𝐜𝐰 : +18. MDNI. smut (piv, clit rubbing). sex in workplace. filmed sexual relations. pet names (baby, pretty, sweetheart, beautiful). gentle dom beau. creampie (? kinda.
Slow, almost gently, like he's trying not to bottom out and ruin it, Beau slides in and out of you with a pace that's been making the tension building in your lower belly painfully tight.
The drag of his length every time he drives his hips forward pushes you just a little further against his desk where he has you bent over, the quiet squelch where your bodies are joined making you hot in the face. It's getting harder to think about anything else but how disarmingly well he stuffs full you every time.
He's been teasing you like this for ten minutes, making you think he's about to quicken his pace only to push into you languidly again, the grip of his hands around your hips loosening and clenching every time you do the same around his girth, finding stability in the softness of your flesh.
"You okay, baby?" He asks ever so gently, his voice just loud enough to break through the haze of your mushy brain. "Need me t'stop?" The erratic shake of your head is enough answer.
Beau gives a quick look to your phone that's propped up by coats and a stack of documents on one of the chairs in front of his desk.
This was his idea, filming while his fucking you so cruelly like this, but he wanted to let you have full control of what happens with this video once it stops recording.
You— sweet, stupidly blissed out you, starting to drool over a report sheet on the desk because you just can't help it when his tips keeps bumping that pulpy, almost alive spot inside of you— can only nod, barely ducking your head down a few times, chin brushing against your shoulder, before your eyes shut tight, letting out another of those whines that are starting to sound like you're about to cry.
It started a few days ago. The idea bloomed in Beau's mind after a painfully long week where he couldn't see you until the next morning, which seemed unacceptable and strangely physically painful for him.
He was needy, lonely, and he couldn't get his hands on the real thing. Couldn't cup your face between his hands, couldn't trace the shape of your lips with the tip of his tongue, couldn't reach down and rub your arousal all over your slit and sensitive bud like he's doing now.
Sure, he had that spectacularly hot and simultaneously tender Polaroid you took for him six months into your relationship to give himself some relief, the one he keeps in the same drawer of everything of real value he owns in the trailer.
Pebbled nipples under one of his flannels, peeking out under the hem where you had bunched it up around the upper part of your midriff, hand between your legs and tights pulled apart just enough to make him shudder every time he looks at it.
He's even made a copy of it, just one— you know, just in case the original got lost— but he's not ready to tell you about that yet.
That night he needed to watch your flushed face, the thin coat of sweat building up on your skin after each thrust. Needed the deliciously slick sound of his skin meeting yours and the way your body shivers against him.
Couldn't get the idea of your cunt dripping down the edge of his desk, each sway forward of his body making your clit rub against it.
And he didn't have anything like that available at any time except for his memory, where he had taken you after hours in this same room.
Until today.
You came in after a couple of days of not seeing eachother, wearing that gorgeous smile on your face and that glimmer in your eyes that told him how much you had missed him, and you kissed him like you wanted him to eat you alive, and he just couldn't help himself, so he did.
He was more than relieved to know you were into it. That you had been thinking about it, too.
It's risky to fuck you silly in this workplace, a police station, he knows. But everyone's gone home early today, and the idea of having a video of you, bent over his desk, huffing and puffing like you're actually going to start shedding tears if he keeps delaying your orgasm...
Yeah, he would've been pretty fucking stupid if he hadn't asked you to film a sextape in his office.
He'll fantasize about this day until the day he dies. He'll fight to keep this position if that means he can come back here until he can barely walk and think about the scene laid in front of him.
"What's that, pretty?" He hums softly, like he's trying to console you, his right hand releasing your hip for a moment just to thread his fingertips through the strands masking the side of your face. "You gotta tell me how good it feels, okay? Can you tell me how good it feels?" He brushes them aside, tenderly caressing the side of your head as your face becomes into display for the camera.
"Feels so good," There's a ridiculously notorious waver to your voice, eyes meeting the lens, but you've started to use all of your willpower to not come yet.
There aren't words that are good enough to describe the way you look right now, with those beautiful eyes encased in a thick layer of tears and the spit edged on the rim of your lips where it's already dripped over whatever paperwork he has tending to an hour ago.
"So pretty," Your moan echoes his words, thin and pitiful enough to make him smile fondly as he watches your eyelashes flutter, sparkling your precious tears on the desk. "So, so pretty. Oh, beautiful, didn't mean to make you cry."
When he leans down to soothe your sorrows away, caging you down onto the sturdy wooden surface, you let out the first sob, frustrated and pent up enough to start blubbering, a variation of wanna come and please, please, please Beau and feels so good, feels too good.
In this new angle he rests his head over your shoulder, starting to pick up his pace again and with that ripping a moan out of you that he wishes he could bottle up and pour all over his body next time he can't have your touch.
Beau looks into the camera at the same time one of your hand comes up to fist his silky, chestnut tufts of messy hair, grunting against your skin when his own release threatens to snap at him.
There's something uniquely sweet in the way the tip of his fingers crawl down the arm of your free hand and interlock with yours, guiding the other one back between your thighs, the sluggish pace of his hips unconcerned about the way your cunt squeezes him so hard it makes him dizzy.
"Wanna come?" Needless to say that you immediately nod your head like it hurts to even think about not doing so. "Gonna come now?" His middle finger fiddles with your clit and you feel miserably perfect, like this is the way sheer pleasure feels and nothing else but this. "Want me to cream this pretty pussy so good? Wanna be full of me?" His voice is so placid and soft his words barely sounds filthy at all.
"Please." You whine again, your breath catching in your chest when he somehow manages to cram all of his cock inside of you, your vision becoming blurry for a moment before it takes over your whole body like dead weight made out of ecstasy.
Feels so good. Youf feel so perfect and My precious, perfect girl is what you hear while everything shuts down around you, his thick cum bathing your insides and the wreck of your orgasm is all you can feel for some solid three minutes.
During that time, he nuzzles his nose behind your ear, velvety pecks peppered all over your sticky skin, broad hands rubbing your arms and your back up and down, a new trail of praises leaving his mouth when you come back to him, peering up at him over your shoulder like he's just brought the world to your feet.
"Love you," You manage you mumble tiredly, pulling a saccharine sweet smile from him and earning you a smooch on the left corner of your mouth.
"Love you, sweetheart." He pats your bare ass gently before carefully pulling out of you, hearing the soft sound you make with your face hidden against your upper arm and taking the chance then to rub two fingers over your still very sensitive puffiness, making sure everything leaking out of you can be stuffed back in.
"Can't let anything go to waste, can we?" You just let out a shameful chuckle at that against your clothed arm. His hand searches for your face and slowly prods two fingers inside your mouth. "Atta girl. Mhm, that's good, isn't it?" And you suck them clean until they're wet with your spit only, smiling against his lips when he leans down to kiss you again, properly this time.
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 : well... this is pretty shitty but i had a spurt of inspiration and i couldn't just kill it, so...
also i feel like it's a little ooc or that is a little weak of substance, but WHATEVER.
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Blurb: It's simply complicated. For starters, you're supposed to be the villian and he's supposed to be the hero. Separated as teenagers, neither of you thought you would ever see the other. But fate retwines your paths after twenty-five years as a Murderer and a Detective. You're wanted in the worst ways possible, but he still wants you because you're his Trouble. And he needs to catch you alive before someone else shoots you dead.
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): language, voilence, gore, flashbacks, yearning, murders, hitwoman, police/detective novel, mentions of human trafficking and selling children (not too graphic), car accidents, major character deaths (sort of, but not really), minor character deaths, mentions of glioblastoma multiform (brain tumor), headaches, dizziness, hospital visits, angst, fluff, alcohol, cigrettes, hacking, lovers-to-enemies-to-lovers, tons of miscommunication and misunderstandings, mentions of cheating (doesn't happen but it's mentioned), mentions of jail and aryan brotherhood (undercover work), etc.
{ Mark Meachum Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Series:
Author's Note.
Playlist.
Epigraph.
Prologue.
Chapter 1: Detective, Meet Trouble.
(More to be added soon!)
A/N: If you want to be on the tag list, please comment below, or you can also DM me!
It's me, ya favorite gremlin, on anon for funsies - I am here to be a menace. I would like your well educated opinion on the Jensen boys' favorite positions. 👀 Let's goooooo.
me, screaming and kicking my legs like we’re not in the trenches together daily already. ily. thank you, my fav gremlin, for this cultural contribution. let’s begin. <3
SOLDIER BOY/BEN: this man’s favourite position is any one where he’s in control and you’re not wearing a goddamn thing but his dog tags and a fucked-dumb little grin.
ben’s not just dominant. he’s possessive, primal, and somewhere under all the posturing and trauma? starving for affection he doesn’t know how to ask for. so when he fucks, it’s not just about getting off—it’s about control, claiming, proving he still matters.
his favourite position? missionary—but not sweet, not romantic. soldier boy missionary. it’s pin-you-down, headboard-breaking, spit-in-your-mouth missionary. he needs to look at you. needs to watch your eyes roll back. needs to see the exact moment you fall apart for him. and he’s saying shit like: “you like that? you like bein’ split open like this? fuckin’ knew you would.” while he’s choking you with one hand and cradling the back of your head with the other like you’re the only soft thing left in the world.
he’s rough. he’ll manhandle you without thinking—hook your knees over his shoulders, throw your leg up, slam your hips down on him like he owns your body and your goddamn soul. (spoiler: he does.)
also? he loves the mirror. loves taking you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair, making you watch him in the reflection while he wrecks you. “look at you, baby. takin’ it so fuckin’ good. proud of you.”
and ben is obsessed with cockwarming. i do not make the rules.
bonus: once you’ve broken him in emotionally? he does that same position but slow. aching. like he’s scared he’ll never get to do it again.
he fucks like he’s trying to burn the memory into your body. because he’s terrified it’ll be the last time.
DEAN WINCHESTER: dean’s default setting is munch. he’ll finger you until you’re shaking, sure, but he’s got one goal from the second your legs open: face-first, tongue out, eyes locked, worship.
his favourite position? you on your back, legs over his shoulders, his mouth buried between your thighs. but again, it’s not just sex for him—it’s penance. he’s down there like it’s the only way to earn forgiveness for all the things he thinks he’s done wrong. moaning, panting, literally begging you to come on his tongue. and when you do? he keeps going. and going. and going.
he’s a big fan of cowgirl. because he loves to be used. loves watching you ride him, thighs shaking, lips parted, hair a mess, hands on his chest while he’s moaning like he’s being blessed.
he’ll still help—grabbing your hips, thrusting up, giving you that cocky little “is that all you got, sweetheart?” smile while dying inside.
but if he really needs to feel you? if he’s feeling soft? vulnerable? it’s you in his lap. arms around his neck. slow grinding, forehead to forehead. and he’s whispering: “never had anyone like you… never wanted to.”
also? he’s obsessed with taking you from behind in the impala—you bent over the seat, skirt hiked up, begging for it. the second he hears “dean, please”, it’s over. he’s wrecking you with praise and filth like: “that’s it, sweetheart, take it—my girl—fuck, you were made for me.”
he loves pulling out and rubbing his cock between your soaked folds while you beg him to put it back in. loves hearing the wet sounds (duh?) and loves when you’re loud for him because he doesn’t believe he deserves it—but fuck, he needs it.
and the motherfucker 10000% has the praise kink to end all praise kinks. you cannot tell me otherwise. go argue with the wall. he also thanks you in a breathy, whiney little tone. voice cracking. panting and moaning. the whole nine yards. subby baby-boy energy.
but whatever the position? dean’s not stopping until your legs don’t work and your voice is hoarse. and he’s asking “one more?” like you ever had a choice.
bonus: dean loves dry humping.
CJ BRAXTON: i'm gonna seem like such a hater but... cj definitely thinks he’s a dom. he is the guy who thinks he’s really good in bed. he says shit like, “you’ve never had it like this before, huh?” while doing the bare minimum. but you know what? he tries. and sometimes? that’s enough.
his favourite position is you on your back, legs pushed up high, because it makes him feel dominant and because he loves watching your tits bounce. but what really gets him? when you look at him all soft and whiny and say “please, cj…” he melts. gets cocky. starts talking shit. “yeah? beg for it then. lemme hear it.”
…until you flip him over and ride him so hard he short-circuits.
he has a secret praise kink but would never admit it. absolutely loses his mind if you say he feels good. “yeah? yeah? fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me—shit—”
he’s got potential. he just needs a little guidance. somebody get him a vibrator and a tumblr tutorial and he might actually start changing lives.
ALEC MCDOWELL: alec is a jackrabbit backshots kinda guy until you teach him to slow the fuck down. military-grade stamina. he could go for hours.
favourite position? you bent over literally anything—table, wall, car hood, arm of the couch—he’s not picky. he likes the view. he likes the control. but most of all? he likes hearing you whine. gets this smug little smirk and says, “you gonna be a good girl and take it, or am I gonna have to hold you down?”
but the second you show a hint of dominance—grab his chin. ride his thigh. make eye contact while you’re on top and say his name? he folds. gets quiet. handsy. a little shaky. starts fingering you like he’s praying.
he learns fast. and once he figures out your body? it’s over. he’ll have you coming three times in a row just so he can say “that was a new record, right?” and act like he’s not obsessed with every sound you make.
bonus: loves sex in risky places. gets feral if there’s a chance you might get caught.
