DAY 7: The Heart Of A Demon
DAY 7: The Heart of a Demon
The heart of a demon, willingly given, is a powerful weapon for the one who wields it.
I hated that Crowley got so little recognition after his death from the Winchesters. Obviously with Cas dead he wasn't going to be the priority but even in death he's the second choice. It makes me want to scream. He deserved so much better. There will be a second chapter to this story because I didn't have time to write the ending and I won't have time until tonight. Fandom : Supernatural Character(s): Crowley Relationship(s) : Crowley & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Crowley/Dean Winchester Words Count: 3,060 Trigger Warnings : - Suicidal Thoughts - Implied Future Self-Sacrifice - Stabbing No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIES Unconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | "It's us or them."
“Yeah, but not our kind of weird. Look, whatever this thing is gonna be, it's gonna be big and bad–”
Crowley couldn't help but appreciate the irony of the situation.
He materialized inside the library, the Winchesters still trusted him enough, even implicitly, to include him in the Bunker's wards. That would change, of course, now that they realized he'd let Lucifer out of the Cage but the trust and… companionship had been nice while it lasted.
“You rang?” Crowley smirked. “Hello, boys.”
Dean's reaction was immediate, not that Crowley expected anything else from him. He was so predictable sometimes, to Crowley at least.
“Did you do it? Did you let Lucifer out?!”
Dean’s voice was thunderous, shaking with rage and betrayal, and a cold blade was at his throat before he even hit the ground, his nose broken by Dean’s punch.
“I didn’t ‘let’—”
Crowley tried to justify himself but Dean immediately cut him off, shaking him roughly by the collar of his suit, seeing through his lies, as usual. Seeing that he couldn't get anything out of Dean, Crowley turned to Sam, hoping that his logical mind could cut through Dean's anger.
"Moose, a little help here!" Sam sighed, stepping towards his brother.
"Dean, wait."
"Seriously?"
The surprise was apparent to both mother and son, and while Crowley didn’t give a damn about Mama Winchester’s opinion of him, Dean’s reaction hurted where it shouldn’t have. He and Dean had tried to kill each other for years, but Crowley had come to see those interactions as foreplay.
Today, Dean could have plunged his knife into Crowley’s heart without thinking twice. And Crowley probably would have let him do it if he didn’t have a mission.
Still, Dean’s hands loosened around his neck. But not for Crowley’s sake, for Sam’s.
“Look, just don't kill him. He worked the Cage spell with Rowena. Maybe he can help us,” Sam explained.
“And what if he can't?” Mary asked skeptically.
“Well, then we kill him,” Sam replied.
Crowley stood up and dusted nonexistent specks off his jacket, ignoring the death threats and mimicking the Winchesters’ disdain and nonchalance.
“Cage spell? Thought you had Mother for that.”
Crowley tried not to be petulant in his bitterness. His relationship with the Winchesters was strictly professional, sworn enemies or tentative alliance. No hard feelings. Except—
“Rowena’s dead,” Dean announced calmly, coldly .
Would he talk about Crowley’s death the same way if that happened? Probably, they might have been more one day, but at the end of the day, Dean would only keep him around for as long as he was useful.
“Really?”
Mother was a bitch but she was a tenacious bitch, a survivor . Crowley had a hard time believing she would die so easily. He himself was currently assumed dead by everyone except the Winchesters.
"Yeah, really. Lucifer ," Sam replied.
Sam was tired but the venom in his voice at the mention of Lucifer was deadly. Few people hated the Devil with such force and they were all in this room.
"Funny. I always thought I'd be the one to kill her," Crowley said, keeping his voice steady and avoiding Dean's gaze.
Crowley didn’t know what to think. He had hated his mother most of his life, both of his lives, and yet for a moment, he had truly believed that they could be… family . But now was not the time to assess his complex feelings toward his blood.
(A wise man once told me family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family cares about you, not what you can do for them. Family’s there through the good, bad, all of it. They got your back even when it hurts. That’s family.)
“Crowley...why did you do it? Save Lucifer,” Sam asked. “What did you want?”
Crowley didn't know what he had expected when he went to the Bunker. But certainly not Dean attacking him without even being able to meet his gaze in his anger and Sam hearing his reasons, giving him a chance to explain himself.
"I wanted to win," Crowley seethed, humiliation and anger still deeply rooted in his mind. "I perverted Mother's spell, put Lucifer in a vessel of my own making because I wanted to win ."
It wasn't a feeling the Winchesters could understand, they had fought all their lives for others. But Crowley was a demon , he fought for himself and himself only (not anymore) and for cockroaches like Lucifer to think they could take the fruits of his hard work was infuriating.
“You have any idea how many people have made a play for my throne over the years? Lucifer, Abaddon, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. Too damn many,” Crowley snapped angrily. “I thought if I could put the Devil on a leash... my own personal nuke, no one would ever dare challenge me again.”
“Yeah, that worked out great ,” Dean scoffed.
Crowley couldn’t deny it considering how he’d narrowly escaped death. But it had given him time to think about what was truly important. His throne wasn’t even in the top ten.
“Wait. In an actual rat?” Mary asked.
“Wasn't too bad, really,” Crowley replied, never one to refute his own mistakes. “Gave me time to think. You know, I've been focused for so long on keeping my job. Never realized I hate it. All those whining demons, the endless moan of damned souls, the paperwork! I mean, who wants that?”
The Winchesters didn’t seem very sympathetic to his introspection.
“You,” Sam replied, impassive.
He should have know that they were going to be little shits about it.
“Once, maybe,” Crowley replied dismissively.
“So why are you here?” Sam insisted impatiently.
