#english reader

Today marked the end of the seventh year since you'd been transportated here. In another Universe's Purgatory. One would think it was hard being in a monster realm, but you would like to believe you were thriving. Bloodthirsty monsters, willing to do anything to take each other's lives - and you'd quickly become one of them.

You were a survivor, and you survived against all the odds. You'd faced off with vampires, werewolves, sirens, witches, and even the leviathans, once or twice. You learned how to go about in Purgatory, you learned how to get stuff done around here. No one cared about anyone, except themselves. It was a crooked world, and to live in it, you had to bend yourself too. You had to learn to be selfish, you had to devoid yourself of any mercy you could show to these monsters here.

It was like Heaven.

You'd perfected the art of being a merciless and ruthless monster. You'd buried your emotions deep under, somewhere in your heart. You forgot what hope felt like, you forgot how to act like a normal human being. All you knew was that you lived in a world where the only way to survive was to kill others. There were plenty of distractions here to choose from, you could kill as much as to your heart's content. And your heart was an insatiable bastard—it would do anything to keep the memories of . . .

You were too dedicated to not thinking the end of the sentence. All you did throughout your day was kill other monsters, right and left, and each day, you lost a little part of yourself to your awesome animalistic instincts.

Yet, nothing can save you now from what's going to happen.

Currently, you were in the trees, on the werewolf turf. You were bored and that's why you decided to piss off the wolves by hunting a few of their members. You knew once they learnt of what you had done, they'd come after you out of sheer grief. You thought it's their own fault that they roam in packs even after they've died - it's their own fault that they stay attached. Though, that would keep you busy for at least a week, so you weren't complaining. Finding monsters to kill when they were scared and cautious of you was such an inconvenience.

Speaking of inconveniences, you'd heard that the Leviathans were back in Purgatory. They had returned here after somehow escaping to Earth a couple of months back. They were all killed by a group of hunters, you assumed.

Whoever that is, is one hell of a hunter.

You still remembered when you had annoyed a Leviathan. He had been on your ass for almost a year before you were able to throw him off by faking your death. After that, you steered away from them. Sure, it had been a rather fun year, but what's the point of a rivalry when your enemy is unkillable?

You heard a distant howl of pain; it didn't sound like a normal monster's cry. You stayed in your place in case it was a trap to draw you out. Most of the Purgatory knew you were a curious person, and because of that, you had found yourself in quite a pickle more than a handful of times.

You scooched forward until your body was pressed flat against the thick tree branch. You took out an arrow from your quiver, shifting some leaves with it. When you had the layout memorized, you let the leaves go, nocking the arrow upon your bowstring by bringing your bow to you from around the body of the branch to minimise the chances of plummetting down thirty feet.

In a few minutes, the bushes rustled. You pulled the string taut. Out came a bunch of five werewolves, already talking.

'Damn it, we lost him,' growled one of them.

You were intrigued. Who were these puppies sniffing for?

'Told you it'd be better if we killed him on sight!' snarled the second.

'Maybe we should just give up on him,' suggested the third.

'Are you kidding? I want his blood on my hands! He killed me when I was back on Earth!'

'Yeah, me too,' the second one agreed.

The fifth one said, 'Same. He's a pain in the ass. He's killed at least one-third of the monsters in here. Someone will kill him eventually, and I want to be that someone!'

Their whining amused you, now you just had to see this monster. Who was he who killed other monsters? And most importantly, what kind of a monster would he kill his own kind?

You needed a challenge. You decided you'd try and get rid of this monster yourself. Anything that keeps you entertained is worth a shot, yeah? Worst case, it'll only be a few weeks; best case, months or even a year!

You put back your arrow and remained silent as the werewolves left to find this mystery monster. You couldn't take up a rivalry with the werewolves right now, if you wanted to track this new sensation yourself. You needed no one searching for you if you wanted to find him.

And you found him all right.

A week passed by and you finally traced the Purgatory's new villain.

Word spreads fast amongst the monsters. Turns out he's the hunter who banished the Leviathans back here. He was a human, a normal human who scared half the monsters and the other half wanted him dead.

He was a challenge for you, nonetheless. If he was going to end up dead too, you might as well be the one to do the honours. At least you'd give him a relatively painless death. Living was overrated anyways. And with that in mind, you'd sought him.

You watched him now, resting against one of the trees, constantly glancing over his shoulders, paranoid as he caught his breath.

He had just slaughtered the five wolves you had overheard last week. You had followed them here, right to him, and you had watched, with how much ease he murdered them. He traded in a scratch or two himself, but he still managed to win against them, unarmed and completely alone.

You observed how he bravely extracted the werewolf claw from his shoulder. His green eyes were sharp, but lonely, confused, tired. His jaw clenched in pain, his shoulders tensing every time a twig snapped or a leave crumpled in the distance.

He was wearing a dirty leather jacket, which looked like it had seen better days. Under the jacket was flannel and then a shirt, with it a pair of bloody blue jeans and hunting boots. He was six-foot-one. His bow legs firmly planted on the ground as he tried not to grunt in pain.

And each second your eyes were on him, you couldn't help but think how indeed nothing in Purgatory could have saved you from this.

How nothing could have prepared you for Dean fucking Winchester. The love of your life, the man who left you. He's back . . .

With each passing second, you wondered if he was a form of a mirage. Did your thirst for human love drive you so crazy that you're imagining the man you once loved, with all your heart and soul, in front of you?

Never in a million years, had you even considered the possibility, that you'd see him again, in flesh. It brought unresolved emotions to the surface. Your scorched tear ducts began functioning after more than seven years, but you couldn't let them fall because you'd forgotten how to cry. You hadn't cried since . . . Nope, you don't even go there.

You remember begging God for one chance to make this right, swearing that if you got him again, you'd never let him go, you'd always protect him. Losing him was . . . No, can't go there either.

As he looked back to the blood on his shoulder, you noticed the dark shadow in the bushes nearing his face - it was no friendly beast. Without wasting a single second, you aimed and released your deadly weapon just as the thing appeared out of the bushes with it's ajar lusting maw.

It yowled in dying pain, startling the human who jumped to his feet, raising the weapon he stole from the werewolves. But the lycanthrope fell at the man's feet, your arrow sticking out from it's brain, still in his wolf form, which started to disintegrate soon.

'Who's there?' demanded the human, raising his sword in front of his face as if to protect himself, looking up at the tree you were in. But he couldn't see you past the leaves. You swung off the branch and jumped to the ground, landing on your hands and feet, forgetting to hesitate.

You rose, smirking. Your e/c eyes had an almost inhuman sheen after years of wear and tear in the Purgatory, but it was a mask over your pain. Your hair down, and cut short in jagged edges like you'd take a knife to them. The color of your clothes had faded greatly after years of washing them in the forest river. You stood tall, your bemused self assessing the hunter's reaction eagerly.

He was waiting and watching for you to attack.

Instead, you raised your hands in surrender. You should have attacked, but you didn't. You knew this attachment was dangerous but you couldn't help yourself. You couldn't kill this man.

You had to remind yourself that this man's name could be different, that everything about him could be completely different - all except his face. And no matter how much you wanted to run into his arms right now, you couldn't, because this wasn't your Dean.

But that also didn't mean that you'd be able to take his life, see his eyes stare at nothing after he meets his demise. You couldn't do that to yourself.

'Hello, darling,' the nick name rolled off your English tongue before you could weigh the pros and cons. 'You should be more careful.'

'I could say the same thing to you,' he smiled his "I-hope-you-like-my-smile-because-this-is-gonna-be-the-last-thing-you-see" smile.

He had an American accent, unlike your English one. Even your Dean had had an English accent, but you guessed since this one was from another planet, this one was different. You had seen this one give this smile to the lycanthropes he just killed, and before that numerous monsters that happened to cross his path, today itself. You had been spying on him since the morning and it didn't take you long to know that he was relentless. (It had taken you that same morning to process your shock; you actually need more time, but you'd blown your cover.)

You had seen this exact smile on your Dean too; thus, the shock; but you had to keep reminding yourself that they were different. This Winchester was from another universe altogether. If he was even a Winchester at all.

You temper your insane laugh at his audacious challenge. 'You've only killed untrained monsters till now, who used to attack innocent humans, which means they had no challenge whatsoever in their miserable lives. You really think you can harm me?'

His brows furrowed a little, but the cocksure smirk stayed. 'You all are the same—little barbaric pests I'll have no issue crushing under my foot.'

'Ah.' You understood that he thought you were a monster. 'Your feet won't be big enough to kill a monster like me.'

You placed your bow on the ground, taking but one arrow and setting the rest down. That is all the time you had before the man attacked you.

You ducked his swing, playing defensive. You blocked his punches, and dodged his dagger, waiting for him to grow impatient and make a mistake. He kept attacking you, trying to outlast your strength, chasing you around the small clearing for minutes. He even landed a kick to your shin and pulled your hair once. You leveraged your tree-climbing skills to dance away from his reaching hands, enjoying his frustration. You came close disarming him twice but let him regain his weapon. Soon, he realised he was wasting his time and energy. He stepped back, and you both started circling each other.

'Seriously, are you that scared of me that you won't even attack, sweetheart?'

'If I attack,' you grinned a Cheshire grin, 'you will no longer think of me as a "sweetheart", darling.'

'Well, I assure you, I won't be much of a "darling" either when I slide this blade through your heart and watch the life drain out of your eyes.'

'I like when you talk dirty,' you winked before you momentarily surprised him by running head-on towards him.

You feigned right which is where he blocked with his dagger. Instead, you used your momentum, to fall on your knees and used one foot to swipe his bow-legs from under him. His balance thrown, he slammed into the ground with breath-whooshing force.

He tried to hook his hand around you in a chokehold which you caught by the wrist. You twirled to straddle his thighs, locking your legs at your ankles so he couldn't move his legs, punching his nose when he tried to headbutt you. You plunged your arrow into his left hand that was nearing his weapon and he gasp-yelled in pain.

You punched him while he was distracted, in the neck, the ribs and then stomach, winding him efficiently. You took his right hand and twisted it painfully, at an awkward angle so it would go under his back, waiting till he stopped struggling and realized that he had lost.

You gritted grouchily until he gave up.

'Just make it quick, you bitch,' he panted. There wasn't a trickle of fear in him, his jaw set defiantly.

You had sort of expected that because that's what your Dean would have said and done. Maybe he is not so different.

You contemplated him from this close. The freckles on his face were like red splatters of paint on a pretty-featured canvas. The soft scrub on his angled jaw made him look adorable, yet sexy. His dirty-blond hair seemingly pulled by his fingers in all directions. You'd missed it all. But the thing that your memory disappointed you the most in were his moss-green eyes - they were more beautiful than any human mind could capture.

And all the qualities you had missed, like the fierceness he held himself with. The stubbornness that always seemed to get him within an inch of his life. The unwavering determination and the will to never give up was clear in his eyes. A man so strong, yet sweetly and sensitively empathetic.

Goose-pimples assaulted you and your heart withered.

You leaned down until your face was levelled with his. Your eyes locked with his - locking eyes felt like such a forgotten pleasure.

'I never wanted to kill you, darling.'

'Then, what do you want?' he said, staring right back.

You wondered if you had the same effect on him that you once had on your Dean, and vice versa. The only way to prove that theory would be to see if he could catch you in a lie, however small or big.

'I wanted to see who the new human was,' you lied, tracing a finger down his face, 'trying to overthrow the fear people have of me in here. See, I'm not used to competition in this God-forsaken place, hunter.'

Realization dawned on him, 'You're the terrifying L/N. The first and only human in Purgatory.'

You swallowed your sadness because he didn't notice.

'That is until you came along,' you talked past the lump in your throat, proping up the farce to hide your hurts, 'and stole my thunder. I'm getting off you now, try something funny, and you'll be dead before you hit the ground. In this case, while you're still on the ground.'

He didn't answer as you climbed off him. He grunted as he got up, groaning a little as he removed the arrow that you had pinned him into the ground with. You retrieved your bow and quiver, ready to strike him down if he tried to backstab you.

You couldn't believe that an actual human was in the Purgatory; someone other than you! Much less could you believe that he had the exact face of the only man you ever loved. Your one and only soulmate, in the flesh.

You knew other Deans in other Universes existed. But for one to show up in the Purgatory where you were the only human? For him to be human as well?

It established for you that a God was there, and he had a fucking sense of irony.

'How did you get to know about me?' you made conversation.

His eyes lingered on your face for a few seconds, as if taking you in, minus the hatred this time - there was true hope in him now. You guessed you understood. Thinking that you were alone in the world of angry and cruel monsters, only to find out there was someone like you - it was hope-worthy.

He stood up, taking the sword back in his unhurt hand. Wincing, he touched the skin around his wounded palm.

'You sell yourself short, sweetheart,' replied the tall hunter, taking out a napkin from his pocket and wrapping it around his palm. 'There are rumors about you all over the goddamn place.'

Of course, there are.

'Really?' you raised a coy brow. 'What do they say?'

'Some of them think you're dead, others are terrified of you. And the vampire nest I cleared out three days ago? The alpha said that if anyone could help me . . . it was you. Been looking for you ever since.'

Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it, was the chant in your head, but resistance was pointless.

'Follow me.'

And you've done it.

'Wait, just like that?' he scoffed, 'I don't trust you. You just pierced me with your arrow.'

You laughed, 'Oh, darling, if I wanted you dead, the arrow would have pierced your heart. I'm a very good aim.'

'And that should make me trust you?' he crossed his arms on his chest, stubbornly rooting to his spot.

'Who said anything about trust?' you mused, tilting your head to the right. 'The first rule of Purgatory: Don't trust no one. Now, come on, I need to get your hand and shoulder healed.'

He glared at you, 'I'm not going anywhere with you unless you tell me where you're taking me.'

You saw something move behind the man, your protectiveness towards him surged through. You nocked another one of your arrows and shot it, even before the man could think. But that didn't mean he didn't react. After a beat, he hurled his sword at you. And unlike your arrow which missed his face by inches, you felt the sword break your skin.

The arrow struck the beast behind, and it yelped in pain, which was what made the hunter swivel in shock. 'Oh, shit,' he muttered under his breath when the lycanthrope hit the ground with a thud, your arrow sticking out of his heart.

Dean lunged towards you just as you fell forwards. 'I'm so sorry, I thought—'

'Told you I'm good aim,' you gritted out. He lowered you to the ground, at the roots of a nearby tree. 'I have had more than enough chances to kill you. Now, fucking trust me and take the dagger out.'

'You will bleed—'

'Now,' you ordered.

He hesitated for a split second before he used his unhurt hand to firmly grip the hilt of his dagger. 'On the count of three,' he told you. 'One . . . Two—' and he ripped it out of you along with a scream, 'Son of a bitch! What, did you fail in kindergarten?! What happened to three!?'

As the guy had predicted, blood gushed out. The green-eyed man, bit his lower lip, his eyes apologetic, and fast filling with guilt. 'I'm sorry—'

'Shut up,' you rolled your eyes. 'You don't live in Purgatory for as long as I have without always carrying some kind of healing potion.'

His eyes flashed with surprise and relief, his mouth parted in shock. You rolled your eyes again at his reaction, 'Climb the tree I jumped off of. There is a duffel bag, bring that. And do it fas-fast.'

'I won't let you die,' he assured you.

That sentence struck a chord in you. I won't let you die, my love. Not while I'm still alive.

You exhaled sharply to keep the burn in your eyes from escalating. You didn't need this shit right now.

You changed the subject, wheezing, 'Just hurry! The wolves we killed are an ancient breed. They know what you did, killed five of theirs, and I, t-two. They're an old pack, extinct before you were probably born. They can tu-turn into actual wolves, and they'd maul us if you don't leave soon!'

'Right.'

The hunter climbed fast and sloppy, getting back to you in mere minutes. You rummaged through the bag quickly, taking out a flask you kept your healing potion in. You sipped from it, grimacing at the bitter-sour taste.

You glanced at the hunter by your side, slight concern in his eyes and it felt weird, out of place. No one, in a very, very long time, had shown concern for you. But at the same time, it felt natural. It was something your Dean would do.

'You're not worried, are you?' you asked, a hint of humour in your expression.

He scoffed, 'Only because you're my ticket out of here.'

You felt a little hurt by his words. For a second there, you thought that maybe he cared, but you forgot that only because he had Dean's face, it didn't mean that he'd actually care any more than the monsters. You felt disappointed and you hid it well.

'Good. Caring is overrated.'

'Ain't that the truth?' he said before his eyes fell on your wound. It was mending you shut, 'Wow.'

'I know,' you smiled a little. 'Painless and efficient. I just wish it tasted more like whiskey than sewer.'

'That bad, huh?'

'Yep,' you said, offering him your flask. 'You gotta do what you gotta do to survive. Drink up, hunter, just a sip.'

He accepted it, not hesitating anymore to take your help, taking a pull and gagging at the taste. He handed you the flask back again, his wounds filling out with fresh flesh and blood. He removed his handkerchief, now bloody, to see an unaffected palm.

'That shit was nasty,' he shivered a bit, poking his tongue out as if he wished he could wipe the taste away.

'Let's go before the howls begin,' you commanded.

'Is there a safe place we can outlast this?'

You shrugged, 'Sure is. Once they are off our backs, I'll help you.'

You had made several safe houses all over Purgatory.

Your trek with the green-eyed hunter had been a silent one, and tense for so many reasons. For one, you could feel his gaze on you multiple times, but you resisted returning the favour with every cell in your body. Secondly, monsters either avoided your scent these days, or it had mostly belnded into the decor after seven years of being all over the place, but the guy following you still had a distinct smell to him, one would assume, a glowing beacon for monsters.

You climbed up a tree near the river, way uphill. You ushered the man through the mass of leaves that were smelly enough to throw off monsters from around this area. This was one of your few treehouses that had a thick foilage of flowers and leaves to camouflage it.

He silently sat down, and you took a seat on the opposite end of the small house.

Sighing, you threw your head back, a little tired, though you knew you wouldn't be sleeping in here. It wasn't all that safe. It was still a lot closer to the werewolf turf than you'd like, but the man had been running amok for God-knows-how-long - you thought he might need a break. You wished you could give him longer than an hour but those werewolves had noses like . . . well, scary werewolves that could rip any creature into small pieces they sink their teeth in.

'You know, I don't get it,' said the green-eyed man after a few minutes.

You glanced at him in acknowledgement, nothing how large he looked for your house. In your small treehouse, there wasn't much to begin with. A small window in the corner where the fairies agreed to help you with some light, each night, wherever you needed them in Purgatory. It was a deal you had made with them, in return for saving their queen from the Leviathans. A small closet was carved from the wood of the tree where you kept your weapons, a set of clothes, an emergency healing potion, and water. That's about it.

The rest of the space is utilized to spend some days. You can sit there, lie down, and chat with the ceiling which is made of leaves. You would talk to the fairies, but they're all about business.

'What do you not get, hunter?' you asked, annoyed for some reason. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome. You liked it, and at the same time, you didn't. Did that make sense?

Now that you thought about it, maybe letting him tag along was a bad idea. After all, it had been seven years since you were having an actual conversation with an actual human being. Not to mention that this person had died several years ago.

This conversation didn't involve death threats or begging for life. This was a conversation regarding the curiosity about how to survive here. This was a conversation about something that needed brainstorming on ways to get out of here.

And that felt unreal, almost as if you had forgotten how to do it in the first place. It had been so long since you'd lived for someone else.

'Why did you agree to help me? You don't know me that well. For all you know, I could have been put here because I'm a monster.'

You stared at a patch near his feet, the fading sunlight illuminated the filmsy plastic that was used instead of the glass of your window. You didn't want to look at Dean's lookalike, or you would be reminded of how this was the most handsome man you had ever laid your eyes on. And that would mess with your emotions - big time.

You were still a little surprised with yourself that you let him live. Angel, Demon, Monster, you don't spare anyone: that's the rule; especially in Purgatory - everyone needs to die. If you find another of your breed, you leave them alone to fend for themselves, or grant a painless death out of kindness.

Attachment kills. Then why did you help him?

Why should you care?

His eyes are so beautiful, you thought to yourself. You shook your head, this isn't Dean, Y/N, this is another man with his face, who, for all you know, could be a criminal . . .

'I was put here,' you shared. 'It wasn't my fault, I think. I don't know. And I don't know your story.'

His brows furrowed. 'That's it? That's your reason to help me?'

You sighed, trying a different angle. 'I heard everyone calls you a hunter?'

'What about it?'

You leaned back, stretching. You thought back to the days when you were a hunter yourself. How you saved people, how you sacrificed your life for them. It was for the people of your planet that you made this deal with the other factions, the one that deposited you here. They promised to stop the war with your people, if, and only if, the humans sacrificed their best hunter, who also happened to be a Leader, into another universe's Purgatory. Those were their conditions and considering how you were the only one left alive from your time, you were the lamb chop.

'Sweetheart?'

'Hmm?' You blinked at the man in your room.

'You were saying?' he prompted.

'Oh!' you shook your head. 'Right, I zoned out. Well, since you are a hunter too, you know what it feels like to risk your life for others, don't you?'

'It's my job, I guess. You were a hunter?'

You were so much more than a hunter, but you can't dwell on it - bit brings bitter memories. So, you cleared your throat, 'Yes. Did I not mention that? Cream of our planet, if I say so myself.'

He scoffed, 'Aren't you a little overconfident?'

You gave him a mischievous grin, 'Beat your ass, didn't I?'

'Yeah, whatever. So, what's your game plan? I mean, assuming you even know the way out of here . . . Why haven't you left already?'

'I don't know,' you frowned; you never thought of going back. 'There's no one to go back to, I guess.' You looked meaningfully into his eyes, deciding to change the subject. 'What exactly do you want from me, hunter? Cause, if I heard correct, there have been talks about an angel. It isn't a coincidence that you and he arrive on the same day. Did he put you here?'

'You know about angels? Most hunters don't.'

'Yeah, well, I'm not among the most, darling. Where I come from, everyone knows about monsters, angels and demons. Even the non-hunters.'

That seemed to confuse him, 'Don't we come from the same place?'

You opted to avoid that question. 'I'm not a very patient person when it comes to talking or helping, human. What is it that you want from me? Cause, I won't mind exacting revenge on an angel. I used to love killing those dicks.'

'Whoa!' he nervously chuckled. 'No one's killing the angel!'

'You seem defensive,' you observed. 'He, your friend?'

'Yeah,' he told you. 'And no one lays a hand on him, okay? I need to get out of here, with him.'

'All right,' you smirked, raising your hands to show that you understood. 'It's just . . . angels friends with humans,' you snorted, 'that tale never ended well.'

'Why?' he asked. 'I mean, I know most angels are dicks, but a few of them are actually helpful, sweetheart.'

Your heart spasmed.

'Sure,' you scoffed. 'Although, I don't think the angel who killed my brother, best friend and my boyfriend got that memo.'

Remorse and empathy filled him. 'I'm sorry.'

'You didn't kill them,' you shrugged. 'You don't have to apologize, you don't know me. Or I, you.' You scoffed, 'Hell, you haven't even told me your name yet.'

He blinked in surprise, 'Oh, I'm—'

'Tsk, tsk, tsk,' you cut him off. 'I don't wanna know, darling. Name means bonding. And I'd rather not get attached to you, especially because you're gonna leave this place.'

'And you won't?' he pried.

You deadpanned, 'I have nothing, no one, on your planet.'

'You say that as if you're from another Universe,' he smiled. You just stared at him and he realized that you were serious. 'Wait, you are, aren't you?'

You gave him a small smile, 'Most hunters from other worlds don't know about alternate Universes. But you do, since you don't seem too surprised.'

'Yeah, well, sweetheart, you will find that I'm not among the most,' he repeated your words to you.

'Touché,' you smirked. 'Any more things you want to check off your bucket-list while you're here? Maybe sight-see a dead centaur or something?'

'Nope. Just need to get the angel and get the hell outta dodge.' He paused then, 'You're kidding about the centaur, right?'

You smirked, 'You were stuck in amateur hour, dude. Welcome to the big leagues.'

A smile ghosted his lips. 'How long do you think we'll be stuck here?'

'Long enough for a hefty therapy bill.'

The words settled heavily between the two of you.

'Thank you, Y/N,' sincerity occupied his tone.

Your breath hitched as your name rolled off his tongue.

Oh, this stranger went there.

You forgot how your heart used to race when he called for you. How your emotions felt like they were doing a Hollywood Musical routine each time he was near you. How you felt like you'd melt under his intense gaze which promised you that he'd devour you right there if he could.

There was no lover like Dean Winchester and no love like Dean Winchester's.

His random hand-holding, smiling into each kiss you gave him, saying "I love you" at the most random moment possible. And letting the world know that you were his. You still remembered how he'd come from behind and hug you tightly, nuzzling his face into your neck and murmuring sweet or dirty things into your ear - depending on what mood he was in that day.

'You good?' the man brought you out of your reverie.

Your heart turned cold towards him. You couldn't bear to look at him, knowing he wasn't yours. He never could be. Your Dean was dead.

'Don't,' you hissed, 'Don't call me by my name.'

Before he could ask why or point out how rude you were being, you got up. 'Stay. I need some air.'

'But—'

You ignored him altogether and walked out, thinking: I'm so screwed.

A/N: To answer your question, I don't know where all the angst in my writing comes from - I'm just so bad at happinessy stories 🫠🫣.

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The phone trilled as your long nail extensions rhythmically clacked the polished oak wood desk of your Office. Your mother had worn you down to get manicures and pedicures; you drew the line on getting your hair blown out, though: it was bad enough you had to wear a ball gown today that was more expensive than Baz's new request of a Lamborghini.

Oh, but it gets worse.

Your lips were pursed, and your brows were slanted, your e/cs were flashing with controlled fury. It was four in the fucking morning here, and already everything seemed to be falling apart.

Your mother had barged into your room at two-thirty, cutting your regular four hours into a pathetic half hour since you'd stayed up late to sign off on paychecks for the labour and decorations that she had selected.

In an ideal world, this day would've been most special for you because, fucking finally, this woman is paying attention to you - and some inner child in you is a little pleased. But the adult in you wants to shoot her between the eyes. So you are choosing to find the balance - and by that, you mean you rolled out of your room as soon as the racks and racks of shoes rolled in. (Not before she managed to weasel you into a Hollywood wax which was worse than than the Brazilian wax, and mani-pedis - you didn't know if you'd been more mortified in your life.)

When you reached your Office, you saw Dean was already unusually in his - before you could greet him, though, you'd ended up eavesdropping on a conversation that was a cherry on top of your blown fuse.

The phone clicked, and you inhaled sharply to rain down hell on the poor receiver.

'How dare you, Mr Winchester?' your voice had a snarling edge. 'I respect your right to choose, but have no tact or decency!?'

'. . . Lady Y/N,' he sighed on the other end. 'This is not a good time.'

'Shall I hold my scold till you're free then?' you scoffed. 'You have to justify yourself - you broke his heart!'

There was a significant pause before Sam's small voice came through.

'. . . Will he be able to forgive me?'

There was a whip of guilt in his cadence.

Your anger melted like a puddle in the face of their tsunami of grief.

Your biggest problem that morning was that your private parts had been waxed clean, and it fucking hurt to sit. But the Winchesters were fighting about Sam's biggest hunt yet. 

How could one compare?

'I don't know,' you said listlessly.

'You're his soulmate,' he said in a begging voice, implying that you must know. 'I just need to know that he'll forgive me.'

You pursed your lips, keeping the bitterness in. Just for today, it would be great if people stopped reminding you that you were trying to get your soulmate to hate you.

'Should you not have thought about his capacity of forgiveness before you uttered all that venom?' you snapped, reverting to your anger again.

This was a really tiring and confusing day for you.

'The fight got out of control,' he defended in the same pitch that Dean got when he was stressed. 'I didn't want to hurt him—'

'Your brother is one of the finest, most accomplished Hunters there is,' you seethed. 'You called him "useless"!'

'I am sorry—'

Your voice was climbing with every accusation. 'And you essentially blamed him for your parents' death by calling him a "distraction"!'

Sam had callously stated that their parents would have escaped Amara if they hadn't been distracted by worry for Dean.

'Y/N—'

'And don't you deny any of it because I heard it!'

'I'm not denying—'

You didn't let him complete. 'All he asked was to be there for you! You are lucky he is willing to leave his responsibilities and help you out without an ulterior motive. And you crush his offer so cruelly—!'

'What else did you want me to do!?' he roared on the other end, shutting you up. 'He shows up if you don't hurt him bad enough!' he yelled. 'Don't you remember your Debutant?' his voice faltered, to let the bleeding pain seep in.

You did. Vividly.

You would never forget Dean's face when Jessica died in front of him.

'When Amara attacked our parents,' Sam gritted out the words like they wouldn't leave his mouth if he didn't force them out, 'he was fucking there! And she killed them in front of him! RIPPED them apart! We found him bloody and crying, clutching their corp—'

Sam couldn't finish his sentence.

You couldn't even imagine that kind of pain. Or you could, but, it would be so impossible to bear that you didn't.

'I'm protecting him!' cried Sam.

His words rang something true in your heart. Weren't you trying to do the same thing for Dean?

'. . . He'll still find a way to blame himself,' you said.

It was one of the reasons why you refused to break up with him yourself - it would just be easier for him if he rejected you. If he hated you so much that he couldn't hate himself . . .

Sam was breathing heavily on the other end. 

'At least he won't have another lived nightmare.'

Silence slithered into the conversation with emotions so loaded that they were palpable enough to feel like invisible fingers pressing on your throat.

'You have to understand . . . I have to do this,' Sam mumbled on the other end. 'I need to kill Lucifer. He's the one who brought the Leviathans on this Earth!'

You may not understand Sam's plight, but you could understand the loss of a soulmate; it was that heavy weight constantly slumping your shoulders and tearing your mind apart.

'Do you miss her?' you wondered, swallowing against the lump in your dry throat. 'Mrs Winchester?'

A low, humourless chuckle.

'Just every second of every fucking day.'

The answer shook your previously unshakeable resolve.

There weren't many things that scared you. But Sam's voice just had.

You obviously knew about the suicides back with the Love Buggers. But someone had told you that you could be distracted with your line of work to feel all that much.

Listening to Sam, it felt like this work didn't distract him; it just barely kept him alive.

Honestly?

That pain sounded too painful to test your heart's endurance.

You didn't even know what happened to a rejected soulmate because, guess what, there were no fucking real-life cases of it. Only theories.

Add that to the list of horrors.

And they say Dean should be better off if he rejects you - but who's gonna take care of him?

'Do you really think you'll die?' you worried your bottom lip. 'You're all that Dean's left of his family.' You didn't know at this point if you wanted Sam to stay alive out of selfishness or selflessness.

'He has you,' Sam gently reminded you. 'You'll take care of him when I'm gone, right?'

'If!' you forcefully corrected. But why did it feel like Sam was trying to convince himself of your presence in Dean's life, just like you were consoling yourself that Dean would have his brother?

'I have to go, Y/N,' Sam cleared his throat. 'We've almost reached India. Jack's meeting us there with the blade.'

'Good luck,' you wished. 'Please call Dean when you're safe.'

'And you take care of him,' he pleaded. Apparently, he hadn't missed the fact that you hadn't answered him yet.

'Sam, don't talk like tha—'

'Please just tell me you'll take care of him!'

The desperation in his words compelled you: 'I-I will.'

'Thank y—'

Some unknown need hypnotised you to say the next words: 'I-I don't think there's anything to forgive,' you said. 'Dean's, um, well, he's upset, but he never can hold a grudge against the people he loves.'

Which is a category I soon won't be a part of, you assured yourself. You had to - no, you needed him to hate you.

'That's comforting to know. . . . Thanks, Y/N.'

The line went dead.

Did you just lie to a walking dead man?

Dread coiled a noose around your heart.

Or have you been lying to yourself?

You heard Sam! He misses his dead soulmate every waking and possibly sleeping second. She might be the star of all his night terrors and hallucinations . . .

But breaking up was different. Dean would be alive, and you would see him from time to time.

Just as someone else's wife. Probably emotionally dead again (which has to be a plus).

. . . Yeah.

Rejecting a soulmate is totally different than death. It can't be as worse, right?

So there's nothing to fear . . .

You pulled your laptop to yourself, placing an emergency call as anxiety pushed tears into your eyes.

He picked up on the fifth ring.

He seemed to be on his phone, a stone wall behind his back, and an oil lamp hanging above his head that threw shady light on him. He deadpanned straight into the camera.

'Who's dead?'

It shocked you enough to make you splutter. 'Who—? W-What are you talking about?'

'You made an unscheduled video call,' Seth provided his logic. 'Is it Mom? Because I've been praying for that.'

'No one's dead!' you emphasized.

'Oh.'

Should you be amused or appalled that your brother seemed disappointed?

'So you're marrying someone else then?'

You blinked at him.

Was he a mind-reader suddenly?

'Is there a bug in my Office I don't know about?' you asked him seriously.

Seth sighed. 'Well, it's the day of your Suitor's Ball. And Dean's not sitting next to you, which means you didn't call me without notice for good news.'

You let a reluctant nod confirm his assumptions. 'How did you do it?' you asked quietly, voice thick and drooping.

'Do what?'

'Marry her,' you croaked.

He understood immediately. 'With our parents the way they are?'

'Yeah,' you scoff-laughed.

You braced yourself for him to say it had been easy for him, like most things in life were. It would just play into the image you had of him as the happy-go-lucky guy who became just a little strict when it came to his job and family. You'd only ever seen him fight with your parents because they were a little too shady for his bright life; they were the darkest corner of his world, while for years, they'd made up your entire dark world.

'I didn't want to,' he said, shattering all your expectations of him.

You stared at him like he'd started riverdancing.

'It was why we broke up,' he jogged your memory. Neither of them had told you what happened, you'd just known that Seth was in a horrible condition - found out when you went to meet him on one of your regular catch-ups. It was the first and last time you'd seen your brother cry as an adult.

'I didn't want you to know it was because of our parents,' Seth admitted. 'It would've played right into your no-marriage rule all too well. I didn't want to give you the power of knowing that you were right.'

You made a frown at him. 'Because that's mature.'

'Hey, I used to think that they had no power over me,' Seth said. 'I wanted it to be true. It wasn't until I had B/F that I realised how much of a hold they have on me. Because I spent all my life fighting them. I didn't have anything to do except fight them.'

You'd never thought of it that way. You didn't think that fighting them might've cost him the same energy that it had cost you to be devoted to them. 

'That's the difference between you and me,' Seth continued. 'You knew they controlled you, and you gave up to make it easier. I refused to accept that they controlled me at all. It's the difference between love and hate for you and me. Except, they don't care. So we both lose the war.'

You did feel like a loser - no matter what you did for them, you always seemed to lose. And not in the same fun way when you lost gummy bear eating contests with Dean, or when he lost the card games for you, or how Dean always pushed you ahead in any gun competitions, or how you sneaked Dean answers during trivia night (although he was on a different team because he said he'd never won it before) . . . It felt like you were winning, too, when he was. And he was your biggest cheerleader every time you had an accomplishment to brag about. You felt like a team with him. 

You could suddenly see it now. Both you and Seth had led extremely lonely lives - similar in the ways your insecurities and pains were built, and dissimilar in how each of you reacted to it, how you chose to deal with your parents. 

Seth had to call your name to disrupt your reverie. 

'Hmm? Oh, sorry. Um . . . how did, uh, B/F change your mind then?' you asked because you knew that she'd been the one to get them back together.

'She was pretty mad at me. She tried to move on, actually . . . and when she couldn't . . . She hired a psychic.'

'Wait a second,' you chuckled in disbelief. 'You're telling me a psychic told you that you're soulmates?'

It was the only conclusion, because it was after their talk that they announced in a press meeting that they were soulmates and soon to be wedded.

'She was legit,' Seth warned you.

In your world, magical humans were considered as phony as the other factions considered witches. Witches weren't magical enough for other factions to respect, and humans didn't respect the other humans who claimed to have the "sight of God". Prophets like the acclaimed Kevin Tran, who'd worked for Charlie, had faced the same mockery until his documentary had taken the world by storm. 

You personally didn't have a problem with them all - you wouldn't consult a psychic yourself, but you didn't care if others did. What amused you now was that your brother, a core disbeliever in psychics, had believed one - it was your sisterly right to tease him about it.

'Oh, yeah, sure,' you snorted. 'Because we don't live in "an unpredictable world" at all, where "some humans try to profit off others' fears".'

'I hate your memory,' he groused. 'Besides, that just means the real ones are harder to find.'

'What was the fee again?'

'Very amusing.'

'Aw, look at you having emotional growth. Do you still consult her?'

'. . . Yes,' he sighed. When you hid your mouth behind a hand, he huffed, blushing in the video. 'Shut up!'

You raised your hands in surrender, giving it a minute until the seriousness came back to kidnap your smiles again.

'Well, you were right,' you said. 'To break up with her. The contract proves it, don't you think?'

Seth nodded grimly. 'B/F was pissed but . . . she told me it doesn't beat marrying me. We think it might not affect us in the long run,' he said with evident relief.

'Oh. Well . . . That's different,' you said, frustrated as you carded a hand through your bed-head. 'That's good,' you amended. 'But unrelatable to me.' There was a tingle of disappointment in you, like you had been hoping he could tell you with what mindset he was able to marry B/F, and if they were struggling as much with the contract, too. 

'How?' 

You swallowed: 'Dean won't marry me with the contract.'

Seth's face fell. 'He said that?'

You inhaled sharply. 'He said that he wants to retire one day,' you said, voice wobbling. 'Move to Asia, maybe, to be closer to his brother. Probably live out of a trailer.'

'So he rejected you?' Seth asked, baffled with a tinge of anger. 

'Not yet,' you whispered. 'But he will.'

'Wait . . . have you told him yet?'

'Well, I know what he wants,' you explained. 'It's his dream - how can I make him choose between me and his dreams?'

'He's your soulmate-'

'And I'm his!' you cut him snappily. 'How much can I ask him to sacrifice for me? He's already done it once!'

'What? When?'

'Summer Solstice,' you shared. 'Sam was struggling with Asia, and Dean wished to move. But he stayed . . . For me.'

Guilt clogged Seth's heart. 

He wondered if he had influenced Dean's decision when he told him to give you a chance . . .

'Look,' you gulped, keeping your most seering dilemma in front of him: 'Dean hates it here. He hates his life, he hates his work. And I can't ask him to commit to such hatred for the rest of his life!'

'That is . . . different,' Seth cleared his throat, reeling from all the information. 

'Yeah.'

Seth took that pause to his advantage. He nodded like he was calculating something. 'But you didn't call me to hear that you're doing the right thing.' A statement, not a question. 

'No, I—' Okay, yeah, you didn't know why you made the call. You knew your decision was right, you knew what you had to do - this was just like every decision you made: clean, precise, for the greater good. Then, what was the fucking hitch? 'Um.'

'You're scared,' Seth noted, bemused and triumphant. 'I've never seen you scared.'

You fought against your basic instincts to bristle under such accusations. You were here to ask for help, and you would need to be vulnerable about it - Dean'd lectured you about the process a million times already. Your tears of humiliation were on standby, though - you didn't know if you were going to be a laughing matter now.

'Good,' he said. 'Be scared. You can use that.'

Your brows tilted in. 'What?'

'Being scared isn't a weakness,' he said. 'That's the number one reason for fighting. Of why I have been fighting my entire life. Because I'm afraid of them controlling me. Of destroying me.'

'I'm not . . . afraid of them,' you said with difficulty.

'You're afraid of losing him,' Seth articulated. 'You can use that, too. Mine was just an example.'

'What are you saying?'

'Go to him!' Seth ordered. 'Don't let your idiotic selflessness come in the way. If you're afraid of losing him, do something about it!'

Nothing so simple had ever been so complicated. 'But-'

'No!' he cut you off. 'You're going to face your fears. You're going to talk to him right now.'

'Uh, oh, um, o-okay. I-I guess - I'll just sign off the-'

'Leave, you mororn! I'll hang up!'

An insane madness barged you through his door. Dean got startled, hand flying to his gun on his table; his other hand was slower to leave his tired and vacant face.

'What's going on?' he asked, voice coarse from suppressing his emotions.

'I have something important and crazy to say,' you delivered clunkily, unsure where your hands should be for your presentation.

His brows crowded the centre of his head. 'What?'

You were about to open your mouth and blab about the marriage contract when your eyes fell on Dean's desk of photos.

There was John and Mary from their wedding day; Sam and Jessica from a trip to Hawaii; the photo with Bobby, Jody, Charlie, Joana, and others from a bonding vacation his parents had taken him to. And there was a picture of Lisa and Ben from the time Dean was engaged to her.

You'd seen the collection a thousand times, but in that moment, three new things struck you.

First: Dean would be broken up about Sam's death. But if he saw it with his own eyes, every time he tried to move on, that searing image would set back his healing. Which meant Sam was right in keeping Dean from danger, not just the physical one but the emotional one, too. Especially if Dean ended up doing everything in his power to save Sam, and God forbid, lost his own life in the process.

Second: of all the photos, you were in none. That was his family and friends, and people he would agonise over. Seemingly, you didn't fall in that category because you were utterly rejectable.

Third: those were all pictures from his pre-Leadership era. Before you ever even existed in his life. It was the normal period of his life, the time from when he was the happiest. A time you could never give him again because of your wretched contract.

But I talked about this with Seth, you reminded yourself. You just needed to tell Dean that he couldn't leave the Leadership if he wanted to marry you - it was simple because he was your soulmate.

Just get the words out!

He called your name, derailing your thought process. 

'T-Those photos,' you breathed out. 'You're, uh, so young in them.'

What am I doing?!

Your heart was racing when you stepped in, walking in like there were eggshells all around - stepping on one might be the end of your relationship with him.

'Yeah,' Dean scoffed. 'Honestly, they're the only pictures I have from the time my life was almost perfect.' He shook his head, expression collapsing into the same devastating hollow. 'Before everything went to shit.'

