#recompense

Y/N winced and groaned as she fought with the heavy metal door, fighting with what little strength and energy she had left to force the door open and close behind her. Her vision was fading, and everything hurt, but she just had to get into the Bunker. Then she would be safe. Then nothing could hurt her anymore.

She managed to make it down the spiral staircase, clumsily slipping down the last steps and cursing under her breath. Just one more door and she would be inside, and Sam and Dean could help her. She knew they wouldn’t be happy, and they’d have a million questions. After all, she was just supposed to take a shopping trip to the grocery store. 

The second door closed behind her with a resounding bang and creaky hinges. She gasped, relieved to be within the safety of her underground home finally. But what strength she had remaining left her, and she collapsed on the balcony overlooking the illuminated map table below.

“Y/N, that you?” 

She heard Dean’s deep, booming voice shouting up to her, but she couldn’t muster a response. She was so tired and weak, and she just wanted to close her eyes for a moment. At least, the eye that wasn’t already swollen shut.

“What took so long?”

She heard Dean again and groaned, but still couldn’t speak. Sam’s voice followed his brother’s, the lightheartedness of their good moods filling her with guilt.

“He’s impatient ‘cause you teased him with a home-cooked meal.”

“Y/N?”

She could hear their booted feet landing on the scrolling metal steps as they ascended to the upper balcony. When she heard a gasp, her head lolled towards it, and she forced open her good eye.

“What the fuck happened?!” 

Dean’s growl made her whimper, and she feared the tears would come. She wasn't necessarily afraid of crying in front of anyone, especially after what had happened. But it hurt her face and flesh too much to sob like she wanted.

“She’s covered in blood.”

She could feel their hands as they examined her, and she knew she must’ve been a sight.

“N-not all my blood,” she uttered, trying to explain what had gone so wrong, but she still struggled to speak or move.

The next several minutes were a blur as Sam scooped her off the floor and into his arms, rushing down the stairs with ease and carrying her into the Infirmary. She could hear Dean trying to reach Castiel, unsure if by phone or prayer. He sounded angry and uneasy. She wondered how bad he was going to chew her out for getting hurt.

Dean could barely keep his eyes on her as he desperately tried to reach Castiel. The Angel could heal her, and then she wouldn’t have to suffer and could tell them what had happened. As it was, every time his eyes landed on her, he discovered a new detail that churned his stomach and enraged his soul.

Sam worked on removing her shoes and jacket, and she whimpered with every little movement. “Shh,” he urged. “You’re safe, we’ve got you, okay?”

She tried to relax, but the pain and trauma were enough to keep her conscious, even if she wanted just to black out and forget entirely.

Sam glanced at Dean as he paced, angrily mumbling at his phone and throwing up prayers, but no response came. He looked back at Y/N and his heart clenched. 

She’d clearly been in an altercation. Her shirt and pants were torn, blood seeping through in several spots where he could see she had been cut or slashed. Her face was severely beaten, one eye swollen shut, blood caked around her mouth and nostrils. The button and zipper on her jeans were torn, the flaps hanging open. His blood began to boil as he assumed the worst.

“I need to check and clean your wounds, see if you need stitches,” Sam said, giving her a minute to process his words. “I’m gonna cut your shirt off first, okay?”

She whimpered but nodded, and Sam grabbed a pair of scissors, cutting up the middle of her tattered and bloodied t-shirt from hem to collar. Setting the scissors aside, he carefully pulled the remnants off her arms. Her bra was still intact and protected her modesty, but now Sam could see the extent of damage at least on her torso.

He had hoped to get to see her undressed and beneath him at some point, but this was the farthest thing he had in mind. He couldn’t resist gently caressing her side as his eyes took in the damage. She had several slashes, some on her chest and several along her stomach and arms, with no discernible pattern. There were also several red marks and bruises already blooming. She’d been beaten and tortured to some degree, and Sam was ready to track down whoever did this and drag out their demise.

“He’s not answering,” Dean stated as he rejoined them. 

Sam moved to one side, beginning to clean some of the cuts as Dean moved around the other side of her. He gently reached out and brushed some of the hair back from her face and down her cheek. She winced, and Dean’s heart fell. He picked up some gauze and began working on the side opposite to Sam, and they diligently and carefully cleaned and bandaged her wounds.

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to need stitches, and none of the cuts were very deep. As Dean moved to work on her stomach, Sam moved to stand by her hips, looking down at the broken clasp of her jeans again before turning to her and catching her attention.

“I gotta take these off, look at your leg. Is that okay?”

She nodded, but as soon as Sam tucked his fingers beneath the material and started gently tugging them off, she whimpered and turned her head into Dean’s arm, clinging to him for dear life. Dean stopped what he was doing, comforting her as Sam removed her pants. Once they were gone, he could see worse cuts on her thighs, and several bruises and blood that indicated exactly what he had feared.

His heated gaze shot to Dean, who stared at the apex of her thighs, his jaw clenched as he too realized the depth of her suffering. Sam gently rubbed her outer thigh, trying to soothe her, before focusing on the long gash along her thigh. She continued to cling to Dean, and it took Sam a minute to realize she was quietly sobbing into him. Dean stopped working and focused solely on her, giving her all the comfort she needed, whispering soothing words to her as Sam continued his mission.

Luckily, a whooshing sound filled the room, and both brothers stood straight and sighed in relief at the sight of Castiel. He glanced between them, then noticed Y/N on the small cot. Without a word, he walked forward and pressed his fingers to her forehead, closing his eyes as he focused his grace where she needed it. Slowly, her wounds healed and disappeared, including the bruises. But the blood remained, caking her skin.

She gasped, the relief from the pain instant and calming. She slowly sat up, uncaring of her state of undress, and smiled softly at Cas, who returned the gesture before glancing at Dean and walking several steps away. Sam stood and removed his flannel, passing it to her with a tight smile before joining the other men on the far side of the room. She was thankful for the shirt, putting it on and fastening the buttons, and lying back on the cot. Although the pain had subsided, the exhaustion and weakness persisted.

“What happened?” Cas asked.

“We don’t know,” Dean shook his head. “She just went on a supply run.”

“We should talk to her. Find out who did this.”

“Yeah, and fucking kill them,” Dean growled.

Cas gave a tight smile, understanding enough to know that Y/N meant a lot to them and someone had threatened that.

“Let me know how I can help.”

Cas left, knowing the brothers still needed to find out what happened and likely wanted time with her after the incident. He decided to try to find out what he could. Y/N was a good person and an important part of the Winchesters' lives. He wasn’t sure she understood just how important she was to the brothers, or why they wouldn’t just tell her. 

Sam and Dean walked back to Y/N, who was struggling to stand from the bed, like a newborn deer trying to walk for the first time. Despite how tired she was, she desperately wanted a shower, to cleanse the blood and memory from her skin.

“Whoa, hey, what are you doing?” Sam asked, rushing to help her before her legs gave out. His hands found her waist, holding her upright, and she sighed, dropping her forehead to his chest with a light thud.

“I-I need a shower,” she stuttered, feeling a fresh bout of tears threatening her. “Please. I need-”

“Okay,” Sam shushed her, gently scooping her into his arms. “I gotcha.”

She wanted to protest, to make him put her down and let her do this on her own. But the wounded part of her clung to him, feeling completely safe because it was Sam, and she knew he’d never hurt her. They were friends and fellow hunters. She trusted Sam and Dean with her life and, though ashamed to admit it, she craved the caring attention they were giving her. In Sam’s arms, it felt like nothing could ever hurt her again. 

He carried her into the large locker room-style bathroom and set her on her feet by one of the shower stalls. He reached in and turned on the water, testing the temperature for her, then turned back to face her with a gentle smile.

“I can wait outside for you. Just holler when you’re ready.”

She panicked at the thought of him leaving, too afraid and fragile to be left alone, too scared of anything that could assault her, including her own mind, in his absence. A distant voice in the back of her mind scolded her for being so needy and clingy, told her not to do this to Sam.

“I - Don’t leave. I don’t need a shower, it’s fine.” She was willing to forgo cleanliness if it meant keeping Sam close.

He tucked a finger under her chin, gently guiding her eyes to meet his. “You want me to stay?” 

She nodded, her fingers clenching in his shirt, hesitant to be far from his aura of safety.

