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Chapter 3: Found

Chapter Text

Martha's house couldn't have come into view soon enough. Hidden deep in the thick forest that stretched out for miles in all directions, it was a rather cozy little place, if the exterior was anything to go by. A perfect hiding spot for a solitary witch.

Especially if said witch was an unhinged kidnapper.

Sam parked the car about five hundred feet away, behind a clutter of particularly thick bushes and blossoming trees. If the two of you wanted to sneak up on Martha, you had to be inconspicuous, which would have been a tad difficult to do if you'd parked in her driveway. You might as well have rung the bell and politely, with tight smiles door-to-door salesmen and Jehovah's Witnesses would envy, asked for Rowena's return.

Yeah, that would end well.

Martha would never see you coming from the forest. Trees made for perfect camouflage.

"Ready?" Sam asked.

You mentally went over a few spells, readying them in case of emergency, and nodded. "Ready."

Sam grabbed the witch-killing-bullets-filled gun, and the two of you were on your way. He'd offered you the same gun, but you'd declined, deciding to stick with magic. You'd never fired a gun in your life. Getting a hold of one, even with the safety on, would most likely end in disaster. Knowing your luck, you would end up shooting yourself while aiming at Martha's head. You had mad auto-injury skills. Rowena was proud.

Rowena… How was she doing? Had Martha hurt her?

Stop it, Y/N! you chastised yourself, shaking the unpleasant thoughts away. Rowena was a big girl. She could hold her own against a forty-five-year old witch. Even if she was restrained, you had no doubt she could defend herself. Your girl had a big mouth and an even bigger, very Scottish vocabulary.

Unless said mouth and vocabulary got her in even more trouble, in which case you were ready to skin a bitch alive. But you couldn't think about that now. You had to focus on the good, on the positive, on the hopeful.

Maybe Martha hadn't taken her to harm her in the first place. She was obsessed with her; she wanted her in ways that would have been cute if they weren't disturbing. She loved her. Maybe that was why she'd kidnapped her — to be close to her, to have her for her own. It beat other, much less pleasant scenarios.

Sam and you sneaked out to the back of the house, behind a small, dilapidated shed. You let him take the lead and followed after him like a puppy. He was a hunter; he must have done this hundreds of times. You were just a witch, scared and worried out of your mind. It was why you'd called him for help. He knew what to do, and how to do it right.

"There's a back door," he said in a hushed voice. You glanced in the direction he was gesturing to, took in the teal-colored door, and nodded. "You take it, and I'll take the front door."

Panic bloomed up in your chest like flowers in spring, fresh and overwhelming. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I'll go in first, distract her if possible. Then you go in through the back and look for Rowena."

Sounded like a plan.

You gave a sharp nod, still unsure. You didn't know this house, didn't know the layout. What if there were more rooms than it looked like from the outside? What if all the doors were squeaky? What if there were traps? Martha was a good witch. You wouldn't put it past her to magic the house against intruders.

"You ready?" Sam asked, noticing your uncertainty.

"Not really."

He laid a hand on his shoulder, a kind, friendly gesture. His lips widened into a smile. "It's gonna be okay. We can do this."

"I know," you said after a moment's hesitation. You pulled on a grin, a fake one you hoped was convincing enough. "Let's go. Rowena gets fussy when she has to wait long."

Sam laughed, then, face growing serious, stalked towards the front of the house. You watched him like a hawk, intently, thoroughly, taking in his actions. Hoping you could be just as good, just as sneaky as him. Rowena counted on you. You had to do it. You could do it. If she were here, she would tell you so. She would believe in you. As difficult as it was for her, after centuries of betrayal and protective walls she'd hidden behind, she trusted you with her life. You wouldn't let her down.

If you were the one who was kidnapped, Rowena would tear the world apart to find you. She'd leave no stone, no teeny-tiny rock unturned. You owed it to her to do the same for her.

You waited a few moments after Sam entered the house (a fear-laden cringe spread over your face at the loud squeak of the front door. You hoped your entrance would be a lot quieter) before heading for the back door. Gently, tentatively, as if you were tending to someone's grave injury, you twisted the knob. A sigh of relief escaped you at the silence; you were lucky. As quietly as you could, you sneaked inside.

