Guess Who Just Deleted The Entire Masterlist For Supernatural Hunting Living And Love. Yep My Tired Ass

After The Fire

Evan 'Buck' Buckley X Reader

4.1k word count

Summary You and Buck are both complete done with your respective partners. Eddie is the middle man.

Authors Note: Sorry for disappearing. 2025 has been the worst year for me. I worked my own break up into this story. I wish I had a Buck to help me. Oh well enjoy!

After a long day on tour, all you wanted was to come home and lay in the bath so long you turn into the world’s largest prune. You’d been daydreaming about lavender bubbles and scalding water since lunch. You smelt strongly of smoke and sweat, and your spine had officially decided to disown you.

But the second you opened the door to your apartment, reality slapped you in the face.

The first thing that hit you was the smell—Goose’s litter box, untouched. Again. Then came the sight: dirty dishes piled so high in the sink it was a game of Jenga waiting to collapse. Laundry—your laundry—scattered across the floor like it had exploded out of the hamper. And in the middle of it all, your boyfriend, Kyle, slumped on the couch in the same hoodie he’d been wearing three days ago.

Goose waddled toward you with an indignant meow, brushing his hefty body against your legs. The poor thing looked like he’d spent the entire day plotting your murder. You gave him a quick scratch behind the ears, noting how empty his food bowl was. Again.

Before you could even say hello, Kyle piped up without taking his eyes off his phone.

“Finally. I’m starving. What took you so long? Can you make that lasagna you did last week?”

You blinked. “What?”

He sighed, as if you were the inconvenience here. “I’ve been waiting for you. There's nothing to eat. You said you’d grab groceries yesterday.”

“I said I’d be working until tonight,” you said flatly, slipping off your jacket and dropping your keys into the dish by the door. “You’ve been here all day.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but I didn’t know what to get. Besides, you always cook it better.”

Your mouth opened, then closed. You looked around at the disaster zone of your home—the dishes, the laundry, the cat fur rolling across the floor like tumbleweeds. Goose let out another mournful cry, and you knelt to fill his bowl while Kyle continued scrolling on his phone like he hadn't just dropped a match into a puddle of gasoline.

That bath you’d been dreaming of? Gone. Replaced by the sharp heat of frustration rising in your chest.

“I’ve been working nonstop for two weeks, Kyle,” you said slowly, carefully, like your words were made of glass. “And I come home to this. Again.”

He looked up, clearly annoyed now. “You don’t have to make it a big deal. I’ve been relaxing. You always freak out over little stuff.”

You stared at him, and something inside you snapped—quietly, neatly, with the same finality as a door clicking shut.

“You need to leave.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, standing up and grabbing your bag. “I’m done. You want someone to clean up after you, feed you, do your laundry—get a maid. Or better yet, grow the hell up. I’m not your mother. And I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”

“You’re overreacting,” he said, rising from the couch, arms spread wide. “You’re seriously breaking up with me over dinner?”

“No,” you said. “I’m breaking up with you because I’m tired. Tired of being the only one trying. Tired of coming home to a boyfriend who thinks my time and energy are his to drain. Pack your stuff. Be gone before I get back.”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, gave Goose another quick pat, and walked out the door—no bath, no prune time, just clean air and the kind of peace that comes from finally choosing yourself.

…

Bucks P.O.V

Buck’s shoulders sagged as he stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway, the weight of another brutal shift hanging heavy in every bone. Smoke, sweat, and exhaustion clung to him like second skin. All he wanted was a hot shower, a cold drink, and maybe five hours of uninterrupted sleep if the universe felt like cutting him a break tonight.

He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside.

The lights were on.

That was his first red flag.

The second came when he spotted her—Maya—sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed, a full plate of food in front of her, untouched and long since gone cold.

Crap.

“Hey,” he said cautiously, shutting the door behind him. “Didn’t know you were coming over tonight.”

“Obviously,” she snapped, icy gaze locked on him. “You’re late. Again.”

He dropped his gear bag by the door, instinctively checking to make sure he hadn’t tracked ash or soot onto the floor. “We had a three-alarm warehouse fire. I texted you.”

“Oh, right,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. “The firefighter excuse. Again. You always have a reason, Buck. You’re always late, always too tired, always somewhere else. You never think about me. Or us. Or our future.”

He blinked, caught off guard. “Maya, we’ve talked about this. You knew what I did when we started dating. You said you respected it. You said you understood.”

“Well maybe I thought I could handle it,” she snapped, standing now. “But I’m sick of being second place to your job. What kind of future are we supposed to have if I’m always sitting here waiting for you to show up?”

He ran a hand over his face, grit scratching under his fingers. “It’s not like I’m out at bars or cheating on you. I’m saving lives. That’s my job. It’s always been my job. And yeah, sometimes that means being late. I can’t just walk out of a burning building because you made chicken parm.”

“You always do this,” she spat, voice rising now. “Turn it around on me like I’m being unreasonable.”

“Because you are,” he said, his own frustration bubbling up now. “You’re throwing a tantrum because dinner got cold. Meanwhile, I’m out there dragging people out of collapsed buildings, Maya. I don’t get to clock out when it’s convenient.”

She stepped closer, jabbing a finger at his chest. “Then quit. Quit the job. If you cared about me, you would.”

And that was it.

Something snapped.

He took a step back, staring at her like he didn’t even recognize the woman in front of him.

“You want me to what?” he said, low and sharp. “You want me to give up the thing I’ve dedicated my whole damn life to—because your dinner got cold?”

“No,” she said, but he didn’t stop.

“I pay the rent on this apartment. I pay your bills. Your phone, your car insurance, the shopping sprees, your nails, your hair—everything. I bust my ass every day so you can live like you do, and the second I’m late, you’re ready to throw a fit like a spoiled kid who didn’t get dessert?”

“Buck—”

“No. I’m done. If this is how you act when you don’t get your way, then I don’t want to be the guy you rely on anymore. Get your stuff, Maya. I want you out.”

She stood there in stunned silence, mouth parted like she had something to say but no words to fill the space. He didn’t wait for a response. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and walked back out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He didn’t know where he was going. He just knew anywhere was better than here.

…

Eddies P.O.V

Eddie fumbled with his keys, eyelids heavy and muscles aching as he finally made it to his apartment door. The shift had been brutal—hot, chaotic, and long—and for once, he didn’t have to go home and slip right into Dad mode. Chris was spending the night at his abuela’s, and that meant one very rare, very sacred thing: peace.

He stepped inside, locked the door, and headed straight to the shower. Ten minutes under scalding water worked miracles. He emerged in clean sweats, reheated some leftover enchiladas, grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, and collapsed onto the couch like a man finally free.

He picked up his fork, raised it toward his mouth—and that’s when the knock came.

He froze. Chewed air.

With a heavy sigh, he set down the fork, got up, and opened the door.

There she was—one of his best friends, still in her jacket, eyes sharp and stormy. Before he could say anything, she brushed past him and made a direct line for his fridge.

“Uh… sure, come in,” Eddie muttered, mostly to himself, as she popped open a beer like she owned the place.

He barely had time to process her arrival before another knock came. He turned, still halfway to asking her what the hell was going on and opened the door again.

Buck.

Eddie stared.

“Hey,” Buck said, looking sheepish and slightly windblown. “Mind if I—?”

Eddie stepped aside with a sigh, waving him in.

“Thanks, man.” Buck clapped his shoulder in passing, heading straight for the kitchen like this was all part of the plan.

Eddie shut the door, turned slowly, and finally followed them into the kitchen, where the two stood—backs against the counter, bags dropped nearby, bottles in hand—like they'd claimed the place as neutral territory in some unseen war.

He stared at them for a beat. “Okay. Why are you both standing in my kitchen, drinking my beer?”

They exchanged a look and, like it was rehearsed, both said at the same time:

“I broke up with my boyfriend.” “I broke up with my girlfriend.”

Eddie blinked. “Seriously?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “One at a time. You first.” He nodded at her.

She sighed, the fight draining out of her a little now that she wasn’t alone. “I walked in the door and all I wanted was a bath and five minutes to myself. Instead, he starts whining about how he’s starving and wants a big dinner. Meanwhile, the place is trashed, Goose hadn’t been fed, the litter box was disgusting—and he just sat there all day doing nothing. Again. Like I’m supposed to come home from work and play housekeeper-slash-chef for a grown man.”

Buck let out a low whistle.

She took a long swig of her beer. “I told him to pack his stuff and get out.”

Eddie nodded slowly, impressed. “Good for you. You?” He turned to look at Buck.

“She could’ve done better from the start,” Buck muttered. “That guy was a walking red flag with a superiority complex. I never liked him.”

Eddie turned to him. “That’s not what I meant, Buck.”

Buck blinked. “What?”

“I meant your breakup. Not hers. Why did you break up with your girlfriend?”

Buck shifted his weight. “Right, yeah—okay. So, I get home, she’s sitting there with this whole meal set up, cold as hell, waiting to ambush me. Starts going off about how I’m late all the time, how I don’t care about her or our future. I try to explain—again—that I can’t control fires, or emergencies, or the clock.”

He took a swig. “She starts screaming, like actual screaming, demanding I quit being a firefighter if I care about her. Like, she really said that. ‘Quit your job.’”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”

“Dead serious. So I lost it. Told her I’m not her sugar daddy or her emotional support firefighter. I pay her bills, her shopping, her nails—everything—and I’m done. Told her to get out.”

Silence settled for a second.

Then Eddie sighed and walked past them both, grabbing a third beer from the fridge. “I was this close to a quiet night,” he muttered, holding his fingers an inch apart.

She gave him a sheepish look. “Sorry, Eddie.”

Buck raised his beer. “We brought drama, but at least we didn’t come empty-handed.”

Eddie just rolled his eyes, dropped into a chair, and motioned between them. “You two are lucky I like you. But if either of you tries to use my shower, I’m tossing you out the window.”

…

Your P.O.V

Eddie had grumbled the whole night, but he never kicked them out.

After a shared late dinner of lukewarm enchiladas and three more beers each, the three of them ended up sprawled across his living room—Buck face-first on the carpet, you curled up on one end of the couch, and Eddie passed out in the recliner with the remote still in his hand. It wasn’t comfortable. It wasn’t quiet. But it was safe. And after the emotional dumpster fire that was the night before, that was more than enough.

The next morning, after caffeine and mutual groans of “never again,” you and Buck left together, splitting off to check your own places. Both were blessedly empty. No texts. No calls. Just space.

You should’ve felt lonely.

But you didn’t. Because over the next few days… then the next week… then the one after that—Buck kept showing up.

Sometimes with coffee. Sometimes with food. Sometimes with Goose’s favorite treats. A few times with nothing but a tired face and a, “Hey, is it okay if I hang here for a bit?”

He started crashing on the couch. Then staying for dinner. Then leaving a spare toothbrush in your bathroom. Then a few shirts in your drawer. Then Goose started sleeping on his chest instead of yours.

You didn’t question it at first. You were just glad to have someone who saw you at the end of a shift, someone who talked to Goose like he was royalty and didn’t expect you to cook unless you felt like it. Buck washed dishes without being asked. He vacuumed. He once left and came back with a new litter box because, quote, “Goose deserves a throne.”

Eventually, though, you noticed the way he lingered.

He never seemed in a rush to go back to his apartment. Never mentioned it, really. He'd get quiet if you asked what he’d been up to there. And one night, when you found him still sitting in your kitchen at 1 a.m. nursing a beer, eyes glassy with the kind of tired he rarely showed, you finally pressed him.

“Buck?” you asked softly, standing in the doorway. “You good?”

He blinked, pulled back from wherever his mind had wandered. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

You stepped into the kitchen, opened the fridge more for something to do than anything else. “You’ve been here a lot.”

“I can go,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no,” you interrupted, grabbing your own drink. “That’s not what I meant. I like having you here.”

He smiled at that—small, unsure.

“But,” you added gently, leaning on the counter across from him, “you’ve basically been living here. What’s going on, Buck?”