JASON TEAGUE: pure rich boy repressed ragefuck energy. he’s polite in public and unhinged behind closed doors. and his favourite position is you on your knees. not even for the act itself—just for the visual.
he loves the power dynamic. loves seeing you look up at him like you’d do anything he says.
but the one that actually breaks him? riding. not because he wants to give up control—but because he tries to hold it together and fails miserably. you lean down, kiss his neck, say “you like watching me fuck myself on you, huh?” and he’s GONE. fists in the sheets. panting. saying shit like, “you’re gonna make me come—fuck—don’t stop.”
he gets obsessed. starts lifting you up and slamming you down. starts chasing it like it hurts to need you this much.
mirror sex is also high on the list because he wants to watch. wants you to see how fucked-out you look. “look at what you do to me.” (jason. baby. we see it.)
and afterward? he’s real quiet. real soft. brushes your hair back and kisses your shoulder like he didn’t just rail you into another dimension.
BEAU ARLEN: you cannot tell me he ain’t a slow grind, deep eye contact, whole hand on your stomach to feel himself inside you kind of guy. but it’s deeper than just sex for him—it’s connection. he doesn’t fuck to blow off steam. he fucks to feel something.
his favourite position? spooning in the early morning, under warm sheets, the kind of sex that’s all sighs and soft skin and lazy hips.
one hand under your head, the other gripping your hip, pressing kisses to the back of your neck like he’s scared you’ll slip through his fingers. and the filth he whispers? oh, bby—it’s quiet, drawled, reverent. “you feel that? every inch? you’re takin’ me so damn good, darlin’. so proud of you.”
but don’t let the softness fool you. beau’s got rage under the surface.
and when it breaks through? you’re up against the wall. your dress is hiked up, panties pushed aside, and he’s lifting you like it’s nothing—like he needs you. he’s got one hand under your ass, the other gripping your thigh, fucking into you with a fevered rhythm like he’s been holding back for years. his jaw’s tight, his voice rough in your ear: “you got any idea what you do to me?”
and when you moan for him? he just mutters “that’s my girl.” like he’s staking a claim.
bonus: afterwards, he holds you so close it’s almost crushing. buries his face in your neck. he says he doesn’t believe in forever, but fuck—he wants it. and when you brush his hair back and kiss his cheek? you swear his hands tremble just a little.
RUSSELL SHAW: russell is not loud. he’s not messy. he’s precise. he is a body language expert so he notices every blink, every breath, every twitch of your thighs—and he absolutely uses it against you.
his favourite position? legs over his shoulders, you pinned to the mattress, spread out and helpless, while he’s slow-drilling into you with the intensity of someone watching a target through a sniper scope. and he doesn’t talk at first. just watches. cataloguing what makes your eyes roll back. filing away the way your voice breaks when he hits just the right spot.
but the second you start to unravel? he fucking snaps. voice low, almost loving in how dangerous it sounds: “that’s it. just like that. fuck—so beautiful when you come for me.”
he’s a control freak in the sheets. but not in a selfish way. he wants to ruin you—but only so he can piece you back together.
also? he has a thing for face cradling. quiet, sacred moments in the middle of the chaos. pulling your hand to his chest, kissing your palm mid-thrust, like it grounds him. “you’re safe. i’ve got you.” it’s not just sex for him—it’s data, it’s worship, it’s homework.
bonus: he lives for the moment when you’re riding him, smug and in control—until you falter. your rhythm stutters, your eyes go wide, and his hands slide up your waist as he smirks like the end is already written. “you tried, sweetheart. let me finish it.” and then he does.
he fucks you like he’s solving an unsolvable riddle. and when you fall apart in his hands? he looks at you like he just found the answer.
in conclusion:
the jensen boys are unreasonably good at sex in wildly different, deeply chaotic ways. ben is a menace. dean is a munch. beau is a porchlight in the dark. russell is a psychological thriller. alec is cocky until he’s not. jason is unravelling. and cj is trying so hard and honestly? that’s hot.
thank you for coming to my totally scientific analysis. i am now emotionally and spiritually pregnant. <3
Dean would chuckle when you presented the gift you got for him. He'll wear it in secret, only for you. Of course, he'd be careful to not let Sam get a look at the pants, knowing he'd never hear the end of it...
Ben would laugh, and laugh, and laugh - when he stops, he'd ask. "Is there a bigger size because my trunk is bigger."
Russel would tell you no, then pick them back up from the floor where he dropped them. He'd smirk and hold them in front of you. "I'll wear them if you rub the trunk."
Beau would try not to laugh. He'd look at it, ponder for a moment, before trying it on. "It's fluffy and cute," You'd say, making him smile. "Well, not as cute as you," he'd answer.
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Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N
Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): touch-her-and-die trope, soulmates, fluff, language, gore, violence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name), mentions of human trafficking, mentions of sexual assault (not on the reader, and not graphic), marriage proposals, etc.
A/N: Merry Christmas, my lovely peeps! This chapter is the exact half of TSW - and it's so full of drama 😂😗. I'm not much of a Christmas person, lol - I've never celebrated it, so I don't really know what's the protocol here 😂🫠.
But! Something more Christmas-themed, and hopefully fluffier, is coming on the 31st - it's inspired by the lovely, @bettystonewell ❤️, and it would be my first time engaging with Christmas, so keeping my fingers crossed lol.
But anyway, this is the last post for TSW this year (see what I did there? 😂). So, see ya folks next year with the beginning of the next half of this series 🥰😘!
{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Chapter 20: Different Kinds Of Madness.
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 . . . 👀🫣*
Pairing: English Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N
Blurb: When the residents of this Earth found out that they were but a draft in God's numerous stories, they decided to make noise in hopes that their creator would return. Nothing can be louder than the begs of the powerless, the cackles of the ruthless, or the unending destruction left in the wake of the most merciless wars any universe can ever see—here the bloodshed never ends. So, tell me how can two young soulmates, then, find love's shade of red under all this crimson gore?
Tags/Trigger Warnings (18+): touch-her-and-die trope, soulmates, fluff, language, gore, violence, major and minor character deaths, thoughts of suicide (not graphic), substance abuse (alcohol and cigarettes), mentions of wars (I mean, it's in the name), mentions of human trafficking, mentions of sexual assault (not on the reader, and not graphic), marriage proposals, etc.
A/N: Just for the record, whenever I imagined Dean annoyed in this chapter, he was making the same face that Jensen does when Jared says that he uses any conditioner available (when asked "What conditioner do you use?" 😂😂). Especially, he had that expression in the "Since whe-" dialogue when the reader says she can do something she can't (you'll see, lmao).
{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Chapter 18: (No) Love Clause.
Dean climbed this high every time he kissed you, like his head would part the cloud lining and he would be the grinning idiot of the Heavens. So to hear that your parents showed up, unannounced, probably to micromanage you, whereupon he might not get to touch you for a few days, was not the hurtle back to Earth he was looking for.
'Excuse me?' you blinked at Baz.
He was awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to another. Baz was not a confrontational person from what Dean knew about that guy, but he could swear that there was an angry gleam in the Griffith twin's eye; the older man's hand kept clenching on his sword before he reluctantly loosened his fingers on the leather hilt as if he had to consciously remind himself he wasn't allowed to attack the enemy.
Dean understood the sentiment.
'Apparently, they came to surprise you for your birthday,' Baz huffed like he wanted to parcel them right back to America.
'It's your birthday?'
Dean's mouth had fallen to the floor, now slightly dazed. He just gave you a belated Christmas gift, now Baz meant to tell him that he completely ignored your birthday?!
'No,' you gave him a rueful smile, touching his shoulder to calm him down. 'Of course not. It's not today.'
'It was on the 29th, dude,' Baz said, looking annoyed with Dean now as well. 'You're telling me you forgot to wish your own girlfriend?'
When Dean's face fell, you shot a chiding glare at Baz.
'He was busy,' you defended him.
'So were your parents,' murmured Baz.
You rolled your eyes at his childishness, but his comment shredded Dean's heart a little.
'Why didn't you tell me?'
He seemed and sounded so hurt; his face had gotten smaller. His eyes searched yours, as if it were a crime you committed.
'It was in my file,' you vaguely said. 'I know yours - 24th January, 1979.'
'I don't read files!' his voice got a little shrill.
'I realise that now,' you raised your hands in surrender. 'I just thought you did because you've read all my case files.'
'Well, I don't like to read up on life histories - excuse me if I'm not a spy!'
That was an obvious allusion about how you'd jailed him because you'd thought he was one.
'Are you still mad about that?' you checked, a little worried.
Baz sighed, feeling pity for Dean surge through. But there were more important matters to attend to.
'Leads, sorry to interrupt, what do you want me to do?'
'Welcome them, of course,' you listed off immediately, bouncing on your heels like you were a soldier switching to attention. 'Inform them we'll be a few minutes. Seat them. Assign them comfortable rooms, take their luggage up. Offer them beverages!'
Was it Dean, or were your words more formal? Inform, beverages, seat, assign? He had a problem with your every line.
Baz hurried away.
You turned to a disappointed Dean, whereupon your pretentious smile dwindled.
'Darling, I didn't know this was a big deal,' you said, feeling a little bad now.
It's just so awkward to say something like that on text: Hey. Sorry your life sucks right now. Just dropped in to tell you that you forgot to wish me a happy birthday!
'I didn't even get to wish you,' he said, dismayed.
'You didn't forget,' you consoled. 'You just didn't know.'
'Who else knew?'
You grimaced. That was a slippery road.
Dean had been busy with Sam's work, so he hadn't interacted with anyone for days on end. When he came out of his burrow, it was to the party mood. No one must have thought to inform him then - hell, maybe everyone assumed, like Baz, that he'd already greeted you.
'Who wished you?' he demanded.
'Just the team,' you bit your lip. 'Seth and B/F.'
'And?' he pressed, noticing your lie.
'The Governors who read my files,' you admitted guiltily. 'And a few Leaders. And a few other people from the castle. But that's it!'
Dean's jaw set, and he gazed away like a wounded animal.
'Oh, come on,' you said, wishing he would just look at you. 'It's really not that big. I don't even celebrate it most years, and when I do, I get so bored and tired and cranky! It's just a social event for me. Christmas mattered - it was a family event. Birthdays revolve around one person - it's not that big for me.'
'This year would have been big if you'd just told me!' he scolded.
'You were busy,' you countered. 'Look, I don't blame you. Okay? It's just a birthday.'
'No, Y/N!' he turned his glare on you, looking pissed. 'It's not just a birthday. It was your first birthday with me. It was the first birthday of the woman I—' He sucked in a sharp breath, confusing you.
'The woman you what?' you raised a brow.
'I just don't like being lumped with people who forgot,' he almost shouted, efficiently distracting you from the confession he almost said; he'd gone pink in his whole face, neck, and ears. 'Those people don't care. I care!'
'Dean . . . my parents also forget,' you explained timidly. 'Doesn't mean they don't care.'
Dean stared at you with the same incredulity he would grant an orangutan making out with an alien.
Did you just seriously compare him to your parents?
. . . Then he had a heart-shattering realisation.
Every time he'd said things about your parents, you never once joined in. You never badmouthed them, even when talking about horror stories from your childhood. You just stopped defending them in front of Dean - you'd given up on defending them, you hadn't given up on them.
And here Dean thought he'd been winning. He actually fucking thought that you were choosing him over them.
Now he realised you never made that choice. You simply walked the fence. You adapted to Dean because you had to live with him, just like you adapted to your parents when you were younger.
So, in a way, Dean was no better than them in your mind. Because until you choose, he was on the same playing field as them . . .
'You know what?' he said, voice low and thick. 'They're waiting downstairs.'
'Right,' you said, getting distracted again. 'We'll continue this later?'
'Yeah,' was chipped.
A nervous excitement took over your features, and Dean wanted to punch a wall.
'You're the best,' you said, making him feel angrier unknowingly. 'I'll see you downstairs - I've got to change,' you gestured at your dress.
You pecked his unresponsive lips and scuttled out to see your parents - practically running across the snow as if it was the best thing that had happened to you.
Dean escorted you from your bedroom and down into the Foyer, where Selina and Sebastian were talking to your parents; Dean didn't feel like he could leave you alone with them.
You plastered your best fake smile - the one they preferred - and headed straight for Daniella and Miles.
'Mother!' you called, stopping at a respectful distance to curtsy. 'Father!'
They both didn't bother to offer you the same respect.
Daniella patted you on the head like you were a pet, and your father spared you a mild gaze. They were seated on chairs in the middle of the fucking Foyer as if they owned the place - chairs weren't even fucking allowed there!
'Took you long enough,' cooed your mother. 'Is that how you treat one's company, dear?'
'Humble apologies,' you earnestly said. 'I was catering to the wedding party upstairs,' you lied.
Miles made a disgruntled noise, and Daniella rolled her eyes.
It bothered Dean that they couldn't even tell your lies. Knowing how indifferent they were to you and seeing it happen right under his nose were two different things.
'All that's well,' she said in her honeyed nasal voice. 'We just came to wish you a happy birthday!'
You beamed at them. 'How kind! And all the way from America.'
'Didn't I tell you, honey?' she turned to her husband. 'The girl's got some gratefulness left in her yet.'
Dean's fists clenched. Sebastian and Selina had arms around each other, more to hold themselves back than to hold each other, as it seemed from their tensed shoulders.
'Mother, Father, wouldn't you like some repose? It must've been a long voyage,' you said, apparently oblivious. 'Did you have dinner yet?'
'Oh, no, we thought you could warm us with something here. Food on the sea doesn't quite stick well with us,' your mother said with the brightest smile, as if you were the apple of her eyes.
Your mother was the manifestation of debauchery, and she wore her treasons as well as she did her expensive gowns, which could run a small village for weeks. While your father was more human, he was still one of the sternest men ever found; diamonds would bend before your father does his habits.
'Of course!' you smiled back eagerly, your childhood instinct to please overcoming you.