“Well, whenever there's a world-ending crisis at hand, I know where to place my bets,” Crowley replied, smirking. “It's on you, you big, beautiful, lumbering piles of flannel. So if you'll forgive my transgression, I'll make it worth your while.”
Dean straightened up from the table he was leaning against, addressing Crowley for the first time since he’d tried to kill him. Which, by the way, was still incredibly rude .
“Which means?”
“After we put Lucifer back in his cage, together, I'll seal the gates of Hell. You'll never see another demon again, apart from, of course, yours truly.”
Crowley knew they would accept. Even if the semblance of trust between them had been destroyed, the Winchesters had once fought, almost to the death, to close the Gates of Hell. And their greatest obstacle at the time was offering to finish the job for them.
(Crowley winced as he remembered what he’d revealed in that church, to Sam and to himself. He hadn’t been the same since, he hadn’t been the Winchesters’ enemy since.)
“You would do that?” Mary asked skeptically.
“Why not? They stab me in the back, I'll happily stab them in the front, the sides, and right up their little black-eyed asses,” Crowley replied viciously. “So... we have a deal?”
Crowley met Dean's gaze for the first time. Everyone had their own motivation, sense of duty, greed for power, need for love or dear old spite. The Winchesters didn't need to know which one drove Crowley.
(Maybe he would tell them if he knew himself.)
Dean nodded slightly in his direction. Everyone collectively let out a breath.
"Alright," Sam decided. "We still have to find Cas and Kelly."
The Winchesters sat back down around the table and pulled out their laptops, leaving Crowley standing alone at the end of the table. There was a seat next to Dean but it wasn't for Crowley, it never would be despite what Crowley had once thought they had.
The Winchesters clearly didn't need nor wanted his help, otherwise they would have already requested his assistance, with more or less threats depending on their mood. Given the stiffness of Dean's shoulders, they wouldn't have been very polite.
Crowley could have snapped his fingers to summon a glass of scotch but he preferred to advance to the bar in a corner of the room, his leather shoes echoing against the library floor. He opened the precious wood cabinet and, still in its place, was a bottle of his favorite brand.
Crowley poured himself a glass, the amber liquid appearing almost like liquid gold in the dim lighting of the room. He returned to the table and sat down, the glass in his hand. At the head of the table.
"This is what you do when I'm not here? Type?" Crowley asked after a few moments of silence, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.
At least when he was King, he could order his minions to do the boring work for him.
"Yep," Dean replied without looking up from his phone.
"Wait a second. I got something," Sam interrupted. "Okay, two hours ago, there was a massive power outage in the Pacific Northwest."
"Sounds like the right kind of weird," Mary conceded, glancing at the article on her son's computer.
"Oh, yeah. Wait. They tracked the outage to an address in North Cove, Washington, to a house currently being rented by one James Novak ," Sam continued, emphasizing the last few words.
Only a few people in the world knew the importance of that name, but with an alias like that, Cas was practically begging the Winchesters to find him. Even Crowley knew that.
"It's Cas. Let's roll," Dean decided.
"It’s about time," Crowley said, standing up to follow the Winchesters.
Faster than Crowley could register, Dean stabbed Crowley's hand with his knife, pinning him to the table. A flash of gold illuminated the bones in his hand for a second and Crowley cried out in pain as his blood spilled onto the table.
"Think we're gonna trust you out there after what you pulled? Hmm? No ," Dean snapped, his green eyes deeper than the lushest forests, blazing with anger. "You stay here, sit down, and you shut up."
Dean twisted the knife in the wound for good measure before walking away, leaving Crowley alone. Great, now he was going to have to rip his hand off before he could leave.
Asshole .
XXX
Dean, as usual, was the first to notice.
"Oh, come on!"
"Hello, boys. Again ," Crowley greeted.
"Wait a second," Sam asked, "how the hell did you—?"
Crowley held up his bloody, bandaged hand from where he had — painfully, he might add —pulled out the knife.
"I improvised. Lucky I did. Turns out I'm the answer to all your problems."
Dean groaned in frustration, throwing his hands up in the air in defeat. “It's impossible to get rid of you, you're like a cockroach!”
“Now that we've all come to the same conclusion, maybe we could stop wasting time?” Crowley suggested with a saccharine smile.
Crowley didn't wait for Cas or the Winchesters to answer and headed towards the house. This isn't where Crowley would have imagined the birth of the Antichrist, more on an altar made of skulls and blood, but the Winchesters never did anything like everyone else.
Including rifts through space and time to an apocalyptic world.
Luckily for Chip and Dale, Crowley didn't do ordinary things either. And in theory, he knew a spell that could close the rift, preferably with Lucifer on the other side. In theory.
When they arrived a few minutes later, Crowley was already seated at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. (There was no alcohol in the cupboards, he had checked.) Cas glared at him for invading his space. Cas stayed by the door, Sam positioned as a barrier between him and Dean.
Crowley smiled viciously as Dean took the chair next to him. It seemed he wasn’t the only one in Dean’s bad graces.
“I’m going to check on Kelly,” Cas mumbled, glancing at Dean one last time.
“So what’s your plan?” Sam asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.
“I know a spell that could close the rift,” Crowley explained. “And with Lucifer a few hours behind you–”
“We could lure him into the other dimension and close the door on him,” Dean realized, a glimmer of hope lighting his eyes for the first time.
Dean had a way to fight, to resist. It was enough for him for now. He smiled at Crowley, as if the betrayals and anger had never come between them. Crowley let himself believe for a moment that this was a recurring occasion and not a rare memory.
"What do you need for the spell?" Sam asked, searching the kitchen for a piece of paper.
"Nothing I can't find in your little Bunker," Crowley replied, standing. "Be back in five."