“Okay, just give me a second.”

She hadn’t expected that and looked at him in confusion before he stepped back just enough to start removing his clothes. She blushed deeply and forced herself to look away, focusing on her clothing until she was bare. Sam took her hand and guided her into the shower, holding her waist as she stood under the spray.

She glanced up at him, knowing he was nude as well, but keeping her eyes from wandering out of respect. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing a dick right then anyway, or even thinking along those lines. She just knew she wanted him to stay, and he did, lowering himself down into her pit of vulnerability. 

Feeling secure in his hold, she tilted her head back and began to wash herself, but Sam intervened, pampering and caring for her as he washed her from head to toe. It was relaxing and pleasant, and despite what she’d just been through, she felt no fear with Sam. She knew she could trust him completely, and she didn’t have to think about anything with him there. 

She let him guide her as he turned off the shower, handing her a towel and wrapping one low around his waist. He was beautiful, and it briefly registered in her mind, but she couldn’t truly appreciate it in her current headspace. What she did see, every time she looked at him, was a friend and protector, and that was more than enough.

He led her to her room, leaving her to get dressed while he went to his room and promised to return. He came back just as she finished dressing, and she was surprised he’d returned so quickly. He smiled, then led her to the kitchen with a hand on her lower back. Dean sat at the table, lifting his head and offering a tight smile as they entered. Sam guided her into a seat and took up one beside her, both across from Dean. They needed to know what happened, but didn’t want to make her more uncomfortable.

“Can you tell us what happened?” Dean said as he held her gaze, grateful that she didn’t seem traumatized. At least, not with them.

Y/N nodded, took a deep breath, and swallowed hard. She pinched her eyes shut, both fighting off and recalling the events, spewing them forth like a police report and desperately trying not to get emotional.

“When I left the store, there was a group of guys hanging out by their pickup truck in the parking lot.”

“What kind of truck? Did you get the tags?”

She couldn’t help the half-smile at Dean’s questions, expecting that he’d want every detail she could remember. Not only had he taught her about being observant and remembering everything, but she knew they weren’t going to let this just be.

“Black Ford F-150 with a camper top, Kansas tags,” she said, remembering when she took in every detail around her in case something happened, and tried her damndest to continue when it did go to shit. “They were drinking canned beers,” she continued, eyes closed and calm as Sam’s hand rested reassuringly on her thigh. “Five men, country drawl, limited vocabulary and language skills,” she scoffed.

It was difficult, and she had to keep pausing to rein in her emotions as the brothers continued to soothe and encourage her. Neither of them wanted to hear what she’d been through, but they needed to. As she continued, Sam and Dean knew they wouldn’t rest until the debt was paid.

She told them about how the men surrounded her, taunted her, and solicited her. She didn’t snap until one of them grabbed her arm. Then she went wild, fighting them diligently, despite being outnumbered. It explained most of her injuries. But she could only fight so hard, for so long, against so many opponents. They struck her, blurring her vision and rocking her skull. 

That’s when they carried her into the back of the camper-shell covered truck bed and took turns holding her down and violating her in many ways, though they stayed away from her mouth after she’d bitten one of them so hard it nearly took off the head of his dick. Then they beat her until she was almost unconscious, and continued their assault. After, they dumped her out the back of the truck onto the asphalt parking lot. No one had seen anything, and she was glad for the lack of people in her state. 

That’s when she crawled to her car and forced herself to make it back to the Bunker, to the safety of the Winchesters. When she finished, she was glad to have it out in the open and even more grateful that she was alive and had made it home. As bad as it was, she knew it could have been much worse. Didn’t make any of it easier, though. She looked between the brothers, trying to gauge their reactions, and waiting for any follow-up questions, though they’d asked plenty for clarification in between her recollections.

Dean was stone, his eyes dark and slightly narrowed, and creases in his furrowed brow. She knew that look, that look of concentration and determination. He was plotting and imagining all the dark things he wanted to visit upon her assailants. That look was terrifying, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. She’d done nothing wrong, had followed their rules and teachings. No, that look was for the bastards that Dean would make pay in blood.

When she looked at Sam, it was similar but so very different. He was rigid and tense, his jaw clenched, his hand on her thigh heavier, though not uncomfortable. His eyes were significantly narrowed, and his nostrils flared as he huffed out his breath. He was thoroughly pissed off. But again, it didn’t frighten her the way it would terrify others because it wasn’t directed at her. If anything, it made her squirm in her seat and fight back a whine in her throat.

“We’ll take care of it,” Dean said, reaching across the table to squeeze her hand.

“I know.”

-

Over the next several days, things returned to normal, with a few notable exceptions. Dean was always coming or going, and she knew he was working the case, Castiel often accompanying him and leaving her with a soft smile every time Dean ran past. It surprised her, though, how much he seemed to care about her. She knew he cared. Dean couldn’t help but care. But the haunted look in his eyes was the same look he had when Sam was threatened or hurt. That surprised her immensely.

Sam, however, was more present and attentive. They simply talked, hung out, or worked on tasks together. But Sam was always right there, smiling and happy to be there, to be the rock she needed. It was hard for her. On one hand, Sam was suddenly acting in a way she’d always hoped he would. On the other hand, she knew it had to be from pity, and that soured nearly every moment. She did her best not to let it show, and when Sam did give her a questioning look, she brushed it off, letting him assume it was some sort of PTSD.

That was something else that surprised her. She expected to feel awful, to feel broken and like a failure, and many other negative emotions. She expected to have nightmares or jump anytime someone came close to her. She was concerned she wasn’t reacting much at all. She also hadn’t let herself think or linger on it, instead focusing on the hope that Sam and Dean would track them down, that vengeance was only a step away.

A little over a week after the incident, she began to lose hope as the brothers still hadn’t tracked down the men who had done this to her. She had tried helping, researching, and forcing herself to look through mugshots and DMV database photos in search of the men, but it started to get to her. Then she had a nightmare.

In her dream, she was reliving the experience, held down in the back of the truck, surrounded by the foul-smelling men as they had their way with her and whispered filthy things as they laughed and taunted her. Her eyes flew open, her back arched as she took in a deep gasp of breath. Her door burst open, and Sam and Dean stood in the doorway after hearing her scream.

But her mind didn’t recognize them in her dazed panic. She scrambled to her feet, standing on the bed with a pillow clutched in her hands like a weapon. Her eyes were wide and wild as she stared at the two men crowding her room and blocking the only route of escape.

“Y/N, calm down. It’s us. It’s Sam and Dean,” Sam tried to calm her, hands out to placate. 

The brothers moved slowly and in sync, hands out and facing her as they took measured steps to opposite sides of her bed. She knew who they were, but the imposing figures were too much for her frazzled mind to handle. As they separated, she saw her opening, throwing the pillow in Dean’s face as she dashed off the end of the bed and for the door.

Sam caught her before she could run, his arms coming around her from behind and holding her securely. She thrashed in his hold, and Sam tried his best to calm her. “Y/N, please. Calm down. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Dean came around her front, wanting to help Sam calm her down and bring her back to her senses. But as he approached, she growled, determined not to be a victim again. Using Sam’s hold, she lifted her legs and planted them firmly in Dean’s midsection, sending him back a few feet in surprise. 

It surprised Sam enough that his hold loosened sufficiently for her to break free. She elbowed him in the stomach and threw her head back, connecting with his chin, sending him reeling back like his brother.

“Damnit, Y/N!” Sam growled, more than frustrated and deeply worried, which culminated in a reaction of absolute anger. 

He wasn’t angry at her, but she ended up the target as he wrestled to grab her hands and keep her from striking out. Once her hands were held fast in one of his significantly larger hands, his other arm came around her lower back. He lifted and dropped her on her back to the bed, her hands held above her head, one of Sam’s knees on the bed for purchase as he hovered over her.

“Stop!”

His booming voice in her face shocked her to stillness, enough that she could focus on his intense eyes and realize it was Sam. Her Sam. He’d never hurt her. She let out a shuddering breath, then started to cry. Sam released his hold on her hands, shifting to pull her onto his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. She clung to him tightly as she buried her face in his neck and sobbed.