Dean didn't even recognise what you'd become. So utterly fake that he wanted to vomit. You were wearing a full-sleeved, extravagant gown now, and a fully buttoned coat over it. Your heels were six inches tall to match your mother's. And much heavier make-up than you'd worn the whole day. Much to Dean's dismay, you'd removed his locket as well.
He might as well have never existed in your life, you might as well have never noticed him . . .
'I'll call for a servant right—' you froze, realising there are no servants at this castle. 'Um, I mean, Esmeralda or—'
'They're all off the clock, Lady Y/N,' Sebastian butted in.
'So?' Daniella asked, glancing at Sebastian with distaste.
It was rare to see racism in your world because everyone was just so busy fucking surviving, but somehow your mother managed even that. Boa and Baz had always been mistreated by her because they were a tad on the darker shade of things. Now, Sebastian seemed to be under her beady gaze, undergoing the same fucking scrutiny because of his chocolate brown skin.
'Aren't you a servant?' she pointedly asked.
Dean saw red.
'You cannot talk to him like that,' Dean snapped. 'He works with me.'
'Ah, Mr Winchester,' Daniella smiled, her nose scrunching as if she smelled something sour and foul. 'A nice moral compass if I ever saw one.'
'Do you have one?' he instigated.
'I just remembered!' you practically shouted, drawing attention to yourself. 'I can cook!'
'Since whe—?' You shot Dean a withering glare to silence him, as if he were being difficult.
It only aggravated him more.
'I'll cook for you,' you graciously said. 'How better to show you your special stations in my life?'
Miles gave you a once-over. 'Actually, I can think of a few ways.'
Your fake smile wavered. 'O-Oh? You have something for me to do right now?'
'You know what, my lovely daughter?' Daniella said. 'Maybe we should talk over dinner, hmm?'
'A-About?' Your interlocked hands in front of you itched to cross in defence.
'Maybe when there aren't so many ears around,' she patted your head again. 'Make something homely and delicious, will you? Something that really cares . . . as we do.' She grinned like that line alone should give her an award for being the best mother in existence.
'Do you want someone to show you the way—?'
'Oh, no,' she said, cutting her gaze to Dean condescendingly. 'The servants are asleep after all, aren't they? Why would we want to affect their REM sleep?'
'Nothing like that. We always have someone for you,' you dismissed. Then your eyes caught a Griffith. 'Baz! Be a dear and pilot them to their room?'
Dean cringed at your melodious voice. It was assembled politely, and it was heavily accented like a peacock showing off its feathers - but he'd never been more disgusted by something you did. Even your body postures had changed: your hands moving about the air as your mother's did. And your back was so ramrod straight that Dean just knew you'd learnt that from your father.
Baz, who had just appeared at the top of the staircase, looked like he should have gone any-fucking-where but here. Instead of dwelling on that regret, he braced himself and came to guide your parents to their rooms.
They wished for separate quarters.
Already, Dean could hear them nitpicking on Baz in a manner that was explicit to anyone but you. At least Baz had had years of practice in handling them.
If it were Sebastian or someone from Dean's Palace, Dean worried your phony ass would have fired them on your mother's whim just for defending themselves against their offending words.
Little did Dean know that you chose Baz because you relied on his tolerance and discretion, relied on his peaceable attitude. You didn't pick Boa or anyone else for the same reason that they wouldn't take it lying down when that was needed of them the most.
In his rage, he didn't notice how you slumped either. All your acting left you as soon as they were out of sight. Within the safe confines of your mind, and behind the pattering of your heart, a timid voice asked you if dealing with your parents had always been so . . . Herculean.
You turned to the newly married couple who were staring after your parents with razor-sharp eyes.
'Here,' you touched Selina's shoulder. You tried not to let her angry eyes cut into you. You gave them an envelope with tickets. 'Just leave now. See your parents, say goodbye, and rush out, okay?'
'What is this?' Sebastian asked, letting his wife accept the offer.
'From the team,' you wagered a faint smile. 'Your honeymoon.'
'We haven't packed any bags,' sighed Selina.
'Just buy new clothes,' you waved it off. 'On me, okay? Just leave before . . . .'
'We see them again?' Selina completed for you.
'I'm so sorry,' your sincere eyes met Sebastian's. 'Mother gets cranky after—'
'Don't defend her,' pleaded Selina. 'We know your hands are tied. Let's go, love.' She dragged her husband away, not bothering to look at you twice.
It kinda hurt you that they didn't hug you - but then you remembered that you'd never hugged them in public before . . . well, before Dean transformed you.
A disturbing thought plummed through, asking you if they didn't hug you because of your parents' arrival, where they were respecting the distance your parents expected to see between you and the "servants", or because of who you became around your parents, reverting into a person they didn't even want to hug anymore.
They bid farewell to Boa, who had been lurking in the shadows all this while. And Dean, who you couldn't even look at you right now.
You managed to swallow your pride and approach your boyfriend once they were gone.
'You . . . You'll help me cook, right?' you tried to stamp down on your desperate hope.
Dean had never turned you away before, but you wondered if he would now. When you peeked at his hard face, all you could witness was betrayal and fury.
Fear gentled your mask.
'I-I don't know how to cook—'
'Maybe you shouldn't have given up your services then,' his sharp voice trained on you. The same voice that had attacked your mother. You hated that it was directed towards you now.
'They would have made Sebastian and Selina cook then—'
'You could've stopped them!' he accused.
Your hands crossed in front of you, and it short-circuited Dean's mind because you were willing to hide from him, but God forbade if you displayed any defences against your parents - you hadn't fucking crossed your arms in front of them.
'Food shows love and accomplishment. Is it so bad that they would want me to offer it to them?' you said, rational but not motivating.
'Y/N, your father can cook!' he said. 'And how many times have they "rewarded" you, huh? Aren't they entitled to offer you the same "love"?'
'He's tired—'
'They're full of bullshit!' he cut you off.
Your eyes widened and flashed, darting around like someone might've heard. 'If you don't want to help me, that's fine! Don't insult them while they're here, at least, please! If you dislike them so much, maybe you should just stay away from me while they're here!'
His jaw clenched, and in his eyes, you could see you'd pushed him a little too far. This might've been the last straw.
'Fine,' his was evened, deadly, and calm. 'Your wish is my command, princess,' his sarcasm was like barbed wire wrapping around your heart. 'Be my guest and fuck it all up.'
A minute scandalized gasp spilled from your lips when he turned his back on you. Of all the things anyone had ever said - this hurt you the most uptil now. He, walking away from you, hurt you the most.
But you didn't have any time to process it. You were mighty screwed. So, you turned on your heels and rushed for the kitchens - your reeling mind wondering how you were going to whip something nice up in a reasonable time.
Tears steadily streamed down your face while all you wanted to do was concentrate on cutting the chillies into even pieces so your parents won't be disappointed.
When two shadows flanked you, you tensed, your heart trying to make a leap out of your chest.
'Can we help?' came Baz's sympathetic voice.
'Oh,' you gasped in relief. You tried not to turn towards them, gesturing at the array of vegetables you'd hauled out of the pantry.
They took up positions. Baz appeared next to you and Boa perpendicular to his twin. They both stared at the legumes as if they'd mortally offended the men.
The Griffith twins were as well-versed in cooking as you were. At least, they could grill. All you had as a skill was putting a hunted animal over a fire and hoping you didn't burn it - and even that was during desperate times. In day-to-day, you three would be the worst cooks around spices and sauces.
Or cutting vegetables, it would appear.
Baz had tentatively sliced diagonally through a capsicum, while Boa was critically analysing an onion.
'Thank you,' you said, voice straight as an arrow.
But it made Boa glance up - and freeze. His eyes widened as he elbowed his twin - almost costing Baz a thumb. The latter looked up, annoyed because he'd chopped his veggie wrong. Boa nodded at you, and that's when Baz noticed you were crying - his breath hitched.
They'd known you for sixteen years. And while the new you cried, because hello, a human being. They'd never actually seen it happen. It was like sighting the extinct Dodo in this age and time.
Silently, the tears kept overwhelming you, and you didn't make a sound - measuring the chilly pieces against one another; you had a few more to go.
'You, uh, you okay?' Baz cleared his throat, trying not to stare.
He exchanged a panicked look with his brother - they didn't know how to calm you down.
'Yeah, why?' you said, even-keeled as ever.
Had you done this before? Cried but functioned otherwise so normally that your tears simply escaped notice? If so, how many times had everyone been in the same room as your tears without batting an eyelash?
'Just, you know,' Baz said. 'Maybe you got something in your eyes.'
You sighed through your nostrils. 'Yeah, I accidentally touched them after touching these chillies.'
While that made so much sense, the contorting pain in your expression contradicted you. No one could detect your lies like Dean, but you didn't seem to be hiding yourself very well today.
'So, um, why didn't you tell Dean about your birthday?' Baz began, trying to get to the bottom of it.
'It wasn't a big deal,' you wiped your face on the sleeves as more salt lines came to replace the old ones. 'He was busy. I thought he knew. When I realised he didn't, it would've been awkward to bring it up.'
The brothers shot each other a dark look. Their silent exchanges often went unnoticed. People just thought their differences didn't lend them a secret code language of their own, but they were wrong. These silent looks of theirs were what made them the most deadly on hunts together.
'Do you remember your first birthday with us?'
'My thirteenth,' you said. 'Yes, why?'
'The year you selected us,' Baz said. 'Do you remember what your first order as our little team's little Leader was?'
You snorted. 'Seriously? That's what you want to talk about?'
'You told us we were your friends,' Boa recalled, helping his brother.
'You took down our birthdays, and gave us yours, because this was your first time with a group of friends and you wanted everyone to take care of each other.'
'It was a stupid idea,' you shrugged. 'Waste of resources. I didn't know any better. I learned my lesson.'
'Or that's what your mother drilled in your head when we threw you your first party from our pockets.'
You frowned at him, 'I had refunded—'
'That's not the point,' Baz said, looking up from his poorly executed task. 'It was your first time with friends, and it was supposed to be your first celebrated birthday . . . No one deserves to have that taken away.'
You huffed, 'What was I to do? Mother pointed out that any occasion is distasteful if not spent in networking. It would be selfish for me to want a day dedicated to me!'
'And you've lived by that order all your life,' Baz agreed. 'I just don't understand that if you're going to throw everything away for her - all your happiness - then why are you leading Dean on?'
Your head ducked as if a slap had impacted you, and your lips quivered in response; a new wave of despair crashed into you. You had to set your knife down lest you mistakenly cut yourself - your hands started shaking that badly.
'I wasn't trying to,' your voice tremoured imperceptibly. All your walls were slipping from you, and your mask was crumbling to its stubs.
Sebastian had something similar almost a year back. And you had left. But then that fucking lovable idiot lured you back in with his fucking lovable charms.
Okay, I could've had more self-control, you chided yourself.
You often questioned yourself if you should've fallen for his "You care, I care" bit. So far, it had brought you more tears in a week than your adolescent years combined - all because you cared.
And it hurt that you cared, but you couldn't do anything about it. Your love had to have its limits if you wanted to be accepted by your parents, too.
A sob left you without your permission. You had to bite your shoulder, facing away from the men, to stop from expelling more.
The brothers grimaced identically; they hadn't the slightest clue on how to coach you through your existential crisis.
Baz felt awful for making it worse. 'You don't, you, uh—Boa?'
Boa had never looked so scared: he hated being put on the spot.
'You, uh, love him?' he weakly suggested.
You began shaking your head but stopped mid-way. You nodded furiously instead. 'Yeah,' you sobbed again, your hands coming up to hide your face.
'Oh—da, da, da!' Baz took them away because this time you would have put chillies in your eyes.
He gave you a wet wipe from the counter, and you hid your face in it. Your shoulders were shaking with your once again silent cries.
'We'd just made up at Christmas,' you gasped. 'And as he well put, I just keep fucking it up!'
Their faces translated to those of anger, sympathizing with you.
'I can't even love right!' you whimpered, your knees shivering dangerously.
Baz stepped forward to gather you in his arms.
Boa let his onion roll off the counter while his knife came down so harshly on the cutting board that it sank into the wood as if it were butter.
You jumped, startled. One hand gripping the counter, the other holding Baz's arm for support.
Boa was frowning at his handiwork.
A humourless chuckle ripped from you, successfully distracted. 'You know, it's not a monster.'
Boa picked up the hopeless onion from the floor. 'Excuse me,' he said, saving his dignity and exiting before he made a larger fool of himself.
But Baz knew where his brother was going from the glint in his eye. He didn't share that information with you.
Dean fucked up, big time. He let his anger get the best of him again. And he hurt you, again. The guilt was eating him up on the inside.
He didn't have anywhere to go, really. He was in a huff when he started climbing the stairs. His feet simply took him to your bedroom - where he'd been spending his nights recently, even when you had been working hunts or working in your Office.
He slid down the shut door and put his face in his hands, his mind aching. His own words haunted him, and he wanted to kick himself every time your upset face floated to the forefront.
He felt awful.
He should've known he would screw-up like that, though. What else did he expect?
He had it right the first few months of knowing you. He had known that once he got to know you, he would never be able to walk away from you. He sacrificed his leg for that bear trap anyway. He couldn't help it. It seemed like he liked bleeding for you.
Dean didn't remember any of this from his last serious relationship.
That one had been built on goofiness, and some days he had felt like he vibed more with Ben than he did with Lisa. She was too critical, and they had too many fights. They had that chemistry in bed but never the pillow talk. He protected her and Ben from the life of a Hunter, but never got appreciated for it.
But she had been his ticket out. A segue into normalcy.
