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Ronan, once again, was awake. Kavinsky had dropped that bombshell on him last night and he had been so surprised he hadn’t responded, instead grabbing his beer and speeding out; mumbling a lame excuse on the way. Ronan didn’t know what to feel. To think that Kavinsky valued him that much, or that Kavinsky’s life was so horrible that that was his favorite memory; it was too much for Ronan. Unfortunately, the world was still spinning, and once again his phone dinged.
where u at princess
get off dick lll
u scared? ; )
Cursing his lack of self-control, Ronan got up. Maybe he would get some answers about yesterday. God was clearly trying to give him hell because he could hear Gansey humming to himself on the other side. Sighing, he walked out. Gansey was alert enough to notice him and he took off his headphones. “Hey,” he greeted. Ronan said nothing and continued walking towards the door, hoping he could escape without further scrutiny. “Hey,” Gansey said again, with more force. “I hope you aren’t going where I think you’re going.”
“Depends on where you think I’m going,” Ronan said with a glare. “Besides, what do you care, Dick?” Damn, Kavinsky was rubbing off on him. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.” Gansey, now positive he knew where Ronan was headed, stood up.
“Come on Ronan. Don’t go. I’ll tell Adam. What do you even see in him?”
“You wouldn’t understand Gansey. I need this.”
Ronan, surprised and embarrassed at his sudden confession, didn’t answer and staked out. On the drive over, he thought about what he had said. He was getting soft. He absentmindedly rubbed his scars as he waited. Finally, he heard the cry of the white car right as the light up above turned green. On cue, they both exploded off the line; the cars howling like animals.
Tonight, Kavinsky was actually keeping up, Ronan being unable to focus. But he managed to pull ahead at the last second. The rush of the race finally hit him and the rest of his thoughts flew out of his head. They raced, again and again, Ronan being the victor in all but one. Finally, they wore themselves out, and Ronan took his customary spot on the hood of the Mitsubishi. Ronan sipped his beer, but K focused on his drugs.
“Ok, princess. I know you got your panties all in a twist. You want some? It’ll help.” K held up a baggie full of white powder. Ronan smirked at him.
“What do you take me for, some lowlife riff-raff? We’re better than that, man. You’re better than that.”
“Oh, don’t tell me what level we’re on. Look at where we are right now. Are you kidding me?” Kavinsky collapsed backward, looking up at the sky.
“No, I’m serious. Why do you do this to yourself, K? There’s more, you know. More than just sex and drugs and cars,” Ronan pleaded.
“Like what,” Kavinsky said tiredly. At that, Ronan was lost for words. He didn’t know. A wave of anger washed over him. Why wouldn’t K accept his help? He stood up and started to walk away.
‘Hey, where you goin’? K drawled.
“Away from your music video.”
“No, you’re not. Because I know what you need,” said K.
“What.”
“Punch me,” said K
“What?”
“Punch me. You’re clearly dying for something , so punch me.” Ronan thought there was something undeniably sexy about the complete disregard for his body and the pain it went through.
“Hey man, if you’re not, then I will.
K swung.
Ronan woke up. Time slowed down. He was slightly tipsy, but K was high and they were evenly matched. He ducked. K was ready for it and jabbed with his other hand, straight into Ronan’s nose. Ronan was up immediately and tackled K. He could feel K’s concave chest under him.
They brawled. Rolling around on the ground, each trying to get the upper hand. It was a tangle of limbs and Ronan wasn’t sure if they were still fighting, or if this was now something else.
At long last, they stopped. Exhausted, bruised, and battered, they lay on the pavement. It was a drug. This feeling. He couldn’t name it, but he wanted more. Suddenly, he understood the cocaine. This natural high was enough to make him forget everything, at least temporarily. If K was high, then he didn’t have to think about real life, the consequences of his actions. It was a never-ending spiral of cause and effect. Ronan understood his need to escape. After all, that’s what Ronan did, with the racing and drinking. But he wanted this so much more. He knew eventually he would have to deal with real-life, with Gansey, and his questions on why he had purple bruises all over his body, why he smelled like beer and drugs and burnt rubber. But he was right here, right now, and he was going to make the most of it.
"YN, you will not join my brother in another case. The last one nearly got you killed." Said Mycroft.
You growled then glared at him. Your sandy blond hair covered your eyes as you stood there. "Sherlock needs me to help him." You said.
