Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

            Fangs. Black eyes. Hands tore at them, limbs wrenched from their body. They could feel blood dripping down their body. Knives tore their body open, slashes through their scars, heartbeat thudding in panic. Their torn limbs bitten into. They screamed, but the sound was garbled through blood. A shadow looms at them from the darkness, claws pull at their chest, and their heart is wrenched free. It beats, dripping indigo blood, rotten like an apple gone bad. The red was mottled with black, green. Indigo. A crowing, sadistic laugh reverberated in their head. The shadow squeezed their heart, and it liquefied, the poison dripping down their throat, tasting of death, and they were suddenly drowning in it, the indigo poison filling their lungs, and they couldn’t breath through the smell of rotting flesh, open wounds, blood, their own decaying humanity—

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            (Y/N) jerked up, twisting in their sheets. Their eyes were wide, and they took desperate breaths. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. They weren’t drowning. There were no monsters. (Y/N) was safe in Lisa, Ben, and Dean’s home. They were in a soft, warm bed, safe from the things that stalked the night.

            (Y/N) curled up on their side and cupped their pendant protectively. Despite the safety they’d had for almost a year, they never took it off. They were frightened to. It was the only protection from the nightmares that plagued them almost every night. They had stopped telling Dean about the dreams. They suspected he had them, too. Dean would remind himself and (Y/N) that the monsters hadn’t come yet and they weren’t coming. (Y/N) was safe, he said.

            They weren’t. The monsters of the shadows weren’t the only demons in their mind, haunting them like the plague. (Y/N) could feel their reflection in the unbroken mirror and could imagine how small, how pathetic they looked, curled up beneath blankets like a child. But what else could they do? They were hiding from themself.

            (Y/N) was a witch child. They were the monster. And they couldn’t escape that rotten seed within their heart.

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            “I like your outfit,” said Lisa kindly.

            She had accepted (Y/N) into her home immediately, despite never having raised a teenager and only had experience with a son. (Y/N) appreciate her endless patience and care for them, even though they weren’t her child. Lisa didn’t even seem to be doing it exclusively for Dean’s sake, either. She seemed to honestly care, and she had helped (Y/N) experiment with style—hair and clothing wise—over the year so they could “feel like themself.” While (Y/N) had a lot of struggles in their mind, that had been one positive part of their life, and they would treasure it.

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N).

            They had on their brown hunter boots, but instead of cargo pants or jeans with an old t-shirt, they had a purple skirt that hung a little past their knees. As a top, they wore a black camisole that had fake lace at the top and bottom, but it only showed a bit since (Y/N) had a slouchy striped sweater in indigo, burgundy, and other deep colors overtop. They still wore their signature necklace, and a few new earrings were in their ears. It turned out that when they weren’t focusing on survival, they liked skirts or loose clothing. They liked having their own style, and that was one part of their life with Lisa and Ben that they really enjoyed. It reminded (Y/N) of what their life could have been like with their parents at this age. That left them an old ache in their chest, but they didn’t stop appreciating what they had.

            Unfortunately, nothing good lasted forever for them. One day, (Y/N) was relaxing in one of their outfits—now a long black skirt with an indigo shirt—and Lisa had some neighbors over. (Y/N) sat on the couch, reading while the adults chatted. They didn’t mind the neighbors, but their residual mistrust of people had yet to abate. They doubted it would.

            “(Y/N) has an…interesting style,” said one of the neighbors.

            (Y/N) tuned in as they heard their name, and they sighed internally. They were going to be called goth or alternative or something in a disapproving tone like many adults had. They were fine with that. They’d deal with it.

            “Right,” laughed the neighbor’s husband. “I see them outside, and all I can think is that we have a witch in the neighborhood.”

            Lisa had awkwardly laughed, Dean had forced himself to chuckle, and (Y/N)…Their veins felt ice cold.

            They pushed their witchy clothes aside in a box in the closet. When Lisa asked what happened, (Y/N) said they were done experimenting. Lisa sensed she shouldn’t ask again.

            (Y/N) despised themself for giving into their monstrous instincts.

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            Sometimes, they’d forget. They would move onto enjoying breakfast, lunch, or dinner with Dean, Lisa, and Ben. They’d have great conversations, feel like they had a home, and get to just be. Sometimes.

            Other times, (Y/N) felt the horrible itch beneath their skin. It never died. It demanded (Y/N)’s attention, and in this little house, in this little suburb, in this little town, nothing could satiate it. (Y/N) didn’t want to feed it, the ugly part of them under their skin. They never did so intentionally. They put a smile on their face and pretended they couldn’t feel it. They continued with this peaceful, apple-pie life alongside Dean, who was content and happy, even as he missed Sam.

            The insatiable famine within them never went away, though, and it forced its way out. (Y/N) had a breakdown in grief over Sam, their parents, and the overwhelming sadness within them. They wanted Sam back so Dean could be fully happy, so they could have their new brother back. They wanted their parents so they could ask why. Why be witches? Why not tell me? Why do I have to be like this?

            Then the rains would pour. Pour and pour and pour and flood the street, and (Y/N) feared Mother Nature was not the only one opening the skies up to let the torrential rains fall. They feared the thunder and lightning that struck the skies on dark evenings was not the regular storm season of the year. The storms came too often with (Y/N)’s anger at the world. The wind picked up, blowing over trees, sending people fleeing to their homes for hours, days. And every time, (Y/N) sat and stared at the sky and feared they were the one hurting people’s homes with the near-natural disasters being called in.

            They promised themself they wouldn’t intentionally hurt people. This was an accident. This couldn’t be them—not all of it, no way. They were just…(Y/N) knew that they stirred it to action. And so the damage of the floods, the repairs of the winds, the people who were stuck and suffering through storm season that lashed harsher than every before, it was (Y/N)’s fault. They were a monster.

            (Y/N) didn’t want to be a monster.

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            “I’m worried about them,” said Lisa softly.

            (Y/N) hesitated on the stairs. They had planned to get a snack or tea and go back to reading, but, instead, they hovered like a ghost between upstairs and downstairs as Lisa spoke to Dean.

            “What do you mean?” asked Dean.

            “They were doing well, I thought,” said Lisa. “They haven’t been talking about nightmares. They were experimenting with their style. They were going out, walking around, being a normal teenager. As normal as they can be. And then they…stopped. I’m worried that they’re not doing well and just not telling us.”

            “Yeah, I saw it, too,” said Dean. “But a lot of changes might be too much. They got used to hunting, and hunting is intense.” The more accurate word was “traumatic,” but Dean never used that word. “They probably changed too much and need to dial it back.”

            “Okay,” said Lisa. “But will you talk to them? Just to make sure? I have a feeling they’ll open up to you more than me.”

            “Yeah,” said Dean. He wanted to make sure (Y/N) was alright, too. They were his responsibility.

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            “Hey, (Y/N),” said Dean, knocking on their door.

            “Come in,” said (Y/N).

            Dean entered their bedroom. He instantly noted that some of their decorations were gone, shoved away with the clothes Lisa had noticed they stopped wearing. “How are you?”

            “Fine?” said (Y/N).

            “You sure? You changed your whole room,” he said. “The lights and the vines are gone.”

            “They were a bit much,” said (Y/N). They could use his assumptions against him. If he learned the truth of (Y/N)’s nature, he would have to—(Y/N) couldn’t let that happen. “I’ll put them back up. I was just—it’s almost my birthday, and last year we were hunting, and the year before that—” they’d lost their parents.

            “Right,” said Dean. Their birthday was overwhelming for them. Of course they were a bit freaked out by the way their life kept changing so much each birthday. “Okay. Is there something you want for your birthday that would…help? You know, to do, to eat, to have.” Lisa thought making new memories or associations for their birthday would help soften the difficulty of it. “I mean, sixteen. That’s a big one.”

            (Y/N) wanted a lot of things. They wanted to drive in the impala again, but Dean didn’t touch it any more. They wanted to cut out whatever part of their body was the source of the magic and cut their decaying humanity away before it spread. They wanted their parents back, even if they were witches. They wanted to be held and not be a monster but a kid again. They couldn’t have any of that. But there was thing that maybe (Y/N) could have.

            “You know where Alastair and Ruby stabbed me?” said (Y/N) hesitantly. They didn’t talk a lot about hunting or what had happened before they arrived at Lisa’s.

            “Yeah,” said Dean, his fury at both the demons rising to the surface despite the fact that they were dead.

            “There’s a scar there,” said (Y/N). “And looking at it…isn’t fun. I mean, it means I’m alive, and scars aren’t ugly, but I’ve been looking around, and I’ve seen people who get tattoos over scars to make it easier to deal with.” Mentally, (Y/N) struggled with it. They didn’t mind the look of scars, but the memories that came with it…they needed to change the way they saw it.

            “You want to get a tattoo over your scar?” asked Dean, surprised. Two years ago, they had feared needles. They had come a long way.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N). “Can I?”

            Dean nodded. “Yeah. You already have one tattoo. You’re sixteen, and Lisa and I’ll give you official permission. Or I will, at least. Lisa doesn’t have to know until after.”

            (Y/N) laughed, and Dean relaxed. Okay, (Y/N) was alright. They were going to be okay. He wouldn’t forgive himself if he wasn’t making the life they deserved. Sam had entrusted him with the duty of giving (Y/N) some sort of childhood back. Dean cared about (Y/N), and he cared about Sam, so he would do all he could to make sure it happened.

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            “How does this look?” asked the tattoo artist.

            (Y/N) looked at the stencil over their ribs in the mirror. They nodded. “I like it. Dean?”

            “Looks right,” he said.

            “Okay,” said the artist. “Sit back, and we’ll get started. This might hurt a bit, but it looks like you’ve had work done, so you know the drill.”

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N). That and they had experienced way worse pain than a tattoo gun. This would tickle.

            As the needle buzzed to life and pressed into their skin, (Y/N) felt the sharp, prodding knicks of the needle against their skin, and they knew it should hurt, but after what they had gone through, it was nothing.

            The famine in them, the endless void demanding their attention, dulled as the needle pricked them.

            (Y/N)’s skin ran cold, and they wanted to be tense for the rest of the appointment, but their body melted into relaxation for the first time since storm season. And they couldn’t be mad at themself—another monstrous instinct, another symptom of their ugly nature, and they had given in, what was wrong with them, stop it stop it stopitstopit—not when the result was so pretty and fulfilling. Satiating.

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            “How’d it go?” asked Lisa, opening the Indian takeout she’d picked up for (Y/N)’s birthday.

            “Great,” said Dean. “(Y/N) wasn’t even scared.”

            “That was one time,” said (Y/N). “Needles are scary for everyone.”

            “Not anymore, though,” said Dean, laughing and clapping them on the shoulder.

            “Nope,” said (Y/N), shrugging casually.

            “Well, (Y/N)’s tough,” said Lisa with a smile. “How’s the tattoo looking?”

            “I love it,” said (Y/N) honestly. Despite their…thoughts, they were being honest. They really loved the tattoo and were glad they got it. (And to be even more honest, all they could think about was other possible tattoos they could get one day…) “Can I show you?”

            “Go ahead,” said Lisa. She had seen (Y/N)’s inspiration and designs, but of course she wanted to see their final design.

            (Y/N) pulled their loose purple t-shirt up to reveal the wrapping over their brand-new rib tattoo. It lay a bit beneath the anti-possession tattoo they still sported, both on the left near their heart. It was a branching vine with leaves on top of their ribcage below their pectorals, right over where Alastair and Ruby had stabbed them. The scar patterns were incorporated into the veins of the leaves, making the scar not only a symbol of (Y/N)’s survival but an image of artistry on them, something beautiful.

            “It looks amazing,” said Lisa.

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N), ecstatic with the result. “I’m thinking of getting it mirrored on the other side eventually, you know?”

            “If you decide to, it’ll look good,” said Lisa. “Take your time, though, okay?”

            “I know,” said (Y/N) with a shrug.

            “I said they should get a fire or something badass,” said Dean. “Maybe a wolf or something.”

            “That’s such a guy thing,” said (Y/N), and Lisa rolled her eyes at Dean’s playful tone.

            “Definitely,” said Lisa. “It’s a good thing Dean’s not getting more tattoos.”

            “Hey,” protested Dean indignantly.

            “Is dinner here?” said Ben, appearing on the stairs.

            “Yep,” said Lisa. “And the cake is ready for after, too.”

            (Y/N) straightened. They got a birthday cake and everything. It had been two years since that. Two years since their witch parents died.

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            (Y/N) sat in front of the cake as Dean, Ben, and Lisa finished singing “Happy Birthday.”

            “Make a wish,” said Lisa.

            Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) closed their eyes. They made their wish. They opened their eyes and moved to blow out the candles. A gust of wind blew through the kitchen as they blew, and the candles went out. Dean, Ben, and Lisa cheered, only seeing (Y/N) blow them out. (Y/N)’s smile became awkward, frozen sideways on their face. They hadn’t blown out the candles. The wind had. The world had told them they couldn’t have their wish. But (Y/N) desired it so deeply.

            “Happy sixteenth,” said Dean, squeezing (Y/N)’s shoulder.

            “Thanks,” said (Y/N), putting on the fake smile they had become accustomed to.

            I wish I wasn’t a witch.

Chapter Text

            “Why are you up?” (Y/N) stared at Dean in the light of the midnight moon.

            He put down his phone and yawned. On his screen, 911 reports shone a cold blue light in the living room, disturbing the moonlight.

            “Just…checking on something,” said Dean, looking distracted.

            (Y/N) frowned. That wasn’t a good tone. “Did…something happen?” Was there something supernatural going on?

            “No,” said Dean. “No. We’re fine. I was just checking.” He shook his head. He might have seen some strange things, but it could be nothing. It could be his own paranoia. He wouldn’t freak (Y/N) out when they’d been doing so well.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). They didn’t believe it one bit.

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            “(Y/N), have you seen Dean?” asked Lisa, looking exhausted.

            “I think he went to the garage,” said (Y/N) as they sipped some tea. “Is something the matter?”

            Lisa sighed. “I ran into Sid outside, and he told me that Dean almost shot a yorkie.”

            “Little dogs are evil,” said (Y/N), shrugging, but they knew it was weird.

            “(Y/N),” admonished Lisa. “You know that isn’t like Dean. Has he been…acting strange?”

            “A little, I guess,” said (Y/N).

            Lisa frowned worriedly. “Okay. I’m going to check on him, but if you see him acting strangely…let me know, alright?”

            “I will,” said (Y/N). They and Lisa cared about Dean. If he wasn’t doing alright, they’d do something to help.

            They watched Lisa head out to the garage and talk briefly with Dean. She had to go to work and left soon after, but Lisa looked worried. (Y/N) frowned and watched the garage curiously. What was going on with Dean?

            They saw him pacing and then whirl, looking at nothing. They stood, a bad feeling creeping up their spine. Dean jerked around as if he could see something that wasn’t there. (Y/N) was instantly out the door. If there was a ghost or an invisible monster, they had to help.

            They ran into the garage, and Dean jumped, wide-eyed. “(Y/N)?” he said. “You scared the shit out of me.”

            “What’s going on?” said (Y/N). “You look like you’ve been seeing something. Is there a monster?”

            “I don’t—”

            “Tell me the truth,” snapped (Y/N). The lights flickered above them, and Dean flinched.

            “I think something’s around,” said Dean. “I saw…blood and scratches different places. I think I smelled sulfur.”

            (Y/N)’s blood ran cold. “You think—?”

            “I don’t know. I worry,” said Dean. “It’ll be after us. We can’t let it get to Lisa or Ben.”

            (Y/N) nodded firmly. While Lisa was at work and Ben was at school, they needed to ensure they were protected from any monsters that could show up.

            A few thumps echoed, and Dean and (Y/N) spun. A soccer ball bounced into sight of its own accord. (Y/N) didn’t like it. Dean started to walk towards the shadows, and he jumped, eyes widening in horror.

            Bang! He fired, and (Y/N) watched the salt hit the wall, but Dean looked confident.

            “Dean, there’s nothing—”

            “Boo.”

            (Y/N) spun, and the light above them flashed on and off. Ruby stood in front of them.

            “Hiya,” she said. “Missed me?”

            “You—You’re dead,” said (Y/N), stepping back. All thoughts about Dean flew from their mind.

            “Apocalypse is fun,” said Ruby. “I couldn’t miss out. I did, though. Because of you. Don’t worry, though. I’m back for some fun.”

            “This can’t be real. It’s in my head,” said (Y/N) decisively, but they still looked around for a weapon. “You’re gone.”

            “Okay, sure, I’m in your head,” said Ruby. “But that just makes it more fun. You can’t get rid of me.” Her grin was large, splitting her face in half. “And I know what’s in your head. You’re a little monster, aren’t you?”

            (Y/N)’s breath caught.

            “You and your parents. I mean, seriously, I did a favor getting rid of your parents. I was basically a hunter! I got rid of a monster,” said Ruby. “And I get to have fun and do it again.” She held up a dangerous, sharp knife. “I’m gonna carve up that tattoo—that pathetic attempt to make yourself into something more than a rotten, ugly, damned monster—until you’re nothing but tatters.”

            She lunged, and (Y/N) stumbled. This might have been in their head, but the pressure of Ruby’s body knocking theirs over felt real. (Y/N) screamed and fought against her.

            “Go away go away go away!” The light above them shattered, and small bits of glass fell onto their arms. (Y/N) winced and closed their eyes as Ruby’s arms raised above them, the knife in her hands glinting even in the unlit garage, and (Y/N)’s breath caught, the roar in their head screaming at them, but (Y/N) couldn’t—They couldn’t—

            A figure slammed a hand through Ruby, and she disappeared like smoke. A syringe planted itself in (Y/N)’s arm, and their vision swam instantly. They gasped, and the last thing they saw was another hallucination—a familiar face they had longed to see for a year.

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            (Y/N) opened their eyes blearily to a dark room. This was not their room. Instantly, they shot up, their instincts of the hunt returning in an instant. In a cot beside them, Dean sat up, equally confused.

            “You okay—”

            The words died in Dean’s throat as he saw the other person in the room. (Y/N) stared at him. It couldn’t be—It was another hallucination.

            “Hey, Dean. Hey, (Y/N),” said Sam. He chuckled at their astonished expressions. “I was expecting, uh…I don’t know, a hug, some holy water in the face—something.” He stood from his chair and approached.

