing his palm and twisting it up.

It looks fully healed. It has been almost a month since the injury, but some feral part of you that’s mostly made of nightmares is convinced the wound is suddenly going to open up and start bleeding again. You’d heal it again. Dean isn’t allowed to get hurt like that, isn’t allowed to die, so he’d be fine.

You still find your fingers tracing slowly over the wound, just to check it’s fully scarred. Dean’s sitting so still it’s like he’s worried he’s going to spook you. When you look up, his eyes are blown out, his mouth hanging a little open, ears tinted red.

“Breathe.” You tease, and he lets out a rough laugh of surprise.

“I was-“

“Uh huh.” Smiling to yourself, you look back to the scar. “It- It doesn’t hurt, though. Right?”

“No. No, it feels fine.”

“Just fine-“

“It feels like a scar, Princess.”

You look back up at him with a glare, and find him wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Least we match, right?” He shrugs. “Can I poke your scar now?”

You bite on your cheek, shaking your head. You want to argue that it’s not the same. You practically gave Dean that scar, it’s your fault, your fault-

Dean says your name, his fingers folding through yours. He leans forward, squeezing your hand once as he examines your face.

You squeeze back three times—you love him, so it’s really okay—and he sighs.

“I’m fine.” He says firmly. “Swear it. You poking at it, just feels like this.”

He reaches around, poking your side, and you squeal. Dean’s grin returns, wide and relaxed as he goes to poke you again, and you wiggle to the side, still holding his hand tight.

“Dean-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He laughs, squeezing your hand three more times before letting go and returning to his cards. “Sorry, baby.”

Baby.

He called you baby again.

You stare at him for a moment, taking a few deep breaths, studying the smile on his face. It’s not fake. Not forced. And his Gold doesn’t look like it’s in pain anymore.It’s just shining, the river of silver embedded in him glowing bright. He’s so handsome. He’d said something about you having your pick, back in Cape Cod, but you don’t imagine how could want a pick. Not when you’ve see his broad shoulders and full lips and pretty eyes-

Dean glances up, and his smile widens. You swallow, and sit a little taller.

“Can I shuffle?” You ask, and he shrugs.

“Sure, Princess.” He slides the cards over. “Was I doing it wrong or something?”

“No.” You can never do anything wrong, dummy. “I just- I want to shuffle.”

Dean snorts. “Alright, your majesty. Shuffle away.”

You stick your tongue out as you take the cards. “I’m asking to shuffle, De, not- Making you go fight a crusade-“

“Well, I’d be freaking awesome at a crusade. I’d get the holy grail, kick the Black Knight’s freakin’ ass, and-“

“Are you thinking of Monty Python again?”

He blinks. “Is that… Not what we’re talking about?”

You laugh softly, giving him an amused look. He’s so fucking adorable—ears red and head slightly bowed to level with yours—that it’s almost unfair. It makes you feel all good and gooey, like nothing’ ever been wrong at all.

“You go on a crusade for a god.” You say, shuffling the cards as you speak. “Or in the name of a god, for the sake of land, wealth, power, that kind of thing.”

Dean hums, leaning a little further forwards, and you smile. Bridge the cards between your fingers, raising your brows.

“If you’re crusading, you need a god you’re doing it for.”

“Alright.” He mutters, and you tip your head at him.

“Who are you crusading for, De?”

“Uh…” He clears his throat. He’s close enough you can see every pretty shade of green in his eyes. It drags you further down, makes your smile wider.

You wait, watching him blink at you like he can’t remember what he’s supposed to be doing. You fold the cards between your fingers, happy to just sit in his presence, under his attention. It feels like the world is growing over you. Like there’s nothing that’s ever going to be able to hurt you, as long as Dean is there to hide you.

“Can I crusade for you?” He rasps, and heat floods your face. He said it too sincerely. Like doing something that great in your name would ever be rational.

“I don’t want you to crusade for me.” You mumble, looking down to the cards.

Dean hums. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

You shrug, dealing the cards and trying to push back the fluttering, nervous excitement of your heart. Dean waits. Silently watching you, staring in a way you can feel humming through the Spiderweb. When you look up, he gives you a prompting look, and you flush, your breath hitching in your throat.

There are a lot of things you want him to do. Things you could never dare to ask of him, things you want more than anything else. Things like holding you all the time and never letting go. Laying you down on the floor right fucking now and showing you everything he promised to before Purgatory. Saying things he might not mean, never saying things he does mean, putting a bullet in your brain before you hurt him, or just letting you hurt him until you both become invulnerable.

Some small part of you knows that you’re already at the last one. That there’s nothing left Dean could do to really break your love for him. That even he couldn’t fully stomp it or shred it, that he could run it over with his car, then back up to make sure he finished the job, and you’d hate him but you’d still love him so much it hurt. That you’re going to love him like an asteroid barreling towards Earth, on a one-track path of devotion without any care how it’s going to destroy you.

He’ll survive your love.

Everything else might not, but Dean will.

And you want him to understand that, so he can either go all the way down with you, or try to break you apart now.

But that’s too much. It’s always too much.

“Can you play go fish with me?”

“Yeah.” He picks up his hand, giving you a small, boyish smile that almost makes you cry. “We can do whatever you want.”

You smile despite yourself. And you try to push it down, but you know Dean sees it, because he’s smiling too. And maybe this could be enough.

It’s not.

But if you want to keep yourself intact, you have to let it be enough.

You kick Dean’s ass at Go-Fish. Kick it so bad you’re pretty sure he’s letting you win.

“I’d never do that, Princess.”

You narrow your eyes, watching him shuffle. “I think you would.”

“Why?”

“Dean-“

“I like winning.” He shrugs, shooting you a casual grin. “Freakin’ love it. I mean, I’m not as bad as Sammy, but I’m still a pretty big fan.”

“Yeah, but- You kept asking for cards you didn’t have, and- then you did-“

“I dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do-“

“Maybe I just can’t read, you think of that-“

“You can read.” You snap, grabbing your hand with a scowl. “Stop letting me win.”

Dean just laughs, giving you an open, amused and relaxed expression. “Bossy.”

You flush, kicking his shin with the tip of your foot. He catches your ankle with his free hand, holding it near his thigh and just… Holds it there. Lets his thumb drag in small circles while you play the next game—that he also lets you win, the asshole—and acting like he’s doing nothing at all.

When you switch to chess, he touches the back of your thigh as you walk past. It almost makes you stumble backwards, right into his lap. Dangerous. You’d never be able to get up.

“Try to win.” You order him as you set up the game, and he chuckles.

“Chess isn’t my game, Princess. I’m more of a poker guy-“

“We can’t play poker with two people-“

“We could if you were bad at it.”

You shoot him a glare. “I am not bad at poker, you just always know when I’m lying, it’s not fair-“

“Would be if it was just me.” He drawls. “But last time we played you spent the whole damn game giggling and going all in on every damn bet.”

“We weren’t betting real money.” You grumble. “It didn’t matter, I could play poker if it mattered.”

Dean snorts. “Yeah. Alright.”

“I could-“

“Baby.” He gives you an almost stern, amused look, and it almost burns every single thought but Dean from your head. Looking at you like you’re everything to him and still being just ridiculous, face so open and soft, wearing that damn look.

The one from Chicago. From Sam’s memories, that only ever seems direction at you, that makes you feel like molten putty that only Dean knows how to shape.

“I could try to win.” You mumble, and Dean laughs.

“I’m sure you would try.”

“It’s a stupid game.

“Maybe. Chess is pretty stupid too.”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna kick your ass at chess.” You pick up your first pawn, waving it at him with your best stern glare. “Actually try.”

Dean nods dutifully, sitting taller and giving you a tiny mock salute, and he’s lucky you love him, that you’re really trying just to get through this as painlessly as possible. Otherwise you’d either kill him, or jump his bones.

And he does try. You know he tries, because this time when you kick his ass, his jaw drops in frustration.

“How- How the hell did you do that, that’s not a fuckin’- Go back!”

You giggle, shaking your head. “Too late. I win.”

“No, no- I still got my king, he’s standing, it’s not over-“

“Yeah, but you’re in checkmate. I win.”

Dean’s brows knit together as he scans over the board. “I could move here,” he mutters, shifting his lonely king to the side.

“Mhm.” You smile sweetly. “Then I’d go here.”

You move a piece, and Dean groans.

“C’mon,I was winning-“

“Yeah, but I won.” You pick up your rook and drag it forward, knocking Dean’s king to the floor. “Good game, Deano.”

You hold out your hand, still smiling, and Dean looks up at you with a heavy sigh.

Grabs your hand and shakes it. A small smirk forms on his lips, and your eyes widen. You know that look. You try to pull back, but it’s too late.

Dean drags you forward into his lap, caging you in his arms, and knocks the whole chess board to the side before pinning to you to the ground. You squeal, shoving at his chest with a lot less strength than you could use, and scream when he digs his fingers into your sides. You thrash, kicking when he pins one arm over your head, the free one mindlessly wrapping around his neck. Pulling him closer, gasping in his ear, almost moaning when he lips graze your neck.

You both seem to realize what’s happening at once. Dean stops his attack, but doesn’t move away. You go still. He rises up on his palms, staring down at you with that same, deep expression. The endless one, the arduous one, the one that seems to be that whole world, just for you.

His Gold is burning. Bathed over your skin from the contact, running through him like a solar flare. Brighter and brighter every second, consuming everything around it, until—same as it’s always been—it’s all just Dean.

It’s a little like watching the sun from underwater. So, so close, and so far, out of touch yet more touchable than anything else. You could just be here forever. Let Dean keep shining over you, and wait for him when he’s gone.

“I…” You reach up, tracing over the line of his jaw. You have to say something. Have to give him something. Have to do something, so you’re not just staring at him like the lovedrunk, happy fool that you want to be.

“Yeah?” Dean rasps, and you swallow.

“I promised I’d draw your soul.”

He just stares at you for a second. Blinks then swallows, nodding slowly.