When Dean reached for him, Crowley quickly removed his hands from the table and hid them behind his back. Stab me once—
Dean gave him a strange look as his hand came to rest on Crowley's shoulder to stop him in his tracks. "I'm coming with you."
"You still don't trust me?" Crowley asked, his bandaged hand resting on his chest, pretending to be hurt. “You wound me so, Squirrel.”
“Stop talking so much,” Dean complained.
Taking Dean to the Bunker took more energy than he would have normally used, but considering he hadn't planned on surviving the night, Crowley didn't care.
"All that to get back here," Crowley remarked as he arrived. "It would have been quicker if you hadn't stabbed me in the first place."
"If you want an apology, Crowley, you're not getting one," Dean replied.
Now that they were alone, Dean couldn't hide behind his brother and mother to mask his anger at Crowley. But anger was good, it was better than the cruel and indifferent apathy of Lucifer or his mother.
To be angry was to feel .
"You're not the least bit sorry?" Crowley insisted.
A stab in the hand was nothing. It was the proof that Dean didn’t want him around, didn’t trust him, that hurted him.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re not exactly trustworthy,” Dean retorted.
“You always knew who I was, and yet you used to trust me,” Crowley pointed out. “What changed?”
Crowley knew what had changed, Dean thought Crowley had reformed, that he wasn’t the demon he once was. Because Dean Winchester could never love a demon, could never love who he was.
Crowley wasn’t enough .
But he wanted to hear Dean tell him. If he couldn’t have love, he would have the truth. He wanted to know if the man in front of him was worth dying for.
Dean turned on his heel, not wanting to hurt Crowley or caring enough to answer him.
“What do you need? We don’t have much time and I don’t want to leave Sam, Mom, and Cas alone for too long,” Dean asked, his back turned.
“Holy oil,” Crowley answered without missing a beat, as if their conversation never happened.
(Crowley didn’t even deserve the truth.)
(The answer was yes .)
Dean left Crowley to search for the rest of the ingredients alone and Crowley wandered through the Bunker, past Cas’s room and down into the basement. Maybe he could have that, he’d be content being the group’s demon mascot, helping Dean on his hunts. They’d made a good team, hadn’t they?
(Dean didn’t trust him.)
(Crowley wasn’t enough.)
But victory over Lucifer wouldn’t be satisfying enough unless Crowley wiped that arrogant smirk off his face himself. He had to deliver the final blow, no matter if it was through his own heart.
It wasn’t like he had any other reason to stay.
Crowley opened a cupboard, searching for lamb's blood and his gaze froze on a bag of small, decorative red plastic tridents. He pulled one out of the bag, it was so small in his fingers, so easy to break. After a moment of hesitation, Crowley put it in his pocket and closed the cupboard behind him.
Crowley grabbed the lamb's blood from the next cupboard and went back into the library, the trident burning in his jacket pocket. Dean was already waiting for him in the library, tapping his fingers nervously against the wooden table. He looked up well before Crowley arrived in the room, damn hunter senses.
"Ready to take on the Devil? Again ," Crowley asked mockingly. "What must this be, the third time? You're not very good at your job."
"Whose fault is that?" Dean accused.
It wasn't a very good idea to remind Dean that Lucifer was on the loose again, especially when he wanted his forgiveness but Dean was so easy to rile off.
"I counted and I only let him out once, while you bozos let him out twice," Crowley retorted. "I don't see why I should take all the blame."
Dean’s jaw muscles clenched and part of Crowley wanted to brush against him to see if Dean would bite him.
(Depending on the context, Crowley would happily let him.)
“Come on, I know you get cranky when you’re away from Samantha for too long,” Crowley smirked.
Crowley grabbed Dean’s shoulder and led them back to the house, the effort taking a toll on the bones of his vessel. His vessel was falling apart slowly, with Lucifer’s attempted murder and the strain he was putting on it with the repeated use of his powers, but Crowley had grown too fond of it to jump ships. And it wasn’t like he was going to keep using it for long.
Crowley nearly stumbled upon landing but Dean caught his elbow, pulling him against him to steady him. His brows furrowed almost in worry as he studied Crowley’s face.”
“Are you okay?
“Don't worry your pretty little head about me,” Crowley replied, pulling away from Dean. Dean's hands were warm against his forearms. “Just missed a step.”
Crowley walked away in the direction of the kitchen, but Dean’s voice made him stop in the hallway, just under an open window. One floor below, the rift glowed brightly in the night, the exact shade of gold a demon or angel produced before dying. Crowley caught Dean’s gaze in the reflection of the glass.
“Crowley, thank you for coming. I–” Dean paused, searching for his words. “I needed you here.”
Crowley turned around. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"
"Yeah," Dean smiled weakly, the tiredness on his face even more visible in the silence.
"It was a pleasure, Dean," Crowley replied sincerely.
I'm a firm believer that Crowley was at least a little bit in love with Dean. But who can blame him? Either way, their relationship is so complex and interesting, I love them.
More Posts from The-stars-in-between and Others
DAY 1: Tick Tock Goes The Clock
Sam gets lost in the forest. This action has consequences.
First day of Whumptober, one of the few times I'll be on time too. It's Dean's turn today! Congrats to him (?) This was supposed to be a story about Sam getting lost in the woods and it ended up being a character study of Dean and his self-worth issues. I'm not unhappy about it. Triggers Warnings: - Mild Graphic Description of Violence - Mild Blood and Injury - Broken Bone - Dean's Canonical Self-worth Issues - John Being an Asshole Fandom : Supernatural (TV 2005) Character(s) : Dean Winchester Relationship(s) : Dean Winchester & John Winchester & Sam Winchester Words Count : 2,714 No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK Search Party | Panic Attack | "If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)
Dean tightened his grip on his silver blade, listening for any sound. He was alone in the forest, the full moon visible through the treetops. Dean barely dared to breathe for fear of being heard, every crack of branches or wind through the leaves putting him on alert in the deathly silence that surrounded him.