            “So—we’re dead?” said Dean. That was the only explanation. “This is Heaven, Yellow Eyes killed me and (Y/N)—”

            That’s who Dean saw? (Y/N) swallowed.

            “Yellow Eyes? That’s what you saw?” said Sam.

            “ ‘Saw?’ ” said Dean, confused.

            “You were poisoned,” said Sam. “So whatever kind of crazy crap you think you been seeing, it’s not real.”

            “So Ruby’s dead? Really dead?” said (Y/N), needing the confirmation after all her horrible words. They didn’t dare say more about their vision, the truth Ruby had taunted them with, that they were a monster.

            “Yeah,” said Sam.

            Dean looked at (Y/N) worriedly. They’d been screaming in fear, and he hadn’t fought through his own hallucination to protect them. He had failed. However, that left one question. “So, then, are you real?” He wanted it. He wanted it to be real so badly.

            “I’m real,” said Sam. “Here, let me save you the trouble.” He took out a silver knife and dragged it down his arm. He didn’t react at all. He then took a salt pellet, sprinkled it into holy water, and drank it. Still no reaction. “All me.” He made a face at the salty water. “That’s nasty.”

            Dean stood, and (Y/N) hesitated.

            “Sammy?” said Dean hesitantly.

            “Yeah,” said Sam, smiling. “It’s me.”

            Dean walked forward to face Sam. He gazed at him in shock again and then pulled him into a hug. (Y/N) instantly moved towards them and joined the hug, and Sam hugged them back, real and alive by some miracle.

            “How?” said (Y/N) when they stepped back. “I mean, you-you were gone. How?”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam, shaking his head.

            “What do you mean you don’t know?” said Dean incredulously.

            “I’m just back,” said Sam, shrugging.

            “Well, was it God, or-or Cas?” asked Dean. “I mean, does Cas know anything about it?”

            “You tell me. I’ve been calling,” said Sam. “Cas hasn’t answered my prayers. I don’t even know where he is. I mean, I was…down there, and then, the next minute, it’s raining, and I’m lying in that field, alone. It’s kind of hard to go looking for whatever saved you when you got no leads. But I looked. I mean, believe me, I looked…for weeks.”

            (Y/N) frowned, and Dean furrowed his brow.

            “Wait, weeks?” he said. Betrayal threaded through his emotions. “How long have you been back?”

            Sam went silent.

            “Sam?” said (Y/N) as he remained silent and still. “How long?”

            “How long you been back, Sam?” said Dean.

            “About a year.”

            (Y/N) stared. That meant that this entire time they’d grieved him, he’d been alive, and he didn’t come to find them.

            “About a year?” said Dean, all of (Y/N)’s feelings in his tone.

            “Dean—”

            “You’ve been back practically this whole time?!” shouted Dean. He was betrayed and angry at the grief he’d wasted on the brother that hadn’t come back to him when he was alive. “What, did you lose the ability to send a friggin’ text message?!”

            “You finally had what you wanted, Dean,” said Sam.

            “We wanted you, alive,” said Dean.

            “You wanted a family,” said Sam. “You have for a long time, maybe the whole time. I know you.” He looked at (Y/N). “And you…you got a family again. You got a childhood. You only had to give that up because of the way we lived. But you two had something, you were building something. Had I shown up, you would have just run off!”

            Dean turned away and ran a hand down his face. (Y/N) ran a hand through their hair incredulously at how Sam had basically abandoned him after telling them to not try to find him.

            “I’m sorry,” said Sam. “But if felt like after everything, you deserved some regular life.”

            Dean turned back to Sam. “What have you been doing?” What did Sam abandon him and (Y/N) for?

            “Hunting,” said Sam.

            “You left us for good, and you were flying solo?” said Dean.

            “Not solo,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) touched their necklace and swallowed. He had replaced them?

            “What?” said Dean.

            “I hooked up with some other people,” said Sam.

            “You? Working with strangers?” said Dean incredulously.

            “They’re more like family,” said Sam. “And they’re here.”

            Dean furrowed his brow, and (Y/N) tilted their head in confusion. Sam headed to a door, and Dean and (Y/N) followed warily as he opened it. They walked through a small house until they arrived in a living room that looked like a base of operations—guns, some drinks, holy water, the works. A few people leaned over a table with maps, and they looked up as Sam entered with (Y/N) and Dean.

            “Hey,” said a woman, extending a hand.

            “Hi,” said Dean, shaking it.

            (Y/N) didn’t move. A room full of hunters. And them—a monster.

            “My god, you have delicate features for a hunter,” she said, staring at him.

            “Excuse me?” said Dean.

            She looked at (Y/N). “And you’re so young, but I heard you’re good.”

            (Y/N) put on an awkward smile. They hoped they never heard what else they were.

            “Dean, (Y/N), Gwen Campbell,” introduced Sam.

            “Good to finally meet you,” said Gwen. “Sam’s gone on and on.”

            (Y/N) wanted to feel proud, but the ugly monster of shame curled up in their chest. Sam wouldn’t speak well of them if he knew what they were.

            “And this is Christian,” said Sam, pointing at one man. “And Mark.” Another. “Campbell.”

            Christian offered a hand, and Dean shook it. “Hi.”

            “Cam-Campbell? Like…” Dean trailed off.

            “Like your mom,” said Christian.

            (Y/N) felt sick to their stomach. Not only were they surrounded by hunters, but they were Dean and Sam’s family. That meant they were skilled. Deadly. Merciless against monsters like them.

            “Third cousin, third cousin, something-something twice removed,” said Sam, gesturing vaguely. “They grew up in the life, like Mom and like us.”

            “I thought all of Mom’s relatives were gone,” said Dean. Sam exchanged glances with some of them, and (Y/N) observed it. “It’s just, you know, why didn’t we know about any of you?”

            “Cause they didn’t know about you,” said an older voice.

            Dean’s eyes widened as he saw the man entering the room. (Y/N) saw a bald man in simple hunters’ clothes.

            “Not until I brought you all together,” he continued.

            “Samuel?” said Dean.

            The name of his mother’s father—his grandfather, the one Yellow Eyes had killed when Dean traveled to the past. (Y/N) swallowed. Another dangerous hunter. One that was supposed to be dead. Samuel hugged Dean, and (Y/N) just stared. Dean pushed back and stared at him in disbelief. Samuel knew why he was staring at him like that.

            “Guys, give me a second with my grandsons, please,” said Samuel, and the younger Campbells left. (Y/N) hesitated as Samuel gave them a look, but Dean stepped closer to them.

            “They stay,” he said protectively, and Samuel put his arms up to signal he wouldn’t fight it.

            “Lot of resurrections in your face today,” he said. “It’s alright. Take a minute.”

            “It’s gonna take a little more than a minute,” said Dean. “I mean, what the hell?”

            “How?” said (Y/N). “How did this happen?” Not just Sam back to life but Samuel, too. It seemed too good to be true, and, despite their own paranoia clouding their judgement, they weren’t going to discard that the situation was highly suspicious.

            “We’re guessing whatever pulled Sam up pulled me down,” said Samuel.

            “So, whatever this is, we’re both a part of it,” said Sam.

            “But you don’t know what that is,” said Dean knowingly.

            “Bingo,” said Samuel.

            “And you have no leads?” guessed (Y/N). Samuel shook his head.

            “Well, this-this is, uh…No more doornails coming out of that door, is there?” said Dean. Another resurrection might be too much and send him over the edge.

            “As far as we know, it’s Samuel and it’s me,” said Sam.

            “Okay, am I the only one here that-that-that thinks that this can’t all just be fine?” said Dean incredulously.

            (Y/N) raised a hand. “Me. I don’t trust it.” Resurrections meant trouble—they could look at Dean as a case of it.

            “Believe me, we don’t either,” said Samuel. “I wanted to come get you, Dean, of course. Sam was adamant about leaving you and (Y/N) out, so we did. Until this.”

            “Right,” said Dean, still pissed but having to focus on other questions. “So, then you ended up in my garage how?”

            “I got hit before you did, few days ago,” said Sam. “Dosed up with poison.”

            “By?” asked Dean.

            “Couple of djinn,” said Sam.

            “Djinn?” repeated Dean, and Sam nodded.

            “I thought those were the cave-dwelling hermit type,” said Dean. “That’s pretty exotic.”

            “Not anymore, at least,” said Sam. “These…look like regular people. They can blend in. And all they got to do to kill you is touch you. Their toxins get in your system, all of a sudden you’re hallucinating your worst nightmares, and pretty soon you OD.”

            “How are we alive then?” said (Y/N). “Was it that syringe or whatever was in it?”

            “Samuel had a cure,” confirmed Sam.

            “You got a cure to djinn poison?” said Dean, frowning.

            “Oh, I knew a few things,” said Samuel, teasing a family member effortlessly. “Stick around, I’ll show you tricks your daddy never dreamed of.”

            (Y/N) shifted uncomfortably. They just couldn’t trust this man they didn’t know, “family” or not. He was a hunter, he had been resurrected, and (Y/N) would be nothing but another monster if he found out. If any of them found out.

            “Okay, why are these things after us?” said Dean.

            “Well, you did stake one a while back,” said Sam. “After they came after me, we were pretty certain that they were gonna be gunning for you next, and it looks like (Y/N) got pulled in since they’re a hunter like us and living with you.”

            Dean straightened. “Lisa and Ben—they’ll be back at the house by now.”

            “If the djinn comes back—”

            “It’s alright,” said Samuel, interrupting (Y/N). “I already sent someone over there to watch ‘em.”

            “You’ve got to take us home right now,” said Dean to Sam instead. They weren’t waiting around.

            Sam stood, and Dean and (Y/N) were out the door in an instant. They had to get back to Lisa and Ben.

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            Dean and (Y/N) ran into the house before Sam even got out of the car.

            “Lisa!” shouted (Y/N).

            “Ben!” shouted Dean as he threw the front door open.

            There was no one home, and (Y/N) ran a hand through their hair. Sam arrived in the house, and Dean ran to the phone. He furiously punched in numbers, swallowing against his fears. He looked at the photos of their little family on the wall, and he slammed his hand against the cabinet worriedly.

            The back door opened, and Lisa stepped in with Ben. She looked at (Y/N) and Dean’s expressions with worry, and Dean drew her into a hug.

            “Where the hell have you been?” he breathed in relief. He pulled Ben in next.

            “We were at the movies. You knew that,” said Lisa. “Dean? (Y/N)?”

            “What happened?” said Ben.

            (Y/N) stepped back, and Lisa’s eyes fell on Sam.

            “Oh my god,” she said.

            “Lisa, Ben, I don’t know if you remember—”

            “Sam.” Lisa did.

            “We need to leave,” said (Y/N), breaking the moment.

            “What?” asked Lisa, on alert in an instant.

            “You’re in danger,” said Dean, sorry for what he had brought to her doorstep yet again.

Chapter Text

            Bobby opened his door and stared at Dean and (Y/N). He hadn’t seen them in a year, and now they stood on his doorstep with Lisa and Ben.

            “Damn it,” he said.

            “It’s good to see you, too, Bobby,” said Dean. “It’s been a while.”

            “If you’re here,” Bobby shook his head, “Something’s wrong.”

            (Y/N) knew it was true. “Um, this is Lisa and Ben,” they said.

            “Hi,” said Lisa.

            “Well…it’s nice to finally meet you,” said Bobby, even if it was under bad circumstances.

            He nodded for them to enter, and Lisa and Ben did. Dean did. (Y/N) hesitated on the doorstep. This was yet another hunter—another friend—they were betraying, hiding from. (Y/N) was a monster. And they preyed on the kindness of these people.

            They stepped across the threshold.

            “Maybe you want to just go upstairs,” said Bobby. “TVs broken, but there’s plenty of Reader’s Digest. Just don’t touch the décor, okay? Assume it’s all loaded.”

            Lisa nodded, and she took Ben upstairs to the less-used rooms they’d been staying in.

            “So…” Dean cleared his throat.

            On cue, Sam stepped into the doorway. Bobby’s eyes flicked towards him.

            “Hey, Bobby,” said Sam.

            “Sam,” said Bobby, completely calm. That meant—

            “You knew?” said (Y/N) incredulously, and they felt a surge of anger run through them.

            “You knew Sam was alive,” snapped Dean.

            Bobby nodded. “Yeah,” he spoke slowly.

            “How long?” said Dean sharply.

            “Look—” began Bobby.

            “How long?!” (Y/N)’s voice rose, and that goddamned evil itch in them thundered to life.

            Bobby, Dean, and Sam looked at them in surprise, and Bobby answered after faltering.

            “All year,” he admitted.

            All year. Everyone had known except Dean and Indigo, everyone knew the moment Sam returned, and everyone kept it hidden from them.

            “Oh, you got to be kidding me,” said Dean, bitterness betraying the true depths of his anger.

            “And I’d do it again!” said Bobby.

            “Why?!” shouted Dean.

            “Because you got out!” said Bobby. “You and (Y/N) got out. You walked away from the life. And I was so damn grateful, you got no idea.”

            Dean whirled on him. “Do you have any clue what walking away meant for us?”

            “Yeah—a woman and a son for you and a childhood for (Y/N) and not getting you guts ripped out by age thirty!” said Bobby. “That’s what it meant!”

            “That woman and that soon—I went to them because you asked me to,” said Dean, glaring at Sam.

            “Good,” said Bobby.

            “Good? We grieved Sam! We wanted him back! I already had a childhood, Bobby, I wanted part of my family back, and you let us be miserable and grieve!” snapped (Y/N).

            Bobby wanted them to have a childhood? He wouldn’t if he knew what they were. They were a witch, a monster, evil on the inside. They wouldn’t deserve that kindness if everyone knew. No one would offer that care.

            “God knows why they even let us in!” said Dean. “I drank too much. We had nightmares.”

            My magic hurt people, thought (Y/N), but to say it aloud would be a death sentence.

            “We looked everyone,” raged Dean. “We collected hundreds of books, trying to find anything to bust you out.”

            “You promised you’d leave it alone,” sighed Sam.

            “Screw that,” said (Y/N). “Of course we tried to get you back, you’re family!”

            “A damn year?” said Dean. “You couldn’t put us out of our misery?”

            “Look, I get it wasn’t easy,” snapped Bobby. “But that’s life! And it’s as close to happiness as I’ve ever seen a hunter get.” He softened. “It ain’t like I wanted to lie to you, son, kiddo. But you were out.”

            “Do we look out to you?” said Dean.

            Bobby looked down, and Sam’s eyes shifted down. Dean gritted his teeth.

            “We’re in the life for good,” said (Y/N). The adults looked at them. “That’s what you all told me when I became a hunter. We can’t just leave.” They gestured around themself. “And this proves it. We’ve still got djinn to handle and people to protect. We’re stuck.”

            Sam cleared his throat. “We need to go and find the djinn, handle them.”

            “Okay,” said Dean, voice clipped. He was furious and would remain so, but he needed to focus on protecting Lisa and Ben.

            “I’ll get the car ready,” said Sam.

            “Fine,” said Dean. “I’ll tell Lisa to stay here while we handle things.” He stalked out of the room angrily.

            “(Y/N),” said Bobby. “You deserved a normal childhood again.”

            “I deserved the truth,” said (Y/N). And they were a witch. They didn’t deserve this kindness.

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            “What’s the plan?”

            Dean faced Samuel while Christian, Mark, and Gwen looked up from their maps and weapons. Sam and (Y/N) stood behind him.

            “Well, right now, we stock up, get set,” said Samuel.

            “So you’re saying there is no plan,” said Dean.

            “We’ll find ‘em.” Samuel deflected. “Just got to be patient.”

            (Y/N) narrowed their eyes. “Yeah, okay.” They didn’t trust him.

            “Oh, here’s an alt. Why don’t we go kill the sons of bitches that broke into our home?” said Dean.

            “Relax, Dean,” said Christian. “We got it handled. Djinn are hard to draw out. Now, you’ve been out of the game for a while. Leave it to the professionals.”

            “Yeah, sure,” said Dean. “Tiny suggestion. You see, djinn are easier to draw out when you got bait. They want Sam and me and (Y/N). They know where (Y/N) and I live. Now, I haven’t been hunting for a while—” he spoke with extreme sarcasm “—but I’m gonna stick my neck out and guess that’s a pretty good place for us to go.” He looked at Christian sharply. “See? It’s almost like I’m a professional.”

            (Y/N) smirked at the sour look on Christian’s face.

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            (Y/N) watched the hunters go through their home with an unpleasant feeling in their stomach. Some sign of djinn activity was needed to confirm they’d come. They had poisoned Dean and (Y/N) somehow, after all.

            “Gonna head upstairs,” said Gwen, mounting the stairs.

            (Y/N) followed her and watched her turn into their room. She looked through their drawers—wow, seriously—and checked their windowsills.

            “A hunter is a crystal-lover?” said Gwen with that stupid little grin of hers.

            “They’re pretty,” said (Y/N), stone-faced. The spirit quartz on their chest felt heavy. They made them feel calmer. It scratched the magic itch with no spells, nothing too evil. Monstrous.

            Gwen scoffed with amusement, and (Y/N) hoped she wouldn’t see the witchy clothing or anything else. They didn’t need a group of hunters to realize they were a monster. No one could know. No one.

            (Y/N) left their room the moment Gwen did, anxiety thudding in their chest like a drum. They headed to the kitchen where people had finished searching.

            “You okay?” asked Dean.

            “Fine. Don’t like all of this being brought here,” said (Y/N). “It’s supposed to be…” safe.

            “Yeah,” said Dean softly. That peace was forever disturbed now.

            “Nice house,” said Samuel, entering the kitchen and instantly putting (Y/N) on edge.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Dean. “Go ahead, say it, call me soccer mom, whatever.”

            “ ‘Soccer mom,’ huh?” said Samuel. “Well, I’ll have to look that up on the intranet.” He sat down, and (Y/N) disliked the familiarity he displayed all the time. He didn’t know them. He didn’t know Dean. This wasn’t his house. “You know, believe it or not, I-I get it. You wanted a normal life. Mary wanted a normal life, too.” Dean looked at Samuel, the endless raw wound of his mother’s loss reflected in his eyes. “You remind me of her, actually.” Dean turned stony. “The attitude, for one thing.”

            Dean looked away, and (Y/N) shifted.

            Samuel sensed it was time to change the subject, and he looked between (Y/N) and Dean. “Sam tell you what we been dealing with the past few months?”

            “Not really,” said (Y/N).

            “I’ve never seen anything quite like it,” said Samuel, shaking his head. “Been working ‘round the clock.”

