the-brothers-grim

10

here My top albums list of 2016!

I am not the kind of reviewer who gives a blow-by-blow comment on each individual track. I think others have done that well enough in their reviews, so I will spare the details of my opinion. those are Solid Heavy Metal Albums, well worth the money :P , Highly recommended for any  Heavy Metal fan. see you next year. KEEP THE METAL ALIVE!!!!

@xuli-jing  @rockhard-ridefree  @forthosewhodare @electricblueals-dustygar  @metallicula @troops-of-doom @mymindlostme  @highway-rider  @anvil-metal-forces @the-heavy-metal-viking   @metaladdiction  and everyone also,feel free to tag me with your own list  )

OK, but in the Brothers Grim version of the story, the queen tries to kill Snow White by tying her corset too tight (while she’s with the dwarves), then when that fails, she brushes her hair with a poisoned comb, which also fails, so she gets the poisoned apple. In Winter, when she and Scarlet are escaping, Winter hallucinates that she is being choked by her seatbelt in the hover, and after that, she dreams Levana is brushing her hair with a poisoned comb.

From Sai

I was tagged by @mogamihateclub

Name: Sai
Nicknames: Beans, Ugly, honey, sugar, babe, Adam,uhhh…. That’s all I think?
Sign: ♓
Height: 5'5
Orientation: Bi and asexual (I don’t care for genders I just care if I love someone and I don’t want anything sexual.)
Ethnicity: White? Idk how to put this.
Favourite Fruit: Strawberry’s!
Favourite season:Spring ,summer, or fall. I hate winter.
Favourite Book: The book thief, Coraline, Little Women, When Marnie was there, Maximum Ride, Miss perigrines home for peculiar children, the brothers grim fairy tales, Orbiting Jupiter, the Asylum series, Scott pilgrim if that counts, The Uglies series, and Edicate and espionage.
Favourite Flower: Peonys, and Blue bells.
Average Sleep Hours: about 5-6 hours because I have issues.
Cat or Dog person: bOTH
Favourite Fictional Character: Uhhh??? I can’t just choose one.
Mami Tomoe from Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Saiki Kusuo from saiki kusuo no psi nan, Tomoko from Watamote, I love 60% of the mob psycho characters, Allya from miraculous ladybug, Nai and tskumo from karneval, and Usagi Ami and Makoto from sailor moon.
Number of Blankets you sleep with: 2
Ideal Trip: Idk…
Blog created: 2-3 weeks ago? I’ve been on Tumblr for a year 3 years though.
Number of followers: His blog curently has 160 followers

I tag @pastel-lavender @dailymogami @serizawa-kaatsuya

“Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, hair black as ebony”-The Brother’s Grim.

Began this drawing inspired by what happened to Michael and the pyrotechnics incident but half way through I suddenly had an epiphany and realised how particularly atm, Michael is like the male version of Snow White :3 several hours listening to Ashton’s spotify playlist and this is the result 😊 5sos-official

Mobile Master List

Here’s the new list, much easier browsing! (: Enjoy! - deanandidrinkcoffee

Dean Winchester

Just Too Young - Just Too Young Part 2 - Just Too Young Part 3

You’re a Writer and Dean is Your Loving Husband

My Nightmare

Forgive and Forget

A Man With a Heart of Gold

Is That You Baby?

Lie To Me

Under Different Circumstances

I Fought For You - I Fought For You Part 2

We Were Born To Die

Read My Lips

Are You Jealous?

Sweetie Pie

The Unwanted Truth

Before You

Keeping Secrets - Keeping Secrets - Part 1 Epilogue  - Keeping Secrets Part 2 - Keeping Secrets Part 3

My Brown Eyed Girl

Burning Up

Caught in the Middle - Caught in the Middle Part 2

Sacrifice (Dean x reader but LOTS of Sam)

Friendzoned - Friendzoned Part 2 - Friendzoned Part 3

I Know You

Secret Ink - Secret Ink - Part 2

Cream No Sugar

You Only Have to Ask

Blue Jeans - Blue Jeans Part 2

Neither Love, Lust, Nor Longing (Short)

Promise Me

Choose One - Choose One Part 2  (demon!dean inside of Sam) 

One Last Night

Ride - Prologue

Sam Winchester

Speechless

Stay With Me

Working With Bartender Sam (short)

My Kind of Crazy - My Kind of Crazy Part 2 - My Kind of Crazy Part 3

Not So Innocent

Puppy Breath

Picture of Us

Ice Cold -  Ice Cold Part 2

Daddy’s Little Girl

Love’s a Triangle Prologue  - Love’s a Triangle

Daddy Issues - Daddy Issues Part 2

 

Both Brothers

Meet Brothers Grim - Meet Brothers Grim Part 2

Claustrophobia

4
  • Many of the concept art for Snow White resembled Betty Boop.  Funny enough before they had finished the detail in Snow White’s eyes. She still had the classic “Boop” eyes.  Snow White’s finished design gives off a vague resemblance, which can be shown in the characters expressions. If you look closely you can see Betty. 
Just Sam

Imagine meeting Sam after he’s been cursed with Amnesia and trying to help him figure out who he is.

Author’s Note: I know I’ve been MIA as far as fics go for a while! I still have some old ones to catch up on (Brothers Grim part 3 I know) but I wrote this on a whim when I had a very short amount of free time. Plus, there hasn’t been a Sam fic in a while.  Hopefully there will be more writing soon. Sam x reader based on this imagine. Little angst, little suspense, little fluff, little humor. Warnings: tiny angst, reference to death, amnesia, 

I was racing down the highway when the clattering of hundreds of rain drops broke me from my thoughts. The windshield erupted into shattering splashes that forced me to ease back on the gas and flick my wipers on full speed. I squinted through the veil of water obstructing my view of the road ahead. Great. Just what I needed after another long day of work and pocket full of tips that would barely buy me this week’s groceries. 

I sighed and reached over the seat to peek at my phone, but decided against it. Just as I returned my gaze to the road, I tried to focus my eyes on a distant dot on the horizon that seemed to be getting larger. I was grateful for not screwing with my cell when I realized the fast approaching figure was a person walking in the pullover lane. They had a rather empty looking backpack slung over one shoulder and their clothes were already soaked through. I cringed and instinctively slowed down my car. In the very short amount of time available I weighed my options. 