Dean flashed him a look before retreating from the room, letting his brother handle the situation now that she wasn’t trying to kick anyone’s ass. Dean was surprised at how good a fighter she was, how fierce, angry, and strong in the moment. He knew she’d put up one hell of a fight, and it only angered him more that she was outnumbered and overpowered. He couldn’t wait to see what those assholes looked like from her efforts, and without the advantage of an Angel to heal them.

Sam barely glanced at his brother as he left, instead focusing on Y/N. His arms wrapped around her, holding her tightly to his chest as she sat in his lap and cried. The sound of her suffering pierced his heart, but he was glad that she allowed him to comfort her, that she recognized him in the moment. He tried to calm his racing heart from the significance of that. Instead, just focused on being whatever she needed in the moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered into Sam’s shoulder when she finally spoke, her sobs and breathing calmed enough to do so.

“Hey,” Sam ran his fingers through her hair, pulling her back enough to meet his eyes as he smiled gently at her. “It’s okay. It happens. Do you need anything?”

“But I-I hurt you two.”

Sam barked a laugh, “We’ve had worse. I promise we’re not mad. We can get pretty violent out of a nightmare, too.”

She had heard them, mostly Dean, in the past when they started shouting in the middle of the night from any number of horrible things plaguing their dreams. While she knew she wasn’t alone there, she still felt ashamed for how she’d reacted, especially with them.

She buried her face back in Sam’s neck, holding him tightly, and he reciprocated. “Please stay,” she whispered, so small he almost didn’t hear it. 

“Of course,” he responded, shifting on the bed to lie them both down, never letting her go from his arms. He watched over her until her breathing evened out, and he knew she was asleep. He continued watching over her until his eyes grew too heavy and he joined her in slumber.

-

For the next several days, they’d developed a routine. Sam was constantly with her, staying beside her every night, soothing away the nightmares, and keeping her close throughout the day. She wanted him close, and he was eager to be there for her in any way she needed. He could feel them growing closer than before, and as much as he wanted more between them, he knew the timing wasn’t right. She didn’t need his emotional pining on top of everything she was dealing with.

The two of them were sitting in the Library as Sam diligently worked on leads. They were growing closer to finding those men and enacting their plans. When Dean walked into the Library, he had a broad grin on his face, and Sam sat up straight and gave his brother his undivided attention.

“Cas found ‘em,” Dean announced, and Sam stiffened with readiness for a fight. “They were all hanging out together at this abandoned place outside of town. He has them held there now. If we hurry-”

Sam was on his feet in a second, ready to follow his brother, but Y/N grabbed his arm and his attention.

“Sam-”

“We have to do this, Y/N. I have to do this.”

“I know,” she nodded and swallowed hard. “I want to be there.” Sam shook his head adamantly, but she pressed on. “I need to see it. To know it’s over.”

Sam placed his hands on her upper arms, rubbing them soothingly up and down. “I don’t want you seeing me like that. Seeing that part of me.”

Y/N had only ever seen the relaxed version of him, never witnessing the truly angry or beastial man he could be when hunting. But this was more than that, even, and he knew his darkest sides would come to light. He didn’t want to scare her or turn her away from him if she saw that. He shook his head, and she was ready to argue, but he interrupted her.

“This is different,” Sam uttered, fighting back his tide of emotions. “I know it’s your fight, but this is different-”

“How, Sam?”

“Because!” he said a little too forcefully, making himself calm and holding her gaze again. “Look, I know I have no right. But you’ve always felt like mine,” he forced himself to speak the truth and remain as calm as possible, but he was visibly shaking. “I know we’re not together, but you’ve always felt like my girl, my person. And those assholes-” he closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. “I know I sound like an ass, but this primal male instinct part of me needs to do this. They hurt my woman,” he whispered the last part as he gently caressed her cheek with his thumb.

It was everything she had wanted to hear from Sam and, to be honest, she had felt the pull, too. But she wasn’t sure if it was reciprocated or all her imagination. Despite her heart soaring from his words and his protective instinct, they were both focused on the thrumming energy of vengeance.

“I want to see it,” she responded firmly. 

Sam knew she needed closure, and seeing them taken care of would provide that. He was still hesitant for her to see him like that, but he supposed that doing so would be a make-or-break moment in whether she could even accept him. All of him. So he nodded, and the three of them climbed into the Impala to meet up with Castiel.

They drove to an old, abandoned barn on the outskirts of town. As they pulled up, Y/N could see the black truck parked next to a clearing with a bonfire burning and shiny cans littered about. Dean parked and Sam helped her out of the back of the car, leaving her to lean against the side of it as he and Dean turned towards the men.

All five of them were there, lined up with their backs against the side of the barn as Castiel stood like an overeager guard. She wasn’t sure what Cas had done, but they were all obedient and quiet. Sam and Dean approached, standing side by side and facing the men. She knew the brothers were imposing and some of them started to shake and wither under the unmistakable gaze. One of them looked past the brothers to Y/N and sneered at seeing her.

“Don’t look at her,” Dean said calmly. “You don’t get to look at her.”

“Did a Hell of a lot more than look,” the sneering one said, and Y/N remembered him as the first to grab her. The one to tell the others what to do. It made her shrink inward in fear. “Lemme guess. You’re here to kick our asses for using your girl? Maybe you should’ve kept a better leash on her.”

Dean grinned and shook his head, but it wasn’t a happy smile. Sam slowly pulled a large hunting blade from the back of his pants and held it tight in his right hand as he eyed them all up. Their sneers and joking died down in the presence of Sam Fucking Winchester and the evident danger and anger permeating the air.

Dean looked over each of the men. Y/N had given descriptions of the incident and the men’s appearances exactly as they were. Looking over them, he knew exactly who had done what, and he knew Sam did too. The big-mouthed asshole, the apparent leader of the bunch, had no clue what was in store for him and his friends.

Y/N lurched forward, sneering back at the man, ready to attack him again herself. But Dean pulled her back to the Impala, steadying her and making her meet his gaze.

“You need to let Sam handle this. He needs to handle this, okay?”

She let out a breath and nodded, staying put against the Impala as Dean turned back towards them and withdrew his own blade. Castiel mostly acted as a guard, silent and ensuring the assailants had nowhere to go as Sam and Dean began fighting and cutting at them, except for the leader. Castiel held him back, separate from the others, to witness their downfall. To their credit, the other four men tried to fight back, even producing switchblades. The action only made Dean laugh.

Dean seemed to be having fun, taunting the men as they circled and fought, but much like Cas, he left most of the fighting up to his not-so-little Little Brother. Sam, however, was not amused. He was intensely focused, moving with great speed and skill, striking blows and cuts that drew out the torment. He was toying with them, torturing them, and still his face was unreadable stone.

Y/N couldn’t help her racing heart as she watched Sam at work. He was large and formidable, frightening and lethal. His muscles shone through the stretched, tight flannel as he flexed and moved. His speed and precision were exact. She understood why he didn’t want her to see him that way. She was used to the sweet, smart, gentle giant that was Sam, buried in books and research and teasing and complaining about his big brother’s antics. But this…this was pure primal, animalistic, calculated rage. It should have frightened her to know Sam was capable of such violence, and with ease. Instead, it sent her into an intense flurry of utter arousal. 

“Don’t ever touch what’s mine,” Sam growled into the face of the leader as he begged for his life, the corpses of his friends littering the ground around him. 

Instead of a final, lethal blow, Sam shoved his knife deep into the belly of the man, dragging it upwards to his sternum with great force, and holding the man’s eyes as he did so. When he stepped back, the man gasped, his eyes wide in shock as his insides fell outside his body to the ground. The seconds seemed to drag on into minutes as she watched the man choke on the last remnants of his life, fall to his knees, and attempt to shove his innards back into his gaping body, before he, too, fell to the ground, lifeless.

“I’ll take care of this,” Castiel said to Dean as the brothers moved back to the car. 

Y/N could only focus on Sam as his tall figure huffed down at the bloody mess they’d created. He turned, sniffing and wiping his nose on his sleeve as he sauntered back to the car, the energy of the fight still thrumming through his veins. There was blood splattered all over the front of his shirt, his right hand, still clutching the blade, drenched in blood. She should have been terrified, disgusted, turned off by all the blood and gore and the sight of Sam, so deadly.

But she wasn’t, not even close. 