He hesitated. Twisted the bottle cap between his fingers. “I’m not… used to being alone. I thought I’d be fine after Maya left, you know? Like, good riddance and all that. But that apartment feels... empty. Cold. Like I walk in and the walls echo, and suddenly everything’s quiet in a way that makes my skin crawl.”

You watched him for a second, your heart softening.

Then you said, “Well… you don’t have to be alone. Not if being here helps. You can move in.”

His eyes snapped up to meet yours. “Wait—are you serious?”

You smiled. “I’ve already lost half my fridge space to your energy drinks and Goose likes you more than me. Might as well make it official.”

He laughed, that big, boyish sound that made something warm bloom in your chest.

“You sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we already know you’re good at cleaning and Goose has claimed your lap as property. Consider this your unofficial roommate interview. You passed.”

He looked at you like you’d just handed him something he didn’t know he needed. And maybe, in a way, you had.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Really.”

You clinked your drink to his. “Welcome home, Buck.”

…

The first few days felt like a weird kind of vacation.

Buck brought over the rest of his stuff in a series of chaotic trips, including (but not limited to): two duffel bags, an entire crate of protein powder, at least six fire department t-shirts you were pretty sure he stole from other people, and a worn-out hoodie you immediately claimed as yours.

Goose sat in the middle of the living room and watched the entire process like he was supervising the transition. He didn’t complain, and that was saying something—Goose hated everyone.

By the end of the week, your apartment felt... different. Lived in, but not in a messy, suffocating way like before. It was the kind of lived in where the coffee was already brewed when you woke up, and someone left a note by the door that said "Kick ass today." Buck had that rare kind of presence that made everything feel just a little lighter.

You’d always gotten along well—working together created a kind of shorthand between you—but something about having him in your space all the time cracked things open a little wider.

Like how you noticed the way he always turned toward you when you laughed. Or how he paused a movie to ask what you thought would happen next because he “likes hearing your theories.” Or how he always cooked enough for two now, even if you said you weren’t hungry.

But it wasn’t all easy.

There were the little things, too. Like the way he left his wet towel on the floor even though the hamper was right there. Or how he used all the hot water on long showers because “thinking is a full-body experience.” One night, he accidentally used your fancy shampoo and tried to play it off like he didn’t, even though he smelled like vanilla and chamomile for two days.

You bickered sometimes—snapped over dishes or laundry or who forgot to buy more coffee filters. But somehow, it always ended in laughter. Or one of you giving the other a peace offering in the form of snacks.

The shift was slow, creeping in like sunlight through curtains you forgot to close.

It was the comfort of hearing him hum off-key while making pancakes. The way he knew exactly how you liked your tea, or that you needed silence for the first thirty minutes after a shift. It was the way he looked at you sometimes—soft, unguarded, like you were a home he hadn’t known he was missing.

One night, after a long shift that had left you both emotionally wrecked, you came home and didn’t say a word. Just sank into the couch, kicked off your boots, and stared at the wall.

Buck wordlessly brought you a blanket. Sat beside you without crowding. Waited.

After a while, you leaned your head on his shoulder.

“You ever feel like the job just... hollows you out some days?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said, quiet. “But being here? With you? It fills the rest of me back up.”

You didn’t respond. Just sat there, heart stuttering like maybe it had finally caught on to something the rest of you hadn’t.

You weren’t sure what this was—roommates, best friends, something else—but for the first time in a long time, it felt like you weren’t just surviving. You were healing.

Together.

…

The heater had gone out.

Of course it had—on the first truly cold night of the season. You were both bundled on the couch, buried under every blanket the apartment owned. Buck had even added one of his flannel shirts to Goose’s bed, who seemed personally offended by the drop in temperature and took it out on the both of you by yelling dramatically from his spot atop the radiator.

Buck was scrolling on his phone, one arm lazily draped around your shoulder. You’d spent the past hour wedged against him, and by now it felt so natural you almost forgot you weren’t alone on the couch.

Almost.

“You know,” he murmured suddenly, voice low and a little hoarse, “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you teased, nudging him gently with your elbow.

He didn’t laugh. Just turned his head slightly, watching you. “About us.”

That made your stomach tighten—just a bit. Not in panic. Not quite. But in anticipation.

You glanced up. “What about us?”

Buck’s eyes searched your face, like he was checking if he was about to say too much.

“I didn’t plan this,” he admitted. “Didn’t plan to move in. Didn’t plan to get... attached.”

The word landed heavy between you, but not unpleasantly. It didn’t feel like a warning. It felt like an opening.

You exhaled slowly, your hand resting where his hoodie bunched near your ribs. “But you are?”

He gave a small smile—just one side of his mouth. “Yeah. I think I was before I ever moved in.”

Your heart thumped once, hard. Then again.

The blankets shifted as you turned more toward him, the soft brush of knees and hands and something else hanging in the air like static.

“I care about you,” he said, quiet but sure. “Not just in the roommate, crash-on-your-couch, eat-your-snacks kind of way. I think you know that.”

You did. You’d felt it in every small thing—every look, every laugh, every night he found his way back to you. You just hadn’t let yourself admit it.

Until now.

“I think I’ve known it since you walked into Eddie’s kitchen with a beer like you lived there,” you murmured. “And honestly? I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.”

Buck’s hand found yours beneath the blankets, fingers curling gently.

“We can take it slow,” he said, as if reading your mind. “I just… needed you to know. I’m here. I’m all in.”

You didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him—soft, tentative, but no less certain than anything he’d just said. His lips were warm against yours, familiar in a way that made your chest ache.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting for it.

When you finally pulled away, you didn’t move far. Just rested your forehead against his, smiling when Goose meowed loudly from across the room.

“We’ll take it slow,” you whispered. “But you’re not getting out of paying half the rent.”

Buck grinned, pulling you closer. “Deal.”

…

They didn’t mean for Eddie to find out.

Not like this, anyway.

It started innocently enough—just the three of you catching up after a hellish double shift. The station had been chaos, the call-outs nonstop, and by the time the sun dipped below the horizon, you were all running on fumes and pure stubbornness.

So naturally, someone suggested beer and burgers. You didn’t say no. Buck didn’t either.

Now, you were all gathered around Eddie’s kitchen island, fries in one hand, beer in the other, talking over one another like usual. Goose had even come along for the ride and was currently sleeping under Eddie’s table like it was his second home.

Which, to be fair… it kind of was.

Everything was normal—until Buck did it.

You didn’t notice at first. You were mid-bite, something snarky on your tongue, when he casually reached over and brushed his fingers along your wrist. Just a light touch. A reflex.

But Eddie noticed.

Because of course he did.

He went completely still. Not a blink. Not a sound. Just slowly turned his head and looked at you both, brows raised in that signature really? expression that spoke volumes without him having to say a damn thing.

Buck froze, halfway through a sip of beer. “What?” he asked innocently, though he was definitely already blushing.

Eddie narrowed his eyes. “No. Don’t ‘what’ me.”

You swallowed your bite with a bit more force than necessary. “Okay, so—maybe something’s… happening.”

Eddie didn’t break eye contact. “Happening.”

Buck shifted in his seat. “It’s new.”

“Clearly not that new if he’s doing the wrist thing,” Eddie replied, pointing at Buck with a fry.

You looked at Buck. Buck looked at you. Then back at Eddie.

“So you’re not… mad?” you asked, cautious.

Eddie leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely. “Why would I be mad?”

Buck blinked. “I don’t know. Because we didn’t tell you?”

Eddie snorted. “I’m not your dad, Buck.”

“Feels like it sometimes,” Buck muttered.

Eddie just rolled his eyes and took a drink, then looked between the two of you again—this time, a little softer.

“I figured it was coming eventually,” he said. “You’ve been orbiting each other for months. Was just waiting to see who’d trip first.”

You gave Buck a sideways glance. “It was him.”

“Hey!”

Eddie laughed, for real this time. “As long as you’re good to each other, I don’t care. Just—” He paused, raising a hand. “No PDA in front of me. I already have a teenager. I don’t need you two acting like hormonal high schoolers in my living room.”

Buck held up both hands. “Noted.”

You grinned. “I make no promises.”

Eddie groaned. “God help me.”

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Master list

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

Part 16

Part 17

Part 18

Part 19

Part 20 Finale

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Ladies and Gentlemen my firefighter, Captain Bobby obsessed 4 year old 😆 #parentingwinorfail #911onabc #bobbynash911 #fyp

My little captain Bobby fan.

The time has come!

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love Part 20 Finale

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

4.7k word count

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers

warnings none

Authors Note: We've reached the end!

Original / Previous Chapter

The days blurred together in a haze of crying—sometimes the babies, sometimes her. Most of the time, it was both.

Y/N dragged herself from one moment to the next, barely hanging on, snapping at anyone who dared try to help. She didn’t care that everyone meant well. Didn’t care that Theresa gently offered to take one of the girls so she could rest, or that Sam would cook and leave meals outside her door, uneaten and cold. She didn’t want help. She didn’t want them.

She wanted Dean.

Her girls—Mary and Jody—deserved to know him. Deserved his rough voice humming lullabies, his arms rocking them to sleep, his wide grin when one of them smiled for the first time. But he was gone. And pretending otherwise only made the ache worse.

She kept the nursery pristine, almost obsessively so. Every bottle in its place, every onesie folded just right. The twins were fed, changed, held, and loved. But not once did she hand them over to anyone else, even when her hands trembled from exhaustion. They were all she had left of Dean, and she wouldn’t let them go.

Mornings were the worst. She would wake with one or both babies curled against her, and for a split second, she’d roll over expecting to find Dean beside her. And every time, that moment of Jody shattered like glass.

She’d sit up, hold the girls tighter, and pretend she hadn’t cried again.

It was sometime after midnight when the knock came. Not loud. Just a soft, almost hesitant tap at the door.

Y/N didn’t answer.

She was on the floor beside the crib, one arm resting against it, cradling Mary to her chest while Jody slept in the bassinet behind her. Her body throbbed with fatigue, her shoulders tight from days of tension, but nothing compared to the ache in her chest. The empty space beside her—where Dean should have been—felt unbearable.

Another knock. Then, silence.

“Y/N,” came Castiel’s voice—quiet, careful.

She shut her eyes, jaw tightening.

“Go away.”

But the door opened anyway. Of course it did. Angels didn’t need permission.

Castiel stepped inside, his presence soft but undeniable. He moved slowly into the dim room, scanning the shadows until his gaze landed on her. She didn’t bother to look up.

“You haven’t left this room in four days,” he said.

“I’m aware.”

“You’re not eating. You’re barely sleeping. The girls—”

“What I need is Dean,” she cut him off, sharply. “Not you. Not a report on how I’m doing. Not this constant hovering.”

Castiel didn’t move. “Dean is gone.”

She turned her head toward him, her eyes blazing despite the exhaustion carved into her face.

“And you can just go see him, can’t you?” she said, voice trembling with restrained fury. “You can just pop into Heaven like it’s nothing. Visit him. Talk to him. While I’m stuck here—trapped—with two babies and no answers.”

Castiel’s expression faltered.

“Don’t deny it. Don’t lie to me,” she pressed, her voice cracking. “I know what you are. I know what you can do. And yet you come here with your sympathy like that’s supposed to make it better.”

“I didn’t go to see him,” Castiel said quietly. “Not once. Because I knew it would be unfair to you.”

Y/N laughed bitterly under her breath, tears welling. “Unfair to me? He’s your friend too, Cas. Don’t pretend it doesn’t eat you alive. But at least you can. You could just walk through those gates and see his face again. Hear his voice. I would give everything for that. Do you even realize what that kind of power means to someone like me?”

Castiel looked down, then slowly crossed the room. He didn’t touch her—he never did without permission—but he knelt beside her, his tone solemn.

“I hear him in Heaven,” he admitted. “Not his voice. Not like before. But the peace? The light? It’s stronger when a soul like his is there. I feel it. It radiates outward.”

Her face crumpled. “Then tell me he’s okay. Please, just—tell me he’s happy.”

Castiel’s eyes softened. “He is. He is more at peace than I have ever seen him. But he misses you. He misses you and the girls. That pain lingers, even in a perfect place.”