He had been separated from Dad and Sammy hours ago, but Dean wasn't worried. Sammy was with Dad, nothing could happen to him. Now it was up to Dean to fulfill his duty. It was the last night of the lunar cycle. If he didn't kill the werewolf he was tracking tonight, it could run away and continue to hurt innocent people for another month.
(There were five of them in the woods, all thinking they were the predator. But only three of them would get out of here alive.)
A shadow, lit by the cold, metallic light of the moon, shifted on a trunk and Dean turned abruptly. Good thing he did. The werewolf he thought he had been following for the past hour jumped at him, sharp claws aimed at his face. With a practiced reflex, Dean protected his head with his arm holding his blade, throwing himself out of the werewolf's path with agility.
Not fast enough.
A claw hit his arm, tearing through flesh as easily as the fabric of his jacket, drawing blood onto the forest floor. In pain, Dean let go of his silver blade, sending it a few meters away from him. He clutched his arm to his chest, quickly assessing the damage. For a terrifying moment, he could no longer remember if a werewolf's scratch was enough to infect a human.
(If it did, what would he do? What would Dad do? Dean couldn't imagine his father accepting a monster as a son. And Sammy? It didn't matter, Dean would rather die than hurt an innocent.
Dean killed monsters indiscriminately, no matter who or where they came from. That was what he had always been taught. Hunters killed monsters. Dean knew what he would have to do.)
Calm down and think, idjit!
Dean forced himself to breathe through his nose. A scratch wasn't enough to turn someone into a werewolf, only a bite could. Easy, Dean could avoid being bitten by a dirty mutt.
The werewolf snarled, drool dripping down its chin, yellow eyes flashing wildly in the night. It was getting impatient and the adrenaline that was pulsing violently in Dean's veins would soon fade, leaving him to face all the pain of his wound.
Dean had to get his hand on his weapon. And fast. He mentally calculated the distance between him, the werewolf and his knife. But the werewolf noticed the direction of his gaze.
"Oh no!" the werewolf threatened, its words chewed in its rage.
The werewolf threw itself at Dean, but this time Dean was ready for it. Using his opponent’s momentum against him, he kicked the beast in the sternum, deflecting its course and sending it into a thicket of brambles. The werewolf struggled through the brambles, howling in anger, giving Dean enough time to lunge for his silver blade. His fingers closed around the handle, a sigh of relief and comfort escaping him.
A hand grabbed his ankle, claws digging deep into his ankle, cutting through tendons. Dean fell, his chin hitting the ground hard. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He tried to grab roots, clawing at the ground to keep the werewolf from pulling him towards it, thorns digging into his skin. Dean struggled and kicked, ignoring the searing pain, to force the werewolf to let go of him. But the monster held firm, twisting his bones as it laughed in satisfaction.
A guttural cry escaped his lips, tearing through his dry throat.
“A fighter, I like that,” the werewolf mocked. “I don’t usually turn men, but I might make an exception for you. You’re pretty enough.”
“Go to hell!” Dean spat, choking on his blood.
Dean forced himself to turn his torso to face the werewolf, straining his bruised muscles. He swung his knife in a wide arc in front of him and sliced the monster across the face, damaging one of its eyes. The werewolf cried out in pain and finally let go of Dean, bringing a hand deformed by claws to its face.
Dean stood up quickly, putting as much distance between himself and the werewolf as he could. He spat on the ground, a mixture of blood and dirt, and grinned victoriously, his teeth tinged red. He gripped his knife in his left hand, his entire body on alert.
(He had practiced using both hands, but his left hand was still his weakest. This would have to do.)
Dean had never wanted a gun more than he did now. But they had only managed to get one single silver bullet and giving it to Dean who had a better chance of missing his target would have been a waste. It had made sense for Dad to take the gun, he wouldn't miss. Still, sticking a standard bullet between the werewolf's eyes would have reassured him, even if it would have barely slowed it down.
"I take it back," the werewolf growled. "I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart and eat your heart. And when I'm done hearing you beg, I'm going to hunt down your delicious little brother and take him with me. That is, if my friend doesn't kill him and your demon of a father first."
Dean's ears twisted and his vision went red. Sammy .
"Stay away from him!" Dean growled, his voice as animal as the monster in front of him.
The werewolf smirked and Dean knew he had made a mistake. He had just revealed a weakness, something precious to him and the predator in front of him had smelled it. Dean's determination only grew, he couldn't let the werewolf go now that it had so clearly threatened his little brother.
( Sammy, he had to protect Sammy. )
With his good foot, Dean kicked the dirt at his feet, creating a protective screen of dust and blocking him from the werewolf's sight for a few seconds. It wasn't enough, not when all the senses of the monster in front of him were heightened but it was something.
Dean attacked from the right, the side where the werewolf was blinded by the wound Dean had inflicted on it. But the werewolf abruptly turned to Dean, having sensed him coming, and met him head-on with a punch to the stomach. Dean's breath caught in his chest for a moment, bile rising in his mouth. He doubled over in shock and the werewolf grabbed his hair before yanking .
Dean kneed it between the legs, forcing the werewolf to let go of him and sank his blade deep into the werewolf's ribs. He brought his knife up to the werewolf's heart, puncturing its liver and lungs.
The werewolf grabbed his wrist, crushing his bones and twisting Dean's arm until Dean let go. A sickening crack echoed through the forest and his arm went limp in the werewolf's grip, broken mid-forearm. Dean couldn't help but cry out in pain and fear.