“Sam,” she breathed out as he approached the car. He lifted his eyes to hers, ready to see the absolute terror in their depths at having seen him in hunter mode. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his lips to hers in a searing kiss.

It caught him off guard first, but it took only a second for his mind to register. He groaned, returning the kiss as one hand bunched in her hair, the other on her lower back, still holding the bloodied knife. The kiss turned heated, the adrenaline in both of them amping up the intensity. Sam pushed her back against the side of the Impala and devoured her mouth, pouring out the feelings he’d kept bottled for so long, and was more than pleasantly surprised that she hadn’t rejected him, especially after his primal act of revenge.

“Let’s get home, Kiddos,” Dean chimed as he climbed into the driver’s side and shut the door. 

Sam pulled back, looking into her eyes. He quickly pecked her lips again and helped her into the backseat before climbing in the front with his brother. The ride back was silent as they all contemplated what had just transpired.

When they pulled into the Bunker’s garage, Dean turned off the car and glanced at Sam before quietly exiting and making his way inside. Y/N and Sam climbed out at the same time. He turned to look at her, giving her a small smile as her eyes trailed over the bloody mess on his shirt under the brighter fluorescent lighting.

“I should probably go shower,” he said sheepishly, somehow back to the gentle, sweet man she was familiar with, despite his battered appearance.

“Can I help?” she boldly asked, stepping closer to nearly press herself against him. He had taken care of her, and now she wanted to return the favor.

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise for only a second before he leaned down and gently pecked her lips. He took her by the hand with a half-smirk and walked her toward the showers. This time, Y/N was the one to turn on the water, before turning to Sam and silently starting on the buttons of his blood-soaked flannel. He could only watch her and let her do as she pleased, too stunned after expecting her to shy away and hate him.

She pulled his flannel slowly down his arms, her eyes attentive to her task. She tossed the ruined shirt aside before sliding her hands under the hem of his underlying t-shirt. Sam sucked in a breath as her warm hands glided over his abs and up his chest, taking his shirt with them. He tilted down a little to help get it off, and she tossed it carelessly aside like the last one.

She had a sweet smirk on her lips as she eyed his hair, which he knew was a bit wild from taking off his shirt. She leaned up on tiptoes, smoothing out his hair and tucking it behind his ears before pecking his lips. Sam tried to chase it, but she had already moved on, her eyes now hungrily devouring his exposed torso, her hands following some invisible trail.

Sam sucked in a sharp breath as she lowered herself to a crouch, but she did something wholly unexpected. She unlaced his boots, lifting his leg enough to remove them and his socks before she stood again. She held his eyes as she undid his belt and fly, pushing his jeans and boxers to the floor, but holding their gaze. Sam had never felt so loved and worshipped, so tenderly cared for. 

She kissed the middle of his chest so lightly he would’ve thought he’d imagined it if his eyes weren’t glued to her every move. She stepped back and reached for the hem of her shirt, intent on stripping bare to join him. That spurred Sam into action.

“Let me do the thing,” he whispered, and she smirked, dropping her hands and letting him take the lead.

It was the second time now that he’d had the pleasure of undressing her, but everything was so very different this time. He gripped the hem of her shirt, then glanced in her eyes, finding nothing but patience and certainty. He smirked, then removed her clothing rather swiftly. He was far too eager to have her nude and pressed against him to control himself and take his time. But she didn’t seem to mind.

He pulled them under the spray, gathering her in his arms and tightly against him as he kissed her so hard she bowed back a little. He reluctantly had to remove at least one of his hands from her body so he could wash himself in record time. She wanted to help, to wash him herself, but she smirked as his impatience got the better of him. It only further affirmed to her that Sam was absolutely on board with everything she dreamed of with him.

Once clean, he wrapped his arms around her again, capturing her lips in a heated kiss as he turned and pressed her into the tiled wall. The adrenaline of the hunt, the fight, was still running through him. Y/N’s attention and actions felt like a reward for a job well done. Another thing he’d never experienced in his life of hunting, but was growing more and more grateful for by the second.

Sam paused, his hands on her hips, his forehead pressed to hers as he caught his breath. He allowed his eyes to look down, finally taking in the details of her bare body. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sight as his hands slowly trailed over her wet flesh, up her torso, and cupped her breasts, massaging them and feeling the weight in his large hands. She moaned softly, the sound vibrated over his lips as he hovered them above hers.

“I don’t want to rush you,” Sam said, his hands trailing back to her hips, his lips brushing against hers with every word. “You just went through Hell, Baby. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

She felt warmth run through her at his words. He was so careful and caring of her. But she needed him. She needed him to take away everything else.

“Sam,” she uttered, cupping his jaw and holding his gaze. “You said I was yours. Your woman.” Sam nodded, a chill running through him at her words despite the hot steam of the shower. “Make me yours?”

He groaned, crashing his lips into hers, hands tangling in her hair as he moved her head to kiss her deeply. “You sure?”

“I need to know I’m yours, Sam.”

“Fuuck,” Sam groaned. He quickly turned off the water and secured towels around them. He snatched her up in his arms, his hands around her waist and back as her legs wrapped around him. He carried her quickly to his room, kissing her senseless the whole way. He kicked his door shut behind him and only released her when he dropped them to the bed. She let out a soft grunt as his weight came down on her, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

He removed his towel, flinging it across the room as he attached himself to her mouth again. He was internally warring with himself. Part of him wanted to claim her, inside and out, to make her and everyone know who she belonged to. But another part of him was still worried, concerned for her well-being after being attacked. He allowed himself to give in to his desires, but remained ever diligent of her body and tells, wanting her to be comfortable and to enjoy it all.

He slowly removed her towel and held himself up just enough to gaze over her body beneath him. She relaxed back into the bed and let him have his fill, which he was grateful for, because he really needed a minute. A minute to admire her. A minute to catch his breath. A minute to sort through all the thoughts and images in his mind because he’d had a thousand wet dreams and fantasies of her with him, just like this, and he wanted to do anything and everything to and with her all at once. 

“Sam?” Her soft voice pulled his eyes back to hers as she cupped his cheek. “You okay?” He laughed and shook his head, his dimples popping, and her heart melted at the sight.  

“Yeah, I’m fucking great,” he said. “Are you okay?”

She let out a happy sigh, “I just can’t believe I’m here with you, like this.” And it was true. She, too, had longed for more with Sam, but there were so many reasons they’d harbored as excuses for their fears. More than that, with Sam, she didn’t have a moment to think beyond him and how he made her feel. She wasn’t scared of his touch, but eager for everything he was willing to give her. 

He grinned, turning his head to kiss her wrist, then continuing up her arm to her shoulder, before grabbing her other arm and doing the same. Then he tortured her neck thoroughly, scraping his teeth along the hinge of her jaw. He was drowning in the sweet moans, gasps, and pleas that he drew from her. It was sweeter than any song he’d ever heard in his life, and he knew it would be pleasantly seared into his brain. By the time he’d worked his way over her breasts, down her torso, and toward her mound, she was writhing and desperate to cum. But Sam seemed intent on worshipping her.

As he settled between her legs, she cupped his cheek again. “Sam, you don’t have to. This was supposed to be about you,” she huffed a laugh.

Sam grinned, “Oh, trust me, Baby,” he said, situating her thighs over his broad shoulders. “This is about me. I’m so selfish. Greedy, even.”

Y/N’s resigned laugh was interrupted by a long and loud moan, and Sam drug his tongue, flat and wide, from her entrance to her clit, firm and slow. He moaned as her flavor erupted on his tongue. She glanced down at him, this giant of a man between her legs, his hair falling into his face as it always did. His hungry eyes slid closed as he set in on utterly taking her apart. 

Y/N threw her head back into the pillow; the sensations he caused drove her higher and higher at an alarming speed. Her hands flew to her breasts, squeezing them and pinching her nipples as she rocked her hips into Sam’s face. He moaned loudly, the vibrations coursing through her. He slid a finger inside her, hearing her gasp and starting to work her open. She was already so wet, but he was bigger than average, and he didn’t want to hurt her, especially after what she had been through.

He diligently worked her over, one finger becoming two, then three as he opened her to take him comfortably. Though he worked her to the edge many times, he always backed off, nipping at her inner thighs and slowing the thrust of his hand. 