Picking up hitchhikers wasn’t something I did, especially not at night when I was by myself. I had seen enough dateline television to know how often that ended up poorly. But at the same time, my chest was twisted with a pang of guilt. It was fairly cold outside, and that rain wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. A green sign overhead reminded me that he was still another 30 miles from the nearest town. I chewed on my lip in consideration. Another bad month at work and that hitchhiker could be me. Without another thought I switched to the break and brought the vehicle to a stop. As I unlocked the door my heart sped up a little. The drenched silhouette approaching the passenger side was much, much larger in person. I swallowed back apprehension and leaned over to throw the handle open with a friendly but nervous smile. 

“Hey! You need a ride?” From my place in the car I could only see a man’s pair of faded jeans, and realized just how tall he was. I watched with a dry mouth as the backpack was removed and the figure bent down to meet my level. He made no motion to accept my offer initially, just to meet my wide eyed expression with his own. Long hair was slicked back behind his ears and he looked exhausted, like he’d been walking for days. He glanced at the open space beside me and then back up. 

“I’d get your seat wet.” If his voice didn’t reflect true hesitation I would have laughed outright. I couldn’t believe this man was actually concerned about my aged upholstery. 

“I don’t care about that, it’s probably the best washing it will have in a while.” The man gave a small smirk, but the action looked difficult to perform, as if his face had to strain against whatever heavy weight pressed his shoulders downwards. “It’s just a car.” My words caught him of guard, and his eyebrows furrowed slightly. He was deep in thought and far from reality for a long moment. Finally he shook his head, sending a small spray of water with his hair. 

“I owe you.” He ducked into the opening and struggled to find room for his long legs in the limited floor space. His massive body made everything seem tiny in comparison. His ears perked up curiously when I stifled a laugh. 

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude. You’re just a few feet too tall for my ride I think. Here, use this to dry off.” I retrieved a blanket from the back seat and put his bag in it’s place. He muttered a quiet thanks as I pulled back into the road and returned to driving. I watched him from the corner of my eye, my hands tight on the steering wheel. He was dressed plainly like any other man around these parts, but his clothing looked well worn and stained with use. His hands alone were calloused and scarred from hard work. He gently folded the blanket back into a damp square after scrubbing it over his rain streaked skin. A short layer of stubble shaded his cheeks and jaw, but it appeared more a result of negligence than intent. 

“You shouldn’t pick up hitchhikers.” His mellow voice startled me from my silent examination. I could feel his dark eyes on me as I shifted in my seat and cleared my throat nervously. 

“It’s not safe. You have no idea who I am, I could be anyone.” I tried to relax my white knuckles on the wheel. Is this how psychopaths talk? I forced a chuckle and played with the stereo dial. 

“Well I guess there’s a risk in kindness, but I hope someone would do the same for me. Here, could you put some music on?” My attempt to change the conversation went without question, and the man began scanning the radio. He had an oddly pensive face as he paused on each station and listened a little longer than expected. I took another opportunity to soak up the scattered details of his cryptic behavior. The backpack in backseat was clearly half empty. I wondered how he could possibly be living off its contents. “What kind of music do you like?” He flipped through several more genres before stopping on a classic rock station that was just finishing up a track by Styx. I wasn’t adverse to the song, but his behavior made me uneasy. He wore a barely discernible smile and he sounded satisfied with his discovery. 

“This. This sounds familiar.” Great, I picked up a complete lunatic. We drove in silence, but our lack of conversation was made up for in road noise and the sounds of led zeppelin. Despite how strange some of the things he said were, my passenger seemed like anything but a threat. He was still and quiet, gaze locked on the asphalt ahead with more focus than I had. He didn’t seem uncomfortable riding shotgun, and I wondered if he was used to catching rides with people. His eyes had a certain darkness tho them though, one much more permanent than that of tiredness. He looked worn down mentally. It reminded me of the distant stare a few of the veterans I knew had. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was ex military, although I didn’t see any dog tags or identifying tattoos. Whoever he was, he had seen some shit in his lifetime, I just hope he had seen it and not caused it. 

My few questions were answered curtly, and I soon realized he wasn’t going to be open to sharing anything other than his taste in music. Clearly he didn’t have the money for a bus ticket, and I couldn’t imagine what would possesses a man to walk all this way. Suddenly I felt less unnerved and more compassionate considering what could have possibly brought him to this place in his life.  

*

Once we got to Amarillo I stopped in front of my quaint, chipped-paint house and began to gather my things. “Thank you again. I’ll repay you sometime, I promise.” Before I could say otherwise the man at my side threw open his door and stepped into the rain. 

“Hey! Wait!” I followed him as quickly as I could but his long strides were already taking him down the street in the opposite direction. My shirt began to cling to my frame as the cool rain slid over every inch of my body. 

“Stop! You can’t just sleep on the street tonight!” I grabbed the flannel sleeve in front of me in a last stitch attempt to keep him from escaping. Finally he paused and turned around, his face bent with confusion and slight aggravation. 

“You don’t have anywhere to stay tonight, right?” He looked surprised that I spoke so plainly about what he was trying to hide. “It’s okay, you don’t need to explain. I think I picked you up for a reason, call me crazy, but maybe it’s a God thing.. or fate or karma.., I don’t know.” I pushed back the wet hair that slipped into my face and fumbled around in my pockets for my cash. The crinkled bills I retrieved made me red with embarrassment. 

 "I don’t even have the money to give you for a motel room… I’m not exactly rolling in it right now.“ I shrugged and stuffed the small change back into my jeans. He was already raising his hands in a gesture of refusal but I cut him off. 

“But I do have a couch. And yes, it is much too short for you, but hey, it comes with a roof over your head.” He sighed and looked up to the raging sky, causing his face to be riddled with water droplets. I had the feeling he much rather take his chances with a park bench than “inconvenience” me any further, but I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily.

“Look you said you owe me one. I need someone to help me do some work on the house, and I can’t afford it. Maybe you could lend me a hand or two? Just until you can get yourself back on your feet?” The stranger searched me with a stare that made me feel exposed and under dressed. It felt like he could see through every bit of me and my frantic attempts to justify my favor, but something about his eyes was soothing. I was willingly being taken apart by his gaze, reduced to the skeleton of my intentions. 

“Please, let me do this for you.” He considered my words for a long time before turning his attention to my humble home. He shrugged shyly and did his best to smile. 

“Well, I guess it could use a bit of paint.”