The hallway was dark. There were a few tiny tables and closets by the wall, each supporting a potted plant or two. Pictures in elegant frames lined the wall. Looking closer, you realized with a shudder that they were of Rowena. Martha was watching her. Not only that, but she'd taken pictures of her. A part of you was glad she'd cut you out of them, but the feeling of unease remained. This woman — this witch — was a stalker.

The only thing worse than a crazy person was a crazy person with stalking tendencies.

Had she watched the two of you together? Had she watched you hugging, kissing, messing around? Had she followed you home?

A knot, tight, aching, formed in your stomach at the thought, icy chills spilling down your spine. What if she did know where you lived? What if she was there? Following Rowena's brutal murder at Lucifer's hands, the two of you had warded the house heavily. Nobody and nothing uninvited could step foot inside. But Martha was a witch. What if she was looking for a way to get in?

What if she'd already found a way?

You decided, right then and there, that Martha Morgan would die. You'd fully intended to kill her for taking Rowena — this only helped cement your decision. She had to die. She was too dangerous to be allowed to live.

A large staircase came into view. Looking around to make sure you were in the clear, you rose up on your tiptoes and started walking up it. Another dark hallway greeted you. There were a few doors the same teal color as the back door. Preparing a spell in your mind, you reached for the one on your left when you heard a muffled sound. It was quiet, faint, but you could hear it clearly.

You stalked to the end of the hallway, following the strange sound. It seemed to be coming from the room furthest away. Please, be okay, you prayed to whoever was listening. Please, be okay. Please, be okay. Going over a few attack spells, just in case, you carefully opened the door.

Your heart stopped dead in its tracks.

Rowena was on the bed, wrists and ankles tied with belts. Her shoes and jacket were gone; looking around, you found them beside the bed, neatly resting on the floor. A black piece of fabric was wrapped around her mouth, a makeshift gag. She appeared to be unharmed. There were no bruises in sight, no cuts, no blood marring her skin or clothes.

You breathed out in relief. She was okay. And, now that you were here, she was safe.

Rowena's eyes lit up at the sight of you. She released a sigh, relief washing over her. You gave her your brightest smile.

"There you are," you said happily. "Been looking all over for you. You're a hard girl to find."

She rolled her eyes, prompting you to chuckle, and mumbled something that, from the tone and the look on her face, didn't seem very polite.

You shot her a mock glare. "Be nice. I'm here to rescue you."

Another mumble, identical tone. You had to laugh. Rowena was difficult, an acquired taste, but she was yours. You loved her more than anything and anyone in the world, and you knew she felt the same. Behind the sassy exterior there was a sweetheart, a softie that enjoyed kisses and cuddles, that called you "dearest" and made you tea and held your hand tight when you were sick.

"Yup, sweetie. I'm your knight in shining armor," you teased, earning you another eyeroll. Your little drama queen. She was a delight to mess with. You were one of the few people who dared do so; most knew her power and did their best to stay out of her way. Pissing off one of the deadliest witches in the world was far from a good idea.

You begged to disagree. You liked a good challenge. What was she going to do? Pout at you to death? Scrunch her face until you keeled over from adorableness?

But then, she was in love with you. Others weren't so lucky.

You undid the belts on Rowena's ankles, then hurried to do the same for her wrists. As soon as she was free, she ripped the gag off, threw it aside with a disgusted look on her face, and shot you a look that was so intense your knees felt weak underneath it.

"About bloody time," she said. Her tone was curt and to the point, but there was no malice in it, no hostility. She wasn't mad at you; she was simply doing what she always did when she was scared — put on a facade to hide behind, a steel-forged mask to fool the world into thinking she was fine, into thinking she was this cold, heartless bitch when she was anything but.

She should've known by now that you weren't the world. You knew her better than anyone.