            “So what’s going on?” asked Dean.

            “We don’t know,” said Samuel. “But whatever it is, it goes way past a couple of djinn acting off—nocturnals attacking in broad daylight, werewolves out on the half-moon, creatures that we’ve never even seen before. We don’t-We don’t even know what they are. I’m knee-deep in half-eaten human hearts and exsanguinated ten-year-olds, and it’s all making me—” he shook his head. “Uneasy.”

            (Y/N) frowned. If monsters were acting strangely—all of them—what was happening? What could link them? What did that mean for people and the balance of humans and monster? The questions fled in a moment, and (Y/N)’s stomach dropped. What did it mean for witches? Were they going to-to become a worse monster?

            “So what’s your theory?” asked Dean.

            “You tell me,” said Samuel. “All we really know is it’s all hands on deck. That’s how it is with the Campbells.” He looked at Dean. “We need you, Dean.” He glanced at (Y/N) and back to Dean. “We need everyone.”

            Dean’s eyes narrowed protectively. “Look, I hear you, but—”

            “You don’t know what you’re a part of, Dean,” said Samuel. He grinned with easy grandfatherly affection, like the familial bond without any natural bond meant everything. “You know, you had ancestors hacking the heads off vamps on the Mayflower.” He looked at (Y/N). “You could have ancestors doing the same. Heard you’re a natural hunter.”

            “My parents weren’t hunters,” said (Y/N). They offered no more details, and Dean didn’t volunteer them either.

            “Fine, but you’re Dean and Sam’s family,” said Samuel. “And that makes you family.”

            (Y/N) nearly bit out, “You’re not my family, I chose them, I didn’t choose you.” They kept silent.

            “What I’m saying is that we’re out there dying, trying to get in front of whatever this is,” said Samuel, looking at (Y/N) and Dean. “Maybe not the best time for ‘normal.’ ”

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            “Those djinn are just sitting out there, watching us,” said Dean, returning to the house after checking on Mark’s reconnaissance. “Everybody’s got to clear out.”

            “What?” said Samuel, straightening.

            “They’re not gonna come in here until me, Sam, and (Y/N) are alone,” said Dean.

            “So, what, I’m supposed to leave you here with no backup?” said Samuel incredulously.

            “Dean’s right,” said Sam. “They’re smart. They’d wait till they weren’t outnumbered.”

            “Yeah, no way are they getting close with so many hunters and guns,” said (Y/N).

            Samuel gritted his teeth and sighed. “Alright. We won’t be far. You call when they come, you hear?” He headed to his other relatives. “Alright, pack it up. We’re out of here.”

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            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) sat in the kitchen while the dark sky let in no light. Nighttime had arrived, and they were alone. Dean paced, keeping an eye out on the window. (Y/N) tapped their finger on the table. The itch hadn’t been so irritating for a long time, the thrill of the supernatural  and other monsters bringing it alive. Sam looked at pictures of Dean, Lisa, Ben, and (Y/N) on a pin board. He straightened and looked at Dean and (Y/N).

            “You okay?” asked Sam.

            “Oh, yeah,” said Dean sarcastically.

            “Sure,” said (Y/N) absently.

            “No, this is…” Dean shook his head incredulously. “This is crazy. I mean, you, Grandpa. Whoever brought you back…”

            “They don’t want to be found,” said Sam.

            “Yeah, I get that,” said Dean. “But who are they and what do they want? Why?”

            “That’s a good question,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) hesitated for a moment. “Do you remember it?”

            “What?” said Sam, but (Y/N) suspected he knew what they meant.

            “The Cage,” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah.” Sam nodded, and the simple movement spoke volumes.

            “You want to—”

            “No,” scoffed Sam, interrupting Dean.

            “Well, if anybody can relate,” said Dean. He gestured to himself.

            “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m back,” said Sam. He leaned on the counter. “I get to breathe fresh air, have a beer, hunt with my family, see you two again. So why exactly would I want to think about Hell?”

            Dean sighed. “And you really think—”

            He paused as something in the corner of his eye moved. Through the slats of the blinds, he spotted their neighbors contorted in pain with a tattooed woman standing over them. A djinn and her victims. Dean ran without explanation, but Sam and (Y/N) caught on in an instant and darted after him. Dean grabbed for djinn cures, but Sam shook his head.

            “Dean, they’re already dead, and you know it,” said Sam.

            “This is happening because of me!” said Dean. Because he’d killed a djinn before.

            (Y/N) was already moving. Whether they were dead or not, they needed to get rid of that djinn before it could hurt anyone else. (Y/N) left the house, vaulted over the fence, and ran for the neighbor’s home.

            Dean nearly shouted for them but couldn’t risk alerting the djinn. He and Sam turned to escape. A male djinn stood in front of them. Another stepped out behind him. There were three at least. The Winchester brothers were stuck with two, and (Y/N) was with…

            Dean attacked, knowing they were in danger and not wanting to waist any time.

            In the other house, (Y/N) tried the backdoor, and it opened without resistance—not a good sign, but they’d use it. They held the cures Dean had taken on in a hand, and they went to the bodies of their neighbors. No pulses. Too late.

            The floorboards creaked, and (Y/N) whirled. A woman, tattoos filled with hallucinogenics running down her arms, stood before them.

            “Not who we thought we’d catch,” she said. “But that’s fine. Our brothers can handle the Winchesters.”

            (Y/N) stepped back, and arms grabbed them. A strong man towered over them and kept in place as the woman approached. She stamped on the cures, breaking them. The liquid dripped onto the carpet, and (Y/N) knew they were in trouble.

            “You weren’t originally on the hit list,” she said. “But you’re a hunter with the Winchesters. We hate Winchesters, and we hate hunters.” She grabbed their face. “You made it through the last trip with barely any effects kicking in when they were supposed to. What is wrong with you?” (Y/N) just glared, and the djinn grabbed their face. “How about a big fat double dose?” (Y/N) felt the crawl of something dark burrowing into them. “Bad news—it’ll kill you. The good news? At least you’ll go fast.”

            Frantically, (Y/N) pulled on their memories of what djinn were weak to. They had no silver knife dipped in lamb’s blood, but they had their memories. And while the djinn delivered the dose to (Y/N), she had to see their memories. (Y/N) pulled on their parents’ murders and Ruby’s attack on them—their worst memories, the most traumatic.

            The djinn jerked back as the unpleasant memories hit her. Unfortunately, the dose had already hit (Y/N), so the other djinn let go of them with no concerns. (Y/N)’s knees hit the ground as the world spun, and the brother checked on his sister as she recovered from the shock of the traumatic memories.

            “You bitch,” snapped the djinn, and (Y/N) groaned as her faced mixed with Ruby’s, fear gripping them. “Now I wish I was killing you slowly. At least I’ll get to see you suffering.”

            (Y/N) hit the ground and fought fruitlessly to push themself up.

            “Look who’s back,” jeered Ruby, looking down at (Y/N). They tried to crawl away, but Ruby grabbed the collar of their shirt, dragging them back. “Ah-ah-ah. We’ve got unfinished business, remember? Gotta finish off the family.”

            Her wicked knife already dripped with blood, and (Y/N) let out a scream as they saw their mom and dad’s bodies, bloody and ripped open, mangled in a way they hadn’t been in the moment but now were just so that Ruby could torture (Y/N) more.

            “Time to join Mommy and Daddy in Hell, baby monster,” said Ruby, her cruel smirk sharp as her dagger. She flipped her knife over and traced it across (Y/N)’s neck, blood dripping down their skin. (Y/N) felt the knife catch on their necklace. “Time to get rid of Mommy and Daddy’s protection~ Say goodbye, baby witch—”

            “Don’t touch that!” shouted (Y/N).

            Anger overcame their fear as Ruby threatened to take the one symbol of their parents they still had. Ruby disintegrated in front of them, and they saw the two djinn hit the wall, one’s head cracking from the force. The brother hit the ground, head dented and bleeding. The woman stumbled and held her head. She saw her brother’s body and stared at (Y/N).

            “What the hell did you do?!” she cried.

            (Y/N) grimaced, her voice still sounded like Ruby’s through the haze of the poison. But anger worked. And their mind felt sharper than it had in a long time, that incessant itch gone, settled and satiated. (Y/N) pushed to their feet, even as the world spun.

            Wham!

            A shovel hit the djinn’s head, and she stumbled away. Dean stood behind her, and Sam grabbed her, shoving her against the wall to daze her again. Samuel and Christian ran in, pulling the djinn out of the room. At least someone was going to kill her. (Y/N) couldn’t. Dean ran to them and caught them before they fell again.

            “Hey, hey, come on,” said Dean. He saw the broken syringe and cursed. “Shit, focus, (Y/N). Keep fighting.”

            “Give up,” said Ruby, sitting on a chair. “Or better yet, tell them what you are. They’ll let go. Let you die. That would be fun to watch, especially that sad little expression on your face when they realize you’re a monster.”

            (Y/N) whimpered, and Dean held onto them.

            “It’s not real. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real,” he said. “Sam!”

            Sam pulled a cure out, and Dean stabbed it into (Y/N)’s arm immediately, and he watched their eyes roll into the back of their head. They slumped unconscious, thankful when the vision of Ruby blurred and disappeared as they lost consciousness. Dean let out a relieved breath and cradled them close when they calmed.

            “Where’s that bitch?” he said. He wanted to destroy the djinn that had done this to (Y/N).

            “Samuel and Christian got her,” said Sam.

            Dean was glad she was dead, but he had wanted to do it. He looked at the other djinn on the ground, head broken in. “At least they got one of them,” he said, relieved. He thought two djinn would have meant (Y/N)’s death. Instead, they were alive, and he was grateful. Dean swallowed. He had wanted to give (Y/N) a life, something outside of hunting, but yet again, monsters had destroyed their safety.

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            “So, Samuel and the cuzzes?” said Dean.

            Morning had arrived, and, with it, the reality that they had to leave the home they’d built in the small suburbs. (Y/N) looked around, knowing this would be one of the last times they looked at this place with all the personal touches in it.

            “Don’t know. They left in a hurry,” said Sam. “I’m meeting them back in their place. You two, uh, you coming with me?”

            Dean’s shoulders squared. “No,” he said. Sam’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “No, I’m going back for Lisa and Ben.”

            “I thought—”

            “I changed my mind,” said Dean. He knew this was in his blood, and he hated Bobby for not telling him about Sam so he could make his choice, but this was his choice in the moment.

            Sam let out a breath. “Look. I practically shoved you at them.”

            “That’s a funny way to put it, but alright,” said Dean.

            “I’m just saying, I really wanted that for you,” said Sam. “And when I told you to go and take (Y/N), I thought…you could have it, you know? But now I’m not so sure.”

            (Y/N) frowned. Sam wouldn’t ordinarily argue Dean out of living a normal life. That was usually what Dean did to Sam.

            “I mean, you got to consider the fact that you’ll be putting them in danger if you go back,” said Sam.

            “So we leave them alone without a clue of what to do?” said (Y/N). “Abandon them without another word?”

            “I did this to them,” said Dean. “I made them vulnerable the moment I knocked on their door—”

            Guilt flashed through (Y/N). He had no idea he’d brought a monster in their house with him.

            “—and I can’t undo that,” said Dean solemnly. “But what I can do is go with the best option.”

            Sam gave a little nod of understanding. “(Y/N)? What about you?”

            “I want to stay with Dean,” said (Y/N). “It’s almost my responsibility to keep them safe. They did that for us. We owe them.” What they didn’t say was that they were frightened. This had been one hunt back, and they’d given in to their urges. They’d used magic. (Y/N) was terrified of what they’d become if they stepped back into the world of the supernatural completely again.

            Sam nodded. “Okay. I hear you both. I guess I just,” he chuckled slightly, “uh, wish you were coming, that’s all.”

            “Why?” said Dean, furrowing his brow.

            “Don’t be stupid,” said Sam.

            “No, I mean it,” said Dean. “I did some seriously stupid stuff being bait. (Y/N) ran without backup.”

            “I don’t think that was stupid,” said (Y/N). They had tried to save people.

            “Point is, we almost got ourselves killed. We’re rusty,” said Dean.

            “And that’s exactly why I want you,” said Sam.

            “What are you talking about?” said Dean.

            “You just went. (Y/N) ran to help someone without hesitation. You fought that djinn without a second’s hesitation,” said Sam. “You two care. That’s who you are. Me?” He scoffed. “I wouldn’t even think to try.”

            “Yes, you would,” said Dean.

            Sam definitely would. What? thought (Y/N).

            “No.” Sam shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s just better with you guys around. That’s all.”

            Dean licked his lips, understanding the words. He cleared his throat and lifted keys from his pocket to avoid saying more. “She should be hunting. Take her.” The impala, a symbol of his history hunting.

            “Thanks. Really,” said Sam. “But I already got my car set up how I like it.” It was a strange statement. “I got to hit the road.”

            “I’ll walk you out,” said Dean, slowly putting his keys back in his pocket. He opened the door, and Sam headed out.

            “Can you remember to keep in touch this time?” said (Y/N), trying to lighten the mood.

            “Yeah. Course,” said Sam. He faced them. “It was really good to you again, Dean, (Y/N).”

Chapter Text

Warning: Depictions of a panic attack that involves accidental self-harm while disassociating. Please be careful of your own headspace.

            (Y/N) pushed the last of the cardboard boxes from the moving truck into the new house. Dean and Lisa were unpacking already, and Ben was sitting sullenly at their new kitchen table.

            “What’s up?” said Lisa.

            “Nothing,” lied Ben.

            “At least wait until you’ve checked the place out before you hate it,” said Lisa. “Open mind. That’s all I ask.”

            “Yeah, alright,” sighed Ben. He stood up. “I’ll be back.”

            “Oh. Hey, where’s the fire?” said Dean.

            “I’m just gonna check out the block,” said Ben, grabbing his bike.

            Dean faltered, worry creasing his features. “And let your mom unpack the kitchen by herself? Come on.”

            Ben sighed and rolled his eyes. Lisa smiled at him.

            “We’ll go for lunch later. Scope out the neighborhood. Right?” she looked pointedly at Dean.

            “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he said. “Come on, why don’t you give us a hand? (Y/N), want to help?”

            “I’m gonna unpack my room first,” said (Y/N).

            “Want any help with decorations?” said Lisa. “You could put up your old ones. And your clothes are in there.”

            (Y/N) was grateful that Lisa was so encouraging, but they were afraid of touching the stereotypical witch decorations around people. It made them even guiltier.

            “I’m okay. I’ll come down for lunch,” said (Y/N), putting on a smile. They disappeared upstairs.

            Lisa looked at Dean worriedly. “Dean, they’re—”

            “They got shaken by the incident,” said Dean. “They nearly—” He swallowed, unable to say it out loud.

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            In their room, (Y/N) pulled everything they could out of boxes and onto the floor to organize. Their clothes went up in the closet, hanging there as if laughing at (Y/N) with their whimsy, the witchiness they had fallen for even if monstrous. (Y/N) swallowed and focused on their crystals, unwrapping each one with care and putting them on their new windowsill. The sunlight glinted off them, and (Y/N) watched them shine.

            Turning back to their remaining crystals, (Y/N) stilled. The malachite they’d carefully wrapped was broken. They swallowed. It was supposed to protect against evil energy and curses.

            It must have broken in the move, thought (Y/N).

            That had to be it.

l

            “(Y/N)?” said Dean, entering their room. It was late, but Dean had seen that (Y/N)’s habits of staying up late hadn’t left them after a year. Like him, they relied on little sleep.

            “What’s up?” said (Y/N). Usually they left each other’s bad habits alone since Lisa would bring up trauma and they’d have to change the subject.

            “Sam called me,” said Dean.

            “What? Is he okay?” (Y/N) sat up, eyes wide.

            “He’s on a case. He wants some help,” said Dean.

            “Are we going?” asked (Y/N).

            “I am,” said Dean.

            “You’re leaving me behind?” said (Y/N). They knew they were a monster, they couldn’t be a proper hunter, but Dean didn’t know. So why was he leaving them behind? Did he not want them around anymore? (Y/N) felt the tension rise within them, and they swallowed.

            “It’s a short case,” said Dean. “He found a baby shapeshifter. It’s not a fighting hunt. It’s solving an issue. You don’t need to be involved. This is our life.”

            “But you’re going. I thought you wanted to stay,” said (Y/N). They could put aside the baby shapeshifter weirdness. Monsters came from somewhere. They had been a baby witch “That’s why you didn’t go with him after the djinn.”

            “I know what I said,” said Dean. “And that’s still the plan. But Sam was going to come to the house with the thing, and I couldn’t get Lisa dragged in again. So I’m going to head out, and you’re going to watch out for Lisa. I’ll give her a gun, but you’ll keep them safe. Okay? Can you do that?”

            (Y/N) felt shoved aside, but they swallowed their feelings and nodded. “Yeah. I’ll keep them safe.” It would be better for them not to get involved. They were a monster. They knew staying away from the supernatural would be for the best.

            Not that the world of normality was any better for them.

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            (Y/N) lay on their bed and stared at the ceiling. Dean hadn’t even called. A whole day and he hadn’t given a single update about whether he was dead or not, and all (Y/N) could think was that this was how he left. He would leave Lisa and Ben to protect them, and Dean would leave (Y/N) behind because this was better for them, but they needed him there, they needed him because they couldn’t be normal on their own, they needed him because someone needed to kill them if they—

            “(Y/N)?”

            (Y/N) jumped as Lisa spoke and whirled to face her. Behind them, the mirror over their dresser fell from the wall suddenly, cracked, and broke. The shards flew across the ground, and (Y/N) hissed as they cut their foot.

            “Oh my god,” said Lisa, rushing forward and, with motherly strength, picking (Y/N) up and away from the glass. They were on their meet in a moment, and Lisa looked at them worriedly. “Are you okay?”

            “Small cut, I’m fine,” said (Y/N), gritting their teeth as the sting of the small cut. They knelt and touched their ankle. They had a little bit of blood, but the cut wasn’t big. With the blood on their fingers, they felt a strange shiver down their spine, and the hunger in them grew into a void.

            “(Y/N)? (Y/N), breathe.”

            The sound swam towards (Y/N), and they sucked desperately on the air. When did it become hard to breathe? (Y/N)’s chest was tight, and they stumbled to the ground, eyes wide. The world was blurry, and their face stared back at them from mirror shards, afraid and wild-eyed. They were wild.