It was like you were in a trance, you were being drawn to your own destruction like a moth to a flame: 'Before your Leadership.'

Dean gritted his teeth, chewing his thoughts for a moment.

'This job feels like a punishment sometimes, you know? What I deserve for letting them all down?'

There it is.

An eerie mini-smile spread on your face as Dean blew a shaky breath and hid his face in his hands again. You let him have that because your eyes were getting blurry again.

Your heart had shattered and was lying in invisible pieces on the floor, next to the broken eggshells. You crossed your arms over your chest to stop them from shivering out of sheer chagrin.

You thought you would be more afraid of losing him, but there was a serenity in breaking yourself if it meant he would be happy.

Looking at him now, you could safely say you were more afraid of hurting him than you were of hurting yourself.

'I'm sorry,' Dean said, voice crackly. 'That's not what you came to talk about.'

'We, uh, we should ask the s-suitors to hunt,' you stammered, forcefully clearing your throat and blinking your misery back.

His brows furrowed, distracted now. 'You want to bring monsters across the safety measures.'

'No, like birds or deer,' you lifted a shoulder, straining your peaceful smile into a crooked one. 'If we keep crazy high standards, maybe half of them will just leave!' you joked.

That drove a pinched chuckle from him. 'Your parents are riding you to the bone, huh?'

You inwardly high-fived upon leading him astray. Your suggestion was, at least, crazy like your title sentence for this discussion had implied.

'I'm sorry,' you said, meaning it beyond belief. 'I'm sure you have bigger problems,' you said, stepping backwards. 'I guess I just needed a moment to . . . look at you.' To hear it from him once.

'Oh, darling, come here,' he opened his arms, inviting you to seat in his lap.

Reluctant, but desperate not to blow your cover, you rounded his desk and sank into his warm embrace.

It was exactly how you'd dreaded it would be: safe.

Your head perched on his shoulder, but your hands refused to come away from yourself - you were holding your chest cavity in place, keeping your mangled heart from his view.

Dean put his chin atop your head, and he sighed deeply, like he was relieved. 'I think I just needed to see you, too,' he murmured.

'I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted it to,' you diverted him.

Dean's frown deepened. 'How did you-?'

'I, um, overheard the call,' you came clean. 'I didn't mean to, but yeah . . . And I may have had a little chat with Sam before I came in.'

He raised your chin with two fingers, searching your defiant eyes - but you weren't going to apologise for defending him.

To your surprise, he smirked a little. 'You look really hot when you're trying to be stern, you know?'

A small huffy laugh left you. 'That's your takeaway?'

'Well.' His fingers went to trace up and down your arm, drawing senseless patterns. 'I have nothing to say . . . I mean, it wasn't totally his fault. I wasn't too kind with my allegations either . . .' Dean said, guilt-ridden. 'I guess I don't want to talk about it.'

He may have accused Sam of being a workaholic griever, as in the persons who run themselves into the ground simply because they refuse to feel.

You wondered how much that was a Winchester thing and how much it was a soulmate thing.

Because didn't Dean also accept Leadership in the aftermath of Amara?

Apparently, Sam was more life-loving until Jessica passed away. It sounded like the Winchester boys knew how to have fun from all the stories Dean had narrated for you - all of them from Dean's pre-Leadership era.

Dean lost his carefree attitude by the time Lisa left him, and the same thing happened with Sam.

You wondered who pushed the other brother away first today. You suspected that their fight had been simmering under the surface way before they lost their patience to hide it.

You could relate to it, in fact. It drew you to another time in your life, too - your pre-Leadership one.

'Are you listening to me?'

You nodded simply. 'Sorry. I was just thinking about Seth . . . And how I didn't get to wish my brother luck when he went to fight Raphael,' you said. 'I was on a case in another State. Washington, if my memory me serves right. I was upset, but under public surveillance. I remember paparazzi swarmed me for my comments, and I couldn't say a word because I didn't know any of it.'

He squeezed your hip with the arm that had curled around your waist. You melted more into his embrace and laced one of your hands with his free one in your lap.

He knew helplessness was as agonising to you as it was to him.

'B/F and my parents knew,' you said. 'I couldn't reach their phones, so I went to her first. She was too hysterical to get a proper word out. She paced all night, and I sat there in a corner, clueless.' You raised your eyes to meet his with a half-humorous smirk. 'At least your brother told you what was happening so you could worry about him.'

He pursed his lips at everything in between that was left unsaid. You might be indirectly hinting to him to appreciate what he did have.

'I've come to think of pain as a privilege,' you said. 'Not everyone has the luxury of having their pain acknowledged as existing.'

You had been equally relieved and disappointed the day Seth came home. The relief had been obvious, but the disappointment had uncentered you. After several restless days and nights, you'd concluded that you'd felt out of place.

After confronting Seth very diplomatically about it, he told you that Daniella had assured him you would know. That he had been hurt by you for not contacting him or helping him at all with Raphael.

You both later found out that your mother simply forgot to inform you. For months.

When you alone approached her because Seth didn't think she could validate herself, she told you that worry was a distraction and she hadn't wanted to break your hunting streak.

It had made perfect sense at the time. You'd even felt ashamed for the three days you "wasted" waiting with B/F for news on Seth. B/F had known because she was an up-and-coming Leader, and your parents were ex-Leaders, so they knew too. Your mother chose to exclude you because you weren't a bigwig like the rest of them, and you hadn't deserved the time off. She went against Seth's wishes of informing you, for your own good - as she put it.

'I can understand that,' he whispered, breaking your pity party. 'When all your love has nowhere to go? . . . When the other person ceases to exist, you just feel . . .'

'Useless?' you offered.

Dean's throat bobbed, and he nodded, breathing out a little when he met your eyes, tears in them. And it felt like looking in the mirror. 

'I think we have the same problem, then,' you whispered. Neither of you had ever felt closer or felt so seen and understood.

It was one naked soul staring at the other. Both of you felt indescribably whole.

Dean leaned in to seal the moment with a kiss, and you couldn't stop him even if you wanted to for his sake.

Both your and Dean's rooms had the best views from the Palace. Both balconies were at the topmost level.

Dean was looking down on a gorgeous, picturesque city littered with equal parts treehouses and the forest that only got denser from the edge of the city line. There were farms, orchards, and greenhouses stretching between the Palace and the forest where the Offices were. The view of the Treexcel and the idyllic watering hole was on the West side, where your room was. So while Dean had the view of the greenery at sunrise, you got the lake at sunset.

I have seen parts of this memory through your eyes before, but it had been tampered with because I hadn't connected to you well.

Now, I can see.

This memory is old, evident in how yellow it is at the edges for me - like an ageing photograph. I didn't get the whole context of the scene until now. I didn't know this time had been so painful for you, but also so significant that you will remember it when you are dying.

Dean is the man of about six-foot-one, gazing down upon his kingdom, his sharp green eyes unbothered by my dreamwalking presence. His burly frame leans on the railing, eyes fixed on the men and women working downstairs, preparing to welcome your fucking wooers.

Most of the unmarried Governors had stayed back since the Doll-Slay wedding, finding accommodations nearby for a week to return today.

He'd just finished leaving a voice message on Sam's switched off phone - since you'd encouraged him to say that there indeed was nothing to forgive. That Dean loved him. That he was there for him, no matter what. I wish I could tell you Sam heard that while he was alive.

Anyway. Dean was waiting to see you.

You were supposed to be down at that gate to meet-and-greet; your parents were already on the steps, playing the part of gracious hosts . . . Dean ground his teeth whenever your mother's shrill, nasal laughter flowed up to his ears.

This Dean's dirty blond hair was on the lighter shade, paler than I'd seen on his doppelgangers; there were even traces of a golden hue if he turned his face just right, sunshine striking against his head and giving him a light halo.

Things had been so tense with him and Sam for a while that this Dean felt now like he'd been completely ignoring your needs. It wasn't until the weapon was delivered yesterday and Sam had gone off grid a few minutes ago that Dean had officially been done with the Lucifer hunt.

In the meantime, you'd kept him from everything he had to do with the Suitor's Ball, and seeing its last pieces fall into place made him feel alienated with the process - like he'd grossly neglected his responsibilities towards you as your soulmate.

And now, all he could do was wait while the two people closest to him were tried by fire.

'Dean!' a voice like mine, just thickly layered with a British accent, called.

Dean didn't turn - why should he see you wear a dress that was supposed to impress other gentlemen callers?

'Out here!'

My face-thief rushed in.

You had barely managed to squeeze this face time in with Dean between getting dressed and appearing at the gates below.

You looked breathtaking in your custom-made formal gown, adhering to you like a second skin (to be fair, you had to be sewn in, it was that tight), and you even carried it with the same ease.

The shade of the dress was a deep turquoise, decorated with real sapphires stitched into every inch of the soufflée silk. The dress had a sweetheart neckline, and a translucent net cape made out of gold and pearls that was pinned to the tops of your full-length sleeves; the cape slithered after you, sweeping the dust you left behind you. Your skin-tight bodice left only enough gap between the ground and the dress to display your strappy platinum six-inch pencil heels.

You were wearing a corsage made of a vibrant blue azalea, the national flower of Europe; there was also a badge tied around your other wrist with the same net from your cape that declared you as the Leader of this Continent.

Your hair was tied up in a very high pony that left not a single hair out of place, forced into an updo that allowed me to see where every hair started and where your forehead ended. It looked painful enough to give me a headache.

Your face was made up so intensely that I couldn't recognise it even if it is exactly like mine.

You weren't dressed up as a hunter because none of the materials you'd adorned would ever be useful, nor did you look like your everyday self. You were solely a commodity meant to be marketed to the highest bidder for this event.

'You aren't dressed,' you said, sounding exhausted. 

He glanced at you over his shoulder, quickly looking away to avoid the tide of jealousy and rage.

'Why bother, darling?'

He had decided for your good and his own that he wouldn't attend the Ball. If he did, he was ninety-nine percent sure he would punch a person before nightfall.

His moodiness didn't deter you when you approached him with a scowl.

You ducked under one of his arms that were bracing him on the railing so that you were efficiently betwixt both his hands, against him and the balcony perimeter. You leaned back a bit so your heads wouldn't clang.

At that point, Dean was too busy being taken with you to avoid looking at you. If he were an animal, he would've growled with his basic need to possess you . . .

'Aren't you afraid someone'll spot you?' he snarked, swallowing his inhuman instincts.

You made a face at him that verged on hurt. 'Why won't you be there?' you demanded.

Dean sighed.

Because he was not going to be found dead in a Ball hosted by your foreign parents at his fucking home, to give what's his away. He wasn't known to be possessive with a lot of things, but once he decided a person or thing was a part of him, it was practically impossible to separate him from them.

Somehow, he didn't think that analogy would fly well with you, even if you are his soulmate - literally a part of him, his better half.

'Are you jealous?' your pout was too hopeful to succeed as playful.

But he would not tell you since he didn't want his insecurities to overcrowd your stress.

'Of?'

Oh, great. Both of you were pretending like this day wasn't going to be miserable. Healthy stuff.

'Other suitors coming to see me,' you said, hope dwindling.

I know you don't want him to be troubled, but you have been secretly wishing that he would be hurt by your leaving. It was cruel, but so is the fact that you've never had someone who could be hurt over your departure. You've exited a few lives, and no one has ever seemed to grieve your separation from them.

'I'm giving them a fighting chance,' Dean dipped his head challengingly. 'If I come, you won't give them the time of your day.'

Your heart withered deep in your chest; I could feel it as if it were my own. Bittersweet tears welled up in your eyes at his confirmation, but you rolled your eyes to try to lessen the intensity of the moment.

'Daydreaming, are we?'

A tad bit offended, Dean scoffed. He captured your lips punishingly, pressing your back into his balcony railing, not giving you a moment to think. His hand glided up to your jaw, tipping your head backwards so he could devour you to his heart's content. His other hand slipped around your waist and pressed you to his body fully, stroking a thumb over your lower back - he realised then that the dress was backless under your silly cape. His featherlight fingers moved up, tracing abhorrent promises into your skin until your skin rose to salute him with goosebumps.

You didn't even care that he was smearing your lipstick. All you could do was find purchase on his broad, dependable shoulders and hold on for dear fucking life.

When you two could part, Dean was happy with how you gasped like a fish out of water.

'Felt pretty real to me,' he winked cheekily, referring to your daydreaming comment. 

You blushed hotly, out of embarrassment and fury.

'What if I find someone else tonight?' you desperately questioned, trying to conceal it with nonchalance. 'Handsomer, maybe? More charming?' His sure gait was just rubbing you the wrong way.

'Woman, please,' he curled a finger under your chin, locking eyes with you. 'You can't find someone handsomer,' he teased. 'And heck, even if you find someone with my exact face, you won't be able to pick them. Know why?'

'Why?'

'You're mine, darlin',' he shrugged. He had never been more sure of anything in his entire life. 'Just mine. And I'm yours.'

That struck a chord in you. You'd never had anyone to call yours, or anyone else to call you theirs. This statement meant more to you than Dean could realise. It had an undercurrent of acceptance, a lifelong promise.

Too late, too late, too late! I could hear your mind scream.

You cannot run now - impossible with the Castle security.

And you couldn't make Dean choose between jail and marriage, could you? They were both life sentences . . .

What am I thinking!? I need to break his heart . . . Make him retract this statement.

'Prove it?' you held your breath.

It was a ploy to lure him into the Ball and disregard him publicly. . . a coward's way out. He would definitely reject you when he knew you'd betrayed him. He would get angry in his Dean-ist fashion and be mad at you for not standing up to your parents. It would be a scandal, and Dean would be safe.

His eyes narrowed like he couldn't figure out exactly what was wrong. 'At . . . the Ball,' he guessed. For a brief moment, he wondered if you wanted him to ask you to marry him.

'It's like one mind,' you whispered.

Dean's stoic mask wavered. He let his confidence fizz into something more suitably vulnerable for this conversation. 'You know you'll be all right, right, baby? I'm right here. I'm not going to let some goddamn idiot whisk you away . . . I'll be the idiot then,' he poked your tummy playfully.

There came a ghost of a smile on your face. 'I am taking this veryrationally, Dean.' Maybe a little too rationally - I don't know if that was your thought or mine. 'I have thought this through.'

'I trust you,' Dean nodded. 

You wanted the earth to open up and take you.

'Although - and I know you don't like marriages, and you're only doing this for your parents, but . . . I wish you'd let me throw my hat into the ring,' Dean confessed, shy and nervous.

'You don't want to marry me, Dean,' you whispered, wishing you could just yeet from this railing.

Dean chuckled like you were being silly. 'That's impossible. Who wouldn't want to marry you . . . You're everything,' Dean uttered with an achingly sweet smirk.

You wanted to eviscerate on the spot . . . 

He was dipping his head to kiss you again, but you had to step out of his hold. If you kept allowing him to kiss you, you'd never be able to get this done.

'I . . . should redo my make-up,' you said, walking away before his hands could catch you again.

That left a pit in Dean's stomach - he wondered if he pushed you too hard, and too fast with that marriage talk. It hurt him as much as it worried him, but you were already gone. 

From the floor to the railing and even the mini chandelier were made of gold. This balcony for the royalty was often ignored because neither Dean nor you believed in looking down upon your guests, but that's exactly where your parents were, comparing files with the real people who walked in, commenting on their deep pockets. The guests could barely see you all up there, hidden amidst all this opulence.

Your mother practically gushed when Sir Smiles-A-Lot entered, or as his name was, Governor Slander Sail. Or when the snake eyes, Governor Hart Hale descended down the central staircase onto the glorious ballroom floor. The person who surprised you the most was Governor Paul Ivan. He was notorious for avoiding balls and galas - he'd be the last person to be found at a party. But you'd figured he had been interested in you after he'd solved that dragon case with you.

You were only standing up here because you were waiting for Dean. You had no interest in what your Mother had to say anymore. Especially since she'd changed so much . . .

Okay, you knew she was overall heartless, but you weren't lying when you remembered those moments of your life when she placed an affectionate hand on you, or when she said that she cared about you, or when she hugged you. You couldn't dream those moments because they had been far and few, and you'd made a point to commit every second of those to your memory.

Although she did betray you. And you wouldn't be forgetting that either.

'Oh, this one comes with a hefty check,' she cooed, referring to a woman in an overly dramatic gown that took most people's breath away. 'Governor Grace Ray,' Daniella said. 'Are you sure you're not into women, dear?' she asked you earnestly.

'She's married,' you said curtly. You had been the maid of honour for her in Finland, for those who were wondering.

Oh, you missed those simple amusement park days . . .

'So!?' chuckled she. 'Grow up, child. This is the age of polymary.'

'No to poly,' you said in the same monotone. 'And no to women. Our deal is a heterosexual single guy.'

'Is it? Because that's not how I remember raising you.'

'I'm so tired of looking at these files,' groaned your father. 'Can't she just pick a guy - all of them are rich! Maybe find some who has a good hand,' he recommended, 'I could use a challenge at poker.'

'You'll marry her off to the first man who owns a goddamned stable,' your mother swatted your father's arm, slightly teasing.

'I always did want to own a few,' he grinned, reminiscing about his gambles on horse racing. Most of them during the Annual Derbies you'd liked so much . . .

The rose-coloured lens you'd been seeing them through all your life had scattered into a million pieces - you'd never been more appalled by your judgement of people.

Here, oxygen wasn't reaching your lungs, and your parents were unbelievably happy.

Isn't that what you'd always wanted, too? Their happiness. Then, what was so wrong about this scene . . . ?

'Oooh, la, la!' your mother giggled. 'Look who decided to show up. Me-ow!'

On cue, the Master of Ceremonies announced: 'Lord Dean Winchester of the European Continent!'

Your eyes were drawn to him immediately. Your breath hitched when you noticed his attire - you weren't the only one who could pull all the eyes to you that day. 

Dean'd gone all out with a pair of skinny jeans, an undershirt, an awesome leather jacket, and dress shoes: all black. His hair was spikier than usual to give him a wild look that any respectable hunter should have. What got you, though, was the make-up - he wore eyeliner for you, and he knows you know that he feels like a "painted whore" with extensive make-up; he's complained about it to you a million times when his PR reps powdered and blushed him before his media appearances.

He scratched his neck with a shy, charming smile and descended the staircase, somewhat hurriedly. He hated being the center of attention, no matter how small the amount of time was. People had parted for him, which made him further awkward - he was the reason for the marvel in their stares after all. He made his way to a free corner of the wall where his contact with humanfolk would be minimal.

Unbeknownst to you, he was searching for you in the crowd.

'One day I'd like to know him better,' your mother said in a sultry voice.

It brought you from your comfy space in mind, back to earth, as if in a capsule that was hurtling to the ground, in which nausea and screaming went hand-in-hand. You'd heard that voice before.

'He'll never go for you,' you seethed uncharacteristically.

'Oh, child, you underestimate me,' she waved you off. 'How much would you like to bet that I can seduce him by the end of the night?'

'Father is sitting right here,' you hissed, but this wasn't new. They had an open relationship, as in they hated each other enough to give the other up the first chance they got.

Case in point: 'I could be a night without her,' he shrugged. 'Though be careful. Choose a person who can keep a secret. This is European Royalty here - if they don't sign a non-disclosure, you won't be able to get rid of them the traditional way.'

'Oh, trust me, they'll keep a secret,' she winked at him. 'Men like forbidden things.'

'You will not go near him,' you commanded, eyes flashing in warning. 'You are our guests here, and you will behave in a manner like so.'

'You have no right to take that tone with me, young lady,' Daniella said, sternly. 'You're talking to your mother!'

'Act like one first!' you snapped, disarming them both with shock.

'My, my, Miles, Leadership has given her some wings.'

'About time,' your father mused, tilting his head like he was observing a specimen at the zoo. 'I was beginning to think she'll be boring forever.'

'What is wrong with you two!' you hissed, your hands clenching into fists. 'You . . . You used to be a little warmer. And diplomatic!' Honestly, you missed her diplomacy and ill-placed jokes - they didn't hide her true colours, but at least you could convince yourself that they had a shred of humanity with that bare minimum effort they put in.

'Haven't you figured it out yet?' Daniella arched a brow, bemused by your innocence. 'You're a Leader now. We don't need to be your parents.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Honey,' Miles said, 'we raised you so that you could become a popular Leader, or marry a member of the royal faculty.'

'Surely, that's not the only reason—'

'That's what Leadership does,' explained Daniella. 'I thought you would've tasted the freedom by now! The freedom to let go.'

'Let go of what?'

'Love,' they said in practiced unison. They said it like it had been obvious.

Miles pitched information when the dumbfoundedness wouldn't leave your expression: 'Look, hunting only takes people from you. The one thing it gives you is the money. We "loved" you so that you'd become a Leader, and now you can pay us back.'

'Exactly. Concentrate your attachment on that,' Daniella said. 'And money's so easy to acquire as well. You can choose not to hunt as a Leader, and for your retirement, have a kid!'

They both chuckled at their inside joke.

'But . . . you took care of me when Grams died.' Why did it sound like you were choking?

'Yes, so we won't be in your debt,' Daniella waived it off. 'You know, we shower you with affection and care,' she said those words like they were as made-up as bedtime stories, 'for twenty-six years; you are grateful; you marry someone we choose for you.'

'Is that all I've been to you?' you whispered. 'An investment?'

'Of course,' Miles nodded. 'We paid so many guards to protect you. We paid for your education. Your training. We thought you would've been famous by now, though, so we're a little disappointed—'

'She's getting married, Miles,' chided your mother. 'No need for disappointment anymore. Oh, hell, we might even let you call us mom and dad when you give us our first grandchild.'

They laughed happily.

You blinked the sting in your eyes. 'But I-I loved you—'

'Oh, don't start with that again,' your mother said. 'Makes me want to pull my hair extensions out. We cared for your well-being, we never said we loved you, dear!'

'Yes, you did!' you cried out. 'Several times!'

'Never!' she seemed offended that you would think otherwise. 'Y/N, you've always assumed. It's a weakness of yours. I mean, just out of pity, I'd hug you every time you said you loved me,' she said that last line like she'd been doing a favour to you all along.

'This is why we prefer Seth,' nodded Miles. 'He knows we don't love. You have unnecessary expectations from us.'

'Why wouldn't I!?' you whisper-yelled, very alert to the fact that there were people downstairs who could hear you if you raised your voice. 'You're my parents. You are my mother! You carried me for nine months—'

'And ruin this figure?' she scoffed, putting a hand on her chest. 'I. Think. Not!'

The entire foundation of your life broke and fell into the abyss.

'What?' you gripped the railing to stop from falling over.

'Your mother hired a surrogate,' he said. 'We had to kill her, of course.' He put a finger to his lips, asking you to keep a secret. 'Both the surrogates.'

'Not before you had a little fun with them,' Daniella rolled her eyes.

'They were carrying my children,' defended Miles. 'Technically.'

'Do you remember what a bitch-fit your mother had?' Daniella said incredulously. 'No offense.'

'Some taken.' 

'I mean, I'm sorry, but do I look like a cow to you? I'm not breaking my back over some silly children.'

'Let that go, will you?' sighed he.

'I would, but after my mother died, yours refused to help to take care of these brats! Then, who had to take care of them?'

'I helped you,' Miles crossed his arms, his eyes flickered to you for a split second. 'Oh, my God, she's crying,' he cringed.

Your body tensed, and you had to veer your eyes away from him out of sheer humiliation.

A hand gripped your bicep with force - you could barely feel your muscles working as she forced you to turn away from the crowd below, obliviously chattering away.

'Stop ruining this for us!' scolded Daniella. She smushed your cheeks between the fingers of her right hand and locked gazes with you, against your will. Your jaw clenched, a scream building in your throat because her proximity was intolerable.

'You need to take a long and hard look at what you're doing, young lady,' she gritted. 'Who'll want a woman with a ruined face - go fix yourself before a man sees you like this!'

A defiance grew in your eyes while your cowering heart blubbered for mercy behind your sky-high walls of defense.

'What?' A bit of spittle flew out from her lips. 'What are you looking at me like that for?'

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, encasing her wrist in your hand to twist it painfully away from you.

She gasped, 'What the-?'

She raised her free hand to her head, and then she fucking flicked you in retaliation.

'Oh,' a humourless sound left you, 'you did not just do that!' With a burst of energy, you spun her down the single step, out of the balcony, and slammed her into the pillar (at the entrance) - loud enough to hear a crack. Your fingers flexed powerfully on her neck. 'You, Daniella, just lost my love,' you told her, because in your opinion, that was a dangerous thing. 

Miles laughed. 'Not that I don't want you to kill her, I do - but she doesn't care for your love, honey.'

'Don't call me "honey", Miles!' you growled. 'You don't deserve my love, either!'

'Stop making a fool of yourself,' Daniella strained out. 'Let me go and go fulfil your contract!'

You released her because their reaction to your apparent threat was underwhelming. 

You were making a fool of yourself. 

It was deeply disturbing to you: their lack of grief over losing your love.

'What crawled up her ass?' your fake mother grumbled as she sat back down inside the balcony. 

'Let's just get this night over with,' groused Miles. 'Check this next file . . .'

A ringing began in your ears.

You'd always thought that your broken parents would only need your love to be better.

But your parents didn't need it, or want it. And giving it to Dean would destroy his dreams.

In conclusion, your love was hence proved worthless.

'What the hell, Y/N!?'

Your dabbing hand was startled, and you accidentally poked your own eye with your makeup tissue, making you grimace.

You turned about with one eye closed to see a livid Sebastian. You had to do a double-take because you had never seen the man angry.

'Hey,' you said, voice coarse from all the suppression of your pain. 'Did you get no traffic? You are back early—'

'Cut the fucking crap!' he demanded, jarring you. 'I told you to stay away from him if you were only going to string him along!' he roared, stopping a few feet in front of you. 

Immediately, your dwindling composure flattened, and the tears pinched your eyeballs again. You looked to the floor, hoping there would be less guilt there.

'I thought you loved him!' he said. 'He's your fucking soulmate - or have you really, just truly been using him to get further in politics all this time?'

A certain measure of betrayal fixed your head straight, allowing you to meet his outrage head-on. 'What Dean and I have,' you said, wobbly and slow like a newborn fowl, '. . . Or had, is none of your concern.'

'Does he know that?' he challenged. 'Forget me, does Dean know that you're going to leave him for a stranger tonight?'

'How did you find out—'

'Oh, so you can do some damage control?' he raised his brows incredulously. 'Do you ever hear yourself talk?'

'Mr Slay, if we can be professional—'

'To hell with your formalities, Y/N!' he snapped. 'I don't know what goes on in your relationship with Dean, but I know that the man don't half-ass things. He's crazy about you, and here you are throwing it all away for—I don't even know what!'

'I'm doing this for him!' You'd meant to scream, but your voice could've been made of paper, the fresh batch of tears set in, and you started dabbing under your eyes again - worried that a tear would streak across your freshly applied make-up again.

'There you are!' a relieved Selina rushed in, her face falling when she saw you. 'I tried to stop him,' she shook her head, clutching Sebastian's shoulder, who was clearly resisting, shrugging her off - he was trying not to direct his anger on her. 'What's going on?' she asked, much gentler than her husband. 'Baz said—'

'Oh,' you scoffed. You told Baz not to tell anyone of "import"; so he chose to interpret it like your mother would've, where "servants" don't matter, so they can be part of rumours - the old man found a fucking loophole. He knew Sebastain and Selina wouldn't stay quiet as he and Boa had.

'What did you mean before?' demanded Sebastain, quieter, listening. 'How is this any good for Dean?'

You brushed your napkin under your eyes, harsher than before. 'I don't have to answer to you,' you squared your chest. 'I've already said too much.'

'Just because you don't know the meaning of loyalty, doesn't mean I'm just gonna give you a pass,' he gritted out. 'I will tell, Dean.'

'You can't,' you said. 'That's an order.'

'Let me tell you in a language you understand,' he said. 'I'm not under your fucking orders! You're a coward, if I've ever seen one. You are really going to let the show go on and select a man at the end of the day? Let Dean find out you cheated on him in public?!'

'I didn't cheat on him!' you hissed.

'Sure doesn't seem like it,' he argued. 'You just don't want to tell him because you don't have the guts to face him. Guess what: I do!'

While he turned his back on a hesitant Selina, you felt an abject fear dig its heels in your heart. The fear you'd been running from caught up, and the plea that left you was primal. You didn't even realise when you grabbed him. 

The crumbling pieces of your world came to a standstill, looming above your head, paused by sheer denial.

'Please,' the word ripped free from your clenched teeth, feeble. 'I . . . I can't reject him,' you admitted. 

And your denial lost its effect - your world came crashing down on you. It was just too damn much. 

Sobs spilled free, and your hold loosened on him; your hands came to hold your face together instead, your makeup coming completely undone.

Never let the people see you without make-up, child, your mother had told you when you'd been five. A bare face is a woman's greatest weakness.

And you were supposed to be stepping out into a ballroom full of men, in a world without love.

With a wail you didn't even know came from you, you sank to your knees, shocking both your teammates into speechless indecision. 

Their anger and apprehension melted, letting an empathetic grief force them into hurried forgiveness.

You put one hand on your chest as if to stop the bleeding, but the wound wouldn't be stemmed. With the other hand, you hid your eyes but still couldn't stop your tears. Your mouth opened, as wide as the chasm in your heart, but no more cries came out. Instead, your face froze like so, uttering your agony - as always, through a silent, hidden, and hideous scream; a scream that was so damaging that it shook you on its way out since it carried all the pain that tore you to pieces over and over again.

With a start, Selina realised you'd stopped breathing.

She kneeled next to you in an instant, soothing a hand over your back.

'Breathe,' she reminded you in her doctor's voice. 'You need to breathe, Y/N. It's okay, it'll be okay. Seb, bring her water. And call Dean.'

Jerkily, you shook your head - the first movement you'd made in the last few long torturous seconds.

'N-Not Dean,' Selina amended.

'Yeah,' he cleared his throat. His eyes were glassy because Selina's were, like a chain reaction.

You were still choking on nothing by the time Sebastian left.

'Y/N, you need to breathe,' Selina shook you out of your immobility. 'Follow my lead—see how I'm breathing? In and out,' she audibly inhaled and exhaled.

It took a lot more coaxing from Selina for your thoughts to divert from your painful existence. Selina was just relieved that you didn't faint from all that pain.

The sounds she was creating were soothing in the quiet room. It was a while till she got to break your pattern of suffocating, short breaths.

The cry you let loose after that was so ugly that you inwardly cringed, wishing you could go back to breathlessness—wondering if blacking out would be less embarrassing.

She held you as your entire life flashed by in front of your eyes, a sort of death occurred within you. The rawest end of that deal was that you felt like the only mourner. For the first time in your life, you wished someone—anyone—would cry for you besides yourself.

'What the fuck is going on here?' Sharp and demanding.

You had considerably calmed down by the time the door to your room opened again; the person who entered nearly sent you careening into another panic attack.

'I told you I didn't want him here!' you raged when a meek Sebastian peeked from behind Dean.

'Why not?' Dean said, deeply offended.

'We should give you some privacy,' piped up Selina. She squeezed your shoulders and left you on the ground; your legs were too tired to let you stand after her.

As the newlywedded couple filtered out (you planned to kill them soon enough), they left you and Dean in a tense, awkward silence. Dean didn't speak for a long minute after the door had shut softly to your room.

'The Ball's not all, is it?' Nail on the hammer. 'Your parents did something else.'

You could only nod, perching your head sideways onto your arm, which was supported by the soft edge of the bed. You were sitting with your back to your nightstand, your left side against your bed.

'H-How did you lie to me?' he asked, crossing the floor to tower above you on this side of the bed. He did have a glass of water in his hand at least.

'I didn't,' you whispered, extending a hand for the water, sipping on it animatedly as he slid to the floor in front of you, his back to your bed's side.

All you could think to notice in the moment was how well Dean carried his outfit; it was so perfectly tailored for him that Dean might as well have come stitched into it. You wished you could've danced with him tonight - if you'd had kept your composure, you could've handled the situation calmly, and you could've danced with him one last time.

What did crying get you anything but a waste of time?

'Do I want to know?' Dean finally asked, his red-rimmed eyes turning on you like he'd been wrestling with his anger towards you.

'Probably not,' you whispered again, too afraid your voice would give away the depths of your misery. 'Are you mad?'

'Yes,' he clenched his jaw. 'I'm very mad that my girlfriend had a breakdown and everyone knew before me.'

'People didn't know,' you insisted reflexively.

'Good,' he said sarcastically. 'Call me "people", estrange me - that helps.'

You pressed your lips tighter, stubbornly avoiding eye contact as Dean's gaze bore into you.

'What happened, Y/N?'

Silence.

You wished they would start the ball music downstairs so it could hide the sounds of your life vanishing into a blackhole of pain.

'Did I do something wrong?' Dean breathed out lowly.

Your eyes snapped up in time to see him swallow as he struggled with guilt.

'I'll make it right,' he promised. 'Just talk to me, please. I hate it when you don't talk to me.'

Your lips were pulled down by the gravity; in fact, you think your whole face fell. You were too exhausted to keep up with this charade anymore.

'I'm just so tired, Dean,' you murmured, putting away your glass on the nightstand behind you just so you could lay your head on the edge of the bed again.

Dean scooted closer so there was but a foot of space left between the two of you. Close enough that he could touch you if he wanted to . . . If you let him.

'Tired of what?' he prompted, his chest tightening with anxiety - he half-expected your answer to be him.

You shook your head. 'Loving people who can't love me back, I guess.'

Dean tensed. Should he say those words now?

'My parents told me that they don't love me,' you mumbled. 'Never did.'

Dean's heart broke for you even if he had known all along. 'I'm going to kill them,' he gritted out, fists clenching.

Of course, you shook your head negatively.

'Dean, it doesn't matter,' you said.

'Y/N—'

'Dean,' you said, sounding like you were begging. 'Please go. This doesn't concern you.'

That hurt as much as you revealing what was wrong.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he snapped. 'What's wrong with you? I'm not about to leave you here alone.'

'You want to start on what's wrong with me?' you arched a brow, getting a spark of fury back. 'Start a list, pal. First off, I'm unlovable.'

His lips curled into a snarl. 'Stop being so irrational, Y/N.'

'What's irrational about that?' you demanded, your voice dwindling as fresh tears coated your eyes. 'Let's call a spade . . . a spade, Dean. I've been a pawn too long in everyone's worlds—who would want me as their queen? No one cares!'

'I care,' he said. 'I want you.' Those were the easy sentences; he paused to gather courage for the last one, though: 'Y/N, I lo—'

'Stop,' you cried out. 'I won't come back from your lies.'

Your refusal to hear it was a form of rejection itself. It stung Dean with a grave disappointment. 'I can't lie to you,' he ground out, however.

'It doesn't matter, Dean,' you said. 'I won't be a priority—and you have to let me be okay with that. I have to accept it—'

Dean felt a stab of guilt. 'Look, I'm sorry, okay? I know I was busy with Sam and the Devil, okay? I didn't mean to neglect you—'

'That's not what I'm talking about,' you said. 'I won't be your first choice. Ever.'

'That's untrue.'

'I won't be enough,' you hissed like a mad scientist. 'You will come to resent me because you want a normal life.'

'You're not making any sense.'

'My parents made me sign a marriage contract!' you burst in frustration. 'I didn't know what I was signing, but they made me sign it, and now I'm legally bound to marry a man who plans to stay in the upper-class for the rest of his life - so that my parents have an unabting current of income!'

Dean was stunned.

'And you don't even have my photo!' your voice cracked here.

Dean's brows furrowed. 'What photo?'

'On your desk,' your lips trembled. Your tears began their steady descent, promoting your spiral once more. 'You don't have a photo of me.'

'Because you didn't want us to be public,' he stated.

'Oh, fuck,' you huffed. 'My common sense died last week, didn't it?' You hid your face from him, feeling embarrassed that you didn't think of it before. 'It's my own fault,' you said into your palms. 'Everything's my fault . . . That's not the point. Look, Dean, you've already done so much for me. Let me set you free.' You lifted your head to meet his eyes so he could see how sincere you were. 'You don't owe me anything, okay? I'm not your responsibility. You can have a normal life without me.'

The void in his chest was more devastating than most things in his life. 'Are you breaking up with me?'

You shook your head quickly. 'I can't,' you whispered. 'But I'm urging you to do it. My options are marriage or life imprisonment. Or a life on the run. It'll destroy your dreams, Dean.'

He puckered his lips and reached into his pocket. He was surprised to find that there was a tremble in his hands when he fetched his wallet. He handed it to you, open to the photograph he had on there.

A pained smile flickered on your face. 'You made a sweet child.'

You were looking at his family photo from when Dean was ten with two tiny dimples.

'Look under,' he said with impatience.

You pulled another photo free, hidden under the first. Your jaw dropped slightly.

The second picture was from your first date with Dean. You both had climbed a tall tree - too tall, in your opinion - to get a view of the skyline.

'I'm going to fall,' you had squeaked when the branch creaked under your combined weight. Dean had pulled himself up, stationed himself in front of you, and then leaned back to pin you against the bark.

'You're so heavy,' you had giggled.

'I'm saving your life. Hush, woman,' he'd smirked. His head had fallen into the crook of your neck. No longer afraid of falling, you had slipped your arms around his waist to hold his back to your chest; he had grasped your hands to keep you just like that. Then, he'd shut his eyes when you pressed your lips to his forehead.

'I can stay like this forever,' he'd whispered.

'I want you to, selfishly, keep this photo forever,' you muttered. '. . . How'd you even get it?'

'Druid magic,' he said. 'And what I don't understand is why this argument is about photos.'

You handed him his property again, shooting him an apologetic smile. 'You only save the pictures of people you care about, Dean. At least I do. You can see them even after they're long gone.'

'You're not gone,' he sharply retorted. 'Is that why you want me to keep your photo? So, what, I can cry about it like some sissy every time I see it? Is that it?'

You grimaced. 'I suppose it is too much to ask. You don't have to keep caring about me after—'

'Do you honestly ever fucking hear yourself speak?' he asked, aggravated now.

'Astonishingly, you're not the first person to ask me that tonight.'

'Because you're talking like a crazy person!' he said. 'After what? You're not leaving, Y/N, and neither am I! I'm sorry, but you're a fool if you think I'm letting you go without a fight.'

Your nostrils flared. 'How else shall I explain to you that I'm not what you want—'

'I'll be the judge of that!'

'You are,' you exclaimed. 'You said you wanted a normal life. That's your dream! All your pictures are from the time you had the most normalcy - from before your Leadership!'

'Except the ones with you!'

'Dean, that picture from your wallet was taken on our most normal day!' you said. 'Hell, it wasn't even a full day before I was impaled by a fucking tree, and you goddamned walked into a flood. Do you really want that for the rest of your life!?'

Dean couldn't conjure an answer for a very long minute. 

You set your jaw.

'That's what I thought. You said that your time before Leadership had been "almost perfect" for you. You said that this life is like a "punishment".'

Dean couldn't believe you were using his words against him like that. If you could just give him a fucking minute to think . . . 

You gathered your courage and mustered the strength to stand up. 'You should leave,' you said. 'I'll have to redo my make-up, again, and apologise to everyone downstairs. I'd appreciate it if you didn't reject me until after the Ball, I don't think I can go on—'

'Shut up. Just . . .' he stopped you mid-sentence and mid-way, keeping you there while he stood up. Without your heels, he could easily look down into your eyes and see the depths of your soul. 'I said "almost",' he told you, like he hadn't heard a single word you'd just said. 'Almost perfect. Because you weren't there.'

'Dean—'

'No. Shut up and listen to me. All I know,' he said, slow and methodical, 'is that I can't let you walk down there into another fucking man's arms.'

'This is not the time to let your monkey brain take over,' you snapped. 'Think rationally—'

'Is that what you're doing?' he scoffed. 'That's what you said earlier, is it? That you're thinking rationally? Well, here's all I can think about right now: if I see you marry another man, it'll wreck me.'

'You'll be fine—'

'You don't know that.'

'If you marry me, you will definitely not be fine,' you said. That, you knew.

You tried to step away, but his fingerpads dug into your skin, keeping you to him.

'You're my soulmate, Y/N,' he said. 'Mine.'

'You keep saying that, but you don't even believe in God, Dean,' you countered. 'Why would you want anything that he left you?'

'I don't know,' he said. 'He works in mysterious ways. I don't care.' He slid his hands up to cup your face so you could see straight into him, to see the truth of his words, 'Look. Yeah, I wanted a normal life. But that was before you came along—'

'Dean—'

'Let me finish, dammit!' he urged.

You stared at him defiantly.

'I've thought about this,' he carefully put. 'I don't care about a normal life if I don't have you in it. Okay? You're better than all my dreams. You're better than anything my fucked brain could've made up,' he insisted. 'Do you get that?'

You swallowed the slick lump in your throat.

'My mind is a dark place,' he continued. 'And I need you to keep me sane. You're looking at it all wrong! I was in the Leadership before you came along, you were the only reason I could have that normal day in the first place.' He pulled you closer by slipping an arm around your waist, caressing your cheek with the other as he put his forehead against yours. 'I don't need a woman from the apple-pie life. I need one who can hammer me down in this world, anchor me when everything's in the air - you do that, and I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else.'

Tears sparkled in your eyes at his admission. 'Maybe that's true for you now, but you can change your mind.'

'So can you,' he insisted. 'We don't know what's going to happen.'

You chewed your bottom lip. 'I can't have you resent me,' you whispered after a few beats. 'I won't be able to take that,' your voice quivered, pulling your head away from his.

It damn near broke him.

'I won't,' he promised. 'I'm not your parents, Y/N. If the cost of being with you is the Leadership, I will pay it - and I'll still call myself lucky because you're the best goddamn thing that happened to me. And I'm too damn grateful to resent you.'