For a moment you think you were suppose to say something else. If you were, you don’t know what, but there’s something that dulls in his eyes. Something in the twitch of his jaw, that makes you feel like you’re missing something all together.

If you are, Dean doesn’t tell you. He just reaches up to brush away your hair, then pulls his hand back. You swallow, wrapping your arms around your stomach.

He sighs.

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You say quickly. “Please.” I need to. It’s for you.

Dean stares at you for another moment, then nods again.

“Okay. Okay.” His mouth twitches slightly. “You can draw while I make dinner.”

“But- I’m not hungry-“

“Then no drawing.” He shrugs, eyes shining again.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. You can see it, all over his smug, handsome face.

You scowl. “Dean-“

“Princess.”

You whack his chest, and he drops his weight down. Hovers over you, noses bumping, a hand dragging slowly up your side as he just keeps smirking at you. It’s not fair how he can do this to you. How he knows he can do this to you, and your head goes quiet every time.

You’d try to fight it, if it didn’t feel so good. If only having to look at Dean wasn’t the easiest thing in the whole fucking world.

“Eat with me.” He mutters, tone suddenly serious, and you nod slowly.

“Oh- Okay.”

He raises his brows. “Okay?”

You nod again. “Okay.”

And Dean smiles again, and nothing is wrong once more.

You’re still very much trapped in the safe room, but nothing is wrong. You’re talking, just like Sam and Jo wanted. You might not be talking about your feelings, but this is far easier anyway. You aren’t crying. Dean doesn’t have to deal with you. If he’s angry, it’s not enough that you can really feel it.

Everything is fine.

“They only gave us macaroni.” Dean grumbles, holding up the box for you to see.

“That’s fine.”

“I know, but- I could make something better if they didn’t treat us like freakin’ lab rats.”

You smile at the paper you’ve started sketching on. “Because of the cheese?”

“Yeah.” He grins, puffing out his chest. “Rating?”

“Hm. Six.”

“Six? C’mon, that was a seven-“

“I didn’t laugh.”

“You’re smiling-“

“Which is why it’s not a four.”

Dean groans, shaking his head, but he’s still grinning to himself, and your cheeks are starting to hurt.

It’s strange, how easy it is to fall back into the patterns. The tightrope may be weakened, but walking to Dean has always been easy. He makes you dinner, and you draw. He asks question after question—mostly pointless things, why you’re using that color, what you thing Sam and Jo are doing, how much cheese you want—and you answer with a small smile on your face. You finish at the same time, and hold the drawing to your chest as he walks over with the bowl.

“Eat.” He sets it down in front of you, and you frown.

“But-“

“I’m not looking ‘till you eat, Princess.”

You sigh, and there’s not arguing with him. Not right now. So you give him a pointed look, pick up your spoon dramatically, and take a small bite.

Dean grins, and settles fully onto the floor at your side.

And you’re hungrier than you thought. Not having Dean there to force food in you all the time seems to have been taking a bigger toll than you thought. You shovel everything down in a few seconds, getting full faster than you probably should, but still finishing after that. You scoot forward until you’re fully facing Dean—barely halfway through his bowl—and he gives you an amused look, speaking through a mouthful of macaron.

“You want somethin’, sweethear’?”

You frown at him. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

He snorts, shaking his head and swallowing. “Better?”

You nod, and he raises his brows.

“You want something?” He repeats, and you shrug.

You’re pulling at the edges of the paper in your hands, rocking on your knees, fighting the urge to just drop your chin on his shoulder and stare at him until he’s ready. You worked hard on the drawing. So harder. Maybe harder than you should have, but it’s Dean,and what if he doesn’t like it, what if you didn’t work hard enough-

“Alright.” Dean sets down his bowl, turning to fully face you. “Show me.”

“I- You can finish your dinner-“

“I’ll finish after.” He shrugs. “You look like you’re gonna fuckin’ explode, sweetheart. Out with it. Show me what you’ve got.”

He nods to the paper in your hands, and you take a deep breath. If he hates it, he hates it. It’s not like you made his soul.

You just know it so well you didn’t have to look at him while you drew.

Which you really hope he didn’t notice.

There are a lot of things you open he doesn’t notice, as you shove the paper into his hands. The way that he’s a lot more detailed than Sam. How you added your river of Silver light, because he looked wrong without it. The fact that you made his webs a lot lighter than Sam’s, because you never really see them when you look at him.

You only ever see Dean. Golden, perfect, Dean.

You pick at your fingers, while he stares at the paper. You can’t read that expression, can’t work out if he hates it, if he hates you, if you ruined everything again, or-

“This is me?” He says, voice rough, and you nod.

“Um- Yeah? I mean, it’s- It’s how I see you, and- Cas-“

“Why isn’t my head as big as Sam’s was?” He looks up at you with a frown, and you swallow.

“Because your soul doesn’t live in your head.”

“Oh. Is it-“ He glances down to the drawing again. “Uh- My hands?”

You flush. “No. No- It’s-“ You lean forward, pointing to his core. “Here. Your chest.”

“Ah.” Dean squints at the paper. “What about that?”

He points to the Silver. You take an uneven breath, twisting a ring on your finger.

“I- I don’t know. It’s just there.”

Dean gives you a strange, weighted look. He knows. He knows you’re lying, and he’s going to be angry again, and-

“Eh.” His smile returns, like nothing happened at all. “Still pretty handsome, right? Least I’m not as ugly as Sam.”

He laughs to himself, but you just swallow. You don’t want to picture that. Dean’s Gold, littered with wounds like bullet holes and burn scars. Twisted and marred until it’s dulled, retreated so far into itself that it doesn’t stain you anymore, that you can barely reach it, that you’d have to block it to protect him, and he’d hate you the same way Sam did. Dean’s voice, sneering that all you ever do is cry, that you should’ve just stayed in the cage-

“Hey.” Dean says your name, placing a hand lightly on your knee. “What’s wrong? Is it- You know…”

He trails off, and you don’t think he knows. He’s just trying to offer you the chance to tell him something, to talk.

You ruin everything.

“No.” You twist a ring on your finger, trying to smiling softly. “I’m okay.”

He knows you’re lying. Dean always knows you’re lying.

“It’s late.” You whisper before he can push. If he pushes, you’ll break, and then you’ll just be another fucking problem for him to fix. “I- I’m tired.”

Dean stares at you for a second, and you can feel it in the air. The shift, back to before.

His hand moves off your knee, and you’re empty again.

“Alright.” He mutters. It doesn’t sound it. “I’ll grab some blankets.”

For the floor. He’s still going to sleep on the floor.

You don’t argue with him. You don’t want to argue with him. You want to go back, to beg him to push you, to plead for him to just tell you that it’s all okay and you get to be happy.

But Dean’s sleeping on the floor, and you’re sitting on the cot, and you can’t. You can’t be happy. Monsters don’t get to be happy. Vermin doesn’t get to be loved back by the world they infest. You don’t get to have Dean, when you’ve done nothing to earn it. You just have to get through the night, Sam and Jo will let Dean out, and you’ll just… Keep going.

You’ll cling to those worlds from the cage, where you got to love him.

Where you got to be happy, even if it was only an illusion. Even if it wasn’t real.

You can barely tell the difference anymore anyway.

It’s why you won’t let yourself fall asleep.

You sit cross-legged on the cot for hours after bed. You sat there after your shower, staring at your hands as Dean changed, and mumbled a good night when he lay down. You’re trying not to look at his form on the floor. If he’s sleeping, it’s so lightly that he’s not snoring, and it would be the worst sin of all to disturb him. You measure every movement, every breath, every shift when you grab a new pencil or move to touch the amulet around your neck.

You’d taken it off with your clothing. Kept it buried in the pile, then shoved it back on while he’d had his back pointedly turned. He can’t bear to look at you again.

So you think about the worlds where he could. And you draw, and draw, and your eyes get heavy but you can’t fall asleep. If you fall asleep you’re going to have a nightmare. If you have a nightmare, the Silver might slip out of control, and Dean might get hurt. You can’t let Dean get hurt. There’s nothing left, if Dean gets hurts.

You draw the forest from the vampire illusion. The kitchen from the soft life, his sword from the medieval one—and it looks an awful lot like Excalibur, but maybe they’ve just blurred together in your head—and his hat from the cowboy one. Your eyelids droop, and you’re so tired the world doesn’t feel tangible, but nothing does anymore.

Dean rasps your name, and you glance over to find him watching you in the low light.

“You said you’d go to sleep.” He mutters, watching you carefully.

“I will soon.” You mumble, looking back to your drawing. You’re working on- Something. Everything is sort of floating off the page. You might just be writing his name in Enochian again.

Dean rubs his eyes, sitting up with a grunt. “Sweetheart, I don’t like sleepin’ in here either-“

“I’m fine, Dean.”

“Then go to bed.”

“I will-“

“No.” He’s moving to his feet, walking over to your side. “Now.”

“No- Dean-“ He reaches for your drawing, and you scramble back. Hold it tight to your chest, almost hissing at him like a cornered animal. “I will, I’m not done.”

“You can finish in the morning-“

“No!” You scream, shrinking further back.

Dean gapes at you, and you don’t care if you’re being childish or dramatic. You can’t fall asleep, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t-

He mutters your name, reaching again, and you shake your head, fully awake. He can’t make you. You won’t hurt him, you won’t fall asleep and hurt him, no-

“Alright, I’m- I’m not touching.” He raises his hands in surrender, eyes never leaving yours. “But- What the hell is wrong?”

With you. You can hear the words in the silence. What the hell is wrong with you. Why can’t you just be easy, why do you have to ruin everything, what the fuck is wrong with you.

Tears burn at your eyes, and Dean’s mouth presses in a tight line.

“Sweetheart, you really need to sleep-“

“I’m fine-“

“You’re not!” He shouts, expression so pained you can feel it in your chest. “You’re- Son of a bitch, you look like you’re about to fight me, you need some goddamn rest!”