“Sam, please,” Y/N whined, her hands tugging on his hair and shoulder, desperate for him to make her come or come up there and kiss her senseless. Either was good, really. She just needed him. All of him.

Sam hummed, kissing her clit, then up her body to her lips, his fingers still working languidly within her channel. “Yes, Baby? What do you need?”

“You,” she breathed out, clinging to his shoulders, rocking down against his fingers. “Please, Sam, make me cum.”

Sam grinned, his thumb finding and circling her clit as he increased the pace of his fingers until he was fucking into her, careening her toward her climax. She exploded with a scream of his name, and he continued to work her through it, ringing every last drop. His eyes never left her face as he took in every minute detail, her twitches, the slight curl of her lip, the flare of her nostrils. When she came down, she was flushed, and a light sheen of sweat covered her.

“You are fucking radiant,” Sam praised, pulling his fingers from her core and sucking them clean as he held eye contact. “So incredibly beautiful, Y/N.”

Y/N whimpered. He’d just given her the best orgasm of her life, and he hadn’t even been inside her yet. In her experience, sex had always been about chasing that high, reaching orgasm together. But for Sam, it was so much more. It was more about the journey, the experience, the various sensations that all led up to the climactic euphoria. She felt awakened and enlightened, precious and treasured, and so damn lucky to be the woman Sam chose as his.

Not wanting to cry or spurt out her wildly beating heart’s emotional endearments, Y/N cupped Sam’s face and kissed him tenderly and deeply. She gently pushed until Sam rolled to his back, taking her with him. She settled in his lap, her lips leaving his only to begin a trail down his neck with her tongue and teeth.

When she reached the hollow in his throat, she licked a long, deep strip, tasting the saltiness on her tongue like she’d always dreamed. His throat bobbed, and she smirked, continuing a slow and teasing trail to his hips as he had done. She couldn’t resist the urge, sucking a mark into the V of his hip, and Sam shouted in surprise as his hips jerked into her touch. 

“Okay?” she whispered, looking up at him from her lashes.

“So okay,” Sam responded, his hand lightly tangling in her hair as she started kissing and licking along his throbbing length.

Sam was struggling to keep his heart from exploding, sprinkling those three little words all over, every fiber of his being felt love for her with every touch. He’d never been so tenderly appreciated and worshipped before. He had been bitten and sucked, marked and clawed, and received many compliments on his physique, but this was different. She held the same reverence in every kiss she laid on his heated skin as he did with her, and it was almost too much for him to handle. But still worth every painfully delicious and precious second.

When she wrapped her lips around him, sucking him down with her eyes on his, Sam groaned long and hard, his head dropping back to the headboard with a ‘thunk’. She swelled with pride at his reaction, taking him as deep as she could on each pass, which was only about halfway. She massaged the base with her hand, and he groaned again before tugging lightly on her hair. She released him with a ‘pop,’ and Sam snarled before hauling her into his lap.

“Can I ride you, Sam?” she whispered between them.

He smirked and nodded, lifting her and positioning himself at her entrance. She slowly lowered her hips, her mouth opening into a wide O as she did. He was so long and thick, bigger than she’d ever had. But she didn’t feel intimidated until he was spearing her with his impressive length. She stopped about halfway, never before having struggled to take a cock, despite how incredibly wet he had gotten her. 

“Sam,” she whined, dropping her forehead to his shoulder.

“Shh, I know,” he whispered as one hand tangled in her hair, the other moved to gently rub her clit as he whispered sweet nothings to her. “It’s okay, Baby, take your time.”

She nodded against his shoulder, slowly lifting and lowering herself again, taking a little more each time until her ass finally came flush with his thighs. She whimpered, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders as she stilled and tried to control her breathing. It did hurt a little. He had her stretched farther than she’d ever been before, so deep inside she could almost choke on him.

“Sam,” she moaned. “Feels like you’re in my stomach.”

He growled, nipping at her neck as he rubbed her clit a little harder and faster. She moaned and tilted her head back as she ground her hips and swivelled slightly, not quite ready to move up and down. 

“That’s it, such a good girl,” Sam praised, sucking a mark into her collarbone and relishing her shouted moan. “Look at you, takin’ every inch. So perfect.”

It had been years since he’d found a woman who could take all of him. He was impressed and grateful, especially as her grinding made her wetter. He shifted his hips slightly, just to test her, and grinned as she gasped. He was ready to take her, lay claim, but he did not want to hurt or trigger her. He pressed his forehead to hers, looking her over to see if she truly was okay.

When she opened her eyes, they were glistening and wide. She smirked, cupping his face as she began to move, up and down at a slow and steady pace. Sam growled, her tight heat sucking him in as she moved, gripping him wonderfully tight. He dropped his head to her chest, kissing and licking along her breast before scraping his teeth over her nipple.

It felt as if Sam were carving out a home inside of her just for himself, and it might have been one of the most erotic things she’d ever felt. She rode him hard, eager to make him feel as good as he did for her.

“Take my cock so good, Baby. Wanna feel you cum.”

Sam reached for her clit again, rubbing tight, fast circles this time as she rode hard. He’d never been so turned on in his life, watching her tits bounce, the moans and cries she released as she grew closer to her high. A minute later, she was tensing as she came, burying her face in his neck again. Sam rocked his hips, hissing and groaning at her tightness, how amazing she felt convulsing around his cock. 

He held her tight and flipped them, laying her on her back and spreading her legs wide as he sat deep within her. He kissed her neck and face, wiping away a few tears that had escaped.

“Are you alright?” Sam asked, cupping her cheek and focusing on her face. 

“So good,” she slurred, and Sam chuckled, though she could see and feel how tense he was, how much he needed to let go. “Make me yours. Please?”

“Fuck yes,” he moaned. He used his thigh to hitch one of her legs further to the side and over his lip, sliding just a smidge deeper, but enough to make her gasp and him growl. 

She clung to him tightly, the stimulation sinfully divine. He began to move his hips, deep and measured, slowly increasing his pace until he was fucking into her hard enough for the headboard to slam into the wall. Neither of them cared. Sam was hitting her cervix on every entry, his thickness pressing against her G-spot on every pass. Her eyes widened as a pressure began to grow in her stomach.

“Sam, oh my god, Sam!”

He stopped completely. “Did I hurt you?”

“No, no, God,” she squirmed her hips. “Feels so good, just…different. Like a pressure.”

He immediately realized what she was explaining and was eager to hear it, especially considering she was in for a surprise. “Do you trust me?”

“Absolutely.”

He grinned and pecked her lips, shifting his body so he could press one hand down on her lower stomach, the other rubbing at her clit as he started thrusting again. He could feel himself move within her through the hand on her stomach, and he groaned as his balls tightened with his pending release.

She screamed as the pressure built, and she wasn’t sure what it was or why it felt so different, but the euphoria had her on an entirely other plane as she clung to Sam for grounding.

“That’s it, Baby, come on. Cum for me, cum all over my cock.”

Her body seemed to follow his command as she exploded into a thousand glittery pieces. She could feel an enormous amount of fluid leaking out of her as she spasmed and rode the high, belatedly realizing he must have made her squirt. She didn’t even know she could do that. 

Sam kept fucking into her hard, riding out her orgasm and chasing his own. His body tensed, hips pressed forward as far as they could go as he released deep inside of her with a drawn-out moan, his seed filling her to the brim and leaking out around his cock to join her orgasm pooling in the sheets.

“Mine,” he whispered, nipping her neck as they settled. 

“Yours,” she huffed out in response, still trying to catch her breath, floating on a high of becoming Sam’s.

He moved to pull out, but Y/N wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him in place, which was more than fine by him. He smiled sweetly and pecked her lips. She felt thoroughly fucked and sated, a peacefulness washing over her. He had erased anyone who had ever touched her before. He was hers and she was his, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

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SAM WINCHESTER:

June 1903, England

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

One hand on the doorknob, Ominis Gaunt hovers in the threshold of your home. Outside, it’s raining gently. It’s adorable, the way his aristocratic features furrow with concern. A surge of affection crashes over you at the sight, leading you to cross the kitchen to his side and squeeze his arm.

“It’s only a week,” you assure him, grateful that he can’t read the sadness in your face, “I think I can manage until then.”