'I'm asking too much,' you cried out, as more tears came racing down your cheek, and Dean's hand was there to wipe them.

'You're not asking enough,' he firmly said.

'Think more about it—'

'Marry me.'

He could hear your breath hitch, your mouth fell open completely, and your eyes widened in utter shock.

'Did you hear me?' he shook you slightly. 'Marry me.'

When you tried to pull away fully this time, he let you go; although, that was not without bracing his heart for a removal from his chest.

'You're being impulsive,' you said harshly. 'You don't know what you're doing.'

'I'm scared, too, Y/N,' he steadily said. 'I'm scared because I don't know what's going to happen to us. But I'm more scared of losing you. So, you're wrong. I know exactly what I'm doing.'

'Dean,' you just about whined. 'Why are you putting me in such a hard position?'

The pounding in his chest was too much for the way his cavity was tightening.

'You wanted me to reject you; I'm not,' he said. 'Your turn now.'

'This is not good for you!'

'Not your call, Y/N.'

'Dean,' it was a warning and a plea all in one.

He could've been lightheaded from all the fear that was winding up in him tighter the longer you postponed answering.

'You're not thinking—'

It rubbed him the wrong way.

'You need to give me a chance, dammit!' he said. 'You cannot be right all the time!'

Your face crumbled, and you looked down in shame.

'Just give me a chance to prove you wrong, okay? Just give me one chance to show you that family can mean something else . . .'

You closed your eyes so more salt lines cut through your masks; you shook your head from side to side.

And Dean stilled. Everything in him stopped momentarily.

'Is that a no?'

'It's a yes,' you said it under your breath, so it was nearly inaudible.

Dean had to blink his stillness away . . .

'D-Did you just agree to marry me?'

'I can't say no to you,' you accused. 'Of course I want to marry you, of course I want to give you a chance. But—!'

He shut you up with a searing kiss.

It wiped your mind of thoughts, letting the regular electric high that invaded your senses whenever he kissed you take over again.

Between all the sleep deprivation, the crying, and the fights, this type of sudden exhilaration dizzied you. You found purchase on his chest and shoulders as your knees weakened.

Dean must have sensed it because he led you until the backs of your knees touched your mattress, then he bent you down until your back hit your mattress. It was easier to breathe horizontally as was bringing Dean in for a deeper taste in that position.

Dean had come down with you, letting the taste of your tears dissolve onto his tongue, only moving away a few times to let you breathe; whereupon he would kiss down your jaw and neck, until he was ready to steal your breath again.

His fingers started tugging at your skin-tight dress, and you breathlessly managed to say: 'Scissors are in the drawer of my nightstand.'

He got up quickly, fumbling for the stationery. But before he returned to you, he made a quick detour to lock the door of your room. When he'd rushed back to your side again, he met your eyes.

'Sure I can cut this?'

'Positive . . . Cut me free.'

'I can't believe I'm playing hooky at my own Ball,' you snorted as you donned a human sweater and human jeans with human boots. Your hair was wild and free now, and you'd removed all that elaborate make-up, keeping only the compact and ruse (you weren't a monster to go bare-faced). And most importantly, you wore Dean's heart-pendant necklace and all your regular jewellery that protected you.

'If you had talked to me earlier, we would've been engaged much sooner,' Dean pointed out. 'No one would've had to come.'

You spun around. 'You're not mad at me anymore, are you?'

Dean zipped up his jeans and moved on to wear his grey undershirt - he'd been keeping a spare in your room for a while, and he refused to go back into his skinny, leather jeans - said those had made him feel like a rich jerk.

'After three rounds of mind-blowing sex?' he grinned. 'Think we're even.'

You laughed, rounding the bed to meet him where he was dressing up. 'You make it sound like a favour or something.'

'Obviously, it wasn't,' he said, finally putting his blue flannel on, in time to receive you by the waist. 'But it helped.'

You sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck. 'It's all so surreal. We're engaged! I really didn't think you would agree to marry me so quickly,' you admitted. 'Like, after you knew about the contract and all.'

He gave you a look.

Instead of replying, he reached for his wallet on the nightstand. This time, he brought out two ringshe kept where coins should be (neither of you used coins - it wasn't royal).

For the second time that night, he left you in abject shock.

'Wait . . . Are those—?'

'Soulmate rings,' he confirmed. 'Belonged to my parents. Sammy released them to me on the Summer Solstice last year.'

'You've known since then?' your eyeballs bulged. You knew he knew, but he hadn't told you since when.

'Yes, darlin'. I've been all in since then.'

'I-I don't know what to say,' you bit your lip, meeting his heated gaze - it was the one you'd only seen in the romcoms he liked, that intense one that a guy gave to his girl when he thought she was his entire world.

It gave you goosebumps.

'Want to put these on before we go deal with your parents?'

'Really?' you entire face lit up, although trepidation tried to slow you down. 'You want to give me your soulmate ring?'

'You are my soulmate,' he teased you. 

'I know, I know,' you waved a hand around. 'I've just never had a soulmate before. I mean, if calling you my boyfriend was daunting - this would be our soulmate ring, and our engagement ring, and I've only had all this information for a few hour—'

He claimed your lips to stop your rambling. Your brain honestly turned to goo every time he did that - it was a good technique to shut you up. The sound of the smooch when he pulled away made your toes curl in your boots.

'You are adorable,' he pecked you once again, swiping his thumb under your lower lip, sending tingles everywhere in your body.

While your breathing evened out, you wordlessly offered him your left hand.

He picked the more feminine design and took your left hand in his, but he paused before he could slip it on, hesitating: 'Can I ask you nicely?'

You smirked shyly. '. . . If you want.'

His features softened, and his heartbeat accelerated again. 'Y/N,' he said, pausing after it for much too long. 

'Yeah?' you had to prompt him.

He locked his eyes with you, and you were swept into a tsunami of emotions in there.

'To be honest, you make me really mad,' he said calmly. 'In general.'

'O-Oh?' But before you could apologise, he was talking.

'And it makes me fucking furious that you make me climb up the fucking walls and I still want to thank you for it,' he scoffed. 'I get mad at you because . . . to be honest, I didn't want to be in a relationship ever again. I didn't want to care about anyone else, but it's insane how much I want to take care of you.'

You quirked half a smile, 'You're off to a good start.'

He took a deep, stabilizing breath, 'Y/N M/N L/N.'

'Don't say my middle name,' your nose scrunched.

He smirked. 'I need your maddening presence to drive me - you are what drives me to do everything I do. And I promise that if you wear this ring, I'll be yours - someone who protects you, someone who cherishes you, someone you can always count on.' He wanted to add a sentence about love, but he wasn't sure if that was okay with you yet, so he wrapped things up. 'Would you do me the honour of making a husband out of me?'

You narrowed your eyes at his phrasing. 'Is that a feminist thing?'

'Yes. And I'm not apologising for it,' he grinned.

'Well, it isn't a dealbreaker so . . . I'd love to marry you,' you whispered, smiling beautifully. 'You're the only person I'd love to marry.'

You both shared beaming identical grins as he perched the ring on you.

You gasped when a scrawled cursive writing appeared on the smooth gold surface.

'That's your name,' you said. Goosebumps graced you once again when you traced the name with your finger. 'Is it glowing?' A faint golden light was emanating from the piece of jewelry.

'Your ring finger is said to be connected to your heart,' he explained. 'The name on your heart is the name on the ring.'

'That is so cool!' you noted earnestly.

He nodded. 'And the glow's just a reminder to cherish the golden bond we have.'

'It's wonderful,' you said, feeling another (this one happy) sting in your eyes.

'All right, now ring me,' he wiggled his fingers, making you laugh.

'You're so cheesy.' But you took the ring from him, kissing his palm before you flipped his hand over.

'Hey, only cheesy men can give awesome proposals.'

'You did scare me for a minute.'

'It's just an example that even if I'm mad at you, I'll be there for you,' he said smoothly.

You stared at your man fondly, emotional beyond speech. You strung his finger with the soulmate ring and watched with fascination as your name appeared on it.

Dean's free hand came to swipe your tears - you hadn't even known they'd slipped past your eyes.

'What's wrong now?'

'I've never been happier,' you chuckled. 

Till the day you die, it will be a mystery as to you how today was the worst and the best day of your life. All you knew was that you'd never cried more in a day than that one in your entire life.

When the ballroom doors opened, you immediately tracked down a mike, your hand in Dean's. People were slow to move for you two because you two had entered from the servant doors and weren't wearing the most appropriate clothes.

The crowd parted once they recognised you both, then muted, shocked at the display of your dragging your fellow Leader.

You signaled to cut out the music and took the stage from the band, leaving Dean at the steps.

All the Governors and Hunters stood in the attention stance of soldiers upon your appearance on the stage.

'Good evening, Governors. You can relax,' you said, voice as sturdy as your decision. You couldn't stop smiling. 'Sorry to have kept you waiting. I had urgent business to attend to.'

'What's going on?' you heard a hiss in the background - your mother was asking it to Dean, who willfully ignored her.

'I will keep this short. No point in wasting more of your time and mine,' you said. 'I am no longer looking for a suitor.'

There was a huge response: gasps, whispers, protests, and the loudest question in the air: 'Are you outta your mind?'

'No, Mrs L/N,' you directly addressed the last one. 'I've never been more mentally healthier. No thanks to you. . . . Ladies and gentlemen, without further ado or drama, let me present to you,' dramatic pause, 'my soulmate.' 

Another bout of responses, louder than the last time, as some camera flashes go off in the air. 

And for the grand finale: 'If you can please welcome Leader Dean Winchester—' collective gasps, Dean walked up the two steps, '—my soulmate, and now, my fiancé.' 

He laced his fingers with you, an anchor in the dam of chatter that flooded the room, along with a huge round of deafening applause and whoops—and someone tipped over the champagne tower by accident. Your mother's plate of cake had fallen to the floor, and your father had spilled a bite of cake on his shirt out of shock. But you and Dean showed off your soulmate rings to the crowd. 

You muttered an unheard thank you into the mike, turning to face Dean and bringing him down, much to his surprise, for the first official royal kiss. The camera flashes became blinding then, and the noise could've just blasted your eardrums. 

But Dean held you back, sharing his breath with you.

'We were brokering deals for you! We had already shortlisted seven candidates for you!' Daniella shouted as she strode into the Palace's conference room. 'Absolute disgrace, humiliated us in front of the crowds!'

'About time, don't you think?' Dean piped up, too happy with the plan he came up with to take down your parents' contract - you cannot believe you hadn't figured out the same idea.

Dean is such a genius, I swear, you eyed his side profile admirably. And he's all mine.

'Oh, you've always had it out for us, Mr Winchester,' she wagged her chubby finger at Dean.

'It's Lord Dean to you,' he corrected. 'Or Lord Winchester, since I'm getting married to Y/N soon.'

You tried not to let his attitude amuse you so greatly and failed when a smile splintered your face in half.

'I went over the contract, Daniella,' Dean said, having too much fun.

'You weren't supposed to show that to anyone!' she turned to you, an enlivened rage in her eyes.

'He's my soulmate and my soon-to-be husband,' you shrugged. 'You wouldn't want my legal marriage contract to interfere with the said marriage, would you? Imagine what the press would say if I told them you were interfering in my wedding that I apparently chose.'

'Oh, that would be so for your reputation,' Dean grinned.

'But we're making it worse, aren't we, darling?'

'Of course! You made such an elaborate clause, Daniella - one that can control your daughter in every way possible. But you know what variable you didn't count on?'

'Dean,' you answered for him. 'You didn't account for his unconventional methods. Like daughter, like mother, I guess,' you snorted.

Dean winked at you before delivering the punch line. 'I would have drum-rolls here for you, but you're not worth the effort, Daniella, so let me just say: Y/N and I agreed on a prenup.'

Identical Cheshire grins unfurled on you two's faces. 'That would be so bad for your greed, Mom.'

'You don't call me that!' she screeched, having the intended effect you wanted her to. 'Are you both out of your damn mind!? You think I won't contest this in court!?'

'Dean will just deny he knows about the contract,' you said. 'That way, prenup is his choice, and as it turns out, there's no clause for that in our contract.'

'That's because you didn't think anyone would refuse Y/N's money as a Temp Leader,' Dean laughed. 'And you also thought Y/N would never rebel. Can I just say that seeing you be defeated by yourself is one of the highlights of my day.'

'Speaking of things we're enjoying,' you added. 'We're banning you two from Europe.'

'That means no one's gonna trade with you from this Continent anymore,' Dean cackled. 'So say goodbye to your favourite fashion.'

'Not to mention, your old contacts from here, Mom,' you chirped. 

'Oh, more than half your sponsors are Europeans, aren't they, Daniella?' 

'You . . . You . . . Y/N, you've gone ROGUE—!' 

Dean calmly tsked, disarming your mother's anger hilariously. 'Where are your manners, young lady?' 

You were surprised with laughter. 'I swear, I did not ask him to say that,' you told her conversationally, like her anger wasn't affecting you at all (definitely a tit for tat thing). 

'I'm just saying that Y/N is an esteemed Leader, Daniella,' Dean said, happy that he got you to laugh as he slipped a hand around you - and fuck, did it feel nice to flaunt your relationship to your parents. 'I don't think you want to add imprisonment for misbehaviour against the government to your banishment, right?'

'She's my daughter,' she snarled in self-righteousness. 'I can talk to her however I want!'

Dean checked you for cold feet, but he was proud to witness you squaring your shoulders.

'Mom, you are right,' you said. 'I am your daughter, so I will say it as plainly as you did. Dean and I are signing a special kind of contract - call it a prenup or what-have-you, but you will not drain Dean's resources. We can't retire, sure, but I will find a way to spend all my assets over time, which won't leave you a single dime because I will be bankrupt. And according to the prenup, Dean's entire legacy will be separate from mine. If he wishes to sponsor me, he can, but he will owe you nothing.'

Neither of you had seen Daniella's face twitch as much as you had that day. From the background, where Miles had faded, he prompted her: 'What about grandchildren?'

'Yes!' Daniella recovered. 'Yes! Our grandchildren will . . . will aid us. That was in the deal.'

'Aw, cute,' Dean sniggered. 'But who's seen the future, Daniella? What if we never have children?'

In tandem, 'What if we get divorced and Dean gets the custody?'

'Or my personal favourite: you die,' Dean winked at her.

'Is that a threat?' she sneered.

'Was that a threat, darlin'?' you arched a playful brow. 

'Aw, not at all, princess,' Dean said, his eyes flashing darkly at them. 'A threat would be to say that if you upset Y/N ever again - or hell, if you contacted her in any shape or form, we will erase your existence from this planet.'

Daniella surged forward with a battle cry in her desperate insanity. She was too slow for you and Dean. Dean let you go to grab his two guns from his jeans while you let her push you into the nearest wall with a feeble bang.

'If you think you're going to get away with this, you don't know me!' she shrieked. 

You signaled Dean to hold fire because he had a gun pointed at each of your parents.  

You rescued yourself from her hold and shoved her away, hard, making her stumble and fall into Dean's gun, which made her shriek in fright and scramble towards your father.

'First off, say it,' you said. 'Don't fucking spray it.' You held two fingers up, 'Secondly, no one knows you better than I do. Now that my naive hopes are out of the way . . . well,' you let your easy grin slip back on your face. 'You did see how we crumbled your little plans in a day, right?'

'Seb?' Dean called, putting his guns down, but not out of sight. 'B2?'

Your team marched in with two files, all of them holding guns. Sebastian placed the first file on the table. Dean offered you a pen he'd fished out after putting one gun in as you joined his side.

'Your banishment,' you smiled.

Together, you and Dean put your signatures on the paper.

Baz placed the second file on the table.

'Don't do that!' she said, tears of embarrassment gathered in her eyes. 'If you do that, you will regret it! I will make you regret it!'

'Hmm, do you feel like regretting, Dean?'

'I could use a challenge,' he shrugged.

'Awesome. After you, then!'

He signed the papers before you did, both of you watching with trepidation as Daniella's dreams and dignity crushed in front of you.

'You will pay for this,' she hissed, more upset about her bruised ego than the loss of income. 'You will-' Like a child who didn't get a point, she lunged for the gun in Dean's hand. 

Dean had been so occupied shielding you that she stole the gun from him. 

Your team raised their own guns at her. 

'I didn't think you get stupider, Mrs L/N,' Baz said, fairly amused. 

'Give me those files, or I'll shoot you!' she warned, gun trained on you. 

Dean knew your phenomenal aiming skills came from your mother. He calmly stepped in front of you. Your brows crunched, and you tried to step up next to him, but an arm of his curled backward, keeping you behind him - no matter how much you strained, as subtly as you could, he was stronger. 

'Put the gun down, or you'll leave Europe in a body bag,' Sebastian claimed. 

'Not without those files!'

'Uh,' Miles said, hands in the air, wanting no part of this. 'I don't think money is worth our lives-'

'There is no life without money!' she snapped, eyes brimming. 'Just burn those contracts, and no one has to get hurt.'

'Will you shoot your own daughter for money, Mom?' you scoffed, trying to look her in the eyes over Dean's shoulder, but it was hard in just your boots. 'Have you no humanity left?'

'Humanity is a fable!' she exclaimed. 'Where was their humanity when I was kidnapped!?'

'You're pushing your children away for something your parents did to you,' Dean said. 'How are you better than them?'

'JUST GIVE ME THE DAMN FILES!' she squawked on the top of her lungs, shooting the ground Dean was on, making your heart nearly leap out of your chest.

Sebastain, the nearest one to her, pounced on her. The gun pointed towards the air and misfired once. The young Hunter clocked your out-of-practice mother in the jaw, and the gun clattered to the ground. The Griffith brothers leaped out of the way upon the second missfire, and Miles had let out a long girly scream before promptly ducking under the conference table. Dean had thrown himself back, so you both had tumbled to the ground with groans, Dean on top of you, still trying to cover you.

'All right, you're fucking done!' Sebastian growled, pulling her to her feet and handcuffing her. 

'Is everyone okay?' you asked, a tad winded. 

'I'm good!' huffed Miles, climbing out of his hidey-hole. 'I'm safe. It's okay!'

'Not you, Miles,' Dean snapped, straightening himself before helping you up. 'Are you okay, darling?' he asked you. 

You nodded, but you were utterly shocked - you'd never seen your father in a dangerous situation before, and how he went from a stoic lion to a mewling cat made you wonder how he was chosen for Permanent Leader in the first place - his fear had been appalling to you as a Hunter.

'We're all good, Lead,' Baz gave you both thumbs-up. 

'Bulletproof jackets,' grunted Boa, tapping his chest. 

Which means only you and Dean had been without jackets, and you had a bone to pick with your fiancé . . . 

'This isn't over!' Daniella said. 

'Bring it on, bitch,' Dean's lips curled menacingly - you wondered how long he'd been wanting to say that to her.

'Boa, Baz, would you like to escort her out? You have our permission to be rough if she resists,' you said, secretly disheartened by this whole fiasco. 

'Would be our pleasure,' Baz saluted.

'Yep,' Boa said. 

The twins took her by the elbows and dragged her out. 

'Whoo! She's cuckoo, huh?' said Miles, panting a bit. 

'Sebastian, throw him out,' Dean requested. 

'Happily,' Sebastian said. 

'I'm going! I'm going!' Miles said. 

'Good. By the way, I have a dish I'd like you to try,' quipped Sebastian. 

'Oh,' Miles said, slowly putting his milder gait back on now that the guns were away. 'I love food.'

'Good because I'm gonna make you eat dirt. That's for wanting me to cook, you racist fuckers . . .'

Their voices faded as Sebastian trailed after him to ensure that they both got to their cars downstairs, where their entourages waited to take them to the port and out of this Continent, per the newly-enforced ban.

Dean's arms snaked around your waist. 'You okay?'

You scoffed, turning in his arms. 'What the fuck was that?'

'What?' he asked like he genuinely didn't know what you were talking about. 

'You could've been shot, Dean!' 

'Oh, come on! It was reflexive,' Dean protested, tucking an errant strand behind your ear. 'I'm sorry.'

You sighed instead of swatting his hand away like you wanted to. It was understandable if his reflexes kicked in . . . 'Okay, but don't do it again - I can take care of myself.'

'Yeah, you can,' Dean said with half a smirk. 'Besides, I think I can make it up to you.'

It prompted an amused smile from you, too. You didn't know how to be angry, and Dean was too goddamn adorable to be mad at. 

'Fine. But I need a drink first.'

'Coming right up, princess,' he said, steering you towards the door. 

Your eyes strayed to the Conference Room window for a second. 

The Palace's garden surveillance just below this Room had a blind spot - and it was the only blind spot of the entire Palace CCTV system. This room's window was the only window in the entire place that nullified this blind spot as long as someone was standing at the window and in time to prevent a breach. 

It was a random fact for you to know, but you thought about it every time you visited this room, which wasn't often, which was why you kept forgetting to ask someone to fix it. But you weren't worried - only European Leaders knew about it since they were the only ones who used the room. 

In your shared fatigue, you two forget that Daniella was an ex-European Leader, too . . . 

'You think they saw through me?' you wondered, walking up the stairs towards your room with Dean after giving the Ballroom another visit and celebrating your engagement with Dean for a few hours with the guests. You hadn't wanted to, but you felt bad about calling them so far for technically nothing - you figured a party wouldn't hurt anyone. 

But you just wanted to sleep at this point.

You hadn't actually signed a prenup. Dean ideated the whole plan, but he refused to sign a real one even when you said you didn't mind. It was just to rile Daniella enough so she would never bother you again.

In the meantime, Dean would get his best lawyers to collaborate with Seth's lawyers on this to nullify the contract that did exist. You had complicated it by signing it again a week ago, but Dean thought there was hope. And if not, he said he would happily live the Leadership life with you.

He interlaced your hand with his. 'I don't think they have the parental instincts to see through you,' he rolled their eyes, for he couldn't help himself when it came to Daniella and Miles. 'But are you okay? With how it went down, I mean. The guns weren't exactly choreographed into our plan.'

You swallowed compulsively. 

You never got the chance to speak, however, when Dean's pager went off. 

He checked the caller ID and cursed under his breath.

'Sammy,' he told you, apologetic in his demeanor. 'Can you give me a minute?'

'Of course,' you said. 'In fact, put your phone on speaker!'

Dean patted himself down. 'Um, wait, I-I can't find my phone.'

You frowned. 'Did you leave it at the Ball?'

'No, I didn't remove it from my pocket-' Then, the realisation struck him. 'It must have fallen out of my pocket in the Conference Room when we fell down!'

'Let's go get it, then,' you urged. 

'Maybe you should go freshen up,' Dean suggested. 'You're exhausted-'

'No, I want to hear this,' you insisted. 'I want to talk to Sam, too.'

So, there you went, hand-in-hand, back to the scene of the crime. Dean found his device quickly and dialled his brother. You held his hand on the table where you two had taken a seat. 

'Heya, Sammy,' Dean said to the phone in between you, nervous and excited. 'How was the hunt?'

'Dean.'

It was distinctly Donna.

Your heart sank in sync with Dean's - you could see it in the way his hand tightened reflexively around yours, and his lips parted to tremble.

'No . . . No, no-'

'Is—?'

'I'm so sorry, Dean. We're so sorry for your loss—' 

But the rest of her sentence was drowned by the Palace-wide alarm. 

'What the-?' 

Your words died on your tongue when your eyes met with a horrible scene.

The alarm - one that's usually heard for tornadoes in alternate universes - sets off only in the event of breach. And the only place that breach could've happened because the cameras would've caught it too late was-

The ground vibrated as the last of the trees that made up your perimeter were blasted. 

'DUCK!' you screamed, tackling Dean to the floor with you as literally every window and object made of glass shattered from the proximity. 

The lights tripped into an emergency red.

Screams filled the air.

The night sky was ablaze from the bomb blast. 

When you could peek up, the forest fire allowed you to see the soldiers crawling out of hiding.

'Oh, my God—'

A/N: Whoo! What an emotional rollercoaster 🫠. So much happened in this chapter, lol

Do comment which part affected you the most, happy and/or sad! (For me, I cried during the scene where he was asking her to marry him 🥹, and also the one where she breaks down crying 😭)

Anyway - * just swiftly proceeds to hide until the next week so you don't throw me off the cliffhanger I left you at . . . 👀🫣*

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Sitting in the library, my ass felt like it had been stuck with a superglue to the chair; it almost hurt to sit in now.

I could've gotten up, fetched a good whiskey, and paced around a little; probably hit the training center or the garage or the gun range - anything that would prove soothing after the long day this was turning out to be - anything that could get me out of this goddamn research, out of wallowing in my misery.

See, we had a couple of teensy-weensy problems on our hands.

Firstly, we had been thrown into another frying pan that kids liked to call the apocalypse these days.

Secondly, monsters seemed to be turning up all over our radars these past few days, and almost all the hunters in America were running on back-to-back cases to save people. Something that even Sam and I had been doing when we found her.

Which makes my third point: Y/N.

So, she was basically this girl we found on the roadside, lying unconscious in the middle of nowhere; wearing ripped clothes, her skin smattered with bruises and scratches that made me think that she had gone ten rounds with a wild cat - whose personality she seemed to match. But here's what got our panties in a twist: she didn't remember anything sans her name.

She shouldn't have been a clinch in our plans to take up the Rugaru case up in the north, but here came the clinch.

I've seen her before. In Purgatory.

Hell, I've done more than "seen" her before. I've loved her. I've gotten my heart ripped out by her. And here she stands - without any recollection of what she did, or how she got here. Without realizing that she's the Brit who saved my life.

She had come adorning my amulet - a replica of what I had years ago. We didn't how she got it, she didn't know how she got it.

But, frankly, it didn't matter right now. All that mattered was that she has been messing with my goddamn mind since the first fucking moment she met me.

Now that I've finally found her again, I've promised myself that I wouldn't go through that again - I wouldn't let her go. There was something inside me that told me that if I lost her today, I would have to grieve her.

And I can't do that. Not again.

I was brought out of my reverie when a storming and determined Y/N rushed out with Sammy on her heels.

'Whoa, whoa, easy there,' I stood up with my hands raised.

She stopped dead in her tracks as if caught doing something illegal.

'What's going on?'

'She wants to go after Rowena,' Sam explained from behind her, towering over her.

'What, why?'

'I want to know what happened to them, Dean,' her accent bled into her voice, too strong - unlike the accent she had phased out or rather tried to, over the years when she lived in Purgatory but coming back here seemed to have brought it back full force.

'You lost me.'

She sighed as if speaking to an insolent kid. 'The book Rowena gave me. It contained a story of—of a far-away kingdom, two lovers, and seven regions. And . . . I just need know what happened to them! The pages where the end should be are missing!'

The gears in my mind turned. We had called Rowena after Castiel mentioned how her memories weren't gone by fluke - but it had been devised that way by someone. The only creatures powerful enough to do that were the witches, hence, the call to a certain redhead.

She handed Y/N the book to keep her entertained while she investigated the "subject" (in Rowena's words, even though I told her not to call Y/N that). A book that Y/N refused to return when Rowena left - the witch just waved it off by saying that she'd collect it when she came back with a solution for Y/N's amnesia.

Before I could formulate a response, Y/N was already rushing up the stairs.

'Hold on, you're not going anywhere!' I demanded, wondering how the hell she was even going to find the damn witch.

Moreover, it had been years since I last saw her, and yet, she seemed to be the only woman who seemed to put a smile on my face and ease on my heart. I can't see letting her go without, at least, some fucking explanation.

'Y/N, you don't have your memories yet. We don't know what dangers lie ahead of you if you leave this place.'

'I know, Sam,' she exclaimed, standing a few steps higher from where Sam and I were at the bottom of the metal staircase that led us outdoors. 'But I can't shake this feeling out of my head. I feel like I lived this story. I can't sleep until I've found out the climax of this book!' Not waiting for us to recover, she turned toe and climbed up the steps two at a time.

We followed suit, my annoyance with her stubborn recklessness burgeoning - why was she always like this?

'Whoa, I'm not ready to play "Finding Dory"! You're not walking out of here - end of discussion.'

My hand reached out to her elbow, brushing against the scar her shirt's sleeves weren't long enough to cover.

And what happened next was too fast that it almost didn't register with me.

She gasped, all the air rushed out of her; her eyes misting over and fading under the white sheet that seemed to draw over her outstanding e/c irises; and then her head lolled forward, her body free-falling - almost hitting the ground but my reflexes made me hold her.

Her head hit my chest over my heart with a soft thud, and her limbs lost all their energy as she went limp in my arms. Her eyes closed just as my voice called her name out in panic.

Oh, this cannot be happening to me right now!

Y/N bolted on the bed, chest heaving with pants. Eyes wild and overwhelmed with the events that had unfolded; I knew a synopsis from Rowena's recounting. If anyone was listening, I fucking said it was a bad idea as soon as it had been suggested.

My fingers automatically found hers, latching on as if my life depended on her (it did).

'Darlin', you okay?'

The depths of my concern were endless, and my heart threatened to burst past my ribcage like in the cartoons - but just slightly more fatal to my health.

'Dean,' she breathed out shakily.

Her shoulders slouched as she leaned forward to rest in my arms.

I held her gratefully, breathing out through my nose in relief; my lips brushed on her forehead.

'Dean, oh, my God,' her voice cracked. 

'What is it?' I pulled back, speaking quickly, trying not to let the panic take the wheel. 'How can I help?'

She shook her head, gazing in my eyes with so much hurt that withered my heart.

Suddenly, she jutted forward, landing her lips on mine in a shocking yet I-will-die-if-I-do-not-do-this manner. My eyes widened before they closed in submission, letting her take the lead as my hands found purchase on either side of her waist.

Sebastian cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Still here, boss.'

Y/N pulled away gasping like a fish out of water, gulping as red flooded her face. 'I'm sorry, Seb.'

He chuckled. 'No worries, Deadeye. Did you get it?'

She nodded, her haphazard hands producing the necklace she went to the alternate universe for.

It was the sign of the secret relationship and love, given by another Dean to another Y/N.

There was only one another universe where Y/N and I's namesakes and lookalikes were royalty - there were more royal couple like ours, but some had different names, or different birthmarks, or something or the other that differed.

There was only one other royal couple like ours, and we needed their symbol of love for this case.

Something that required Y/N to bend through space and time with the assistance of a redheaded witch, and a trench-coated angel, and a few more odds and ends.

I would have been against it had it not been Y/N's only chance of surviving against Michael, the archangel whose vessel I was supposed to be, but Y/N won't let me say "yes".

As grateful as I am to her for protecting me, I don't like the fact that this involves risking the love of my life in more ways than I can count some days. 

'Can I?' Sebastian stepped forward with a tentative hand extended.

She handed it over. 'Please, be careful . . . I can't go through that again.'

He smiled softly, exchanging a look with me. 'I will be. You should sleep the jet-lag off, Y/N.'

The room vacated and I finally turned to her, her breathing just now starting to even out. Brushing a strand out of her face, I smiled softly at my soulmate.

'Are you okay?' I repeated.

Tears swelled in her eyes, and she swallowed the mythic lump gathered in her throat.

'Do you . . . do you know what happened?'

I pursed my lips, 'Rowena gave me a rundown.' I grimaced. 'Can't imagine any of it might have been fun for you, babe.'

'It wasn't,' she pouted, looking really upset. She sniffled, 'It wasn't . . . It wasn't that I just went there, and that I hitched a ride in the Y/N's of the other Universes. but I experienced one of their deaths and . . . I-I don't even remember what else!'

She pulled my hand till she had maneuvered me around her body - up and out of my chair and lounging behind her on the bed; my legs tangled with hers, arms tightening around what I now understood was a shivering frame, and she settled against my chest with her head laid down over my heart. She took a few moments as my fingers carded through her open locks.

She kissed my chest, making my heart skip a beat despite so many times she'd done it.

'Talk to me,' I kissed her on the head. 'Tell me everything, darling.'

'It was awful and I can't put my finger on why . . . I mean, first, I went to that Royal Universe like we planned - I-I-I didn't even remember myself or who I was when I was there,' she shuddered. 'It was only until that other woman died because of that arrow . . . I think . . . that I came alive in her body. Until then I was trapped in the back of her mind like some damn demon possession gone right?' She shook her head, 'I don't even know.'

'Did it hurt? Dying?'

'A bit,' she sniffled, 'didn't feel most of it - but what was worst was seeing you dead - died in my fucking arms!'

'I'm not going anywhere,' I whispered into her hair, my arms constricting further like shrinking steel bands.

She made herself smaller, slinging her legs over my thighs till she was sitting on my lap and burying her face into the crook of my neck, breathing my scent in till she had calmed down more.

'Anyway,' she cleared her throat when she had found her voice again, her words muffled against my neck and tickling me a bit - but I closed my eyes and relished the feeling.

'Rowena kept a good eye on me - whichever world I went into. She protected me as much as could there, protected me from some damn Phantoms, or something. I killed Gordon, I think - everything's so hazy but my emotions are so heightened and I don't know why but I'm panicking. I mean, the second Universe is woozier than the first!

'Like, I vaguely recall the American hunters - you, and Sam - and you looked at me like I had done something to you! Like you missed me or something . . . Obviously, my brain had been fried to the point where I couldn't even remember my own last name!

'So, I didn't know what that look was for back there. I was just this girl they'd picked on the side of the road, I guess. With the necklace.'

'Did you hijack that Universe's Y/N, too?' I asked eventhough I knew, trying to give a structure to her rant if it helped her. 'The American version?'

'I think so, yeah, yeah, I think I did. But in our struggle for control, we both ended up cancelling out each other's memories, and I kinda won? Um, I guess, yeah. So, it was my personality with no memories while the original host sat on the back burner . . . Talking to me? Screaming, maybe, I don't remember.'

I didn't know that she talked to the American version. Although Rowena did say it was impossible to get into that dreamwalker's head, so it would make sense if something happened there that the witch couldn't know.

Seeing her anxiety on the rise, though, made me change the topic.

'And then Rowena's book got you out,' I gently prompted her to a finish before she could dwell on something that was making her head reel.

'I think . . . ' she raised her hand to rub her face tiredly.

'Do you want to sleep first, darling?' I suggested.

'Just let me finish,' she insisted, even though her eyes were already half-closed. 'So, our Rowena's visiting spirit gave me that book, as discussed.' Rowena had been pretending to be other Rowenas in whichever Universes she visited. 'It was the exact same story I had experienced in the first Universe - her way of trying to give me "my memories" back. But the pages in the end were ripped, and I panicked, because my own memories were like, behind a wall or something, and they were begging me to come back, and—' I breathed in deeply, 'No, wait, I think I fought with—No, I don't - I don't know! It just didn't work, so I panicked more. I really wanted my memories to come back . . . I really wanted to come back and—' She cut herself off. 'Why don't I remember? I feel like it's pertinent that I remember this thing. Like, it's okay to forget everything else - just this one thing . . . !'

I smoothed my hands soothingly down her sides. 'You're okay, darling. It's okay,' I whispered into her hair. 'You don't have to think about it now. You got what you went for, right? Just let it go. We knew you were going to forget anyway, right?'

A pregnant pause.

'I thought I'd never see you again,' her bottom lip trembled, twisting my heartstrings.

'Oh, baby,' I muttered, tightening my hold on her. 'I'm sorry you had to go through that.'

She relaxed further in my arms, and I might've been a little prideful that such a strong woman wanted to rely on me for comfort.

'Long story short,' you murmured, a little resigned. 'The American version of you touched this scar,' her index finger absent-mindedly dragged along the scar she had gotten when she fell from a tree while we were on a hunt - a scar that only one other Royal couple replicated, who were now dead. 'Then I got pulled into reality. Our reality.'

'Now you're here,' I said quitely. 'You're not going anywhere.' That one was a promise.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

I stroked her hair, holding her close to me. Excessive relief was coursing through my every vein and making me lightheaded.

Sebastian knocked on the door and peek in once. 'Hey.'

I nodded at him in acknowledgement.

'Rowena and Kaia had a quick question. She figure out what the dreamwalker wanted from her?'

I didn't let a frown past my poker face. 'No,' I replied. Then gestured at her in my arms where she had slipped into the bottomless recesses of her brain, sleeping soundly, finally calm against me.

My lips quirked up in a small smirk - every time I looked at her, she is beautiful. The way this woman rules on my heart - I swear I could die for her.

'Oh, well, maybe we'll know when she wakes up,' Sebastain said.

I shrug absent-mindedly. But why do I have the feeling that it was her conversation with that dreamwalker that she couldn't remember that had her scared like that?

A/N: Can I just say I love plot twists?

Tag List.

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@stanzie @bettystonewell @jollyhunter @imsiriuslyreal @lori19

If overthinking were a product, you might be the brand ambassador for it.

You were tucked into the crook of Dean's arm as he snored lightly. You'd tried to climb out of his sleeping embrace because you were worried you would numb his limb, but every time you moved, he stirred and followed you, caging you in with his free arm and throwing a leg on you in his sleep.

You had to stamp down on a smile and butterflies alike when that happened. You couldn't help but be pleased that he wanted to keep you close.

And then, you would have the phantom sting of a slap on your cheek. Your smile would drop out of there like elastic pants without a string.

You couldn't believe that you'd asked Dean to do what he did last night. Your realisation of love had made you weak for him. Like a goddamn baby, you'd cried for him. You'd been worried he would reject you - or worse, he would accept it. 

Not that he didn't have your consent for the way ravished you last night. But it felt like you didn't have your own consent for having enjoyed yourself so much.

It felt like you'd broken the law. You'd asked for something too big and you'd gotten it too easily.

A rational, normal person would take that deal, thank God, and move fucking on. You, on the other hand, got close to hyperventilating every time you thought about how much you'd received from God.

An actual, lifelike man you could love. One who was kind, lovely, goofy, affectionate, understanding, hardworking, intelligent, thoughtful, interesting, and fucking handsome. He was so much more, but you couldn't list all that without sounding like a rapper in need of a fucking asthma inhaler.

Five, four, three, two, one . . . .

That's how you'd been pulling yourself from the brink of tears.

Oh, these fucking tears.

Your gratitude and guilt were so disproportionately huge.

You had done nothing for this man. You kept disappointing him, and he kept doing things for you. You hated that after all the toxicity you'd endured over the years, you were being toxic for him. He clearly deserved a better woman, and here you were, begging him to waste his time on you . . .

His face from the night before flashed before your eyes. It was clear he was trusting you with his vulnerability as much as you were trusting him with yours.

You weren't good enough for him, but he was giving himself to you anyway. You should probably just shut up and count your lucky stars.

You should revel in how your skin still tingles. Or how your head still buzzes in faint echoes of the highest high you ever got. Or how he couldn't keep his hands to himself the whole night until you practically passed out from exhaustion. You vaguely remember him cleaning you up. You also vaguely remembered that he showered your face with kisses when he came back from the ensuite, drawing you in the thick woolen blanket so you wouldn't be cold; he'd switched the heater on when the fire was reduced to embers. You remembered his breathy laugh when you curled up into him and how warmly he'd held you, warm and tight, until he drifted off himself.

The night had been magical. It had been out of this world. It meant everything to you.

Dean means everything to you.

So why did you insist on rationalising him in your life? Maybe he's supposed to be obtuse in your perfect world. It's his imperfections that make you the happiest. And thinking about how you don't deserve him just makes your skin crawl.

Last night, Dean had shown you a new side of himself - one that needed to be cherished, and loved and preserved. You could do that, right?

When your own turmoil got too much, you would replay his face in your mind's eye. The way he lay bare for you, not withdrawing once while bringing you out of your shell every time you got into your own head.

It seemed like he cared about you as much as you did for him. The way he was looking at you was as if he were made for you.

Ugh, you thought.

The way that man ruins your common sense.

You were so desperate to believe that he could love you, too. And yet, concrete evidence stood before you that you weren't meant to be loved.

Your own parents found it hard to love you, and they were obligated by fucking biology. How could this absolute blessing then be expected to love something that could never be worth his while then?

Five, four, three, two, one . . .

Okay, but that one stung.

Even as you blinked back your tears, you wondered what you'd done so wrong in life to not deserve someone like him. You wondered how you could make up for all your faults. Wondered if Dean would stay till you became worthy of him.

Your parents told you that fame would make you worthy of them. That was plausible; that was a goal.

But what the fuck did Dean want you to do?

Nothing, apparently. Because he was fucking perfect.

That made you smile because a perfect man was lying half-naked in your bed.

And then it made you frown.

You sighed as the exhausting loop of your miserable thoughts recommenced.

By ten in the morning, your process of overthinking would've been going on for two hours. You woke up at eight after sleeping at six-fifteen or so. Although the excess thoughts had tired you out more than improper sleep.

When your eyes caught the clock, you internally cursed yourself for not noticing the time before. It had been snowing the whole night, and the grey clouds still obscured the position of the sun. You didn't realise what hour had struck because it was still pretty dark outside.

You were determined not to be a downer to his morning like you'd been to yours. Very careful of your actions, you tried to slide out of his muscular hold. You were successful in extracting your legs from under his. Not so successful in wiggling out of his embrace.

He roused with a groan.

'What time is it?' he mumbled, voice thickened with sleep.

If it wasn't appropriate to grimace, you would've lusted after that damn voice.

'It's okay,' you whispered, trying to get up again. 'You sleep.'

Dean moved faster than most people in their sleep. He pulled you down swiftly and caged you between the mattress and his heated, shirtless self.

Your toes curled at his proximity, and your body tingled because it remembered his touch. You bit your lip so that you wouldn't physically drool. Mentally, you were too far gone.

'Where d'you think you're going?'

His voice was laden with husk and gravel. It flushed you to your core.

It also didn't help that he'd ducked his head and his nose was tracing your jawline and nuzzling your neck. With his hands propping him up from either side of your face and his body enveloping yours, you couldn't help but have your hands find his skin. Your fingers ran up his sides and brought him closer by wrapping around his back till he hummed in satisfaction. It vibrated against your skin and made you sigh in peace.