“No, I- I don’t-“

“Yes, you do-“

“No, I don’t!” You scream, and his mouth snaps shut. “You- You don’t even want to be here with me, you don’t have to pretend, just- Just leave me alone.”

Dean stares at you for a second. His arms are still in the air, his hands flexing with his jaw. He’s angry. You can read it all over his face, you made him angry-

“No.” He grunts. “No. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Dean, I-“

“No.” He takes a large step forward, hands dropping to his sides. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what’s got you acting like the sky is gonna goddamn fall, I’ll fix it, and then you’re gonna go thehell to bed.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine-“

“Stop saying you’re fine.” He hisses. Another step. “You’re not fine. And I’m not doing this whole goddamn dance again, so just- Tell me what’s wrong.” His voice cracks. “Please.”

“I- I can’t.” You blink quick, trying to fight off the tears. “Dean, I can’t-“

“Yes, you can. You just won’t. You never tell me about your plans, never tell me what’s hurting you, son of a bitch, you won’t even tell me about God-“

“No, I- I wanted to, I just forgot-“

He snorts. “Sure, sweetheart, you forgot-“

“I did!” It hurts to speak. “I swear, I- I did, and- and-“ You’re tired. So tired, but you can’t sleep. “Maybe it’s good that I didn’t, Dean! It’s really not that bad, and if you knew-“

“I would’ve been able to help-“

“You might’ve gotten killed!” You scream, curling further into yourself. “God, he- He’s not good. He’s angry, he’s so angry, and if you knew, if I told you- If I told you, and you-“

You cut yourself off, wrapping a hand around your throat and trying to just fucking breathe. You can’t think about it. It makes the Silver start to burn, the Spiderweb sparking like fuel. You can’t. You can’t. If you tell him that you love him you’ll lose him, if you do nothing you lose him, and you’re caught in your own head and you can’t.

“He might’ve hurt you.” You whisper. “He promised he wouldn’t, but- But I don’t trust him, Dean, I don’t. He’s so angry, he won’t- He won’t just leave me alone, and he knows- He knows-“

Dean rasps your name, and you shake your head. You can’t breathe. Your throat feels a barbed wire squeezing around it and there’s an iron on your chest. You’re choking on every  single breath because it’s filled with salt and pain. You try to shrink down, to contain yourself to just your body, but the Silver isn’t even trying to burst out.

You’re just you. Just you and so alive you can’t breathe. Dean is saying your name but it’s almost impossible to hear him, to hear anything but a ringing in your ears and an echo like God’s voice. You’re never going to be free of him. Never going to be free of yourself. You’re just going to burn and rot and turn to ash to dust and still be alive and in pain, you’re going to kill everything around you because you’re made of teeth, you’re going to be alone, alone, alone and you still won’t be able to be nothing, but that’s still just all you are-

“Hey, hey-“ Dean’s grabbing your face between his hands. Saying your name like it matters, like you’re not going to be the thing that destroys him. “Princess, breathe, you gotta breathe for me, c’mon-“

He runs his thumb down the bridge of your nose, and you take a ragged, broken breath. Dean mutters something that sounds like praise, that sounds gentle and caring and you don’t deserve it. The Silver is starting to gnaw at your spine with nowhere else to put it, and your whole chest is made of this white-hot pain, and you don’t deserve his comfort when all you do is cry-

“No, no- Stop-“ You shove his chest, and he lets go of you so fast you might’ve burned him.

Dean stumbles back with wide eyes. When you force yourself to look at him, his jaw is clenched, hands clenching and unclenching at his side, and he looks broken. Like just that weak push might’ve hurt him more than anything else.

You’re trying to protect him. All you ever do is try to protect him.

“I’m tryin’ to help.” His voice is hoarse, words tense like he’s forcing them out.

You should tell him you don’t want his help. It would protect him. He’d give up on you, he’d finally see that you’re not something that can be saved, he’d leave you to grow up these walls and sink into the floor, turn into a shrouded, hidden garden that just waits for him to return so it can bloom.

But you’re weak.

You’re small and pathetic and weak and sick, and you can’t lose him.

You’ve told yourself that you could. That you’d survive Dean hating you, if it was for the best.

But you won’t. You can’t.

And he needs to understand.

“Dean-“

“I’m just trying to help you.” His voice is rising. Angry. “Why the hell do you never let me help you? I might not be an angel, or a demon, or some big time fuckin’- Magic asshole, but I’m not useless, I- I can fucking help.” His voice breaks, and you feel it echo in your chest.

“Dean, I-“

“You keep telling me you think I’m smart!” He shouts, pointing at you with a wrecked kind of fury in his voice. “You say it all the goddamn time, you say shit like you need me, you go to me when you need something, then you never let me goddamn help. You have no fucking idea what kind of shit I’d do for you, what I’d give just for you to tell me one fucking thing I can help with-“

You push up to your knees, tears flowing back down your face. “Dean, I- I know-“

He scoffs. “No, you don’t-“

“I do!” You scream, and whatever broke in him seems to have snapped in you as well.

The tightrope turned to nothing but string. The Spiderweb roaring with the blood in your ears, the Silver pressing down on your heart, and your back aching like it’s about to let all your guts escape your body.

So you’re screaming. You’re screaming with every bit of pain and love you have for him, because maybe if you’re loud enough the sound will keep you afloat. Maybe if you’re loud enough you’ll scare off everything else, and it can just be you and Dean. Freefalling together. All the way down.

But you have to scream.

“I know you could help, Dean, I know! You- You always know what to do, you always help me, but I can’t-“

“No.” He hisses, taking another step forward. “You won’t-“

“I can’t!” Your voice is so loud it hurts. Dean goes still. “I can’t, I can’t- I- I see him every fucking time I fall asleep, I see him when I look outside, I- I see him every where and I don’t even know when it’s real anymore, but- I- I-“ You gasp for air, rubbing the tears from your cheeks. “I know you’re real. I know you, and that’s all I have, and if- If I lose that-“

A phantom of that fear from the Cape flashes through your body. The paralyzing and furious fear, that had made everything nothing more than something keeping you from Dean. The tears are falling faster than you can wipe away. You give up trying, just blinking at him through the tears.

“You do everything for me.” You whisper. “You always know better, you always save me and help me and- And you have to put up with this-“ You gesture to your shaking body and tears. “And you never complain and nothing- Nothing I do is ever- It’s never enough.”

Dean’s silent. Staring at you with a red face, chest rising and falling in rapid, uneven breaths. You sniff, wiping your nose with your wrist, and force the last words out through the lump in your throat.

“I don’t have anything for you, I- I’m just this, and I take so much, and if- If something happened and I could’ve stopped it, I-“ A vast, endless nothing settles through your body. Another echo of pain. The one where you’d been missing a limb.

Where you hadn’t been able to feel him at all.

“I’m trying to protect you, Dean.” You look up at him under tired, heavy eyes. “I’m always just trying to protect you.”

For a long moment, you just stare at each other. Dean’s chest keeps heaving, his jaw working so tight it might snap, his body frozen like he’s still braced for an impact blow you’re never going to be able to land. Not on him. Never on him.

When he speaks, his voice is still rough and low.

“I don’t need you to.” He grunts. “I never fuckin’ asked you to be- That. You’re- I have never needed you to do this kind of shit. Not for me.”

You shake your head, moving up to your knees. Pleading. He needs to understand. “I needed to, I-“

“No, you didn’t-“

“Yes, I did-“

“I’m not that big a bounty, sweetheart.” He snaps. “Nothin’ I’m up to is worth fucking- Purgatory and God. Don’t act like it is.”

You stare at him for a long moment, his words spinning in your head.

Yes it is.

He is.

He’s the only thing that’s ever been worth it.

“Don’t say that.”

He gives you an incredulous look. “Say what, that I’m not okay with you running around doing stupid shit in my name-“

“It’s not stupid shit.” You snap. “It kept you alive, Dean.”

He scoffs. “Yeah, ‘cause that’s what the job is about, right? Keeping me alive.”

“Yes. It is.”

That makes him go silent. His mouth hangs open for a second, his shoulders going limp. He looks around like there’s going to be some kind of prank, huffing a low laugh like you’re acting insane, when for once, you’re perfectly clear-headed.

It’s always for Dean.

You’ve felt everything. You’ve been everything, and there is nothing you won’t make or destroy or bend for him. It is always about Dean.

“I was going to rip the Earth open to get you from hell.” You move to your feet slowly. Dean takes a step back. “I fell into the cage so you could be safe, I spent months running around a desert to try and escape God for you, I made him promise not to hurt you-“

“You said you don’t trust that-“

“I don’t. But I still made him fucking promise. I agreed to help Cas for you-“

Dean snorts, but it’s not filled with the usual cocky, bored smugness he’s mastered. “No, you don’t get to put that one on me-“

“Look at me, Dean.” You raise your chin, holding his gaze. “Am I lying?”

Dean freezes. You press on.

“Raphael was going to let Michael out. He was going to hurt you, and I stopped him. And I’d it again. I’d do it a million more times, if it kept you alive, Dean, and you don’t have to like it, but I do it for you.”

He stares at you again. Runs a hand over his face, laughingdryly.

He still doesn’t believe you.

“Guessing you’d keep it secret again too, huh.” He mutters, voice bitter. “Keep fucking running around, come find me when you need comfort, then treat me a like pretty fuckin’ damsel.”

“You’re not a damsel, Dean-“

“Then what the hell am I?” He demands, the anger coating his voice again like a toxin. “’Cause I’m sure as shit not your partner, Princess. Not if you’re just running around saving me.”

You swallow. “It’s not like that-“

“Isn’t it?”

“You- You’re not- I barely knew what to do with Purgatory-“

“So there’s no way I could’ve been able to help, right?” He sneers, and you shake your head.

“No, I- I never said that-“

“You should’ve fuckin’ told me. You should’ve let me help- I-“ He takes another step forward, glaring down at you. “I would’ve done anything, if you’d just told me-“

“You- You would’ve thought it was wrong-“

“Not if you told me it was right!”