“It wasn’t my plan to leave so soon after —”

“I know,” you interrupt, saving him the trouble. You rock up on your toes and kiss his cheek. He smells wonderful, like aftershave and pine and the tobacco from his pipe.

Your heart pangs at the thought of him leaving, but you know that you must disguise your disappointment. Ominis had been called away for work regarding an urgent matter, an important one, one that — you remind yourself — he needs to tend. If you show the slightest hint of hesitance, he’ll stay, and you can’t be the reason to keep him from his responsibilities.

Ominis covers your hand with his own. “Need I remind you to make your safety a priority?”

“I shall do my best,” you vow.

“I do not want to explain to the authorities that my wife has perished under mysterious circumstances. They always suspect the husband, you know.”

You grin despite yourself. “I’m aware.”

“Very well then.” A beat passes. When Ominis does speak again, his voice has abandoned its jesting tone, wrought with emotion. “I’ll miss you. Terribly. To think, I had you all to myself for a whole month and now…”

He trails off, throat bobbing. It’s nearly enough for you to snatch him back inside, try and conceal the unburdened bliss from your honeymoon. But, you suppress this urge, difficult as it may be.

You hug him again, fiercely, then step back to fix his suit.

Not unsurprisingly, Ominis looks incredibly debonair, even in his traveling attire, an echo of a past life. Secretly, you fear that he struggles with shedding his wealth and his proper upbringing, that he will no longer find your modest house charming and that he will regret giving it up to be with you. But, then again, when he looks at you like this — heartbreakingly vulnerable, reminiscent of the young boy who suffered at the hands of that family — you feel silly for ever doubting him.

“I love you,” Ominis says finally. He steps onto the covered porch, crushing his hat down over his crown of golden hair.

“I love you.” Even though he can’t see it, you make a shooing motion with your arms. “I shall stay alive to save you from any unsavory accusations by the police. Now go, lest you miss your train!”

There’s a Ministry issued carriage at the edge of your drive waiting for him. You stand on the porch where he had just been moments ago and watch his retreating form. He runs to avoid the brunt of the rain, then folds himself into the carriage. Ominis’ face appears in the window shortly after, and you wave at him until he disappears out of sight down the road.

Then the bravery you’ve upheld for him slips as you turn back to your now empty house.

It’s not that you’re afraid to be alone. Merlin knows that you’ve proved your capabilities over and over again. And there’s little to worry about with all of the protective wards you’ve placed.

Rather, you’re worried about what will happen when you wake from your nightmares, crying and thrashing, and Ominis isn’t there to soothe you. Nothing can subside your fears like his arms around you, lips pressed to your temple and telling you that he’s there with you.

Blinking away tears, you wrap your shawl tighter around your shoulders and set to distracting yourself.

The first day is quite easy. It’s the weekend, so you’re not required to work, and since it’s raining you’ve elected to stay inside and read, curled up in Ominis’ favorite chair. By the time the owl arrives, delivering a message from your husband that he’s arrived safely, you can’t believe that night has already fallen.

In his letter, Ominis laments about the chatty neighbor on his train ride and that he misses your company. You read over it twice, desperate for any part of him, as you dress into your nightgown and let your hair down for bed.

Once you’ve all but memorized his perfect script, you sit down at your vanity and pen back a response. The owl hops closer to you expectantly. It’s not one that you recognize, probably Ministry issued like the carriage, but you give it a quick scratch under the chin before tying the message around its ankle.

A cold wind whips around you as you stand at your bedroom window and admire the moonlight on the tawny owl’s wings as it soars over the darkened countryside.

You almost don’t notice the strange prickling sensation that breaks out over your skin, not belonging to the chill of nighttime. When you bring your awareness to it, you realize that it feels as if something, or someone, is staring at you.

“Lumos,” you mutter, finding your wand.

The spell illuminates the immediate area beneath your window and the small garden that Ominis keeps, revealing nothing but a startled rabbit that bolts back into the line of trees surrounding your property. You peer into the shadows. Would you be able to tell if someone was out there, watching you at this very moment?

The thought of unknown eyes sends a shudder down your spine, and prompts you to throw one arm protectively over your breasts while throwing the window, and curtains, closed with the other.

No one was watching you. You were just being paranoid.

Right?

It had been over a decade since you’ve had to seriously fear for your life, hunted by malicious wizards and goblins. But as you settle into bed, pulling the covers up with shaking hands, you can’t help but remember the one person who still had unfinished business with you — except he was squared away in a fortified prison.

His name enters your mind unbidden, a shadow slipping beneath the crack of a closed door.

Sebastian.

It strikes you like an arrow.

All those years ago, when you were just a child, you had testified against Sebastian in the trial for his uncle’s murder. Ominis had been the one to turn him in, convincing you afterwards to testify. Ominis swore it was the right decision. Sebastian had let his obsession with curing Anne, with the Dark Arts, consume him and it was better to send him away before it turned him into something he was not.

Sleep evades you. You stare up at the ceiling and listen to the chorus of insects outside, relishing the break in the rain.

The benefit of hindsight, of age, made you wonder if perhaps Ominis had just been trying to hide away his problems the way his family taught him. Out of sight, out of mind. Which wasn’t to say that Ominis decided what he did out of hate — he loved Sebastian, perhaps at a similar depth that you did.

The three of you were, after all, irrevocably entangled, body and soul, until you could scarcely tell where you started and they ended.

And yet…you still sent Sebastian to that place.

Even if you didn’t turn him in, it was partially your testimony that put the final nail in the coffin.

When sleep finally does claim you, there’s a trail of fresh tears on your cheeks.

June 1981, Hogwarts

“They’re looking for you. They think you’re still on the grounds,” you say in way of greeting. You wiggle out of your cloak, magicking it away before turning to face the Room of Requirements.

The empty room.

Panic strikes like a hot iron pressed against your skin. You venture forward. “Hello?”

“Master Sallow is in the vivarium,” Deek answers, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He regards you nervously. The house elf does not approve of you harboring, well, a fugitive, but he’s fallen victim to Sebastian’s charm and won’t say anything outright about it.

You wish that others felt similarly about him.

Thanking Deek, you make your way to the vivarium and blink against the gloom, waiting for your eyes to adjust. It takes several sweeps of the marsh to find him. Sebastian is perched atop one side of the thestral pen, sitting perfectly still and watching the horse-like creatures graze. When he spots you, there’s a faint ripple of happiness on his otherwise stoic face.

“I was looking for you,” you tell him.

In the slants of watery sunlight through the willow trees, you catch a fleeting glimpse of the mischievous boy you knew from before. “You found me.”

Not wanting to disrupt this moment, you decide to wait to tell him news of the investigation, instead slinging your leg over the fence and sitting beside him. It’s maddening, being so close to him, pinkies touching, this boy that’s completely enchanted you.

“They’re peacefully, aren’t they?” You ask.

The thestrals, while emaciated and macabre, move with elegance. At your arrival, a few lift their heads and blink at you with milky white eyes.

“Very.” Sebastian’s throat works as he swallows. “People are wrong to be afraid of them.”

“They’re misunderstood,” you say.

Sebastian glances at you. His dark eyes search yours. “They’re still looking for me, aren’t they?”

“They suspect you’re still on the grounds.”

“I should leave,” he says suddenly, “if they find me, they’re going to accuse you of —”

You interrupt, “You’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ve already put you through enough.” Sebastian grabs your hand, not in a gesture of comfort but desperation. “Please. If there’s anything I can do to lessen your involvement in my mistakes. They’re mine to carry, Sassenach. Not yours.”

You squeeze his hand back. “Stay. I beg you.”

She managed to get her eyes open enough to start focusing, and her suspicions were confirmed. She was lying down in the half-shelter of a ruined building, but she was… outdoors. And alone. Off in the distance, haphazard structures coughed thick black smoke against a hazy sky. The Plaguelands, she realized, back in old Russia. Near to where she’d originally been disappeared. Looking down at herself, she found she was wearing not the flimsy slave’s tabard, but her lost armor: the thick, sturdy synthweave of a warlock’s robes, tailored to her perfectly. The comforting pressure of her bond rested once more around her left arm. 