*

“I know it’s not much, but it keeps the rain out and the heat in. Here, I brought some blankets for you. There’s a shirt and some pants there too.” The man lifted a skeptic eyebrow at the possibility of clothing possibly being his size. His eyes flicked to my left hand in what I now know was a search for a wedding band. 

“Your boyfriend’s?” I laughed and busied myself with tidying up the living room. I didn’t have guests over very often anymore. If anyone needed me, they just showed up at the diner. I was there longer than I was ever at home. 

“Afraid not. They’re my brother’s. He’s tall like you.” I smiled at the thought of my elder sibling and tried to imagine what he would look like now. Probably something like the man in front of me. Suddenly I was sobered by the photograph on the wall, propped against which was a crisp red, white, and blue flag folded into a triangle. My brother wasn’t a month older than 22, and he never would be. I cleared my throat and ran a hand over the shirt before passing it over. 

Was. I should say, he was tall like you.” There was no hiding the slight crack in my voice. My body felt much colder than it had before, the damp fabric worsened by my shivers. I was still staring down at the grey Henley in my outstretched arms when a hand laid atop mine gently. Rough fingers smoothed over the hills and valleys of my knuckles with hesitant kindness. 

“I’m sorry.” Those dark eyes were made soft by understanding. I could tell this stranger knew my pain, maybe better than I did. I sniffed sharply in an effort to maintain my composure and self respect. 

“Don’t be. It’s been over a year now. He died a hero. Afghanistan.” I forced a smile and pushed the shirt into my guests arms. “He would want you to have these. He was always giving the shirt off his back, if you know what I mean.” The man across from me didn’t accept the gift immediately, but let his fingers rest over mine in a gesture of silent gratitude. When color began to rise to my cheeks I withdrew my hand and rubbed the back of my neck.    

“Go ahead and change up, and I’ll wash your clothes for you.” He nodded and placed the pile of blankets on the couch reverently. I was leaving to go to my own room when I remembered that I didn’t even know the name of the man who would be sleeping in my house.

“By the way, I guess I should introduce myself. My name’s Y/N. Yours?” By the time I turned back around to face the living room again, the man was already pulling his wet shirt over his head. My jaw went slack at the sight of his toned chest, but he didn’t seem to notice my shock. For a homeless guy, he had the body of a model. He wouldn’t be unemployed for long if he walked into any one of the many outlet stores nearby. 

“It’s Sam.” Sam… I repeated the name in my mind. It suited him. I forced down a dry swallow when he started buttoning the new shirt over his broad-shouldered frame. The fabric strained slightly, but I wasn’t disappointed. Finally I snapped myself out of my reverie and folded my arms in feigned casualness. 

“Well nice to meet you, Sam.” I loved the way it sounded rolling off my tongue, especially when it was directed at the man only a room away. “Do you have a last name?” His eyes shifted to the carpet and wandered for a moment. If I didn’t know better, I’d think his hesitation was failed recollection. Teeth raked over his lip before he answered. 

“Just Sam.”

*

The first few times I passed the living room, I couldn’t help but be startled. Seeing an attractive man reclining on my couch was unnerving and out of the ordinary. I chided myself for being single for so long… it was making me skittish when I should have been excited. I anxiously grabbed the folded wet clothes from the arm of the couch and did my best to avoid any unnecessary eye contact, but Sam had to smile and thank me before I could escape. I returned the congeniality with a stutter and retreated to the laundry room. 

While I opened the washer I couldn’t help but notice that his clothes smelled amazing. It wasn’t at all characteristic of a hitchhiker to smell like ivory soap and musk. I resisted the urge to move the fabric to my nose, but did get close enough to recognize the many rips and stains. Each tear was stitched without any real pattern. I chuckled to myself; it was obviously the work of his own huge, less than graceful, hands. Looks like there’s no female figure in his life to do his mending. I felt strange satisfaction at the thought.

I had almost tossed the jeans into the machine when a full pocket came to my attention. I narrowed my brow curiously at the worn wallet that fell into my hand when I turned the denim over. 

“Just like a man to forget to…” In an action that was more instinctive than nosy, I splayed the leather pouch open. I flipped past a few business cards and receipts to find a license. After all, was it wrong to know who I was offering my couch to? 

“Ah, here it is. Sam… Sam Smith. That’s a nice name I guess. Wait… whats this? Sam Frehley, FBI?! Sam Fisher… Sam Perry… Johnson…” I gasped in horror as varying and unrelated identities unfolded before me. There must have been dozens of licenses and ‘federal’ identifications. My hands began to shake as I read each alias. 

“You found my wallet.” A deep voice made me flinch and I swung my knee into the dryer with a loud thud. When I spun around the contents of the wallet fluttered out onto the floor by my feet. My heart was racing and my free hand gripped the wall for support. I couldn’t help but feel like I was in the intro of a low budget horror film, as the opening-scene girl. And I knew well that those girls only ever get hired for their screams. Sam shook his head at the falsified papers covering the carpet and stepped towards me to scoop them up. 

“Don’t get any closer! I’m calling the cops!” My threats were empty and high pitched with fear. The man put his arms up and frowned in shame, his eyes still effortlessly persuading my soul.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Y/N.” I was speechless. He looked like the most genuine thing I had ever seen. If this was all a charade, he deserved an Oscar. All 6′4 of his solid muscle seemed soft and inviting as could be. 

I had to remind myself of the precarious situation I was in, and the murderer or psychopath he could very well be. “They all say that!” 

He wrinkled his nose and looked around in confusion. “Who does?” 

“All of the… you know what never mind. What is this?! Who the hell are you?!” I threw the half emptied wallet in his direction and backed into the wall in a failed attempt to distance myself. He rolled his eyes when my aim barely skimmed his shoulder. There was a long pause filled with my panting and his loud thoughts. I could see the contemplation on his face creating new lines and shadows. When he found the words to speak they were low and tinged with anxiety.

“That’s just it. I dont know.” He heaved a pained sigh and massaged his forehead, long fingers pulling down over his face. I could feel my eyes widen.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” He hooked his hands over the back of his neck and paced back and forth from his place across the room. 

“Two days ago I woke up in a shitty motel without a dollar to my name… or any of my names for that matter… and without a single memory.” I tried to envision his retelling of events and it didn’t take much imagination. He certainly looked as though his story was true. His “amnesia” would explain some of the strange mannerisms, but so would being high or drunk.

