jonesing for a hit

anonymous asked:

how about a break up? up to you if they reconcile or not.

Spoiler: they do, because I can’t handle it otherwise. This is still deliciously painful though. *w*

It’s been two months since Derek last spoke to Stiles, almost three since he last saw him. He has no particular desire to ever see him again, but Derek still lives in Beacon Hills, and so does Stiles when he’s not at school, so he knows it’s only inevitable that they see each other around town. It doesn’t mean he has to like it, and he’s definitely not looking forward to it.

It just…hurts. He’d thought - and now he will never admit this to anyone, ever - Stiles was the one. And worse, he’d thought that Stiles thought that too, to the point where Derek had begun thinking about bringing up marriage. They’d said I love you to each other a thousand times; why would Stiles say that if he didn’t mean it? And why had Derek been stupid enough to believe him? Of all of his spectacularly failed romantic relationships, this one hurts the most because Stiles isn’t evil, he’s not a murderer, he knows right from wrong. He’s just an asshole, and Derek loved him with his entire being. What does that make him?

After Derek heard the voicemail, he reacted how he always did in times of great emotional stress; he completely shut down. He didn’t focus on the great, vast pit of misery in his chest - he just blocked it out completely. He didn’t answer any of Stiles’ texts and then, later, any of his calls, until they became so frequent that Derek blocked his number and then, for good measure, blocked him on the few social media accounts Stiles had goaded him into setting up. He half expected Stiles to show up at his door, but it’d been the middle of midterms and he knew that Stiles wouldn’t abandon his classes, even for him. Especially not for him.

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The Imaginary Friend (Chapter 8)

Chapter 7 (And other chapters)

“You have to go.” said Chuck. He sat on the couch in front of me.

“No way, you’re not getting away that easily.” I said. I walked over and sat down next to him, turning to face him.

“Talk to me, please.”

Chuck looked at me with watery eyes. I could see the fear laying in them.

“Do you trust me?” asked Chuck, barely above a whisper.

“Always have.” I said. I laid my hand on top of Chuck’s, rubbing it gently with my thumb. Chuck stared at our hands, taking a deep breath.

“Then you know why I’m about to do this.”

Chuck grabbed my face and pulled it towards his, kissing me, giving me no time to react before letting me go.

Chuck stood up, walking out of the room, up the stairs, leaving me alone.

“Ugh!” I yelled, slamming the door to the motel room of the week we were staying in.

“Range?” asked a 14 year old Sam.

“You know you could have waited for me to walk in before slamming the door.” said Dean from behind me.

Ignoring him, I walked in the bathroom, slamming the door again. Sam stood up ready to come to my aid.

“Leave her.” said Dean, knowing what had happened.

I sat on the floor against the sink with my head in my hands.

“Hey, hey what’s wrong?” asked Blue suddenly.

“I swear Blue if one more guy makes a move on me and kisses me I’m gonna explode.” said 16 year old me.


“Hunters can’t be in relationships. It doesn’t work, it’ll never work. They don’t exist. It stresses me out so much. I swear the next guy who kisses me; I’ll just run away from him.”

And I hadn’t been kissed since. I stood up quickly, wanting to get out of there before my brain took me into a state of panic, something Chuck knew would happen. I stood up quickly and walked out of his house, my head fogged up from shock.

I closed the door and leaned my head against it, taking a breath.

“Took you long enough.”

I jumped, turning around quickly. Sam stood before me.

“What are you doing here, Sam?” I asked. I pushed passed him and walked towards my truck. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with my little brother’s questions right now.

“What happened to ‘We’re right behind you!’” asked Sam. Sam walked towards the passenger door, climbing in.

“Why didn’t you go with Dean?” I asked.

“We need to talk.”

Sighing, I got in the car and started it. My phone suddenly beeped.

From: Dean

Hotel *********************

“Alright then.” Starting the car, and we were on the way.

After about 20 minutes on the road, Sam spoke up.

“So… How long have you had visions?”

I slammed on the breaks, nearly crashing the car. That was a question I was not expecting. I pulled over to the side of the road, getting out of the car. Sam followed.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, pacing slightly.

“I saw you in the car, that headache. I could see it on your face, because that’s exactly what my face used to look like.”

I stood against the truck with my head pressed against the side. What was I supposed to do here?

“When I was in that panic room, I kept seeing visions. And one, one of them was mom. She told me you were hiding something that you had secrets I couldn’t even think of. What’ going on Ranger?” asked Sam, walking towards my side of the truck.

“I can’t tell you.” I said, rubbing my temple with my hand.