A shuddering breath caught in her throat as the realization struck her all at once. She was free ? After so long, was it truly over? The very concept seemed incomprehensible to her now, her freedom a thing so long sought, so long dreamed of, that she could no longer recognize it. 

As she continued to take in her immediate surroundings, her eyes caught a glint nestled in the snow, a glass canister of a very particular size. With a gasp, she shoved herself up to her feet, slipping against the snow-muddied ground in her haste to get over to it. Kneeling in the snow, she clawed it from the drift which half-covered it, her heart turning over as she saw Mandala suspended motionless within. A frantic, animal desperation overcame her as she tore at the complicated hatch at the top and found, with incredible relief, that while the stasis mechanism of the device was still engaged, it was not actually locked.  A pressurized hiss escaped when she finally managed to release it, and the lighted mechanism disengaged. 

The small Ghost’s shell fluttered, twitching as he too returned to awareness and began floating of his own power. On instinct, thin lines of light briefly blanketed their surroundings as he scanned the area close to him, trying to get his bearings. Likely searching for her latest corpse, she realized, as that was the only time their captors had ever released him. His shell flared open when he sensed her, warm and living, right beside her.

“Mandala,” she whispered, as though speaking his name too loudly might cause him to shatter. 

“G-Guardian? You’re alive?” He turned, starting to float out from the glass cannister, quickly scanning their surroundings again, showing the same confusion she had. “Where is… Are we actually…?”

She reached for him slowly, still not fully able to trust that this was real, but as soon as her fingers brushed his shell, she was seized . Her body convulsed, back arching as a wave of power lifted her from her knees. The tips of her boots barely brushed the ground as a connection, their rightful connection, snapped back into place and Light, sweet and searing, flooded her. She’d thought the sunlight too much to bear against her eyes after so long underground? That discomfort was but a sputtering candle compared to this deluge, this consecration, this radiance. She’d been kept at the edge of starvation, what meager scraps she’d had torn from her to sate her enemies, now the Traveler’s benevolence returned to her with such ferocity she feared she would be torn apart, unmade in a moment of paracausal sacralization.

When the Light finally settled within her, fell back to the muddied ground, catching herself on hands and knees, bowed forward like a penitent disciple, chest heaving as her whole body felt alive with potential for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. Wisps of Light arose between her fingers, swirling eddies of Voidlight, tongues of Solar flame, and skittering chains of Arc current mixing together and dancing up her arms, the energy inside her volatile in its exuberance. 

Mandala floated down into her eyeline, tipping to the side with concern. “Guardian, are you alright? I-I didn’t realize it would be so—”

At his nervous inquiries, a sob broke free and Sylvanni took his shell in both hands, clutching him tightly to her breast. To hear his voice again, after so long of their only interactions having been silent resurrections and being forced to obediently hand him over to her captors to be locked away once more… she thought she might burst with relief.

“I’m alright,” she forced out, her tears cold in the wintery air. “Finally, I’m alright. M-Mandala, forgive me. I couldn’t… All those times, I wasn’t strong enough to… I just gave you back! ”

He bumped gently against her hands until she finally pulled back and opened them, cupping him between her palms instead. “Please, Guardian. Sylvanni. There’s nothing to forgive.” She shuddered slightly to hear him use her name, a rarity in their relationship even in usual circumstances. “I… I can only imagine what you endured without me, seeing what they’d done to you each time I woke up. But for me, it was nothingness. You lived through it; I was merely… asleep. Please don’t blame yourself. We’re together now, and we’re alive. That’s what matters.” 

He tipped sideways, looking around at their environment again. “How are we alive and together, exactly? What… happened? How did you get out? The last thing I remember, we were in the throne room, and it looked like you had been… crushed? Then they took me back again. What happened afterward? Was it… Did Uldren do something?”

Uldren. The name snapped her thoughts back into context, remembering the throne room. His secret scheme all along, his orders to have her ‘handled’ when her guards knocked her out. How had she ended up here, alone outdoors with Mandala’s containment instead? Before she could find a response, the soft whirr of a Servitor’s movement sounded on the other side of the ruined wall beside her, a sound so intimately familiar to her now, it made her blood immediately turn to ice. 

She froze, panic seizing her, wondering if this had all been some kind of sick trap, a way to get her to let her guard down again, to give her hope only to snatch it back and haul her away again for more torture. But the intangible grasp never fell upon her, no presence forced its way in to rip away her Light this time. The sound came again, but no closer, as though her Servitor was simply hovering in the same spot, doing nothing to come after her despite the fact that she and and her Ghost had been speaking clearly. 

With excruciating care, she slowly crept to the crumbling edge of her half room, trying to keep her steps from audibly crunching the snow, and peered into the space beyond. There, the wretched machine floated, a Servitor she would know anywhere now, from that little dent on its upper-left plate to the three scrapes on its undercarriage. The one light in the display of its eye-ring that flickered with that distinctive pattern. Her Servitor. 

It noticed her, the lens on its front shuttering open and closed in something like robotic surprise. The whirr of its motors sounded again, but despite bobbing in place, the Servitor didn’t actually move, and a faulty series of rapid clicks echoed from its chassis as well. Sylvanni watched it try again, but whatever it was attempting, nothing happened. Slowly, she straightened and stepped closer. 

A bright beam flared to life, just above the Servitor’s eye, and Sylvanni dove backwards with a cold jolt of fear, however the light resolved into a simple projection instead. She stood again slowly, feeling slightly foolish for her still-racing heartbeat, staring at a translucent image of none other than Uldren Sov. 

He too was no longer dressed in dirty prisoner’s garb, but instead had well-made leathers and a short cape over one shoulder. Frowning, she moved to the side, noticing that his eyes didn’t track her. A recording? 

The image stood silent for longer than she would have expected, Uldren running his hands through his hair and shaking his head. It seemed to take him a moment to find the words to begin.  “I’ve never been very good at apologies, Duv. And yet, at the end of our time here together, I find myself owing you a number of them. Ah, where to begin?"

He started to pace slowly as he talked, but the way the projector captured him, his image stayed mostly in the same place, so his stride failed to match his movement. Sylvanni went to stand right in front of him, arms crossed, trying to imagine if he'd been here in the flesh if she'd have given him the courtesy of letting him speak without interruption. 

"First, I suppose, for what I said in the Kell's chamber. It was true, just as you'd guessed: the knowledge of how to disable Ghosts came from me. I let my torturers believe they had extracted that information under duress, but I'd known from the start that I'd need to give them something to ensure they thought me valuable enough to keep. Valuable enough to show off. Never got a stay wrapped around me like you did for my contributions though. I suppose a Guardian would always be the greater prize. 

"I admit, when I told them of my technique, I hadn't thought they'd be capable enough to operationalize it, much less have a team coordinated enough to subdue a Guardian long enough to put it to use. But I hadn't been particularly… concerned by the possibility either, I admit. If they caught a Light-bearer using my snare, that would simply offer me more credibility, of course."

He sighed, spreading his hands and offering a thin smile. "I certainly hadn't expected they'd snatch someone I knew. Nor that I would so dearly regret the part I played in her capture. For that, my first apology. You needn't have suffered so for my plans, but my carelessness made it so."

Sylvanni stepped into the recording's eye line as he kept talking, straining to weigh the measure of sincerity in his voice, in his expressions. Was any of this contrition offered in truth, or was it all just more smoke and mirrors, trying to twist her into doing what he wanted?

"As for those plans themselves," he said, "It was not out of malice that I left you unaware of them. By the time you were brought in, I'd already been laying seeds for this end state, though i couldn't know for certain how we'd get here. I knew the Eliksni, and the House of Kings specifically, well enough to get what I needed of them. I couldn't risk you unintentionally interfering if you'd been made aware of everything I had in motion. Neither did I wish to give you false hope that I could promise a way out. After all, this was always going to be one hell of a gamble. They feared you far more than they did me. Had they thought us actively colluding, I might not have won the support I'd needed."

She gave him a withering glare, thought it was far less satisfying knowing he couldn't see it. "You are bad at apologies, Sov," she muttered.

"So, I gambled on a long shot, and you paid the price for it without having been asked and without having been informed why. For that I thank you, even as I beg your forgiveness. I don't suspect you're in a very forgiving mood, but the apologies are owed regardless of how they are received. I can't do much to make it up to you, but I give you a few offerings as you head on your way.