A sob escaped before she could stop it. Mary stirred, whimpering, and Y/N instinctively hushed her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I’m drowning down here,” she whispered. “I can’t do this without him.”

“You are doing it,” Castiel said gently. “And not alone.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter how many people are around. None of them are him.”

“No,” he agreed. “But they love you. And so did he. So does he. That love hasn’t left you, Y/N. It’s in every breath your daughters take.”

She didn’t respond for a long time. Just sat there, rocking Mary slightly, the pain raw and exposed between them.

“Stay,” she said finally. “Just for a while. Not because I need help. Just… don’t go.”

“I won’t,” Castiel replied.

And for the first time since Dean died, Y/N let someone stay.

The descent was gradual—so slow that at first, no one noticed.

Y/N stopped sleeping entirely. She only ate enough to keep up her strength for the twins. And when they slept, she didn't. Instead, she read. She read until her eyes burned and her fingers trembled from turning pages.

Every book in the Men of Letters library on angels, resurrection, lore from apocryphal texts, fragments from Heaven’s war, rare Nephilim accounts—she devoured it all. A growing storm of theories and possibilities formed in her mind, fraying at the edges with every passing day.

She stopped seeing Sam and Theresa, stopped letting them into her room. She only emerged to feed the girls, bathe them, rock them. And then she disappeared again, always clutching another volume.

The girls were thriving, healthy and strong—but their mother was unraveling.

Then came the night Castiel appeared again.

He had felt it—the pulse of her energy across the bunker like a beacon, unrefined and full of intent. He found her standing in the war room, her hair unbrushed, circles under her eyes, books scattered across the table in a chaos that had once been meticulously organized.

"You knew," she said as he stepped closer. Her voice was low and brittle, like a fraying wire stretched too tight. "All this time, you knew. You can bring him back."

Cas stiffened. “Y/N—”

“Don’t lie to me!” she shouted, slamming a book down. “I’ve read it all. The Enochian rites. The resurrection rituals. The divine exceptions made during the Fall. Even the lore on Nephilim interference. Don’t you dare stand there and pretend it’s impossible.”

He moved slowly toward her, hands at his sides, calm and cautious. “There are rules.”

“You’re an angel,” she spat. “You break rules. That’s what you do. You raised Dean before, didn’t you? You pulled him from Hell.”

“That was Heaven’s will,” Castiel replied. “I was ordered to. Now? There is no order. No divine instruction. I cannot act on emotion alone.”

“Then lie,” she whispered. “Lie to them. Trick the Host. Steal him out if you have to. You’ve done worse, Cas. You’ve done so much worse for less.”

He stepped closer, voice softening. “You don’t understand what it would cost.”

“I don’t care,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’d give anything. I’d die right here, right now, if it meant he could hold his daughters.”

Castiel’s face twisted in quiet agony. “Y/N—”

“You get to see him,” she snapped. “You walk in and out of Heaven like it’s a hallway. You get to know he’s safe. You get to feel his peace. And me? I get nothing. I get to hear his voice in my dreams and wake up with my arms empty.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Y/N’s breath came in hard, shallow gasps. She clutched the edge of the war table like it was the only thing holding her up. Her mind raced with every word she’d read, every ritual that might be twisted into a loophole.

“You owe me,” she said. “You owe him. Bring him back, Cas.”

Castiel’s eyes shimmered, but he didn’t speak.

“I swear to you,” she said, voice cracking, “I’ll find another way. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself. I don’t care if I have to summon every goddamned archangel in existence. I’m not raising them alone. I won’t.”

The twins cried from down the hall.

Castiel turned his head, just slightly—toward the sound, toward the reminder of what Dean left behind.

“I will not desecrate his peace,” he said quietly. “Not even for you.”

Y/N stared at him, her face crumpling, fury collapsing into anguish.

“Then leave,” she whispered.

He did.

And she stood in the center of the war room, books scattered like broken promises around her feet, and let herself fall apart.

…

Castiel entered Heaven not with ceremony, but with solemn weight.

He stepped through the veil in silence, the hum of celestial energy thrumming faintly in the distance. Heaven had changed since Jack's ascension. The cold bureaucracy of the old Host was gone, replaced by something softer—more open, more human.

But even still, some doors were not meant to be opened lightly.

Castiel stood in the Garden—Heaven’s heart, where souls wandered freely beneath ever-blooming trees and gentle sunlight. Everything here was serene. Peaceful.

Except for him.

Jack was already waiting. He sat barefoot in the grass beneath an arching willow, sunlight dancing on his skin. He looked young, impossibly young for someone bearing the mantle of God. But his eyes—his eyes held eternity.

“I knew you’d come,” Jack said quietly, not looking up. “You’ve been wrestling with the question since the moment Dean died.”

Castiel didn’t speak right away. His trench coat barely stirred in the celestial breeze. He watched Jack closely, searching his face for a trace of the boy he once knew—the child he raised, protected, mourned.

“Y/N is falling apart,” Castiel said at last.

Jack nodded, fingers idly brushing the petals of a flower near his knee. “She’s grieving. And she’s not alone in that.”

“She’s beyond grief now. She’s... desperate.” Cas took a slow step forward. “She’s reading resurrection rites, apocryphal scrolls. She’s going to burn herself out trying to find a way. She thinks I’m holding back. And maybe I am.”

Jack’s gaze met his then—gentle, but immeasurably ancient. “Are you asking me for permission? Or for power?”

Castiel swallowed. “Both.”

Silence hung between them, thick and sacred.

“I could bring Dean back,” Jack said, voice steady. “With a word, I could restore his body. His soul. His memories. He could walk back into that bunker like nothing ever happened.”

Cas felt a flicker of hope, painful and sharp.

“But,” Jack continued, “there is a balance. Dean died fulfilling his purpose. He died at peace, surrounded by love. To bring him back would mean unraveling that final thread.”

“He didn’t get to meet his daughters,” Cas said. “He didn’t get to live the life he earned. That wasn’t peace—it was unfinished.”

Jack looked away again, toward a distant hill where a soul wandered alone, humming some long-forgotten tune.

“Sometimes peace isn’t a full story,” Jack said. “It’s a quiet ending. And sometimes love means letting go.”

Castiel stepped forward, his voice quieter now. “She’s drowning, Jack. The girls—Dean’s daughters—will grow up without knowing him. If there is a way, if there’s even a chance... I have to ask. What would it take?”

Jack was silent for a long time. The wind whispered through the Garden, and for a moment, everything was still.

Jack looked up at him again. “It would take sacrifice. A life for a life. Or something greater. Dean’s return would echo across realms—it would upset the natural order, fracture the peace of countless souls. He would not come back without cost.”

Castiel stood still, the quiet words settling over him like snowfall. He understood. He had always understood.

He looked at Jack—really looked at him. The boy who had become God. The child he had raised. The one who had once looked to him for guidance, for love, for identity.

Now Castiel looked with nothing but certainty.

Jack didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

And Castiel didn’t speak. He only bowed his head.

Just once.

A silent agreement passed between them—wordless, sacred, irreversible.

The wind in the Garden shifted.

The light grew warmer.

Jack closed his eyes.

And Castiel disappeared.

…

The night air was cold, biting at my skin as I stood in the center of the old crossroads.

It was quiet—too quiet. The kind of silence that made you feel like the world was holding its breath, watching you with wide, unblinking eyes. The box in my hands felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. Inside it, every piece of me I had left to give. Dirt crusted my boots. My hands shook.

I was really going to do this.

I fell to my knees, digging. Just like the books had said. Four corners. Unmarked earth. Blood if needed.

I wasn’t afraid. Not of the demon. Not of the deal. Not of what it would cost.

Dean was gone. And there wasn’t anything left of me without him.

The girls were safe. Sam and Theresa were doing everything right. But I couldn’t do this anymore—pretending like my soul wasn’t already six feet under with him. I needed him back. I needed to be whole again.

I pressed the box into the earth. A tear slid down my cheek as I whispered the words.

But before the last syllable left my lips, the air cracked like thunder.

Grace.

The light around me shimmered with gold.

“Don’t,” came a voice, quiet and calm but firm as iron.

I spun around, stumbling to my feet.

“Cas—” I nearly choked on the name.

He stood just outside the circle, trench coat fluttering, face drawn tight with something I couldn’t place. Grief. Resolve. Love.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said. “You were never meant to.”

My voice cracked. “Then who was? Who’s supposed to live like this—raising his daughters without him? Pretending everything’s fine when I feel like I’m drowning every second of the day? I need him, Cas.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t,” I snapped. “You can go to Heaven. You can see him. I’ve read every book in the library. I know you can visit. And yet you let me rot down here with nothing but memories. You let the girls grow up never knowing their father!”

Cas didn’t flinch. He just walked closer.

“I did visit,” he said softly. “And I spoke with Jack.”

I froze.

“What?”

He looked at me then, and something passed between us—something deep and ancient. The kind of weight only an angel could carry.

“You were never meant to carry this pain alone. And you won’t have to for much longer.”

I stared at him, hope and fear clashing violently inside my chest. “What are you saying?”

“I can’t promise when. Or how. But I made a vow. To Jack. To Dean. To you. And soon… you won’t have to call the dark things anymore.”

My knees gave out. I dropped to the ground, sobbing into the dirt. The box spilled beside me, its contents scattering—photographs, Dean’s amulet, his old flask.

Castiel knelt beside me, laying a hand on my shoulder.

“I will not let you be alone forever,” he said.

For the first time in weeks, I believed him.

…

The sun was just starting to rise, washing the sky in soft strokes of pink and orange when Cas brought me to the house.

It didn’t feel real.

Two stories. White shutters. A little porch swing that creaked softly in the breeze. There were flowerbeds, already blooming, and a patch of wild green yard out back that looked big enough for the girls to run wild in.

It looked like something out of someone else’s life—somewhere safe. Somewhere still.

“Where are we?” I asked, voice thin, like I was afraid speaking too loud might break whatever fragile thing was happening.

Cas didn’t answer right away. He just looked at the house with that quiet reverence he sometimes got when he looked at the sky or talked about humanity. Then he turned to me.

“This is your home now. Yours, the girls’, and Dean’s.”

The world stopped moving.

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I spoke to Jack,” Cas said, stepping closer, his voice soft but sure. “We reached an agreement.”

I could barely breathe. “Dean…?”

Cas nodded. “He’s coming back. But there’s a condition.”

My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “Anything.”

“You and Dean have to let go of hunting. No demons. No ghosts. No monsters. You live a normal life. This house is warded, protected by Jack’s power. No supernatural being can enter without your permission.”

My knees went weak. I grabbed the porch railing to steady myself.

“A normal life?” I whispered, like I didn’t quite understand the words.

“You raise your daughters. You rest. You heal. Dean gets to be a father, and you get to be with him again. But this is your only chance. If either of you return to hunting… the deal ends.”

I didn’t respond. I just stared at the front door like maybe if I looked hard enough, I’d see Dean stepping through it already. Alive. Whole. Real.

Cas placed a hand on my arm. “He’ll be here soon.”

I didn’t realize I was crying until he gently wiped a tear from my cheek. I turned and looked up at him.

“Why?” I asked. “Why did Jack say yes?”

Cas hesitated. “Because he saw you. Saw what this grief was doing. And because Dean—he earned peace a thousand times over.”

“And you?”

Cas offered a faint smile. “I believe in second chances. Even for the broken.”

I nodded, unable to speak. My chest felt cracked open, all the pain and rage and ache pouring out, replaced with something softer. Something I hadn’t let myself feel in months:

Hope.

Cas gave my arm a gentle squeeze. “Go inside.”

I opened the door and stepped into a home that already smelled faintly like cedar and lemon. There was furniture—simple, warm, familiar. Two bassinets sat by the window, facing the sunlight. The couch had a dent in it, like someone had already spent time curled up there. There were picture frames on the wall—empty now, but waiting.

Waiting for a life to begin.

And then I heard it.

Footsteps on the porch.

My heart slammed into my ribs, and I turned so fast the world blurred.

The door creaked. The air shifted.

And there he was.

Dean.