The werewolf grinned wickedly and, straining on Dean's broken arm, sent him into a tree. Dean's head hit the trunk hard and he fell to the ground, his broken arm beneath him. He staggered to his feet, slower than he would have liked, the world spinning indescribably around him.
"I'm going to kill you," Dean slurred, pointing his broken knife at the werewolf.
Dean realized a second too late that the blade of his knife had been separated from the handle, still inside the werewolf, just below his heart. A few inches more and Dean would have succeeded. Oh well, if he had to shove his hand between the werewolf's ribs to retrieve his blade and finish the job properly, he would.
The werewolf looked at him in horror, coughing up blood. The wound wasn’t fatal, but there was no way it could get the blade out of its body. With any luck, it would die from its injuries without Dean having to do anything. But Dean had stopped relying on luck years ago. He alone was in control of his destiny, and he couldn’t give the werewolf a chance to hurt someone— to hurt Sammy .
The werewolf took off running.
In the direction Dean had left Dad and Sammy.
Dean gave chase, excruciating pain shooting through his nerves every time he stepped on the ground. He couldn't take more than three steps before he collapsed, tears streaming down his cheeks and leaving trails in the dirt and blood.
"Dad!" Dean screamed as he tried to get up. " Dad!!! "
God, he was so useless.
His scream tore through the night, Dean not caring if he lured the other werewolf to him. The icy panic in his veins wouldn't let him think, he had to warn Dad. Sammy was in danger. Because of him.
"DAD!"
Dean finally stood up, his throat dry and every nerve ending in his body on fire. But Sammy was more important than him. He started running again, branches whipping at his face, following the werewolf’s tracks. A shadow appeared at the edge of his vision and barreled into him, pinning him in its arms. Dean struggled fiercely, trying to free himself.
“Dean!” the shadow snapped.
Dean relaxed instantly, recognizing his father. He could have cried with relief at the sight of him. If Dad was here, it meant Sammy was okay. Even if Dean had screwed up again, Dad would be able to help him.
“Where’s Sammy? We need to get him out of here,” Dean said, panicked.
(A part of his brain recognized that he was still in his father’s arms. He couldn’t remember the last time Dad had hugged him.)
“What? I thought he was with you!”
Dean’s heart stopped for a second.
This time, his tears were filled with despair.
“No, no, no,” Dean cried, shaking his head. “He was supposed to be with you. Safe .”
“Dean, tell me what happened,” Dad ordered calmly, his hands on Dean’s shoulders, but Dean could hear the urgency in his voice.
“I didn’t manage to kill the werewolf, he ran away. And he said he’d turn Sammy if he found him,” Dean explained, recognizing an order even through his visceral fear. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
Dad clenched his fists in anger, his eyes stormy and his posture dangerous. But Dean didn’t know who his anger was directed at.
“I’m sorry,” Dean repeated. “Please, Dad.”
(Dean didn’t know what he was asking his father to do, to take him back in his arms, to help him, to forgive him, to save Sammy.)
“Apologies won’t help, Dean,” Dad said abruptly. “We need to find Sammy. Fast .”
Dean stopped himself from apologizing again and straightened up, waiting for the next command.
“It’s hurt,” Dean added, forcing himself to ignore his pathetic outburst of emotion. “My silver blade is stuck in its ribs under its heart and he can’t use its left eye.”
“Good,” Dad replied, deep in thought. “It’ll be to our advantage. And you, are you hurt?”
“No,” Dean lied, almost by reflex.
“I don’t have time for lies, Dean!” Dad shouted out of patience, making Dean flinch. “Your brother may be in danger and every second you waste could very well be vital.”
"Both my arms and my ankle," Dean answered quickly. "And my head."
"Damn it, Dean, I thought I had you better trained than this," Dad swore. "But I could use you. So stay with me. But if I tell you to run, you run. No protests. You'll only get in my way anyway."
"Yes, sir!"
Without another word, Dad started walking, handing Dean his silver blade. It was caked in blood and Dean wiped it on his pants before testing its weight in his hand.
"How are you going to do without a weapon?" Dean asked, following his father.
"I still have the bullet," Dad replied, patting the gun strapped to his thigh. "Now shut up, I don't want the bastard to hear us."
Dean lowered his head, concentrating on keeping up with his father's fast pace. He didn't want to be any more of a burden than he already was. Dad would never forgive him if Sammy died tonight. And he wouldn't forgive himself either. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain, each frantic beat of his heart feeling like a countdown to his little brother's death, a bomb waiting to explode.
(Dean was nothing without Sammy, he couldn't lose him. Not his little brother.)
They didn't have time to waste.
XXX
Dean and Dad had walked for what seemed like hours, searching for Sammy. The werewolf’s tracks had finally disappeared around a bush, as if they had never existed. The full moon setting on the horizon should have been a relief, the end of a long night, but it was only a mockery.
They were running out of time.
Reluctantly, Dad had agreed to let them split up to cover more ground. Every second that passed was like a stab through Dean’s heart. It was his fault, it was his negligence and weakness that had allowed the werewolf to escape, that had put Sammy in danger.
The adrenaline that kept him upright had worn off, and Dean struggled through the forest, limping like a newborn fawn. He was dehydrated, having not had a drink of water in hours and having thrown up even more times. His head was killing him, blood pulsing violently in his temples. But Dean welcomed the distraction of the pain, anything to avoid thinking that he might find Sammy’s heartless corpse with every step he took.
(He resolutely forced himself not to look at the inhuman shape of his arm—flaccid, shapeless, and in two pieces—or the bleeding, festering cut on his other arm.)
Dean didn’t let it slow him down, despite his body begging him. He would rest when he was dead.