You blink at him, taking a sharp breath as the anger rolls off of him in waves. You’re winding tight. So, so tight. Still falling, down, down, down.

At least Dean seem to be falling with you.

“You don’t trust me.” You whisper, wrapping your arms tight around your body. “You- You said you don’t trust me-“

“Because you don’t get it.” He says, almost growling. “You never fuckin’ understand, everything I would’ve done if you asked, everything I’d still do, even when you’re driving me out of my goddamn mind, I- Son of a bitch, Princess, you could break my goddamn heart over and over and- Look at me.”

He waves a hand at his body, deep, endlessly beautiful eyes glossy on yours. Voice hollow and choking on so much all at once. On everything you can feel rushing though you. Glowing and blooming from the very right of your heart, circling around him like a moon, threatening to drag you like a tide towards him.

“I’m here.” He mutters. “You promised you wouldn’t leave and I’m just… Here. And you leave again, and again, and- I’m just fuckin’ here.”

Your arms wrap tighter, the whole world blurring, your voice small through the tears.

“You didn’t ask me to stay.”

“I always want you to stay!” He roars, rubbing his face with an expression of disbelief. “I always- Son of a bitch, the only reason I was able to keep going though this is because I knew at least you were fine without me-“

“I’m not.”

You were so quiet you didn’t think he’d hear, but he does. Dean’s mouth snaps shut, his whole body tensing like you’re about to hit him. You swallow, forcing the words out.

“I- I’m never fine without you.” You take a tiny step to him.

He doesn’t move away.

“I-  I don’t- I don’t know how to sleep anymore.” You whisper. “I- I’m so, so tired, but I can’t sleep because you’re not there.”

He mutters your name, hand flexing at his side. Another step.

“I never stop thinking about you. I- I never do anything but think about you, I just lie there and think about you, I spent every second just- Just thinking about you, and I didn’t want to stop because I- I- I need to think about you.” Another step. You can feel the heat from his body. “I need to remember you, I need to know you, I need to pretend you’re there because if I lose you, I- I don’t know what I’ll do. It scares me, Dean, I- I scare me, because I have all this- All this everything and there’s not one part of it I wouldn’t give just to remember you.”

Dean’s throat bobs. You stare up at him, voice raw, the words bursting out of you like an explosion.

“I would’ve stayed.” You whisper. “I would’ve if you asked me, but you- You said I could go, you didn’t want me-“

“I wanted you.” He grunts. “I’ve always wanted you. Every goddamn time, I’ve wanted you, I’ve needed you, I need you, I-“

Dean shakes his head, almost lunging forward. He grabs your face between his hands, touch gentle. His voice is solid, but soft, his thumb dragging slowly over your cheekbone. If you’re breathing, it’s shallow and fast. Your hands fly up to grab his wrists. To keep him there, forever.

You stare at each other again, and you can see clearly. There’s no pain, no noise, just Dean.

You’re yours.

And you’re Dean’s.

And that’s all there needs to be.

“I need you.” He mutters, scanning over your face. “You gotta get that, Princess, I lo- You’re- You’re it. There’s never been a goddamn moment, never been anything else, it’s just- It’s you.” Dean’s voice breaks, his grip tightening on your face. “Always been you.”

Your lips tremble, nails digging into his wrists. He doesn’t flinch away. Doesn’t balk, when a needy and hopeful sound leaves your throat. That you could have him. That you have him now.

“All the way down, right?” Dean murmurs, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. “You and me, Princess. Together.”

“All the way down.” You whisper, and Dean’s lips twitch.

His eyes drop down. To your parted, swollen mouth. His brows knit, his jaw working like he’s trying to figure something out.

He already does so much.

You give him this answer for free.

You crash up. Slam your lips over Dean’s, kissing him with everything you have. All your love, poured out of your mouth and into his, your fingers sliding through his hair and body molding against his chest. He takes barely a second to respond, folding over you with a groan. One arm slides around your waist, the other hooking under your knee as he ducks down and hauls you into his arms.

The kiss never breaks. It’s wet and messy, your noses bumping, Dean’s tongue pressing down your throat, your tears staining his face as you try to pull him impossibly closer. It can’t be close enough. Dean can’t be close enough. He everywhere around you, kneading your ass and sucking your lower lip between his teeth, but you need him closer.

You need him. You need him. You love him and you need him and he’s here and you’re never fucking letting go.

“Dean- Dean-“ You gasp against his mouth when he drops you onto the bed, nails raking through his hair. “Dean, I- I need you, I-“

“I know.” He mutters, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I know, baby.”

You whine,  legs spreading as he settles you both fully down. Dean chuckles, rolling you over so that you’re over him, and you almost melt. His hand drags under your shirt, pinning you to his chest, and the other cups the back of your head. You grab his face, kissing sloppily and desperately. He needs to feel it. If you can’t say it, Dean needs to feel how much you love him.

You’re grinding down on him, tiny sounds escaping your throat, and Dean tugs on your hair.

“Easy, baby, shit-“ He groans, and rolls you again.

You’re caged between him and the cot, your legs still locked around his hips. You blink up at him, tears still hot and shining on your cheeks. He’s looking at you like that again. Like you’re everything.

Dean sighs, brushing the hair from your face, and leans down. His lips brush your brow, and you take a shaking breath. Your eyes flutter.

You’re so tired.

“Sleep, Princess.” He murmurs, rubbing your side gently. “Please.”

You swallow. You don’t want to sleep. You want him.

But you’re so tired.

“Will you stay?” You mumble weakly, eyes already drooping.

“Yeah. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hum, and feel the weight over you shift. He’s rolled onto his side, wrapped his arm over your stomach, then pulled your back into his chest. His legs tangle with yours, his hand splaying on your stomach, the smell of cinnamon everywhere, and if you opened your eyes you know you’d see Gold.

“Anywhere?” You murmur, words slurred with sleep, and Dean nods.

“Anywhere. I’m here, baby.” His lips brush your throat. “Can’t get rid of me now.”

And maybe he says something else. You’re not entirely sure.

You do know that the last thing you feel is Dean’s warm breath, steady and even, and the glow of the Spiderweb, bright and peaceful in your body.

This world is in ruin. You walk through it and see only vines and tents and overgrown cabins. Every light is a soft flame in a lamp. Everything warm is another body, pressed close to fight off the howling wind.

Dean is your body.

He keeps a hand on your lower back. He smiles at you like it’s a secret, kissing the top of your head before he draws a gun and goes to work. You sit in a cabin that looks like a home, and you help around the camp, and this world is in ruin but it’s all fine. You still have Dean.

He holds you in that dark. You smile up at him, and you’ve been so afraid, but it doesn’t feel as big when he’s here.

You’re the freedom of the earth, allowed to grow again. You’re the cleanness of the water with nothing to block it’s flow, and you’re the unending song of every bird, the flash of every firefly, the howl of every wolf and coo of every new life, allowed to flourish when there’s no more weapons left to hunt them.

You’re everything, and it doesn’t hurt, because it’s Dean.

Flowers bloom under your hands, into the mattress. He laughs and kisses you like he still doesn’t think you’re real, and you whimper his name.

He’s golden in the morning light.

And you say it.

You say it.

The world is already in ruin, and you say it.

Then there’s light. Harsh, wrathful, white light. It burns your eyes. It makes you scream and scream and scream but you lose your voice and you’re already lost anyway. There’s marble all around you, long, horribly clean halls and riches and light and nothing.

He’s gone.

Dean’s gone. You scream but he’s gone, and then you’re being pried apart and you can’t breathe and the Spiderweb flickers and Dean’s gone, gone gone-

You’re voice is back.

It’s shrill and hollow, but it’s back. You scratch at your throat, trying to force a louder scream for someone to help, help, help. The bed is empty, and you’re cold and alone, and Dean is gone, he’s gone, you said it and he’s gone-

“I’m here, I’m- Shit“ Strong arms wrap around you, and the Spiderweb floods with iridescent light.

You struggle—you have to get to Dean—but your body doesn’t listen. It follows the pull of the Spiderweb, pushing you back into his arms as you flail, but you have to get to Dean-

“It’s me, I’m here, it’s- Hey-“

You squeak as he flips you in his lap, grabbing your face, thumb running down your nose.

“It’s me. It’s Dean. I’m right here, I’m fine, you just had a nightmare. Just a nightmare.”

Everything starts to come back into focus. The saferoom. The cot. Dean.

Golden and safe. He’s safe. The Spiderweb is still alight. He’s safe.

Just a nightmare.

A wrecked sob leave your throat, and you collapse against his chest. Your face presses into his neck, arms squeezing tight around his torso, but Dean doesn’t complain. He rocks you back and forth, petting your hair, his words low and soothing in your ear.

“I know, I know, baby, I know. I’ve got you.” He sighs, lips brushing the top of your head. “Just a nightmare. You just had a nightmare.”

You nod, your breathing slowly evening out. He’s here. Golden and here. Real.

“You said you wouldn’t leave.” You mumble against his skin. He swallows.

“Had to piss.” He lets out a heavy breath, words slow and careful. “This- This been happening every night? When I’m…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t have to.

You nod, and his arms tense.

“Was it about him?”

God.

You know where this conversation goes. “Dean-“

“Yeah, I know, I know. But I-“ He cuts himself off, pulling you slowly back.

You don’t go easy. Dean grip never gets brutal, but it has to be firm. He almost drags you back, grabbing your jaw quickly and tipping it up.

His eyes are hooded and red. You can see the strain on his face, as he tries to speak. See the words moving up and down his throat, his lips pressed tight and jaw working like he keeps practicing the words in his head.

You just blink at him, leaning into his touch with your eyes fluttering. Dean swallows.

“I need to talk about it.” He mutters, every word careful. “I need to know, please. I know you, I know something’s wrong.”

“Because you know everything?” You try to make your voice teasing. It just sounds tired.

And Dean only shakes his head. “No. I just know you.”

The Spiderweb doesn’t fracture. Doesn’t shake or shudder.

But you do.

Everything in you curls.