Before you could utter an equally snippy response, Rowena pulled you down to the bed. Her arms fell around you, followed quickly by her legs. She clung to you like a koala, her grip tight, strong, almost suffocating. You wasted no time returning the hug, holding back with equal force. It felt so good to hold her, to feel the warmth of her skin on yours, to feel the soft vibrations of her heart. She was so small in your arms, so fragile. You never wanted to let her go again.

"I was so scared," you said. A few tears slipped down your cheeks as you flashed back to the sheer terror that had struck you when your eyes first fell upon the blue hex bag. So many scenarios had gone through your head, so many images horror movies would envy. You were glad, so very, very glad none of them came true.

"I know," Rowena said. "Me, too." It took a lot out of her to admit it, especially out loud. She rarely bared her soul. If something was bothering her, you usually had to fish the words out of her mouth.

Instinctively, your grip tightened. "Did she hurt you?"

"No. She wanted to shove a love potion down my throat, but—"

You pulled back and looked her in the eyes. "She what?"

Rowena sighed, tired. "She thinks you cast a spell on me to make me fall in love with you."

You blinked. Once. Twice. Three times. Then, like a flash flood, a bark of laughter tore from your mouth.

Even back when Rowena saw you as more of an accessory than a friend, long before you'd started dating, it had never crossed your mind, not for even a second, to spell her to change her mind about you. You could live with her paying you no mind, could live with her hating you and leaving you without a shred of remorse as long as she chose to do so. You never wanted to take her choice away from her.

After all, you weren't a psychotic witch who kidnapped people and wanted to force-feed them love potions.

"That was my reaction as well," Rowena said, amused. "Before she could do anything, she heard a noise and went to investigate."

A noise? Shit! "That's probably Sam."

Shock spread over Rowena's face like paint. "Samuel is here?"

"Yeah. I called him."

You turned away from her, suddenly ashamed. You couldn't even rescue your girlfriend on your own. Some witch you were. If roles were reversed, Rowena would've wiped the floor with Martha, untied you, and painted her nails at the same time.

She most certainly would never beg a hunter for help.

Rowena brought a hand to your cheek, cupping it with utmost tenderness. She tilted your head back to look you in the eyes. "I'm glad you did." Her voice was as soft and gentle as her touch, a silky melody that soothed your nerves.

"I didn't wanna take any chances," you said honestly. Two people were better than one. You would never risk her safety to protect your ego.

"You did good," she told you, every word screaming honesty. She was proud of you, you realized. Proud and happy to see you. She never would have wanted you to endanger yourself for her. She wasn't that selfish — not anymore.

"I love you so much, Rowena. So, so much."

"I love you all the same, darling."

You knew. You knew very well, yet every time she said it your heart jumped wildly as if it was the very first time. There was a time when those words were nothing but your imagination, daydreams you never thought would come true. Never, in your wildest dreams, could you have imagined you would be hearing them almost every single day.

Rowena looked around. "Did you happen to see my shoes? That utter fanny took them. Those are Louboutins!" Her face was the picture of outrage. She looked as if she wanted to skin Martha alive solely for that.

Swallowing a laugh, you said, "They're right there." You pointed to behind the bed. "So is your jacket."

She breathed out in relief. "She'd better not have damaged them."

Mess with her shoes, and you were dead. You'd learned the hard way to stay far, far away from her footwear. If there was even a single scratch on them, Martha was dead meat.

"They look fine."

Rowena's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "We'll see."

"Your shoes are undamaged," a heavy-Southern-accented voice you never thought you'd hear again said, startling you. "I respect other people's possessions."

Martha stood in the doorway looking strangely imposing, almost threatening. One of her hands held onto Sam's forearm, her other one clutching a gun, holding it pressed straight against his temple. His gun, you realized as a pang of shock rushed through you, the one meant to kill her. It would have been ironic if it wasn't tragic.

You gulped, arms instinctively tightening around Rowena. Sam's eyes met yours, puppy-like, apologetic. You responded with a small shake of your head. It wasn't his fault. It was you who'd gotten him into this mess, you who'd called him begging for help. If anything, you were the one to blame.

"Do you?" you said in a tone that was a tad snarkier than intended. Pissing off the enemy wasn't the best idea, but you couldn't help it.

"Unlike you, I do," Martha replied in the same tone.