            “(Y/N)—Take a breath. Come on, breathe.” Strong, gentle hands grabbed onto (Y/N)’s arms. “Stop it, stop it, breathe.”

            Stop what—Oh. Blood beneath their fingernails. Their arms were scratched. Did they do that? (Y/N) wasn’t connected to the hands connected to their body. They stared from a high, faraway place, their tongue filled with a sweet taste, a sweet hunger for something they knew but dared not name.

            “I need you to answer me,” said the faraway voice. “(Y/N). Can you hear me?”

            The hands were holding them from moving, the pressure as deep as that in their chest, and (Y/N) watched the hands with blood move to the ground, absently tracing shapes on the ground, and the moment the hands holding them gently took their hands, (Y/N) lost it. They needed to do something—feed me, hungry—and this interloper was stopping them, and they—

            The windows of (Y/N)’s room banged open, the breath was pulled from their chest, and (Y/N) sobbed. Lisa cradled them, petted their head, and shushed them.

            “It’s okay. It’s okay,” said Lisa. “You’re okay.”

            (Y/N) stared into space.

            “Can you say something?” said Lisa softly. “Please?”

            “I want to go home,” whispered (Y/N).

            The windows banged against the house, and (Y/N) flinched. The blood on their fingers dripped down their hand. They were rotting from the inside out with every drop.

l

            Dean and Sam sped down the road in Sam’s ride, the shapeshifter baby strapped into the back.

            “It’s pretty smart, actually,” said Sam. They had figured out the shapeshifter’s ploy. “I mean, Shifter poses as a guard from the security company, then it scopes out the fam.”

            “Yeah, then daddy takes off, and Shifter becomes daddy,” said Dean. “A few glasses of wine, shakes mama’s trees, comes back in nine months to collect its prize.”

            “I didn’t even know they had babies,” said Sam. “I thought they were just freaks of nature, like X-Men style.”

            “You learn something new every day,” said Dean.

            Sam glanced back at the baby. “I’ve never seen a baby monster before.”

            “Yeah,” said Dean. “Of course, it’s not really a monster. I mean, it’s still just a baby. It’s not its fault its dad’s a shifter.”

            “Right, but it’s a shifter, too,” said Sam.

            Dean frowned. “(Y/N) is the kid of monsters—I mean, we don’t know what they were up to, but they were witches—and they’re not a monster.”

            Sam considered. “I guess not. Maybe witches are different. They’re closer to humans, right?”

            “Most, yeah,” said Dean. “Some are just…like that.” He grimaced. At least (Y/N) wasn’t out there bleeding and casting spells. “Anyways, that doesn’t change that fact that we gotta look after this thing.” He grimaced. “But what are we gonna do with it? We can’t drop it off at an orphanage. They might get upset with it turns Asian.”

            “Samuel,” said Sam.

            “What?” said Dean incredulously.

            “Samuel,” repeated Sam. “He’ll know what to do.”

            “You wanna bring it to hunters?” asked Dean.

            “Not just hunters. They’re our family,” said Sam.

            “We don’t know them,” said Dean forcefully.

            “I do. Not every hunter is a headcase,” said Sam. “I mean, Samuel is actually a lot like you.”

            “I’m a freaking headcase,” pointed out Dean.

            “Well, pitch a better idea, then,” said Sam.

            Dean didn’t have one, and that was the problem.

            “Great. Samuel it is,” said Sam.

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            Dean sighed as he picked up snacks and glanced out the gas station window. Sam still sat in the car, the baby in the backseat, and Dean shook his head. What a situation they’d found. He almost wished (Y/N) was there with their quips or insights. But he needed them safe, home with Lisa and Ben, not dragged back into hunting. He couldn’t do that to them.

            His phone buzzed, and Dean looked at it. Lisa was calling. He frowned and answered. “Lisa?”

            “Dean,” said Lisa’s voice, relieved. “Dean, when are you getting back?”

            “I don’t know. We have to drive a few hours out and handle the case,” said Dean.

            Lisa was silent for a moment, and Dean hoped she wasn’t upset with him. Sam had asked him to do this. And he couldn’t say no.

            “You need to get back soon,” said Lisa. “I’m worried. (Y/N)’s not doing alright.”

            “What?” Dean stiffened. “What happened? Are they hurt?”

            “They had a panic attack,” said Lisa. “A serious one. They were barely breathing, Dean, and they tried to scratch themself…I’m worried that all the changes, their birthday, Sam coming back, the move, you leaving—it’s too much for them. So please. Hurry home.”

            Dean swallowed. “I will.” (Y/N) wasn’t alright. He should have seen it, should have realized, and should have cared for them better. They were his responsibility. And now they weren’t okay.

l

            (Y/N) lay on their bed, and they stared at the ceiling. They hadn’t moved for hours. They were frightened of what their mind would do them if they did. If Lisa speaking to them could frighten them enough that—(Y/N) couldn’t risk it. They had to get out of there. They were going to hurt Lisa and Ben. They had almost—that goddamned hunger had wanted to—they had used their blood—(Y/N) needed to leave.

            The door downstairs slammed, and Lisa voice exclaimed in relief. “Dean!”

            He was back. (Y/N) sat up, and they stood. They hesitated, and they clenched their fists—stop trembling, stop being weak, stop being scared—to steel themself. They opened their door and headed to the stairs.

            “Where’s Ben?” they heard Dean ask, heading into the kitchen.

            “Bike ride,” said Lisa.

            “What about (Y/N)?” said Dean.

            “They’re in their room. They haven’t really moved,” said Lisa. “But at least they didn’t have another breakdown. Dean, they need help. Therapy at the very least.”

            (Y/N)’s throat constricted. Someone would figure out what was really wrong with them, and then the hunters would have to handle them.

            Dean shook his head. “I don’t—They’ll freak, Lisa.”

            “Then what do you think we should do? They’re a good kid. But they clearly not okay,” said Lisa.

            (Y/N)’s hand closed around the stair banister, and the lights flickered above them. If she could tell, who else could? (Y/N) needed to hide it better. And they couldn’t hear in this normal life.

            “I don’t what to do here, Lis,” said Dean tiredly. “I mean, if I knew for sure what the safest thing was, then I’d do it. Stay here and look after you guys or get as far away as I possibly can…but I don’t know. And I get what I’ve been doing lately. You know, with the yelling and the acting like a—like a prison guard. It’s just—That’s not me. You tell yourself you’re not gonna be something, you know?”

            I’m not going to be a witch. That’s what (Y/N) told themself every day.

            “You know, my dad was exactly like this, and it’s scaring the hell of me,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) was terrified of themself, and they knew the only solution was to have a contingency plan. If they lost control, then someone needed to take care of them. Someone had to kill the witch.

            “Dean,” said Lisa. “Can I be honest? Maybe we’re safer with you here. You and (Y/N). Maybe we’re safer with you gone. I don’t know. The one thing I do know…is that you’re not a construction worker. And (Y/N)’s not a regular teenager. You’re hunters. And now you know Sam’s out there, things are different. You don’t want to be here, Dean. And (Y/N), they’re not happy.”

            “I do. I do want to be here,” said Dean.

            “Okay. Okay,” said Lisa. “But you also wanna be there. I get it. You are both white-knuckling it, living like this. Like what you are are some big, awful things.”

            It is. (Y/N) was something awful.

            “But I’m not gonna have this discussion every time you leave,” said Lisa. “And this—this is just gonna keep happening. So I need you to go.”

            “I can’t just lose you and Ben and (Y/N),” said Dean softly.

            “That’s not what I’m saying,” said Lisa.

            “You’re saying hit the road,” said Dean.

            “If there’s some rule that says this all has to be either-or, how about we break it?” said Lisa. “Me, (Y/N), and Ben will be here. And you come when you can. Just…Just come in one piece, okay?”

            “You really think we could pull something like that off?” said Dean.

            “It’s worth a shot, right?” said Lisa.

            “…Okay,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) stepped down the final stair and looked at Lisa and Dean. “I’m going, too.”

            Lisa and Dean looked at them, not having heard them approach.

            “(Y/N),” said Lisa. “You—You’re having a tough time. But you’re still a kid.”

            “I know,” said (Y/N). “But I know that this…I’m also gonna bring trouble.” Monsters from their past or the monster within them would eventually become a threat. “And therapy? I can’t even be honest about what happened.” They shook their head. “I want to hunt.” They needed to escape this normal life so they didn’t hurt anything. “Dean. You know I’m a hunter, too.” And they were a witch. But they weren’t a human. “Don’t leave me behind.” They knew it was emotional manipulation, but it was also true. (Y/N) didn’t want to lose their new family, too. Sam and Dean meant a lot to them.

            Dean looked at them, and he felt shame well up in him as he nodded. He shouldn’t let the kid join him. They weren’t going to settle in here, especially not if they were becoming paranoid or having breakdowns. And they were a Winchester, a hunter. (Y/N) was part of his family, and they didn’t leave family behind.

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            In the garage, Dean stared at the tarp. He grabbed it and pulled it off. The impala was revealed. He grinned at (Y/N). They smiled back. He unlocked his trunk of weapons and put them into the trunk. (Y/N) slung their old duffle bag into the backseat and slid into the passenger seat. Dean got in and pressed on the gas. It was time for the impala to get back on the road, and it was time for the Winchesters to start hunting again.

            (Y/N) touched their necklace. This was good. They could avoid their urges while hunting. They could fight it. And if they lost the battle? Sam and Dean were hunters. They’d be able to kill the witch.

Chapter Text

            “Alpha shapeshifter? Father to all others?” said (Y/N) incredulously as they put on their new suit jacket. “That sounds crazy.”

            “I don’t think Samuel was lying,” said Dean. “It’s pretty unbelievable. But apparently there are alphas for a lot of monsters out there, the first of their kind.”

            “So, what, hunters are discovering them?” asked (Y/N).

            “Yeah,” said Dean. “And like Samuel said, monsters are acting strange. Some are new.” He looked at (Y/N) and fixed their tie.

            “So what do we do?” asked (Y/N).

            “We do our job until we know more,” said Dean. “There. You’re ready.”

            (Y/N) looked in the mirror at their FBI outfit—a crisp suit, purple tie, and a fake badge. With their older hairstyle and slightly older features, the outfit offset their youth. They looked like at least an FBI junior agent.

            “Cool,” said (Y/N). They squared their shoulders. It was time to hunt again.

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            “Dean, (Y/N),” said Sam, nodding to them as they headed towards him. He held a file on the latest case.

            “Hi, Sam,” said (Y/N).

            “Sam,” said Dean. He gestured for the file, and Sam handed it over. He flipped it over, and (Y/N) looked over his shoulder.

            “How did it go?” asked Sam.

            “With?” asked Dean.

            “You and Lisa. How did she take it when you bailed?” said Sam.

            “Shockingly cool, actually,” said Dean.

            “Bailed?” repeated (Y/N). That was a strange term to use.

            “Better for everybody,” said Sam, turning away towards the police department.

            “Your new car is…different,” said (Y/N), staring at the modern, boring car. No personality, unlike the impala.

            “It works,” said Sam. He gestured to the file. “Alright, look.” They turned down the hall towards the morgue. “Officer Gerald Hatch, a seventeen-year veteran. Found dead in the ready room three days ago.”

            “Whoa. Someone was overhydrating,” said Dean, staring at the…soup that was Hatch.

            “He liquefied?” said (Y/N).

            “Yeah, basically,” said Sam. “Most of the meat, bones, dense tissues—they just turned to blood.” They paused, flashed their badges, and headed farther in.

            “Okay, I don’t get it,” said Dean.

            Sam shrugged. “Nobody gets it.”

            “No, I mean, I get that,” said Dean. “If the guy was a mop job, why are we in the morgue? What’s left of him to look at?”

            “We’re not here to look at him.” Sam looked at the names on the sliders. “Here.” He pulled a body out on its cot. He drew back the blanket to reveal a man covered in sores. Dean and (Y/N) stared at the gross sight. “Officer Toby Gray. They just brought him in. Found him dead in his patrol car at a speed trap on the outside of town.”

            “Extreme allergic reaction,” said Dean.

            “Boils, covered from head to toe,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) checked the file. “They’re inside him, too. Airways are full of them.”

            “Starting to look witchy to you guys?” said Dean.

            (Y/N)’s fingers fidgeted, and they faltered. They hoped not. It wouldn’t be a great first case back considering their condition.

            “That was my first instinct, but I’ve found zero signs of hex work,” said Sam, and (Y/N) relaxed. “Far as I can tell, witchcraft was not involved.”

            “Gotta be some link between Skidmark and Bubbelwrap here,” said Dean.

            “Ew, not your best nicknames,” said (Y/N). Dean shrugged. “Any witnesses or people to interview?”

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “Officer Ed Colfax—saw Hatch go from solid to liquid.”

            “Another cop?” said (Y/N).

            “Hatch’s partner,” said Sam.

            There was an easy link—cops. Question was, why these specific cops?

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            (Y/N) held onto the door as Dean turned abruptly into Colfax’s street and coincidentally arrived before Sam. They parked and got out. Sam scoffed.

            “Were you racing me?” he said.

            “No. We were kicking your ass,” said Dean.

            “Very mature,” said Sam.

            “You got the crappy car,” said (Y/N).

            Sam scoffed but chuckled as they headed up to the door. Dean knocked.

            “Hello? Officer Colfax?” said Dean.

            The swung open, and Colfax appeared in his uniform, swallowing harshly as he saw the agents.

            “Looking sharp, Kodak,” said Dean.

            “Who the hell are you?” demanded Colfax.

            “We’re the Fed, Ed, here to ask you questions about your partner’s death,” said Sam, and (Y/N) showed their badge.

            “Don’t worry about it. It’s nobody’s business,” said Colfax, a weird look in his eyes.

            “Officer Colfax—” began (Y/N).

            “Don’t worry about it.” Colfax attempted to retreat into his home again and closed the door.

            Dean stared incredulously and rolled his eyes. Sam lifted a leg and kicked the door open.

            “Dude,” said Dean.

            “That works,” said (Y/N), walking in while Dean stared at Sam.

            (Y/N) slowed as they walked through the house. Each photograph had the glass over it broken, the faces scratched out. That did not look like the work of someone mentally well, so (Y/N) put their guard up. Dean saw what they were looking at and grimaced.

            “Officer Colfax?” Sam approached Colfax warily as he sat down at his desk, sweat dripping down his face. He scratched another face out of a photograph—his own.

            “Hey, man, you alright?” said Dean.

            “Don’t worry about it,” said Colfax.

            “Right,” said Dean awkwardly. “Look, Officer Colfax, Ed, uh…we think your partner died of unnatural causes. Did he have any enemies that you know of?”

            (Y/N) frowned as Colfax scratched his head over his officer’s cap.

            “Uh, you might say that,” he said, speaking slowly with a slight slur.

            “Oh, yeah?” said Dean.

            “Who’s that?” asked (Y/N).

            “They both had it coming,” said Colfax. His hands moved slowly to a mug and a bottle of whiskey. He poured himself a large glass. “I’ll be the next to go, and then it’ll be over. And God will be satisfied.” He took a sip of his whiskey.

            “Why does God want you all dead?” questioned Dean.

            “Because of Christopher Birch,” said Colfax. His hand knocked the whiskey over as it shook, and he watched sluggishly as it poured out onto the floor. “Oh, damn it.”

            “Who’s Christopher Birch?” said Sam.

            “He has no face,” said Colfax vaguely. He stared at the whiskey draining from the bottle.

            “Ed?” said Sam.

            “Officer, are you alright?” said Dean, narrowing his eyes warily.

            Colfax slowly straightened the bottle, and (Y/N) knew he could be drunk, but they doubted that was it.

            “Who is Christopher Birch?” they asked.

            “Christopher Birch is a kid with no face,” said Colfax. “And a planted gun.”

            (Y/N)’s face turned stony. So that was it. These officers had killed a child and planted a gun on him to make it seem justified. It disgusted them. Perhaps he did deserve what was coming—(Y/N) swallowed and pushed the monstrous thought from their head.

            A long drop of blood trickled down Colfax’s face from beneath his cap, ominous and foreboding.

            “Uh. You, uh—” Dean gestured with a frown to his face “—You got a little something.” Colfax touched his face. “Yeah.”

            Colfax drew his fingers away and stared at the blood. “Damn. My head’s been itching like a dirty jock.” He offered a strange smile. The hunters frowned. Colfax slumped forward, and his head hit the table with a dull thud.

            “Ed?” said Sam.

            “Yeah, I think he’s dead,” said (Y/N), blunt as ever. Dean grimaced as blood dripped from below his cap again.

            Sam felt his pule. “Yep.” (Y/N) was right.

            A soft chittering sound caught their attention, muffled but present.

            “You hear that?” said Dean, furrowing his brow.

            Sam and (Y/N) frowned, and (Y/N) looked at the cap.

            “Oh, this is going to be gross,” they said.

            Sam carefully took ahold of the cap and tipped it off Colfax’s head. Locusts climbed out of the dark hole of Colfax’s head into the open air, leaving his consumed brain and empty skull behind. (Y/N) was right again: gross.

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            Dean grimaced as he looked through their lore. “Sweet,” he said sarcastically. “Blood, boils, locusts.”

            “Three of your more popular Egyptian plagues,” said Sam.

            (Y/N) picked up the mason jar with a locust in. “Yeah, but these guys didn’t descend on the town. They climbed out of a guy’s head. Don’t remember that in the Bible.”

            “Meanwhile, a kid named Christopher Birch was shot in the head last month after a vehicle pursuit,” said Sam, looking up from his computer. “Hatch, Gray, and Colfax were the officers involved, and they filed the same police report.”

            Dean picked up the report and read, “ ‘Suspect exited vehicle brandishing a firearm. We were forced to fire.’ ”

            (Y/N) scoffed derisively. “What a bunch of liars. Colfax admitted they planted the gun. That’s why they’re being punished. They murdered a child and covered their asses.”

            “Bunch of dicks,” agreed Dean. “So they popped the kid, planted the piece.”

            “Maybe Colfax is right. Maybe Heaven has a hate on for bad cops,” said Sam.

            “So we’re listening to the guy with the bugs in his custard?” said Dean. “That’s the, uh, theory you wanna go with?”

            “Angels have gotta have something to do, right?” said Sam. “Now that we’re post-apocalypse.”

            “Maybe,” said Dean.