"The first is, of course, your freedom, long overdue. Disappointed though the Eliksni will undoubtedly be to lose you, I've no intention of detaining you further. You should find your Ghost placed near to where you awoke. His containment should be unlocked, you need only disable it to free him. What I was able to find of your possessions, including your weapons, are in a chest around the corner linked to your biodata. Should spring open at a touch. I can't promise it's everything, but it's all that was left.

"Finally," Uldren said, gesturing behind him toward something not captured in the recording, "I leave you this. If you hadn't realized, it is the one that was connected to you, though you'll find I've disabled most of its functions. It turns out techniques capable of rendering a Ghost inert work rather effectively against Servitors as well."

Sylvanni started, realizing what he was saying. A gesture not towards something behind him in the recording, but to the Servitor projecting his message. 

"Its offensive capabilities are entirely removed, it is no longer authorized to interact with its paracausal connection to you, and its ambulatory systems are quite thoroughly crippled. In case my borrowing of its power bank to deliver this message had not already made this clear: it is utterly incapable of posing threat to you."

He swept his arm back, gesturing with a bow that seemed only half sarcastic. "I'm sure you can understand how valuable a Servitor is to a House and how dearly the Eliksni protect them. I'll have to tread carefully when they realize this one is missing, but it was important to me that it make its way to you, considering the… special bond you share. I thought you might not wish to be parted from it.

"By way of reparations, I know it's far from sufficient for what you've endured, Duv. But it's the best I can do for now. I hope you're able to find some measure of satisfaction in finding its proper place." He gave her an easy smirk. "For what it's worth, I can't think of anyone else I'd have rather be tortured beside. Let's have our next meeting under more pleasant circumstances. Though compared to this, I think we'd be hard pressed to do worse."

He gave her a wink and a little wave as he signed off. "Stay safe, will you? I'd hate to think all my language training had gone to waste after all." He turned away in the recording, and the message blinked off, leaving her alone with her Ghost and the Servitor.

Mandala floated up beside her shoulder, concerned. "What… what was he talking about, Guardian? Was he saying he chose to be captured?"

"So it would seem," Sylvanni said, her voice toneless. Her eyes remained locked on the Servitor in front of her, listening to her Ghost's questions with only half an ear. 

"To what end? What was he trying to do?"

"It appears he did not deem it necessary to share that information. The purpose for which we were made pawns is not ours to know." Her voice could have cut steel. 

She stepped forward slowly, hearing the Servitor spin its useless processes, desperate little clicks and whirrs. It inched backwards as she got closer, but even at her drawn pace, it could not get away. She stared into its single mechanical eye, placing both hands on the top curve of its spherical body. The little projector which had played Uldren's message was not a normal part of its circuitry, it seemed, but had been grafted on just above the eye. It was a simple enough thing to pluck free the wires connecting it and slip the small device into her pocket. She had a feeling she might want to see that message again later.

Mandala floated forward as well, poking into her line of sight again. "What was he talking about with this? He's giving you a Servitor? Why?"

Sylvanni stroked small circles with her thumb on the Servitor's surface, feeling the cool metal of the smooth chassis through her thin gloves. "Debts paid for a wrong done. Reparation." An old conversation with Erxaris drifted to the front of her mind. "Recompense."

She leaned in close to the hateful machine, until her nose was nearly touching it, and whispered: "I was never able to tell if there was a mind within a machine like you, or if you were nothing more than empty, automated processes. Is there anything in there that is aware? I admit, it never seemed to matter before."

That overabundance of the Light, returned to her after so long absent, still churned within her, danced across her forearms and fingers. The Void, which always seemed to rest closest to her soul, answered first, violet energy pooling within her skin, settling beneath her palms. It was as simple as letting out a breath to let it pour into the Servitor. Her Light was a dam overfull, an airlock released to the vacuum, a pressure release so natural it could not help but flow. Some of the Void Light crawled across the surface, spreading like rime as it suffused the thick metal. The greater part of her power, however, dove deep within, down at the Servitor's heart, raw gravity pulling ever more gravity into the core.

The Servitor let out a mechanical whine as the Light invaded it and Sylvanni gently shushed it, even as a dark part of her savored that panicked, helpless sound. "Please believe me when I say that right now, more than anything else, I hope there is something in you that is alive. Something that gets to feel what it's like to be so wholly at your enemy's mercy. Something that experiences my power forcing its way into every hateful crack and crevice of what you are. And by the Traveler… I hope every moment of this hurts. "

The singularity at its center continued to build, growing more and more dense and hungry as Light continued to spill from her. The metal itself let out an unnatural groan as the forces mounted upon the individual pieces keeping the Servitor together. The spherical surface popped inward suddenly in a massive dent, then another, and another; the strength of the metal itself enervated wherever her Light had touched it. The Servitor started to screech as its functions failed, torn apart from within. Sylvanni offered it one final little smile, and gently pushed with both hands upon its increasingly warped hull. That little nudge was all it took to break the last remnant of structural integrity the chassis possessed and the proud, sacred Eliksni machine imploded into a jagged ball of useless scrap, its metal plates crumpling as easily as tin foil. 

Sylvanni stepped forward again, bringing her hands in close around the much smaller remnants of her mechanical tormentor, now suspended in a maelstrom of Void Light. Power continued to pour from her, pushing what had been a massive construct down to something half its size. Then down to a quarter. It was dead now, destroyed beyond repair, she knew, but something in her wanted more. She wished to see it unmade, transformed beyond recognizability. The pressure bearing down on the Servitor’s remains redoubled. 

So many Guardians spoke of the energetic flash of Arc, the searing radiance of Solar, dismissing Void Light as quiet, empty, unimpressive. Those who did not wield it regularly never seemed to understand. In that moment, watching what remained of her enemy compress beneath her onslaught, Sylvanni was transcendent. Hers was the power which stitched together galaxies, which birthed and broke stars, the crucible in which fundamental dust of the universe was forged into every possible permutation of existence. In this moment of pure vindication, she thought to herself that this was the last time this Servitor would take from her every last scrap of Light she possessed. But this time, on her terms. 

When the Light finally ran dry, she slumped forward, breathing heavy as she cupped the small globe that remained in both hands. As the raging swirl of her hand-crafted black hole dissipated, she could see the hyper-dense ball of metal she’d created at the heart of it all, its surface forged glassy smooth as it was hyper-compressed under the onslaught of cosmic pressure. Wavy bands of black and grey swirled throughout the remnant, and tiny specks of what might have been the dust from the crushed glass of its lens-eye sparkled in the wispy remnants of her Light. 

The Void clung to the surface, suffused through every atom of the little sphere, small enough now to comfortably rest in the palm of her hand. Under normal circumstances, she knew the remarkable density she’d forced it into meant it would be heavy enough to make it a struggle for any average person to lift. Under the remnants of her power, however, it was all but weightless, subject to the influence of no gravity but its own. She passed it from one hand to the other, letting it dance lightly over the tips of her fingers, taking in the deep comfort of knowing it was all that remained of a thing that would never hurt her again. 

Mandala gave a small beep, reminding her of his presence and pulling her from the reverie. “Guardian? What do we do now?”

She gave her head a shake and grabbed the former-Servitor orb from the air, tucking it away. Though she’d drained herself dry, here up on the surface, reconnected to her Ghost, the Light was flowing to fill the emptiness quickly once more. With a quick glance around, she picked out the chest that was supposed to contain what remained of her gear, and started to make her way towards it. “How… How long were we in there?”

He took a moment to process. “My… internal timekeeping registered only three days, for me. But, connecting to the nearest VanNet access… it appears that the date is eight months, nine days, thirteen hours and five minutes since I was taken offline during the first ambush.”

Sylvanni let out a slow breath. Eight months. It seemed at once too short a span to encompass the eternity it felt like she’d suffered, and yet unfathomably long to have been removed from the world. What had changed while she was down there? What had she missed? What had been lost in her absence?

She swallowed, pushing down her worries, emotions, and all lingering thoughts of Uldren, the Eliksni, and what she’d endured. She was a Guardian. She had a duty to be done. Nothing to do now but to keep moving forward and find her focus once more. 

“Call the ship from orbit. We make for the Tower. We go home.”