Because he said he wants you. But you’re-

You’re still you.

There’s no cure for it. One kiss, one confession of devotion, one moment of peace, it doesn’t clean you. Doesn’t make you better, or easier, or any less of a monster. You’re Dean’s, but you’re still fucking you.

Maybe because Dean’s been able to feel it—the pull, the gravity, the craving—he’s been blind to what kind of cancer you really are. Maybe he can see it, and he’s just willing to forgive it because he’s a perfect, righteous, strong man.

But you can’t. You can’t forgive it.

You lied. You lied and stole and cheat, you made this so painful when you could’ve just stayed. You put him through so much when you could’ve just held on, you coward and a hid and spat and hurt him, you were never supposed to hurt Dean.

He must just have never been able to see it.

How could he want you, if he’d ever been able to see every bit of tar and hellfire and sinew that you’re made of.

“No.” You try to shrink back. He shouldn’t be touching you. You don’t deserve anything but being alone. “No, no you don’t-“

“Yes.” Dean doesn’t let go. He holds on tighter, dragging your gaze back to his. “Yes, I do.”

You shake your head. “No, you don’t-“

“I do. I- Goddamnit, look at me.”

His voice is firm. The ordering voice again. Your eyes snap onto his, your body almost going slack. Dean’s shoulders slump, his voice only getting firmer.

“I know you.” He says, voice raising when you try to shake your head. “Yes, I do. I know you, Princess. You’re not the only one who never stop thinking, you- You’re- You’re my whole fucking world, and I know you.”

A strangled cry rattles in your chest, and Dean’s thumb finds your nose, but he doesn’t let go.

“You’re my best friend, you’re my- I know you. You eat like a fuckin’ toddler.” He mutters, eyes burning on yours. “You like reading, you don’t care if it’s shitty romance novels or comics or a damn textbook, you just like knowing. You love TV, you love animals and you love nature but you fuckin’ hate camping. You love sugary shit, you love you don’t drink but you put up with me doing it. You put up with me, and I-“ He chuckles flatly. “I got no idea why, but I’m the luckiest son of a bitch alive ‘cause of it.”

“Dean…” you whisper, and he shakes his head.

“No. I- I know you. I know you’re a good hunter, but you’re reckless. I know you’re more stubborn than I am, than Sam is, and that’s not easy money, sweetheart. I know you’re stronger than all of us combined, and I- I know you weren’t the same. Not after the cage. Is that when he started talking to you? Is- Is it just fucking him?”

You swallow, unable to speak. Dean leans in closer.

“Please.” He presses his brow against yours. “I need you to talk to me. Please.”

“Dean-“

“I need to know. I need to know what he’s saying to you, I have to- You gotta tell me, because if you don’t, if one day you’re just gone-“

Dean chokes on his own words, his grip tightening. One, lone tear breaks out of his glassy eyes.

“I can’t do that.” He croaks. “If he takes you, I might not be… One of you. I might not have wings or magic or anything but my damn hands, but I’m not just fuckin’- I’ll fight. I’ll fight until he zaps me back to hell, I’ll fight ‘till he blows me to bits, if he tries to take you, I’ll fight-“

“He won’t take me.” Your voice is barely a breath. Dean pauses, frown deepening.

“Princess-“

“The nightmares, they’re- They’re not about him taking me.” You swallow, eyes dropping to Dean’s chest. To the Golden glow, keeping you tethered to the earth. “He won’t.”

Dean’s silent, waiting for you to continue. You take a shaking breath.

“He- He doesn’t want me right now. And I-“ You draw further into yourself. “I get it.”

You drag your eyes up to his, your face open and limp with exhaustion. With every numb piece of nothing that you are. That you ever could be.

“I’m sick of it.” You dig your nails into your wrists, voice wobbling. “Dean, I- I’m so sick of it. I’m tired, I’m so tired, and I- I keep trying to help but I just- I make it worse- I make it so much worse and I don’t know how to make it better. I don’t- I don’t know how to be better, I- I just-“ You take a deep, sniffling breath through your nose. “I’m so tired. I’m so tired, I want- I want to go home.”

Dean’s face falls. He reaches out with a shaking hand, and you try to shrink away, but you can barely even remember how to see, let alone move in anyway but towards him.

His hand brushes your cheek. He touches you like he doesn’t understand, like he still thinks you good. Like you matter.

A loud, shattering sob breaks through your chest.

“I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go with him but even- He doesn’t even- I’m not-“

Dean says your name. Your words become frantic.

“I’m not good. I’m not, I’m not good, I- I- I don’t- I don’t wanna be me anymore. I’m so- I’m so sick of being me.”

Your voice dies on the last word. Falters and ends in a crack, your breathing to ragged to get anything else out. Tears stream down your face, hot and shameful, and you want him to just let go. To take it all back now, so you don’t learn how to be happy before he leaves, then have to relearn how to be alone.

But he doesn’t let go.

Dean mutters your name. His hand on your cheek cups your jaw, the other around your back keeping you against him.

“I’ve never been sick of you, Princess. Never.”

His voice is pained, but unwavering. Your eyes shoot back up, and he’s looking at you like he can feel every inch of it. All the pain, every hateful, eroding thought, every sharp, barbed thing inside of you that keeps you bleeding from within.

“I make everything worse.” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“No, you don’t.”

“You’d be safer without me, Dean, you know that-“

“Maybe. But I told you.” He squeezes his hand on your cheek. “I don’t fuckin’ care.”

 “I opened Purgatory-“

“I forgave you before the door even closed.”

You swallow. “I lied-“

“I know.” He shrugs. “Still forgive you.”

“I hurt Sam with the bond-“

“He’s getting better.”

“I hurt you.” You whisper. “I- I know I hurt you Dean.”

“Yeah, you did. But I’ve hurt you, too-“

“It’s not the-“

“Yes, it is.” He smiles at you, soft and adoring. “And it doesn’t matter, Princess. I feel fine.”

“But- But I broke this.” You press closer. “I broke- Broke us.”

Dean sighs. His thumb drags lightly against your skin, like he’s testing that you’re still there. His eyes search over yours, voice gentle and certain.

“No.” He mutters. “You didn’t. You can’t. That’s not something that’s- I don’t break, Princess.” His lips twitch. “Not for you.”

You blink at him through the tears, his eyes and features tired, but voice firm. His Gold is rioting and flaring, but it just paints you in him, drenching you in his cinnamon smell and certainty. He means it. Dean doesn’t lie about this kind of thing, he wouldn’t just say that, he would still be holding you if he didn’t mean every single fucking words, and-

“Why won’t he take you?” Dean asks softly, like he’s worried the words will set you off again.

And the might’ve, if you didn’t know he’d be there to put you back together after.

You’re allowed to break. He wouldn’t leave.

It keeps you together better than any temporary glue and stitches every have.

“I have to mean it.” You mumble. “I tried to hand myself over, after Utah-“

“You what-“

“I wanted to help.” You grab his shirt, and he swallows.

You can see the anger bubbling up in him, but he takes a long, deep breath and pushes it back down. Nods tightly, his hand squeezing on your waist, and you give him a pleading look.

“I know, Dean, I’m-“

“’S fine.” He grunts. “It’s not, but- He didn’t take you?” He rasps slowly. “You- You tried to go, but-“

“He told me it didn’t count.”

“’Cause-“

“I didn’t mean it. He said I needed to mean it, but I- I can’t.”

Dean’s lips press together. “He’s God, Princess.” He mutters. “There’s gonna be something he’s playing at, some kind of gift he’s gonna try to pull-“

“No. There’s nothing.”

“He could offer you the world.” Dean grunts, and you shrug.

“I don’t want it.”

“Yeah?” He chuckles dryly. “What about the whole solar system?”

You give a tiny shake of your head, brow still pressed against his. Dean’s fingers tangle slowly into your hair, his voice dropping low.

“Not even if he thew in Pluto?” He murmurs, and you giggle weakly.

“No, De. Not even Pluto.”

He swallows. His eyes flick down to your lips, his fingers flexing against your head. Your heart flutters, the Spiderweb bursting with light, and you let out a soft, needy breath. It might be a plea, might be his name, might just be the same song of Dean everything in you has been singing since the very beginning. It doesn’t matter.

His eyes move back up. His lips ghost over yours, and you tremble slightly, leaning in closer.

“What do you want, Princess?” He mutters. Your nails dig into his chest.

“Dean…”

You can breathe.

His tongue darts over his lips, only inches from yours, and when he moves, you can finally breathe.

Dean kissed Her.

She said his name like it was the only word She knew, and he kissed Her. Pulled Her face forward, cautiously, giving her plenty of time to push him away and run. Molding his lips softly over Her’s, savoring in how soft and swollen they were, how they tasted like salt and Her apples, how she let out a tiny, breathless little sound the moment her let himself press a little further.

Dean kissed Her with everything he had. Everything he wanted to shout at Her, everything he needed to tell her, everything he wanted to make Her understand. But it wouldn’t help now. They’d been shouting so much, and She’d looked so goddamn fragile in his arms, and-

She didn’t need him to fight for Her anymore. Being the weapon wasn’t going to help when She’d been cutting herself up right in front of his eyes.

Dean was Her shadow.

He needed to wrap around Her, and make her know like that.

If She wanted him—if he really was, somehow, the thing that moved Her, as if he wasn’t just one hopeless man while She was the whole universe—then She had him. If She needed him to hold Her, he wouldn’t let go. If all the way down meant touching Her and letting it just be them, alone together, than Dean was going to touch Her until he branded her. Until there wasn’t a place on Her body she could look and be allowed to think that She didn’t have him at her feet.

Dean dragged his tongue over Her lower lip, before pressing it slowly into Her mouth. She moaned softly, opening up like a flower, her hand tugging at his shirt like they were practically attached. Dean adjusted Her in his arms, leaning back against the wall and dragging Her up by her ass. She settled right over his crotch, fingers dragging up his chest and over his shoulders, and he groaned at the scratch.