He could envision quitting his post one day, settling down with a beer in his hand and peace in his mind. He'd chased a future with Lisa; he thought he would change when he had to. He understood her in a way - he didn't like himself either because of the job he did, and he figured that he would be happy with himself in his retirement, just like Lisa.
What he hadn't realised at that time was that he could be happy while his life sucked, even while he didn't like himself all the time. Even while some days of his Leadership drove him to such anger that he was borderline destructive.
He realised he didn't need a pipe dream in a woman. He needed an anchor. Someone to stabilize his explosive nature, someone who countered his impulses even while she entertained them. Someone who could walk toe-to-toe with him and keep him on his toes.
Not someone who wanted him for the future he promised, but you who grounded him in the present.
'Holy fuck,' he breathed out. '. . . I want to marry her.'
Saying it out loud made it both real and surreal.
Dean was surprised because this was the first woman he wanted to marry, not for the possibilities you came with but for what made you, you . . .
Now, a couple of problems with that genius plan.
Number one, you didn't want to get married.
Number two, he hadn't told you about your shared soulmateship. Fuck, he hadn't even said the simple "I love you" to you yet!
What made it more complicated was the connotations that came with soulmateship and marriage.
Soulmateship was chosen by God, while marriage was the human middle finger to fate.
The former equalised Dean with your parents in the sense that you didn't choose either of them. In marriage - anyone could marry anyone, regardless of whether or not they were soulmates.
Of course, there was also the fact that you could reject Dean as your soulmate. It would hurt just as badly if you rejected him for a marriage proposal.
However, if you said "yes" to the soulmateship, not much would be different - because you would still be as much your parents' family as you would be Dean's soulmate - as in, you wouldn't be choosing a side: it was safe.
It was the current status quo!
That's where the difference came in a marriage; if you said yes to his proposal, you would leave your other family. You would be a Winchester. You wouldn't be choosing Dean just out of obligation of soulmateship, but because you wanted to.
Number three . . . Well, one can associate it with the first problem of you not wanting to marry anyone: your entire fight tonight had been about you picking your parents over him directly. And by expressing that you didn't want to marry anyone, you were also indirectly picking them over him.
And to rub salt in the wound, he fucking blew up on you . . .
As if someone was pulling him out of ice-cold water, a hand took him by his collar and hauled him to his feet.
'What the fuck?'
He was pushed against the wall, while a provoked Boa set him there. Dean didn't get scared often - and he was a hundred percent sure he could take Boa, any day of the year - but the look in his slitted eyes was like that of an actual boa constrictor's, and it mildly scared him.
'You broke her. You fix her,' was what Dean got in lieu of an explanation, as the older man started dragging the blond-haired one towards the kitchens.
'Broke who?!'
'Y/N,' he grunted. 'Can't stop crying. Haven't ever seen her that way.'
Dean released himself from Boa's ironclad grip with relative ease. 'Maybe she shouldn't see me—'
'All right, boy,' Boa rounded on him, 'You think we haven't been in the same room as her while the vile Daniella L/N feeds the poor girl's self-esteem through a chipper?'
Dean was a little in awe - this was officially the most words he had heard Boa use in a sentence. His mouth had fallen slightly ajar.
'Yes, we have,' he replied to his own rhetorical question. 'And you know what we do? We support her! No matter what. Because she's got no one else to fall back on. Least of all, if you can't even manage that, you shouldn't add to it! You don't want to cook? That's fine, but don't go blurting stuff you can't take back!'
'Y-Yes, sir,' Dean said, clearing his throat.
Boa huffed, veering his eyes to the ground, knowing he just committed a low-degree crime by insulting his superior, a Leader, no less. But he had a few words left to say - especially if they were going to be his last, in case he was fired.
'She makes wrong judgments about some people,' Boa admitted. 'But she has a good heart.'
Boa either said things as they were or he didn't say them; there was never any mincing. And if he was going to be in a talkative mood now, Dean might as well get an honest opinion.
'. . . What if she never chooses me?'
Boa did a slight double-take, surprised by the intensity of Dean's underlying doubt. He took a few moments to get his words in a row.
'She can be wrong about the whole world,' Boa said finally. 'But no one would ever be wrong about you. Sit tight. Those fuck-ups will screw up. All ya need to do is be there in that same room to look pretty when they do.'
Dean couldn't believe his ears - but there they were: those words. Right in front of him to observe and inspect. They wouldn't weed out his insecurities totally, but what a confidence boost that was.
Dean hesitated. 'Should I go help her?'
'If you don't want her to get chewed out again, you should,' Boa scoffed.
A grin eased the anxiety in his chest. He wondered if he would occasionally get to see this side of Boa more - he was delightful in a grumpy, eccentric uncle way.
'Do I still got a job?' Boa asked, poker face back on.
Dean snorted. 'Yeah. Why not?'
Baz noticed Dean and Boa in his periphery first since he'd taken Boa's place and thrown away the mess his brother had made.
'Hey, do you want a beer?' he asked.
'Sure,' you said, not looking up.
It was unbelievable that twenty-five minutes had passed since you promised your parents a meal, and you were still chopping the damn vegetables.
Perhaps getting drunk would slow down the time.
Baz slinked away.
Beats later, a presence was felt. His shadow loomed, and for the briefest second, you wondered if Baz's hair was different. Mindlessly, you reached up for the beer bottle.
'What are you making?' the man asked softly.
You froze your hand mid-way, glancing up with a frown. Your hand retreated from him, a pout on your face.
'I thought you didn't want to help,' you said, feeling petulant now that your sobbing had ceased.
He drank his own liquid courage, keeping yours next to your hand. Although he did wish he had something stronger than beer.
'I should apologise,' he said.
You sighed, turning to your side to wait for him. Dean shuffled on his feet, squinting at the floor as if he would find a script there. He filled his lungs with oxygen to muster courage.
'I'm sorry I lost my cool,' he said, remorseful. 'I don't like them, but I could've handled that better.'
You stared at him for longer than a few seconds, and he almost thought you would ask him to get lost.
'I . . . You're my first boyfriend,' you said, swallowing thickly. 'It's bad enough I don't know how to act well around you—'
'You don't need to act in front of me,' he insisted before you could go with that and make it something it was not.
'. . . Fair enough,' you conceded. 'What I mean is, it's hard trying to be . . . free with you - only because I've never done it with anyone else. And I trust you. But when they showed up, I didn't know how to handle both of you in the same room!'
'I get that,' he said genuinely.
'I wasn't trying to irk you,' you admitted.
'I just,' he raked a hand through his hair in frustration, 'couldn't recognise you over there. You were a different person!'
Your head bowed in shame, and you poked a tomato gently with your knife. 'It's . . . who I was,' you mumbled. Then you shook your head. 'Who I am with them, I guess.'
Dean was so relieved that you noticed it too.
'Do you like that person?' he asked, voice softer. 'Who you become in their presence?'
You didn't look up for a very long pause. Long enough for him to prompt you with your name.
Your eyes flitted up, and there were fresh tears in them. 'Please don't make me say it,' you begged, voice unsteady.
He wasn't happy with your answer, but he downright hated the agony in your face.
He spread his arms a little. 'Want a hug?'
You contemplated his open arms for a second. 'Sure I won't fuck the hug up?' you asked, both a tad entitled and too scared.
Dean's lips puckered as he nodded. He knew he deserved that.
'Probably,' he said. 'But so might I.'
Your breath hitched in your throat. 'What are you saying?'
Did he want to break up with you?
Dean shrugged, your panic too fleeting for him to note. 'Well, if we're a bunch of screw-ups anyway, why not team up?'
A smile grew on your face like he'd pitched you a billion-dollar idea.
No one had shared blame with you before. It was like you were Atlas, carrying the weight of the world because you were no good. Then Dean joins next to you, offering you his strengths and accepting his weaknesses. He shoulders half that weight, and you're not so alone anymore.
This moment seemed to settle the fact that Dean will always watch your six. He would have your back, no matter who made the mistake or if you both made one. He would be in your corner, and it shook you to your core - in the best way possible.
'We do make a good team,' you whispered, afraid new tears would ruin the moment.
Damn him for putting me on emotional rollercoasters, you inwardly scoffed.
He smirked, spreading his arms in welcome. 'Team hug?'
You snorted - mostly to hide your oncoming blush.
Then you flew into his embrace.
In fact, took it a step further and kissed his lips with a bruising force. His eyes widened in surprise before they fluttered shut.
It hurt him a little that he could taste your dried tears there, but it was also a good reminder of who he was fighting for.
He wasn't supposed to fight your parents; he was supposed to fight for you.
His arms secured you against him when your lips parted from his. Your eyes locked with his.
'You kissed me in public,' Dean smirked, smug.
Your eyes narrowed. 'Semi-public. We're a bit secluded, and it isn't very crowded.'
'Still,' he grinned fully now. 'You're crazy about me,' he said, hiding his undercurrent of hope and anxiety under charming confidence.
You might've read it there, though, because you took his face in both your hands. There was no trace of playfulness in you.
'I know you don't believe in God, Dean,' you said. 'But . . . you are the culmination of all my prayers.'
Dean's face went blank; mostly because he didn't think he had an expression to show how much that touched him. His eyes darted across your face, but the raw truth shattered him in the best fucking way. He didn't have words, but his lips did slam to yours like you were his life support.
Two painstakingly long days passed without any broaching of marriages. Dean was proving to be an excellent buffer for your parents, so they wouldn't pressure you about your least favourite topic. They didn't want to lose face in front of a current Leader, after all.
That is, until the fateful Thursday when Dean couldn't make it to a morning tea because he slept late the previous night doing research for Sam. He'd insisted you wake him up before you met them, but you didn't have the heart to disturb the poor fella.
That's when you found yourself perched on the very edge of the garden chair in front of both your parents to scrutinize. Ms Slate, your mother's assistant, was standing behind her, and Mr Jojo was behind your father, while the Griffith brothers were on your either side. You all were in the greenhouse because it was too frosty outside to have an actual outdoor party like your parents wanted. Your mother found a way to blame the weather on you, so it was a pretty normal morning for them.
Garden parties were a large part of your childhood; it had been a posh way of learning to deal with dignitaries, but not exuberant enough that your parents would be embarrassed by you showing up to one. You supposed it served as an adequate education, but one of the most mind-numbing tortures of your life. Eventually, when you'd perfected the art of being a prick at the garden parties, you were graduated to the Balls, the weddings, the Galas.
'Is Mr Winchester joining us again today?' your father asked.
He'd taken to liking Dean just a little. He appreciated men with a strong grasp of politics. You had practically wanted to coo when you saw two of the three most important men in your life get along. While your mother clutched onto her dislike for Dean like she would clutch her pearls in times of distress.
'Oh, God forbid,' she said. 'Haven't we seen his face enough this week? Honestly, dear, if I had to work with that yapping man-child all the time, I'd've killed myself!'
Your fingers blanched on the stem of the teacup. If the cup had been in the air, you knew you would've broken the stem and spilled tea all over the pristine white tablecloth.
To be very frank, this visit was the first time that your parents had infuriated you in the twenty-six years of your life. You would still defend them, apparently, but it would come with great bouts of conflict because how dare they talk shop about your boyfriend?
'He's a little busy helping his esteemed brother in Asia to defeat Lucifer,' you addressed your father.
'Lucifer,' gasped your mother. 'Why, my, ballsy, isn't he? They both are, those Winchesters. Take after their mild-mannered parents. Oh, that Mary would come in peasant's clothes to the most prestigious events. And that peasant husband of hers.'
You didn't say how you also wore the "peasant" clothes on your hunts.
'Like the ones Dean wears?' your father added unhelpfully.
'They very,' she rolled her eyes disdainfully. 'Guess the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.'
'It provides fluidity to movement, Mother,' you bit. 'Protective measures for quotidienne hunts. He learnt it from his parents.'
'Oh, pish-posh!' she waved a hand around. 'It's not a Leader's job to hunt like a common Hunter. Sticking to these menial tasks like a child!'
You withdrew your hands under the table to clench them tightly, unyielding as stones on your knees.
'They are children,' she scoffed. 'Fighting Amara and now Lucifer? What is Sam? A toddler still! How is he to accomplish conquering the mighty Devil?'
'He's but one year older than me, Mother,' you pointed out.
'And look what you've achieved,' she rolled her eyes with all due hypocrisy - as if you should've achieved something at this age, even though she deemed you too young for it. It made your head spin like you were back in a fucking teacup ride. 'Honey, you are too innocent for your own good,' she said, haughtily. 'Besides, don't you see, killing Lucifer is like killing business!'
Your father turned the page of his newspaper while you tried to shut your mouth before a bee flew in.
Bad-mouthing people was one thing, but accusing Sam of that was another.
'Mother, that's . . . candid,' your eyes darted to the four people surrounding you.
You really missed Dean; the servant staff was essentially invisible to her. You were realizing how much "sweeter" she was around a well-known persona like Dean - at least she was putting in efforts to hide her ugly words.
Wait, ugly?
Since when did you judge her?
'Oh, what will they do?' she snorted like a pig - once upon a time, you used to find that adorable. 'Gun and money - we own them,' she gestured at the four people around you all.
'I, for one, would pray that killing the Devil would take all the demons to the grave.' Your father's glance towards your mother wasn't subtle at all. 'I already have a plot ready for you, dear.'
'Oh, Miles, you and your humour!' she laughed feigningly. 'But I tell you, it's the taxpayers we need to worry about. The less they need us, the less money they'll pay. And only so much of our beauty sells at the fundraisers.' She dabbed her napkin at the corner of her mouth and pridefully checked herself out in her spoon. 'Even if they keep us on as souvenirs, how long do you think that'll last?'