            “I really doubt it,” said (Y/N). “If they don’t care about genocides or injustice in the world, why interfere with one kid getting murdered? Angels are not that nice.”

            “I know,” said Dean. “We should call Cas.”

            “You’re kidding, right?” said Sam with a scoffing chuckle. “Dean, I tried. It was the first and second and third thing I did soon as I got topside. Son of a bitch won’t answer the phone.”

            “Yeah, well, he likes Dean more than he likes us,” said (Y/N).

            Dean preened at the compliment, and Sam scowled. (Y/N) shrugged. It was true. Castiel always came when Dean called, ignored Sam and most other people, and had answered (Y/N) once. (At least they were on the leaderboard. That was nice).

            “Well, let’s give it a shot,” said Dean. He closed his eyes and cleared his throat. “Now lay me down to sleep, I pray to Castiel to get his feathery ass down here.”

            “You’re an idiot,” said Sam.

            “Stay positive,” said Dean.

            “Oh, I am positive,” said Sam.

            Dean scowled but continued. “Come on, Cas, don’t be a dick. Got ourselves a plague-like situation down here and…do you-do you copy?” He opened one eye, but Castiel still hadn’t appeared.

            “Like I said,” said Sam. “The son of a bitch doesn’t answer.”

            (Y/N) coughed pointedly.

            Sam grimaced as Dean stared at something over his shoulder. “He’s right behind me, isn’t he?” He twisted in his chair and found Castiel standing there.

            “Hello,” said Castiel.

            “Hi, Cas,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Sam was fuming, and Dean just shrugged like, “Hey, I guess (Y/N)’s right and he does like me more.”

            Sam glared back at Castiel. “Hello?”

            “Yes,” said Castiel.

            Sam looked at (Y/N) incredulously and back to Castiel. “Hello. Hello?!”

            “That is still the term?” asked Castiel.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N) helpfully.

            “I spend all that time trying to get through to you!” said Sam. “Dean calls once and now it’s hello?!”

            “Yes,” said Castiel tiredly.

            “So, what, you like him better or something?” said Sam.

            “Dean and I do share a more profound bond,” said Castiel.

            Sam looked offended, and Dean blinked. (Y/N) remained unsurprised.

            “I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Castiel. “And for the record, I would have listened if (Y/N) prayed. Dean is not my favorite.”

            San threw up his hands since that only meant he had two favorites. Apparently, he was bottom of the list for Castiel. (Y/N) looked a little surprised but pleased. It all went out their head when they remembered what they were and what Castiel was capable of doing if he discovered what they were. (Y/N) swallowed.

            “Cas, I think what he’s trying to say is that he went through hell for us,” said Dean. “He really took one for the team. Remember that? And then he comes back without a clue and you can’t take five minutes to give answers?”

            “If I had answers, I might have responded—” Castiel turned from Dean and (Y/N) to Sam “—but I don’t know, Sam. We have no idea what brought you back from the cage or why.”

            Sam stood. “So it wasn’t God?”

            “No one’s even seen God,” said Castiel. “The whole thing remains mysterious.”

            “What does that mean?” asked Sam.

            “What part of ‘I don’t know’ escapes your understanding?” said Castiel.

            “Cas,” sighed Dean. “Look, if Sam calls, you answer. Okay? You wing your ass down here, and you tell him, ‘I don’t know.’ Just because we have some sort of bond or whatever and you like (Y/N)—”

            “You think I came just because you called?” said Castiel.

            “That’s usually what happens when Dean asks for you, so yeah,” said (Y/N).

            “No,” said Castiel. “I came because of this.” He headed to the table and the mason jar.

            “Well, it’s nice to know what matters.” Now Dean was grumpy Castiel hadn’t come because he called—and (Y/N) knew he cared about Lisa, but there was definitely something in that disappointment.

            “It does help one to focus,” said Castiel, completely missing the irritated tone. He looked at the jar of locusts.

            “Wait, so you and the Halo Patrol aren’t the cause of these killings?” said Sam, furrowing his brow.

            “No,” said Castiel. “But they were committed with one of our weapons.” He leafed through the illustrations of the plagues. “There’s only one thing that could have brought this into existence.” He looked up. “You call it the Staff of Moses.”

            “The staff?” said Sam, and he, (Y/N), and Dean wore identical expressions of surprise.

            “It was used in a dominance display against the Egyptians, as I recall,” said Castiel.

            “Yeah, that one made the papers,” said Dean.

            “Well, I thought the staff turned, like, a river into blood, not one dude,” said Sam.

            “The weapon isn’t being used at full capacity,” said Castiel. “I think we can Moses out as a suspect.”

            Sam and Dean nearly rolled their eyes, and (Y/N) sighed.

            “Fantastic. Just leaves us with a couple billion living suspects,” said (Y/N).

            “Okay, well, what is Chuck Heston’s disco stick doing down here anyway?” said Dean. “I mean, don’t you guys put away your toys?”

            “Before the Apocalypse, Heaven may have been corrupt, but it was stable,” explained Castiel. “The staff was safely contained. It’s been chaos up there since the war ended. In that confusion, a number of powerful weapons were stolen.”

            “Wait, you’re saying your nukes are loose?” said Dean.

            “Yeah, I’m afraid so,” said Castiel. “But you’ve stumbled onto one of them. We must find the weapon that did this.” He shifted. “I need your help.”

            Sam scoffed. “That’s rich, really.”

            Castiel threw the mason jar at Sam, who scrambled to catch it. “Sam, Dean, (Y/N), my ‘people skills’ are ‘rusty.’ ” He spoke while making quotations with his hands. “I have spent the last ‘year’ as a multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent. But believe me, you do not want that weapon down here. Help me find it or more people will die.”

            “Alright,” said Dean. He could agree with that sentiment. “Okay. Well, if the angels didn’t pull the trigger, that brings us back to motive.”

            “What?” asked Castiel.

            “Back to the case,” said Sam. “And now we got three dead cops. Only thing linking them is this.” He held up a newspaper and read the article title. “ ‘Father of slain suspect calls for investigation.’ ”

            “If my child was killed unjustly and nothing was happening to those responsible, I’d be furious,” said (Y/N).

            Sam, Dean, and Castiel nodded. They had a lead to investigate.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N), Dean, and Sam jerked after Castiel flew them to the Birch residence without wasting a moment.

            “Cas, a little warning next time,” grumbled Dean.

            Mr. Birch stood in alarm from his chair. “How’d you get in?” he said, rightfully worried and angry.

            “Mr. Birch, settle down,” said Sam, trying to control the situation. “Federal agents.” He held up his badge.

            (Y/N) held up their own beside Dean, but they winced inwardly. They weren’t in their suit, so in their jeans and their purple, long-sleeved shirt, they looked more their age. Hopefully Mr. Birch was too confused to look too closely at that.

            “But you can’t just walk in here,” said Mr. Birch.

            “Quite a collection you got there, huh?” said Sam, ignoring Mr. Birch and looking at the articles about Christopher’s death scattered on Mr. Birch’s coffee table.

            “What are you trying to—”

            Sam cut Mr. Birch off. “Look, we know the truth, alright? Chris didn’t have a gun on him when those cops shot him. They set him up.”

            Mr. Birch’s eyes creased with sadness. “Yeah,” he said bitterly. “They’re all getting theirs.”

            “And who’s giving it to them, Darryl?” said Sam.

            “Darryl,” said Dean, less accusatory but still firm. “Did you kill Toby Gray and the others?”

            “Me? I didn’t kill anyone,” said Mr. Birch, and (Y/N) was inclined to believe him. “Look at how they died.”

            “You smote them with the Staff of Moses,” said Castiel.

            Mr. Birch frowned suspiciously. “What the hell kind of Fed are you?”

            “We don’t have time for this,” grumbled Castiel, stepping towards Mr. Birch. “Where is it?”

            “Leave my dad alone!”

            Everyone turned to see a young boy—at most thirteen—glaring at them. He held a broken piece of a wooden staff in his hands, pointing to threateningly at the hunters and Castiel.

            “Is that—” Dean didn’t have to finish his question.

            “Yes,” confirmed Castiel.

            “Shouldn’t it be bigger?” asked Sam.

            “Yes, it’s been sawed off,” said Castiel.

            “Leave him alone, it wasn’t him!” said the boy, protecting his father.

            “Aaron, get out of here,” said Mr. Birch worriedly.

            Castiel touched Mr. Birch’s forehead, and Mr. Birch crumpled into his couch, unconscious. Aaron stared, wide-eyed.

            “What did you do to him?” he said.

            “He’s just sleeping,” said (Y/N) quickly to calm his worry. With the staff, there was no telling what he could do.

            Castiel disappeared and reappeared behind Aaron. He took the staff fragment from him forcefully.

            “Cas, take it easy,” said Dean. He looked at Aaron, who flinched. “Look, we’re not here to hurt you, okay? But we need to know. Where did you get this thing?”

            “Please don’t kill my dad,” said Aaron. “It was me. I did it.”

            “No one’s going to hurt your dad,” said (Y/N). “We’re not angry with you. But we need to know where you got the staff.”

            Aaron swallowed. “You won’t believe me.”

            “Try us,” said (Y/N).

            “It was an angel,” said Aaron.

            That was not the answer they’d been expecting.

            “An angel?” repeated Dean, furrowing his brow.

            “Those liars, they killed my brother and nothing bad ever happened to them,” said Aaron. “It’s not fair. So I prayed to God every night He would punish them. God didn’t answer, but he did.”

            “His name,” said Castiel. “Did he give you a name?”

            Aaron shook his head. “No. He just said I could have justice. But I was gonna have to take it myself. He gave me the stick.”

            “He just gave it to you?” said Dean.

            Aaron nodded hesitantly.

            “Aaron,” said (Y/N). “He didn’t just give it to you, did he? You made a deal with him.”

            Aaron swallowed. “I bought it.”

            “You bought it?” said Sam incredulously. “With what? What’s your allowance?”

            “He didn’t want money,” said (Y/N). They suspected the answer already. “Did he, Aaron?” The boy swallowed. “What did you give him for it?”

            “My soul,” said Aaron.

            Dean and Sam blinked, and they exchanged confused glances with Castiel. (Y/N) grimaced, but it was what they had suspected, even if an angel dealing in souls hadn’t come up as an angelic habit before.

            “You sold your soul to an angel?” said Sam.

            “Can that even happen?” said Dean.

            “It’s never happened before,” said Castiel, but that didn’t preclude the possibility that it was happening now. “An angel’s buying souls. That could explain why he cut the staff into pieces.”

            “Why?” said Sam.

            “More pieces, more product,” said Castiel.

            “More product?” repeated Dean. “Who is this guy?”

            “We’ll find him.” Castiel wanted to know, too. He touched Aaron’s forehead, and Aaron collapsed. Castiel caught him.

            “What did you do that for?” said Dean.

            “Portability,” said Castiel, and by the time he finished speaking, they were already back in their hotel room. He dumped Aaron on the bed.

            “Cas, you realize you just kidnapped a kid,” said Dean.

            “If the angel we seek truly bought this boy’s soul—when a claim is laid on a living soul, it leaves a mark, a brand,” said Castiel.

            “What, like a shirt tag at camp?” said Sam.

            “I have no idea,” said Castiel, mostly because he didn’t know what a shirt tag at camp was. “But I can read the mark and find the name of the angel that bought the soul.”

            “How?” asked Dean.

            “Well, painfully, for him,” said Castiel, casting a look at Aaron. He rolled up a sleeve. “The reading will be excruciating.”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Dean, stepping forward. “Hold on.”

            “Dean,” sighed Castiel.

            “He’s a kid, Cas, a kid,” said Dean.

            “When you put that mark on our ribs, it wasn’t excruciating,” said (Y/N). “Can’t you read it without causing him pain?”

            “No,” said Castiel.

            “Sam?” said Dean, looking for more backup, but Sam just crossed his arms.

            “Any permanent damage?” said Sam.

            “What?” said Dean, and (Y/N) furrowed their brow at the un-Sam-like comment.

            “Physically, minimal,” said Castiel.

            “Then by all means, stick your arm right in there,” snapped Dean sarcastically.

            “Dean, (Y/N), if I get the name I can work a ritual to track the angel down,” said Castiel matter-of-factly.

            “We’re all for that, but come on.” Dean looked at Aaron. He couldn’t help but see (Y/N) lying there, like they had been so many times, and his heart clenched. “There’s gotta be another way.”

            “There is no other way,” said Castiel.

            “Cas, you’re going to torture a kid,” said (Y/N) softly.

            “I don’t care about that, (Y/N),” said Castiel. “I don’t have the luxury.”

            (Y/N) and Dean could do nothing but watch helplessly as Castiel reached into Aaron’s ribs. The boy screamed even while unconscious, body lighting up as his soul was touched by Castiel’s angelic power.

            (Y/N) moved forward, their instincts pushing them to protect Aaron, but Sam grabbed them and stopped them. (Y/N) stared at him in shock and anger, but Sam’s grip didn’t let up. (Y/N)’s hands curled into fists, and a glass on the counter shattered. Dean and Sam flinched at it, and they looked at Castiel with Aaron. They saw it as a side-effect of Castiel’s magic. (Y/N) knew it wasn’t Castiel’s. It was theirs.

            More excruciating seconds passed like interminable hours until Castiel finally pulled his arm back, and Aaron’s exhausted body untensed and lay limply in the bed.

            “He’ll rest now,” said Castiel, voice softer, guilty.

            “Did you get a name? What is it?” asked Sam.

            “I thought he died in the war,” said Castiel grimly.

            “What, he a friend or something?” said Sam.

            “A good friend,” said Castiel.

            “Your frat buddy is now moonlighting as a crossroads demon,” snapped Dean.

            “Balthazar,” said Castiel. “I wonder…”

            “So we can find him now, right?” said Sam.

            “Balthazar.” (Y/N)’s head snapped towards the speaker, a stranger in a suit. “Thanks, Castiel, we’ll make good use of the name.” He lunged with an angel blade drawn.

            Castiel blocked it while Dean pulled (Y/N) back protectively. The angels fought, flashing and parrying with equal power.

            “By the way, Raphael says hello,” spat the enemy angel.

            (Y/N) remembered that asshole.

            The enemy angel shoved Castiel back and pulled his angel blade free. He now held two while Castiel held none. The angel lunged and stabbed with both, but Castiel blocked and redirected his arms. He twisted, and both blades hit the ground while Castiel pushed the angel back. The angel ran forward, Castiel grabbed him, and their momentum sent them crashing through the window. They landed with a crash on the ground, and a car alarm wailed.

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N)’s eyes widened, and they rushed to the window to check on Castiel. Both angels lay on a crushed car, but Castiel was the only one who sat up. The other angel disappeared, fleeing.

            “My car,” said Sam.

            Right, that was his car. (Y/N) knew it was not getting saved.

            “Okay. Silving lining,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) snorted.

            “He’s gone.” Castiel reappeared in the room.

            “Alright, Cas, who was that guy?” said Sam.

            “A soldier of Raphael,” said Castiel. “He must have followed me when I answered your call.

            “Raphael? The archangel?” asked Sam. “I’m sorry, what’s going on here?”

            “I can explain later,” said Castiel, going through cupboards until he found a bowl. “Right now, we need to—”

            “No, not later, now,” said Dean firmly. “Stop, alright? There’s too many angels, Castiel. I don’t know who’s on first, what’s on second—”

            “What is second?” asked Castiel.

            “Don’t start that,” said Dean.

            “It is simple, Raphael and his followers, they want him to rule Heaven,” explained Castiel. “I and many others, the last thing we want is to let him take over. It would be catastrophic.”

            “You’re talking civil war,” said Sam.

            “Technically, yes,” said Castiel. “Which is why we have to find Balthazar and his weapons before Raphael does. Whoever has the weapons wins the war.” He grabbed their duffle bags and went through them.

            “Yeah, right, go ahead,” said (Y/N). “Help yourself.”

            “What happens if Raphael wins?” asked Dean. “I mean, what does he want?”

            “To end the story the way it was written,” said Castiel.

            “The Apocalypse, the one we derailed?” said Dean incredulously, and (Y/N) groaned at angelic stupidity.

            “Yes, that one,” said Castiel. “Raphael wants to put it back on the rails.”

            “Why?” said (Y/N).

            “I need myrrh,” said Castiel, holding a variety of ingredients.

            “Myrrh?” said Sam.

            Castiel disappeared.

            “Frigging angels,” said Dean.

            The sound of things in a bowl had them turning, and Castiel was behind them at the kitchenette table. He drew a circle on the table.

            “Castiel, why does Raphael want to bring back the Apocalypse?” repeated (Y/N).

            “He’s a traditionalist,” said Castiel.

            “Why didn’t you tell us this?” demanded Dean.

            “I was ashamed,” admitted Castiel. He shook his head. “I expected more from my brothers. I’m sorry.” He took Dean’s arm. “Now I need your blood.”

            “Back to business,” said (Y/N) sarcastically while Dean protested but Castiel made a cut anyway.

            “Why don’t you use your own?” snapped Dean, but he left his arm out so the blood dripped into the bowel.

            “Wouldn’t work, I’m not human,” said Castiel.

            He sprinkled other ingredients in and chanted an incantation. Goosebumps trailed up (Y/N)’s arms, and they swallowed as they listened to the words. Smoke filtered up from the bowl, and Castiel looked at it carefully. Sirens wailed in the distance but were approaching the hotel—no surprise after two men fell from a window and crashed onto a car.

            “Uh, Cas, how long does this spell take?” asked Sam.

            Castiel stared a bit longer before his trance broke. “Got him, let’s go.”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa, what about him?” said Dean, looking at Aaron.

            “Don’t you think the police will take him home?” said Castiel.

            Dean opened his mouth, but Castiel was teleporting them out already.

l

            (Y/N), Dean, Sam, and Castiel appeared on the grounds of a mansion. Unlike Crowley’s residence, it was brighter and looked more…inviting, if the same amount of extravagance.

            “Huh,” said Dean. “I was expecting more Dr. No, less Liberace.”

            Slowly, Castiel headed towards the mansion.

            “Cas?” said (Y/N). “What’s the plan?”’

            “I’m going to speak to Balthazar,” said Castiel. He disappeared.

            “I guess we’re staying here,” said (Y/N).

            Lightning flashed, and four shadows appeared on the lawn—immaculate in their suits. (Y/N), Dean, and Sam ducked behind a bush. Angels had arrived. Sam pulled out the angel blade Castiel had won in the last fight.