"My brother already have a Watson he doesn't need both of them. Plus I promise you I would spend time with you." He said as if stating a fact.
"Mycroft, you promised you would do that on my birthday." You said knowing what he was gonna say.
"I do believe today is your birthday Darling." He said.
You let out a dark laugh then walked up to him. "Oh Dearest, that was two days ago. Don't worry I already have the perfect punishment for you." You smirk.
Unlike your older brother, you were borderline evil. If you wanted to, you could be James second in command, he offered you that before. You could see the every emotions that showed up in your boyfriend's eyes. Before you could say anything Sherlock texted you.
'Already solved it.
S.H'
You glared at Mycroft then walked away. "I will be in my studies if you needed me." You said.
You were a writer that often wrote bout mythology. You loves Greek mythology and your favorite was Hades. You could relate to him very well. You were often saw as the bad guy but in reality you were just someone to got the bad end of the deal most of the time.
You been in your office for a long time. You didn't realize it until there was a knock on the door. "Yes?" You said.
You saw Mycroft come in. "It time to eat darling." You could hear the sadness in his voice.
Mycroft felt bad for forgetting your birthday and ignoring you. He knew you would punish him for it. He just didn't know how. He knew you weren't gonna hit him, if you were that type of person he won't date you. No you knew his weaknesses and will use it against him. "Ok I will be there in a moment." You said.
You smirk then got to the kitchen. You begin to make supper and some German Chocolate cake. It was one of Mycroft's favorite flavors. Mycroft saw the cake he knew something was gonna happen. He saw that you made steak, potatoes and some steamed broccoli. You both begin to eat the meal. As you were getting up you 'accidentally' bump into the cake.
You could have sworn you saw Mycroft crying a bit. "I forgot that was there silly me." You said.
Mycroft blink a few times then looked at you. "YN, look I am sorry forget your birthday. I know it pains you to spend it with our brothers." He said.
"Oh I am not mad bout that really. I knew you were busy." You said.
"Then why ruin a perfectly good cake?" He asked.
"Because you forgot to get my candies on the way home." You said with a blank look on your face.
Mycroft walks off to his office. YN smirks then pulls out a cake she made earlier and eats it. "No one forgets my candies and gets away with it."
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Summary: The brothers pick up a case where 5 murders occurred in one night at a Christmas party. The case turns personal when Dean and Y/N become victims of the supernatural and time is running out.
Word Count: 3,309
Warnings: Canon Violence, mention of murders and suicide, relationship fighting, anger, angst
A/N: This was written for @katymacsupernatural Christmas Gone Wrong challenge. I appreciate the extra time to get this finished. I hope you enjoy how it turned out. I also included a prompt in bold for @winchesterprincessbride "Jen Says What" Challenge. As I was writing this story I thought the two of them fit perfect together.
Please feel free to let me know what you think.
“And you think this is a case?” Dean asked Sam, pulling the laptop screen to face him. Sam shrugged.
“We have looked into less.” He answered simply. Dean pursed his lips and looked through the article on the screen. You let your hands slide down around his neck to the center of his chest as you bent down to read over his shoulder.
“Five girls killed their significant others at a Christmas party on the same night, and they can’t see any other connection between them? If that isn’t a case of supernatural interference, it must have been one hell of a party.” You teased, kissing Dean on the check before standing back up.
“Okay, let’s check it out.” Dean agreed, shoving the computer back to his brother.
Four hours later, the three of you unloaded your bags into the Blue Elves Motel in Rockville, Minnesota.
“Why don’t you and Dean go talk to the home owner? I’m going down to the sheriff’s office to see if I can get any more information from them.” Sam suggested.
You and Dean pulled up to a two story home in a nice upscale neighborhood. A police tape was still hanging over the edge of the front door, but workers were starting to resume their normal duties. You followed Dean up to the house, noticing a van parked around the side of the property with Rockville Décor written on the side panel.
“Good afternoon. My name is Dean Weston and this is my partner Y/N.” Dean began, holding up his FBI badge for the maid to see. “Can we please speak with the owner of the house?”
The maid nodded, stepping aside to allow the two of you access to the foyer. Within moments a woman in her early 40’s stepped into the room and greeted you both. You engaged Mrs. Follen in the details of the night of her annual Christmas party while Dean glanced around, keeping one ear open to what she was saying.