'We have our skills, too,' you mumbled, trying to say that you all could find well-earning and respectable jobs outside of Leadership - just like Dean had told you.
'And then what?' she said. 'You grow old, and you lose control of the limbs. Then you're old and poor.' She eyed you with something akin to disgust on her face. 'Besides, what skills do you have? If the Wars end, you're useless. Or you mean to tell me that you'll be hunting well into your old age, pick up the remnants of the monsters off the street, and feed yourself hand-to-mouth?'
You sidestepped the poor comment, focusing on the age issue first. 'Mr Singer and Mr Turner prefer it,' you said. 'So does Mrs Mills-Singer. Old age doesn't dull the experience - in fact, it enhances it.'
'Aw, now you're comparing yourself to the big leagues. That's what I like about you, kid, you never stop dreaming.'
She patted your head.
You got the urge to gag. (Didn't you once crave these pats?)
Your fake poker mask didn't move even a millimetre, though - you've had too many years of practice to let it slip now. But you couldn't fake a smile - no matter how much you tried this time.
It was incredible how the last year had changed you. You try to hide your anger under a sip of lemon tea.
'Can we proceed to the matter of importance, please?' your father said, folding his paper. 'You've avoided it long enough.'
'I didn't avoid it,' she scoffed. 'That parasite wouldn't leave.'
Your cup loudly cackled against its china plate.
Her expression flashed. 'You're being rude, dear.'
Your free hand in your lap clenched tightly again, nails biting into your skin as she rummaged through the purse that Ms Slate had been holding all this while. She brought out a brown business file and placed it before you.
Your father stapled his fingers together on the table and leaned in, finally interested in something - it wracked your fucking nerves.
'Alright!' your mother said, suddenly excited.
It made your heartbeat accelerate with negative anticipation. Your palms turned clammy, and you hoped to God that you'd survive whatever the fuck this was.
'Do you remember how we said we would give you one year to become worthwhile before we paired you off with a popular name?' your father dryly quipped.
Despite the heat of the greenhouse, you felt the cold shower of shivers.
'No,' you said sharply, forgetting your etiquette for a second. 'That was never the deal.'
'Oh, you're forgetting this, honey,' she slid the leather file closer to you.
Your stomach swooped, and with the slightest, indecipherable tremble of your fingers, you shoved the file open.
It was titled as a transfer of funds file from six years ago.
'You signed it,' your mother said.
'This is from when I was reallocating some of my assets to you,' you said. 'When your money was tight.'
'Well, of course,' your mother smiled. It was the same smile she gave you on your last Christmas together before she shut the door in your face . . .
'Like I said, too innocent for your own good,' she cooed. 'You never even bothered to read the fine print,' she patted your hair. 'But it's good for us, so don't lose it!' She laughed as if it were a splendid joke.
Nauseated, you scanned the words, taking a few deep breaths, tuning out your mother's casual chatter in the background while your father went back to solving his crossword.
Until you stumbled upon the clause on the second page - written like any other fucking paragraph.
Supposedly, you had from twenty to twenty-six years to find yourself a royal (Leaderships), or in the worst case, a rich match (Governors). Should you fail to do so, you would forfeit your autonomy in marriage, and it would automatically go to your parents . . .
You couldn't feel your face, it was that hot.
'I never . . . wanted to get married,' it came far weaker and quieter than the outcry in your mind.
'We have a clause for that, too,' your father said.
'And you should always say, "excuse me" when you interrupt, Y/N,' she sighed. 'Gosh, where are your manners today?'
Your eyes were trailing downwards until you reached the next clause.
Your ears rang and your world blurred.
Right there.
You were to bear a child with whoever they pleased, and however their chosen person may please - out of wedlock, if you refuted a groom. Your child, your heir(s), would belong to them - legitimate or illegitimate.
This contract had been a few pages long. And like a devout child, you hadn't thought of a single question to ask them back when you'd signed it. With another gutting pain, you realised that, that day, your father had cooked for you all. It was that same day when your mother had insisted on taking that family photo: the one that was tucked away in your locket.
Your fingers ran over your signature: the one that had sealed your doomed fate.
'What if I refuse fulfilment?' you asked, cutting their conversation again. Although you had a feeling you knew the answer.
'You would be as bold as to do that?' your mother chortled. 'Your Armageddon, child. Turn to the second-last page and find out what happens,' she replied with glee like a parent asking their child to find Easter eggs.
Your insides vibrating, you flipped to the instructed page.
Yep. You called it.
If you were to forfeit your contract, you would face life imprisonment . . .
You were a trust-fund kid. You had been earning money since the news of your birth had been announced. That's how nepotism usually works. Leaders and the Leaders' kids were paid since they were fetuses to ensure that they would dedicate their lives (partly or entirely) to the cause of hunting, and then, only be allowed to retire after sufficient contribution.
In case of life imprisonment or death, all that money went to the next of kin, or to the parents of the person who was unmarried and without kids.
It was a very good business idea. You had heard of many Leaders who did that to their children. But then infantalism was banned, and the human faction also set a certain age before the children could hunt - Leaders or otherwise, to avoid mortality at a young age, to avoid death without choice.
Yet, that wasn't the richest option. As in, the death of infants made you rich if you were a Leader, but the richest option was something else. It was the long con.
If someone wanted even more profits from their children, the best thing would be to let them grow, and marry them into rich families, and then feed off of their heirs . . .
Like the biggest fool in the world, you realised that your own parents had made you a prey of both situations. And they would make you choose between one.
You felt numb.
You signed this when you were twenty. Your contracts are valid from the time you could hunt - which was thirteen years old, while for most other kids, it's not before fifteen years old. This would most definitely hold against you.
Even if the Prime Leaders, who formed the top-tier, were reasonable, you also knew there were lecherous Governors (like Simone once was) who would protest this, if only to see your downfall. And what rational Government would want a union strike over a petty contract?
The world has enough problems for you to add your meager marital plight to it.
You felt the prickle of tears, but astonishingly, none showed. Guess it was simply impossible to be vulnerable in front of these backstabbers.
This contract seemed like the nail in the coffin, to you, for your relationship with them. You were too shocked to even process that your dedication to them had died like the snap of a fucking neck.
'Why did you wait so long to tell me this?' you asked, voice flat like a corpse. The colour had drained from your skin, but your voice hadn't wobbled once.
'Well, no one should find out,' Daniella said as if it were obvious. 'Didn't know if we could trust you to keep your innocent flappers shut, dear. It's one of the clauses.'
'Now that the contract is to fruition, we had no choice but to tell you,' Miles added, matter-of-factly. 'Although you still can't tell anyone who risks a match we like.'
'Of course.' A grin tugged at your lips. 'And we kill the servants who blab, of course!' It made so much sense that you felt like you'd lost your mind.
'You don't have to sound like such a martyr, dear,' Daniella chided. 'Just sign on the added page, and be on your way then.'
You raised a brow, turning over to the last page. You skimmed through the contents of this addendum thoroughly. It wasn't there the last time, but according to the old contract, on the twenty-sixth year, your parents would throw you a Suitor's Ball where your husband would be elected, or your baby-daddy - because they had the "decency" to give you a choice in marriage (not your words, theirs).
'Oh, my God,' you couldn't help the uncharacteristic laugh that left you. 'You guys,' your entire prim and proper persona traded for someone stricken with insane grief, 'are so fucking insecure about the goddamn money that you're actually making me sign the funds for the Suitor Ball?! That is apparently my choice!'
Daniella gave you a scathing look. 'I'm going to overlook your poor word choice and abhorrent tone because it seems we've hurt your fragile feelings,' she sneered.
'It's called being thorough, Y/N,' Miles said.
'Lady Y/N!' you snapped, tired of their antics. If they wanted to keep you at a one-hand's distance, then you were finally ready to shove their own medicine down their gullets. 'Don't forget that my title's paying for your lavish, whorish lifestyles.'
Daniella placed a hand over yours and pinched you.
Your fuse sparked.
You twirled the butterknife off the table with the same hand, faster than most people could react, and impaled the table between her index finger and her thumb.
She shrieked like a little girl, withdrawing both her hands away like the table was on fire.
Two guns, safety removed, were aimed at your head. Meanwhile, the Griffith twins aimed their own guns at Ms Slate and Mr Jojo so that it was a stalemate.
'You touch me again, and I'll have your fingers, you cheating slut,' you threatened.
You extended your weapon-free hand to your father. He seemed in perpetual shock: the fog had lifted, and he couldn't believe what he was seeing.
'Pen,' you requested.
While he scoured for his pen under the table where it had fallen after you almost stabbed your mother, your eyes veered up to their two assistants. 'Lower your weapons lest you want this whole Palace on your fucking arses for the rest of your lives.'
They were reluctant, but gradually, they recognised their disadvantage. The Griffith twins disarmed themselves with a flick of your wrist as well.
You snatched the inky instrument from the wrinkled fingers of Miles, positioning the tip on the blank space when something occurred to you.
'Has Seth signed a document of a similar nature?' you directed it to Daniella.
She was glaring at you, and if glares could kill, you'd be dead.
'He has,' replied Miles, a silent respect in his eyes for you that you loathed with every cell in your body. 'But he never got to know because he married before his thirty years were up.'
You didn't have the energy to dispute why he got more time than you. You had an inkling the answer would run along the lines of how women had a lower "shelf life".
You licked your lips in malice, but there was nothing you could do about it anymore. Killing them was out of question . . . They were, unfortunately, still your parents. And the trials that would ensue would definitely never be worth it.
It was a question of steady installments - it was in the clause - a certain amount of money would be given to them from your incomes: yours and Seth's. And they would be your children's responsibility after they were born.
You locked your eyes with Miles'. 'Once you choose me a groom, you will leave Europe, and you are never to show me your faces again. Your money will be sent to you. I'm adding this. And you both. Will. Sign.'
Miles nodded, bemused but compliant.
'What about when you have a child?' queried Daniella indignantly.
You stared into her e/c orbs in disbelief and disgust.
This, ladies and gentlemen, was your mother, the proprietor of your gaunt life.
'Their money will come to you in steady installments, too,' you assured. If you have a child. You would die before you let another man touch you like that. 'But never step foot in this Continent again,' you reiterated. You didn't want Dean to ever have to encounter them in his life after they did what they did to you.
'Long as you don't fall back on your payments,' conceded Daniella with a shrug.
'Lead . . . you sure?' a concerned Baz.
You raised a hand to dismiss it.
You ordered Boa to get you the materials you needed, waiting in tense silence, imagining your horrifying future unfold before your eyes. Your father got back to his crossword, and your mother sipped on the remainder of her tea.
You drafted the new addendum yourself and printed it out. You made them sign it first and followed suit. You made a few copies for yourself and then thrust the original file into their hands.
They had around a week for the Ball arrangements.
As you were leaving, you paused for a second. Without turning back, for tears had already gathered, you warned them: 'I'm going to tell Seth about what you did,' you said. 'He may not be able to cut you off, but . . . well, he's always been the scrappier one.'
'What were you thinking?' Baz interrogated as soon as you hit the stairs.
'Do you think Dean will agree to marry you?' Boa inquired about the more pressing matter.
'No. He won't,' you lied. And you won't ask him either.
'Who will you marry!?' the brothers asked in unison.
You swiveled on your feet, halting them mid-hurry.
'There is a non-disclosure at stake,' you said. 'Not a peep, am I clear?'
Immediate protests burst forth, but you'd had enough for the day.
'It's an order!' you adopted your authoritative tone.
The devoted men had to back down. They might've become celibates to avoid bringing life into this world and destroying it, but part of their teachings had ingrained brutal control of their opinions in front of superiors.
Except, this was the first time you were using the said superiority on them.
Inside, you were only too relieved that Selina or Sebastian hadn't been present. They wouldn't've minded blabbing to Dean the first chance they got.
'Lady Y/N!' a breathless voice broke the intense huddle you had going with the Griffiths. Salem put her hands on her knees, huffing out her words. 'We have a case - they need you at Lord Dean's Office!'
A/N: Why do you think she signed it 🥺? What do you think Dean's reaction would be 🫠?
Side-note: Had so much fun using the fancy words, lol - really let the Literature Major inside of me loose 😂❤. What d'you think of it?
Pairing: American Dean Winchester X English Y/N L/N; American Dean Winchester X American Y/N L/N.
Blurb: Purgatory suits you, to be honest. Plenty of distractions to choose from, you can kill as many as to your heart's content. And your heart is one insatiable bastard—it'll do anything to keep the memories of your ex away. Until a face much similar to his struts up into your territory, looking for you, promising you a home you lost too long ago. Your heart melted once before, do you think you would be able to risk it all again for the same criminally handsome face?
Warnings/Trigger Warnings (18+): Supernatural Wars spoilers, major and minor character deaths, mentions of previous major character deaths, violence, gore, tons of angst, (sort of, but not really) love triangle, language, self-sacrifices (not exactly suicide), betrayals, etc.
Note: This was written four years ago and English is my second language - I've tried to edit without losing the past-me's "authenticity", but let's face it, spellings ain't my strong suit, and even Grammerly gave up, soooo all the mistakes are mine 🙂🙃.
{ Series Masterlist ; Main Masterlist }
Purgatory Series: Part 7.
Being in Purgatory via dreams while your face-thief yapped about how pertinent it was to save your soulmate was not fun. Watching other Universes crumble when you were just trying to get a few hours of sleep in was not fun. Losing all your family and friends because you were a monster was not fun. Hunting monsters as a job, which didn't pay, was not fun.
But this?
Dying to arrive at Purgatory?
Let's just say you've had better fucking hangovers.