            “I’ll handle it,” said Sam as the angels split up.

            “Sam—” said Dean, but Sam was already getting up. He cursed, pulled out another angel blade, and rushed after him.

            (Y/N) groaned. They couldn’t get up since they didn’t have a weapon, and the angels were going to teleport around the Winchesters, so—They looked at the wall, and they pulled out a knife. They’d handle things another way.

            “Hey there,” said Sam, stepping out in front of an angel. The angel lifted his blade, and Sam brandished his own. “Yeah. I got one of those, too.”

            “Two of them, actually,” said Dean, stepping out.

            An angel appeared behind him, blade raised. “There are two of us, as well.”

            The first disappeared and reappeared behind Sam in an instant. “You think humans can knife fight an angel?”

            “Nah.” All heads turned towards (Y/N). “But we can do this.” They slammed their bleeding hand into the middle of a familiar sigil. A golden light burst from it, and the angels shouted as they were blown away. It burnt away, and Dean and Sam stared at (Y/N). “What?”

            “Good thinking,” said Dean, hurrying towards the mansion itself.

            (Y/N) straightened, and they could ignore the pleased curl of satiation that evil hunger within them felt as long as Dean was proud.

            They all ran within the mansion and followed the sounds of fighting. Dean pulled out a flask, and Sam grabbed his lighter as they rounded a corner and watched as an angel’s vessel turned to salt and crumbled. Castiel’s eyes widened, and he stared at a blond angel in casual clothing.

            “Same thing happened to Lot’s wife,” said Balthazar—who else would use an artifact? “Iodize the poor sucker, and your kitchen is stocked for life.”

            “You came back,” said Castiel.

            “Well, now Raphael will have to go shopping for a new vessel,” said Balthazar. “Should give me a nice long head start on him. Until next time.”

            “Next time?” said Castiel.

            “No time like the present,” said Dean. A lighter brought a flame to life, and it lit a circle of holy oil aflame.

            Balthazar stepped back. “Holy fire. You hairless ape. Release me.”

            “First, you’re taking your marker off Aaron Birch’s soul!” snapped Dean.

            “Am I?” said Balthazar.

            “Sam, (Y/N),” said Dean.

            Sam held up a jug of holy oil, and (Y/N) brandished a lighter.

            “Unless you like your wings extra-crispy, I’d think about it,” said Sam.

            Balthazar looked at Castiel. He appealed, “Castiel, I stood for you in Heaven. Are you gonna let one of them—?”

            “I believe the hairless ape has the floor,” snapped Castiel.

            Balthazar chuckled but was clearly irritated. “Very well.” He lifted his hands, closed his eyes, and concentrated. When he lowered them, he looked at Dean. “The boy’s debt is cleared. His soul is his own.”

            “Why are you buying human souls?” said (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

            “In this economy?” said Balthazar. “It’s probably the only thing worth buying. Do you have any idea what souls are worth? What power they hold?” No one did. “Now, release me.”

            “Suck it, ass clown. No one said anything about—”

            Castiel held up a hand as Dean snarked. The fire lowered and went out.

            “Cas, what the hell?” said Dean.

            “My debt to you is cleared,” said Castiel, looking at Balthazar.

            “Fair enough,” said Balthazar. He flew away without another word.

            “Cas, are you out of your mind?” said Dean incredulously.

            But Castiel had also disappeared, and the hunters were left on their own.

            “Cas?” No answer. “Oh, frigging angels!”

            (Y/N) frowned. Castiel was acting odd.

l

            “God, I didn’t realize I had this much stuff back here,” said Dean, rearranging the trunk of Baby so that Sam’s stuff could fit.

            “Well, I need some space,” said Sam.

            “So do I,” piped up (Y/N).

            They managed to make it fit and close the secret trunk hatch so the top was clear of weapons. A mask sat on top, and Sam frowned. He picked it up.

            “What the hell is that?” he asked.

            “Oh, that’s, uh, Ben’s Halloween costume,” said Dean.

            “Wendigo?” guessed Sam.

            “Yeah,” said Dean.

            “Was pretty accurate, too,” said (Y/N) while Sam put it down and Dean closed the trunk.

            They headed towards the car doors, and Dean paused. “Hey, uh…Are you okay?” He looked at Sam.

            “Me?” said Sam. “Yeah, I’m great.”

            “Really?” said Dean, and (Y/N) tilted their head. “Because there’s been a few times you got me wondering.” He looked at (Y/N). “You see it, right?”

            (Y/N) nodded slowly. “Sam, you have been acting weird.”

            “Come again?” said Sam.

            “Well, like where were you when Cas was giving the holy-taser treatment on that poor kid?” said Dean.

            “I was right there,” said Sam.

            “You didn’t care that Aaron was getting hurt,” said (Y/N). “You normally care.”

            “Right,” said Sam. “Well, I was with you. But, I don’t know, we needed the intel.”

            “Yeah, we know, but we tortured that kid to get it,” said Dean. “I just didn’t get the feeling that you even cared.”

            (Y/N) nodded, and they watched Sam’s face as he shook his head like he had no idea what to say to get them to stop being worried.

            “You’re wrong,” was all he said.

            “I mean, we’re just trying to figure it out because there’s something different about you,” said Dean.

            “You know that,” said (Y/N), seeing Sam’s expression barely change.

            “Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Sam.

            “Really?” said Dean.

            “Yeah, I mean…” Sam paused and shrugged. “I’ve been hunting nonstop for the past year. Kind out of in the wild, you know? So, yeah, I suppose I’m a little rough around the edges.”

            “Yeah, I get that,” said Dean. “But I just don’t think I’m getting the whole scoop.”

            (Y/N) almost asked Sam what happened to him in Hell. In the Cage. With Lucifer. But they didn’t. Still, they suspected that played a part in this. So what they said was, “You went to Hell, Sam. That does something to someone.”

            Dean nodded. “Believe me, I know.”

            “To you,” said Sam.

            “What?” said Dean.

            “You know what it does to you,” said Sam. “It tortured you, you know? I think it still does. But, Dean, (Y/N), I’m okay.” He smiled.

            “So you’re saying, what, that you’re stronger than me?” asked Dean.

            “No. I’m just saying we’re different,” said Sam. He refused to say another word and got into the impala. Dean looked at (Y/N), and they looked back at him with an identical expression. Neither of them believed Sam. Something was going on.

Chapter Text

            “I know what I saw, Bobby.” Dean spoke in a hushed tone. (Y/N) glanced back over their shoulder to where Sam was buying food.

            “We tested him,” said Bobby. “Salt, silver—everything.” He walked through his house, and, despite Crowley coming to collect, he’d kept his legs courtesy of some investigation and use of Crowley’s real bones. Bobby was a tough hunter who’d survived that long for a reason.

            “(Y/N)?” said Dean, holding out the phone.

            “He threw Dean to the vamp,” said (Y/N).

            They had seen it, and Dean had gotten bitten, nearly become a vampire if Samuel, (Y/N), and Sam hadn’t cured him, and gotten controlled telepathically by the Alpha. Yes, it was good information, but it had nearly cost Dean his humanity, and (Y/N) had been worried sick the entire time.

            “I’m telling you, it’s not my brother,” said Dean.

            “Well, then he’s something we ain’t ever seen before,” said Bobby.

            “Yeah, or it’s freakin’ Lucifer,” hissed Dean.

            “I don’t think it’s Lucifer,” said (Y/N). “He’d be out apocalypse-ing if it was him.”

            “Did you call Cas?” asked Bobby.

            “Course we called Cas,” grumbled Dean, but ever since the Balthazar incident, he hadn’t replied. “He’s not answering. Screw him. We can’t wait for him.”

            “Look, I get it,” said Bobby. “You’re rattled. You’re right to be. But let’s be professional—”

            “Professional?” said (Y/N). “Bobby, he watched him get turned.”

            “Are you sure that’s what you saw?” said Bobby.

            “Damn it, Bobby, yes, we both saw it,” said Dean. “We know.”

            “Well, ‘we know’ ain’t the same as proof,” said Bobby. “Cause we’re talking about—”

            “We’re talking about doing something about this and fast,” said Dean.

            “It’s not just the vampire incident, Bobby,” said (Y/N). “He’s been acting weird since we found him.”

            “Alright. I’m with you,” said Bobby.

            “Are you?” said Dean.

            “Yeah,” said Bobby. “I’ll hit the books, hard. Just don’t shoot him yet, alright? Watch him. We need facts. Cause if that ain’t Sam, we don’t know what it is. And if we’re gonna put him down, we need to know how.”

            “I don’t even want to ride in the same car with him—let alone let (Y/N)—much less work a case,” said Dean.

            “Get in the car,” said Bobby. “He’s your case.” He hung up.”

            Dean huffed and pocketed the phone. (Y/N) saw Sam approaching.

            “He’s coming,” said (Y/N).

            Sam arrived and held up sandwiches.

            “Hey,” said Dean instantly. “We were just leaving Lisa a message.”

            “Still hasn’t called you back, huh?” said Sam.

            Dean grimaced, and (Y/N) looked down guilty. Perhaps they should have checked in more often, but Lisa was already ignoring them. Well, it wasn’t really (Y/N)’s fault, but Dean and Lisa did have a relationship of some sort.

            “No,” said Dean.

            “Sucks,” said Sam, handing them sandwiches.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N).

            “You okay?” said Sam, looking at Dean and (Y/N).

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” said Dean awkwardly.

            “Yeah,” said (Y/N), much better at acting. They’d been getting a lot practice lately.

            “How are you?” asked Dean.

            “Me? I’m great,” said Sam with a casual shrug. “Here, look. Check it out.” He unfolded a newspaper to show Dean and (Y/N) a headline. There had been multiple suicides in the town recently. “I think it might be something. Four people, out of nowhere, all in the last couple of weeks. What do you say?”

            “Yeah,” said Dean. “Sounds like a plan.”

            “Seems like our thing,” said (Y/N).

            “Let’s go,” said Sam.

l

            “I don’t understand.” Olivia Peterson, sister to the late Jane Peterson, looked at Sam, Dean, and (Y/N) in their suits. “Why would federal investigators be interested in a suicide?”

            “Well, um…” began Sam while Dean looked around the house. (Y/N) hovered and watched the interview. “It’s a new, more caring administration.”

            “Well, I already told the cops,” said Olivia. “Jane was having a really bad day, so I-I did what any sister would do.”

            She tucked her hair behind her ear, and (Y/N) frowned at the nervous motion. Dean arrived in the room, and he caught (Y/N)’s look of suspicion.

            “Um,” Olivia continued. “I tried to cheer her up, you know? Told her to hang in there.”

            “You know a ‘tell’ is?” said Sam suddenly.

            “Excuse me?” said Olivia.

            “It’s a poker term,” said Sam. “For when you’re bluffing.” He spoke coldly. “Like what you just did with your hair.”

            Wow, no easing into this one, thought (Y/N), narrowing their eyes.

            “What are you trying to say?” said Olivia, trying to stay firm but faltering.

            “You’re lying,” said Sam sharply.

            “What?!” said Olivia with false outrage.

            “Tell us what you did to your sister,” said Sam.

            “Olivia,” said (Y/N), intervening as she grew angrier. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to. Sometimes things happen and you can’t help them. It can be weird or frightening. Just tell us.” They gave Sam a glare, and he gritted his teeth but stepped back at the admonishing look.

            Olivia swallowed shakily. “Okay…Alright. I was lying. But I didn’t mean to. I swear. It just—”

            “Just tell us,” said (Y/N).

            “I wanted to tell her, ‘I love you. I’m here for you,’ ” said Olivia softly, a sob welling up in her chest. “But what came out was—” she hiccupped “—‘You’re a burden. Just kill yourself.’ Who says that?!” She sobbed with shame and grief. “I-I just couldn’t stop!”

            Sam looked at Dean, satisfied with the answer. Dean watched his face, utterly uncaring about the fact he’d made this girl cry and that he looked smug about it. Dean didn’t like that expression on Sam.

            He didn’t say anything until they left the house, and even then, Sam was acting like nothing had happened. He asked, “See anything in the house?”

            “No hex bags, no sulfur, no emf,” said (Y/N). “You?”

            “A tuba and an issue of Crochet Today,” scoffed Sam. “So, what, already kinda suicidal?”

            “Right, and then big sis’s taxicab confession sends her over the edge,” said Dean. “Question is, what made big sis open her big, fat mouth in the first place.”

            “Yeah, that is the big question,” said Sam.

            “Could it be a spell?” said (Y/N). They didn’t want to deal with spells, but they would if they had to. They were still a hunter. They were.

            “No hex bag, no curse on Jane,” said Dean.

            “Yeah, but a spell on big sis? We were checking for something affecting Jane, not anything affecting Olivia,” said (Y/N).

            “Not a bad idea,” said Dean. “We’ll keep it in mind.”

l

            Dean got up, peeked out the window, ensured Sam was gone to get food, and dialed a number. “Hey, Bobby.” (Y/N) looked up, and Dean put it on speaker. “Did you find anything?”

            “I’ve been up all night lookin,” said Bobby, and (Y/N) could hear him rolling his eyes through the phone. “Nothing fits.”

            “Awesome,” sighed Dean.

            “You got anything else going on?” asked Bobby.

            “Yeah, my skin crawls being in the same room as him,” said Dean.

            “He’s acting mean,” said (Y/N). “And smug when he hurts people’s feelings. So like, look up ‘asshole’ as a symptom.”

            Bobby was definitely rolling his eyes again. “I’m working on it.”

            “I don’t know how much longer I can do this, Bobby,” said Dean. “You got to figure out what the hell he is and fast.”

            “I’m trying,” said Bobby. “But, Dean, (Y/N), there’s a worst-case scenario.”

            “What, Satan’s our copilot? Yeah, we know,” said Dean.

            “Well, that’d be the other worst case,” said Bobby.

            “Well, then what?” said Dean.

            “Maybe it’s just Sam,” said Bobby.

            “I gotta go,” said Dean, unwilling to imagine it.

            “Dean,” said Bobby.

            “You got a day, Bobby,” said Dean, swallowing. “And then I’m handling this.” He hung up.

            “Dean,” said (Y/N). “He’s right. Something could be wrong with Sam, but it might still be him.”

            Dean shook his head instantly. “No way.”

            “Dean—”

            “No, (Y/N).”

            The door opened, Sam himself stepped in, and the conversation had to be laid to rest. (Y/N) gritted their teeth. They didn’t like it any more than Dean, but just killing him wasn’t going to do anything, especially if he wasn’t a monster. It might be something wrong with Sam. Something was wrong with (Y/N).

            “There was another one,” said Sam as he entered.

            “Yeah?” said Dean, clearing his throat.

            “Dentist drilled a guy to death,” said Sam.

            “You mean the non-sexy kind of drilling, right?” said Dean.

            “That adds to things,” said (Y/N), tilting their head. “If it’s a spell, it has to work differently than targeting a specific person for death then.” They clamped their mouth shut. Why were they talking and thinking about magic so much? Seriously, they’d fed the stupid hunger with the anti-angel sigil, wasn’t that goddamn enough? Never enough.

            Sam nodded. “Fifty bucks says he’s mixed up in all the crazy.”

            “You think?” said Dean.

            “Yeah,” said Sam. “Let’s go talk to him.”

            “Okay. Uh…” Dean hesitated. “Why don’t you go ahead? I’ll catch up. I’m gonna do a little research.”

            Sam frowned, and (Y/N) looked at Dean in disbelief.

            “You sure?” said Sam.

            “You want to do research?” said (Y/N) incredulously.

            “Yeah,” said Dean, now honestly defensive about how shocked they both were. “We got to know what we’re up against, right?”

            Sam frowned, but he ended up shrugging. “Yeah. Yeah, good idea. (Y/N)?”

            “I’ll check out the crime scene,” said (Y/N). “You’ve got the dentist to question.”

            That was it.

l

            (Y/N) looked at the bloodied dentist’s chair. This is why people hate the dentist. People have weapons in your mouth. Their phone buzzed, and they answered. It was a group call with Sam and Dean.

            “Got anything?” said (Y/N).

            “Guy explain why he wanted to drill his patient?” said Dean.

            “Not exactly,” said Sam. “He hung himself in his cell before I could get to him.”

            “Yikes,” said Dean.

            “Do you think it was a spell affecting him, then? Or his vic?” said (Y/N). It was getting a bit mixed up.

            “Not sure, but he was definitely involved,” said Sam. “Just got the scoop from his assistant. Let’s say the stuff that his patient was confessing to—I’d have murdered him, too.”

            “So another person confessing stuff,” said (Y/N). “Like Olivia to Jane. So maybe the spell is about that rather than someone’s death.” Stop talking about spells you stupid, stupid—

            “Sounds like root canal and Russian roulette are cursed,” agreed Dean. “I mean, people are just compelled to puke the truth over em?”

            “And getting hit with the truth gets you to go postal?” said Sam.

            “Ugly truths, yeah,” said (Y/N).

            “I’m still going to check out the morgue,” said Sam. “(Y/N), tell us if you find anything in the dentist’s office.”

            “Lots of blood,” said (Y/N). “I’ll call you back.”

            They hung up and circled away from the blood chair and towards the dentist’s office. They opened the door and found the typical family pictures, a few notes about errands, and, weirdly enough, a saxophone. They tilted their head. Jane had a tuba. Not a huge coincidence, but still. (Y/N) looked at the desk, and they picked up an invoice for “Harry’s House of Horns” for saxophone lessons.

            They pulled out their phone and called Dean. “Dean?”

            “Yeah?” said Dean.

            “Wasn’t there a sticker from Harry’s House of Horns in Jane Petersons’ house?” said (Y/N).

            “I think so,” said Dean. “Why?”

            “I found it here, too,” said (Y/N). “Not sure if that’s a coincidence or not.”

            “Shit,” said Dean.

            “What?” asked (Y/N).

            “Gabriel’s Horn of Truth,” said Dean. “It could be what’s affecting the town.”

            “An angel’s weapon?” said (Y/N). “I don’t know. This feels pretty random for one person to be doing with a weapon. There’s no link other than them both going here. Couldn’t it be that they encountered the curse there?”

            “I’ll check with Cas,” said Dean.

            “You think he’ll answer?” said (Y/N).

            “He better,” huffed Dean before hanging up.

            I hope this domestic dispute clears up soon, sighed (Y/N).

l

            (Y/N) entered the motel room and found Dean fuming. Obviously, his frustration at Castiel wasn’t fixed yet, and (Y/N) held back a sigh.

