Sleep Paralysis Sucks ||
TFW x Winchester!reader
Title: Sleep Paralysis Sucks
Summary: You are the Winchester's little sister and were born with powers of trans-dimensional perception. Your abilities stem from the same roots as a dream-walker, but function on a more conscious plane. Also, the touch of your hands burns corrupted and evil beings. (Cause you're a pure soul. 😉) Your brother's keep you safe from the evils of this world, but not from the evils of other worlds. Like the dream-walker Kaia, something's stalking your dreams…
Characters: Sam, Dean, Cas, Jack (all platonic), Bobby (parental), Winchester!reader
Warnings: Violence, mention of injuries, some angst, the tiniest smidge of Destiel if you squint really, really, really hard, and a wee bit of the author projecting her problems.
Word Count: 3,000+ (I'm long-winded, sorry - Cas)
A/N: I took a lot of creative liberties with this request. I don't know if it's what the request-er wanted. (It's probably not, but I had an idea and I went with it) Also, the reader in this has speech issues and is not neurotypical. Anywho, on with the show!
It was eight A.M. and you had woken up to pain. This was nothing new. Throwing back the covers, you surveyed your skin and found them, two black and purple and green bruises about the size of an apple on each leg. Two more to add to your collection.
You knew how you had gotten them, it was just hard to remember how they had happened. The bruises came from the monster under your bed - what grown-ups like to call the "sleep paralysis demon". It wasn't really a demon, but it was a monster. Almost every night, it was the same deal. You would wake up, and you wouldn't be able to move, and the monster would come, and it would break your bones, mending them again afterward. Arms, legs, ribs. It didn't matter. The bruises were the only proof. It was like a dream. You couldn't move, you couldn't fight, and you couldn't scream. In fact, you weren't entirely sure if it was real because your memories of how you got those bruises felt more like dreams than memories. You were pretty sure you were just making things up. Everyone who had seen you sleeping knew you were an erratic sleeper. You kicked and tossed, and, according to Sam and Dean, you fell out of bed on a common enough basis for them to come to check in on you every night. If that was the case, combined with the fact that you've always bruised easily, it was no wonder your skin was always covered in purple splotches.
It was really no big deal. You were used to it by now; this had been happening for as long as you could remember. So, you threw yourself out of bed and shuffled into the kitchen for breakfast.
Jack was sitting at the table eating cookie cereal, and your brothers were nowhere to be found. They must have gone on a hunt sometime late last night, but you weren't worried - your attention was focused on the Nephilim. Jack was engrossed in his breakfast, and his inattentiveness was just too tempting to ignore. In your typical greeting on mornings like this one, you crept up behind the boy before smacking him upside the head. Chuckling quietly, you had to dodge out of the way of one of his massive, golden wings as it tried to hit you back. You winked and smirked at the comical disappointment his face displayed upon his failure to tag you. You patted his arm in a way that said, 'Don't be so sad, there's always next time.'
"I'm always missing," Jack complained. "You're too fast!" You sent him a pouty face and turned to make yourself some coffee. "Are you making coffee?" He asked. You threw him a 'well duh!' look over your shoulder. "Can you make me some?" You cupped a finger to your ear. "Please?!" He asked, overly sweet. You sent him a thumbs up and got started.
You had never been a very big talker. Not that you couldn't talk or anything, you just had an unusually hard time getting things to come out the way you intended them to. You much preferred making faces and gestures as a way of communicating. Jack liked that about you. He liked that you were quiet. There was nothing wrong with the sound of your voice - in fact - he found it soothing. But Jack's senses were so much keener than your average human's, and well... Dean could be really loud. Jack much preferred your quiet, serine presence. It comforted him.
"What? No good morning?" You asked. You sounded agitated, but Jack knew you didn't mean it that way. He had learned that tone was more difficult for you to nail down than it was for other people.
"Oh, right. I'm sorry." Jack finished his cereal, moving to put his dishes in the sink. Then he turned to you. "Good morning, Y/N!" He grabbed you in a hug, half as an apology of sorts and half because he just liked hugging you. His majestic wings wrapped around your back, doubling the softness of the hug. When he let go, you gave a curt nod and squeezed his hand as a sign of forgiveness. Jack's wings perked up again at the sight of your smile.