'I'm never drinking again,' you'd growled under your breath as soon as you'd woken up and realised what had happened.
This was worse than everything bad in your life. Purgatory made it look like your life had always been filled with sunshine and rainbows.
You had but a faint recollection of how you got here. But surely, "I wish I had never pissed off a Winchester" made it up the ranks in your bucket list faster than the blink of an eye.
Oh, did you mention that you had been attacked the moment you had opened your eyes after dying back on Earth?
Once the initial shock had subsided, your hunter reflexes had been back in action.
Some hunter I am, you cursed yourself. Killed by a freaking human. Didn't even have the time to defend myself . . .
You wanted badly to blame it on how drunk you were - you didn't think your ego could take it otherwise - you still believed a tiniest part of you didn't fight on purpose.
You had a growing suspicion that the only fight you put up was to get a reaction out of that guy. Your drunk self had succeeded because if your face-thief from your dreams was correct, then the only way you were making it out was through the human portal, through the only human in this hellhole who could actually cross the said fucking portal. And it was that one human you hadn't wanted to save in the first place.
Okay, maybe there was no saving your ego - it was bruised; beaten black and blue. Wrecked, really.
Trotting through the woodland carefully, you had an ear out to listen for odd noises, which you had quickly realised that that could be anything in here. You were so tensed with the idea that any second now, anything could attack and devour you; it was puzzling to imagine how any human could survive this long - let alone two!
You had to admit, you weren't much better than humans, you barely had any power when it came to fighting off monsters because your only power was dreaming, and it wasn't exactly like you could just take a break and take a nap right now. Plus, let's face it, even with your dreams you didn't stand much chance against the monster folk in here. So, you were as good as a human, too.
Yay, fun times.
And to add shame to you're already limping dignity, you had to now go seek help from the namesake who you had been denying help for weeks now . . . Dammit! Could I be more pathetic?
You twirled almost mindlessly the golden dagger in your hand. It had been lying around on the floor and formed to be a good distraction from the continuous flow of war talk. Most of it was in the foreign language that you had only recently started comprehending.
This is so boring, Dean had whined in your ear.
Sh! It's important.
I'm dying here.
You'd shot him a bitch-face. You're a baby.
Oh, now I'm a baby? You called me old yesterday. Make up your damn mind.
I know what you're doing. It's not working.
What am I doing?
Riling me up.
Well, you do push me around so good when I rile you up, his sultry voice had whispered in your ear.
That had been a satisfying night.
You were indulging your happy memories until a few officials flooded into the room with urgent frowns.
'Human!' the one in the front exclaimed.
Your groan was involuntary. 'What'd he do now?'
The official gave you a distasteful look - and you honestly understood - Dwarves are territorial, it isn't fun to have a human on your premises, in the dead-centre of a war plan that's supposed to wipe your arch-nemesis' species' existence.
But he schooled his look, 'No him. Her. You. Y/N here.'
'No. Y/N here,' another little guy who had already been in the room said, pointing at you.
'No, no, no this Y/N. Y/N! She here!'
Hope bloomed in your chest and you couldn't believe that your look-alike actually died . . . She came to save Dean.
'Y/N, this only!' the person said, getting impatient. 'Dumb!' he then pointed at the official who had brought the news of the American.
'I think,' you interrupted before it could escalate. 'He meant my doppelganger is here.'
Nan-nan, the one who called Sav-ty dumb, looked at you like you were an alien.
'Dop—whaaaa?'
You had to repress a smile. Most of them were still learning English.
'—pelganger,' you completed, 'My look-alike.' You switched attention to the one who did understand your language. 'Kan-fir, it's her. She's here to save Dean.'
He nodded thoughtfully. 'Well. Bring in.'
An obedient nod later, Sav-ty gestured to the Dwarves behind him. In came a small group of marchers carrying Y/N, bound and gagged.
Her body wiggled and squirmed, trying to get away from the fingers of the small creatures that likely felt like insects crawling on the skin (personal experience). They dumped her on the ground with no gentleness, and you kinda got the feeling that she may have deserved it - if your past encounters with her were anything to go by.
They ripped off her gag, and the curses that poured out of her made you want to go back to Earth, go to a store, and buy a label on which you could write "Rated R, not recommended for children and dwarves. Interact with at your own risk."
'You!' she snarled with venom, her eyes falling on the one person her size - literally - given that she looked exactly like you, down to the last hair, and even the pitch of her voice. 'When I get out of these, you're gonna be the first fucking person I'm gonna find! I'm gonna gouge your pretty eyes out and shove them so far up your perky ass that your gonna feel how fucking slimy it is in your goddamn perfect mouth!'
You almost laughed at the self-appreciation she seemed to intersperse in with her threats. That's a new personality you were witnessing.
'Charming. Also self-involved,' you sighed. 'I think Dean can make you a better person.' You know your Dean had done it for you.
'My God! You're still on that!?' she let loose a manic laugh. 'Jesus. Talk about not being able to move on.'
You deflated as something dawned on you: 'I assume you died per an accident.'
'Obviously. Did you think I'd come to get your lover's whore ass?' she bared her teeth, an action bordering on animalistic.
'I mean, he did get around. He wasn't paid for it, but they should pay him,' you mused - quickly realising how off-topic you were. 'However, he's extremely loyal when he's with someone - that, I know.'
'I. Don't. Care!'
'Y/N,' Kan-fir called, 'Do kill we her?'
'"Do we kill her?",' you corrected. 'And no. Could you give us some privacy?'
'Sure?' he asked in doubt.
'Yes,' you flashed him a smile. 'And, untie her, too. She's not dangerous.'
'You're not dangerous!' she snarled.
But it was hard to be scared of a woman who wore the face of a person you've underestimated your whole life. Also, she was hilariously entitled. You realised that being as lonely and as isolated as she had made herself, it might have been bound to happen . . . Weren't you somewhat like that once?
You took her by the wrists, twisted her arms behind her back, and pushed her out of the cabin, walking on the thick gnarly bark of the elongated branch.
The American version of you wiggled, her feet tremoring, trees an uncharted territory. You'd been there.
You halted when she very nearly tipped over; your fingers flexed on her joint hands and her flannel collar. 'One thing: you need to stop squirming.'
'You're squirming!' she shot back.
'Two things,' you corrected yourself. 'You need to stop squirming, and you need better come-backs.'
'Your face needs a better comeback! Bitch!'
'I'm dealing with a twelve-year-old.' You interrupted before she could speak again, 'If you say, "your face is a twelve-year-old", I will slap you like I'm Connary.'
That seemed to pause her. 'How do you even know who that is?' she said instead. 'I didn't think he was in your world. Heck, I didn't think you knew what a T.V. was!'
'We had T.V.,' you told her. 'We also had Universe Travellers who could bring content from other Universes for the said T.V.' You paused, 'Even I've travelled, specifically through Y/Ns who share my scars - emotional and physical.'
She was exasperated: 'If you can fucking travel, why did you approach me? You could have just jumped into our world and all would have been sweet and dandy!'
You gauged her thoughtfully - did she not know about your visit?
'Excuse me?'
'You said you travelled through Y/N's - Hello!? I'm Y/N, travel through me like I'm your gate to my world, then leave me the frack alone.'
'You are a dreamwalker, correct?'
'No, that'd be your face!'
Considered, but you resisted slapping.
Your eyes fell to her rolled up sleeves. An expanse of smooth, creamy skin. No scar.
Shock rippled through your chest while your face remained an unchanged poker. You were sure you had hitched a hike in this Universe's Y/N. She had a scar, and that's what triggered your return to your own Universe.
My face-thief . . . I've been expecting you.
It took you under a minute to figure out what had transpired: you had jumped the body of a future version of this dreamwalker. No wonder the American Dean from that time was looking at you weirdly - like he knew you, and he'd lost you . . .
Suddenly, everything fell into place. You knew exactly what to do now. You could see the end.
'Let's go,' you said, a smile twitching on your lips. It was a smile of insanity, acceptance and peace. 'Let's go meet Dean.'
She smirked down at him in soft love. Her fingers went to brush his blood-soaked hair away from his eyes.Dean sighed, fluttering his world-weary eyes open, smiling a half-smile, his head in line with her ripped open stomach - one that she had just extracted the knife out of.Her legs were crossed under herself, letting Dean rest his head in her lap in the handful of breaths those two had left.
Your eyes sorrowed, you knew this couple - you had dreamt of them earlier. Just another world, another Universe for you - but for them, this was their life. And it was ending.
You hated it. You hated the goodbyes.
At least, this inevitable doom of theirs didn't seem to be deterring them from joking.
'Told you today was no good for an outing, Dean-o.'
'Yeah, well,' a cough, then some more, 'We had some fun killing monsters.'
A raised brow, 'Oh, sure, sure. Being stabbed and watching the love of my life being ripped apart slowly was the highlight of my day.'
'Finally, you've learnt to be an optimist.'
Both chuckled. Then hacked a few coughs. Y/N's hand came away bloody, a tear tracked down her cheek. Another sniffle, 'Do you . . . Do you think . . . Maybe in some another Universe—?'
'Definitely,' he cut her off, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. 'We have to be happy somewhere.'
She sighed, 'I wish we had a happy life here.'
'We did for a while.'
'You know what I mean.'
He locked eyes with her, understanding plaguing both of their features as fear chipped away at their last moments of solace they brought each other.
'It's been an honor loving you, Almost-Mrs. Y/N Winchester,' he winked.
And it never failed to clench your heart - the always almost. Everyone was always a couple, but never married - never really together. No kids, no real life - just a love that died.
'Likewise, Mr. Dean Winchester,' she chuckled airily as if her voice couldn't really decide whether she wanted to cry or laugh.
Another reason not to save your soulmate. Another proof that you wouldn't survive with him. Another sob story, another heartthrob - another way your relationship with him failed.
'Wake up!' a yell rung through her dream. It disoriented you - the voice - it was yours, just in a different accent. Blinks didn't get you anywhere for a few long seconds, until you focused on the wood beneath your palms.
Treehouse.
Purgatory. Death. English Y/N.
Your soulmate.
Right.
'We need to move,' she told you, without waiting for you to collect your thoughts.
She was already packing her things, speaking quickly and short. 'Werewolves scented me.' It was then that you noticed the huge gash along her side. 'They'll be here anytime now.'
'You're bleeding.'
'What an accurate observation,' she scoffed, shooting you an angry glance. 'Now, if you don't want to meet the same fate, I suggest you move your ungrateful arse!'
You obeyed. Handing her the requirements, and helping her stuff them in an already bulging bag. You grasped the bottle of the miraculous medicine, putting the bottleneck to her lips, 'Drink.'
Surprise flickered in her expression, doing as told.
'Since when do you care for me?'
You realised how out of character that had been for you. But cut yourself some slack - you'd just seen one of your other face-thieves die in arms of, and alongside, your supposed lover's lookalike.
You sheathed your vulnerability into a bitch-face: 'I don't. You're my ticket out of here.'
She nodded thoughtfully, like she was trying to look for some humanity under my brashness. You hoped she wouldn't see beyond your adversely insolent attitude. She should believe you didn't care.
'What's the plan?' you asked when you two left the house and started walking east.
'Don't die,' she snarked. 'And do what I say.'
You were nearing your one-week-death-aniversary and she had been giving you the same effing answer for a week.
'You're so hell bent on saving him; yet you haven't introduced us,' you said.
Your first attack yielded no response.
'You didn't tell me why you didn't just use me to get out like a portal into our world. Wouldn't have had the rest of the drama to deal with then, you know?'
Zilch reaction.
'What about those scars?'
You spied a twitch of an eye. Maybe it was your desperate imagination.
'You're hiding something,' you accused. 'I'm going to find out, you know?'
A sigh.
You called that progress.
Then again, you'd already covered all the areas you just mentioned - this was very little progress that you made every day. How do you press her buttons further?
You chewed on your bottom lip. With your patience running out and her endless capacity for silent treatment, you might have to resort to some dirty tactics.
'I don't know why you think I'll fall for him - I won't.'
She finally glanced your way, 'You talk big game, but I think you act this way on purpose - so that he doesn't love you, and you don't have to even bother pushing him away.'
Impressive.
'What do you know - I have a free therapist.'
'Lucky you.'
You breathed long through your nose. Do not kill the person who's gonna save your life - do not kill her.
'You think you're doing us a favor, aren't you? Say, we did fall in love - then what? It'll end. Like it always does. Either me, or him, or both-ah'-us - we end up heartbroken.'
'Or you don't. You know one out of a hundred cases - semantics.'
'You're delusional if you think there's even a one percent survival rate of this relationship. I don't know with what right you people call yourselves soulmates - you just end up destroying each other!'
'At least you won't be a loveless zombie then,' she replied, nonplussed.
It frustrated you how consistent she was in defending the one person who ruined her the most. You didn't get how loving and letting him go could possibly be better than never having loved him at all.
At least your heart was still beating merrily, but the reason for her heartbeats was gone.
'You mean, I won't be like you,' you retorted. 'A loveless zombie.'
She cut you a dark look. You got cocky with that reaction.
'Oh, wait! You do love a person,' you said. 'Here, in Purgatory. And you're gonna lose him all over again!'
You were pushed up against a tree so fast that the impact was almost non-existent, your focus immediately drawn to her furious e/c orbs, her height on par with yours.
She posed an intimidating picture. You kept your mouth shut because you knew she could take you down. You'd been in her mind, and it was pretty obvious she was resourceful. A cold tingle down your spine didn't fail to remind you that you may not be her only plan - just the best and the easiest.
'There's a line,' she warned. 'Don't cross it.'
You clenched your jaw in defiance. 'I was just trying to break the ice.'