“It was just like any other night, until about 11:00 and then I heard screaming near the bar area.” She began, leading you both into a den with an old mahogany bar in the far corner. “When I came in, I saw our neighbor stabbing her husband in the chest with a serving knife over there. Next to the patio doors, my husband work colleague had used a broken bottle to cut her fiancé’s throat. There was blood everywhere and people were running away, practically trampling each other. It was horrible.” She continued, obviously shaken.
You watched as Dean looked around the end of the bar where the first victim was killed, running his hand along the edge of the wood and taking a mental inventory of the bottles behind the counter.
“I told the bartender to call 911, and by the time the police arrived, three more people were killed. One was lying face down in the pool out back, drown. Another was pushed down the stairs in the foyer and broke his neck. The last was run over on the front lawn.” Mrs. Follen told you, her hand pointing at the door and then falling weakly by her side. She closed her eyes and shook her head like she was trying to remove the pictures from her mind, but you knew that she would be living with those images for a long time to come.
“I’m so sorry you have to go through this again.” You offered, sympathetically touching her hand. She took a deep breath and nodded. “Can you remember anything else right before that happening? Any strange behavior in any of the guests, strange smells, or cold spots where there shouldn’t be?” You prompted.
“No, nothing comes to mind. There were so many people here that night that I barely had a chance to stand still though.”
“What about the servants?” Dean asked, coming closer to where the two of you stood. “Did you hire outside help that would have had access to the food, drinks, etc that you wouldn’t normally have here?”
“Do you think this was poison?” She asked instead of answering.
“We just want to be sure to cover all the bases.” Dean replied.
“Well, I hire a catering company to help with the oeuvres and servers, but I have used that same company for years.” She replied. “I could get you their card if that would help.”
“Thank you.” You answered. Mrs. Follen went to the desk drawer and pulled out a business card from the top, handing it back to you.
“Mrs. Follen, we are almost ready for the tree. Where would you like us to put your personal ornaments?” A young man asked.
“Please excuse me for a moment.” She said, following him back out into the foyer.
“You’re thinking witches, aren’t you?” You asked when she was out of hearing range. Dean shrugged, his brow scrunching up at the thought.
“It would make the most sense, but I haven’t found any hex bags anywhere.” He answered. “I hate witches.” He mumbled and you laughed.
“If there is a witch, I don’t think it is her. She seems genuinely upset about the whole thing.” You told him, glancing back over your shoulder when you heard footsteps approaching.
“Hey, check this out.” Dean exclaimed, taking your hand and pulling you to him as he smiled and pointed up at the doorway.
You glanced up to see mistletoe hanging above and shook your head. “Come on, Dean. Be serious.” You whispered.
“I am. It’s supposed to be good luck, ya know. I think we could all use a little good luck with this one.” He added, leaning toward you. With one more quick glance over your shoulder to make sure Mrs. Follen hadn’t returned, you smiled and kissed Dean.
“Only you would find this romantic.” You teased him, giving him one more peck on the lips before stepping away, letting your hand gently slip out of his. Dean just chuckled.
Within moments Mrs. Follen returned to join you both. “I apologize. The Rockville Décor company arrived just before you came to collect their Christmas decorations that they set up for the party. I should have returned them yesterday, but the police wouldn’t allow anyone to move anything until they had finished taking pictures.” She rambled a bit.
“I understand. We will let you get back to your work.” You told her. “This is my card if you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call.”
She followed you both to the door and thanked you again before the two of you walked back to the impala.
Sam adjusted the edges of his jacket before stepping into the station and asking to speak with the Sherriff. A man 20 years his elder stepped out of the office as soon as he heard Sam introduce himself as FBI and waved Sam into the office.
“For once, I can honestly say I’m glad to see the FBI come in on a case. I’m Sherriff Harper. This one is a weird one.” He began as he shuffled some papers away to make room for Sam to sit down.
“Oh, yeah? How so?”
“Well, for starters, who kills their significant other at a Christmas party I ask you?” The Sherriff said as Sam sat down across from his desk. “We can’t make hide nor hair of it. This kind of thing just doesn’t happen in Rockville.”
“The report I read said that you couldn’t find any connection between the victims.” Sam lead the conversation and the Sherriff shook his head. He took off his hat and laid it down on the desk, running a shaky hand through his hair.
“No sir. Not a one.” He replied. “Two of the couples are in their 50’s, both married, but one lives here and the other lives about two hours away and didn’t know anyone except the host. There was a coworker’s son, who brought his fiancé to the party, then there’s the neighbor’s teenage son who brought his girlfriend that he had been dating for a few months, and last we have the couple that apparently met at the party and didn’t know each other before that night.” Sherriff Harper explained, laying out the folders for each of the victims in front of Sam as he did.