Oh yeah, you could see Jack's wings. As to why or how - nobody had an answer for that.
You had always been an odd child, though nobody had really caught on to what exactly was so different about you. You were a mystery; you had been that way for as long as you could remember. Unfortunately, you were also a quiet person, and you didn't tend to question things. It had started out small. You were three, and living with Bobby Singer.
(See, you were the product of John Winchester's horrible decision-making. Nine months later, the woman had tracked your father down and left you in a basket on his doorstep with a note that said: "Your money, your drinks, your problem, John. Suck it up." John had wanted to throw you into the foster system, but Dean caught one look at your adorable little face and had begged on your behalf. So, you got dumped on Bobby instead. In fact, you had thought he was your dad until John had died, and you finally found out the truth. For the first two years of your life, however, your brothers had been more like your cousins, and then Sam's girlfriend had burned on the ceiling.)
Anyway, Bobby had taken you to Walmart for a standard shopping run. You had been happy to sit in the cart, playing with your teddy bear, babbling at strangers, and eating cereal right out of the boxes Bobby was going to buy. Then it had happened.
You'd looked up and seen that man and had started to cry, desperately trying to tell Bobby that: "Bad! He bad! Daddy, he bad!" But your baby babble had been ignored, and Bobby had bought you a treat to shut you up before he left the store. Five days later, he cut off that same man's head after finding out he was a ghoul. Bobby had raised a brow but chalked it up to coincidence.
The next time had been something a bit bigger. You had just turned six years old, and you hadn't seen Dean in months. It made you sad because Dean was your favorite, he'd always been the one to play with you, and then Bobby had come home, crying but trying not to, and he was telling you that: "Listen, honey. Dean- he ain't gonna be able to come play with you anymore. He-he had to go away, sweetheart."
Even though you were only six, you were a smart kid, and you knew he meant that Dean was dead. You still saw Sam sometimes, but he wasn't the same. He was distant. Cold. There was one time when Bobby had to go help a fellow hunter and had left you with Sam. (Sam had only come to visit because Bobby had found him unconscious in a vamp nest with three cracked ribs.) Sam had said that he needed to go somewhere, so you got in the car, and when it stopped moving, he had told you to stay there. But then you had found a knife, so you had stumbled out of the Impala to show Sam your new toy. Then you'd seen her.
"See, Ruby? I can't even leave her alone for five minutes! Gimmie that, Y/N - it's not yours." He plucked the knife from your tiny hands, but you were too busy cowering from the woman to get upset. Her face was all wrong.
Her eyes were black, and her hair was like smoke, and she had sharp teeth and a long, twisting tongue. She had glared at you, and that sent you grabbing onto Sam's leg, hiding behind him, mumbling something about her being scary. Sam just thought you were shy.
Not very long after that, Dean had come back from the dead. He'd been sitting at the table, talking to Bobby when you'd come down the stairs.
Dean had smiled and said, "Hey there, short-stack! I missed you!"
You had frozen in your tracks and watched him with a careful gaze. He looked the same, but there was something different about him. Something dark. It was something about the space around him - the universe felt angry - like he had cheated it somehow. You were a smart kid.
"You're not supposed to be alive."
Those were the first words you'd said to him. You had heard Bobby grumbling before about how things didn't always stay dead. You knew enough to know things shouldn't come back.
"I know. You're right." Dean had said. You'd nodded solemnly, and he knew you understood more than he'd thought possible.
"You'll be okay again... someday." Then you'd gotten a granola bar from the pantry and went back to your room as if nothing happened. It had been strange, but Bobby and Dean had shrugged it off.