'You don't want to do it, you're on wafer-thin ice,' her elbow dug into your neck which she was using to keep you pinned in a chokehold. 'You break it, and you won't need Dean to destroy you.'
Ego reared its ugly head. 'You need me.'
She released you. 'You know why I can't use you like a portal?' She pulled an arrow, noticing the protest on your face, which she replied with a punch, harshly grasping your face and aligning the pointy edge with your neck.
'You aren't meant to be a portal,' she deadpanned. 'None of us are. We can be replaced though, by the people you've met, or share the same backgrounds as we do. For example, I once took over the body of a Princess who had to hide her relationship with Prince Dean because of the other Royals, and she shared the scar that I have. You know when I could take over?'
You hardened your glare.
'When she died,' she enunciated.
Fear lanced your very being.
'And you . . . I've travelled in you before. Albeit, I was the problem of the future you who donned the scar. So, when I say I travel, I mean I hitch a ride. And if my vessel dies, I replace them, if only for a few hours.'
A dark smirk charmed her face, 'Unless you're already dead, then I can truly take your place. No one knows you exist, no one loves you. At least, Dean loves me back. So, if I were to kill you now, and wipe your existence from this planet completely - no one would know. And I'd be you. Do you really want that?'
Silence ensued.
Perhaps the adrenaline took over; you struck your leg in a brilliant swipe that took her off balance. You launched with the weight of your body into a sprint.
You didn't know who you were kidding. You were no match for her speed even if you had a good head start.
She tackled you to the ground within seconds, rolling the two of you on the grass, fallen leaves and crunchy branches under your body. Her far more agile instincts landed several blows to your face before you could understand what was happening. Black dots invaded your vision and fear choked you, your heart strained under overexertion.
What you did next was entirely instinctual.
You channelled the supernatural within you, letting your magic emanate from your finger pads which you pressed to her forehead, diminishing her barriers between her dreams and her wakefulness. Her nightmares became her reality. Her eyes rolled back into her head as yours started bleeding; she fell atop you like lead weight.
You whimpered in relief, thrusting her body away as you scrambled back, then you wiped your blood from your face. Your body sagged with exhaustion.
You'd done it, you'd defeated her . . .
But nothing made any sense.
She'd had so many chances to kill you - so many times in the last week when you were sleeping under her protection when she could have wiped you off the face of the Earth, but she didn't.
Was there more to the story than she was letting on?
Either way, you thought.
You stood, dusted yourself off. Hesitated.
You were a hunter for God's sakes, you couldn't leave someone to die . . . Could you?
She just tried to kill you!
. . . Maybe . . .
Or maybe you assumed that she did.
It bothered you a great deal.
You didn't know why it troubled you to leave her for the dead - the wolves would catch up and finish her off for you.
Then, an image of Dean flashed in your mind, and her words - Dean did love her. Not you, her.
Would he be heartbroken if she was gone?
So many heartbreaks plagued you . . . but they didn't have to plague him.
Cussing yourself out, you did the one thing that you could for her: you prayed to Cas.
'Castiel, angel of the Lord, blah, blah, blah, Y/N 2.0 speaking. Y/N 1.0 told me you were around, she's stuck her in darkest nightmare, you can rouse her with your angel-hoo. Raise her from the perdition or whatever else that helps your self-esteem. 2.0 out,' You saluted to an empty audience.
Good enough, you praised yourself.
You drew the line on waiting for Cas. You did your part - you tried to save her life like a good samaritan; you tried, and that was more than you expected from yourself.
Your Mommy would be proud. Moving on.
Now you just had to figure out how to not unalive.
You had a new begrudging appreciation for your English counter-part when you had failed to go a day without evading capture. This was the second time during your existence in Purgatory when you'd been captivated by a group of monsters. At least the first time you were relatively safe.
Now that you had managed to sabotage even that contact, you were bound and gagged inside a tree trunk of all places, under a strict gaze of the rotating schedule of fairy guards. There weren't many left, apparently. If you'd heard correctly from their heated discussions on whether to keep you alive or not, your face-thief was to thank for that development in their population.
You wondered if they'd been on the Earth long enough to heed to a classic quote: Enemy of my enemy is my friend. You hoped they'd listen to you pitch that angle before they decided you weren't worth their time.
Your eyes noted as another shift of fairies came to take place of the previous batch. You sighed through your nose again, straining your rope bindings again. It was useless. The first few hours you had twisted your hands till your skin shredded into raw wounds. Now, it was itching endlessly.
And that wasn't even what hurt the most on your body. You were on your knees currently and the pebbles dug into your caps. The wet gag was so tight around your face and hair, that it pained your jaw - to the point that when you went to close your mouth to stop the drool, you flinched.
Next were your thighs; all the muscles in your legs screamed to be sitting in the same position for so long. Begging for release - but the trunk they had stuffed you in was too small in width for you to even wiggle properly.
Then, it was your arms; your hands and upper body muscles throbbed from being pointed backwards.
All you wanted to do was stand up and stretch, and probably kick a few miniature asses with your big hunting boots.
You did none of that.
Your body grew weaker and weaker, grew more numb. Soon, your fatigued body fell back against the bark and you were called into the deep recesses of your mind. Alas, the numbness didn't extend to your dreams and emotions as you were popped into another nightmarish love tragedy.
You had several reasons to curse your fate when you woke up. For one, you woke up in a hammock hundreds of feet in the air, with no soft landings.
So, once the nightmare had decided to free you from its clutches and you woke up with incidence, you were already turning in your makeshift bed, ready to fall right into Death's arms.
But that wasn't the worst part.
It was the person who caught you.
Lo and behold, Dean Winchester became your savior.
You had yelped, but then your right wrist had slapped against his right palm. He risked his own safety to hold onto you. He hung from another hammock that seemed to have been stationed one foot adjacent to yours onto the friendly neighborhood branch.
Your body wiggled in the air, mostly in fear, and whimpers started escaping you whenever you looked down, his palm growing sweatier the more he held on.
'You need to stop wiggling,' he grinded out, looking down at you; and your eyes locked for the first time with your "soulmate".
He was as gorgeous as ever, you had to admit. He had forest fire eyes; treacherous golden amongst the loyal green. He could cut angles with that jaw, and a light stubble that aided his wild look. He was wearing a worn-out leather jacket, layers of flannel underneath, and a pair of washed-out jeans, but in your eyes, you only saw a Greek God.
Gods scared you.
'You need to climb up,' his voice was strained, and then you realized you had gone limp in his grip.
You reverted back to your senses with full panic. 'I-I don't know how to climb! Or get down!'
'Yeah, right!' he scoffed. 'This is no time to joke, Y/N!'
'I'm serious!'
His brows furrowed. 'What the fuck happened to your—?'
You yelled again as his grip on you faltered for the minutest of seconds and you almost slipped from his hold. His muscles flexed as he corrected it.
'You see that ledge,' he nodded near your feet and you just about pulled him down with you trying to look at where his gaze had landed. 'Foothold.'
'You're kidding me!'
'We don't have all day here!'
Your fingers were already slipping, your palms had grown sweaty and you didn't want to find out the limitations of your face-thief's special Purgatory healing concoction right now.
'Don't let me fall,' you whispered, letting your vulnerability slide into your gaze when you locked your irises with his.
His eyes smothered all your doubts: 'Never.'
You raised your palm to his jacket-clad forearm and leaned your bodyweight into it as much as you could, while strengthening your core to bend your body sideways until your feet reached the bark of the tree.
Nausea climbed up your throat when your eyes noticed the ground; hundreds of feet between you and your demise. You exhaled sharply, and used Dean's hand to push yourself backward till your back was pressed against the bark.
'Okay, what now?' you wondered in a rather high-pitched voice.
'You see that part of wood jutting out?' he nodded with his chin above your head. You noticed that it was at least one and a half meters away - just out of your reach.
'You're gonna hold that, flip one-eighty after letting me go and then—'
'Dude. Not everyone is a born giant!'
'Dammit, Y/N! I'm holding on by a thread here - literally!'
'Fine, fine! If I die, it's your fault!'
'Just do it, goddammit!'
Steeling yourself, you stretched all your muscles and tendons till you felt like you were being pulled on a Procrustean bed. You failed more than once, but Dean didn't complain anymore as he waited patiently for you to approach safety.
Seventeenth time was the charm.
You grunted, and whimpered as you felt the burn in your body at being stretched in such a weird position.
'Okay, good. Don't leave that at any cost. You need to whirl one-eighty now . . . you can do this, sweetheart.'
'Don't call me that!' you snapped. squeezing his free hand that was still in your empty one.
He scoffed, though you wondered if you were imagining the hurt.
'Look, just - when you turn, I need you to push off the foothold with as much force as you can. A'ight? You will need a little altitude to reach the hammock strings!'
'Okay. Jump. One-eighty. Hammock. Okay!' you swallowed. Trepidation infiltrated your body, and a lance of adrenaline went through you.
In a leap of un-faith, you let your foot slip and body twirl mid-air. You yelped for the jarring sensation, but you pulled with all your might to give you an upward momentum.
You missed the ropes by an inch.
As a scream escaped your lips, Dean acted fast, lending a placating hand on the small of your back that roughly pushed you towards the tree bark, and you scampered to scrape your feet against the woody surface till you had managed another boost, and you grasped the ropes!
'I reached! I reached!'
'Do you want a trophy?! Climb up!'
You huffed, and moved out of his reach into the warm and cocooning embrace of the hammock. Dean parroted your action into the opposite hammock, and sighed loudly.
The skin on his left hand looked raw and scraped with rope burns, almost to the point of blistering. You felt guilt trickle into your heart.
The gratefulness flooded.
'Thanks,' you breathed out.
You wondered about his intentions of saving you and how much the English woman had told him.
Did he know that your face-thief can replace you, but he saved you anyway? You would ask, but if he didn't know, you weren't gonna be the one to break that news to him like an axe to your foot.
All this speculating, and you didn't even know if he knew that you were his real soulmate.
'Sure,' he muttered, breathing deeply as if to calm himself.
'What happened to the fairies? Where are we?'
He frowned deeply, glancing about. 'I don't know.'
Your eyes bulged, 'What do you mean you don't know?'
There was a thread of irritation in his expression. 'I don't even know who you are.'
You scoffed, 'Then why did you save me!?'
'I wasn't thinking! One sec, I was thrown into a fucking tree, and the next I know you're falling off the damn hammock, like some cheap American knockoff of the woman I—' he cut himself off abruptly, averting his gaze losing a furious battle against the fifty shades of red.
I'm so stupid!
'Of course!' you breathed out. 'This is a dream!'
He assessed you inquisitively. 'Excuse me?'
'I just assumed that after those three Hellsites,' you referred to the three different Universes you'd just paid visits to, 'I thought I was waking up!'
'What are you talking about?'
'Well, I just didn't expect to be part of a scene!' you gestured between the two of you. 'I'm not usually with a Dean in my dreams - there's always a face-thief.'
He blinked at you.
You held up an index finger, and concentrated with your eyes closed. You tugged the strings of your imagination and merged it with your dream reality until the air around you was shifting, and Dean gasped.
When you could see again, you two were in a quaint cabin, far away from the unreliable hammocks. You shuddered once more when you remembered the height, and decided to address the confused man in the room.
'How'd you do that?' an edge of distrust spilled into the flow of his grittily smooth voice; like crunchy peanut-butter.
You knew you couldn't tell him the truth - he'd kill you. It was his dream after all.
Even as a dreamwalker, you'd never murdered anyone in your sleep - which was a possibility, you just never saw why you'd need to exercise it - especially when most of your dreams weren't really dreams but mere reflections of other worlds. No one could see you in other Universes.
In your Universe, all bets were off though. This is uncharted territory . . .
'I'm . . .' you desperately looked for a good introduction, but the whole of the English language seemed to have wiped from your brain. 'Oh, fuck,' you sighed. Before you could even begin to piece together an explanation, a knock sounded on the door, much to your shock.
'Who's that?' Dean sharpened his tone, looking at you with accusing suspicion.
'Dude, I know you worship this face, but news flash - no Y/N's got all the answers for you.'
The door was pushed in before either of you could acknowledge whoever had blissfully interrupted your awkward conversation.
You bit your lip when the replica of your face popped in.
Your face-thief grinned good-naturedly. 'Ah, figured you might be here,' she said with all the glory to her accent.
Dean's jaw dropped a bit, looking as shocked as a Winchester could possibly be with all they'd seen in their bizarro lifestyle.
'You're alive,' you leveled a dry look on her.
'So are you,' she countered with the same unimpressed gaze.
'How're you here?'
'Oh, darlin', this ain't my first rodeo. They taught us to use African Dream Roots when we were barely out of elementary school. After I woke up from the magically-induced sleep, I thought, what better way to find you than this?' Before you could strap on your sassy mouth, she turned her eyes to her lover, 'For the record, this was not how I was planning to tell you that your soulmate is here to rescue you.'
'Yes,' you sarcastically added. 'Moi, a tall glass of Americano, handmade for you.'
'She's a bit self-obsessed. Nothing you can't work on.'
'What the fuck is going on?!' Dean roared.
You shrunk a little, your copycat was unfazed. She gripped your wrist - you hadn't realised she had gotten so close to you - and pulled you towards the door.
'Sorry, darlin',' she jerked you into the outside world. 'Gotta borrow her for now. Will explain everything later.' The door shut in Dean's face.
White light color-penciled your visions. You groaned when you could see again.
'What's with you two and hammocks!'
Your companion sniggered. 'Chill. I figured you'd have a penchant for falling off of them so I brought us into a treehouse - even though we technically cannot die since this is a dream.'