The kisses grew deeper. Sloppier. What he’d started as slow—passionate and careful and made of just a little bit of the blooming, fever-like love that always moved Dean in his chest, that always called him back down to Her—began to grow. She started to grind down on his aching crotch, tilting her head to try and kiss him faster, whining whenever he brushed his hands over bare skin and shaking in his arms like a damn leaf.

“Shit,” he muttered, and She just hummed, her teeth scraping over his lips.

She’d always humped against him like a dog in fucking heat. It was a dirty trick, especially when She didn’t even seem to know she was doing it. He was about to burst, just from her wiggling above him.

But Her boobs were pressed against his chest, Her body fitting perfectly in his hands, her core dragging over his damn dick, the thin fabric of her shorts and his pants not nearly enough to stop it from getting excited. It would be an empty effort anyway. Not when she kept kissing him like she was trying to goddamn eat him alive.

“Easy, baby- Fuck-“

She made the prettiest, happiest sound he’d ever damn heard, legs spreading wider against him, and Dean had almost forgotten what those words did to Her. How they made Her putty in his hands. Breathy, happy putty that looked at him like he was offering Her sunlight to hold in her hands.

Her hands had found a place on his neck, gripping tight enough it might leave a bruise. She was still kissing him, moaning wantingly whenever he so much as yanked a little on her hair, and if it wasn’t the hottest sound he’d ever goddamn heard-

“Easy.“ Dean grunted, pulling, Her back gently, and she darted away.

She might’ve tumbled off of him, if Dean didn’t have Her locked in his arms.He could see the panic rising, almost track the fear in Her eyes as she shrank back, hear the apology before it started.

He wouldn’t have that. There had been enough tears today for another ten years.

If She was going to cry, it would either be because he was making Her happy, or fucking her stupid. Nothing else.

Dean moved before the waves could sweep Her out of his hold again. Dragged Her down by the jaw and kissed her softly. Slowly. Taking his time, because he could.

“You’re good.” He said against Her lips, and she pressed a little closer. “Just wanna go slow, Princess. You’re good.”

She hummed, slumping back into his arms, and Dean smiled.

That’s all it took.

Goddammit, that had all it had ever took.

And when he pulled back again, scanning over Her for any lingering distress, she looked fucking wrecked. Her hair was messed up, gorgeous face flushed and breathless, eyes glossy, lips still coated in Dean’s spit. 

He didn’t know how to fit the vision of Her in front of him with what She’d been sobbing into his arms. The gravity and sickening certainty of Her words that had almost split him in half.

Dean had known She had mental shit. He’d known She freaked out, that she didn’t trust herself, that she did insane things because She didn’t understand that her just breathing in his direction was all he lived for.

But he hadn’t thought it was that fucking bad. He didn’t understand how it could be. How the woman in his arms, almost shimmering like an illusion, but soft and so fucking real, could possibly think- That. It echoed around in his chest, the defeat in Her words. Turned his bones to lead, made everything taste like ash just to think She’d been thinking that all these years, and he’d just been whining about Her attention like a douchebag.

She trusted him. Dean had stalled too damn long, but She stilled wanted him.

She was choosing him. She was choosing Dean.

And he wasn’t going to let Her ever regret it.

He dragged his hand slowly up Her arm, marveling in the way she shivered. How Her breath stumbled, her body leaning further down into his. She was like a fucking instrument. He wanted to play every note.

After.

More important things first.

“I got something for you.” He muttered, and Her eyes widened.

“For- For me?”

He almost laughed at Her adorable surprise. Like he wouldn’t rob the damn Louvre if She asked. “Yeah. For you. One sec.”

She pouted slightly as Dean moved Her off his lap, Her hands finding his bicep like she couldn’t bear to let go. It made him sit a little taller, feel a little bigger.

She really needed him too.

“Just need to grab my pants, sweetheart-“

“Can I come?”

Dean blinked down at Her. She’d propped her chin against his shoulder, eyes wide and hopeful.

The pants were about five feet away.

Dean still couldn’t find it in him to tell Her no.

He smiled, kissed the top of Her head, and watched Her eyes do the little flutter thing. Beautiful.

Dean stood slowly, making sure She was on steady feet, and gave her his hand. She took it in both of Hers, eyes locked nervously onto Dean’s. He just grinned back, and tugged Her forward until she was right at his side.

“Dean-“

“C’mon, Princess.” He kissed Her brow. “Field trip.”

She let him pull Her across the room, kneeling down with Her head leaning curiously over his shoulder as he shifted through his pants.

The box was right where he’d left it. Dean had to take a slow breath before he pulled it out.

This was fine. He could do it.

“I- Uh-“ He cleared his throat, keeping it pressed against his stomach as he moved them back to their feet, then behind his back as he faced Her.

She was looking at him so sweetly. Like he’d never done a damn thing wrong, like there’d never been blood or ash on his hands.

Dean swallowed. Watched his thumb drag over Her knuckles, thinking before he spoke. He’d been doing pretty good at that all night. Would suck to blow it now.

“Your birthday was a few months ago.” He started, and Her breath caught.

“De-“

“I didn’t forget.” He said quickly, head shooting up.

There was no accusation in Her eyes. Just sadness. It was a hell of a lot worse.

“You didn’t call.” She mumbled, and he felt guilt stab through his chest.

“Yeah, I- I know. I’m sorry, that was a dick move-“

“You were mad at me, it’s okay-“

“No.” He squeezed Her hand. “I was an ass. You can say it, Princess. I shoulda called you.”

She blinked at him slowly, pouting like She was annoyed Dean was calling himself an ass. It would’ve made him laugh if he wasn’t worried She was going to cry again.

“I- I wished you’d called.” She whispered, like that alone was too much, and Dean sighed.

He’d get Her there.

They had time.

“I know, but- I didn’t forget.” He repeated, turning the box in his hand. “I got wasted. Bought you gifts. They’re in my bag upstairs, I’d given ‘em to you know but we’re still kinda locked in here.” He laughed, and at least got a twitch of Her lips.

“Dean, you didn’t have to-“

“Wanted to. You’re my- My girl.” He swallowed, pausing to test the reaction.

Her whole fucking face lit up. She stood taller, eyes shining, and Dean grinned.

“You’re my girl.” He repeated. Firmer. No place for that brilliant, mean head of Her’s to twist it around. “Course I was gonna get you something. I was drunk, but- Drunk me had good taste, Princess, you’re gonna like his choices.”

That got a giggle. He was on a fucking roll.

“Got you some books. New notebook, one of those big, fancy ones. Those pens you love, the ones that need pots. Uh- Forgot what they’re called-“

“Fountain pens?” Her eyes widened. “You got me fountain pens?”

“Uh- Yeah.” He grinned. “And the ink. One of each color, even orange.”

She beamed, and Dean felt like the best man in the world.

“Found some of those cherry chocolates.” He said quickly. “Know you like those. And a new blanket, it’s fuzzy, like a baby kitten, and, uh- This.”

He pulled his hand out, and shoved the box into Her hand. Closed Her fingers around it, before patting them and taking a large step away.

She blinked at him slowly, then looked down to the box. Tilted Her head like she didn’t understand what she was seeing. Dean heart was banging around his chest. Son of a bitch, what if he’ d already blown it. What if he’d messed up, and this was too much-

Her eyes widened, when She opened the box. Darted between Dean and the ring inside, lips parted and face flushed all pretty. He gave Her a weak grin.

“Happy birthday.” He offered, and She laughed breathlessly.

“Dean, I- How much did this cost-“

“Tacky to talk about money, sweetheart.”

That earned him a flat look, and he laughed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re still worth more.”

Hitched breath. He had Her.

“It’s-“ She looked down to the box. “Dean, it’s-“

“It’s a gift.” He said firmly. “You got me a watch that could buy us a house.”

She frowned, glancing at his wrist, and he sighed.

“It’s in my bag. Thought I’d be messing with guns, didn’t want to break it.”

She hummed. “Oh- Okay.”

“If you don’t like the ring-“

“I like it.” She said, and Dean grinned. “It’s- It’s beautiful, De. Thank you.”

He bowed his head, and She closed the box slowly, setting it back down on his pants.

“Gonna put it on later.” She mumbled, and he nodded. Shifted on his feet, trying to think of a cool, casual way to ask if he was allowed to sleep in Her bed again, and-

The wind got knocked right out of his chest. She flew at him, wrapping Her arms around his neck, and hugged him so tight he’d think it was an attack if it wasn’t Her. His arms flew around Her, the smell of Her apple washing over every other sense like a drug, and he rocked Her back and forth, grinning like an idiot at the air.

“I love it.” She whispered into his neck. “I- I love it so much.”

He laughed, kissing the side of Her head. “Awesome. Just remember that, when I give you the lingerie.”

She froze. “The lingerie?”

“Oh, uh-“ He paused. “It’s like, fancy underwear-“

“Shut up, I know what it is.“ She whacked his chest, stepping back and Dean laughed, catching Her hand.

“Bossy, pretty girl.” He pulled her forward, smirking at the flush on Her face. “Just checking. You surprise me sometimes.”

She scowled. “It’s- I’ve told you I know things, I- I’ve seen it before-

“While you were studying porn?” He teased. “Or reading one of your books?”

“Dean-“

“You’re gonna love it.” He leaned down, bumping his nose against Her’s, keeping his voice low in the way that always made Her all doe-eyed and desperate. “Gonna fit you perfectly, makes me hard just fuckin’ thinking about it.” He stared to walk Her backwards, trying to get them to the bed.

She stumbled, grabbing at his arms to stay upright. “I- I don’t know how to wear that stuff, Dean-“

“I can show you.” He muttered, dropping his hand slowly down, letting his fingers dance over the band of Her shorts. “If you want.”

She swallowed, eyes wide on his, and Dean waited.

“Do you… Want me to wear it?” She breathed, and he shrugged.