Your inner battles ebbed away like a wave, lurking about the ocean of insecurities to come back at a time when you weren't so glad to be alive.

He distracted you so well by brushing his lips on your collarbone, nudging his flannel that you wore away with his face like it personally offended him. You remembered when he put it on you because you were getting too shy and had asked for it sleepily; he'd buttoned you up patiently.

'It's morning,' you mumbled, letting a small smile slip through. Your nimble fingers laced into his hair, mussing it up more. 'Should wake up.'

Dean's breathing picked up a little when you tugged on his hair. He pulled away for a bit, cracking an eyelid, peering down at you with a hungry look that made your insides squirm.

'No,' he decided after a second. He tucked his head back into the crook of your neck, very satisfied with his answer.

You sniggered. 'You can't control the sun,' you pointed out.

'I meant, no to that look,' he grumbled.

You pressed your kiss-bitten lips to the junction where his jaw met his neck. 'What look?'

He was smiling against your skin now, but he didn't look up or open his eyes.

'That look where you overthink,' he replied, kissing your pulse point while his hand came up to smooth the divot between your brows.

He didn't even need his sight to know where every feature of yours was.

Pangs of dismay assaulted you. Yet, awe took precedence: it hadn't even taken both his eyeballs to inspect you and find out your self-depreciation.

'How did you know?'

He chuckled, finally looking into your eyes fully. 'I know you.' He smiled sincerely, like he was happy to know you.

You were stunned.

All your life, you'd worked to become something your parents would want to know. Then Dean rolled in. He got to know who you were in the present, and he seemed to be perfectly content while doing so.

A thumb swiped over the apple of your cheek, drawing your electric e/cs to his homely ones. His curious orbs rummaged through your speechless ones - looking for something. Only you didn't know what you could give him that would remotely come close to what he'd given you.

'Say something,' he gently urged.

You blinked your eyes, breaking contact because you felt the betraying tears gather again.

His standards were so low for you. You were so insufficient for him.

He did a double-take when the mist from your eyes rolled down your cheek. 'W-What happened?'

You shook your head, feeling silly.

But all your secrets were ready to march right out of you, to lie down in front of Dean for him to scrutinize. He was making your environment too safe for any secrets to sit still inside the locked boxes of your mind; they were screaming to find freedom. They were desperate to see the light of day for the first time when all they'd ever known was the darkness of your subconscious, where you'd suppressed them so far away that they'd become your paranoia.

'I want to slap myself,' blurted out the first one.

'Why?'

'Because I'm too happy,' you frowned, your forehead creasing with stress. Your lips quivered, and your voice trembled. 'Which I haven't earned. Then I'm too sad because who doesn't want to be happy? And then I'm guilty about being sad because I didn't earn my happiness, so I have no right to be sad for something that was never mine to begin with.'

Dean knew so many emotions that you could rely on him to guide you through this maze of sentiments.

And then a terrifying thought nibbled at your sanity.

What if you hadn't even earned the right to a guide?

What if you were meant to stay isolated so you could grow as a person? What if happiness curtailed your motivation to become famous? What if you chose Dean and gave up on your parents?

Dean, however, had stiffened in your arms. His expression was frozen in the midst of such horror and disgust. He had never looked at you like that before.

When you noticed it, you hurried to retract your words.

'Fuck,' you licked your lips, 'I'm sorry - I took it too far. I shouldn't have asked you that - my emotions are my responsibility. I should've just sorted them myself-'

The worst outcome you could've imagined happened.

Dean recoiled from you.

You tried not to feel the gap he left between the two of you as he sat up with his back to you. You swallowed against the pain in your chest, left by a Dean-shaped void.

I've lost him, haven't I?

You got up without resistance this time because Dean had let you go, and it hurt you more than you could frame into a sentence.

You placed a tentative hand on his shoulder, your secrets receding into the dark boxes they climbed out of. You needed to lock it the fuck up if you didn't want to scare this guy away.

'Dean?' It was a mere whisper. 'I'm sorry.'

'Fuck, don't apologise!' he said, voice gruff.

When his face turned, you stilled.

He was crying.

You shrank in on yourself.

Your own emotions backpedaled, thinking of how big a scolding you would get. An irrational fear gripped you: any time now, he would rise and tell you that you'd disrupted a good thing.

You were paralyzed. Waiting for him to release you like you were some trash he forgot he was holding.

None of Dean's actions had even pointed you in this direction before, but your night with Dean had dredged up an intense emotion. A familial one; and your parents had only ever treated you one way - like you weren't good enough. Somehow, the intensity of your love for Dean was making you compare him to them. (You didn't know if it was a good or a bad thing that you felt close enough with him to compare.)

Of course, you were bracing yourself for the worse: now that you both were at this stage, he would start treating you like them. Real love needed to be earned - maybe Dean was upset that you were experiencing happiness without the hardwork. Maybe the night had been very bad for him and it made him angry that you had gotten the better end of that deal . . . 

But when he opened his mouth, he turned your head on the pike once more.

'I'm so fucking sorry you had to go through that,' he croaked, swallowing the wobble in his voice.

'What are you talking about?'

Alarm trilled down your spine - out of all the outcomes you expected, apology wasn't on the fucking list.

A few more spilled down his cheeks. His face controted as if he were recalling something devastating and foul.

In a way, he was.

He was trying to relive the kind of childhood you would have had. He knew how bad it had been but it was hitting him fully for the first time. He could see it now: you didn't have trust issues about love. You simply didn't know what love is.

And it cracked his goddamn heart open.

Just the thought of a life without love made him shiver. But to live it?

If someone asked him to do it, he wouldn't be able to bear it.

Then, there you were. The woman he loved beyond words. The one he wanted to worship. The one who was quickly becoming his past, present, and future.

That one was forced to live without any form or capacity of requited love.

You had survived on a reward system all your life. He could still hear you telling him that your father had cooked fourteen times for you and that your mother had given you a measly "good job" or some apathetic shit while you gave a sorrowful speech at your grandmother's funeral - who was apparently the only one who ever took any "interest" in you. All he could feel was Seth's words resound in his chest to take you away from that family.

He gets it now.

He knew how deeply your parents had their claws in you. But to see that need for love flash in your eyes last night, and worse - to see you hide it with all your might this morning?

Well, it slammed Dean with the intensity of a hammer on a frozen banana.

He realised with a shuddering pain that all the times you'd cried in the past few days had been about being happy and how you regretted it because you didn't have a "good enough" cause for it.

'Dean?' Your voice pressed him for information, just as your icy fingertips curled around his neck. 'Dean, what's wrong?'

He didn't know what to say.

He'd never been so heartbroken about someone else's life before.

Neither was the irony lost on him. That not only was he crying because he loved you too damn much but also he was crying because he can.

Freely.

His parents never curbed his expression. He never had to beg for love.

Yes, he had a nomadic life, and he was bounced about a lot. Yes, he also didn't see his parents for days or sometimes months on end. But he had his brother, he had his best friends, he had a whole community of hunters to rely on.

He'd been raised in a loving society where everyone supported him as a future-Leader. It was one of the reasons he could so easily give it up, too - because while the Mark of Cain had relished the idea of so much power, he had been strengthened enough by everyone's love to know that his sacrifice would be for the greater good.

He was supported in his decisions time and again; even when he lost faith in himself, even when a few close ones left him, he knew he wasn't alone - people like Bobby, Rufus, Jody, Sam, Jessica and a few other Leaderships never stopped believing in him.

People never stopped loving him.

'Do you want me to leave?' your words jarred him into reality.

'This is your room,' he stupidly said when there were a thousand more words racing to reach to you from his mind, swirling in a gyre of pain.

You hesitated. 'It's your castle.'

It shattered all his reservations.

Fuck this shit, he decided. Your self-doubt had gone on long enough.

'Don't you dare go any-fucking-where,' he gritted. He was trying and failing to dress up his words nice. 'This Palace is as much yours as it is mine,' he fiercely stated. 'And so is this relationship. So whether you enjoy it or not, it's your choice. Your parents get no say in it!'

'. . . B-B-But I enjoyed myself last night. Too much.' You blushed profusely, averting your gaze nervously like you'd admitted to liking cannibalism. 'I mean, it's especially unfair to you because I'm so inexperienced.'

Dean reeled from your explanation.

He turned to kneel before you, taking a hand of yours and putting it over his galloping heart where he held it. His other hand cupped your cheek so his eyes could lock with yours with a ferocious intensity like it were some form of a lie detector test he was giving.

'Last night was the best night of my entire fucking existence.' There was a twinkle in his eye that dared you to challenge him. 'You hear me? I've never felt like this for another woman. And I'm never going to feel this for another one.'

'You don't have to say it to make me feel better,' you murmured awkwardly - too weak to let yourself hope.

His jaw clenched. 'I couldn't if I wanted to. Fucking look at me and tell me I'm lying,' he demanded. His hand squeezed yours, the one holding yours over his heart. 'Can't you feel it?'

You gingerly drew strength from his touch. 'W-Was it . . . really? Good for you, I mean?' you wondered, fragile yearning in you.

The things he would do to preserve that hope in you . . . Well, he scared himself with his willingness.

'Don't you compare yourself to any other woman. Ever again. Okay?' He paused until you nodded, getting surer of yourself. 'I haven't looked at another woman since I met you, and I'm never going to. Get that through your thick skull before you hurt yourself.'

You struggled to believe him but, as was established, he wasn't lying. There was a certain pressure alleviating from your chest. A satisfaction coursing through you.

'Thank you,' you smirked small, exhaling a breath in relief.

'No,' he almost snarled, startling you yet again.

'What?'

'I don't care where you picked up the idea that give-and-take in a relationship means a transaction. I'm putting an end to this. Right fucking now!'

Panic siezed you, and you fought with yourself not to cross your arms, but Dean was still holding you in place. He wasn't giving you a chance to shut him out. You think he was physically holding you open on purpose since when you often opened up to him, you clammed up just as easily like a pet tortoise who couldn't decide if their owner cared.

It was as if you both had a door between the two of you, and he was so tired of you regularly shutting it in his face that he had now put his foot down by wedging it in before you couldn't do any funny business.

'You need to stop keeping a tally,' he began, leaving your hand on his chest, trusting you not to retreat as he slid his now free hand on your neck so he was craddling your face in both his palms. 'If you keep trying to count what we both do for each other, it will end up becoming a profit and loss statement, and nothing more,' he said. 'There will always be a loser - and this is not some competition!'

'I know that,' you whispered. 'You've told me this before.' But it goes literally against every logic in your mind. 'We're supposed to be even,' you recalled.

'Exactly!'

'I just don't know how to be . . . that,' your face twisted with helplessness.

Your emotional dam was falling apart, ready to spring the salty water from its leaks. Dean had done a great job of taking a hammer to your defensive structures.

Dean's thumb came up to catch your first tear.

'Have you loved nothing in your life unconditionally?' There was an anguished taint to his words.

You grew a forlorn look, sniffling.

As you sifted through twenty-six years of memories, you could honestly say that every deed had been accounted for and tallied. Every relationship had started and ended with a favour.

Dean had already done so much for you.

He'd saved your career more than once, he'd supported you, missed you, thought for you. And despite the hundreds of times you assumed that he expected something in return, he managed to contradict you every damn time.

As a person who'd never done more than her share of work, you could safely say that you hadn't found yourself capable enough of the love Dean seems to parade around with. He had an endless supply of it, and here you were, doling out small portions, trying to juggle the seemingly unrenewable resource.

'My parents don't count?' you checked.

An intimidating murderous flash embraced his features, but he didn't elaborate on it. 'No,' he said.

You wondered if it was you, or if it sounded like he hated your parents as much as he loved in general - because that would be a scary parallel to draw.

'What about Seth?'

'Have you done anything for him that wasn't required. Or vice versa?'

You think you already know the answer to that.

You discarded person after person from your life until there was only one left.

'I guess that leaves you,' you said, hands fidgeting.

He shook his head stubbornly. 'Something else. Before me. This cannot be the only time you've had a relationship without expectations. Push back, think harder.'

His tears had dried of their own accord by now, and you resented yourself a little for not wiping them like he did for you. But you were a little too busy wracking your mind for his questions right now.

'Does my work count?' you tried to joke. 

He shook his head like he was seriously considering that option. 'It was expected of you. Something else.'

'Oh, um, wait, hobbies are allowed?'

'Anything you love.'

'Book reading!' you exclaimed with relief.

He shot you a scathing look. 'Political or entertainment?'

'. . . Moving on,' you sighed. 'How about archery?' you hopelessly wondered.

He nodded slowly. 'Did you get into it because of your parents?'

'Actually,' you shook your head, 'I think I'm only this good at archery because I've always enjoyed it. My parents noted my talent, and enrolled me for it. Incidentally, it was one of the times Father cooked for me!'

He didn't appreciate the little annecdote about your father, but he did latch onto one word.

'You've enjoyed it?' he wanted to be assured.

You bobbed your head enthusiastically. 'Yeah! It's fun.'

'That's it,' he shrugged. 'That's love.'

'No,' you snorted. 'That's too easy.'

He gave you an incredulous look. 'Yes, Y/N. It is.'

Your smile melted off your face. You analysed him closely to see the any signs of his playfulness. When none came, you had to rise up on your knees - as if sitting straighter would help you gain perspective.

This time Dean didn't cage you in. He'd done his job - he'd officially wormed his way in and left his mark.

He let you go, waiting for you.

Your shoulders were tensed. Your eyes were wide, staring far away.

You've had a few what the fuck moments in your life - but this bit right here was bringing your entire existence and value systems into question.

Have you really been so blind?

'You can't blame yourself,' he said soothingly, as if catching the stray musings of blame in your mind. 'You didn't know better. The right people didn't teach you at the right time,' he said, laced with anger.

You realised he was shifting the accountability on your parents.

'Seth used to say that,' you crossed  your legs under you in defeat, pulling the sheet on you.

You were in Dean's oversized shirt while Dean just wore his boxers to bed; you think he was being open about his body to encourage you to feel free as well. But right now you needed a moment to feel like you weren't so fucking exposed. Like you haven't been the biggest idiot in the world.

'Not in so many nice words,' you said, focusing back. 'He's always hated our parents,' you said in a small voice. 'But he's a guy, you know? A Firstborn. He was showered with love and possibilities from all sides.' Your lips twitched humourlessly. 'My grandmother raised me but she was often busy, you know? Working. It's her I get my ethic and love for servitude from.'

Dean itched to squeeze your palm, but a deeper instinct told him that you would need to make this journey alone before he could gather you if you fell apart.

'When she died, I was very . . . alone,' you scowled. 'Then, my mother showed up. I'd always seen her in pictures, you know? Or in media rallies and heard gossip about her. I was instantly fascinated by her. Even if Seth was wary. But I think he just had too many people looking after him. . . . I just had her. And my father.'

A deep breath lightened the constricting of your entire body.

'She started teaching me about my responsibilities,' you said, words wobbling. 'I was happy to oblige as long as she spent time with me, you know? How was it any different than Grams? Except she didn't cook. Or read me stories. That was an okay compromise, I felt - she was so busy.'

Seth tried to warn you many times; it made your relationship with him tumultuous for a while. But he never stopped taking care of you - whenever he could.

In the beginning, you two would meet every Sunday. Later, he was often states away from you, especially after your parents decided you both needed exposure. But whenever you would meet with him, he would point out her flaws, and you would try to pacify him.

His rough edges rounded out when he met B/F five years ago. You have your childhood best friend to thank for the marginal improvement that occurred in your relationship with your brother. Even if it wasn't as close as Sam and Dean - it was still something you cherished.

'Whenever Seth would fight her, I would defend. What if she goes away? . . . And with Father, it was more strict somehow. He would treat me and Seth equally - both of us valuable soldiers. Especially after I honed my archery and displayed my exceptional memory with books.'

You faintly smiled, glancing up at him to see that his eyes were shining just like yours. 

'I don't know when I started defending her to other people,' you chuckled lightly. 'I know she's independent, and can take care of herself.'

Dean's face pinched - that was not the lesson he wanted you to take away from this. But you were having a moment, and he'd be damned if he interrupted you.

One step at a time.

'And she's so hard to please,' you slumped into yourself with a huff. 'I forget not everyone is!'

You went to him yourself - surprising him by touching him in such a vulnerable second. Your fingers interlaced with his.

'After a point,' you continued, 'I just started believing I needed no one else. No one but them. Because once they're happy with me, I'll have everything in the world, you know?'

He didn't know. All he could do was stay stock still and try to wrap his mind around your heavy-hearted words.

You forced a smile to mask your pining. 'I guess I needed you, too.'

'And I, you,' he responded reflexively.

You resisted rolling your eyes - it still felt like you hadn't done nearly enough for him. But you refused to affect him again by repeating that spiel. (At least for a while.)

Instead, you had a new resolution.

You took Dean's other hand in yours, winding them both around your frame as you crawled atop him. He didn't pull you closer, letting you decide the boundaries you wanted to set. You ended up hugging him because you liked it.

You loved feeling of his strong arms twine around your smaller frame for them to hold you closer to his chest like you were a priced possession. You loved that he would brush a kiss on your hair somewhere before his nose slid down your jaw to bury into the crook of your neck where he would often sigh like there was no place he would rather be. Sometimes his hand would slide into your hair and cling to your strands.

You encircled his neck and sidled up against him so closely that there was not an atom betwixt the two of you. It was in lieu of more words you didn't have. The conversation was in no way complete, but it was a beginning.

'Water,' Dean huffed, tapping your thigh to signify that he wanted a break.

You slid off him, still panting. You could use that water too - you were far more winded than he was.

You both had managed to wiggle in some conjoined training time. It had been months since your last session with Dean, and you'd simply missed competing against him. You'd also been excited to try the guns you made for him at the shooting range today while Dean demonstrated a few moves he'd learned in his four months apart.

Your faces were red. Beads of sweat were rolling down your neck, matting your hair and the shirt stuck to your back. It reminded of you another taxing activity . . .

You glanced at Dean coyly who seemed intent on finishing his second bottle in one go. While you kissed your teeth, taking a few sips at a time - watching Dean's Adam's apple bob and fantasizing about his voice, his scruff, and admittedly, his lips.

Before you could suppress your emotions, you decided to just ask for what you wanted.

'Will you have . . . sex with me again?' your voice dipped at the taboo word, biting your lip.

You sidestepped reflexively when he choked on water and spewed it all over the ground. You thumped his back to get the droplets out of his windpipe.

'What?' he rasped, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

'We'll have to clean that up,' you said, distracted.

'Forget the mess,' he uttered, hand on your shoulder and staring up at you. 'What did you say to me?'

Your face burned with claret; it had been so much easier when you weren't looking into his alluring forest eyes - those were also quite distracting, as was his hand. (You seriously questioned what was wrong with you to be enticed by his hand on your shoulder.)

'You heard me,' you mumbled uncomfortably.

Dean blinked at you, realising you did say the word. Amusement barged into his heart, and he struggled to temper it down.

'Aren't you a little sore down there?' he checked, however.

Your safety would come first; and he liked to think he did a pretty solid job of wrecking you the pervious night.

'You're not allowed to ask that to a lady!' you hissed, covering your face in embarrassment.

He chuckled. 'That's not how that works, darling. You've got to be honest with me so that we can have fun in a responsible manner.'

Your lips thinned, and you squirmed in your place, playing with the cap of your bottle.

Dean set your bottles down and then slipped his arms around you loosely and pecked your cheek. 'It's okay. You can tell me anything.'

It eased your palpating heart to notice that he was looking down at you adoringly.

'I thought it was like exercising,' you finally fessed up. 'The soreness goes away if you do it daily or something.'

A dark hunger flashed in Dean's eyes. It seemed that he'd unleashed a monster in you. An innocent monster, but one nonetheless.

'We can go easy,' he dropped his voice onto a huskier level. One that seemed to push all your right buttons last night.

A tentative and shy smile grew on your face, making him inwardly groan because that look in your eyes should just be considered a sin.

No one this cute should be this hot.

Your fingers came to play with his t-shirt's round neckline; he was wearing just one black undershirt for training - his flannel and jacket were placed next to yours on the bench with the water and phones.

'And you're not angry?' you confirmed.

His brows pulled down into a "v". 'Why would I be angry?'

You stepped closer, leaving just a quarter of a foot in between because you didn't want your sweat to get on him - that would be gross.

'Seemingly, I killed the mood this morning,' you said, biting your lip. 'I thought you may never want to have . . . you know. Again.'

'Are you kidding me?' he scoffed. 'On top of all things you think I'm going to allow Daniella and Miles L/N to ruin our sex life?'

You flinched. 'Please don't say their names in the same sentence as that word.'

He rolled his eyes.

'The point is, nothing can stop me from doing the horizontal tango,' he emphasized on those words to highlight the ridiculousness of your inability to say it even when you've done it, 'with you.' On second thought, he added: 'Except you. You have the right to consent.'

Dean wouldn't say that to any other girl, mostly because to him, it was very obvious: consent takes precedence everywhere and everytime. Only he was lowkey terrified you hadn't been properly educated about all that. He would honestly cut his genitalia off before he hurt any girl that way.

You smiled at him - he'd said that a lot the previous night too. He'd patiently taken the time with you and answered all your questions, along with taking an axe to all your misunderstandings like men should have more pleasure than woman - he said that it was supposed to be fun for both.

'Okay,' you said softly. '. . . Maybe we can tango tonight?'

Yeah. You liked that word better than "sex".

A devilish grin spread on his lips, and it was a mystery to you how he could go from seriously caring to downright indecent in seconds.

'Or,' he countered. 'We have to shower anyway.'

'So after that?' you wondered. 'Don't we have work—?'

'No, you could take the shower with me.'

Your eyes widened comically. 'That's allowed?'

He bit the inside of his cheeks to not laugh at your bewildered face. 'Yes.'

'Isn't it risky?'

His look morphed into that sexy one he had been giving you last night; you were sure it is the reason that your heart kept stopping.

'Oh, darlin', that's going to be the least of your worries when I get started with you,' he said in that baritone that zipped electricity up and down your spine.

'Then, who am I to stop you?'

The library was deserted this time of the night. All the lights were off except one, following which brought you to Dean. He hadn't been visible under the towers of books he'd raised for himself and his head was burrowed in his arms. His hair was standing out like he'd run his fingers through them in frustration.

You smoothened his dirty-blond strands in a caress, stroking your nails at his neck making him moan in protest. You smirked as he shied away from your awakening touch.

'Rise and shine, you pretty hedgehog,' you cooed teasingly.

'Go away,' he swatted your hand.

'I am,' you assured. 'Just need to say goodbye first.'

That got his attention. He blearily glanced up, a frowny pout already in the making.

You straightened his lips with your thumb, smiling down at him.

'Where you going?' his words tickled your palm when he turned his face to kiss it.

You brandished the coffee cup in your hand for him. He warmed his chilly fingers around the bodice of the mug, gratefully accepting.

'I got a case,' you replied as he sipped on the black ambrosia. He called it his most important "meal" of the day.

'Who paged?'

He opened his free arm as an invite.

It had been one day since you were trying to have fun in your relationship. While you still got nervous, your anxiety with these kinds of gestures was marginally reducing. Dean had that kind of comforting effect on you. You could slip into his lap with ease. And it was only becoming easier.

You could clearly observe that you fit against him seamlessly. You felt pity for yourself because you missed how perfectly you clicked against him before.

You gave him the details of your case, even shared the details of the rest of the day after you both had left the shower.

He came here to continue researching for Sam while you took on the load of two Leaders for the day. It was the compromise you two thought was the best for everyone.

'I'll be back before the wedding,' you finished telling him.

'What wedding?'

You quirked a brow. 'You didn't see the Save The Dates?'

He lifted a shoulder. He hadn't been to his Office or his room all day where his mail would usually arrive.

'No one must've thought to check for you in the library,' you sniggered with amusement. 'Well, Mr Slay and Ms Doll—'

'Seb and Selina,' he corrected.

You frowned. 'That's disrespectful.'

'They're your friends,' he disagreed.

'Won't they mind?'

'Trust me, they absolutely will not,' Dean advised.

'What about Mr Griffith and Mr Griffith?'

'Just call them B2,' said Dean. 'Saves lots of time.'

'And this will help me bond with them?' you queried.

'Mm-hmm,' he tucked a strand behind your ear patiently.

He'd been coaching you with the relationships you could have with your common friends for just some time now. He was taking full advantage of his well-established influence on you to steer you onto more informal grounds - one where you could let loose if you chose to.

'If you say so,' you sighed. 'It's gonna be weird though.'

'You can always try,' he encouraged. 'What about Seb and Sel?'

You pulled up your mobile and gave him the e-vite.

'Wow,' he whistled. 'They really don't want to waste anymore time, huh?'

'Yeah. And they said it would be good start to the year if they get married on the New Year's Day.'

'Auspicious,' he said, handing you your phone back. 'How are they getting married?'

There weren't any religions, per se, like there were in the other Universes. Anyone could get married however the frack they wanted to - they could just elect a tradition they liked and do it that way.

Selina and Sebastian were the eager beavers. So, they kept theirs simple and inclusive. 'Registrar,' you said. 'But they'll have a huge reception the same day.' That was so people didn't feel left out.

'We'll have to plan that,' groaned Dean. You knew he didn't want any distractions from the research - even if he loved his best friend, a wedding party might not be his first priority. 'And the bachelor and bachelorette parties,' Dean bit his lip.

You patted his chest, 'I've got it.'

His eyebrows shot up. 'All of it? But you're already doing the lion's share of our collective Leaderships and going out on unavoidable cases.'

'I'm a multitasker, darlin',' you grinned confidently, draping your arms around his neck. 'Why don't you leave all these willy-nilly tasks to me and concentrate on a few books for a change?'

'All right,' he slapped your hip where his hand was holding you. 'Getting cocky, are we?'

'Oh, you like it,' you challenged.

'Heck, yeah,' he muttered as he brought you in for a soft kiss, taking his time, and pouring his all into it.

When you pulled away, you were slightly short of breath but you leaned in again to press a long kiss to his head.

He hummed happily.

You placed your cheek on his soft strands while his head fit right under your chin, against your chest, over your heartbeat. He closed his eyes there.

'How's the research going?' you questioned, voice quiet to preserve the peace.

'Fine,' he replied, not bothering to move either. 'Got no weapon yet. But I dug into the Prophecy a little, tried to find the origin and the original verse, you know?'

'Find it yet?'

'Am I dancing in the halls right now singing "Hallelujah"?'

You snorted, amused. 'All right, sassy-pants.'

He sighed, tightening his hold on you. 'It's just annoying.'

'I know,' you brushed your lips on his head again.

'Well,' he said. 'I did figure out that Jack's technically done his part for the Prophecy.'

'Oh?'

'He's like Jody,' Dean explained. 'And with that new Human-Monster programme thing—'

'The one I pitched?'

'Yeah. Made me realise that he's the ultimate agent, you know? Like, he connects us with each other.'

'That . . . makes sense,' you said with a small frown. You didn't say how it made you feel like a freeloader or how you should probably find a good case soon.

Maybe after Lucifer dies, came the thought.

Dean was stressed, as is. You didn't want to add to it.

'Yeah,' Dean murmured. 'Even before, he would help everyone like Jody. Can't believe I missed it.'

These things weren't explicitly pointed out in the meetings because to talk about your colleague in their face is a bit much. But they were inferred. And both you and Dean talked about the other Leaders - you two completely forgot to account for Jack's services because you two always thought that since he had his powers, his cause might be larger.

'I did, too,' you sighed. And then you didn't add how that meant that you would be the last effing Leader to contribute.

Forget Dean, that news gave you stress . . .

Dean's phone vibrated on the table. He checked the notification and then his apologetic glance found yours.

'Gotta take this. Call with Sam and Donna.'

'Okay,' you smiled, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to his cheek. 'Say "hello" to them from me.'

'Will do,' he pecked your lips.

You hesitated to get up though, words on the top of your tongue.

'Say it,' Dean said unhurriedly. 'I'm listening.'

'I, um, well, I might not see you for a few days,' you mumbled, disappointment colouring your visage.

His face softened with a grin. 'I'll miss you, too,' he winked.

Butterflies fluttered at that declaration. You also absolutely loved how he didn't make you say it, knowing you got awkward - you loved how he understood.

'Call me if you need anything, all right?' you said.

'You're already doing 'nough,' he mumbled, snuggling against your skin. 'You call me if it gets too much.'

'Aw, I've had worse.'

He would have scoffed a few months ago, because you were still technically a Temp and easing you into the job was part of it. But after the life story you shared, he believed you. You'd probably already worked harder than most people he knew.

If the one thing your hard life gave you, it was the ability to fucking work. You were so scary good that once you earned some goodwill and became a better judge of characters, you would easily put him out of business.

And he would proudly let you have that.

'Are you going alone?' he wondered then, hands tightening around you. He would prefer if you weren't isolated, like, ever again for as long as you lived.

'I'm taking . . . B2,' you made a face like the short form tasted funky on your tongue.

He kissed your check, 'That's it, darling. You've got it.'

Smugness creeped into your expression.

'All right,' you said. 'Don't you forget to eat food or take care of yourself. And stay hydrated.'

'I'll try.'

You rose from your seat in his lap, and ran your fingers soothingly on his head. He closed his eyes to savour it, wishing he could just sleep again. Maybe while lying in your lap like he had on Christmas.

But as he watched you walk away, taking all his other obligations with you, he was determined to put his time to good use. He sent a silent prayer to the Universe who gifted him a partner that supported him, and he started cracking into the books again.

It was kind of pathetic how much you noticed the Dean paraphernalia in the absence of the said man. Recently, you forgot all about his fame when you were right in his presence, when all your focus was dedicated directly to him. You'd not even noticed all of it from before you'd met him - like he knew he was famous but it didn't notice just how many posters, statues and all his glory existed before. His merchandise taunted you - made you miss him terribly.

And all you could see how imperfect they'd all gotten it. You could give every statue a list of improvements so it was more Dean-ish. And the worst feature in all was his eyes - no one got his eyes right.

Some weren't warm enough, some weren't strong enough, some weren't lively enough, some weren't mischievous enough. And all of them were grey-coloured so none of them had his perfect greens. But maybe you were being unfair - it would be impossible to capture his breathtaking beauty in lumps of stone.

God, I miss him. You think you are becoming addicted to his touch, at this point. To his voice. To his smoking body. To his gorgeous personality. Hell, maybe to his soul!

With magnanimous effort, you managed not to stare at yet another Dean pedestal you passed with your face and palms pressed up against the window.

Instead, you glowered down at all the papers in your lap, as if it was their fault that you couldn't concentrate.

Boa was driving while Baz was making some calls. You gave Baz a list of them, and wrote all the conversational points he would need to cover. He was handling the wedding stuff for the time being - ordering caterers, flower-persons, ice sculptures, etc.

He also needed to be on the task of invites - while the physical copies you got were ideal, it could only be given out to people at the Palace on such short notice. The e-vite you'd shown Dean was the prototype Selina had approved - those needed to be sent out.

Fortunately, Selina and Sebastian's families had already been told to come from their far-off homes a month ago - even when the date hadn't been finalised. All they'd known back then was the they wanted to get married before the year ended. And then they loved the idea of getting married on New Year's Day even more - suggestion of Esmerelda. It was also lucky that except their parents, they didn't have anyone coming from far-off.

While Baz did his work, you were figuring out New Year's budget for crops, medical supplies, morale-boost parties (if needed), hunting supplies, graphs and charts and ratio of other factions killed to Europeans killed that year, and such.

Besides the impromptu Fundraisers during emergencies, your Palace got a year-round budget from the entire Continent. It was a progressive yearly tax other than the daily tax, the consumer's tax and all that which was applied on a day-to-day basis. Each Continent had a single bank branched out all across the countries to handle every household's financial needs.

Your castle accountants handled most of it for you and Dean, and even the Governors like the "B2" and "Seb" - seriously, these nick names were going to take time! - took a look.

But at the end of the year, once a year, every year - you and Dean would have to crunch those numbers and sign it all off, personally checking for discrepancies. Let's just say that Mathematics didn't crack your Top-Ten list of favourite subjects so your calculator handled most of the headache.

'Monster,' Boa warned in his neutral grunt.

You could hear the foamy snarl of the Feral. You didn't bother to look up, and Baz never stopped talking as the car ran it over. You just braced against the dashboard for a second when the limbs of the creature interrupted your smooth cruising down the road.

'Drive better, dude,' Baz complained, hanging up.

There are better ways to kill the monsters by car without making them a speedbump in the path - Boa has never cared for any of those techniques. He liked the rugged, gritty technique of killing - getting his hands dirty.

'Got a few caterers from Ireland,' Baz informed, dialing another number already.

Sebastian's grandfather was from Ireland. He was no more, but before Sebastian's father shifted to Asia with Mary Winchester, often talked about the place and his childhood. Sebastian grew up with Dean, and when he moved to Europe, the first thing he did was visit his native land.

There wasn't much left there anymore since Ireland genuinely staggered when the Leviathans occupied it.

It was Sebastian's and Selina's request to hire the displaced people from that affected area. You believed that was quite generous and noble of them.

The need for the caterer arrived in the first place because Esmeralda and her team would already be too tired from having organised the New Year Eve's Party.

Celebrations like Christmas were too religious - people celebrated it in their homes, if the believed in it. There were no religious institutions as such to guide them on how to do it - it was just a copy from the movies - whoever wanted to steal the personality from the other Universes was welcome to do it.

But there were Universal things like the end of one year and the beginning of another. That' was always a worldly affair. Marked another year of survival.

'Have you thought of gifts?' came out of nowhere. You didn't expect Boa to take any interest in such a chick-flick event.

Boa and Baz might be twins but their differences were as vast as if an ocean between them. Their physical appearance was the most alike thing about them, but even that had a few details altered like Boa's arm-long scar. They had the same beard and ponytails, but Boa was buffer than his twin. In personalities, they both were on different spectrums altogether - while Baz could somewhat be compared to sunshine, Boa could be considered the eternal grump. Baz could talk for days and Boa fantasized shooting people who talked to him.

It was a testament to the affect Selina and Sebastian have on people for Boa to participate in the gift-giving culture.

'Um, no. Have you?'

'Maybe tickets to another Universe,' shrugged Boa. 'Baz thought of it.'

There were Dreamwalkers who had made business of travel agencies across Universes. Last you heard, Jack had acquired one such agency for test runs.

'That's nice,' you smiled. 'Can I hop in on that?'

He shrugged. 'Northern Lights. Igloos. Fun activities.'

'Oh,' you raised a brow. 'Have you checked the foreign Universe brochures?'

He nodded with a miniature smile on his lips - characteristically, that small smile of his is equivalent to a full-blown Baz-ish beam. That's how you know he's excited.

'Well, all right. What's the cost?'

'Enough that a Leader won't have a problem paying,' Boa side-eyed you, slyly.

It dawned on you that he might've only asked you in the first place because it fell out of his budget. You chuckled, shaking your head.

'Fine. You both brought the idea, we'll bring the money,' you conceded.

'Thanks,' Boa grunted, satisfied.

'We?' Baz attached onto that.

You froze. You may have accidentally represented Dean.

'Oh, well, you know,' you tried to make it casual. 'Dean mustn't have thought about a gift either.'

'And you just happened to know that?' Baz grilled.

'Are you done with your calls?' you unsubtly tried to change topics.

'Handmade centerpieces that will double as thank-you gifts will come from Portugal,' he addressed. 'As you were saying . . .'

You huffed, 'I wasn't.'

'Really?' Baz pressed. 'So you mean to say you're not in love with a handsome six-foot-one man who confuses you with his need to breathe?'

'Baz!' you just about shrieked, flustered.

He sighed, extracting a hundred from his pocket and handing it to his twin who had a smug twinkle in his eyes.

'What did you bet on?' you asked, your voice still around that high-pitch.

'He hoped you would admit it in the first attempt,' conveyed Boa.

'I thought Dean would have told her by now,' Baz was exasperated.

'Told me what?'

'That we know,' the men said in unison, even shrugging the same.

You took a deep breath to sublime your pitch and tone. 'How long have you known?' you crossed your arms, annoyed and exasperated.

'Months,' Baz replied. 'Dean didn't tell us,' he defended Dean before any accusations could air in your mind. 'You two are really not fooling anyone.'

You scowled nastily his way.

'Why didn't you tell me before?'

'You take denial to heart,' Baz said. 'We didn't want to have our eyes scratched out.'

You scoffed, 'What makes you think I won't do it now?'

'You seem . . .' he trailed in search of a word.

'Free,' completed Boa.

Baz enthusiastically nodded. 'Like, you're always happy around him, okay? But now you're just free. Like maybe time apart from him did a number on you.'

You liked to think that mind-blowing sex had something to do with that too but you wouldn't be you if you mentioned that.

You felt helpless against their allegations. So your only option had been to huff like a true lady and to order them back on their jobs.

All the while, you wondered if it was time to make things public with Dean.

But the thought of bringing your relationship with Dean out of the closet brought chaos to your mind. Because it may or may not change your relationship with Dean but it would definitely change your relationship with your parents forever.

You didn't think you would, but you made it in time for the New Year's Party. It was right the next day from the rehearsal dinner and the bachelor-bachelorette parties which you missed.

Dean sent you an array of videos and texted you all about the funny fake toasts. Your schedules hadn't lined up to call each other which left a lot of room for irregular texts, videos and photos these past few days.

You had to make your way through a hoard of guests who were corralled to meet you upon sight; your aim was to get to the woman of the hour.

'Hello,' you puffed out a laugh.

'You made it!' giggled Selina, a slight slur to her speech.

She left her table and practically pounced on you. You caught her under her arms which she then converted into a tight hug. You patted her back, a delighted smile spreading on your face.

'Was the party to your tastes yesterday?' you questioned when she let you off.

'Absolutely,' she nodded vigorously.

'You're such a lightweight,' you smirked.

You could drink your own weight in alcohol; Dean was the only one who could beat you; the rest of your teammates always lost in drinking against you two. You had practice from all the parties you've had to tolerate. Lay knew you could drink a lot, but she would always be worried that you would say the honest wrong thing because inebriation at least loosened your tongue and spirit a bit.

'Shall I take you to your chambers?'

'But you just got here,' she pouted, hiccupping a second later. 'I didn't even get to thank you for organizing everything on such short notice!'

You grinned. 'You'll have whole of tomorrow to do that. Come on!'

That was how you ended up depositing her to her room where you would be joining her soon; as Maid Of Honour, you would be sleeping in her room that night. You made her as comfortable as you could - taking her heels off and helping her change and all, before you headed back to the party to take some of the edge off from the hunt.

Ideally, you should be searching for Dean. But you were so tired, your feet were killing you - and he may have already gone to bed with Sebastian. On the off chance, you still shot him a text that you were at the party.

You just took one bottle of expensive whiskey from the bar since the barkeep wanted to sleep by the time you returned. The food was already all gone, and you were a little disappointed that you didn't get to taste Esmeralda's troop's delicious end-of-the-year treats. 

You took a seat on an empty table while a few stragglers were scattered in the room and the music played very low on the speakers to not disturb those who'd gone up to sleep. There was a peace about a party ending

'Hey,' popped up a young teen with knee-length hair. You raised your glass to her in greeting as she took a seat opposite you.

'You going to drink all that?' she eyed your bottle.

'In installments,' you answered. 'And you're too young.'

'I know,' she tipped her chin, fiery. 'I was just concerned about your health.'

You snorted for some unknowable reason. 'What brings you by, Lana? And so late?'

'Couldn't sleep . . . Happy New Year, by the way,' she said, extending her hand for a firm shake. You returned the gesture.

'Likewise.' You pulled another swig. 'I hear you're in the wedding party. Are you excited?'

Selina had taken a very immediate liking to this young fire. They'd spent many a nights in the infirmary during those dark four months. Selina welcomed the Sandersons and hooked them up with a steady income, living quarters and everything they could possibly need to led an independent lifestyle. Lana was even learning how to drive besides enlisting herself for the top-notch defense classes that were given to civilians for self-preservation; it was less hectic than the Hunters or Governmental programmes.

Lana bobbed her head in answer to your question, a faraway look creeping over her eyes.

You thought you could perceive that expression.

'Is your father troubling you?' you asked gently.

'You know?' her eyes widened.

'I was the one who signed his admittance papers,' you replied.

'What, why?!' A flash of betrayal troubled her beautiful features.

You calmly explained: 'We don't interfere in families, Lana. You both sought us for refuge, which we gave. Our job is to give you jobs, salaries and shelter.'

'But you know he's harassed us!'

'We have no proof,' you pointed out. 'And your brother is underage. Would you really like to fight him for custody shall your father apply for it in case we deny him entry?'

That silenced her, horror crossing her expression.

'I thought you would be thrilled,' you continued, shrugging. 'Right here, under the protection of Selina who we really believe in,' you hinted, 'you can make him work for your affections or cut him off altogether. Remember that he can't assault in any way right under our noses.'

Realisation dawned on her. A disbelieving laugh escaped her as her confidence built at your proposition.

'So . . . the power's in my hands?' she checked.

'All I can legally say is that you gravitate more support,' you offered. 'This is your territory. With your friends, caretakers. And don't you forget, you did save a Leader's life.'

'Well, I saved two Leaders' lives,' she grinned mischievously. 'You're Dean's life.'

You laughed heartily, staving off a blush as you shook your head at the child. 'The point is, two Leaders owe you. Governors care about you. What's your move?'

'Can I just say I love your mind?' she said gleefully.

'Actually,' you raised a finger. 'It was Dean's idea. I just signed the papers.'

'Oh!'

'You can thank him with a slice of pie.'

'Done!' Lana laughed. 'Seriously though . . . this might work out.'

'It just might,' you said. '"Keep your friends close, your enemies closer", was it?'

She swallowed her emotions, eyes lighter - fiercer. 'I think I've heard of it.'