            “So? Is it the Horn?” said (Y/N).

            “Nope,” said Dean. “Cas said it isn’t. But he was no help either.” He cleared his throat. “He said he’ll look into what’s going on with Sam, though.”

            “That’s good, isn’t it?” said (Y/N), but Dean still looked frustrated.

            “He’s just—Cas is only showing up when it’s useful for him,” said Dean.

            “He does have a lot of do what with a civil war,” pointed out (Y/N).

            “Yeah, I know, but—” Dean let out a breath of frustration.

            “You miss him?” offered (Y/N).

            “No. Why would I? It usually means trouble when he’s here,” said Dean. He grabbed his jacket. “I’m going to grab a drink. I’ll be back later.”

            Running from his feelings. At that, (Y/N) did roll their eyes. “Okay, bye.”

l

            “I’d just like the freakin’ truth.” Dean said the words after a long, exhausted drink. “But I’ll settle for another one.” He held up his empty glass.

            “Sometimes I think that I can’t get pregnant cause God knows my marriage is a shame,” said the bartender. She straightened in horror after she spoke, and Dean looked taken aback. “Why’d I say that? I mean, I’ve been snorting oxy all day. Why’d I say that?”

            Dean straightened. “I’m pretty sure I know.”

l

            (Y/N) saw the impala down the street and jogged down to it. Sam was already at the house of the first suicide victim, named Corey, and Dean had apparently just arrived. Sam had called them, and (Y/N) had hustled over (without a car, though, so Dean had beaten them).

            “Hey, Dean,” said (Y/N). “You feel better? I’m going to guess not, you look miserable, but you make yourself miserable most of the time, so it’s normal.” They frowned. “What the hell?”

            “Long story,” said Dean. “I figured something out.” And he had heard far worse than that. Lisa…

            “And of course, you’re going to wait to explain because you’re an idiot,” said (Y/N). Okay, wow, that wasn’t necessary.

            Dean chuckled. “Let’s go in and find Sam.”

            They opened the front door, and Sam poked his head down the stairs as he heard them.

            “Hey, where you been?” he said. “I found something.” He held up a box, and (Y/N) tilted their head curiously.

            “It can wait. We got to talk,” said Dean.

            “What’s up?” said Sam, passing the box to (Y/N) casually so they could take a look.

            “There’s a few things I want to ask you,” said Dean. “And, uh, you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

            “Yeah, Dean. Of course,” said Sam. “What are you talking about?”

            “Isn’t it obvious?” said (Y/N) the instant they put it together. “He’s affected by whatever’s going on.” That’s why they’d started blurting out their thoughts. They stiffened. What if they talked about—(Y/N) bit down on their tongue forcefully. That couldn’t get out. It was one truth that couldn’t be spoken, even if (Y/N) had to bite their tongue off to stop it.

            Sam looked at Dean in alarm. “What?”

            “I asked for the truth,” said Dean. “And you know what? I’m getting it.”

            “You’re either going to regret the truth at some point or already have,” said (Y/N) bluntly.

            Dean nearly sighed but focused on Sam. “So, like I said, I have a few questions for you. When that vamp attacked me, why did you just stand there?”

            Sam let out a long sigh before he replied. “I-I didn’t.” He swallowed. “I froze.”

            “You froze,” repeated Dean.

            With the magic, it had to be the truth, and yet…(Y/N) furrowed their brow.

            “You’ve been Terminator since you got back,” said Dean in slight disbelief.

            “I don’t know,” said Sam. “Shock?” He swallowed and shook his head. “And then it was too late. I feel terrible about it. Believe me. Dean…I can’t lie here.” Dean swallowed. “Do you really think I would let something like that happen on purpose?” Sam looked betrayed. “You’re my brother. H-How could you even—”

            “Okay,” said Dean. He knew Sam couldn’t lie, so this had to be the truth, and he had completely misjudged everything. He had been in the wrong and hurt his brother through his mistrust. “Okay. Sorry.” He licked his lips and shook his head. “I-I thought I saw something.”

            “I did, too,” said (Y/N). They had seen something. And somehow, they didn’t really doubt their own sight. So what was reality, then?

            “I guess we were wrong,” said Dean. He shook his head. “It’s just been a really, really bad day.”

            “Hey. It’s okay,” said Sam kindly. “I got your back, alright?” He looked at (Y/N). “Both of yours.” They nodded. “I always have.”

            “Thanks, Sammy,” said Dean, relief flooding him. Sam hadn’t thrown him to the vamp. He had wanted to save him.

Chapter Text

            (Y/N) stared at the contents of the box spread out on the motel table. Definitely spell work—from a cat skull to seeds to Devil’s shoestrings. Dean wrinkled his nose as he looked at the cat skull.

            “So this was the chick’s pet?” he said.

            “Poor thing,” said (Y/N).

            “Well, she was obsessed with figuring out the truth from her boyfriend,” said Sam. “So she did anything for it.”

            “More like crazed,” said Dean.

            “Alright, so, cat skull, grains-of-paradise seed, devil’s shoestring,” said Sam. He looked at the computer. “Mix ‘em well, you got yourself a summoning spell.” He turned his screen so the others could see, and a summoning ritual was revealed.

            “Veritas?” said (Y/N). “Goddess of Truth. That’s on the nose.”

            “Corey was so desperate for the truth about her boyfriend’s cheating heart that she opened a door she couldn’t close,” said Sam. “Now anyone in town who asks aloud for the truth invokes Veritas. And she doesn’t just give it to you. She slams you with it until you kill yourself and she gets her tribute.”

            “So, all that ‘tribute’ vanishing from the morgue,” said Dean, referencing the bodies that disappeared. “What do you think, uh, Soylent-Green situation?”

            “When have gods not liked eating people?” said (Y/N), and Dean grimaced since it was true.

            “Which means we’ve got to take her out or you’re on the menu,” said Sam.

            “Alright, well, what do we know besides crazy cat lady?” asked Dean.

            “Well, dogs are her Achille’s Heel,” said Sam.

            “Naturally,” said Dean.

            “And she was a pretty hands-on goddess back in the day,” read Sam. “Her thing was coming down from the mountain to speak truth to the masses. She wanted more than tribute. She wanted to be worshipped.”

            “An attention whore,” said Dean, a look of realization on his face.

            “If you think you know, say it,” said (Y/N), blurting out the words. At least they could focus on the case. Every time they didn’t, the truth buried in them popped into their head, and they bit their tongue until it stung to keep from speaking, their nature the only thing that let them resist.

            “I think I know what twenty-first century version of speaking truth to the masses is,” said Dean. “A reporter.”

            (Y/N) tilted their head. They doubted he was wrong.

l

            Dean, Sam, and (Y/N) exited the news station with boxes full of old recordings of “Frank Talk with Ashley Frank.” Honestly, the name was so on the nose (Y/N) nearly laughed out loud. The gods loved their themes.

            “So you really think this god is slumming it as some farm-league Diane Sawyer?” said Sam.

            “Eh, call it a hunch,” said Dean.

            “Would make sense, though,” said (Y/N). “And maybe she needs to grow stronger before hitting prime-time.”

            “Let’s stop her before then,” said Dean.

l

            (Y/N) lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It had been hours, and morning had arrived with no real hint as to whether or not Ashley Frank was Veritas or not. They had been forced to nap, and even Dean was looking exhausted. Only Sam was still going.

            “Hold on,” he said suddenly, and that woke Dean and (Y/N)’s attention. “Check it out.” He rewound the footage and turned it to them.

            It showed Ashley preparing to speak while a dog barked angrily at her. She looked at it sharply, and (Y/N) blinked as they saw something flash.

            “Zoom in on that,” said Dean.

            Sam zoomed in on her face as she looked at the dog, and a sharp blue glow was evident, accompanied by constricted feline pupils. It looked like Veritas was really in town preaching to the masses.

l

            The impala crawled up Veritas’s driveway, and Dean kept a careful distance from her as she pulled up in front of her luxurious out—way more expensive than any small-town reporter should have. Not to mention her car and clothing were tailored and modified for her personal taste. It all screamed divine being.

            “Looks pretty normal, right?” said Sam.

            “You’ve got to be kidding,” said (Y/N), deadpanning.

            “I’m sure inside it’s chock full of creep,” said Dean.

            The lights of the glass mansion went on, and they watched Veritas walk upstairs.

            “Ready?” said Dean, holding up his knives.

            “Yep,” said (Y/N), pocketing their own.

            “Yep,” said Sam, holding a jar of…

            “And that’s?” said Dean.

            “Dog’s blood,” said Sam.

            (Y/N)’s face screwed up. “I’m not gonna ask where you got that.”

            “That’s for the best,” agreed Sam.

            “Alright,” said Dean. “Let’s do this.”

            They headed towards the front door and slipped inside. They peeked around each corner carefully, but they found no one in the entryway or in the dining room beyond. The modern, open layout let them see into the living room where a fire warmed the room.

            “So where’s all the creep?” asked Sam.

            A soft meow was the only reply he got, and one of two cats having a snack darting into another room.

            “Guys, I think the cat might tell on us,” said (Y/N). “We should hurry.”

            “Right, come on,” said Dean, forging forward and following the cat.

            It led them down some stairs to a room lit only by candles. On one side was a tile depiction of Veritas surrounded by a variety of candles colored differently for different intentions—all to serve her, of course. She had her own personal shrine in her home, complete with cat skull and incense. The cat kept running into a room separated from the shrine by a sliding door, and Dean poked the door open.

            The cat sat on a table covered in blood and human gore, eating some of the meat left behind. Now, (Y/N) liked cats, but even they wrinkled their nose at the sight. There were worse sights, however. Another body lacking a head, arms, or feat was suspended from the ceiling, and another of the victims was still unharmed but lying on a table, ready to be feasted on.

            “You came for dinner.”

            The hunters whirled, and Veritas smirked. She wore a resplendent gold gown that clung to her as if made of magic, and her hair was pinned with jewels that also sparkled around her neck. She waved a hand, and they went flying back. Their heads hit the ground, and they were out before they could think of fighting back.

l

            (Y/N)’s head lifted, and when they tried to shift, their arms resisted them. They blinked to focus and looked back to find their arms tightly tied to a pole. They were still in the room of bodies, and Dean and Sam were in identical predicaments while Veritas moved across the room with complete confidence. She sensed them waking and looked at the hunters.

            “Sit tight,” she said with a smirk. “You’re up next.”

            (Y/N) watched in disgust as Veritas leaned over the dentist’s bodies and cracked his jaw open. She used tongs to reach into his mouth, and with a fleshy squish, she pulled his tongue out.

            “The tongue is the tastiest part,” said Veritas, smirking. “It’s where the lies roll off.” She took a bite, and (Y/N) and Dean grimaced. After a pleased bite, she looked back at them. “I can’t wait to eat yours. I mean, I’ve seen liars before, but you three?” She put the tongs and tongue down. “Gold standard.”

            “Point of professional pride,” said Dean. He had his attitude even at the worst of times.

            “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I were you, Dean,” said Veritas. “You know what happens when you base your life on lies, right? The truth comes along and…” She smirked and snapped her fingers. Circling them like a shark, she continued, “So, while you’ve still got your tongue, god knows you’ve got an earful. I think it’s time to spill some. How about we all play a little truth or truth?”

            Her powers extended to all of them, and (Y/N)’s blood ran cold. They stiffened worriedly, and Veritas smirked.

            “What should we ask Dean first?” she mused. “Something…personal about you, Sam?” She could sense the attention and was dying to use it. “Hey, Dean, I’m curious. What do you really feel about your brother?”

            Dean tried to swallow, but the words pushed out. “Better now. As of yesterday, I wanted to kill him in his sleep.”

            (Y/N) flinched, and Sam looked startled, furrowing his brow.

            “I thought he was a monster,” continued Dean while Veritas smirked. “But now I think…”

            “Now you think what?” said Veritas.

            “He’s just acting like me…” said Dean softly, pained by his own words.

            “What do you mean?” prompted Veritas, ready to devour more.

            “It’s the gig,” said Dean. “You’re covered in blood until you’re covered in your own blood. Half the time, you’re about to die. Like right now. I told myself I wanted out…that I wanted a family.”

            “But you were lying,” said Veritas, almost purring.

            “No,” said Dean, shaking his head. He had wanted that. He still did. “But what I’m good at…is slicing throats. I ain’t a father. Not a good one.” He swallowed. “Not a good brother, either.” He couldn’t look at Sam or (Y/N). “I’m a killer. And there’s no changing that. I know that now.” Dean looked at Veritas. “And now Sam’s like me. And I’m afraid—” He closed his eyes against the truth.

            “Go on,” encouraged Veritas, living off the agony of Dean’s truths.

            “I’m afraid that (Y/N)’s gonna become like me, too. Just a killer. Cold. I don’t want that for them,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) looked up in surprise, but their chest tightened the moment Dean looked at them. Veritas’s gaze slid to them, catlike in its cunning. (Y/N) pushed farther back, contorting their arms painfully. Veritas smirked in satisfaction and stood from where she crouched next to Dean.

            “Well, speaking of dear (Y/N), why don’t we have a chat with them?” said Veritas, and she approached (Y/N). With each click of their heels, panic constricted their chest farther, and their amulet felt heavy and hot around their neck. She knelt and reached out to (Y/N)’s necklace. Instantly, (Y/N) pulled back as far as they could, but it wasn’t enough, and she lifted the spirit quartz. “Interesting little piece of protection. Fortunately for our little game, it can’t stop me.” She let go, and the pendant thudded against (Y/N)’s neck. “And you can’t stop me, either.”

            (Y/N) swallowed. They had a terrible feeling they knew what she was referring to, and (Y/N) couldn’t think about it. If they did, the words fought to get out, that terrible truth about that.

            “You have such delicious truths hidden in you,” said Veritas, searching their expression as if she could see the truth fighting to come out. “Come on. Be honest.”

            “Stop it,” whispered (Y/N), the hunger in them opening up, devouring their ability to lie in a desperate bid for freedom. “Stop it.”

            “Be honest,” said Veritas, her words laced with her potent power.

            It wanted out, that darkness in them, and (Y/N) drew their knees to their chest. Their eyes squeezed shut, and they fought to breathe. “Go away go away go away, stop it, stop it.” The words fought against the truth in them, not Veritas at all. “Go away.” Their wrists pulled against their bindings, and it rubbed them raw. They felt a trickle of blood, and (Y/N) retched as their whole body jerked at the sensation.

            Veritas forcefully took ahold of their face and forced (Y/N)’s eyes to open and look at her. “Tell the truth.”

            “I want my mom and dad,” sobbed (Y/N), the only words they could conjure as they spiraled.

            Dean swallowed, and Sam furrowed his brow. There was the truth, spilling from (Y/N).

            “I don’t care that they were witches, I want my mom and dad, I want them back, I’m scared, I want them back,” sobbed (Y/N), breath coming in short gasps. “I want to go home, I don’t care what they were, I want to go home.”

            Veritas narrowed her eyes. “That’s—How are you only saying that?”

            “Go away, go away, I want you to go away, I want it to go away,” said (Y/N), their mumbles growing into a quiet but endless murmur. They felt the hunger crawling in their chest, their fingers twitching, tongue heavy with words that only their constricted chest and inability to breathe held back. It wanted out. That horrid ugliness within them wanted to claw out of their chest, bloody as a newborn but an abomination in every sense of the word. They could feel the pressure on their ribs as words and truths they hid in the shadows of their mind pushed outwards, warping (Y/N)’s body along with their very nature.

            “Leave them alone!” said Dean angrily. “They told you the truth.” (Y/N) didn’t care their parents were witches, even though they were a hunter, and they felt guilty about that. Dean couldn’t believe it. Had he made them feel like that? He never meant to. Missing their parents was natural, even if they were…witches.

            Veritas looked at him angrily, but she calmed herself quickly. “Very well. We’ll focus on you again, shall we?” Dean swallowed. “But you don’t need to be the one speaking. How about Sam? You must have been so glad when he walked back into your life. But how did Sam feel?” She looked at Sam. “How do you feel about the band getting back together?”

            Sam looked at Veritas, at Dean and (Y/N), and back at Veritas. “Look.” He cleared his throat. “What we do…is hard. But we look out for each other. And that’s what’s important. And that’s it. That’s the truth.”

            Veritas furrowed her brow. “No. No, it’s not.”

            “You said yourself—I can’t lie,” said Sam.

            “How are you doing that?!” snapped Veritas, standing. “That’s not possible. You’re lying to me.”

            (Y/N) raised their head as they heard the words, trying to pay attention as the sickness within them rotted away.

            “No, I’m not!” retorted Sam.

            “What are you?” Veritas glared at (Y/N) and Dean. “What is he?”

            Dean furrowed his brow.

            “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Sam.

            “Really? I doubt that,” scoffed Veritas. “I doubt anything that comes out of your mouth right now.”

            Dean’s eyes widened as he realized everything he’d asked Sam under the impression he had to tell the truth. Sam hadn’t had to be honest. He had lied.

            “You’re not human,” said Veritas. “Not a surprise.” Her eyes glanced over (Y/N), who flinched, but Dean’s eyes didn’t leave Sam, who had clenched his jaw. “But you’re something wrong.”

            “What?” said Dean, staring at Sam.

            Veritas smirked at Dean. “Looks like you barely know anything about who you hunt with.”

            (Y/N) wanted to disappear inside the void within them to hide from the onslaught of truths they wanted to avoid.

            Sam’s ropes snapped, and he lunged to his feet. He threw his hidden penknife to Dean, who caught it behind his back and sawed into the ropes around his wrists. Veritas slapped Sam, and with her godly strength, he stumbled back. Sam grabbed for an autopsy tool as a weapon, but Veritas grabbed him and shoved him back. He hit the ground, and she pinned him down, grabbing his neck and strangling him. Dean cut faster and cursed as it didn’t slow down.

            (Y/N)’s eyes slid to the ropes, and their own bindings rubbed their raw wrists. The blood dripped down to the tips of their fingers. They reached up and touched the knot, eyes never leaving Dean’s ropes.

            The ropes snapped, and Dean grabbed a hook for cadavers. He slammed it down, and it stabbed through Veritas. She gasped, and blood dripped from her chest, down the hook, and onto the ground. Her face contorted into an human, feline shape, and she hissed at Dean, who jerked back. Sam grabbed a knife, stabbed and broke the jar of dog blood, and plunged the knife into her chest. Veritas gasped and grabbed the knife, btu Sam shoved it farther in. Veritas’s body jerked, and her choked on blood. Sam shoved her away, and she collapsed, limp, on the floor. A puddle of blood began to spread beneath her body.