“Bought it for you. Sort of was letting my lizard brain drive the bus, though, so if you want I’ll just give it to Sam.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Give it to Sam?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah. For his collection- Shit-“

He laughed as She rolled Her eyes, whacking his arm. Dean dragged Her closer, kissing a sensitive spot on Her neck, and her back arched with a whine. So fucking reactive. It was going to drive him insane.

“Can- Oh-“ She gasped as Dean squeezed Her ass, letting his tongue dart over the forming bruise on her throat. “Can I wear it?”

“What?” He muttered, mostly focused on how soft Her skin was. “The lingerie?”

She nodded, and Dean grunted.

“Was a gift.” He dragged his teeth over a pulse point, his hand on Her back sliding to tease Her ribs. “Do whatever the hell you’d like with it.”

“But you- You’d like me to wear it?”

Dean sighed. Pulled back, brushing the hair from Her anxious face. “Yeah, but I told you. You don’t have to.”

“But… But would it be good?” She stood up on Her toes, voice coated with something light and hopeful. “For you?”

“Hell yeah, but-“

“Do you- Do you want to-“ Her lips pulled between Her teeth. The way She was looking at him might need to be considered some kind of torture. 

Her siren voice all high and breathy, filled with desire. Her eyes blown-out and clouded with lust, lips full and inviting, son of a bitch, what the hell was he supposed to do but hang onto Her every word.

“Do you want to- To have sex with me?” She whispered. “In- In the underwear?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Her hand had dragged down his chest. It was lingering near his abdomen, brushing against his bare skin, making it contract and flex with how featherlight her fingers were. His breathing was getting ragged. He might be losing his damn mind again, but if this wasn’t the exact damn way he’d want to go, he was a lot stupider than everyone thought.

“Princess…” He muttered, and She just blinked at him. He’d never seen someone manage to flirt so poorly and enchantingly all at once.

It almost made him feel bad for what he was about to do.

Almost.

“I want you to.” She said, and Dean swallowed, clenching his jaw with restraint. “I want you to- To touch me.”

Dean grunted Her name. She just leaned closer, breath warm against his face.

“I want you to- To take me. And- And do- Stuff.“

He chuckled weakly. “Stuff? Lots of stuff I can do, baby, you’re gonna need to narrow it down.”

“All of it.” She said earnestly. “I’d like all of it.”

Something feral reared its head inside of Dean. Possessive a way he really tried not to be, addictive in a way he had no damn problem feeding.

He reached up slowly, grabbing Her face between his hands, and She leaned into the touch.

“Please?” Her hand moved further down. Against his crotch.

Brushing tentatively over his dick through his pants.

Dean grit his teeth, biting back a moan. It felt too good, Her soft touch, and he’d been goddamn aching for Her-

“You said I could.” She mumbled. “You- You don’t have to, but- I really want to-“

She squeaked as Dean yanked Her forward. The kiss was rougher, more brutal than he’d usually want, but he needed to shut Her up. If She kept talking about wanting to blow him while teasing him like that, he was going to blow his load before She even got down to pay a visit.

“Dean-“ She gasped against his lips, and he grunted, letting the kiss deepen. All teeth and bruising force, trying to give as much as he could right now. “Dean-“

“You really want to?” He growled. She needed to be sure. “’Cause I’m happy just getting this pussy, sweetheart,” he slid his hand between their bodies, dragging his thumb down Her core over her shorts.

She made a high sound, hands fisting on his shirt. “Fuck, fuck-“

“I know.” He cooed, pressing over Her, never pulling his lips fully away. Shit like air could wait, when he had Her like this. “You got no idea what you do to me, no idea what I’d do just to taste you again, just need to say the word and I’ll be on my damn knees. Just say the word, baby, use your bossy mouth, tell me how you want me to fuck you.”

She moaned into his mouth, still clawing at his shoulder. “Want- Want you to-“

“Yeah, there you go.” Dean dragged Her shorts to the side, hooking his fingers around Her panties. “C’mon, you can do it. Can feel how much you fuckin’ need me, baby,” he pressed his knuckles up, rubbing them back and forth against Her soaked, fluttering hold. “Be good, Princess, tell me what you want-“

“You.” She was grinding down onto his fingers, body rolling. But she shoved at his chest, and Dean pulled back.

He frowned, trying to work out what he’d done, and his heart almost exploded.

She was on Her knees.

Flushed and slack faced, on Her knees, fumbling with his pants and pressing Her face against his thigh. Dean’s hand shot to Her head, petting Her head as he tried to catch his breath. Her lips were brushing over his bulge, Her eyes almost begging him, and he’d dreamed of this so many damn times, there was no way it was real.

He said Her name, voice thick, and Her eyes fucking fluttered.

Dean was going to have to sit down. He’d fall if he didn’t.

“Hold on, just-“ He glanced over his shoulder, thanking the universe the cot was right there, and dropped on the mattress with a grunt. She blinked at him sweetly, chin moving to his knee, and that along was getting him dangerously close.

It was starting to hurt, how hard he was straining against his jeans. He grabbed Her hand slowly, moving it up his thigh, and She scooted quickly between his legs.

“I can do the work.” He rasped, squeezing Her hand. “Just- Two times if you need a break, alright?”

She nodded, not even looking up from the tent in Dean’s pants. She’d seen him before. She’d liked it. He needed to stop being a fucking pussy, and just let Her suck his dick-

Dean grunted, the thought alone making him twitch. He needed to get it together.

“Go on, baby.” He was trying to sound sexy. It mostly came out wrecked. “Take it out.”

She nodded, mouth hanging open, and Dean grit his teeth as She dragged his pants down. His cock sprung out, the cold air making him hiss. His hands fisted on the bed. He needed to focus on breathing. On just watching her, not pouncing on her like a damn animal, but being a man with control-

Her hand wrapped around him. Stroked him once, then again, squeezing around his base. Dean moaned Her name, hand shooting into Her hair, and She looked up at him nervously.

“Is that good?”

“Yeah,” he panted, nodding like an idiot. “Yeah, it’s- You’re good. Fuck-“ She repeated the motion, and Dean groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “Goddamn-“

She stroked, Her nails on his thighs digging in, and he hissed Her name when her lips found his leaking, angry head. She kissed it, Her tongue flicked out over the slit, her hand still working his dick, and it was better than he’d ever goddamn imagined. She might be about to ruin masturbation for him, with how Her hand was dragging up his leg, teasing his balls, the softness of her palm around his cock goddamn mind numbing.

“Fuck, yeah-“ He groaned, trying to talk enough his body wouldn’t have the energy to rut up into Her. “Just like that, sweetheart, good girl. Take your time, baby, work my cock, so fuckin’-“ She squeezed a little tighter, tongue flicking again, and Dean moaned. “Christ, you’re so fucking good-“

She hummed happily, the sound vibrating through Dean’s body, and his eyes shot open.

He almost lost it again.

She’d taken off Her shirt at some point, and Her nipples were peaked, practically begging for his mouth. Her stomach looked soft, Her thighs spread, the mark he’d left on Her neck nice and visible, even with Her hair framing her face, and-

Dean blinked. Around Her neck, resting between Her tits, that sure as hell looked like-

Her mouth wrapped around his cock, and every other thought as driven from his head.

She’d taken him all the way in, until he could feel himself bumping against the back of Her throat. He mouth was warm and wet, Her teeth grazing and setting off every nerve in his body, Her soft tongue pressed against the shaft as the tip teased near his base.

And the sight. The goddamn art, of Her around him. Pressed between those lips that had goddamn haunted him, making Her bright eyes flutter that way that drove him insane, Her expression as she just waited for him. Let Dean sit in Her mouth, waiting for him to help.

If it wasn’t about to kill him, he wouldn’t be sure it was real.

“Two times.” He manage to croak out, fisting his hand lightly in Her hair. “If you want me to stop, two times. Got it?”

She hummed, and Dean grunted.

“Fuck- Just- You can’t do that, sweetheart-“

She swallowed around him. Fucking sucked him further in as Her eyes got all sad, and he didn’t know why the hell he thought he was going to be able to last. His hips jerked up, his cock pressing against Her gag reflex, and She whined.

“Shit- Sorry-“

Dean tried to pull out—he couldn’t hurt Her—and She dug her nails into his thighs.

Her head started to bob up and down, Her hooded, blow-out eyes locked on Dean’s, his dick hitting deeper and deeper every second. He said Her name, but it came out in a choke, and all he could do was try not to fucking lose it. She’d started to suck on him so lightly, like he was candy, and drool spilling from Her lips, her tits bouncing as and eyes pricking with tears. All Dean could do was stare at Her in awe.

Then She moaned around him. It sounded like his name.

Dean let himself snap.

He grabbed a fistful of Her hair, pulled her up, and dragged her back down. Nothing too harsh, no deeper than she’d been taking him herself. Just at that faster pace that She’d never be able to hit without some help. The one where he was all but fucking her mouth, and Her thighs spread wide below them. The drool came fast, Her moans loud and vibrating, and Dean must’ve found himself heaven. Nothing else could feel this good.

“That’s it.” He grunted,  unable to hold the words back. “Sucking my cock like a pro, baby, look so goddamn pretty, face stuffed up with this dick-“

She almost cooed around him, and Dean moaned. Sitting down had been the right idea. His knees were already weak.

“You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous.” His hips were starting to jerk, and with how She was looking at him, he wasn’t able to stop. “Best thing I’ve ever goddamn, seen, my girl, my fucking girl-“

He was rambling. She seemed to like it.

Liked it so much, She was fucking the air below her. Fucking nothing, just letting Dean use Her and watching him under hooded eyes-

He yanked Her off with a ragged breath, the tight coil in his balls aching with protest. But there was no goddamn way he was just going to cum without Her. Not when his one job was to make Her feel good.

“Up.” He ordered, and She blinked at him, wiping Her lips.

“Did- Did I do it wrong-“

Dean almost snorted, ducking down to kiss Her. He could taste himself on Her lips. That shouldn’t be so fucking hot, but he’d been in Her mouth. Her smart, quick mouth now had his cock molded into Her tongue-

“You did perfect.” He grunted, pulling Her up into his lap. “Just need to fuck you. That’s it.”