Then, you had met Castiel. He had appeared in Bobby's kitchen out of thin air in the middle of the night. You had been seven and had gotten up to grab a drink of water. When you'd seen him, you'd dropped the glass. Because the man standing in the kitchen had enormous black wings extending from his back; they were so large they brushed the ceiling. The man had this light inside of him, and you knew he was good. The glass slipped from your fingers, but it had never shattered because the man had suddenly appeared in front of you, catching it before it hit the ground. You gazed up at him in awe, and the angel smiled, pressing a finger to his lips in a motion to be quiet, which he had surely learned from Dean. Dean had was staying at Bobby's again. He was laying on the couch, tossing and turning and mumbling things in his sleep, sometimes crying out softly for Sam or Bobby or somebody named Cas. (Dean had always had bad nightmares, but ever since he'd died, they had gotten worse, and sometimes when he woke up from them, his eyes would be black. It scared you.) The man with wings had wandered over to Dean and placed a hand on your older brother's forehead.
"Rest," The angel muttered quietly, and Dean had immediately relaxed into a more peaceful sleep. Then the man had disappeared, and you hadn't told anyone what you'd seen.
It was the next time something strange happened that your brothers had finally figured out you were different. You were eight, and Sam had died. Then he came back. When he walked through the door, you scurried up to your room and refused to come back down until Sam was gone. Bobby had thought it was just your aversion to dead things again and ignored it. But when Dean and Sam visited together, you had stayed with them in the room, watching Sam closely. When he'd gotten up and briefly left, you had taken your chance. You rushed into Dean's arms, sobbing and chattering a nonsensical word salad.
"Whoa, whoa, kiddo. What's wrong?" Dean had asked.
"Sammy isn't here," You'd choked out, "Sammy isn't here!" You just couldn't seem to tell them what you meant. You were trying, but nothing was coming out right. Dean and Bobby didn't understand. They couldn't see what you did.
"What are you talking about, Y/N?" Sam had asked, walking back in. "I'm right here!" You pulled away from Dean to glare at him.
"YOU'RE NOT SAMMY!!!" You had cried before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind you.
Later, when Sam had gotten his soul back, you had greeted him with a grin and a warm hug. Dean had shared a look with Bobby then. Because you knew. You knew. With one look, you knew that Sam had been without a soul. They took you a bit more seriously after that. Not long after they discovered your abilities, the word got out. It was Crowley's fault; he'd spilled the beans, and before long, pretty much every evil thing out there was coming for you.
Things never stopped coming for you. When Bobby died, you needed protection. So, you went with your brothers. Their lives were dangerous, but your abilities had protected you more than once. When Dean had become a demon, you saw him for what he was. You would cower in a corner away from him, and seeing you so scared of what he'd become only made Dean angry. He'd yelled at you, so you'd taken off running. Dean tried to snatch your arm and stop you, but you dodged him and spun around, reaching up and grabbing his face. Your touch burned his skin with the heat of a welding torch, and he'd stumbled away. You had left the bunker without so much as a word, calling Jody to come to pick you up. Then, when Lucifer had possessed Cas, you had seen his true face immediately and though it terrified you like nothing ever had, you'd stayed with your brothers and helped fight off the darkness in any way you could. Lucifer had tried to hurt you, but you had touched him, and your touch had burned, just as it had with Dean.
Next, the Jack problem came up. You had been fifteen. Cas believed Kelly's baby to be good but hadn't been entirely sure. So, he'd taken you along with Kelly into hiding. The moment you'd laid eyes on Kelly, you had known what kind of person she was. Her soul was purer than any other you had ever seen, and when you had touched her hand, the baby she was carrying reached out.
"What's his name?" You'd asked, your eyes glowing gold.
"Jack," She said with a smile of fondness.
"Is he good, Y/N?" Cas had asked, sounding like an anxious father.
"He is... innocent."
"But is he good?"
"He wants to be." Then you'd smiled and laughed because Jack was talking to you, asking you to be his friend, but Cas and Kelly hadn't been able to hear what you had. "Well, I'll be waiting for you," You'd said to the baby. Then you'd returned to your brothers.
When Sam and Dean had brought Jack home, you'd treated him like an old friend. He was, in a way.
"Hi, Jack!" You had greeted him with a hug. (Your touch hadn't burned him. That's how Sam had known Jack was good.) "It's good to see you in person. Your wings are beautiful."
"I know you," Jack had said, tilting his head. "You're Y/N! You're my best friend!"
"Told you I'd be waiting," You'd smirked. Then you'd gone back to quietly reading your book while you waited for him to get settled. Dean had leaned over to mutter into the angel boy's ear.