You smirked. 'It's a New Year, indeed.'

You only had enough time for a quick glance to the Ball Room where the reception would be before it was time for the wedding. You had to rush out to the Offices where the Registrar was temporarily set up. It was in Sebastian's Office where the couple had spent a number of days getting to know one another.

While yours and Dean's Offices defined the edge of the workplace, Sebastian and Baz had selected more central workplaces. Boa had refused to leave his room unnecessarily, so his desk was back at the castle - either that, or he would hover around your treehouse as your bodyguard sometimes.

'Here,' Dean's voice called down, extending a hand to you when you appeared to him while climbing. He'd been waiting in the balcony for you.

Single-handed, he pulled you up.

'Got your text. I'd slept by then. Was busy this morning. Sorry.'

'It's all right. Thanks for the ladder,' you said, falling into his arms with ease.

'Thought it might help you and Selina in the dresses,' he said, tightening his hold on you. 'You look so . . .'

'Beautiful?' you jumped a brow.

You wore a savanna blue dress that wrapped around your neck like a choker and was without sleeves. The hem of the dress glided on the ground but there was a slit that came up to your mid-thigh, exposing your entire right leg. A dress like that would have your parents pretending that they didn't know you - but you'd learned that Dean loved all these provocative colours and dresses you'd always wanted to try yourself. Your make-up was light but it would survive the whole day. For jewelry, you had your bracelet and your earrings. And you had this pair of dark blue glitter heels which easily brought you to just under Dean's chin.

'. . . Edible,' he said when he'd finished checking you out.

It elicited a gasp-laugh from you. You swatted his bicep in mock-outrage - but his eyes were too busy lingering in places. Seeing how taken he was with you, you could easily say that this outfit was worth braving the January cold.

'Come on,' you tugged at his hand. 'We don't want to be rude.'

'Are you sure?' he asked, voice dipping low and doing things to you. 'We can be fashionably late.'

'Come on,' you laughed, bringing him in to the quaint treehouse.

'Aw, but I haven't seen you in a week!'

Inside, Selina was absolutely radiant in white. You hugged her and Sebastian - surprising the latter. Boa and Baz were there too, along with both the groom's parents. Selina's father would reach in the evening for the reception - it was a long boat ride from America. You thought Selina would have waited for her father, except they weren't as close - you believed it was the primary reason for her and Lana to get along; both their fathers were abusers and mothers had passed away in unfortunate accidents at an early age. On the other hand, Sebastian's parents were delightful; you saw them interact with Selina and they doted on her as much as they did on their own son - it was heartwarming.

The ceremony was short and sweet. They exchanged vows, rings, and a kiss. You and Dean signed on as witnesses. Since Selina believed in American traditions, Sebastian's father walked her down the "aisle" even though Sebastian had never celebrated any traditions like that in his life. You all shared glasses of chardonnay.

'Aw, and you must be the grace who handled all these parties,' said Sebastian's mother. His parents had come from Asia from when they'd moved for Mary.

'It was nothing,' you smiled. 'Plus, Mr Griffith helped a ton,' you pointed Baz out.

She took your hand, startling you. She patted it with her own warm ones, 'My Bas did say you downplay yourself.'

"Bas" was Sebastian's family name; yet another reason to send him on the fast-track of friendship with Baz.

You didn't know how to respond to her as bashfulness coursed your veins.

'You're a good child, sugar,' she said, patting your cheek. 'May God bless you and your Leadership. You've done more good than some of these bloody men do in ages.'

'Oh,' you stuttered a laugh. 'Dean supported-'

'You're a woman,' her fingers tightened around your hands, a fighter's light brightening in her eyes. 'Men will always underestimate you. Don't do it to yourself.'

You were flattered, gulping down the emotional lump in your throat.

She held the conversation for a little more time and you just kept liking her more and more. She didn't have any of Sebastian's annoying abilities. But you could also see where Sebastian got his unending light from. For the very first time, you felt proud of Selina for her choice, and happy because she deserved a family like this.

'She's so affectionate,' you pointed after Elena Slay when she rejoined her husband, to Dean.

He'd never looked away from you all this while. You couldn't tell, but his eyes were misty upon watching that interaction. Happy for you, but at the same time, he was imagining how his Mom would have welcomed you in.

Mary Winchester had always wanted to meet the girl who could "ground" her boy who was meant to fly so high that he would forget the land sometimes and be lost in the dark space. He'd always told his mother that she was exaggerating, but seeing how you allowed him to soar, yet anchored him at the same time into this reality - he finally knew exactly what she meant.

And he missed her.

He could just envision his mother hugging you tightly, telling you his childhood stories and showing you his embarrassing photos, kissing you on the head like a real mother should - giving you all the parental love you missed out on as a child. He could see his father giving you paternal advices and Leadership tips, and bonding with you on your lack of cooking skills.

'Hey, man, you okay?' Sebastian broke him from his reverie.

Dean's eyes tore from you where you were awkwardly joking with the rest of the group - looking happy. Dean would take all the opportunities he could to see you light up like that - it was such a stark contrast from the Y/N L/N he'd meet almost a year ago.

That one had been dead. You are now alive.

'Yeah,' Dean cleared his throat. 'I'm good.'

For the first time in a very long time, he meant it. He would always miss his parents in all that they weren't here for, but at least he was ready to make new memories now instead of missing out on everything because they couldn't be here.

'I'm happy,' Dean said.

You watched the snow descend; mystified by the flakes that submitted to the nudges of the wind and fizzled down to the ground, settling peacefully one atop the other, making mountains of joy. Dean found you on the balcony with your coat on your shoulders, watching the snow fall.

'There's my princess,' he said, sidling up to you.

Your mirthful eyes turned to his, dipping down to take him in his three-piece. Except for his jacket which was a velvet green, his attire was black with gold linings. It fit him like a glove and you couldn't wait to retire those to the floor of your room.

'You missed the bouquet throw,' he informed.

You shrugged, forcing your irises back up. 'You know I don't want to get married.'

'Well, apparently, I'm getting married,' he joked, displaying the garter he caught.

You chortled, shaking your head.

'Did I tell you yet,' you pulled him to your side by his waist, 'you look very, very hot.'

'Is that your dirty talk?' his eyes narrowed playfully.

'Not good?'

'Can be better,' he grinned like a Cheshire cat, pressing his own arm around your shoulders to fit you into his side. 'Before I follow you up on that though, I have something for you,' he kissed the side of your head.

'Oh?'

He made away with the garter and gave himself a pat down with his one free hand till he produced a flat rectangular box gift-wrapped in the Christmas-themed paper. A soft laugh spilled from your lips as the gift passed from his hands into your cold ones. Cautious of paper cuts, you neatly unwrapped it, aware that Dean's eyes were fixated on your face.

You found a jewelry box inside, eyes flickering to his nervously. Hands shivering with cold and excitement, you opened it. Inside was a sterling silver intricate necklace with a gold heart pendant.

'No one's going to kidnap you for wearing gold now,' Dean winked, making you laugh shyly.

'This is gorgeous,' you traced the heart. 'My first jewelry gift,' you grinned widely.

His heart took a hit every time you said something like that.

'Open it,' he urged softly, moving past that comment.

Your forehead creased as you followed his instructions. The heart cleaved into two from the middle and there were two photos inside already.

This was different than the soulmate necklaces you had given Seth and B/F. For one, those necklaces had been made with Rowena's powerful magic. Second, it had been a heirloom. Third, it was divided into two halves with space for a single picture in each half and when those magnets connected, their picture could be whole.

This ornament was simpler. And somehow it excited you more than those necklaces had - mostly because Dean had given you your first jewelry.

Out of the pictures inside, one was of you and Dean, from your first date, where you both had set up the camera on a timer, and ran for the pose. Dean had ended up looking not towards the lens, but at you. It was one of your favourites because he had looked at you like you were his entire world - you'd told him so even if you didn't mention exactly why you liked it because you got too nervous.

The other photo was a couple years older. It was from some event you couldn't even remember. In very rigid postures, everyone stood. Your parents, Seth, and you. Perhaps, one of the rarest of your family photos. Somehow, it didn't warm you as much as the photograph with Dean.

But his gesture did make your heart race.

'This is perfect,' you said, unable to look away from his face in the picture.

And for unexplainable reasons, you were comparing it to your parents' faces. Why didn't you look as happy in your family photo?

You knew the answer. But it seemed like you remembered your time with them more forgivingly than you should.

'Really?' Dean doubtfully asked.

'Absolutely,' you strained a smile onto your face. You weren't lying but you just felt weird. You pulled him down into a grateful kiss before he could prod further, channeling your all into it. The feeling of him cocooned you more than your coat.

'Do you want me to put it on you?' he whispered against your lips.

Upon your nod, he took the chain into his large palms. You shifted the open tresses of hair from his way, and he deftly put the lock in place.

He'd given you your whole heart.

'Thank you,' you turned in his arms. 'I know how hard that family picture must have been to come by.'

He shrugged as if it wasn't that big a deal, scratching his neck all cute and shy.

'I mean it,' you tugged on his coat collars. 'I love it. Thank you.'

'Are you kidding?' he rolled his eyes. 'You're the one who pulled the entire Christmas together. I'm sorry my gift took so much time.'

'It's the thought that counts,' you smiled, lowkey wondering if that applied in all relationships . . .

He beamed down at you. 'Only the best for my girl,' he mumbled, brushing his lips to your head.

You chuckled, a little derogatory. 'I haven't done all that much to deserve this, you know.'

'Again with that,' he groaned.

You bit your lip because you forgotyou weren't supposed to self-depreciate in front of him.

'Sorry,' you said, snaking your arms under both of his jackets.

He shook his head. 'You don't see it, do you? You're fucking awesome. You're intelligent, resourceful, and kick bloody arses.'

You laughed softly.

'I'm not kidding,' he insisted though his lips curved happily at your amusement. He brushed your hair behind your ear, clutching you closely to his frame.

'Dean,' you said, 'there aren't many males who would appreciate their female counterparts. Thank you for that.'

'I'm not appreciating you,' he said, getting a little vexed. 'I'm expressing gratitude by pointing out the obvious facts. This is not some favour I'm doing.'

You watched him unsurely.

'Truly!' he defended.

'I am what I am by your support,' you meekly responded.

'No,' he protested. 'You got here by yourself! I'm taking no credit for how brilliant you are.'

It reddened your cheeks considerably. 'But you took my responsibility in front of Mr Singer.'

'That was just . . .' he shook his head. 'That's not the point. You could've easily proven me wrong for trusting you. But you are exceptional so you didn't. You're really good at what you do. And I respect you, a lot, for that.'

That silenced your arguments. You stared at him as if you were seeing him in an entirely new light.

'What?' he pried when you didn't speak for a solid minute.

'You . . . ,' you cleared your throat, sheer disbelief shining in your eyes in the form of salt water, '. . . respect me?'

'Why wouldn't I?' your reaction flabbergasted him.

A laugh bubbled from you, relived and overjoyed.

'What?' he asked again.

You could only shake your head, suddenly lightheaded from all that happiness pumping through your blood. 'It's just . . . good to know,' you uttered finally.

Understanding came to him, and his face fell a little. Words failed him when his throat constricted around the painfully throbbing heart in his mouth.

His fingers climbed to the nape of your neck and pulled you in a more passionate kiss that allowed you both to transcend all sayings.

Hours may have passed, neither of you would know because the world fell apart around you two. Your tongues tangled, breaths were stolen, and heartbeats synced up. He pushed you up against the railing, his presence wrapping around you like a sticky aroma you wanted to douse your every fiber in.

Until a voice interrupted your careless display of affection.

Dean tore apart from you.

Panic shooed away your love and you wondered if you should hang off the railing if it meant saving face. Dean had frozen in front of you though so you wouldn't be visible to the intruder of this moment.

'Leads?' the voice called again.

You both relaxed instantly, recognizing Baz.

Dean peeled away from you fully, turning to Baz. His face was still flushed from your make-out session, and lips swollen. You blinked the reality into focus, panting still. But your embarrassment forced you to recover first.

Since when did you get so callous that you didn't even think about the time or place?

'Mr Griffith,' you said, too beyond thoughts to address him informally. 'Sorry about, um. How may we help you?'

'You know how Selina's Dad was coming over?' Baz said, seemingly stressed and not in a mood to tease either of you. His entire being was tensed, and his eyes were skittish.

'Is he all righ-?'

'Fine,' he said. 'But he's not alone.'

Dean's annoyance with Baz melted, and worry took it's place. His palm itched to pull you close to him - as if to protect you because Baz seemed like he was carrying a bomb.

'Out with it, Mr Griffith,' you urged when all Baz would do was shuffle on his feet nervously.

There weren't many things that made Baz nervous.

'Okay, uh,' he blew a breath. 'I'll just say it.'

'Please.'

'Your parents are here.'

A/N: A bomb indeed 👀. What'd you think about their conversation on love and respect?

These talks (rewritten seven times 😂😂) were a bit hard to write but I love how it all turned out - unresolved still but now that her parents are here, it'll have to get worse before it gets better lol.

How do you think protective Dean meeting with her crappy parents is gonna go over 👀? (Who else thinks Dean should kill them 😗🔪?)

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It was nothing like you'd ever witnessed. People roamed in broad daylight, milling about teeming lands of grass, laughing and chatting. The land hugged a castle in the center and then was surrounded by more trees equidistantly from all sides in a circle.

The castle was nothing like yours. While you had been given a towering apartment building that only looked like a castle, this palace was an actual freaking castle. All that was left to make it royal were actual ponies and rainbows and princesses.

Well, you supposed you were sorta a princess now that this place was also technically yours . . .

'Aren't people scared of being zapped by lightning?' you asked premierly. It was only you, and every one on Dean's team in one of the BMWs while the other Leader was in his Baby with the whole of your team. "Bonding" as Sebastian liked to call it; you just thought that he was having way too much fun with the rearranging of people - it was too much power.

'The place is warded,' Raya said. 'And for what wards can't keep out, magic does. Angels don't see anything but a clearing right here.'

'Magic?' you frowned.

'We have in-palace witches, of course,' Dakota said with a smug grin. He was supposed to be the charming fellow.

From what you'd learned till now from this lot was that no one except Sebastian stayed with Dean majority of the time. There wasn't a "team" per se, just various team-ups based on which hunter was free when; for instance, Raya, Reed, and Dakota hadn't been hunting when they were offered this almost month-long "case".

Another uncomprehending discovery on your part was that taking care of Dean was no one's full-time job here. Not even Sebastian's. Everyone was free to do whatever they pleased so long as they finished their hunting quota and didn't disobey Dean if he ever issued an order. It was mostly democratic here, many suggestions were heard before Dean picked one.

Hell, even Dean had a hunting quota. Apparently, he didn't spend much time in one place. Always moving from one place to another, and he was popular for taking the toughest cases and wars. Even when the pager was quiet, he would venture out for the smaller cases alone and finish off nests in the dead of the night - not returning to his palace for months sometimes.

'That's . . . ?' Wrong. But you couldn't say it.

You were prosecuted for giving away a land that was a liability to humans and Dean was trustworthy after using witches on the land that he lived on? How was that fair?

None of Dean's team were unfaithful, was how.

'Cool, right?' Reed said, stoicly - you didn't know if he was being sarcastic. He was a taciturn, grumpy man who was dating the insolent Raya. They had two children out of wedlock in the Hunter's Programme.

'It is cool,' Sebastian said. 'We believe in believing that even monsters are tired of these never-ending wars like we are. I mean, don't you like imagining a world where there were peace?'

'Peace is a myth,' Raya said. 'Do you really think all our problems will go away without the wars?'

'No, but we would have simpler problems,' countered Sebastian. 'Like, what should I eat today? Or should I ask the girl out? I shouldn't be thinking about my will as soon as my first paycheck comes in.'

'If we don't have wars,' you indulged, 'wouldn't we all be jobless?'

'Maybe,' Sebastian said. 'But we would have lives.'

You couldn't imagine that. Your whole life, you'd worked to be a Leader of the wartime. As a hunter, a world without monsters was purposeless to you. You would have no reason to exist anymore - it will all be empty, a complex nothingness.

Your mother disapproved of these notions as well. She had encouraged Seth to chase a monster that would lessen the problems of humanity, but wouldn't eradicate them. She believed in playing smart. Just like she approved of B/F because B/F had selected a strategic monster.

The couple had awed everyone for their large achievements, and they had saved about a million lives, only not the world.

This was also the reason why Dean peeved her. Because he saved the world by murdering Amara. While those words won't ever see the light of the day, you could clearly see her mouth twitch at the corner upon Dean's name.

It was an expectation you had to make true too; you had five years for it, based on the loose timeline your mother had given you.

'We are here,' Reed said, as the car pulled to a stop in front of the proud castle, amongst the abundantly stretching greenery. The double doors were set apart from the driveways by a graceful staircase.

Raya and Reed were holding hands as they hurried out of the car and sprinted up the staircase as if the car was on fire - you assumed they were just that happy to see their children. The staircase was already occupied with people coming out of cars before and after yours, and some others who were going to and fro between the castle and the grounds. Dakota took his sweet time unloading his bags and then headed for the group of girls chatting across, on the staircase.

Your people were collecting at the tail end of your car, with their bags, huddled, waiting for your instructions. Sebastian was waiting for you to get off so that he could park. Your three cars had followed Dean's Impala to get spots in the garage just around the corner.

'I know what you're thinking,' Sebastian said. He could guess that any person would be nervous or intimidated.

You sighed. 'If they'd given the New Law before we traveled cross-continent, they would have saved our time.'

He snorted. Okay, he didn't know you were thinking that, but then he should've known you'd think little beyond work. 'Right. Well, we can only focus on what time we do have now.'

'True. But they also wasted resources,' you frowned.

Sebastian was about to politely ask you to suck up when it struck him - your definition of resources.

It wasn't money or weapons, all the Leaders were inherently filthy rich. You were talking about people as resources. As he tried, he found the thread of your trauma and pain laid under layers of weathered masks.

'That's always a tragedy,' Sebastian said soberly. He took your shoulder and squeezed making you almost jump out of your seat. You blinked yourself to a glare.

'That's right,' you said, brushing off his hand, not so subtly; Sebastian realized his mistake.

You left Sebastian to mull you over while you retrieved your bags.

You already knew the rooms and the ways to reach them, courtesy of the blueprints Sebastian lent to you. You would make good use of them since there weren't maids to tend to people exactly like they had done at your place.

You set your jaw before you could bring yourself to knock next to the nameplate. Sebastian's cheerful face peeked out and then his half-naked body greeted you as he let the door open. You tried not to gasp at the inappropriateness.

'Come on in,' said the towel-clad man.

You checked the hallway to see if you could drag someone else in. When you found no scapegoat, you opted to leave the door open when you took three measured steps inside.

'What's up?' he asked, in front of the mirror, drying his hair with a smaller towel. The rest of his body was still dewy after his apparent shower.

You averted your eyes to the full-length windows that oversaw the balconies. 'I-I-I didn't see any Offices on the blueprints.'

'Oh,' he threw his hair towel on the bed that was already cluttered with various objects. Your mind was already trying to decide how you would clean the place if the room were yours; the hand towel would go in a hamper for one.

'I'll take you in five,' he said, walking to the bathroom to hopefully dress up. 'Make yourself at home,' he said over his shoulder before shutting the door.

Your gaze swept over the room - it didn't make sense that a Governor would own this. You contemplated taking his words to heart and cleaning the area. Your dignity immediately vetoed the idea. You settled for closing the door and waiting outside.

'Have you ever seen a shirtless man?'

Your wide eyes met his curious ones. 'Excuse me?'

Sebastian shrugged. 'Beside me.'

Could you have him arrested too?

'I will not be answering that,' you huffed.

'You kinda just did,' he said.

'Do you have no manners?' you were exasperated.

His lips curled, 'Table? Sure I do. Social? Iffy.'

You rounded on him, squaring your stance. Your heels allowed you to reach a little above his chin, but he still had to look down at you.

He pressed his lips to not chortle.

'Listen, Mr Slay,' you said with the edge of a threat, 'I don't know how you operate with Mr Winchester, but you will treat me with the utmost respect from here on forth - is that clear?'

Sebastian wanted to add, "Or what?" but he decided that he'd played with you enough that day. If he was going to annoy you, he might as well let you grow a gradual immunity to him. Matter of fact, that was how he got Dean to like him.

'Yes, ma'am.'

It took him another minute before he could get you to the trailhead at the edge of the forest behind the castle.

'You go straight for five minutes and go left for another ten minutes. Yours is the one on the border.'

'You've made Offices in the jungle?' you asked, feeling horrified.

'Sets the tone,' he said casually. 'I'm going to go eat. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.'

You were too prideful to ask for better guidance, so you watched him jog away while you unslung your bow.

You didn't think you were lost, you knew the way back, you just didn't know the road forward. You'd been walking for twenty minutes and to no avail, there wasn't a single house in sight. You didn't reach the first person until ten more minutes of mindless excavating, it was around the time you'd been considering giving up and heading back anyway.

'Hey,' you said, trying not to be too expressive of your relief. 'Hi, I'm with the castle. Could you tell me where the Offices—?'

The woman in front of you curled back her lips in a growl-cum-hiss, her monster teeth descending over her make-believe ones, her eyes synthesizing into snake-like slits that were feral from going hungry for days.

You slid to your knees when she charged and you easily stabbed her with your arrow into her heart, the silver twisting with your wrist. You got out from under her to be jumped on by someone from behind. The forest floor smacked into your cheek and you grunted, but your hand had found your dagger and it was already inserted backward into her body, you twisted it to let the second, partnering Vetala crumble atop you. You crawled out from under her, dusting your dagger off from her caved-in chest cavity.

You sensed the presence before the hand encased your shoulder. You whipped about with your weapon raised, and it clanged against another sliver-iron blade before it could decapitate . . . Dean.

His eyes looked beyond you and on the two dead bodies. He seemed impressed; Vetalas were superior in strength, and agility, and had a great venomous bite - if you didn't act fast, you would never act at all. Besides silver, you learned that ravenous hunger was also a weakness for them, as it was for most monsters in this warring world.

'You're a good fighter,' he said.

'You don't have to sound so surprised,' you gritted, adding more weight to your evenly curved knife to prove your point. It didn't budge Dean's strength but he raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.

'Duck,' he calmly said. And you released all energy from your feet to fall even before you'd fully processed his words. You heard the shriek above your head as Dean used his silver sword to impale the newcomer. You were more focused on Dean's feet though, there was another set behind him, in an attacking stance, gaining on him.

Your legs swept out Dean's from under him. He lost his balance and fell backward right onto the monster, knocking the male to the ground. You used your momentum to somersault diagonally over Dean's frame, your faces aligning a foot apart for a second before you were straightening and plunging the dagger down so that the rousing Vetala would never wake again.

'Was that completely necessary?' Dean groused as he sat up.

'No; just as your surprise wasn't,' you said, feeling smug. Your expression fell when you heard more unseen hisses follow.

'How big can a Vetalas nest be?' you asked.

'With our economy and luck?' Dean scoffed; shouting: 'Run!'

He was on your tail, his sword flashing dangerously. You kept an arrow nocked in your bow even if you planned to use your daggers primarily - since if you shot a Vetala, they'd need the weapon twisted into their hearts to fully die anyway.

Dean was shouting instructions from behind you until you reached a rope ladder. You started climbing at a run. Dean forewent the rope and was clawing his way up the bark, somehow faster than you were.

By the time you reached the top, Dean was kneeling with his sword raised, his eyes trained under you. You scrambled to get your legs on the platform that was made over the branch of this tree. Dean's sword swished inches below you and got stuck into the Vetala's heart that had chased you up. Dean let it go with a twist and it fell atop its partner who screamed in grief and horror. You cut down the rope ladder so none of them tried to climb up again.

With delay, you noticed the railing; it was a watchtower that Dean had shooed you onto.

'Help me dismantle this thing,' Dean ordered, already striking blows on the screws that held your platform up with a pocketknife.

'We lost them!' you exclaimed in alarm.

'We compromised our position,' he said, nodding towards the trees beyond the enormous trunk of the one you were on. 'If we leave this place, they'll track us back to our treehouses.'

You couldn't argue with that logic no matter how much you'd've liked to. Even now, the Vetalas were clamoring under your position for a drop of blood and the flesh of your meat.

'I,' you swallowed with difficulty. 'I don't know how to swing away.'

'I know,' Dean said, untying a knot around the trunk. 'I remember.'

It took you a moment to stare at his profile to understand that that was the exact reason he'd left a rope ladder for you to climb up with; no one else from his side knew about your climbing problem yet. You pulled yourself to your feet and started working on the other ropes.

'How long were you watching me walk off the wrong path?' you asked, unable to keep disdain from your voice.

He shot you a "get-real" look. 'I wasn't. I saw you from my window, and then I saw the monster. I brought you here instead of the offices so we wouldn't lead them in.'

'How did you know it was a monster?' you demanded next.

He gave you a wan look. 'No human walks on the ground unless it's enchanted, Y/N.'

He said it so obviously that you felt like facepalming. If you see a monster, you've gone too far.

Monsters are usually kept away from human civilizations unless they've gone feral. Or unless you walked into their territory. You were so used to owning the lands that you didn't realize that all the humans would be on the trees here. If you'd run back, you would've easily exposed all the treehouses to the Vetalas, so Dean had given you a lucky break by saving you.

'Thanks,' you mumbled, feeling your cheeks heat up. Dean either didn't hear you or he ignored you; either way, you were grateful.

'Do you trust me?' he asked when all the ropes and screws were undone. He held up a hand for you to latch onto, his other hand grasping onto the single last rope that still kept you uplifted on the teetering platform. You had your own hands clutching the bark of the tree as if that would keep you from falling the thirty feet. Heights never made you nauseous until they resembled death.

Between death and Dean, you would gladly choose the latter; 'No. But I don't have a choice.'

His lips curved into an almost snarl, he shook his head. 'You're unbelievable,' he said, guiding your hand around his waist so that you were holding him from behind.

'Thanks,' you said pettily. You didn't see Dean's eyes roll.

'Hold tight,' he said, checking your grip.

You had to stifle your yelp of terror when he let go of the rope and the construction under you unravelled. But you were already flying. Dean's hands changed branches, and your eyes squished shut, holding onto him like a vice. Wind rippled your pony in short bursts and every rise and fall made your stomach swoop with fretful adrenaline.

'Alright, get off,' Dean tapped your hands, panting from exertion. You opened one of your eyes like a cartoon character and glanced around him to check that it was indeed safe to let go. You then pushed away from him like he was made of hot coals.

He turned with a sigh and a hand through his hair. He laid a critical eye on you while he caught his breath. He wouldn't be winded normally, but with the added weight, he'd felt the strain in his arms and the roughness on his palms.

'How do you not know how to climb trees?' he demanded.

You frowned, 'You didn't care before.'

'I didn't know you were a Leader then,' he pointed out.

Your lips curved further down. 'I'm a quick study, Mr—'

'That wasn't my question,' he cut you off, stubbornly waiting for the correct answer.

You exhaled sharply, your eyes veering over his shoulder. '. . . We didn't think it was important.'

'We?'

'My mom,' you sighed. 'In her defense, we didn't think I was going to ever be deployed.'

'You were next in line after Gordon,' he reasonably said. 'You were the most significant candidate. Even Seth knows how to climb trees.'

You crossed your arms. 'That's different. He's a Firstborn.'

'And you were first-in-line. It would be acceptable if you didn't know how to make ground-level construction, or even underground, for that matter. But you were an heir to Europe - you should know about treehouses!'

Ground-level houses were a feature of Asia and underground was a strong suit for America. Treehouses were a proud European quality. So on and so forth. While all the Firstborns were compulsorily made to learn all forms of living, the first-in-lines were given the education of the Continents which they may or may not rule one day.

Your parents just found that a waste of time and energy, especially on you. They were gamblers of sorts, risk-takers for a better word - and they took the risk of never educating you about treehouses, letting your skills instead be used on the battlefield just because there was a large chance you'd never leave America and instead serve as a hopefully valuable hunter to your brother for the rest of your life.

'I'll learn it,' you assured Dean with a taut jaw.

'That's not the point,' he said, exasperated with you. 'You almost got yourself killed.'

You winced at the accusation. 'I understand that I threatened the sanctity of the Offices. I'll refrain from entering until I learn—'

'You're not listening to me,' he said, an octave higher as if you weren't physically hearing. 'You almost died.'

'I know. That's bad rep, I get it.'

'No!' he threw his hands up in frustration. 'It's like talking to a wall,' he turned away, telling no one. Your fuse sparked as it often did around Dean.

'Excuse me?'

He met your steely gaze. 'Is anger the only way I can get you to speak human?'

'If you mean irrationally, then you're on the right path,' you said, your hand on your dagger that you barely resisted the urge to pull on him.

'Do you ever listen to yourself?' he got in your face despite noticing your hand on the offensive.

It was with a magnanimous effort that you kept your mouth shut. You felt like your head would explode with the veins throbbing in it.

He was your superior. No matter how much you hated it, that was the truth now. And you couldn't talk to a superior the way you would talk to everyone else . . . 

'Sorry,' you bit, lowering your eyes. It was a blow to your ego.

He took a literal step back in surprise. A wave of disturbance disrupted his fury. It was exactly what you should've said, but it was exactly what you wouldn't.

His brows creased. 'I'll . . . Let me drop you back at the compound.'

'As you wish, Mr Winchester,' you obliged.

He hid it from you, but his face fell. You had been his last interaction that didn't treat him like he was always right; you weren't supposed to treat him so formally, like he was so separate from you, so far removed. He felt like an alien again. His loneliness hit him square in the chest again, like the last person who could've understood him, failed.

It's your fault. Must be; he pushed you too far. He shouldn't expect anyone to get it, anyway.

No one needed you.

You were under the impression that the whole day, you would work with the people and then, at night you could practice on trees.

So far, Dean had left the palace for a high-profile case, in unspoken words, leaving the palace in your hands. But no one seemed to need you.

For example when there was a problem with the supplies; someone called Sebastian, even though you were standing right across the room. A supply run was organized and no one asked you on it.

All the major meetings were happening at the Offices. All of them were impromptu. By the time the news could reach you at the palace, they would already be done with it, and be gone on their separate ways for different cases.

Everyone kept going and coming back like waves of the ocean, chatting among themselves happily. Since your team's rooms were on a shared floor with some of the hunters, they'd been included in the hunts. But there was no place for another Leader.

You considered taking a case of your own, but as luck would have it, Dean banned you from cases without a treehouse skill. Something which you contemplated storming over to him about - but that would only make him angrier with you, you'd decided. He was your superior, and he could do what he wanted with you.

You tried to sway some of the crowd in your favor by going to a weekly bonfire. Not only did people refuse to talk to you properly, but they also talked behind your back, literally, and you heard several of them spreading ill-meaning rumors about you. You didn't bother showing up to make friends or save face again.

As a last resort, you dedicated all your hours at the camp to the safer side of the forest where children aging from five to fifteen would learn the skills to be hunters. Technically, they didn't have a category for you either, or any equipment to teach you. So, you picked a tall tree you liked, requested for nets from Salem, the instructor, and started learning on your own - experience was a better teacher than any human, anyways.

Benny's gifted gloves were stashed in the drawers of your room, so you were operating with the torn and abused training gloves from the basket they had at the entry of this little training center. They were abysmal: they stunk your hands and would occasionally slip on the rope—but you didn't want any reminders from the night Lay died.

You'd refused a harness from a concerned Salem and told her that a net shall suffice you. You would not be treated like a child.

If you wanted to be respected, you needed to earn it.

This was the line you would repeat every time you fell into the net with a force that would punch the air out of your lungs. The net was so hard that it also started leaving a small patchwork of bruises across your skin. It would have been good fodder for children to laugh at, had you gone in front of them - but you weren't leaving the training center without climbing a significant fucking portion of the tree.

'Lady L/N?' Salem called up to you. You were one-fourth of the way up on the tree.

'Yes?' you called back. Your body was hot and burning from the exercise that day. Your head was slightly faint from falling and from being forced to climb in a horizontal manner all day. Your fingers seemed to be developing ulcers. And the worst of all was the sweltering sweat that seemed to ooze from every available pore of your skin.

'We're closing!'

The students were sent home around seven but Salem tended to wait back until eleven. For the first time that evening, you looked up and saw the night sky.

You remembered having lunch at four, with the other children of the centre. You also remember how you took a plate, flustered with all the points and whispers in your direction, and ducked into Salem's cabin to have a quick quiet scarf down before you headed back to your training post - the tallest tree in their program.

You dared to look down now - it made your heart drop to your stomach when you actually saw the height difference. You swallowed, focusing on the mini Salem Rodriguez on the ground.

'Hand me the keys,' you said, like every day. You would be locking up.

She nodded. You tightened the hold of the rope around your right hand and prepared to let go with the other. She stepped back and made a motion to throw the object high into the air (at least seven feet, attributed to how tall the tree was).

A moment later, the keys came sailing across the air and you pushed off the bark on the swinging rope to catch it mid-air. You had to slide down a few paces and swing more to the right before you could reach it with a hand in the air.

You were so happy that you simply caught it that you forgot you were hurtling back towards the tree. Your right side slammed hard into the thick wood, your knuckles scraping harshly against it to make you lose your grip. And you fell.

Face-first, this time. The net hit your left side and you moaned in pain.

Salem wanted to rush forward like she did with all her other students - they would wear a harness and rarely fall on nets which hurt - but she knew how you would scold.

You took a minute before you shakily pulled yourself up, groaning. Some sweat got into your eye so you had to blink harder.

Salem gasped, 'You're bleeding!' She couldn't control her mother-hen instincts now; she walked, gracefully on one of the thin tightropes, balancing herself flawlessly.

You glanced down, but couldn't find a wound - then again, your eyes weren't focused. Your free aching hand reached your forehead brushed away the sweaty hair, but came away with blood. Your temperature was so warm from the exhausting day that you didn't feel a difference between the two.

Oh. A head wound, you frowned.

'I'm fine,' you protested as Salem crouched over you. She examined you despite it.

'It's not deep,' she breathed out. 'But you're bleeding a lot. I think I have a first-aid in the office.'

'Please,' you exclaimed. 'I don't need your help.'

She seemed to disagree. You silenced her by raising your hand.

'Shut the place,' you handed her the key back.

What a wasteful night, you thought. With much more effort and much less elegance, you walked out of the net.

You were brisk as you fled the center and practically ran across the safely marked trail back to the palace. You burst out of the trees and took the backdoor into the palace.

You were anxious to get to your room without any encounters - you didn't need anyone to know that you were injured even without going to any hunts. None of them would get hurt tree-climbing.

In your haste, you crashed into a large wall-like body. You cried out when it affected your right side this time. You stepped away holding your right hip.

When your eyes shifted from the chest your face bumped into, your eyes found the boisterous Sebastian.

'Sorry,' he laughed in amusement, but it died out soon. In the dark, it wasn't apparent, but when his eyes raked over your body, he stiffened.

'I wasn't looking,' you said, your own way of apology. You dropped your hands to the sides to not appear weak.

You made to rush past him when his hand caught yours. You hissed in pain when it tugged on your throbbing left side. He dropped it immediately.

'What's wrong?' he asked.

'Nothing,' you emphasized. 'If you could please keep this to yourself . . . .'

He raised his hands in surrender.

'Should I send Selina to—?'

'No!' you half-yelled. 'I can take care of myself!' You almost ran after that. Away from these meaningless concerns, away from this annoying and senseless small talk.

The hot water beating your body felt so much better. The whole time, you were fighting tears of frustration. Fighting, and succeeding.

This was just a minor setback, right?

Of course. Even if you had your own palace, you would have to learn treehousing and tree-climbing at some point.

People would need me there, your irritation barked back.

You hadn't done a single productive work in two weeks since you arrived here. Nothing noteworthy except the tree lessons.

You tried to console yourself by considering how well you were doing with the hammocks - the first lesson in treehousing. If you could sleep in a hammock all night without falling - it would be a success.

That happened once a week, at the center. The one time you'd gone, you'd managed your four hours without meeting the net they'd set under the trees. Of course, the real challenge would be to sleep much longer in there, like all the children were supposed to - but you were an adult, sleep was foreign to you anyway.

After that one night, just to make yourself feel a bit better, and to practice, you'd been constructing a hammock in your bedroom every night and sleeping in it in spite of having a perfectly well-constructed, largest-sized bed they could find.

You ruffled for something comfortable in your walk-in closet. You wouldn't admit this to anyone - and no one needed to find it out either - but you liked sleeping in shorts and a loose top.

The only advantage of less workload right now was that you didn't fall asleep atop a pile of books or papers, and certainly not in your work clothes. Now, you actually had time to change and time to choose where you wanted to fall asleep.

You picked the satin shorts and the buttoned shirt that was two sizes too large on you - it was your brother's, and when it got too small on him, you stole it. It was old enough that the print had been stripped after multiple washes. It was the only piece you owned of his; it comforted you on dismaying nights as such.

You also treated your wound and downed a painkiller along with a granola bar from your nightstand to avoid acid reflux from the medicine.

You were trying to decide whether you would read a political book or a monster book in bed when there was a knock on the door.

You froze first, in surprise. Then, you were annoyed.

Sighing, you headed for the door and hid yourself behind it, only letting your face pop out.

It was Sebastian.

'Are you decent?' he asked.

'I'm in my night dress,' you gritted out.

'So decent,' he pushed your door in, forcing you to open it wide.

You huffed, 'How dare—?'

'I see you bandaged it,' he pointed to your head. 'Good.' He suddenly shone his pocket torch in your eyes, 'Doesn't seem like a concussion.'

You batted his hand away, 'Mr Slay—!'

'Did you eat?' he cut you off again. 'You must've taken an Ibuprofen.'

'What does that have to do with your invasion of my privacy?' your voice was razored, and your eyes were daggered.

'I'm hungry,' he said innocently.

It threw off your anger. Just like Dean, Sebastian was another person who dared to play with your anger. At least you could scold Sebastian for it.

'I'm very close to filing a complaint that will blotch your reputation darkly, Mr Slay,' you warned.

He pressed his lips. To you, it seemed in fear. But he was actually suppressing his smirk because he thought it was funny.

'Maybe I phrased it wrong,' he said. 'Would you like to have dinner?'

You blinked in bewilderment.

Of all the things, you did not expect a dinner invitation.

'The kitchens are closed,' you pointed out. 'The cooks have gone to bed.'

The last dinnertime was ten o'clock. It was eleven-thirty now. You usually missed dinners these days because you would stay out till midnight to practice. In the mornings you would be ravenous with your breakfast - going in during the first slot at six while most hunters couldn't be bothered to be drug off their beds until ten.

There, Esmeralda, the Head Chef, and the only person native to this palace you could somewhat tolerate besides Salem, would whip you up something special before you made your way to the center again as the first student around eight - again, most kids wouldn't show up until ten.

'Aw, I think you'll like our new cook,' he said, with a grin that made you suspicious.

You debated the consequences of your actions before your curiosity won you over in Sebastian's favor.

He only gave you enough time to put your fluffy slippers on before he was chatting your ear off all the way down. You barely heard a word because you were fuming at him for not letting you change, and throw some make-up on. He said the food would get cold and that that would hurt the chef's feelings—something you didn't want to risk.

Inside the large, cavernous space of the kitchen, a single station was making the sound of pots and pans. One half of the room was dedicated to five hundred stations for cooks to either help the Head Chef cook food or to help themselves - after all, the palace consisted of about a thousand people.

Not all the stations were always used, with one-third of them leaving for hunts almost daily. But it was very useful in the days of balls and such.

The other half of the room was long tables of the mess which was only full to its capacity in peak hours. Other times, it was groups of people scattered about, laughing and chattering at the only time of the day when none of them had to worry.

Now, the room was empty. Emptier than the mornings. You never came to kitchen except in the slots because you didn't know how to cook - so, you'd never seen it like this before.

There were about five or six groups of people sitting wide apart, having cooked for themselves. Their disheveled appearance indicated that they'd returned from hunts. You envied them for that.

Sebastian led you away from the mess and towards the only working station on the other end. As you drew closer, you wanted to run away that much farther because you recognized the face.

'Hey,' Sebastian greeted. You wanted to clap a hand over his mouth because you still hadn't decided whether you should run or not.

A point that ran moot when the "chef" spared a glance from his skillful work.

Was there something this man couldn't do?

Dean's eyes locked on yours, and he stilled for a second.

'Hey,' he said, suddenly wary. 'What's she doing here?' he didn't look away from you.

You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you. His eyes danced down your figure and you became extremely conscious of your clothing choice.

To make matters worse, 'Cute shorts,' he smirked tiny.

Sebastian chuckled. 'You don't mind feeding another mouth, do you?'

Dean shrugged. 'So long as she tells me what happened there,' he gestured to his own forehead.

Another deep blush took root in your face. You were trying to remember a time more embarrassing than this. Both the boys were looking in your direction for an answer.

'I fell,' you said, your voice so low that the sizzle of the pan ate it.

'What?' Sebastian said.

You frowned scathingly. 'I fell during tree-climbing, okay?' you ground out, bracing yourself for depreciating laughter.

. . . None came.

'Too bad,' Sebastian said, leaning against a counter. 'So, we were on this pagen God case,' he started, and launched into a detailed narration of his recent-most case with Dean, with animated hand gestures and all.

It happened so fast that you needed a second to process it - he switched topics so quickly as if it didn't matter to him. How could this not matter to him - this was fuel against you - this made you non-perfect to be a Leader . . .

Dean only paid one ear to him, adding a comment or two to tell you the real version instead of Sebastain's exaggerated one.

You didn't know what to do with yourself. You weren't comfortable enough to lean against a counter, so you settled for standing stiffly still, with your hands by your side, as if in attention, about to start a march.

Dean added food to three plates when he was done and gave one to Sebastian, allowing him to take a breath. He gave you the other plate and walked away without a word.