“And what about the women? Did they say anything to you or the arresting officers?”
“No one said a word that I know of. They just sat down next to the body and didn’t move until the officers came and put them in handcuffs.” He said, once more shaking his head and brushing his hair back.
“I’d like to talk with them, just to see if I can get any further information from them.” Sam replied after looking through the files.
“Didn’t they tell you?” Sherriff Harper asked, surprised. Sam raised his eyebrows and tilted his head.
“Tell me what?” He asked, hesitantly.
“They are all dead.” Sherriff Harper stated bluntly. “That’s the weirdest part of the whole thing. It was like they combusted on the inside or something. Coroner said their insides just burnt up. I heard of being mad, but never so mad you set your insides ablaze.”
The three of you pored over the files and lore books you had brought with you to the motel room, but none of them had given any clues as to what could have caused this. After describing what the Sherriff had told him, Sam left no doubt in either of you that he had been correct about this being a case.
Occasionally you and Dean would bicker about something to do with the case. The longer the three of you did research, the more annoyed you got with everything Dean did or said. Convinced it was just being cooped up and frustrated about not finding any answers, you finally declared you were taking a break to shower and change clothes for the night.
“Well, I knew the honeymoon phase couldn’t last forever.” Sam mumbled.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Come on, you two have be nauseatingly happy all the time. Relationships just don’t work that way. People bicker occasionally.” Sam explained, to which Dean simply rolled his eyes.
“And what makes you the expert?” He asked bitterly.
Sam just turned away and went back to his computer. He knew Dean was only sulking and no amount of talking would change that. The only thing that could fix his sour mood at this point was for the two of you to make up.
“I’m going to go get us some dinner and bring it back. When she gets out of the shower, be nice.” Sam warned him. Dean rolled his eyes but threw his keys to Sam instead of flinging another sarcastic retort.
When Sam returned to the hotel, he was shocked to hear yelling coming from the hotel room the three of you rented. He glanced around, grabbing his gun and headed toward the door. When he heard a crashing sound, he burst through the door, his gun raised in defense.
“Whoa!” He heard Dean exclaim, holding up his hands as you lifted up a chair above you head to throw at him. “What the hell has gotten into you?”
“Y/N?” Sam said, putting his gun down and grabbing the chair from your hands just before you could swing at Dean. He grabbed your arms and you struggled against Sam, yelling at him to let you go. “Dean, what did you do?” Sam asked, holding you down.
“I don’t know. We were fine one minute and then we started bickering about stupid crap and she just started that.” Dean said, anger and confusion in his voice.
“I want to throat-punch you so bad right now.” You screamed at Dean over Sam’s shoulder.
“Go ahead, Sweetheart.” Dean challenged.
“Not helping.” Sam told him. “Just go for a drive or something, Dean.”
Dean scoffed, but jerked the keys out of Sam’s hand and stormed out of the door. Sam turned, grabbing you by the shoulders and forcing you to sit down on the edge of the bed. You tried to calm down, but your blood was still boiling and all you could think about was going after Dean.
“And, you….what is going on around here?” Sam was asking you, trying to make you talk to him.
“I don’t, I don’t know. I just can’t stop being angry.” You stammered, your eyes pleading with Sam to help you as you looked up into his face. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me Sam. All I know is, and I can’t even believe I’m saying this, but I want to hurt him, like really physically hurt him. I can’t make it stop.”
“Okay, you have to tell me what happened when the two of you went to that house. Tell me everything.” Sam insisted.
You took a deep breath and rubbed the tears from your eyes as your heart rate started to slow down. You felt Sam timidly start to relax his hold on you, obviously unsure how much control you had over your actions.
“She led us through the house to the bar room telling us what happened that night, pretty much the same stuff she told the police beforehand. I kept asking her questions and Dean searched for hex bags or anything out of place. That’s it. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that we could find.” You explained.
“Was anyone else there?”
“Just some people picking up the Christmas decorations – some company called…..Rockville Décor.” You replied, slowly remembering the name painted on the side of the van.
“Can I trust you to stay here?” Sam asked you. You nodded.
Dean pulled up to the front of what looked like a storage facility and put the impala in park. Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and Dean followed behind him. The bell on the front door signaled their arrival and a teenage girl promptly appeared behind the counter to greet them.