At the end of a path, Dean could see the edge of the forest and beyond it an abandoned hunter’s cabin. He stopped, hesitating for a moment, and tried to think like Sammy. A cabin like this was a good shelter to wait out the full moon. Dean knew he'd regret it if he didn't at least check it out. But it could also be a waste of crucial time.
What would Dad do in this situation?
You're a smart kid. Follow your instincts.
Dean changed direction toward the cabin.
A branch snapped behind him and Dean spun around abruptly. His knife stopped inches from his father's jugular as he raised his hands in the air in peace.
"Sorry," Dean apologized sheepishly, relaxing his arm.
"Don't be," Dad replied gruffly. "That was a nice reflex you had there."
Dean was too tired to appreciate his father’s rare compliment and let his arm fall back to his side. But Dad stopped him, gently grabbing his wrist and examining the wound on his arm.
“That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there,” Dad said. “You’ll need antibiotics, I’ll call Bobby as soon as we find your little brother.”
“It’s not important,” Dean refuted, trying to pull his arm back. “Sammy’s the priority.”
Dad stopped him, looking almost sad for a moment.
“Your well-being is important. You’re important,” Dad said with a hint of desperation, as if he really meant it. He looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, his gaze drifting toward the cabin. “You wanted to go take a look?”
“That’s the kind of place Sammy would hide,” Dean said. “He’s smart like that.”
“Good thinking, wait for me here,” Dad ordered, finally letting go of Dean's arm.
“What? No!” Dean protested fiercely.
“Dean, I don't have time for this,” Dad snapped.
Dean didn't listen to the end of his father's sentence. A blood-curdling scream shattered the quiet of dawn and Dean rushed towards the cabin, stealing the gun from his father's hand. Dean knew that voice, he knew it better than his own.
(It should never have contained so much pain and fear.)
“ Sammy !”
Sorry for the cliffhanger (or not). I actually combined two days in this story (and played around a little bit with the prompts too) so you will have Sam's POV and the end of this chapter on the... (drum rolls please) 19th! (Also, it's my first time writing whump so I don't know if it's enough hurt. Feel free to give me your opinion on the matter.)
What is love you say ?
Love is my mom downloading the new Pokemon game to collect cards and trade them with my siblings as soon as the app made it possible. Love is the open invitation to my grand aunt's house with cats and chickens everywhere. Love is the lit candle and blooming flowers on my grandma's grave in the dead of the winter.
Love is a new comment on one of my stories or an update of one of my favorite fanfics. Love is rediscovering a song I listened to in middle school and still knowing every words. Love is sending each other reels saying "that reminded me of you".
Love is my sister calling me every time she sees a sunset so I can see it too. Love is eating ice cream with my brother while he complains about his teachers. Love is my mom listening to me talk about the latest book I read when it's late and we should really be sleeping. Love is my dad texting me every day during my exams to see if I'm okay or if I want to go home.
Love is taking pictures of my cousin who takes pictures of the rest of the family. Love is the picture of me and my childhood best friend that we both keep in our room even though we don't talk to each other as much anymore. Love is looking in the mirror and liking what you see for the first time in months.
Love is my friend who gives me the slice of pizza with the least amount of sand on it when we eat on the beach.
Love is my parents sharing a lemon tart every Sunday afternoon.
Love is my baby cousin sending us a letter with "i love you" written in every languages she knows.
What is love you say ? Love is waking up everyday and smiling to strangers in the street.
Love is to keep living even when it's hard because it's so worth it in the end.
I only have three modes during my finals: a raccoon that crawled out of a trash can and just learned to read, crying on public benches and the bravest girl in the world.
I've Fallen For You
“Evans, did you come to wish me luck?” James teased good-naturedly. There was only good-natured humor and genuine friendship in his voice. Mary wanted to hex him anyway.
"Sorry, Potter," Lily retorted, breezing past him and straight to Mary. "My heart's already taken."
And Mary had no doubt that Lily really meant it, just not in the same way Mary did. Not when Mary wanted to warm Lily's frozen skin with kisses, to lose herself in Lily's lavender shampoo for hours.
"I can't compete with that," James replied with a wink, ushering the rest of his team outside. "Try not to make my star chaser late, Lils."
"I thought I was your star chaser!" Marlene protested, not before sending Mary an amused and very pointed look. Mary should never have said anything to her, fucking best friend and fucking Sirius Black with his fancy firewhiskey.
Mary didn't bother to listen to James's answer, because Lily approached her with a small smile. A smile Lily reserved only for Mary, as if Mary were the most precious thing in the world.
“Hi,” Lily whispered into the silence of the locker room. If Mary thought she'd shut out the outside world before, she was sorely mistaken. There was only Lily left — Lily and the star-shaped scar behind her ear, Lily and the ring on her index finger she shared with Mary, Lily and the warmth of her breath against Mary’s lips. Lily, Lily, Lily. “How are you feeling?”
Mary felt as if there was no more air in the room, but she managed to answer in a low voice, like a secret between them. “Perfect now that you're here.”
I graduated therapy today, yohoo!
“My name is Ace, nice to meet you,” Ace introduced himself, practically shouting in Buggy's ear and bowing his head slightly.
The crew bowed in turn, returning Ace's salute, who seemed pleased by their action. Buggy exchanged a look with Mom over Ace's head, where had Ace learned such manners?
Despite his angelic exterior, Buggy knew from his own experience during the first two years of Ace's life and from Mom's letters during the next two that Ace was more akin to a mud-dwelling demon.
My amazingly talented little sister made me an illustration for the new chapter of my fanfic. I wanted it to feel like the imagination bubbles that Luffy or Robin often have and she nailed the vibe perfectly.