“What are you talking about? Talk to me Ranger I’m your damn broth-“

“I promised Dad I wouldn’t ok?! The one promise I ever made to Dad, ‘Don’t tell Sam and Dean.’ I’m not breaking that now.” I could feel the tears trying to escape my eyes, but I refused to let them.

“Will you at least tell me how long the visions have been happening?” asked Sam, the concern evident in his voice.

I sighed. Sam wasn’t gonna let me go without me telling him something.

“The day we first met Adam.” Sam widened his eyes, realizing how long ago that was.

“Let’s go.” I said, getting into the car.


Dean and I sat in the hotel room. Dean sat on the bed next to mine, loading a gun.

Sam walked in.

“Hey.” said Dean.


Sam threw something at Dean and me. We both caught it and looked at it.

“Here. Hex bags. No way will the angels find us with those. Demons, either, for that matter.”

“Where’d you get it?” asked Dean.

“I made it.”

“How?” I asked, not making eye contact with my little brother.

Dean and I looked up at Sam, the silence laid heavy.

“I… I learned it from Ruby.”

Dean put his gun down and stood up.

“Speaking of. How you doing? Are you jonesing for another hit of bitch blood or what?” asked Dean.

“I-it’s weird. Uh. Tell you the truth, I’m fine. No shake, no fever. It’s like whoever… put me on that plane cleaned me right up.”

My mind immediately went to Chuck, still trying to figure out how he was a part of all this.

“Supernatural methadone.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Silence lay in the room again.


“Sam.” said Dean, cutting him off.

“It’s okay.” said Dean.

“You don’t have to say anything.” I said.

“Well, that’s good. Because what can I even say? “I’m sorry”? “I screwed up”? Doesn’t really do it justice, you know? Look, there’s nothing I can do or say that will ever make this right-“

“So why do you keep bringing it up?!” I asked.

Dean rested his hand on my shoulder, calming me.

“Look, all I’m saying is, why do we have to put this under a microscope? We made a mess. We clean it up. That’s it.”

Sam nodded.

“All right, so, say this is just any other hunt. You know? What do we do first?” I asked.

“We’d, uh, figure out where the thing is.” said Sam.

“All right. So we just got to find… the devil.”


Nick lied in bed, alone. He pulled his hands out from under the blankets, completely bloodstained. Tossing the blankets back, Nick sees his beds covered in blood. He jumped out of bed and switched on the light, finding no blood.

“All right, keep it together. Keep it down man.” said Nick to himself.

Nick lay back down, turning off the lights. Rolling over, a woman appeared. Nick sat up, shocked. Sarah, someone he wasn’t expecting to see.

“It’s you, Nick. You’re special. You’re chosen.”

Nick shook his head, covering his eyes. When he looks back, she’s gone.

I shot up, sweat dripping from my head. I sat in the dark motel room, the one light coming from the corner of the room. Dean sat awake in the corner, drinking a beer.

“You alright?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” I said.

I lay back down in bed, trying to get any more sleep.

Dean switched the light off, walking over to my side of the bed we shared.

“Goodnight, baby sister.” said Dean.

Dean bent down and kissed my forehead. He walked over to the other side, laying on top of the covers. Dean fell asleep, mind shutting down for the night.

——————————————————————————————————————————————Dean, Sam and I sat in the motel room the next morning. There was a knock on the door. Dean and I pulled out our guns as Sam answered.

An unknown woman stood on the other side, looking like she was about ready to explode.

“You okay, lady?” asked Sam.

“Sam… Is it really you?” asked the girl.

Sam looked back at the two of us. The girl stepped closer and put her hand on Sam’s chest.

“And you’re so firm.”

I snorted, laughing at the strange encounter.

“Uh, do I know you?” asked Sam.

“No. But I know you. You’re Sam Winchester. And you’re-“

She looked at the two of us.

“-not what I pictured. I’m Becky.”

“I apologize in advanced.”

I blocked Chuck, not wanting to talk to him right now.

“I read all about you guys. And I’ve even written a few-“

Becky looked down and giggled.

“Anyway, Mr. Edlund told me where you were.”

Dean stood up.

“Chuck?” he asked. Sam closed the door.

“He’s got a message, but he’s being watched. Angel. Nice change-up to the mythology, by the way. The demon stuff was getting kind of old.”

“Right. Just, um… what’s the message?” I asked.

“He had a vision. “The Michael sword is on earth. The angels lost it.” said Becky.

“The Michael sword?” asked Dean.

“Becky, does he know where it is?” I asked.

“In a castle, on a hill made of forty-two dogs.”

“Forty-two dogs?” asked Dean.

“Are… you sure you got that right?” asked Sam.

“It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what he said.” said Becky. She stepped closer to Sam.

“I memorized every word” Becky touched Sam’s chest. “For you.”