His eyes locked on mine, and everything inside me broke and stitched itself back together in the same breath. He looked exactly like I remembered—tired eyes, crooked smirk, soul-deep weariness tucked behind every glance—but alive. So vividly alive.

He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his arms around me. I clung to him like I’d never let go again. My hands tangled in his shirt. His lips pressed against my temple.

“I missed you,” he murmured, voice rough.

“I love you,” I breathed.

He pulled back just enough to cup my face. “I love you too.”

Outside, the sky kept shifting, the world kept spinning.

But inside our little house, time finally stood still.

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion. Everything around me—Dean, the house, the air itself—was just… perfect. The kind of perfect you don’t ever really expect to happen in your lifetime, but here it was. Here he was.

Dean.

He was holding me, holding on like he wasn’t sure if he could, like maybe he’d disappear again if he let go. But he didn’t. We just stood there, breathing each other in, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us like a soft blanket.

“Dean,” I whispered, pulling back slightly, just enough to look up at him. “You’re here.”

“I’m here,” he said, voice thick, like he couldn’t believe it either. “I’m not going anywhere.”

My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw as if making sure this wasn’t some dream I’d wake up from. “We’re really doing this. We’re really—”

Dean’s lips pressed to mine, cutting off the words I didn’t know how to finish. When he pulled back, I could see it in his eyes—the promise, the relief. “We are. You and me, and the girls.” His voice dropped a little, as if the weight of it hit him too. “We’re a family.”

Tears burned my eyes again. This time, they weren’t from grief—they were from something deeper, something quieter. I nodded, feeling it in every part of me. “Yeah. We are.”

And then, like a gift, like a miracle, the sound of tiny coos filled the air. The soft gurgling noise that was both a question and an answer, coming from the other room.

“Come on,” I whispered, taking his hand and tugging him toward the nursery.

His steps faltered just slightly, but he followed. We passed through the living room, where the sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a warm glow on everything, and into the room where our daughters were sleeping soundly in their cribs.

Dean paused in the doorway, his breath catching as his gaze landed on them. The twins—our girls—lay there in the soft pink blankets we’d picked out weeks ago. Their tiny faces were peaceful, round, perfect.

I stepped into the room, guiding Dean with me. Slowly, he approached the first crib where one of the girls lay. His hand hovered just above her, like he wasn’t sure how to touch her, but then he reached down, his fingers brushing gently against the baby’s tiny hand.

“She’s beautiful,” he murmured, looking up at me, his face full of awe.

“You’re going to be a great dad,” I said, voice thick with emotion. “They’re going to know how loved they are.”

Dean’s lips trembled, his eyes shining with something I hadn’t seen in so long. “I can’t believe this,” he whispered. “I can’t believe I’m finally getting to be their father.”

I stepped beside him, wrapping my arm around his waist, and together we looked down at the girls, at our daughters. I could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and I knew mine was matching his beat for beat.

And then, Dean did something I’ll never forget. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the forehead of the girl in the crib. He whispered something, so soft, so tender, that I could barely hear it, but I knew what it was.

“I’ll always be here, baby girl. Always.”

And just like that, the world shifted. The pain, the loss, the years of fighting, of struggling—all of it seemed so far away in that moment. Because in front of us, right there, was everything we’d ever wanted. A family. A home. A future.

Dean stepped back, standing straight again, but still keeping his eyes on the twins. “They’re gonna be alright, right?” he asked, as though it was the only question that mattered.

“They’re going to be perfect,” I said, taking his hand and squeezing it tightly. “Just like you.”

We stood there together for a while, just watching them sleep. The sound of their breathing filled the room, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby that was just for us. And for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of peace. In the possibility of something real.

For the first time in a long time, I felt whole.

…

It’s strange how life has a way of weaving moments together. The simple, everyday things that used to feel like they were just part of the grind—things I didn’t even notice—now feel like a blessing.

Like the soft click of the front door opening and closing. Like the way the air smells after a spring rain, fresh and clean. Like the sound of tiny feet shuffling on the hardwood floor.

And then there’s Dean.

Every moment with him feels precious now. The way he moves around the house, the way he looks at me as though he can’t quite believe we’re here, together. It’s like we’re both waiting for something—waiting for the world to remind us that this is real. But I don’t need a reminder anymore.

We’ve settled into a routine, something I never thought I’d have. Dean helps with the twins when he’s not working on the house, and we’ve even started making plans for things we never thought we’d get to do.

Like a trip to the beach.

“Alright, baby,” Dean says, his voice rough with exhaustion but soft with love, as he reaches for one of the babies from the crib. “Let’s get you ready for your bath, huh?”

I watch him from the doorway, my heart swelling in my chest. His hands are steady as he lifts our daughter into his arms, cradling her with such care that I can hardly believe how far we’ve come. His touch is gentle, like he’s still learning how to be her dad, but he’s getting better every day.

When he looks up at me, his eyes are full of warmth. “You doing okay?”

I nod, leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah. Just taking it all in.”

Dean walks toward me, his steps slow and deliberate as he carries the baby. “You sure you’re okay? It’s been a lot, I know.”

I smile softly, feeling the weight of the words in my chest. “I’m better now. I just… I never thought I’d get to see this. Us. Together. Our girls.”

He stops in front of me, his free hand reaching out to touch my face. “Me neither,” he admits, his voice quieter. “But here we are.”

I lean into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment, allowing myself to just feel. To feel the steady beat of his heart, the warmth of his skin, the promise of a future we thought was lost.

Dean presses his lips to my forehead, his breath warm against my skin. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here.”

I open my eyes and look up at him, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I believe him. I believe in us.

We’re a family now. And nothing—no matter what came before, no matter what might come next—could change that.

The sound of the babies gurgling softly in the other room pulls me back into the present. Dean looks toward the nursery, and we both share a quiet laugh. It’s a laugh that says we’re in this together, no matter what.

“We should probably get them fed,” I say, my voice light, teasing.

Dean smirks. “I’m on it. But you’re doing the diapers.”

I raise an eyebrow, mock-horrified. “Oh, so we’re trading roles now?”

“You bet,” Dean says, the grin on his face wide and full of that familiar cocky charm. “But you’re better at it. Trust me.”

I roll my eyes, but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Alright, alright. I’ll take it this time.”

Dean chuckles, and as he walks away, I watch him with a softness in my chest. It’s a feeling I never thought I’d get to have again. Not after everything.

We’re here. We’re safe. And I know, deep down, that we’ll be okay. We’ll face whatever comes next together. As a family.

“Ready for this?” I ask as he turns back to look at me, baby in his arms.

Dean smiles. “Always.”

And with that, we walk into the next chapter of our lives. Together. No more demons. No more hunts. Just us and our girls, building a life we never thought we’d have.

And I know now, more than ever, that this is where I was meant to be.

The Dating Odyssey: Billy

Eddie Munson/Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington/Jim Hopper/Jonathan Byers x fem!reader

1.7k word count

fluff, idiot reader, reader who can't say no, choose your own adventure-ish

Part 1 / Steve's Ending / Eddie's Ending / Jim's Ending / Jonathan's Ending

Underneath the sapphire sky, you hesitated at the entrance to Hawkins Pool. You hadn't seen Billy since your first pool date a week ago. After a whirlwind of emotions, you decided to take a breather, avoiding him and the others to clear your thoughts. You had felt sure of your decision to pick Billy 4 days ago. You felt sure of your decision every day since. Now, standing there, you wondered if you had made the right decision to meet him again. Would it just stir up more confusion?

You had originally gone to Billys trailer hoping to run into him somewhere a bit more private. You’d stood knocking for almost 15 minutes when Eddie Munsons stepped out of the trailer across the road. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers clearly not long out of bed. He pulled a cigarette from behind his ear, lighting it and smiling across at you.

“If your looking for Hargrove his at work” Eddie called across the road.

“Oh thanks Eddie I guess I’ll head there then” You smiled and tried to make a quick exit.

“Wow, hay there, what’s the rush? What do you want with Billy anyway?” Eddies smile never fell from his face.

“Well honestly Eddie I went on a date with Billy last weekend” You choose to tell him the truth. Eddie deserved that much.

“Oh wow well uh I guess it’s not like we were exclusive or anything” Eddie scratched the back of his neck.

“Sorry Eds, your super sweet and any girl would be lucky to have you but I love Billy” You were honest with him and yourself.

“If you were saying that to high school Eddie I would have told you to run that Billy is bad news but he has changed since high school so if you think he is the one for you then go for it” You could hear the sadness in Eddies voice

“Thank you Eddie, um, maybe you should go for some clothes” You motioned to his boxers.

“Oh this is nothing you should ask Billy about the day he saw my pale naked ass run past his bedroom window” Eddie chuckled.

You shook your laughing at Eddie as he waved and ran back to his trailer. You climbed back into your car and headed towards the Hawkins Community Pool. This brings you to your current predicament. You stood in the parking lot looking at the entrance. Your nerves had hit you all at once. Your thoughts were interrupted by a voice behind you.

"Hey, y/n”

You turned to see Billy, his grin as bright as the sun reflecting off the water. His presence sent a flurry of butterflies into your stomach.

"Hey, Billy," you replied, forcing a smile.

He approached you, his steps confident. "I've been trying to catch you all week. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

Your cheeks flushed with guilt. "I...I needed some time to think."

Billy nodded understandingly. "I get it. But hey, I'm glad you're here now. Ready for round two?"

“Uh yeah actually  I thought you might like to go for another date this weekend? Maybe make us something a little more official?”

“I would love that” Billy had the brightest smile on his face making your heart skip a beat. “I actually have somewhere I would love to take you but you’d need to be ready early Saturday morning, say around 5am”

“I’ll be ready” You smiled

“Great I need to get back to work, make sure to wear something light that you don’t mind getting wet” Billy gave you a quick kiss on the cheek and jogged back into the pool.

Your stomach was doing leaps and a smile plastered it’s self on your face and you didn’t know if you would ever get it to leave. Billy, you were confident, was the only guy you believed could do that to you. Saturday, just two days to wait and you would have your next date with Billy.

Thursday and Friday flew by. You smiled through the days and Friday night you couldn’t sleep. The nervous energy kept you awake. You planned your outfit out and laid everything out ready for you to grab and put on the next morning. You went to bed at 7pm exactly knowing you need to be up at 4am to be ready on time. You tossed and turned constantly looking at the bedside clock. At some point you had fallen asleep though and you were woken by the alarm clock at 4am. You thought last night that if you didn’t get enough sleep, you would be too tired when you woke up to do anything. Instead, you were full of endless nervous energy. You jumped out of bed and raced into your bathroom. You took a quick shower and got dressed into a simple pair on denim shorts and a white tank top with a bikini underneath. You then rushed into the kitchen fearing you were going to be late, grabbed the pop tarts you had left out the night before quick access and tossed them into the toaster while also flipping on the kettle. You already had your coffee mug out with instant coffee and sugar in it ready for hot water because you were so anxious about being ready on time the night before. As you munched on your pop tarts and waited for the kettle to boil you looked at the clock on the wall. 4:25. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head. How had so little time passed? It just left you more time to panic. The kettle clicked off bringing you back to your breakfast. You poured the hot water into your mug and stirred it before getting the milk from the fridge to add to the cup. You sat at the kitchen bench and sipped at your coffee while waiting for time to pass willing it to move faster. By the time the clock struck 4:55 the coffee mug was empty and had been washed up. You bag was packed for the day ahead. You took a deep breath and made your way to the street below your apartment. You hadn’t even been on the side walk for 5 minutes when the familiar roar of a Camaro engine graced your ears. A smile broke out on your face and you bounced excitedly on your heels. Billy’s blue Camaro came to a stop in front of you and Billy was quick to jumped out and open up the passenger side for you. Once you were seated in the Camaros Billy closed the door and ran back around to the drivers side. He put the Camaro back in gears and began driving out of Hawkins.

“We have about a 3 hour trip ahead of us just so you know” Billy smiled across at you.