“I know you’re scared because you don’t know me… but neither do I.” Sam, or whatever his name really was, stopped his pacing and faced me with sober seriousness. His eyes begged me for whatever trust I had left.

“Y/N, you have to believe me. I have no idea who I am.”

How Signs kill off their enemies.
  • Aries: Bullet between the eyes, but with a wooden bullet (because of astheics)
  • Taurus: Thrown off a moving vehicle into a perfectly positioned wood chipper
  • Gemini: Limbs ripped off and slapped silly with their own arms
  • Cancer: Spiders?
  • Leo: Giant Jenga tower made of cacti falls on them
  • Virgo: Any way the Brother Grims would kill someone
  • Libra: Poisoned their double-shot extra whip soy milk mocha latte
  • Scorpio: Hitman that does impressions of various English Prime Ministers
  • Sagitarius: A secret combo-move from any Street Fighter game
  • Capricorn: Killed by kindness
  • Auqarius: Hunger Games: The Musical
  • Pisces: An act of God not watching the stove
So is “Ward”/”Maveth” Grim Reaper after all?

  • Grim Reaper was born to a wealthy family.
  • Grim Reaper was the black sheep and his mother would tell him he was “born bad” while she gave affection and love to his younger brother (who later becomes Wonder Man).
  • Grim Reaper’s father was abusive and uncaring.
  • Grim Reaper accidentally burned down his family’s home while playing with chemicals in the garage.
  • Grim Reaper was athletic while his younger brother was studious.
  • Grim Reaper was imprisoned by S.H.I.E.L.D. for a time, but escaped.
  • Grim Reaper was RAISED FROM THE DEAD.
  • Grim Reaper’s powers are NECROMANCY which allow him to RE-ANIMATE THE SOULS AND BODIES OF THE DEAD.
Brothers Grim Part 3

Meet Brothers Grim - Meet Brothers Grim Part 2

Author’s Note: The much requested third installment for the first fic I wrote! If you haven’t read the first two chapters you’ll need to for this one to make sense (just wait till you see how much my writing style has changed in 4 months). Reader is a young hunter who’s running from something in her past (the mystery during part 1 and 2) and then she meets Dean and Sam. It’s leaning towards being Dean x reader. I like that the story line is pretty unique/mysterious, and there’s lots of Sam and Dean being their weird selves. There’s way too much going on to fit it all in this part alone. I’ll do more if you guys like it! 

Warnings: language, reader’s desire to just giving up, violence, mention of blood, injury, little ptsd.

I wasted no time catching a cab and heading back to my motel room. My run in with Sam and Dean left me frazzled and skiddish, the sooner I could get out of town the better. Besides, I had seen the signs. He was catching up to me again. Three mysterious deaths in the past 32 hours alone, each one increasingly violent. I traced my finger between a wrinkled map and several photocopies of police reports. It was no surprise when I found that the location of each murder or suicide was another fifty miles closer to the town I was in. Given another day, he would be right on top of me. I leaned over the table in exhaustion and tried to ignore the still-burning sensation forcing its way through my ribs. I was wounded, and he would see that as easy prey. But there was something inside me far more debilitating than pain alone. Exhaustion seemed to draw my bones down to the floor, a constant pulling force reminding me of how little I had slept in the past few months. The desire to just lie down was overwhelming, and my drive to keep running was waning weak. 

A jagged sigh filled the stuffy silence of my room. The knives, guns, and research scattered around each corner was a reminder of my mission. I was a fighter. There wasn’t a single problem in my life that I didn’t try to solve with my bare hands and blind sarcasm. My mantra had become something along the lines of bleeding means you’re still alive, and if you always fight, dying means you tried. But this, I couldn’t fight this. 

The red pen marks on the map seemed as rich and bright as blood. They might as well have been, since each represented a life lost. And each one was my fault. As long as I ran, he would always be following, silently leaving behind a body count to remind me of his power. Maybe it was time to just stay and rest, to stop running in place. I bent my head down in surrender, my lips brushing against the velvety fabric of Sam’s button down. I could still feel their hands on me as they attempted to put be back together again. Their smiles and reassurances, it was more affection than I had allowed myself in ages. If only they truly understood what nipped at my heels… 

I couldn’t ask for their help, not for this. The gentle background noise of the neighbors television was like a siren’s call, begging me to just lie down and stop living a life of retreat. Instead of packing my bags I sank to the bed and closed my eyes.

*

“I love stakeouts.” Dean spoke through his full mouth, a half demolished burger gripped tightly in his hands. A few empty food wrappers littered the floor around his feet and a stack of napkins sat on the dash. 

“No, you love sitting in the car, eating and listening to music.” Sam watched with a look of disdain as his brother continued to make love to his lunch. Again he reached to turn down the radio, which always seemed to somehow become louder every time he looked away. The occasional passerby walking through the parking lot frowned at the vehicle and it’s occupants. They could probably hear the Metallica blaring through the closed doors. “You do realize a stakeout actually requires paying attention to something other than your lunch right?” Sam squinted towards the motel they were parked in front of, noting the drawling lack of activity. This place saw most of its action after dark. Dean smeared the ketchup off his lips and tossed his trash into the backseat. 

“I’m paying attention. The owner of that white sedan is a middle-aged, balding motel manager who presumably hasn’t been with a woman since he had a full head of hair. And that’s been a while.” Sam craned his neck to get a glimpse of the man being describing, surprised that his brother has noticed anything besides the food he had been nursing. Dean took the opportunity to turn the stereo up two notches. 

“He probably smells every female tenant’s sheets after they check out. A real winner.” Sam grimaced and shook his head in an effort to loosen the image from his mind. His shaggy hair followed the motion and came untucked from behind his ear. 

“How disturbingly observant of you, but that has nothing to do with why we’re here. This is Y/N’s motel, and she hasn’t left more than once. From what we’ve read and heard, it’s not like her to stay in one place so long like this.” Dean shrugged and folded his arms across his chest in a less than comfortable, upright attempt to sleep. He must have felt Sam’s prying gaze because his eyes flicked open before he spoke again in a matter-of-fact tone. 

 ”Well, if you were paying attention, Sammy, you would have noticed she came back with a bag from the liquor store.” A long legged woman sauntered by the Impala and scowled in disgust when Dean’s eyes traced her from head to toe. Sam snickered at the silent rejection but Dean just rolled his eyes before returning to his cat nap. “Looks to me like our Miss Independent hunter is just taking a day off to get boozed up. A girl after my own heart.” The idea wasn’t completely unbelievable. All hunters needed a break here and there, especially one that involved alcohol; but it was the actual taking it that didn’t happen very often. 