You snorted. "That's rich, coming from a kidnapper."

"All I did was rescue Rowena from your clutches." There was a strange conviction in her tone, utmost, absolute honesty. She believed what she was saying. She truly, genuinely believed her actions were justified.

A shudder ran through you at the realization. Villains who were evil for the sake of being evil were one thing. Those who were evil because they thought they were in the right were something completely different. Something, dare you say, terrifying. No amount of reasoning with them would work.

Martha suddenly seemed much more dangerous than you'd initially believed. In her delusion, she was saving Rowena, setting her free from your spell. There was nothing she wouldn't do to keep her safe.

Just like there was nothing you wouldn't do. You'd killed for her. Threatened. Destroyed. You'd done things you never would have done before, all in the name of love. Martha would do the same. Just because the threat wasn't real didn't mean she didn't perceive it as such. And, as such, it — you — and everything and everyone else that stood in her way had to be eliminated.

"I would never hurt her," you said, though you knew it was futile. The woman was far too gone for reason. Your hand slid up to the back of Rowena's head, cupping it, pressing it against you. A protective gesture, one you displayed every time she awoke from nightmares to let her know she was safe, that you were here and you wouldn't let anyone hurt her. "Never."

Martha was watching you like a hawk. For a moment it seemed as if she would snap, but then she sucked in a breath to regain her composure and said in a voice that was too calm to be friendly, "You're a liar. And Rowena will see it soon enough."

"You're not getting that potion anywhere near her!" you snarled.

"I'll do whatever's necessary to set her free."

"Y/N's already done that," Rowena said with a sardonic smile, shooting a brief glance to the discarded belts.

"She's brainwashed you, dear," Martha said as if she were speaking to a child, voice soft, motherly. It made your stomach turn. "She's making you think—"

"You're fucking crazy!" you snapped, having had enough of her nonsense.

"And you're a rapist!" she retorted. "Spelling her, making her do god-knows-what… She doesn't want you!"

"No, she doesn't want you!" you spat. You were a rapist? You? The mere thought made you want to burst into uncontrollable laughter. Rich accusation, coming from a woman who wanted to force-feed Rowena a love potion.

"We'll see about that," Martha said. "Let her go, and I'll release the hunter."

You looked to her, then to Sam, and then to Rowena. You wanted nothing more than to hold Rowena tighter, if it was possible at this point. Wanted nothing more than to keep her safe, to protect her from this lunatic.

But you also wanted to help Sam. He was in trouble because of you. If you hadn't called him…

Rowena unwrapped her legs and pulled away from you. You grabbed her hand. "Rowena…"

"It's fine," she assured you. Glancing at Martha, she said, "Let him go. He's got nothing to do with this."

Damn her and her newfound conscience!

"Come here," Martha told her.

She tried to get up, but you put a hand on her shoulder, holding her in place. "Wait."

"I have to do this, Y/N."

"No, you don't." Your eyes found Sam's. I'm sorry, they said. Guilt tore at your heart, ripped it to pieces with every beat. As much as you wanted to help him, you wanted to help Rowena more. Wanted to protect her, as you always did. Wanted to keep her safe. If you had to choose between the two of them, you chose her. You would choose her every time.

"Y/N, please," Rowena said. The look in her eyes echoed her words, pleading, desperate. Guilty around the edges for reasons you couldn't comprehend. She laid a hand over yours, fingers wrapping around yours, squeezing tightly. A wordless promise that it would be okay, that she would be okay.

Sighing, you nodded and released her. You threw a glare at Martha, a sharp, pointed one. This wasn't over, it said. Not by a longshot. You came here to rescue Rowena, and that was exactly what you would do.

The other witch's face was the picture of triumph. Lips wide in a smile, features lit up, almost on fire, eyes gleaming like fireworks… All that was left was an evil cackle, which you were certain she was capable of. She looked it.

"Good girl," she said.