"You lay a single finger on her, kid, I'll cut it off. Understand?"
"Y-yes." The frightened boy had nodded. You didn't look up, but you weren't going to let Dean bully Jack.
"Dean, if you cut off one of his fingers, I will cut off all of your toes and you'll never be able to wear cowboy boots ever again," You had said, calm and quiet. You had never been a violent person, but you also hardly ever talked - and when you did, it was never idly. Dean knew every single word that came out of your mouth had a purpose and intent behind it. So, if you said you were going to cut off his toes, you meant it. Dean had paled and tried to cover it up by glaring at Jack, but he was pretty quick to leave after that. You and Jack had quickly become thick as thieves. He enjoyed your soft-spoken tenderness, especially when his life was so full of violence.
But you couldn't really protect yourself. You were only 16 now, after all, and actually quite frail for your age. This made your brothers super over-protective and Jack even more so. Now, when he'd seen the new bruises on your legs, it irked him.
"How'd you get those?" He asked casually. You shot him a look. The bruises were a no-touch subject; you had made that clear a long time ago. He sighed. "I know. But I just don't understand, how can you never remember getting them?"
"I'm a heavy sleeper," You answered him flatly, "I'm fine." Your answers frustrated him to no end. This kept happening. Night after night after night, you would wake up more damaged than you were the day before, and you never let him heal you because it was just a bruise, and you'd be fine. Something was going on with you; no one could keep hurting themselves so badly without ever waking up, right? Something had to be wrong, and Jack was going to find out what it was.
He approached Sam and Dean about the problem when they arrived home from their hunt that night. Your older brothers didn't believe him that something was wrong.
"She's just a weird sleeper, Jack. That's all this is," Sam had tried to reassure him. Jack wasn't buying it.
"But what if-" He tried to protest, but Castiel cut him off.
"Sam is right. I've found Y/N sleeping in unusual positions I didn't previously think possible for the human body to achieve."
Sam and Dean both huffed a laugh at their friend's words. They both had multiple pictures of you sleeping in the weirdest positions and places imaginable.
"I know that, but something still doesn't feel right!" Jack insisted, "What if it's a demon or something - or there's a ghost that haunting her?" Sam shook his head.
"We warded the living hell out of that room. The only demon in there is Y/N!" Unfortunately for Sam, you had passed by the entrance to the library at that precise moment and decided to poke your head into the room.
"I resent that," You said flatly, glaring at him.
"No, Y/N is much too pretty to be a demon," Jack said, sounding matter to fact.
"Jack's my new favorite brother, guys." You sounded sad, but the smirk on your face told every one that you were joking. Jack grinned at his promotion to favorite, and your brothers both rolled their eyes.
"Love you!" Sam called. You waved him off with a smile and left, not caring to join their conversation.
When you were gone, Dean sighed.
"Kid, if you're so worried about it, just ask Y/N if you can stay the night with her," He suggested. Jack thought about that for a bit and nodded.
"I'll do that," He decided. Then he rose from his chair to leave the room.
"Jack?" Dean caught the boy's attention again.
"Try anything on my sister, and I'll kill you." His voice was dead-serious, but Jack only smiled.
"I know!" He moved to leave again.
"Jack, I'm gonna need you to do one more thing," Dean said, stopping the Nephilim again.
"Repeat after me, okay?"
"Okay..." Jack agreed, slightly confused.
"Try really hard..."
"Not to be a creep."
Jack tilted his head. "Okay, but what does that mean exactly?"
"Just try not to stare at her, Jack."
"Humans don't like it," Castiel answered.
"It's creepy," Added Dean.
"You'll probably freak her out," Sam tagged on.
"Don't be a creep, got it." Then Jack left to ask if he could stay with you that night.
"He's totally gonna freak her out."
Jack found you in your room, reading. You looked up when he entered the room, smiling to let him know you were listening. He raised a hand.
"Hello," He said in an overly formal greeting. You chuckled softly, shaking your head at his persevering awkwardness. "I came to ask you something." You nodded for him to go on. "May I stay with you tonight? I was thinking it might help me… feel better."