“I’m sure we’ll find ways to keep ourselves entertained” You laughed

Billy blasted the music and placed a hand on your knee as he drove. It was as if he had driven this same road many, many times. You took a chance to take in Eddies outfit. He was wearing a pair of black shorts and a white singlet. He had his normal necklace on and sunglasses. He had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He seemed at peace on the road compared to how you had seen him around town. You laid back and closed your eyes allowing the sun coming in to heat your skin. You must have dozed off at some point because you were woken by Billy shaking you.

“We’re here sleepy head” He chuckled.

“The beach?” You sat up and looked around.

“Yep welcome to Chicago, it’s no California but hay it’s a beach” Billy smiled.

He laced his fingers with yours and guided you down towards the ocean. It was perfect beach weather, warm and sunny. You looked out at the water as Billy pulled you onto the beach and began to walk along the waters edge.

“So California huh? Born there or holiday spot?” You asked.

“I was born there, use to go surfing with my Mom, basically lived on the beach” Billy smiled looking out at the water.

“Then why the move to Hawkins?” You asked confused.

“My mom, she…well she left us and my Dad remarried Max’s Mom and he thought after Max tried to run away a few times that it would be best for us to move away. I don’t blame Max at all….well maybe in the beginning but not now” Billy had a look of regret on his face.

“I’m sorry that’s clearly a sore topic for you” You regretted asking.

“No, it’s fine you deserve to know, my dads dead now anyway so it’s not like it matters” Billy shrugged. “Anyway what about you, I know your not local to Hawkins either”

“New York City born and raised. Couldn’t stand city life and needed to go somewhere quite” You smiled up at him.

“Well I for one am glad you made that choice” Billy chuckled

“Me too” You nodded.

Billy quickly swept you up in his arms before running off into the water. You screamed begging him to place you down only to be met with him saying no over and over again. At just the right depth Billy tossed you in. You got to your feet and began splashing at him. Soon you were both surrounded by laughter and love. Everyone else on the beach cease to exist to the two of you. You got so wrapped up in each other to failed to see time getting away from you. Before you knew it the crowds had begun to go home for the day. You and Billy had become quiet as he swum up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist.

"I'm glad you came back," Billy said quietly, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, your heart somersaulting in your chest. "Me too."

Your eyes locked, and in that moment, you knew you had made the right decision. Sometimes, all it took was a leap of faith to find something worth holding onto.

As you emerged from the ocean, the sun sinking below the horizon painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. Hand in hand, You and Billy walked away from the beach, your hearts lighter than they had been in days, ready to face whatever the future held, together.

Objection! Part 8

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

6.1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Authors Note: Drunks me has decide this chapters goodd to go blame the whiskey if its nots also blame the whiskey for any abd spellin and grammar drunk me is also not sorry for the cliffffhnager.

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

The squad room was unusually still, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence like an ominous soundtrack. I sat at a desk, staring at my phone, willing it to buzz with something—anything. A message. A clue. A sign. My knee bounced restlessly under the desk, and my hands clenched into fists. Each passing second felt like a lifetime, every tick of the clock a painful reminder that Y/N was out there, alone, and I wasn’t doing enough to bring her back.

The air felt heavy, thick with tension that no one dared to break. Amanda was seated at her desk, her hands hovering over her keyboard as if typing might somehow help her forget the helplessness in the room. Finn leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp. Olivia, always the calm in the storm, stood near her office, her arms folded as she scanned the room, likely calculating her next move. But it all felt distant to me. My focus was singular: the phone in front of me that refused to deliver answers.

Then the sound of heavy, purposeful footsteps storming into the room shattered the stillness like a thunderclap. Sonny.

His face was flushed with anger, a storm brewing in his eyes as he practically threw the door shut behind him, the loud slam making everyone flinch. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days—disheveled, tense, and radiating a kind of fury that no one wanted to be on the receiving end of.

“What the hell is wrong with all of you?” he shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of raw emotion. “Why are you just sitting around? Why aren’t you out there looking for my sister?”

Olivia stepped forward, her tone calm and steady as she tried to defuse the situation. “Carisi, we’re doing everything we can—”

But Sonny wasn’t having it. He cut her off, shaking his head furiously. “Don’t ‘Carisi’ me, Captain! My sister is out there with some psycho, and you’re all just standing here like it’s another day at the office!”

His eyes scanned the room wildly, seeking someone to lash out at, someone to blame. And then they landed on me.

“You,” he snarled, his voice dropping to a deadly edge as he pointed a trembling finger at me.

He crossed the room in quick strides, his fury like a physical force that slammed into me before his words even reached my ears.

“This is all your fault.”

I stood, meeting his gaze, my body tense. “Sonny,” I said, my voice low, a warning.

But he didn’t stop. His hands collided with my chest in a hard shove, forcing me to stumble back a step.

“If you’d done your damn job—if you hadn’t failed Anya—Y/N wouldn’t be in this mess!” he shouted, his voice raw with grief and fury. His words cut deeper than any blow, hitting a part of me I’d been trying to bury under determination and focus.

His chest was heaving, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The rest of the squad watched in stunned silence, no one daring to step in just yet.

“You were supposed to look after her, Barba! That was your job!” His voice cracked, tears glistening in his eyes as his anger started to morph into something more desperate.

“I know,” I said quietly, the weight of my guilt making it hard to speak louder.

But Sonny wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his face inches from mine, his voice dropping to a dangerous hiss.

“If Marco hurts even a hair on her head,” he said, his voice trembling with both rage and fear, “you’re a dead man, Barba. You hear me? A dead man.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for me to respond.

I couldn’t.

The guilt was already eating me alive, and Sonny’s words felt like a knife twisting deeper into an already festering wound. I looked down, unable to meet his gaze, my jaw clenched as I tried to keep my emotions in check. The weight of his blame—and my own—threatened to crush me.

Finally, Olivia stepped forward, her hand resting gently on Sonny’s shoulder. “Sonny,” she said softly, “we’re going to find her. But this isn’t helping.”

He shook her off, taking a shaky step back, his chest still heaving. “You better,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper before he turned and stormed out of the room, leaving an oppressive silence in his wake.

I stayed rooted to the spot, my fists clenched at my sides, my eyes fixed on the desk in front of me. The words echoed in my head—your fault, your fault, your fault.

Before I could find my voice, the door opened again, and two uniformed officers walked in, dragging a man between them. Marco. His smug expression was infuriating, even as his dishevelled appearance betrayed that he’d been through hell.

“He turned himself in downstairs,” one of the officers said.

“Get him in interrogation,” Olivia ordered, her voice sharp.

I watched as the officers dragged Marco into the interrogation room, his head held high, his movements casual as if he were walking into a meeting instead of a police station. My blood boiled with every step they took. From the other side of the two-way mirror, I stood frozen, watching every calculated move he made. Marco leaned back in his chair with the smugness of a man who believed he held all the cards, his posture lazy, his lips curled into an infuriating smirk.

Olivia and Finn entered the room, their expressions hard as steel. They were seasoned, unshakable, but even they seemed tense as they faced the man responsible for Y/N’s disappearance. Olivia wasted no time, her tone icy as she cut straight to the point.

“You want to tell us where she is?” she asked, each word like a dagger aimed to pierce his composure.

But Marco didn’t flinch. He didn’t cower or hesitate. Instead, his smirk widened, his dark eyes gleaming with something sinister. His gaze shifted past Olivia, locking on the two-way mirror. It was as if he could see through it, his expression a challenge aimed directly at me.

“I’m not talking to you,” he said with infuriating calm. “I’ll only talk to Barba.”

The words hung in the air like a bomb ready to detonate. My fists clenched so tightly at my sides that my nails bit into my palms. I felt the heat of my anger rising, my pulse pounding in my ears. Through the glass, Olivia turned to glance at me, her hesitation flickering in the subtle furrow of her brow.

Before she could make a decision, I acted on instinct. Without waiting for approval, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. The room felt stifling, the tension pressing down on me like a physical weight. Marco’s eyes lit up as he saw me, his smirk growing into a predatory grin.

“You want to talk to me?” I asked, my voice tight with barely contained rage. I stood at the table, my hands gripping the edge so hard I thought the metal might bend. “Fine. Let’s talk. Where is she?”

Marco leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the table as if he were about to share a secret. “Oh, Rafael,” he drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. “Always so direct. Haven’t you learned by now? It’s never that simple.”

I slammed my hands down on the table, the sound reverberating through the room. The force rattled the chair Marco sat in, but he didn’t flinch. I leaned over him, my face inches from his, my fury barely leashed.

“Enough games!” I barked. “Tell me where she is!”

Marco’s composure didn’t waver. If anything, he seemed to enjoy my outburst, feeding off the anger radiating from me. He tilted his head like a teacher addressing a particularly slow student. “You like scavenger hunts, don’t you?” he asked, his voice deceptively light. “I left you some clues. Why don’t you put that sharp mind of yours to work?”

I wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, to force him to see the gravity of what he’d done. My voice rose, sharp and biting. “You’re wasting precious time!”

For the first time, his smirk faltered, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, and his grin returned, but it was colder now, sharper.

“No, Rafael,” he said, his tone darkening. “You’re wasting time. The longer you stand here arguing with me, the more water fills her final hiding place.”

His words hit like a sledgehammer, each syllable echoing in my head. Water fills her final hiding place. The room seemed to tilt, my breath catching as the full weight of his threat sank in. Every second was precious. Every moment spent here was a moment closer to losing her.

“What did you say?” I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper, my hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table.

“You heard me,” Marco said, his smirk returning, but his eyes were darker now, filled with cruel satisfaction. “If you want to save her, you’ll need to start with my things. They’re locked up downstairs. Tick tock, counselor.”

His taunting tone was the final straw. Without another word, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the room, my heart pounding like a drum. His laughter followed me, low and menacing, a ghostly echo that clung to me as I sprinted down the hall.

Every second mattered now, and I wouldn’t waste another.

The moment Marco mentioned Y/N’s life hanging in the balance, a fire ignited inside me. Every second wasted felt like a betrayal to her. My feet pounded against the linoleum floor as I sprinted toward the evidence lockup, Sonny just steps ahead of me. His desperation mirrored my own, his frantic pace proof of how much he cared for his sister.

By the time I reached the evidence room, Sonny was already there, his hands moving with frantic precision as he rifled through Marco’s belongings. His face was a storm of emotions—anger, fear, and determination all vying for control. He barely acknowledged my arrival, snatching up the evidence bag containing Marco’s personal items.

“We don’t have time for this,” Sonny muttered under his breath, more to himself than to me. Without another word, we turned and bolted back to the squad room.

The others barely had time to clear the desks before we dumped the contents of the bag onto one of them, sending papers and small objects scattering across the surface. The noise of the chaotic search filled the air—keys clinking against the desk, papers rustling, receipts crumpling under impatient hands. The tension was suffocating, the silence broken only by Sonny’s muttered curses as he rifled through the mess.

I tried to focus, my hands shaking slightly as I sifted through the random items: a worn leather wallet, a set of keys on a chain with a gaudy souvenir keyring, a handful of receipts, and a few crumpled scraps of paper. None of it made sense. None of it screamed “clue.” My pulse pounded in my ears, the seconds ticking by with cruel indifference.

Then Sonny froze, his hands stilling mid-motion. His eyes locked on the wallet, a look of realization dawning across his face. He yanked it open and pulled out a folded piece of paper tucked into one of the inner pockets.

“What is it?” I asked, my voice sharp with urgency as I leaned closer.

Sonny unfolded the note with shaky fingers, his eyes scanning the handwritten words. “It says, ‘Your next clue can be found where Y/N buys Rafael’s morning coffee.’”

For a moment, I stared at him, dumbfounded. “Where she buys my coffee? I—I don’t know where she goes.”

Sonny scoffed, frustration flashing across his face as he tossed the wallet onto the desk. “Of course you don’t. She’s been doing it for months, and you haven’t even noticed.”

The jab stung, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Sonny grabbed his coat, the movement abrupt and filled with purpose. “I do. She always gets it from the same place because they sell her favorite cannoli. Come on.”

Before I could respond, Sonny was already heading for the door, his pace quick and his movements sharp. Olivia grabbed her jacket, sparing a glance at me as she followed.

“Let’s move, Barba,” she said firmly, her tone leaving no room for hesitation.