Rowena scowled at her. Getting to her feet, she slowly, tentatively stepped forward. Martha watched her, happy, joyous. It made your stomach turn. That woman had no right to look at your girlfriend like that, like she was a piece of meat, a trophy to be claimed. That was all Rowena was to her; a possession, an object. She may have thought she loved her, or cared about her, or whatever else she'd deluded herself into. The truth was, she wanted to own her. She wanted to have her just so you wouldn't anymore.

You couldn't let that happen, couldn't let this woman, this psycho, get her hands on your girl again. You hadn't worked so hard to earn Rowena's trust, and eventually her love, for some middle-aged, tantrum-throwing toddler to steal her from you.

Martha's eyes were on Rowena. Her hold on Sam wavered, gun looser against his temple. You looked at him, then at the witch, and back at him. As if he'd read your mind, he gave a small, barely noticeable nod. A silent go ahead.

Sucking in a deep breath for courage, you raised up a forefinger and, focused solely on Martha, shouted at the top of your lungs, "ABI!"

As if carried by an unseen force, Martha flew backwards. She slammed into the wall, her massive body leaving a dent in the concrete, and, with a loud yelp of pain, fell to the floor. Sam collapsed along with her, her hand only letting go of him once they were both down.

Rowena gasped, startled, but quickly composed herself and ran to the hunter's side. You followed after her when Martha, red faced and panting and pissed to high heavens, jumped to her feet and lunged at you like a wild animal. Before you could even think to defend yourself, she was straddling you, holding you in place. A rain of punches and scratches fell on your face, incessant, never-ending, a downpour of pain. You screamed as you raised your hands in attempts to shove her off, but she slapped them away and continued her assault.

"She's mine!" she shrieked. "You can't have her! She's mine!"

"Stop it!" you exclaimed.

"I won't let you take her from me!"

"Crazy cunt!" you spat.

Letting out an offended gasp, Martha punched you straight in the mouth. "You don't deserve her!"

Before you could utter another insult, Rowena shouted, "Impetus bestiarum!"

Martha stilled as if frozen. Her fists fell to her sides, limp, useless. Red veins framed her eyes; she looked up, head twitching like a junkie craving a fix.

Swallowing a lump that had formed in your throat, you turned to Rowena. Her hands were up, fingers clenched, glare fixed on Martha. Fury lined her face, made her teeth clench and the corners of her mouth twitch.

"End it," she said calmly.

Martha looked at you, then at her, before getting on her feet.

Then she lunged for the window and jumped in a rain of glass and blood.

A thud sounded as her body hit the floor. Rowena exhaled in relief before kneeling by you, hand clutching yours as if she hadn't held it in days.

"Are you okay?" she asked, voice soft, almost motherly.

"Yeah," you replied. "Thank you." Your fingers traced your face; there were a few cuts, and a couple of places stung, soon to blossom into bruises.

"That hag had no right to lay her hands on my wee girl."

"Exactly why I Abi'd her."

Raising up into a sitting position, you pulled her into a hug. She returned it, holding with equal ferocity.

"Don't you ever get kidnapped again," you said.

"I solemnly swear I will try not to," Rowena said with a chuckle.

"Good. I hate getting beaten up to save your ass," you teased.

"At least your shoes weren't stolen."

"Your shoes are fine, unlike my face."

"Um, guys?"

Frowning, the two of you separated and glanced back. Sam was looking at you with a mixture of impatience and relief.

You were so caught up in Rowena that you'd forgotten he was here.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Aye," Rowena said. "And you?"

He gave a small nod.

"Sorry for… y'know, blasting you," you said, apologetic.

He smiled. "Don't worry about it. You all set to go?"

"Yeah," you said.

"Let's go home," Rowena agreed and made a disgusted face. "I need a bath."

"Of course you do," you deadpanned.

She cocked up an eyebrow. "Lass, I just saved your arse."

"And I saved yours," you reminded her. "So we're even."

She sighed. "Why do I put up with you?"

"Because you love me."

"Maybe you did spell me," she joked.

"Sure."

The banter persisted the entire way home, much to Sam's chagrin. But, despite the surface annoyance, the smile never left his mouth. His friend was okay, and was reunited with her girlfriend. She was happy.

Mission accomplished.

Notes:

Edited by OswinTheStrange.