'C'mon,' Sebastian enthusiastically said. 'And then,' he resumed, somehow still with some energy, 'Dean, the hero, saved the child by swinging over the inferno and grabbing the child by one hand. He threw the kid in the water and then swung back only to kick the monster in the chest and poof!' he made waves of fire with his free hand to indicate the incineration of the Feral.

'I'm not a hero,' Dean interjected, grabbing the first seat on the first table of the mess he first came across.

You didn't say a word. Once again, you were envious. Hunting sounded like such a blast and a good vent. It made you scowl harder at the food as you took your seat against Dean's.

Sebastian hovered for a second. 'Anyways, bye.'

Panic seized you, and you snapped your head up in alarm. Dean seemed to have the same reaction: 'Where are you going?'

'Oh, I promised I'd drink with the B2,' he winked. 'You know, Boa and Baz,' he explained when he saw the uncomprehending look on your face. 'Thanks for dinner, boss,' he saluted mischievously. And he walked away with his plate.

You never thought you would be upset with Sebastian leaving.

Now you were alone with Dean. He seemed just as upset as you. So he focused on his food, grumbling some curse words for his right-hand man.

You decided that if you shoved food in your mouth, it wouldn't have a place for your foot to go in.

First bite in, and you almost moaned. Your decorum held up, but you were flabbergasted by how delicious the meal proved to be. While you disliked the cook deeply, his culinary skills were extraordinary.

You tore off a few more bites of your scrumptious burger, wishing you could have good meals like this every day.

You loved Esmeralda, but she was an excellent European cook, and Dean's taste seemed to be more American. It reminded you of your homeland . . .

'Is it good?' his voice startled you for no reason. There was a thread of insecurity in his eye as if your response would matter.

You gulped your mouthful and nodded slowly. 'Yours is the second-most tasty burger I've ever had.'

He seemed equally offended, amused, and curious. 'Who's the first?'

You hesitated but he had so kindly cooked for you. Surely, you could repay in answers. Even if they were very personal.

'My father,' you admitted.

He looked surprised.

You offered a friendly smile, 'He cooked once for me. Well, if we're keeping count, he's cooked fourteen times for me.'

Dean tried hard to keep his poker face. If he knew that he could get you talking with food, he'd have done it a long time ago.

You seemed pensive. 'They were my rewards. For doing well in my training.' You mused then, 'Clearly a hard man to please.' You chuckled sadly then. 'I wonder what I did to get this,' you lifted your plate to show him with a self-criticizing smile as if that was supposed to be a joke.

His heart took a hit.

'I can cook for you as many times as you want,' he blurted out before he could think about it.

It confounded you. Your eyebrows raised, 'That's not necessary, Mr Winchester. I'm sure you have better things to do.'

Your walls had gone up again.

He couldn't stop himself, 'Can't you just take it when someone's being nice to you?'

'You don't have to do me a favor,' you repeated, getting more defensive.

He realized that the moment was lost. It made him sad and frustrated. And the most annoying part was that he seemed to care. For an inexplicable reason, he couldn't help but feel like he needed to care about you. And it was very vexing that you wouldn't let him - that you made it so hard for him.

'Fine,' he mumbled hotly.

With the atmosphere ruined, you both ate in silence.

He was getting up after he practically inhaled his food when another group passed by.

'Hey, D-dawg!' one of the men uttered.

'Hey, Sonny,' Dean grinned.

'Some of us are heading to the waterhole to kill some wraiths and have some dives. One day job. You in?'

'Hell yeah,' Dean said. 'Meet me out in twenty.'

They all approved in murmurs and exited lazily, laughing and cheering. Dean also felt excited, his previous tiredness disappearing.

His quota for the week was done, but he wouldn't say no to some extra adrenaline. Plus, it had been ages since he got time to swim at the nearby lake. It would be a good way to wind down after the Leviathan fiasco which was just calming across his continent.

It struck Dean that it would be a simple hunt. Despite his earlier anger, he turned to extend that invitation.

Only to find you had slipped away.

He saw you at one of the sinks, putting your plate in the dishwasher and then scuttling out of the kitchens without another look in his direction.

He sighed. If you wanted to be difficult about this, he couldn't help you. Slightly miffed, he cleared his own utensils and went to grab his hunting duffel.

You didn't see Dean for another month.

Mostly because you changed your schedule a little, allowing you to avoid the castle outside of the five hours where you needed to sleep for four and do the shower stuff for the other one. You were putting in extra hours at the training center because you were pissed about being benched on hunts. You'd even requested Esmerelda to store some food in the fridge for you at night which you could heat up in the mornings before anyone came to the kitchen - running a microwave was as far as your culinary genius went.

You were now proud to say that you could climb the trees - slowly, but without a freaking rope. You could construct a treehouse alone even if it took you a little more time than the natives to make and find the raw materials on your own. You could swing amazingly, lifting your own body weight gracefully; it was the best part so far.

Today was the first day at your Office after Salem had officially cleared you.

You adored your treehouse.

It had two windows for cross-breeze, and a desk with a chair that had excellent lumbar support. You had your own coffee maker. And even a little material to make your own hammock if you decide to sleep over. There was a short balcony with a railing that faced other treehouses in the area; you could see the Offices slowly filling with people who yelled platitudes to each other.

As the first one there, from four in the morning, you saw it all unfold in front of you, observing more than interacting. You also kept your door open as a sign of welcome . . . even though no one took you up on that.

Until noon, that is.

A lean, muscular figure trotted in.

'Hey! You're working!' Sebastian said as if cheering.

You shot him a dirty look.

'Hi, Lady Y/N,' Selina said, pleasantly, and much more formally. She subtly nudged Sebastian to behave.

As if Sebastian would ever change.

'Ms Doll,' you acknowledged, 'Mr Slay.'

'How have you been?' Selina asked softly.

'Good,' you smiled, meaning it for the first time. 'Did you climb up?'

She seemed to blush at that. 'Mr Slay was kind enough to offer a ride.'

'Ah,' you nodded. Selina or Sal or Lay hadn't needed to learn the tree-related stuff, and Boa and Baz knew how - they'd taken classes with Seth before joining your team. Most warriors knew how, yet as there had been a large possibility (according to your mother), that you would only be a wife to someone and not a Leader yourself, she had told you to learn it (when) if it was required.

You had stopped telling her that even if you were never a Leader, your chances of becoming a wife were slim to none. You had seen enough marriages to know how that shit ended.

'How can I help you two?'

'Well, I've been looking for you,' Sebastian said. 'Do you know we're hosting a fundraiser?'

That sent a jolt through you.

'Excuse me?'

'Tomorrow night, actually,' Selina gently said. 'You've been so busy at the center that we weren't sure you knew.'

So that was why you shouldn't avoid the people you don't like; it comes to bite you back in the ass.

'Well,' you paused, trying to swallow that pill. 'Thank you,' you said, mannered even if you felt like a deer caught in the flashlight of the hunter who would murder it.

'I don't think you feel good anymore,' Sebastian said. Selina nudged him again.

It nettled you enough to compose yourself. 'I will be there.'

'With whom?' he asked back.

Selina hurried to add, 'The theme is a masquerade. Everyone's with a date.'

'A theme?' You'd never had a theme before!

'Hunters like fun,' Sebastian shrugged. 'It was my idea,' he added, probably just to annoy you.

You scowled furiously at him.

Dressing was not the problem. The date thing was.

As if grasping for straws, 'What about Boa and Baz?' They were celibates. They'd sworn off dating and marriage and in general everything like that because of their magnanimous commitment to their Continents. It ran in their family.

'They're coming together,' Selina said. 'You can go with anyone platonic as well.'

'Would you like to go with me?' you asked, earnestly and relieved.

She turned tomato red. 'I, um, I—'

'She's going with me,' Sebastian said to her. 'As a date,' he had no qualms about declaring it.

Of freaking course.

It was all you could do to not let your face fall.

'I see.'

'I'm sorry,' she comforted.

'Please don't be,' you quickly stopped her. 'I'm happy for you,' you meant that, with like five percent of your heart. The other ninety-five was judging her choice.

She seemed to know your heart, but she gave you a tentative smile.

'Anyways,' Sebastian said. 'Dean hopes you'll show.'

You couldn't figure out if he was lying or not.

'We'll leave you to your first day. We hope it's good,' Selina said. You were grateful for her.

They turned to leave, Sebastian guiding your Chief Medic off to the grounds.

You sullenly twirled your dagger in your hands. You didn't want a date, but you didn't want to be the only person who showed up without one either.

Then again, you loathed the whole notion and concept of needing another person to do anything.

Oh, how Sebastian found new ways to torment you.

That same evening, you noticed the lights flicker on in the treehouse right in front of you. The closest one to you, and the farthest from everyone else's. In fact, even yours was a bit ways away from the others'.

People walked from one treehouse to another on ropes. There was a single rope to walk on, and two to hold at the midwaist level while you did. Only a few treehouses had planks to cross with. Most people swung away if they could. All child's play for natives here, of course.

You didn't know who the treehouse belonged to until a tall man walked out to light his lamp; you hadn't even known he'd been in there the whole day in the first place—he must be stealthy despite his large frame. You gazed at him, slightly distracted, impressed by his broad shoulders and bowlegs that went on for days, a lean waist, and a muscular build.

It wasn't until the soft glow of the fire that lit up his face that you realized you knew the man.

As if sensing your eyes, he looked up to catch your stare.

You couldn't look away fast enough. You pretended to get busy with the files on your table - you'd been given a stack from the treasury to distribute income amongst the hunters. You were on the eightieth file. The ones done neatly stacked by your feet. You would ask Boa to pick them up the next day.

When you sneaked a glance up, he had disappeared inside. You let out a breath you didn't know you had been holding.

Don't be a coward, your mind yelled at you. You had to talk to Dean anyway to tell him you were ready for hunts.

Grabbing a fortifying breath, you marched across the tightrope - or well, you trembled on your feet like a toddler walking for the first time, with a death grip on the side ropes. You were very happy when you reached the solid ground of his balcony.

You knocked on his door rhythmically.

When it swung in, he paused, as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

'Y/N,' he said, a shiver ran down your spine, seemingly affected by his deep baritone.

Maybe there's a nip in the air, you attributed it to the climate.

Anyhow, it should be annoying that he would call you by your name. Formalities are necessary in colleagues.

As if demonstrating, 'Mr Winchester. Hello.'

'Hi?' he asked, more than said.

'I would like to discuss my joining on the hunts.'

'With me?' he quirked a brow, stepping in.

'Yes,' you told his turned back. You wished he would talk face-to-face. 'Who else?'

Sebastian, Dean thought.

'Right,' he didn't put up a fight though. 'How good do you fight?' he asked, retaking a seat in his chair.

'Well,' you said. 'My record is a nest.'

Dean opened his mouth but changed his words last minute. 'Are you gonna come in?'

You were reluctant. 'You didn't invite me in,' but at least you stepped inside.

Dean sighed. This woman.

'I don't care, okay? You can walk in any time you want.'

'If that's what you want,' you folded your hands in front of you.

He hated that posture of yours. He moved on.

'How big a nest are we talking?' he asked.

'Thirty in vampires, or seven Wendigos,' you smirked. 'Give or take.'

Dean liked those numbers. 'A night?' he confirmed.

You shrugged, but he could feel the smugness radiating off of you. 'Solo,' you added.

He nodded, sold. 'Alright. You can start when we have a hunt for you in the foreseeable future,' he told you. 'Or you can join a group that's going.'

'Oh,' you said, shoulders drooping. 'I thought, uh, I could start after the fundraiser?'

'Look, you and I - we only get cases no one else can take. If it gets too much for me, I'll let you have one, okay?' Dean said. 'For now, I'm good, so maybe you can entertain the idea of joining others.'

That diminished your hopes further. Dean took extra cases with people because he finished his own with bonus time; he was that good.

As for the other people: after that bonfire, you knew you weren't welcome.

He was essentially saying that you would never be hunting.

Figures, your heart panged; they never have needed you - only because you can climb now, doesn't mean that they'll start needing you. They must have far better people who can replace you here.

'Thanks,' you said with a tightness.

You looked beautiful.

A crimson satin gown that hugged your figure exactly, it had a sweetheart neckline so it perched at the end of your shoulder blades delicately. It touched your skin till your knees, curving to your body curves and slanting smoothly towards the floor. After your knees, it flared out backward like a train and grazed the ground from there. It was frilled, giving the gown a passionate look. It had white gloves that came up to your elbows.

Your hair was done up in curls, a few left out, purposely messy, that framed your face like curtains. And the make-up made you look like a doll.

These people didn't fail to make you feel like one too—like you were breakable and replaceable.

Patriarchy, one; you, zero. These were the same Governors who had wanted your advice back at your castle - in your jurisdiction.

With Dean's strong presence, many conversations had turned to compliment you and never returned to what actually mattered.

What was even more degrading was that they started to woo you. It was different to bring it up during the Debutant Ball; it's a devious occasion where everyone can unofficially court you. But this is a fundraiser, and you are not up for fucking auction - if only someone could tell these horny, lonely bastards.

You flounced out to the balcony with your third drink in your hand. May Lay forgive you from the Heavens above - but you were getting slammed if this is how everyone was going to treat you for the rest of your Leadership.

Your hopes to be alone and have a pity party were squashed when you saw Dean on the balcony, doing what you were going to.

Before you could turn around and hide in another corner, he noticed you.

'Y/N, hey.'

You silently cursed the Universe.

Your smile was strained as you walked towards him.

'Mr Winchester,' you said.

'Having fun?' he asked, dully.

You were about to lie through your teeth when you noticed that his attention was already elsewhere. He was looking at the moon, eyes lost, and expression contorted with . . . grief.

'. . . Are you?'

He snorted, sipping from his flute. 'Yeah. I'm the life of the freaking party.'

He was; everyone wanted two cents of his time. You wished you could be in his lieu. What was his problem? He had everything.

'What's wrong?' you pried.

He took a deep breath. 'I can't stand it.'

'What?'

'The fanfare,' he frowned. 'Doesn't feel like much time has gone by since Jess—' he couldn't finish the thought, so he finished his drink.

Okay . . . you were wrong - he didn't have everything. You had to remind yourself that people cared about more than their work.

You had just the one response but saying "sorry" had gotten you nowhere last time.

'Handling grief is the only thing that practice can't perfect,' you said.

He gave you a strange look for that.

'You sound experienced.'

'Aren't we all?' you gave him the ghost of a smile.

'You're doing a really bad job of comforting me,' he claimed. 'If that's at all what you're doing.'

'It gets easier, if not perfect,' you shrugged.

'So give it time?' he scoffed. 'That's your big brilliant advice?'

'No,' you said. 'Forgive yourself, it'll get easier.'

'What does that mean?' he stood straighter.

'Everyone doesn't move on for a different reason,' you said. 'You have survivor's guilt.'

'You don't know anything about me,' his jaw clenched.

'You're a survivor,' you informed him, 'like me.'

A buzzer cut his answer short. He fished out a pager, already distracted from you.

'I need to go,' he murmured seriously.

He rushed away before you could ask him if you could help.

You hadn't even finished your drink when you sensed a presence behind your back.

'Everything okay?' you asked, turning, expecting Dean.

But it was the French Governor: Neel Simone. He was a hateful fellow who had taken an apparent fascination with making your life hell.

'Lovely night, yes, Lady?' he said or sneered.

'I've had my fill,' you said, gesturing to the gorgeous scenery from the balcony. 'I'll let you have yours.'

He blocked your side-step. You shot him a glance of caution.

'Cut the shy girl crap,' he definitely sneered this time.

Your brows shot up.

'This is all your fault,' he accused. He stumbled a few steps towards you which was when the stench hit you, making you cringe immediately.

'You're drunk.'

'Well, I was supposed to be the Leader,' he snarled. 'But then you come along! Older by a fucking month!' he spat at your feet.

A piece of information floated to you.

'You're a Secondborn.' One of his ancestors was once a Leader, you recalled. His older sister had passed away when she was young.

Complicated and stupid rules dictated that only a Firstborn man could replace your Leadership. You were a Temp only till that time when a Firstborn man turned mature. Even a Firstborn woman won't take your place because what was the point of replacing a woman with another when they could wait out for a man on the horizon?

Unless of course, any woman, Firstborn, or Secondborn, or just off the street - whoever she was, if she married a Firstborn man already in the ruling, then no one could replace her.

A Secondborn won't ever replace you now because it was too overwhelming to shift between Leaders, man or a woman. The only way another Secondborn would replace you was if you were fired, or if you died.

You grew wary as you got the feeling as to why Mr Simone was here.

'They send a wussy like you from America - this was my only chance!' he yelled drunkenly, advancing on you.

Your weapons are in your purse, sitting next to your date's, Esmeralda's, purse, along with the damn masquerade masks. (Yes, you asked your sweet, sassy, widowed cook to go with you platonically.)

He had over three inches on you. With your heels, you covered that difference and then some. His inhibitions were lowered which would make throwing him off the balcony easy if you placed a kick right.

But then, like an arrow it struck you, Not my jurisdiction.

'Walk away while you can, Mr Simone,' you requested, as sternly as you could. He may not be able to kill you, but people will believe him over you, no questions asked.

'You're threatening me!?' he grabbed you by the shoulders. His bad breath hit you full force and you tried to step back, but he had an ironclad hold on you. You were extremely uncomfortable with proximity to this man.

'A weakling like you - how dare you - how dare they!?'

You were surprised his cries weren't drawing out any people; the ballroom was adjacent to this balcony. Then again, the music and chatter were booming from the inside, and the translucent glass was vibrating in celebration the last you'd seen it.

'I'll show them I'm worthy,' he bared his teeth. 'I'll show them I belong instead of you! You can't even lift a fucking finger against me!'

To your shock, he didn't attack you the "traditional" way. You realized with a shudder of horror that he was talking about assaulting you as another way to prove his manliness. His lips zoomed towards yours like a smelly insect you'd never want in your mouth.

You did what any woman would to a freaking rodent - you smacked him - across his cheek, making his skin ripple there.

His hands on you loosened.

'You bitch!' came his cry; to you, it sounded afar. Your ears were buzzing with anger - all you felt was disgust.

You didn't let him come any closer after that. Your kick landed on his family jewels, and he let loose a shuddering screech, falling to his knees.

You grabbed him by his hair and dragged the man forward to the edge, raising him to his knees by his joke-worthy strands, twisting them painfully.

'This is why I'm the boss, bitch!'

'I'll have your job!' he gritted out.

You were afraid of that. You smashed his head on the cement railing, breaking his nose. You gritted your teeth when his blood stained your glove.

'Say that again,' you dared him. 'In fact, go ahead. Tell them you got beaten up by a girl,' you teased. 'The one you're supposedly good enough to replace.'

His bloodshot eyes watched you with hatred.

'Here's what you're going to do,' you said. 'You're going to go in and pretend this never happened. Make a weakling's excuse for your nose.'

'I'll file a complaint,' he said with a watery smile, trying to assert his dominance even when he was on his bony knees.

You snorted in amusement - men never learn, do they?

'Go ahead,' you encouraged again. 'Then, I'll have no qualms about killing you like your most tormenting nightmare. And I won't make it easy either - I'll haunt you to the ends of the earth until you are begging me to take your pathetic excuse of a life!'

His eyes widened in realization.

'You attack me, I attack you,' you explained to his alcohol-addled brain. 'Even-Steven. You have my job . . . Well, nothing's stopping me then, is it?'

Suddenly, he started laughing.

It made you nervous.

You heard a sound when you realized that the music had halted. There were whispers behind you.

A terrifying prickle on the back of your neck gave you a clue.

Your hand released his head. As if in slow motion, you whirled about.

Officials were staring in your direction with disapproval, all their lips set in frowns. Dean, in lead of them, had donned his mask back on, but he had a grim look in his eyes, his jaw clenched in an anger you'd never seen on him before. He must realize what a huge mistake he'd made vouching for you to Mr Singer and Mr Turner now - and he must loathe you for breaking his unsaid trust.

Your previous threat was null and void to Simone because you'd just been found on the scene of crime literally red-handed. Now, whatever way the man twisted the story, they would believe him - because what proof did you have?

Your stomach seemed to fall out of your body, in fact, it felt like you were free-falling yourself. Tears started to corral in your e/cs.

You were doomed.

Your hands came to hold you up, crossing in front of your chest. This time, you wouldn't stop yourself from crying, even if you would go do it alone.

Because you'd just cost yourself your career.

If only you'd run instead of . . . .

'Excuse me,' your voice wobbled.

For the first time in years, you were crying openly—without covering your face. Tears were streaming down steadily, and you could only pay so much attention to know where you were going. You were also vaguely aware of people parting to make way. You heard your name being called, but it chased you away faster.

You thought of going to your room, but your heart had other ideas. Your legs carried you away towards the forest.

To the training centre: The Treexcel School.

You saw the lights on at Salem's treehouse, so you ducked out of that path. Heading, instead, for your tree. You didn't know what you would do there - it wasn't like this contraption of a dress would allow you to climb anything.

But you found yourself curling up at the base of the tall grace of nature. Sitting on the ground felt nice - natural. None of that swaying in the air, holding on for your dear life.

You missed underground activities.

After tonight, I might get deported. There, problem solved.

Your parents won't even accept you back in America after the stunt you pulled and Europe won't want to see your face now . . .

It was as if a dam snapped in you. The weeks of suppressed toils and troubles came a-knocking, knocking your heart down. Loss and grief ravaged you - all that journey, all that wasted time and hopes, all those lives . . . And it's all on you.

Despite having lost people along the way, you couldn't help but fear your mother's looming disappointment the most still. It was as if someone was squeezing your breath out as if your lungs were articles of washed laundry someone was twisting.

You hid your cries in your knees when your legs came up to your chest - helping you keep yourself together because it felt like you were falling apart.

And you let it happen because it may be the last time you're allowed to feel it.

A/N: What an ass, that French dude 😑. Btw, how do you think Dean will react 👀?

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'Hi.'

Dean had to glance up from his pile of dusty lore books. He'd chosen to sit on the floor so he could look at every page he wanted simultaneously. He was so deep in his research that he didn't even hear you coming. The last thing out of his crappy day that Dean had expected was you. 

'Hey.'

You remained awkwardly stranded on his Office door, hands laced in front of you as you surveyed his mountain of books. 'How's the research faring?' 

Dean blew a fed-up breath. 'Friggin' awesome. Do you know we have thousands of books on Lucifer?'

'Yes.'

Dean rolled his eyes - freaking know-it-alls, man!

'And do you know how many of them are helpful?' he asked, still sarcastic. 

'Zero?' you guessed - correctly, much to Dean's annoyance. 

You were sympathetic, though. 'I can imagine how your frustration must mount with every page.'

Sure, a book-lover like you would understand him. 

He released another breath, throwing the book he'd currently finished aside. 'What do you want?' he demanded, trying not to be rude. 

'Well,' you licked your lips. 'I was wondering if I could borrow you for some time?'

'I'm busy,' he gestured to his heap.

When you didn't say anything for a beat, Dean glanced up to see you torn between asking for what you wanted and respecting his answer. You met his eyes hesitantly when they wouldn't tear off of you. 

Dean was man enough to admit that he'd missed you the last two days. 

Between wading through his tumultuous emotions alone and battling an army of hopeless research, he'd been missing you terribly. You and your stupid dry wit and your stupider ability to find a needle-like information in a haystack and your stupidest face that he missed kissing. 

He was trying not to be petty, but it was pretty hurtful that you didn't come to check on him once. If he was being a baby, why couldn't you just fucking baby him?

'I, um,' you said, 'set up some things in my room.' You cleared his throat. 'I know you have better things to do, but it would mean a lot to me if you stopped by.'

Finally, you got that out. 

Dean clocked the nervous way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He was still busy, but he didn't want to shoo you away either. 

'How important is this thing?' he questioned, wondering if he could just keep you here instead. 

'N-Not that much,' you lied. 

Dean made a face at you. 

'Seriously,' you insisted. 'It's fine. I'll, uh, leave you be.'

Before you could get your squirrely self out of his sight, he stopped you with a call of your name. 

'Wait here,' he said on a sigh. He heaved himself upright and rounded his desk to pick his phone up while you watched him unsurely. He dialled Sebastian and asked him to cancel his last appointment at two-thirty and to shift it to after the holidays. 

It was about the beta-testing of the new weapons, so it wasn't all that important anyway. Even if it had been, Dean would've asked you to stay with him in the room as he finished up. 

Your eyes were wide by the time he put his phone down. 'You, um, didn't have to,' you said shyly. 'I didn't mean to interrupt your workflow. Really, it's not that important anyway.'

'You're lying to me,' Dean said, shrugging on his jacket. 

Your hands fidgeted. 'Technically, it doesn't matter. It's not important to you or the work.'

Dean skirted around his research so he could meet you at the door. He gave you narrowed eyes. 'So, what you mean to say is, it's not important for the work, but it's important to you.'

You shifted uncomfortably, eyes lowering. 'It's just a stupid thing I did.'

He grasped your shoulders, trying not to think about how much he'd missed touching you. He waited until you found the courage to meet his eyes. 

'Just because we're fighting, it doesn't mean that I stop caring about what you care about.'

You gulped like that was a hard pill to swallow. 

'Thanks,' you whispered. 

'You don't need to thank me for that,' he added. 

'Oh.' 

Out of words, you settled for guiding him back to your room. He told you where to step out of habit. The walk back was a bit too tense for both of you, but it didn't seem like Dean was about to break that silence. 

In another bout of courage you mustered by the time you reached the back door, you could ask him about his day. 

''Twas fine,' he replied, holding the door for you as you joined him in the Palace. 

'Oh,' you said again. 

Dean took pity on you when your mouth opened and closed, trying to figure out your next words. 

'Because of Christmas, it was light today,' he elaborated. Relief was evident in your face by that small smile you gave him. 

'Same here,' you said. 'W-What else?'

'Spent the rest of the day in books. Took a stroll by the waterhole once.'

You nodded like he was levying you with top-secret information. 'And did you eat?' you asked, staring ahead of you as you both embarked on the stairs. 

'Yeah,' he said. 'B2 thought it was a splendid idea to bring me oysters and shrimp cocktails.'

You did note the sarcasm this time. 'They were serving it as today's lunch special,' you said nervously. 'You didn't like it?'

It wasn't a matter of taste or liking it. Dean just wasn't in the mood. 

But he had a bigger issue with your question. 'Did you send them up there?'

'No,' you squeaked. 

For a Hunter in International Politics, your lack of believable lying astonished Dean sometimes - he knew it was the magic of the soulmateship, yet it was incredible. 

'Darling, it's pretty obvious you've been asking Seb and B2 to keep an eye on me,' he said. 'You know you could've just come talked to me instead.'

'I . . . didn't know if you wanted to see me,' you confessed sadly. 

It managed to get on Dean's last nerve. He caught your elbow and turned you on the stairs so you were facing him from a step above. 'Of course I wanted to see you.' He kept his voice low because even though ninety-nine percent of the people might be inside their rooms with their families, one percent, like the late-working chefs or the late-arriving hunters, could be loitering about the Castle. 'I was hurt, and I was being petty about it,' he admitted. 'And maybe I wanted you to chase me a little.'

'Well,' you fiddled with your fingers again. 'I-I didn't know that.'

Dean sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. 'Look,' he said, 'I am sorry. I shouldn't have shut down the communication because I was in a bad mood. I just . . .' his voice box constricted around the thorny words, making his voice come out with holes, 'Just felt like no one needed me.'

Your head snapped up, expression dumbfounded. 

'Dean,' you placed a hand on his chest, forgetting the rest of the world for a second. 'But it is the most obvious thing that I need you.'

It was Dean's turn to play with his fingers. 

You said one thing, but your actions didn't make sense to him. He'd never dealt with your brand of affection: privatised and unpossessive; it was easy for him to take that for your disinterest when his head wasn't screwed on straight. 

Your arms wrapped around him, taking him by surprise. His arms wound around your torso on reflex. Your unique scent, doused in your faint shampoo, invaded his nostrils. He closed his eyes to let that fragrance take him. His hands clung tighter to you when your fingers found the nape of his neck and stroked him there gently. 

'I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't need you,' you mumbled into his ear. 'I was just trying to give you some space.'

But that's the thing, Dean wanted you in his space. He wanted you all over it.  

His throat was too tight for him to say it right now, though. 

You opened your door quietly. Ushering him in and turning the lock. 

'Okay,' you drew an anticipatory breath. 'Before I turn on the lights, you should know, if you want to walk back out, I would understand - there is no pressure on you or anything.'

'Just show me,' he said, squeezing your hand that he hadn't released since the stairs. 

You flicked the switch on and let the full glory hit him.

He let out a tiny gasp. 

There was a Christmas tree in the corner of your circular room. The balcony was closed but uncurtained, allowing the magnificent snow to be showcased like in a snow globe, yet preventing the cold air from blowing in. You had the fireplace going (first time you bothered to light it) to counter the insistent chill of the atmosphere; no heater tonight to keep things rustic and romantic. You'd moved your mattress next to the fire with clean sheets. Above the mantle, a newly installed television with all the subscriptions you took half a day figuring out how to operate, and all the movies Dean might like in the watchlist. There was a cart laden with food and desserts.

'Do you wanna build a snowman?' you almost sang, but your voice was crackly from how stupid you thought you sounded.

'Did you just quote Anna to me?' he queried, a hint of a smile on his face.

You hesitated, 'I-I-I thought you liked Frozen?' You low-key itched to search on Google to see if you had cited the reference correctly.

His lips did twitch that time. 'I do like Frozen,' he said. 'A secret you will take to your grave,' he said with a finger levied at you. 

You grinned at him full-heartedly. 

He took the scene in once again. There was a longing in him because Christmas reminded him of his parents. He hadn't celebrated one since they passed away, and he had to move to Europe. 

This Christmas was just an added reminder of Sam. And how his brother might be poring over the books, ignoring the holidays vehemently if it meant he didn't have to think about his dead wife . . .

Dean had begged Sam to stay, too. But his little brother was stubborn. He said that Asia awaited its sole Leader, which was a fair point, but Dean just hated how far he was from his family when it needed him the most. The least he could do was stew in his research for the sake of solidarity. 

'Y/N, I . . .' he hesitated, 'I appreciate what you've done. But darling, I just . . . I don't think it's the right time to celebrate anything.' 

Your stoicism struggled to keep your face from falling. 

'That's completely valid,' you nodded solemnly. 'It was stupid anyway.'

'It wasn't stupid,' Dean said sternly. He took your other hand in his, too. 'It's endearing.'

You had a flustered smile to offer him. 'How about we have a nice dinner, and then we can head back to your cabin. Burn the midnight oil? Continue that research.'

You moved towards the cart of food, and Dean's guilt strengthened. 

His eyes swept over the room again. You'd put up faerie lights as well, high up on the ceiling. He imagined you standing on a tall, borrowed ladder, bullheaded enough to ask no one for help. He glanced at the tree again . . . the undecorated tree. 

He frowned as something horrible occurred to him. 

'Hey, princess,' he said, walking to you so he could watch your reaction. 

You hummed in question, ladling some eggnog into the second mug. 

'Why didn't you decorate the tree?' Dean asked innocently. 

Your brows scrunched. 'You put the ornaments up with family,' you said doubtfully. 

'Do you though?' he said confidently to confuse you.  

You thought so hard about it that Dean thought you might give yourself an aneurysm. 

'Darlin'?'

'Yeah?'

'Please tell me you've celebrated Christmas before.' You opened your mouth, but he cut you off. 'And don't tell me your family doesn't believe in it, or that you were doing it just for me because I believe in it. I've seen your parents hosting several Christmas parties on social media.'

'Dammit,' you muttered with a sigh. 

Dean got a bitch-face going. 'This is your first Christmas?'

'Well,' you put the ladle down and veered your eyes away from his. 'Technically, I've had a few.'

Dean's deadpan grew vigilant at that. 'When?'

'Ages . . . one to six?' you posed it more like a question. 

'And you remember them?'

Vividly. 'Sure,' you tried to be casual about it as you handed him a mug. 

He smiled like he had you trapped. 'Tell me about one.'

'Well, when I was four, my grandpa was still alive-'

'Tell me about the last one,' Dean interjected. 

Your eyes narrowed at him. 'Boy, you're mean.'

'So there is a reason you stopped celebrating,' he concluded. 

You sighed, moving away from the cart so you could curl up on the mattress. 'If I tell you,' you said, as Dean joined you, 'it might change your mind. I don't want to sway your decision because something happened to me when I was a stupid kid.'

'Oh, trust me. If any part of your childhood is stupid, it's your parents,' he mumbled into his mug, feigning to take a sip. 

You'd long since stopped reprimanding him about calling your parents names. You were too tired of upkeeping their image in front of the media already; Dean spent the most time with you in the world - if you tried to bring a good twist on them every time you talked about them, you would be a skeleton before they would be decent humans. 

'Do you really want to waste your time on my childhood?' you asked one more time. You didn't want to worsen his mood. 

'Yes.'

You sighed again, suddenly wishing you'd added alcohol to your eggnogs. 

'So, I was six years old,' you began. 'And Christmas Eve was reserved for guests and their parties. Which, as children, Seth and I were never invited to.' You weren't invited as adults either, but you withheld that information. 'On Christmas Day, Seth and I would make rounds at orphanges, old age homes, or such places to distribute food and water. Mother thought it made for an amazing PR stunt.'

'What was she doing at that time?'

You shot him an eye roll . . . but, well, that was the nasty bit of the story. 

'On the evening of the 25th,' you continued, 'Seth and I were waiting in the dining room. Our parents were three hours late.' Your lips pursed as you got transported back to that lonely room where servants, despite having loving families they could get back to, stayed because they pitied you and Seth. 'My brother and I decided to find them on the premises. Seth gave me the easier job of looking in the rooms.' You still heard your tiny footsteps echoing in the empty corridors. You still heard your stomach growl when the smell of delicious food wafted from doors and laughter bounded within other rooms while you were an outsider, forced to listen and never participate. 'Seth found Dad passed out in the forest, just near the Palace borders, face-down in his vomit.'

Dean grimaced, and you cringed because that was your father. And your mother . . . 

'I opened my parents' room. They still shared a room back then,' you swallowed as your throat got drier. 'She was . . . well, there's no way to be gentle - she was trying to suck the tequila off of my handmaiden's tongue,' you flinched, taking a small pause to let your anger simmer back down. 

'Oh, darling, that's awful,' Dean breathed out, reaching out a hand to you. 

You squeezed his fingers. 'Give it a minute,' you bit your lip. 'It gets worse.'

'What did she do?' he groaned.

'It wasn't so much as what she was doing. It was also how my haindmaiden's husband was . . . doing her . . . at the same time . . .'

'Oh, gross!'

'. . . At some angle. Mr Crow was Seth's chariot-driver,' you added. 

Dean set his mug down on the floor to gather you in his arms. You accepted his embrace gratefully, keeping your drink aside as well. 

'I can't even imagine what that must have felt like,' he offered his hushed sympathies. 

'I couldn't get too mad at Mr and Mrs Crow,' you said, fisting his undershirt for the next part. 'I, um, well, when my mother noticed me, she shut the door in my face and yelled at me to go to sleep.'

'Did you?'

'I told the Palace nurse that I was scared of the "monster in my closet", so she would give me a sleeping pill,' you admitted. 

'Can children have those?' Dean sounded concerned. 

'Didn't matter,' you said. 'And then . . . when I woke up, I, um, well, you know how children get those red socks for presents?'

'. . . Yeah?' Dean didn't have a good feeling about this. 

'I . . . got a coal in it,' you said. That bit still stung, no matter how childish the tradition was. 

Apparently, it sparked Dean's anger too: 'That motherfucker.'

'To be fair,' you said. 'Mrs Crow was someone's mother?'

Dean caught on quick. 'Was?'

The only reason you didn't like telling people your childhood stories was because they were all so depressing. 'The coal I got was wrapped in paper. I foolishly thought the coal was a stone - a paperweight, at first - too caught up in the drawings on the paper. That had looked like a treasure map.'

Dean's heart sank like an anvil streaking to the bottom of the ocean. He parted from you so he could look in your eyes - check if you were being serious. He was horrified to find your upset there. 

'Did you . . . ?'

'Yeah,' you whispered, blinking away the gloss from your eyes. 'I found their bodies.'

Dean was so horror-struck that he was speechless. 

You sniffled. 'At least I didn't have to tell the kids,' you tried to shrug it off. 'That became Seth's Christmas . . . present.' You snorted, shaking your head. 'Why am I complaining? Those kids got it worse. They had to find out that their parents were mauled by Ferals.'

He called your name and held you firmly by the neck as if you would try to run away from what he was about to say. 'Your parents are criminals.'

'That's not news,' you sighed, prying his fingers from you because you felt so . . . dirty. 

'Why haven't you done anything about them yet?' Dean demanded then, eyes alight with rage. 

'For one,' you said. 'They're my . . . biological relatives,' you couldn't find in yourself to associate with them so intimately in that moment. 'And two, who was gonna believe two kids without evidence? They were still the Leaders back then.'

'What about now?'

'Dean,' you hid your face in your palms like you were frustrated with this line of conversation. 'Look, I . . . I'm sorry I'm not as righteous as you, okay?'

'What are you talking about?'

'You kill humans!' you exclaimed. 

His eyes widened with offense before they narrowed in accusation. 'They were traitors, Y/N,' he defended. 

His sharp tone alarmed you. You raised your hands in surrender. 

'That's not what I meant,' you quickly backpedaled. 'But if you haven't noticed, I've never killed a human being. Even if it was ordered.'

He thought back on it, and indeed, Dean came up blank. He didn't know if he was impressed or annoyed. 

'Why won't you kill those who've been cruel?'

'Because that's not my job,' you said. 'I mean . . . My job is factions. Monsters, demons, angels - name the time and place, I'll serve their heads on a silver platter. But . . . I can't kill a human.'

He guessed he could understand the logic behind that. It still pissed him off, though. 'Y/N, one of your human pals got my sister-in-law killed,' he gritted out. 'Was I just supposed to stand aside and let more people die?'

You shook your head jerkily. 'Of course not. I'm just trying to point out that your punishment methods differ from mine,' you said. 'I mean, I'll put a guy behind bars. Or beat them up. But I'm not gonna be the one to pull a trigger on a human life.'

That was a terrible reason in his opinion, and yet, it made perfect sense. He was reminded of that sleazy Simone whom you threatened - a threat Dean was now realising was empty. He didn't know if that made his blood boil or if it made him admire your resilience more, because he could never switch up a capital crime's punishment with an average life sentence. 

You, in the ever-you fashion, misinterpreted his silence. 'Of course, if you find my inaction a crime, you're always welcome to kill me too.'

Dean made a face like you'd fed him raw fish. 'What the fuck did you just say?'

You shrugged, if a bit timid, but otherwise unbothered: 'It won't be the first time a relationship ends unconventionally. It's definitely better when the relationship is public - less drama in the media than a divorce.'

His disgust got in line behind a dangerous mask. 'Has this happened to someone you know?'

You heard the change in his voice. It trilled an alarm down your spine, if nothing else. 

'I-I-I feel like the answer you want to hear is "no"?'

He'd always thought that anger management techniques were stupid. But he found himself closing his eyes and counting to five in his head. 

You took that pause yourself to think about your Auntie Ida and Uncle Fred. Ida had been nice enough, if not a bit too mousy. She'd been your father's sister and died on her twenty-eighth birthday. For the media, it had been a self-unaliving, but Seth later told you that Uncle Fred had a hand in that. It was just another reason not to get married, in your opinion. 

Then you thought about Dean's reaction to all of it. He sounded positively horrified about every bit of your stories. You thought of how much he took pains to be with you, to care about you, to make you happy . . . He reminded you of Seth in some ways - someone who you could trust not to hurt you on purpose.

Your train of thought was cut when you heard him exhaling quite audibly - like he had made a wool-ball out of his anger that he was blowing it far away from him. 

'Okay. I can't change what's happened in your past,' he said, like he was noticing his options. 'But every Christmas, or any fucking holiday, honestly, that we have - are going to be unforgettable from now. And in the good way.'

'Are you sure? I didn't mean to bully your feelings into celebrating.'

'You're no bully,' he gritted, 'because when I see one, I shoot them.'

You didn't know if that was a vow of forgettable anger or a promise of steel. 'Dean—'

'No, I'm serious,' he raised a hand like he won't hear another word about it. 'I never want you to be scared of me.' He seemed offended: 'I can't believe you thought I'd hurt you.'

'I didn't say you would,' you told him gently. You wrapped an arm around his and turned his face with your free hand so you could implore him, eye-to-eye. 'Do you think I would be as cozy with you as I am if I didn't trust you?'

'Then why would you say it?' he questioned with a bite in his tone.

You pressed a kiss to his jaw like you were trying to calm him down - whenever he did that to you in the past, it had worked. 

'I just said you had an option,' you stated rationally. It didn't have the effect on him that you had wanted.

His face got muddled with grave sadness, bordering on hurt. 'Is that the type of guy you think I am?'

'What type of a guy?'

'One who kills his wife for petty differences of opinion,' he spat.

You sighed, turning your body so you were kneeling in front of him while he sat on the edge of the mattress. You cupped both his cheeks in your palms.

'I don't think you would do that,' you said earnestly. 'Honestly, this is more about me than you.'

That gave Dean a pause. 'As in?'

'As in, I'd be the kind of wife who understands if her husband shoots her,' you shrugged. 'I'm the kind who'd let the man she desperately needs to see every day go to another Continent.' You put your forehead against his, taking it as a good sign when he didn't push you away. 'It doesn't mean that you don't mean a lot to me. It just means that my brain's all kinds of wonky.'

Dean snorted. Inside, his anxiety receded like waves for one reason. He didn't like your low self-esteem, but he planned to keep working on that.