I grabbed my own coat and hurried after them, sparing a brief glance back at the rest of the team. Amanda, Finn, and Nick were still in the squad room, their expressions a mixture of frustration and determination.

“Keep sweating him,” Olivia called over her shoulder as we left. “We’ll find her.”

The hallway outside felt colder, the sterile fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows. Sonny’s steps echoed ahead of us, his pace nearly a jog. The determination in his stride mirrored the fire burning in my chest. Wherever Marco’s sick game was leading us, I’d follow every step of the way—because failure wasn’t an option.

…

The tension in the car was suffocating as we sped toward the café, Sonny gripping the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His frustration bubbled over, his voice sharp and accusing as he vented.

“You don’t know where she buys your coffee? Seriously, Barba? She does it every day! You didn’t think to ask? To notice?”

I wanted to argue, to defend myself, but the truth stung too much. I stared out the window, ashamed. “I didn’t ask her to do it,” I muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“You didn’t have to,” Sonny snapped, his voice rising. “You’re just oblivious! That girl would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you wouldn’t even notice. And now, look where we are.”

His words hit like a gut punch, but I didn’t have the luxury of letting them sink in. Y/N’s life was at stake, and dwelling on my shortcomings wouldn’t help.

The car screeched to a halt in front of the café, and Sonny was out before it had fully stopped, slamming the door behind him. Olivia and I scrambled to catch up as he barged inside, holding Marco’s photo up like a badge.

“Have you seen this man?” Sonny demanded, his voice cutting through the hum of the café.

A barista behind the counter paused, her eyes flitting from the photo to me. “Are you Rafael Barba?” she asked, her tone uncertain.

I stepped forward, my throat tight. “Yes.”

Wordlessly, she handed me a coffee cup. My name was scrawled on the side in sharp, black letters, and beneath it, a note in Marco’s handwriting: “Enjoy this at the table closest to the window. Best view in the house.”

I stared at the cup, my stomach churning with unease. “Keep it,” I said, setting it firmly back on the counter. The thought of playing Marco’s twisted game made my skin crawl.

Sonny and Olivia were already at the window, scanning the street outside for anything out of place. I joined them, my eyes darting over the view: the passing cars, bustling shops, and scattered pedestrians. Then my gaze landed on the florist across the street, its display bursting with vivid blooms.

“It’s there,” I said, my voice firm with conviction.

Sonny frowned, skeptical. “How do you know?”

I pointed to the florist’s display. “Magnolias. Y/N’s favorite perfume is magnolia and honeysuckle. That florist has magnolias right out front. It has to be there.”

Sonny didn’t wait for further explanation, and neither did I. The three of us bolted across the street, dodging honking cars and shouted curses from drivers. The air was thick with the sweet scent of flowers as we reached the florist, and we immediately began combing through the arrangements.

I shoved aside bouquets of roses, daisies, and lilies, searching for something—anything—that stood out. Sonny did the same, muttering curses under his breath as petals flew in every direction.

“Cosa stai facendo?” a furious voice suddenly bellowed in Italian, startling all of us.

An elderly man emerged from the shop, his face red with anger as he gestured wildly at the mess we were making. Sonny stepped forward, his tone urgent as he switched to rapid Italian, showing the man Marco’s photo.

“Avete visto quest'uomo? È importante, ha mia sorella,” Sonny pleaded.

The man’s scowl deepened, but after a long pause, he disappeared back into the shop. Moments later, he returned, holding a small bouquet of magnolias and honeysuckles. Attached to the stems was a card.

Sonny snatched it and unfolded it quickly, his hands trembling. He read aloud, “Congratulations on getting this far. I promise the rest won’t be as easy. Your next clue requires some required reading. CSL.”

“CSL?” Sonny repeated, his voice rising with frustration. He crumpled the card in his fist. “What the hell does that mean? There’s gotta be hundreds of libraries and bookstores in the city! How are we supposed to figure out which one?”

“Marco’s clues have been tied to Y/N,” Olivia interjected calmly. “Think. What library or bookstore would be important to her?”

Sonny groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know! She loves reading, she’s been to dozens of places—”

My mind raced. Marco’s game wasn’t random. Every clue so far had been calculated, designed to taunt us and waste precious time. Suddenly, Sonny spoke again, his tone more focused.

“We should go to Y/N’s room,” he said. “Maybe there’s something there. A book, a receipt, anything that could lead us to a specific place.”

I hesitated. The thought of tearing apart her sanctuary, her private space, felt invasive. But there was no other option.

“Let’s go,” Olivia said, already moving toward the car.

We piled in, the silence heavy with unspoken fears as Sonny drove us back to Y/N’s apartment. Every second felt like an eternity, the weight of the clock ticking down pressing harder with each passing moment.

…

Sonny stormed into his apartment ahead of Olivia and me, his frustration palpable as he pushed the door open and headed straight for Y/N’s room. I followed, not knowing what to expect but feeling an ache in my chest I couldn’t shake.

The moment I stepped inside, I was surrounded by her. The faint scent of magnolia and honeysuckle lingered in the air, her favorite perfume. It was subtle but unmistakable, and it sent a pang through me. Her room was uniquely hers—organized chaos that told a story in every corner.

Three towering bookshelves lined one wall, each one crammed full of books. Some were neatly arranged; others had stacks leaning precariously or lying flat across the tops of rows. A mix of genres, from legal thrillers to battered fantasy paperbacks, filled the shelves, alongside small trinkets that made the space so undeniably Y/N.

There were figurines of owls, a tiny Eiffel Tower, and a vintage globe no bigger than my fist. A jar of sea glass sat next to a framed photo of her and Sonny, both grinning like they didn’t have a care in the world. I stopped to look at it for a moment, the joy on her face a stark contrast to the fear I knew she must be feeling now.

The desk was cluttered but purposeful—papers, notebooks, and pens scattered across the surface. A lamp with a floral shade cast a soft glow over the space. A coffee mug sat on the desk, still half-full and abandoned in haste.

The bed, a queen size with a simple gray comforter, was unmade, the covers tossed back as if she’d just rolled out of it. A stuffed animal—a well-loved bear with one eye missing—sat propped up on the pillows. It was the kind of detail that felt so personal, so intimate, that it made my throat tighten.

Sonny tore through the room with urgency, pulling books off shelves and flipping through them for hidden notes. He yanked open drawers in her desk, scattering pens and papers across the floor. “There has to be something,” he muttered, frustration evident in every motion.

Olivia joined him, opening the wardrobe and sifting through the neatly hung clothes. She checked pockets, rifled through shoeboxes tucked on the floor.

I moved to one of the bookshelves, running my fingers over the spines of the books. “She has so many,” I murmured, almost to myself.

“She loves to read,” Sonny said without looking up. “Always has. If you paid more attention, you’d know that.”

I didn’t respond. Instead, I crouched to check the lower shelves, trying not to think about how well Sonny knew her or how much I didn’t.

I opened the bedside table, finding a stack of journals and a flashlight. The journals were tempting, but I couldn’t bring myself to violate her privacy like that—not yet.

“Check the desk again,” Olivia said.

I stepped over to it, brushing my fingers over the coffee mug. It was still warm. She must have left it there this morning before this nightmare started.

Sonny cursed, pulling a pile of papers from the bottom shelf of the last bookcase. “There’s nothing here! No library card, no receipt, nothing.”

I leaned back against the desk, frustrated. The room was in disarray now, her things scattered everywhere, but we’d found nothing useful.

“I don’t know where she goes for books,” Sonny said, his voice breaking slightly.

“She has to have mentioned something,” Olivia said.

Before Sonny could respond, Olivia’s phone rang. Finn’s voice came through the speaker as she answered.

“Any luck on your end?” Finn asked.

“No,” Olivia admitted, running a hand through her hair. “We’ve torn her room apart and come up empty. You?”

Finn put her on speaker, and she repeated the clue. When Nick’s voice cut through, my stomach twisted.

“Centre Market Place,” he said. “Secondhand bookstore, below street level. Y/N took me there once to buy a present for Zara. She calls it her secret hideaway.”

“Of course, Little Italy our Nonna use to take her there all the time, it was their special place,  I can’t believe I forgot about that” For a brief moment joy flashed across Sonny’s face but was quickly replaced by determination.

Of course, Nick knew. He’d been there with her, shared that part of her world that I hadn’t.

“She never told me about it,” I said quietly, more to myself than anyone else.

Sonny glanced at me, his expression unreadable. “Well, now you know. Let’s go.”

I followed him out, the scent of magnolia and honeysuckle still clinging to me as we left her room in disarray. The thought of her stuck somewhere, terrified and waiting, pushed me forward. I wouldn’t stop until we found her.

…

Sonny drove like a man possessed, weaving through the dense New York traffic with a reckless precision that made my pulse hammer in my ears. The city blurred past in streaks of light and color as he pushed the car to its limits. My hand gripped the handle above the door tightly, knuckles white, but I said nothing. Sonny’s jaw was set, his focus unbreakable, and I knew better than to distract him. It wasn’t just the speed or the sharp turns that had my stomach in knots—it was the fear. The fear that every second slipping through our fingers might be one we couldn’t afford.

We skidded to a stop in front of the bookstore Nick had mentioned, the tires screeching loudly enough to draw annoyed looks from passersby. The building itself was understated, its entrance a narrow, weathered staircase descending into what looked like the basement of an old brownstone. The sign above the door was small and almost easy to miss, its hand-painted letters reading Rare Finds Books.

The moment we stepped inside, the air changed. It was warm and smelled of old paper and leather, with faint hints of coffee wafting from somewhere deeper in the maze-like shop. Shelves stretched in endless rows, towering over us, each crammed with books of all shapes and sizes. Some areas seemed impossibly tight, the shelves so close together that two people couldn’t pass through at the same time. Hidden alcoves featured overstuffed armchairs and small tables, inviting readers to lose themselves in a story. Despite its modest exterior, the store sprawled beneath the street above, an intricate labyrinth of literature.

“This place is a maze,” Olivia muttered, turning in a slow circle as her eyes scanned the towering shelves. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?”

Sonny’s expression was grim but determined. “CSL. It’s gotta be C.S. Lewis. Y/N loves his books—always has.”

His confidence spurred us into action. We split up without hesitation, scanning the shelves for anything bearing the familiar name. It didn’t take long to locate the section dedicated to C.S. Lewis. The shelves were packed with his works: The Chronicles of Narnia, Mere Christianity, The Screwtape Letters. Gold and silver lettering gleamed on the spines of hardcovers, while well-loved paperbacks showed the wear of countless readings.

Olivia and I dove in, pulling books from the shelves and flipping through their pages. I worked quickly, my fingers trembling slightly as I rifled through covers and dog-eared pages, searching for any sign of a clue. The tension in my chest grew with each empty book I replaced, the clock in my head ticking louder with every passing moment.

Then Sonny froze, his hand hovering over a single book on the shelf. “That Hideous Strength,” he murmured, pulling it down carefully.

I looked over at him. “Why that one?”

“It’s the last book in a trilogy Y/N’s been reading,” Sonny explained without looking up. “She’s been searching for this one for months. I’m sure of it.”

He opened the book, flipping through its pages with purpose. Midway through, a small slip of paper fluttered free, landing on the floor. Sonny snatched it up quickly, his breath hitching as he read it aloud.

“‘Eight clues to go, but will you make it in time? Your next clue will require a steep climb.’”

Olivia frowned, glancing around as though the next clue might be hidden in plain sight. “A steep climb? What does that mean?”

Sonny’s jaw tightened. “It means we don’t have time to waste. Let’s move.”

He dropped the book unceremoniously onto a nearby table and strode toward the door, muttering under his breath about steep climbs in the city. Olivia and I exchanged a quick glance before hurrying after him.

But I hesitated. My gaze drifted back to the book, its edges slightly frayed, the cover bearing the faint marks of countless hands. Something about it tugged at me. Without thinking, I picked it up and carried it to the counter.

“I’ll take this,” I said, pulling out my wallet.

The cashier, an older man with round glasses perched on his nose, smiled faintly as he rang it up. “Good choice,” he said. “Lewis always has a way of speaking to the soul.”

