“Oh, I’m perfect now!” He announced in a low voice so the kids wouldn’t get curious. Pouncing on the bed, he hovered over the Bride of Dracula and flung the demon horns aside. Gross. “Blood and stake are all yours…” He remarked, though he took a moment to really take in the sight that was his wife, not Drac’s–well, what he could still see since he was on top of her–and sighed in relief. She was in one piece (not really) and damn did she look as perfect as the day he met her (though she’d beg to differ).

“Don’t you go worrying about me now,” He reassured Rebekah, gently brushing some of her hair aside. “I was worried about you and the kids. That’s all I could think about the entire time–keeping all of you safe. Me? I couldn’t be better.” He leaned toward her, planting a kiss on her lips that would hopefully assure her with confidence that he was alright. That, and his white oak stake wasn’t having any performance issues, that was for sure!

Ancient history these days. Rebekah now lived with an expiration date and a few more wrinkles. Even now, she was certain eternal youth always sounded better in books; there was something empty about living so stagnantly. Since the day of the horrible curse centuries ago, her body had stopped moving, with no biological purpose but to kill. She would take stretch marks a thousand times over - the aches and pains of aging too - for this life with Dean and the little ones down the hall.

Dean mouthed ‘a hero’ to himself, hummed, shrugged, and appeared a little smug despite his back’s insistence for several Advils and a whole liter of rotgut. Not to mention his appearance. He took the kiss in stride, but then went right back to shuffling and moaning down the hall with the kids nearly up his ass. Just another morning, right?

He clung to Rebekah and shut his eyes, leaning his chin on her shoulder after the kisses ceased. He wanted some more, but the old man needed a breather…and they had a nosy audience. Reluctantly letting her go, he got to work with a pep in his step at the prospect of ‘paying mommy a visit.’ That meant he was leaving Mary in charge. The cabin would be torn to ribbons, but that was no big deal considering its current condition. When coffee, breakfast and painkillers were said and done, he restricted the kids to their bedroom, set up a new line of salt for good measure, and told them to keep their slippers on while they played in there so they didn’t get hurt.

Dean wanted to laugh at the memory, absurd as it was, but he could only manage a grim smile as he sank into his other self–the Hunter, who he had been for all his life, and who he would always be deep down inside. From there, it was all business: rooting out the spirit, getting flung around enough that he was gonna need something stronger than Advil, and finding whatever object that was the haunted possession in question (it turned out to be a freaking broom. WHO WAS SO ATTACHED TO A BROOM?!). Salt, burn, presto.

Whilst it was always a pain in the rear to deal with remnants of their old lives, Rebekah couldn't quite shake the fact it was also a bit sexy. She had the hots for a hunter when he wasn't hunting her. 

And what of you? Do you still desire a family of your own?

“I’m getting too old for this crap…” Dean groaned as he held his back with one hand and took Rebekah’s in the other, getting up slowly. He decided to forego the pistol in favor for his rock salt loaded sawed-off tucked just under the bedframe, always prepared. He put himself between whatever attacked him and Rebekah, taking aim with the shotgun as he looked around. “Kids’ll be fine. I lined their doorways and beds with salt…” He glanced back at his wife, raising his brow as if remembering something important. “Did you go pee or something?! I had ours salted, too! The line’s broken!”

She clutched the poker in her palm. Fortunately, humanity had not resolved Rebekah's anger and rage in full. When that dastardly spirit came whoosing through, she'd happily stick the iron rod straight up his-

From the silent trio down the hall, Mary let a fearful 'mommy' slip, so Rebekah returned to earth from her fantasies and gave Dean a nod of agreement. "We'll be here," she confirmed, safely in the confines of her children's, salt-lined bedroom. "Hey," she said low, poking her head from the doorway. "Be careful. Call if you need me? I've got quite a swinging arm. Remember all the times I got my giggles out beating up Esther?" The old junkyard automobile. Not her mother.

“And burgers are a problem? Remind me again why I married you?” Dean grumbled sleepily, wondering why indeed with every passing moment Rebekah kept opening her mouth, and not in the good way! “And for the record: last year was your friggin fault, alright? You put the tattoo off–like I told you not to–and then you end up possessed. Idaho’s got nothing. Maybe killer potatoes, but that’s about it. We’ll take our chances with the spuds!”

Whilst the demon vanished as quick as it came, the bullet holes sprayed across the wall (and the sad, middle-aged man slumped against it) remained tangible proof of its ugly existence. Surely, the spirit wouldn't go far. It seemed intent on taunting Dean.

"Whoever got to decide that kind of bullshit? Way to share with the class" Lance replied and shook his head, because really. Only one cure? Compared to hundreds if not thousand of vamps out there? That really was bullshit.

When she met him with a smile, he returned the favor by giving her he cheeky grin, chuckling to himself, unable to keep a cheesy comment in.

"Oh and I'm certain I know a few ways to rile you up" he replied, grin growing bigger, until he started laughing and waved it right off. "You know what, I take that one back. Too cheesy even for my standard. Please don't kill me. At least not yet. I'll get back to you on that one" Lance went on, eyes now moving back and forth between her and the door.

A part of him still wanted to leave now that he'd gotten what he wanted. Still a habit especially after anything even remotely close to a fight. But of course, she just had to mention hunger and happy juice as a peace offering now, and it only just now hit him how hungry he really was. The hunger flashed right across his face for a second, almost feral and dark, but was once again replaced with a smirk and a challenging look.

"Hm. That does sound kind of nice" Lance mused, stepping a little closer at last, interested. Getting thrillingly close to her now, considering that he was very aware of the fact that her mood could still swing right back into neckbreaking territory. But there was just something about telling her this 'neat' little fact about himself like this. Close to her. Almost intimate.

"Here's for the first bit of no bullshit and giving it to each other straight though" he went on, a throwback to his previous proposal to her.

Pulling blonde locks into a ponytail, Rebekah slipped into her jacket and boots and nodded toward the front door. "We might as well teach you how to do this whole thing humanely. Don't have to go about it as a killing machine. In fact, you'll like yourself a bit better if you don't. Take it from someone who spent the tenth century gobbling up every caravan passing through. Couldn't help it, of course. I didn't have any bloody Vampire Yoda teaching me manners. Makes one feel bloody depressed."

               “Yes, well, sorry – how soon am I allowed to worry about your impending doom? You’re my sister.” And she loves her dearly, in her own non-conventional way. Being around them is pain but losing Rebekah to death would be agony.

               She blinks. Blinks again. To say she’s shocked speechless would be an understatement, both by Bex’s agreement but mostly at how thrilled it makes her feel. When was the last time they went anywhere together – no brothers looming in the middle, no fathers hot on their heels and full of murderous intentions, just the two of them?

               Did they ever?

"I just spent eight months playing mumsy to a fussy baby, so I mind as well continue my award-winning babysitting streak." The Original gleamed; a signal to her younger sister that she was only half-joking. Leah could hold her own, but there was no harm in the watchful eye of an older, wiser Mikaelson...

high school yearbook award meme: the originals + most dateable