He pressed his lips to yours like he was bobbing for a sip of water from the oasis after being lost in the desert. He brought you in his lap unconsciously from there/ 

When you pulled away from the sweet kiss, you peered down at him in utmost adoration.

'You know, after that incident, Seth and I stopped showing up to our parents' for Christmas.'

'That was a very smart decision,' Dean huffed.

You smiled ruefully. 'I suppose I thought I could revive the festival . . . like you revived me. And I thought . . . our lives are shitty on the whole, but you're a part of mine now and that doesn't make me want to allot time for sobbing every day.'

He laughed. That was too relatable.

You caressed his cheeks, smiling with him. 'I just wanted to celebrate having you. That's important. Rest of it all is just shenanigans.'

'That's sweet,' Dean whispered. 'I want to celebrate you, too. Us, too.'

'Are you sure?' you checked. 'I'm asking for the last time, okay? You don't have to do this for me. I'm just as happy staying up and reading prehistoric books with you. To be candid, I was only looking for excuses to spend time with you - I was worried you wouldn't forgive me after last time,' you admitted quietly.

He ran a hand down from your head and rested it on the curve of your neck, over your hair.

'I'm sure,' he said, bringing your face closer so your lips were touching. 'Besides, there's nothing to forgive.'

And he kissed you like he had when you'd returned from your Europe Tour - somehow reverent and devouring at the same time.

The plush lumbar, pillows, and blankets ensconced you two. You munched on stray popcorn while he tried to pick a goddamn movie of his liking. You could tell Dean was in no mood to be distracted when he rejected the hundredth movie. That last one because it had too many animals in it. 

It was The Lion King - of course, there were going to be too many frigging animals in it!

You plucked the remote from him before he could pick another stupid movie like The Conjuring and refuse it for a stupider reason, like it had a waterbed in it. 

'What?'

You were about to politely tell him that he was being annoying by straddling the fence on whether or not he wanted to have a pleasant night when your pager buzzed.

'One sec,' you mumbled, getting up to retrieve it after tossing him the electronic device back.

'What is it?' Dean asked while you read the message.

'We have a meeting,' you said, suppressing a smile by pursing your lips.

'Now?' Dean seemed to be put on edge. 'What's wrong?'

'Hold on,' you said, bringing your laptop to the bed.

'Is it Bobby?' he questioned when you handed him the device, going for the charger in another place. 'Is it Sam? Is he okay?'

'Yes, your brother's fine,' you answered. 'Set it up. I'll give you the link.'

'Password?'

'Your parents' anniversary,' you replied. 

Dean did a double-take. 

'Day and month. In alphabets. No hyphens or spaces, but the first letters are in caps.'

'What?'

'I said-' 

'No, I heard you.'

'Then?' your brows met, as you sidled up to him again.

'Why that password?'

'Oh. It's not public information,' you listed. 'It's important to you, so by the transitive property inherent in relationships, it's important to me - that way I'll remember it.'

Both your laptops and phones had several highly classified files. Neither of you could afford simple passwords.

'That's actually very sweet,' he said, smiling a little. 'And impossible to guess.'

'I know,' you smirked. 'What's yours?'

He huffed. 'You'll laugh.'

As if challenged, you giggled. 'No, sorry, I won't, I swear,' you told him, though, as he gave you the device to enter the paged link.

'Fine. It's Bon Jovi eating apple pie in Impala,' he admitted shyly. 'No spaces, all caps, but the i's are exclamation marks.' He eyed you when you covered your mouth with a hand. 'You're laughing.'

'It's impossible not to,' your streak of silent laughter turned into a loud one. Dean vindictively tickled your side, and you squealed away from him right as the screen popped with the image of Seth and B/F.

'Hello!' they said in unison.

'Seth, hey,' Dean said, surprised to see them. 'B/F! How are you guys?'

You straightened yourself in that time, waving to your family, a grin still fixated on your lips.

'I don't know why they call it morning sickness,' B/F complained, rolling her eyes. 'It happens every day, all day.' Then she narrowed her eyes at her husband, who had an arm around her, reassuringly: 'And it's all this guy's fault.'

But Dean was looking at you. 'They're pregnant?' he inquired over a whisper.

'Thirteen weeks,' you whispered back with a beaming smile.

'You didn't know?' B/F questioned, a lip-reader. It had always been a skill you'd wanted to learn.

'The last three days have been crazy,' you admitted, lacing your fingers with Dean's and squeezing apologetically. 'I meant to tell you,' you said.

Dean was careful to keep your hands out of sight.

He gave you a small smile before turning to the other couple. 'Well, congratulations!' he chuckled. 'This is amazing!'

'You're astonishingly the first Royal couple who've got an heir on the way,' you mused. You didn't know yet that they'd be the last, too.

'Oh, I'm sure you two will get there one day,' B/F said casually.

Dean's eyes widened - he didn't know you knew they knew. You shook your head at your friend, blushing all the while.

'Would you calm yourself?' you said. 'It's too soon for us to think about that, all right?'

'Just saying I want a best friend for my kid,' she innocently stated.

Before you could steer the topic away, someone else popped into the meeting. The camera loaded, and Sam was on the screen. He seemed to be on his phone and traveling in his car.

'Hey!'

'Sam!' It was both a greeting and an exclamation.

Dean's head swiveled to yours once more, the earlier panic forgotten as his heart leaped to his throat. If he'd been missing his brother before, that feeling just amplified. He wished he could be there with him - he wished both of you could be there with him.

'You made it!' Seth beamed at the screen.

'We should make this an annual thing,' quipped B/F. 'A family holiday zoom call!'

'The name's a mouthful,' you snorted. You twined your arm with Dean's and perched your head on his shoulder.

'That sounds nice,' Sam said warmly. 'Thanks for inviting me, Y/N.'

'You arranged this?' Dean asked in a low voice.

'Well, I wasn't sure if they could join,' you shrugged. 'They are all travelling. So I didn't say anything.' You squeezed his arm, looking up at him with a smile. 'I hope you don't mind. Thought it might help you let loose.'

'Oh, yeah,' Sam said. 'You better make him have some fun over there, Y/N. Donna is forcing me, and it's only fair that Dean takes a break too.'

You chuckled. 'I take full responsibility for this man!'

Dean grinned, and his heart grew three sizes - keeping with the theme of the evening.

'How are you and Donna celebrating?' B/F asked.

And then Sam started talking about this bar Donna had found on the road. That's where they were headed while Sam took that call. Although he was in a vehicle with a divider for privacy so it was all good for now. Even Seth and B/F had locked themselves in a room on The Bloody Princess (Captain Laffitte's ship) for the night.

Everyone talked freely in their zones without the formality that comes at parties and Meets. It was nice to feel like people weren't watching for once. You could kiss Dean's cheeks all you wanted, and no one would make a scandal out of it. You could talk about your personal lives without fearing that someone would use that information against you.

The call lasted nearly two hours before Sam had to check out; he'd arrived at the bar. He made Dean promise that he would enjoy the evening, if not the week. B/F got hungry even though she'd been snacking on something during the call; that couple also took your leave.

Your face was flushed after the excitement of talking with your family for that long. Dean's presence had allowed you to be freer than you'd ever been, even in front of Seth.

You set your laptop aside on the floor and crawled back to Dean's side.

He had a content smile on his face as he let you curl under his arm.

'Thank you,' he said, kissing you on the forehead for a very long moment.

'My pleasure,' you grinned, patting his thigh under your hand. 'I'm so glad they could join. I wasn't sure, but I'm so happy it happened. And you were wound so tight!'

Dean chuckled a bit sadly. 'Yeah. Seeing Sam taking a break helped,' he confessed. 'Doesn't feel like I'm betraying him now.' 

Dean hadn't even realised he'd needed to hear that he's allowed a break from Sam - he hadn't bothered to ask his brother, just kept working because what kind of a sick bastard would ask for a break?

'Of course, you're not betraying him,' you said, placing your arm around his waist so it was like you were hugging him. 'I know you might not feel that way because you're sitting so far away, but you're allowed to live a little. Don't let that guilt ruin your life, Dean.'

He laughed. 'I can't believe you are giving me a lecture on living life.'

'That medicine tastes bitter, doesn't it?' you winked mischievously.

'Uh huh. And how do you plan on making it better?' he pouted playfully.

'How about with a kiss?' you offered sweetly.

'How about a few thousand?' he negotiated.

Your laughter fell from you easily. 'That might take some time.'

'Okay,' he said, leaning his head down so his lips hovered above yours. 'But I might have to keep you hostage until then.'

'Deal,' you whispered, sealing the distance between the two of you.

You both ended up watching Twilight; Dean was no longer shooting down movies out of guilt. It had been on the list, and it was horror (in the sense that it was terrible, according to Dean).

'Why would he leave her unprotected like that?' you scoffed, engrossed in the film despite your efforts to feign disinterest.

'He thinks he's the monster,' Dean said, pulling his blanket further up till he was tucked in up to his chin.

You had another blanket covering your legs, and then you had Dean's head in your lap.

You had told him that it was an angle where he would have to crane his neck too much, but he made a face at you like he couldn't believe you'd be naive enough to think that he would give up sleeping in your lap for a reason like that.

He was simply too invested in your fingers pulling his strands in all directions mindlessly, and them tracing patterns on his cheek and nose and forehead, and the tingling sensations you pulled from him. He was sure you were lowkey teasing him by avoiding his lips, even though you claimed that you became shy every time he placed a kiss on your palm or bit your finger playfully. Sometimes he would also let your thumb underline his lower lip, holding his breath as you worried it for him.

'But she knew that when she loved him,' you argued. 'I mean, the break-up's just so unnecessary! Does he really think he's the worst option after knowing how awful the non-vegetarians of his kind get?'

'Look at you, rooting for love,' he teased.

'Well, I have a heart!' you scoffed.

Dean smiled softly, closing his eyes, as if he knew exactly who your heart beat for.

It was safe to say that he was well and beyond care at that point.

'And don't even get me started on Jacob . . .'

You two had paused the second movie to have a nice dinner.

'The food was delicious,' he complimented, getting under the sheets again with a loud groan. 'Oh, I'm never waking up again,' he starfished on the mattress, a docile smile on his lips.

Your heartstrings vibrated with affection.

'Credits to Esmeralda,' you cited. 'She pulled it off very last minute.'

'Who did you tell her it was for?' he quizzed, raising his head to see you clearing out the plates. He thought of getting off his butt and helping you clean, but he didn't think he could move for a few minutes at least.

'For me and a gentleman caller,' you admitted. 'Asked her to keep it a secret.'

'Don't you think too many people are keeping it a secret?' he wondered.

'In my defense, I did try to cook myself first,' you sighed, shoving the trolley to one side and perching on the mattress next to his gorgeous bow legs.

'Really?' he raised his brows. 'How'd that pan out?'

He pulled you down next to him by tugging your elbow so he could gaze at your side profile contentedly.

You twisted to your side to fully face him, quirking an ironic smile. 'I started with what I knew,' you said. 'The pie. I burned three of them,' you scrunched your nose.

'Oh, no,' he gave you a sympathetic smile. 'That's too bad, darling.'

'I know, right? I baked overnight to no avail,' you said, disappointment bleeding into your words. 'Esmeralda found me so in the morning. Took pity on me.'

He rubbed your arm, comforting. 'I'm sorry you were up the whole night.'

'Thank you, but I'm actually not sorry,' you shrugged, burrowing closer into his embrace. 'Annoyed and a little upset? Yes. But it did make me appreciate what you do.'

'Oh, yeah? So you're gonna give baking a whirl again?'

'Oh, Hell no,' you scoffed. 'I realised I had no business in the kitchen. . . . Especially since now I have my own man who can cook,' you joked, nervous it would land flat.

He chortled, though. 

'Yeah, you do!' 

You were astonished by his genuineness. He sounded proud to be cooking for you . . .

You were compelled to move up and capture his lips in a soft kiss, suddenly. He reciprocated instantly by bringing his arms around you.

Your lips moved over his reverently, taking their time getting to know him. He allowed himself to be flattened by you, and your hips slipped over his, so you had to bend forward to reach him. His arms pulled you closer so there was barely an inch of space between the two of you. Your hands ran up his sides and into his hair, tugging his strands so he would moan into your mouth. His back arched as he bucked into you. One of your hands found his and interlaced your fingers. It took you growing breathless for you to move away from his lips - if only oxygen wasn't a need.

He tried to chase your lips, nevertheless, and pecked you a couple of times more, making you chuckle breathlessly. You loved how obsessed this man was with you.

You hummed, booping his nose with yours before moving away a little bit farther so you two could finally breathe.

'What was that for?' he groaned, head thumping back into the mattress.

'Can't a lady kiss the things she lo—likes?' you stammered.

And the realisation hit you like an ice-cold shower. Your mind roused from its lovesick stupor, and it reeled.

If falling for a person was a process, you found out you'd just reached the end of it . . .

'You okay?' his brows scrunched as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. He chuckled then, 'Looks like you've seen a ghost.'

You blinked at him like you were seeing him for the first time.

You love him.

He called your name, a notch of worry in his voice now. He caressed your cheek. 'Darling, what's wrong?'

You shook your head slowly. 'I-I, um,' you swallowed.

Your eyes desperately averted from his and searched the room, landing on the clock over your study desk. Three hours and seventeen minutes to midnight.

'D-D-Do you want to, uh, see the Christmas gift I brought you a little early?'

Dean's face fell. 'Fuck, I didn't bring you anything.' He was so caught up in that that he forgot about your weird behaviour a few seconds ago.

'Oh,' you said, relieved that the topic had changed. 'That's all right. I didn't expect you to.'

'I'm sorry,' he persisted, tendrils of guilt stitching a certain heaviness to his chest cavity. 'I'll bring you something tomorrow?'

'It's fine, really,' you said. 'It didn't take too much time anyway. Come on,' you pulled him with you to the X-Mas tree.

'What are you doing?' Dean asked when you went to your drawers to retrieve a blue gift-wrapped box with golden ribbons.

'I'm putting this under the tree,' you said, doing exactly that.

He chuckled under his breath. 'You know that the parents only do that so the children think Santa left them presents, right?'

'Oh. They never overtly said that in the movies.' You glanced at the main door of your room. 'Do you want me to don a Santa hat and say "ho ho ho"? I'm certain I can find one downstairs.'

Because I'll do it, you fiercely thought. I'll do a lot for this man. Because apparently I love Dean.

Your heart was racing all over again.

Unbeknownst to Dean, whose amusement had triplefolded. He gathered you in his arms, hiding his laughter in your hair behind a nice kiss.

She's adorable, his heart whined.

'W-What?' you asked, shyly returning his hug. It made your blood rush faster in your veins - you were hugging the man you loved.

Okay, your brain might be malfunctioning.

'No, darling,' he happily slapped a kiss to the side of your head again. 'I don't need you to dress up like that. In the movies, it's just so that children think Santa is magic that they aren't allowed to see Santa Claus while he leaves presents for them overnight.'

Your mouth formed a small "o", trying not to get distracted from the present moment by the thoughts of your recent epiphany.

'Never take part in any trivia,' he teased you, letting you go. 'You'd lose terribly.'

You scowled up at him, mostly for releasing you. But you huffed like it was the other thing: 'It's the children you should worry about—allowing them to believe there's good magic.'

He snorted. 'Aw, well—maybe there is,' he grinned smoothly. 'Would make sense why I found you.'

You tempered a bemused smile, all the while fighting overwhelmed tears. 'Good. Lay on the cheesy. Makes my present more practical,' you laughed to hide the wobble in your voice.

He rolled his eyes, smacking your butt in retaliation. You gasp-scoffed; any other person would be picking their fingers off the floor in his place, but Dean had done this before . . . and you'd be lying if you said you didn't like it.

Your thoughts (finally) successfully diverted down the road of anticipation when the man took his sweet time unraveling your present.

'Oh, wow,' he grinned when he pried the lid off. 'Did you make these?'

'Yes,' you smiled, though it felt anticlimactic after the life-changing declaration you had felt resound in literally every cell of your body. 'All kinds of long ranges,' you whispered because your voice was struggling not to form the three magic words to offer to him along with the present.

In your opinion, the cheesiness of the gifts lay in the fact that they were handmade. And that you'd never made anything by hand for another person in your life. Inside the box were three handcrafted firearms: gun, crossbow, dart gun.

'This one's adorable,' he cooed, beaming as he picked the dartgun that seemed like a smaller version of the crossbow but had the sleeker body of the gun—a fusion.

'You can probably dip it in Manchineel,' you quipped, trying to change your mood with dark humour.

It worked, and you sniggered a bit when Dean's eyes flashed at you. His bitch-face was priceless. 'You're not funny,' he scoffed.

'I try.'

He pointed the unloaded dart gun at you like he was taking an aim, and he pulled the trigger.

'Plink!' he pronounced.

You laughed. 'What?'

'Now you're my soulmate,' he said. A smug mask concealed his erratic nervousness. It would depend on your reaction whether he told you the truth or not.

'You're not funny either,' you huffed, rolling your eyes playfully. 

But inside your mind, sirens were ringing. Like he'd just set off worldwide alarms. 

Dean smirked to hide his disappointment, playing along like it was a joke by repeating your words at you: 'I try.'

After finishing the second Twilight movie, you two decided to get on with the Christmas tree. 

'I still can't believe you didn't know how to decorate the tree,' he said.

'I didn't know what the protocol was,' you replied.

'Protocol,' he scoffed.

'Don't mock me,' you protested, levying another ornament on one of the branches.

Dean was reaching the taller ones with ease; your competitive instinct was tempted to hash out your heels and go higher.

'I'm not mocking you,' he said. 'It just pisses me off that you never got to do this stuff.

You didn't know what to say to that as you hung the lean strings on the dwindling branches, triumphantly grinning as you stepped back.

'I'm done,' you had to swallow the gloating upon coming first.

Dean took a few more moments and then welcomed you under his arm. He didn't care about being first or second. It was something about him that you admired and envied all the same - God, could this man be more perfect?

You both took a collective step back to get the full impression, and you tried not to make a face at how subpar your tree-decorating skills seemed.

'Yours are unevenly placed,' you noticed.

'Chaos looks good on a tree, don't you think, Y/N/N?' 

You were inclined to agree. Your straight lines of decoration had no imagination or freedom.

'You did well, too,' he told you, kissing your head. 'Your side looks so pretty.'

You smiled because Dean was so nice to you.

You had to force upon yourself the reminder that this was not a competition. Your parents weren't watching, and they weren't going to rate you and your brother on how the Christmas trees looked. 

You guessed that some memories were harder to shake off than others. And the six-year-old you's Christmas was definitely nothing to write home about.

You wound your hand around his waist, turning your head to kiss him over the heart. 'Thank you for making me do this,' you said. 'I enjoyed the activity immensely.'

'Very happy to hear that,' he smiled down at you like he actually meant what he said. 'Now what do you say we add the angel?'

'Sure. But I never understood that,' you frowned. 'We hate angels.'

'It's a cultural thing,' he shrugged. 'There are so many other Universes that believe in the goodness of angels.'

'Maybe it's the one where you're the actor,' you quipped.

All the shows to your Universe had to be imported because no one could really have an industry on films and such here.

Your boyfriend hadn't allowed you to play any of Jensen's shows, but if he asked, you would have to admit to secretly fast-forwarding a couple of his shows and watching his scenes specifically. You would especially hate to admit how you stared a little too long at that one nude scene his look-alike posed for in that show called The Boys . . .

After that, you'd never watched that show again. In fact, you went as far as to delete your account and hadn't been able to look Dean properly in the eyes for a whole week. You would have reported the show just to overreact a little, had your name not gone as the one to file the complaint.

It had been back when you and Dean had been returning to Europe on Garth's cruise, before you two's first date. Ever since, you had locked the memory into a tight little box of your mind . . . And it would be another lie if you said it didn't pop into your head more often than you wanted it to; it made your cheeks red every time.

'I still don't get it,' he grumbled, handing you the angel, completely oblivious to your mighty internal struggles regarding just how much you were attracted to this guy. 'Why would someone want to watch our lives?'

'Technically, it wasn't our lives,' you said.

Dean was talking about a different show than the Boys. This one was another actual Universe portrayed in a show called Supernatural. It was similar to what your lives were - just toned down for more general audiences, since the audiences in that actor's world weren't as used to being traumatised as in your world, one could assume. That show never aired on your planet, per se, since the characters in it were too similar to the public figures here. But you did find a synopsis of that show based on articles on this Jensen Ackles person.

'I won't reach,' you said as you scaled the tree, tugging a branch to check its strength, and an ornament fell. The branches won't hold your weight, and someone took the last ladder earlier from you.

'Still. Doesn't it weird you out that there is a character out there that someone is portraying with the same name and similar concepts?' he frowned, not responding verbally to your concern. 'Aren't their minds crooked if those people enjoy watching our misery? Even if it's not the exact story . . .' 

'Perhaps,' you mumbled. 'But isn't Titanic real in some other Universe? We still watched it. Enjoyed it . . .'

'I guess,' he sighed as he kneeled - you assumed to pick up the ornament. 'But don't even get me started on that actor's name,' he huffed. Oh, Dean had complained plenty about Jensen's name.

You suppressed your smile. 'I thought it was cute.'

'You're supposed to say that, you're my girlfriend,' he uttered.

His hands grasped you without warning, and it took you a moment to realise he was lifting you up, the ornament pocketed.

You gasped. His arms tightened around your hips as he situated you on his dominant shoulder. 

Without panting a breath, he stood to his full height. You marvelled at his six feet, clutching his other shoulder with your free hand. He'd locked you in place by twining his right hand over both your thighs so you didn't slide right off his right shoulder.

You reached up to fasten the angel, a slight tremor in your fingers because that had been hot.

'Besides, why would you mind? There wasn't a character based on you,' he grumbled.

But you couldn't didn't say another word as you finished your task. (It took much too concentration than it should've.)

'Although, on second thought, it's also sad if that Jensen guy never got to meet someone like you,' Dean mused, distracting himself. His reverie shifted to how his life would be so dull without his soulmate in it.

''M done.'

Dean had to kneel again to plant your feet on the ground.

As he rose, he delivered a kiss to the small of your back, making your eyes go wide. You didn't have time to question it when his lips found your cheek while he was getting back to his full height, then they slid down your jaw and onto your neck, where he murmured: 'Good job, darling.'

And he seemed to mean it, hugging you like you'd hung the moon for him and not a teeny-tiny wooden angel on a tree. He was so proud of you, even when he had been the one to reach you up there. He wasn't being condescending either, you realised. Warmth pooled in your belly as you let him subsume you into his hug.

Once again, you were hit with the intensity of your love for this man. Your tears surfaced, and you had to breathe through them like you were giving a test in a fucking Lamaze class. 

You two had "gone" to bed with less than half an hour to spare.

But you were unable to sleep, so you ended up tracing patterns on your boyfriend's chest while he stroked your hair away from your face, massaging your scalp.

Words had left you both a while ago, and you both were genuinely wasting time by doing absolutely nothing—as had been the aim of the evening. Somehow, resting in silence with Dean was both comfortable and daunting.

By not talking, you were allowing him to see you in your most wasteful moments. When you literally had no agenda. 

Neither did he, it seemed. 

He held you like he cared about you, even when you weren't being useful. 

He would kiss your forehead so often, it seemed to have become an afterthought of his, one you'd begun to anticipate too from him. Hell, you expected it whenever he put an arm around you now. 

And he was kissing you for no damn reason!

As if he actually liked you all the damn time. 

How horrifying it was that you did too!

These feelings were so overwhelming for an amateur like you. And the only thing that kept them from eating you alive was Dean. Ironic, right?

Did this man even realise what he meant to you at this point?

Your eyes glanced up at him, about to stare at him because he was your conundrum - but you noticed something else. 

'Merry Christmas,' you whispered in his ear when the alarm you situated beside the displaced mattress blinked "00.00.09" in green at you; you bit his earlobe to make sure he was listening.

'Hey!' he protested with a startled laugh.

It was hard to peer into his forest greens with all the lights switched off, but you didn't stop trying. The moonlight and the dim faerie lights you'd lit to set the mood helped you in that mission a tad. They cascaded onto his smooth and hard skin, sculpting him glowingly into your obsidian life.

When he met your gaze, you thought you saw that familiar intent in his eyes to take you in.

If movement wasn't a requirement, you wondered if you both would ever take your eyes off each other.

'Merry Christmas,' Dean's voice was as low as yours.

As if on cue, the castle clock struck twelve, a few seconds late, but the gong was audible to the whole Palace.

You imagined all the families wishing one another in their warm, cozy rooms. And all the years you'd ended the holiday praying you would get to know what that safety felt like, you never imagined that it would be someone outside of the family you were born in who would make you feel so safe, or whole, or wanted.

And you wanted him.

He was your miracle. 

Your lower jaw trembled, and you sniffled as the first of a few tears slipped down your cheeks without your permission.

Alarm splashed his chest, and he cubbed your jaw immediately. 'Wh—'

You didn't let him finish when you swallowed his words in a searing kiss. His eyes widened before they shut. His breath faltered in his chest because kissing you was more important than most things in the world. You guided him until you were lying flat on the mattress, and he was above you - you were giving yourself to him, you'd decided. 

You broke off the kiss for a second, leaving minimal space for words.

'Dean,' you whispered. 'Will you make me yours?'

It was a plea. Or a beg. Didn't matter.

All you knew is that you wanted him.

Actually: Needed him.

Dean's mind fizzled like you'd blown the top of it.

His heart slammed against its cage. He wasn't sure he'd heard you right. Were you serious?

More tears corralled in your eyes out of overpowering joy.

'Please. I need you,' you whispered in one of your most vulnerable moments, taking his silence to mean reluctance.

No more words were required.

Your plea thoroughly wrecked his earlier insecurity of not being needed. Just as thoroughly as he was going to wreck you, and he was sure you would wreck him.

Dean balanced your desperation with his own - kissing you sweetly, deeply, passionately.

You didn't know how much you'd needed him to be soft with you until you felt his steadiness in his hands and lips, transferring warmth and care into your very soul. And he spoke with his body what he couldn't string in words. 

In that way, you both would go on to renew each other for the rest of your first night together.

A/N: Lol, did anyone else say, "Finally"? I swear I love the whole story, but this will always be one of my favourite chapters in it 💘. What did you think about her "epiphany"🙃? I remember when Dean had that a few chapters ago, lol - whose did you like better 👀?

Tag List.

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'Oh, my God—!'

Dean snatched you from the edge of the table; only its metal frame was left now, since all its glass had shattered. Your wide eyes met Dean's, and he mouthed: Don't talk.

He was right.

Since this room had the only window on that whole Palace wall, and the soundproof glasses had just broken, whatever creatures they were, they would probably hear you being closer to them than the rest of the Palace, where all the screams and alarm noises were coming from - they had an easier chance of singling you two out if either of you talked.

You felt your head swimming, and for a second, you thought that it was the embarrassment that you didn't think of it before - but actually, the air was getting saturated with a nauseating scent, and you had the urge to vomit that toxicity along with your guts on the floor.

Dean's hand snaked up to pinch your nose; he was already shielding his face.

Your dizziness subsided as you took minimal breaths in through your mouth, but you would need a better filter.

'Magic!' he whispered.

Yes, magical radioactivity wasn't a new phenomenon to the human faction. Angels used to bomb Earth with sonic blasts when they were super pissed - when they were too angry to slow-torture your kind. This technique hadn't been practiced since the Dark Ages, however, at least in Europe.

You were guessing that Lucifer died with Sam: Michael found out about his brother at the same time as Dean did about Sam.

Only, Michael wants revenge.

You took Dean's hand away from your face, holding your breath and pulling him outside the room. It was the easiest cure for now besides a mask.

The inner hallways to the Palace that weren't directly exposed to open windows were the safest bet for everyone. Naturally, they were flooded with the entire crowd of a thousand and more given the occasion of the Ball.

This is targeted, entered your brain.

The angels had to know the entire Governance of Europe was here. It was also how you realised that hiding in the bomb shelters till this was over would be a waste - this attack wasn't to instill fear, it was to killall of you.

Dean seemed to have the same thought because he dragged you to the announcement chamber, against the flow of the crowd, who were all rushing to the cars in the parking lots of the palace. The Commons were more panicked while the officers (all Hunters) were handling the situation with a certain poise. Many of them nodded at you and Dean on their way down, and some even moved the Commons away for a free pass.

On the threshold of the room stood an employee, one foot in and one out. His face dissolved into such relief when you both appeared that you were sure he would cry.

'What do I say?!' he demanded as soon as you all were in hearing range.

Dean was about to instruct him, but you shook your head.

'Too dangerous,' you yelled over the blaring alarms. 'Head downstairs, go to safety. We will take over!'

The man glanced at Dean for confirmation. Dean nodded grimly.

The entire surveillance of the Palace was set up before the main desk. You both could see that all the attacks so far had been on the eastern front. Their soldiers stalked the western side, as if they were hoping the humans would flush out of there after they rampaged the eastern side of the Palace.

Dean noted the information from the cameras as you resided in the chair of the announcer and dimmed the alarms so you could be audible.

'Leader Y/N L/N speaking. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill,' your voice boomed over the mics. 'Shut all windows, cover your faces. Commons to proceed calmly down to the basement parking lots, where cars will be waiting for you; do not switch the air conditioning on in the cars until you are at a safe distance. Residential Hunters are responsible for driving the citizens out. Visiting Governors and their armies need to assemble at the weapons room and wear oxygen masks before they head out to the field and fight Angels.'

You turned the mic off. 'Wanna add something?' you asked even though Dean had a faraway and detached feeling to all his actions. You weren't even sure he heard you . . .

But then his hand shot out and switched the mic back on: 'Leader Dean Winchester speaking. The Palace will self-destruct in two hours. I repeat, the Palace will self-destruct in two hours. Everyone is ordered to vacate the Headquarters before then.'

He switched it off. He nodded at you. 'Keep repeating it,' his voice was gravelly, and eyes bloodshot.

You wished you could console him, but you supposed you could just shoulder more work to rest him for now. So you announced these same things, highlighted them for the next ten minutes.

You ended with: '. . . This was the last announcement. I repeat, this is our last announcement. We are commencing the self-destruct in three . . . two . . . one!'

Dean slammed his hand down on the giant red knob that was usually protected by a bulletproof plastic case. The timer blinked to life and counted down from the second hour. The siren, Palace-wide alarms stopped.

'Be vigilant,' you said into the mic. 'Your Leaders are signing off. Long live humanity!'

Dean mumbled the last statement on reflex.

You both fled downstairs, winding down the western staircase to avoid the bombing and toxication on the other side; you both ran to the weapons room that was perched above the staircase that led everyone down into the basement. The Kitchens were next to the weapons room, and the Treasury was on the other side of the staircase to the basement. This way, all the weaponry, money, and food were in one place.

Your heart pounded as harshly as your feet. There was a shiver in your body that could be both fear and adrenaline. It was difficult to run while trying to hold your breath, but, fortunately, the western side didn't seem to be as affected by the radioactivity. Dean was by your shoulder the entire time.

'There you are!' Baz was able to greet you at the entrance of the Weapons Room, where all the Governors and their armies were gathered.

Boa shoved oxygen masks into yours and Dean's hands at the entrance.

The routine was obvious with angels at this point: bullet-proof vests under bronze armours that had sigils drawn on them. The Palace had plenty of those, and even the Governors had come packing.

You both were quickly given privacy to change into your armours, taking hits of oxygen until you two were loaded with all the protective gears and your weapons. You both fully donned the oxygen masks then, the cylinders heavy across your backs.

The oxygen cylinders made everything so much more bulkier. It was hard enough that it was past midnight, and these masks were not going to make this fight easy.

You also fell on a shortage for helmets - apparently, people had stopped carrying them because it wasn't as trendy anymore; you ordered as many soldiers to take them as possible because it was where the fucking flashlight would go - you chose to go without one yourself because it felt selfish to take one when there were a few who didn't get it. Dean, idiotically, followed your lead.

You all didn't have enough angel blades either, so those would have to be stolen from angel corpses. You opted not to take one, just like Dean.

The plan was to get the Commons into cars while the Team (you two, the Griffiths, and Sebastian) distributed volunteers amongst yourselves to clear a path for the said Commons. Once the Commons and Residential Hunters were safe, the Governors and you all (let's call you Fighters for now) could slowly trickle out, too.

The thing was, most cars were parked in the basement, seven floors deep into the ground to store several hundred cars. Only a few dozen were allowed to be parked on the open ground - the ones that belonged to the in-Palace Government, like your Team's. Due to the occasion, all the guests had parked about one-fifty cars on the open ground.

The biggest problem with that was if all the Basement cars were being given to the Commons, and since the open-ground parking was near the attack zone, not all the Fighters would be getting a car if you didn't plan it.

'I need sixty volunteers to step aside as designated drivers,' you screamed out over the commotion of getting dressed for war.

Sebastian found you, carrying a mic, so you could repeat that announcement and be heard.

Hands shot up immediately, and you singled out the desired number. You instructed them to salvage about sixty cars from the upperground parking; that would fit the general number of the three hundred fighters present here.

You had a feeling that even if there were more than three hundred, spare cars still wouldn't be needed . . .

And that was you thinking positively.

The negative thought is to know that even out of those sixty cars, some might go empty.

The drivers were to line up, and then every single minute from the time of the end of the first hour, a car would leave. That time would be on the dot, at 1.13 a.m. of Sunday morning. The Palace would detonate at 2.13 a.m. sharp.

It was 12.24 a.m. now.

In all this, you managed to tell Sebastian about Sam. Dean, in that time, was talking to a Residential Hunter who had come up for instructions on how and when to leave the surrounded Palace - he had a thick book with the names of all the thousand people who lived there.

'Six minutes for counter-attack, people,' Sebastian's voice boomed on the speakers. 'The eastern half is crumbling; they are waiting for us on our western flank to corner us.'

A nervous outburst - specifically from the Commons blended into the crowd; there were merely fifteen. 

The Residential Hunter who was talking to Dean was scratching off the names of your Team and the fifteen civilians (family members of the Team) here who wouldn't be joining the others in the Basement cars. He was supposed to mark all the people who were able to leave and who couldn't on that bulking file. He was Salem's husband, you think - Gray, his name was, you believe. Both Gray and Salem would be amongst the Fighters, helping you to evacuate the others in the first hour.

Thinking about the Commons led you to another horrifying thought: what of the mostly defenseless civilians across Europe?!

If all the Governors were here, the entire Continent outside of Moldova would be sitting ducks without their Heads . . .

No Ball had seemed stupider to you in your entire life. You were fucking furious.

'We'll be divided into five teams,' Sebastian explained quickly. 'First team is drivers under Baz's supervision.'

That's when you noticed the younger twin was missing - he must've left with the sixty driving volunteers to acquire cars for the Fighters here.

That's also when you noticed Dean had finished his conversation with Gray and slid into the shadows to slump against a locker. A thick sheen coated his vision, but the tears didn't have time to fall. He was a ghost, too much of him had died.

'Second team's with Boa,' Sebastian said, throwing a walkie in the lone Griffith's direction. 'At 0030 hours.' (In five minutes now.) 'Clear a path for the Commons trapped in, with our tanks. We need to extract them before we can leave. We need to make sure most of them have left by 0113, which is when we will start evacuating.'

'Need minimum thirty people,' Boa said. A group seamlessly parted and jogged after Boa to unearth the tanks, hidden behind the Kitchens for Hail-Mary situations.

'I take the second wave of fight,' Sebastian declared. 'At 0040 hours. Need minimum eighty people. Third wave of attacking soldiers with Dean. At 0100 hours.'

'Need a hundred,' Dean cleared his throat, blinking profusely. Dean got a walkie thrown his way.

'Y/N takes point of the rescue team,' Sebastian ended. 'At 0113 hours. The teams will leave in the order they have fought!'

'Need thirty,' you said. 'All fifteen or so Commons present here are mine,' you threw Selina a subtly dirty look. She was huddled with Lana, Esmeralda, and Salem among a few others. Your walkie came sailing across, and you set yourself to Channel 5.

'You have one minute for goodbyes,' Sebastian said.

People splintered in all directions.

You and Dean took twenty seconds to find each other. He grabbed your elbow, drawing you to a side.

'Hey,' you aimed for an assuring smile, cupping his face with affection. You wanted to tell him he would be okay.

'Switch with me,' he said, hushed, making you forget what you were going to say. His mask was fogging up, his voice muffled behind all that oxygen.

'Wha—Why?'

'You can't go last,' he said. Too risky, he meant.

Ideally, the Leaders shall be the last to be evacuated. You both have pledged your lives to this cause, and it would look bad if you both don't follow through. Which meant that both you and Dean would take charge of the last teams to leave.

That said, Sebastian had strategically placed Dean before you so Dean would have someone to pull him out if things went bad, but he was also after Sebastian, so his action on the field would be minimized. After the first and the second wave, Dean wouldn't be in as risky a position as they. Or you, because you'd be extremely close to the detonation.

'I'll be fine,' you said firmly, carding your fingers in his hair.

But he wasn't having it.

'No one's ever fine,' he snapped, voice throaty. 'Listen to me,' he gripped you by the shoulders, making you lose your hold on him. 'Let me go last. Sebastian won't listen to me—'

'For a reason,' you said calmly. 'Don't fight this. I shall take care of myself.'

'You can't!' he sneered, his hold dug into your skin. 'Don't you get it? This is an attack on me. You won't live.'

'I'm good at what I do—'

'You are an idiot if you think they won't come after you—'

'Is this really how you want to spend our last moments before a war?'

His bottom lip quivered, and his gaze veered from you. He left your shoulders like he'd lost all hope in you.

'Do whatever the fuck you want,' he whispered. 'When this is over, I'll be the one in black.'

'Dean . . . '

'Time's up! Fall in! Fall in!' Sebastain heard from across the room.

'Troops! Assemble!' Dean said at the top of his lungs, rallying his army behind Sebastian's. He started briefing them on their strategies.

'Y/N, do you want to interrogate the witches?' Sebastian shouted across the space, his own army about ready - silent and serious; without all the noise, it was easier to hear Dean and Sebastian speaking.

He'd asked you because you had comparatively more time before going on the field.

The witches stood awkwardly to the side, hands bound in magic-retardant handcuffs. You waved them over.

'Lana, you still carry a stash of spells with you?' you asked.

'Yeah.'

'Okay, kid. Hand over all the truth serums you got.'

She emptied her collection, you selected five witches, the well-connected ones, and gave them the serum to drink.

While the serum kicked in, you divided half your group - there were about forty-five. Whatever extras that had been left after everyone announced the minimum they required on their teams, people would usually just blend into the groups they liked.

'You lot will head to the infirmary—'

'A few of them attacked it,' Selina chimed in. 'They wanted to drive us to desperation,' she added when you shot her a confused look because the infirmary was on the safer side of the palace.

You hadn't noticed an attack on it from the outside on your way down, but you assumed Selina must have seen it from her cell phone, where the infirmary cameras were linked.

'Revised plan,' you said. 'You all head to gift shops.' No one would expect you all to go to a gift shop. 'Find anything you can make stretchers out of. Create supplies like antiseptics out of toothpaste, so on and so forth. Selina will lead you. Chop, chop!'

They peeled away - they only had eleven Hunters and all the Commons. The rest of the Hunters who stayed back from the forty-five gathered closer, ready to strategise with you.

It was an unspoken strategy that the Fighters farthest from Moldova would be in the first wave of attack. Therefore, the people in your group, the last group, were here because they lived in the neighborhood of Moldova. Boa's and Sebastian's groups had the Governors from areas that shared a common border with Asia or were on the coast of the Atlantic. Dean's group had people in the countries that were more central to Europe.

It was to deploy the Governors in a fashion that the faraway ones have a head start to reach homes.

'How did the angels get in?' you asked the witches when you were sure the serums must've taken effect.

'Michael's anger overpowered us,' one of the women said.

A man added: 'We've never seen anything like it. Lucifer must really be dead.'

A thunder boomed overhead, and the very ground you stood on thrummed as if it were electrified.

'Maybe don't take names,' you suggested. 'Is your magic completely gone?'

'No,' they said in near unison.

One of the younger ones stepped forward. 'They used their sonic device to make holes in the protective barrier around the Palace.'

'They can only enter through those holes.'

'Can't fly within the Palace borders once they are in because our magic is still available outside of the holes they tore.'

'Kinda like Hogwarts, then,' a Hunter chuckled nervously. The group grimly laughed with him.

'They can still smite us anywhere once they've entered,' one of the other males said.

'They will also have guns and knives,' you blew a breath. 'Do you think you can redo some of your magic to our advantage?'

They affirmed "yes" simultaneously.

'We just need some time,' one of them murmured. 'The holes are where the radioactivity is coming from, we could use our magic to cure the air - make the masks and cylinders redundant.'

'That would be great,' you nodded. 'Any other weaknesses we can exploit while the witches work on that?'

Murmurs of holy oil, banishing sigils, and others were heard.

'Governor Sail,' you turned to Sir Smiles-A-Lot. 'Find spray paint. Take a small group. Discreetly fortify the weakening guards of the Palace with sigils. Dance around our fighting soldiers and banish as many angels as you can during war.

'Governor Hale, head up with two people, find our Botany lab and raid more truth serums - we could eliminate the witches as suspects and enlist their help.

'Governor Banks, get barons of holy oil from the Treasury, take five people. Once most of our Fighters have left the vicinity, we will encircle the angels in a long ring of oil and trap them.

'Governor O'Laughlin, contact Leader Jack Kline and see if he's free, then I want you to get on top of the Current Affairs and report back to me. I need to know if this War is native to Europe or if the whole world is affected.

'I will also need someone who can be my shadow and handle my walkie for when I can't . . . '

You were at the basement's garage gates at 1.09 sharp.

It was pitch dark except for the multitudes of headlights and the fires from all the bombs otherwise littered all across the Palace grounds.