I nodded absently, tucking the book under my arm as I turned to leave. I didn’t know if we’d find Y/N in time, but I clung to the hope that we would. Christmas was only a few weeks away, and if she made it through this, I’d find a way to give her the book. It wasn’t much, but it was something—a small piece of normalcy in a nightmare that felt never-ending.

I jogged to catch up with Sonny and Olivia, the book pressed tightly to my chest like a talisman against the uncertainty ahead.

…

Back in the car, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with frustration and urgency. Sonny gripped the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles white, as he and Olivia volleyed ideas back and forth about what "a steep climb" could mean. Their voices overlapped, each growing louder as their frustration mounted.

“Could it be the Empire State Building?” Olivia suggested, glancing at her phone as she pulled up a map. “It’s a climb, and it’s iconic.”

Sonny shook his head sharply. “Too public. Marco’s been keeping this quiet. It’s gotta be something personal to Y/N.”

I sat in the backseat, clutching the book I had bought for her, my mind racing. The clue had to mean something tied to Y/N—every step so far had been personal, connected to her routines, her likes, her life. Then it hit me.

“What if it’s the courthouse?” I said, my voice cutting through their argument.

Both of them turned to look at me, Sonny’s frown deepening. “The courthouse? Why would it be there?”

I leaned forward, gripping the back of the front seat. “She’s there almost every day. It’s a part of her routine. The steps could easily be considered a steep climb.”

Sonny’s eyes flicked to Olivia, annoyance flashing briefly in his expression, as if he was frustrated he hadn’t thought of it first. But then his jaw set, and he nodded. “Alright, let’s check it out.”

He hit the gas, the tires screeching as we sped toward the courthouse. The familiar city streets whipped past, the growing ache in my chest tightening with every block. Time felt like a physical weight pressing down on me, each second a reminder that Y/N could be slipping further away.

The moment we arrived, we were out of the car and sprinting toward the courthouse steps. The towering building loomed over us, its columns and grandeur as imposing as ever. We scaled the steps two at a time, the burn in my legs barely registering through the adrenaline coursing through me.

At the top, a man leaned against the railing, his clothes tattered, a worn backpack slung over his shoulder. He straightened the moment he saw us, his sharp eyes locking onto me.

“Hey!” he called, his voice rough but clear. “You Rafael Barba?”

I stepped forward, my chest heaving. “Yes. Did someone leave a message for me?”

The man nodded, digging into his pocket. From the folds of his jacket, he pulled out a crumpled $50 bill. “Some guy gave me this. Told me to wait here and say, ‘Water liberty seat.’”

“Water liberty seat?” Sonny repeated, his voice rising with frustration. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

The man shrugged, pocketing the bill and wandering off before we could press him for more information. Sonny threw up his hands in exasperation, pacing back and forth along the top step. “This is ridiculous! How the hell are we supposed to make sense of that?”

Olivia placed a calming hand on his shoulder. “Sonny, we’ll figure it out. We just have to stay focused.”

But I wasn’t paying attention to them. My mind was already working, the words tumbling over each other in my head like puzzle pieces sliding into place. Water liberty seat. It wasn’t random. It wasn’t a riddle—it was a description.

“Battery Park,” I said, my voice cutting through Sonny’s muttering.

Sonny stopped mid-pace, turning to face me. “What did you say?”

“It’s Battery Park,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “Y/N eats lunch there sometimes when she’s working late. She told me once she likes to sit where she can see the Statue of Liberty. ‘Water liberty seat’—it fits.”

Sonny blinked, his frustration giving way to dawning understanding. “That’s... yeah, that’s gotta be it.”

Olivia nodded, already heading for the car. “Then let’s move.”

We were running again, my legs burning as we pounded back down the courthouse steps. The sense of urgency clawed at me, each step feeling heavier, each second more precious.

As we raced through the streets toward Battery Park, I couldn’t shake the thought gnawing at the back of my mind: time was slipping through our fingers, and we couldn’t afford to lose another moment.

…

Sonny slammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a screeching halt in front of Battery Park. Before the engine had fully died, I was out of the car, my feet pounding against the pavement. My focus zeroed in on the bench, the one Y/N always sat on, the one I’d overlooked so many times before.

The bench faced the water, perfectly positioned to catch a view of the Statue of Liberty. I dropped to my knees beside it, ignoring the curious stares from passersby. My hands groped underneath, searching for something, anything, out of place. My fingers brushed against the edge of a crinkled paper bag, wedged in a spot so hidden it was almost invisible.

“Got it,” I muttered, tugging the bag free and sitting back on my heels. Olivia and Sonny crowded around me as I opened it. Inside was a neatly wrapped sandwich and a single folded piece of paper.

The note was maddeningly vague, written in Marco’s infuriatingly smug handwriting: “You know where to go.”

Sonny snatched the note from my hand, scanning the words as his frustration boiled over. “What the hell does that even mean?” he shouted, crumpling the note and hurling it into the trash along with the untouched sandwich. “This guy’s screwing with us! We’re running around the city while Y/N—” His voice broke off, and he turned away, pacing angrily along the sidewalk.

I sat on the bench, the weight of the situation pressing down on me like a tidal wave. My head dropped into my hands as I tried to piece together Marco’s twisted logic. He wouldn’t leave something vague without expecting me to figure it out. It wasn’t random; it was deliberate.

The steady rhythm of the waves caught my attention, pulling my gaze toward the water. For a moment, the chaos around me faded. The answer wasn’t in the note—it was in Marco’s mind. Every step of this game was a taunt, a deliberate jab at me. This wasn’t about Y/N, not really. She was the bait, a pawn in Marco’s personal vendetta.

I stood abruptly, the answer snapping into focus. “The DA’s office,” I said, turning to Olivia and Sonny. “It has to be the DA’s office.”

Sonny stopped pacing, his frustration giving way to determination. “Why the DA’s office?”

“Because this about Y/N,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my chest. “It’s about her. Every clue has been personal, tied to her life, her routine. The DA’s office is the center of it all—it’s where he wants me.”

Without hesitation, we piled back into the car. Sonny floored the gas, the tires screeching as we tore through the city streets. Inside the car, the tension was a living thing, suffocating and thick. The blare of horns and shouts of frustrated drivers barely registered over the pounding of my heart.

Sonny broke the silence, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, his voice low but edged with anger. “Why Y/N? Why did Marco go after her? Why would he think she’s your weakness?”

His question hung in the air like a blade poised to strike. Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes meeting mine in the rearview mirror. Her gaze was heavy with sympathy, but I looked away, unable to face it.

I knew why. We, Olivia and I, both did. But the words stuck in my throat, the admission too raw, too close to everything I had ignored for far too long. Y/N was targeted because of me—because I had let her into my life without considering the danger that came with it. Marco saw her as my weakness, the one way to make me pay for what he thought I’d done to him.

But I couldn’t say it. Not now. Not with Sonny’s anger simmering and Olivia’s quiet understanding pressing down on me like a weight I couldn’t lift.

“I don’t know,” I lied, my voice barely above a whisper.

The silence in the car was deafening after that. Sonny’s jaw tightened, and I could feel his frustration radiating off him, but he didn’t press further. Olivia glanced back at me again, her eyes soft with unspoken words, but I kept my gaze fixed out the window. The city blurred past, the familiar streets a reminder of how close we were—and how far Y/N still seemed.

As we approached the DA’s office, my chest tightened. The closer we got, the heavier the weight on my shoulders grew. Marco had dragged us here for a reason, and I could only pray we weren’t already too late.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee @pumpkindwight @chriskevinevans

Supernatural, Hunting, Living and Love (Revisited) Part 5

Dean Winchester x fem!reader

3.5k word count

Summary The part in which the hunt goes terribly wrong and you can't wait to be rid of The Winchesters.

fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, slow-burn

Warnings mention and description of death, and physical assault.

Note: This chapter is slightly shorter than normal but it ended exactly how I wanted it to end. Also sorry not sorry for the ending. By no means is this the end of the tale, however!

Original / Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Dean stepped out of Theresa's house, the creaking wooden porch echoing beneath his boots. The crisp evening air greeted him as he closed the door behind him. I had spent four hours daydreaming, staring at the dying grass, happily ignoring the existence of the Winchesters.

"Hey, y/n," Dean said, his voice carrying a mix of determination and weariness. "Is the truck ready to hit the road?"

A flicker of pride danced in Dean's eyes. "Yeah, she's purring like a kitten again. We're good to go."

"Then what's holding you back?" I asked, sensing there was more to Dean's hesitation.

Dean sighed, the weight of the hunt evident in the furrow of his brow. "Thing is, Sam and I figured we'd wait until nightfall before we make our move. The less attention we draw, the better."

I understood his reasoning. In the world of hunters and hunted, stealth was often our greatest ally. "Playing it safe. Smart move."

Dean nodded, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yeah, well, you know how it goes. Better safe than sorry."

The evening cast long shadows across the front of Theresa's house as Dean joined me on the steps, a palpable tension hanging in the air. I wanted, in that moment, to move away from Dean—to stand up and run away, to hide in Theresa's house while waiting for night to fall. And yet, at the same time, I wanted to move closer to him, fall into his arms, rest against his warm, chiseled chest. I wanted to hold on to him and never let go.

Leaning back against the weathered wood, Dean cleared his throat, breaking the uneasy silence. "Hey, you've been kinda all over the place and distant today. Everything okay?"

I shifted uncomfortably, my gaze fixed on the ground as if searching for the right words. "Yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Just... thinking."

Dean arched an eyebrow, not convinced by my response. "Come on, don't give me that. I can tell something's been bothering you. You've been acting off all day."

The words weighed heavily on my tongue as I gathered the courage to speak up. "Dean, last night... I overheard your conversation with Sam," I began, my voice trembling slightly.

His reaction was a mix of surprise and concern, his green eyes searching mine for any hint of what I might have heard. "And... what did you hear?"

Taking a deep breath, I recounted the painful revelation. "Sam mentioned how he feels like I'm a distraction to you, that I might be holding you back from focusing on the hunt. And you said you'd get over me, forget about me, once you’re back in the US."

Dean's expression darkened with guilt, and I immediately regretted bringing up such a sensitive topic. "I'm sorry you had to hear that. It wasn’t fair to you."

I shook my head, reaching out to reassure him. I placed a hand firmly on his shoulder. "It's okay, Dean. I understand. You and Sam have your own worries, your own struggles. I just wanted to be honest about what I overheard."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't want you to ever feel like you're just a distraction, because you're not. You're a valuable member of the team, and I'm glad you're here with us."

"Do you see me as just a part of the team, another hunter, and nothing more?" I blurted out, the question hanging heavily between us.

Dean's expression softened, his eyes searching mine with a depth of emotion that took me by surprise. "No, of course not. You're more than that, you know?" He hesitated, as if weighing his next words carefully. "You’re important to me, y/n. More than just a team member."

A mix of relief and vulnerability washed over me as I looked at him, the weight of unspoken feelings suddenly feeling a bit lighter. "I... I’m glad to hear that."

Dean gave me a small, reassuring smile, and we fell into a companionable silence, the tension easing as the evening shadows deepened. The night was coming, and with it, a new chapter of our hunt—and perhaps, a new understanding of what lay between us.

I furrowed my brow, uncertain of his meaning. "What do you mean?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corners of Dean's lips as he spoke. "You're family, just like Sam and me. We've been through a lot together, and that means something. It means you're not just another hunter to us. You're someone we care about, someone we trust."

"It seems like Sam doesn't fully trust me," I said, my voice tinged with frustration and concern.

Dean's expression softened, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Sam's always been cautious around new people, especially after everything we've been through. It's nothing personal, trust me."

His reassurance was comforting, but there was another question burning inside me, one I couldn’t ignore any longer.

"And what about you, Dean?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "How do you feel about me? Do you... have feelings for me?"

Dean's gaze softened, his features betraying a hint of vulnerability. "I... I care about you, more than I probably should. You're brave and strong, and... damn it, you've saved our asses more times than I can count."

I held my breath, waiting for him to continue, to reveal the depths of his feelings.