“Oh- Okay.” She nodded, kissing him back.

She sounded a little dazed, as Dean lay Her on the cot. He knew the feeling. He felt drunk, getting to palm Her tits and pull down her shorts and underwear. Dragging his fingers through the mess between Her thighs—for him, it was for him—and feeling Her writhe below him, hands dragging over his shoulders when he took off his shirt.

“You want some cock, Princess?” He drawled against Her lips, and She reacted exactly like he hoped.

Whining and squirming under him, pussy fluttering when he pressed his thumb over Her clit.

“Yes, Yeah- Yes-“ She tipped Her head back, moaning when he started to draw tight circles around the sensitive button. “Oh- Dean-“

“Mhm?” He was just teasing, trying to work Her up enough that she might cum when he put it in. She was so quiet responding, he almost missed it.

“Can you cum in my mouth later?”

She had to stop asking him shit like that. It gave him ideas, when he was trying so damn hard to stop himself from bursting all over Her bare, perfect body, Her swollen tits and curves and-

Dean shot up, the thought from earlier finally putting itself back together.

“Is that my fucking amulet?”

She blinked up a him, and nodded. Dean swallowed. He’d been asking more out of shock than anything else. He knew what it was. But he’d tossed that thing away years ago, and here She was below him, wearing it.

“I- I found it.” She said, fingers moving to play with the leather cord. “A cliff gave it to me.”

Dean snorted. “What, like, a guy named Cliff?”

“No, literally.” She pouted up at him, fucking adorable. “It was a magic cliff, Dean, and- It gave it to me-“

He pressed down, kissing Her slow and deep before She could freak herself out. She melted in a second, chasing his lips when he pulled away. Staring up at him so pretty when he folded his hand over Her’s playing with the cord.

“Looks hot on you.” He told Her with a grin, and she flushed.e

“I- I wanted to give it back-“

“Nah.” Dean set it back down, offering Her a soft look. “You keep it. I got you for protection anyway.”

She smiled slowly, looking up at Dean like he’d just told Her she was the most beautiful woman alive. And She was. He should tell Her that later, too.

Right now, he needed to take care of Her, until She was a giggling, happy, perfect fucking wreck.

Dean kissed Her again, going and going until she was squirming again, before pulling away and sitting up on his knees.

“Flip over.” He muttered, slapping Her ass lightly.

Her thighs clenched, as she scrambled onto Her stomach without another question. Dean filed that away for later, letting himself focus on now.

On Her, sensitive and still a raw, live, tired nerve, laying below him. The curve of Her ass and hips, how they reacted when he dragged a hand up Her spine, pressing her further down into the bed. She reacted perfectly under his hand, stuck Her ass up as She let out a shaking breath, hid Her face in the mattress when Dean pressed his palm against Her core.

He chuckled to himself, stroking his cock as he watched Her tremble. He could let Her hide right now. Wasn’t like it was going to be letting Her off easy.

“Look at you.” He muttered, squeezing Her waist. “Fuckin’ beautiful, Princess. Dripping on my hand, gettin’ all shy like you weren’t begging for me a minute ago.”

She whimpered, pushing further back against him, and Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, I know, baby. I know you need it.” He moved his hand away from Her core, snaking his arm around her stomach and dragging Her a little further back. “I’ll take care of it. You just gotta take it.” He notched himself at Her entrance, slowly draping himself over Her back. “Let it feel good, pretty girl. Let me help.”

She hummed, and Dean pushed himself slowly inside.

He groaned at the sensation, dropping his face into Her neck. He was never going to get used to it. How perfectly She fit him, how it felt like she was fucking made for him, because She was.

Soulmate.

There was nothing else as good. There couldn’t be. Not when Her pussy sucked him in so well, when he bottomed out and She gasped his name like that. Dean had wanted drawl the usual filth in Her ear, wanted to watch Her flush move down Her neck and coax some begging out, maybe fuck Her until she was just a babbling mess again.

That last part was still the plan. But with the angle letting him hit this deep, with how pliant and needy she was beneath him, he didn’t have the energy to tease.

He just needed to feel Her. Need to be close.

Dean dragged out, took a ragged breath, and pushed back in. He memorized the way She moaned when he bumped certain spots, used his arm around Her to shift their bodies. Nudging Her legs a little further apart, pressing Her up a little higher.

He was rewarded with the best moan he’d ever heard in his goddamn life.

“Yeah,” he muttered, starting a steady, firm pace, his whole body lighting up every time he hit that spot and Her moan vibrated through his cock. “That’s it, Princess, there you go- Fuck-“

She moaned again, and the sound was fucking musical. He was going to get high on it. Chase it to the goddamn edge of the earth.

“De- Dean-“ She was repeating it over and over like a prayer, face still hidden the mattress. “Oh- Oh, Dean-“

He moaned, picking up a little faster. Her whole body seized, pussy strangling his dick, and he grunted. Went a little slower, enough that his balls were slapping on Her ass but nobody was getting pushed too far. She moaned again, even louder than before, and Dean grinned. There it was.

His brushed his lips on the back of Her neck, and she took in a sharp breath. Dean paused. Then—slowly, testing the theory—he dragged his lips over Her throat, sucking on the skin there.

That got a fucking cry. It was loud, filled with pleasure, and shot straight to his cock.

More. Dean needed more of that.  

He got to work. Kept his hips pistioning into Her soaked heat at a steady rate, all while letting his mouth wander over every inch of Her bare skin he could reach. He sucked on Her neck, her collarbone, her back and the soft spot under her ear. She arched into him, crying his name, fucking singing for him, the best song in the world, just for Dean-

She started to clench around him again, and Dean reached his hand between Her legs. Started on Her clit, working it fast and firm. It was paying off. She twisted out from the sheets, and Christ, if Her wild, fucked-out face wasn’t a view he’d be happy to die looking at.

“I- I’m gonna- Dean-“

“I know.” He leaned over, kissing Her open, drooling mouth with everything he had. “Let go, baby, c’mon, give it to me-“

She called his name, seizing up around him, and Dean moaned into Her mouth as he felt her gush around his cock. He saw goddamn stars as his orgasm crashed through him, his hips snapping against Her as he chased the high in the the wet, lewd sound of his release being fucked back into Her dragging the feeling out.

Dean collapsed over Her, brushing his lips gently over Her shoulder. He was still buried inside of Her. He sort of wanted to stay there until the sun rose.

But his cum was dripping down Her thighs. He could feel it, hot and sticky against his own. He needed to get Her in the shower, change the sheets, try to clean everything up before the door opened in the morning. Try to get Her to sleep just a little, even if he planned to use all of tomorrow to just pin Her to their bed and force Her to rest-

Their bed.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was their bed yet. He was pretty sure, but not certain, and that wasn’t the kind of thing he wanted to get wrong.

He muttered Her name, and She hummed.

“Yeah?”

She sounded sleepy. Worn out from everything, eyes half-closed when he pushed up on his elbows to examine her face.

“Princess,” he muttered. “You’re gonna have to get up. Bed’s covered in cum.”

She pouted, but sat up slowly, giving him Her cute annoyed brow wrinkle.

“You made a mess.” She grumbled, running Her fingers over her thigh, and Dean smirked.

“That’s actually mostly you, baby. I’m in here.”

He poked Her stomach, and She giggled, the flush returning.

She looked happy. So fucking happy.

Dean didn’t plan to let Her be anything else.

It didn’t take much to get Her into the shower. Her thighs shook when She stood—Dean got a look that meant he wasn’t allowed to say anything, so he didn’t—and he scooped Her up, carrying Her into the water. Changing the sheets was a little harder, but he managed, tossing the stained ones in a corner for someone—hopefully not Bobby—to find.

She was almost passed on out the floor, when Dean went back to get Her. He smiled to himself, picked Her back up, and tried to put her to bed so he could keep cleaning.

His wrist got caught. He turned back, and found Her looking at him with those damn fluttering eyes.

He sighed, and gave in.

He’d never really stood a chance anyway.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” She whispered when he was settled. “To our room.”

Dean grinned into the dark. Our room. “Yeah. Told you,” he kissed Her neck, right over a new mark that proved She was his. “I’m stuck to you. Like an octopus, or glue, or- One of those fuckin’ goo things-“

“Slime?” She mumbled, and Dean grinned.

“Yeah. Slime. Partners, baby. I’m your slime.” He kissed Her cheek. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

She leaned back into him, sighing happily. “Good. I’m outta secrets.” She yawned, pressing Her face into his shoulder. “Pinky promise.”

He chuckled, rubbing Her side. “Alright, baby. Get some sleep.”

“Don’t- Don’t tell me what to do.”

She yawned again, and Dean just grinned, watching Her breathing steady, her face going limp. She was out in moments. Sleeping soundly in Dean’s arms.

No more secrets.

He hadn’t told Her about the letters, but he had a plan for that now. He’d give them over to Her in a year, to show Her how long he’d loved Her, how it hadn’t changed at all. If history was any proof, the pull for Her was just going to get worse, now that Dean actually got to show it. It would be romantic, to keep that secret just a little longer.

And there was also the soulmate thing.

He’d need to find a time for that one. He couldn’t just wake Her up now and say it. He couldn’t save it for a fight, for the same reason he hadn’t used it here.

But he’d figure it out. He wouldn’t tell anyone else—not after Sam—until he told Her. Then, everything would be awesome.

Tomorrow Dean had a lot more problems to handle than Today Dean did. The lucky son of a bitch could handle one more.

Right now, Dean was just going to let himself rest, keeping Her safe and loved in his arms.

Dean had been down for a whole damn week. His memory was a little fogged from whatever the hell that man-dragon-u had done to him, but he got the highlights of what she’d done to him. 

He’d been fighting with Her. She’d been walking away, and Dean had been tripping over his feet to chase after Her, because some fearful, rabid instinct in him had been screaming that if She walked away, he might never get her back. He’d asked Her to stop—he’d begged—and She had.