 ”I don’t know Dean, I’ve for a bad feeling about this. It doesn’t sit with me right. She doesn’t seen like a day off kind of person.” Sam reached to tune the music back again but a hand slapped his away, despite its owner’s eyes being shut tightly.

“Well maybe you could learn a thing or two from her and loosen up a little.”

*

Getting drunk in a motel room by myself wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but it was passing the time. And time felt like all I had left. My clumsy fingers set the bottle of gin down on the floor and dug around in my pocket for the one thing I could always rely upon being there. I was relieved when I felt the sleek surface of a photography, although it was crinkled age and wear. The picture was faded from months of rubbing against the bloodstained denim of my jeans. Two smiling faces started back at me, one of them a younger, more happier version of myself. I couldn’t believe how cheerful we both looked, or how without a care I must have felt. That kind of lightheartedness was lost to me now. The man with his arm around me was handsome and wholesome looking. A less observant person wouldn’t even have noticed the way he gripped my shoulder or the whispers of a bruise left on my cheekbone. We could have been the sample couple that comes in a new bought picture frame. Even then we were so happy together. 

I stuffed the painful memory back into it’s dark home and drunkly pushed myself off the couch. There was too much racing through my mind and chest, I needed to pace around a bit. He would be hear soon. I’d never stayed in one place this long, and I didn’t have a doubt that he was be there within the day. If this shitty motel room was the last place I would see, at least it was the closest thing to home to me. When my wandering feet brought me past the curtain-shaded window I had to do a double take. I paused and squinted towards the dusty patch of dirt that substituted a parking lot. 

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me…” There was no mistaking the large, black vehicle parked a little ways away. I groaned and pulled the shades closed as tightly as I could. Those stupid brothers were going to get themselves killed if they didn’t stop sticking their nose in business that wasn’t theirs. The last thing I needed right now was two more lives to be worried about, not that I was terribly concerned with my own at the moment. Suddenly I heard the clink of a bottle coming to rest on the table behind me and my spine stiffened. I tried to see through the distance if the Impala was occupied, but it was too far off. The sound of my swallow seemed deafening. 

“Are you here to get your shirt back?” I silently prayed that I would hear Sam’s gentle voice responding but I couldn’t imagine how either of those goons would sneak into my room so effortlessly. A bone chilling cackle shook the air and familiar fingers gripped my shoulder, just like those in my crinkled photograph. 

“Think you’re mistaken babe. I’m here to get you back." 

*

I had thought about this moment for months on end. I played over how I would react in my head a thousand times. But now, with his hand on my clavicle and his crooning voice in my ears, I was paralyzed. There was nothing I could have done to prepare me for him finally catching up with me. I reached out to steady myself on the windowsill, but my shaking fingers snagged the curtain instead and it ripped downwards off the window. 

"Easy there. Don’t make a mess honey, you know what happens when you make a mess.” Memories were flooding my spinning mind. I could still feel every time he had hit me fresh on my skin. The bruises were long gone, but the scars kept me staring up at the ceiling all hours of the night. The fingers on my shoulder tightened and pulled me back. I fell into him like I was made of paper. When my hand instinctively grabbed for the blade sheathed on my thigh, he pinned my wrist against my hip. I yelped loudly, but secretly I was relieved that he knocked the weapon from my grasp. It spared me the embarrassment of trying, and not being able to, stab him. 

All this hunting, all this killing, it was practice. I was honing my skills to be able to slaughter him one day for everything he had done. For all the people he had murdered just to keeping me running. Not a single person I loved was spared, except for himself. Moist breath panted against my neck in another prideful laugh. 

“Baby… I was really hoping you’d struggle a little more. You make this too easy.” I barred my teeth and thrashed against his hold, but he was inhuman in strength. “Tsk, tsk. I think you fought more in bed. What a good little girl you were.” My world was a blur as he turned me around in his arms. I tried to avert my gaze, but he snatched at my chin with a greedy hand that ended on my neck. 

“Look me on the eyes, Y/N.” A sob broke through my clenched jaw when I finally saw his face. The features I knew and loved were contorted and exaggerated. A hellish smile was topped by two wide eyes, both black as night. They rolled freely like the dead, marbled iris of a taxidermied wolf 

“No more running.” He came close to me and drew in a sharp breath through his nose. “I want to know what your blood smells like on my hands… It’s been so long since I gutted you last.” I refused to close my eyes to my fate, so I stared up towards the ceiling in surrendered calm. This was it; it was over now. All that running for nothing. My free hand swept over the photograph in my pocket. At least I could finally rest at last. 

When the door to the motel room ruptured, wood slammed against the wall with a loud crack. Adrenaline and fear slowed my perception to a crawl, and I watched as Dean pushed the unhinged panel out of his way and raised his weapon with quickness that could hardly be seen. Sam was following after, but he couldn’t cross the threshold before his brother was rigid and ready to fire. 

“Put her down!” My assailant shoved me behind himself in an ironic gesture of protection. The three men stared at each other for a stunned moment, heavy panting filling the room. The man in front of me cocked his head like a curious and demented creature. 

“What’s this? You have two play things that I haven’t met yet? Naughty girl Y/N.” His eyes must have been back to their usual blue, because Dean didn’t seem to know what he was or how to respond to his maniacal behavior. Sam trained his own weapon and crept forward. 

"What’s going on here?!” The nervousness in his stance was evident as he switched his weight back and forth defensively between gated legs. Dean on the other hand was stone still, face unwavering and vicious. 

“I don’t need to know what’s going on to see that this son of a bitch needs to get capped.” He set his jaw and brought his finger over the trigger. I could see the fire in his eyes, and knew I had only seconds before a deafening shot would pierce the air and the man shielding me. I felt torn between relief and panic. That bullet wouldn’t stop him, not in the way they hoped, but it would tear a hole in the body that I knew better than my own. I thought of the photograph in my jeans and was possessed by drunken passion.

“No Dean! Stop!” Before I could regain control I was throwing myself in between the man in front of me and the two brothers. As soon as my body passed in front of Dean’s gun his eyes shot wide and he wrinkled his brow, but not before lowering his weapon immediately. Sam yelled, Dean lunged forward, and I braced myself for whatever form of collateral damage I was about  to become. 