"What?" Your voice was flat, and your face was blank. Jack couldn't tell what you were feeling. He moved to sit on the edge of your bed.
"I'm worried about you, Y/N. You keep getting hurt and I just- I have this feeling… I need to know you're okay." He spoke intently and you knew you wouldn't be able to brush him off anymore. "May I watch over you? … Please?"
You rolled your eyes and smiled at him. If it would make him feel better, then what was the harm?
At 10:45 you closed your book and got into bed, saying goodnight to Jack who sat on a chair by your side. At 11:20 you had fallen asleep. Jack too had fallen asleep in his chair. At 4:37 you woke up again.
Just like every other time, you were frozen. You were stuck in sleep paralysis, and only your eyes could move. You watched the shifting, black, non-corporeal figure as it seemed to melt from the shadows of your room.
"This night is your last," The creature declared, in a low, rasping whisper. Your eyes snapped open wide. In all the nights you had spent with this creature, it had never talked before. It drifted over to your beside and your nightly torture began. It started with your fingers.
First was the tip of your pinkie-finger. Snap! You could feel your bones breaking inside of you without any outside movement whatsoever. You groaned at the sharp pain, but you couldn't open your mouth to let out a scream. Next, it was the bone beneath that one. Snap! Then your knuckle. Snap! Pain flared inside your hand, but there was nothing you could do. You prayed for Jack to wake up.
By your side, Jack heard your silent plea for help and stirred to consciousness, eyes scanning the room for threats. He found nothing. The room was empty, save for your seemingly sleeping form. It didn't make sense; you had called out to him. Jack knew you were in pain - he had felt it. But the room was empty. He looked at you and your eyes were wide open, staring at him, pleading for him to do something. Then he heard it. A snapping noise. Jack's gaze flicked to your fingers and watched as ugly black and purple splotches began blooming on your knuckles. Something was here. Something was hurting you. But where was it?!
Jack couldn't see the creature, but you could. He reached out and placed two fingers on your temple, his eyes flashing a brilliant gold. Then he saw it - the shadow. How dare that vile thing hurt you? Jack threw his hand forward.
'Burn,' The Nephilim thought. His grace obeyed his request and the dark, other-worldly presence released a wailing screech like no earthly creature, writhing in agony as Jack's power burnt it's being. The creature continued to burn until it was nothing but a blackened husk of ashy goop sprawled across the floor of your room.
You shot up from the bed, gasping and shaking with pain, but glad you were finally free from it's spell. Jack hurriedly grabbed your hand in his and a warm feeling washed over you as he healed each broken bone. When he was finished, he looked up at you with a gleefully pleased expression.
"I did it, Y/N. I killed the monster!" He announced. You nodded, and grinned at him before pressing a kiss to his cheek as your way of saying thanks. "It's never going to hurt you again." Jack promised.
Seconds later, your brothers burst into the room. They had heard the creature's screams and come running. The sight of you and Jack sitting there unharmed, filled them with relief. But confusion over-shadowed that when they caught sight of the creature's corpse oozing all over the floor.
"What the hell?" Dean exclaimed, poking it with the tip of the shotgun he'd brought with him.
"That was the thing that's been hurting Y/N. I killed it!" Jack informed them.
"Yeah, yeah. I got that part," Dean said, "What I meant was; WHAT THE HELL?!"
You just shrugged. For once, your words came out precisely the way you wanted them to. "Sleep paralysis sucks!"
Me being fourth generation nd lost
Some of us are just built different! All of us get tempted but it’s how you deal with it that matters!! #jesuschic
Talk back to that big voice in your head soothing you to go out and be bad!!
“I'm refusing to listen to you!
No I don't want to be like that anymore!
I love myself!
And I love my Heavenly Father!
He didn't create me to be like this!
I am rolling with him, because he has my best interests in mind! And he will never leave me lonely!!”
When the enemy tries to push you to go back to bad habits, for instance an old flame let him know you arent up for his shenanigans! He will want to remind you how you felt when he/she touched you in your favorite spot or when they would whisper those dirty words in your ear! You know what? Remind him of what you remember! I remember when he/she didn't want me! I remember it was only sex for them; they didn't want a relationship! Who do you think I am! Oh you don't know! I am a child of the most High God! He is my Lord and my Savior! And he says that I will have all that I can ask for and imagine! And that is way more than you can offer me; so goodbye and good riddance!
