If You Love Me, Don't Let Me Go. (A Destiel Fic)
  • Reads 866
  • Votes 30
  • Parts 16
  • Time 1h 15m
  • Reads 866
  • Votes 30
  • Parts 16
  • Time 1h 15m
Ongoing, First published May 24, 2016
Mature
I looked around, a sick, dizzying feeling washed over me as I realized what had just happened. "Cas...?" I drawl, his breathing hitches at the sound of my voice, blood spatters from his nostrils and mouth as his voice cracks when he speaks. "Dean-I, tried...But I, I couldn't stop-" He coughs hoarsely, spitting out a terryifing amount of blood. I fall to the ground, reaching my arms around him, my hand holding the side of his bloodied face, just enough to keep his head up from the charred earth. "Hey, hey, buddy it's alright. You did your best and that's all that matters right?" I chuckled, holding back the salty tears that stung my eyes. I can't cry. I won't. Cas just looked at me sadly. The weight of all his pain and suffering, I could see it all in those ocean blue eyes. "Dean, you...You go find Sam..Run before...They get to you too.." I shook my head, clenching his trenchcoat. "No, I'm not gonna leave here without you Cas." My voice cracks. "I know." He whispered.
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A Queen

7 parts Ongoing Mature

All Freya had known, her entire life was pain, in one shape or another. Physical pain, from all the days spent in the foster care system, emotional pain from the death of her parents and older brother... She carried her scars like badges of honor. She had known right from the start that she wasn't like the other kids. Sometimes, when she got angry, her fingernails got really sharp, or sometimes, if she clenched a glass just a little too tightly, it would shatter. She could hear the conversations of her neighbors four houses down, she could smell the chocolate bar, still in the wrapper, in the pocket of her jacket downstairs, and she could see in the dark, just as well as she could see during the daylight, but she never knew why. Her parents and older brother had been killed when she was five. The only thing she still had from them was her mother's journal. It didn't give her a lot of information on who or what she was, but she did learn all about everything that goes bump in the night. Ghosts? Easy, salt and burn them, baby! Demons? Holy water and exorcisms. But there was one thing in her journal that didn't make sense. The name John Winchester, a phone number, and the simple phrase that says, "Freya, find him." So when she turned 18 and she was turned out of the foster care system, she decided to start looking for him. She wouldn't find him until five years later, completely by accident, when she was trying to catch a few hours of sleep on a small bridge on the way out of a small town called Jericho, California.