The shattering of glass was the only indication of my captor’s escape out the window. The remaining half of dingy floral curtain was still waving lightly when I turned around. He was gone. Dean screamed after him and pounded his fist into the wall with furious strength. It wasn’t till then that I realized I had been holding my breath for far too long, and I collapsed to the floor in gasping relief. Arms wrapped around me and searched me for any injuries. While Sam was comforting me and smoothing the wild hair from my face, Dean paced and turned with crazed frustration.   

“What the hell was that?! I had a clean shot!” He glared and barked his question towards me, but I didn’t have the words to respond. I was still reeling from the conflicting emotions that seemed to rip me apart. Sam’s wide hand rubbed over my back with just enough pressure to remind me that he was still there. When he spoke his voice was soft and chastising.

“Dean, don’t be so hard on her. She’s drunk and scared…” The elder of the two threw his arms up, one hand still waving the gun he was robbed of firing. 

“Shut up Sam, she can speak for herself!” Sam’s jaw tightened in aggravation, but he too must have been curious. He looked down into my face with an encouraging smile, yet his brow was furrowed in questioning. I gathered enough breath to stutter out my explanation.

 ”You can’t shoot him…” The eye contact between Dean and I was smoldering with distrust and challenge. His mouth fell open in shock before he clicked it shut sharply and rubbed at his temple. 

“I can and I will! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t? We saw him with his hands all over your neck!” His words reminded me of the pain I was feeling where hand shaped bruises would soon form. I was used to those marks, although it had been a while since I wore them. He always used to say purple was my color…

I grit my teeth and pushed Sam away enough for me to stand, although he remained at my side the whole way up. Dean watched in partial surprise as I reached into my pocket and produced wrinkled piece of paper. I unfolded it, flattened it, and shoved it in his direction.

 ”You can’t shoot him Dean

because he’s my husband.”

Meet Brothers Grim - Part 2

Authors Note: This one is a little shorter, let me know what you think! Less dark, more fluffy. Foreshadowing. The path of this is very flexible. What do you predict? What would you like to see? Warnings: Dean being adorable, Sam being hot, blood, shirtlessness, language


That morning I awoke to a foreign smell. “Chinese food?” I muttered, my eyes still blurry in my waking. I furrowed my eyebrows and sat up slowly. My side felt tight and I examined the stitches. They were well done, despite the amount of damage they held together. It was going to leave a nasty scar. A note next to me on the bed caught my attention. It rested atop a plaid button up and read “Sorry about your shirt. Getting more crab rangoons. Sam is in the shower if you need something, will be back soon.” I laughed. Did they really think I was going to hang around and play house? Dean was just coming through the front door. 

“Look who’s up and at-em. Glad you survived my little surgery. Sam left something out for you.” He motioned to a folded plaid shirt next to the bed. “He tried to convince me you wouldn’t want one of my oil stained ones.” I shrugged. The plaid felt good in my hands, soft and substantial and I resisted the urge to smell it. The tank top I had on was ripped down the side and stained with blood. I felt dirty and anxious to change into something warm. I quietly turned and faced the wall to change, not bothering to warn Dean. Being a female hunter was rough but it gave me tough skin. I heard Dean cough when I pulled the tank over my head and I suppressed laughing at the thought of him choking on his unorthodox breakfast. The plaid shirt was huge and by the time I buttoned it up the bathroom door flung open. Sam walked in, bits of water glimmering on his bare chest. I had lived my entire life around men but I had to resist letting my jaw drop. He was rubbing his head with a towel causally and his jeans hung on his hips. 

“Oh good you found the shirt.” I nodded, still hypnotized by the water running down his sculpted muscles. A familiar anti-possession shown over his heart and glimmered under the moisture. I tried to thank him but the words got stuck in my throat. 

“Okay Hercules, did you give her your only shirt?” Dean grunted, obviously annoyed. Sam laughed and continued to the dresser to retrieve his remaining clothing. 

“Well guys as grateful as I am for the shirt and the stitches, I’m leaving.” I got up and tried to work my way towards the door. 

“No cab-Rangoonsh?” Dean asked, through a full mouth. He thrusted takeout box toward me. I resisted but Sam stepped in front of me, still buttoning his shirt. 

“Wait. We need to talk.” His face was serious. “We think something’s following you.” I felt color rising to my cheeks and I folded my arms across my chest defensively. I can only imagine how far from threatening I seemed to him. 

“I’m a hunter, just like you Sam. Something’s always following me.” I attempted to push by but he had no intention of backing down. He stared at me intensely. I heard Dean get up from his chair. 

“He’s right. Something big is after you. We’ve been watching the signs it’s been leaving for days.” Sam nodded in agreement. I could feel my pulse racing and my fists clenching. 

“I can handle myself. I’ve done just fine and I don’t need two glorified thugs telling me otherwise. Now, I’m thankful for you two helping me out, I really am. But I am not someone who stays in debt. So call me when you need me and in the mean time, leave me the hell alone.” I finally breached Sam’s human barricade and was nearly out the door. 

“Someone needs to learn to play nice with others!” Dean called after me. Upon exiting a realization hit me, I had no motorcycle. 

“Damn it.” I also had no idea where I was. The sign above my head read “Pine Land Motel” which sounded like every other generic stop id stayed in over the years. 

*

 "Nice going.“ Dean muttered, burying his face in another plate of fried rice. "If anything scared her off it was your eating habits!” Sam flopped down on the couch in exasperation. Dean cocked his head in consideration but brushed it off and kept eating. 

“Well we can’t force her to listen. If she doesn’t want help she doesn’t want help. Besides, misfortune kind of follows us too, it’s a hunter thing. ” Sam grabbed a book and scanned it, either for information or out of habit. 

“Dean this is serious. Sure we find trouble, but we move on to different trouble. This thing she’s got on her tail hasn’t given up in years. It’s is big, like Lilith big. It doesn’t just leave behind a body count. It burns down elementary schools and turns churches into haunted houses. This is about more than just protecting her.” There was a pause. Dean got up and pulled a knife out from under the table and sheathed it in his belt. He grabbed a bag of salt from the kitchen and the rest of his meal in a plastic carton. 