Little Gremlin
Three One Piece story ideas I might (or might not) write someday:
- The Faces I See In My Sleep: Ever since he was taken in by the Revolutionary Army, Sabo draws the same two faces over and over again without ever knowing their names. A little boy who smiles like the sun and another with stormy eyes and freckles like stars. And when Portgas D. Ace makes his debut on the high seas, Sabo can't help but notice the similarities between his wanted poster and the boy in his drawings.
- Pieces of Me: Nami had spent more than half her life serving Arlong. Arlong had stolen her mother, her childhood, and her freedom. He had taken everything from her. Her maps, her time, her hope, and her blood. Little by little, he had ripped away essential pieces of her, leaving behind only a broken, empty shell, just functional enough to be useful to him. But with the help of her crew, Nami becomes whole again, regaining the pieces of herself that Arlong stole from her.
- My Father Is The Worst Man Alive (And I’m His Favorite Daughter): After touring Wano, Yamato sets sail to see the world. His first stop: the grave of the friend he never got to know, the only person in the world who could understand the burden of being born of a monster, the pirate who gave him his first taste of freedom. Portgas D. Ace. It's been years since Yamato saw his vivre card go up in flames, but better late than never.
If this is something you would like to read, please let me know so I can motivate myself to write it. And if this is something you would like to write, please let me know so I can read it!
Hi, I'm a twenty-years old fanfiction writer who aspires to one day write an original book. In the meantime, I write fanfiction to improve my writting skills and also because I have Feelings and I can't get certain ideas out of my head otherwise. (My writing is basically the screams in my head organized in a semi-coherent way.) So don't hesitate to give me your opinion on my work, it helps me a lot and I thrive on external validation <3
I also love yapping about my WIPs so feel free to tell me to shut up but if it's something you're interested in, I will love you until the end of times.
So let me introduce you to my current series. I won't bother you by introducing each story one by one (I'm not that mean), but they're all very good I promise.
Writing Challenges
Whumptober 2024
Against my better judgement, I decided to attempt Whumptober this year. The potential for angst and hurt just spoke to me.
Femslash February 2025
Here is my contribution for FemSlash February 2025, because I love women and there's nearly not enough F/F-centric fics in here.
Supernatural
When There's Blood In The Water
Family doesn't necessarily end in blood, but sometimes it's your family that makes you bleed.
A collection of stories centered around the very dysfunctional Winchester family (mainly including John, Sam, Dean and Adam) not necessarily related to each other unless otherwise stated.
One Piece
My One Piece stories are available in English and French. (My first language is French.)
Come Hell or High Water
Come discover the adventures of the most chaotic family both sides of the Red Line.
My main story where Portgas D. Rouge lives and forcibly adopts half of the Grand Line. I'm going to make another post about this because it's my baby and I need to talk about it more. But if you are already interested, you can always click on the link above which will take you to my AO3 account.
Happy Birthday My Treasure
A year worth of birthdays for my favorite characters.
All my stories celebrating a One Piece character's birthday, they have no connection with each other (unless specified at the beginning of the story). You can read them individually and still understanting them.
Made from Sun, Ink and Storm
Let Nami and Koala meet, dammit!
The first instalment of my One Piece soulmate AU centered around Nami & Koala' (sadly non-existent in canon) relationship.
From Dawn Till Dusk
Ace goes back in time and spends the day with his mom, it changes everything.
a little comic for one of my favorite songs from the op soundtrack. and also because the ocean is so endlessly cruel in the most loving of ways, for everything she takes she gives tenfold.
DAY 5: If My Pain Will Stretch That Far
Luffy can stretch and stretch, but he can't escape his pain.
I have a lot of Marineford-related stories for this Whumptober because I stil haven't gotten over it. And that prompt screamed Luffy, "if my pain can stretch that far", "stretch"? That's totally Luffy. Also I know one of the prompt is sunburn but you can also take it as "sun burn". Luffy, the analogy of the sun, burned by Akainu. I think I'm hilarious. Fandom: One Piece "Character(s) : Monkey D. Luffy Words Count: 1,350 Trigger Warnings: - Blood and Injury - Description of Scars - Past Death - Self-Harm (Luffy claws at his scar until it bleeds and reopens) - Suicidal Thoughts No. 5: SUNBURN Healing Salve | Heatstroke | "If my pain will stretch that far." (Lottery Winners, Burning House)
Some mornings, Luffy woke up with no pain, as if the weight of war had never touched his shoulders. Others—like today—he felt like lava was flowing through his veins and every breath was like swallowing hot coals. Everything hurt to the touch, as if shards of glass were stuck under his skin.
Luffy was pulled from his nightmare-filled sleep ( thank you for loving me! ) by a coughing fit, choking on ash and blood. His lungs burned, a raging inferno spreading through his body. His skin was raw, every nerve ending exposed, and the hand rubbing his back, trying to help, was agony.
Luffy felt like he would never be able to breathe again. After what seemed like an eternity (you know what’s the funny thing about time? it stretches out), Luffy managed, slowly and painfully, to catch his breath. He was prostrate on the ground, the tears on his cheeks like molten gold.
“Luffy-kun? Luffy-kun?”
His senses slowly returned to him: hearing (Rayleigh calling his name worriedly), sight (the sun above his head, burning, burning, burning), taste (blood and dirt on his tongue), smell (smoke and rotting corpses), and touch (everything hurt).
Luffy threw up, barely avoiding Rayleigh's feet.
Luffy lay down in the grass, arms and legs spread like a cross (was there a cross on Ace's grave?) and caught his breath, forcing air into his body despite the pain. Why did even breathing hurt? Luffy wanted to scream but it would hurt too.
Luffy didn't want to hurt anymore.
“Luffy-kun, can I touch your arm?” Rayleigh asked cautiously.