“What can I do for you?” She asked, her gum smacking as she looked them over.
“I’m Sam and this is my partner Dean. We are with the FBI and we need to speak with the owner.” Sam replied as they both flashed their badges.
“You’re going to need a lot more than that badge if you want to talk to the owner.” She replied mildly sarcastic.
“Like what?” Dean challenged.
“Like a Ouija board.” She smarted back at him. “She died, bout a month ago.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean muttered under his breath and Sam shot him a reprimanding look.
“Mind if I ask how she died?”
“Well….” The girl began, glancing around to make sure no one else was inside before continuing. “She locked herself and her husband’s lover in the house and set it on fire around them.”
“Really.” Sam stated thoughtfully. ”That explains why the women died the way they did.” He whispered to Dean.
“I always thought she was a little crazy to begin with, but I guess once she caught him kissing some other girl under the mistletoe she snapped.” She added with a shrug.
“Sam, that’s it.” Dean said, turning to face him. “I kissed Y/N under the mistletoe at that house. That has to be what’s going on.” He added, forgetting that the teenager was there momentarily.
“We are going to need to see all the decorations that were used at the Follen house. Can you get those for us?” Sam asked. The girl looked back and forth between them, debating whether to press the issue and then turned to go into the back room.
A few moments later, she came out carrying a key. “They just unloaded them all into storage locker B. Its around the corner. Do you need me to show you?”
“No, thanks. I think we can manage.” Sam replied with a smile, taking the key from her outstretched hand.
They drove the impala around the corner to the front of the storage unit and opened the trunk. Armed with a shotgun full of rock salt and an iron club they proceeded to open the metal garage door to reveal a 10x10 room full of boxes.
“This is going to take all day.” Dean grumbled, setting the iron club down in the doorway and pulling open the first box he came to.
After about an hour of combing through the boxes, they realized they were getting close when the ghost appeared shoving Dean backwards away from the box he was digging through. Sam shot her with the rock salt and she disappeared.
“She’ll be back.” He called out to Dean who lifted the box and dumped the contents on the floor in front of him. He pushed away a few items and pulled out the mistletoe.
“Sam, look out!” He yelled, pointing to where she had reappeared. Sam spun around and once more blasted her away with the shotgun.
Dean pulled out his lighter and set the mistletoe on fire as Sam reloaded the shotgun to prepare for another attack. They both heard her screams and turned to see her dissipate in a ball of fire along with the mistletoe that she had been attached to.
“You okay?” Sam asked as they walked back out to the impala. Dean nodded, but he didn’t seem as relieved as Sam thought he should have been. Instead he was quiet and climbed into the driver’s seat with a worried look on his face.
“What if this didn’t work?” Dean asked. “Or worse, what if we are too late?”
Sam sighed, leaning back against the leather seat. “Don’t worry. If this didn’t put things back the way they were, we will figure something else out. I won’t give up.” Sam promised him.
“I can’t lose her, Sammy. I just can’t.” Dean replied, twirling his key ring between his fingers, refusing to look up at him.
“I know.” Sam answered. “It will be okay.”
Dean sniffed once and then let out a deep breath, reaching out and starting the impala to head back to the hotel. He didn’t say much on the drive back, too lost in his own thoughts as the miles ticked by. When they finally arrived at the motel and parked the car, Dean hesitated and Sam waited patiently.
“Think she still wants to kill me?” Dean asked aloud, trying to make it sound like a joke.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Sam played along, gesturing to the motel room door. Dean huffed a chuckle and got out of the car.
As he did, the door to the motel room opened and you stepped outside. Both of the brothers stood frozen, waiting to see what you would do.
“Dean, I’m so sorry.” You said and his shoulders relaxed. “I don’t know what happened, I just couldn’t control it.” You stammered.
“I know, sweetheart. It’s okay.” Dean said, stepping forward and wrapping you up into his arms. He kissed your lips, relieved to have everything back to normal.
“Here we go again.” Sam teased, rolling his eyes and walking past the two of you to gather his things from inside the motel room.
You laughed, but Dean just pretended not to hear him and squeezed you tighter.
“Let’s go home.” He suggested.
“Gladly.” You replied. “Besides, I wanted to decorate a little before Christmas gets here. Maybe we can hang some mistletoe in the bunker like….” You started to tease him.
“NO!” Both of them shouted at the same time, cutting you off.
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