"But..." Dean hesitated, his gaze flickering with uncertainty. "I don’t know if it’s... more than that. I don’t know if I can allow myself to feel that way, considering everything else that's going on."

His words stung, a pang of disappointment twisting in my chest. But I understood his reluctance, his fear of opening himself up to potential pain and loss.

"It’s okay, Dean," I said, forcing a smile despite the ache in my heart. "I understand."

I forced myself up from where I was sitting and made my way back inside. Stepping into the cool interior of Theresa's house, I welcomed the quiet, seeking refuge from the intensity of the conversation with Dean.

Leaning against the wall, I closed my eyes, trying to calm the storm raging within me. The air was thick with uncertainty, each breath a struggle against the weight of my own conflicted feelings.

Outside, Dean's voice drifted through the open window, a constant reminder of the tangled mess I found myself in. But I couldn't face him right now. Not when every moment spent in his presence only deepened the confusion in my heart.

Instead of letting my mind wander, I honed in on the task ahead. All I wanted was to banish the ghost, end this nightmare, and send Dean back to the States where he belonged. With a determined sigh, I pushed aside my doubts and fears, steeling myself for the battle to come. I had a job to do, and nothing—not even the tangled mess of emotions swirling around Dean—would stand in my way.

As I prepared to face the darkness outside, a silent vow echoed in the recesses of my mind: I would banish the ghost, send Dean packing, and finally close this chapter of my life once and for all.

By the time I had pulled myself together enough to face the Winchesters again, night had fallen. The brothers were busy making plans with Theresa on how to retrieve the cursed pole from the scrapyard and bring it back to burn in her yard. Theresa, however, was stuck on how they planned to actually burn the pole, barely listening to the rest of the plan.

"While you do that, I’m going to hang by the pool and make sure your pole burning actually works," I said, moving toward my car.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up," Dean jogged over, placing a hand on my car door to stop me from leaving. "You’re not going alone. What if the spirit decides to go after you?"

"And why would the spirit come after me? Could it be because your dear brother sees me as a massive burden on you, and in turn, on him?" I crossed my arms, glaring over Dean’s shoulder at Sam, who simply huffed and rolled his eyes. "Who better to draw the spirit out and make sure it’s gone for good?"

"Exactly. I’ll come with you. Theresa can go with Sam," Dean said, glancing back at them. "I need to make sure you’re safe."

I rolled my eyes, shoved Dean’s hand out of the way, and climbed into the car. I started it up, revving the engine. Before I could make my escape, Dean dashed around to the other side of the car and jumped in. Sam got into their car, and Theresa hopped into the ute parked in front of her house. We parted ways—Theresa and Sam heading towards the junkyard, while Dean and I drove in awkward silence toward the pool. Sure, I was probably being reckless, but I couldn’t care less. I just wanted the Winchesters out of my life for good.

I could see Dean out of the corner of my eye, opening and closing his mouth, fidgeting in his seat like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. I pulled into the pool parking lot, stopping directly in front of the entry doors. I turned off the car, pocketed the keys, and exited before Dean could react.

Having broken into the pool countless times during my high school days, I knew about the hole someone had cut in the less secure side fence behind the building housing the outdoor pool pumps. Dean didn’t know this. Before he could register what was happening or even get out of the car, I locked it, smiled at him through the window, waved quickly, and bolted. I knew Dean was familiar with the Impala’s inner workings, so it wouldn’t take him long to unlock the door. But I used my head start to duck into the bushes along the side of the pool, hoping his size would slow him down or force him to take the long way around the building.

It took me less than five minutes to reach the hole in the fence. As I slipped through, my forearm caught on a sharp wire that hadn’t been cut back, and I felt warm blood trickling down my arm. Cursing under my breath, I checked the damage—a decent four-centimeter gash that might need stitches, but nothing that couldn’t wait.

Inside the building, I wandered around before settling in the adults-only area of the pool, which offered a good view of most of the interior. I pulled out my phone and shot a quick message to Theresa to check on their progress. The building was eerily quiet, so I allowed myself to relax, lying back on one of the sun chairs. If the spirit decided to make a move or if Dean entered the building, I’d hear it. Just a few more hours, and I’d be rid of the Winchesters for good.

I’d already made mental plans during the day—after this, I’d hit the road and head toward the Sunshine Coast, where there was a possible vampire nest that needed investigating. All I needed was the green light that the spirit was gone, and I’d be out of here.

As if reading my mind, my phone began to ring, jolting me back to reality. I cursed under my breath as I answered.

“Theresa, you better have a good reason for scaring the life out of me,” I nearly yelled into the phone.

“Sorry, Dean wasn’t answering,” Theresa replied quickly. “Anyway, we’ve got the pole and we’re headed back to my place. Sam thinks he’s figured out a way to not exactly burn the pole, but to burn anything that might be inside it.”

“Great. Let me know when it’s done; all is quiet here,” I sighed, glancing around the eerily silent building.

“Okay, will do.”

As Theresa hung up, I stood and began to check the building. It was strange that I’d been sitting here for so long, and yet Dean hadn’t made it inside. Part of me worried that something had happened to him, but another part couldn’t help but hope he was still stuck in the car. I made my way toward the front doors, figuring I should be able to see straight into my car from there.

I walked between the pools and the adults-only balcony, heading for the ramp that led to the front door and the changing rooms. I kept my eyes peeled, just in case Dean had managed to slip inside before I got there. A flicker of guilt tugged at me—maybe he really was trapped in the car without a way out—but then again, a part of me thought he kind of deserved it. Or worse, maybe he had decided I deserved to be alone in the building, which would be a clear sign that he had no feelings for me at all.

As I crept past the changing rooms, I glanced inside. Both were as empty and eerie as the rest of the building. Standing outside the changing rooms, where the ramp doubled back on itself toward the reception area, I realized I couldn’t see my Impala from this angle. For a moment, a wild thought crossed my mind—what if Dean had hot-wired it and driven off, leaving me here? It wouldn’t be the first time I’d deserved something like that.

I continued up the ramp, stealing one last glance into the pool area, which remained as empty as when I’d left it. When I finally turned back to the reception area, I could see the front doors and my Impala parked exactly where I’d left it—except Dean was no longer inside.

“Dean?” I called out into the empty building.

Silence greeted me. I turned away from the door, back toward the reception desk. There were only so many places he could be hiding if he’d made it inside, and I should have heard him the moment he entered. After all, those boots of his were loud and distinctive.

"Dean," I called out again, my voice echoing through the empty building as I moved toward the office space behind the reception desk. I navigated behind the counter, heading for the first of the three small offices. Each space was identical: a desk, a chair, some boxes—typical office clutter. A quick glance was all it took to confirm they were empty.

After closing the door to the third office, I turned around—and nearly ran into something.

“Jesus, Dean!” I gasped, stumbling back with my hand clutching my chest. “How are you so quiet?”

I looked up at him, but something was off. Dean’s expression was void of any emotion, his eyes vacant. This wasn’t Dean anymore. Deep down, I knew the spirit had possessed him—but why?

Without thinking, I bolted toward the pool area, fumbling to pull out my phone to call Sam and Theresa.

“Where do you think you’re going, Y/N?” The voice that came from Dean wasn’t his; it was deeper, darker, like something from a nightmare.

The sheer malice in his tone startled me so badly that I tripped, sending my phone flying down the ramp. It smashed against the wall between the changing rooms, shattering into pieces. I scrambled to gather the remnants, but the damage was done. My phone was beyond repair.

Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Dean—or the thing inside him—standing at the top of the ramp, watching me. I scrambled to my feet and sprinted toward the pools, my only thought to stay out of his reach until Sam and Theresa could burn the cursed pole. It had to have been at least 20 minutes since I last spoke to them; they should have been done by now.

I ducked between the pools, making a beeline for the adults-only balcony, praying that putting some distance and a fence between us might buy me a few precious moments. I raced up the stairs and slammed the gate shut behind me, shoving the nearest sun chair against it. Desperately, I grabbed another chair, but before I could secure it, Dean appeared at the top of the steps, a dark, chilling laugh escaping his lips. The kind of laugh that didn’t belong in real life, but in a horror movie.

"Oh, sweetheart, do you really think a couple of chairs in front of a gate is going to stop me?" His voice was laced with malice, sending a shiver down my spine. “I’ve already begun to think of all the ways your precious Dean could end you.”

“W-why? Why Dean?” I stammered, fear choking my voice.

“Why? Because you’re nothing but a distraction to Dean. So why not Dean? Why not give him the push he needs to remove the biggest pain in the ass in his life?” Dean—or rather, the spirit—yelled, pointing a finger violently in my direction. “It’s all right here in Dean’s head. You haunt his every waking thought. From the moment he first met you, he’s been distracted by the mere thought of you. He’s almost gotten Sam killed, gotten himself killed, all because of you. So why not have him remove the problem? Doesn’t it seem fitting?”

An evil, inhuman grin spread across Dean’s face. In a matter of seconds, the grin vanished as he smashed through the gate. I stood frozen in place, paralyzed by the horror of what he’d just said.

In a few quick strides, Dean closed the distance between us. His hand clamped around my throat, lifting me off the ground and pinning me against the wall. My eyes widened as I caught a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes—Dean was fighting to regain control—but the spirit quickly overpowered him.

Dean’s grip tightened around my throat. I clawed at his hand, gasping for air as the world began to blur. He leaned in close, his face inches from mine.

"Let's make this fun, shall we?" Dean's breath was hot against my face, laced with a twisted cruelty that didn’t belong to him.

Before I could react, Dean hurled me clear across the balcony. My body slammed into the glass wall on the opposite side with such force that I heard it crack. I barely had time to register the pain before he was on top of me again, yanking me up and slamming my back against the railing. The sound of glass shattering and falling to the ground below filled the air. I silently prayed that any second now, the pole would be burnt and the spirit would be gone. I just had to hold on.

"Sorry, Dean," I muttered, summoning every ounce of strength I had left. I kicked him hard between the legs.

He dropped me, stumbling back in pain. It was my only chance. Without hesitation, I slid through the broken glass wall, but I misjudged the height of the drop. Instead of landing on the down ramp, I plummeted to the lower level. Pain shot through me as I hit the ground, a sickening pop signaling that my ankle was dislocated.

Desperate, I began crawling, ignoring the sharp sting of broken glass slicing into my hands and knees. The chlorinated water on the floor seeped into the cuts, intensifying the agony. Behind me, I could hear the unmistakable sound of Dean’s boots on the cement floor—he had recovered quickly, too quickly.

"Now, now, Y/N. I'm going to make you regret that decision," he taunted, his voice dripping with malice.

A sharp, unbearable pain shot through my arm as Dean's boot came down on it, a loud crack echoing through the room. A bloodcurdling scream tore from my throat, but it only seemed to fuel the spirit's sadistic pleasure. Dean's hand tangled in my hair, yanking me across the floor toward the edge of the wave pool. Still clutching my hair, he lifted me and dropped me into the pool's deep end.

I knew I was in trouble. With my dislocated ankle and broken arm, there was no way I could swim back up. Even if I somehow managed to push off the bottom, Dean would just shove me under again. As I sank, I looked up at Dean’s wavy silhouette, his figure distorted by the water. My lungs burned, begging for air, but I couldn’t reach the surface. My foot brushed the bottom of the pool as the edges of my vision started to go black. This was it—the end. A strange sense of relief washed over me. Relief that Dean would no longer have to worry about me, that Sam could finally be free of his burden, and that my parents would no longer have to deal with their problem child.

Just as the darkness closed in, I saw a bright flash of light above me. Dean's silhouette crumpled to the ground, and then everything went black.

Heaven forbid my child have a normal birthday party. Nope no way, no how. She couldn't go with just fire fighters. She couldn't go with Paw Patrol or Bluey or anything normal. No it HAS to be Captain Bobby. My 3 year old has to have a Captain Bobby party or the world will end. So now I'm sitting here making custom Captain Bobby invites then I have to go write 118 on the Fire truck piñata we brought so it's Captain Bobby's fire truck or it's not good enough.

Anyway how's everyone else nights going?

Got myself a little treat, can't wait to start them when I get home from working tonight.