            (Y/N) stared at Veritas’s corpse, breath finally evening out as her oppressive presence lifted. They shivered, and they pulled their knees towards them again. The creature in their chest fighting for freedom curled up again, heavy and evil but not clawing at them. (Y/N) swallowed. They would take what they could get.

            “Hey,” said Dean, kneeling by them. “You okay?” He spoke softly as he cut through the ropes.

            (Y/N) nodded numbly, but their tongue felt heavy. The words couldn’t spill out. They refused to let any words come out.

            Dean looked at them worriedly, and (Y/N) lifted their arms absently, the blood on their wrists smearing over them. They didn’t care. They didn’t even dare look at it.

            “We should go,” said Sam, not moving to check on (Y/N) at all.

            That caught Dean’s attention, and the anger he’d held back in order to face Veritas boiled up once more. He squeezed (Y/N)’s shoulder reassuringly, stood, and turned to face Sam. He held a knife tightly and stared at what he wanted to be his brother but was not.

            Sam put up his hands. “Dean, it’s me.”

            “You are not my brother.” Dean stepped towards Sam, and Sam backed up.

            “Just listen,” said Sam, keeping a wary eye on the knife.

            “What are you?!” snapped Dean.

            “I’m me, Dean,” said Sam. “Look, please, just let me explain.”

            “Why the hell should I believe anything you say?!” said Dean angrily.

            “Okay, okay,” said Sam. “You want the truth? Here it is. Here it is, God’s honest!”

            Dean’s narrowed eyes only left Sam to check that (Y/N) was doing alright before going back to Sam with focused intensity.

            “She was right,” said Sam. “There’s something wrong with me, really wrong. I’ve known it for a while. I lied to you and (Y/N). Yeah.” He admitted it. “And…I let you get turned by that vamp. Because I knew there was a cure, Dean. And we needed in that nest. And I knew you could handle it!”

            “Handle it?!” snapped Dean. “I could’ve died! What if it was (Y/N)?! Would you have just let it happen?”

            Sam swallowed and didn’t answer. It was answer enough.

            “You would have let us—them—get hurt, die, for that?” said Dean.

            “It-It should have stopped be cold,” said Sam. “But I—I just don’t feel it.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sam, their arms tucked to their chest as they massaged their wrists.

            “You what?” said Dean.

            “Ever since I came back, I’m a-a better hunter than I’ve ever been,” said Sam. “Nothing scares me anymore! Cause I can’t feel it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I think…I need help.”

            Dean’s anger had melted to disappointment. Sam hadn’t told him and (Y/N). He had kept it inside until it got people hurt, until he was forced to reveal it. And that betrayal hurt worse than any other. Slowly, Dean turned away and put the knife down. Sam watched as he faced him again. He let out a breath of relief as the weapon was put away.

            Wham!

            Dean reared back and punched Sam. He fell to the ground, and Dean was on him in a second, punching him again and again for his stupidity and his betrayal and his lies and his indifference to the pain he’d caused. Only when Sam was unconscious did he stop.

            Dean took heavy breaths and looked up. He saw (Y/N) watching him, frozen.

            “It’s okay,” he said. “We’re going to get him help.”

            (Y/N) didn’t move. They were too terrified imagining what Dean would do to them when he found out they were a monster. They would deserve the same treatment, after all.

Chapter Text

            “(Y/N),” said Dean softly. They hadn’t spoken since the incident with Veritas, and that had been hours ago. They were now back at the hotel room, and Sam was tied up, still unconscious, but (Y/N) was still sitting silently on the bed. “It’s okay.”

            (Y/N) looked at Dean, eyes dull, and Dean realized that this was what Lisa had worried about. She had said (Y/N) wasn’t mentally alright, and this was proof. (Y/N) was silent, unmoving, and unresponsive.

            “You’re not—You’re not wrong for wanting your parents back,” said Dean. “I know, they were witches.” (Y/N)’s eyes blinked, and Dean took it as a good sign that they were having some sort of reaction. It meant they could hear him at the very least. “But they were your parents. We told you, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. They took care of you. You love them. It makes sense. You don’t have to be guilty about that.”

            Hesitantly, he put a hand on their shoulder. They didn’t move, not to lean in or lean away. Dean pulled them into a hug, not usually one for such displays, but he was an older brother. He’d held Sam when he had nightmares as a child. Now he’d hold (Y/N) for having to exist in a living nightmare.

            “It’s okay, (Y/N),” said Dean. “You’re allowed to miss them.”

            “I want to go home…” said (Y/N), voice so tired it hurt Dean to hear it.

            “I know,” said Dean. And hunters so rarely had a home. “I know. But—You have a home with us, (Y/N). I promise.”

            (Y/N)’s arms rose despite their heaviness, and they held onto Dean’s jacket. They wanted to believe him. They wanted to believe him so badly. But a monster didn’t have a home with hunters. A monster didn’t deserve one.

l

            “You ready?” said Dean, looking at (Y/N).

            They absently rubbed their wrists—cleaned of blood but still raw—and nodded. The entire…ordeal had exhausted them, but they were more stable. They knew they needed to address the issue with Sam. And to dwell on their problem…it never ended well. So, (Y/N) stood beside Dean while he closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to Castiel. Hopefully, he’d really appear. (Y/N) didn’t think they and Dean could get the answers needed about Sam. They didn’t have the ability or the strength to face what Sam had become on their own.

            Castiel appeared, and (Y/N)’s shoulders sagged in relief. Dean’s worried face relaxed slightly at the angel’s presence, glad to have him. Castiel furrowed his brow at their disheveled, exhausted appearances.

            “Dean? (Y/N)? What’s happened?” said Castiel.

            “It’s Sam,” said Dean. “He’s—Something’s wrong with him. Veritas’s power of truth, it didn’t work on him. And he—he said he doesn’t feel things. He’s not right. Can you—”

            “Yes,” said Castiel before Dean had to finish asking.

            “Thank you,” said Dean in relief.

            “First.” Castiel approached (Y/N) and held out a hand. “I can heal your wrists, too.” He could sense their pain, and though he could not heal mental distress, he could take the injuries away. (Y/N) held out their hands, and Castiel touched their wrists. They warmed, and the wounds healed.

            “Thank you,” said (Y/N) quietly.

            Castiel nodded and turned to face Sam. He was slowly waking, and Castiel tilted his head. “You’re right. He looks terrible. You did this?”

            “Cas?” croaked Sam as he blinked to clear his vision. He tried to move, but his arms were tied behind the chair.

            Castiel took a hold of his face and peered into his eyes like a doctor.

            “Let me go,” said Sam.

            “Has he been feverish?” asked Castiel.

            “Have you?” said Dean, looking at Sam with his arms crossed.

            “No. Why?” asked Sam, confused. He remembered getting punched, but this was a strange turn of events.

            “Is he speaking in tongues?” asked Castiel. He glanced at Sam. “Are you?”

            “No,” said Sam. “What are you—?” He paused incredulously. “Are you diagnosing me?”

            “You better hope he can,” said Dean.

            “You think this is—”

            Dean interrupted Sam. “You think there’s a clinic for people who just pop out of Hell wrong? He asks, you answer, then you shut your cake hole. You got it?”

            “How much do you sleep?” asked Castiel.

            Sam only paused a second before replying, “I don’t.”

            “At all?” said Dean.

            “Not since I got back,” said Sam.

            “Sam, you didn’t—Why wasn’t that something to be worried about?” said (Y/N), trying to speak normally but feeling the words coming out frail.

            “Of course it was, (Y/N),” said Sam. “I just never told you.”

            Castiel furrowed his brow, and Dean watched the expression with worry.

            “What?” said Dean, alert.

            “Sam, what are you feeling now?” asked Castiel.

            “I feel like my nose is broken,” said Sam sarcastically.

            “No, that’s a physical sensation,” said Castiel. “How do you feel?”

            “I think—”

            “Feel.”

            “I don’t know,” said Sam.

            Castiel took off his belt.

            “Uh, what—?”

            “This will hurt,” said Castiel.

            “What?” said Sam, and (Y/N) and Dean exchanged a look.

            “Bite down on this,” said Castiel, putting the belt in Sam’s mouth. “If there’s some place you find soothing, you should go there in your mind.”

            Then, like with Aaron, he plunged his hand into Sam’s body. Sam shouted in pain, muffled only by the belt, and golden light spread up his veins as the angelic power moved through him. He jerked against the chair and bindings, and Dean swallowed hard at his brother’s pain, and (Y/N) winced. Sam’s mouth opened wide in relief as Castiel pulled back, and the belt fell to the ground. Castiel straightened, face contorted in concern and confusion.

            “Did you find anything?” asked Dean.

            “No,” said Castiel.

            “So that’s good news?” said Dean hesitantly.

            “I’m afraid not,” said Castiel. Dean, (Y/N), and Sam had identical looks of confusion. “Physically, he’s perfectly healthy.”

            “Then what?” said Dean.

            “It’s his soul,” said Castiel.

            “His soul?” said (Y/N), realizing how significant that simple statement was.

            “It’s gone,” said Castiel.

            They all stared in horror at Sam, who looked back with equal shock. He was soulless.

            Dean dragged a hand down his face and let out a breathy laugh of near-hysteria. “Um…One more time. Like I’m five. What do you mean he’s got no—”

            “When Sam was resurrected, it was without his soul,” said Castiel.

            “So it’s still…” in Hell with Lucifer. (Y/N) swallowed. His poor soul.

            “Unfortunately, I would assume so,” said Castiel.

            “So is he even still Sam?” said Dean.

            “Well, you pose an interesting philosophical question,” said Castiel.

            “Then get it back,” bit out Dean.

            “I can’t,” said Castiel.

            “Well, you pulled me out,” said Dean.

            “It took several angels to rescue you,” said Castiel. “And you weren’t as well-guarded. Sam’s soul is in Lucifer’s cage. There’s a difference. It’s not possible.”

            “There’s gotta be a way,” said Dean.

            “If a soul can get separated from a body and the body was brought up, why can’t we reach back for the soul?” said (Y/N).

            “It takes power we do not have,” said Castiel.

            “Untie me?” said Sam.

            “No,” said Dean sharply.

            Sam sighed. “Listen, I’m not gonna—”

            “How are we supposed to let you out of this room?” said Dean.

            “Dean, I’m not some psycho,” said Sam. “I didn’t want you to get hurt. I was just trying to stop the vamps.” He sighed again, but (Y/N) saw exasperation in the motion. “I’m sorry. It won’t ever happen again. Please let me go.”

            “Sam, no offense, but you can’t say you won’t do it again with no soul and no ability to feel when something’s wrong. Morally,” said (Y/N).

            Sam groaned. “What are you gonna do, keep me locked?”

            “You say that like it’s bad,” said Dean. He wasn’t opposed.

            “Okay, fine. Look, I get it. I get it. I was wrong,” said Sam. “I’m telling you, I’m trying to get right.” He looked at (Y/N) and Dean imploringly. “It’s still me.”

            “Is it?” said Dean.

            “Yes. So just let me go,” said Sam.

            “No way in Hell,” said Dean.

            Sam sighed. “I didn’t want it to come to this.” He stood, having already undone the rope on his own. Dean stared, and (Y/N) grimaced. “You’re not gonna hold me. Not here, not in a panic room, not anywhere. You’re stuck with the soulless guy, so you might as well work with me. Let’s fix this.”

            Dean gritted his teeth. “I’m going to be watching every move you make,” he warned. “You hurt anyone, you put (Y/N) in danger like you did me…you’re gonna get locked up one way or another.”

            (Y/N) glanced at Sam warily, awaiting his reaction.

            “Fine,” said Sam. “Sounds about right to me.”

            Dean swallowed and turned away. “Cas, clean him up.”

            Castiel touched Sam’s forehead, and he flinched as he was healed.

            “If we’re gonna figure out what happened, we need to find who yanked you out,” said Dean, focusing on this as a case. It was the easiest way to cope. “You say you don’t know.”

            “No idea,” said Sam, shaking his head.

            “Then we start a list,” said Dean. “It’s hard to spring someone out, so who’s got that kind of muscle?”

            “I don’t know,” said Castiel. “You have no memory of your resurrection?”

            “I woke up in a field. That’s all I got,” said Sam.

            “No clues? None?” said Castiel.

            Sam frowned. “I’ve got one,” he realized. “I’m not the only one who got brought back.”

            (Y/N) grimaced. More hunters to hide around.

l

            The impala rolled into the Campbell Compound (that’s how (Y/N) described it) as hunters let it in. Slowly, they drove to the building where Samuel led the hunters, and they headed in. Inside, multiple hunters were eating, chatting, or working on weapons. (Y/N) kept close to Dean as they went through.

            “Gramps throws a barbeque and throws us off the e-vite list?” said Dean.

            “Sam,” said Christian, walking up. He and Sam clapped each other on the shoulder. “Dean.” He nodded. “(Y/N).” He did nothing.

            “Hello, Newman. Where’s the man?” said Dean, not really caring about pleasantries.

            Christian frowned but gestured to the back of the room, so the Winchesters headed past. Dean opened the door to Samuel’s office without knocking, and the man looked up.

            “Come right on in,” he grumbled at the rudeness.

            “Need to ask you a few questions,” said Dean, cutting to the point while (Y/N) closed the office door.

            “What’s wrong?” said Samuel.

            “The day you got back, what happened?” said Dean.

            “We’ve been over this,” said Samuel.

            “Well, recap it for our wingman,” said Dean. He looked over Samuel’s shoulder, and Samuel turned to find Castiel standing there.

            “This Castiel?” asked Samuel.

            Castiel nodded.

            “You’re scrawnier than I pictured,” said Samuel.

            (Y/N) nearly rolled their eyes. Hunters liked to be big and strong against everything for no reason (not that they were guilty of that, not at all. Right).

            “This is a vessel,” said Castiel. “My true form is the size of your Chrysler building.”

            “Alright, alright, alright, quit bragging,” said Dean. He refocused on Samuel. “So you were dead, and—?”

            “And, pow, I was on Elton Ridge. Don’t know how, don’t know why,” said Samuel. “I got nothing to hide, guys.”

            “You mind if Cas here double-checks?” said Dean.

            Samuel sighed, nodded, and let Castiel approach. He was shocked when Castiel his hand into his chest and felt for a soul. He let out a shout of pain and surprise. Castiel drew back, and Samuel groaned.

            The office door banged open, and Christian entered, gun held high.

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Sam, and Dean pushed (Y/N) behind him. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

            “What the hell?” said Christian.

            “Cavity search,” said Dean.

            “I’m fine,” said Samuel through deep breaths. “Just give us a minute.”

            “But—”

            “Just give us a minute,” repeated Samuel, and Christian had to retreat. “What the hell was that about?”

            “His soul is intact,” reported Castiel.

            “What?” said Samuel, confused. “Of course I have—” He paused as people’s eyes flicked to Sam. “What’s going on, Sam?”

            “Whatever dragged me out left a piece behind,” summarized Sam, which made it seem far less significant than it truly was.

            Samuel sighed and hung his head.

            “Did you know?” said Dean warily.

            “No, but I—I knew it was something,” admitted Samuel. “You’re a hell of a hunter, Sam…but the truth is, sometimes you scare me.” He cleared his throat. “So, what’s the deal here? How do we get his soul back?”

            “We don’t know yet,” said Dean. “But we have to.”

            “I’m here to help, of course,” said Samuel. “What leads you working?”

            “Dead ends and you,” said Sam.

            “Well, then, we’ll just have to dig,” said Samuel.

            “Sam, Dean, (Y/N),” said Castiel. He turned from the window. “I have to get back.”

            “You’re leaving?” said Dean.

            “I am in the middle of a civil war,” said Castiel.

            “Tear the attic up, find something to help,” said Dean.

            “Of course. Your problems always come first,” said Castiel, and (Y/N) grimaced.

            “Be safe, Castiel,” said (Y/N). They knew how much he was risking his life, and Castiel was their friend. He looked at them, and something passed through his gaze.

            He nodded. “Thank you.” He disappeared.

            “Would have asked him to stick around for a beer,” said Samuel.

            Dean almost sighed but pivoted. “What’s with the book club outside?”

            “Putting together a hunt,” said Samuel.

            “One hunt?” said (Y/N). “With that many people?”

            “You found him, didn’t you?” said Sam.

            “Who?” said Dean.

            “He’s got a lead on the Alpha Vamp,” said Sam.

            “Do you?” said Dean.

            “Maybe,” said Samuel. (Y/N) narrowed their eyes, and Sam and Dean stared at him. “Yeah.”

            “How’d you track him down?” asked Dean.

            “We’re good,” said Samuel.

            “That’s all I get?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) tilted their head. Samuel was always strangely vague, but this was worse than usual.

            “When’s the run?” asked Sam.

            “Dawn,” said Samuel.

            “And you didn’t call me? Why?” said Sam indignantly.

            Dean raised his chin. “Because of me. You don’t trust me, do you? Especially when it comes to big game.”

            (Y/N) was fairly certain they were included in that criteria. That was fine. The feeling was mutual. Samuel rubbed them the wrong way.

            “Not true,” said Samuel, and (Y/N) knew he was lying through his teeth.

            “Okay. Well, then we’re in,” said Dean.

            (Y/N) glanced at him and shifted. They were fine with hunting “big game”—that didn’t frighten them—but being stuck around so many hunters with their urges wasn’t a good combination.

            Samuel faltered. “No offense, but—”

            “You don’t trust me?” said Dean.

            (Y/N) watched Samuel’s expression pause. “No,” he said. “I just don’t know you. Not like I know Sam.”

            “Alright,” said Dean. “You call the plays, one hundred percent. I’m here to listen.” He nudged (Y/N). “Right, (Y/N)?”

            “Right.” They lied through their teeth. They didn’t want to listen to a thing that Samuel said.

            “Since when?” scoffed Samuel slightly.

            “Big Daddy Bloodsucker?” said Dean. “I ain’t gonna miss that.”

            Samuel looked at (Y/N), and they put on a smile. “I’m a Winchester. I’m here to hunt.”

            “But this is your deal, okay?” said Dean. “We get it. We’ll follow your lead. We trust you.”

            (Y/N) certainly didn’t.