'Hey!' you raised a finger. 'Have some respect for the dreams, dude. It comes from the darkest parts of ourselves - what you don't know can kill you!'
She chuckled again, 'Like the dream spell you put me under?'
You crossed your arms. 'I thought you were going to kill me.'
She mock-gasped. 'You don't trust me?'
'Oh, trust is oozing out of my pores - sweating it like bullets; why haven't you killed me?' you deadpanned.
'You saved my life by calling Cas. I can spare yours. Even-Steven,' she answered good-naturedly.
'I put you in danger!'
She hummed. 'Yeah, that was unpleasant. But I forgive you. Plus, we girls ought to stick together for Dean's sake, right?'
'You're a nut case! You just blew our cover by telling him that there's two of us! It won't take long for him to know that only one of us is going back.'
'Yeah, that was the ideal plan,' she sighed. 'But I have a back-up. So, don't you worry.'
You looked at your self-proclaimed saviour incredulously.
'You don't want to be saved, do you?'
The truth was just out of your reach - you could see it prowling in her identical e/c orbs behind a thin veil of smugness that only comes from being a messiah. When you looked closer, you could also read the darkness around the edges. A darkness that burned her up from the inside out; one that swallows a person whole; one that you were too familiar with. The worst kind of darkness to be seen in humans. The one that came when you hate yourself.
Perhaps, the only difference between you two was that hers was beyond repair and she hid it behind self-sabotage, while you hid behind arrogance and hollow self-entitlement.
'I want to be,' she amended softly. 'But no one here can save me.'
Your chest spasmed with pain.
She shot your fallen face a wan smile. 'I'm sorry for making you believe that I was going to kill you.'
'No, you're not!'
'No, I'm not,' she muttered in gleeful satisfaction. 'But I know what the pain of losing a soulmate is, I would never bestow such a fate upon Dean.'
'He doesn't know me. He doesn't care!'
Why were you doing this again? She was giving you a freaking hall pass! Your ticket out of here. Why the heck were you questioning that?
'That's where you're wrong,' she nodded. 'Y/N, you've seen death and destruction in our lives, but did you not see that there was nothing to destroy before.'
You squinted at her, 'Come again in English?'
She chuckled a bit. 'Let it be, you won't understand.'
'Humour me,' you were somewhat desperate to understand just why someone would ruin their lives for this!
Love was overrated . . . wasn't it?
She struggled to string a good enough sentence until you saw the bulb go off in her head. You disliked the grin that grew on her face, and even more the tears that began to shine in her orbs.
'It's simple: My Dean Winchester is my soulmate because he was somehow the beginning and the end of me.' You smiled: 'And only he can save me.'
You knew she meant it, she believed it, she lived by it.
You couldn't help yourself when you blurted, 'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'
'Told you: you wouldn't understand. Not until it happens to you, darling.'
You were about to offer an abhorrent platitude, with a side of denial and irritation when the treehouse shook around you.
'What's happening?' she leapt out of her hammock, prepared for a fight.
Your brows furrowed. 'I'm waking up. When you took me, you pulled me out of Dean's head who'd been sleeping or had been knocked unconscious. You pulled me back into my own head. Although you are only a temporary dream-traveller because of the Roots you took, you cannot be the host for my dreams.'
She frowned. 'Look, I wanted to talk to you because this may be the last time, and I want you to know that no matter what happened, and no matter what happens - I'm coming for you, Y/N.'
The world faded into nothing.
Pissed didn't even begin to cover the areas of your mind the rage had reached. You were planning and plotting fantastical murders. You were cursing and harking on anyone courageous enough to remain in your vicinity.
First of all, there was the constant headache. The pounding, hammers and nails against your skull; a side-effect of recovering from your personal Hell, if you will. You honestly don't remember much after you woke up. Nothing from your past that you didn't want to remember came to you. All you knew was that the American had put you to sleep, and Castiel had roused you.
You had decided to reach out to your doppelganger, the only way you knew that wouldn't freak her out. A place where she'd be comfortable enough for a chat with you, without feeling like she was under any threat. You vaguely remembered that part: only that somehow there was Dean, and something had gone seriously wrong during the endtail of your talk with the other Y/N.
Kan-fir (Cas had flown you off to the Dwarves' lair) had been happy to enlighten you that while you'd been a sleeping beauty, your look-alike had been kidnapped by the fairies, Dean had tried to save her thinking it was you, and failed, and now the American had been shipped off to Leviathans. You hadn't known any of that while you were sleeping.
You couldn't believe that she slipped from your fingers. You blamed yourself for her capture. You hadn't meant to scare her, but you did. She deserved to feel your wrath, if only for a second, you won't deny that - she really hurt you but you wouldn't kill her!
Whatever you said was true, yet, it wasn't enough to work. Even if you did replace her after killing her, which would honestly be too easy - and too good to be true - you couldn't truly replace her.
She'd always be the American Dean's true soulmate. Just like your Dean would be yours and only yours, and you would be his. You couldn't deny that even when you had American Dean with you, it had felt like a betrayal to your Dean. You were never complete with this one, never a whole like you had been with your Dean.
You guessed that just his presence in your life again was enough sustenance to ignore the ever-present void. If you could fool your heart and soul for even a second in the twenty-four hours that you had to survive - then even that was enough. Just that second of distraction had been allowing you to breathe before you were drowning again.
But how many days were you willing to waste for a meagre serving of those seconds?
It wasn't fair to Dean. Stringing him along like that when you couldn't give him your heart.
This Dean was a close second, but he was still a second to you. And he deserved everything best. He deserved a girl, a soulmate, and their undivided love. Their unbroken heart. Their untarnished memories. He should have someone who'd fight for him till the last breath. He deserved someone who'd love him for him, not because he was a good substitute.
And the thing was that no matter how much the monster Y/N resisted, no matter how much she evaded falling in love with him, no matter if she didn't care for him - you knew she'd do it all one day.
If there was a betting pool, you were going to put all your money on her.
Soulmates is no joke.
And it doesn't really matter if it ends good or bad - no one knows what's going to happen to that relationship. Nevertheless, it's going to start. It's going to commence, and it's going to flourish at one point. Then, the endings will differ.
Although you did hope that this one relationship was happier than the thousand other ones the American had seen fail. Probably you hoped that because you had met them both in person. More than once: now, and that one time when the past-you had met the future-them.
'We're here,' Castiel's grave tone calmed your turbulent thoughts till you were as calm as a hunter ready to jump their monster.
A path through the woods, scattered ashes, trail of blood, faint conversation. It was a site of a recent monster slaughtering - and the blood indicated a human. The only human in the Purgatory other than you was Dean.
'Are you sure you want to do this?' Castiel wasn't so sure himself.
'Do I have a choice?'
'He's going to be mad.'
'Any tips on how to handle him mad? I'm told you're pretty experienced.'
He side-eyed you, his resentment towards your uncalled for jab visible. 'Try to not make him angrier.'
You scoffed. 'Yeah. That's gonna happen.'
'Try.'
You walked ahead instead of responding.
Soon, they came in your sights. Bickering like an old married couple. Dean just had that Alpha, protector of the family vibe that automatically made him the impatient, arrogant, reserved but a caring husband of any duo he chose to be a part of. Everyone else in his presence automatically became that sassy wife who was done with his shit - it was rare to see the roles reversed.
Benny tensed as you assumed Castiel came on his radar.
You knew that he could sense humans too. But you were technically a defect piece. Not really a human of this world that gave you a weird stench which even actually faded into the surround smells of Purgatory. While Dean was still fresh meat, and originally from the planet of this respective Purgatory. His smell was too overpowering not to guise yours. A tidbit you'd earned as a courtesy of the Dwarves.
Benny turned, taking Dean's gaze with the twist of his body. The latter's mouth dropped, and his green eyes glimmered with a new surge of hope and excitement. His wound forgotten, he sprang to his feet, almost butting Benny who had been hovering over the older Winchester, and he rushed at you.
Before long, you were sealed into his warm and much welcomed embrace. His face nuzzled your hair affectionately before it took residence in the crook of your neck; his hot breath fanning your neck as he pulled you in tighter.
'You're okay,' he whispered to you, pressing a small kiss to the joining point of your neck and shoulders, 'you're okay, sweetheart.'
No, I'm not.
You patted his back, somewhat awkwardly, because you didn't feel as excited as he seemed to be.
'We thought the fairies whisked you away for good,' Benny commented.
Dean pulled away, blissfully unaware of your conflict. His grin wavered for a second, 'You scared me, sweetheart.'
Silence stunted your verbal facilities.
'Dean,' Castiel's low baritone saved you.
The blond-haired man noticed, for the first time, his best friend's presence, with an exclamation of the blue-eyed man's name, he was rushing to treat your partner-in-crime the same as you - with a relieved hug and nothing but a childlike exuberance.
Your e/c orbs fell to the last man standing, and they narrowed. Mutual distrust was communicated both ways in that one look. You knew what your problem with him was - he was an accomplice to the death of the love of your life.
What was his problem?
'Where have you two been?' Dean's question beat yours.
Castiel exchanged a fleeting look with you.
Dean missed it, 'We've been looking all over for you two! Then, a ghoul told me you'd been captured - and . . . I had a weird dream.' His lip wobbled, 'I thought . . . when I woke up, I thought the fairies must have taken you to the Leviathans because of their ties . . . .'
'We know,' you shrugged.
Anger danced across his features as his exhilaration quickly evaporated. 'Why did you leave in the first place, Y/N?' his brows furrowed.
'I need your help.'
Surprise flashed, then hurt creeped in. 'Is that why you're here? You needed my help?'
Castiel shot you a look: You've hurt him!
You rolled your eyes at him: Didn't make him angrier, did I?
Castiel seemed done with you.
You addressed Dean. 'I don't need it. But manpower would be appreciated.'
'Oh, yeah?' Dean spat out. 'Then, why didn't you go to your precious Dwarves?'
'They refused to help me.' Technically, they refused to help the dreamwalker - "potato", "po-tah-to", you figured.
'So, let me get this straight,' he stepped towards you, 'you run out on me when I need you,' another step, 'avoid me for months,' closer with each accusation, 'refuse to give me an explanation when I'm warding off all the monsters,' three feet, 'when all I want is to get us to safety,' two feet, 'and you show up like all that didn't mean anything to you,' he stopped in front of you, 'asking for my help?'
You maintained the eye contact, 'You could've just left.'
'I'm sorry, sweetheart,' venom dribbled, 'I don't leave the people I care about behind.'
You grimaced.
Your Dean's dead body and the battleground flashed into your mind's eye . . .
Go, darling.
I'm not leaving you, you'd cried.
Lara needs you, he'd said. Go save the world . . .
You did leave him behind.
You knew this Dean didn't mean your ex-fiancé when he said what he did; he meant himself. But you weren't leaving this Dean behind - you were saving him.
'Exactly,' you played into him. 'You'd want to help.'
Curiosity ruffled the forest of his eyes.
Interruption, 'We're not taking another detour.'
It was Benjamin this time. Your nerves were already grated because of him. You may have forgiven Castiel to some extent, but this Benny was still a sore spot. Truthfully, you were surprised that you hadn't jumped him and turned him to ash by now; probably the influence of your frenemy Castiel.
'I don't remember asking you,' you gritted without so much as turning your head at him.
'You can't be serious!' the Cajun groused. 'Chief, tell me you're not thinking about this. It's taken us months to reach here - find just the two of them. Do you really want to spend God knows how long trying to save God knows who while the Leviathans are God knows where.'
You circled on your heels, calculating his profile. 'It's a good thing then I have the address of the person and a plan, right?' You weren't really asking.
'Who is it?' Dean finally bit.
Do you give him a heads-up and let him be accustomed to the fact that his bratty soulmate had begrudgingly and forcibly come to save his life? Or do you let him try to guess and have a few moments more with him where he isn't looking at you weirdly?
No, you can't let yourself indulge in his warmth.
You replied with your resolution. 'The girl of your dreams.'
Dean scowled deeper. 'That really happened? She's real? She's really here to save me?'
'What am I missing?'
Castiel was the one who replied this time. 'The fairies really did take away someone . . . it just wasn't this Y/N.'
'There's more than one?' Benny inquired.
'She's Dean true soulmate. And she's here to save him,' you stated, squaring your shoulders.
'Fat lotta saving that Y/N's doing,' Benny huffed.
'How'd she even get here?'
'She died,' Castiel simply told before you could make something up.
'She's a monster?'
You winced, bit your lip as you bulldozed a glare good enough to kill at Cas, your frayed nerves bustling with electric anger. Castiel just opened and closed his mouth, an apology stitched into his deep blues.
'Isn't there a theory that two doppelgangers cannot live on the same planet?' Benny mused out loud.
Oh, fuck!
Dean's eyes snapped to yours in shock. 'Did you know about that?'
'Um,' you stepped back, laughing a little nervously, raising your hands in defence. 'You know what? This was a mistake—'
'You've been planning all along to not come, haven't you?' he accused. 'That's why you left!'
You looked away, jaw clenched.
'How could you do this to me?'
'Dean—'
Castiel was rudely cut off when a huge projectile crashed into him and he tumbled into the dry leaves with a boom.
The projectile grew in shape, opening its wide maw.
You realised your folly. You were standing too close to the recent battle-site.
'Leviathans,' you whispered.
A/N: Complicated, huh? I remember when I first wrote this chapter, lol . . . took me months to make it as less confusing as possible while keeping all the details in 😂🫠🙃.
Anyway, I'd like to apologize for delaying this by a day. I was sick, and in no condition to edit, heh.
I'm also very excited to bring you the next and last chapter of Purgatory coming week, hehe. Stay tuned and stay safe!