Luffy wanted to say no. Luffy didn't want anyone to touch him anymore.
(Ace had held him in his arms and Ace was dead.)
“Okay,” Luffy replied, his voice hoarse and broken.
Rayleigh gently grabbed his arm and helped Luffy sit up. Luffy rested his head on Rayleigh’s shoulder, the wind a blessing on his sweaty skin. Rayleigh handed him a canteen, metallic and cold under his fingers.
“Drink slowly,” Rayleigh advised.
Luffy’s arms shook with fatigue as he brought the canteen to his cracked lips. Water spilled down his chin and down his neck to his torso where his scar pulsed and burned. Listening to Rayleigh’s advice, Luffy drank slowly, washing away the blood and dirt in his mouth. Luffy hadn’t realized until then how dry his throat was. No wonder he was having trouble breathing.
(It reminded him of the deserts of Alabasta, dunes and golden sand as far as the eye could see. Ace was still alive at that moment, his crew still with him.)
"We should take a break from training today," Rayleigh suggested. "You're not in shape."
"No," Luffy protested, turning abruptly to Rayleigh. "I have to get stronger."
Luffy couldn't stop now. His friends were counting on him to get stronger. He couldn't stay weak, unable to protect the people he cared about. He couldn't lose someone again.
Luffy's vision blurred as his head spun until he couldn't tell which was up from which. Rayleigh caught him before he fell, stopping him from hitting his head hard on the ground.
"Rest today and we'll start training again tomorrow," Rayleigh said softly as he helped Luffy lie down properly.
But Luffy didn't want to sleep, because when he slept, nothing stopped his mind from taking him back to Marineford, to the screams of the dying, and to Ace's heart in his hands. When Luffy wasn't paying attention, he could still see Ace's blood on his hands.
"I don't want to—”
I don't want to be alone.
Luffy was sure he hadn't said the words out loud but Rayleigh looked at him with so much understanding that he ended up doubting it.
"You can't stay like that, you're covered in sweat and dried blood. Go to the river and wash yourself and then I'll show you some stretches," Rayleigh suggested.
"Silly Rayliegh, I don't need to do any stretching, I'm already elastic," Luffy laughed weakly, tugging on his cheek to prove his point.
Rayleigh smiled affectionately, a nostalgic glint in his eyes. "Stop protesting, little monkey! Go wash yourself."
Luffy stuck his tongue out at Rayleigh who walked away laughing. Leaning on a tree, he stood up, feeling the tension in each of his muscles, and headed towards the river, avoiding the passage of the wildest animals. Luffy didn't like washing, water—even if fresh water had a lesser effect—always made him all flabby and drained him of his strength.
Luffy sat down by the river, breathing heavily, the short walk through the forest having exhausted him. He let his feet touch the surface of the water, the icy temperature almost biting against his skin. Luffy let his feet sit in the water until he couldn’t feel them anymore, until he was numb to all sensation below his knees.
When Luffy finally stood up, walking a few steps to the middle of the river, he didn’t wince when the rocks at the bottom of the water cut into his feet. Luffy watched as the flow of blood was carried away by the ebbing river.
In the reflection of the clear water, Luffy could only see the scar that marred his torso. A bloody red cross, marking the place of his defeat. The proof of his failure. Even after months, the skin around the wound was still damaged and blistered, ugly and angry.
Luffy clutched his heart tightly, wishing it was numb as well. His fingers dug into the soft skin like claws, tearing at flesh and tissue. A terrible sob squeezed his chest, begging to be let out.
He couldn't breathe.
Luffy clawed at his heart, covering his fingers in red like an animal, bent double under the weight of the pain. His blood pulsed violently in his ears all the way to his fingertips. Luffy could hear nothing else. He could still feel Ace's heartbeat between his fingers, disappearing by the second.
He couldn't stop.
His knees buckled beneath him and Luffy fell into the middle of the river. He didn't see the translucent water turn red around him as blood poured from his heart down his limbs. With his eyes closed, Luffy couldn't feel the difference between water and blood. Not when he was drowning either way.
He couldn't breathe.
Luffy wanted to rip his heart out of his chest, the barrier of his ribs insignificant in the face of his grief. Blood stuck to his skin, seeping into his pores. (The last time his hands were covered in blood, Ace was dying in his arms.) Luffy clawed and clawed, like a pirate searching for treasure. If he gave his still-beating heart to Ace, maybe Ace could stay with him.
He couldn't stop.
His vision blurred as black and white spots danced beneath his eyelids. Dimly, Luffy realized that his head was underwater. Maybe that was why he couldn't breathe. Blood seeped into his lungs as Luffy let himself be pulled along by the now crimson river current.
He couldn't breathe.
It was cool to have brothers! They lived together in the forest, hunting alligators and playing all day long. Sabo would find treasures for him in the junkyard and Ace would hold him by the shirt so Luffy wouldn't get lost.
When night fell, they would fall asleep in the treehouse they had built, their pirate flag flying proudly in the wind. No wild animal (or angry gramps) could reach them here and Luffy had never felt safer than between his two big brothers.
Even when Luffy got eaten by an alligator or drowned in the river, Ace and Sabo always came looking for him. Luffy was never alone again.
Luffy drowned alone.
.
.
.
There was a hand in his.
Marked by age, covered in scars and calluses.
For a moment, Luffy thought that Gramps was by his side. But it was ridiculous, Gramps would never hold his hand like that, gently yet forcefully. As if the person holding his hand never intended to let go.
But Gramps always left.
(Everyone always left.)
(Ace was gone.)
The hand was still there.
I want to hug Luffy. Someone hug this traumatized child!
oscillating between one piece and supernatural as my hyperfixation depending on the weather
76 posts