You have to stop the enemy in his tracks and let him know that you are changed! You're delivered and you not down for the okie dok no more! Point blank period!!
Social, cultural, and political developments are non-linear; I suspect these two will move in tandem. Neolib institutions, in their desire to customize a non-populist political right they think they can work with, are obviously astroturfing the tradcaths, from Obama lauding Deneen to the Atlantic publishing Vermeule to the NY Times recommending Ahmari. What does the DNC-CIA-NGO-FAANG complex like about the tradcath position? Its haughty contempt for American liberal traditions, I can only assume.
The anti-woke turn among mainstream literary authors is not only plausible but already underway, pending walkouts from aggrieved publishing staff convinced that words are violence. It will be annoying, but if it loosens even some of the unofficial restrictions on what can be written and by whom, especially in legitimating conflict with a right newly incensed against Entartete Kunst, then all to the good.
I look in every so often on the cutting edge of well-connected transgressive Zoomer writers (for example), and even I am sometimes startled by how far they’re willing to take things. Without naming names, I’m talking about elite-school writers with visible ties to prestigious indie publishers and a clear path to the mainstream if they want it. Now I am not a transgressive author—give or take the part in Quarantine where the guy’s mother gets sliced completely in half and everybody watches the video of it on PornHub—but it’s useful to have them around, guarding the perimeter of literature and absorbing censorious attack so the rest of us can practice the art in peace.
Spoken voice is more powerful than the written word!
Speech recognition has changed the business world in preparation for new clients and followed by new opportunities for businesses. A smart device bearing speech recognition technology recognizes the voice command of the user and answers it with analytics as a backbone. Since, human language is very complex for computers to understand; speech recognition technology has grown rapidly in recent years and is still growing with changing times.
Voice recognition is one of the most challenging roles to create a seamless customer experience, as words spoken from different people carrying different pronunciation may appear as a confused signal when it comes to speech recognition. Also, with changing times, languages evolve which makes it complicated to train AI accordingly. To reflect natural speech patterns, language service providers collect and process large amounts of data. This is because the words or expression carries different meaning depending on the situations of contexts. It has to look after many variations in speech habits, such as regional, social, stylistic, and age-graded.
Speech recognition technology has become an increasingly popular concept in recent years. From organizations to individuals, the technology is widely used for various advantages it provides. Amongst all the advantages speech recognition technology carries, the ability to grab dictation is paramount. With the help of technology, users can easily control devices and create documents by speaking. Speech recognition allows documents by speaking and yet it is comparatively a much faster option as the software catches and creates words as quickly as the user utters, which is usually much faster than a person can type.
Speech recognition technology makes contributions of the utmost importance to the organizations. Businesses with customer services gain a huge profit from the technology that ultimately leads to improvement in self-service in a way that boils down to enrich the customer experience and reduce organizational costs. Companies like call centers that are continually challenged to balance customer satisfaction with cost containment apply voice recognition technology to benefit from the invaluable advantages of the technology.
Speech recognition technology strives to provide a great customer experience by encouraging natural, human like conversations that create more satisfying self-service interactions with customers. It is even capable to collect dynamic data like name and addresses and hence, help organizations to save employees for more critical matters.
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Every Brainia Scene Ever: 4x15 [4/4]
Full text of speech by President Buhari to mark Democracy Day 2021
SPEECH BY HIS EXCELLENCY, MUHAMMADU BUHARI, PRESIDENT AND COMMANDER IN CHIEF OF THE ARMED FORCES FEDERAL REPUBLIC OF NIGERIA ON THE OCCASION OF COMMEMORATION AND CELEBRATION OF DEMOCRACY DAY ON 12TH JUNE, 2021 Fellow Nigerians, I join you all today to commemorate and celebrate our Democracy Day. It is a celebration of freedom and a victory for one people, one country and one Nigeria. 2. As…
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Mmm thinking about the implication that Boudicca has been making and certainly trafficking in some way dreams as well as selling the sweet metals to keep them awake