Hundreds of Commons had already left, and Baz was coordinating with Gray as to when the next car could leave - there were still about a score of them left. Till now, the civilian tragedy was 13, and the Hunter loss was 29.

It sickened you that some of these Hunters had been drunk when the attack happened - and flipping your mind from the party mode to something that required such high levels of concentration within seconds was too damn hard. To think that this Palace was supposed to be the safest place on this Continent . . .

Dean had entered the field nine minutes ago, and his team said there was gonna be an explosion that should allow the rest of the Commons' cars to all exit at once. It would happen at 1.13 since that was also the time when the first wave of Fighters could start getting into cars and leaving.

Your team's Hunters had already run into the field to graffiti the grassy ground with sigils and circle off the place with holy oil. After the first Commons' car leaves, the rest of your group will jog around the corner and bring out Boa's team members. Then, Sebastian's and Dean's.

The serumed witches swore that the angels couldn't read minds except in those holes they carved where their powers surpassed the witchcraft, which meant all your elaborate, complicated plans were safe - workable.

You found yourself obsessed with Dean's safety in the seconds your mind was free. Your ears were perked to hear his scream, but there were too many noises for you to single him out - it was worse that you couldn't spot him in all the darkness; everything was reduced to silhouettes. Even long-hand combat would suffer from the nighttime; it would be harder to take an aim this way.

You did have a flashlight, so you might manage just fine - you were more worried about the ones whose aims weren't their strongest suits, like Sebastian or Baz.

At least Sebastian still took a helmet, so he would know where he was shooting. Dean had taped a flashlight to his wrist. Said it would help him camouflage if he switched it off. You were worried that it would be too much work for him between using his sword and guns.

Keep your cool, you counseled yourself. Dean is the best hunter in your world. If anyone can, he will pull through.

'T-minus three minutes!' Baz yelled his television mumbo-jumbo, a race flag in his one hand because even God can't help his theatrics; his other hand poised to show him his wristwatch. A bead of sweat rolled down from the side of his head to jaw, his tongue poking out in concentration.

He was wearing a blue cloth around his wrist, as were all the drivers on his team.

Boa's was the Green Team. Sebastian, Yellow Team. Dean, Red Team. All the attacking teams had chosen to take the traffic signal colours.

You had the White Team to signify rescue and medical aid.

Your people carried satchels that dug into all your shoulders. However, you felt the mental weight of these bags was heavier than the physical one, for they carried the black pieces of cloth that you all would have to put on the dead or the near-dead, so that same person wasn't checked twice, as you rescued the men and women from the field. The black cloth was supposed to save time, and since this was an active war zone, putting on a black cloth could save someone from the White team.

Your walkie was still static. There were six channels on it - one channel each for the five teams, and a common one for everyone. Your heart was holding back its beats so you wouldn't miss your signal . . .

'I think you're unlucky for me,' Ivanov said, low enough so only you heard him.

Your eyes moved to him questioningly.

'Whenever we meet, we are in danger,' he joked.

A smile played on your lips. 'It's good you have humor at such a time, Governor Ivanov.'

'Call me Borys,' he said. 'Be good that one person knows my name.'

'No one knows your name?' you acted surprised.

'Don't play the helpless maid,' he rolled his eyes playfully. 'We both know you leave no leaf unturned.'

He was right; you knew his file didn't have his first name or too many personal details. Kinda like Dean's files. Except, you couldn't dig dirt on Dean without getting into trouble; Ivanov's life fell under your western jurisdiction, and you had the allowance to find more about him if you wanted to. Still, you never knew his name; all you learnt was about his conquests and passions, which was more than what most people knew of him.

'No one appreciates modesty these days,' you gently teased.

'Two minutes!'

As if it were even possible, the tension wound tighter in all of you; every human in sight shifted uneasily where they sat or stood or crouched.

The previously shut-off cars started switching on their engines.

'I think we would have made a good couple,' Borys whispered, even lower this time.

You almost missed it behind your oxygen masks. Your arms crossed involuntarily - you had almost forgotten the Suitor's Ball for a few moments.

'If, you know, you didn't have a soulmate who you were so obviously in love with,' Borys added.

You offered him an awkwardly crooked grin. 'I'm sorry you all had to waste your time—'

'Are you kidding?' he laughed lightly. 'That dress you wore to the Ball? Freaking worth it. Pity you had to change out of it.'

You chortled, shocking yourself. 'I didn't think anyone saw me in that.'

'I did. When you were running out of Hall through the backdoor like a bat out of Hell.'

You chuckled a tad bitterly. 'Sounds about right. I hope many people didn't see me like that.'

'Just me,' he grinned under his mask. 'Was avoiding the crowd.'

That sounded like you. 'You know, I think we'll make good friends when all this is over,' you said, straightforward for once.

Talking to other people didn't feel like such a task right now. In fact, the world felt different - aside from how obviously the Palace was falling apart, it was also somehow . . . steadier.

You know that this was the worst day of your life; you lost your parents, and Dean lost his family - all in one day. But there was this secret strength that was keeping your knees from buckling right now; you just can't figure out what it is yet.

'I think we would,' Borys nodded. 'I'm sure you're the best person to have on speed-dial.' 

'You flatter me,' you easily replied. 'You're a secret charmer, aren't you, Borys?'

'A fatal charmer,' he winked.

'How so?' you snorted.

'One minute!'

Your hands clenched by your side, but you forced yourself to blow out a breath; you couldn't afford to appear without confidence. You'd rather focus on something lighthearted.

As if Ivan read your mind, he said: 'Well, I'm most charming when I'm about to do something reckless. Like offer myself to be the shadow of the Leader who doesn't plan to leave the Palace that will detonate until the very last second.'

'Fatal, indeed,' you quirked a grim, apologetic smile. 'You can opt out, if you'd like—'

'Nah. I'd rather flirt with you,' he shrugged nonchalantly.

You arched a brow, 'I'm engaged, Borys.'

'Flirting is life-affirming,' he said. 'It has nothing to do with courting.'

'Should I doubt your reliability to be my sane second?' you side-eyed him.

'Hear me out,' he insisted. 'Good, clean flirting is like exercise. Keeps the head and the heart healthy, keeps a man on his toes, huh? Like, uh, yoga!'

'You men are sometimes too much,' you shook your head but couldn't hide your bemusement. 'Yoga, really?'

'Ask anyone,' he challenged. 'Soothes a woman too.'

'Uh huh. Sure.'

'Ten! . . . Nine! . . . Eight! . . . '

'Alpha 3 to Alpha 5,' your intercom buzzed.

'Alpha 5 speaking,' you answered.

'Get ready to join the field. Blast in three,' Sebastian's voice said alongside Baz's: 'two!' your heart stopped, 'one!'

BOOM!

Dean was thankful for his cylinder for the first time since this shitshow started when he had to jump over a wall of fire.

He could hear his pants echo through the emptying cans of life as he sprinted into yet another clump of part-cocky, part-panicking angels.

He was slashing them with his stolen angel blade as soon as he found the first dead angel's body. The tanks had left a large scorching mess all over the floor of the once scenic lawn, and they were roaring in retreat now.

Slash. Duck. Roll.

Dean was on autopilot: slash, duck, and roll on repeat till he left crumbs of dead bodies in his wake. He was too beyond caring that these vessels were once human, and how these idiots betrayed humanity when they hosted the bloodthirsty angels.

The sound of swords and blades clanging grated on his ears, but they were so consuming that he could barely hear the agonised screams over it. However, he could also see the five-foot radius his flashlight made, which gave him a shock every time the light shed on a fellow dead Hunter.

Someone fired a machine gun.

Dean took a wild dive into a pile of dead bodies he'd earlier sidestepped, now using them as a cover. The stench of blood, sweat, and decay almost wafted past his mask, begging him to give up his breaths and simply lie there; it would be so easy . . .

He hears the phew of a bullet breaking metal, and he looks up in time to see that an oxygen tank has been grazed.

'Fuck!' he screamed. Despite his earlier dark thought, he pushed the body in front of him atop the cylinder and dived in the other direction only for his vicinity to blast.

There was a ringing in his ear that made his balance stumble. Fortunately, the bullets in his direction had stopped pouring by that time. He switched off his flashlight so it wouldn't give his spot away for a minute.

An angel came barrelling towards him out of the darkness; Dean saw him when he was two feet away. He ducked a blow, halted the bastard from pulling the trigger of the gun he had at close range, and used the same gun to butt the angel in his chin, snapping his open jaw shut. Dean's auditory facility came back in time to sensitively flinch as the angel yelled because his tongue was cut off from Dean's blow. Dean ends its misery by plunging the angel blade deep into the body. Light blows out through the sockets, and then the vessel drops in a heap of crispy wings.

Moving on.

He had killed five more angels - seriously, how many could there possibly fucking be? - when his walkie came to life.

'Alpha 5 to Alpha 4.'

Y/N, he thought.

He ripped his sword from an angel, bringing her ribbony insides on the outside. Then he inserted the angel blade through her head, ear-to-ear.

Light, wings.

'Alpha 5 to Alpha 4!' you repeated.

He extracted his blade and vaulted it into a running angel's chest who would've slaughtered Dean in a second.

He clicked the walkie button, bringing it to his lips. 'Alpha 4 here. Come in.'

'They are going after the Basement cars.'

Dean cursed under his breath.

'Can you cut them off?' he demanded, dodging a swipe of a blade and throwing a wide arc with his sword so the body was split in a literal two. He retrieved the angel blade from the fallen angel.

' . . . Not enough manpower,' he caught the last bit, 'since the Green Team has started retreating.'

He understood that you asked him because he had more soldiers than the other teams that he could spare now that Boa's team had started leaving.

'Copy.'

Then he was off.

He ran back to the treeline, where the hunters were heading now and again to find some reprieve. The angels had been retreating to their radioactive sites for the breaks where no human was stupid enough to go.

He clicked his flashlight on and found about ten Hunters huddled and crouching.

'Cut off angel circulation in the North so they don't get to the West where the Basement cars are leaving,' he barked. 'Take an abandoned tank to them if they block your way!'

The Hunters who wore red clothes around their wrists heeded him. The three Yellows remained put - Dean had no right over them right now.

Just as he turned to head out—

'MISSILE!'

Everyone scattered like rats.

A three-hundred-foot tree broke in half and fell sideways, crushing a Yellow woman who had unfortunately thrown herself into the ground there. The other two scrambled back onto the field, like Dean, throwing themselves into the mayhem of war.

The broken tree stood in its lonesome, a burning stump.

'Alpha 5 to Alpha 3,' Dean heard when he got close to Sebastian at one point.

'Alpha—' Sebastian grunted as he was pinned to the ground.

Dean threw himself onto the angel that was about to stab his best friend. He wrestled the thing to the ground and pulled the angel blade down from its chest to abdomen.

'Trees!' Sebastien yelled. It was time for his and Dean's break.

They both rolled professionally out of sight.

'Alpha 3. Come in!'

Dean and Sebastian were pressed up against the bark, trying to tame their heavy breathing lest they wanted to be found out. They both switched off their lights for this break.

Dean just hoped the walkie didn't attract an angel.

'Alpha 3 speaking. Alpha 5, come in!' Sebastain repeated when you took a longer minute to respond.

Dean threw his head back and closed his eyes, praying—begging—this would end. He always did that in the middle of war—remembered God, at least once. And he had been in so many.

This time, he wanted a break more than ever. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to grieve.

'Report on Green Team,' your soothing voice came in.

He had a new prayer then: he wanted to grab you and hide you, hide with you . . .

'First phase successfully completed: all Commons have left the premises. The first part of the second phase has also been completed: Green Team has left. Six casualties from two tank explosions, though . . . ,' when your voice faltered, Dean's breath hitched, '. . . including Alpha 2.'

Their heads snapped up in conjoined shock.

'Boa's dead?' Sebastain asked, voice hollow.

'Yes,' you said sorrowfully, but you had to keep going. 'Second part of second phase commencing. Alpha 3, your Yellow team can start leaving . . .'

'HELP!' a bloodcurdling scream met them in the tree line as a burning man jolted them.

Sebastian jumped up, ripping away his coat jacket from under his oxygen cylinder (after some struggle) to extinguish the man, but the damage had already been done . . .

Dean, in the meantime, ran back out to interject the likely pursuer of this human.

And the war went on.

'Alpha 1 to Alpha 4,' Baz's gruff voice interrupted Dean's killing spree.

'Speaking! Come in!' he responded quickly, narrowly missing the knife aimed to slit his neck. Instead, he hissed when his bicep split open with the same weapon.

He let out a grunt as he rammed the angel who had attacked him into the nearest tree and slammed the vessel over and over into a pointed branch until the wooden piece snapped, still lodged into the angel, and the vessel buckled.

He attempted his angel blade on it, and unlike the celestial being, Dean didn't miss.

'. . . fizzing craters now.'

'What!?'

Baz patiently reiterated: 'Angels have hijacked a tank and are destroying the open-ground cars!'

'Can you get me a grenade lau—Whoa!'

He had been tackled.

'Gah!' he gnashed his teeth as a dagger cut through his armour and plunged into the edge of his waist, harming no major organ but unraveling a steady stream of blood.

He expected another blow to kill him.

A kick displaced the angel from his hips. And a bullet in the dead centre of his eyes ended it.

He found your hand waiting above his head with the Colt in your hand.

He clasped your fingers gratefully and precariously rose to his feet, stumbling right into your hug.

'Easy,' you ran a soothing hand through his hair.

'What's the time?' he grunted into your neck.

A gunshot made Dean wince and hold you tighter at the same time to shield you reflexively.

'It's okay,' you said. That's when he understood you'd been the one to fire it.

He swiveled to find an angel shot point-blank in its heart.

'Borys!' you said over your shoulder. 'Get us a grenade launcher.'

Dean took much too long to process that you'd called Ivanov by that name. In the time he figured that out, you had backed him into the treeline where he slid down against sturdy bark with a long-suffering sigh.

'Alpha 5 to Alpha 1,' you said in your walkie, switching Dean's and your flashlights off for now.

'Alpha 1 speaking!'

'Alpha 4 is secure, heading to the tank in a minute. Northern Perimeter is clear for now. Yellows and Reds are forcing the angels back into the East, but I need Fighters to make sure the angels don't come around from the South.'

'Putting people on it.'

'Updated body count is 82 Hunters, 17 Commons.'

'Copy.'

'Water,' Dean croaked.

You produced a bottle from your satchel. 'Hold your breath,' you requested, removing his mask. He swallowed the water with some difficulty and put his mask back on.

'Thirty-one more minutes,' you answered his previous question. 'You're doing so good, darling. Are you okay?'

'I'll live.' Though he coughed up some blood and he had to spit it out in the shrubs next to him.

'Here, hold this to your wound,' you pressed a piece of black cloth on his wound like packing, and then tied a longer white cloth around his waist.

'Alpha 3 to Alpha 5!'

'Alpha 5. Come in,' you immediately asked.

'Men trapped near the Hole! Need non-civilian Whites.'

'Copy that.' You took Dean by the cheek, then. 'Do you want to leave?'

He shook his head, 'Got some fight in me.'

You gulped your protests. 'Take Ivanov and the lanucher. I will see you in five. Stay alive!' you firmly stated before you had to leave him there.

The witch magic finally kicked in.

It was a relief to ditch the oxygen tanks; Dean had never appreciated witchcraft or fresh air as much before. He could speed up without those awful things weighing him down.

The hijacked tank was just around the corner from where Dean was standing. He had entered the Palace again from the North and exited towards the Western Perimeter. He managed to steal a car from the open-ground lot and brought it around the corner to prepare it against the tank.

The tank had already imploded two cars with Red team's Hunters in it and Blue team's two drivers, and about twenty empty cars from the open-air lot.

Since they'd needed to hurry, Dean's solution was absolutely reckless.

'How can I help?' you panted, skidding to a stop next to Dean. You'd ditched your oxygen tank, too.

Dean gave you a quick glance; there were a few dim lamps here against the Palace wall, so he could appreciate that you looked relatively unharmed.

You observed what they were doing since they were too busy to give an instruction. You picked up one of the smaller cans of holy oil, amassing a slick, slow flow of oil all over the car like Dean and Borys.

'All right,' Dean said, throwing away his own can. 'Don't shoot until I've jumped out, okay?'

Your head swerved in Dean's direction as if he'd lost his bloody mind.

'If you're sure, Mr Winchester,' Ivan said, sceptically, glancing at you to see if you'd readily agree to it.

You wouldn't.

'You cannot be serious,' you said. 'You're going to drive this car to the tank and jump out last second? All the while hoping someone doesn't pull the trigger on a grenade launcher while you're still inside!'

'Do you have a better plan?' Dean asked, irritated.

'Yes!' you said. 'Don't fucking die!'

'Y/N, we don't have time for this—'

He opened the door, and you shut it, free hand on your hip, voice choppy. 'This is not a fucking suicide mission, Dean!'

'Stop being so fucking childish!'

He pushed you away from the car door, opening it with a big show and plopping down inside it.

'This is insanity!' you raged, getting in between the door before he could slam it in your face. 'You're not behaving rationally.'

'You don't have to wait and watch, Y/N,' he said, exasperated with you. 'This is war - grow up!'

He pulled the door so forcefully that you had to jump out of the way if you didn't want to be squished in between. You were coerced to take a step back as the car peeled away, and the tires screeched as Dean took a sharp left towards the parking lot, where the tank was destroying even more empty cars that you might need to help the Hunters out.

'Do you want to shoot him?' Borys asked politely. Lowkey, he wasn't confident about shooting - thought you might be the better option here.

Curses!

You snatched the weapon from his hands, yelling over your shoulder: 'Throw a match on the line of holy oil we drew around east and north. It's time.'

'How will we bring injured soldiers over the fire?' he asked, since most of the Reds were still fighting.

'Figure it out!'

You flattened against the outside surface of the Palace wall to steady your hands and perched the gun onto your shoulder, eyeing the binoculars on the gun, relying on the light from the dim lamps as you watched Dean sideline the wreckage between him and the tank, who was caught unawares by Dean's sudden presence.

You waited until the very last second . . .

As soon as Dean threw himself out of the running car, your trigger was pulled.

The car met your grenade and the tank together.

The resulting blast reached the Heavens.

Dean had rolled away and crawled under a car that was three cars down from the tank, and he simply hoped no debris would crush him.

At least, God heard that . . .

He unplugged his ears and used his hands to wipe down his sweaty face once the ground stopped vibrating from the explosion. He peeked out meekly, and the heat made him want to dig a hole in the earth and lie down in the cold soil.

'DEAN!' he'd never heard you scream as loudly or desperately.

It prompted him to drop his shelter and rise to his wobbly feet, resting heavily on the side-view mirror of this car to hold him upright - praying again that nothing had happened to you . . .

You bumped your hip against the boot of a car when you turned too abruptly once you'd spotted him. You sprinted down the cars and threw yourself into his arms on instinct.

It was all he could do not to fall back on his ass, yet hold you tight.

'You idiot!' you scolded when you pulled away. 'I swear - when we get out of here, I'm going to slap you like I'm Connary!'

That made an unexpected laugh bubble up from Dean's chest. 'You made a television reference,' he mumbled, voice too drastically altered from the imbalance of smoke and oxygen in his throat.

Your lips quivered, and you had to look away to blink your tears. His laugh made you realise how overwhelming it would've been if something had happened to him.

'You need to leave,' you croaked.

'I'll wai—'

'It's your turn, Dean!' you gritted out. 'Everyone's fucking left!'

'Are you coming?' he asked. He wasn't leaving until you were, no matter how much he wanted to.

'Is that what this is—?' You shook your head. 'Never mind. Not the time. Yes. I will be right behind you.'

'I go in the same car as you,' he bargained.

'Dean—' but you stopped yourself again. 'Fine. Fucking whatever.'

So that's how you ended up helping him over to the line-up the Blue Team was forming with the salvageable cars of the open lot. The Blues' drivers were all already inside, so they could drive away quickly as soon as their car filled to the brim. 

You sat him in the very last car, which you would be taking. It also happened to be Boa's jeep . . .

'Leads,' Baz gave you and Dean a cursory glance with that greeting.

You wanted to ask him how he was doing, but that was such a stupid question. How do you ask a twin how they're feeling when they're no longer a twin? That's just cruel, right? Born together, grew up together, served their Continents together, and for one of them to die alone . . .

'Alpha 3 to Alpha 5!'

'Come in.'

'We need you in the east, some Red stragglers need to cross over the holy oil!'

'Coming!'

Dean tried to get out of the jeep, and you pushed him down with all your energy.

'Y/N—'

'No!' you exclaimed. 'You're staying.'

'No way in hell,' he growled.

You grasped his collar and slammed him back into his seat, getting in his face so he knew you meant business.

'If you love me at all,' you said thoughtlessly, 'you'll stay.'

The redness in his eyes grew, and his jaw clenched. 'That's not fair,' he whispered.

'You owe me,' you said. 'The tank shit you pulled? You owe me a little trust. I will come back. And I will bring as many of our people as I can with us,' you said. 'Okay?'

He was shaking his head before you finished. 'I can't take that risk,' he said, licking his dry lips. 'Please? I-I-I can't,' he begged.

'Alpha 5?'

'Ten minutes to departure for the last car,' Baz announced on the common channel.

'Don't make me knock you out,' you said, letting him go. You had to avoid his gaze when his face fell. 'Either you stay here, or I pull something reckless for a fucking change.'

You ran without hearing another argument, and Dean shrank into his seat. He had to blink his eyes, surprised himself at how much that hurt his feelings.

Dean's breath hitched when he shifted in the shotgun seat.

'You okay?' Baz asked, without looking up.

Dean could only hum.

'You're getting blood on the upholstery,' Baz commented, offhandedly. Your measly wrapping was soaked, and the blood was now dripping at a slow pace into the car. 

His statement made Dean leave his numb poker face and raise an eyebrow. 'Want me to put a towel down?' he sassed.

Baz smiled darkly. 'B-Bo—My brother would've.'

Dean softened at the admission. The world was just as bleak as before, but Dean could see that Baz knew exactly what he was going through.

'Yeah, the leather's a bitch to clean. That's why Baby's vinyl.'

With a twist of his face, his eyes turned to his beloved car that no one would be in the condition to drive since it was blocked off by a pile-up, backed up against the Treexcel gates. He would have to abandon her . . .

'Elder brothers and their cars,' he scoffed.

'Don't even get me started on you "younger" lot,' Dean grumbled. 'You both change cars so often - no fucking loyalty, I tell you.' Dean wouldn't even make the mistake of attempting to say Sam's name . . . Yes, Dean can get his PhD in grief after all.

'Cars is just chick-bait, Lead,' Baz said. 'I'm just not ready to settle,' he grinned weakly at his own joke. 'I honestly don't know what he saw in this contraption. Or what you see in your Lead-Mobile.'

Dean snorted. 'Back off. I'm wounded here.'

'Aren't we all?' Baz said, contemplative. 'At least you have your girl.'

'No one told you to be a celibate, Griffith,' Dean grunted.

'Hey,' he held up a finger. 'I took that oath with B—' his voice cracked, and he shook his head. 'The bastard said we'd go down together, guns blazin'.'

Dean was empathetic.

As an afterthought, Baz mused: 'Do you think he'll come back to haunt me if I retire from celibacy?'

Dean's responding chuckle was jagged.

You'd vaulted yourself over the three-foot flames, using a boost from a fellow White team member. You threw yourself into the onslaught of three angels so O'Laughlin, Hale, and Ivan could pass Esmerelda, half of her face melted, over the holy fire to Selina, Lana, and a witch named Glenda on the safe side of the fire. 

Sebastian joined your side soon, the only Yellow left, like Dean was the only Red left. He kept the angels at bay by maiming and killing them till the others passed the last few bodies over the fire to be deposited in the leaving cars.

Only four minutes had passed since you'd last seen Dean - that had been enough time for all the remaining Whites to converge.

This was it. The end was nigh.

O'Laughlin and Hale made it to the other side quite easily. The angels wouldn't be able to follow you all anymore because of the holy oil borders; the Palace would detonate, honing the fire until there was nothing left to come back to.

You were starting to see hope of your survival—

'Y/N, NO!' 

An elbow shoved your back, and you fell right into Sebastian's side, knocking him down too.

Sebastian only had enough common sense to shoot the angel with the Colt that fell from your hands, and waste the thing. Later, he would tell you that he hadn't aimed, and the angel just fell into the bullet like it was fated to bite it. 

When you could push the hair out of your eyes and mouth, you realised what had happened.

Borys Ivanov had pushed you.

Your mouth fell apart in a silent scream when you noticed him: impaled by a spear that now pinned him to the ground, standing but not really, face frozen forever into horror; eyes open and lifeless. He'd dived to take your place . . .

'Come on!' Sebastian said near your ear. 'Five minutes!'

You had to leave the body in the state, hurdling over the fearless inferno, still running when your feet hit the ground.

Guns started firing behind you, separating you and Sebastian, because you had to run zig-zag now.

Only two cars were left, their headlights falling on the darkened grass because the moon had failed you all tonight.

Raya, Reed, and Dakota, along with Selina and Lana, were in the first car (Slate had been sent with the Basement parking cars; he would be found later by Selina and Sebastian). Baz, Dean, and Hale in the second; O'Laughlin and the witches must've left in the previous two cars. Sebastian helped you in the back of the jeep just as the engines revved; the last two cars pulled away.

'Are you all okay?' Baz asked, maneuvering the car past the wrecks.

'Alive,' Sebastian blew a breath. 'Does somebody have a phone? I need to call my wife.'

You sat down and sagged. You couldn't remember a more exhaustive day of your life.

Governor Hart Hale offered him her cell.

'She's in the second-last car,' Dean informed. 'The witches were in the third-last.'

'Just letting her know we're A-okay,' Sebastian said.

Then Dean turned in his seat so he was diagonally facing you, expression pinched in worry as he superficially assessed you for wounds.

'I'm okay,' you mouthed, a faint smile on your lips.

Maybe it was your imagination, or it was the dark, but you thought you saw him well up. You couldn't be sure because he turned to the road again.

The cars trundled down the paths that it would never return to - none of you would ever return to your Palace, your homes, your belongings, to the countless memories.

You remembered the photos on Dean's desk, and you couldn't help but be hurt by how insignificant it had all been rendered. Your hand raised to your heart necklace—you'd just been lucky enough that you'd donned it after Dean proposed to you, otherwise it would have been another morsel for the flames.

God, I'm engaged!

That happened literally seven hours ago.

And already you'd failed to understand Dean. He was hurting, and you'd scolded him, threatened to be reckless when you knew how that could affect him - what kind of a fiancée were you?

He lost his entire family . . .

'Holy fuck,' you murmured suddenly. 'Holy fuck!' and you shot bolt upright, startling the entire car.

'What!?' Hale practically jumped out of her skin, eyes squinting at the horizon of the place you'd left behind.

Your eyes snagged onto a sleek, shiny surface left behind in the parking lot, lit up by the fire on the pile-up of cars blocking it.

You leaped without thought.

'What the hell are you doing!?' roared Sebastian, unable to grasp you.

You'd leaped out of the car, onto the ground with a bracing grunt, and rolled yourself onto your legs to take off into yet another sprint - you don't even know where the adrenaline was coming from at this point.

The brakes were hit.

'Keep going!' you shrieked over your shoulder. 'I will be back!' You weren't sure if they heard you, but you certainly didn't have the time to guarantee it.

'No, no, no—' Sebastian shouted, cut off by himself because he had to jump out as well when he saw that Dean had thrown his door open.

Even with his injuries, Dean would have caught up to you with his long bow legs, had the chocolate-skinned man not wrestled him to the ground. To say Dean struggled violently would be an understatement. Inevitably, that ended with a black eye for Sebastien and blackness for a minute or two.

This all happened in a matter of seconds; Baz had stepped out, and so had Hale. The previous car had come to a screeching halt on Selina's demand. Reed was driving, and the Commons weren't allowed to get out, so Raya and Dakota jogged forth.

Baz would've hefted Dean back, and he was mid-way to him too, but Dakota and Raya, caught between the two cars, were the easiest targets for a lurking monster in the forests outside of the safety of the Palace grounds.

Dakota Fanning didn't see it coming, was hunted to the ground, and his chest was slashed. Raya screamed, more out of surprise than fear, and emptied her barrel into the thing. Baz and Hale had to come help because an entire nest of Fearls poured out, drawn forth by the noises.

Reed hesitantly stepped out, and Baz yelled at him: 'Go, go, go! You have Commons with you!'

No matter how much Selina wanted to protest, she tucked Lana closer to her chest as Reed jumped back in and their car pulled away.

In all this commotion, Dean was long gone, back into the compound, and Sebastian, when he came to, with his heavy heart, had to help battle the Ferals.

They all knew the chance of seeing their Leaders alive again was slim to none now.

While you were fending with the wreck around Baby, dashing cars lightly back and forth to create just a sliver of space, the last thing you expected to see was Dean back in the fray, caught in the headlights.

'What the fuck are you doing here!?' you demanded as he lumped himself onto the passenger side after rounding the car.

'What the fuck are you doing here?!' he mirrored your question.

Your watch pipped up with the one-minute warning.

'Ahhhhhh, screw it!' you said, putting the car in reverse and flooring the accelerator.

You had been taking a gamble with your life before, but no way in Hell were you about to lose Dean's life for this. Any damages to the car would be repaired later.

Baby rammed into a weakened Honda and pushed the smaller vehicle back into a tree till it was flat like a pancake.

'Wear your seatbelt!' you scolded Dean when you noticed him on his merry way to the car's floor.

You gave him all of five seconds before you made a risky J-turn and then drove right towards the gates of Treexcel. Baby's bonnet took a serious hit as the iron gates clanged onto the surface. The speed won out, and you were able to drive down the familiar roads of the training centre.

'This is a dead-end!' Dean said over the snarling engine.

You pursed your lips - you were about to find out.

'We're going to die, Y/N!' Dean said. 'The detonator extends to every inch of this place!'

'Then why did you come?' you snapped.

'Are you insane!?'

You couldn't see his expression, though you could venture a guess that it was a cross between rage and chagrin.

'How could you just run in like that?!'

Was that betrayal in his voice? You couldn't be sure; your focus was elsewhere.

You steered a sharp right, the back of Baby kissing a tree in your hurry before you could right the car.

'Where are you going?' Dean demanded now that you both were on the most untrodden path of the centre.

Your response was cut when the largest blast till now resonated through the very ground. You could practically imagine the ripple effects reaching out for Baby to consume all of you like a lava monster.

Your eyes kept a count of the miles until you came to a sudden halt. Dean could've been thrown from the windshield had he not worn the seatbelt.

You were already unclicking yours.

'Stay in the car. I know the way out!' you called over your shoulder.

Traitorous hope shot adrenaline through Dean's vessels, and he held his breath while you ran to a tree and pulled a branch, like a lever. Miraculously, an entire section of the ground dropped, much like Dean's mouth. You returned in time for the explosions to reach Baby's metaphorical heels, and you slammed your foot down before you'd even fully sat down.

The car made a screeeee sound, and the boulders made the clunk-thump sounds when they fell to cave your entrance in.

When you stopped the car a minute later, it was to calm your panting. Besides, the tunnel was too dark to navigate, especially with both of Baby's headlights and taillights smashed that caused the lights to whimper feebly.

You heard Dean open the glove compartment and produce a flashlight; yours had been lost earlier, and Dean had taken his off when you'd forced him in Boa's jeep. He switched the new one on so the light could blind you.

'Are you okay?'

'Can you move that away from my face?' you cringed. 'Please?' was an afterthought.

He redirected it to the tunnel ahead.

'How did you know about this tunnel?'

You heaved a sigh. 'I will answer all your questions,' you promised. 'But, first, can I look at your wounds, please?'

You were worried he'd die from the sheer blood loss.

You didn't know what Dean was searching for in your face. Eventually, he nodded, expelling a breath.

'The first aid's in the trunk.'

'Move to the backseat, please,' you said. 'Do you have any food in the car?'

'No.'

Curses! There goes his chance for painkillers.

You rushed to the other side of the car and tried to help him. He only pushed you away, sliding into the backseat with suppressed grunts. You huffed over to the trunk and found all that was necessary.

You perched a balled-up sleeping bag under his head first and maneuvered him to his back. You hung the blanket on the front seat for now. You pushed the front seat bench ahead to make space for you on the floor next to Dean, setting up the first-aid box there. You positioned Dean's light, getting to work with your stitches, first to the side of his abdomen. 

You unwrapped the loose cloth around him. When he hissed under the touch of antiseptic, you grimaced with him. In your mind, his pain was yours. 

While you cleaned his largest wound with utmost concentration, you two were still calming your panting breaths.

'You shouldn't have run after me,' you finally spoke, jaw clenched as you put away the cotton. 

Now, for the needlework.

You tried not to show how your stamina was dropping to a dangerously low level.

'Yeah, right,' he scoffed, teeth barely moving apart to form words.

'You had a certified medic with you,' you scowled. 'Now you're stuck underground for God knows how long with my measly hands!'

'Are you that stupid or just that dense?' Dean asked, tensing all over again.

'I need you to relax,' you told him, your quivering hands pausing in their work.

Neither of you moved for a very long minute until Dean had to force his body to uncoil.

'I had it, you know,' you finally said. 'You didn't need to be a hero and trudge in behind me. I'm the reason you are stuck here.'

It took a lot of effort on Dean's part not to get worked up again.

'Yeah, you are,' he whispered, making you freeze in surprise.

Slowly, you dabbed the excess blood that was leaking out; it was bad enough that the adrenaline was tapering in you and making your hands shiver, the last thing you needed to do right now was to cry. And yet, you could sense the emotions barreling towards you.

'I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience then,' you muttered, meaning it.

Dean's heart stuttered when he saw the first tear collapse down your cheek. But he pretended he couldn't see it in the dim lights.

'How did you know about the tunnel?' he asked again, hoping it would distract both of you.

You cleared your throat to hide your tears from him. 'It was in the Moldovan Archives. This tunnel was too huge for the witches to cover into their magical perimeter, so they shut that entrance with a tree branch.'

In fact, there was a chance that monsters had wandered in over the years.

Damn, you thought, you'd forgotten about the monsters in lieu of angels . . .

You didn't even know if the tunnel was open on the other side. You were going to figure it out later, but now that Dean was injured, panic threatened to eat your very being.

You took a shaky breath to keep yourself steady; the last thing you needed was to poke Dean with your needle.

'Why were you reading the Archives?' he asked, voice more faded than the last sentence.

You took his hand, and his fingers curled around your wrist, surprising you when he squeezed your hand, seeking comfort - you'd only been trying to check his pulse. You subtly placed a finger on his wrist, and were relieved to find that his heart was still strong and steady.

'I was bored,' you said, gently retrieving your hand after squeezing his once in reassurance.

Dean snorted, closing his eyes. 'Only you would do that. . . . You know there are hundreds of books in the Archives, right?' he said.

'I started with the last fifty years,' you said, hesitating on your next words. 'I found out that your mother was the Leader who trusted the witches first and welcomed them into the Palace. It was around her time when this tunnel was shut, and Treexcel was made. She was a kind woman, and technically, she saved us.'

Dean had gone limp. You thought he fell asleep. 

In actuality, Dean ignored your comment about his mother, pretending not to move, until the dark recesses of his mind came to take him genuinely.

You finished working on him and put him under the blanket. 

The fate had some mercy because you didn't encounter any monsters in the tunnel, and the gas didn't run out on you. You had somehow strapped a floodlight from the trunk onto Baby's wrinkly bonnet and cruised throughout the night. The way out was through thick hangings of bushy climbers on the side of an old, abandoned road.

There was the sun stitched into the late afternoon sky.

If your orientation was right, you were on the outskirts of Moldova.

You practically shrieked when your phone vibrated in your pocket. You plucked it between your fingers, the signal finally received now that you were out of the underground tunnel.

'I have a phone?' you had to ask yourself.

You did. 

With six hundred and seventeen missed calls on it, too. And one message.

All from Selina.

You played the single message.

'You bitch!—'

You flinched, deducting the voice levels and checking to see in the rearview mirror if Dean was still asleep. All the while, Selina kept talking.

'—I don't know what you aimed to achieve, but we are so mad at you! I know you're fucking alive, so soon as you get this message, you're gonna call me. And I'm going to keep calling until you PICK. UP. YOUR. PHONE!'

The beep sounded.

'My, my,' you said, a small smile curling on your lips. 'At least someone believed in me.'

You dialled her.

'Oh, my God, I knew it!'

You were amused. 'Yes, you did, Sel.' 

'You scared the crap out of us!' she shouted down the line.

You put her off speaker and risked putting the phone to your ear so as not to disturb Dean.

'—any idea of how worried I've been!?'

'Please calm down,' you said. 'Where are you? Is everyone okay?'

'First,' her voice suddenly got nervous. 'Did you find Dean?'

'He came after me?' you injected as much horror as you could fake.

'Oh, my God,' she gasped. 'Oh, my—'

'I'm kidding,' you chuckled ironically, unable to be more cruel. 'I'm sorry, I don't know why I jested.'

'Oh, my God, I hate you!' she yelled again. 'Are you fucking kidding me?! I thought he died!'

'Forgive me,' you shook your head. 'Truly. I-I-I don't know what came over me. I'm just tired and obviously devoid of humour . . . or a moral compass.'

'You know what? Go fuck yourself!'

She clicked off.

You bit your lip. 'That's that,' you said to yourself.

An encompassing gloominess took over you. Why were you such a lost cause?

You inhaled sharply to keep your tears at bay.

You exhaled just as sharply, realising that maybe you made that poor joke because you were pissed at . . . Michael, and Dean, and Sam, and yourself, for that matter. And without having calmed yourself down, you shouldn't have talked to Selina . . .

'I am a bitch,' you groaned.

Your phone vibrated again. This time, with a text. It was an address from Selina.

Your lip wobbled because it stung that she didn't call you again. You know it was childish, but you were feeling pretty fucking petulant right now.

All you wanted to do was sob. Throw a tantrum. Whine so much. And sleep.

You needed sleep.

And food, an afterthought. And a shower.

'Just be calm and rational,' you told yourself. 'Like an adult. I can do this. I have eight years of adulting experience. I can do this . . .'

Your eyes darted to Dean again.

'I have to do this,' you said. For Dean.

Dean is priority. All of the things can come later.

You only stopped once at a vet's to get Dean checked out. He was as grumpy as a cute wolf.

'I'm not an animal,' he complained.

'I agree,' the nervous vet said. 'Lady Y/N, I'm not equipped.'

You were convincing both of them: 'A vet knows his way around the flesh. Just rectify my stitches, okay?' You squeezed Dean's shoulder, under his clumsily done stitches, 'I will take you to a human doctor as soon as possible. For now, there isn't one for miles.'

'I can hold out,' he insisted.

'I'm worried about you,' you admonished him.

The doctor watched the interaction with a shrewd eye, his eyes dipping to your fingers, widening subsequently.

'Y-You both are married?'

'Soulmates,' you corrected. You figured the press hadn't had the time to make a breaking news out of that yet, what with the war.

'My God, that's amazing!' he cheered. 'I've been shipping you two for a while now!'

Both you and Dean gave him a scathing look.

'S-Sorry,' he stammered. 'I just like celebrity gossip.'

You ran a hand down your face. A few weeks ago, you would've probably eaten up the attention and liked to interact more with the enthusiastic doctor, probably build a rapport, so the good word gets out that you were nice to the public and fans.

Now you just wanted to get Dean safe and secure.

'Do you need something from me?' you asked. 'Can I help in any way?'

'Uh,' he thought for a long second, getting serious. 'Maybe, um, maybe he needs a transfusion?'

Dean gave you a bitch-face for the doctor's seeming incompetence. Yet, you could see how pale and clammy Dean's skin was.

The location Selina sent would take another day or two because your tunnel had opened up in another direction from where they went.

'I'm his blood type,' you offered.

'No, are you shitting me?' Dean glared at you.

'I . . . better go watch some YouTube tutorials before we do this,' Dr Khan said.

He gave you some privacy in the small office corner of this Gas-n'-Sip.

'Dean, you need the blood—'

'Y/N, I've had it with you!' he shot up, and swayed dangerously.

'Dean, please sit down,' you said firmly.

'No, what's wrong with you?' he slapped your hand away from touching him.

Your anger snapped at its short leash.

'I'm trying to be patient here,' you warned.

'You're trying to get killed!' he accused.

'And yet, I'm not the one half-dead from blood loss with a myriad of cuts and bruises on my fucking body!' you half-yelled. 'Sit your ass back down unless you want me to slap some fucking sense into you!'

This is the second time you've talked about slapping him. The first time, he let it slide because his exhausted brain had found your television reference amusing, but now you were just being ridiculous.

'You don't own me—'

'No, Dean,' you said. 'I'm just engaged to you. And I just want to spend the rest of my life with you, when just a week and a half ago, I never wanted to get married!'

'I'm sorry I'm such an inconvenience then!' he threw your words back in your face.

Now you knew exactly how that sentence stung him a few hours ago. Unlike him, though, you didn't respond to it with silent, simmering anger.

'You're not an inconvenience, Dean,' you said tiredly. 'You're just exhausted . . . and in pain.'

It genuinely surprised him. He wasn't expecting a civil answer. Hell, he was so pissed, he wasn't expecting anything civil from the day.

You gently guided him to sit, caressing his cheek softly. 'Let me do this for you,' you said, raising his chin so he could meet your eyes. 'I want us both to make it out alive. Yes, darling?'

Dean swallowed his venomous answer, nodding slightly.

He felt the loss of your touch as you moved away to check on the doctor. He stopped you by the wrist, waited until your e/cs met his guilty watery greens.

'You're not, either,' he whispered.

Your brows scrunched.

'An inconvenience,' he added. 'You'll never be an inconvenience to me.'

Your expression sobered into a half-hearted smile.

'Wait here.'

A/N: So?

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