“Well then let’s go. This thing must be in town by now. We stay on her like glue and wait till somebody dies. Easy as pie.” He stopped in his tracks and closed his eyes. “Mmmm pie…”

Meet Brothers Grim - Part 1

Author’s Note: Main character is a female hunter, backstory to be explained in later chapters (I do have a BIG plan for this one, something more unique). Both brothers, possibly Dean-centric haven’t decided. Leave feedback, it affects my decisions and lets me know what you want more of! I had a lot of fun developing the brothers undercover personas and Dean’s weird humor <3 Warnings: language, blood, drinking, you know Winchester basics.  

————————————————————————————————

I gripped the edges of the white sink I leaned over and watched the red filth from my hands seeping downwards into the drain. My lips tasted like coppery blood and salt, whether from sweat or tears I was unsure. My clothes were torn, my hair disheveled, and my skin littered with scrapes and gashes. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen myself like this. Another shooting pain up my side made me white knuckle the porcelain. I flung the medicine cabinet open. “No pain pills, dammit.” I growled and returned to inspecting my wounds. The most concerning was a deep bite mark on my ribs, where the ribbons of skin opened when my chest expanded. I removed my blood caked shirt and attempted to clean my wounds. I ended up using a bottle of vodka as my pain killer and my antiseptic, making a mental note to buy more medical supplies. Once that was gone I wrapped myself in some gauze and tape. It was a patch job, but it would do for the night. By now my hands were shaking and I was starting to slump. I took a moment to catch my breath and examined my face in the fogged glass. My lip was split, most likely the source of the taste in my mouth. Bruises turned my cheeks shades of violet and navy. Behind the battering was a sadder sight, my eyes seemed dead. They were as lifeless as the ones I hunted. I tried to shake the thought and hugged the wall all the way to the couch and eased onto it slowly. Better the couch become a bloody mess than the bed. My exhaustion finally superseded the pain and I passed out.
I woke to a knocking on the door. At first I was sure it was to an adjacent room since I never had to deal with visitors, but as it grew louder I knew it was for me. I fought crying out when my side stuck to the couch as I got up. It peeled away painfully, dried blood permeating the fabric. My wound must have bled worse during the tossing and turning of my sleep. The knocking continued and grew in force. “I’m coming! Just a second!” I grabbed a sweater from a nearby chair and pulled it over my head with care, still groaning at the movement. I splashed some water on my face quickly, appalled at the amount of blood I let dry on the sink and my skin. I grabbed some concealer and covered my bruises. Once I looked less like the victim of a homicide I walked to the door. My line of salt was already laid under the inner doormat, my wooden stake leaned against the wall, and I had a blessed knife made of silver in my boot. If this was another evil ass son of a bitch I was ready. I opened the door a crack. A mans hand pushed it open the rest of the way and I began reaching for my knife. But before my fingers touched the hilt I saw what stood before me and sighed relief. It was just two goons in maintenance outfits. 

“Hi mam, my names Bruce and this here is Alfred. We work with the P.P.C or Potty Plungers & Company.” I raised my eyebrows slightly at the shorter and clearly more talkative of the two. They were both quite attractive and seemed slightly out of place. Even their uniforms fit poorly. 

“I didn’t call for plumbing services.” I attempted to shut the door but the taller man grabbed it with surprising strength. 

“We’re sorry to bother you miss, it’s just that the hotel asked us to come check the plumbing on this floor. And if we can’t verify that it’s functioning correctly we’ll have to cut the water supply temporarily.” His large brown eyes were soft and kind, and he spoke as though inconveniencing me was physically painful for him. Normally I would have forced the door closed in their faces but I needed the water to run if I wanted to shower and better clean my wounds. Going to the hospital was clearly out of the question, explaining giant demonic looking bite marks tends to raise suspicions. I looked back towards the bathroom and silently prayed I had washed away most of the blood. Clearly disgruntled, I opened the door for the two. 

“Fine come in.” I saw the taller staring at my stake near the door. “Self defense.” I muttered. In my experience the average person is curious but cares little in the long run. He shrugged and walked further into my small hotel room. Their eyes wandered more than I would have liked. “Ahem, the bathroom is right here. The ONLY other door.” I ushered them towards it and away from my stained couch and disorderly living area. Once inside they set their tools on the floor and began rooting around the pipes below the sink. The shorter one, or “Bruce” as his crooked name tag read, turned on the sink before facing me. His green eyes gleamed with mischief and self confidence. I was in no mood for his conversation and stared back with arms crossed. 

“Did you cut yourself or something?” He was pointing to the blood that had pooled behind the handles. I silently cursed myself for my missing that spot. 

“Oh my boyfriend cut himself. Shaving.” Bruce laughed loudly. He repeated the word “boyfriend” under his breath sarcastically. I felt my blood boiling and retreated from the wash room to sit on the couch and wait for their work to be finished. Ten minutes later the nicer of the two came out and wiped a hand across his forehead. 

“Okay we’re all done in there. And I’m sorry about my friend, he can be a bit of an jerk sometimes.” I nodded and smiled. He was pretty hot, even in that ugly plumbing getup. Suddenly his face went ashen and I caught him staring at my side. I quickly looked down to see crimson soaking through the cable knit sweater I had put on. 

“Dammit.” I mumbled, jumping up. He reached for me but I side stepped his arm. 

“What’s wrong? You’re bleeding. De- Bruce! Come here!” I began to panic, this is why I avoided civilians at all costs. They were just collateral and complication. 

“I’m fine! It’s just a scratch. Please get out!” They both stood stone still, the taller’a hand suspended towards me as an offering. Guess I would have to improvise. “Look, I got in a fight over some merchandise last night and the dealer snagged me okay?” I put extra effort into my crazy voice and feigned tears. “I’m not going to jail again! Please just get out!” I chased them out, arms blindly pushing against tall bodies until they were outside my salt line. “Thanks for the water, really! Now get out of here before I get in more trouble!” I slammed the door and leaned my back against it, exhausted. All the exertion was making my side pump with blood. Shit. I liked that sweater too. I walked into the bathroom to finally take a real shower, all the time wondering what those two bozos were saying to each other now.
*
“Dean she was definitely a hunter.” Sam said, taking another swig from his beer. They sat alone in the bar, watching the other hunters play pool and drink to their victories and losses. The roadhouse had been rebuilt and it was a near perfect replica. Turns out hunters already have enough change in their lives, the last thing they wanted was more. Dean knocked back another shot. 

“I know but no one has ever heard of her. We’ve asked everywhere Sam. You expect me to believe that not a single hunter has talked to her? She’s small and young, there’s no way she’s pulling this off by herself.”