“Um, Becky, c-uh, can you… quit touching me?”


I laughed slightly, crossing my arms as I leant against the wall.

“She’s a character, sorry for dropping her on you.” said Chuck, pushing through my blocking.

“You’re getting stronger.” I said.

“You’re getting closer.”

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Because I do, and I know I’m not alone. We’re at the 2 month mark and I’m jonesing. Long distance runners speak of “hitting a wall” mentally and I now know exactly what they mean.

I need Red and Liz. I need them getting along or mad at each other. I need them working together to find Berlin. I need looks–long lingering stares or furtive glances. And the occasional touch–just a breadcrumb ever so often to keep me alive (although if TPTB feel so inclined to repeat Madeline Pratt or Ivan they should feel free to do so).

I also need Blacklisters strong writing–character-driven writing that closes some of the gaps in these beloved characters histories. I need mytharc. I need flashbacks or vague references to past events. I need the flagrant attempt to deceive an audience of loyal fans to stop. But mostly I need them; I need Red and Liz. The rest will work itself out.

Because I’ve been dying over this scene since I watched it.

(10.14 drabble)


Dean stumbled out of the sliding door, Blade gripped tight, shaking as the Mark worked with it as it was always meant to. Dean had forgotten what it had felt like to hold it and use it. His heart raced like it was in competition with the bloody jawbone vibrating in in his hand.

But it wasn’t his craving that caused the pounding in his chest, not this time. He’d been jonesing for another hit with the Blade for months. He was certain he wouldn’t walk out of that fight with Cain –having used the thing, having given into it to take that son of a bitch down– the same way he walked in. He was right about that, but it wasn’t the supernatural that had shaken him to the core.

“The murder you’d never survive.”

He could still hear Cain’s voice in his icy whisper.

“Your brother, Sam.”

As Dean limped down the stairs, the taste of blood breaking through the numbness of his shock, he saw Sam nearly lunge towards him but Dean kept his eye on the King of Hell. Dean thought he heard Sam say his name, but all his senses were dazed and kind of dulled. His eyes faltered towards his brother just for a second. Breathe in, dammit, he told himself. He couldn’t look at Sam. He knew he was too weak to look at him. Keep it together.

Dean’s unsteady hand extended the Blade to Castiel. He felt their eyes on him, how still they were as he tottered on his feet. He knew they wondered if he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. Would he detonate or not?

“Put this some place safe,” he instructed the angel in a tired rasp.

Really fucking far away.

The feel of the Blade going through Cain’s body still hung on Dean’s limbs. He felt the sensation of it piercing through skin as it opened a wound, draining life from his victim. It was all part of owning the Mark, the aftershocks of a good kill, the cycle of the high settling down into another deep craving, a stronger craving. Dean’s stomach turned as Castiel accepted the Blade. If Cain was right, one day he’d feel this same sensation after attacking Sam, yet his body still called out for the thing, the very thing that would destroy he and Sam, both.

“Tell me I don’t have to do this! Tell me you can stop!”
“I will never stop.”

Bile rose in Dean’s throat. He felt tears sting his eyes, the salt burning the cut high up on his left cheek.

Crowley’s complaint, something about being lied to, jerked Dean from these thoughts. He cleared his throat and slurred some generic snark at the King of Hell as his head swam. Nothing was in focus, it was all a blur. His sight, his thoughts, his feelings, the destiny he was careening towards. Cain was gone, the only link to the roots of the Mark. This was a dead end, there was no erasing it, there was no way out. Any hope he held for getting rid of it that way was bleeding out upstairs, in the barn. Cain had said the story must end with Sam dying and at Dean’s hand.

Without thinking his dazed eyes landed on Sam. Despite the shame and dread and guilt, his eyes found his brother’s face and clung to it like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. Then, the fatigue in his body caught up with the mess in his head, and like he had been pushed, Dean felt his knees give out, but before he even felt himself fall forward at all, he was in Sam’s arms. It had been just a second of weakness, but his little brother had caught him, lifted him, repeated hushed reassurance into his ear.

“You did it, Dean. You did it.”

And Dean didn’t straighten up or back away. He was spent in every way, and he let himself hang there leaning against his brother. His instincts screamed at him to put on a strong face and pretend he was fine, but he couldn’t muster the strength. His worst nightmare had been set into motion. He was shattered.  No more hardened mask, he couldn’t do it.

Bile inched it’s way forward again. Dean sat in Sam’s arms, being consoled by the most important person in his life, the person who had no idea he was comforting his future murderer.

Everything was as fucked up as it could possibly be, so Dean leaned his head against his brother’s shoulder and he let Sam lift him up, let him encompass him, let him tell him he did a good job.