Sam nodded, “I understand but everything points to her. Trust me I don’t want to believe she’s the one who took down that werewolf pack in Tulsa but we can’t deny the facts. Plus did you see her apartment? She had a stake by the door, a gun under the pillow on the couch, and she was clearly wounded. Kind of amateur looking set up if you ask me but she’s a hunter.” A crash came from the other side of the bar as hunters began to brawl amongst themselves. You’d think they’d already have enough fighting for one day. 

“Sam she was more than wounded, she was beat to hell. Did you not notice the way she walked or way her lip was split from top to bottom? Well one things for certain, she needs supplies. That bloody vodka bottle in the medicine cabinet says a lot about what state she’s in. Let’s just wait for her at the nearest convenient store, there’s nothing much near where she’s staying.” Dean downed another whiskey before getting up from his stool.
*
The shower did a lot to help me clean out my wound, but I was out of vodka and running low on gauze. The deeper teeth slashes were still gaping open and leaking whenever I moved too quickly. I tidied up as best I could and changed into my last pair of clean clothes. I tucked my gun into the back of my waistline and pulled my tank top over it. I stopped in the mirror. My hair was now clean and untangled, and I decided to let it hang down for now. The bruising on my face was diminishing so I left it exposed. I didn’t have much time to look beautiful anymore, now I just looked like a battered solider without a battle to blame. I left the hotel and jumped onto my motorcycle, my pride and joy. It served me well in times of need and I was thankful for it speed and size. I usually hid it below some brush when I wanted to walk in on foot or made a loud entrance to rouse a little hell. It wasn’t long before I reached the quick stop and parked my ride near the front door. I was only ten feet away when a large hand shot over my mouth and another pulled my stomach toward him, then two more hands grabbed my wrists behind my back. I struggled with all of my strength but my assailants were unmoving. I was able to reach a flask in my back pocket and splash it towards them blindly. 

“Ugh, that is not whiskey. Dammit use some fresher holy water next time, I don’t need to taste that.” The voice was rough and sarcastic, it almost sounded… familiar. I bit down on the fingers across my mouth, hard. They flew away and the grip on my stomach lessened. 

“It’s you assholes??” I yelled, struggling to look behind me. “The hunters who came to my room today?” I spat out the words and finally wiggled my way into turning around to face them. They both wore looks of shock, the taller, sweeter one nursing his bitten fingers. I almost felt sorry for it. 

“How’d you know?” “Bruce” snapped. I laughed and clutched my bleeding side with one hand and retrieved my gun with the other. They both reached for their own but I put up my hands gently. 

“Relax this is just insurance, I am outnumbered after all.” They nodded and let me hold the gun down in a relaxed position. “Well where do I start, maybe the stupid names. Are your aliases always DC Comic references? Bruce Wayne and Alfred? You should be insulted by the way.” I motioned to the taller. “But everything about you guys was fishy. I’ve had hunters creep up to get a peak before, so I didn’t think much of it. But what the hell do you get out of kidnapping?” The shorter looked a little frazzled and insulted. He stuttered a response while tall and cute stepped forward. 

“We’re not kidnapping you. We just wanted to talk, turns out you’re a pretty hard person to find, or learn about.” I smiled, apparently I was doing my job correctly. 

I began to back up slowly, “Look boys this has been fun but I need to go pack up and get out of -” Suddenly blinding pain lit my ribs and I felt a bit lightheaded. The blood loss was getting more and more severe, seeping down my leg slowly. I felt myself wobbling. They both rushed towards me and supported my arms, even as I tried to wave them off. 

“Dean we need to get her back and fix her up, she’s lost too much blood. She needs a surgeon.” There was a stoic pause before the one called Dean rolled up his sleeves and wiggled his fingers and eyebrows. 

“She’s gonna get the next best thing.” That was the last thing I saw before I faded to black.

*
 ”Good thing we had a temporary spot nearby, the batcave is too far.” I could hear Dean speaking but was shocked to hear that he was still making comic book jokes, even while my life hung in the balance. I was now laying on a motel bed, one much nicer than my own. A white sheet was spread below me and someone had cut the right side of my shirt away. 

“Hey assholes that was my last shirt…” I tried to get up but the kind one pushed me back down gently. 

“It’s okay just rest. We’re gonna patch you up. We have supplies and Dean is steady handed, he can sew you up just as good as anyone. My names Sam by the way.” I nodded and gave my own name but it came out below a whisper. “Sam’s right, I am good with my hands. Learned all my stitches from working at build-a-bear.” He widened his eyes and I shut mine in exasperation. Was this clown really my best shot at getting medical attention? Suddenly his face got serious. 

“Sam lift her up.” Sam complied, his wide hands pushing me to an upright position. I coughed and pain shook me again. Then I felt a glass against my lips. 

“Drink.” Since it was Sam I didn’t hesitate, I had a hard time believing he would do me wrong with eyes like those. Whatever it was it tasted like cherry cough syrup but also like alcohol. Dean rested a hand on my leg to get my attention. I looked his way but first down at my leg in annoyance. He looked apologetic when he removed it. 

“Okay listen to me. You need to stay as still as possible. Your side is pretty much destroyed over here. It’s not gonna be easy to close it up when the skin looks like party streamers. So stay still, just hold his hand or something.” Sam smiled comfortingly and laid his hand facing up by my side. I smiled back but ignored the gesture, I was tired of seeming weak. 

“Your bedside manner could use some work.” I growled, preparing myself for the needle. 

“Keep up the insults, maybe they’ll help.” His voice was full of pity when he began piercing the skin. I tried to muffle the scream that came but it was too sudden. Sam gripped my shoulder to steady me, his fingers digging in a bit as a distraction. Watching my blood run down Dean’s arms was surreal. By the time my side was sowed shut I was panting and sweating. I had slumped over, my head resting on the top of Dean’s. One of the men eased me back gently onto the pillows. “Sam, looks like we double up tonight.” My sight was growing hazy and I fought falling asleep. 

“Ya ya, I’ll take the couch. You did some good work there. You think she’ll be alright?” There was a short pause. 

“Ya I do. She’ll have a nasty time recovering but she’ll make it. I’m amazed she got out of there alive and even more so that she planned on doing this herself. She easily could have died of blood loss in her room.” I could feel their eyes on me although mine were closed. 

“We’ve got to figure out why he wants her. She’s strong, but she can’t face him by herself.”